random fandom blog

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

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

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

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

“Right. Variables.” Satoru nodded, looking way too serious about the whole thing. He leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. 

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

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

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

You go, girl.

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

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

You bit your lip.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

After about a month, it clicked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he would just keep on going.

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

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

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

Like that one evening when you were walking down the hallway toward the kitchen and the bathroom door opened. Satoru stepped out, dripping wet. White hair plastered to his forehead, water still running down his chest, wearing nothing but a towel dangerously low on his hips. You shamelessly followed his happy trail…The way the towel barely clung on his hips. Gaaawd.

Your brain stalled at the sight of his pretty body and your mouth went dry — or did you start to drool? You couldn’t remember anymore. You reminded yourself why you were tolerating him. Then berated yourself for doing exactly what he did — objectifying.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cute hot. I can definitely work with that.

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

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

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

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

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

Good roommate, generally speaking. Fucking nightmare, every other way.

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

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

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

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

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

Goddamn.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When you glanced back, he was watching you with that look again. Spooked, you looked away first.

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

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

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

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

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

"The architect guy?"

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

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

You gave him a warning look.

"I'm just asking."

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

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

“I just think,” he started.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Where did you even hear that phrase?"

"It's a concept from—"

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

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

You felt furious, tired and something else you weren’t going to name.

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

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

You were so fucking tired. Tired of dates that were just fine. Tired of coming home to this. Tired of the whole thing.

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

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

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

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

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

Wasn’t there a term for that? There had to be. You’d read the fanfictions. You’d read the think pieces. And every time you’d wondered why women did this to themselves. Now you knew exactly why. It was like disaster tourism. Some people went to Chernobyl for the thrill, some people chased storms. You were simply built different.

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

You were already stretched thin. And he was on veeery thin ice. So you made a plan. You were going to show him exactly what skimpy clothing did to a man like him. And you weren’t going to think too hard about why this was probably the stupidest idea you’d had in a while.

Because who would voluntarily wear less clothes when they could just put on three more layers to prove a point? You, apparently.

So you dug out the shorts you hadn’t worn since sophomore year. The ones that left half your ass out and the tank top that made your boobs look obscene. All to "prove a point."

Satoru was at the kitchen island when you walked in, like every morning.

You leaned against the counter, grabbed your yogurt from the fridge, and started eating your probiotic-balanced breakfast, like every morning.

He was still on his phone. Andou were starting to think the plan had lowkey a flaw. Mainly the part where he wasn’t even looking at you when he stood up and walked over to the sink to put his mug away.

He reached past you. But the mug hit the bottom of the sink with a loud clang as he stood frozen and way too close. Staring at you with his mouth slightly open, ears going pink in real time as the color crept up from his jaw. He was looking at you exactly how you’d hoped he would… and now that it was actually happening, your stomach did a stupid little flip.

You went to put the spoon back in your mouth. But your hand missed and the spoonful of Activia went down your chin, down your neck, and disappeared between your tits.

Satoru’s eyes followed it the whooole way. You felt your nipples tighten under the thin fabric as he stared. Then his gaze dragged back up, up, slow, before dropping to what you were wearing.

When he finally looked at your face again, his ears weren’t just pink anymore. They were red.

“Uh. Y-you have yogurt. On your—” He gestured vaguely at your chest. “—on your b-boobs.”

You stared at him, he stared back — at your face, at your chest, at your legs, everywhere.

“Yeah,” you said. “I noticed, ‘Toru.”

You grabbed a paper towel and dragged it slowly down your neck, then slipped your other arm under your boobs to lift them higher, making the cleanup easier for you and significantly harder for him. You could tell by the way he was squirming.

He swallowed. A literally loud, audible gulp in the quiet kitchen. His Adam’s apple bobbed like it was trying to escape.

“Right. G-good — you cleaned it up. I-it was very messy,” he managed to get out, voice a full octave lower and cracking at the end. His eyes were half-lidded, ears still burning red.

Then he fled, turning so fast he clipped his hip on the doorframe and didn’t even react to the pain before disappearing down the hallway.

You felt victorious. You’d fried his alpha-male-rotted brain. You’d proven your point. You were the apex predator of this apartment!

But then you took a breath and noticed your hands were shaking.

Your nipples were still painfully hard against the thin fabric of your tank top. And there was a warm, insistent ache low in your belly, sending little shockwaves down to your toes.

Wait.

What the fuck.

You looked down at your chest, then at the empty doorway like he might still be there.

Why the hell were you horny?

You were supposed to be the disaster tourist here. You were supposed to be watching the meltdown from a safe distance. Disaster tourists didn’t usually get turned on by the radiation. They didn’t usually want the hazard to come back out of his room, pin them against the counter, and put his stupid big hands on their hips.

You threw the paper towel into the trash harder than necessary. It hit the side and did a pathetic little plop! down to the floor.

You slammed your bedroom door and threw yourself onto the bed, burying your burning face in the pillows. 

The plan had worked perfectly. Even if you had to dig out your vibrator later just to make the weird tingling go away.

It was just a power trip. Just the adrenaline of winning. That’s all it was. Power trips made people horny. It was biology. It was science.

Take that, Satoru!

And oh, he took it.

Across the hallway, Satoru was literally melting into his mattress. A bruise was already forming where he’d slammed into the doorframe. The image of that yogurt dragging down between your tits was now burned into his brain. He was throbbing, and it was fucking pathetic.

He tried jerking off like usual — fist tight, imagining you on your knees, all that jazz — but it wasn’t enough anymore. Hadn’t been for weeks, actually. His hand wasn’t cutting it.

So he reached into the back of his bottom drawer and pulled out the silicone toy he’d bought recently. He was embarrassed, but way too worked up to care. At least now he could pretend it was your tight pussy he was fucking into.

It was a new low. He knew it was a new low. But he did it anyway, eyes squeezed shut as he used the fleshlight, imagining you on top of him, under him, beside him — it didn’t matter. Anything was better than coming on his own just from the memory of yogurt dripping down your flushed skin.

But of course, once the post-nut clarity hit, he took the whole thing the completely wrong way.

Because really, what did you think was going to happen? You thought parading around half-naked in front of a terminally online incel would make him fall to his knees and magically develop self-awareness?

No. Of course not.

He thought you did it on purpose. For him specifically.

And yeah, you did do it on purpose — just not for the reason he thought. You were trying to break his brain. Make a joke out of his worldview! Instead, all you did was make him hard for three days straight and give him a scary amount of hope.

It validated every single pseudo-scientific dating theory he’d ever read. In his mind, you weren’t mocking him. You were submitting to his superior frame. You were “signaling availability.”

You hadn’t broken his incel resolve. You’d accidentally reinforced it. Applause.

And now Satoru believed, with full Reddit-backed, 4chan-backed, and whatever questionable forum-backed certainty, that he had won. He’d played the long game. He’d kept his alpha composure. And now the cute roommate in the tiny gym shorts was finally ready to yield.

And worst of all? He started being creepy on purpose.

Before, the hovering and staring had been unconscious. Or at least giving him the benefit of the doubt. Now he was doing it with intention. It was time to “establish physical dominance” and “break the touch barrier,” according to whatever the fuck forum thread he’d absorbed that week. 

He started finding excuses to be near you — reaching past you for things he didn’t need just to brush his chest against your shoulder, leaving you wrapped in his scent. He’d sit too close on the couch, close enough that you could feel the heat coming off him.

And it was working. You hated that it was working.

Every time his hand brushed yours or his fingers grazed your waist, your skin broke out in goosebumps. You could feel yourself reacting to his nervous little attempts to mark his territory, and it was driving you insane.

You were sitting on the couch eating your well deserved Pad Thai straight out of the takeout box while a true-crime documentary played in the background.

Satoru emerged from his room, did his usual hover-routine like some awkward mating dance, and then sat down right next to you.

Without taking his eyes off the TV, he reached over and placed his hand on your bare thigh.

It was this weird twitchy movement between caress and a customs agent stamping a passport.

His fingers kept flexing like he was fighting the urge to either pull away or drag them higher. You sat frozen, staring down at his hand, silently daring it to move. Then mentally cursing yourself for even letting it happen in the first place.

A rush of heat flooded your chest and cheeks. Your skin burned under his palm and shot straight down between your legs.

Ovulation. It’s just ovulation.

"Satoru," you said slowly. 

He was staring straight ahead at the TV, posture stiff as a board and he was even redder than you. 

“What the hell are you doing?”

He flinched, yanking his hand back into his lap and hunching over. “N-nothing.”

He cleared his throat but didn’t move away. His knee stayed pressed against yours. He took a breath, puffing his chest out as he tried to reclaim his whatever “alpha” frame, then glanced at you as you took a shaky bite of noodles. 

“So,” he started again, voice slipping into that pseudo-intellectual podcast cadence that always made your eye twitch. “I was reading a thread today. About proximity and domestic investment.”

You didn't look at him, listened to the Ted Bundy facts coming from the documentary narrator. Chewed and brushed him off. "Fascinating."

“It actually is,” he continued, completely unbothered. He leaned back, stretching his arm along the back of the couch and caging you in. “Because it highlights the flaw in modern female psychology. Women always say they want a nice guy. Someone who provides stability. Someone who pays his bills on time, remembers to buy toilet paper, and keeps a clean, nice living environment.”

He paused, letting the weight of his own perceived perfection hang in the air. Here we go again.

“But,” Satoru said, turning his head to look at you, eyes locking onto yours like a fucking hard target lock, “when that exact man is sitting right in front of them, offering unwavering loyalty and a high-value domestic partnership, they stay willfully blind. They friendzone him. Tease him. Cycle through low-tier guys from dating apps instead. It’s biologically counterproductive.”

The only sound in the room was the dramatic music coming from the TV now. You dropped your chopsticks into the takeout box, which suddenly felt too heavy in your lap. He was so confident in his entitlement it actually made you sick. It was ruining your fucking appetite.

He thought doing the bare minimum — acting like a decent human being with basic hygiene — earned him loyalty points he could cash in for sex. Like some kind of fucked-up grocery store rewards program.

You turned your body toward him fully, voice eerily quiet.

“Let me get this straight,” you said. “You’re sitting here, in our living room, getting mad at me because your nice-guy vending machine is broken?”

Satoru blinked, his brow furrowing like he genuinely didn’t understand what the problem was.

“I’m stating a statistical—”

“Shut up.”

The words came out sharp enough to cut. You weren’t playing anymore, one more podcast quote and you were going to rip the hair out of his stupidly pretty head.

His mouth snapped shut and he looked genuinely startled. You’d never told him to shut up before — never like that. You’d always just nodded, or rolled your eyes, or tuned him out.

“You think this is a transaction,” you said, eyes narrowing. “You think because you scrub the bathtub and pay your half of the rent on time, you’re earning points? You’re keeping score. You did the bare minimum and now you’re waiting for me to drop to my knees in gratitude like you were providing for me?”

“I am a provider,” he argued, chest puffing out even as his voice lost some of its usual arrogance. “I bring high value—”

“You bring decency at best!” you snapped, throwing your hands up. “Doing your own dishes doesn’t make you a high-value alpha male, Satoru. It makes you an adult. But you don’t actually care about being a good roommate. You’re just dressing your entitlement up as niceness and acting like I owe you something because you haven’t been actively terrible to me.”

“That’s not—” He reached up to adjust his glasses, a nervous habit you’d never seen from him before. “I’m just saying that logically, the optimal choice for you—”

“There is no logic!” you snapped, standing up before you did something stupid like strangle him. “You don’t even like me! You just think you’re owed me because I’m convenient and I live here!”

Satoru flinched and all the color drained from his face. You stood over him, breathing hard, staring down at this gorgeous, six-foot-three idiot who looked up at you like you’d just insulted his favourite fellow alpha male incel entity — which, yeah, you probably had. He looked lost. So freaking stupid. Like he didn’t know what to do with his hands.

“But you acted like—” he started, then caught himself, shoulders squaring like he was trying to hold onto his alpha manliness. “You know what, forget it. You’re just proving my point. A guy does everything right, stays consistent, stays present, and the girl just—” he gestured at you with a disbelieving laugh, “—moves the goalposts. We’ve been living together for months. Friends for just as long. I thought if I followed the steps exactly, I’d finally get to— we would— I don’t understand how this is supposed to work, okay?! How is a guy ever supposed to figure it out if the steps are a lie and I haven’t even—”

“Satoru.”

He stopped, his mouth snapped shut and the tips of his ears suddenly burned bright red.

And the realization hit you like a bucket of cold water.Oh my fucking god. You’d suspected it once or twice, but the thought had always flickered and died but now it all clicked into place. He’d never gotten his dick wet.

Your roommate was a six-foot-three virgin who thought turning to men who felt entitled to sex was a reasonable solution to his problems. What an absolute fucking mess. You almost felt sorry for him.

Almost.

“You’re an incredibly good-looking guy, Satoru,” you said quietly, sincerely even. “Objectively hot. Get your shit together, touch some grass, and you’ll be fine. You’ll be more than fine. But until you stop treating women like a math test you’re trying to cheat on, nobody is going to want you.”

You shattered his ego completely. Or maybe, for the first time since puberty, Satoru actually formed a conscious, self-aware thought. Because he kept turning your words over in his head.

Objectively hot.

No one is going to want you.

What?

He tried to find the logical flaws. Tried to insert a counterargument, disprove your female emotional outburst with cold data. He couldn’t find one, not for fucking days.

You were avoiding him completely now, icing him out, not talking to him, not even looking at him. It was driving him insane. You used to search for his eyes, even if it was just to roll them. He’d only just realized how genuine your flustered blinking had been, and now he missed it. Embarrassingly so.

One night he walked into the bathroom to splash cold water on his face, carrying a petty mix of rejection, confusion, and constant, unbearable horniness.

Your pink hair tie was sitting on the edge of the sink.

He told himself he was just going to pick it up and put it in your organizer tray. So he picked it up. It smelled like your stupid, intoxicating strawberry shampoo. He hated it. Hated how the whole bathroom smelled like you after you showered. Hated how your scent followed you everywhere in the apartment, forcing him to breathe you in. The guys on Reddit had warned him about this. Pheromones. Dangerous.

He brought it closer to his face. Just to check. Just in case it wasn’t actually yours. And what happened next stayed strictly between Satoru, the bathroom mirror, and god.

He clutched the sink, bracing himself against it, breathing ragged and humiliatingly loud. He stared down at the pretty pink elastic wrapped tight around the base of his cock as he fucked his fist like he was trying to punish himself, desperately trying to imagine your hands instead of his own.

It worked too well. It scared him.

He came hard, so so hard the hair tie ended up coated in thick, frothy cum.

He carefully nudged the sticky pink tie back onto the edge of the sink, exactly where he’d found it. Then he washed his hands under scalding water like he was trying to burn the shame off his skin and walked out of the bathroom like a man fleeing a crime scene.

Rejuvenated? No.

Good? Not even close.

He just felt like absolute shit.

Get your shit together.

But how?

He picked up his phone, put it down, picked it up again. Again. And again. The fight was still eating him alive. The podcasts told him to take his frustration out on other girls or channel it into dominance and detachment. That’s probably what the current episode would’ve said.

But he didn’t want that. He didn’t want to sleep with anyone else. He didn’t want to be aggressive. He just… wanted.

And that was the problem.

For the first time in a long time, the alpha-male bullshit was starting to feel a bit too beta now. He was left with his own feelings like a normal person, and it was awful.

If he was truly a high-value male, he shouldn’t care. He should pivot. Download an app. Find some new, compliant girl to validate his stats. But the thought of calculating the facial harmony of a stranger made his stomach turn. He didn’t want a hypothetical female.

He wanted you.

He wanted you rolling your eyes at him. Laughing at him. Getting annoyed at him. Eating his pasta. Walking around in those mind-melting shorts. He wanted you to drop yogurt on yourself again just so he could lick it off your skin, linger on your neck, and kiss you stupid — the way he’d been fantasizing about since it actually happened.

He needed validation. He needed to be right!

His thumbs moved across the screen before he could stop himself. He ignored his usual echo-chamber subreddits and opened r/AmItheAsshole instead.

r/AmItheAsshole 

AITA for expecting my roommate (F) to reciprocate my (M) romantic advances after I provided optimal domestic value?

Throwaway. This is gonna sound bad but I need actual advice.

I (M) have been living with my roommate (F) for almost a year now. I’m not gonna lie, I’m objectively good-looking and I’ve been carrying a lot in this apartment. I pay my half on time, I keep shit clean, I do the dishes, I even cook sometimes. I thought I was doing everything right.

A few weeks ago she started walking around in these tiny shorts and tank tops. Like, really small. I took it as her signaling that she was open to something. That’s what all the advice says — if a girl starts dressing like that around you, it’s usually because she’s comfortable and maybe interested. So I decided to initiate kino escalation. Nothing crazy at first, just trying to break the touch barrier a bit.

While we were watching something on the couch I put my hand on her thigh. She freaked out. Got really upset and started yelling at me about how I was treating her like a transaction and that I only did nice things because I felt entitled to her. She even said I was basically calling her ran-through for going on dates.

I tried to explain it calmly. Like, statistically, if a high-value guy is right there doing everything right, why would she keep going on dates with random dudes from apps? It just doesn’t make sense. She told me to touch grass and hasn’t really spoken to me since.

I don’t get it. I’ve been consistent, I’ve been present, I’ve been providing a good living situation. I thought that was supposed to count for something. Instead she acted like I was the asshole for expecting anything in return.

AITA?

He hit post. He sat in the dark on his bed, heart pounding like it was trying to escape his chest. He just had to wait, the logical thinkers would show up. They’d validate him with proper, objective analysis. They had to.

Ten minutes later, the notifications started rolling in. So he opened them expecting vindication and instead he walked straight into a digital firing squad.

u/GrassToucherGeto · 308 upvotes

YTA. Holy shit. You did a handful of nice things and you think that means she owes you sex? You sound like an actual sociopath. I’m surprised she didn’t run out screaming. She literally told you to get your shit together. What part of that are you not getting?

u/KentoTheNormalGuy · 291 upvotes

You're not alpha, man. Kino escalation? Are you trying to con her, or actually want her to want you? YTA.

u/NobaraJustice24 · 282 upvotes

YTA.  She can wear whatever the fuck she wants in her own home, you creepy ass weirdo. I hope she breaks the lease and gets a restraining order. 

u/RealityCheckChoso · 156 upvotes

This is the most pathetic thing I’ve read on this site in eleven years. This is straight-up incel fanfiction. Poor girl having to live with someone like you. YTA. Go outside.

u/yuji_8847362 · 124  upvotes

Genuine question, not trying to be an asshole: do you actually like her, or do you just think she owes you because you did some nice things? Those are two very different things, and your post doesn’t seem to understand the difference. YTA, but I hope you figure it out.

u/KingNaoya69 · 231  downvotes

NTA. She’s clearly testing you. The clothes were an invitation. Hold your ground, don’t apologize, and she’ll come around. Women don’t respect men who grovel. If she actually didn’t want you she would’ve moved out already. She’s still there, isn’t she?

Satoru stared at the screen in disbelief. He’d expected validation. Maybe just a few reasonable voices cutting through the noise, acknowledging the statistical validity of his position, maybe even offering some tactical advice.

Instead, he got hit with minus three thousand downvotes, a mod-locked thread, and three DMs telling him to go to therapy.

He thought it would give him clarity. Clear steps. A way to fix this mess. Something actually useful. It just made him feel… nothing. Except for the creeping realization that he’d said something eerily similar to what u/KingNaoya69 had posted. Recently. Maybe even last week.

He threw his glasses off and stared into the middle distance.

What the fuck was he supposed to do?

He had no idea.

The days that followed were miserable. You were giving him the coldest shoulder imaginable and let’s be honest, he deserved it. You were weaponizing the silence, slamming doors, giving short, pointed answers if any. Moving through the apartment like he was just another piece of furniture. Looking through him instead of at him.

He kept going back to the comments on his post, rereading them like he could find a loophole somewhere.

Yes, of course he liked you. But how was he supposed to want nothing from you if he liked you? He wanted your affection. He wanted you to want him back. But wasn’t that also expecting something in return? What the hell was he supposed to do?

Still… the Naoya guy had been weirdly right about one thing. You stayed. You hadn’t moved out. You didn’t even seem like you wanted to. If you hated him that much, why were you still here?

On the nth day, he was sitting on the couch when you came out of your room for water. You glanced at him, even if just for a second. You couldn’t help it, the silent treatment was getting to you too, even if you’d never admit it.

Your eyes were hard to read, but there was something in them. Something expectant. Like you were waiting for him to do something. To fix it. To stop being an idiot so the two of you could move on.

Oh, he thought.

Truly the lightbulb moment of the century.

Oh.

That night he unjoined six subreddits. Unfollowed every podcast except Joe Rogan — because hey, you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. Or was it unteach a new dog old tricks? Didn’t matter. What mattered was that for the first time since he’d discovered the internet, he was pretty sure he’d been an idiot.

And he was going to stop.

He made a plan. Simple. Walk out of his room, find you, and say sorry. Three steps. He’d been a person for over twenty years. He could do three steps. He had this!

You were in the kitchen. You were standing on the flimsy little step stool you needed to reach the top cabinet shelves, stretching up on your tiptoes for the glass Tupperware that Satoru kept putting up there, even though you had told him multiple times not to put it up there because you literally could not reach it.

"Hey," he said from the doorway, trying not to startle you. "Can we—"

You startled anyway, because what other outcome was ever going to happen here.

The stool wobbled under your socks. You gasped, swore something, grabbed for a shelf edge that wasn't there, and fully expected to eat the kitchen floor tiles before officially murdering your roommate from the afterlife.

But Satoru had surprisingly fast reflexes and caught you.

Well… almost.

He lost his balance as your weight shifted, and the two of you went down in a tangle of limbs and terrible timing.  The impact knocked the wind right out of your lungs. You landed sprawled over him, pressed against his chest, his arms secured instinctively around you—

Around your boobs.

You froze. He froze. The entire world seemed to fucking froze.

And as you laid there, from the adrenaline shock of it all probably, his fingers did a little squish!

Huh.

You didn't say anything. You couldn't breathe, let alone speak. You slowly turned your head. His face was right there and so, so close to yours. You panicked and looked into his equally panicked eyes, his poor glasses askew.

He was searching for something in your eyes, his pupils blown so wide they almost swallowed the pretty blue. And then, as his chest was still heaving so heavily, his gaze dropped down to your lips.

You were suddenly very aware— Aware of his warm palms right through the thin fabric of your shirt. Aware of the way your tits swelled into his touch. Aware of how his thighs bracketed your hips, and how perfectly you fit against him.

His breath hitched and then his fingers flexed. He made a soft, barely-there sound in the back of his throat and squeezed again — slower this time. Kneading right over your hardened nipples. 

And oh my fucking god, you parted your lips for a soundless gasp, and he huffed into your collarbone as the trance finally broke.

His arms slowly retreated, lazily dragged down your ribs, fingers grazing the soft of your tummy before finally falling away to rest on the floor, which somehow made it all worse.

"I—" His voice came out rough, barely above a whisper.

You scrambled off him like you had been electrocuted.

You sprinted down the hallway and threw yourself into your room, slamming the door behind you. You backed up until you hit something, you didn’t even care what, and slid down to the floor, knees pulled to your chest.

Your heart was pounding soo hard it hurt, your skin was buzzing, and the ghost of his touch was still burning across your chest.

I fucking hate him, you told yourself. He’s a podcast-rotted incel. I hate him.

…Do you?

Because why the fuck had you wanted his hands to stay there? Why had that second squeeze made you want to straddle him right there on the kitchen tiles and fuck him stupid?

You were just touch-starved. That’s all this was. You were projecting onto your terrible roommate because he was being a sleazy little shit.

You grabbed your phone off the nightstand with shaking hands and unlocked it.

Hinge.

Your ol’ friend.

You needed a date. You needed a normal, boring, completely average guy with a decent hairline and zero opinions on hypergamy to save you from whatever the hell had just happened in that kitchen.

You were in your room getting ready for your date, dressed to kill. Short dress, favorite lace panties, because after everything that happened… you were still weirdly, persistently horny? Might as well try to do something about it with someone normal.

Satoru was lingering in the hallway like always, doing his very obvious not-hovering hover.

"Going out?" he asked, clearing his throat, trying to act so aloof and unbothered.

You didn't even look at him properly. "Yeah. I have a date," you said smugly as you pulled your hair up into a ponytail. Hair down meant cute, but hair up meant business. And by business, I mean finally attempting to jump on some normal, average, and not-incely dick.

The second the words left your mouth, a wave of jealousy hit him so hard it nearly knocked the air out of his lungs. But he wasn’t even looking at your proud face. No. No. He was staring at the pink hair tie holding your hair up. No. No. NO.

He visibly gulped. His dick went from zero to painfully hard so fast he had to cross his legs just to hide it.

You furrowed your eyebrow at the uncharacteristic lack of response, but wasn’t entirely mad about it either.

"See ya," you chirped, completely oblivious to his internal meltdown, and walked out the front door.

The second the door shut, Satoru basically teleported to his room. He threw himself onto his bed, already fumbling with his pants, desperate to take care of the problem so he could think straight again.

But he spent exactly thirty minutes achieving absolutely nothing. What the fuck.

This had never happened before. Satoru was just staring at his ceiling, sweating, furiously gripping his aching dick, and completely unable to finish. Every time he closed his eyes, he imagined you laughing at some beta joke a 100% mediocre guy had made, while his past-tense cum was proudly sitting in your hair. He was literally too jealous to finish.

But jealous or not, he was still agonizingly hard, his dick standing painfully stiff against his stomach, stubbornly refusing to just calm the fuck down. He let out a frustrated groan. Okay. Fine. No hand? No problem! He reached for the silicone fleshlight, but he hadn't washed it in quite a while, and when he picked it up, a funky smell drifted off it.

Okay, NEVER MIND.

Which left him with only one option.

Today’s the day.

He reached into the back of his bottom drawer again and pulled out a silicone cock ring.

He had bought it right after he absolutely demolished your cute little hair tie. The hair tie. Because what does a normal guy do in that situation? Grovel first? Solve the underlying interpersonal issue? Nah. He goes on r/sex to research why a piece of elastic felt so hella good around his dick!

He hadn’t touched it since. Post-nut clarity had done its job last time. But right now, staring down at his aching, neglected cock and feeling rejected, humiliated, and completely alone… it was time.

Fuck it.

He ripped open the packaging and wrestled the thick silicone down his shaft until it sat snug at the base.

Almost immediately, something felt off. It was tight. Too tight. Not in a good way, just uncomfortable, constricting even. He tried to power through anyway, closing his eyes and stroking like he could force an orgasm out of sheer spite.

Ten minutes passed.

Nothing.

His brain was too far gone, and the pressure was quickly shifting from weird to genuinely concerning.

Fuck this.

He stopped, tried to take it off but it didn’t budge. Satoru blinked. He adjusted his grip and pulled harder. The skin stretched painfully, but the ring stayed exactly where it was.

Oh fuck.

A cold sweat broke out across his forehead. 

Oh fuck, oh fuck.

He scrambled off the bed, grabbed his lube, and squeezed way too much directly onto the ring. He tugged and twisted like his life depended on it.

Nothing. Fucking nothing. It just made his hands uselessly slippery.

Okay, oh fuck. Wasn't lube like supposed to work?! Okay, new plan. Something else, something more slippery, something more oily—

Panic seizing him, he stumbled to the bathroom, dug under the sink, found your baby oil, and slathered it on.

Still stuck.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

Different oil! Not enough slipperiness! Trust the process!

So he waddled out of the bathroom, practically sprinting into the kitchen buck naked. He tore open the pantry, grabbing the vegetable oil. 

This has to work.

It did not work.

Ten minutes later, Satoru was sitting on the edge of the bathtub, coated in a slick, highly flammable mixture of lube, Johnson & Johnson baby oil, and Wesson canola oil, panting heavily. 

Dick throbbing, but not the fun kind of throbbing anymore. It was turning a terrifying shade of angry red-purple, the silicone death trap literally suffocating his junior.

It was no longer just uncomfortable, nor just alarmingly stuck. At this point, it was a fucking medical emergency. 

He was so fucked he might be patient zero of mpreg.

But what the hell was he supposed to do?

Call an ambulance?

Absolutely not. 

The thought of a paramedic cutting a sex toy off him with trauma shears while asking for his emergency contact would genuinely kill him on the spot. He would rather die of necrosis.

Call his friends? 

Fuck no.

If any of them found out about this, the screenshots would never die. They’d revoke his alpha card permanently and hold it over his head for the rest of his life.

He stared at his contacts.

There was only one person who could help without turning it into blackmail material or posting it online. The one person who lived in this apartment. The one person who was currently out on a date with some random guy. The person he had a massive, pathetic crush on and who would probably rather rip his dick off than help him.

He hit Call.

You stirred your gin and tonic while your date went on about his fantasy football draft like it was the most fascinating thing in the world. It was a perfectly fine date! The kind of fine that made you wonder why you even bothered.

You were nodding along, even though you had stopped listening roughly four minutes ago. Then, your phone vibrated on the table.

Satoru.

You ignored it. No, actually—you declined it. You smiled sweetly at your date, asked a vague question about tight ends so you would seem like you were actually paying attention, and took a sip of your drink.

Your phone buzzed again. And again. And again.

Annoyed, you held up a finger to the poor guy who was currently rating wide receivers, excused yourself, and off to the bathroom, fully prepared to yell.

“What?” you hissed the second you picked up. “I’m on a date, Satoru. If you locked yourself out—”

"Please come home," he gasped. He didn't even say hello. He didn't sound aloof, and he certainly didn't sound alpha. He actually sounded like he was drawing his final breaths on this earth. "You have to come home. Right now."

"What happened? Did something catch fire? Did someone break in? Are you—"

“I can’t tell you,” he whined, voice high and shaky in a way you’d never heard from him before. “I physically can’t say it out loud. Just— please. Please come home.”

You were ninety percent sure this was some pathetic attempt to ruin your night. Some last-ditch manipulation tactic he’d picked up from a podcast or Reddit thread. But the remaining ten percent made you ditch your date without a second thought and jump into an Uber.

You practically kicked the front door open, your heart hammering. The apartment was completely quiet, and it smelled all wrong…

Like babies and an industrial air fryer?

"Satoru?" you called out, dropping your bag. "Where are you? The apartment better be fucking flooding, or else I swear to God—"

A pained, muffled whimper came from down the hall. His bedroom door was cracked open so you pushed it wide, fully prepared to absolutely tear him a new one for ruining your night.

Satoru was sitting on the edge of his bed, completely naked, perched on a bath towel soaked through with some kind of glistening sludge. He was trembling, sweating, aggressively gripping the mattress. And his dick — very visibly, very aggressively hard — was pointing straight at you.

"Are you fucking kidding me?!"

You exploded the second you saw him, because an impromptu dick is still an impromptu dick! “Is this some pathetic plan to finally fuck me? You couldn’t even be decent about it! You just called me home so you could sit here with your cock out?!”

You expected some sleazy line. Some smug little smirk. Instead, Satoru looked up at you with wide, tear-filled eyes behind his smudged glasses and let out a broken, wet sob.

"I'm not—" his voice cracked terribly. "I'm stuck."

Huh?

Furrowing your eyebrows, you stopped yelling and your eyes actually dropped down. And then your stomach dropped with them.

Wait. Oh. He was so, so large.

But that wasn’t the problem. His dick was an angry, swollen red-purple, veins bulging like it had its own heartbeat. And at the base was a thick silicone ring, cutting into him so tightly it looked like it might actually pop off.

And all the anger drained out of you in an instant because suddenly, you felt the harsh reality of the literal medical horror you were now a part of. 

"Oh my god. Satoru... what is going on?!"

“Fuck, it hurts— please help me,” he whined as he bounced his leg against the floor like that would somehow fix anything.

You stepped closer, the sheer absurdity of the situation making you drop to your knees between his spread thighs just to get a proper look. 

“Is that… a cock ring?” you asked, voice tight as your eyes dragged over his swollen cock in equal parts horror and fascination.

Satoru nodded frantically, a tear slipping down his cheek and dripping off his jaw.

"Satoru, you know there is a fucking size chart to these things?! You can’t just buy anything with the size of your dick! Are you fucking stupid?!"

"HOW SHOULD I KNOW?!" he wailed, hands flying up to cover his face in absolute humiliation. "Wait—" He suddenly froze, lowering his hands just enough to look at you. "Did you just say I have a big dick? Wait. Fuck. OUCH. It just fucking hurts! Please, please help me, I've tried everything but it just won't budge! It hurts so much!"

You squinted at the slick mess coating his thighs and soaking into the bath towel and his bed. "Did you try lube?"

 "Yes!" 

"Baby oil?" 

"Yes!" 

"Did you... did you use the cooking oil from the kitchen?!"

 "YES! FUCK!" he sobbed into his hands again.

"Why did you even put it on?!" you yelled back, genuinely baffled by his astronomical stupidity.

“I was horny, what else?!” he cried and shook his hands. “You left with the cum tie in your hair—”

“THE WHAT?!”

Your hands froze in the air. Your brain forcefully restarted about three times trying to process the sequence of syllables he had just screamed back at you.

The cum tie.

You suddenly felt the gentle pull of the pink elastic holding up your ponytail. The one that was your favorite. The one you had idly wondered before why it was suddenly so... crusty.

"You..." you whispered, a cold wave of fresh nausea washing over you. "You did what to my hair tie?"

“I didn’t mean to!” he sobbed and sobbed, face red and streaked with tears. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you, and I used it, and then you put it in your hair to go out with the guy and it made me crazy so I put the ring on!”

Your hand twitched toward your ponytail. You were going to rip it out, burn it ritually, shave your head and then fucking murder him. A jury would probably let you off in seconds.

But then you looked down again. His dick might actually pop! like a grease-filled water balloon. There was simply no time.

You took a deep, slightly deranged breath and shoved every horrifying thought into a box for later. You could have a full meltdown about having his reproductive fluids in your hair as an accessory after you made sure his dick didn’t fall off.

You aggressively ignored his stare, locking your eyes entirely on the crisis. "Okay. Okay, I've got this. This is a medical emergency."

Your mind started racing. You couldn't cut it off without risking severing something vital, you certainly weren’t a doctor, and the swelling was so so severe to just pull the ring back over the ridge. You knelt there, suddenly arriving at a horrifying conclusion that you were going to need a serious moment to accept.

Because there was only one way to get it off… And the only way to get it off was to get rid of the erection.

You had to make him cum.

“Okay,” you muttered. Then again. And again. Like repeating it would make it feel less insane. “W-we just need to… get it down.”

You bit your lip, giving yourself the quickest, most productive, and most threatening internal TED Talk in human history. Your hands twitched, but you finally reached out and wrapped them around his oil-slicked shaft.

“AGH— FUCK— NO!” Satoru immediately jerked back like you’d stabbed him, slamming against the mattress.

"What the hell?! I barely touched it!"

“The skin’s too tight!” he cried out, practically hyperventilating. “It feels like a razor blade— you can’t use your hands, it hurts too much!”

You tried again anyway, slower this time, gripping him carefully. The skin was burning hot, painfully stretched over the trapped blood. You gave one experimental stroke.

“No— no no no, please stop—” His voice broke into a real whimper as fresh tears spilled down his face. He pushed at your shoulders, legs literally shaking. “Please, I can’t— it hurts so fucking bad—”

You yanked your hands back, heart pounding as your own panic officially set in. "THEN WHAT ELSE?!"

“I DON’T KNOW! I thought you might know!”

"HOW SHOULD I KNOW?!"

A beat of deafening silence fell over the grease-scented bedroom. You looked at him. Then down at the problem between his legs.

Wait—

Your brain scrambled for literally any other fucking solution. Ice? Cutting it completely off? Calling 911 and collectively dying of embarrassment on the spot?

Nothing. 

There was nothing else.

God fucking help you. You might as well die from the cringe right here on the floor.

You stared down at his lengthy cock again. It was a pathetic mix of pre-cum against his oil-slicked stomach. Satoru was breathing in short, panicked gasps, tears still tracking down his flushed cheeks, glasses fogged and crooked, looking totally helpless.

“No,” you whispered to the empty space between his thighs, stomach twisting with reluctant acceptance. Coming to terms with your own fate. Girl, it’s your fault. Your fate had been sealed the second you decided to find a roommate on Reddit. “No, no, no.”

“What?” Satoru cried through his teeth, barely audible. “What ‘no’?”

If your hands were completely off the table…

A wave of heat flooded your face and dropped straight into your belly. Surely from disgust. Trust.

You shifted forward on your knees, your dress dragging through the oily mess on the floor. The fabric was already ruined and sticking to your skin. You braced one hand on his trembling thigh, leaned in, and took the swollen head of his cock into your mouth.

The taste was vile as hell.

Canola oil, baby oil, lube, and the bitter salt of his pre-cum all hit your tongue at once. You made a muffled, disgusted sound around him as your lips stretched and you sank down. The mixture mixed with your saliva and slid down your throat as he pushed deeper than you expected.

Satoru’s entire body jolted as the mushroomy head hit the back of your mouth.

“Whoa— oh my fucking god—” His voice cracked into a broken, high moan. His stomach flexed like he was trying not to fold in half. Both of his hands flew to your hair, oily fingers catching in your ponytail, clutching without quite pushing or pulling. I mean, you already had cum in your hair anyway. What was a little more oil and lube?

His hips twitched. His thighs trembled under your hand. He clearly had no idea what to do with himself.

You started moving, and it was messy from the first second.

Everything was slippery. Your lips kept sliding, saliva mixing with the grease until it dripped down his shaft in shiny, frothy strings. You had to suck harder just to keep any kind of rhythm, cheeks hollowing, tongue working in messy circles under the head every time you pulled up. The wet sounds filled the room — slick sucking, soft gagging when you took him too deep, his broken little whimpers.

You hated the taste.You hated how your knees already ached against the hard floor. You hated that your dress was ruined, soaked through and sticking to your skin. And you hated the way he was looking down at you — in pain, in complete disbelief that you were actually sucking him off. And what you really hated the most was that you were looking up at him while you mouth was licking him up and your body was already starting to betray you.

Tingly heat was spreading low in your belly. Every throb along his length, every broken moan that slipped out of him, made you wetter. You weren’t supposed to be horny! You should’ve been so so disgusted. But the scent of him, the taste of his pre-cum coating your tongue, made your pussy clench around nothing. Your nipples were hard, rubbing against the inside of your dress. Your cunt felt hot and slick — whether from your own arousal or the oily sludge on the floor, you genuinely couldn’t tell anymore.

You bobbed deeper, taking him until your nose brushed the base and the ring dug into your skin, then pulled back with a wet gasp. A thick and slimy string of saliva and oil connected your lips to his cock before it broke.

Satoru was staring down at you like you’d personally broken his brain.

His chest was heaving. Tears were still leaking from the corners of his eyes — pain, pleasure, or the sheer absurdity of the situation, it didn’t matter. His mouth hung open, glasses sliding down his nose.

Then his hazy eyes dropped to your chest.

His gaze followed the way your dress had slipped lower during all the movement. Your tits were threatening to spill out completely. He made a strangled sound in the back of his throat.

His hands left your hair and reached down. Big, warm palms cupped your breasts through the thin fabric first almost carefully. But then he yanked the neckline down hard, dragging the fabric under your arms, practically rrrrripping it open, until your tits spilled free.

A fresh tear tracked down his cheek as he stared at them like they were something holy.

“Holy fuck— your tits—” he breathed, cupping them fully. His thumbs brushed over your hard nipples before he started kneading with desperate, greedy hands. Squeezing, lifting, rolling the soft flesh between his fingers exactly like he had in the kitchen — except this time there was nothing holding him back, because you certainly wouldn’t make him stop. 

The moan you let out around his cock was involuntary and absolutely nobody’s business, alright? Your teeth grazed his sensitive skin and the vibration, combined with the impromptu bite, made his hips jerk violently. He let out a breathless gasp, hands tightening on your boobs almost painfully before he loosened his grip again, thumbs flicking over your nipples in a way that sent sparks straight between your legs.

The lace of your panties was useless now, clinging to your soaked pussy lips.

But the dress had become a real problem, at least that’s what you were telling yourself. It was restricting your movement, getting in the way every time you tried to take him deeper. It was uncomfortable as hell, which was actually true.

You pulled off his cock with a wet pop!, lips shiny and swollen.

Fuck this dress. And probably him too.

You sat back on your heels and yanked it over your head, kicking it away. Now you were kneeling in nothing but your ruined lace panties — the ones you’d specifically worn because you were hoping to get laid tonight.

Well. You weren’t entirely wrong, now were you?

Satoru made a sound like he’d been punched in the gut. His wildest dream had just come true in the most deranged way possible.

You leaned back in and took him into your mouth again, sucking with more purpose now. One hand stayed wrapped around the base near the ring while your other hand stroked his thigh and lower stomach — anywhere to try and soothe him.

His clammy hands were right back on your bare tits, rolling them between his fingers like he was trying to memorize their exact shape. You moaned around him because it felt so fucking good. Unfairly good.

The taste was still awful. The room still reeked of canola oil. Satoru was still quietly crying above you — overwhelmed, terrified, and so turned on he could barely think straight. But the way he was touching you, the way he was falling apart in your mouth…

You were dripping straight through the lace right onto his fucking floor.

One of your hands snaked down your body. You pushed your panties aside and started rubbing desperate circles over your poor clit while you kept sucking him.

What a development. 

Righteous ideologies and all. Now you were naked on the floor of your incel roommate’s bedroom, sucking his cock while fingering yourself. Truly the most progressive way to handle this type of man.

Your pussy felt hot and aching. Your fingers slid through your own slick, making your hips twitch and another moan vibrate around his dick.

Satoru’s breathing sounded like a kettle about to boil over. His hands kept slipping on your oily skin, smearing the mess across your chest and shoulders. He was trapped in the most surreal, humiliating, perfect moment of his life — your mouth on him, you naked and touching yourself while the whole room smelled like a deep fryer.

He was half-sobbing, half-moaning.

“You’re— nghh— you’re actually getting off while—” His voice cracked as he looked down at you. You glanced up through your lashes, a little scowl on your flushed face, fingers still working between your legs.

You couldn’t even be embarrassed anymore. The absurdity had burned straight through your shame. You were horny. Stupidly, painfully horny. It was all too much and not enough at the same time.

Filthy sounds filled the room. He was crying. You were crying. Sweat was mixing with the oily mess coating your skin. You could taste your own tears mixed with the mess on his cock as they slid down your face. One of his hands was tangled in your ponytail, greasing it up nice and disgusting.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” he choked out, voice hoarse. “I can’t— ngh— I can’t believe this is real—”

You pulled off just enough to breathe. “Shut up and let me finish this,” you muttered, then sank back down, taking him as deep as the ring would allow.

His other hand relocated to your shoulder. Then his dick throbbed hard against your tongue. Swelling, twitching and you knew he was about to blow.

You started to pull back, but his hands moved faster. One fisted tighter in your hair, the other gripped your shoulder hard. He held you in place. Rough. Desperate. But he didn’t mean to!

You made a surprised, muffled sound around him as his hips jerked.

“W-wait—fuck—I’m—!” he gasped, betrayed by his own body.

You felt the first big pulse against your tongue.

You manage to wrench your head back at the last second because there was no way in hell you were swallowing a mixture of cum and baby oil — popping off just in time. But it was too late to get completely clear.

Satoru came hard.

The first thick rope hit you across the cheek and lips. The next few painted messy white stripes across your chin, your chest, and down your neck. It kept cooooming in hot, twitchy pulses until he’d almost emptied his aching balls.

And suddenly you were back in the kitchen. Only this time it wasn’t a freaking Activia dripping down your tits. It was him.

You stumbled backward onto your ass, cum cooling on your skin as he finally let go of you. You wiped the back of your hand across your cheek, smearing it further. He stared down at you like he’d died and gone to heaven — you, sprawled on his floor, covered in his cum, panties twisted half-off your hips, your blushing cunt smiling up right at him and your panicked eyes unblinking.

Holy fucking nirvana, right there.

You felt disgusting. You felt filthy. And somehow, you were still throbbing between your legs.

“Fuck— shit, fuck, fuck!” Satoru cursed, trying to stand up too fast. He slipped on the oily towel and nearly ate shit before catching himself on the edge of the bed. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hold you there, I just— it was too much, I panicked—”

He stumbled toward you on shaky legs, one hand reaching out like he was going to help you up, the other still hovering near his softening cock.

“Satoru,” you said, voice low. “Pull it off.”

He froze for half a second, then looked down.

And it was finally, finally softening. The angry red-purple was fading. The skin wasn’t stretched as tight anymore and there was a very small, very dangerous window before he’d be hard again and back in square one.

His eyes lit up with desperate hope. He grabbed the cock ring with both hands and yanked.

The sound that tore out of him was somewhere between a sob and a scream. It was violent, painful, and made you cringe so fucking badly. The ring caught on the ridge for one horrible second before it finally slipped off with a wet smack and skidded across the floor somewhere.

For a moment, Satoru just knelt there, breathing hard through the fading pain. Fresh tears tracked down his flushed face as the relief finally hit him.

Then he looked at you, at the mess he’d made across your pretty face and chest. At the absolute state of the room. At everything.

“I’m the worst,” he whispered. “I know I’m the worst. You should kick me out. You should call the cops. I didn’t mean to make it worse. You probably hate me—”

Satoru looked like he was about to start ugly crying for real. His shoulders were shaking as he braced himself for you to slap him.

And look — you wanted to. You wanted to go back in time so you would’ve never answered that fucking Reddit post, never answered his call, never come home tonight. Or maybe… go back just a little bit. To when your tongue was sliding over his frenulum and you’d never been so turned on in your life.

Either way, you weren’t sure anymore. Your brain was more scrambled than the eggs you’d had for breakfast.

So instead of slapping him, you surged forward, grabbed his face with both of your hands, smearing his cum and your own arousal all over his jawline and kissed him hard enough to shut him up.

At first he stayed completely frozen, too stunned to speak, or like… kiss you back that you were kissing him instead of murdering him on the spot. You nudged your tongue against his lips, urging him to kiss you back, because the last thing you needed right now was sucking your incel roommate off and then having him refuse to kiss you afterward. That would’ve been a new low. Truly historic.

But then he let out a shaky breath and kissed you back.

He kissed you desperately, messily, like he was trying to crawl inside your mouth. Saliva, cum, tears, and oil all mixed together as your tongues slid against each other. Teeth clicked. His hands came up to grab your waist, pulling you closer until your chest pressed against his own. He whimpered needily into your mouth and tangled his tongue with yours like he was starving for it.

His glasses got knocked even more crooked.

When you finally pulled back to breathe, you reached down and started yanking your ruined lace panties off. They were twisted around your thighs and sticking to your skin from all the mess.

Satoru, still breathing hard and clearly trying to regain some sense of manly control, decided this was THE moment, HIS moment to be useful.

“Here— let me help,” he muttered, reaching down with both hands.

The two of you fumbled together in some weird horny trance, his fingers sliding against your thigh as he tried to tug the lace down your leg.

But his hand slid right off your slick skin and he lost his balance completely. With a startled gasp! he pitched forward and crashed down right on top of you, pinning you to the floor.

His full weight pressed you into the cold hardwood. Chest to chest, hips slotted between your thighs. The kisses making him hard again, dick now twitching insistently against your tummy.

Then Satoru lifted his head from the crook of your neck and looked down at you. His hair was a mess, but there was something almost determined in his expression now.

“I’ve got it,” he said. Yeah. He definitely  got this. He’d seen the porn. He’d read the r/sex threads. He was a man, the man! He knew exactly what he was supposed to do. Fluent in the dickology! Show you what a high-value male can do. You'll respect it. You’ll want it!

You stared up at him and raised one eyebrow.“…Are you sure?”

He looked faintly offended, but reached between your bodies anyway, grabbed his cock, and lined himself up against your slick folds. The blunt head nudged against your entrance before he pushed in with one unsteady thrust and you were honestly surprised he found your hole on a first try.

The stretch was intense. His cock bullied its way into your tight cunt, the sudden fullness making your back arch slightly off the floor. And it made you think that maybe… just maybe he’s a virgin incel but he somehow actually knows how to fuck?

Satoru made a choked sound above you. He braced his hands on either side of your head and started moving, a little too fast, a little too rough, like he was following some mental checklist of “how alpha males fuck” or something. 

His hips snapped forward, rolling against yours. On a few of his clumsy thrusts, the sharp angle of his hipbone dragged right across your swollen clit.

A spark of pleasure shot right through you, made your breath hitch and his dick catch inside of you. Your fingers scratched on his shoulders and for a second you were hopeful, hopeful that perhaps incels were just involuntarily celibate men with a dick game like this.

It died almost instantly. His rhythm fell apart just as the plushy walls of your pussy fully enveloped him fully in the slick warmth. His movement turned erratic as his hips started stuttering.

“I—fuck—I can’t—ngh—!”

So… He lasted exactly forty-five seconds.

With a humiliated groan he slammed into your cervix one last time and came haard, painting your walls in thick, sticky white. His wobbly arms gave out again and he collapsed on top of you not very gracefully, face buried right back into your neck as he rode out the pathetic orgasm. He was breathing hard, the sound mixing with the wet squelching of oil, cum, and sweat between your bodies every time either of you shifted.

You stared sideways at the messy white strands of his hair currently tickling your pulse point, feeling his cum slowly leaking out around his softening cock. The frustration burning hot alongside with the ghost ache right in between legs.

If he had just let you ride him instead. Ugh.

“…Really?” you said flatly.

Satoru, mortified, made a small devastated noise into your neck and laced his fingers with yours like that would somehow make it better.

You hadn’t come from the fingering earlier. You definitely hadn’t come from his forty-five-second marathon. 

You shoved at his shoulder.

“Satoru.”

He made a small, satisfied noise.

“Satoru. Did you just cum inside me?”

His eyes flew open. The bliss drained from his face instantly. He slowly nodded, guilty, not knowing if he should be terrified or glad.

You pushed him off you. He rolled onto his back with a wet squelch. You sat up, cum and oil smeared across your skin, and glared down at him.

“You ruined my date,” you said, voice low. “You were stupid enough to trap your own dick in a death trap and made me come home to deal with it. You came all over me without letting me cum, and then you creampied me in under a minute.”

He opened his mouth, “I was just claiming what’s mine—”ready to say something even more stupid.

You cut him off, because you were not listening to that right now and ever fucking again. “Don’t. I swear to god, if you say one more word of that pseudo-alpha, podcast-bro bullshit right now, I can promise you this will be the first and last time you ever have your dick in any pussy. Ever.”

He froze.

You leaned in, eyes narrowed, pussy suddenly drying up at high speed.

“I’m serious, Satoru. All that ‘high-value male,’ ‘she’ll respect dominance,’ ‘women secretly want to be put in their place’ garbage? It’s not cute. It’s not hot. It’s not working. It makes you sound like a loser. You’re only lucky that I’m stupid enough to actually fucking like you.”

And Satoru deadass had nothing to say, because it didn’t make sense, yet it made all the sense. And in the middle of the gears grinding he blinked up at you because… did you just tell him you like him?

Before he could grab your chin and kiss you stupid again, you pointed between your legs.

“Since you made this mess, you’re going to clean it up. Now.”

The color drained from his face as he stared at you. “Y-you want me to eat out my cum?”

“Did I stutter?”

He was too stunned and properly terrified to argue. He knew that if he didn’t get his shit together right now, this really might be the first and last time he ever saw pussy in real life. So he scrambled down between your thighs without another word.

He’s going to do it for the love of the game. Can’t be that bad, right?

He gulped as he nestled between your soft thighs, eyeing your tight little hole as a little trail of his cum mixed with your frothy slick leaked onto the floor below you. And it was the prettiest sight he had ever seen.

The reluctant pout on his face made it clear he was weighing eating his own cum against the very real possibility of never getting to fuck you again, so you made it easier for him. You grabbed a fistful of his messy white hair and yanked his face straight against your pussy. His nose immediately buried right between your wet folds, tickling the sensitive flesh.

And maybe he was currently terrified of you, or it was the fact that he finally smelled your sex up close — either way, he was now desperate to please you.

The first drag of his tongue through your folds was experimental, almost cautious. He did it again, licking with too much pressure and in all the wrong places, clearly thinking he was doing something impressive, missing your clit. Again. And again. And again.

For fuck’s sake, you lasted maybe fifteen seconds. You reached down, grabbed his silky hair again, and yanked his head up to adjust him.

He furrowed his brows at you, confused and a little offended, like he was about to argue — until his tongue accidentally flicked right over your clit.

His eyes widened slightly. He did it again, slower this time. A testing little flick. Eyes wide, as if asking what the hell just happened, feeling the little knob jumping.

You let out a shaky moan, fingers tightening in his hair.

“That’s my clit, Satoru.”

His eyes darkened and he dove back in with completely different energy. Okay, he knew where your cute little clit was. Now onto figuring out how to make you come on his tongue. 

He started with the licking, up and down, until he pushed into your leaking hole. He almost immediately tasted his own cum, still warm, thick, and disgustingly bitter against your sweet pussy juices, and he made a guttural sound right against you.

He should have been disgusted, appalled, mortified through his militant incel brain. But why did it taste so wrong, it tasted so so right?

Eating himself right out of you — it was so pathetic, so raw, so hot. And you couldn’t fucking believe you actually made him do it.

Your pussy fluttered and he dove in like a man possessed.

A desperate whine vibrated against your clit as he started licking in earnest. Messy, unrestrained, starving. He was slurping loudly, tongue pushing deep to get more of the mixture, swallowing it down like he couldn’t get enough. Every time he tasted more of himself leaking out of you, another broken moan escaped him.

His hands gripped your thighs haaard, holding you open as he buried his face deeper. He was whining and whimpering into your cunt like tasting his own cum inside you had flipped some primal, pathetic switch in his brain neither of you even knew existed.

“Fuck— you taste so good— I taste so good on you—” Every few seconds he would pull back just enough to breathe, drooling, and mutter broken little things against your skin. And you were once again left wondering where all the skill came from.

Then he’d dive right back in, tongue flicking over your clit before dragging down to lap at your hole again, like he was trying to clean you out and make you messy all over again at the same time.

It was deranged. It was filthy. And it was fucking working.

Your hand fisted in his hair, gripping tight. He moaned loudly at the rough treatment, the sound muffled against your pussy as his tongue circled your clit, biting then sucking on it, then flattening to drag it through your folds like he was trying to devour you whole.

You were gushing at this point, and not a drop ever spilled on the floor as he slurped you like his favourite boba flavour. His touch spread across your entire body as the orgasm built quickly after getting edged the entire evening to fucking oblivion.

“‘Toru—” you cried, thighs starting to tremble around his head. And he bit down gently on your inner thigh when you tried to close your legs on instinct. Look, it’s not like you did it on purpose — who the fuck would want to close up shop when business was this good?

He kitten-licked your poor clit, sending sparks right to your lower belly. Your back arched off the floor as his hand snaked up at the right damn time to flick your nipple.

Oh.

“Holy— ngh— fuck, ‘Toru—!” you screamed and came all over his poor face, thighs clamping around his head as you tried to suffocate him with your spasming pussy. You shook like you’d been electrocuted and he kept licking and licking, to the point you weren’t sure if you came again or if it was just one big orgasm. He wanted to taste every damn second of you falling apart because of him, for him.

His face was a mess. Half of it was shiny and wet with your slick, lips prettily swollen. He’d thrown his glasses somewhere on the floor in the middle of it. His pupils were practically heart-shaped, and he looked so wrecked it was beautiful.

He was so cum-drunk he only stared up at you with his mouth open, resting his cheek against your inner thigh, waiting.

And your eyes might’ve been heart-shaped too, because the sight of him made you throb all over again.

“Fuck,” you almost moaned, reaching down to grab his shoulders. “Come here.”

Satoru didn’t need to be told twice. He crawled up your body like he was starving for it, for you. He crashed his lips against yours and the kiss was fucking messy. You could taste yourself on him as he smeared your slick across your chin, tongues sliding sloppily against each other like you were trying to devour one another.

His hands found your waist. He shifted his weight and rolled the two of you until his back was against the bed and you were straddling him in his lap.

You broke the kiss just long enough to look at him. His chest was heaving. And he was looking up at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

Everything was still disgustingly sticky, but the way he looked at you made your heart go thump thump thump in a way it never had before. So you reached down, wrapped your hand around his cock, and sank down onto him in one slow, slick motion.

Satoru’s head tipped back against the bed with a broken groan that made the muscles in his neck jump. His hands immediately gripped your hips hard, fingers digging into your ass like he needed to anchor himself.

“Fuuck—” he slurred, voice sooo dazed. “Oh my god— you’re so warm— so fucking tight—tighter—”

You started moving, rolling your hips in frantic circles. Every time you sank down, you could feel the tip kissing your cervix, nudging right up against the entrance of your womb as he completely bottomed out.

It didn’t take long before his hands tightened on your ass and he started helping you. He pulled you down onto him faster, guiding your hips with desperate hands while lifting his own to meet you halfway.

“Shit— just like that,” he whimpered, kissing all over your jaw as his tip kissed your poor cervix again and again and again. “Ngh— you’re milking me so good—”

He was completely gone. Eyes glassy, mouth open, babbling whatever came to his mind as you rode him. And every time you clenched around him, another broken sound slipped out of him.

His mouth searched for yours again, licking into the corners of your lips before kissing you deep. You slipped two fingers into his mouth and he immediately sucked on them, tongue rolling around your fingers with a needy moan that made your pussy flutter and squeeze around him even harder. Your swollen clit dragged over his lap and lower stomach with every roll, his happy trail tickling your sensitive folds and sending sparks up your spine.

Satoru whined around your fingers, hips twitching up helplessly.

One of his hands stayed on your hip while the other slid up and wrapped around your neck. His thumb brushed along the side of your throat as he started moving you faster, pulling you down onto his cock with more urgency. The wet slap of skin on skin loud, filling the room.

“I’m so close,” he warned desperately against your lips. “Fuck— I’m gonna cum— you feel too good—”

His hand squeezed, holding you in place as he helped you bounce on him. Every time you sank down, he lifted his hips to meet you, fucking up into you until your jaw rattled. He was panting hard, forehead pressed against yours, completely pussy-drunk.

Satoru came with a broken, drawn-out moan, hips jerking up into you as he spilled deep inside. He held you down against him, grinding up as he pumped his cum into you like he was unconsciously trying to fuck it into your stomach. His hand on your neck tightened just enough to pin you down against him while he trembled through it.

Both of you were breathing hard. He held you close and kissed the side of your head as he hugged you.

“D-did you cum?” he mumbled against your skin, still dazed and half out of it.

You pulled back just enough to look at him, deadpan.

“WHAT?”

He blinked up at you, still glassy-eyed and fucked-out. “You squeezed me so hard I thought you did! Okay then— cum then!”

You stared at him for a second, somewhere between offended, frustrated, and fond, before letting out a short laugh.

“You’re actually so fucking stupid.”

You were still softly rolling your hips, using his softening cock like a dildo while you were still determined to cum again. Satoru just watched you, half-intently, half blissed-out, still breathing hard, feeling his cum escaping your pussy and pooling in his lap. After a moment, one of his hands slid down between your bodies. His fingers found your clit easily this time and started rubbing you.

“Fuck— you’re still so wet,” he mumbled, eyes locked on where you were grinding against him. “Keep going… I’ve got you.”

So you kept moving on his semi-hard cock while he fingered you, the combination making your thighs shake. Your breath started hitching and Satoru was watching your face closely now, still drunk but trying to focus.

When your mouth fell open so prettily and your eyes fluttered as he just hit that spot inside you with the angle of his cock, his other hand moved to your hip almost automatically. He gripped you and started moving you himself again, guiding you in short, deliberate rolls so his cock and his fingers kept pressing just right against that same sensitive spot from both sides.

“There?” he asked, voice low and rough. “Right there?”

You could only nod, a broken whimper slipping out of you as you started tipping forward, head on his sweaty shoulder until your thighs were trembling hard and you felt like a jelly.

You came with a sharp, shaky moan, clenching around his soft cock as the overstimulating orgasm tingled through you. Satoru held you through it, still moving you gently and praising you so nicely until you completely slumped forward against his chest.

He hugged you tight, face buried in your neck.

And you stayed slumped against Satoru’s chest for a long minute, both of you just breathing each other in. The adrenaline was finally wearing off, and reality slowly started to creep back in.

The room was in fucking ruin. You were both coated in a sticky mess, the mattress behind you was most likely ruined, and the floor was dangerously slippery. It smelled like greasy sex.

“Well,” you said.

“Yeah,” he answered quietly.

You slowly peeled yourself off his chest, shivering as the cool air hit your slick, overheated skin. 

You looked down at him and he still looked completely fucked-out, and you decided you could get used to that look. As you stretched, you felt his cum trailing down your inner thighs. Satoru’s eyes followed it from the front row, his spent dick giving a weak twitch at the sight. 

“I’m going to take a shower,” you said softly, breaking the quiet. You paused, a small smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. “…Wanna join?”

Satoru’s heart practically stopped. His eyes widened and for a second he looked like he was going to follow you like a lost, oily puppy. Dream fucking come true. But then he glanced around at the absolute state of his bedroom and reality hit him again.

“I’ll, uh…” He cleared his throat. “I’ll clean this up a bit first. You go ahead.”

You pouted but gave him a soft, understanding nod. “Don’t take too long, ‘Toru.”

You grabbed one of his random t-shirts that smelled like him from the floor and padded down the hallway toward the bathroom.

Left alone on the floor, Satoru stared at the opposite wall for a long time. He was deadass completely re-evaluating his entire existence.

He had just experienced the most surreal, life-changing two hours of his life, and the only thing he knew for certain was that he was completely whipped for you. For once, he didn’t care what his old incel education had to say about it. Which was fucking new and so so refreshing.

He reached over to his nightstand, picked up his phone, and wiped a smear of baby oil off the screen before opening Reddit. 

r/relationship_advice

I (M) think I’m in love with my roommate (F) and I might have just completely fucked everything up in the most humiliating way possible

Throwaway because if she ever sees this she will murder me for real now.

I’ve been living with this girl for almost a year. She’s my roommate. For the longest time I thought I had everything figured out. I believed that if I just kept doing enough, she’d eventually see me as a potential mate. She didn’t, obviously.

Tonight I did something so fucking stupid I still can’t believe I’m typing this. I got a cock ring stuck on my dick. I panicked and called her while she was on a date and basically begged her to come home. She helped me. She got it off. And then… something else happened. Something I didn’t expect at all. And now she’s in the shower and I feel like I fucked up our friendship or whatever he had between each other beyond repair. My entire worldview feels kinda off.

I think I’m in love with her. I’ve been a terrible roommate. I’ve been a terrible person tbh. I don’t know what we are now. I don’t even know if I have the right to ask. But I think I love her. And I have no idea what the fuck I’m supposed to do.

Please help. And be nice this time, pls.

u/GrassToucherGeto · 183 upvotes

Is this the same guy who posted that viral “AITA for expecting my roommate to fuck me because I did the dishes” thread a few weeks ago?

u/KingNaoya69 · 56 upvotes

You fucked her? Good shit bro. Don’t fuck it up this time.

Satoru looked up the second you returned, now wearing his t-shirt, your hair still damp and smelling like strawberries again. Something in his chest went soft at the sight of you. You looked so prettily blissed-out, eyes cutely half-lidded, his t-shirt fitting you so so nicely, leaning against the doorframe and he couldn’t quite believe you were actually fucking real.

He was still sitting on the floor, holding a bottle of kitchen cleaner in one hand and a roll of paper towels in the other, and having no fucking idea what he was doing. Which, to be fair, he kinda did because what the hell do you even do with a room soaked in oil?

You sighed and gave him a soft, tired look. 

“‘Toru,” you said gently. “You’re not going to be able to clean this mess up right now. Just go wash up.” You paused, biting your lip. “Let’s just sleep in my room tonight, alright?”

He blinked up at you, panicked and hopeful all at once. Did you just say sleep in your bed? Him in your bed?

You tilted your head, giving him the softest smile you’d given him yet. And that was all it took. He for sure didn’t need to be told twice. If you insist, m’lady and tips his fedora confused. He dropped the cleaner without a second thought and basically sprinted down the hall.

He took the fastest, most aggressive shower of his entire life, scrubbing the residual oil and shame and probably a layer or two of his skin like he was trying to erase the last few hours.

When he finally crept into your bedroom, the lights were already off and you were in bed. He climbed in beside you and the sheets smelled like you. It was warm, it was safe and it kinda made the anxiety in his chest go away for now.

You shifted over without opening your eyes, throwing an arm across his chest and tucking your face into the crook of his neck, planting a little kiss over his pulse point. You fell asleep almost instantly.

Satoru lay there staring up at the dark ceiling, gently nuzzling the top of your head with his cheek still not believing this is the reality now. But an overwhelming sense of peace settled over him.

Carefully, so as not to wake you, he reached for his phone one last time.

He opened Reddit and went back to his post. The comments had already blown up again. Some people calling the story fake, others demanding more details about the cock ring, a few calling him a simp.

Satoru smiled to himself. 

He typed out one final edit.

Update: Nvm, she’s tucked into my side. Take this as a PSA to all the other incels out there. Mods, please flag this as SOLVED.

Your lips purse as Gojo leans forward, raking his hands over his face before resting his head in his hands.

Oh. Oh.

You approach him slowly, taking a seat beside him on the couch. He doesn’t react, thumbs pressed to his temples. You flick the light switch behind you, letting the room go dark as you gently lay your palms over his, urging him to drop his hands from his temples as you press a kiss to his forehead.

His breath fans your forearms as you adjust to carefully lay his head in your lap, his legs hanging over the arm of the plush furniture. Running your fingers through his hair, you massage his scalp as his hair cascades over your thighs.

Comfortable silence settles between you as he relishes in the moment, his muscles gradually relaxing. The harsh furrow to his brow begins to slack, his expression going neutral as he leans his face into your body.

He didn’t think about it when he teleported here, it just felt right. He knows now it’s because he craved your comfort, your touch, and he didn’t know it yet.

“I’m so, so sorry, pretty girl,” he sighs, burying his face into your torso as he blindly reaches for your hand. He finds it with ease, a feat of his six eyes surely, and brings it to his lips, lingering in a kiss against your knuckles.

“I forgive you, Toru, it happens,” you tell him. “Headache?”

“Somethin’ like that,” he sighs, gripping your hand tightly. “I’m sorry, pretty. I’m sorry.”

“I told you I forgive you,” you tell him, a sympathetic smile on your face. His blue eyes flicker open, squinting even in the darkness of the late evening as he struggles through his headache. Still, relief swirls in his eyes when he sees the sincere look on your face.

Although he has a habit of pushing your buttons and riling you up, those are things you’ve always loved about him. You’re well aware of his status, of just how little respect is directed towards him as a person rather than an instrument of destruction. Now, looking into his gorgeous cerulean irises, this is one of those moments where you can see just how human he truly is.

“Still up for sushi?” He asks, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. His head still pounds, evidenced by the faint tension in his forehead, but it’s tolerable with you at his side.

You return his smile, nodding. “With dessert,” you insist. His grin widens and you giggle at the sight, glad to have your boyfriend back.

Large palms pull you down by the back of your neck as he kisses you softly, his lips moving with slow and pure intentions as he conveys his love for you. “Now you’re speakin’ my language,” he hums against your lips.

Satoru needs comfort sometimes too, and you’re grateful he chooses to seek that in you.

masterlist

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‎ ‎ ‎ ✶ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 (can be read in any order) ‎ ‎ ‎ ( the ones marked with ✶ are written parts )

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ┊ boss if you make her cry one more time our stock plummets ✶

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ┊ our new intern wears chanel to work

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ┊ team building is why our company’s in shambles

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ┊ do ghosts work overtime?

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ┊ the security files (they almost got fired)

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‎ ‎ ‎ ✶ ݁ TAGLIST

the ones that filled up this form will automatically be tagged! you can also comment or send me an ask :)

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as if it were a slap in the face, you blinked again, eyes fully open now as you craned your head to face your left when you felt the body next to you shift slightly with your subtle movements; having forgotten where you were and how you got there until your brain tuned in on the sound and feel of deep, slow breaths fanning the nape of your neck.

you were in satoru’s bedroom. in satoru’s arms. you wanted to be surprised, but if you were honest with yourself there was absolutely nothing surprising about both your and satoru’s behavior anymore; especially not after months of it.

you sighed at the sight of satoru beside you, because as much as you’d wanted there to be boundaries in what you both did, those lines only got more blurred the longer this went on. this — this unspoken arrangement between you two. a night of fire and passion that ended with you falling asleep in satoru’s arms, only for you to wake up the next morning realizing you’d lost sight of where the line is. you lost sight of when it’d started feeling so much more intimate, so much more than just a friends with benefits deal you both neither proposed nor opposed. 

but that wasn't your favorite part about it.

your favorite part of this unofficial arrangement — something all your mutual friends seemed to know about but never questioned, something that made your desire to feel satoru’s lips on yours after one too many drinks feel so natural. something that engraved the sound of satoru’s deep moans into your memory banks like a record stuck on repeat, constantly echoing in your head as your own hands wandered under your bedsheets on most other nights.

it was not just the sensation of feeling so full of satoru, but rather being wrapped up in him, cradled into his warm embrace under the thick comforter draped over your shoulders. evened out breaths coming out in slow exhales as satoru hid his face in your hair, one arm wrapped around your midsection, tucked under your elbow and over your stomach, his palm laying flat against the often bared skin. the other arm was always either folded against your back, hand resting underneath his head, or it would be laying flat underneath you and around your shoulders, reaching around you and tangling in your own arms.

(on one morning a while back, you found you’d grabbed satoru’s hand at one point in the night, or satoru may have grabbed yours. but your intertwined fingers had left a tingling sensation in you that continued to burn in your fingertips for the following week — a fire that’s yet to be put out)

the feeling of being wrapped up in satoru’s embrace. all the warmth, the safety that seems to come with it. that’s your favorite part of this whole thing — feeling warm, feeling safe. wanted.

in the crisp december air, the cold often radiated through the drywall and into satoru’s apartment, leaving it much cooler than it was the first morning you had woken up in his bedroom all those months ago. it was during february earlier in the year, the night of suguru’s birthday party. held at satoru’s place, everyone had gotten drunk off beer and rum, and were all passed out in the living or guest rooms. with the exception of you and satoru, who’d both stumbled into satoru’s room after a drunken dare.

your lips first met his in the direction of a spinning glass bottle, and they hadn’t parted until your back hit the mattress of satoru’s bed, only separating to gasp when satoru’s wandering hands slipped underneath your shirt. and when you woke the next morning, the first of many with him, the incessant pounding in your head from your hangover was not nearly as strong as the pounding in your heart when your remembered what happened. you swore off alcohol to avoid crossing any more lines with your best friend ever again, but that rule was quickly forgotten the following week when you all got together once again. when you woke up in satoru’s embrace, again.

even as the months passed, and the temperature oscillated as the seasons changed, it did nothing to change the sheer warmth that spread throughout your chest every morning you woke up in satoru’s apartment. in fact, as it got colder now, in contrast satoru’s embrace around you only seemed to get warmer. you secretly craved this warmth.

shifting in his hold, you turned your body to face satoru completely, head falling back down on the pillow as you lay on your side. in his sleep, you observed, satoru was at his most vulnerable state. his underlying neediness was most evident in the way he held onto you, as if he was afraid that you would float away from him if he were to let go. the delicateness of his snow-white eyelashes that settled over his cheekbones were a marvelous sight on its own; the contrast between the snowy strands and his soft pink cheeks stood out to you like nothing you’d ever seen.

the sunlight seemed to embrace satoru in its own way as well, kissing every inch of his face as it leaked through the blinds, making itself at home. you couldn’t help the flutter in your heart as you watched satoru in his peaceful slumber; a beautiful sight you were lucky enough to witness. 

it was something you still couldn’t believe you were experiencing. it was something you felt like you could write stories and songs and poems about, rambling on and on about his ocean-like eyes and sharp features morphing into soft, delicate ones around the edges, an almost perfectly symmetrical beauty that was all-natural… and you just couldn’t keep it to yourself.

“i don’t get it.” you would mumble, softly as first, your hand coming up to card your fingers through your hair as you glanced at the kitchen entrance for a brief second to make sure no one else would walk in on your conversation. “why do i feel so lucky to have a taste of something that will never truly belong to me?”

“honestly,” another one of your closest friends shoko ieiri, usually the one to hear these emotional ramblings, shrugged at your words. “the unspoken part of this unofficial arrangement is as surprising to me as it is to you. you two are very talkative with each other, but there’s something you both have to come to terms with that i can’t help you figure out. you gotta do it on your own.” is what she’d reply with, nudging at your shoulder when you would shake your head in response again.

“i don’t… i don’t know what i think, what i feel. i mean, i- he’s my best friend.”

“why are you telling me this? i already know that.” shoko replies nonchalantly, and you suddenly feel like you’ve had this conversation a thousand times before. every time it takes you no further than the point you’re currently at. “does satoru know that, or does he think it’s something else? something more?”

for a moment, satoru’s breath comes out in a quiet snore, loud enough to pull you from your thoughts and back to the sight in front of you. satoru’s lips stretch into a thin line, his eyebrows furrowing slightly as he swallows before his face relaxes again, evidence that he was still fast asleep. the corners of your own lips twitch upwards at the sight, fighting back a smile of endearment. if you knew any better, you’d say you were growing feelings for satoru, but there’s no way that’s what’s happening… right?

besides, from your own understanding of it, being in love was supposed to feel like you were flying. you didn’t feel that around satoru.

instead, however, you look at satoru and think he is the one flying instead, forever chasing his youth in the sun. reflecting the warmth it radiates into his interactions with everyone around him, always bubbling with energy and full of love in his own unique ways. something about his ability to switch the mood of every room he’s ever been in (for better or for worse) has had you stuck to his side like a magnet, drawing you in closer and closer until you found you couldn’t escape. or at least, you hadn’t wanted to. 

you think of the story of icarus when you look at satoru, of a boy flying higher and higher to fully soak in the sun, but rather than having his wings melt off, for satoru they grow stronger. as if he was born of the sun, recharging and bringing this bright energy back to all the people he cares about, even as it burned him a little bit in the process.

satoru snores again, and you have to chew on your lower lip to stifle a giggle when you catch sight of his mouth hanging open again against the pillow. your own face relaxes into a soft smile, unable to take your eyes off of satoru. something about the morning after a night with him always makes your chest feel tight, a feeling you weren’t too familiar with and weren’t necessarily sure you were enjoying. it constantly tugged at your heartstrings the longer you looked at him and it felt… odd. letting out a shaky breath, hesitantly, your hand went up to brush a few strands of hair from satoru’s forehead.

slowly, you began to run your fingers through satoru’s hair, and as your brain was starting to catch up with you, you nearly snatched your hand away when satoru stirred. he hadn’t woken up yet, but he hummed in his sleep, shifting his head slightly as if he was subconsciously attempting to lean into the soft touch of your hands. you felt the tightness in your chest again.

a small groan rumbled in the back of satoru’s throat, and while you continued to card your fingers through the white strands, satoru shifted again and your heart stopped when you realized satoru was waking up. pulling your hand back immediately, it found its way underneath your head on the pillow, and before satoru’s eyes had opened you shut your own, pretending to be fast asleep as satoru woke up.

though you couldn’t see him with your eyes closed, you heard the loud yawn escape satoru’s lips, and imagined his fluttering eyelids adjusting to the sunlight. satoru lifted his arm from around your stomach presumably to stretch, and you had to fight back a smile while hearing a small squeak escape satoru’s lips. his arm then fell back around your middle, exhaling again. now came the part you always secretly dreaded.

it was silent for a moment, save for the soft sounds of satoru’s breath escaping his nose. as per most other mornings where satoru would wake up first (or so he thought; you usually pretended to be asleep whenever he did), you had expected satoru to unwrap the long limbs embracing you, always in a slow manner to prevent you from waking up. after satoru would release you from his hold, he’d either distance himself in bed to not weird you out when you awoke, or he would actually get up and drag himself to the bathroom in the hallway, closing the door on the shroud of intimacy you both shared in your slumber.

you were already thinking of how you would pretend to wake up when satoru would begin moving.

but satoru didn’t do any of that this time around. instead, you heard him hum deeply, and your gut feeling told you satoru’s eyes were glued to your face, perhaps even with an endearing smile of his own; but you didn’t want to entertain the possibility too far. you felt satoru lift his arm again, and to your surprise, satoru’s hand came up to your face. his gentle touch was almost enough to make you combust, suddenly overcome once again with the intensity of a foreign feeling you desperately tried to bury. satoru’s fingertips touched your cheek, softly at first, his hand almost cupping your face. he then began to move up to brush your hair off your forehead and trace his fingers from your hairline all the way across your scalp until his hand finally settled at the nape of your neck. 

unexpectedly, satoru moved the arm he had around your shoulders a little lower to wrap around your midriff instead, and he swiftly pulled you closer into his embrace, carefully tucking your head underneath his chin and into his chest as he fully wrapped both arms around you, your legs tangling with his in the process. you felt your heart stop and then start again, beating twice as fast this time around.

“i know you’re awake.” satoru mumbled against your hair, and your eyes snapped open. “relax… i’m just getting more comfortable.” he yawned, his tone groggy and thick with sleep. you sighed into his chest and caved, allowing yourself to relax in his arms.

“it’s cold this morning…” he hummed softly after a beat of silence, one of his hands absentmindedly rubbing your back to generate more heat for you. satoru closed his eyes again, exhaling slowly, and it almost sounded like he was going to fall back asleep. his grip around you tightened ever so slightly. “you sleep well?” 

you didn’t know what to say in response. anything you had intended on saying — like some rinse-and-repeat from every other morning you’ve woken up with him — died on your tongue, as you were completely distracted by the soft thump of his heartbeat in his chest instead. if you pressed your ear against it and concentrated a little further, you’d have heard the way it fluttered just the slightest bit when you melted further in his embrace. 

satoru’s brows furrowed when you didn’t respond, slowly loosening his grip around you to pull your head back. “lemme see you…” he murmured, his tone gentle and sweet and enough to make your heart do a pathetic little flip. he cupped your jawline, tilting your head back enough for you to meet his eyes. even when he’s half-asleep, the intense gaze he holds in his irises makes you feel like your world is spinning. his thumb brushed over your cheekbone, gentle in the way he traced the pad of it over your flushed skin. the corners of his lips twitched upwards, just enough for you to notice the gears turning in his head as he thought of something to say. “you’re blushing.”

and just like that, all the tension in the air snapped like a twig. with a loud groan, you tucked your face back into his shoulder, feeling him shake beside you as a breathless laugh rippled through his chest. “you’re annoying…” you grumbled in response, your voice muffled against his skin. you could already picture the way he must have beamed with a mischievous glint in his eyes, if his arms squeezing you gently told you anything about his reaction. he hummed softly, contently. 

the silence that followed wasn’t awkward, but it was… deafening. his soft breath tickled the back of your neck, and you felt like you were supposed to do something. anything. this is the longest you both had stayed in bed together after waking up, it felt like you were waiting for something to happen but nothing did, and it made your stomach twist in all sorts of knots. having modesty regarding your body around satoru is old news, but moments like this made you want to curl up and hide yourself from him. moments like this make you wonder if he still held any sort of attraction towards you after the alcohol was filtered out of his system.

“you bored already?” he murmured softly when he felt you starting to slip from his embrace, your body completely stiff as you pulled away from him. the slight amusement in his voice was only overshadowed by the sleepy tone he used, indicative of the fact that he was not fully present to notice how much you were internally freaking out. “kinda wanted to lay here with you a bit longer, but i guess if you wanna get up…” satoru trailed off then, his mouth forming a small, playful pout. you suddenly felt the urge to kiss his stupid, sleepy face.

“oh, i just…” you trailed off as well, unsure what to say. what were you supposed to say, anyway? you don’t think that telling him ‘hey, sorry i’m just kinda freaking out because i think i have very real feelings for you and every time you look at me like that i want to either kiss you or hide under the sheets’ would go so well. “just… didn’t think you wanted to sleep in, is all…’ you added, hoping it was a good enough excuse for him to brush off your words. (spoiler alert: it was not.)

“you’re not gettin’ all shy on me now, are you?” he teased gently, a lopsided grin tugging at his mouth as his fingers found your wrist, lightly tugging you towards him again. “don’t you think we’re both way past that already?” he chuckled, his eyes shining a little more when he saw the way the blush crept down your neck. 

“i’m not, it’s just that…” you sighed heavily, and the conflicted furrow in your brows made satoru blink a little bit in surprise, as if he was just catching on to how nervous you feel. his thumb rubbed along the skin of your wrist comfortingly, and he scooted closer to lay his head on the very pillow you used, his nose just brushing against yours in the process. “you okay?” he asked when you remained silent, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it before.

“don’t you… don’t you think this has been going on for too long already?” you mumbled after a moment of silence, choosing your words carefully as you searched his eyes for any reaction from him. when his expression remained neutral, likely a conscious decision on his behalf, you took a deep breath before you continued talking. “like, it’ll be a year in 2 months, and we never even really talked about this. is that not… concerning you at all?” you added, a little hesitantly. when he blinked at you is when you noticed how tightlipped he looked, as if he was holding back the natural reaction he wanted to have to your words. you wished he wouldn’t hold it back.

“well…” he started after considering your words for a moment, exhaling softly. “do you want to? talk about it, i mean,” he says, stammering just a little bit over his words. he swallowed thickly, looking down at your wrist in his hands, and then back up at your face. “are you… having regrets?”

you hesitated in your response, and his expression seemed deflated when you didn’t respond immediately, as if he’d expected a different answer from you. “i think it’s too late for regrets.” you settled on, and something in your chest ached when his expression faltered for just a moment.

“so… that’s a yes, then?” he asked after a moment, because he needed to hear you say it exactly as it was. you sighed softly, shifting a little bit to lay on your back as you opted to look up at the ceiling for the sake of your fluttering chest.

“yes… and no…” you said, and you could feel satoru shift as well as he lifted his head slightly to look down at your face. he let go of your wrist, and the absence of the warmth of his touch was noticed immediately. 

“i’m gonna need you to elaborate more on that before i share my response.” 

your lips pursed a little bit as you thought of what to say, your thumb fiddling over your bare stomach underneath the blanket. “yes, i’m having regrets. no, it’s… not in the way you’re thinking.” you mumbled after a moment, your eyes glued to the streams of light that filtered through the blinds, the small shapes casted across the ceiling being your excuse to avoid satoru’s gaze. “every night we spend together is like nothing I’ve ever felt before. it feels so good, so…” you bit your lip and shook your head, getting a little worked up just at the reminder of how good in bed satoru is. “it’s… its too good. i keep coming back for more, and you’re already such an important part of my life, i’m worried that i-… that i’ll…”

“…that you’ll fall for me?” satoru interjected carefully, and it was then that you turned your head to look at him beside you. his voice was so quiet, and the vulnerability he held in his eyes made you feel like you just had to kiss all his worries away. you’re not worried you’ll fall for him, you’re worried that you already have.

you didn’t respond, but he could see it in your eyes. the hesitation, the longing. months and months of pacing back and forth in your room for days after every night spent together, wondering why your heart was beating the way it was when you thought about him. wondering why you found every excuse to be with him, why your heart skipped a beat whenever he texted or called you randomly. “i just wanted to hear from you,” he would say each time, as if talking to you as frequently as he already did was a necessity for him. likewise, you found that on the days you both were too busy to see or speak to each other it always felt like something was missing. and when you both caught up as soon as you had the time, it felt like you could finally breathe again.

“can i be honest with you?” he spoke after a moment, exhaling softly as he dropped his head back down onto the pillow, laying on his back as well to mirror your own position as you both stared up at the ceiling of his room. “'course, ‘toru. i’m listening.”

he frowned a little bit when you used his nickname, hating the way his heart skipped a beat, but he sighed and continued anyway. “i don’t want this to stop.” he paused then, as if he cut himself off because his heart was about to leap out of his body through his throat. he swallowed roughly. “i want to keep doing this with you… i-… i want to do so much more with you…” he confesses, and the uncharacteristic hesitance in his tone almost makes it hard for you to believe what he’s saying. 

“you want… more…?” you asked carefully, simultaneously unsure and completely aware of what he was trying to say, but you had to hear him say it in clearer words to be safe. “what- um, what did you have in mind?” you almost feel like slapping yourself, just to make sure you’re still awake. 

satoru allows a small smile to creep on his face, if only for a moment, before replying. “i want to be with you like this every day- not, uh, not that we have to hook up every day- i mean, i wouldn’t necessarily complaineither if i’m being honest with you, but-“ he stammered as he tried to steady his train of thoughts and his rapidly beating heart. it was stupidly endearing. 

he shook his head again, effectively snapping himself out of it. “just… this-“ he paused, lifting his arm and gesturing a hand between the two of you. “i like this, this calmness. i just… like being with you like this.” for a man who never stopped talking, satoru only ever seemed to be at a loss for words when it came to describing his own feelings — when it came to voicing his own needs and desires, letting other people into a vulnerable part of his heart that he would sometimes seal away even from himself; as if burying it deep within his soul would make it easier to ignore.

you didn’t respond for a moment, instead letting his words settle in your mind and in your heart. you felt his fingertips brush against your wrist again, looking down to see him hesitantly coiling his fingers around the base of your palm. torn between holding your hand and giving you whatever space you needed to process his subtle confession. 

“you just…” he started to add after another moment of silence, his heart hammering in his chest. he doesn’t think he’s ever felt so nervous before, the sensation crawled all the way down to his fingertips and it took everything in him to keep them from trembling. “you make me feel crazy, y’know?” he said with a breath of a laugh, but his clipped tone of voice showed anything but amusement. “like, i don’t think i’ve ever felt so strongly about someone. when this all started, i thought-“ he cleared his throat, probably an excuse to hide the slight shake of his voice. “i thought you also felt the same way. but if you don’t, then…” his voice got a little quiet by the end, and you turned your head to see he was avoiding your gaze now, his eyes fixed on the ceiling with a tight furrow in his brows. he looked hurt.

“so, you’re saying… you like me?” you asked a little dumbly. satoru huffed in mild frustration, his cheeks flushing a soft shade of pink. 

“that’s precisely what i’m saying.” 

you hummed in response, and when you turned to look up at the ceiling again you felt a small smile tugging at your lips. “…okay.” is all you said. you felt satoru shift beside you, like he was expecting the worst to come of your response, but when you turned your wrist in his grasp to slide your fingers in between his, he stiffened a little bit before relaxing and gently squeezing your hand.

“so…” he spoke up after a few moments of silence, his tone still nervous. “that’s alright with you, then?”

you glanced at him with a small smile, your gaze softening when you saw the way he nervously chewed on his lower lip in anticipation. “i think it is, yeah…” you whispered softly.

the smile he gave you made your heart flutter in your chest. he let out a breath of relief, his face flushing a little bit as he gazed at you with so much affection — the same way he always looked at you. except now, you could finally put a name to what that look in his eyes was.

there wasn’t much else to say after that. neither of you needed to say anything else. it was reminiscent of the way this whole thing started — in satire’s bed all those months ago. there wasn’t much of a need to discuss it after the first few weeks, because you both knew where you’d end up by the evening on most nights anyway. you knew each other like the sun knows the moon, and it couldn’t be any clearer right now. there was no need to further discuss what it would mean for you two moving forward from this conversation, because now you both knew exactly what you wanted — and that was each other. 

Created months prior to either of your other caretaking androids, Satoru was a prototype, the beginning stage of what had later become the basis for Suguru and Sukuna.

And, at your time of meeting, he had been very, very damaged. 

The story had been long winded and frightening— something about a crazed competitor and a gun— and resolution had come in the form of a bullet hole between the white-haired android’s eyes. 

He was destined to become scrap after that, and had only been kept around at all so he could act as a pool of potential spare parts for Suguru and Sukuna… 

That is, until the day you’d been asked to bring in your two androids for calibration testing. 

It had to have been a Wednesday, because that was the only weekday you had off from classes that wasn’t already taken up by scheduled hours of rest or appointments. You had been listening to a familiar voice ramble on and on about the subject of androids, and all of the ways that yours in particular were special, when suddenly, a loud clatter came from the metal table to your left. 

And when you’d looked over, there he was. 

Satoru Gojo sat up in all of his glory, the white sheet that had once been used to cover him now pooled around his waist as he looked around the room, the synthetic hair of his eyebrows shifting as they furrowed. 

He was so pretty you’d almost choked on your own saliva. 

The familiar voice that had been droning on to the right of you paused as the being moved upon the lab table, human eyes watching intently as the previously non-operational android seemed to search for something, fingers twitching uselessly along the edges of the metal he sat upon, refusing to respond to the mechanical signals being sent from his super computer of a brain. 

And when his eyes had finally locked with your own, you’d been unable to hold back the gasp that left you. 

Blue so bright it was almost blinding stared back at you, artificial pupils dilating as if he’d found exactly what it was he’d been looking for. 

“Satoru.”

The voice from your right snapped you out of your reverie immediately, but it notably failed to do the same for the android in question, who continued to stare in a manner that would have had Sukuna growling if only he were awake to see it. 

“Satoru.” 

The voice called out again, amusement evident beneath the commandeering nature of the tone— and this time, the mechanical marvel sitting upon the table dignified the owner of it with the shifting of his gaze. 

“Huh.” The voice muttered, moving to circle the android as it watched on curiously, seemingly unaware of the less than subtle hole in his forehead. 

“How curious.” It continued, glancing back and forth between you and Satoru several times before finally, those lips curled into a smile you should have known better than to trust. 

“How would you like a third android?” 

And the rest was history. 

You’d returned home later that afternoon with three androids in tow, and a stack of papers documenting all of the special care your “damaged” model would require— which included several dates of important appointments he would have to attend to undergo repairs. 

And sure, there were plenty of adjustments that had to be made, what with the three giant androids who now roamed your house and prioritized your care (which, looking back on things, was really just a nice way of saying that they told you what to do), but regardless, the transition was relatively smooth. 

You went from being a lonely college student to a girl with three fully unique and completely customized android caretakers— all of whom had a singular pre-programed goal in mind— to keep you healthy and out of harm's way. 

Outside of that, the three machines wanted for nothing, too advanced to be distracted by something so fickle as desire. 

Well, at least that was how they were at first. 

But it was hard to think back to that when Suguru was looking down at you with such hungry eyes— gaze laden with a want that you never would have believed he could muster just a few years prior.

Except he wasn't nearly as robotic now as he was back then, and you could feel the evidence of that fact press hard against your inner thigh as you sat upon his lap in the dimly lit spare room of your apartment.

When he had first “moved in”, the android had been quick to transform the space into an office of sorts, determined to make use of the otherwise empty room. That was a very Suguru thing to do, you’d discovered— to witness an unused space and within it see an opportunity for productivity where others might see a place to put a family.

Or, at least, that was how he'd thought upon his arrival.

And it wasn't as if a change of heart would have made any difference.

An android was an android, and the only family he could ever hope to have was you and the fools he called comrades. 

Still, this suited him just fine, because in his mind, you were the only person, only fleeting thing, only perfect idea— that would ever be worth “loving”.

He had no interest in anything else that might take up space in his cold mechanical heart.

So, there you sat, in a room that in another lifetime might have housed a child or hobby— looking up at Suguru’s familiar face as he stared back at you with eyes of molten amber, the air so thick with tension that it was a wonder that it didn’t hurt to breathe. 

And maybe that was why you’d been holding your breath since you'd first taken your seat. 

Not that you'd noticed.

The android in question continued to gaze down at you, expression as emotionless as ever despite the fervent desire behind his eyes, until finally, he placed his hand below your breasts— directly above where lungs resided— and spoke.

"Breathe." He uttered simply. 

There was an uncharacteristically raspy note to his voice as he spoke, as if his manufactured vocal chords had somehow developed the ability to go underutilized despite their inhuman nature.

You shivered at the sound, but did as he said, drawing a deep breath into your aching lungs. 

He watched on in what almost appeared to be wonder as your chest expanded beneath his hand before contracting once more, and he remained almost transfixed on the sight until finally, a gentle sigh of his name from your lips had him looking back to your eyes.

A starved yearning awaited you within his gaze, and if not for the years spent getting so very used to him, it probably would have surprised you in its intensity. 

But, of course, this was your Suguru, and you knew him as well as the air you breathed. 

Slowly, the android removed his hand from your diaphragm, dragging it upward until familiar fingers found your jaw, his thumb tugging at your bottom lip as he watched intently for your reaction.

"Did you need something, little one?" He murmured casually, tone so thick with saccharine amusement that it was almost mocking— but of course, you knew his particular brand of teasing well enough to know that this wasn’t quite it. 

This was thinly veiled pining— although for what, you couldn’t quite tell. 

Still, not wanting to leave his question so rudely unanswered, you shook your head. "I just wanted to know what you were doing all alone in here. We miss you."

And, of course, your words weren’t entirely truthful, but you knew he’d catch the meaning behind them regardless. 

After all, even just the idea of Satoru or Sukuna missing Suguru was ridiculous. So, of course, it wouldn’t take much thought for him to realize you spoke only of yourself, no matter how vulnerable it made you feel to know it. 

How strange it was to long for a being made of metal and plastic rather than flesh and bone. 

How strange it was to love something that believed he could never love you back. 

Above you, Suguru gave a gentle hum of understanding, pulling his uncalloused hand, adorned with the softest of synthetic flesh, away from your face. 

"My apologies. I've been looking into potential leads regarding your brother's case.”

He spoke casually, as if the words were nothing at all— but you could see frustration beginning to darken his otherwise bright amber irises. He had been deeply displeased with the slow-going progress of your brother’s investigation for weeks now, always so very eager for a resolution, no matter the cost. 

“This is all far too exhausting for you to keep up with, and the pace the investigators have taken up isn’t anywhere close to satisfactory.” 

His continued rant on the subject only served to solidify your theory about his growing frustration further. It was, after all, incredibly rare for Suguru to voice his annoyances, and to do so with you was borderline unthinkable nine times out of ten. 

So, him speaking so plainly of his qualms with the government’s investigation spoke volumes about the depths of his disdain.

You frowned both at the reminder of your brother’s situation and Suguru’s displeasure in tandem, wishing hopelessly for a solution that would not come. 

“That isn’t your responsibility, Suguru.” You insisted softly, reaching up tuck his bangs back behind his ear so you could see him better. “I don’t want you to get in trouble.” 

Deep down, you knew that your concerns about him butting heads with the investigators were mostly feigned, merely acting as an excuse for you to express your worry. 

After all, even if the android somehow did mess up and get caught meddling in police business, it wouldn’t be him facing the repercussions. 

Suguru was just an android— it was you who they would assume told him to look into things in the first place.

And in all other circumstances, with all other androids, they would have been right to do so. 

But in this particular instance, that wasn’t the case. 

It had been a long time since your androids had thoughtlessly obeyed your every command— a fact which you had long since decided must be a side effect of their programming, which instructed them to prioritize your health over even the most direct of orders. 

Of course, if you had thought about that harder you might have realized just how different your caretakers had become throughout the years, having gone from almost entirely robotic beings to the closest thing you had to friends after what felt like eons of medically necessary solitude. 

But that would have required the desire to question your situation and the beings who made it bearable. 

And you lacked that— distinctly. 

You knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

“I am aware that this isn’t my responsibility.” Suguru’s voice brooked no uncertainty as he spoke, the hand that had so recently cradled your jawline shifting to steady the anxious squirming of your hips— a habit of yours he was intimately aware of, even if you almost always failed to notice it. “But you are.” 

He spoke like he understood everything there was to know about the world— and given that he knew all there was to know about you— he did, at least as far as he was concerned. 

In response to his delicate certainty, you floundered, mouth opening and closing as you fought to find the right words to say through a growing haze of bashfulness. “Suguru, you-we-I-” 

The android watched your attempts at a coherent response with clearly growing amusement, one perpetually perfect brow raising above the other as he tilted his head to the side, undoing your previous efforts to tuck his bangs back behind his ear. 

“Yes?” He all but purred, both hands now moving to squeeze at your waist, an unsubtle reminder for you to stop your unconscious squirming lest it lead to a situation you had found yourselves in many times before. 

His lips quirked up at the edges when he noted your apparent refusal to pay his warning any heed several seconds later. 

“Uncomfortable?” He questioned casually, his movements anything but as he dragged you ever closer upon his lap. “You haven’t stopped squirming since you sat down.” 

And of course, he knew full well why that was— could feel the ache of desire present in every single one of his systems, and between his legs most of all. 

But how was he meant to help it when you’d approached him so shamelessly, your true intentions apparent no matter how unwilling you were to admit them aloud. 

You’d claimed to have missed him— and the scan he had performed upon your arrival had proved that you weren’t exactly false— but rather choosing to leave out several important details. 

Like how you were ovulating, and the fact that, as hard as you’d tried, the memory of the last time he’d had you just hadn’t been enough to work yourself to completion upon your own fingers— so pitifully small in comparison to his own. 

Suguru watched as your gaze darted away from his own in response to his words, suddenly sheepish in a way that never failed to amuse him. 

He had been built solely to care for you— existed only to know your name, and yet, you seemed unable to comprehend how deeply he yearned to please you. 

And honestly, so did he. For, if he had known better, then his impending exit would have come far sooner indeed. 

“Shit, I’m sorry Suguru.” Taking his insistence regarding your stillness as a sign of discomfort on his part, your apology spilled forth before you even really knew what you were saying, anxiety sharpening the edges of each word you spoke. 

The android's response, however, proved that this was entirely unnecessary. 

Suguru’s penetrating gaze pinned you in place almost as efficiently as his hands, and he tutted as he shook his head in response to your hasty apology. Still sitting perched upon his thighs, you stiffened, feeling the fingers on one of his hands begin to drag upward once more, lingering briefly on your throat before they found the space just below your chin and curled, giving you no choice but to continue looking up at him. 

"Oh no, little one, don't mistake my restraint for disappointment," He began, running his thumb absentmindedly across your cheek, "It's just that when you get like this…” He paused briefly, a glimmer of something in his gaze that sent shivers down your spine, “I struggle not to think of the ways I might give you a real reason to squirm so prettily.”

And with that, it was as if the entire world outside of the room ceased to exist— every atom that made up the Earth crowding together to watch the hedonism that was sure to follow such lecherous words. 

"Please."

You were begging before your first coherent thought even came to you, eyes falling shut as your head tilted backwards just so you could feel the way his fingertips grazed your jaw when you did.

And when your next words came, they were whispered like a secret only he was meant to hear.

 "I want you to touch me."

Suguru chuckled in response, a taunting and almost strained sound that had you twitching with the effort it took to stay otherwise still upon his strong thighs.

"Oh, but little lamb, am I not touching you already?” He asked lowly, leaning in so that his lips grazed the shell of your ear,

"Or did you want more?"

You nodded fervently at his taunting question, lips parting in a fervent gasp for air as your hands clenched into fists in the space between you.

"More. Please more, Suguru I- ah!"

You cried out as his hand slid beneath your flimsy lounge shorts and past your cotton panties, thumb pressing mercilessly against your clit in a way that immediately had you bucking up against his hand, already desperate for any shred of pleasure he was willing to give you.

“Greedy thing.” He scolded, tone so full of mirth that he may as well have been laughing under his breath. 

Suguru had been the first (and so far the only) of the androids to touch you like this, always knowing exactly what you wanted without you ever needing to ask, and constantly eager to give it to you even in the moments where he feigned disinterest so well. 

In his mind, it was all for you.

Or, rather, that was how it had been at first.

In the beginning, your sexual pleasure had been all that he was after— the idea of relieving you of tension having once made him feel as if he was fulfilling his job of taking care of you.

But over time, things had changed. 

Now his mind raced when you whimpered beneath his touch, his thirium pump hammered when you squirmed atop his thighs, and the feeling of your slick walls clenching around his fingers never failed to make him wonder what they might feel like around his—

At that thought, something inside him snapped, years of built up want breaking him down in an instant as he continued to rub at your already swollen clit, lips pressed firmly against your ear as he spoke.

"It isn't right, you know?"

He all but choked out, hips bucking upward into you as he gave a low groan at the tension building within him. 

"The things I yearn to do to you, they aren't things I was ever supposed to want— not things I was ever supposed to feel."

His eyelids fluttered shut as he bit down on your neck, causing you to cry out when he sucked a mark into the supple skin there, as if desperate to prove that your ownership of him wasn’t simply one sided. 

He was yours, and you…

"Mine"

He hissed out as he stood, easily taking you with him and lifting you until you were sat upon the thick oak of his desk— allowing him to rub his still clothed erection against the soaked spot on your panties as you cried out for him relentlessly, mind delirious with the need to feel him fill you properly for the very first time.

He smirked at your half-choked pleas, using his now free thumb to push your underwear to the side before he slowly pressed two fingers inside of you— groaning as your warmth enveloped him.

Your responding whine was ruinous, pitchy and keening as your hips rocked up into his hand— urging him, begging him, to give you more, more, more. 

He groaned, eyes trained on your pretty little hole as he stretched you out around his digits, marvelling at how well you took everything he gave you, as if that was somehow precisely what you’d been made to do. 

“I want you to feel me.” He breathed against your ear, bending over your trembling frame at an angle that allowed him to press his fingers even deeper, knocking each and every precious thought right out of your head before they could even hope to fully form. 

“I want you to know exactly who it is that makes you feel this good.” 

He curled his deft fingertips then, applying pressure to that spongy spot within, wishing ardently that he could have even just a glimpse of what you saw when your eyes rolled back into your head, hips raising pitifully to meet his touch. 

He loathed the idea that you didn’t trust him to give you precisely what you needed, but could not quite deny the feeling of pride that surged through him upon seeing you so thoroughly ruined by hands that God had never touched— that had nonetheless touched a god themselves. 

There was something sickeningly beautiful about the vision you made when he held you like this, an art to you that made him understand sin and the purpose of poetry. 

He was so hard that it ached, a dull throbbing between his legs that made him both lament and revere his maker for having made his body so realistic and responsive. At first, things like this had never been a problem, but of course, that was before he’d ever even so much as thought about the way his manufactured flesh might look when pressed against your own, real skin. 

It was all so real. You made him feel so—

“Suguru!” 

As always, the sound of your voice calling his name snapped him right back to the you that unfurled before him, thighs spread wide and shoulders rising and falling visibly with each panted breath. 

Your eyes shone in the low light of the office space, glistening with unshed tears of bliss, and the thought of making you feel good enough that they might just fall and leave stains upon your perfect cheeks made something within the android shutter. 

“Please…” Breathless, trembling, and so foolishly unaware of how much power you held over him, Suguru watched as you brought a hand down to grip his own at the wrist, as if afraid he might stop if you didn’t use every ounce of your feeble human strength to keep him there. 

He wondered, briefly, how you’d managed to go so long without realizing that he had no desire to exist anywhere outside of you. 

Perhaps it was a better kept secret than he’d realised— even from himself. 

“In all these years,” the android spoke, voice warmed by the rasp that seemed to begin down in the hollow of his throat, “Have I still failed to teach you patience?” His fingers slowed then, rhythm shifting to something far more languid, better allowing him to feel every millimeter of your oh so willing flesh. 

So very adored, it was a mystery how you did not know it. 

Such was the relationship between cat and master— a fondness conveyed through slow blinks and quiet purrs that only one party understood. 

Beneath Suguru’s traitorous thumb, you keened, hips squirming in a pitiful attempt to fuck yourself properly upon his fingers. 

The android in question swallowed thickly at the sight, but his resolve to stretch your pleasure out further did not falter. 

It was rare, after all, that he indulged himself like this, for what purpose did he have to torture you so when you had not previously requested it? What slowly splintering part of his mechanical mind urged him to make these moments last longer when it so clearly was not you he did it for? 

Knowing full well that he was unlikely to be so lenient with himself in the future, Suguru thanked whatever deity who’d conceived of the mind that had made him for the large bank of precise memory storage in his computerized brain. 

As a result, he could see you like this as much as he liked if he so desired. 

But, of course, desiring was not what he had been created for. 

That, beyond even a shadow of a doubt, was you. 

Beneath him, you writhed in response to his words, the ache between your thighs so intense it seemed to reverberate up your belly and between your ribs. 

“I-” your words came out choked now, mind reeling as you tried to come up with some magical phrase that might end the sweet agony you’d endured at the hands of your most devoted. 

However, unbeknownst to you, there was no world where Suguru Geto could possibly require any convincing to fulfill your needs. And fulfill them he would— in due time. 

“I can’t—” you tried again, eyes beseeching and tender walls pliant beneath the placating pressure of his fingers. “I can’t cum like this.” you finally managed to gasp out around your own pleading mewls, nails beginning to dig into his synthetic flesh in your rearing desperation. 

And suddenly, the patient push and pull of familiar fingertips came to a halt, before slowly, agonizingly, they left you entirely. 

“Do you truly think I don’t know that?” 

He asked, dragging his gloss-slicked digits along the outer rim of your quivering hole, acting as a cruel juxtaposition to the way they’d felt while inside of you just a few moments prior. 

Beneath his ministrations, you repeated his given name like a prayer, and for the briefest of moments, Suguru wondered if that was all godhood truly was— hearing one’s name fall from a pair of lips until it was suddenly made meaningful. 

“Do you think I don’t know everything about you, down to the very marrow that makes up your bones?” 

Thumbing over your clit once more, he smeared your own slick about your inner thighs, adorning you with the mess he’d caused you to make with the very fingers that had made it manifest. 

“If I wanted to,” he continued, eyes trained on the space between your parted thighs as he used two fingers to spread apart your sticky folds, “I could have you cumming around my fingers in less than a minute.” His thumb descended upon your clit once more as he spoke, and you could have sworn you saw the corners of his lips twitch upward another millimeter or so in response to the choked noise you made in the back of your throat, hips rising of their own accord to meet him halfway. 

“So when I deny you pleasure,” he continued, parting from the heat between your thighs to tug at the flimsy fabric of your shorts, dragging them and your panties down, down, down until they were little more than a heap on the floor below. “I can assure you that it isn’t because I’ve failed to discern your needs.” 

With that, his hand descended upon your core with a single minded focus, middle and ring fingers pushing into you so readily that it drew a sharp gasp from your parted lips. 

Meanwhile, the digits on his free hand found the hollow of your throat before climbing slowly upward until they found your chin. 

There was something so very satisfying to him about physically holding your gaze— controlling the world you saw rather than the eyes you saw it through. It ruined him to see you like this, so debauched and eagerly awaiting his mercy, fervent in your belief that he had some to spare despite how cruel he’d shown he could be. 

“Oh god—!” Your ensuing cry was desperate, pretty eyes trained on hunger-darkened pools of amber as the android standing above you watched the path of the tears that had spilled down onto the contours of your cheeks. 

You were so pitiful, so beautiful, so you, and it made something far more troubling than Suguru’s cock ache to acknowledge that somewhere in the back of his mind. 

So, as if to shut himself out, he focused on his most favored distraction instead. 

The pace of his fingers quickened to something almost viscous in its determination, the force pressing them ever deeper until you could have sworn you could taste the pads of his printless fingers on the back of your tongue. 

“Not quite.” your android crooned mockingly, fingers crooking upward once more just to watch the way your hips jumped to meet him, so endless in their squirming desperation that you scarcely seemed to even notice anymore. “Besides,” his lips fell to the space just beside your ear, brushing ever so slightly against the shell of it as he continued, “When it's you, I prefer Suguru”.

The responding hitch in your breath made Suguru’s artificial blood run hot, and he watched the way your chest rose and fell with each panted breath, the act a stunning, jarring reminder of your feeble humanity. 

And all at once, you just seemed so fleeting. 

So terrifyingly fragile in a world that had no qualms with hurting you— here one day and gone the next, despite every maddening effort Suguru and his companions had made to keep you safe. 

He could hardly stand to think about it, and, as a result, could bring himself to starve you no longer, even for his own depraved self-satisfaction. 

Thus, his fingers pressed deeper, his grip on your chin grew firmer, and, as your own eyes fluttered open, he met their disarming weight with a gaze that betrayed how disgustingly besotted he was with each tender fragment of your soul. 

There wasn’t one atom of you that he did not yearn for, and suddenly, the android could no longer bring himself to care if you knew that as long as it culminated in him seeing the stars that played behind your eyelids when you finally came undone for him.

“Don’t look away.” he commanded breathlessly, interior cooling systems having long since kicked into overdrive, forcing him to draw in heavy, panting breaths of air. 

“I want you to watch me make you cum.”

In response to his words, the android felt your silken walls clamp instinctively around his relentlessly prodding fingers, each eager curl they made within you bringing you closer and closer to release. 

The pleasure was dizzying, and the urge to finally let your eyes roll back blissfully into your head was nearly as tantalizing as the act of coming itself— but even still, you couldn’t bring yourself to look away. 

Above you, Suguru’s beauty seemed almost ethereal, heightened somehow by the hunger in his gaze and the focused furrow of his brow. 

Did he know how perfect he was? 

Not the pristine parts that made him up, and not the pre-programmed urge he felt to keep you safe— but Suguru himself— the man he had somehow become, too real to be seen solely as a machine anymore. 

Did he know that? Did he know how certain you were of his humanity, as initially manufactured as it may have been? 

Did he realize how much he had changed? 

Your mind raced with these questions, thoughts splintering further and further into half-confused nonsense as the android somehow pressed his fingers deeper, hitting that spot within you that made your vision blur. 

And still, you saw him— exquisite, merciless— just as he did you. 

So, when his lips parted to insist that you let go for him, that you give into him, it was no surprise when you beat him to the punch. 

His name became a mantra upon your tongue, pleas for something you could not hope to understand beginning to sound more and more like prayers with each trembling separation of your lips from your tongue and teeth. 

Suguru watched you come apart in awe, barely resisting the urge to quell his own dull aching at the sight of your beautiful body being guided swiftly into rapture by his hand.

He worked you through your orgasm with a gentleness that belied the nature he swore he had, all too aware of how easy it would be to exhaust you into illness. 

Finally, once he was certain you’d managed to catch your breath, Suguru pulled away, taking a single step back to admire how you looked amongst the files that sat upon his desk, thighs trembling and cunt dripping. 

"Stunning." He murmured half-distractedly, reaching down to cup your cheek as if he just couldn’t help himself. 

And, strangely, he couldn’t— but that was difficult to focus on when he had you splayed out before him, eyes blissfully unfocused and hips wriggling in a tantalizing rhythm atop his desk. 

Briefly, he feared that you might just unmake him, reduce him to his base urges like some beast made of blood and bone rather than carefully calibrated software and synthetic skin. 

But then you spoke, and it felt far less like a fear, and far more like an inevitability. 

"I want you."

Your voice was barely above a whisper, but to Suguru it seemed nearly akin to a physical blow. 

To hear you desired him so fervently scratched an itch that had long gone untended to in the depths of whatever mockery of a soul he possessed. 

The android hummed, appearing as austere as ever even as his hands twitched at his sides. 

"You have me." He corrected, watching as your lips formed something not too far from a pout in response, as if you sought to torture him with their prominence. 

Drawing in a breath he wasn’t even sure if his systems required, Suguru bit back a groan, running a hand through his hair and over his face as he tried to retain the last vestiges of his control.

"I want you."

You repeated as you gazed up at the android, begging him to fall apart just once, to fall into you and let himself do this one thing he was not made for, to let himself commit the cardinal sin of a non-living thing— to claim the soul of another for himself, as if he had one he could ever offer up in return.

He seemed to shudder beneath your gaze, carefully maintained facade of control faltering as he took the vision you made in through half lidded eyes. 

And when he next spoke, his words came out half-choked and burdened with something akin to frustration. 

"You will be the death of me.” 

With that, Suguru leaned in to swiftly capture your lips, stepped forward between your parted thighs once more to allow his greedy hands better access to your sanctified skin. 

Far beyond surprised, you gasped into his mouth, hands moving to fist at the soft fabric of his shirt as his mouth moved against you so fervently it almost seemed that he desired to swallow you whole. 

Still, as impassioned as the kiss may have been, you found it to be incredibly short lived, as mere seconds after having pressed his lips to yours, Suguru reared back as if he’d been set ablaze, eyes wide and chest seeming to heave. 

His body felt so unnaturally warm, mind flooded with burdensome desires he could not help but fear.

Was this what it felt like to be human? To crave someone else’s body as if it were some long lost part of you?

If so, he vastly preferred the nothingness he had felt upon creation to this seemingly endless and maddening affliction that rattled him. 

Still reeling, the android took a staggering step back, eyes glued to your own, unable to will himself to move closer even as you reached out, worry etched into every single one of those perfect features he had come to associate with peace. 

Addled, he took another step away, and then another, before finally he was able to open his mouth and speak the only words he had to offer. 

"What have you done to me?"

You watched on in devastated confusion as the typically steadfast man seemed to flounder, gaze falling from you to his own two hands before he turned and stormed out of the room without warning, the resounding slam of the apartment door following soon after. 

And there you remained, sat naked below the waist atop his desk, until a confused Satoru came to find you, and you cried into his chest well beyond the setting of the sun. 

The next time you saw Suguru was several days later, when a bullet ripped straight through his chest, and his blood found a secondary purpose in the act of adorning your flesh. 

His tongue flattened against you as your body arched in response, keeping quiet becoming almost damn near impossible. 

And Gojo took it as a personal challenge, it seemed.

You weren’t sure how many orgasms you had had at this point already – the two of you had been pretty…busy, since the night before. With only a few days left to spare, who could blame you for wanting to make the most of your time together, right?

After that warm, relaxing bath, Satoru had wrapped you up in one of his shirts to protect you from the cold, but it was quickly tossed aside with some disputable fact about how body heat was better shared naked, and you didn’t bother arguing; preferring to feel his smooth, naked skin against your own, only the cold metal of the beautiful necklace he had gifted you between your bodies. 

You both slept for a few hours, all cosy and wrapped up in each other under the thick blankets, your cheek feeling so at home resting above his steady heartbeat. Every time you shifted a little, Satoru only hugged you closer, mumbling incoherently in his sleep, expression completely relaxed.

And when you blinked your eyes open, he was still right there. You weren’t sure why you expected him not to be, but waking up next to his messy hair and lazy eyes did something embarrassing to your heart.

When those blue eyes recognized you and his lips formed a smile – that completely undid you. 

And when he rolled you over for a deep kiss, you held on to his shoulders like you never wanted to let go. 

Soon a kiss to your lips turned into a kiss to your neck, your shoulders, your bare stomach. Before you knew it, his wild bed hair was between your thighs. 

And it had been there for a while now.

“Thaaat's it” he cooed as your orgasm inched closer and your hands fisted the sheets, moans beginning to escape though you tried to bite your lips to stop them. “Come on baby, drench me” he added, pupils all dilated at the sight of you so open and willing for him. 

Satoru added a finger to your entrance as his mouth moved its attention to your clit, sucking and twirling your sensitive bud around in a way he had worked out a couple hours ago would drive you insane. 

No one had ever bothered to learn your body like this before. 

It was overwhelming in the best way.

“There, there, Toru please” you cried out, made a blabbering mess underneath him, completely forgetting about propriety and neighbours and thin hotel walls. 

His blue eyes blinked up at you, opening a bright smile at the way you whimpered his nickname like that, only motivating him to keep ruining you. 

Satoru added another finger, curling them just right inside you as he continued to taste you with satisfied hums, pumping into you over and over until your vision went blotchy and your eyes were only able to focus on the delicious scene right in front of you.

His defined back muscles holding his toned torso between your thighs, working so hard to please you; the way his hips rutted against the mattress in repetitive motions like the lack of friction was driving him insane. The way those aquamarine eyes smiled at you once your body stopped shaking and he looked proud of his handiwork. 

“You're perfect” Satoru grinned, coming up to meet your face, pressing his lips to yours so you could taste yourself on his tongue. 

You both let out a little laugh through laboured breaths, struggling to suck air in through the overwhelming pleasure. His long fingers ghosted along the lenght your body, caressing the skin on your collarbone where his gift laid bare, a speckle of blue on your skin, a speckle of him. 

Satoru pushed himself up to get a proper look at you – all flushed and sweaty with the heavy stone that matched his eyes resting above the love bites he so eagerly left on you.

The look on his face was pure need. 

“…Again?” he asked with that mischievous smile that seemed able to convince you of anything. 

You didn’t leave the room at all that day.

December 29th

“Toru” you mumbled, nudging him with your head as he groaned beneath you.

You were in his room again, under the thick duvet again, holding him with no clothes on again. 

Your new favourite way to start the mornings.

But it was also downing on you how you would only get one more of those before you had to leave.

You wanted to make the most of it, enjoy your time together to the fullest before the familiar anxiety started trying to sabotage you. No point worrying about the future now, when now was perfect. 

Gojo stirred a little next to you, indicating your nudging had succeeded in waking him up a little. 

“Yes, princess?” Satoru mumbled in his half asleep state, pulling your body closer instinctively.

So warm, you mused, dangerously comfortable. 

“The sun is out again” you pointed out, watching the sunlight come in through the window, inviting you with promises of adventure.

It occured to you just how unlike you this was. You? Adventure? 

Maybe you really were changing. 

Satoru raised an eyebrow, lifting his head to follow your eyes. “Ah yes” was all he said before throwing his head back down and letting it wobble sideways, resting a cheek to your hair instead. 

“Toru" you groaned with a little chuckle, nudging him with a finger this time.

“…yes, princess?” he rasped out, making you wonder if he had fallen back asleep already and completely forgotten he had just replied in that exact way two seconds ago. 

You smiled shyly; he was so adorable all sleepy like this. 

“We should go outside” you tried again, feeling a little guilty for disturbing his peaceful slumber.

But the way his eyes opened wide, scandalised, was way too amusing. 

“Outside?!” he groaned. With far too much ease, Satoru pulled your naked body from his side to right on top of him, keeping you in place with two large palms at your back. “But I want to be right here” he pouted, closing his eyes dramatically again. 

You couldn’t help the laugh, not when your boyfriend friend  looked so wounded by the suggestion of moving alone.

“We were inside all day yesterday” you reminded with a little kiss to his cheek, to ease the scowl already forming. 

His arms tightened their hold on you. “And we could do that today too! How lucky are we?” he tried, pulling you down into him so that your head rested in the crook of his neck.

You knew if you let it, he would convince you way too easily.  “We should enjoy the hotel” you tried to argue, leaving little kisses all over his shoulder. 

Probably not the most convincing move, but you were unable to stop yourself – you just needed to kiss every inch of him whenever you were close like this.

It was probably why it was so damn hard to get out of this bed in the first place.

“I am enjoying the hotel” he hummed in delight.

Your chuckle was muffled by his skin, and you nuzzled in closer. “I'm flying tomorrow” you said then, words almost escaping you, but you couldn’t pretend it hadn’t been on your mind since the moment you woke up. 

That had Satoru go quiet for a beat. 

“I know” he exhaled, stroking your hair with one hand, the other holding you tight against him. “What would you like to do?” 

The change of heart came with a complete change to his tone of voice too, all teasing gone. 

In fact, he sounded almost sad. 

And you couldn’t bear that. 

“Maybe you could teach me how to ski again?” you suggested, wanting to hear that cheerful tone of his again. 

You breathed a little deeper when it seemed to work.

“Yeah?” Satoru pulled you back enough to see his face, and you were glad to notice he was smiling. “You'll brave the bunny slope for me?” he teased, brushing his nose against yours. 

How could you say no when it made him smile like that? 

Of course, by the time you had made it up the mountain again, you seriously regretted the decision. 

“Remember, bend your knees” he was instructing, looking like a damn fairytale prince while you felt you’d be more suited to play his horse rather than the princess.

A newborn, awkward little horse who wasn’t quite sure of how to use their legs yet.

Wasn’t this supposed to be easier the second time around? 

“Baby, the poles are not going to run away from you” he laughed, resting a hand above yours though you refused to ease your grip. “Why don’t we try holding hands?” he suggested.

“…holding hands?” you echoed, looking around to see parents doing just that with their little children.

It was almost adorable, seeing those tiny humans struggle to move around. You figured it wouldn’t be that cute when it was an adult woman unable to keep her footing. 

But for Satoru, you wanted to at least try. 

“Mmh" he nodded, offering you a gloved hand. You accepted it, holding it so tight you were worried about shattering his bones, but it did earn a smile from him. “Let's go slow, yeah?” 

Your little penguin wobbles were carefully guided by his effortless gliding, dragging you along until you finally felt like you had some control over your body. You kept going over the fundamentals he had so patiently taught you – one: knees bent, two: weight forward, three: don’t get distracted by how handsome your instructor looks. 

The last one was the hardest, it seemed. 

But soon, your body started to let go of the anxiety and remember the lesson from only a few days ago. You moved with a little more ease, trusting that Satoru would catch you if you fell, starting to have a little more fun with it all. 

“There we go” he beamed, and his proud expression made it all worth it. 

You leaned further forward like he had taught you, making your body move with more speed as Satoru’s grip on your hand never faltered, following just next to you with those stupidly beautiful eyes watching behind his snowy eyelashes. 

You were failing completely at the third rule, but everything else seemed to be in place and working in your favour. 

More than anything, you were proud of yourself. 

“The queen of the bunny slope!” Satoru beamed, earning a deep laugh out of you which he matched instantly, you both gliding away among the little children like you had just won some competition, instead of conquering the easiest possible slope.

But it didn’t matter. Definitely not to Satoru, and now, not to you either. 

You were actually doing this. 

Until he leaned over just a little, voice low so that only you could hear. “You’re doing so well baby” he whispered, “I’m gonna have to reward you later” 

Your knees faltered instantly.

And later came sooner than you thought. 

Satoru on top of you, your name falling from his lips over and over like a prayer. You had both legs over his shoulders, while his hands pinned yours above your head, fingers interlaced while sweat dripped from his white hair to yours. 

He looked down at you, brows furrowed in concentration while he bit his lower lip deliciously, face all red and flustered from the effort. 

How was anyone allowed to be this fucking beautiful? 

“Say my name again” Satoru whimpered, “please” 

Had anyone even begged for you like that before? 

“Satoru” you whispered, trying to get the sound out between lewd moans and heavy panting, struggling to take all of him. 

He grinned, angling his hips in a way that made your head tilt backwards onto the pillow, exposing your neck for him. “Try again, baby” he requested, bringing his mouth down to kiss along your skin, while his tip touched exactly where you needed him to.

 And then you understood what he meant.

“Toru” you cried then, your nails leaving half moon marks on his knuckles from how hard you were holding on to him. 

“Fuck” he moaned, pace growing erratic. “I love when you say it like that” 

How were you supposed to say goodbye to this? 

You couldn’t help yourself, releasing his hands to place both of yours around his cheeks instead. Satoru looked startled for a second, but soon everything in him softened into a mesmerised smile. He met your lips halfway into a deep kiss that said so much more than either of you could right now.

One hand tangled around your hair, holding you in place as he pumped into you, slow and deep this time, like your bodies were making a promise to one another.

God, you needed him. 

What the hell had this man done to you in such a short amount of time? 

“Toru…” you cried helplessly, as he drunk your whines with his soft, plump lips. 

“Taking it so well, baby” he murmured, forehead pressed to yours, still holding your head up as you felt your whole body sag and then contract into another orgasm, how many had there been already you weren’t sure. 

With a low grunt, Satoru pushed forward one last time, and you felt the heat of his release spill deep inside of you. He was breathing heavily, your sweat mixing with his as it slowly dripped all the way down your bodies and onto the messy mattress.

He brought you carefully down, kissing all along your face. “So perfect for me” he praised, and you could only hold him closer. 

You could have stayed right there forever.

But your flight was in less than twelve hours.  

Later that night, when you were resting against his chest again and both of you struggled to sleep, Satoru finally named what had been in both of your minds for most of the day – that elephant in the room that was now made too real by the ticking clock next to the bed. 

“How are you feeling about tomorrow?” he asked with a kiss to your temple, hand smoothing down your hair in slow, grounding motions. 

You breathed in, glad he brought it up because you weren’t sure you would have been able to force yourself to.

How were you feeling, really? 

You could have been completely honest and told him it felt like the world was ending, but you didn’t want to come across as too needy, too dramatic, too attached.

All those words your ex loved throwing around about you.

So you took a deep breath, trying to steady your heart and not get caught in the worst case scenarios your brain so easily jumped to.

“I’m…not sure, to be honest” you admitted, the most honest you could be without letting him see all the ugly little shadows that sometimes infiltrated your brain. “I'm scared of flying” you confessed then, which wasn’t a lie but was also a complete deflection you were hoping he wouldn’t catch on. 

“Wait, really?” Satoru asked, turning his body around so he was facing you. 

Every time he was this close, it felt so damn hard to breathe. 

“Mm" you nodded, watching the way that handsome face of his assessed your expression. 

The fear of flying was pretty significant, but right now it was way at the bottom of your list of concerns.

Right under a huge, underlined issue named Satoru Gojo. 

“You know flying is safer than skiing” he started saying, trying to reassure you. “Statistically" he added, just to sound a little academic. 

You couldn’t hide your smile. “So you agree skiing is barbaric” you pouted. 

“Whole heartedly” he nodded solemnly, brushing some hair away from your face with that teasing smile. “But you braved the bunny slope today. I’m proud of you” 

This little tease wasn’t supposed to make you feel this flustered. 

“I think I’m proud of myself too” you muttered, so much behind such a small admission.

“You should be” Satoru smiled, leaning in for a kiss.

His lips brushed yours gently, just a little touch, as soft as snow. His hot breath had barely met your face before he was leaning back again, watching you with so much tenderness it took everything in you not to chase his lips again.

“I'm going to miss it” you let out.

That little confession felt so huge, and there was so much more you could have said.

But you hated how scared it made you. 

You tried to decipher his expression, wondered what could be going on in his silence, what could possibly be going through his brain – did it upset him? Make him uncomfortable? 

Did he feel the same? 

Somehow, that could be even worse. 

“Can I take you to the airport tomorrow?” was Satoru's response to your admission, along with long fingers interlacing with yours under the thick blanket. 

You hoped he couldn’t hear how loud your heart was beating.

“…Are you sure?” you asked, blushing a little. “It's early” 

"I don’t care” Satoru shook his head, white hair falling everywhere. “Can I?” 

“Yeah" you nodded, biting your lip. 

Satoru inched closer, placing a kiss to your forehead before turning you both around so your cheek was on his chest again, both of yours favourite place, it seemed. 

But one thought wouldn’t leave you alone.

This would be the last time you’d be waking up next to him like this. 

December 30th

Daybreak wasn’t as beautiful this time around. 

The sun was still shining, sure, the snow still looked fluffy and beautiful, and your handsome neighbour was still right there next to you, an arm around your waist while your head rested over his heart. 

But it didn’t feel right.

You only had about an hour before you had to check out and take the mini bus back to the airport. 

You weren’t sure how you were meant to do this – would it just be easier to slip away without waking him and sneak off by yourself? Would it save you the pain of having to say goodbye at a crowded airport?

The lump in your throat was already too present, and the worst thing you could do right now was cry in front of him, you thought. 

Those familiar fears you had managed to push away were starting to make themselves very known.  

This had been the best week of the year, potentially the best week of your life. You couldn’t bear to end it with shed tears and bittersweet memories. You wanted that vision of him, smug and happy at the bunny slope, to be the thing you were left with – not blue eyes looking pitifully at you, trying to console the fling that got far too attached. 

For all you knew, he had lots of these anyway. Maybe one for each holiday, and considering how rich he was, you could just be one of many. 

You weren’t special, surely. 

…then why did he look at you like you were? 

Were you just telling yourself these things to make it hurt less? 

Whatever games your mind was playing with you, it wasn’t working.

This was still fucking painful. 

It was far too late to pretend you didn’t get attached, but you could still try to act cool about it, for his sake. 

So that Satoru remembered you as the best version of yourself. The one he had helped you find, in many ways. The one he might even want to meet in the future, if you two ever had the chance again.

God, you had decided to come on this holiday hoping it would mend your broken heart, only to come out of it with an even worse heartbreak.

You wouldn’t regret it. Ever. But it didn’t make it any easier.

And you had learnt a lot about yourself.  Learnt about how scary vulnerability could be, but also about how you were so much more than those horrible words your ex made you believe about yourself.

And now you were supposed to go back to his town, to where he knew your address, to where you could just run into him on the street.

You exhaled deeply, needing to move or your mind would just keep you spiraling. 

So you carefully shuffled around, unwrapping yourself from Satoru's warm embrace, bare feet touching the cold floor quietly, hoping not to disturb him.

But a soft hand closed around your wrist soon enough. 

“Where are you going?” Satoru asked with a raspy voice, blinking his eyes open to show something you hadn’t expected at all.

Fear. 

“I was just going to get my things” you said, bringing his hand to your lips for a little kiss. “You can get some more sleep” 

But he turned his grip around, interlacing his fingers with yours. “You weren’t leaving without telling me, right?” he asked, brows furrowed in a way that made you feel incredibly guilty. 

“Of course not” you replied, unsure if that was even the truth.

Satoru pouted for a second, before pushing himself upwards. “I’ll help” he announced, already shuffling off the bed, far faster than you had ever seen him move in the mornings. 

The rest of the morning was spent in a silence that was unusual for the two of you. Satoru helped like he promised he would, made the journey with you to the airport like he said he was going to, but now that you stood there, you thought to yourself.

It would have been easier if you just sneaked away.

How were you supposed to say goodbye to him without crying in front of hundreds of strangers? 

Every face in that long corridor felt terrifying and intimidating to you, the space suffocating in a familiar way you hadn’t experienced in the last few days.

It was torture.

“This is it, huh?” you swallowed, passport in hand, standing between security and the man you would have thrown everything away for.

Wishing he would do anything to stop you. 

You guessed Satoru was quite good at hiding his feelings with everyone else – but not with you. His eyes were hidden behind his signature sunglasses, something you hadn’t seen him wear in some time now, which was the first giveaway.

But even under them, his jaw was a little too clenched, his brows a little too close, and his bright smile faltered at the sides.

You knew what he looked like when that smile was real. 

And this one was not.

“I guess it is” Satoru said awkwardly, hands deep in his pockets, shifting his weight from side to side. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

You gulped hard, already feeling the sting of tears you were trying so hard to hold back. “I'm not sure…” was all you managed to say. 

“It’s only a few hours” he reassured, and you realised he thought you were talking about your fear of flying. 

If he was also deflecting or genuinely thought that was what upset you so much, you didn’t know.

“Yeah” you mumbled out, staring at the floor, almost wishing it would just swallow you hope.

“Hey" he reacted instantly, placing a hand to your chin so he could tilt it upwards to face his concealed eyes. “Have a safe flight, ok? Remember to breathe” he tried to soothe, but it only made your heart ache more.

You pressed your lips tightly together, but neither of you moved. Satoru leaned forwards just a little, and you shifted onto your toes to better match his height, meeting his lips halfway.

It was like time had stopped. It wasn’t a deep, claiming kiss like most had been. This one was… slow and intimate, lips pressing together but not daring open further because you both knew what would happen if you did.

And then you both pulled away, and it was over.

Would this be your last kiss? Ever? 

“I’m really glad I met you” you whispered, still too close, not daring to move. 

His fingers moved then, tracing your jaw. “Me too” were all the words his strained voice managed to form, and you so wished he wasn’t wearing those stupid sunglasses so you could at least try to read what his eyes were saying.

Those eyes never lied to you.

Was that why he had chosen to wear them in the first place? 

Words completely failing you both, Satoru moved his hand to the back of your head, pulling you in for a tight hug as you both let out a shaky breath. Your hands closed around his coat, tugging at the fabric like you were begging fate to intervene and create some way you could be together. 

Why couldn’t he just say something more? 

If Satoru had asked you to stay, you would have. Would have made do with whatever money you had left and spent your entire savings just to spend the new year with him in this overpriced hotel. 

But you couldn’t bring yourself to say it first. Couldn’t lay your heart bare again only to risk another heart break. 

“I…” Satoru started to say, cutting himself off with a deep inhale. 

Say it.

Just say it. 

Please. 

“Text me when you land?” was all he managed instead. 

You nodded, putting on your best fake smile for when you let go of his arms. 

Satoru tried to do the same, waving you goodbye and standing by the gate until you disappeared behind it. If only you had waited a little longer, you might have seen the tears he tried so hard to conceal sneak away from behind those dark sunglasses.

The flight had not been easy. For someone so self conscious, crying in front of everyone like that was your worst nightmare, but you didn’t have a choice.

As soon as you got through security, you found the nearest bathroom stall to lock yourself in, using your palms to muffle the sound of your tears while you sat in some pristine airport bathroom. 

For most of the flight, you just couldn’t stop. Not when you were in the air, not when you landed, not when your keys turned to unlock the door to a home you hadn’t wished to walk into ever again.

Your eyes drifted downwards to a mess of letters delivered by hand, all in your ex boyfriends ugly handwriting. You sighed, already having expected something like this from someone as petty as him, but the sheer number was concerning.

Clearly he wasn’t going to give up at not being able to reach you by phone. The bastard just had to stop by your house and deliver his ugly words in written format too.

You only opened one – it was a lousy attempt at winning you back, that somehow ended in a spiral about how mean you were for ignoring him like this. Romantic.

You exhaled sharply, stepping over the rest so you could throw yourself on the sofa and finally let your exhausted body sink into it. Maybe you should call your family, let them know you had landed safely.

But the thought of speaking to them and having to explain everything that had been happening was not much comfort either. 

You brought your knees up, resting your forehead on them as you curled inwards completely.

How unfair of the universe to present you with a dream only to snap it away like that. How unfair to be back in your bleak reality, now that you had tasted what life could be. 

A half empty apartment, a family that didn’t really like you, an ex determined to hurt you. You took a deep breath in, cursing at yourself for being so foolish as to believe your life could have magically changed like that.

You wanted to text Satoru, but what was even the point? 

Maybe it would be easier to forget. 

So you decided to keep your mind busy by unpacking instead, choosing not to look at any of the mess all around and just keep moving ahead, like you always had to do.

But as soon as you opened the luggage, you noticed something unusual – a thick, white, fluffy scarf, that had definitely not been there last time you checked.

The one Satoru had wrapped around you the night of your second date.

Did you pack it by mistake? You tried to think back on the last time you saw it. Maybe a few days ago, just before you had slept together? You seemed to remember it lying in the corner of your room, taunting you with memories of the most incredible date you two had just had. 

You hadn’t really been in your room much since then, actually. 

Surely you would have given it back when you realised you still had it, but you couldn’t remember doing that either. 

The last time you were in there had been this morning, when Satoru was helping you pack.

…Had he put it there himself?

Your chest caved in some more, heart twisting painfully. You picked up the scarf, bringing it to your tear stained face, sniffling loudly when you realised it still smelled like him. 

Vanilla and cinnamon, warm and sweet – you remembered it like a knife to your gut, thinking back on the day he had been waiting for you outside your door, when you got so close you could breathe in his scent for the first time.

You remembered the way it was still making your head spin when he asked if he could call you princess. You laughed at the memory now, at the absurd nickname and at how much you had actually liked it.

One of your hands instinctively reached to your collarbone, chasing the necklace you hadn’t taken off since Satoru had so kindly given it to you that very night.

Aquamarine, just like his eyes.

What would you do if you never saw those eyes again?

The memory of warm hands clasping the cold chain over your nape, blue eyes looking you up and down in approval. How happy Satoru looked whenever he saw the stone glistening against your skin. 

And the amount of times it had been the only thing on your skin. 

You opened your phone, too far gone in your reminiscing spiral to be able to stop yourself. Ignoring every annoyed text from your family, you opened your photo album instead, going right to the last picture you took.

You and Satoru, in the ski lift, the aurora shining behind your heads. 

You smiled straight at the camera, eyes wide with his white scarf around your neck, the little aquamarine pendant peeking out from under it. You looked so happy, completely taken by the incredible night you were having. And Satoru looked just as bright, though he wasn’t looking at the camera.

He was looking at you. 

You gritted your teeth, holding the phone close so you could analyse every little thing about the only picture you had taken together.

Life had been so perfect only a few days ago. 

You weren’t even sure how your body still had tears to shed, and yet they came. 

December 31st

The clock had just struck midnight, and Satoru still lay awake on his too big hotel bed, waiting for the text you promised you would send. He checked online every few minutes once your plane was in the air, so he knew you had landed safely a couple hours ago, but still nothing. 

He didn’t know how far away you lived from the airport – maybe you were still stuck in traffic, maybe there were long queues. 

…Maybe you were crying because he didn’t have the courage to tell you how much he just wanted you to stay. 

Satoru groaned, turning around on the bed again, slamming a pillow over his face so he didn’t have to look at the empty spot where you should have been lying. 

He hated himself for letting you go.

But being vulnerable didn’t exactly come easy for someone like him. Especially when it felt like there was so much on the line, when he couldn’t even begin to hide his emotions from you. It wasn’t like him at all, feeling transparent like that.

For the first time in his whole entire life, Satoru Gojo was falling, and that scared him more than anything else. One wrong move, and you could just be gone, and then how was he supposed to live with himself? 

Because you actually seemed interested in him. That wasn’t supposed to happen – people liked fun Gojo, strong Gojo, can-handle-anything Gojo. He simply didn’t know how to act when he was so afraid the real him couldn’t compare to the amazing, real person that you were. 

He didn’t think you could even see how incredible you were. How much he admired that you just wore your heart on your sleeve, even if the feelings were ugly or uncomfortable. Something like that took strength, and even more so to challenge yourself and get out of the comfort zone.

Like you had done at the bunny slope, he remembered fondly. Thinking about how you pushed through, even with wobbly knees and unsure footing, you kept going just the same. 

Hell, even that first time, back when you still hated him, you were willing to try. 

Satoru would have never done that. He had too much pressure to be perfect. 

And then there you were. Willing to try. 

He admired you so much.

What would your reaction even had been if he had admitted it? You, who had broken up a years long relationship, what… two weeks ago? 

It was too soon. Gojo knew that.

But he could have said something. 

He rolled around again, still smelling your perfume all over the sheets. Your presence had been a ray of sunshine in his overly complicated, overworked life, but your abscence? It was like a damn black hole.

Maybe he’d call you. Act cool, casual, just to check if you got back ok. Ask how the journey had been, given the fact that the image of you trembling on a plane because of turbulence made him want to punch something.

He should have been there. 

Satoru slid two palms over his face, groaning deeply as he made his decision.

Just as he reached for his phone, it suddenly started ringing. 

Satoru jumped up in a flash, staring down at it, not quite believing the person who had just been on his mind was the same name he saw flashing across the screen.

He took a deep, steadying breath, hand closing tightly around the device. He didn’t want you to be able to tell the way he had been a mess since you had left, how only a few hours could have had all the light in his world seeming to dim.

So he did his best to put on that practiced smile he was so used to, the one who seemed to work on everyone but you.

And pressed accept. 

“Hey princess” Satoru said, tone too light, pretending to be casual, but his fist was clenched on his lap as he sat cross legged on the too big bed. 

The heavy breathing on the other side immediately alarmed him.

“Toru” you cried, muttering his nickname with so much pain it wasn’t what he expected at all. 

He was always so happy to hear you call him that. It was meant to be said with a little pout, or a teasing lull, or cried out when he made you feel so good his name was all your brain could think of.

Not this. Not tears. 

“What's wrong?” he said immediately, all his worry about putting on this stupid mask going out the window. His voice was hurried and distressed, completely losing it at your obvious pain.

“I–“ you started to say, but the words failed you, turning into incoherent sobs instead.

Had something happened?

Was it your ex again?

Were you alone?

Were you with him? 

“Breathe, sweetheart” Satoru requested though his throat was tight, struggling to get the words out himself. 

He could hear you trying hard to do as he said on the other side. Inhaling and exhaling with strain, but trying it nontheless. You were always so brave, he thought. “That's it, baby. Well done” he praised. “Please tell me what’s wrong” he begged once your breathing seemed to steady, unable to bear his own dark thoughts swirling in his brain.

And once again, like you always seemed to do, you completely surprised him.

“I miss you so much” was all you managed to say. Blurted out, like the pain was not only emotional but completely physical. Your sobs came back harsher then, and he knew you well enough to know you were probably embarrassed at your strong reaction. 

Satoru was speechless for a second, struggling to hold back his own tears.

“I’m right here” he said in a breaking voice, so small it wasn’t like him at all. 

You were crying harder, and he didn’t know what to do. How the hell was he supposed to help when you were across a damn ocean?

“Everyone hates me here” you cried, and if everything in him wasn’t already breaking, that fucking did it. 

“No one hates you, sweetheart” he reassured, brushing a pale hand over his face to wipe away his own tears. 

“I just, I–" you tried to say, but your voice kept breaking. “I should have told you, fuck, I’m so stupid, I should have–“ 

“Shhh" Satoru shushed kindly, attempting to calm you down, unable to hear you talk about yourself like that. “Told me what, beautiful?” 

He could hear you gulping, steadying yourself to take a risk you were scared wouldn’t pay off. 

“I should have told you how much the last few days meant to me” you said then, voice far too small.

His heart beat faster than he thought was possible. 

“It meant everything to me too” he admitted. 

“I should have told you in person…I–” you whimpered, voice breaking completely. 

“Baby, don't…” his own words trailed off, swallowing hard while his heart broke into tiny pieces from hearing you sound so hurt. “Don't cry like that when I’m not there to hold you” 

Your breathing came faster and faster, the image of you curling in on yourself making Gojo’s hands fist in agony. “I hate thinking I’ll never see you again” you managed to finally say.

There it was. The same fear that had been coursing through his head all along.

Worried he was the only one helplessly in love with the pretty tourist he just happened to spend the most incredible week of his life with. Worried you would go on to forget about it all and see it as just a fun thing that happened.

When it meant so much to him. 

But now that he knew you felt the same?

“Send me your address” he said too quick, barely having the time to think.

He didn’t need to think. 

“…Huh?” was all you managed to say. 

“I'm looking at flights” Satoru said hurriedly, putting the phone on speaker so he could check tickets in real time. “If I leave now I can be there by the afternoon” 

There was a long pause on the other side, and he hoped it meant you were shocked in a good way.  

He’d probably bury himself in the snow if you said you didn’t want him to come. 

But then his phone pinged with a notification from you, and he realised you had been typing what he requested as fast as you could. 

“Please come” you cried, wishing it was his arms around you instead of your own. 

“Baby" he breathed into the phone, heart hammering at the thought of seeing you again so soon. “I’m on my way” 

❅ a/n I genuinely cried so much writing this LOL so excited to hear your thoughts <3