Stripclub Owner Sukuna takes your hand then, smirking at you, watching the blush decorate your cheeks, when he finds you're going to be a dancer, he immediately wants to say no, dance for just him, a level of possession he's never even felt with his girlfriends. Sukuna's shared plenty of women, but if he got you!?

Stripclub Owner Sukuna smacks Toji for even bringing you here later, and Toji scoffs. 'She has a kid and shit, she'll make top dollar here' Sukuna falters at such news. 'Don't ya think she'll make bank?' 'Tch, of course she will... it's just she's so...' Toji snorts. 'you got the hots for her, huh? Well she ain't some easy girl, I know her'

Stripclub Owner Sukuna knows he must have you, when you're stepping around the stage, and he's eyeing you, sitting right in front of the stage as you get on your knees, crawling toward him and smiling shyly. 'how're you a shy stripper, huh? not gonna work' he huffs, and you tilt your head, hand slipping down his tie. 'No allure in a shy dancer, Mr. Sukuna?'

Stripclub Owner Sukuna loses his mind when he hears his name spilled from your glossy lips, as he thinks of shoving his cock deep inside that mouth, so close to his when you turn. You bend over, ass right in the air, begging for a smack as you look back at him, hair falling over your face. 'Why're you here?' he demands, eyeing the curve of your back, cock hard like he's some pathetic teenager or something.

Stripclub Owner Sukuna tenses when you say - 'I need the money, isn't it why everyone does this?' 'Toji says you got a kid' you tense then, turning toward him nervously, as the stagelights glimmer all over your skin. 'That a problem?' Sukuna shakes his head. "Nah, lots of girls here do...' You exhale. 'I'm a single mom, my friend can watch her at night, why not work while she's asleep? I can spend my time with her'

Stripclub Owner Sukuna admires the fuck out of you as you dance your pretty ass off, but he hates the men that see you, see you in just your little bottoms and tassells, breasts bouncing, ass jiggling as you shake it, as you move. You're a whole star quickly, the few hours a night you come in you make bank, but as soon as you leave, he's in his office, jerking it to you, imagining those nipples, that pussy he sees hints of with your spandex panties.

Stripclub Owner Sukuna On one particular night forgets to lock the door, you're still out there dancing but he can't take it, you're too fucking sexy, he's picturing burying his face in that nice ass of yours as you step inside, shutting the door quickly when you see it, his enormous dick in his hands, covered in precum. You gasp, looking away quickly. 'shit I'm sorry, it's my ex... he's such an ass and I didn't want him to see me...'

Stripclub Owner Sukuna pauses, in shock as you look back down at him, licking your lower lip. 'I'm interrupting...' you come closer though, watching, breath catching in your throat. 'Want me to beat him the fuck up? ruin him?' Sukuna murmurs, voice husky, when you keep walking towards him, and he slowly strokes, from the base to the tip of his veiny length, acting so casual. 'No, you don't have to do all that, you're already so good to me' he laughs then, shaking his head. 'You are, maybe I should... be good to you?'

Stripclub Owner Sukuna can't form a thought when you're stroking his cock, leaning so close, lips just a breath from his, taking two of his fingers and sucking his precum off them, cheeks hollowing. Sukuna loses his control then, using those two fingers to slip so deep you cry out, earning his groan, uncaring if anyone heard. He's curling them up in your walls as you stroke, his eyes laser focused on your pretty face when he grips your hair by the nape of your neck. 'wanna suck me, huh brat?' he tries to keep it together, but when you nod eagerly, on your knees, he can't take how good your throat feels.

Stripclub Owner Sukuna has his cock fucking up into your throat, his salty precum against your tongue, and he wonders if it's some dream it has to be, you're too fucking beautiful to just be doing this, you shouldn't even be working, he thinks. He'd like you just naked around his house, to fuck you on every surface, fill you up with so many kids you'd never leave. Sukuna is groaning while you suck him greedily, looking up at him with dilated, beautiful eyes, making him simultaneously want to fuck you and want to make love to you, stupid insane shit that irritates him.

Stripclub Owner Sukuna stutters when you suck harder, and he's cumming deep in your throat, not meaning to. No he wants to fuck your pussy, not this, but you make him cum so fast it's stupid, swallowing him with a pretty smile, as you lean up on shaky legs. He presses a kiss to your lips, desperate and messy, tasting all of his cum all over your mouth. You're gasping, until the door opens, and you pull apart, seeing an amused Toji. You are losing your mind later as you clean up to go home, wondering what's gotten ahold of you, when Sukuna is waiting right outside.

Stripclub Owner Sukuna loves it when you look down so shy and pretty, you're biting your lower lip to death, he releases it from the grip of your teeth. 'you free tonight, brat?' you blink in confusion. 'you want...' 'want you at my place, spread wide f'me, yeah?' you gasp at the thought, shaking your head then. 'I'm not, I have to get home to my kid... but tomorrow night?' he nods, ushering you to your shitty car, picturing you in something so much better soon, leaning over with a smirk as he seatbelts you in.

Stripclub Owner Sukuna now that he's had a taste, he can't stop thinking of you, when you're at work the next day you're quickly in his office again, this time he's got you grinding on his lap, slick arousal pooling in your little outfit. 'I'll fuckin pay you triple, take the day off' "Mr. Sukuna...' 'Take. The. Day. Off.' Sukuna finally gets you home, having you bent over his couch before you can blink, ripping your pretty costume to shreds, pumping you so full of his cock you're trembling, shaking, head falling back as he fills you so good, slamming your cervix.

Stripclub Owner Sukuna has never felt anything like you, like your cunt pulsing around his cock, like his balls slapping your twitchy little clit, as you're sobbing it hurts so good, tears streaming down your pretty face while he rails his cock so deep. Sukuna busts deep in you as he wraps a big hand around your throat, fucking into you over and over, feeling you milk his cock for all he's got. 'Gonna fill you the fuck up, huh brat? gonna drip on the goddamn stage'

Stripclub Owner Sukuna has your pussy on his mouth when he's busted in you, starting to lap all the gooey white cum from your pretty pussy. 'Sukuna! ah!' you've never felt like this, so fucked out as his tongue scoops all your cum out, he's leaning over you, spitting it right into your mouth, chuckling. 'pathetic, just how I fuckin need you'

Stripclub Owner Sukuna is pathetic for you, he doesn't let you leave, he pays you for another day, fucking you in every position, at some point he's holding you upside down, you're bobbing on his cock as he's gripping your ass, moaning against your hole, you're falling apart, so weak and sore. when you finally have to go home, because you have your kid, Sukuna can't stop thinking about you, about how he wants you to have his babies, to be under him every goddamn night, so excited when you come into work, only to see you devastated.

Stripclub Owner Sukuna demands to know what's wrong, only to see your shady ass ex, who wants to saunter up to him like he's shit, you shake your head, but soon Sukuna is beating the fuck out of him. 'you have no clue who he is, Mr. Sukuna...' you tell him then, earning Sukuna's chuckle, his big grin. 'You don't know who I am, baby'

You spent half the day picking out what dress to wear, doing your hair and makeup, copious amounts of effort into being attractive enough to seal the deal – but when you got there, he was drinking with his friends – and a few girls. 

The friend zone felt like fucking shit. 

But you stayed because you figured he probably knew other hot guys you could hook up with. He did, but none of them would entertain more than conversations that would get cut short by him every time it ventured past the boring polite stuff. 

You never saw Sukuna so much as flirt with any girls – but you just sort of assumed they existed, something he did in his free time every time he wasn’t with you or replying to your messages. 

Honestly, you couldn’t fucking believed it when he asked you to move in after his last roommate left after being in that limbo for way longer than you should’ve been. 

You really couldn’t fucking believe when you heard the word ‘yes’ leave your mouth back.

All you could do was regret being such a lovesick idiot back then since you were reaping the consequences now. 

Well, your cunt was.  

You hadn’t been laid in ten months. 

Honestly, you could’ve gotten knocked up and actually had a kid with that time. But no, a man hadn’t come within twenty feet of your thighs because a certain pink-haired asshole hated you leaving the apartment to do anything without him. 

Not that he’d admit it. 

It hadn’t been that hard at first – you’d just slip out without saying anything and come back the next morning in the same clothes. His brow would twitch, his lips pressed in a thin line, but he never said anything. 

But these days? Every time you wanted to grab food? He was grabbing his car keys. A new movie was coming out? He already bought the tickets even if he’d complain the entire drive home how stupid he thought it was. 

He even managed to crash your last girls night with all his stupid friends you couldn’t stand anymore. Slotting himself between you and a hot stranger who had his hands on your hips, practically shoving him away simply for the crime of being too close to you when Sukuna was the one who kept you at arms length at home.

Afterwards, he had grumbled into your ear that he heard that the guy actually had a girlfriend. 

You felt like a fool for thinking for even half a second that he’d done it because he liked you. 

The legs of your chair creaked when you got up now, pushed back too fast as you turned away from him. You didn’t mention the fact you’d already started looking at new buildings. Had a few showings planned and scheduled after your next shift. 

Half your clothes and things were already stuffed in boxes in your closet.

In the past two years of this admittedly strange living situation, he’d never bothered coming into your room, so you figured he wouldn’t find any of it.

He was the kind of guy who’d barge into the bathroom when you took a shower, or hog all the space on the couch, but you supposed some things were sacred. The fine line of the threshold into your tiny hundred square foot space was one of them – a boundary he begrudgingly respected, for whatever reason. 

Either way, you locked your door behind you. 

Collapsed onto your uncomfortable bed, mattress springs whining as you plucked your phone free from its charger and scrolled through your apps for the hundredth time to click on the one you’d been religiously checking all month. 

One new match. 

“You look like a-” 

“Slut?” You finished his sentence for him, glancing back over your shoulder at an obviously annoyed Sukuna, his muscled biceps folding across his arms, jaw locked. If you listened close enough, you could hear his molars grinding. 

You could see the protest forming on his tongue, for him to snarl back some more clever insult to correct you. But it didn’t come. 

Just that cold stare as his dark eyes dragged over your body, the way your dress was bunched up too high on your thighs before you’d even left the apartment or slipped your heels on.

“The hell are we going?” Sukuna grunted, ignoring what you said and forcing his gaze back up to your face. He was leaning against the wall across from you, studying your reaction, daring you to say what he thought you were going to. Wearing a loose pair of sweatpants that hung low enough on his hips you could see his abs and happy trail every time his shirt rode up on his skin. You huffed back, trying not to grimace when you walked past him in the kitchen to pour yourself a glass of water, the condensation cool on your clumsy fingers as you took a small sip to soothe your dry throat.

“We aren’t going anywhere,” you corrected him after you dropped the cup back on the counter, unzipping your purse as you checked to make sure you had your keys and lip gloss with enough cash to pay a cab later if you needed. “I’m going on a date.” 

“With who?”

“Does it matter?” You scoffed, checking your messages just to see he’d sent one a few minutes ago saying he was on his way.

“Yeah,” Sukuna scoffed back at you, louder, like it’d overwrite yours and make his point clearer. “It does.”

“Why?” You bluntly asked, walking out of the kitchen and out to the hall bathroom to check your reflection one last time. He was following though, on your heels as you padded barefoot across the floor.

“What if he’s a creep?” Sukuna suggested in a low snarl, flicking the light off after you tried to turn it on. “A catfish?” 

“Then I’ll come back,” you retorted, resisting the urge to roll your eyes at him. 

“No,” he growled, all gravelly and gritty, his massive frame blocking the door and hand covering the light switch.

“So I should go home with him if he’s a creep?” You sarcastically asked. 

“That's not what I meant and you know it,” he grumbled, each word a prickly barb that sent an unfair jolt of excitement down your spine. 

It shouldn't. He shouldn't. 

Not when after four years of friendship and two of living together where the furthest the two of you had come to actual intimacy was drifting off on his shoulder during shows and him brushing against you to grab stuff off the top shelf. 

But him being protective was unfortunately much hotter when you were already aching to get fucked, sick of the abstinence you'd been stuck in for months. 

He was practically your personal chastity belt at this point, keeping the key all to himself by monopolizing every minute of your day. 

Was it all him though? Or did part of you pick that? 

Choose to stay by his side on the couch or out in public just so his attention (platonic or otherwise) wouldn't drift elsewhere. 

“He's picking me up soon,” you shrugged, like you didn't care what he thought. 

You weren’t going to be the one waving the white flag of defeat tonight. Unless it was someone else’s boxers. 

“Like hell he is,” he grumbled, and you guessed he was trying to insinuate he’d scare your date off.

“Why do you care?” You deadpanned, swatting his hand away from the light switch so you could actually turn it on and see his expression. 

Which wasn’t exactly what you expected.

It wasn’t rage. Wasn’t really anger. Annoyance? Irritation? Sure, but the little pout on his pretty pink lips indicated something more. 

Sukuna was jealous. 

“I don’t want you to go,” he brusquely said, not even blinking as he stared at you. 

Your stomach flipped. You should brush past him, should slide your heels on and just wait in the parking lot. But your feet felt glued to the tile, unable to move an inch when his eyes were burning into yours. 

“Why?” You asked, voice thin and hoarse. 

“You know why,” he grunted, but that wasn’t good enough. 

“Give me a real reason or I’m walking out the door.”

“I-” 

There was a knock at it anyway, loud enough to reverberate through the rest of the apartment. Your phone buzzed in your purse, probably him saying he was here while your roommate stared at you like he was on the brink of bending you over the bathroom sink. 

“Last chance,” you warned, and you weren’t sure what you were hoping for. Some confession? 

“I like you,” he managed to spit it out, a little crinkle in his nose as he waited for you to say the same.

But you hadn’t waited four fucking years for an ‘I like you’. 

“Isn’t that why we’re friends?” You tilted your head to the side. “Because you like hanging out with me?” 

His jaw tightened, way past annoyed, but you just pushed past him, your shoulder knocking into his arm as you squeezed out of the bathroom. 

“That’s not-” 

You were already in the living room though, bending over to get your heels off the floor.

But then his hands were on your waist, fingers digging in and wrinkling your dress, refusing to let you so much as slip them on.

“You fuckin’ love torturing me,” he grumbled, grabbing your heels out of your hands and holding them behind his back to make you try and get them back. You huffed at him, eyes squinting up at him in irritation, but the hand that wasn’t holding your heels suddenly tethered itself in your hair and tugged, forcing you to look up at him. “I like you. I have this whole time, brat.” 

He emphasized the word, like he wanted to make sure it made its way through your skull. 

“You never-” You started protesting, but he wasn’t budging. 

“You’re the one always talking about us being friends,” he hissed, like he hated the word as much as you did.

“Because you friend zoned me,” you argued back in a low whisper, heart beating fast enough it hurt your chest. “I never-” 

He rolled his eyes at you this time, leaning down and shutting you up with a kiss. One that you’d imagined in a hundred different ways. In the rain. On the kitchen table. During a movie. At a coffee shop. 

But here, barefoot and in the middle of the living room, with his hand in your hair and your palm pressed against his chest, it was much better than any fantasy you ever dared to daydream about before. 

He tasted like mint. His cologne had wrapped around you, and would probably cling to your skin long after this ended, but it was warm, cozy. He smelled like home. 

Sukuna sucked on your bottom lip, canines nipping at the thin skin and lapping up every last bit of candy-flavored gloss you’d coated them in, dropping your heels to the floor right as your date knocked again outside. 

He refused to pull away until you were both out of breath. Glaring at the door like he was considering how a murder charge would affect his day until he begrudgingly walked over to answer it, only opening it enough to look through the crack.

“She’s busy,” Sukuna deadpanned, slamming it back before your suitor could even get a word in. 

You were staring at him, mouth still parted in surprise when he flipped the lock and laserfocused back on where you were standing in your skimpy dress and freshly-smudged lipgloss. 

And five minutes later, you were face-down on your shared couch, dress discarded on the floor, panties pulled down and still hooked around your ankles while your phone kept vibrating from inside your purse where Sukuna had tossed it onto the stained coffee table. 

“The hell you want a guy like him for?” He grumbled, head between your legs, his calloused palms keeping your thighs spread and pliant for him while he ate you out like he’d been starving.

Your dinner date somehow twisted into being another man’s meal. 

Panting, your nails clawed at the closest pillow at his tongue pushing deeper into your cunt, exploring your insides like you were his to map out. Struggling to form words when each lap, each lick ripped your breath from your lungs. “I, fuck, I-” 

“M’waiting,” he murmured, dry and low, not mocking but close enough to make your body shudder. 

“I wanted to get fucked,” you admitted, a breathy whine that hardly sounded like yourself, and a low growl was ripped from his throat, maybe imagining what you would’ve been doing tonight if he hadn’t come clean and confessed. 

“You could’ve asked me,” he grumbled, pulling his tongue out, the absence making your stomach flutter, the fire burning in your stomach flaring as you heard the shuffle of his sweatpants getting pulled down. The faint slap of something heavy on your ass, his pre-cum leaking out on your skin as you glanced over your shoulder at him. 

He looked fucking feral. 

And you were suddenly unsure who’d been waiting longer for this moment, watching through glossy eyes as he guided his thick cock right against your entrance, his own heavy-lidded stare studying the connection between you like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

“Think I can’t take care of you?” He grunted right as he shoved the first few inches in, your face immediately falling back into the cushion to choke out your raspy moan. 

He easily pushed past the first ring of resistance, your body melting into his as his cock stretched your already slick walls out for him. A promise you felt in the pressure skyrocketing in your stomach – that he was planning on taking very good care of you now. 

Although, you had a feeling his version of soothing you would end up with you sobbing his name. 

And maybe you’d been wrong about him before, wrong about your whole relationship, but you were right about that. 

He bottomed out hard, your cunt clenching around him right as his swollen tip fit snugly against your cervix. His cock was throbbing, and if you looked back, you had a feeling Sukuna would be struggling not to cum already considering his thrusts had stalled before they even started. 

Just feeling you, the greedy way you were sucking him in, desperate for whatever he’d give you. 

“Fuck, baby, you’re-” 

“I’m what?” You teased him, but it just sounded like a whimper from your gasping lips, not missing the fact he called you baby instead of brat. 

“Mine.” 

He fucked you like it. 

Hard and fast, like he had something to prove. Maybe to both of you. That this was more than just a moment of jealousy – that this had been building from the day you met him. 

His fingers splayed across your hip to hold you in place, his other hand grabbing your hair and pulling it back enough to make you turn and glance up at him. Wild eyes finding yours, the words that had never been said suffocating both of you hanging heavy in them. 

But before you could dare to whisper any of them, or his tongue could slip, his mouth was crashing into yours. His tongue brushing past your teeth as he rutted into you, in-and-out in fast motions, only letting go of your hips to fumble for your clit mid-kiss, his hand caught between the couch and your body. 

He made it work, rubbing rough circles over it, only making the waves of pleasure crash over harder, lewd sounds of his hips smacking against yours adding to the chorus of groans you were drowning in. 

You unravelled for him – thighs twitching and trembling as he made you cum, tears forming and threatening to fall in the corners of your eyes as you cried out his name. That was all he needed, all he’d been waiting for, and he was releasing your hair so he could release on your back instead of inside you. 

It was thick, cum splattering across your skin as his muscles tensed. You were still catching your breath when he grabbed your panties off the floor to wipe you clean, well, as clean as he could considering how flimsy the fabric was. 

“You hungry?” He casually asked, and an airy giggle escaped you.

“Yeah,” you exhaled, closing your eyes and relaxing as he stood up and laid you flat on the couch. His hand still lingered on your body, running along your side from your ass up to your shoulders, thick fingers tracing his name on your sticky skin. 

“I’ll order somethin’,” he grumbled, and you were about to ruin it, about to ask the question that’d been on the back of your mind since he buried his face in your cunt. But he answered it like he could read your mind. “And next time you wanna go on a date, ask me.” 

You laughed a little, yawning and nodding, readjusting and half-rolling over to look up at him.

“I’m free tomorrow,” you shrugged your shoulders, yawning.

His eyes narrowed, but you could see the smirk trying to tug up on his lips. He looked at you, then back towards the hall. “I’ll get you some clothes.”

You were tempted to ask for his.

But you were too tired to stand, just mumbling something back and resting your head back on the couch. It smelled like him too. 

You only got up when he’d been gone for ten minutes. 

Dragging yourself up on sore limbs, bare and barely suppressing a limp as you stumbled towards your open bedroom. Sukuna was standing in front of your closet, scowling at all your clothes like they personally offended him. 

“What are you doing?” You yawned, legs still feeling like jelly as you leaned against the open doorway. 

“Unpacking.” 

You’d been working at your family’s bookshop most of your life. Managing the finances, stocking the shelves, working the cash register. Whatever was needed whenever it was needed. No questions asked. But your mind drifted, dreamed of doing something different – where you weren’t sleeping in a tiny studio apartment you could barely afford and got to express yourself outside of the stupid chalk signs you drew on to advertise on the sidewalk. 

“Are you still all prissy because I said-”

“No,” you interrupted him, even though you knew he hated that. You sipped the awful beer, nose scrunching as you pressed your lips together and forced yourself to swallow. 

“Good,” he grunted. “Don’t need that shit today.” 

You didn’t reply to that. Stared ahead at the bottles of liquor lined up on the wall, the distorted mirrors behind them as you listened to the heavy music thumping behind you. 

“First client was fuckin’ awful, didn’t even tip after I spent-” Sukuna was still talking, grumbling under his breath between swigs of his own beer. You weren’t paying that much attention though. Picking apart what you could make of yourself in those stretched-out mirrors, wondering if you’d really only be Jin’s friend to him. Someone annoying he could boss around, that he barely tolerated. 

How much time were you wasting waiting for him to wake up and notice you were a girl? That you liked him? 

“God, I need to get laid,” he continued, and your head swiveled over to him, brows knitting together as it hit you what he said.

He noticed, chuckling at whatever expression you were making before slamming his now-empty beer down.

“What? Are you, like, a prude?” Sukuna asked, and you flinched, flustered as your mouth fell open.

“N-no, I’m not,” you defensively said, heat crawling inside your skin, uselessly shaking your head just for him to laugh at you. 

“C’mon,” Sukuna snickered, rolling your eyes. “I’ve known you, what? Like a decade? And you’ve never had a boyfriend?”

“I’ve had boyfriends,” you muttered, wishing you could drown yourself in your beer when you forced yourself to take another drawn-out sip. 

Several of them. Some longer than others. 

But they all came to the same conclusion you had a long time ago. 

They weren’t the guy you wanted. And the one you did couldn’t care less about you.

“Sure,” he shrugged, all gruff and gravelly, waving over the bartender to get another beer. “Whatever you say.”  

“You don’t believe me,” you pointed out before you could stop yourself, and all you got was another bob of his shoulders. 

“It’s not my business.” Which really just meant he didn’t give a shit. 

You could probably pick a random guy from the dancefloor and drag him back home with you and he wouldn’t blink. 

Instead of a beer, the bartender pushed a stein of something strong to him, nodding down the bar to a pretty girl who was already looking at him, glossy lips curling up when his head turned in her direction. “On her.” 

Sukuna smirked, and you wondered if he’d be leaving with her tonight.

“Someone’s got you beat,” he commented, glancing back over to her with a glint of interest in his eyes. It was a joke, you guessed. But you didn’t laugh. 

Just felt it sit in the bottom of your stomach like a goddamn boulder. 

She had his attention, and she barely had to try. 

You pulled out your purse, scrounging together enough crumpled cash to cover the bill before tossing it on the bartop, swinging your legs off to stand. 

“You’re mad at me,” he huffed, and you wanted him to stop you. Some sad little shriveled part of your brain desperate for him to do something to show you were more than just – well, whatever it was he saw you as. 

“I’m not,” you insisted, even though a hot lump had formed in your throat, lungs constricting as you became acutely aware of how little air you could suck in. 

He frowned for a second, but he didn’t say anything. 

Didn’t reach out. 

“Gotta get up early tomorrow,” you excused, even though he didn't ask. 

For the first time in forever, you didn't look back when you left. And when you got home, you blocked his number after deleting the message chain that was mostly you sending him stupid shit he probably only ever skimmed over.  

Removed the temptation entirely to text him now, tried to call and clip the image of him from the corners of your heart when you curled back up in your bed. 

It wasn't like it was easy. But the humiliation of wanting someone like him had sliced too deep this time, embarrassment etching into your fingers every time you attempted to draw and thought back to his reaction. His rejection. 

So you did the only thing you could do. 

Move on. 

Focus on your job, your meager social life, although you made Jin come over to your apartment when he wanted to hang out purely out of fear you'd bump into Sukuna’s at his place. 

Two weeks passed, then three, killing time while you scrubbed the ghost of him from your mind. 

Today hadn't been much different. 

Stuck with another hour left at an exhausting shift, feet aching as you shifted behind the counter, a pen in hand as you attempted to sketch something on the back of a sticky note. A few animals, a couple of fish, thin lines and unsure strokes as you questioned what was even the point any more. 

“Whatcha doodlin’?” A cheeky voice distracted you, snatching the crumpled paper from underneath your palm before you could stop him. You knew who it belonged to before you saw him.

The white-haired menace who only showed up for the sweets in the adjoining bakery, chocolate usually smeared in the corner of his mouth when he pretended to browse books. Although he'd always find some excuse to come chat with you, sometimes bringing around his friends who would buy stuff. 

“It's nothing-” You started, straining over the counter to yank it back, but he was too fast. 

Gojo held it over your head, squinting at the lines you etched into it and tilting his head to the side with faint surprise. 

“These are cute,” he smiled, pointing at the little koi fish at the bottom. 

“You don't have to lie to me,” you frowned back at him, getting just close enough to grab it. You rolled it into a ball, throwing it away in the trash can under the counter. “It's nothing.” 

“I meant it,” he grinned, propping himself up on his elbows and getting on your eye level. “Don't believe me?”

Gojo was full of shit. 

You hadn't known him as long as Sukuna or Jin – but you still knew him well enough to know he liked to flirt and fawn, none of it worth anything when he was like that with everyone. He was more of a mutual friend than just a friend, but boundaries were more like suggestions he preferred to ignore, physical, emotional, every flavor of rule he rejected. 

“Not really,” you muttered, glancing down at both his rather huge hands. All pale and veiny, long fingers that weren't holding anything. “No treat today?” 

“Want something a little sweeter tonight,” he hummed, and you stared blankly at him.

“Like what?” You deadpanned. 

“A date with you.” 

You blinked. But he didn't budge, waiting for an answer. 

“Like, a date date?” It made you feel like a moron to ask, halfway thinking he'd laugh at you even when he brought it up. 

“Duh,” he chuckled. “What time do you get off?” 

“Um, an hour, but-” You started, and since it wasn't a no, he was already smiling like it was a yes. 

“Or we could do dinner tomorrow if it's better, y’know, whatever's good with you is great with-’

“Tomorrow,” you answered, surprising yourself a little bit at how quickly you said it. Gojo was cute, even if he wasn't exactly the type you usually went for – i.e. tattooed men with commitment issues. He probably had a big dick if it was even half the size of his attitude. 

It might not go anywhere, but didn’t you deserve a single night without him on your mind? 

Sukuna could sleep around. 

So why couldn't you? 

Something was fucking wrong with him. 

Sukuna’s life had been oddly quiet lately.

Something was different, missing, maybe– but he hadn't quite figured out what. Just that the world had been duller. The days dragged on longer, nights bleeding into morning in broken fits of sleep. 

He'd never exactly been a man of emotions. Most of them he rejected entirely. But there was a pervading feeling that he could only describe as bad. One that refused to go away no matter how much he tried to drown it in alcohol or nicotine. 

He hated half of his clients. Couldn't stand the bright city lights or boring chatter people constantly tried dragging him into. His old favorite songs sounded more like static and background noise, grating on his nerves when he turned it on to focus on new designs. 

But despising the universe wasn't anything new to Sukuna. 

Loathing his life was typical. 

But this slimy pit in his stomach, balled up too tight to dislodge, stuck there and festering, that was something he wasn't used to. 

It wasn't until he went to Jin’s to talk shit about his latest awful day that he figured out what it was.

Guilt. 

Jin was alone, watching some boring movie on his couch, feet propped up on his coffee table without even sparing him a glance as he went straight to his fridge to find a cold drink. He glared at the healthy foods, fruits and meats neatly organized inside – only a couple sparkling waters in the back. He begrudgingly grabbed one, cracking it open and looking back to the living room just to freeze. 

He stared at the empty spot next to Jin for a few seconds, struggling to conceive why he was looking at the couch like an idiot until it hit him why. 

You weren't there. 

“Where's your friend?” He gruffly asked, bringing the drink to his lips to sip. 

“On a date,” Jin casually said, and he choked. 

Drink dripped down his mouth and onto his shirt, wiping it away with the back of his hand as he cleared his throat. 

“Her?” You? 

It was inconceivable. 

The girl who could barely even look him in the eye half the time? Who stuttered and stammered and could hardly get through a single sentence without getting flustered? 

Honestly, Sukuna figured you were probably a virgin and too shy to admit it. It wasn’t like you weren’t attractive, but you’d always been off-limits. 

Besides, there were always tons of other women out there – why would he stoop so low as to sleep with one of Jin’s friends? 

“With Gojo,” his brother added, tossing a piece of popcorn in his mouth, completely oblivious to the way he froze behind him. 

Did Jin just not give a fucking shit about you? Was he seriously letting you go out with that prick? 

Gojo’s reputation was almost worse than his. 

But just because he took girls on dates before he fucked and fled, he was somehow better. 

At least he didn’t pretend he wanted a relationship just to get someone in the sheets. At least he didn’t lead them on and let them think they were something more. 

“And you just fuckin’-” He clamped his lips shut right as Jin threw a confused look over his shoulder at him. 

“What?” He asked, all confused, like he couldn’t fucking perceive the very apparant problem. 

“That guy’s an asshole,” he protested.

Jin didn’t say it, but the look on his face made it obvious that he thought Sukuna was one too.

“Where’s the date at?” He grumbled, arms folding tight across his chest as he tapped on Jin’s fake wood flooring. 

You weren’t his friend.

So why the fuck was he walking into some upscale restaurant on the nice side of town, fixing the collar of his jacket, ignoring the stares sticking to him. 

“Sir?” A hostess tried talking to him, but he waved her off, already scowling.

“I need a drink,” he dryly said. 

Preferably a strong one. 

He beelined over to the bar, reluctantly ordering a ridiculously expensive whiskey in his best attempt to blend in before scanning the dining room for any sign of you. 

He spotted you almost immediately. Sitting in one of those back booths, probably one Gojo told you would be more private – even though you were really just on display for the rest of the restaurant. 

You dressed up. For him. 

Sukuna didn’t know why it surprised him so much, dumbly staring at the sight of you in a short dress, the kind that clung to your thighs and your chest, too much cleavage showing. Too much skin showing period. Elbows on the table as you leaned in to listen to Gojo ramble on, who was surely too focused on the sound of his own voice to pay attention to how good you looked tonight. 

He shook the thought from his head. Strangled it, actually, tried to twist it into nothing. Glad he didn't have any utensils to gouge his eyes out so he couldn't consider the cute tilt of your head or how glossy your lips looked when you chewed on your bottom one nervously. 

Why the fuck were you here? 

You weren't a moron. You knew better than to buy a guy like Gojo’s bullshit. 

His last conversation with you came back up, floating from the depths of his brain in bits and pieces, his own words echoing. Was it because he commented on your lack of a love life? Asked if you were a prude? 

Did you just go to the biggest manwhore (other than him) that you could find? 

If you wanted to get laid, you could've just asked- 

No, no. That was wrong, Sukuna reminded himself, blinking hard like it would change what he was seeing. You smiled at Gojo, mouth moving as you said something that made him chuckle and lean forward, reaching over the table to grab your hand like you were a couple. His thumb tracing down your knuckles, drawing little shapes on your skin that obviously made you giddy. 

Sukuna wasn't jealous. 

He'd never been jealous before. Over anyone. 

He was, uh, just doing what Jin should've been doing. As your friend. Even if every giggle and grin of yours made him feel physically fucking ill as he watched and waited for the moment to intervene.

It wasn't like he could just let this happen. 

Leg bouncing anxiously until Gojo got up, counting to thirty in his head before he followed him to the bathroom, glancing back over his shoulder to make sure you hadn’t noticed him. But you were glancing down at the table, tracing over the scratches on it, your face soft, almost serene. Pretty. 

He kept walking, picking up the pace to catch up to Gojo, wondering how hard he’d have to deck him to make sure he’d stay down long enough for him to block off the bathroom door to prevent him from leaving. The staff would probably notice after a couple minutes – sooner if someone else tried to use it. 

He didn’t have a real plan, his brain jumping from idea to idea too fast to let him land on one.

If he was less impulsive, more in control of the monster twisting around inside of him, maybe he would have considered having a conversation with Gojo. Threatening, sure, but mature enough to make it clear that you were not a girl he could screw and scram from. 

Instead?

He was scanning the stalls in front of him to make sure no one else would overhear, noting that they opened out instead of in. Only spotting Gojo’s ridiculously shiny loafers, listening to him yap on the phone with one of the other pricks he chose to surround himself with.

“I know, I’ve gotta go, she’s waiting for me,” he was chuckling, his casual confidence already grating down his resolve not to dunk his head in the toilet. He laughed again at whoever was on the other line. “Shut up, you know I’ve been trying to get in her panties for months.”

Anger didn’t suffice. 

Couldn’t cover the heat warping his judgment, boiling into something he couldn’t control at the idea of that white-haired fucker slinking around and searching for a way inside of you. 

His body was moving on autopilot, banging hard on the stall door, fingers clenching into a fist right just in time for Gojo to hang up the phone and yank it open, his annoyingly bright blue eyes narrowing in an appalled squint at him. 

“What the-” 

His punch connected. Busting open his bottom lip, bruising Sukuna’s knuckles too as Gojo’s head snapped to the side. He groaned, stumbling and losing his footing, probably slipping in his own piss from his surely shoddy aim. 

“The hell is your problem, dickhead?” Gojo grunted, pushing off the toilet seat, palm pressing on the stall as he struggled to stand up straight. 

It was easy to push him back down, just another rough punch that he hoped fucking hurt.

But recognition was now glittering across the bloody face beneath him, amusement dancing in his dark stare as Gojo let out a low laugh.

“You’re here for her?” He said it like it was some joke Sukuna wasn’t in on. Or maybe he was just the butt of it. 

“You’re not getting in her panties,” Sukuna repeated in a hateful hiss, more repulsed by the word when it was on his own tongue. “So stay the fuck away from her.” 

“Or what?” Gojo challenged, a plucked brow arched up. “You’ll drown me?” 

His eyes flickered from the white-haired fraud in front of him to the toilet, considering it. 

“Maybe.” 

He saw the second it registered for him that it wasn’t just a threat. Then Sukuna leaned down, grabbing his phone from where it had hit the ground during his first hit. 

“Wait-” 

He tossed his phone in the water instead. 

Sukuna kicked him while he was down, hard enough he heard a rib crack before he stepped back, slamming the stall door shut and looking around at what he had at his disposal. Dragging over a ridiculously heavy trash can from the corner, one of the obnoxiously designed ones that was supposed to be art as if people weren’t just tossing trash in it. He shoved it against the stall while Gojo groaned again inside. 

He’d be able to get out, if he crawled under or climbed over the stall, or summoned the strength to shove it out of the way. But it’d delay him for a while. Enough that Sukuna was able to look back out of the bathroom, getting lucky enough to see one of the staff heading into a supply closet down the hall, marked employees only. 

“You asshole,” Gojo snarled, voice muffled, strained from the pain of a probably broken rib. 

But it was too late. 

He was sneaking out and into the closet once it was empty, snagging an ‘out of order’ sign from a shelf before he put it back up on the bathroom door when no one was looking. 

Sukuna wasn’t really one for fate, didn’t hold any believe in some higher power pulling his strings, but he could admit that it seemed like the universe was colluding with him when he caught the attention of some overworked waitress and casually commenting that they should probably block off the men’s bathroom if there was something wrong with it, pointing to the sign. 

It had taken ten minutes, maybe fifteen, walking back to your table with a smirk twitching up in his lips at the thought of how long it would take Gojo to pull himself off of the floor and figure out how to leave. Especially now that he managed to get someone to move a bunch of those huge ceramic fake-potted plants in front of it to stop it from opening – and no one would hear him requesting help through the thick walls and the bland dining music still loudly thumping through the speakers.

He had won. 

A little voice in the back of his brain said, for now, added addendums to his meager victory. Marked it down with the reminder that you might not be thrilled to see him after you left the last time you were together. 

You were still staring at the table when you came back into view, but your nose was scrunched up, lips pressed together tightly. Aware that it was taking too long for your date to come back, fear starting to seep in that you’d been ditched. 

And then you saw him. 

For half a second, just a brief moment he almost missed, you smiled, relaxing reflectively before you suddenly went stiff again. Forcing a frown and tucking some hair behind your ear self-consciously, defensively.

“What are you doing here?” You asked, all wide-eyed, fiddling with your hands in your lap. Pulling the hem of your dress down like he hadn’t seen how high it’d been earlier. 

“Saw you on a date with that loser,” he muttered, begrudgingly glancing around like he didn’t know where he was. “Did he leave?” 

You swallowed, squirming as you shrugged.

“He said he was going to the bathroom,” you muttered, fishing your phone from your purse to check the time, or maybe send Gojo a message. Sukuna could see the way disappointment snuck up in your face, how it crept into the corners no matter how hard, how desperately you were trying to hide it. 

There was an awkward pause, tense and heavy as he tried to figure out how to say what he wanted to. 

“You wanna get out of here?” He gruffly suggested, pulling his wallet from his pocket and tossing down some cash on the table. Enough to cover your half – even though there was only an appetizer out. 

You hesitated, your eyes finally flickering up to him. 

Your stare was as soft as it had always been, but it was like he was seeing your face for the first time, the air in his lungs sucked out like he’d been knocked flat on his back. 

Reassessing every little line, realizing that you weren’t just pretty, or cute, but beautiful. Lashes fluttering, canines chewing on your bottom lip as you looked back in the direction of the bathroom one last time. 

You’d been there for so long. Lingering in the background and by his side. And he’d been completely goddamn blind.

“I’ll buy you some real food,” he added, nodding towards the barely-touched plate of pretentious-plattered blobs of food with herbs thrown on top. 

“Fine.”

You weren’t that happy in the passenger seat of his car, riding shotgun, knees pointed away from him while you leaned against the cool window. He turned up the heat, the lump in the back of his throat bobbing watching you shiver and curl up inside yourself. 

He couldn’t remember if you’d ever been in his car like this before. A couple years ago, he’d been stuck in the backseat with you in Jin’s sedan, crammed against the window while you were stuck in the middle, but back then, he’d been too distracted arguing with Kaori in the front seat to notice the weight of your thigh against his. 

Now he couldn’t stop himself from wishing he paid more fucking attention. 

Eyes flitting over to your form, throat going dry at the sight of your still-plush thighs so out of his reach. 

“Why him?” He grunted when he pulled up to a stop light, fingers tapping his steering wheel, molars grinding as he stole another glimpse at you. 

You shrugged, just a little raise of your shoulders while you sighed. 

“He said he wanted to go on a date with me,” you murmured, refusing to look back at him. “Guess he changed his mind.” 

“He’s a moron,” Sukuna half-snarled, cringing when he realized how it came out.

A flash of hurt crossed your face, as he felt the fear of fumbling this chance with you rear back up. 

“For changing his mind,” he clarified, omitting the tiny detail that you’d be back on your date discussing Gojo’s salary or how big his cock was if he hadn’t intervened. “Not for-” 

“Don’t,” you mumbled. Stopping him before he could say what he meant.

“Look, I’ve been a dick,” he started, discomfort churning in his stomach having to apologize for anything in his life. 

“When aren’t you?” You muttered under your breath, swallowing hard as you continued to avoid looking straight at him. Just scanning over the road, glancing out the window or down at the floorboards, anywhere that wasn’t him.

He let out a disappointed huff, brow twitching. 

“The last time we talked, I was a fucking asshole,” he added, gravelly and gruff, even when he was trying to sound sincere. “You didn’t deserve that shit.” 

You turned to face him fully, but the light turned green, and he couldn’t see what face you were making as his foot shifted back to the gas pedal. He could make out your mouth starting to open in the edges of his vision, but he forced himself to continue. 

“I’m sorry.” 

You made a small noise that sounded like a squeak – and he was pretty sure his heart stopped. Something small but fierce sprouting in the deepest crevices of his chest, all his organs constricting as he struggled not to react with a noise of his own. 

“You’re sorry?” You repeated, as if an apology was totally absurd. 

“Yeah,” he soberly said, knuckles tightening across the steering wheel, barely able to keep his eyes on the road instead of studying your reaction. 

“For what?” You asked, and it felt like a test. 

One he was embarrassingly desperate to ace. 

All of it? 

Dismissing you and distancing himself the same way he always did? Convincing himself that all you would ever be was Jin’s friend? 

“For not seeing you,” he said under his breath, the answer landing in the air. 

You hesitated, pausing before you nodded. 

He didn't know if he got it right. 

But you relaxed over his version of dinner. Trading in your fancy appetizer for fast food, intently watching you dip your fries in sauce as you listened to him grumble about how shitty everything had been lately, begrudgingly admitting that he missed you coming around to his shop. 

You casually shrugged, as if you didn't miss him back. 

“Been busy,” you hummed, and he hated how the little curl of your lips after you said it made his stupid heart stall. 

Somehow though, you were still free tonight.

Enough that by your fourth or fifth yawn, he talked you back into watching a movie at his place. 

Jin would probably kill him if he knew. But then again, he hadn't stopped you from seeing Gojo. So how much could he actually care?

It wasn't like he was fucking you. 

Even if he was beginning to consider just how much he'd like to. 

But it felt almost more intimate for you to be this close, your thigh not quite touching his, knees curled up against your chest while you shared a blanket with him. Grabbing popcorn from the bowl on his lap and cracking jokes he might've called lame a few months ago before rolling your eyes at whatever was happening on screen. 

“This movie kinda sucks,” you whispered to him, as if you were in a theater instead of his apartment.

Speaking to him like a friend, giggling a little as one of your buttered fingers reached up to poke the crease between his brows. 

Were you always this fun? 

This pretty when your the shadows from the tv flickered across your face? Did your eyes usually glimmer like that, looking up at him like he was some kind of knight instead of just another dickhead? 

“Want me to change it?” He grumbled, already about to grab the remote before you shook your head. 

“I still want to see how it ends,” you half-whispered, and the softness to your voice did something treacherous to the pit of his stomach. Ripped open a gash, pried him apart until all he could think of was how hollow he felt. Hyper aware of a missing piece he was pretty sure was right in front of him. 

He wanted to see how this would end too. 

If you were another girl, he would've made a move. Slipped a hand underneath the blanket and ran it over your thigh, leaned in to trail hungry kisses down your throat. A means to an end – all to get his dick wet. 

But he wrapped his arm around your shoulders instead, pretended he didn't see the suspicious little glance you tossed his way. Satisfied himself just with the fact you didn't shove him away. 

You didn't get to see the end of the movie after all. Lulled to sleep with the pressure of his arm or the quiet comfort of the dim lights and low volume. Head tilted to the side at an uncomfortable angle as you dozed off and dreamed about – well, he didn't know what, but he hoped it was about him.

He waited until the credits were rolling to creep off the couch, readjusting you until you were resting on one of his pillows instead, pulling up the blanket so you were covered. 

Sukuna paused, just staring for a moment before he picked you up, cradling you against his chest and carrying you back to his bedroom where you'd be more comfortable. 

You didn't wake up. Not even when he walked over to where you left your stuff by his kitchen counter. Or when Sukuna slipped your phone out from your purse, coming back to unlock it with your thumb while you were still passed out. Scrolling through your recent slew of texts to find where Gojo was basically throwing himself at you and clicking on his contact. There was a message from an unknown number too, a huge paragraph that Sukuna didn't need to read to know was from him too, pointing fingers and directing the blame for tonight right his way. 

Blocking Gojo was easy.

Getting him to stay away from you? 

Well, it wasn’t that much harder. 

You softened up around him the next morning when you woke up and realized he'd taken the couch, nudging him awake to thank him before ditching like a one-night-stand would. But you were smiling again when you saw him, saying yes when he offered to pick you up and drop you off at work. Beaming when he admitted your drawings were never actually bad and asked to see them again. Letting him occupy your free time by slyly suggesting you come to his shop or his place for extra lessons and tips, a new weekly occurrence he caught himself thinking of as dates as one month bled into the next. 

It wasn't like Gojo could slip back in your life if you were too busy. 

And he couldn't visit you at work when Sukuna had made sure your family was aware of your, ah, stalker, and suggested they get a guard – claiming it would deter shoplifters too. 

If you were suspicious, you didn’t say anything. 

“So what, are you like, in love with her or-” Jin stopped himself mid-scoff, staring at Sukuna from across the counter, propping himself up on his elbows as he blankly stared at his brother. “You are.” 

“No, I’m not,” he grumbled, counting the cash left in his register as the sun set behind the trees outside. You had said so yourself. Called him a good friend for showing you proper shading on your last piece, before tucking a sketchbook underneath your arm and disappearing through his door to go back to your place. 

Despite his best efforts, you were still keeping him at arm’s length. 

And through all his attempts at shutting down his own feelings, they only seemed to burn brighter, the flames fanned by the realization you were more than he had ever given you credit for. Far more than he fucking deserved. 

Your awkwardness had become endearing. You were attentive and attractive and it was awful how many other things had only now started to register and rob him of his breath when you were around. 

“Don’t even think about making a move on-” 

The bell on the door chimed, and you were stepping through before Jin could say your name. 

Your eyes landed on Sukuna, soft and sparkling, a lit match thrown inside his chest as your mouth curled up in a pretty smile. His brother knew him better than he knew himself. 

Sukuna was falling for you fast. And he wasn’t sure he could catch himself anymore. 

“If you guys have plans, I can-”

He didn’t let you finish.

“Jin was just leaving,” Sukuna grunted, glaring at his brother like he’d toss him out if he didn’t go soon.  

You didn’t really get it. Couldn’t fully comprehend his sudden shift into being a semi-decent guy. You kept waiting for him to go back to normal, to push you back into the sidelines where you always belonged.

But he didn’t.

Week after week, he just seemed to worm his way deeper into your life, trying to occupy as much of it as he could. What? Did he have some weird change-of-heart and decide he didn’t want to be a dick?

Or were all those lingering touches and drawn-out stares just a figment of your imagination?

You glanced up at him again, mouth twitching into a smile you couldn’t help when you caught him already zeroed in on your face. 

Jin let out a low exhale, but you didn't even turn. 

“Don't make me an uncle,” he muttered, quiet enough you almost didn't hear him on his way out. Once it registered though, your nose scrunched up, now fully twisting towards him, ears perked like you were expecting Sukuna to scoff and say how ridiculous that was. 

“Get out,” he grumbled. 

You watched both of them, unsure eyes flickering back and forth until Jin left through the frosted glass doors. 

Sukuna sighed, shutting the cash register a little too hard, his cheeks almost tinted pink under the warm lights, aware you were studying him and still not offering some snarky retort back. 

“Surprised you didn't throw something at him,” you commented. This was it. 

The moment he'd make it clear how he saw you and remind you of where you were meant to be in this weird relationship.

Except – he shrugged. 

As if Jin wasn't in the wrong for suggesting there was something going on between the two of you. 

“Are you really surprised?” He muttered, and you could only blink. 

Holding your breath so he didn't catch how instinctively it hitched, frozen in place as your fingers fidgeted around your sketchbook. 

And then Sukuna stepped closer, cocking his head to the side as he assessed your stunned expression. 

“I like you,” he abruptly admitted, like he had to drag it from the depths of his stomach. Begrudgingly chewing over his next works as he walked right up to you, stopping just shy of touching before he plucked the book from your hands. “A lot.”

You waited for him to rip the rug out from under your feet and reveal that he didn’t actually mean any of it. 

“Sukuna,” you started, swallowing hard like it would make it any easier to choke down. 

How long had you been dying for him to say something like that? Dreaming of this moment right here? 

And the best you could offer was his name? 

“You don't believe me,” he accused, and all you could think of was being back at the bar, when those words came from your own lips. 

He had said it wasn't his business then. 

But what had made him decide you were now? 

Was it just the idea of you slipping away? Becoming someone else’s? Faced with the fact you weren't who he thought you were when he saw you on that dumb date? 

“Should I?” You asked. 

“What can I do to prove it to you?” He frowned, thick brows scrunched together. 

“I don't know,” you honestly answered. 

And you didn't really expect him to try to find an answer for you. 

It started small. Sort of. Awkward compliments he grumbled under his breath. Soda cans and snacks waiting for you when you came over. His fingers skimming over your skin, always standing a little too close. 

But after a couple weeks of you squinting at him, convinced he was still just trying to have sex with you, something changed. 

You just weren't sure which one of you cracked first. 

Perched prettily on the stool behind his counter, drawing on spare paper as he cleaned up from his last client of the day, pretending you couldn't feel him staring. 

“Hey,” he grunted, grabbing your attention easily as you glanced back at him. 

“Hm?” You tilted your head, fingers pausing on the pen. 

“You want a tattoo?” 

He was a bad influence. You'd always known that. But his dark eyes dragged you right down to his level. 

You couldn't believe you said yes. 

Or that you agreed to a goddamn tramp stamp. 

You readjusted, turning your head to the side, cheek squished against the cool leather as he tugged your shorts down. 

Shivering as you tried to keep yourself from reacting, painfully aware of everything that he was doing.

Every step felt excruciatingly slow, each drag of his gloved fingers over the small of your spine as he cleaned and prepped it. 

“Scared?” He grumbled, and you barely nodded. 

“Kinda,” you breathlessly admitted. 

“You change your mind?” He asked, and if you were smarter, maybe you would've told him to stop. 

Instead, you shook your head no. 

“Keep going.”

What was a better work of art? 

You, face-down and shivering on his chair? Or the fresh ink on the base of your spine, permanently marking you as his? 

The design was his, one you picked and approved, his initials worked into the fine lines. 

R.S. 

Maybe he should've pointed it out, but then again – you spent ten minutes reviewing the mock up and said you loved it.

And besides, he could always get your name on him too. Ask you to draw something just for him, sign it all pretty.

Make it even. 

“You wanna take a look?” He softly asked, jaw locked as he tried to permanently imprint the image of you like this in his head. 

“You can take a picture and show me,” you hummed, a cute little whine to your voice that made him unfortunately hard. 

Sukuna was still working on his listening skills, pulling his phone from his pocket and obediently snapping a few, ah, artistic photos. Ones that included your pretty ass and how your panties were pulled low on them so he had the space to work on your tattoo. 

It would be easier to walk around and show you, but instead he leaned forward, let his chest touch the top of your back as he held his phone in front of your face. 

“Pretty,” you softly said, pleased. 

“You're prettier,” he automatically replied, cringing when he remembered he was putting down his own work by accident. 

But you just giggled, trying to crane your neck back to look at him. 

“You did so good for me, gorgeous,” he murmured before you could mock him, purposely letting his mouth graze against your neck as you shivered. Shoulders scrunching up as you reflexively glanced up at you. 

God, he wanted to fuck you right here.  

And the way you were looking at him right now? 

He'd wager you would let him. 

“Do I have to pay for it?” You whispered, and he grunted. 

“I don't want your money,” he scoffed. 

He wanted something else. 

And after so fucking long, he was finally about to have it.

Sukuna hooked two fingers in the band of your panties, tugging them down hard and letting them get caught around your knees. Pausing, waiting for you to tell him to stop just to be met with silence as he readjusted, moved to where he'd have better access. 

Dragging his gloved hands up your thighs, spreading them apart and looking at how prettily you glistened for him. Soaked just from being in his seat.

He slowly took his gloves off, needing to feel you for real, skin on skin, truly touching instead of just skirting around it. Tracing over your ass, tender this time, taking his time to slip inside. 

Your warmth was a fucking wonderland. 

How many nights lately had he spent stroking it to the idea of this?

Hearing you moan was the closest he'd get to heaven, the sound reverberating inside of him as he added another digit, slowly shoving them in deeper, scissoring you open as your slick dripped down into the leather. 

“Gotta stretch you out,” he hissed, throat constricting when you clenched down around him. “Make sure it'll fit.” 

“Y-you're so cocky,” you whined, your lip forming a cute little ‘o’ as your cheek smushed against the seat. Moving in time with the thrusts of his fingers, wiggling down to meet his knuckles. 

“Gonna show you why,” Sukuna promised, just to feel the way you shifted and squirmed underneath him. 

It was addicting. You were. 

All your reactions, all those pretty faces you would make, everything about you left him craving more, more, more. 

His cock was leaking, aching pathetically where it was constrained in his boxers. Pre-cum dribbling out and making him aware of the dampness as he reluctantly pulled out to tug the zipper of his jeans down next, his dick springing up the second it was freed. 

Your eyes went wide, glancing back at him with an expression that made his cock twitch. Veins pulsing Z he tried to contain his impulse just to shove it all the way in. 

“I'll be careful,” he grunted, and you just nodded. 

You trusted him. 

And the thought of that made that little invisible string inside him snap. 

Careful. 

He repeated the word in his head, leaned against it like a crutch he could actually rely on. Shoving your shirt up higher, knowing he should probably fish a condom from his wallet for this, but unable to do anything except stare. 

“I thought you liked me,” you murmured, hips shifting like you were trying to snare him even more. 

“I do,” he breathed. 

“Then show me.” 

He was seeing fucking stars the second his cock was inside you. Eyes rolling back as inch by inch of his girth sunk into your heat, how you fit even better than his gloves did, snug and tight as he drove in deeper. Groaning your name, grabbing your hair, trying to tether himself to your body. 

His sanity tied to the sounds you were making, those cute whimpers as he rammed his hips down into your ass, careful not to press down on your new tattoo. 

“My pretty girl,” he claimed, gritty possession in his voice he no longer cared if you picked up on. So what if you did? You were his now. Not a fling or a fuck. Forever. “You're so goddamn perfect.”

“S-shut up,” you hissed back, nails digging into the chair as your grip on your own rationality slipped. 

You didn't need reason anymore. 

You had him. 

“You like me,” he accused, cock throbbing inside you when you whined at his tip kissing your cervix. 

“I-I-” You stuttered, so painfully pretty here. Sweat collecting on your brow, broken breathing loud in the quiet space, only the background music of his playlist joining it. 

“You do,” Sukuna huffed, pressing a kiss to your shoulder blade. 

Maybe he'd leave another tattoo there some day. His teeth marks? Some other subtle sign to mark you as his? 

 “M-maybe,” you half-whispered. 

And that was enough for him. 

Fucking into you harder, the chair beneath both of you creaking and protesting at the combined weight, his muscles straining as his thick cock continued to stretch you thin around him. His free hand slipped around your front, your body squirming at his touch, shuddering so sweetly. Rubbing drawn-out circles over your clit, massaging it with dedicated pressure, paying attention to how you liked it and adjusting properly. 

Sukuna wanted to drag his tongue over your throat, taste your sweat and tears as you whimpered his name. 

But he'd settle for feeling you twitch when you came, how your thighs trembled and shook, his hips rutting down as warm ropes of his cum spilled out into you. 

You'd be dripping by the time he pulled out, but he kept you plugged full of his cum even when you were both finished, relief still some far-fetched dream when his body was burning so hot for you. 

“Did you-” You swallowed hard, lashes fluttering as you looked back at him.

“I can buy you plan B,” he exhaled, still not pulling out – halfway hoping his seed would take anyway. 

“Okay,” you sighed too, shutting your eyes as your face relaxed. Just accepting it. Letting him hold you like this the same way you let him leave his mark on your skin. 

“We can shower at my place,” he muttered. “Still have to cover up your new tattoo.” 

“Oh,” you yawned, like the sex had made you sleepy. Content. “Okay.”

You blinked though, eyes slowly opening back up as you looked back at him one more time. 

“You're acting like you're my boyfriend,” you commented. 

“Because I am now,” he huffed. 

One of your brows arched up, lips pressing together. But you didn't say no. Didn't turn him down. 

Your hips shifted, and he saw the pearly-white cum starting to seep out from where his cock was slotted between your folds, connecting him to you. 

It was probably wrong to hope you'd get pregnant. 

But really, all he wanted was to take care of you now. And that couldn't be wrong. 

Could it? 

“You should get your tits pierced,” Satoru huffs out, looking up at you where you’re currently straddling him, gliding up and down on his thick cock. His eyes are fixed on your pretty chest bouncing for him each time you lift your hips, then sink back down on him, moaning as he stretches you out all over again. “They’d look so cute with a couple of little rings through them,” he grunts out as you grind yourself down on him, the tip of his cock bumping up against your cervix in that way that makes you dumb.

“Y-yeah?” You asked, lifting your hips to pull almost all the way off him only to sink quick. His thick shaft glides deep into you easily from how soaked you are. He’s been teasing your clit for the better part of an hour, playing a game of getting right to the edge of all you can take and pulling back before you actually fall into that dark abyss of pleasure. “Think so, baby?” You ask, your hips moving like sin.

He nods eagerly, white locks shifting with each jerky movement. “Hah, so cute, so fun to suck on,” he gasps as you swirl your hips in a mean circle. Suddenly, he sits up, hands going to your back to support you as he tilts you back just enough to capture one of your pert little nipples in his mouth. Alternating between sucking on it and swirling his tongue around it, he draws a little whine from your lips. His teeth graze over the sensitive peak, earning a whine, your back arching for him. When he releases it, he presses a quick little kiss to the other neglected bud and repeats the process. Now that both nipples are sufficiently attended to, he lies back down, his big hands sliding over to your hips and sinking into the soft flesh. “They’re pretty fun to suck on as is,” he adds, a cheeky smile on his lips, blue eyes both dark with lust and twinkling with mischief, “Do it all day if you let me.”

What an idiot. Your idiot, but still an idiot. “Yeah, I’ll bet you would,” you say derisively, rolling your eyes at him, but the next thing you know, he’s lifting his hips and driving so hard up into you that a moan is ripped from your mouth, eyes rolling back. The hands on your curves guide you up and down, holding you still as needed. Somehow, even though you’re on top, he’s still the one in control. That’s alright though; you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

“Don’t be a brat, baby,” Satoru coos, repeating the motion, shoving his cock so deep in you that you truly understand the meaning of having your guts rearranged. At your next cry—half moan, half scream—he chuckles darkly. “Look at that, where’s that smart mouth now?” Another drive of his hips upward, stuffing you full with his cock, so full you can feel every ridge, every jagged angry vein wrapping around the silken shaft. 

“Fu-fuck you,” you let out, just to be exactly what he just told you not to. 

“Hah, pretty girl, you’re just begging to have your pretty pussy ruined,” he purrs, his breath stuttering when your walls flutter around him. One of his hands releases your hips to slide between your legs and start rubbing filthy, firm circles over your swollen, achy clit. “You wanna come? Ask me nicely. Use your words, baby.”

“S-so mean,” you manage to get out.

“Mean? I’ll show you mean,” Satoru intones, then his fingers pinch your clit, and the orgasm that rips through you has you spasming around his cock, soaking it in your slick. Pleasure floods your body like a tsunami wave, originating from your center. Your thighs are shaking, toes curling, and your hips are bucking like crazy. Satoru’s eyes flick between your expression of bliss and the way your tits bounce while you ride him like your life depends on it. “Look at that, you’re being such a good girl now. No more of that attitude,” he purrs out breathlessly. 

“Ah, Toru, feels so good,” the words are a desperate whimper, your whole body awash in bliss. Your walls clench around him, spasming even tighter around his fat cock than you usually squeeze him for a moment. 

Seconds later, Satoru follows you over the edge, spilling deep inside you. The sensation of his cock twitching and his warm, sticky cum settling in your guts makes you whine. Slowly, you collapse against him, falling into his chest, his arms wrapping around you to stroke the smooth, soft skin of your back. Both of you lay there, Satoru’s cock softening inside you, as you each catch your breath. 

This is the second best part, you know, besides the soul-splintering orgasms. These moments afterward where he holds you in his big, strong arms and you listen to his heartbeat. 

After a while, Satoru hums into your hair and says, “So what do you say?”

“To what?” You ask, brow arching. 

He rolls his eyes and taps you on the nose, making you shoot him a glare, before saying, “To getting your nipples pierced, pretty girl.” He pauses and grins at you. “I was serious about that. I’ll pay for them and everything.”

Satoru has always liked your style. He’s always loved the colorful artwork adorning your body, as well as all your piercings and the rotating shades of your hair. You know because he’s made no secret of it at all. His first words to you ever were, “Hey, I think your industrial piercing is super cool. Name’s Satoru.” Delivered with that cheeky smile you’ve grown to love. The first time the two of you fucked, in his room at his frat house, he made a point of kissing an outline around each of your tattoos. When he reached the one between your tits, he rubbed the tip of his nose over your skin and whispered, “This one’s my favorite.” Of course it was, still is. 

So, his suggestion isn’t entirely out of left field, but you can’t say you’re not surprised he’s requesting things. Nipple piercings. They’re something you’ve considered getting before, but have never actually bitten the bullet. Last year, you got your Medusa done, and Satoru was all about it, though. He went on and on about how cute it looked on you. Maybe getting your tits done wouldn’t be so bad. They do take a while to heal, though; some of your friends have them and have told you about what it’s like. The time isn’t a problem for you, but Satoru? Asking him to go without sucking on your tit would be like asking a bear not to fish salmon from the river.  

“Are you sure you want that?” You ask, to make sure he understands. “They’ll take time to heal, which means your titty privileges will be suspended for at least six months.”

His mouth immediately tugs into a frown. Well, that definitely got his attention. Pretty blue eyes flicking briefly to where your tits are pressed into his skin, he looks back up at you and whines pathetically, “Seriously? Six months? That’s absurd.” Somehow, he looks exactly like a cat who’s been informed their owner has no food to give them. His lower lip juts out, and he mutters petulantly, like this wasn’t his idea to begin with, “Fine. I can deal for six months.”

“Can you though?”

He scoffs and pulls you completely on top of him. The broad expanse of his palm sweeps down your back to your ass, where he grips a firm handful of the soft flesh. “Tch. I’ll just have to find something else to suck on instead,” he mumbles against your neck, without stopping his groping. 

“If you say something weird, I’m gonna strangle you,” you reply seriously, afraid he’ll say something horrible, such as like your toes or like your fingers. The thought sends a shudder down your spine. You wouldn’t put it past him to say something like that just to get a reaction out of you. 

“Kinky,” he shoots back.

“You’re such an idiot.”

♡

The next day you find yourself at your usual tattoo and piercing parlor, Ink Black Hearts. It’s a few blocks from the apartment you share with Satoru, and you’ve been going there for years. The only different thing is that Satoru is accompanying you, which has never happened before. When you walk in, the receptionist, a freshman college student named Maki, with green hair, golden eyes, and a full sleeve down one arm, greets you. 

“Hey, I wanted to do a walk-in consultation with Yuki for a set of nipple piercings,” you say as you walk up to the counter and smile at her. “Any chance she has an opening?”

“Yuki’s out of town on vacation,” Maki replies, “But Choso’s here. He’s between appointments, so he should be able to do the consult. If everything works out, there should be just enough time for him to do the piercing too.”

You’ve never worked with Choso before. Yuki is the only piercer you’ve used here, but it’s just a consultation for now, so you shrug agreeably and say, “That’s fine.” 

“Alright. I’ll let him know. Wait here,” Maki says before disappearing behind the curtain that separates the main parlor from the waiting room. 

As soon as she’s gone, though, Satoru practically drapes himself over you and hisses, “Him? It’s a guy?” His arms wrap around you possessively, tugging your body up against his. 

Rolling your eyes, you reply, “Piercing and tattooing are male-dominated fields, baby. My regular piercer is out right now; you just heard it yourself. He’s who they have.” You can’t help the smug undertone in your voice. So what if you like it a little when he’s jealous? So what if maybe, from time to time, you do things on purpose to make him jealous. Like right now you could easily say ‘We’ll just come back when Yuki is available’, but you won’t. Instead you add, “Choose wisely because if we don’t do the consult today, then I’m not getting them done.” Okay, maybe you’re a little toxic, just a tiny bit.

Now, Satoru is really pouting. “You’re doing this on purpose,” he accuses, but he can’t prove it, and you’re sure as hell not going to admit it. 

“No, but Yuki might be booked out pretty far once she gets back from her vacation, so it might be a long-ass wait,” you counter. It’s a valid concern, and most likely true, but he doesn’t need to know that it’s not your only reason for wanting to get it out of the way. 

Just then, Maki parts the curtain and steps into the waiting room. “Choso is good to take a look. You can head back now.”

You arch your brow up at Satoru in silent question. Well, are we going in or waiting? Satoru glances between the curtain and you before shaking his head and mumbling, “Fine, let’s just get it over with.” He sounds decidedly less happy with his plan than he did ten minutes earlier. 

“He’s a professional, Satoru. I don’t think you need to worry,” you say as you start to the back room, but secretly you hope he stares at your tits in a way that makes Satoru that much more jealous and pissed off. “He’ll be too focused on doing his job to be turned on by my tits.”

“No, he won’t,” Satoru argues petulantly.

You roll your eyes and shake your head, but Satoru isn’t bothered in the slightest. He reaches up and parts the curtain for you with his other arm wrapped around you, holding you tight to him. The parlor smells of ink, blood, and sanitizer—a familiar scent. Four tattoo chairs are occupying the small space and one flat adjustable treatment bed. Choso is sitting at the very back, a small desk space for the artists to sketch out their designs or print them in the transferable ink. 

When you and Satoru start walking back, the thud of your overgrown boyfriend’s footsteps makes him look up at you. Dark brown eyes meet yours, and the smudged reddish-purple eyeshadow around them does nothing to hide how tired he looks. He has the look of someone who’s chronically exhausted, but he’s way too young to look like that. He can’t be any older than you or Satoru. An oversized t-shirt hangs loose over his broad shoulders, hiding much of his build, but if his arms are anything to go by, then you’d guess lean, muscular. Two puffs of shaggy brown hair are tied up on his head, giving him an almost innocent appearance. There’s a line tattooed across the bridge of his nose, and he might have a full sleeve as well. His piercings are eye-catching—snake-bites, septum, small gauges, several other ear piercings. 

You don’t miss the way his eyes drag over your body, hovering on your waist, exposed by the crop top and shorts combo you’re wearing, then up to the very tits he’s meant to pierce. Of course, Satoru immediately notices that as well, and the possessive hold he has around you tightens, one long arm wrapping around your middle to splay across your skin in a blatant show of claim. 

“Hey, I’m here for a nipple piercing consultation,” you explain before Satoru can open his mouth and say something ridiculous. 

“Right,” Choso replies, jerking his head in the direction of the tattoo chair, “Take a seat, and, uh, take your shirt bra off. Need to see your anatomy to make sure it’ll work.”

You give him a pretty smile that has Satoru’s fingers digging into your skin. “Oh, I didn’t wear a bra,” you say breezily, like you’ve said you’re gonna grab coffee after. Satoru stiffens behind you, clearly not expecting that either. Oops. You barely manage to shrug your clingy boyfriend off as you walk over to the nearest chair, but eventually he lets you go, however reluctantly. So, he just hovers right behind you. Dropping into the chair, you watch as Choso slowly makes his way over. 

“Lift up—“ Choso starts, but cuts himself off when he sees you’re already doing it.

Your bare tits bounce free, pert little nipples stiff. Choso’s eyes immediately follow them, and he crouches down to get a better look.

“Seriously?” Satoru grouses, leaning over the chair. “Why don’t you take a picture? It’ll last longer.”

Choso doesn’t react. In fact, he doesn’t do or say anything, just stares at the plush flesh of your tits, taking in the soft-looking globes. He barely notices Satoru at all. And you’d swear that you see him drag the tip of his tongue across his bottom lip. Oh, maybe Satoru was a little right, and the piercer does like your pretty tits. He leans forward a little; whether intentionally or unintentionally is anybody’s guess. 

“I need to feel them to make sure they’ll hold the bar,” he blurts out, voice rough, the tips of his ears and his cheeks turning pink. Cute. Something tells you that he’s a liar, though. He could probably tell from the moment you lifted your shirt if you were a good candidate for the piercings, but there’s something in his eyes that makes you almost certain he just wants an excuse to touch them.

“No way,” Satoru snaps before you can even open your mouth. If he were a cat, he’d be bristling right now.

“He’s just feeling them to make sure he wouldn’t damage them by piercing them,” you coax, gently running your hand up and down his arm. He’s such a jealous baby. “He’s gonna have his hands on them for less than thirty seconds. He’s already seen them. Just let him do his job.” You’re being soft for him, but at the same time, your thighs press together because, fuck, you’re so turned on by this. It only makes you want to push, to make him even more jealous, to see just how far you could go before he snaps.

“But babyyy …” he whines pathetically, “They’re for me.” This fucking guy.  “Supposed to be all mine.” Satoru shoots Choso an irritated look like you getting the nipple piercings wasn’t his own idea. 

Craning your neck to look back at him, you say, “And him touching them for twenty seconds isn’t going to change that.” God, you’re so fucking wet right now, a damp spot forming rapidly in the center of your panties. It’s not your fault that he’s so fucking hot when he’s jealous. 

He wraps his arms around your shoulders, the irritation rolling off him in waves. “Fine,” he mutters, “But I’m touching them too.” And before you can stop him, he reaches down to cup the flesh of your tits, holding them in his big palms. “Alright, if you have to touch them, then do it now, I guess,” Satoru says, clearly unhappy despite the compromise he came up with. His thumbs stroke slow circles over the soft mounds. 

“Talk about possessive,” Choso says under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear. Then he leans forward and pinches one of your nipples between his steady fingers and rolls it delicately. The touch sends a shudder down your spine, which has Satoru’s grip on your tits tightening. 

Leaning forward, he presses his mouth to your ear and breathes, “Little brat, like I didn’t fucking feel that. You’re loving this. You like seeing me all pissed off and jealous, huh?” Then, he scoffs, not even giving you a chance to reply before he’s sucking a wet hickey into your neck as punishment.

Choso’s fingers pause on your nipple, still holding the little bud between his fingers, and he stares up at Satoru with a horrified, disgusted kind of fascination. For just a second, he pinches your nipple a little harder, which makes you whimper.

“Alright, you can take your fucking hands off her,” Satoru immediately snaps after the sound slips from your lips. Fuck, the angrier he gets, the more soaked your panties grow. 

Choso’s hand snaps back like it’s been burned, instantly obeying Satoru on sheer instinct. He blinks up at you two, the flush on his cheeks deepening, and says low and rough, “Yeah, piercing will be fine. I’ll get the shit.” Then, he practically flees. 

Your eyes track Choso as he heads into the back room. As soon as he’s gone, you look back up at Satoru and, like the brat you are, say, “He’s kinda cute.” It’s the truth, but you’re only saying it to piss him off even more. 

Satoru stiffens again, but then his thumbs swipe over the stiff peaks of your nipples, and he leans in close to whisper against your ear, “Watch your mouth, sweetheart, or I’ll have to put you in your place when we get home.” The words are punctuated with a little bite to your earlobe, just hard enough to make you wince at the sting. “Seems like you might need a reminder of who this pretty body belongs to, hmm?” His eyes flick to the door Choso disappeared through before he pinches your little nipples hard enough that you have to bite your lip to keep from letting out a sound. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. The more he talks, the more you want him to bend you over the nearest flat surface or shove you up against the closest wall and fuck you so hard your bones rattle. “See, that’s funny, because last I checked it belongs to me,” you reply with a little bit of an attitude, but your mouth is dry, and your thighs keep pressing together in desperate search of friction. 

Before Satoru has a chance to say anything else, Choso is coming back into the room with supplies in hand—gauze pads, alcohol wipes, packaged sterile needles, and a couple of pieces of plain stainless steel jewelry. He sets all of it down on a tray next to the treatment table and looks over at you, “Lie on the table.”

Satoru scoffs and mutters something under his breath that you don’t quite catch. But you just smirk and roll your eyes as you push yourself up from the chair and head over to the table. Sliding onto the flat surface, you lie on your back and lift yourself shirt again. Crouching down beside you, Satoru slips his hand into yours, watching like a hawk as Choso rips open the alcohol wipe packages and gently cleans each of your nipples. The cloth is damp, cool, and rough against the sensitive skin. When he’s done sanitizing them, he takes another good look at them before marking the points where he’s going to pierce with a soft-tipped pen. 

When he leans over you, he’s so close that you can feel his breath hitting your skin. It makes your cheeks flush and has you biting back another sound. Your thighs press together again, your panties soaked through at this point. Between Satoru’s jealousy and the way this cute piercer is eyeing up your tits like he wants to suck them until you’re whimpering his name, you’re a fucking mess.

“Do you really have to be so fucking close?” Satoru practically growls, his pretty blue eyes narrowing on Choso. His expression says he’s fighting all of his demons at once right now, and you’re pretty sure he wants to beat the poor guy into a pulp just from having touched or seen your tits.

Without looking up, the man carefully inspecting your breasts replies, too neutral, “Do you want them to be crooked?” 

You have to bite your tongue to keep from laughing. A scoff is Satoru’s only reply, but his hand tightens around yours, and he doesn’t argue. Choso straightens up and grabs something from the tray off to the side. The kkrrrssshhh of the needle package being ripped open is loud in the room somehow, despite the generic rock music playing in the background. 

“Didn’t think so.” Picking up one long, thick needle, Choso leans over you again. Slowly, he reaches out and grasps your left nipple firmly. The pad of his thumb rolls it gently into place, eyes fixed on your soft skin. Once he has it lined up the way he wants, he positions the needle, the pointed tip digging into your skin. “Hold your breath for me, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call her sweetheart. She’s not your sweetheart,” Satoru snaps, prompting the poor guy subjected to his jealous pouting to roll his eyes. You just do as asked, staying perfectly still. 

Choso’s eyes never leave your pretty little nipple. No, he ignores Satoru entirely, which only serves to piss your boyfriend off more. “On the count of three,” he says, eyes flicking up to yours briefly before darting down to where he’s holding the needle against your skin. “One, two—“ With no warning, he pierces through your flesh. “That’s it. Good job,” he murmurs, voice low and soothing.

You hiss between your teeth, your hand squeezing hard around Satoru’s, as the sting and the burn hit you. “What the fuck happened to three?” You bite out. 

Choso shrugs and says easily, “You would have tensed up the second I got to three.” He slides the jewelry piece onto the needle and pulls it snugly into the fresh hole. Finally, he screws the ball onto the end. Repeating the process with your right nipple, he has both of them done in less than fifteen minutes. Now, you just have to deal with swollen, screaming nipples for the next month. He tilts his head, eyes darting between each piercing like he’s mentally comparing them, “Nice. They look, ah, great on you.”

“Tch. She doesn’t need you to tell her that,” Satoru pouts, then turning to you he says in a sickeningly sweet tone, “Baby, your tits look so pretty. Makes me wanna put them in my mouth.”

“Yeah, no. Don’t do that,” Choso says firmly, shooting Satoru a pointed look, “No sucking, no pinching, no pulling. Clean with saline in the mornings and before you go to bed. Try and wear clothing that fits well, not too loose, not too tight. Be especially careful drying off from the shower. You don’t want them to snag.”

You nod diligently at each of his instructions, but it’s hard to listen with how your nipples are throbbing in pain. For his part, Satoru looks more and more crestfallen as he’s banned from three of his favorite activities for the foreseeable future. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, no fun allowed for the next six months,” he mumbles, tugging your shirt down at the same time to put your tits away. You could almost swear that Choso almost looks a little disappointed for a second once you’re all covered up again. 

Giving him a big, sweet smile, you say, “Thank you so much! You did such a good job. I really, really like them.” Naturally, Satoru is scowling the second the kind words leave your mouth. 

Choso’s cheeks turn red all over again at your praise. A broad hand comes up, and he scratches the back of his head before saying quietly, “No problem. Just glad I could help. They’re really pr—well, you were a good candidate for them, anyway.” Then he rubs the tip of his nose like he’s not quite sure what to do with his hands. “Come back in three months for a healing check, unless something looks wrong. You can come back sooner if you need to.” He really is a cutie. If you weren’t in a committed relationship with your possessive, if not a little crazy, boyfriend, you might have fucked him. Scratch that, you definitely would have fucked him.

Sliding off the treatment table, you wriggle your fingers at Choso and say in a sing-song, “Byyyeeee. See you in three months. Thanks again.” It sounds flirty even to your own ears, which makes his blush deepen and makes Satoru’s scowl even fiercer. 

As you’re walking away, you hear your boyfriend say very passive-aggressively, “Here.” You look over your shoulder just in time to see him shove a wad of cash towards Choso before following after you. On your way out of the tattoo parlor, you wave goodbye to Maki, and Satoru catches up with you to throw his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close against him. Once you’re out of the tattoo parlor, Satoru leans in close and murmurs against your ear, “You’re so gonna pay for that little show you put on in there.”

You just grab him and pull him in for a kiss. With a teasing smile, you say coyly, “Promise?”

The way he smacks your ass—the crack, the sharp sting—tells you just how serious he is and what’s waiting in store for you once the two of you get home. And that makes your sopping cunt clench around nothing. 

♡

The nipple piercings are difficult to get used to. In the initial weeks, you have to be extremely careful not to get them snagged on anything, because you learned your lesson the first and only time it’s happened. Luckily, nothing was damaged; it just hurt like a motherfucker. Satoru held an ice pack to your tit for an hour, stroking your back, murmuring sweet nothings to you the whole time. 

The longer you have them, though, the more you become accustomed to the feel of them in your body. You’re religious about cleaning them, which has made the healing process relatively uncomplicated so far. And you have to admit, they do look quite cute through your little nipples. Once they’re healed enough, you’ll be able to swap jewelry, and you’re looking forward to that; a ring with a gem would be really pretty. 

Three months go by in the blink of an eye. You almost forget about the appointment until Satoru reminds you that you’re supposed to get them looked at again to make sure they’re healing alright. And, of course, there’s no way he’s letting you go alone after the last time. Not while a certain piercer was looking at his baby’s tits with a weight that was heavy and hungry.

When you arrive at the tattoo parlor, you spot Yuki first, sporting a faint tan, the lingering vestiges of her vacation still visible on her body. She’s talking to a client, though, so you don’t want to interrupt. Turning to Maki, you say, “I’m here to have my nipples checked out. Choso pierced them a few months back.”

“Oh, he just got here for the day. Good timing,” Maki replies, barely looking up from the schoolwork she’s puzzling through at the counter. “He should be back there. You can just go ahead.” A pen spins deftly through her nimble fingers, then back again. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Satoru says, his hand curling into your arm just a smidge too tight for half a second. Then, he jerks his chin toward Yuki and asks,  “Can’t we wait for her?”

“She’s about to do a tattoo for a new client,” Maki says flatly, clearly over Satoru already. Her golden, grown eyes narrow on him and she adds, “If you want to wait two or three hours, then be my guest. But Choso is here and available.”

You can feel Satoru’s eye roll. “Fine,” he mutters petulantly. “Whatever. Let’s just get this over with.” Like a cat upset about its owner acquiring a new kitten, he is not afraid to make his displeasure known.

Maki and you exchange looks, and you just shrug off his arm and pinch Satoru’s side. “Don’t be an ass,” you mutter, then you push through the curtain. Satoru yelps and then jogs after you, but doesn’t push his luck by acting like a human poncho again. 

It’s a little busier in here than you’re used to. The owner of the shop, Sukuna, is tattooing someone in one of the chairs near the entrance. Yuki is talking to her client, who has someone with him. When she spots you, she gives you a big smile and waves at you, both of which you return, even blowing her a kiss. Choso is at the very back, setting things up for his next appointment, it seems.

You watch the smooth, steady, almost graceful movements as he carries the necessary supplies next to an empty chair. When he looks up, he spots you, dark eyes widening, then darting down to your tits only to snap back up to your face. Tilting your head to the side, you smile at him so sweet that it makes his cheeks burn. 

His hair is down today, long, shaggy, and so soft-looking. No oversized t-shirt today, but rather a tank top that shows off his muscular arms, as well as the sleeve and a half of art he has going down them. 

“Hi Choso,” you say cheerily, “I was here a few months ago to get—“

“I remember,” he cuts you off, eyes drifting over to Satoru who’s looming behind you like some sort of guard dog. It’s not long before his gaze finds you again though and he says with the barest smile, “Back for your healing check?”

You nod, “Yep! Think you can squeeze me in?” Satoru rushes up to throw his arm around you again in a move that reeks of laying a claim. This time you don’t shrug him off, though. He’ll just keep pouting and bothering you if you don’t throw him some sort of bone.

Choso’s smile widens, and he replies softly, “I think I can make that work. Take a seat.”

“Hello, I’m right here,” Satoru complains, loudly enough that you roll your eyes at his dramatics. “Fucking flirting right in front of me,” he hisses under his breath, but you can tell Choso hears by the way he briefly goes stiff.

Sucking your teeth, you drop down into the chair and say, “I’m not flirting.” You 100% are flirting, shamelessly so, and just like usual, the more irritated and jealous Satoru gets, the wetter you get. The lesson he taught you last time clearly didn’t stick, or maybe it did stick, and now you’re ready to get punished all over again.

“Liar,” Satoru shoots back. He leans against the back of the chair, hands going to your shoulders to massage the crook there and up the back of your neck. “You’re being such a brat again,” he says, his tone all warning. 

“Am I?” You ask playfully as Choso rounds the side to stand in front of you. Of course, you’re sans bra again, for convenience. Lifting your shirt, you reveal your bare tits to him again. He might not even notice he’s doing it, but his tongue swipes along his lower lip, his dark eyes trained on your plush curves with an intense kind of focus. There it is. That’s the expression you hoped to see. 

He crouches down to get a better look, leaning forward to get a close look. Without asking, he reaches out and pushes the jewelry a bit, fingers brushing the sensitive skin in a way that makes your thighs press together. Behind you, you can hear Satoru’s teeth grind together. Your breath hitches when he turns the bar just slightly, the sensation strange and foreign.

Dark eyes meet yours. “That hurt?” He sounds almost guilty.

You shake your head. It really didn’t hurt. “No, just surprised me is all.”

He nods and pulls back a little, although his reticence is obvious in the slow way his hand drops to his side. Glancing from you to Satoru, then back down to you, “Then look good. The healing is coming along nicely. Be easy with them still, and make sure not to snag them on anything.” He starts to walk away but pauses. Then, he lets out a sigh and lopes back, “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d love to take a picture for the parlor’s portfolio.” He clears his throat and says awkwardly, “They really do look very nice. The, uh, piercings, I mean.”

You smirk and open your mouth, but your boyfriend beats you to it. 

“No. No way,” Satoru says, reaching down to tug your shirt down so quickly it’s like he’s afraid Choso is going to whip out a camera right there and start taking pictures. 

“Oh come on,” you whine, looking up at him. If he can pout, so can you, after all; plus, he’s a lot more susceptible to your pouting than you are to his. It’s actually pretty easy to get what you want from Satoru. “Pleeeaaassseee,” you wheedle, looking up at him through your lashes. “If you let me, I’ll give you road head on the way home.”

Choso chokes, then has a slight coughing fit, his face turning a deep burgundy, but you’re sure it’s from embarrassment rather than the coughing. It makes you giggle. Eyes narrowing on you, Satoru says, “Tch. Roadhead? Try harder, sweets.”

“Well, what do you want then?” You demand, not wanting to sit here and play twenty questions. 

Satoru smirks and makes a big show of humming thoughtfully and tapping on his chin. “Go off your birth control?” He suggests cheerfully, like he’s asking you to pick a new show to watch instead of knocking you up. 

For a second, you just stare at him dumbfounded. His jealousy must be driving him crazy if he’s out here suggesting things like that. “You’re delusional,” you snap, reaching up to smack him on the arm. “In your fucking dreams.”

“Hah. No. In your wet dreams,” Satoru counters without missing a beat. The cheeky grin he gives you makes you want to pummel him. But you’ll settle for something else right now. 

You scoff and look up at Choso. “I’ll do the photo. Ignore him.” Then, glancing up at Satoru, you shoot him a dirty look and say. Are you doing this just to push his buttons? Maybe a little. “I offered you roadhead and, now, because of your greed, you get nothing.”

“Hey, wait a second, I’ll take the roadhead, I’ll take the roadhead,” he nearly trips over his own tongue trying to get the words out. 

While you and Satoru bicker back and forth, Choso, who you’re certain has to be sick of you and your overly enmeshed boyfriend, just gets up and goes to grab the camera. When he returns, it dangles from his hand by a thin black strap. It’s an old Polaroid camera, beat up in a way that tells you it’s someone’s camera, not the parlor’s. It’s a camera that has had its lens looked through with love on adored subjects.

“Her face isn’t gonna be in this, right?” Satoru demands. 

Choso shakes his head. “No. Close-ups only.”

“You owe me,” Satoru pouts, and you just know he’s salty as hell right now. The last time you pissed him off like this, he fucked you until your cunt was sore and you’d come so many times you were begging for him to relent. You couldn’t even walk the next day—had to call out of work.

Choso takes a few steps closer, and you decide now is a prime opportunity to fuck with the poor guy. Using your arms, you push your tits together to make them look extra plump, then you give him the outlets look you can muster up. Jaw working, his Adam’s apple jumps rapidly up and down. His jaw falls open a little bit, and he just stares for a minute, until Satoru snaps, “Well, if you’re gonna take the fucking picture, then take the fucking picture.” 

“Right,” Choso breathes before springing into action. Immediately, he shakes his head and lifts the camera. He takes one picture and sticks it in a box on the counter, then takes a second and does the same. After a few seconds, he pulls the first picture out to let it finish developing under the light. Meanwhile, you pull your shirt down again before your boyfriend takes it upon himself again. When it’s ready, he hands it to you. 

Oh. Wow. Your tits really do look cute with the piercings, all plumped up like that. “Here, this is for you to keep,” you say, handing it to Satoru. “Consider it your compensation.”

“A pittance,” he complains jokingly, but he takes the picture from you anyway and hurriedly stuffs it in his pocket at the dirty look you throw his way, like he’s afraid you’ll take that back too. Fair assumption on his part because you were about to. 

Rolling your eyes at his theatrics, you finally stand up from the chair. “Thanks, Cho. Maybe I’ll have to make you my regular piercer,” you tease, and it puts an expression of such profound want on his face that your walls clench around nothing. 

“Try not to jerk yourself off too hard to the picture,” Satoru taunts irritatedly, sneaking in one last jab that reeks of jealousy. The space between your thighs gets even more damp and achy. Your boyfriend follows on your heels as you walk out the door. His arm wraps around your waist and slides into your back pocket to give your ass a little squeeze. After waving goodbye to Yuki and then Maki, you’re headed out the door and into the buttery sunlight of the late afternoon.

“You know, I’m getting really tired of that attitude you seem to get whenever you see him,” Satoru says eventually, the sounds of passing traffic loud and obtrusive on your walk back to the car. That’s also fair. You have been extraordinarily bratty where the cute piercer is concerned. He seems genuinely put out over it too, which isn’t what you wanted; you just wanted to have a little fun at his expense. 

“Sorry baby,” you say sheepishly. Then, looking over at him, you sink your teeth into your lower lip. At last, you admit, “I just think you’re really hot when you’re jealous.”

The corners of his mouth turn up a bit, much better than that dreary frown he was wearing five seconds ago. “You think I’m hot?” He asks, like you haven’t been together for years, like it’s some sort of surprise. 

“Idiot,” you say, shaking your head as the two of you arrive at Satoru’s car. The black Mercedes-Benz glints in the afternoon light, the windows tinted as dark as they legally can be. “Of course I think you’re hot. You’re the most gorgeous man I’ve ever laid eyes on.” 

That drags a full, albeit reluctant, smile from him. He reaches out and grabs your arm, pulling you into him. His head tilts down until your noses brush together. Without giving you warning or time to prepare yourself, his lips capture yours in a deep, greedy kiss. He groans into your mouth as his tongue sweeps into yours, parting your lips forcibly. Your lashes flutter; the weak-in-the-knees feeling you get whenever he kisses you is so strong you nearly buckle then and there. Pushing you up against his car, his knee slots between your thighs and grinds against your clothed pussy. He kisses you breathless, until your head is spinning and you can’t tell up from down or left from right. 

When he finally breaks it, you gasp for air, drawing great, big gusts into your lungs. A string of saliva connects his lips to yours still, but then his tongue swipes out to sever it. “Pretty girl, you’re all mine. Don’t you ever forget that.”

He finally releases you, allowing you to scramble inside and take up your spot as passenger princess. Satoru follows not far behind, sliding into the driver’s side and starting the car. After both of you are settled in, Satoru pulls the vehicle smoothly away. He weaves in and out of the city traffic with ease, arms corded with muscle flexing with each turn, which makes your mouth water for him. 

“You don’t think it’s hot? Other men wanting me when you’re the one who gets to share a home with me? Who gets to be inside me?” You look at him out of the corner of your eye. 

His eyes dart over to you, just for a second, then back to the road. “I’ve never thought about it like that before,” he admits, shifting in his seat. He wets his lips with the tip of his tongue and murmurs, “You’re a little fucking tease.” Well, he’s not wrong. Teasing is at least half the fun, maybe more than. 

“So what? Don’t tell me you don’t think it wouldn’t be fun to stuff me full of your cock and make him watch,” you say, low and soft. “Or, give him a little taste while reminding him that you get to have everything. Make him listen to me moan for you.” You shrug, and lean back in the passenger seat, making yourself fully comfortable. “I don’t know, I think it’s pretty hot.”

Satoru’s next words come out strangled. “I see your point.” When you look over at him, he’s sporting a fat bulge, the outline of his cock pressing against the front of his pants. “Still a tease though.” He clears his throat and adds, “You gonna help me with this? It’s all your fault anyway.”

You tip your head back and laugh. “Hmm, I thought roadhead didn’t interest you enough,” you say pointedly.

“Okay, okay, I get it. I should be grateful for what I’m offered,” he says. “Please, baby, I’m begging you.”  His hips lift just slightly, like he’s seeking friction he won’t find. “I’ll give you anything you want, pretty girl.” When he looks over at you, you can see the desperation in his eyes. It’s a good thing Satoru is no king because you get the feeling he’d sell the keys to a kingdom for you. 

Slowly, your hand moves over the center console until it comes to rest on his thigh. You can feel his warmth, even through the fabric of his pants. Sliding your hand over to his straining bulge, you palm it first, giving it a few rough strokes over the fabric until your boyfriend is moaning, his teeth biting into his lower lip.

“Keep your eyes on the road,” you sing-song as you reach for his zipper. 

It takes some doing, but you manage to unzip his pants and work his cock free. When it springs out fully, you take some time to admire the flushed pink head, leaking from the slit at the very tip, the thick jagged veins wrapping around the impressive length and girth of him. One thing you absolutely love about Satoru? How fucking big his cock is.

The first time he fucked you, you knew there was no going back once you’d felt him stretching you out. And he knew it too. He was so fucking cocky about it back then too, made sure to rail you extra hard to make sure you never forgot that feeling. And you haven’t.

Leaning over the center console, you lap at the tip of his cock, tasting those salty-sweet clear beads resting on the crown. You moan at the taste and swirl your tongue all the way around the head, once, twice, before sucking him fully into your mouth. Satoru groans in reply, hips bucking up just slightly as he tries to fit more of himself between your lips. 

The velvet feel of him and the way he tastes are intoxicating. Swirling your tongue around his tip, you then take him all the way back, back, back until his engorged tip bumps the back of your throat and you choke. “Good girl,” Satoru grits out, “Sweet thing. So good for me.”

Slowly, you pull back again and swirl your tongue around the tip, dragging it up the sensitive underside. For several minutes you tease him just like that, which has him groaning and whining, but when you finally start to suck him in earnest, he has to fight to keep his eyes on the road, to keep his huge hands clenched around the steering wheel. You hollow your cheeks and give him as you pull back off him, giving him that tight suction you know drives him crazy. When you take him all the way into your mouth again

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he lets out, and you can feel the muscles in his thighs tensing and relaxing repeatedly, almost shaking. “Mmmm, my baby sucks cock so good. You love it, don’t you?” At the way you moan around his thick cock in reply, a breathy laugh leaves his lips before he says, “And you wonder why I get so jealous. It’s because you’re perfect, sweet girl.”

You look up at him through your lashes, catching his eyes right as he happens to glance down at you. There’s a soft expression on his face that makes your walls clench hard around nothing, something like adoration. It only makes you want to suck him down even more, another moan vibrating around his cock that makes his hips buck up gently. God, you fucking love tasting him, love feeling him stretching out your throat. 

When he finally comes down your throat with a gasp, his cock twitching against your tongue as he spills thick, sticky white threads of cum into your eagerly awaiting mouth, you swallow it all with a moan. Why he thinks anyone could steal you away from him, you have no fucking clue, because you’d be hard-pressed to give up moments like these.

And little do you know that while you’re sucking your boyfriend off on the way home, a certain piercer is frantically jerking his cock to you in the bathroom of the tattoo parlor, the picture of your tits clenched in his hand, teeth biting hard into his lower lip to keep silent. Without even knowing it, you have two men coming for you at once. 

♡

It’s late at night when you and Satoru show up at Ink Black Hearts for your last healing check and your jewelry change. It’s so late that not even Maki is in the shop acting as receptionist. After Satoru opens up the door for you and you duck inside, you find the waiting area entirely empty. The lights are dimmed, the sky outside is practically black, the light pollution from the city hiding any stars that might have been winking down at you. 

“Hello,” you call into the place, glancing around, trying to parse something from the eerie silence. 

You hear the soft scuff of footsteps before Choso appears, pulling aside the curtain that separates the waiting area from the main parlor. His hair is down again today, falling almost to his shoulders. Like last time, he seems a little surprised to see you, dark eyes widening, before a smile tugs at his lips. 

“Didn’t expect to see you here so late,” he says, pulling the black gloves from his hands with his teeth. “You’re lucky. I just wrapped up with a belly button piercing and was about to close up. Five minutes later and we’d have been closed.” He crosses his arms over his chest, leaning up against the frame of the entrance, and jerks his chin toward the back, “Come on back.”

You and Satoru squeeze past Choso, so close you can feel his body heat and smell the woody, spicy cologne he’s wearing. In the back, you walk over to the jewelry counter to start looking at pieces. A few catch your eye—a pretty bar with rose buds on either end, a ring with a pink gemstone sakura on it, another ring with a blue gemstone and a pearl, another bar with a chain dangling from either end featuring several little metal flowers. You like all of them, but your eyes keep going back to the ring with the little Sakura on it. 

Satoru comes up behind you and leans over you, looking over your shoulder at the jewelry pieces with you. Pointing to the little Sakura rings, he says, “You like those?”

You crane your neck to look up at him and say, “Yeah, but they’re a little expensive. A hundred and fifty dollars for the pair.” They have the biggest price tag of the ones you like. 

“Psssshhhh. Whatever my baby wants, my baby gets. I’m buying, anyway. You’re not spending a dime, sweets,” he coos, running a hand down your back. Then turning his head, he looks at Choso and says, “Hey, she wants these.” 

The dark-haired man goes behind the glass display case and unlocks it. Reaching in, he taps his finger against the small velvet cushion the jewelry is resting on in silent confirmation. At Satoru’s nod, he pulls them out and jerks his chin toward the treatment table, “Go on, lie down.”

The little smile you give him is all cute and playful, specifically designed to push his buttons. Doing as asked, you go and lie down on the bench, your back against the cushion. Your boyfriend trails behind you to crouch down at your side, but surprisingly he isn’t being as clingy or salty as he usually is when you come here, especially since you’re flirting with the cute piercer right in front of him. To your complete dissatisfaction, he hardly seems moved at all this time. 

Choso sets the new jewelry on a tray and goes to wash his hands really quickly. In the brief moments that he’s gone, you look up at Satoru, trying to discern his mood, but his expression remains frustratingly unreadable. When Choso comes back, you flip up your shirt to reveal your bare tits to him.

First, he leans down to look at the piercings. “They look like they’ve been healing well. Any issues?” 

You shake your head. “None.” 

Nodding, he reaches out and gently twists one of the bars. When you give no indication of pain, he starts unscrewing the end of each bar before slowly pulling them out of your nipples. His fingers brush your sensitive skin every so often, which sends sparks of heat straight up into your center. His steady hands move in sure, deft movements, setting the plain pieces aside and picking up one of the rings. He holds the little circle up to the light and the pink gemstones that make up each flower petal glitter beautifully. 

“These will look nice.” Choso murmurs. Looking back down at you, his dark eyes trace your pretty tits. Cheeks turning slightly pink, he adds,  “They’ll be really, uh, pretty on you.” Slowly, he lowers the ring and then sits down on the rolling stool beside the table. He leans down and carefully slides one ring into your nipple. Once it’s secured, almost like he can’t help himself, he squeezes that sensitive bud between his fingertips. Deep inside, your cunt aches terribly, aching to be punished.

Just when you start to think Satoru has stopped caring, he pipes up. “Hah. I’ll bet you think so. I bet you think no matter what piece of jewelry goes into her pretty tits, you’d think they look nice, am I right?”

Choso chokes, which he quickly turns into a cough. For a while, he says nothing, just silently grabs the other ring to fasten it through your other nipple. Finally, he looks up at Satoru and asks tightly, “Seriously? Are you really asking me that?” He looks like he’s in some sort of hell. 

Satoru’s smile widens at the red on Choso’s cheeks. “What? Don’t want to answer?” There’s a glint in those pretty blue eyes, something cold and dark, all hidden behind that cheerful, boyish smile. He snickers meanly and says, “Well, tell me this then: how’s that picture of them and your hand been serving you? How many nights have you jerked yourself raw wishing it was her?”

“Satoru!” You exclaim, looking up at your boyfriend. Absolutely shameless. And you thought you were being crazy. Flirting with Choso right in front of him was never going to end well, just like it hasn’t the last two times. Well, maybe it does end well, because you always get fucked into next week.

“What? Look at that guilty face and tell me you don’t think he’s been jerking off to that picture,” Satoru says, his huge arms crossing over his broad chest. When you look back at the dark-haired man, you do have to admit that Satoru is right. He does look quite guilty. He won’t meet your eyes, and his cheeks, ears, and neck are all bright pink. When neither you nor Choso say anything, he scoffs and adds, “That’s what I thought.” The smile on his face turns mean, and he taunts, “What would you give for a taste of my girl, hmm?”

Your jaw drops. He did not just ask that. You’re about to open your mouth, tell Choso to ignore your idiot boyfriend, but he beat you to it. “Anything.” His reply makes that damp spot forming in your panties grow even larger. A shudder goes down your spine at the dark, rough edge to his soft voice. 

“Anything at all?” Satoru parrots back, those blue eyes sparking with something dangerous. He cocks his head and says calmly, “Then beg.” A light mocking laugh leaves his lips, and he says, “Beg, and I might let you suck on her tit, let you have a taste of what’s mine.”

Okay, now you’re completely floored. Who is this guy and what has he done to your boyfriend? The man you love is stupidly, irrationally possessive, so this is a complete shock. “Satoru,” you say his name quietly. Then, you’re sputtering because you can’t seem to find the right words.  “Are you—what are you—“

Tilting his head to look at you, he coos, “It’s alright, baby. Don’t act like you haven’t been teasing him and shit. Encouraging his little crush on you.”

Well, guilty as charged. You 100% have been teasing your poor piercer, but it’s not your fault he’s so easy to tease and so cute when he gets all flustered. Maybe Satoru is rubbing off on you a little. It doesn’t mean he has to call you out like that, though, so you lift your chin and say, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” It’s a lie and an obvious one at that, and Satoru knows it too because he just gives you that same smile he gave Choso.

Turning his gaze back to the other man, he says, “Well?”

Clearing his throat, Choso looks up at your boyfriend. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. Then, very softly, he says, “Please, please let me suck on your girlfriend’s tit.” He sounds absolutely mortified. 

“Oh, come on. You can beg better than that,” Satoru taunts. 

Choso looks from him, back to you where you’re still lying on the table, the new rings in your pretty tits catching the light. “Please, I really, really want to suck on your girlfriend’s tits. Please. I’m begging you.” The way he’s staring at your body is as if it’s something he needs, something vital to his survival. There’s such longing on his face that it stuns you. 

“Well, since you’re begging so nicely,” Satoru says meanly, eyes flicking between the piercer and you. “I’ll let you suck on it.” His eyes flick between Chos and you, silently making sure you’re on board with it, and you just nod.

Choso needs no further encouragement. His large, steady hand comes up to cup your breast, and then he leans in to capture your little nipple in his mouth. He sucks hard, tongue twirling around the little ring, flicking across the sensitive peak. The groan that comes out of his mouth and the way his eyes flutter shut gives away just how much he’s wanted this. 

You can’t help the moan that is pulled from your lips, so soft and sweet. He sucks on your tit like he needs it, like your body is the best thing he’s ever had the pleasure of having his lips on. One large hand comes down to rest against your side, running up and down your ribcage in soft, soothing strokes. The other rests on your hip, holding you in place. Your panties only grow wetter and wetter, the damp spot spreading with your slick. The familiar ache of needing to be filled pulses between your legs.

“Hah, look at you, sucking my girl’s tit like you need it,” Satoru practically growls as he moves behind you to stroke his long fingers over your hair. You whimper at the combined sensations, the affection versus the filthy way you’re being suckled. “What are you? A virgin?” At Satoru’s prodding, Choso whimpers, sucking even harder on you, which makes your breath stutter. Satoru laughs, “You want to suck her other one now? Beg me for it.”

Choso’s head lifts, and he releases your nipple with a wet pop. A string of saliva stretches from your skin to his mouth, and his thumb flicks out over your nipple to disconnect it, and it makes you shiver. He looks up at Satoru, his dark eyes hungrier and needier than you’ve ever seen them before. “Please, please, please, please,” he begs breathlessly, one of his hands coming down to stroke over the bulge starting to strain against his jeans. “I want it so badly.”

Satoru just laughs and says, “Aw, begging to suck a tit? What are you? A virgin?” But he still gives credit where credit is due and carries on, “Good boy, now beg her.”

His dark eyes turn to you, all dewy and puppy-dog-ish, and he whispers like he’s praying to god, “Please, I want to suck your other tit, if you—if you’ll let me. Please. You’re just so pretty, prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Yeah, she is, isn’t she? And she’s all mine.” Satoru coos, his hand stroking against your cheek. “What do you say, princess? Gonna throw him a bone?”

You nod slowly and murmur, “Yeah.”

Choso needs no further encouragement. He latches onto your other tit, his jaw working as he sucks on that sensitive bud. You moan, looking up at your boyfriend’s face. He blinks down at you, those long white lashes closing for a second before revealing his pretty blue eyes to you. As Choso’s tongue flicks over your nipple and toys with the little ring, you can’t help but let out a lascivious moan.

“That feel good, baby?” Satoru asks, his blue eyes dark. “Tell me you’re mine.”

“Ah, I’m yours,” you gasp out as Choso’s teeth scrape against your sensitive skin. “All yours.”

“Good girl,” Satoru says sweetly, stroking your hair again. 

When Choso finally releases your nipple, he gasps for air, like he was so focused on sucking on your skin that he forgot how to breathe. Staring down at you, his dark eyes are filled with desire, the bulge straining hard against the seams of his pants. There’s a little damp spot where he’s leaking pre onto the rough fabric. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, his eyes roving over your body like he’s not sure where to look.

“She’s even prettier when she’s stuffed full,” Satoru says, and before you even realize what’s happening, he’s picking you up like you weigh nothing at all and flipping you onto your stomach the wrong way across the table, so your head is dangling off one side and your ass off the other. Without giving you room to think or move, he yanks down your shorts and slaps his hand against your clothed pussy. You yelp at the sting, your walls squeezing around nothing. “Hah, soaking through your panties like a little slut,” he says, rubbing your folds over the damp cloth in an almost soothing gesture. 

“Please,” you whimper out, and when you look up, your eyes land on Choso, who is staring at you like you’re the answer to all the questions of the universe.

“You begging for me, baby, or are you begging for him?” Satoru demands with another sharp smack, this time to your ass cheek. 

“Ah, I—you,” you bite out. 

Satoru just laughs and replies, “Hah. Bey you’d love to suck his cock though, hmm? Little slut that you are? What do you think about that, baby? Give him a little taste of that pretty mouth that I can have whenever I want.”

“Yes, please—ah,” your sentence is cut off by the whine that leaves your mouth as his hand cracks against your other asscheek. 

Looking up at Choso, Satoru says, all lazy mockery, “Well, if you want her to suck your cock, you better ask nicely. One time offer, buddy, so you better enjoy every fucking second.”

He looks like a deer in the headlights, like he’s not quite sure how it went from having your nipple piercings changed to getting sucked off by your pretty mouth. After a moment frozen, he crouches down to make eye contact with you. Those dark, baleful eyes bore into yours as he says softly, “Please, pretty, I’d love it if you sucked me. I’ll never fucking forget it.”

Before you can say anything at all, Satoru grabs your hips and lifts them to slide your panties down. Then one finger plunges inside you, curling down towards your belly. “Ahh, fuck, Toru,” you moan out as he fucks his finger into you, your slick coating his thick digit. Blinking up at Choso again, you nod because you don’t trust yourself to get the words out. 

Choso’s brain buffers for a minute before he stands back up. He looks down at you again, his cheeks red, those dark eyes blackened with desire. Then, in quick, jerky movements, he unlatches his belt and shoves his pants and underwear down around his knees. Thick cock springing free, you can’t help but notice how pretty it is. Flushed, purplish-red engorged head leaking from the little slit, two angry veins wrapping around the hard flesh, thatch of dark hair right at the base. He gives himself a couple of good strokes before standing in front of you and guiding his tip toward your open, eager lips. 

Just as he’s about to slide himself inside, Satoru adds another finger to your dripping cunt and curls them down hard. Your mouth stretches open in a moan, and at the same time, Choso slides his thick cock down, down, down until he hits the very back of your throat and you choke, eyes watering.

“There you go,” Satoru coos, “Good girl, just like you take me.” The pad of his thumb circles around your clit and you naturally want to grind yourself against his hand, but with the cock in your throat you can’t. You have to rely on what Satoru gives you.

Moaning around Choso’s thick length, you relish the way he’s stretching your throat out. The taste of his pre—salty, a little sweet, but not as sweet as your boyfriend’s. It’s strange to have another man’s cock in your throat after three years of just Satoru—not bad, but he fits differently than you’re used to, plus he’s more gentle with you than Satoru. He’s careful not to fuck into your throat too deep, each roll of his hips easy and smooth. 

“Tch,” Satoru scoffs, fucking into you harder with his fingers, his thumb working around your clit, occasionally skating over it with just enough pressure to make your hips jump and your back arch. “You can be a little rougher with her. Put your hands in her hair. She can take it.” Then, pressing his thumb down hard on your clit, so hard that your thighs shake and you let out a keening moan around Choso’s cock. 

The vibrations around his cock, draw a moan from between Choso’s lips, and he ruts into your throat a little harder. A big hand comes down on your hair and grabs a handful of it, just pulling hard enough for you to feel it. 

Withdrawing his fingers from your soaked cunt with a wet schlep, Satoru murmurs, “Oh, fuck, you’re so wet, dripping from my fingers.” Then, meanly, he adds, “Bet you’d kill for a taste. You want some? You can suck it from my fingers.” Your eyes dart up just in time to see your boyfriend’s fingers disappearing into Choso’s mouth. The man’s dark lashes flutter, and he groans while he suck’s Satoru’s finger clean. There’s a wet pop as he withdraws his fingers, and he murmurs, “Sweet, isn’t she?”

“The sweetest,” Choso breathes, the tip of his cock nudging the back of your throat. The fingers in your hair tighten, and he starts fucking into you in earnest, the glide and stretch of his cock intoxicating. “You’re one lucky fuck.”

“Think I don’t know that?” Behind you, you hear the clink of Satoru’s belt coming undone and a second later feel his warm tip nudging at your tight little hole. He slides into you slowly, your cunt fluttering around him, until you’re full to the brim, that ache deep in you finally getting the attention it needs. 

You let out another moan, the sound muffled by Choso’s cock buried in your throat. Lashes fluttering closed, tears lining them, you tease his veins with the tip of your tongue. He fucking whimpers, his legs bumping up against the edge of the table, and you do your best to bob your head up and down in time with his rhythm.

Satoru, buried so deep in you that you can feel his tip gently kissing your cervix, finally moves. He sets a hard pace right from the start, pulling almost all the way out, then slamming back in, only to grind the crown of his cock into that spot that’s as deep as he can go. His huge hands find your hips, pulling them up a bit, putting you right where he wants you. You moan around Choso's cock, barely able to keep ahold of your thoughts when every stroke of Satoru’s cock and the stretch of your throat threaten to send them all scattering like dandelion fluff on the wind. 

Releasing one hip, Satoru slides the freed hand beneath and starts playing with your swollen, needy little clit. He strokes it hard now, in time with his thrusts; gone are the gentle teasing strokes from before. That’s what sends all your thoughts scattering. An endless stream of moans falls from your lips, which only serves to make Choso fuck harder into your warm, wet mouth.

“Good job, baby,” Satoru grunts out, his thumb circling over your clit in a way that has your thighs starting to shake. “Doing so good for us.”

“So pretty, such a sweet girl,” Choso murmurs in turn, the hand buried in your hair holding you in place as he starts to fuck into your throat harder, faster. “Good girl. Thank you. Thank you.”

If you could form a coherent thought, you might think to yourself how cute it is that he’s thanking you for sucking him off. Unfortunately, thoughts are not something you have access to at the moment. All you can do is feel—the sweet pressure from Satoru’s thumb, his cock railing into that sweet spot inside you that makes you fucking dumb, the way you swallow Choso’s cock down. 

It’s not long before your body starts to tense, the muscles in your thighs and calves twitching. Tension ratchets down in your guts, tightening down more and more with every stroke of Satoru’s digit, every pump of his cock. Your body is starting to feel light and warm, everything emptying out of your head at once at the feeling building in your center.

“Fuck, gonna come for me, sweets?” Satoru coos, the words strained. “Can tell you’re getting close, baby. Can feel her starting to squeeze me even better.” Then soft, low, and dark, he murmurs, “Come for us, pretty girl. Know you want to.”

And fuck, you do want to.

The circles his thumb is making on your clit go faster and faster. He fucks into you meanly, not giving you a centimeter of breathing room, railing into that spot that has you seeing stars until you’re dripping down your thighs, your legs. 

Choso is the first to break. “Ah, sh-shit, g-gonna f-fucking come,” muttered a half second before he’s spilling warm, sweet-salty cum straight down your throat while you eagerly swallow every drop. 

That, along with the way Satoru grinds his cock deep inside you and how his thumb is circling your clit hard and fast, are what push you over the edge. You’re moaning around Choso’s twitching cock as your cunt spasms around Satoru. Pleasure rips through you, arcs of heat lightning snapping through limbs, rolling through your body from your center. Tears are streaking down your face, darkness creeping around the edge of your vision, hearing coming and going. Your entire body feels warm and light in this moment. 

Satoru’s thrusts grow more and more erratic until he’s shoving his cock as deep in you as it will go and spilling inside you with a groan of relief. Every little twitch of his cock in your cunt makes you whimper a little more. Eventually, Choso pulls out of your mouth, a string of your saliva mixed with his cum stretching out. You blink up at him with watery eyes, and he reaches down to gently stroke your cheek.

“Alright, enough of that,” Satoru grunts as he slowly pulls out of you, “No one said you could touch her face all tender and shit.” 

You would laugh if you had the strength. 

Choso rolls his eyes and scoffs, “You know, you really don’t deserve her.”

You can hear the warmth in Satoru’s voice is obvious, the complete and total adoration, “Oh, trust me, I know. But she’s mine anyway.”

A/N: 12k of straight smut????? Lmao, sorry guys, this got to be really long. TY all for reading. Reblogs and comments are especially appreciated.

Tag reqs HERE // ⋆. 𐙚˚࿔ m.masterlist 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

You used to be completely fucking fine on your own. And here you were, shivering and feeling like a total stranger in someone else's home because you couldn't handle your problems by yourself.

"You can take my bed. I'll sleep on the couch," Suguru continued, offering up even more assistance as you tried to train yourself not to let the heat rise to your face at his unnecessary generosity.

"I'm really-"

"I'm not trying to be an asshole, but do you really think you should be alone right now?" He asked, arching up an eyebrow as he poured himself a glass of wine.

You hesitated, swallowing your pride as you considered the unfortunately not entirely unlikely possibility you'd end up on the phone with Satoru or Sukuna if he returned you to the lonely apartment thatstill didn't really feel like home.

"Just pour me a drink too," you muttered.

Suguru was too nice to say no to you.

Even though he probably knew as well as you that you weren't going to find what you wanted in the bottom of a wine glass.

You watched his hands when he grabbed you the cup you used to like back when you practically lived here, how the veins and tendons flexed as he carefully poured a pitiful amount in, like he didn't want you to think he was trying to get you drunk.

Your cautious man still playing his own games. Still preoccupied with how things looked - and you got stuck in how things were.

How were you ever supposed to get to how you wanted them to be?

"Can I ask why you called me?" Suguru finally asked the one question he'd been avoiding as he took the seat next to yours, taking a sip out of his glass as the hard edge of the table pressed into your calves. Knees scrunched close to your chest, stabbing purposelessly at the food in your box as you tried to think of an excuse that wouldn't make this whole thing, well, messier.

"You were who I thought of," you shrugged your shoulders, biting your lip as the scent of him clung to your skin. His t-shirt hanging loose on your frame, skin still damp and sticky as you shuffled in the familiar kitchen seat.

For a second, you felt like you were back in the therapist's office, heart laid bare for someone to break, feeling the scrutiny of his dark stare, no matter how much he softened it for you.

"Does Sukuna know you're here?" He carefully asked, like he was trying to decide if he was going to get assaulted again just for playing your knight.

"No," you muttered. Even if he could probably guess it if he went back to the apartment he bought you and discovered it empty.

He had predicted it too, hadn't he?

That you'd run off to someone else? Seeking comfort in places you shouldn't be instead of finding it in yourself?

"Should I make sure the door's locked?" He tried to joke, and you didn't even have it in yourself to smile.

"I might deadbolt it," you dryly muttered, stabbing at the food and popping it in your mouth.

His small smirk faltered, and you wished you could make it easier for him.

You wished you could make it easier for all of them.

Sure, they hurt you. Okay, well, Sukuna and Suguru had. But it was getting harder and harder to hold onto it. Not when all of the anguish felt like acid on your tongue, seeping down your throat and burning your stomach the longer it sat inside of you.

If you weren't so fucked up, if you had your shit figured out a little more, wouldn't you save all four of you so much heartache?

"What happened today?" Suguru pressed, and you could only shrug your shoulders.

"I, uh, went to therapy," you mumbled, biting down on the inside of your cheek before admitting the tougher part, "With Sukuna."

"Oh."

Yeah.

You supposed you should've seen it for the monumentally awful idea it was from the start instead of just accepting to acquiesce Sukuna after the whole 'surprising you with a brand new fucking apartment' thing.

"Guess it didn't go well?" He wryly replied, and you almost rolled your eyes.

"That obvious?" You exhaled, pushing the food around before forcing yourself to look up at him. "I kinda ran away."

"You tend to do that," Suguru unhelpfully remarked, your lips pressing in a thin line as you found yourself tempted to fling a forkful of food back at him.

"You're so funny," you sarcastically commented, squinting at him just for him to give you that annoyingly charming smirk you wouldn't admit you missed.

"And yet you're not saying I'm wrong," he hummed, bringing his wine glass back to his lips.

Taking a swig of your own was better than agreeing with him.

Letting the bitter taste takeover your tongue so you didn't have to stew on the regret festering there already. All the what-ifs being back in his house brought up, wondering how things might have played out if you just made a few different decisions back then.

"You know," Suguru continued when he carefully placed his glass back down. "Shoko knows a couple good ones, if you didn't like the therapist or-"

It was sweet of him to assume the therapist was the problem instead of you.

"You might benefit more from some solo sessions," he kept going, still trying to take care of you long after you left him. Picking up all the broken pieces and doing his best to glue them back together.

Was it guilt?

Or had losing you simply made him a better person?

Jesus, this fucking sucked.

How come they only got their shit together after you? Why couldn't they work it out when you were with them? Why were you the only one still shattered?

You never asked for either of them.

They had given themselves to you and fucking screwed you over once it was done.

"Can you be, like, awful for five minutes?" You huffed, scowling at him as you forced a sharp exhale out of your nose.

His lips parted in a surprised 'o', dark eyes narrowing like he was trying to work out what you meant by that. "Why-"

"It's so annoying that you get to be all mature and perfect after we break up," you admitted, picking at your cuticles beneath the table as you glanced back to where your purse was laying on its side.

"Perfect?"

"It's so infuriating sometimes," you mumbled under your breath, shaking your head as you interrupted him, about to reiterate that he was infuriating before he let out a low chuckle.

"Do you want me to be mean to you?" He offered in that honeyed voice of his.

"I want to be mad at you," you muttered, feeling a lot more defeated than you expected.

"You can be mad at me," he calmly accepted it, evenly meeting your stare as if you being upset was better than the alternative of you feeling nothing at all for him.

You tried to switch to ignoring him.

Finishing your food with a tight-lipped frown and polishing off the wine even though it just left an uncomfortable heat compressing your chest. You slipped out of your chair to go throw away the styrofoam box, but Suguru just had to get up and do it for you, leaving you awkwardly standing there and swallowing your feelings.

Tempted to ask what now?

Were you supposed to sit on the couch together and watch tv like old times? Ask him to just take you back home anyway? Go back to the bed he used to fuck you in and pretend you couldn’t smell him on the sheets?

You ended up awkwardly leaning against the wall while you watched him clean up, trying to find something wrong to bicker about.

But god, he’d forgiven you for fucking his best friend.

Comforted you and came when you called and took care of you even when you weren’t his anymore.

“Maybe Shoko could refer me to someone,” you muttered.

You needed help.

The kind that you had to find on your own. With the help of a licensed professional.

“I’ll text her,” he replied, a hint of pride bleeding through his voice as you folded your arms across your chest.

What happened to the independent girl you used to be? The one who was too stubborn to admit it when you were out of your depth? What happened to everything you used to be?

The strangest part was that you weren't even sure you wanted to go back to being her. She let Sukuna break her heart. And then handed over what was left of it to Suguru so he could take a few swings at it too.

But even now, being around him like this, watching him walk around like you were reliving in an old memory, you were the tiniest bit tempted to go back to the old days. Just for one night.

You could see it now.

Almost feel how solid his hands would be on your waist, how warm his chest would be when you were pinned underneath it.

It would be so simple, wouldn't it?

To let him pick you up and cradle you close? To call him by his name and let him whisper yours in that tender voice of his?

He wouldn't feel like home. But he'd feel close enough to safe to settle the storm still wearing you down and ripping through your rattled bones.

Suguru caught you staring as he finished up, thin brows knitting together as he walked over to you, one hand reaching for his pocket for his cigarettes before he remembered that they weren't there anymore.

"I'm not sleeping with you," he murmured softly, as if he wasn't looking down at your lips as like he could still remember the taste of them.

"I didn't ask you to," you whispered back, like you weren't looking at his either. And then he reached out, like he was going to cup your cheek and caress you the same way he used to.

"Angel," he gently spoke, sighing as his palm stopped just shy of your cheek. "You know you have to pick."

"I know," you confessed.

You couldn't keep doing this.

"I will still do whatever I can to support you and fix the mess I made," he reassured, swallowing hard as he steeled his resolve. "But you're just hurting yourself."

And he was too selfless to say you were hurting him too, even though you could see the pain shining in his deep stare.

You wanted to play it off.

Pretend that you weren't painfully aware that no matter who you chose, you'd still be second guessing yourself for maybe forever.

If you chose Sukuna, and it crashed and burned, would you spend eternity wondering what would've happened if you mustered up the courage to kiss Suguru right now?

And if you did kiss him, would you just wish it was Sukuna's lips instead?

"I wish I never fucked us up to begin with," Suguru murmured, maybe loosened up from the wine to be speaking so plainly about what you both lost when his face was hardly inches from yours. "But I guess I know how Sukuna feels now."

"You're making it so much harder for me," you defensively mumbled, trying to keep your breathing steady when he was looking down at you like he wanted to memorize the view.

"That's because I want you to pick me," he smoothly replied, your mouth twitching up into a smile you had to push back down.

You had to make yourself slip away from him, turning around and walking around the corner to go back to his living room. About to come up with the excuse that you could watch a movie or something to pass the time and avoid the topic at hand when you spotted a stack of papers across a side table where the coasters usually were.

And noticed your name neatly printed at the top of one.

"What's this?" You asked, picking it up the moment you were close enough, eyes already scanning the page as he started to hurry over.

"It's nothing, just a stupid fucking idea Satoru's dad was-"

"It's about me," you pointed out, turning around and refusing to let him have it back, swatting at his outstretched hand while you squinted at the fine print.

"Baby, it's bullshit, I didn't want to worry-"

"I can make decisions for myself, Suguru," you scolded him, a lump taking shape again in the back of your throat as you realized what it was.

An offer.

"This is the PR relationship thing, isn't it?" You frowned, flipping the page as you started scanning the terms. Satoru had been telling the truth.

His dad wanted to throw a fuck ton of cash at you to get you to do what he wanted.

An apartment with 24/7 security. Biweekly paychecks for playing pretend girlfriend. Health and dental insurance. New clothes for required public appearances.

God, why the fuck was it a better job offer than anything else you received?

Six months.

Half of year of hanging onto your ex-boyfriend's arm in public now that your private life had been dragged out for everyone to see.

It was long enough for the album and press rollout but right before their tour would start. Enough for them to turn the PR disaster of a leaked sex tape into something slightly less scandalous the media could sink their teeth into.

You'd be dropped once they sold out all their shows.

Suguru was silent, just staring as you studied the stapled sheets in front of you, waiting for you to say something.

To say it was stupid and to shut it all down.

"Is he actually serious?" You asked, a hard lump in your throat as your stare drifted back to the promised paycheck, wondering what price you could put on your pride.

You were clearly losing this game anyway.

They weren't going to leave you alone.

"You don't need to do this," Suguru softly said, not answering your question as you glanced up from the papers to see his conflicted expression.

Would Sukuna hate you if you did?

Satoru might.

How much could making a deal with a devil cost when you already lost everything you cared about?

You weren't replying to his texts.

Go fucking figure.

The harder Sukuna tried to have you, the more you pulled away from him.

Still, he knew he shouldn't be doing this.

Leg bouncing impatiently as he stared down at the phone screen in his hand, trying to work up the willpower to either swipe everything away or shut it off.

That's what a more mature person would do.

Someone who had his shit together.

But that had never been him.

Jin had called, told him to come over and just crash there. Kaori had snatched the phone from his brother and told him to go find you and fucking fix it.

Like it was so goddamn easy when you were too hurt to see how hard he was trying. Too broken to even want him to put you together.

And despite what his therapist tried to say otherwise, he couldn't stop blaming himself for being the one to fuck it all up in the first place.

All the same thoughts looping in his head, replaying a million moments he wished he could go back and do differently. The thousand nights where you were in his bed, beneath his body where you belonged, his hands skimming over your side and his teeth sinking into your soft skin when he should've been kissing you and asking you to be his girlfriend.

Not his best friend with benefits.

Not some unnamed third thing you both swore wasn't that serious.

He wanted to be your man. To get to marry you one day and have a stupid little chubby baby with your eyes and his hair.

Sukuna didn't want to just be some fucking asshole you used to sleep with.

Someone you used to know.

A page in a book you shut and shoved on a shelf to be forgotten.

Maybe bringing you to his therapist was a mistake, something that he should've waited a little longer for. But he didn't know how to help you himself.

No matter how badly he wished he could.

And honestly, what he was about to do was probably an even bigger one in the making.

But fuck, he wanted to prove you wrong.

Show you that what you were scared of wasn't going to happen.

He could watch you having sex with your ex-boyfriend and not strangle him for it. He wasn't going to leave you.

And by no means, was he going to stop loving you.

No, instead, he just nearly threw up when the sketchy site on his phone finally loaded and he saw you splayed out nude in soft blue sheets, touching yourself and looking at the camera all lovestruck.

Asking Suguru for help.

You didn't do that with him.

It was different. Knowing that it had been serious with Suguru and actually seeing it for himself.

The trust shining in your eyes before all the light in them had been stolen from you.

He almost dropped the phone.

Pacing the floor and swallowing the bile threatening to flood his throat as your soft voice replayed in his ears.

Sukuna was greedy. Selfish. Used to taking what he wanted and never needing to justify it.

Until he realized what he wanted the most was what was best for you.

He just wasn't sure that it was him anymore.

You stopped dead in your tracks. 

Oh no. Oh YES.

Your heart went thump thump thump! like crazy as you stood there, frozen between the door and the counter. Living with a man who looked like that was a direct threat to your peace. And his too, probably. You couldn't believe you had practically won a jackpot over freaking Reddit. And apparently Reddit was only full of weird people, as if. So you took a breath, adjusted your posture, and walked over.

But then the panic hit. Because someone who looked like that was probably bringing home a different girl every night. And you’d have to listen to the stupid Thump. Thump. Thump. of his bed through the thin drywall. Every single time.

Suck it and see, you never know, girl.

From his side of the table, Satoru had already run the numbers. His eyes tracked your movement the second you started walking over, assessing. You were cute, yes. Approachable hot, not intimidating hot. You didn’t look like the type who’d expect him to pay for everything or make fun of his personality. And most importantly — you had messaged him first on the housing thread.

That meant the dynamic was already set. You were practically already his. Why else would a girl willingly want to live with a man? The power balance was secured. Handled. Handed to him on a silver platter, just like all the podcasts had promised.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You go, girl.

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

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

You bit your lip.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

After about a month, it clicked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he would just keep going.

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

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

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

Like that one evening when you were walking down the hallway toward the kitchen and the bathroom door opened.

Satoru stepped out, dripping wet. White hair plastered to his forehead, water still running down his chest, wearing nothing but a towel slung dangerously low on his hips. You shamelessly followed his happy trail. The way the towel barely clung on his hips.

Your brain stalled at the sight of his pretty body and your mouth went dry. You reminded yourself why you were tolerating him. Then berated yourself for doing exactly what he did — objectifying.

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

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

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

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

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

You froze in the hallway.

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

Cute hot. I can definitely work with that.

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

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

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

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

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

Good roommate, structurally speaking. Nightmare, every other way.

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

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

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

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

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

Goddamn.

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

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

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

It started with the food.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When you glanced back, he was watching you with that look again.

You looked away first.

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

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

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

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

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

"The architect guy?"

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

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

You gave him a warning look.

"I'm just asking."

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

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

“I just think,” he started.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Where did you even hear that phrase?"

"It's a concept from—"

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

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

You felt furious. Tired. And something else you weren’t going to name.

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

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

You were so fucking tired.

Tired of dates that were just fine. Tired of coming home to this. Tired of the whole thing.

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

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

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

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

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

Wasn’t there a term for that? There had to be. You’d read the fanfictions. You’d read the think pieces. And every time you’d wondered why women did this to themselves.

Now you knew exactly why.

It was like disaster tourism. Some people went to Chernobyl for the thrill. Some people chased storms. You were simply built different.

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

You were already stretched thin. And he was on very thin ice.

So you made a plan.

You were going to show him exactly what skimpy clothing did to a man like him. And you weren’t going to think too hard about why this was probably the stupidest idea you’d had in a while.

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

You, apparently.

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

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

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

He was still on his phone.

You were starting to think the plan had lowkey a flaw — mainly the part where he wasn’t even looking at you — when he stood up and walked over to the sink to put his mug away.

He reached past you.

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

You went to put the spoon back in your mouth.

But your hand missed and the spoonful of Activia went down your chin, down your neck, and disappeared between your tits.

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” you said. “I noticed, ‘Toru.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wait.

What the fuck.

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

Why the hell were you horny?

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

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

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

The plan had worked perfectly.

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

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

Take that, Satoru!

And oh, he took it.

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

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

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

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

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

Because really, what did you think was going to happen?

You thought parading around half-naked in front of a terminally online incel would make him fall to his knees and magically develop self-awareness?

No. Of course not.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ovulation. It’s just ovulation.

"Satoru," you said slowly. 

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

“What the hell are you doing?”

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

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

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

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

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

He paused, letting the weight of his own perceived perfection hang in the air.

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

The only sound in the room was the dramatic music coming from the TV now. You dropped your chopsticks into the takeout box, which suddenly felt too heavy in your lap.

He was so confident in his entitlement it actually made you sick. It was ruining your fucking appetite.

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

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

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

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

“I’m stating a statistical—”

“Shut up.”

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

His mouth snapped shut. He looked genuinely startled. You’d never told him to shut up before — not like that. You’d always just nodded, or rolled your eyes, or tuned him out.

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

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

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

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

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

Satoru flinched. All the color drained from his face.

You stood over him, breathing hard, looking down at this gorgeous, six-foot-three idiot who was staring up at you like you’d just rewritten the laws of physics. He looked lost. Stupid. Like he didn’t know what to do with his hands.

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

“Satoru.”

He stopped. Mouth snapped shut. The tips of his ears suddenly burned bright red.

The realization hit you like a bucket of cold water.

Oh my fucking god.

You’d suspected it once or twice, but the thought had always flickered and died. Now it all clicked into place.

He’d never gotten his dick wet.

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

Almost.

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

You shattered his ego completely.

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

Objectively hot.

No one is going to want you.

What?

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

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

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

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

He told himself he was just going to pick it up and put it in your organizer tray.

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

He brought it closer to his face. Just to check. Just in case it wasn’t actually yours.

And what happened next stayed strictly between Satoru, the bathroom mirror, and god.

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

It worked too well. It scared him.

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

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

Rejuvenated? No.

Good? Not even close.

He just felt like absolute shit.

Get your shit together.

But how?

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

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

And that was the problem.

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

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

He wanted you.

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

He needed validation. He needed to be right.

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

r/AmItheAsshole 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

AITA?

He hit post.

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

Ten minutes later, the notifications started rolling in.

He opened them expecting vindication.

Instead, he walked straight into a digital firing squad.

u/GrassToucherGeto · 308 upvotes

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

u/KentoTheNormalGuy · 291 upvotes

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

u/NobaraJustice24 · 282 upvotes

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

u/RealityCheckChoso · 156 upvotes

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

u/yuji_8847362 · 124  upvotes

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

u/KingNaoya69 · 231  downvotes

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

Satoru stared at the screen in disbelief.

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

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

He thought it would give him clarity. Clear steps. A way to fix this mess.

It didn’t.

It just made him feel… nothing. Except for the creeping realization that he’d said something eerily similar to what u/KingNaoya69 had posted. Recently. Maybe even last week.

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

What the fuck was he supposed to do?

He had no idea.

The days that followed were miserable. You were giving him the coldest shoulder imaginable — and honestly, he deserved it. You were weaponizing the silence. Slamming doors. Giving short, pointed answers. Moving through the apartment like he was just another piece of furniture. Looking through him instead of at him.

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, he thought.

Truly the lightbulb moment of the century.

Oh.

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

And he was going to stop.

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

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

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

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

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

But Satoru had surprisingly fast reflexes and caught you.

Well… almost.

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

Around your boobs.

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

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

Huh.

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

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

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

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

You parted your lips for a soundless gasp, and he huffed into your collarbone as the trance finally broke.

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

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

You scrambled off him like you had been electrocuted.

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

Your heart was pounding so hard it hurt. Your skin was buzzing. The ghost of his touch was still burning across your chest.

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

…Do you?

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

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

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

Hinge.

Your ol’ friend.

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

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

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

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

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

The second the words left your mouth, a wave of jealousy hit him so hard it nearly knocked the air out of his lungs. But he wasn’t looking at your face. He was staring at the pink hair tie holding your hair up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Okay, NEVER MIND.

Which left him with only one option.

Today’s the day.

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

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

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

Fuck it.

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

Almost immediately, something felt off.

It was tight. Too tight. Not in a good way — just uncomfortable. Constricting. He tried to power through anyway, closing his eyes and stroking like he could force an orgasm out of sheer spite.

Ten minutes passed.

Nothing.

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

Fuck this.

He stopped. Tried to take it off. But it didn’t budge.

Satoru blinked. He adjusted his grip and pulled harder. The skin stretched painfully, but the ring stayed exactly where it was.

Oh fuck.

A cold sweat broke out across his forehead. 

Oh fuck, oh fuck.

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

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

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

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

Still stuck.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

Different oil! Not enough slipperiness! Trust the process!

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

This has to work.

It did not work.

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

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

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

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

But what the hell was he supposed to do?

Call an ambulance?

Absolutely not. 

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

Call his friends? 

Fuck no.

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

He stared at his contacts.

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

He hit Call.

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

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

Satoru.

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

Your phone buzzed again. And again. And again.

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

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

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

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

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

You were ninety percent sure this was some pathetic attempt to ruin your night. Some last-ditch manipulation tactic he’d picked up from a podcast or Reddit thread.

But the remaining ten percent made you ditch your date without a second thought and jump into an Uber.

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

Like babies and an industrial air fryer?

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

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

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

"Are you fucking kidding me?!"

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

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

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

Huh?

Furrowing your eyebrows, you stopped yelling and your eyes actually dropped down.

And then your stomach dropped with them.

Wait. Oh. He was so, so large.

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

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

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

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

You stepped closer, the sheer absurdity of the situation making you drop to your knees between his spread thighs just to get a proper look. It was incredibly stupid and deeply awkward, being this close to his swollen, shiny dick.

“Is that… a cock ring?” you asked, horrified.

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

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

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

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

 "Yes!" 

"Baby oil?" 

"Yes!" 

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

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

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

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

“THE WHAT?!”

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

The cum tie.

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

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

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

Your hand twitched toward your ponytail. You were going to rip it out. Burn it. Shave your head. And then murder him. A jury would probably let you off in seconds.

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

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

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

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

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

You had to make him cum.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"HOW SHOULD I KNOW?!"

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

Wait—

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

Nothing. 

There was nothing else.

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

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

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

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

If your hands were completely off the table…

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

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

The taste was vile as hell.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hated the taste.

You hated how your knees already ached against the hard floor.

You hated that your dress was ruined, soaked through and sticking to your skin.

And you hated the way he was looking down at you — in pain, in complete disbelief that you were actually sucking him off.

ANd what you really hated the most was that you were looking up at him while you mouth was licking him up and your body was already starting to betray you.

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

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

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

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

Then his eyes dropped to your chest.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck this dress. And probably him too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What a development. 

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

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

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

He was half-sobbing, half-moaning.

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

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

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

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

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

His other hand relocated to your shoulder.

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

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

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

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

You felt the first big pulse against your tongue.

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

Satoru came hard.

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

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

It was him.

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

Holy fucking nirvana, right there.

You felt disgusting. You felt filthy.

And somehow, you were still throbbing between your legs.

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

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

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

He froze for half a second, then looked down.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His glasses got knocked even more crooked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I—fuck—I can’t—ngh—!”

So… He lasted exactly forty-five seconds.

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

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

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

“…Really?” you said flatly.

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

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

You shoved at his shoulder.

“Satoru.”

He made a small, satisfied noise.

“Satoru. Did you just cum inside me?”

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

You pushed him off you. He rolled onto his back with a wet squelch.

You sat up, cum and oil smeared across your skin, and stared down at him.

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

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

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

He froze.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did I stutter?”

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

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

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

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

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

The first drag of his tongue through your folds was experimental, almost cautious.

He did it again, licking with too much pressure and in all the wrong places, clearly thinking he was doing something impressive, missing your clit. Again. And again. And again.

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

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

His eyes widened slightly.

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

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

“That’s my clit, Satoru.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was deranged.

It was filthy.

And it was fucking working.

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

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

“‘Toru—” you cried, thighs starting to tremble around his head. And he bit down gently on your inner thigh when you tried to close your legs on instinct.

Look, it’s not like you did it on purpose — who the fuck would want to close up shop when business was this good?

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

Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Satoru whined around your fingers, hips twitching up helplessly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“WHAT?”

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

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

“You’re actually so fucking stupid.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He hugged you tight, face buried in your neck.

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

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

“Well,” you said.

“Yeah,” he answered quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

r/relationship_advice

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

Throwaway because if she ever sees this she will murder me.

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

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

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

Please help. And be nice this time.

u/GrassToucherGeto · 183 upvotes

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

u/KingNaoya69 · 56 upvotes

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

Satoru looked up when you walked out of the hallway wearing his t-shirt, your hair still damp and smelling like strawberries. Something in his chest went soft at the sight.

He was still sitting on the floor, holding a bottle of kitchen cleaner in one hand and a roll of paper towels in the other. He looked like he had no idea what he was doing.

You sighed and gave him a soft, tired look.

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

He blinked up at you, panicked and hopeful all at once. You tilted your head, giving him the softest smile you’d given him yet. That was all it took. He dropped the cleaner without a second thought and basically sprinted down the hall.

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

When he finally crept into your bedroom, the lights were already off and you were in bed. He climbed in beside you and the sheets smelled like you. It was warm. It was safe. It made something in his chest loosen.

You shifted over without opening your eyes, throwing an arm across his chest and tucking your face into the crook of his neck with a soft, contented sigh. You fell asleep almost instantly.

Satoru lay there staring up at the dark ceiling, gently nuzzling the top of your head with his cheek. A quiet, overwhelming sense of peace settled over him.

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

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

Satoru smiled to himself.

He typed out one final edit.

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

To test his theory, he spends the entire night baking muffins. You've always been a sweet tooth, he remembers fondly still when you were gushing over his description of the baked goods his Ma made. He's a little nervous as he tops the muffins with chocolate. They weren't perfect like his Ma's, but he tried his best.

He's not doing this because he's upset. He's been meaning to bake the muffins for you anyways. His own Ma had sent the recipe over two weeks ago, after he updated about your excitement regarding her baking, demanding him to make some for you. He's doing this because he wants to, and it has nothing to do with you and Jimmy. By the time he's stored the muffins into a container, his heart is little more well-rested and reassured that he's just being a good colleague and friend who is not jealous whatsoever.

He shows up the next day, muffins in a container as he waits anxiously at his desk, watching the door for your arrival. He hears you before you even enter, and he jumps up from his chair as you pass through the doors.. with Jimmy.

He tries to stand taller to hide the deflation in his confidence. Now you're arriving at the same time? It couldn't be that you were now walking together to work, were you?

You're too caught up in your conversation to notice Clark watching you from afar, container in hand.

"Hey, Clark!" Jimmy greets as he plops his bag down at his desk. "Did you see the news this morning about- Woah, hang on a second. Are those muffins?"

Clark winces at not being able to say it for himself, but he holds out the container to you. "Yeah, remember my Ma's recipe I told you about last week? You said you wanted to try it so I baked it for you."

"Clark!" He tries to not enjoy the delighted surprise evident in your voice too much. "You didn't have to."

"I wanted to." Maybe he's being too obvious, but that light in your eyes directed at him feels like the sun on his skin after winter.

"No way you're saving this all for yourself!" Jimmy cuts in, hitting you on the arm with his elbow. "They look delicious, dude. Can I have at least a bite?"

"Hey! He said he made them for me, keep your hands to yourself." You interject, taking the container from Clark. Your hand brushes his, and he tries not to smile at your protective instincts over the muffins.

"Come on-" Jimmy calls you by a nickname he's never heard, and his smile freezes. Nicknames? He has a nickname for you now? A panic room is being built in his head as the conversation continues, words exchanged about 'assignment' and 'leaving'.

"Clark?" You wave a hand in front of him, and he blinks, focusing back on your voice. "Thanks for the muffins, I really appreciate it."

"Yeah." He mutters weakly, his heart throbbing over the sudden closeness you had with Jimmy. Jimmy was also his friend, but seeing you drift further away from him made it hard to see the situation in a positive light.

"We gotta go." Jimmy points out, checking his watch before going to grab his camera.

"Right, nice seeing you, Clark." You say with a warm smile, unaware of the inner turmoil going on in his head. "We'll catch up some other time, yeah? And thanks again for the muffins, I can't wait to try them!"

He watches you leave, and tries his best not to storm after the both of you to join in on the assignment. It's silly, childish. He's not the jealous type and you're all working professionals in this office. He drops down into his seat, and he knows that heavy weight in his chest won't go so easily. He's not upset, there's nothing wrong.

You smiled at him and thanked him at least three times. You're clearly still happy to see him, the same as always. He rubs at his chest, where he feels his heart thudding like a traitor. Maybe he's thinking about it too much. You and Jimmy are just attached to the hip because you're both workaholics who love a good story.

'Attached to the hip..' He groans, and he could only hope that things will return to normal soon. He might go crazy if you walk through the doors with Jimmy again tomorrow.

The next day, he's admittingly a little too prepared for your arrival. He has his article open in one window, and a perfect excuse to get your attention today.

He's practiced it at least ten times in the mirror. 'I've really been struggling on this article for awhile and I would love for your insight on it.' It's not completely detached from the truth, he really was struggling- but it was for a reason different to writer's block.

He hears you before you enter again, and this time, he's relieved to hear it's only you. He turns around, clearing his throat and preparing himself.

"Hey, Clark!" You greet him, smiling wide as you place your bag down at your chair. Big smile, that's a good sign.

"Hey." He waits a few seconds, pretending to look at his computer with a purse of his lips. "I was wondering if you could help me out on something?"

"Oh?" There's that glimmer in your eyes from the possibility to brainstorm with someone. "What is it?"

"I've really been struggling on this article for awhile and I would love for your insight on it." He moves his monitor to your direction, and you lean in, narrowing your eyes as you read through the text.

"Oh! The Gotham fugitive!" You take a spare chair, moving it beside his, armrests bumping into each other as you take a seat. "Okay, I've heard some stuff about this that I could help you with- but honestly, Jimmy might be your best bet if you want accurate info."

There's only so much a man can take, he thinks as his smile drops. Is the universe playing with him? Is this 'mention Jimmy Olsen' week, and he wasn't aware? It's okay, he can still redirect this.

"I mean, I would love to help out." You continue on. "I could ask Jimmy to pass you his Gotham contact if you need it though. It might be better than third party information from me."

"No, I would love to hear your thoughts." He interjects so quickly, you could only blink. "I mean-" Play it cool. Play it cool. "I already have the evidence, I just want to hear about it from your perspective, to help think of a point of view to write it from."

"My perspective?" You smile at him so warmly, he almost forgets what he was upset over in the first place. "I think you're the only person who wants to hear it sometimes. Thanks, Smallvile. It means a lot."

He may have hit the jackpot today. He's earned a nickname.

"It's- no problem." He stammers, averting your gaze to look back at the monitor. "So, I was thinking- there's already been some articles with explanations on how the fugitive escaped to Metropolis. I was thinking of focusing more on why."

"I knew you'd say that." You said with a knowing look.

He looks back at you, almost surprised. "How?"

"You always look for the good in people, Clark." You affirm. "When everyone's so focused on the hard facts and evidence, you're the only one who sees past it for what matters. That's why you're a good journalist. You write what matters."

You've been gone nearly a week for your assignment, but here with him, he realises why he's been so upset over your absence. You're looking right at him, when others have only ever seen past him. He's a nobody as Clark Kent. He's untouchable as Superman. Yet, under your gaze, he's just Clark, and that's all he needs to be.

"I have some ideas for the why." You continue on, as if you hadn't shaken his whole world. "If we bring it back to Gotham's current political situation, as well as the increase in unemployment.."

Staring at you wordlessly, he comes to a realisation that should've been obvious to him the moment you stepped into the Daily Planet, with your orange notebook and fiery determination to make a mark in this world. He's in love with you.

Your assignment with Jimmy ends today. Clark feels guilty for the way his steps have a little skip to them as he heads to work. After you submit your assignment to Perry, he's going to ask you to dinner.

There's that lump in his throat as he thinks about it- but after being apart from you for an entire week, he needs to be brave. Not having your silly expressions across his desk to wake him up when he's feeling tired during the 4 pm drought, the stealing of his peanut butter stack to lather on your toast during break, the debates about his alter ego that has him breathless with laughter when you comment on Superman's trunks- not being near you. It nearly drove him insane.

He's scared, but he's done things scared before. He can do it again, especially if it's you.

He arrives at the office, peering at Perry's office where both you and Jimmy were receiving feedback. There's the muffled sounds of 'good work' and 'looking forward to it', though his super-hearing doesn't give much else before the door opens and the both of you walk out with giddy smiles.

He's about to ask you both on how the assignment went when Jimmy exclaims loudly- "Can't believe we get to work on another assignment together!"

Clark drops his briefcase against the floor, causing a loud thud to echo across the hall. He doesn't hear much else other than that, he doesn't need to. He's already walking over to you, briefcase all but forgotten.

"I need to talk to you." He breathes out.

You shift your head to look at him, eyes widened in surprise at his sudden appearance. "Oh? Sure, what do you want to talk about-"

He's grabbing your hand, leading you away to somewhere more private. He doesn't notice Jimmy's smirk directed at you.

There's not many places that aren't exposed to the open in the office, and he's not thinking clearly either when he opens a random door, and leads you in. A cleaning closet- he's led you to a cleaning closet.

He’s practically a barrier, leaving little space for you in the tiny, dusty closet, causing you to stumble over a few brooms left unused on the creaky floor. He grabs you by the waist, holding you steady and unintentionally closer to him so you don’t fall.

“I just don’t understand.” He blurts out.

"Understand?" You furrow your brow.

"Why you're working with him again."

“We make a good team.” You say with a shrug. With the close proximity, you have to crank your chin to the highest point just to meet his eyes. “I think this is the highest praise Perry's ever given for an article."

"Well-" He can't take this anymore. "Does it have to be Jimmy?"

"Why not him? He's the best photographer we've got, you know that."

“Well, I don’t know- you seem to know him better than me now.”

You stare at him incredulously. “So, is this you being upset that I’m stealing Jimmy away from you?”

“What? No!” His voice reverberates through the small confinement, and you hit him softly at his chest as a sign to quiet down. If anyone were to hear his voice and come in, the situation would look- safe to say, you didn’t want to be the gossip feed for an office full of journalists.

“So? I don’t get why you’re upset.”

“I’m not upset.” He mumbles more to convince himself than you. He meets your unimpressed gaze and sighs. “Okay, fine. Maybe a little.”

“About what?” You push.

“I-” He averts his gaze, growing frustration visible through the grit of his teeth. “I just feel like I haven’t seen you at all the entire week.”

“Clark.” Realisation dawns you and a shit-eating grin appears on your face. “Are you jealous?”

“Not really.” Yet, his gaze is behind you, trained on the dusty, dark walls. “I’m just wondering what you and Jimmy could possibly be up to that you won’t come back to the office till six.”

“You keep track?” There’s nothing that can stop the tilt of your voice, obviously having caught on to his dilemma.

He rolls his eyes but he can’t help but smile down at you, and you bet if you trace his face, you could feel the deep indent of his dimple that you loved so much. “Your absence is very distracting.”

“Yeah?”

“I can’t focus on my work when you’re not around.” He huffs. “I’m just used to you coming to my desk and distracting me by stealing my peanut butter.”

“Hey, your mum makes amazing homemade peanut butter.”

“I missed you talking to me to solve your brain fogs when you can’t figure something out.” His voice is growing softer, his gaze focused on you as if he could see you in the dark. “And my stupid brain keeps wondering if you do that with Jimmy instead of me because you’re out all day, and I’m stuck in here waiting.”

“For me?”

“Yeah.” He responds weakly, but he’s never been the type of back down from his words. "I've been waiting to see you the entire week." Despite his supposed demeanour, you knew to never underestimate how direct he could be.

“Well, I’ll have you know that I talk to him about you all the time whenever we’re not doing our assignment.” You admit. “He’s probably relieved you dragged me in here so that I wouldn’t keep talking his ear off about you.”

His voice hitches, his eyes blinking in confusion behind his glasses. “What did you talk about?”

“Just how I missed annoying you, and that you’re probably super bored in the office without me.” You smirk, knowing he can’t deny it either after his own confession. “That I can’t wait to come back and see you- only for Mr. Jealous here to give me the cold shoulder.”

Sweet Clark of course frowns, looking dejected over his own behaviour.

Before he could apologise, you stop him by placing a finger to his lips. “And most importantly, being away from you the entire week made me realise that I don’t want to do that ever again. And that I should probably ask you out before Jimmy wrings my neck out of annoyance.”

You feel his lips part against your finger, clearly not expecting any of your words. A few seconds pass, then his frown morphs into the largest grin you’ve ever seen. “You beat me to it.”

“As always.” You shrug. “I mean, this is why I got the assignment from Perry in the first place before you-”

He grabs your finger, gently and kisses the side of it. Whatever you wanted to boast about leaves your mind as quickly as it came, and this time, you’re the one left speechless.

His gaze is trained on you, hungry and desperate. “I really want to kiss you. Can I kiss you?”

You barely manage a nod before he’s on you, lips meeting yours with a push. He’s clumsy, with his glasses bumping against your nose, and it almost makes you want to laugh- but it transitions into something heated when one of his hands lifts from your waist to caress your hair, pulling you impossibly closer. The long endurance of your playful banters and glances feel like they’re being rewarded in this very moment, where he’s holding you as if you’re the only thing that exists.

He's good, and not only because he's really making it feel good, but because you can feel just how earnest he is- that he really wants this. He's handling you so gently, as if he's savouring you and doesn't want it to end. You don't think you've ever met someone who could translate their feelings through a simple kiss, but it's almost like he's conveying everything he's kept hidden to you right now. You don’t know how much time passes before you have to pull away for air. He follows after you, but you have to raise your hand to clamp his face before he kisses you again.

"You know this was all Jimmy's plan?" You slip out.

Clark blinks, still reeling from the kiss. "What?"

"He said we were going round in circles for too long, so he dragged me out all the time to see how'd you react."

He groans, head lowering and bumping softly against yours. "Of course he did."

"He'll be estastic." You laugh. "I owe him 50 bucks."

"What were the odds?"

"That you'd give in before the week ends." You admitted. "I thought he was being delusional."

"Why?"

"Cause I thought you didn't like me as much as I liked you." You look at him with that same adoring gaze you gave him when you complimented his writing. "If I saw you running around with someone else for an assignment, I would've gone crazy in less than two days."

He chuckles. "Oh, trust me. You had me insane on the first."

"That's the best thing I heard all day."

"Oh, really? Me telling you that I missed you didn't do the trick?"

"No, but it comes close." You tease. "Also, we should probably get out of here before anyone thinks we're doing more than hooking up."

You can't see clearly in the dark, but you could bet his cheeks were on fire. As he opens the door, letting you exit first, you meet Jimmy’s eyes across the room- who’s grinning like a cheshire cat at your tangled hair and reddened cheeks.

“Finally!” He words silently to you, as to not attract the others who were typing away at their desks.

You roll your eyes, feeling the heat of Clark near your back and knowing Jimmy must have put two and two together faster than he swipes through his DMs. Clark leans down, whispering to you. “So, do you want to come by my place after work? I could cook us dinner.”

“Hm, I don’t know.” You tease. “I’ll have to check with Jimmy to see if he needs me for our article.”

He gives your waist a soft squeeze, a little warning. “Don’t worry, I can negotiate with him. So how about 6?”

“What's on the menu?"

"A special." He grins. "Breakfast for dinner."

"Pancakes?"

"Anything you want."

"That's a dangerous proposition." You pretend to consider. "I have a notorious sweet tooth."

"I think I can handle that." He murmurs. "So say yes, please."

Intertwining your hand with the one he held on your waist, you lean back against his chest. "Only since you asked so nicely."