snore mi mi

He’ll soften his gaze, speak with words coated in a thick layer of honey, flash that million dollar smile of his— every demand that came from him sounded so sweet, it was sickening. 

He let out a pleased hum. “I knew you would.” 

“It’s just– I don’t,” you cut yourself off with a nervous laugh, the sense of warmth you originally felt quickly morphed into embarrassment, “I don’t have anything else to wear.” 

“No?” 

For a split second, his voice drops. Even if it’s just for a moment, it doesn't fail to leave you a bit unsettled given his history of losing his mind whenever things didn’t go his way. 

“N-no, Sir,” you shrink in your seat, “I’ll have to wait until my next payday to go shopping.”

“I see.” His lips curl back into a smile after realizing he’s going to scare you off, as that wasn’t his intention here. He looks at the door real quick, then back at you. “How about this, then— you remember that department store I had you pick up a suit from once, Damian’s?”

Your eyes widen once you realize where he’s going with this. “Oh! I don’t think that’s n—”

He plants his elbows on top of the desk, leaning forward and cutting you off with the simple, yet powerful act of clearing his throat. 

“Why don’t you give them a visit this weekend, yeah?” He pauses for a moment, as if he were daring you to interrupt him again. You don’t. He laughs. “Yeah— why don’t you give them a visit. I’ll reach out before the day ends so they know to expect you. Better yet, I’ll tell them exactly what I’m looking for and have them pull whatever pieces fit the idea I have in mind, that way you won’t have to think too much into it.” 

“But Mr. Gojo, I can’t afford that,” your voice nearly breaks telling him that. 

Satoru doesn’t even know why you bothered telling him— he already knows. If you haven’t already forgotten, he’s the one that pays you. How hard is it to get you to stop dressing like a fucking nun? He’s had it with the god damn turtlenecks.

He lets out a sigh, fighting to keep his cool demeanor despite his dwindling patience. “Which is why I’m sending you to Damian’s, they have my card ready to go on file.” 

The wheels in your head continue to turn, wondering why he’d even offer you this much. Wondering if this is even appropriate. It’s been over three months since you started working for him and not once have you heard of an allowance meant for office attire. Now he’s sending you to some high-end department store to pick out new clothes, on his dime, since your clothes don’t ‘fit your stature’. Whatever the hell that means.

“I don’t think I can accept this…” you look down at your feet and murmur, and Satoru nearly rolls his eyes. 

You can and you will. 

Satoru watches you freeze and realizes he just said that outloud, making him let out a laugh in an attempt to make himself sound less crazy. 

“Ahem— sorry, what I meant was…” he stalls, leg lightly bouncing as he thinks of what to say, then decides to make this a company thing, rather than a him thing, “if the company’s requiring it, then the company should pay for it, right?”

His words disarm you enough to nod. “...Right.” 

“Perfect,” he chirps out. “That’ll be your assignment for the weekend then.” He leans back in his seat, looking quite pleased with himself. Looking at the clock, he notices it’s a quarter to five, and takes the opportunity to kick you out of his office before the air between you grows awkward again. “Well, now that it’s settled, why don’t you wrap up for the day?” 

You glance at the clock. “Uhhh… yeah, sure! Was there anything else you needed before I clock out?” 

There was a lot that Satoru needed, like for you to stop sounding so eager when asking if he needed anything else from you. You have no idea how painfully hard that makes him. 

“No, thanks,” he responds in a strained tone. “Enjoy your weekend.”

“Thanks! You as well, Mr. Gojo.”

You give him one last smile as you rise from your seat and begin to walk back to your desk that’s just outside his office. It’s not until your hands on the doorknob, ready to turn it, when he stops you one last time. 

You brace yourself the moment you meet an unfamiliar pair of eyes, just glimmering with amusement. Satoru then proceeds to throw you off in a way that almost feels ceremonious with how he never quite gave you the chance to get back up. 

“I know it’s just a little favor, but you know how people can be sometimes. So for both of our sakes, let’s just keep this between us to avoid any confusion, yeah? It can be our little secret.”

Something in that low, velvety voice of his told you it was just the beginning of many secrets you’d be sharing, but it still managed to lure you in.

And so, you said yes— marking the very beginning of something that was just as confusing as it was thrilling. 

. . . . . . 

Being a man of his stature, Satoru has to really watch himself in public— watch what he says, who he says it to, what he does, and where he does it. Which is why he frequents places the public didn’t have knowledge of, let alone have access too. Places that allowed him to let loose. 

Though, in your honest opinion, just because someone can let loose, doesn’t mean they should. Especially someone like Satoru, who does a shit ton of coke and treats it like a fucking free for all. 

His idea of a good time is often a violent one. You wish you were kidding, there’s nothing that gets him going more than being in the middle of an all out brawl— just grinning from ear to ear while drinks and punches get thrown in every which direction as music continues to blast in the background. 

The first to call you is his driver Ijichi, who’s aware that your job consists of tasks that went way beyond the professional scope.

The next is the county jail, because you are Satoru’s emergency contact. 

An hour later, you’re patching your boss up in the middle of his penthouse at 3:00 A.M, when you should be asleep like most people are on this side of the world. 

“Sorry you got ripped out of your sleep for this,” he boyishly mutters as you dab the corner of his mouth with antiseptic. Lucky for him, the cut’s small, and should be gone by Monday morning. It’s his knuckles that are all scraped up. But then again, he doesn’t interact with many people at the office to begin with, and the ones that do get paid enough not to ask. 

“Are you actually sorry, or are you just saying that?” you murmur back. 

“Let’s just say I’m grateful that it's you that’s cleaning me up right now.”

“As opposed to who?”

“I dunno,” he chuckles, looking at you through heavy lidded eyes that you refuse to meet. “Don’t even wanna think about anybody else’s fingers on me.”

“How sweet,” you boredly say, dabbing a bit of ointment on the small cut. “Maybe you can extend that kindness to everyone else for the rest of this weekend? So I don’t have to, you know— pick you up from jail… again.”

“What if I only like being sweet to you?” he murmurs.

He doesn’t make you feel special anymore. 

For how close of a proximity you have to the man’s personal life, you already are special, and it’s something he constantly reminds you of, even during times it’s not necessary. In the midst of all the confusion it leaves you with, you’re reminded of a line that’s been completely blurred, and you’re not quite sure who’s at fault here. 

Satoru may be pervasive by nature, but you’re still here. Somehow there’s still a part of you that wants to please him despite all your irritation. 

“Well then everyone’s out of luck and I’m out of sleep.” You sigh as you close the first-aid kit.

He watches as you get up from the couch to put it back in the cabinet, eyes tracing over your body throughout the entirety of it. You may not be in the tight skirts and high heels he has you in during the day, but he found himself enjoying off-duty sweats and slippers just as much. Shamelessly, he doesn’t take his eyes off you when you start walking back towards him, but you’re used to it at this point. 

“Y’know you can spend the night here if you’re so tired, right?” he teasingly asks, but you know there’s a part of him that’s more than serious about it. 

“No thank you.” You throw your purse over your shoulder, typing away at your phone as you try to book an uber. “I’m sure your silk sheets are great, but they’re no match for mine.”

To no one's surprise, you got out of his penthouse fast. You’ve gotten pretty good at dodging him in situations that could easily end with you on your back, splayed out right underneath him. 

Believe it or not, he actually respects that— the self control and all. Especially with the way you’ve almost given in to him a couple times. It didn’t need to be said for him to know. He’s seen the needy, defeated look in your eyes during the times he’s gotten too close. It’s a look that screams ‘get away from me before I do something stupid, please’. A sweet girl you are, really. 

But what would happen if he kept going and finally closed that distance?

Sometimes, he thinks he’d be nice to you. Be all soft, put you on his lap, whisper sweet things in your ear while his hand slowly slid down your stomach. You’d begin to hold your breath the moment he went past your waist and it’d finally catch once his fingers found themselves in between your thighs, slipping right in between your folds. 

He’d kiss on your neck, pull moans from you as he drew little circles over your clit, making your legs tremble once he finally slipped inside and started curling in. 

Then there’s times he thinks he’d be rough with you. Make you start crying from how fast and hard he made you cum from just his fingers alone. Bend you over the nearest surface and tease you with the thick head of his cock, rubbing it over your slick folds until you beg him to put it in. 

He’d pull your hair back, make you look him in the eyes while he fucked you senseless, pump you full of so much cum that it’d continued to leak out of your poor pussy the very next day. 

Bonus points if you two had to work together that day. 

But for now, a man could only dream, or rather imagine, as he starts to fist his cock to the thought of you for who knows how many times now.

. . . . . .

There’s something mildly embarrassing about going to Damian’s with Satoru after being sent here all those months back to pick out new work clothes. Only because he specifically told the stylist to only pull items that were tight fitting and showed a decent amount of cleavage. 

You’re sure if that asshole hadn't done that, you would’ve walked into the department store without a second thought. As if it couldn't have gotten any worse, that same stylist is here, and she’s looking at you with the same amount of concern you’d give to someone who’s being put through the ringer from extreme work conditions. 

You technically are, given all the extra shit he has you do, like picking him up from jail at 2:00 A.M. You’re not exactly planning on leaving anytime soon, though. Don’t ask why. You’re not so sure of it yourself, either. 

Satoru was here to try on a few different suits that just came in. And you’re here because unless you’re working on anything that’s considered incredibly important, you go wherever he goes. 

Just as he was able to go off to the fitting room, the poor stylist asked a question she really shouldn’t have asked. She had good intentions when asking if you wanted to see some of the new pieces they had for Spring, and then Satoru made some comment about grabbing whatever you wanted and putting it on his card. 

And then this poor girl looks at him with all the confidence in the world and asks, “If you’d like, I can pull a few different pieces from the racks like last time— tight fitting, low cuts, and neutrals, right?” 

You didn’t have much of a reaction upon hearing that, it was already clear he had requested those things the last time you came here. 

Satoru, however, just stood there and stared at this girl as if she had just ruined his fucking life. 

It is not often he's left so appalled that it’s rendered him speechless, but there he was just staring at her with nothing but anger and betrayal in his eyes. She looked like she wanted to cry, and rightfully so. You were honestly scared for her. 

“I think that’d be great,” you cut in, trying to break the tension, only to feel Satoru’s nasty glare get directed towards you instead once he realized you were trying to save her. “We’re here for less than an hour, though, so maybe just pull some skirts since the weather's starting to warm up.” 

“Y-yeah! Of course.” 

You watched as she quickly scurried away, then turned to find your boss just now deciding to follow the tailor, still looking absolutely fucking pissed that she just outed him like that. 

Maybe you should tell her to hide once she comes back with those skirts. 

. . .

Satoru might not be one to talk right now given how his goal a few months back was to get you to start dressing just a tad bit sluttier while still looking appropriate enough for work, but he didn’t give a shit. That woman had no tact whatsoever.

Who says something like that? You’re clearly his fucking assistant, there was no need to out his preferences like that.

It fucked up his entire mood for the hour… not that it stopped him from going ahead and having all the suits he tried on sent to his house. But just as he was getting ready to let it go, he saw something else that managed to make him do a double take. 

It’s exactly what you think it is. Which is why he’s walking straight towards you and whoever the hell you’re talking to. 

You didn’t know Rei existed up until two minutes ago, and tried to do him the favor of wrapping up the small conversation he tried sparking up with you once you caught a glimpse of a certain someone walking your way. 

It didn’t work and now Satoru’s standing in front of you two, making you brace yourself for whatever sequence of words is going to come out of his mouth since he’s already in a shitty mood from the stylist snitching on him for being a pervert.

“You can leave now. Bye,” he simply says to the man, nodding towards the exit. 

There’s a moment of silence. His reaction wasn’t as bad as you thought it would be, but it still adds weight to the air around you. Rei was understandably left scrambling, not that Satoru noticed, he was too busy looking at you like he was tired of you disappointing him. 

And your eyes widened, as if you were asking him, what the fuck did I do?

“Excuse me?” Rei finally managed to ask. 

The displeased look on Satoru’s face stays as he briefly turns his attention to Rei. “You’re excused. Goodbye,” he says, casually dismissing him again.

“I’m sorry,” the man laughs from pure disbelief, “are you her boyfriend or something? Because you could’ve just said—” 

“I’m not,” Satoru cuts him off with a tone that’s still surprisingly calm. 

He wouldn’t say he’s calm— disassociated is more like it. All the words Rei throws at him just swarm around his head like a bunch of little gnats, and he steadily loses his patience since he’s already told the guy to fucking leave. Eventually, he closes his eyes and lets out a long, deep sigh. 

“You know what?” Satoru suddenly cuts him off and proceeds to make him an offer— one that makes your jaw drop. “If you want her number so fuckin’ bad, then fine. You can fight me for it.”

“Satoru?!” you immediately scold the man. 

“What the hell is your problem, man?!” Rei says at the same time as you. 

“Oh, wow.” Satoru looks at you, then points a finger at Rei. “He doesn’t even want to fight for you.” 

At that point, the man storms off, muttering some stuff under his breath about people and wondering what the fuck was wrong with them, leaving you to deal with whatever sudden mood swing your boss was having today. 

It didn’t just start within the last hour. This has been going on all day and started when he almost snapped at one of the interns for running into him this morning when turning a corner too fast. You don’t have much patience for him, though.

“Ijichi’s already waiting outside for us,” you casually inform him and turn your heel, taking a step forward to walk away.

“That’s it?” The lack of acknowledgment makes Satoru snap. “That’s all you have to say?” 

You stop and turn again, taking a good look at Satoru as you try to come up with more to say, which is hard given how you just watched him agree to let someone have your number if they fought him. 

Yet all that comes to mind are the lines that you’ve blurred with the man.

“Do you want me to walk on eggshells around you, too, just like everybody else has today?”

“...No.” It’s not much of an answer with the way he mumbled it, but at least you were able to reroute the guy. 

You softly sigh. “Alright, then… let’s go.” 

. . . . . 

The air’s been stale between you since that day. 

You have no idea what’s gotten into him, neither do you want to ask. And it’s not that you don’t care— of course you do. It should've already been made clear by now that you care about Satoru more than you should.

At first, you wonder if it’s some sort of rough patch. Then you realize that isn't normal in professional relationships, leaving you with more questions than answers because nothing about your relationship is professional. 

You run around all over the place for him, picking up his suits and sometimes even him at 3:00 A.M when he’s too drunk or high to drive home. As if that didn’t cross the line enough, he treats you like his friend. A really jealous friend, at that. He’ll do things like cockblock you if a man tries to talk to you when he’s around, sometimes even threatening to fight them. 

It’s been three weeks of silence. 

He didn’t even bother saying goodbye to you when you clocked out for the weekend yesterday. It wouldn’t have been a bad thing at all with your last boss, but something about getting just a simple hum from Satoru left you feeling stupid. 

So what did change with him? It might be better if he listed all the things that didn’t. 

He still jacked off with you in mind— that probably won’t ever change, at least not for a while. He still keeps an eye on you. 

It sounds bad, but it’s really not. 

He just has surveillance over your apartment building, not your actual apartment. He also has the security team keep an eye out whenever you walk to and from your car, before and after work. Just basic safety stuff. He might have a tracker on your car, but never looks at it. 

Unless he’s drunk, but that doesn’t count in his head.

So then what changed? 

Probably the new sense of shame that only seems to unveil itself when you’re around. He’d rather you not have a front row seat when it comes to all of his less… desirable qualities anymore. He is far from perfect— very fucking far from it. 

Was it too late for that? 

Probably. 

It still made him feel just a little bit better about himself, even though he’s been rotting away on the inside from keeping his distance.

. . . . . . 

Staying late at the office is a rare but unavoidable occurrence. 

It happens. Some work gets prioritized over others, leaving small tasks to multiply and pile up. Today is one of those days Satoru is forced to push a main project aside and tackle all the little ones. 

He considered taking on all of it by himself, but was reminded why he avoided the work in the first place just an hour into his day. It was all so boring and tedious. It would’ve driven him up the wall had he not handed off a portion of it to you. 

But even then, there were a couple moments he spent wallowing in self-pity, looking out the window with thoughts of throwing himself off the top floor of the high rise. He fucking hates this and hates how he has no one but himself to blame for all the procrastination he’s done. 

The office feels like a different world once everyone’s gone. It may feel comfortable for your boss since he has his own office, but your desk right outside of it gives you a front row seat to a corporate wasteland. Muffled chatter gets replaced with the sounds of the fluorescent lights buzzing above you. Air vents thrumming as they recirculate the cold, stale air. 

The clock says 8:48 p.m once you finally finish your last task of the day. As happy as you are to finally leave this place, you grow nervous at the thought of entering your boss’s office to let him know you’re finished and heading home. Whatever camaraderie you had with him is non-existent at this point. Everything with him just feels awkward now and you’d be lying to yourself if you said you haven’t already started looking for new positions. 

You lightly knock on the door leading to his office and don’t enter until you hear a tired hum on the other side of it. 

Aside from the lamps next to his desk and next to the sofa you see when you first walk in, every other light is off, allowing the moonlight to peek through the dim space. It’s actually quite peaceful with his view of the city’s lit up skyline. 

Satoru's eyes must hurt. He has his reading glasses on, framing the tired lines and dark circles under them. 

“I’m all done for the day,” you say, carrying a stack of papers as you walk up to him and setting them down on the oak wood desk he’s half leaning on. 

He doesn’t look at you. 

“Thanks,” he murmurs, sounding just as drained as he looks. 

You stand there, waiting for him to say anything else before coming to the conclusion that maybe it was time to move on to a new company, because you are too far gone. 

Stupid.

The long day you two have had wasn’t a reason to think he’d give you more than he has lately, let alone something to get your hopes up over.

Just standing in front of him makes you feel pathetic— you shouldn’t feel like that.

You open your mouth to say goodbye for the night, since he won’t, but instead say something entirely different that leaves even you shocked. 

“I’m putting in my two weeks.” 

You haven’t even sent out any applications.

Satoru’s eyes darted up at you while staying in place. “What?” 

Despite not having the right, he did not fucking like that. The cold tone of his voice made you want to cower down and take your words back, but there was no turning back. 

You push through the nerves as you repeat yourself in a professional manner. “After some consideration, I’ve decided I want to take my career in a different direction and that would require me to step down from my position.” 

The overly corporate tone does nothing but put a glare on Satoru’s face, one that deepens as you continue to spew, what he considers, a bunch of bullshit from your mouth.

“I’d like to thank you for the opportunities the company has given me, of course. I’d be more than happy to train my replacement.”

“You’re not training anybody,” he scoffs, standing from his seat as he starts to go through literally every stage of grief. “What the fuck? No? No. You’re not fucking leaving— absolutely not. Fuck that.”

Your eyes widen in disbelief over how entitled he is. He’s been treating you like a second class citizen for weeks and now he’s not letting you leave? “That’s not your choice to make.”

“I don’t care,” he says delusionally. “You’re not fucking leaving.” 

“Yes I am.” You raise your tone. “You can’t just fucking keep me here—“

“Where are you going then, huh? Since you seem to have found a place so much better,” his immaturity inevitably shines through as he cuts you off.

“That’s none of your business!” 

“It’s not, but you owe me that much,” he begins to argue. 

Your face twists in disgust. “I don’t owe you anything. I— how can someone be this selfish?! You’ve been giving me the cold-shoulder for weeks—“

He cuts you off again. “So that’s what this is about?!”

For someone that’s been ignoring you for weeks, he’s very expressive, especially when he argues. His pupils will be blown out, he’ll look at you in disgust, talk with his hands, pace around the room, then get in your face. This time is no different. 

“You’re leaving ‘cause I won’t give you attention? I thought you didn’t fucking want that!” He throws his arms out, voice resounding through the room. 

You pause, mouthing a ‘what?’ to yourself in complete disbelief. Leaving someone angry and confused is one impressive skill— Satoru has clearly mastered it. 

“When have I ever said that?!”

“It was written all over your face!” He shouts back, almost as if it was something that hurt him. “I figured you were getting tired of me so I backed off!” 

“Seriously? That’s your definition of backing off?” You have to stop yourself from laughing at how ridiculous it sounds. “Backing off is stopping the 1:00 am calls on the weekend— not completely disregarding me.”

“I went back to being your boss—“

“Yeah, a really shitty one.”

“I was always a shitty one.” He barks out a laugh. “The only reason why you’re mad now is because you’re not getting anything out of it anymore.”

Satoru doesn’t mean that. 

Not that you’d know. 

He tends to reject anything that brings him even just the slightest bit of discomfort, all while hating rejection himself. Watching you try to quit has made it one hell of a combo for him.

If he was just someone you simply had to tolerate, then whatever you gained from it was not worth your time. But he spoke with enough conviction to render whatever response you had useless.

“How the hell do you expect me to stay after saying that?” you genuinely ask. “I’m tired of not being treated like real person and now you’re being a fucking asshole.”

“Fuck. I’m sorry. I—“

“No. Save it,” you say in defeat as you start to walk away.

“Where are you going?” he asks, still having the audacity to sound irritated.

“Leaving— have fun finding a new replacement. I’m not staying for another two weeks.” 

He lets out a bitter laugh. “Well if you’re not coming back would you at least finally admit you felt something between us?” 

You stop and let out a sigh. “What are you talking about?” 

“You know what I’m talking about,” he says, taking a couple steps towards you. 

“No, there wasn’t.” 

“Alright,” he huffs out a laugh. “I get that you’re mad at me and everything, but there’s no point lying about now.” 

“I’m not lying about anything.” 

“I don’t believe you,” he blandly says. “You wouldn’t have stayed as long as you did if there was never anything there. Be honest with yourself for once.” 

Just as you’re about to deny it for the third time, you hesitate. “Just forget it already.”

The sight of you walking away for the second time feels entirely different from the first time for Satoru. No more confusion or panic, all that’s left is certainty. Perhaps a little amusement, as well. “No. I don’t think I will, actually.”

It happens fast. 

You hardly process being spun back around, then you’re stunned again by a pair of lips crashing into yours. It’s messy from the start and he’s breathlessly apologizing against you with each rough kiss. 

I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. You know I didn’t mean that. Please. 

And you forgive him, because there’s really no point in lying anymore. Not when you’re kissing him back. Desperately, at that— filled with just as much need. His hands start to roam, clothes start to scatter, leaving a trail that leads in the direction he took you in. 

He always thought he’d put you on the desk. 

The couch shifts erratically, moans pour into the room with each thrust. Satoru’s pressing down on your back and deepening the arch he put you in, bottoming out over and over again.

“Good job, baby,” he drones, mesmerized at the sight of you helplessly stretched around his thick cock, covering it in a thick coat of your slick. 

It took some working up to. The moment he sat you down on the couch, he buried his head in between your thighs and tongued your clit— dragging it over that sensitive little bundle of nerves until you couldn’t see straight. Then it was his fingers. Working not one, but two of his long digits into your cunt, curling them into a little spot that had you gushing all over him. 

Now he’s fucking that same little spot to no mercy, making your toes curl as the thick head of his cock catches it. “Oh my g-god— Satoru– fuuck!”

“Mmm I know,” he grabs your hair and pulls you back up against his chest, not letting up as he gets right in your ear. “Say my name again.”

His balls slap against your clit with each thrust, leaving you a gasping mess. “S-Satoru.”

“Again.”

“Satoru!” you cry out. 

“Sounds so fuckin’ pretty coming from you,” he hums, licking a stripe up your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. “You like getting ruined on the couch like this?”

Shamelessly, you nod. “Mhm.”

“Yeah? You’ve thought about this before, haven’t you?” 

“I have,” you admit. “A lot.”

“So honest tonight,” he grins, “so have I— thought about kissing you, fucking you, putting a baby in you.” A hand snakes down your belly until his fingers reach your clit, drawing little circles. “You really wouldn’t be able to get away from me then, huh?” 

“That’s fucking insane,” your attempt to complain dies out into another pathetic moan. 

“I fucking know,” he laughs, pulling your hair back even more so you can look him right in the eye while he fucks himself even deeper into you. “I think you might like that though since you’re squeezing around me like crazy.” 

And you have no idea how to respond to that, you’re so fucking close. It’s taking everything in you to hold yourself together while he just tears you apart with each snap of his hips, rubbing fast circles over your clit.

“How bad do you wanna cum again?”

It’s been three times already, each time harder than the last. Your own body betrays yourself when you answer his question. “So bad.”

He hums sympathetically, though the look in his eyes seems to be the complete opposite of that. He keeps the same dizzying pace, pushing you further and further to edge until you’re finally gushing around him, again. He watches as tears of pure pleasure start rolling down your cheeks, trembling and letting out choked moans as he continues fucking you into overstimulation. 

“I know, baby, I know,” he coos, letting go of your hair and wrapping his arms around your waist, keeping your back flush against his chest while he starts chasing against his own release. “M’so fuckin’ close. You’re gonna take it all, right?” 

“Yeah,” you weakly nod, nails digging into his forearms, steadying yourself as best as you can. 

“Shit— good girl,” he exhales, snapping his hips against your ass even harder, thrusts growing sloppier. “Here we go.”

The groans that spill out of Satoru are just downright sinful. There’s nothing but desperation in his tone as he holds on tight and starts pumping you full of his cum, shuddering as you milk his cock for all that he has. 

You’re spent by the time you come back to your senses, with his arms being the only thing keeping you up. And yet, as you lay limp in his hold, he says something that, at the time, sounded like a threat with how entranced he seemed.

“Don’t think I’m done with you yet, princess.” 

—

It’d been months since the night he finally broke his silence with you. 

No, you don’t work for him anymore. You quickly found a new job just three weeks later. One with better pay and normal hours. Easier, too.

Looking back, he truly was a shitty boss. A conniving one that always took up your time. You guess you just never saw it because a part of you always liked it— better yet, liked him. 

Good thing he’s a better boyfriend than he is a boss. 

You were reluctant to start a relationship with him at first, the thought of him taking up even more space into your life lingering in the back of your mind and threatening whatever little peace you had left. But surprisingly, he went from being a conspiring little bastard to…

“I just have one request tonight.” 

You’re in the middle of doing your makeup when his sudden presence pulls your attention away from it. You look at a slightly reluctant Satoru through the vanity mirror, raising a brow and waiting to hear what exactly that request is for tonight. 

“Can you wear something that shows your tits more?” Immediately you scoff, and he’s quick to defend himself. “What?! It’s our anniversary!”

You’ve been with him for an entire year now, and he just seems to grow more and more pathetic as the time passes. He’s in nothing but boxers, begging you to show off some cleavage, for fucks sake.

“You see my tits every night,” you scold him. 

“And I want to see them some more tonight, too.”

You scoff. “Sato—“

“Please,” he cuts you off with a beg. There’s a bit of a stare off shortly after, with him looking at you like some lost puppy and you inevitably give in, like you always do. He’s hard to say no to when he gets like this.

“Fine.” 

He smiles and walks up to you, leaning down to give you a quick kiss, careful not to mess with your lip liner. “Love you.”

“I love you, too,” you softly say, before barely scolding him again. “Now go put your suit on, you’re the one that said the driver was gonna be here soon.” 

“Yeah, whatever— he can wait,” he waves a hand, lazily walking up to the sea of suits he has in your shared closet. 

“Hey, Satoru?” 

“Hm?”

“If we’re even one minute late, I’m putting on a fucking turtleneck.” “…Fine.”