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Satoru Gojo—handsome, rich, untouchable. He was basically royalty, which is kind of an accurate comparison per se. His everything came not from hard work but from simply being born. A man born lucky just like each rich bum that came before him.

Sure, he had a somewhat self-made infamous name for himself by the time he was sixteen from modeling and all that prissy shit, but everyone knows he had and always will have a foot in the door. Even if his family’s enterprise meets its inevitable demise, the whole world knows that sick fuck will come out on top just because he always does.

Because he’s Satoru.

Little to nothing changed when he met you during freshman orientation about a year ago. Despite being a fresh adult, who should be a little more mature, he was still the same irksome, suave guy, who never quite fell off of their high school peak, the exact type of man you hate.

Bored out of his mind, he decided to find the next victim of his irresistable charm. And his eyes landed on you. You weren't his usual type, but you were definitely pretty enough to have fun with. To a prick like him, it didn't really matter who you were for as long as you adorned a cute face.

And so, it begun.

“Hey, pretty girl,” he purred low in your ear, upon seeing you alone. He’s a little too close for a stranger, but of course, he doesn’t care. Why would he? "Girls like you probably wouldn't mind receiving a little attention from a guy like him, yeah? It's probably once in a lifetime," he snickers to himself.

Boy, was he wrong. You spurned, stepping back with pure disgust written on your adorably dolled face. “Sorry,” you start sarcastically. “Do I know you or are you just some upperclassman creep?”

The snowy-locked manchild only snickered, “You’re feisty, I like that. Buuut I know you’re a good girl deep down.” He poked your cheek like it was his godforsaken right to be so near. He was so annoyingly confident (though, you have to admit, his looks did cushion the blow).

“Definitely not towards you,” you hissed at the bold boy.

Satoru shrugged. “Sure, pretty, whatever. Satoru Gojo, by the way. A first year, just like you—not some ‘upperclassman creep’ as you so colorfully put it, angel face,” he held his hand out for you to shake.

For a moment, you rightfully hesitated. But really, what was the harm in accepting affection he so easily threw away?

You put your hand in his, manicured paw clutching soft hand that knew no labor. Just then, he intertwined your fingers with his freakishly long ones and brought the back of your palm close to his lips. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he says so softly, and you swear you saw a few girls almost swooning as he winked, wishing it was directed at them. And you hate to admit it, but your cheeks definitely flushed at his stupid trap.

He chuckled, eyes narrowing and everything. “You’re cute. You’re my best friend now, okay?”

You gave him a derisive look, trying to hide the blush that crept up your cheeks. “I don’t even know you.”

“Well, you already know my name, that's a start,” he kids. "You'll know more about me soon enough, don't worry your pretty little head about it, princess," he said. All the while, tapping your skull thrice.

Back then, it was all a joke—you were supposed to be a pastime. Someone pretty to look at while ugly enough to discard. He didn’t expect himself to fall for your simple charm and weird idiosyncrasies. You're cute, witty, and nice (for the most part), just enough to hit his trifecta. Yeah, he knew that eventually, he’d kiss you, touch you, and sleep with you; but it should never have been that serious.

He doesn’t do romance. Not even for you.

—

Right now, you're at another one of Jujutsu Phi's parties. The other Alpha Kaisen girls are nowhere around to be found on the large couch—probably already with their own guy of the night.

You're just with Satoru, propped on his lap like a good little doll, always at his disposal. His friends converse while you just listen, too buzzed, maybe even plastered. Well, who wouldn't be after they were given one, two many cocktails by, none other than, Satoru Gojo?

“Baby,” he chirps, tapping your ass with his large palm twice. “D’ya mind getting me another drink?” he whispers in your ear, shedding his arms off of your almost limp body. You groan, not out of disdain. You’re just drunk out of your mind, and a little bit dazed.

You shuffle on his lap, brushing over the obvious tent on his crotch. He groans a bit, but you’re a little too out of it to catch the sound. “But I’m so sleepy, ‘Toru…” you grumble against the skin of his neck. In turn, he sighs out a response, “C’mon, angel. ‘Toru’s really thirsty.” But you only shake your head against him.

With a deep exhale, he cradles your head in his palm, keeping you in place. “Let’s get you up to my room,” he mutters, “Always so dependent on your dear ‘Toru, huh, baby?”

You nod, mind unable to think coherently enough to tell him off. He laughs, knowing you'd be kicking him in the balls right about now if you were the least bit sober. "Mhm, super dependent," he mocks.

He puts his empty solo cup down on the short mahogany table and stands, making sure to hold you tightly enough so you won't fall yet gently enough so your skin won't bruise. Silently, he eases through the dancing crowd with practiced ease.

"Where're ya heading, Gojobaby?" the frat sweetheart asks with slurred speech, blatantly ignoring you, who's cradled so sweetly in Satoru's arms.

"To my room, sweets. Don'cha worry, I'll be back though," he winks, not at all caring that you're there to hear. What a whore he is.

Before reaching the stairs, he catches a certain dark-haired senior mouthing, “whipped,” in the corner of his eye. He scowls. Toji’s definitely his least favorite senior by far. As he steps, he hears cackling from below. He knows it's about him—he knows of the torment that will follow.

Once you reach his room, he sets you down on his bed. “Stay upright for me for a bit, princess. Can your cute drunk self do that for me?” he asks, and you nod in response. He leaves you be after offering a gentle grin, just to ease whatever worries run rampant in your mind—the ones you'd never openly tell.

He rummages through his closet for clothes small enough to fit your stature and a soft, clean towel to use on your face then body. For a moment, you just quietly sit down, surveying his room as if you haven’t been here a million times already.

Neatly stacked books, seemingly untouched. Navy blue sheets, soft and warm. Posters, figurines, and what could only be described as a shrine of you. Right, he never lets other girls in his room—unless it's you. But you're just friends, right?

Right, yet on n the walls are arranged polaroids of the two of you—none with any other girl he’s flirted with. Maybe he keeps them in a box, away from prying eyes such as your own. You don’t really know. You try not to probe and think too much around him.

Your eyes fall onto one specific photo. You and him after seven minutes in heaven—an image taken by Yuki Tsukumo, your favorite senior. He looks a little fucked out in the picture and so do you.

Hair disheveled. Eyes narrowed. Bodies tangled.

You start to look back on the not-so-distant past.

—

Everyone who knows Satoru, close or not, remembers the story like it was yesterday. The two of you were pulled into a game of "seven minutes in heaven" by Toji Fushiguro, a third-year at the time. To be frank, everything was going great at first. The two of you touched a bit then made out. He whispered something along the lines of, "Are you sure about this?" In response, you just nodded shyly.

Not even seven minutes later, maybe five at best, the doors opened abruptly with flashing lights directed towards you and the drunken boy. While Yuki took the polaroid photo, other stupid college kids took digital snapshots that made it all over social media before dawn—fanmade forums asked who you are, thirsty netizens scoured the internet for your posts, and an ungodly amount of people got involved for no damn reason but a stupid makeout session.

Your boy(friend), as gossip outlets put it, even had to release a statement saying it was just a fun party game and that you're both just friends. It was a straightforward statement that held no malice, yet it wasn't reported as such.

"Gojo Satoru calls College Blockmate 'Not Pretty Enough'" and other headlines along the lines of that cruel joke circulated the net. You remember sobbing as you read the articles and while you watched his statement and the interviews. You thought maybe you really weren't cut out for his lifestyle. In retrospect, maybe you really aren't.

Unsolicited comments were thrown at you no matter how many times you've hit the block button, which ultimately made you decide on keeping your count private for the time being.

You tried to ignore him in campus—you really really did, but it was no use. He was everywhere, and he wouldn't leave you alone. To some extent, you're glad he didn't. Even when you pushed him away, yelled at him, and almost spat in his face, he stayed.

He was sweet—only behind closed doors. Much like you, afraid of what the world has to say, afraid of being seen as weak.

A month after the whole thing blew off, he called you. "Hey, baby, 'you hungry?" he said through the phone. You rubbed your eyes and groaned softly, fatigue excruciatingly evident even without visual evidence. You didn't respond to him for a moment, only clicked the side of your cell to check the time: one in the fucking morning, how poetic.

Despite the late hour (perhaps early hour would be more appropriate), you snuck out of the sorority house, being careful as to not wake the other girls up.

"You know I didn't mean it, angel face," he cooed as he placed a kiss on the apple of your cheek. Now, the two of you were in his car, dark, sleek—a vehicle that reeked of old money and strong connections. It looked out of place in the random fast food place's parking lot.

"But you still said it," you sniffled, biting into whatever food he offered you. It was probably a burger or fries? You don't really remember much from this moment apart from the heartache he embedded into you.

"Well, I had to save my ass some way, no? How else would I have a viable source of income for your shopping sprees?" he joked, but not a happy sound escaped past your pursed lips.

At that moment, it really hit you. He'll save his ass first before anyone else's, if at all. And maybe, just maybe, you sat in the passenger's seat in silence, hoping, one day, he'd choose to rescue you.

—

You're soon pulled out of your "harking back" trance as Satoru speaks.

“Reminiscing there, cutie?” he says, coming out of the closet bearing gifts. In one hand, a small white tee with big bold letters over the chest saying “titties make me smile.” It looks a little too small for him but perfect for you, just a little number that'll go a little past your thighs.

“Classy,” you remark with a smile. “Only the best for my princess!” he replies. You giggle at his words, of course you do, not even caring about the melancholic thoughts from earlier—you’re easy and he’s hard.

Like always.

He kneels on the foot of his bed right in front of you to take your shoes off. They’re cute kitten heels—the ones he got you for your birthday last year. A gift you wouldn’t just give a girl. You wiggle your toes, now free from the pretty pink jail. He laughs, leaning down to kiss the arch gently.

“Foot kink?” you tease. “Yeah, but just for you,” he replies. Smooth. So annoying.

He stands back up, trying to stay awake. You can’t both be on the verge of passing out. He probably wouldn’t care if you were any other girl though.

Satoru opens his arms, and you instinctively dive in. He takes you to his private bathroom and sets you down gently on the cool marble counter on which you shift uncomfortably. “So cold…” you murmur with a pout on your plump lips. He then laughs, a boyish grin adorning his perfect face.

“I know, baby. But it’s just for a bit, yeah? Let’s just clean your face and change your clothes, ‘kay?” he reasons while gently rubbing the side of your thighs to warm his sweet girl up.

“Okay, ‘Toru,” you pliantly agree.

Right after, he dampens the face cloth with warm water. His large palm then rests behind your head to keep you still as he gently pats then wipes over the planes of your skin. It’s intimate—gentle, much unlike the Satoru the world knew.

“Satoru,” you randomly call out, now, all giggly. “Yes, baby?” he asks, inviting you to tell him more. “What if I turned into a cat, would you keep me?”

He pretends to think for a second, thinking of some otherworldly response to your inane yet adorable question. “Of course I would, angel. You’d be the frat’s kitten—more so than you already are,” he chides.

You instantly beam at his words. “What if I could no longer open my mouth; therefore, I couldn’t communicate with you,” you challenge.

The young man only shrugs as if he’s been asked the same question a hundred times before and over. “Well, I’ll be kind of sad that you can’t suck my dick anymore—that’s a really big bummer, but other than that, it’s fine. We can find other ways to speak to each other, yeah?” Adding humor to a nice message, on-brand.

You pinch his nose playfully. “You’re such a pervert.”

“Only for you,” he repeats his earlier sentiments.

After successfully cleaning your face, he helps you remove your clothes. Like always, when your bra is off, he stares a little too long. “Eyes up here, ‘Toru,” you huff, crossing your arms over your chest. Though, it only works in his favor since it accentuates your tits.

“They looked at me first. Plus, I missed my girls. I barely got to see them all week,” he all but whines.

“Don’cha have hic other good fucks?” you slur, raising an eyebrow at the blue-eyed brat.

He chuckles. “None as good as you.”

“Why?” you ask, irises dark yet hopeful with drunken haze and curiosity.

He wants to respond with: because with you, it’s intimate, like I don’t have to pretend that lust is the highest high I could get. But, of course, he doesn’t. Is there an invisible power that prevents him from fleshing out his raw emotions because if there is, you’d gladly fucking defeat it.

You can see it clearly in his expression—how he turns away then glances back. He’s pining. Hoping. Wishing. And all you want is for him to accept that fact.

“Y’know, for such a nerdy little princess, you sure do ask little ol’ me a lot of questions,” he forces a smile as he puts his “titties make me smile” shirt over your head and onto your body.

You decide not to push it further as to not dampen his mood. He thanks you quietly with a soft smile. “Alright, d’ya wanna wear sweatpants or just the shirt and panties?” he inquires. “This is fine, ‘Toru, thank you,” you reply.

He plants a soft kiss on the apple of your cheek like he did a year ago. Is this fate? Is the universe telling you that he's bound to trample on your precious little heart until it can no longer trust or be given to another? “Let’s put you to sleep then, angel face,” he says before bringing you back to his bed, shutting the bright lights off to give way to his bedside lamp’s dim glow. He's sort of rushing, but you don't quite understand why. God, the suddenness of everything makes you want to throw up, but you hold it in.

Immediately, you close your eyes as he tucks you in, swallowing whatever it is your throat wants out—vomit or a confession of your undying love? Whatever it is, it’s falling back down to the pits of your stomach, where it can soak in acid.

“Thank you for taking care hic of me,” you murmur as he caresses your face. “Of course, baby. Besides, you always take care of me,” he replies.

You simper. “Are you going back down?”

He nods in response. “Yeah, maybe play a little beer pong after I grab myself a drink. Just go to sleep okay? Your phone’s just on the nighstand. Call me if you need me, pretty girl,” he instructs before leaving a kiss on your jaw. Consequently, he leaves you to wallow in your own, self-destructive, thoughts much like he's doing behind the door, away from the alluring pool in your eyes that sing to him like sirens—ready to entrap him.

—

The party rages downstairs, even more so now that Satoru's been spotted by the sweetheart. "Gojo!" she exclaims. He smiles lazily, squeezing her ass with a sizzling hiss. "Hey, baby," he greets her.

"Where's y/n?" she asks, feigning concern as the two of them walk over to the kitchen, where Suguru's mixing drinks and Choso's passing out blunts for a only a few thousand yen.

Satoru shrugs, desperately trying to radiate disinterest at the mention of your name. "Upstairs, asleep. Couldn't handle her liquor," he replies.

"And you took care of her," the pretty blonde points out. She's trying gauge his reaction, checking if he's going to blindly agree or deflect.

"Well yeah, I did," he starts, and she thinks she doesn't stand a chance. "But I'm just returning the favor, if you know what I mean."

“Wanna smoke? Maybe it’ll take your mind off whatever,” the girl giggles. He turns her down though, “Nah, don’t really like the smell.” What a lie. You don’t like the smell, and he’s sleeping beside you tonight.

“Just a drink then?”

“Yeah, just a drink,” he repeats.

The snowy-locked bastard then decides to finally pour himself a drink, grabbing a new solo cup to fill it with one of Suguru's newest mix—it's something sweet and tangy, and it almost reminds him of you.

Upon the first sip, he pauses for a bit and the shorter girl notices. "Something wrong, Gojo?"

He shakes his head, "Nah, probably just a foreign taste," he lies through his pearly teeth, filling his cup a little more. Alien taste or a flavor he can never forget?

"Hm, it tastes pretty good to me, kinda sweet though, don'cha think?" He nods in response to her prompt, "Yeah, a little," he answers as if it bothers him. And maybe it does because his mind is flooded with memories of that sickeningly sweet substance you insist of coating your lips with everytime you kiss. Fuck, did you pavlov him?

Well, whatever it is doesn't really matter, right? He'll totally forget about you soon enough. He'll tear down your pictures on his wall and he'll throw away your little trinkets in his room. Because Satoru Gojo doesn't do relationships even if the mere thought of tucking away that cute polaroid he has of you brings him immense discomfort.

"Oi! Satoru!" Toji calls out from across the room. "Got a new girl with ya? What happened to y/n?" he asked teasingly.

Satoru sighs in response, "Why does everyone keep asking me about her??"

"'Cause you're totally in love with her, dude," Sukuna scoffs from behind. Since when did he get here? And why the fuck is he butting in right now?

"So you do like her!" the girl on his arm accuses.

"So what is it, Gojo? Do you like her or is she just a good fuck?" Toji interrogates, “But like, I heard she’s kinda a study-holic, so what’s that like? She just cockwarms you while going through flash cards?”

Choso, ever-so-sweet, interjects, "Cut it out, dude... y/n's nice." Nanami, listening from the other side of the counter nods in agreement. "She is. Additionally, the girls won't be happy if they hear us bad mouthing their favorite pledge."

The large man with a scarred lip rolls his eyes playfully and points a circling finger on his like to say: Nanami's being cuckoo! "Ahh, they won't find out. There's a hundred people here and the girls are probably with their guys."

"Right, and she's in her second year, dummy. Yuki’s prolly got a new favorite," Sukuna jests, which makes Nanami's face harden. The tattooed brute with pink hair then turns back to Satoru, "So? Spit it out? Ya like 'good girl pussy' now? Or d’ya like nerds or what?"

Suguru’s about to speak, but he bites his tongue, seeing as Satoru’s about to burst. The white-haired jerk downs his spirits in frustration. With a loud scoff, he says, "Get your head outta your asses and listen to me when I say I don't like her, okay? I don’t think she’s all that with her crooked teeth, painted face—uneven eyes! Just—whatever!" he yells like judging who you are is his birthright. Wow! It really takes a man to spill out the little things you’re insecure about to a room full of friends and strangers. He wipes a large hand over his face in anger directed at whoever. "She's nothing. We're nothing," he says with finality as he dismisses the girl that clung onto his arm with a harsh shrug.

Sukuna raises his arms in jest. "Woah, boy. No need to get your panties in a twist." The room bursts in laughter at the, clearly, inebriated boy.

He stomps away from the group and marches up to his room, where you're waiting for him with eyes wide open.

—

You hear the lock shift, but you don't panic. You know it's just Satoru. He locks the door for extra security—he says it's to keep his collector's items intact, but you know it's to protect you.

Frustration is evident in his expression as he enters the room. The lamp is still on while you're scrolling on your phone that you abruptly shut as soon as his eyes land on you. "Back so soon?" you call out from under his sheets. It hasn't even been half an hour and he's already waltzing in.

He kicks the door behind him and locks it with a soft click, gaze never wavering away from your form. "Yeah, the guys were pissing me off," he finally answers you.

"Oh? What were they saying?" you question as you sit up.

Satoru toes his shoes off, not bothering to lay them properly beside the door. He then comes closer, getting on hs bed to hover over you—the soft mattress dipping because of his weight.

You look up at his face, he's flushed, intoxicated by whatever he drank. "Are you okay, 'Toru?" you tell him so sweetly. Your tone has him almost moaning from how sickening it is to hear.

"Yeah, pretty, I just need ta taste ya right now, okay? “Can I?" he slightly slurs. You're a little less drunk than you were earlier, so you can properly understand what's going on. Though, you're unsure whether saying yes right now would be wise. But really, when have you ever been wise with Satoru Gojo?

"Okay," you breathe out gently, and he smirks.

His lips immediately latch onto your own. God, you taste just like that concoction Suguru came up with. It's uncanny. He laps you up like a man who almost died of thirst. "Satoru!" you giggle in between shameless kisses.

You wrap your arms around his head, hoping to keep him still. By the way he's moving, you're sure your lips are going to be chafed.

Teeth, clashed. Tongues, drawn. Salivas, exchanged.

And Satoru's still not done. He wants more, he needs more—flavor.

He trails down your body, leaving hickeys all over plump porcelain skin. "Ya taste so good, angel," he heaves as you start to squirm beneath him.

"Shh," he hushes, "Stay still for me, yeah?" And all you could do is whine as he pins you down harder. You try to relax, but he's sucking on all your sensitive spots. It's too hard to act normal like this.

He intertwines his fingers with yours while he spreads your legs with his knees, rendering you completely unable to fight back. "Gentler..." you murmur, hoping he'll listen.

His dark eyes flicker back to the usual baby blue, softening his grip on you and leaving kisses instead of countless bites on your, now, bruised collar. "Sorry," he whispers back. "Jus'... need to go lower, please?" he begs, busting out the puppy eyes that always seem to work.

"Just be gentle, okay, 'Toru?" you warn, and he nods in response.

He sits up, drinking in how you look under him for just a moment before pushing himself back to stare at your clothed sex. Almost immediately, a pink tint brushes over your cheeks. "Stop staring, 'Toru. It's embarassing," you whine.

The large man laughs a little bit at your words. "Seriously? I'm about to eat your cunt, and me staring is what you're worried about?" he jokes. "If I were you, pretty, I'd be more worried about how I'm to keep my head on straight a few minutes from now."

"Satoru!" you aqueal at his crude words.

He rolls his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. You know it's true." Well, he may be right but hearing it from him just sounds weird! "Lift your ass for me a little bit," he instructs as he tugs your panties down your legs. He chuckles upon seeing sticky slick already coating your entrance, some even stuck on the fabric that once housed your core.

"Is all this f'me or were you watching porn on your phone before I came in—perhaps looking at my photos, huh?" he teases while you look to the side. "I wasn't," you try to defend yourself.

"Mhm, sure, princess. You can tell me though, I wouldn't mind such a cutie getting off to me," he winks with a boyish grin plastered on his stupidly sculpted face. He's no longer clinging on to the frustration he acquired from going downstairs. Now, he's just slightly insufferable and slightly yours.

He licks a long, slow stripe on your slit, making sure your juices coat his tongue thickly. It's gross how he keeps eye contact while he lets out exaggerated pornographic mewls. "Fuck, now that's a taste Suguru can't recreate."

Those words stop you mid whimper. "H—Huh...?" you stammer.

“Everyone was pissing me off downstairs,” Satoru starts while making out with your pussy lips, the vibrations send a tingle through every neuron in your body, and you can’t help but yelp. He hushes you again, “Baby, I’m talking to her right now.”

“You’re being too noisy,” he adds.

You whine but oblige anyways. “Right, so, everyone was pissing me off so bad!” he rants in between sloppy slurps. “Toji and Sukuna were being such shitheads. I wish I could beat them up, but I don’t really want to deal with administrative nonsense right now.”

“W—What did they dooooo?” you manage to stutter out, almost shrieking.

He raises an eyebrow playfully, pausing for a second. “Huh, I didn’t know pussies could talk, that’s fun,” he teases. “Well, they were talking about stuff, but that’s unimportant right now. I’m jus’ so fuckin’ pissed, and it’s all your fault.”

“M—My fault?” you whine out a question.

“Your fault,” he just repeats as he inserts a finger in your tired hole. It’s painstakingly slow as it wriggles in, curling and poking against your gummy walls.

Your repressed moans are music to his ears. He sighs, “You try so hard to be a good girl. It’s adorable.”

Satoru then sucks on your clit as he lets another finger slide through your slippery folds. He breathes warm against your bud. “Y’know, this is also your fault. If you’d just gone to sleep, you wouldn’t be writhing right now,” he lectures you.

“I—I couldn’t sleep… but I wasn’t watching anything! I promise, ‘Toruuu!” you whine.

He hums against your sobbing slit, “Then maybe this’ll help then. Cum for me, angel face.” He curls his index and ring finger inside of you as he sucks exponentially well on the bundle of nerves above your puffy skin.

In turn, you reach for his hair, gripping the white tufts tightly while preparing to come undone. “Satoru!” you mewl then shut your thighs around his head with all the strength you have left in you.

He laps your fluids up. It could be urine for all he cares. He’d gladly drink whatever comes out of you (what a weirdo, right?).

For about half a minute, you keep him there as you ride your high. It’s when he laughs against your sex that you let go, pant, then spasm.

Like earlier, he hovers over you—not a hint of fatigue on his face. “So pretty,” he whispers against your lips before he lets you taste yourself on his tongue. The kiss is gentle, even as he quenches his undying thirst with your saliva.

“She’s nothing,” my ass.

When he pulls away, he keeps his forehead on yours. “Let’s get you cleaned up again, baby,” he mutters, and you just nod. Maybe this set up is alright… or perhaps—post nut clarity just hasn’t hit yet.

After wiping you down with another clean towel and letting you pee, he sets you back down on his bed, tucking you in so gently. “Good night, princess,” he whispers against your bruised lips followed by a barely there peck. “Good night, ‘Toru…” you respond, volume barely above a whisper.

—

The next day, you don’t wake up with a wicked hangover. Just a little throbbing pain in your noggin but that’s about it. Satoru’s just lying right beside you, sound asleep.

He looks so peaceful like this, without the weight of everybody’s gaze weighing down on everything he wants to be. You stare at him for a while, just enjoying the sweet serenity of being someone he trusts wholly for a fleeting moment.

Unfortunately, the moment doesn’t last.

After a few minutes, you hear shuffling outside the door and the distinct sound of Yuki yelling, “Where the hell is y/n, Zenin?!”

Toji raises his hands in mock surrender. “Chill, Yuks!” he says with a laugh, “She’s just with the Gojo kid, alright? Nothing out of the ordinary.”

Shoko, your “other” best friend (and in the same year as you), then follows from behind the blonde. She’s calmer than Yuki, but the two of them share the same mission: to get you out of here. “Pack it up, Toj’, she saw the video. Everyone did. This is gonna be another fucking fiasco, and we’d like to leave y/n out of it this time.”

“What video?” the large man questions.

Yuki facepalms out of pure frustration then grabs the green-eyed goblin by the collar. “Just fuckin’ show us where y/n is! I doubt you want to keep her here.”

“The fuck’s that supposed to mean??”

Shoko points at Toji’s chest as if he isn’t her upperclassman. “It means Jujutsu Phi and Alpha Kaisen are taking a break.”

“What?! That’s a long-standing alliance! You can’t break it just because of some fucking video I haven’t even seen yet!” He scrambles—not in panic but in something a little short of resentment that’s bubbling within him. Maybe, in reality, the anger’s directed towards him, and he’s just spewing bullshit at anyone who dares to cross him.

“She’s a junior officer, your frat—and most specially Gojo, bad-mouthed y/n. We have every right to cut ties right now,” the short brunette calmly explains.

Then, Yuki, the president adds with a lazy, annoyed grin, “Y’know, Toj’. Not because Fushiguro left you because you’re a manchild means you have to pull everyone down with you. So just take us to Gojo’s room, so we can take y/n home.”

Toji scoffs.

All the while, inside Satoru’s room, he finally stirs awake. With a deep sleepy voice, he asks, “What the hell is happening?” He doesn’t even look at you, just wraps an arm around your body and pulls you close.

“I don’t know,” you whisper back, “but I can hear arguing outside… I think I heard my name, ‘Toru. I don’t want another rumor…”

He immediately sits up at your tone, the comforter fallings off the planes of his toned body. “Rumor? What makes you think there is one?”

You fidget with your fingers, averting your gaze from Satoru’s hazy baby blues. His head’s absolutely pounding, but all he cares about right now are your worries. “I dunno—like last year it’s just like… a nagging feeling?” you try to explain, feeling a little paranoid as you speak.

He reaches out but then abruptly clutches his head with a hiss. “Are you okay?” you check upon him in concern, propping yourself on your knees to reach for his face.

A hint of red dusts his cheeks and ears at your actions, but you’re a little too worried to realize your position. Though, it’s kinda stupid. He’s blushing like he didn’t have his face on your pussy the night before. Sigh.

He chuckles softly, putting his large hands over your own, keeping it securely on his face. Silently, he’s hoping it covers the rosy tint that doesn’t really suit a “cool” guy like him. “I’m okay, baby, just a little—”

Just as he’s about to speak, the door flings open to reveal the voices behind the door. “Wrap it up, Gojo! You’ve been caught,” Toji says playfully even when there was nothing funny about the situation.

Yuki sighs, pushing Toji away. He stumbles back a step, but he doesn’t take it personally. “Babe, y/n, let’s go back to the sorority house,” the blonde says, ignoring the shirtless boy right next to you.

“But… what? What’s happening?” you ask in confusion.

“I think it’s better if we talk it out back at home, yeah? A few of the pledges cooked breakfast. You’re hungry, aren’t you, baby?” Shoko hums, trying to get you to leave on your on volition.

You glance between Satoru and your friends. Why the hell is all of this happening so early in the morning?! An awkward silence settles in the room as everyone waits to hear your decision. Your heart beats out of your chest, feeling a little pressured, which all the more boosts the ridiculous premonition of a conflict.

“C’mon, Sho,” you break the silence with a hesitant chuckle, “It’s not like someone died, right? Just say what you wanna say.”

The brunette sucks her teeth in. She knows that playing the leaked video here will be messy. But honestly, there was no way this situation will just blow away gently. That’s just life… probably.

After a soft sigh she hands you her phone from her pocket. “Play the video,” she instructs, and you do as you’re told.

The video plays, and at first, it’s just a video of two girls and a guy dancing, lip syncing, and having fun. Shuffling can be heard as well as a distinct mention of your name. Then, someone shouts in the background, "Get your head outta your asses and listen to me when I say I don't like her, okay? I don’t think she’s all that with her crooked teeth, painted face—uneven eyes! Just—whatever!" Satoru’s voice. It’s unmistakable. "She's nothing. We're nothing," he scoffs while the camera pans to him and the others who were part of the scene.

You can’t see their faces, but they go quiet for a second until phone picked up a short conversation after Satoru presumably left the area. “Was that about y/n?” a girl asked. “Yeah, duuuudeee! I thought he was in love with her or something,” another person replied.

“Oh, shit, I’m still—” and the video stops.

Everyone freezes, waiting for your reaction. First, you turn to who was supposedly your friend, “Did you really say that—about me?” you say calmly. There’s no need to burst out right now. You need to hear his side, right?

Wrong. You’re just in denial. Nothing can justify pointing out specific features on a person and saying that you hate it. It’s cruel. It’s shitty.

He takes a deep breath before looking you in the eyes. The truth is he said it. You already know it too. But shit. How is he just supposed to tell you?

“Princess, you know I didn’t mean it,” he says so softly that it almost chips away at the walls you just built around your heart.

“Did you or did you not, Satoru?!” you yell, and everyone’s taken aback. “Shit,” Toji mutters underneath his breath.

He turns to Toji with an annoyed glare while Yuki and Shoko look at him with nothing but disappointment and disgust. “I di—” smack! The harsh sound echoes in his room. No one dares to react as you erupt, standing up despite lacking pants.

“You fucking jerk!” you scream at the top of your lungs, not at all caring who hears. “That’s what pissed you off last night?! And you had the fucking audacity to makeout with me and eat my pussy?!!” you shout shamelessly.

The blonde and brunette turn to each other as if to say, “Do we stop her?” but they don’t. Not yet.

“What the hell is with you?! How the fuck are you so sweet behind closed doors, but you spew absolute bullshit when you’re out or when you’re drinking or when you’re with your friends? Is it about being fuckin’ cool?” you spit. “Sorority girls not cool enough for your high and mighty standards?”

“No—it’s not… it’s not you, baby—I swe-” he starts, but you cut him off, “Then what is it?!”

He gets up from his bed to hold your hands in his. The guys on the second floor start waking up and gathering inside the booming room—so nosy.

“I didn’t mean it, angel face… I promise…” he pleads with you, trying to leave a kiss on your cheek, but you swerve. You cross your arms over your chest, clearly done with the overgrown child standing in front of you.

With all his friends watching, he gets on his knees. “I’m sorry, baby. C’mon, forgive your sweet ‘Toru…” he begs. Even the frat brothers are shocked seeing Satoru so close to the ground.

It doesn’t matter though. All you can see is red. “You’re a bitch, Satoru Gojo,” you scoff, “A fucking bitch in heat. I hope you catch an STD!”

You shove everyone out of the way as you walk out with Yuki and Shoko following closely behind you. “Babe! Wait! Your pants!” Shoko hurries to give you her hoodie.

Satoru just sits there while the guys are also frozen.

It’s Suguru that speaks first after a moment of brooding. “Let’s get some breakfast, yeah? Nanamin and Haibara cooked,” he smiles gently.

Toji is the first to leave the suddenly chilly room. There’s an air of neutrality to him—and to some extent, you felt it too, but anger also sits inside you, knowing his jests fuel Satoru’s obnoxious need to be seen as “cool.”

Then again, Satoru’s a grown man, capable of making his own decisions and fixing his mindset. On the other hand (for the nth time in your mind), you know what it’s like to want to fit in. In your youth, you tried desperately to join cliques and hang around groups, and it never seemed to work. Though, you couldn’t imagine trying to keep up with those people through a fabricated persona like Satoru’s.

Moreover, you try to tell yourself that you’ll never truly understand how it is to even be a sliver of who Satoru is. He’s told you before about how heavy it feels to be the “best,” everyone expects no less than perfect from him. He’d tell you his deepest, darkest secrets with solemnity written on his face. Then, he’d kiss you and whisper how you’re the closest thing he has to a cure.

But maybe—he was just exploiting your kindness, told you stories he knows will make you stay. What makes you so angry is how it worked, and it still is working because you don’t know how to feel about the whole ordeal. A minute ago you were angry and ready to end his bloodline right then and there. Right now, however, you can’t help but feel guilty.

Empathy is a twisted curse, and you are its avatar.

—

Two weeks pass, and it seems like not much has changed. Only a few people have brought up the video, namely your family, some people from your sorority, and a few acquaintances. Though, you’ve seen an unbearable amount of sad ship edits of you and Satoru on your feed the past couple of days.

The conversation with your parents went as expected. The usual, “I knew that Gojo kid was trouble!” your father huffed at the dinner table last Friday, when you came to visit. “Honey, we should let her choose who she wants even if it ends up spectacularly failing,” your mother said, sarcasm dripping in her tone.

You only sighed while eating the supposedly delicious food that tastes bland atop the tongue you’re lightly biting.

“Princess,” your father started, “your mother and I do have someone to introduce to you though. We just waited until that boy goes.”

Your mother smiled, “He’s fairly handsome and strong, honey! He’s taking a business course in your university.” You wanted to say, “So does Satoru,” but you didn’t. That would’ve caused a whole ass scene, and you weren’t in the mood for drama.

“Who is he?” you asked. A little curious but more skeptical.

“Naoya Zen’in,” your father answered, “He’s Naobito’s son. Don’t you remember the person I mentioned about a month ago?”

“Oh, him…” you murmur.

“It would make me very happy if you agreed to meet him, my princess,” your father spoke with a honeyed tone. You felt bad rejecting him, and you saw the way mother glanced at you as if to tell you that it’s important for you to agree and behave.

“Okay, daddy,” you replied as if you were back to being their little girl, and perhaps that’s all you were to them. Maybe it just never gets better.

Now, you’re here with the dirty blond on an agonizingly awkward date probably a week after your father introduced him to you. This man hasn’t stopped talking about himself for an hour at this point! Even when he asks about you, he finds a way to circle back the conversation to himself. What the actual fuck?

“What course are you taking at the university?” he asks, trying to seem kind as he slices a piece of his steak then using a fork to put the cut in his mouth.

“Oh, I’m taking [course], I’m in my second year, actually,” you mention, thinking he spontaneously “grew” some manners.

“Cool, cool,” he says as if dismissing your answer entirely, “I’m in my first year, taking a BusFi course, if you know what that is.”

“Yeah, busi—”

“Business finance,” he interrupts because, of course.

“Yeah…” you awkwardly chime. Y’know what? You’re just glad he isn’t mentioning Satoru. Maybe his father instructed him not to. You don’t really care as long as he doesn’t mention he who must not be named.

For the rest of the night, you decide to just eat and sit pretty. You drink a bit of wine then curse your body that tonight’s the night it chooses to be a lightweight ‘cause after your second glass, you’re already a little sleepy and giggly.

“Naoya, ‘m a little warm…” you whisper, cutting him off while he was talking about something you can barely remember. You look up at him with a sultry gaze, but you’re clearly inebriated.

“Hm? Warm, huh?” he restates with a mischievous smirk creeping up his lips.

In less than a minute, he flags down a waiter for the bill and pays.

Everything that happens after is a little hazy and way too quick. You’re pulled into a hotel room—it’s nice, warm, like the luxurious beds Satoru accustomed you to.

He sits on the ottoman and you follow in suit. “You look so pretty,” he says, and you blush like you always do.

“Thank you,” you whisper like you haven’t heard the compliment a million times before—from a boy so crooked, you wish it’s him, who’s here before you, but maybe this Zen’in brat will do. In your parents’ eyes, he’s better than that “Gojo kid.”

You stand in between his legs, and he coaxes you to kneel. “You know what to do,” he muses, and you nod in response. Slowly, you undo his belt and pull the zipper of his pants. You’re soon faced with his growing bulge, only covered by his dark boxers.

From the outline, you can already deduce that it’s not larger than Satoru’s, so it should be easier, right? Maybe. As you pulled his underwear down, letting his member spring free, you give his mushroom tip kitten licks.

One, two, three. Slow and on the slit.

He groans. Beads of pre exit, and you taste it on your tongue—salty you remark to yourself. Two long veins protrude at his shaft as if to balance each other out.

“You’re—hah! So good at this…” he breathes as your hands make its way around his dick. You pump slowly—once, twice, just to tease the bully.

Your mouth, already accustomed to Satoru’s cock, takes Naoya’s with indifference. The curve isn’t the same, but really, what’s the difference? It’s just a boner that’ll soon soften.

You go slow at first, bobbing your head then swirling your tongue on the top. Gluck. Gluck. Gluck. The noise is pornographic as it echoes against the walls. What would your father think if he saw you right now? His beloved daughter, the one who he set up, sucking off his business partner’s son.

You giggle softly as he starts to make meeker sounds. “Fuck, where’d you learn this shit?” he rasps, trying to keep in a mewl. Ultimately, he fails, moaning into his hand whenever you pull back because you suck him off like it’s a straw. “Shit, so fuckin’ dirty, ma.”

His hips buck into you, almost using you like a damn pussy. And when he’s close, he holds your head down. Satoru rarely did that with you, but you don’t really mind. “Drink it all, okay? Don’t fuckin’ waste it or I’ll make you lick that shit on the floor.”

You try to babble, “I won’t, I won’t!” but the words drown in your throat as he releases his seed into your mouth. Warm and sticky—yet a little too salty for your liking. Like instructed, you drink it all up without breaking a sweat.

Out of the blue, he strikes your cheek softly. Your eyes widen, but he doesn’t care. “Good girl,” he grins, and somehow, you now feel like letting him into your life was a grave mistake.

The next day, you slip out of the barely made bed and collect your clothes. You're as quiet as a mouse while rummaging through the blurry floors. It's crazy how hungover you are.

On the bed, Naoya hardly stirs even when you accidentally bump your big toe on a corner. You have half the mind to just scream!

Fortunately, you were succesful enough with gathering your items.

You hurriedly enter the elevator, looking as disheveled as ever and not even wearing your heels yet. Upon reaching the ground floor, you put on your shoes and exit the facility to hail a cab.

"To the university please, greek row," you say while handing the driver a few hundred yen. He only nods and speeds through the streets like he lives only for himself.

Once you reach the campus gates, you show security your student ID, so they'll let the cab in. The guard nods upon seeing your face, already familiar with who you are. You smile, waving politely.

You're immediately greeted by Shokko when you arrive, so you thank the older man and hop out of the vehicle. "Babe!" she exclaims, throwing her arms around you. "Everyone's been calling you for hours."

"You said you were going on a date with Naoya, and we all got scared when we didn't see you home the next day! Like literally!" she says. All the while, inspecting your body for any signs that you were mistreated—because duh! It's fucking Naoya Zenin. You can never be too sure around him.

"Did he hurt you?" the short-haired brunette continued to ask as the two of you enter the house. "DID YOU SLEEP WITH HIM?!" she questions as if that's the worst thing you could've ever done (which maybe... she's right about).

"W-Well yeah? Kind of..." you answer. "But like! It wasn't that good."

"Oh my god!" Yuki screams from the kitchen. "You slept with him?!"

You sigh. Well, the whole sorority now knows you slept with a notorious fuck boy. It can't get any worse than the scandals you had with Satoru though, so you don't really mind anymore. Still, this situation deserves a disappointed sigh more directed at yourself than anyone else.

—

Things for the blue-eyed piece of shit wasn’t any better. Satoru hates how Naoya’s been around you recently. It’s uncanny. You? Pretty, kind, and smart with that dirtbag excuse of a person? Un-fucking-believable. To be fair, he was a pretty shitty person around you, so he guesses Naoya’s right up your alley.

His mind’s a fucking minefield of memories of you.

Satoru’s been reflecting—trying to improve, but he did pick up some old habits he told you he left in the past—namely smoking. It started a few days after Toji caught wind of the whole situation regarding you and his cousin. After hearing the news, Satoru just spiraled.

He grabbed a red pack for the first time in months, grumbling under his breath as he walked up the flights of stairs.

“Hm, you haven’t taken a hit in a while,” Suguru chuckled as Satoru approached him on the balcony.

“‘Guess I like the smell again,” Satoru fibbed as he dragged a long puff.

“You don’t have to lie y’know, it’s just us,” the raven-haired hunk said, “We both know you quit ‘cause the smoke makes her cough.”

The sky-eyed boy still didn’t let up, “So? It could’ve just coincided.”

His friend laughed again, “Y’know, Satoru, you’re really fuckin’ smart, but you can’t seem to understand that you’ll lose her if you don’t stop playing around.”

“Why? ‘Cause you’ll go after her?” Satoru challenged.

“I might,” is all Suguru said before extinguishing the flame of his own cigarette on an ashtray nearby.

Satoru inhaled, deep. He let the smoke fill his lungs as if it kept him alive and sane. It was at that moment he decided that when the time comes, he’ll swoop in and take you back. All he needs is a chance and for Suguru and Naoya to not notice it.

—

Since that night, Naoya’s been hovering around you on campus. You guess you like him. He’s nice for the most part, but he’s utterly—boring and to some extent, misogynistic. He comments on your clothes, makeup, and even the stuff you like. Satoru never did that! If anything, he was waaaayyyy too dirty about it.

It really is a "pick your poison" situation.

Ring! Finally, your final class for this hectic week’s done. You can relax, lay down and— “Hey, babe, let’s go to that convenience store by the ramen shop downtown.” Suddenly, an arm is around you before you can even take three steps out the door. It weighs you down more so than your books already are. Naoya’s been getting more touchy in public, but it always made you so uncomfortable. You avoided his advances like the plague. You sucked his dick ONCE, and now he’s acting like you’re married.

He doesn’t make you feel safe like Satoru did. Yeah, he’s big, bad, and strong, but Satoru was just—everything. If anything, Naoya Zenin made you feel like there's always a target on your back.

He doesn’t even offer to carry your things—not even some textbooks or your ipad at the very least. “I dunno, Nao… I’m pretty tired… and um. I told you, stop calling me babe. People are going to think you’re my boyfriend,” you all but whisper.

“So? It’s not like you’re still with Gojo,” he scoffs.

“He wasn’t my boyfriend.”

“Sure.”

“I just don’t want to go,” you say, pleading clear in your tone.

“Why not? It’s just a convenience store run. Then we can eat at the ramen shop before or after, yeah?”

You just sigh, knowing he’ll just keep yapping, “Okay… let me just leave my books in my locker.”

—

At the store, he’s a little more tame yet still annoying and persistent while looking through the selection of snacks and other things. At the very least, he's no longer trying to grope you anymore. “Come on, y/n… give me a kiss… I took you all the way here, didn’t I?” He says while grabbing your waist. “Let go, Naoya.. plus, you were the one that wanted to go,” you whisper, not wanting to cause a scene. You’re quite literally in line and barely anyone’s making a peep. This is just embarrassing.

“But, princess…” Princess? Only Satoru and your father calls you that nickname… it feels weird to hear it from someone else.

Behind one of the aisles, unbeknownst to you, Satoru’s listening in. It just so happens that he got here first, looking through the selection of the new collaboration candies! But alas, fate had been cruel to him and slapped his biggest mistake right in his face.

“I really don’t want to, Nao'…” you try to reason, but he only pulls you closer to his side ('guess you spoke too soon).

You lightly push him off. “Stop,” you mutter.

“Nah, don’t you wanna be held? I’m sure you miss it,” he snickers, and your expression turns sour. You step out of line and scoff, “Naoya! I said let go!”

Instantly, his playful demeanor shifts to something possessive—controlling. He holds your arm and drags you away to a blind spot in the corner. “Really? You want me to let go?” he mumbles in your ear like a threat.

“She said let go, asshole,” a familiar voice comes from behind Naoya. The jerk turns, but immediately, he catches a fist on the side of his face, and you shriek.

“You fucking—“ the disoriented guy immediately gathers himself to strike back, and you make out the other person to be Satoru.

You state his name in confusion and Naoya takes it as an opening as the taller man turns to you. Unfortunately for him, Satoru dodges and takes the fight outside, dragging the petulant boy by the collar.

You look over to the people who just witnesed the conflict arise and apologize for the two men’s delinquent behavior, leaving the items you were supposed to but at the counter. You then run outside the store before one of them commits murder.

Outside, they’re hitting each other like they’re in an octagon. It’s brash, juvenile—overall fucking stupid.

“If the both of you don’t fucking stop, I’m calling the cops!” you yell.

Satoru pushes Naoya to the ground and stops hitting. Naoya looks at you, somehow still cocky as ever. “Bullshit, you wouldn’t,” he spits.

“Scram, Naoya,” Satoru deadpans, but Naoya turns to you to see what you’d decide. You look away from the dirty blond, silently choosing your white knight, Satoru.

He stomps as he walks away—what a fucking joke. How were these men able to make it past the sixth grade? Seriously? The immaturity is astounding.

Satoru doesn’t move from his place and neither do you. Honestly, what is there to say? “Hey, I’m sorry for blurting out your deepest insecurities that you’ve only told me and no one else!” Be so for real right now.

“Let’s go inside?” he breaks the silence, and you just nod. Is this what shell shock feels like?

You beside him as you both enter the establishment. His lip bleeding and a gash is present on his cheek. You know you have to patch him up. So for the first time in a while, you hold his hand, dragging him to the small medical supplies aisle. Silently, you grab Betadine, cotton, and bandaids then a lukewarm water bottle.

Like always, Satoru pays for what you got. Then, you make him sit on the curb outside the convenience store. You stand in between his legs as you start cleaning his wounds with the water. Then, dabbing on Betadine generously, except for the cut on his lip, just a bit on the skin. Lastly, you put the bandaid on gently, careful as to not place the sticky area on any wounded part.

After the process, he hugs your thighs to the side of his face without warning. “I’m sorry, y/n. Please forgive me,” he murmurs.

You’re absolutely stunned, “…Satoru?”

Hot tears cascade down your legs. To him, there is nothing better in his godforsaken life than being close to you.

He sniffles, “Forgive me. Please, y/n. Please—say you forgive me.”

“What is there to forgive?”

“I’ve already told everyone that I didn’t mean it. I told them that I’m an asshole and that I can’t spend another minute without you because—because I love you,” He confesses.

“No you don’t,” you respond too quickly. Cold, practiced, like you knew it was a prank (it’s not) before he even spoke. Then, you add, “You can’t love someone and say all that, and even if I do fucking love you, I don’t know if I can ever stop thinking about what you said.” You avert your gaze.

“Angel, please, I’m so sorry, I’ll do anything…” he throws onto the cool air, where no warmth can be palpable. “Just let me stay close,” he adds quietly.

There’s a brief moment of silence—perhaps clarity. Maybe it’s acceptance or something less comforting, but your anger or whatever you felt towards this whole kerfuffle shifts.

You hold his head to make him look up. His expression—absolutely wrecked. You lean down to kiss his temple, and all he could do is nuzzle. Nuzzle into your warm skin that once accepted his asshole self, he’s hoping this is forgiveness.

“We should stay as friends,” you whisper against his pale skin, still leaning down. His features are illuminated by the soft glow of moonlight—it’s poetic, really. How he’s prettier at night when it’s quiet and barely anyone can see. Maybe you just think it’s better this way because without everyone else, he’s just yours.

His heart shatters, but he doesn’t overreact, “Friends, right. Yeah…” he tries to seem cool about it.

You don’t know if you’re ready to fully accept the gravity of the situation, but you still somewhat accept his teary apology. “Just friends,” you mirror his words.

You’ve been bullied and made fun of, so it wasn’t really new, but coming from Satoru, it all felt worse. He didn’t just call you names. Satoru took your insecurities and announced them to the world. Someone who could just throw everything away and do that—even if intoxicated, just isn’t the kind of man you’d want to spend your whole life with.

Uncomfortable silence settles outside the convenience store after the confrontation, and neither of you want to break it. But you know Satoru, he’s restless, so you outlast him. “Take me with you,” he begs, unable to look into your eyes.

“To the soro—?”

“Yes,” he interjects.

“And what if Utahime crucifies you?” you scoff playfully, trying to fix the dampened mood with your dry tone.

“Let her. I deserve it, don’t I?” he pouts, hugging your thighs tighter as you fully adjust yourself up. You push his face away, laughing at his desperation. It’s mean, but you can’t help but love the power you hold over the hunk everyone wants. He takes it all without complaint.

“If you need to be mean, be mean to me, baby,” he smiles through tear-stricken cheeks that you caress away with your thumbs. Your smile fades, and he’s a little confused.

“What’s wrong?” he asks with a sniffle, but you don’t have an answer. Seeing him sad doesn’t make you feel good or better—if anything, it makes you feel like shit.

“Nothing, Satoru…” you smile, and it barely reaches your eyes. He mimics your expression, and it’s weird yet comforting.

The breeze of the night is cold and piercing as the two of you make your way to the sorority house. Satoru tries to hover close to you, but you discretely try to move away. Though, you’re clearly trembling as the first few drops of the holiday spirit fell on top of both your heads. He’s already carrying the bag you didn’t leave in your locker—and you’re grateful he took it.

Honestly, despite the whole ordeal earlier, a part of you still thinks he’s trying to get into your pants—or under your skirt. Though, you’re really trying to let go of the ugly thought, trying to start a fresh rapport with the notorious playboy.

Your body continues to shake under the first winter breeze, and Satoru can no longer take it. He wraps an arm around your shoulder and pulls you to his side without a word. Yeah, the action is verbatim of Naoya’s, but this time, you don’t swerve. Even without saying it, you’re thankful for his warmth—although, maybe the redness of your face already says too much.

Satoru sees the hue and smiles slyly to himself. He’s going to get you back. He has to.

—

“Finally,” you pant softly as you finally reach your destination: the sorority house! Satoru laughs at your reactions as you walk with him side by side.

You start climbing up the porch when there’s a sudden gnawing feeling that’s rising up your chest. And a realization hits just before you turn the doorknob. Would your peers think of you as stupid or would they pity you for letting him back in? You pause.

To be honest, you don’t really want to know.

Behind the door, you hear chattering, a blender whirring, and footsteps. The girls are awake, obviously. Why wouldn’t they be? It’s only 7PM. But fuck, you really don’t want to see the disappointment on Yuki and Shoko’s faces when you walk in. You’re sure they’re there because you can hear them arguing about who gets control of the TV remote.

“Can we go through the back?” you ask him with a pleading look on your face as you look to meet his baby blues.

“Tryna sneak me in?” he snickers, but you deadpan in return, “Yeah, something like that.”

He isn’t taken aback. He gets it. Plussss, he knows that guys aren’t usually allowed to enter the “feminine sanctuary” as your senior, Utahime, playfully cals it. “Let’s be stealthy then,” he smirks.

The two of you keep your heads low as you sneak around the garden to get to the back door. Thankfully, through the window, you see that no one’s in the laundry area, so you just waltz in with Satoru.

Now, the problem is going upstairs.

You look around, trying to gauge where everyone is like some kind of psychic or otherworldly being able to sense seismic waves. “What the hell are you doing?” Satoru whispers, but you shush him abruptly.

In your head, you’re mapping out the best route to take. From the sounds, you can deduce that the TV is turned on to some movie starring Andy Samberg, which means Shoko and Yuki reached an agreement on who gets to choose tonight’s feature. Since the screen faces away from the stairs, the two women will not be able to see you. Then, you hear two doors shutting from above, signaling that some other occupants have retreated to their personal quarters—you assume it’s Utahime and Mei. Since it’s Thursday, you assume the pledges are just about to come home from their last class. It really pays to be observant, huh?

“Okay, I have a plan. Just follow me, okay?” you turn to Satoru to say, and he nods, “Okay, pretty girl.” Fuck him and his charm. You’re blushing, and it’s not even cute. It’s the tint from someone who walked a few miles and an omega in heat. Shitty combo? You think so. He giggles like a schoolgirl at your flushed expression probably thinking something along the lines of, “God, I’m glad I’m not a fuckin’ uggo.” And in your head, you jest.

You hold his wrist to lead him in, but he chooses to intertwine his fingers with yours. At this point, you don’t argue, and just try to stick to your plan. Theoretically, it should work.

But unfortunately, you’re no omniscient omnipotent deity. Just as soon as you make your way out of the laundry area and into the connecting kitchen, you’re met with a hungry, now, shocked Shoko. “Hey…” you awkwardly cut through the perpetual staring contest.

“Hey…” Shoko awkwardly replies while eyeing Satoru up and down then turning her gaze to you. She then greets again, “Hi…”

Silence.

“Your… friend is back,” she says like it’s a betrayal to everything she’s ever known.

“Yeah—yes. Yes, he is…” you straighten up and clear your throat. “We’re just friends.”

“And you’re sneaking him in?” You nod in response. Your head whips to Satoru, but he just looks back at you. Useless. Well, clearly, the brunette is just justifiably skeptical. Last time you let him into your life again, he still decided to act like you were unimportant. What poppycock is this?!

You’re ready for a barrage of warnings or a huge conflict, but it never comes. Instead, she shrugs and sighs, “Babe, it’s your pussy, ‘can’t really dictate what you do with it. Just scream bloody murder, and I’ll throw him out.”

Her words make you turn unbelievably… elated?

“T—Thanks?” you reply in confusion, hurriedly dragging the large man upstairs to avoid any other awkward interaction with a sister.

—

You shut the door to your room and lock it, double checking by turning the knob once. “No one’s going to just barge in to watch us, y’know?” Satoru jokes, but you ignore him.

He’s about to sit on your bed when you call his name like a thunderclap, “Satoru!” You glare at the snowy-locked manchild as he stands back up before your plush mattress. “Wash up and change your clothes first. Don’t use your outside clothes on my bed,” you huff.

“Right, right, the angel’s laws!” he chides as you rummage through a drawer of his stuff, handing him a change of, well, everything—even boxers! You might as well have been living together before all this happened.

“Y’know, it’s much more efficient to shower together—to lessen droughts ‘n’ all,” he starts. “Since when did you care about efficiency?” you raise an eyebrow at his crystal clear ploy.

“Since I fucked up, so now, I’m very eager to show my princess how sorry her ‘Toru is,” he pouts, feigning melancholy as he moves to stand behind you.

But once you make your hesitance known, the sultry tone he used with practiced ease falters. “I dunno, Satoru… I don’t think we should have sex,” you admit, averting your gaze as if taboo topics exist between the two of you.

He laughs lightly, and you’re sure there’s no hidden truth. “It’s okay, baby. I get it, just had to shoot my shot, y’know?” he says with that boyish grin plastered on his perfect face.

Curse him.

Before he could reach your small private bathroom, you speak, “But uh—we can shower together… if you’re alright with just… coexisting?” Maybe you should’ve just let the words die down in your throat.

Lord, please let the ground just swallow you whole.

Satoru doesn’t deserve to still be treated so nicely—everyone knows and thinks the same, but a part of you still yearns for his presence. He’s Satoru Gojo—your Satoru Gojo.

“Mhm, of course, angel,” He speaks, voice sounding tired but hopelessly lovestruck.

You just smiled sweetly. Was it still worth it to accept him into your heart? You’ve been warned before that this was the kind of person he is and always be. Now that it’s happened, would it be stupid for you to give him another chance?

Fuck, you know it is…

Still, you let him take you away, trailing behind him as you both enter the bathroom. It’s a little cramped since it’s only made for one, but you make do. He helps you undress like he always does, and you help him shed like you always do.

The air feels light even if neither of you dare to make a sound.

Water cascades on your skin and his. It falls to the ground rapidly, not an obstacle in its path. That is until Satoru decides to place his hand above your hip, which allows the water to swerve due to the curve of his palm and onto the fat of your ass.

You let his hand stay, not minding the contact. He’s not pushing further, not being annoying, so who were you to complain, no? He uses the same soap as you do when you finish siding it over the planes of your skin. He wishes to himself that he has the option of not showering for a couple days after this just to let your scent linger on him. What a weirdo. He even snickers aloud, which just makes him look crazy because you can’t hear his nasty thoughts.

“Don’t laugh at me,” you say without looking back.

“I’m not laughing at you, baby, I’m sorry,” he replies.

“Promise?” you ask, and he spins you around. A childish smirk tugs on the corner of his lips, “Promise,” he repeats, intertwining his pinky with yours.

In a flash, his gaze falls on your chest then back up at your face. Your perky tits are staring right at him! It would be rude to ignore his girls.

“Perv,” you mutter playfully, pulling away from his finger and turning back around. “I’ll just stare lower then,” he jokes.

Then, you playfully throw your soap at him. “If you’re gonna stare, at least be helpful,” you spit, telling him to help you wash. And he does so—with gusto even!

The steamy air in the bathroom feels light, and you let your worries fade. “This is nice,” he whispers against the shell of your ear.

You smile, genuine as you turn your head to the side to glance toward the bare boy. “It is,” you utter.

After you rinse and wring yourself dry, Satoru can’t help but hold you close with your back to his chest, spooning you—still naked yet no longer wet, afraid to lose what he loves once again. “I really am sorry, baby…”

“I know…” you reply, “I know, Satoru.”

Satoru hides himself on the crook of your neck as if embarrassed. And truly, he is. He’s ashamed that it took him so long to realize that he’s got it good, being by your side.

He keeps apologizing while hot tears run down his face and onto your skin like they’re racing to be on the mounds of your chest. “I’m sorry,” he says. You only reply in a quieter tone, “I know, Satoru…”

The intimacy of being held skin-to-skin… god, it’s unmatched. But a part of you wishes you felt for another man—someone who won’t break your heart even if other’s see him as less of a superior being because of it. Alas, your body betrays you. Without warning, you limp against him, and he catches you.

Wordlessly, he lays you on your bed, climbing on top of your form while kissing your warmth. And his lips—they leave goosebumps in their wake.

—

Fast forward to the night before Christmas break, the whole conflict basically started around a month or two ago, and about a week since you and Satoru “made up.” Toji’s apologized for the shit he said, and he even made up with Fushiguro, who trying things out with again. You’re happy for them, really! But you’re just a little bitter that they got the happy ending while you’re stuck next to Satoru, semi-sulking because he got back into smoking.

Jujutsu Phi and Alpha Kaisen are currently throwing a joint Winter Wonderland Christmas Party. The houses—adjacent to each other are decorated with holiday streamers, cut out snowflakes, and a ton of edible glitter. Blue sparkles and silver sequins shimmered on the doorway and the roof as real snowflakes fell atop.

On the couch in the living room is where you’re sat next to him. “Seriously, ‘Toru?” you whine and pout upon seeing him take a cigarette from someone that offered.

“C’mon, baby, just tonight, okay?“ he rasps, “Just got back into it when we weren’t talking.” He takes out a lighter, the one you thought he threw away months ago, and burns the end of the stick.

You huff at his answer, excusing yourself from the area. “Whatever, I’m gonna go get drinks,” you tell him while he just shoots you a wink. “Okay, angel face, get me something fruity, m’kay?”

In return, you rolls your eyes, not bothering with a verbal response. “What’s wrong between you guys?” Choso asks from across the den.

Satoru only shrugs, “Nothing, she’s probably just in a bad mood.” He doesn’t take it seriously—doesn’t read into it too much, but the chocolate-haired hunk in front of him senses another brewing scandal afoot.

Still, Choso just watches as you make your way to the kitchen like you’d break if he says something out of place—if he makes it known that he can perceive your emotions through your face. Additionally, It’s clear that the people who were seated by you, could sense your growing frustration and Satoru’s dismissive (rather, his normal) attitude. Those who admired him feigned kindness, and everyone in between acted indifferent.

Typical.

—

A few moments later, Suguru, enters the kitchen, walking over to you by the counter, where you’ve been pretending to pour yourself a drink for almost ten minutes.

“Satoru’s wondering where you are, y’know..” Suguru speaks as he stands next to you, actually pouring alcohol into his cup with another bottle

“I know,” you deadpan despite not wanting to sound too harsh.

Suguru chuckles at your tone, “Are you high or something?”

“No, I don’t do those stuff,” you reply a little more calmly.

“Oh? Hm.. ‘guess you really are a good girl then,” the raven-haired hunk says as he takes a massive swig of his drink.

You pout at his words, finally putting alcohol in your cup only to take a small sip.

He laughs, “From the amount you put, I thought you’d down it all. And ‘cause Satoru’s being an ass.”

“What?”

He shrugs, “I mean, I thought you’d drown your sorrows in alcohol or something. No one would blame ya, y’know?”

“Well, Satoru’s not really being him right now, so I don’t really feel safe drinking my mind away,” you scoff.

“Why does it have to be Satoru?”

“What?” you repeat.

“Why lean on Satoru when you can lean on me?” he says with brazen confidence.

You snort, “Aren’t you supposed to be his actual best friend?”

That comment should’ve bothered him, but it doesn’t. “Aren’t you supposed to be his, quote, girlfriend?” he doubles down.

“Touche,” you mutter, “Is that all you came here for? Flirt with me but because it’s met with rejection, you kick me while I’m down?”

He laughs, leaning back on the counter with his hands in his pockets. “Nah, just came here for a drink, you being here was just a bonus, angel,” he says while amethyst eyes peer at you through foxy slits.

Well, it can’t hurt to just strike up a conversation, right? Right! If he can indulge in a bad habit, then you can make this small, somewhat bad, decision. “How long have you been friends with Satoru?” You ask.

“Long enough,” he replies lazily while stepping right next to you to mix himself a different drink.

“Come on, that isn’t much of an answer…” You whine to which he chuckles.

“Okay, yeah, sorry, sweetheart.” Why was his voice so calming? So grounding.. “We met when we were in high school with Shoko, Nanami, and Yu. ‘Guess you can say we all really grew up together,” he says.

“Woah! That’s cool!” you say with a smile. “Has he uh… always been like that?”

“Like an asshole? yeah, but it wasn’t always that bad,” he scoffs with a chuckle that he’s trying to stifle. “He really tried to keep it in for you though.”

“Doesn’t feel like it…” you respond, your happy expression slightly faltering.

“I know, and I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, it’s not your fault,” you let out with a soft smile. “How was he in high school… aside from the whole asshole thing.”

Suguru finishes mixing his concoction and brings it to his nose before answering your query, “Still the same, really. He’s fun, light, someone you’re glad to be around. But he’s always had a bad habit of putting the world on his shoulders then pushing permanence away by filling his world with temporary strangers.”

“Then why am I at arm’s reach?” you question as if Suguru was omniscient.

He takes a deep breath, and you feel the subtle shift. “He needs permanence to feel human, but when it’s too much, he’ll make himself temporary. It’s a cycle, and honestly, Shoko and I don’t understand why or how you still stay.”

“Stupidity and a whole lot of romantic loneliness, I guess,” you laugh bitterly. When his eyebrows furrow, you immediately try and change the topic, “What did you mix?”

“Oh, um,” he was just about to acknowledge what you said, but then you sprung a tangent. Maybe you didn’t want to talk about Satoru anymore, which is fine, he guesses. “Just some fruity syrups and straight vodka. It’s a little strong, but my flight home isn’t until the morning after tomorrow.”

“Can I try?”

For a moment, he’s taken aback in a non-negative way. Just shocked since you’re not all that close. Still, he hands you his solo cup, “Sure, take a sip first. Don’t want ya throwing up, pretty girl,” he winks.

—

Back with Satoru, the people around him are now playing spin the bottle, and he refused to play even when two girls started pleading!

He just notices that Suguru isn’t in his seat anymore and that you haven’t gone back in so long. Despite the pretty women on either side of him right now, he rises and extinguishes his second cigarette on the ashtray above the mahogany coffee table.

“Gojo-senpai!” the two whine, but he doesn’t even give them the time of day.

He stomps towards the kitchen, where you’re now sitting on the counter next to Suguru, once again, drunk out of your mind (you really need to go sober at this point), leaning on him while he’s telling you a long story from his childhood.

“Baby, I didn’t know you were talking to Suguru,” Satoru says as he climbs on the marble, sitting on your other side.

You glance to the side, a hazy view of snowy locks blocked your vision of the raging sea of dancing bodies. “Satoru?” you croak. “Yes, angel face, Satoru,” he chimes, giving the apple of your cheek a sweet kiss. You giggle and lean on Satoru’s body instead, squished between the two men.

Suguru’s amethyst gaze fall on Satoru’s baby blues—stare full of annoyance. “What’s wrong, Suguru?” the taller man smirks.

“Just surprised you’re here so soon,” he chuckles, relaxing his body against the cool counter.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Satoru says, wrapping an arm around you, securing your place by his side.

“It means,” Suguru sighs, “You’re only here when someone’s about to sweep her off her feet because you’re afraid that she’ll start to realize how shitty of a man you really are.”

Satoru stays silent.

Suguru breathes out then holds a hand out to caress the side of your face gently—too tender for it not to mean a thing. You look him in the eyes, the usually intimidating glint is now lavender for you. He leans in, leaving a barely there peck on your alcohol-stained lips.

“Run to me when you leave him,” he whispers before pushing himself off and walking out.

You’re dumbfounded by what just happened. You sit up and turn to Satoru as if asking for help with your hazy mind.

“Princess, you’re blushing,” he coos, “D’ya like Suguru more than me now?”

“N—No… he’s just nice…” you murmur in response.

“So you like nice?”

“Are you saying you’re not nice, ‘Toru?”

He pauses. “What if I am saying that?” he challenges.

Your eyebrows furrow as you search for a hint of mischief in his eyes, something that’ll tell you that he’s just your silly Satoru, but there is none. And quickly, self-preservation takes over. “Please don’t be mean to me…” you plead.

“I dunno… you seemed so close to Suguru earlier.”

“We were just talking,” you reply.

He grabs your face a little aggressively, “Oh? Then why’d he kiss you before leaving? Were you provoking him?” How he missed tormenting his princess. The way your nose curls in disgust is just toe-curlingly adorable. He knows his best friend has a HUGE crush on you, but he’ll still lead you to believe that it’s your fault.

“No—”

“Then why were you leaning on him before I walked in?” he questions in an accusatory manner.

“He was just telling me a story from his childhood…”

“I can tell you stories too,” he immediately retorts.

“You were too busy smoking,” you huff.

Then, he slumps a little, and his demeanor shifts to something terrifyingly playful. “I’m never too busy for you, angel face. And I said it’s a one-time thing, didn’t I? If you needed company, all you had to do was ask,” he smiles as he grounds his feet to stand in between your legs, effectively trapping you against the, now, freezing marble.

“Aw? Are you shy?” he mocks while poking your cheek. “I suppose I’m into meek little girls as well,” he shrugs.

You try to push him off, but he doesn’t budge. “That sounds so wrong, Satoru,” you whine, looking away.

“What does, baby?” he asks, feigning innocence. “Honesty isn’t wrong, no? You’re meek, little, and a girl—and me? I’m into that bullshit,” he says gruffly as he grabs you by the chin, almost squeezing your cheeks into your mouth.

“Can you do the same for me?”

“Same what?” you try to say, though, a little slurred, but it’s not due to how intoxicated you must be from Suguru’s tropical mix.

“Describe me like I did with you,” he grins—boyish yet almost villain-like.

“What games are you playing, Satoru?” you peer, kicking him away with a force not enough to leave a bruise. His smirk only grows; it’s fucking uncanny yet undeniably arousing. He knows the buttons to push, and you hate yourself for it.

“Why, pretty? You wanna play aggressive now?”

“What? No—what? Let go!” you yell and thrash against the brute as he lifts you up into his arms. “Satoru, what the hell?!” You immediately sober up at his actions, continuing to be difficult as he expertly maneuvers the way through the sea of people.

Of course, he brings you to his room, slamming the door with his foot then dropping you on the bed as if it wouldn’t grant you the chance to escape.

You immediately roll over and land on your feet. You speed to the door, but it’s no use. He’s faster, and he moves as if he’s already planned out everything that he’ll do down to how you’ll react.

He wraps his arms around you, lifting your body above the ground. “Satoru! You’re scaring me!” you finally sob instead of fight.

Like a switch flipped, his demeanor shifts in ab instant. From eerily intimidating to the puppy dog boyfriend from the time he was pleading for your attention. “Scare you? No, no, no, baby… I just want you to stay…” he mewls, setting you down, yet not letting go.

You shake your head, trying to push him away as he desperately tightens his grip while keeping your head under his chin. “You’ll just be rough again! I don’t want to do that, ‘Toru!” you shriek.

If there weren’t a party going on downstairs, the whole Greek row would’ve heard your screams.

“Shit—no! I promise, I won’t be…” he murmurs softly in your ear as he feels your body start to tremble out of fatigue. He runs his palm over your back gently, trying to soothe you.

“You’re lying…” your voice turns shaky as you no longer prevent the tears from falling.

“Pretty girl…” he coos before carrying you back onto the bed, setting you down gently and wiping the tears on your face with his thumbs—now, hovering over you. “Fuck, I’m so sorry—I don’t know what came over me… don’t cry, please…”

“You’re making it worse,” he adds.

“Worse?” you question through sniffles, gripping onto his sheets because of anxiety.

“I want you so bad, princess… can’t you see? So fuckin’ bad…” he rasps while guiding your smaller hand to his annoyingly massive bulge, “And a part of me feels so bad when you cry, but I really just want to bottom out in your mouth.”

For a moment, you’re silent, afraid of doing—anything as he allows you to palm him.

“I’m trying to be good for you, baby. I really am, but can you be good for me tonight? Please, sweet girl?” he groans while cradling your head in his other palm then resting his forehead on your own.

It’s nauseating, how intimate it is. From pain to confusion to lust to something not even latin could quite describe… it’s all so tiring, and it’s just too easy to fall into his arms.

Your heart aches at the thought of rejecting him. It always does. It’s like you’d rather be hurt near him than be happy far from. His air of familiarity is comfort, and to him, your air of sweetness is lust wrapped in joy. “O—Okay, ‘Toru,” you reply.

In your ear, he whispers, “Thank you, angel,” while peppering pecks on your face. “Thank you. Thank you, baby girl… you’re so sweet to your ‘Toru…”

He starts with the usual, making out with your lips and skin until you’re bruising all over. Well, honestly, it’s only a few spots, but still! Visible hickeys suck!

As expected, Satoru’s a little less patient tonight. He undresses you and himself simultaneously, as if he’s wishing to spontaneously grow two more arms just for the efficiency of it all during sex.

Then, he rips your underwear off—bra and panties, which has you almost writhing in shock. “Satoru!” you huff while holding onto his beefy biceps. “You said you’d be gentle!”

“I am though, sweets?” he says in confusion, “Is this not gentle enough?”

“Ripping off my panties is not gentle…” you whine.

He pouts, “I’ll buy you a new set, I promise…”

“Three sets,” you childishly reply, trying to calm your jittery heart.

He chuckles, “Okay, angel face, three new sets.”

Prepping your pussy isn’t all that hard, especially since you’re embarrassingly dripping right now. He’s sure that his dick could slide right in, but he, at least, wants to do a few things right.

He inserts a few fingers first, curling and scissoring against your sweet g-spot. “So pretty, he compliments, and you’re back arches every time. He’s hits each sensitive area like there’s a clearly marked target in his mind. Utterly unbelievable.

You grip his sheets so tightly that your fists start to turn white. “Satoru!” you mewl, drooling in your mouth and your lower lips. His mouth is occupied on one of your tits while his other hand rolls a nipple against the lengthy appendages.

“Shit—!” you shriek as you cum, and he immediately dives down to taste your sweet juice on his tongue—still better than any concoction Suguru can make up.

He pulls the three fingers out, and you make a porno hum. It’s cute. He loves it when you try not to make “gross” sounds. “Open your mouth, baby,” he instructs.

You follow, letting your tongue out like you know he wants. “Good girl,” he whispers with a chuckle, placing his fingers on your pretty pink appendage, “Suck,” he commands.

“Tastes good, no?” You nod your head in response.

He chuckles, low, “You think you’re ready now, baby? Ya look like you’re clenching on nothing.” He laughs while removing his fingers from your mouth. You dribble a little and he leans down to lick it. He can’t get enough of whatever he can taste from you. You’re sure that if you’d let him, he’d eat your ass.

“Satoru! You can’t just do that…” you scold.

“Why not? I’m sure if you were in my shoes, you’d want to do it too,” he jokes.

“Just—fuck me already…” you murmur the last few words, barely audible, but he catches it.

“What? I can’t hear you if you’re too quiet, pretty,” he pretends.

“Satoru! You know you heard me,” you pout.

“Nah, I don’t think so princess,” he shrugs.

You turn away, blushing furiously, knowing he won’t let you have what you want until you give in. “Please… just fuck me…” you whisper a little bit louder.

He snickers, “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You shake your head. Then, you finally notice his cock, dripping in pre and standing proud. Your eyes widen—the same reaction you have every time. For the nth time tonight, he laughs, “Still scared, seriously, baby?”

“Well… if you were in my shoes,” you mimic his words from earlier, “You’d be scared too, ‘Toru.”

“Point taken,” he says, but you know he’s brushing off your statement. “Counter point, you always love it. Don’t ya? My little cockslut,” he smiles while reaching for a condom on the shelf above his headboard.

You help him put the rubber on, feeling filthy as your skin touches his. “You make it sound so dirty,” you complain as you feel his tip on the edge of your folds. He’s only coating the shaft in your slick, but every time it hits your clit, you whimper.

“But it is dirty, isn’t it?” he hums in your ear as his dick starts to protrude through your gummy walls. It’s slow at first. He doesn’t want to hurt you, of course.

He may be an ass, but he isn’t a monster (kinda).

When he’s halfway in, he pauses.

“Is that it…?” you nervously ask.

“Only half,” he tells you gently while scratching your head to help you relax.

“So full…” you murmur. “It can’t just be half, ‘Toru… you’re lying…” you accuse the large man.

He chortles, “I’m not! I swear! Maybe it’s because we haven’t done it in a while, princess.” He continues to pet your hair. “C’mon, relax f’me. It’ll start to hurt if you tense up.”

You take deep breaths at calculated intervals, evening it out. He gives your neck a few kisses as if to praise your actions.

After a few minutes of holding himself back, Satoru finally bottoms out. It’s like you can feel him in your cervix. “It’s like a little baby, no?” he giggles.

He moves a little, just about an inch out then in. “Mnh… it feels—nice, ‘Toru…” you coo as wet squelches echo in his room.

“Yeah? Does it, pretty?” You wrap your arms around his neck and nod, “Mhm… it’s… hah! It makes me wanna pee!” you softly squeal.

“You know you can say squirt, right? I won’t make fun of ya,” he mocks a little.

You hum in annoyance, which signals him to pick up the pace. Can’t be annoyed when you’re fucked dumb, yeah?

Plap! Plap! Plap!

The sounds are so wet and loud that it’s drowning out all the pornographic moans you’re making. At this point, Satoru’s even whining praises in your ear. “You’re so cute, mwah!” He presses a soft kiss to your cheekbone. “C’mon, don’t hide your noises…” he gradually quickens his pace.

“Fuck, don’t squeeze my cock like that, pretty. I don’t wanna cum so early,” he licks your ear and you clench again.

His hips stutter for a moment. “So close already, baby. ‘Toru’s so close, yeahhh, fuck! Keep clenching… jus’ like tha—hah..t!” he groans and you wrap your legs around him, pulling him impossibly close to your heat.

He keeps rutting into you, leaving little hickeys on your collar and chest since the ones from that night are now gone. “So pretty, don’t cover ‘em up, okay? We gotta show that Zenin loser and Suguru that you’re mine.”

You whimper, “You’re mine too, right, ‘Toru?”

He huffs and fucks harder into you. One of his hands journeys low to claim your bud. He rubs circles on it, using your slick to lubricate his movements.

Tears prick the corners of your eyes as his motions become rougher. “Right, ‘Toru?” you manage to babble, but he just lets out a gruff sigh. Seriously, what’s wrong with this man? “Shut up,” he rasps.

You sniffle as you feel a pooling sensation in your core. It’s weird. Your heart feels heavy and yet your orgasm still finds a way to take over.

Again, Satoru’s hips stutter. Three heavy strokes and he cums into the rubber. How he wishes he can coat your baby room in white. He rasps your name as he lets his body lay limp on yours.

“Satoru!” you mewl, drooling onto his pillow. Your legs shake lightly as your pussy continues to slobber.

A white ring forms on the base of his cock as you cream, and he doesn’t stop thrusting. Though, it’s soft and slow, just to let the both of you ride your respective highs. “You’re so heavy,” you whine, and he lifts himself up a little.

As post-nut clarity sets in, you sob not because of pleasure but because of confusion. You’re utterly unsure whether he wants you or not—and whether he’s ready accept his feelings or let you go. Okay, maybe he is a monster.

While he keeps himself up with his elbow, he wipes your tears away with the back of his knuckles, knowing full well that he’s the cause. “You keep asking questions you don’t want the answer to, princess,” he starts, placing his lips on the corner of your own.

“I said I want you back, didn’t I?”

“You did but…” you whine, tearing up a little more.

He pouts mockingly, “Oh, baby, you’re dampening the mood and my sheets.” His mouth starts trailing down your body to leave soft kisses everywhere.

And after his exploration, he sits up. “On the floor, now, pretty,” he commands as he leans back on his hands, spreading his legs wide on the edge of his bed. You see his dick, still standing, still ready for more.

You do as you’re told, bringing your shaking body down to his carpet and kneeling in front of his hard member. He looks down at you with a cocky expression pasted above the vulnerability he wants to expose.

Your arms reach for his shaft, and at your light touch, it twitches. His hand shoots behind your head, you flinch, but his touch is gentle. “Hm, you’re so sweet,” he purrs as he runs his fingers through your hair, still relaxed, still open, still leaning as if he’s content, knowing you won’t run or bite.

He smiles as you take him inside your warm mouth. God, you’re so stupid, and he loves it. He loves how sweet you are, how you’re so eager to make him feel good. He loves that you’re so book smart and that you help him with his homework when he pretends to be a stupid fuck. He loves when you look at him or when you cry because of something he does. He loves when you compliment him and hide shyly behind your manicured hands. He loves how kind you are even towards people who don’t deserve it. He loves when you make him wait for you outside your lectures with a snack and drink in hand. He loves the way you smile when you catch him with a trinket or large gift. He loves when you’re red and embarrassed after he whispers a dirty joke. He loves how you allow him to think deeper about the world and he helps you let go for a bit. He loves how you make him feel human when everyone else treats him like a curse or god.

You pull back, confusion written all over your face as he looks like he’s spacing out. “Are you okay, ‘Toru?” you ask, putting your hands on his thighs to lift yourself up and look him in the eyes.

Your irises meet his baby blues, and he swears he cums without contact.

Then, like the stupid man he is. He finally allows himself to realize that fuck, he loves you.

🗒️: lwk, Satoru’s reminding me of Clavicular (sorry for the late post)

You kick off your shoes and shuffle down the hallway, already pulling your hair out of the bun you'd done up that morning, now mostly falling out on its own. The bedroom door is cracked open, and when you push it wider, you find exactly what you were hoping for.

Satoru is sprawled across the bed like a starfish, still wearing his teaching clothes—black pants and a rumpled button-down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His blindfold is tossed carelessly on the nightstand, and his white hair is an absolute disaster, sticking up in every direction like he's been running his hands through it all day. His eyes are closed, one arm thrown over his face.

He looks as exhausted as you feel.

"Rough day?" you ask, and he groans without moving.

"The first years tried to fight a curse three grades above their level because Yuji said it 'looked easy,'" he mumbles into his arm. "I had to bail them out. Again. Then Megumi and Nobara got into an argument about mission protocol that somehow turned into a full-blown screaming match about who ate whose leftovers from the fridge. I had to separate them like they were toddlers."

Despite your exhaustion, you snort. "Sounds about right."

"And then," he continues, finally moving his arm to peek at you with one brilliant blue eye, "Yaga cornered me about paperwork I was supposed to file last week. Do you know how much I hate paperwork?"

"I'm aware." You're already moving toward the bed, unbuttoning your work pants. "You complain about it literally every time."

"Because it's the worst. I'm the strongest sorcerer alive. I shouldn't have to file incident reports."

"Mm-hmm, very tragic." You shimmy out of your pants and leave them in a heap on the floor—a problem for future you. Your blouse follows, leaving you in just your bra and underwear. "My day was also shit, for the record."

"Yeah?" He's watching you now with lazy interest, too tired to even sit up but still tracking your movements.

"My boss is an idiot, the coffee machine broke, I had to sit through a two-hour meeting that could've been an email, and Janet from accounting passive-aggressively cc'd the entire department on an email about someone stealing her lunch. Which, for the record, I didn't do, but she definitely thinks I did based on the way she was glaring at me."

"Want me to hollow purple Janet from accounting?" he offers, completely serious.

"Tempting, but no." You crawl onto the bed and without ceremony, flop directly on top of him, your full weight pressing him into the mattress. You bury your face in his chest with a long, dramatic groan. "I'm dead. This is me, dead."

"Hi, dead. I'm also dead." His arms come around you automatically, wrapping you up even though you're both too tired to really move. "We're both corpses now. This is our life."

"Our death," you correct, muffled against his shirt.

"Our death," he agrees solemnly.

For a moment, you just lie there, breathing in sync. He smells like his cologne mixed with the faint scent of the training grounds—sweat and grass and something distinctly him. It's comforting in a way you can't quite articulate. This exhausted, collapsed-together moment feels like home.

His hand starts moving on your back, slow and gentle, rubbing up and down your spine. It feels incredible, and you make an embarrassing sound of contentment that you'll deny later.

"You're tense as hell," he murmurs, fingers working at a knot between your shoulder blades.

"You try dealing with Janet's accusatory emails and see how relaxed you are," you mumble, but you're already melting into his touch.

"I'd just block her."

"You can't block coworkers, Satoru."

"You can if you're powerful enough." His hand slides lower, still rubbing your back, and you feel some of the day's tension starting to ease. "This okay?"

"It's perfect. You're my favorite human pillow."

"Just human pillow? Not devastatingly handsome boyfriend who you're lucky to have?"

"That's implied," you say, but you're smiling against his chest.

His other hand joins the first, both of them working at your tired muscles, and you honest-to-god almost start purring. This is exactly what you needed. Just this—him, the quiet apartment, his hands on you, the weight of the day slowly lifting.

But then his hands start to wander.

It's subtle at first. His fingers drift from your back to your sides, tracing the curve of your waist. Then lower, skimming over your hips. And then—

He grabs your ass. Both hands, full handfuls, squeezing appreciatively.

"Really?" you ask, lifting your head to look at him. "We're both dead, remember? Corpses don't grope."

"I'm a very motivated corpse." He squeezes again, shameless, and there's a grin tugging at his lips now. "Can't help it. You're lying on top of me in your underwear. What did you expect?"

"Self-control? Restraint? Basic human decency?"

"Baby, you know me better than that." His hands are still kneading your ass, and despite your sass, you can feel heat starting to pool low in your belly. "Besides, you love it."

"I love that you can't even wait until we've recovered from our respective terrible days before getting handsy?"

"Exactly." He's fully grinning now, that cocky, insufferable grin that makes you want to kiss him and smack him at the same time. "Your ass is the best stress relief. It's science."

"That's not science, you idiot."

"It's my science."

You snort, but you're not moving away. His hands are warm and familiar, and honestly, after the day you've had, this isn't the worst thing in the world. You let your head drop back to his chest, eyes drifting closed.

"Comfortable?" he asks, voice softer now.

"Mmm," you hum in agreement. "Don't stop."

"Wasn't planning on it."

For a while, it's just quiet. His hands keep moving—sometimes squeezing, sometimes just resting there, thumbs drawing lazy circles. You can hear his heartbeat under your ear, steady and strong. The tension in your shoulders is almost completely gone now, replaced by a different kind of warmth, something slower and heavier.

You're half-asleep when you feel it—the unmistakable hardness pressing against your hip.

"Satoru," you mumble, not even opening your eyes.

"Hmm?"

"Are you seriously getting hard right now?"

There's a pause. Then he says, "...Maybe."

You lift your head to look at him, one eyebrow raised. He has the decency to look slightly sheepish, but there's heat in his eyes now, that familiar hunger that never really goes away when it comes to you.

"We were having a nice moment."

"We still are."

"You've got a boner."

"I do…That doesn't cancel the nice moment."

You stare at him for another second before letting out a laugh.

"Seriously?"

"What?"

"I come home exhausted, use you as a human mattress for ten minutes, and somehow I'm the problem?"

"You are absolutely the problem."

"I literally haven't done anything."

"You climbed on top of me, got all comfy, made that little happy humming noise, and then fell asleep on my chest."

"I hummed?"

"You hummed."

"I don't hum."

"You do when you're really comfortable."

You narrow your eyes. "I've never noticed that."

"I have."

You glare at him.

"…Baby." He exhales dramatically, like he's carrying the weight of the world. "You're makin' me so hard."

You snort. "You're unbelievable."

"I'm trying to be respectful."

"Are you?"

Silence.

"…No." He grins without an ounce of shame. "Not really."

Despite yourself, you laugh again, dropping your forehead back against his shoulder.

"You're ridiculous."

"I know."

His arms tighten around you just a little. "But you look so comfortable."

His voice is quieter now. "So happy."

You burrow your face further into his shoulder.

"…I like when you're like this."

You feel yourself smile before you can stop it. "You're such a sap."

"Only for you."

There's a comfortable silence. Then his hands drift just a little bit lower again.

"…Okay," you mumble. "Now you're definitely not being respectful."

"No." He gives your ass another shameless squeeze. "I'm definitely not."

Before you can respond, he's sitting up, keeping you in his lap, and capturing your mouth in a kiss that's hungry and demanding. You can taste his desperation, feel it in the way his hands grip you like he's afraid you're going to disappear.

When he pulls back, his lips are already swollen, his eyes are dark with want. "I need to taste you," he says, and it's not a request. "Get up here."

"Up where—"

But he's already moving, sliding down the bed and pulling you with him. "On my face. Come on."

"Satoru—"

"Please." And there it is, that needy edge that makes your stomach flip. "I've been thinking about this all day. About you sitting on my face, riding my tongue until you come. Please, baby. I need it."

How are you supposed to say no to that?

"You're ridiculous," you say, but you're already moving, letting him position you. He's lying flat on his back now, looking up at you with such raw want that it makes you shiver.

"Not ridiculous. Desperate." His hands come up to grip your thighs, pulling you forward. "Now stop stalling and sit on my face."

"Bossy," you mutter, but you're lowering yourself down, and then—

"Oh fuck," you gasp as his tongue makes contact, sliding through your folds in one long, deliberate stroke.

He groans under you, the vibration going straight to your core, and his hands tighten on your thighs. "That's it," he mumbles against you. "Right there. Don't move."

But you're already moving, you can't help it, grinding down against his mouth as he licks and sucks and devours you like a man starving. His grip on your thighs is almost bruising, holding you exactly where he wants you, and when you try to lift up, worried about suffocating him, about being too much—he just pulls you back down harder.

"Satoru—"

"Stay," he demands, voice muffled. He pulls his face back to look up at you. "Fuck my face. Come on, baby, I can take it. Give it to me." Then he lowers his mouth to you again.

It's obscene, the wet sounds of his mouth on you, the way he's completely lost in it. His tongue circles your clit, then dips inside you, then back to your clit, and you're already shaking, already so close.

"That's it," he encourages, and you can hear the smugness in his voice even now. "You're dripping, baby. such a mess on my face."

"Shut—up," you gasp, but there's no heat in it because he's right—you can feel how wet you are, can feel it on his chin, his lips, and it should be embarrassing but it's just hot.

"Make me," he challenges, and then he's sucking your clit into his mouth, hard, and you cry out.

Your hands fly to the headboard, gripping the edge to steady yourself as the pleasure intensifies. You start to really move now, riding his face with purpose, and he moans underneath you like this is exactly what he wanted all along.

"Fuck, yes," he groans against you, the vibration making you gasp. "Just like that. Use me, baby. Take what you need."

His hands guide your hips, encouraging the rhythm, and his tongue is relentless—circling, flicking, pressing flat against you in a way that makes your thighs shake. You can feel yourself getting closer, that coil of heat tightening in your belly.

"Satoru, I'm—fuck—"

"Do it," he demands, voice rough. "Come on my face.”

His tongue flicks rapidly over your clit, and that's all it takes. Your orgasm crashes through you in waves, pleasure rolling through your entire body. You're grinding down against his mouth, riding it out, and he's groaning underneath you like this is the best thing that's ever happened to him.

When you finally come down, shaking and oversensitive, you try to move off him, but his hands tighten on your thighs.

"Not yet," he mumbles, pressing soft kisses to your inner thighs, your hip bones, anywhere he can reach. "Just—give me a second. You taste so fucking good."

"You're gonna kill me," you pant, but you're smiling.

But he's already diving back in, and you gasp as his tongue finds your clit again. Your whole body jolts at the sensitivity, but he doesn't let up—he's relentless, his hands gripping your thighs to keep you steady as he works you over. The pleasure is almost too much, bordering on overwhelming, and you're already moaning his name.

"Satoru—fuck—it's too much—"

"I know, baby," he groans against you, the vibration sending another wave through you. "But you can take it."

He's eating you out like he's starving, like he can't get enough, and your whole body is shaking. Your hands grip the headboard tighter, your hips moving against his mouth almost involuntarily. The pleasure is building again, impossibly fast, and you're gasping and moaning as he works you toward another orgasm.

"Oh god—Satoru—I'm gonna—"

"That's it," he encourages, his tongue flicking faster. 

Your second orgasm hits you like a wave, even more intense than the first, and you're crying out as pleasure crashes through you. Your thighs are shaking so hard you can barely hold yourself up, and he's groaning underneath you, clearly getting off on how much he's affecting you.

When you finally collapse, completely spent and oversensitive, he finally releases you, and you fall onto the bed next to him, breathing hard and trembling.

"And I'm dramatic?" He's grinning like he just won the lottery, his face wet, his hair a complete disaster. "That was—fuck. I love you, baby."

"You're insane," you say, but you're pulling him in for a kiss, tasting yourself on his lips.

"About you? Absolutely." His hands are already roaming again, cupping your face, then sliding down your sides. "But I'm not done with you yet."

"Oh really?"

"Really." He's kissing you again, slower this time, deeper. When he pulls back, there's something vulnerable in his expression beneath all the confidence. "You have no idea what you do to me."

"Then show me," you challenge, and his eyes darken.

"Oh, baby."

He's fumbling with his pants, shoving them down along with his boxers, and his cock springs free—flushed and hard and already leaking. You reach for him, wrapping your hand around his length, and he hisses.

"Fuck, baby—"

"What?" You stroke him slowly, base to tip, and he's already trembling.

"Your hands—shit—they're so much smaller than mine. Look so good wrapped around my cock."

"Yeah?" you tease, giving him another slow stroke.

"Yeah." His voice is strained. 

He gently removes your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm, and then he's pulling you against him. His arms wrap around you, one hand sliding up your back, the other gripping your hip possessively. You can feel him, hard and hot against your thigh, and he's just... holding you there.

"Satoru—"

"Give me a second," he murmurs, his voice already rough. His breathing is uneven against your neck, and you can feel the tension in his body—the way he's trying to maintain control. "Just—fuck—you feel so good.”

His hips shift slightly, and you feel the length of him drag against you—not entering, just the pressure of him sliding through your wetness. The friction makes you gasp, and he groans.

"There it is," he breathes. "That sound. The little gasp you make when I—" He does it again, a slow roll of his hips, grinding against you. "When I touch you just right."

"Satoru, please—"

"Please what?" His hand slides down to grip your ass, pulling you tighter against him. "Tell me what you want, baby."

"You know what I want."

"I do." Another slow grind, and you can feel how wet you are, how easily he slides against you. "But I wanna hear you say it. Love the way your voice gets all breathy when you're desperate for me."

"You're killing me—"

"Good." He's kissing your neck now, teeth grazing your pulse point. "You've been killing me all day. All week. Every time you look at me with those eyes, every time you smile at me like I'm the only person in the world—fuck, baby, you have no idea."

His voice is shaking now, and you realize he's not teasing anymore—he's barely holding on. The head of his cock catches at your entrance, and you both freeze.

"I can't—" His forehead drops to your shoulder. "I can't think straight around you. Can't control myself. You just—you exist, and I'm gone."

"Then stop trying to control it," you whisper, and you feel him shudder.

"Fuck." He shifts, lining himself up properly, and then he's pushing in—slowly, so slowly. The stretch is intense, pleasure edged with the sweetest hint of pressure as he fills you inch by inch. "Fuck, baby. You feel so good. So tight. So perfect."

"Satoru—"

"I know. I've got you." He's only halfway in, taking his time, letting you adjust. His forehead is still pressed to your shoulder, and you can feel how much restraint this is taking him—the way his muscles are tense, the way his breath comes in short gasps. "You're taking me so well. You always take me so well."

Finally, finally, he's fully seated inside you, and you both just breathe for a moment, adjusting to the feeling of being completely connected.

"Okay?" he asks, lifting his head to look at you.

"Yes baby," you manage. "You can move.”

"Thank fuck." He pulls out slowly, almost all the way, and then thrusts back in. The drag of his cock against your walls makes you gasp, and he groans. "That sound. Fuck, I love that sound."

He sets a steady rhythm, deep and deliberate, each thrust making you feel impossibly full. His hands are everywhere—cupping your face, tangling in your hair, gripping your hips—like he can't decide where he wants to touch you most.

"You're so beautiful like this," he murmurs, watching your face. "All flushed and breathless. The way your eyes get all hazy when I'm inside you—fuck, it drives me crazy."

"Satoru—"

"I love you so much." His voice is rough with emotion now, not just desire. "Love everything about you. The way you feel, the way you look at me, the way you let me have you like this—"

"I love you too," you gasp, and his hips stutter.

His eyes squeeze shut for a moment, and when he opens them again, there's something raw there.

"Say it again."

"I love you."

"Fuck." His pace falters, becomes less controlled. "You can't—you can't just say it like that when I'm inside you. You're gonna—shit—"

"You feel so good," you tell him, cupping his face. "So perfect. You always make me feel so good."

His breath catches, and suddenly he's kissing you desperately, his thrusts becoming harder, deeper, less measured.

"You're everything," he gasps against your mouth. "Everything to me. The way you trust me, the way you look at me like I'm—fuck, baby, I can't—"

"You are," you insist, and his composure cracks completely.

"Fuck—" He's moving faster now, hitting that spot inside you that makes you see stars. "Love how you fit around me. Like you were made for me. Like we were made for each other."

"We were," you gasp, and his eyes flash with something fierce and possessive.

"Damn right we were." He shifts slightly, changing the angle, and suddenly every thrust is devastating. "There it is. That's the spot, isn't it?"

"Yes—fuck—right there—"

"I know, baby. I know." His voice is breaking now, emotion and desire tangled together. "Gonna make you come again. Wanna watch your face when you—fuck—when you come because of me."

The pleasure is building so quickly you can barely breathe. Your hands clutch at his shoulders, his back, trying to anchor yourself as he drives into you again and again.

"That's it," he encourages, watching your face like he's memorizing it. "I can feel you getting tighter. You're close, aren't you? So fucking close."

"Don't stop—"

"Never." One of his hands slides between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing in tight circles. "Come for me, baby. Let me feel it. Let me see you."

The combination of his cock hitting that perfect spot and his thumb on your clit is too much. Your orgasm hits you hard, pleasure crashing through you in waves that make your whole body tense and shake. You're clenching around him, and he groans at the sensation.

"Fuck, yes," he breathes, still moving, fucking you through it. "That's it. That's my girl. You're so good. So beautiful. Fuck, I love you so much."

When you finally start to come down, gasping and trembling, you expect him to follow you over the edge. But instead, he slows his movements, pressing soft kisses to your face.

"Satoru—"

"Not done with you yet," he murmurs against your lips.

Before you can respond, he's pulling out and lifting your legs, draping them over his shoulders. The new position opens you up completely, and when he pushes back in, he's somehow even deeper than before.

"Oh fuck—" you gasp, and he groans.

"There we go." He starts moving again, and this angle is devastating. Every thrust feels impossibly deep, hitting places that make your toes curl. "How's that, baby? That good?"

"Yes—fuck—Satoru—"

"I love you so much," he says, his voice rough. "You know that? I'm never letting you go. You're mine. Always gonna be mine."

"Yours," you agree breathlessly, and something in his expression goes even more intense.

"That's right." His thrusts are harder now, more purposeful. "Gonna take care of you. Gonna make you feel so good. Gonna love you for the rest of my life."

His hand moves to your stomach, pressing down, and suddenly his eyes go wide. He can feel himself inside you, the bulge of his cock with each thrust, and something feral takes over his expression.

"Holy shit," he breathes, completely mesmerized. His hand traces the outline, feeling himself move in and out of you, and he starts fucking you even harder, unable to look away. "Look at that. Look at you taking me so deep."

You're already building toward another orgasm, the intensity of this angle and his words and the way he's looking at you like you're the most incredible thing he's ever seen—it's all too much.

He's transfixed, watching his cock disappear inside you again and again, feeling the movement under his palm. His breathing is ragged, his movements becoming more frantic.

"Can you feel that, baby?" he asks breathlessly, his voice completely wrecked. "Fuck—I'm so fucking deep—you feel that?"

You look up at him with half-shut glazed eyes, your mouth parted open, completely fucked out. "Yes—fuck—yes, Satoru, I feel it—"

He groans at the sight of you—at how thoroughly wrecked you look, at the way you're falling apart beneath him. "You're so hot. So fucking hot. The way you look right now—fuck—I'm obsessed with you."

He's fucking you harder now, more urgently, his hand still on your stomach feeling himself move inside you with each thrust. The visual seems to drive him wild, and his movements become almost desperate.

"Come for me again," he demands, his other hand finding your oversensitive clit. "I know you can. I know you've got one more in you. Come on, baby. Give it to me."

"Satoru—I can't—it's too much—"

"You can." His thumb presses harder, circling your clit. "You can, baby. I need you to.”

The pleasure is building impossibly fast, almost painful in its intensity. You're so sensitive from your first two orgasms that every thrust, every touch feels magnified.

"That's it," he encourages, watching your face. "I can see it. You're right there. Just let go, baby.”

His voice is breaking, his control completely shattered, and then something raw escapes from him. 

"I want you—" His hips snap forward harder. "Fuck—want all of you.”

His composure finally snaps.

"They've been on my ass my whole life about the bloodline. About heirs. About duty." Another hard thrust, his voice is cracking. "And I never—fuck—never wanted it."

He's breathing hard, almost gasping between words.

"Not until you."

His forehead drops closer to yours, his movements becoming more frantic.

"Only you. Want to marry you—want to wake up to you every day—want to call you my wife and—ah—know you're mine—"

Your orgasm crashes through you even harder, triggered by his words, by the desperation in his voice, by the sight of him completely undone above you. You're clenching around him so tight he gasps, your whole body shaking with the intensity.

"Fuck, yes—" He's just… staring at you, still moving, still feeling himself inside you. "So beautiful—The way your face—the way you sound—fuck—"

The sight of you completely wrecked under him, the feeling of you clenching around him, the way you gasp his name—it pushes him over the edge.

"Ah—fuck—fuck—fuuckk—" He buries himself as deep as he can go and comes hard, spilling into you in hot pulses. His whole body shudders with the intensity of it, and you can feel him throbbing inside you, can feel the warmth spreading.

He collapses on top of you, careful not to crush you but clearly boneless. For a while, you just breathe together, sweaty and satisfied.

"Holy shit," you mumble.

"Yeah." He's pressing kisses all over your face—your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, your lips. He can’t seem to stop touching you, his hands running over your skin like he needs the contact. "You're amazing. Incredible. Best girlfriend in the entire world."

"Best girlfriend, or best pussy?" you tease, and he pulls back to look at you with mock offense.

"Both. Definitely both." He's grinning now, that soft, genuine smile that he only gives you. "But mostly you. I love you. Like, so much. An embarrassing amount."

"I love you too, you needy disaster."

"Your needy disaster," he corrects, and he's still touching you, hands running over your skin like he can't bear to stop. "Mine now. No takebacks."

"Wouldn't dream of it," you say softly, and you mean it.

He pulls you closer, tucking you against his chest, and you can hear his heartbeat starting to slow. The exhaustion from earlier is creeping back in, but it's different now—satisfied, content, the good kind of tired.

"We should probably shower," you murmur, but you're already half-asleep.

"Later," he mumbles into your hair. "Right now I just wanna hold you."

"Clingy."

"Yep." He doesn't even sound ashamed. "You're stuck with me. Forever. Hope you're ready for that."

"I think I can manage," you say, smiling against his chest.

you’re mid-chew, texting, when you feel satoru materialize behind you. that and the rustling of his plastic bags give him away . his chin hooks over your shoulder, breath warm against your ear.

“gum?”

you nod, not looking up. “yeah. want a piece?”

“mm.” his voice drops. “already have one.”

before you can ask what that means, satoru’s hand cups your jaw—gentle and firm—and turns your face toward him. he doesn’t ask. he doesn’t warn. he just leans in.

he kisses you slow and deliberate. you reciprocate after a moment, a motion mostly on instinct, which ends up giving him the right access. his tongue slides past your lips, not to deepen it, but to sweep.

satoru coaxes the gum from your mouth with an infuriatingly skilled curl of his tongue, pulling it into his own mouth with a soft, wet sound that has no right to make your stomach feel that way.

he pulls back and chews, his dimples showing as an unapologetic grin spreads across his face.

“mint,” he hums, like he’s tasting a fine wine. “good choice.”

you’re frozen, face burning and brain short-circuiting.

he plucks the slick gum from his own mouth and presses it back to your lips with two fingers. “open.”

you do. pathetically.

satoru pushes it past your teeth, taps your chin to close your mouth, and pats your cheek like you’re a good pet.

“now we match,” he says sweetly. “shared flavor. shared spit. shared everything.”

then he turns, waves at the cashier, and strolls out of the store front like he didn’t just ruin you in public.

ii. later during dinner, you both are eating something disgustingly sticky together—honey-glazed chicken wings and melted s'mores, because satoru having zero self-control around sugar is nothing new.

your hands are messy. his hands are a crime scene.

you see him eyeing your hoodie. that soft, oversized, perfect fit that you love more than life itself.

“don’t.”

satoru freezes, hand hovering. eyes wide and innocent.

“don’t what?”

“don’t wipe those fingers on me, satoru. i swear to god—”

satoru gasps, offended. “i'd never.”

you stare. satoru holds your gaze. too long. then, with the exaggerated deliberation of a man performing a magic trick, he slowly—so slowly—wipes both hands down the front of his own white t-shirt.

dark streaks bloom across the fabric. he looks down at the mess, then back up at you.

“see?” he beams. “respectful. courteous. boyfriend of the year.”

you blink. “you literally just ruined your shirt.”

“my sacrifice.” he clutches his chest dramatically. “anything for you, my love. i would never defile your sacred hoodie. i would rather die.”

then he opens his arms wide.

“now. hug.”

“no.”

“hug.”

“satoru, your entire front is—”

satoru doesn’t wait. he lunges, wraps his sticky, honey-drenched, s'more-crusted arms around you and squeezes. his open palms find your back. your shoulders. you try to save your hair.

you feel the tacky residue transfer. everywhere.

when he finally takes mercy and pulls back, both the front and back is a disaster of regret. and he’s grinning as if he contributed to your life in such a meaningful way.

“looks good,” satoru says, tucking a sticky strand of hair behind your ear as you continue to scowl. he inspects the honey smeared across your hoodie with genuine satisfaction.

“perfect.”

“perfect?”

“now everyone will know we hugged.”