Utopian Romantacist

The air was heavy, the tang of your arousal still coating your tongue, your breathing still coming in short, fast breaths.

Satoru leaned in, pressing a soft, too tender kiss to your lips. You pushed him swiftly, barely doing more than earning a smirk from him as he brought a hand up to brush a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Back to wanting to kill me?” His hand lingered too long, heat was still prickling everywhere on your body, reigniting the flame as he ran his thumb over your bottom lip.

“It’s definitely a thought.” You tried to shove him again, a little more force behind it, and he took a step back.

It felt cold now where his body had been pressed against yours, but your breathing evened out, no longer clouded with the smell of him. He held his hands up as if in surrender before placing them in his pockets and you hated how you watched the way his biceps had flexed under the white dress shirt. Hated how you wanted to reach out and feel the firmness under your fingertips, dig your nails into him and see if you could make him flinch.

“You can try, princess. I have to say this little graze on my cheek from you earlier definitely makes me wonder what more you’re capable of.” He let out a soft, breathy laugh as he watched you shift yourself off the counter. You had to brace yourself up against it once your feet hit the floor, your legs wobbling a little. “But tell me, do you really think you could lay one of those manicured nails on me without me allowing it?”

“Allowing it?” You echo, lifting your chin slightly.

His smile grows, his eyes stalking each movement you make with your hands as you smooth over the wrinkles in your dress. “Yes dear, allowed.”

“Are you trying to say you purposely got hit by my knife?” You scoffed, shaking your head lightly. “I hit my mark and you’re saying it’s because you let me. That’s ridiculous.”

He takes the smallest step forward and your legs wobble again as his cologne wraps around you.

“You came at me earlier with something to prove but if you’re not willing to bleed a bit it.” His arm wraps around your waist, pulling you against him. “If you’re not willing to even put yourself in harms way, then are you really even fighting?”

A knock at the door seizes your attention. Satoru smirks as the deadbolt turns. Kento Nanami steps inside, kicking the door shut behind him as he sets a stack of folded boxes against the wall.

“Thought I’d find you here, boss.”

“What the fuck is your henchman doing breaking into my apartment.”

“Technically,” Satoru says, all innocence, “he’s not breaking in. I gave him a key.”

Kento dangles the key bet3ween two fingers. You shove at Satoru but he keeps you firmly in his hold.

“Why does he have a key? Why are both of you even here now?”

Satoru’s hand comes up, pressing a finger gently against your lips as he hushes you. “Hush princess. He’s here because I need him to pack up your things.”

You scoff, pushing at him again, and his grip turns bruising as he catches your wrists.

“Like hell. I’m not going anywhere.”

Satoru laughs, a low sound that vibrates in your chest. You twist again, pain sparking up your wrists.

“Let go!”

The moment you snap, the room seems to contract around the three of you. Satoru’s grip, Nanami’s quiet presence, the boxes stacked like a verdict waiting to be carried out.

Satoru doesn’t let go. Instead, his fingers tighten, the bruising pressure a warning rather than punishment. His breath brushes your ear when he speaks, low and maddeningly calm.

“Don’t make this difficult.”

Nanami exhales through his nose, long-suffering, unimpressed, and already regretting every life choice that led him to this moment. He sets another box down with a thud that feels like punctuation.

“You said she’d cooperate.” He says flatly.

“I lied.” Satoru answers, cheerful.

You twist again, pain sparking up your wrists, and Satoru finally shifts, only to turn you in his hold. He pins your arms between your bodies so you can’t get leverage. His forehead dips to yours, his tone softening in a way that makes your pulse jump.

“Sweetheart. You’re not listening.” He murmurs. “I’m not asking you to go. I’m telling you.”

You glare up at him, breath sharp, chest tight. “You don’t get to decide where I live.”

“That’s adorable.” He says, smiling like he’s genuinely delighted by your defiance. “Wrong. But adorable.”

Nanami clears his throat. “Boss, if she’s going to fight you the entire time, this will take hours.”

“Oh, she’ll fight.” Satoru says, eyes still locked on yours. “She always fights. That’s why I’m here.”

His hand comes up to brush your cheekbone, gentle, infuriatingly gentle, before he’s shifting to pull you toward the door. His fingers tighten just enough to make your breath hitch, not enough to break you.

“I’m not going with you!” You glare at both of them, trying to yank yourself free.

Nanami watches, jaw tight, clearly wishing he was anywhere else. “We don’t have all day.”

Satoru sighs, an exaggerated, almost theatrical disappointment before he shifts his grip. In one smooth motion, he releases your wrists only to catch you by the waist again, pulling you against him before you can bolt.

“You keep saying you’re not going,” He murmurs, “but you’re not listening.”

You shove at him, as hard as you can. He steps back just enough to redirect your momentum, turning you toward the hallway. His hand clamps around your forearm, not cruel, but immovable.

 “Satoru, stop.”

“No.” He says simply.

Nanami picks up the first box. “Boss.”

“I know.” Satoru replies. “She’s stalling.”

You twist, trying to break out of his hold, but he’s already moving, guiding you out of the door.

“Let go of me.”

Satoru’s voice drops, quiet and final. “I’m done arguing.”

He doesn’t drag you. He doesn’t throw you over his shoulder. He just walks, pulling you with him, his grip steady and unyielding. You dig your heels in; he keeps going. You try to wrench free; he doesn’t even flinch.

“Satoru, please.”

“Enough. You’re coming with me” He turns back for a moment, his eyes conveying nothing but seriousness. “Whether you walk or I carry you.”

****

The ride is silent.

Not peaceful as you sit in the passenger seat now of Satoru’s Ferrari. The tension feels tight, suffocating in silence that’s shaped by everything you didn’t say and everything he didn’t let you do. He keeps one hand on the wheel, the other resting on your thigh like a claim, not a comfort. Every time you shift away, his fingers tighten just enough to remind you he notices.

You keep checking the mirror, resting your head with a defeated sigh when Nanami's car falls into a spot behind you, honking the horn as a signal that he’d caught up.

You don’t realize you’ve reached the estate until the iron gates slide open on their own. The driveway curves through tall pines, the kind that swallow sound and make the world feel smaller. The mansion rises from the tress. White stone, dark glass, too many windows, too many shadows.

Satoru parks near the front steps. He doesn’t give you time to think. His door opens, then yours, and his hand is on your arm again, guiding you out before your feet fully hit the ground.

“Satoru-” you start.

“Walk.”

You don’t. Not immediately. The hesitation is small, but he sees it. His jaw flexes, and for a moment his expression shifts to something colder, something that says he’s already decided how this ends.

He steps closer, his voice dropping as his other hand grips your jaw painfully tight. “I told you I’m done arguing.”

You swallow hard. The mansion looms behind him, silent and waiting.

Nanami approaches with the first box. “Where do you want her things?”

“Upstairs.” Satoru says, unmoving from his position, fingers slightly loosening on your jaw. “Second floor. East wing.”

Your stomach twists. “No. I’m not-“

Satoru’s eyes narrow, the coldness in them sending goosebumps across your arms and making you cut off your sentence.

“Princess.” He leans down, pressing gentle kiss to your lips that contrasts the psychotic gleam in his eye. “You seem to be misreading your situation.”

He turns you towards the front doors suddenly, his grip bruising as your arm is pinned painfully behind your back, forcing you to take a few steps to lessen the pain. You feel him smile against the skin of your neck, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder.

“There’s no escaping this. Escaping me.” Another two steps forward and the doors open automatically, motion sensors or someone watching, you can’t tell. “You’re mine.”

The foyer is enormous as Satoru’s grip forces you to take the last couple steps inside. Marble floors. High ceilings. A staircase that splits into two sweeping arcs. It’s beautiful in a way that feels wrong. A cage made of luxury.

The doors shut behind you and you hear the lock click shut without anyone having touched them. Satoru steps beside you, releasing your wrist and moving his hand to settle at the small of your back, guiding you forward again.

“Welcome home.”

The mansion is silent.

You stand just inside the foyer, spine locked, feet planted, refusing to take more steps as the silence makes your skin crawl. Satoru watches you for a long moment, masking his impatience.

“Don’t do this.” He says quietly but it feels like it echoes in the vast space.

You lift your chin in defiance. “This is as far as I’m going.”

His jaw ticks. It’s the only warning you get before his hands are on your waist in the next breath. You move to push him, gasping as he lifts you over his shoulder. Effortless, practiced, like he expected this from the moment you arrived at the mansion. Your legs kick, but he hooks an arm under your knees, securing you against his chest.

“Put me down!”

“No.” He says, voice maddeningly calm as you slam your fists against his back. “You had your chance to walk.”

You twist, trying to push away, but his grip doesn’t budge. He carries you through the foyer, up the sweeping staircase, each step steady and deliberate. Every sound you make echoes, your heart hammering in your chest.

Nanami passes you on the landing carrying another box. He doesn’t comment, doesn’t look surprised either, and you reach out to grab his arm for help but Satoru moves away before your fingers grip onto anything.

His steady steps lead you down the east wing hallway. Past tall windows and closed doors. Until he reaches one that’s already open, lights on and curtains drawn back, a room prepared.

Your room.

He steps inside, setting you down with a bounce on the bed as he blocks your path to the door.

You take in the space.

A bed too big. A dresser already half filled. Your favorite blanket folded at the foot of the bed. A brand new bottle of your perfume on the vanity next to a picture of you and Suguru from middle school. All things he shouldn’t have touched. Shouldn’t have even known were important to you.

Your stomach drops.

Satoru watches your reaction, his expression softening in a way that makes it worse. He sits on the edge of the bed, the weight of him making you shift toward him enough that you have to fight the urge to lean in more

“This isn’t my home.”

“It is now.”

Satoru lifts his hand to touch your cheek and you push it away. He’s too close. Too soft in contrast to the cold man that just forced you into his home and carried you here. You move away from him, your back pressing into the headboard as your head spins from the whiplash.

“You can’t just-“

“I can.” He smiles, but it’s not the wicked one from earlier. “And I did.”

You stare at him, anger and fear and disbelief tangling in your chest. “You can’t force me.”

You’re still pressed against the headboard, breath shallow, when Satoru shifts. The movement is slow, deliberate, the kind of patience that makes your skin prickle with warning.

His hand finds your knee, sliding slowly up your thigh.

You stiffen, pushing at his chest, but he’s already leaning into you, using his weight to pin your hips down into the mattress. The heat of his palm burns as it slides higher, fingers curling possessively over the curve of your hip.

“Don’t.” The word comes out thinner than you want.

He doesn’t stop though. His thumb traces a slow arc along your inner thigh, close enough to make your breath hitch. His face hovers over yours, close enough to count the flecks of blue in his irises, close enough to see the way his pupils dilate when you bite your lip.

His lips brush your ear, warm and deliberate, as his voice drops to a murmur that vibrates through your skin. “In this, I won’t force you princess.”

The words should bring relief. They don’t. Not with the way his fingers still trace lazy patterns on your thigh. Not with the way his breath curls against the shell of your ear like a promise.

“But you’ll beg for me.”

You shove at his chest harder, but he doesn’t move. His hand stills on your hip, grip firm enough to bruise, and he pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. That cold smile is back, the one that makes your stomach drop and your thighs clench against your will.

“By the time I’m done with you,” he continues, thumb pressing into the soft dip of your hip bone, “You’ll be on your knees. Asking nicely. Begging me to take what I already own.”

Your throat tightens. “You’re insane.”

“Maybe.” He leans in again, this time pressing a featherlight kiss to the corner of your mouth, and you hate that you don’t pull away. “But for this, for the chance to bury myself in that cunt of yours whenever I want, I can be patient.”

Satoru holds your gaze for a beat longer, that infuriating smirk still playing at his lips. Then without warning, he releases your hip. The loss of his touch is sudden, almost jarring, and you hate the way your body instinctively leans after him.

He stands, straightening his shirt with deliberate care, as if brushing off dust rather than the heat of the moment. The space between you feels wider than the room allows.

“Get settled.” He says, voice light and casual like he hasn’t just turned your world inside out. “I know you didn’t eat at the meeting. Nanami will retrieve you when there is food.”

He moves toward the door, and you sit frozen, caught between relief and something far more dangerous. At the threshold, he pauses, glancing back over his shoulder. His hand rests on the doorframe, his silhouette cutting sharp against the hallway light.

You hate how your eyes trail over him. He’s absurdly attractive even if slightly insane. But that screw loose makes you want to push him more. Make him break even if it means you’re what he’d destroy in the process.

His eyes find yours, and that smirk softens into something more intimate. “I can’t wait to ruin you.”

He pulls the door closed with a quiet click and you’re finally alone.

The room feels too big, too quiet, the echo of his words still pressing against your skin. Your thighs clench involuntarily, and you press the heels of your palms against your eyes, trying to push the image of him away.

Beg for me.

You hate how the thought makes your pulse race. Hate how your fingers twitch, wanting to trace the path his hand just took. Hate that when you close your eyes, the only thing you see is the promise in his gaze before he left you here, aching and frustrated and wanting more.

His voice echoes in your head and you hate him. Hate how easily he unravels you. How he touched you like he already owned you. How your body responded before your mind caught up.

Your hand moves without permission. Your hand much smaller than his ghosting over the heat that still lingered from his touch on your hip and thigh. You slip beneath the hem of your dress, finding the wet heat he left behind, and you wonder if he’d known how he’d left you.

Soaked. Humiliatingly so.

A soft sound escapes your throat as your fingers press against your swollen clit, chasing the ghost of sensation when his thumb had brushed against your inner thigh.

Your head falls back against the headboard, eyes squeezing shut. It’s pathetic. Touching yourself because he put the thought in your head, because he walked away and left your burning.

You hate how your fingers move faster. Hate how you remember the feeling of his fingers earlier in your apartment, filling and stretching you so deliciously. Hate that when you finally tip over the edge, your teeth sink into your lip to muffle his name before it escapes you. Hate that you still crave him even after the high starts to dissipate.

You pull your hand away, slick and trembling, staring breathlessly at the door he disappeared through. Your body still aching for more.

Your fingers don’t feel like enough,

The thought claws through the haze of shame and heat, and you hate yourself for acknowledging it. Your hand moves again, slipping lower, past the slick heat of your entrance, pressing deeper until your middle and ring fingers are buried knuckle deep inside you.

A broken moan falls from your lips. It’s not enough. Not nearly enough.

You try to curl your fingers, searching for that spot he’d found earlier without even trying, but it’s hollow. Your walls clench at nothing, craving a fullness your own hand can’t provide. A width. A rhythm. Him.

Your thumb finds your clit, pressing hard circles as you fuck yourself on your fingers, but it’s pathetic. A poor imitation. Your breath comes in sharp, frustrated gasps as you pump faster, harder, chasing a peak that keeps slipping just out of reach.

You’ll beg for me.

The memory of his voice, low and certain, crashes through you. Your back arches off the mattress, a sob catching in your throat as your fingers slide deeper, aching, desperate, needing more than you can give yourself.

The orgasm when it comes is brittle. Sharp. Leaving you trembling and unsatisfied again as your hand slips free, thighs shaking as the aftershocks fade into something hollow.

You stare at the ceiling, chest heaving, fingers still glistening.

It’s not enough. The aching is already starting again as you picture the way he’d kissed you against the counter, the way his fingers had perfectly curled against your sensitive walls.

“Bastard.”

You give up with a frustrated growl, pulling your hand away and wiping it on the sheets. The slick evidence of your defeat glistens in the dim light, and you hate how your body still hums with unspent tension.

You curl onto your side, pressing your thighs together as if that might soothe the ache. It doesn’t. Nothing will. Not until he decides to touch you again.

Minutes pass. Or maybe an hour. Time blurring in the too quiet room.

A knock at the door makes you jolt upright, heart hammering. You smooth your dress down, heat flooding your cheeks as you realize you’re still flushed, your arousal still mixing with your perfume in the small space.

“Come in.”

The door opens and you hate the disappointment that twists in your chest as you see Nanami standing in the doorway.

“Dinner is ready.” He doesn’t step aside, just holds the door, expression neutral.

You hesitate, but your stomach chooses that moment to growl, betraying you. His eyebrow twitches and you think it’s the closest thing to amused he’ll ever show.

“Boss is waiting.” He adds, and there’s something almost like a warning in his tone.

You swing your legs over the edge of the bed, steadying yourself before standing. Your thighs are still weak, still sensitive. You pray he doesn’t notice the way you sway as you walk toward the bathroom.

“The boss can wait.”

The door clicks shut behind you, and you lean against it, exhaling slowly.

The shower is scalding, but you need it. Need to wash away the evidence of your weakness. Steam curls around you as you stand under the spray, letting the water pound against your shoulders. Your skin still tingles when you think about where he touched you, and you press your palm flat against your stomach, willing the sensation and thoughts to fade.

It wont. You know it won’t.

You take your time. Deliberately. Letting the heat seep into your muscles until your fingers prune and the water runs clear. You find a plush robe hanging behind the door, monogrammed with an SG that makes your jaw clench, and you pull it on anyways because your dress is wrinkled and you refuse to walk down there smelling like sex and surrender.

When you finally step out, skin flushed and hair damp, you catch your reflection in the mirror. Your eyes are still bright, Still defiant.

You find a brush on the vanity, running it through your tangled hair, and tie it back in a loose knot. Simple. Unbothered. As if you haven’t spent the last hour aching for a man who stole you from your own home to soon marry you against your will.

The bedroom door is still ajar. Voices drift from somewhere below, low and casual. Laughter. Satoru’s laugh, warm and infuriatingly genuine.

You stand in the doorway of the bedroom, robe cinched tight, damp hair still dripping down the back of your neck. The hallway is dim, lit only by sconces that cast long shadows across the polished floors. The mansion feels too big, too quiet, too alive with the sound of him somewhere below.

Your legs are steady now as you walk down the hall, but your chest isn’t. Every breath feels like a decision.

You hear Nanami’s voice carry up the stairs, too low to make out what he says. Satoru responds with something lighter, something that makes Nanami exhale in that long-suffering way he does when he’s pretending not to be annoyed.

You reach the landing and pause. From here, you can see the dining room through the archway. Warm light, a long table, plates set with precision. Nanami sits near the end, arms crossed. Satoru sits at the head, posture relaxed, one hand draped over the back of his chair as if he owns not just the house, but the air inside it.

He looks up and your stomach flips as his eyes find you instantly.

“There she is.” The smile that spreads across his face is slow and knowing.

You stay at the landing, watching as Nanami’s shoulders relax just an inch at your arrival, but you still refuse to move closer.

Satoru doesn’t stand. Doesn’t beckon. He just watches you, tapping one finger against the arm of his chair.

“Took your time.” He motions at the table. “Come eat before it gets cold.”

You force yourself down the stairs, trying to convince yourself you still have some semblance of control as you take a seat as far away from him as you can. You feel his eyes on you and watch as he dismisses Nanami with a wave of his hand.

The scrape of both of their chairs as they stand makes you pull your robe tighter. Satoru takes a few steps towards you before picking up a plate, carefully setting the dish in front of you before taking a seat beside you. The scent of food, warm and familiar, feels wrong in a place like this.

You pick up your fork, but you don’t eat. Not yet. The warmth of the food rises against your lips as you try to focus on bringing it to your mouth. Try to focus on the steam curling upward and not on the man beside you whose knee just brushed against yours.

His knee presses firmer against yours. You shift, trying to pull away, but the chair traps you. There’s nowhere to go.

Then you feel it.

A brush of fingers against your thigh, light at first, so light you think you imagine it. But then his hand settles, palm flat, warm, sliding your robe aside.

Your breath catches. He’s watching his own hand disappear beneath the table. Taking his time in the way his fingers find the bare skin of your inner thigh. Slow. Exploratory.

You grab his wrist beneath the table, nails biting into his skin. The ache from earlier making you want to pull his hand exactly where you need him but you can’t give in. You glare at him, fork wavering enough that the remnants or food have already tumbled back onto the plate.

“Please keep your hands to yourself.”

Satoru’s smile doesn’t waver. He picks up his glass with his free hand, takes a sip, and sets it down with the same unhurried precision. His thumb traces an idle circle against the sensitive skin just above your knee.

“Eat.” He says it soft, like a command wrapped in silk.

His fingers don’t stop. They travel higher, tracing the edge of your thigh, teasing the heat gathered there. You squeeze his wrist harder, but he doesn’t flinch.

“Whatever you’re thinking.” You breathe out, your grip weakening as his hand moves to cup your heat fully.

“Already?” He murmurs and it feels like his voice is wrapping around you. “And here I was thinking you were fighting this.”

His fingers easily slip between your soaked folds, eyes darkening at just how wet he finds you, that knowing smile sharpening into something hungrier.

Your thighs tremble, fork clattering loudly against the plate as you open your legs more for him, rocking your hips into his hand in hopes he’ll push two long fingers into you. He groans moving his fingers away from your entrance to swirl delicate circles on your twitching clit. You hate how your body responds, arching into the touch, a whimper slipping past your lips.

You squeeze your eyes shut, your grip on his wrist tightening as you try to push him back down, try to wordlessly tell him to finger fuck you under the table. But he doesn’t, instead keeping that same devastating pattern against your clit, your hips still chasing his touch.

You’re so close. The burning pressure in your belly making your breathing uneven with each circle. You can feel it, the damn about to break.

Satoru pulls his hand off you, leaving you panting and whining as you to try to pull him back to you.

“Look at me.”

You don’t want to. Your cheeks are flushed, cunt dripping obscenely as you clench around nothing, the high retreating before you were even able to tumble over the edge. You know what you’ll see if you open your eyes. That infuriating triumph. That smug satisfaction.

But your eyes open anyway.

Satoru’s not smiling. His pupils are blown wide, his jaw tight, his composure cracked at the edges. He looks wrecked, and somehow that’s worse than his arrogance.

“You’re so wet for me.” He brings his fingers to your lips and you don’t even think before you open your mouth to taste yourself on them, swirling your tongue around a digit. “You were close too. I could see it. Feel it. The way you pulse. The way your breath catches.”

You hate that he’s right. Hate that your body is still trembling, still waiting and aching for more. He pulls his fingers from your mouth, trailing wet but light touches down your neck and over your collarbone, exposing the tops of your breasts as the robe falls off your shoulder.

“Satoru.” His name scrapes out of you, raw and desperate. “Please.”

His eyes flash. Something dark and satisfied flickers in their depths. But he doesn’t move.

“Please what, princess?”

You know what he’s doing. What he said he’d do. You’ll beg for me.

Your pride screams at you to stay silent. To push back from the table and retreat to your room. But your body aches for him. Empty and clenching at nothing, so close to breaking.

“Touch me.” You whisper, breath catching as he tilts your chin to look in his lust filled eyes.

He leans in, lips ghosting over yours. You try to close the distance and he pulls away, that infuriating smile cracking through the tension. “Louder.”

“Please.” Your voice breaks, and you hate how needy you sound. “Satoru. I n-need you to touch me.”

Satoru pulls you from your seat, the world tilting as he fluidly picks you up to set you on the edge of the dining table. Dishes clatter to the floor, a glass tips and spills, but neither of you care. His mouth crashes against yours, hungry and claiming, swallowing the whimper that escapes as his fingers find you again.

You grind down against his palm, desperation winning as you whisper "please" against his mouth, the word slipping out broken and raw. Your hips roll, chasing friction, chasing anything, and you hate how natural it feels to surrender like this.

Satoru's breath hitches. A crack in his composure. His fingers finally move, sliding through your slick folds, gathering your arousal before pressing two fingers inside you without warning.

A sharp cry escapes your throat. Your head falls back, your grip on his wrist turning bruising as he curls his fingers, finding that spot with devastating accuracy.

"That's it." His voice is rough, strained. "That's my good girl."

He thrusts slowly, deliberately, watching your face contort with every movement. His thumb finds your clit, pressing tight circles that make your vision blur.

You're close. So close. The pressure building, coiling, threatening to shatter.

"Look at me."

You force your eyes open. He's beautiful like this, hair slightly disheveled, pupils blown, that cocky smile softened into something ravenous.

"Come for me." He commands, fingers curling deeper. "Now."

Your orgasm crashes through you, violent and consuming, your body arching into him as you cry out his name. He works you through it, fingers slowing, gentling, until you're trembling and boneless against him.

“Fuck-” The word is muffled against his mouth, but he hears it. Feels it, Smiles against your lips like he’s won something.

His fingers curl, that devastating hook finding the spot that makes your legs lock around his waist. He begins pumping again and you gasp as the wet sound of your body welcoming him filling the room. He drags it out, slows his pace as you begin trembling on the edge again, whining into a kiss as he slows to a damn near crawl before speeding up, chasing your broken moans.

“Look at you.” He breathes against your throat, lips trailing down to where your pulse hammers. “Such a goddamn slut for my fingers.”

Your nails rake down his back, catching fabric, and he groans, pressing deeper.

“Come for me again.” He murmurs against your skin.

Your walls flutter as if on command, drawing out a staccato whimper as your orgasm crashes over you suddenly.

His thumb presses your oversensitive clit as he whispers filthy praise against your neck. The words are honeyed and sharp, sinking into your skin like a brand.

“That’s it. Two for me already. Such a perfect little thing coming apart on my fingers like you were made for it.”

You shudder, still trembling from the aftershocks, but he doesn’t stop. His thumb keeps circling, relentless, dragging another broken sound from your throat. You’re too sensitive, too raw, but your hips roll into him anyway, chasing the ache he’s carved into you.

His lips brush your ear. “One more. Give me one more, sweetheart. I know you have it.”

Your nails dig into his shoulders, tears escaping the corners of your eyes as you squeeze them shut, your body answering before your mind can catch up. The third orgasm tears through you, weaker than the last two but no less devastating, leaving you gasping against his chest as he finally stills.

He pulls his fingers free slowly, dragging them through your slick heat one last time before bringing them to his lips. His eyes never leave yours as he tastes you, a low groan rumbling in his chest that vibrates through the air between you.

“Fuck.” His voice is wrecked, all that smug composure stripped raw. “Next time I’m burying my cock in that perfect little cunt of yours.”

You risk a glance down, watching as the hard length of him twitches and strains against his slacks. Your mouth waters as your fingers move before you can think, trailing down to palm his straining cock through the fabric, thick and heavy.

His breath catches, a shudder running through his entire body at the contact. He leans into your touch, jaw clenching as you trace the outline of him.

“Careful, princess.” His voice is rougher, the strained edge to it making you bolder. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

You press harder, dragging your palm along his length, feeling the way he twitches against your touch. You hum softly as you feel a slight damp spot form as you drag your hand over him again.

“Wonder what you taste like.” You whisper, not even registering that you said the thought aloud.

Satoru twitches again under your touch, moaning softly as you keep palming him. He catches your wrist, not stopping you, just holding, anchoring himself as you look up.

His eyes are nearly black, his pupils swallowing the blue as they lock on yours.

Your fingers find the button on his slacks, a low growl rumbling from his chest as you work the clasp loose. The zipper lowers, inch by inch, and you bite your lip as you feel the heat of him pressing against your knuckles through the thin fabric of his bowers.

He’s shaking. Actually shaking, The great Satoru Gojo, trembling under your touch like a man starved.

You hook your fingers into the waistband and his head falls forward against your shoulder, a broken curse slipping past his lips along with your name.

A dark thrill curls in your chest. You have him. Right here, unraveling because of you, and you haven’t even truly touched him.

His hand slides into your hair, grip tightening after he frees it from the elastic band, pulling you into a kiss that’s all teeth and desperation. You push the waistband lower and his hips stutter forward.

A sharp knock cuts through the air.

You both freeze. Satoru’s forehead presses against yours, breath ragged, eyes squeezed shut.

“Boss.” Nanami’s voice, flat and unbothered, comes through the door. “We have a situation.”

Satoru doesn’t move. His jaw clenches so hard you hear his teeth grind. “It can wait.”

“It can’t.”

A long, weighted pause. Then Satoru pulls back, and the man who looks at you is all sharp edges and cold restraint. The hunger is still there, subsiding into the background but still burning in his eyes. He tucks himself back into his slacks, eye contact never wavering and you curse internally that you never even looked down to see his cock while it had been exposed.

“This isn’t over.”

“Relax, no one saw me.”

Satoru’s smile is mischievous as your fingers reach forward, pulling him into the apartment by his collar. You peak your head out, glancing quickly up and down the hallway as he moves further into the apartment.

You turn slowly, his cologne drifting in as you shut the door behind you.

“How can you be sure?” You whisper out, before moving towards him.

He leans casually against your kitchen counter like he belongs there. His hair is mussed from the storm rolling in, cheeks faintly flushed, and he’s wearing that soft, lopsided grin that always makes your stomach flutter.

He lifts a brow, amused. “Because I checked. Twice.”

 “That’s not an answer.”

He pushes off the counter and walks toward you, slow and unhurried, like he’s savoring each step. “Why are you whispering?”

He laughs softly as you shrug your shoulders.

You notice there’s no tension in his shoulders as he walks closer, no urgency in his movements that usually accompanies him every time you’d seen him on campus. Just the easy confidence he wears like a second skin. When he reaches you, his fingers brush against yours as he grasps the door handle and locks it.

The touch is light, accidental, and it sends a warm shiver up your arm.

“Better?” He murmurs.

You try to hold out, try to even your breathing but it’s hard when he’s this close, smelling like the coming storm and something soft and clean. Like cedar and the faintest hint of vanilla.

“You still didn’t answer my question.” You whisper again and try to look stern even though your heart is already betraying you with how hard it’s beating against your chest.

He smiles, and it’s the playful smile that makes your knees weak as he leans closer, your back pressing against the door now as he cages you in. “I promise, sweetheart. No one saw me.”

You try to meet his eyes, hold his stare in a bit of defiance, but he sees right through it. He always does.

“Satoru, why are you here.”

He brings his hand to brush a stray hair behind your ear that makes your breath catch. His fingers linger, tracing the curve of your jaw before cupping your chin. “Can’t a sorcerer just come visit his secret girlfriend without twenty questions.”

You swallow as his eyes dart down to your lips. “You could’ve just texted.”

“Hmm.” He moves closer still, his lips barely brushing over yours. “But then I wouldn’t get to see you roll your eyes at me when I regale my stories.”

You try not to smile, try to keep from rolling your eyes at his comment. You fail and he swallows whatever response you had been forming.

It’s slow. Soft. A brush of his lips that feels like coming home after the month you’d been apart. He exhales against your mouth, his hand sliding to the back of your neck, pulling you just a little closer.

“I missed you.” He leans his forehead against yours, giving you the smile you only ever see in quiet moments like this.

“I missed you too.”

His lips find yours again and you wrap your arms around him, pressing firmly against the muscular planes of his back. The space between you shrinks as his body molds into yours. He bites your lip, earning a gasp before he deepens the kiss, his tongue swiping teasingly against yours.

Satoru tastes like peppermint, bright enough to make your lips tingle. Every time his tongue moves against yours the mint flares again, cooling your breath, making the warmth of him feel even warmer by contrast. It’s clean, refreshing, and distinctly his.

And Satoru is yours.  

You’re breathless when he pulls away, both of his hands moving to quickly grip below your ass. He lifts you with ease, your legs wrapping firmly around his waist, pulling you closer than before. Your noses brush as he adjusts you, his growing arousal pressing firmly against you.

Satoru kisses you again, hungrier than before, overwhelming as he carries you through the apartment. He shifts you as he fumbles to open your bedroom door, the handle clicking loudly in the quiet apartment.

“I will never understand why you keep your bedroom door closed like this.”

“So really hunky sorcerers can be humbled while carrying their lover to bed.” You giggle as he kicks it closed and tosses you on the bed.

You barely bounce before he’s crawling on top of you, his knee nudging your legs apart before settling between them. His lips find yours again, cock grinding against you through his jeans. He moans as your arousal soaks through the denim.

“Satoru.” You moan as he brings a hand up to squeeze your breast.

“You miss me?” He pushes your shirt up, exposing your breasts, nipples pebbling at the cool air as he slips it fully over your head, your hair falling in a halo on the bedspread as your head lands back on the pillow.

He doesn’t give you long enough to respond before he kisses you again. It’s hungry. His hand grabs your breast again, thumb brushing against your nipple, his hands rough against the soft flesh.

It’s smooth, almost effortless. Your body rises before you fully think about it, pushing his own shirt over his head. Instinct guides you to lift your hips as he tugs gently on the waistband of your pajama shorts, panties slipping down your legs without hesitation.

Satoru loses his balance for a moment as he shifts his own bottoms off, the movement bringing you close, chest to chest, your arms looping around his shoulders as if they were always meant to rest there.

There’s a brief moment, a shared breath, a tender smile, before he’s guiding his length into you. The delicious burn forcing the softest gasp from your lips as he stretches you.

Your legs tighten around him for stability, and he responds instantly, arms bracing his weight as he shifts to fully submerge himself into your heat. The closeness changes the air between you. His breath brushes across your cheek before he tenderly kisses the corner of your mouth.

“Breathe sweetheart.” His voice is warm and patient. Despite the hunger in his eyes, he’s not rushing.

You feel him twitch inside you, his jaw clenching as he allows you to adjust. He pulls back just an inch and you can’t help the whine that escapes.

“Don’t.” Your fingers move to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. The soft white locks falling gently like a curtain around his eyes.

“Don’t what?”

“Stop.” You pull him closer, biting his lip, earning a satisfied smirk from him.

He shifts his hips back again, the slow drag of his cock along your walls tortuous.

“’Toru.” You whine again as you feel him almost completely pull out. “Ple–.”

The word is cut off as he slams himself back inside, stealing your breath. He swallows your moan as he slowly moves, burying himself deep with each thrust forward. Your fingers pull at his hair, threading it between your fingers as he picks up his pace, his careful composure crumbling as your gummy walls grip him tight.

You whine out, eyes rolling as he slides an arm under your hips, helping you arch perfectly so his cock can rub right against your sweet spot. Your thighs tremble as the tuft of hair at the base of his cock grinds deliciously against your clit, sending sparks along your spine.

You missed this.

Missed the feeling of his cock filling and stretching you. Missed shattering underneath him as he chased his own release. Missed the whispers of your name coming in breathless chants from his lips as his cock glided through your puffy folds.

“So perfect.” He whispers as you come apart beneath him. Your walls fluttering around him, gripping him tightly with each drag back of his hips.

“Fuck.” Your nails rake across his back, leaving angry red trails down his shoulder blade.

It’s almost too much as Satoru continues thrusting. His cheeks flushing as his hips lose a bit of their rhythm. He presses an open-mouthed kiss to your lips. It’s wet, and messy, and overwhelming as his tongue smooths over yours.

“W-where?” He moans out softly, balls tightening as he teeters on the edge.

“Inside.” You squeeze your thighs around his waist, heels locking him in behind his back,  urging him impossibly deeper. “Please ‘Toru.”

Satoru moans out, eyes lidded, lips falling open in bliss as his cock twitches. He pulses inside you, thick white ropes of cum coating your walls as he empties into you. He pulls you close, breathing ragged as his hips slow.

He buries his face into your neck, moving his arm from beneath your hips before he settles some of his weight on top of you.

It’s not an unwelcome pressure, the weight of Satoru on top of you. He’s warm, draped over you like a blanket. You can feel the exact moment he stops supporting himself on his arms. The subtle shift of his shoulders, the way his chest settles fully against yours, the gentle exhale that melts into you.

Then the soft snores start.

Not loud. Not dramatic. Just the faint, rhythmic sound of someone who got too comfortable and forgot he wasn’t supposed to fall asleep on you.

You blink up at the ceiling, a laugh caught somewhere in your chest. “Off.” You grumble as you try to push him off you with no success. “Satoru. Off.”

“Five more minutes.” He mumbles and nuzzles more into your neck.

You sigh. You can’t even be annoyed as his breathing evens out again, settling into a slow, steady rhythm that matches the rise and fall of his chest against yours. You feel him slowly start to leak out, dripping on the fabric beneath you.

“’Toru.” You try again, his snoring becoming more insistent, his breath ghosting off your collarbone.

He shifts slowly, pulling you with him as he rolls onto his side, keeping himself buried inside you.

You shift your hand to his back, tracing lazy circles over the angry red marks on his shoulder. He pulls you closer, melting into you, into the bed, entire body relaxing now. His snoring picking back up as his breathing evens out again.

The quiet envelopes you. Safe and warm.

The words rise before you can stop them.

“I love you.” You whisper.

“Relax, no one saw me.”

Satoru’s smile is mischievous as your fingers reach forward, pulling him into the apartment by his collar. You peak your head out, glancing quickly up and down the hallway as he moves further into the apartment.

You turn slowly, his cologne drifting in as you shut the door behind you.

“How can you be sure?” You whisper out, before moving towards him.

He leans casually against your kitchen counter like he belongs there. His hair is mussed from the storm rolling in, cheeks faintly flushed, and he’s wearing that soft, lopsided grin that always makes your stomach flutter.

He lifts a brow, amused. “Because I checked. Twice.”

 “That’s not an answer.”

He pushes off the counter and walks toward you, slow and unhurried, like he’s savoring each step. “Why are you whispering?”

He laughs softly as you shrug your shoulders.

You notice there’s no tension in his shoulders as he walks closer, no urgency in his movements that usually accompanies him every time you’d seen him on campus. Just the easy confidence he wears like a second skin. When he reaches you, his fingers brush against yours as he grasps the door handle and locks it.

The touch is light, accidental, and it sends a warm shiver up your arm.

“Better?” He murmurs.

You try to hold out, try to even your breathing but it’s hard when he’s this close, smelling like the coming storm and something soft and clean. Like cedar and the faintest hint of vanilla.

“You still didn’t answer my question.” You whisper again and try to look stern even though your heart is already betraying you with how hard it’s beating against your chest.

He smiles, and it’s the playful smile that makes your knees weak as he leans closer, your back pressing against the door now as he cages you in. “I promise, sweetheart. No one saw me.”

You try to meet his eyes, hold his stare in a bit of defiance, but he sees right through it. He always does.

“Satoru, why are you here.”

He brings his hand to brush a stray hair behind your ear that makes your breath catch. His fingers linger, tracing the curve of your jaw before cupping your chin. “Can’t a sorcerer just come visit his secret girlfriend without twenty questions.”

You swallow as his eyes dart down to your lips. “You could’ve just texted.”

“Hmm.” He moves closer still, his lips barely brushing over yours. “But then I wouldn’t get to see you roll your eyes at me when I regale my stories.”

You try not to smile, try to keep from rolling your eyes at his comment. You fail and he swallows whatever response you had been forming.

It’s slow. Soft. A brush of his lips that feels like coming home after the month you’d been apart. He exhales against your mouth, his hand sliding to the back of your neck, pulling you just a little closer.

“I missed you.” He leans his forehead against yours, giving you the smile you only ever see in quiet moments like this.

“I missed you too.”

His lips find yours again and you wrap your arms around him, pressing firmly against the muscular planes of his back. The space between you shrinks as his body molds into yours. He bites your lip, earning a gasp before he deepens the kiss, his tongue swiping teasingly against yours.

Satoru tastes like peppermint, bright enough to make your lips tingle. Every time his tongue moves against yours the mint flares again, cooling your breath, making the warmth of him feel even warmer by contrast. It’s clean, refreshing, and distinctly his.

And Satoru is yours.  

You’re breathless when he pulls away, both of his hands moving to quickly grip below your ass. He lifts you with ease, your legs wrapping firmly around his waist, pulling you closer than before. Your noses brush as he adjusts you, his growing arousal pressing firmly against you.

Satoru kisses you again, hungrier than before, overwhelming as he carries you through the apartment. He shifts you as he fumbles to open your bedroom door, the handle clicking loudly in the quiet apartment.

“I will never understand why you keep your bedroom door closed like this.”

“So really hunky sorcerers can be humbled while carrying their lover to bed.” You giggle as he kicks it closed and tosses you on the bed.

You barely bounce before he’s crawling on top of you, his knee nudging your legs apart before settling between them. His lips find yours again, cock grinding against you through his jeans. He moans as your arousal soaks through the denim.

“Satoru.” You moan as he brings a hand up to squeeze your breast.

“You miss me?” He pushes your shirt up, exposing your breasts, nipples pebbling at the cool air as he slips it fully over your head, your hair falling in a halo on the bedspread as your head lands back on the pillow.

He doesn’t give you long enough to respond before he kisses you again. It’s hungry. His hand grabs your breast again, thumb brushing against your nipple, his hands rough against the soft flesh.

It’s smooth, almost effortless. Your body rises before you fully think about it, pushing his own shirt over his head. Instinct guides you to lift your hips as he tugs gently on the waistband of your pajama shorts, panties slipping down your legs without hesitation.

Satoru loses his balance for a moment as he shifts his own bottoms off, the movement bringing you close, chest to chest, your arms looping around his shoulders as if they were always meant to rest there.

There’s a brief moment, a shared breath, a tender smile, before he’s guiding his length into you. The delicious burn forcing the softest gasp from your lips as he stretches you.

Your legs tighten around him for stability, and he responds instantly, arms bracing his weight as he shifts to fully submerge himself into your heat. The closeness changes the air between you. His breath brushes across your cheek before he tenderly kisses the corner of your mouth.

“Breathe sweetheart.” His voice is warm and patient. Despite the hunger in his eyes, he’s not rushing.

You feel him twitch inside you, his jaw clenching as he allows you to adjust. He pulls back just an inch and you can’t help the whine that escapes.

“Don’t.” Your fingers move to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. The soft white locks falling gently like a curtain around his eyes.

“Don’t what?”

“Stop.” You pull him closer, biting his lip, earning a satisfied smirk from him.

He shifts his hips back again, the slow drag of his cock along your walls tortuous.

“’Toru.” You whine again as you feel him almost completely pull out. “Ple–.”

The word is cut off as he slams himself back inside, stealing your breath. He swallows your moan as he slowly moves, burying himself deep with each thrust forward. Your fingers pull at his hair, threading it between your fingers as he picks up his pace, his careful composure crumbling as your gummy walls grip him tight.

You whine out, eyes rolling as he slides an arm under your hips, helping you arch perfectly so his cock can rub right against your sweet spot. Your thighs tremble as the tuft of hair at the base of his cock grinds deliciously against your clit, sending sparks along your spine.

You missed this.

Missed the feeling of his cock filling and stretching you. Missed shattering underneath him as he chased his own release. Missed the whispers of your name coming in breathless chants from his lips as his cock glided through your puffy folds.

“So perfect.” He whispers as you come apart beneath him. Your walls fluttering around him, gripping him tightly with each drag back of his hips.

“Fuck.” Your nails rake across his back, leaving angry red trails down his shoulder blade.

It’s almost too much as Satoru continues thrusting. His cheeks flushing as his hips lose a bit of their rhythm. He presses an open-mouthed kiss to your lips. It’s wet, and messy, and overwhelming as his tongue smooths over yours.

“W-where?” He moans out softly, balls tightening as he teeters on the edge.

“Inside.” You squeeze your thighs around his waist, heels locking him in behind his back,  urging him impossibly deeper. “Please ‘Toru.”

Satoru moans out, eyes lidded, lips falling open in bliss as his cock twitches. He pulses inside you, thick white ropes of cum coating your walls as he empties into you. He pulls you close, breathing ragged as his hips slow.

He buries his face into your neck, moving his arm from beneath your hips before he settles some of his weight on top of you.

It’s not an unwelcome pressure, the weight of Satoru on top of you. He’s warm, draped over you like a blanket. You can feel the exact moment he stops supporting himself on his arms. The subtle shift of his shoulders, the way his chest settles fully against yours, the gentle exhale that melts into you.

Then the soft snores start.

Not loud. Not dramatic. Just the faint, rhythmic sound of someone who got too comfortable and forgot he wasn’t supposed to fall asleep on you.

You blink up at the ceiling, a laugh caught somewhere in your chest. “Off.” You grumble as you try to push him off you with no success. “Satoru. Off.”

“Five more minutes.” He mumbles and nuzzles more into your neck.

You sigh. You can’t even be annoyed as his breathing evens out again, settling into a slow, steady rhythm that matches the rise and fall of his chest against yours. You feel him slowly start to leak out, dripping on the fabric beneath you.

“’Toru.” You try again, his snoring becoming more insistent, his breath ghosting off your collarbone.

He shifts slowly, pulling you with him as he rolls onto his side, keeping himself buried inside you.

You shift your hand to his back, tracing lazy circles over the angry red marks on his shoulder. He pulls you closer, melting into you, into the bed, entire body relaxing now. His snoring picking back up as his breathing evens out again.

The quiet envelopes you. Safe and warm.

The words rise before you can stop them.

“I love you.” You whisper.

“Relax, no one saw me.”

Satoru’s smile is mischievous as your fingers reach forward, pulling him into the apartment by his collar. You peak your head out, glancing quickly up and down the hallway as he moves further into the apartment.

You turn slowly, his cologne drifting in as you shut the door behind you.

“How can you be sure?” You whisper out, before moving towards him.

He leans casually against your kitchen counter like he belongs there. His hair is mussed from the storm rolling in, cheeks faintly flushed, and he’s wearing that soft, lopsided grin that always makes your stomach flutter.

He lifts a brow, amused. “Because I checked. Twice.”

 “That’s not an answer.”

He pushes off the counter and walks toward you, slow and unhurried, like he’s savoring each step. “Why are you whispering?”

He laughs softly as you shrug your shoulders.

You notice there’s no tension in his shoulders as he walks closer, no urgency in his movements that usually accompanies him every time you’d seen him on campus. Just the easy confidence he wears like a second skin. When he reaches you, his fingers brush against yours as he grasps the door handle and locks it.

The touch is light, accidental, and it sends a warm shiver up your arm.

“Better?” He murmurs.

You try to hold out, try to even your breathing but it’s hard when he’s this close, smelling like the coming storm and something soft and clean. Like cedar and the faintest hint of vanilla.

“You still didn’t answer my question.” You whisper again and try to look stern even though your heart is already betraying you with how hard it’s beating against your chest.

He smiles, and it’s the playful smile that makes your knees weak as he leans closer, your back pressing against the door now as he cages you in. “I promise, sweetheart. No one saw me.”

You try to meet his eyes, hold his stare in a bit of defiance, but he sees right through it. He always does.

“Satoru, why are you here.”

He brings his hand to brush a stray hair behind your ear that makes your breath catch. His fingers linger, tracing the curve of your jaw before cupping your chin. “Can’t a sorcerer just come visit his secret girlfriend without twenty questions.”

You swallow as his eyes dart down to your lips. “You could’ve just texted.”

“Hmm.” He moves closer still, his lips barely brushing over yours. “But then I wouldn’t get to see you roll your eyes at me when I regale my stories.”

You try not to smile, try to keep from rolling your eyes at his comment. You fail and he swallows whatever response you had been forming.

It’s slow. Soft. A brush of his lips that feels like coming home after the month you’d been apart. He exhales against your mouth, his hand sliding to the back of your neck, pulling you just a little closer.

“I missed you.” He leans his forehead against yours, giving you the smile you only ever see in quiet moments like this.

“I missed you too.”

His lips find yours again and you wrap your arms around him, pressing firmly against the muscular planes of his back. The space between you shrinks as his body molds into yours. He bites your lip, earning a gasp before he deepens the kiss, his tongue swiping teasingly against yours.

Satoru tastes like peppermint, bright enough to make your lips tingle. Every time his tongue moves against yours the mint flares again, cooling your breath, making the warmth of him feel even warmer by contrast. It’s clean, refreshing, and distinctly his.

And Satoru is yours.  

You’re breathless when he pulls away, both of his hands moving to quickly grip below your ass. He lifts you with ease, your legs wrapping firmly around his waist, pulling you closer than before. Your noses brush as he adjusts you, his growing arousal pressing firmly against you.

Satoru kisses you again, hungrier than before, overwhelming as he carries you through the apartment. He shifts you as he fumbles to open your bedroom door, the handle clicking loudly in the quiet apartment.

“I will never understand why you keep your bedroom door closed like this.”

“So really hunky sorcerers can be humbled while carrying their lover to bed.” You giggle as he kicks it closed and tosses you on the bed.

You barely bounce before he’s crawling on top of you, his knee nudging your legs apart before settling between them. His lips find yours again, cock grinding against you through his jeans. He moans as your arousal soaks through the denim.

“Satoru.” You moan as he brings a hand up to squeeze your breast.

“You miss me?” He pushes your shirt up, exposing your breasts, nipples pebbling at the cool air as he slips it fully over your head, your hair falling in a halo on the bedspread as your head lands back on the pillow.

He doesn’t give you long enough to respond before he kisses you again. It’s hungry. His hand grabs your breast again, thumb brushing against your nipple, his hands rough against the soft flesh.

It’s smooth, almost effortless. Your body rises before you fully think about it, pushing his own shirt over his head. Instinct guides you to lift your hips as he tugs gently on the waistband of your pajama shorts, panties slipping down your legs without hesitation.

Satoru loses his balance for a moment as he shifts his own bottoms off, the movement bringing you close, chest to chest, your arms looping around his shoulders as if they were always meant to rest there.

There’s a brief moment, a shared breath, a tender smile, before he’s guiding his length into you. The delicious burn forcing the softest gasp from your lips as he stretches you.

Your legs tighten around him for stability, and he responds instantly, arms bracing his weight as he shifts to fully submerge himself into your heat. The closeness changes the air between you. His breath brushes across your cheek before he tenderly kisses the corner of your mouth.

“Breathe sweetheart.” His voice is warm and patient. Despite the hunger in his eyes, he’s not rushing.

You feel him twitch inside you, his jaw clenching as he allows you to adjust. He pulls back just an inch and you can’t help the whine that escapes.

“Don’t.” Your fingers move to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. The soft white locks falling gently like a curtain around his eyes.

“Don’t what?”

“Stop.” You pull him closer, biting his lip, earning a satisfied smirk from him.

He shifts his hips back again, the slow drag of his cock along your walls tortuous.

“’Toru.” You whine again as you feel him almost completely pull out. “Ple–.”

The word is cut off as he slams himself back inside, stealing your breath. He swallows your moan as he slowly moves, burying himself deep with each thrust forward. Your fingers pull at his hair, threading it between your fingers as he picks up his pace, his careful composure crumbling as your gummy walls grip him tight.

You whine out, eyes rolling as he slides an arm under your hips, helping you arch perfectly so his cock can rub right against your sweet spot. Your thighs tremble as the tuft of hair at the base of his cock grinds deliciously against your clit, sending sparks along your spine.

You missed this.

Missed the feeling of his cock filling and stretching you. Missed shattering underneath him as he chased his own release. Missed the whispers of your name coming in breathless chants from his lips as his cock glided through your puffy folds.

“So perfect.” He whispers as you come apart beneath him. Your walls fluttering around him, gripping him tightly with each drag back of his hips.

“Fuck.” Your nails rake across his back, leaving angry red trails down his shoulder blade.

It’s almost too much as Satoru continues thrusting. His cheeks flushing as his hips lose a bit of their rhythm. He presses an open-mouthed kiss to your lips. It’s wet, and messy, and overwhelming as his tongue smooths over yours.

“W-where?” He moans out softly, balls tightening as he teeters on the edge.

“Inside.” You squeeze your thighs around his waist, heels locking him in behind his back,  urging him impossibly deeper. “Please ‘Toru.”

Satoru moans out, eyes lidded, lips falling open in bliss as his cock twitches. He pulses inside you, thick white ropes of cum coating your walls as he empties into you. He pulls you close, breathing ragged as his hips slow.

He buries his face into your neck, moving his arm from beneath your hips before he settles some of his weight on top of you.

It’s not an unwelcome pressure, the weight of Satoru on top of you. He’s warm, draped over you like a blanket. You can feel the exact moment he stops supporting himself on his arms. The subtle shift of his shoulders, the way his chest settles fully against yours, the gentle exhale that melts into you.

Then the soft snores start.

Not loud. Not dramatic. Just the faint, rhythmic sound of someone who got too comfortable and forgot he wasn’t supposed to fall asleep on you.

You blink up at the ceiling, a laugh caught somewhere in your chest. “Off.” You grumble as you try to push him off you with no success. “Satoru. Off.”

“Five more minutes.” He mumbles and nuzzles more into your neck.

You sigh. You can’t even be annoyed as his breathing evens out again, settling into a slow, steady rhythm that matches the rise and fall of his chest against yours. You feel him slowly start to leak out, dripping on the fabric beneath you.

“’Toru.” You try again, his snoring becoming more insistent, his breath ghosting off your collarbone.

He shifts slowly, pulling you with him as he rolls onto his side, keeping himself buried inside you.

You shift your hand to his back, tracing lazy circles over the angry red marks on his shoulder. He pulls you closer, melting into you, into the bed, entire body relaxing now. His snoring picking back up as his breathing evens out again.

The quiet envelopes you. Safe and warm.

The words rise before you can stop them.

“I love you.” You whisper.

“Relax, no one saw me.”

Satoru’s smile is mischievous as your fingers reach forward, pulling him into the apartment by his collar. You peak your head out, glancing quickly up and down the hallway as he moves further into the apartment.

You turn slowly, his cologne drifting in as you shut the door behind you.

“How can you be sure?” You whisper out, before moving towards him.

He leans casually against your kitchen counter like he belongs there. His hair is mussed from the storm rolling in, cheeks faintly flushed, and he’s wearing that soft, lopsided grin that always makes your stomach flutter.

He lifts a brow, amused. “Because I checked. Twice.”

 “That’s not an answer.”

He pushes off the counter and walks toward you, slow and unhurried, like he’s savoring each step. “Why are you whispering?”

He laughs softly as you shrug your shoulders.

You notice there’s no tension in his shoulders as he walks closer, no urgency in his movements that usually accompanies him every time you’d seen him on campus. Just the easy confidence he wears like a second skin. When he reaches you, his fingers brush against yours as he grasps the door handle and locks it.

The touch is light, accidental, and it sends a warm shiver up your arm.

“Better?” He murmurs.

You try to hold out, try to even your breathing but it’s hard when he’s this close, smelling like the coming storm and something soft and clean. Like cedar and the faintest hint of vanilla.

“You still didn’t answer my question.” You whisper again and try to look stern even though your heart is already betraying you with how hard it’s beating against your chest.

He smiles, and it’s the playful smile that makes your knees weak as he leans closer, your back pressing against the door now as he cages you in. “I promise, sweetheart. No one saw me.”

You try to meet his eyes, hold his stare in a bit of defiance, but he sees right through it. He always does.

“Satoru, why are you here.”

He brings his hand to brush a stray hair behind your ear that makes your breath catch. His fingers linger, tracing the curve of your jaw before cupping your chin. “Can’t a sorcerer just come visit his secret girlfriend without twenty questions.”

You swallow as his eyes dart down to your lips. “You could’ve just texted.”

“Hmm.” He moves closer still, his lips barely brushing over yours. “But then I wouldn’t get to see you roll your eyes at me when I regale my stories.”

You try not to smile, try to keep from rolling your eyes at his comment. You fail and he swallows whatever response you had been forming.

It’s slow. Soft. A brush of his lips that feels like coming home after the month you’d been apart. He exhales against your mouth, his hand sliding to the back of your neck, pulling you just a little closer.

“I missed you.” He leans his forehead against yours, giving you the smile you only ever see in quiet moments like this.

“I missed you too.”

His lips find yours again and you wrap your arms around him, pressing firmly against the muscular planes of his back. The space between you shrinks as his body molds into yours. He bites your lip, earning a gasp before he deepens the kiss, his tongue swiping teasingly against yours.

Satoru tastes like peppermint, bright enough to make your lips tingle. Every time his tongue moves against yours the mint flares again, cooling your breath, making the warmth of him feel even warmer by contrast. It’s clean, refreshing, and distinctly his.

And Satoru is yours.  

You’re breathless when he pulls away, both of his hands moving to quickly grip below your ass. He lifts you with ease, your legs wrapping firmly around his waist, pulling you closer than before. Your noses brush as he adjusts you, his growing arousal pressing firmly against you.

Satoru kisses you again, hungrier than before, overwhelming as he carries you through the apartment. He shifts you as he fumbles to open your bedroom door, the handle clicking loudly in the quiet apartment.

“I will never understand why you keep your bedroom door closed like this.”

“So really hunky sorcerers can be humbled while carrying their lover to bed.” You giggle as he kicks it closed and tosses you on the bed.

You barely bounce before he’s crawling on top of you, his knee nudging your legs apart before settling between them. His lips find yours again, cock grinding against you through his jeans. He moans as your arousal soaks through the denim.

“Satoru.” You moan as he brings a hand up to squeeze your breast.

“You miss me?” He pushes your shirt up, exposing your breasts, nipples pebbling at the cool air as he slips it fully over your head, your hair falling in a halo on the bedspread as your head lands back on the pillow.

He doesn’t give you long enough to respond before he kisses you again. It’s hungry. His hand grabs your breast again, thumb brushing against your nipple, his hands rough against the soft flesh.

It’s smooth, almost effortless. Your body rises before you fully think about it, pushing his own shirt over his head. Instinct guides you to lift your hips as he tugs gently on the waistband of your pajama shorts, panties slipping down your legs without hesitation.

Satoru loses his balance for a moment as he shifts his own bottoms off, the movement bringing you close, chest to chest, your arms looping around his shoulders as if they were always meant to rest there.

There’s a brief moment, a shared breath, a tender smile, before he’s guiding his length into you. The delicious burn forcing the softest gasp from your lips as he stretches you.

Your legs tighten around him for stability, and he responds instantly, arms bracing his weight as he shifts to fully submerge himself into your heat. The closeness changes the air between you. His breath brushes across your cheek before he tenderly kisses the corner of your mouth.

“Breathe sweetheart.” His voice is warm and patient. Despite the hunger in his eyes, he’s not rushing.

You feel him twitch inside you, his jaw clenching as he allows you to adjust. He pulls back just an inch and you can’t help the whine that escapes.

“Don’t.” Your fingers move to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. The soft white locks falling gently like a curtain around his eyes.

“Don’t what?”

“Stop.” You pull him closer, biting his lip, earning a satisfied smirk from him.

He shifts his hips back again, the slow drag of his cock along your walls tortuous.

“’Toru.” You whine again as you feel him almost completely pull out. “Ple–.”

The word is cut off as he slams himself back inside, stealing your breath. He swallows your moan as he slowly moves, burying himself deep with each thrust forward. Your fingers pull at his hair, threading it between your fingers as he picks up his pace, his careful composure crumbling as your gummy walls grip him tight.

You whine out, eyes rolling as he slides an arm under your hips, helping you arch perfectly so his cock can rub right against your sweet spot. Your thighs tremble as the tuft of hair at the base of his cock grinds deliciously against your clit, sending sparks along your spine.

You missed this.

Missed the feeling of his cock filling and stretching you. Missed shattering underneath him as he chased his own release. Missed the whispers of your name coming in breathless chants from his lips as his cock glided through your puffy folds.

“So perfect.” He whispers as you come apart beneath him. Your walls fluttering around him, gripping him tightly with each drag back of his hips.

“Fuck.” Your nails rake across his back, leaving angry red trails down his shoulder blade.

It’s almost too much as Satoru continues thrusting. His cheeks flushing as his hips lose a bit of their rhythm. He presses an open-mouthed kiss to your lips. It’s wet, and messy, and overwhelming as his tongue smooths over yours.

“W-where?” He moans out softly, balls tightening as he teeters on the edge.

“Inside.” You squeeze your thighs around his waist, heels locking him in behind his back,  urging him impossibly deeper. “Please ‘Toru.”

Satoru moans out, eyes lidded, lips falling open in bliss as his cock twitches. He pulses inside you, thick white ropes of cum coating your walls as he empties into you. He pulls you close, breathing ragged as his hips slow.

He buries his face into your neck, moving his arm from beneath your hips before he settles some of his weight on top of you.

It’s not an unwelcome pressure, the weight of Satoru on top of you. He’s warm, draped over you like a blanket. You can feel the exact moment he stops supporting himself on his arms. The subtle shift of his shoulders, the way his chest settles fully against yours, the gentle exhale that melts into you.

Then the soft snores start.

Not loud. Not dramatic. Just the faint, rhythmic sound of someone who got too comfortable and forgot he wasn’t supposed to fall asleep on you.

You blink up at the ceiling, a laugh caught somewhere in your chest. “Off.” You grumble as you try to push him off you with no success. “Satoru. Off.”

“Five more minutes.” He mumbles and nuzzles more into your neck.

You sigh. You can’t even be annoyed as his breathing evens out again, settling into a slow, steady rhythm that matches the rise and fall of his chest against yours. You feel him slowly start to leak out, dripping on the fabric beneath you.

“’Toru.” You try again, his snoring becoming more insistent, his breath ghosting off your collarbone.

He shifts slowly, pulling you with him as he rolls onto his side, keeping himself buried inside you.

You shift your hand to his back, tracing lazy circles over the angry red marks on his shoulder. He pulls you closer, melting into you, into the bed, entire body relaxing now. His snoring picking back up as his breathing evens out again.

The quiet envelopes you. Safe and warm.

The words rise before you can stop them.

“I love you.” You whisper.