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

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

He looks as exhausted as you feel.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Our death," he agrees solemnly.

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

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

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

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

"I'd just block her."

"You can't block coworkers, Satoru."

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

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

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

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

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

But then his hands start to wander.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That's not science, you idiot."

"It's my science."

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

"Comfortable?" he asks, voice softer now.

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

"Wasn't planning on it."

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

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

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

"Hmm?"

"Are you seriously getting hard right now?"

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

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

"We were having a nice moment."

"We still are."

"You've got a boner."

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

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

"Seriously?"

"What?"

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

"You are absolutely the problem."

"I literally haven't done anything."

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

"I hummed?"

"You hummed."

"I don't hum."

"You do when you're really comfortable."

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

"I have."

You glare at him.

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

You snort. "You're unbelievable."

"I'm trying to be respectful."

"Are you?"

Silence.

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

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

"You're ridiculous."

"I know."

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

His voice is quieter now. "So happy."

You burrow your face further into his shoulder.

"…I like when you're like this."

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

"Only for you."

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

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

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

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

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

"Up where—"

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

"Satoru—"

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

How are you supposed to say no to that?

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Satoru—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Satoru, I'm—fuck—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Satoru—fuck—it's too much—"

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

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

"Oh god—Satoru—I'm gonna—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh really?"

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

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

"Oh, baby."

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

"Fuck, baby—"

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

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

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

"Yeah." His voice is strained. 

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

"Satoru—"

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

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

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

"Satoru, please—"

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

"You know what I want."

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

"You're killing me—"

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

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

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

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

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

"Satoru—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Satoru—"

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

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

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

"Say it again."

"I love you."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes—fuck—right there—"

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

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

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

"Don't stop—"

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

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

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

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

"Satoru—"

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

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

"Oh fuck—" you gasp, and he groans.

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

"Yes—fuck—Satoru—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Satoru—I can't—it's too much—"

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

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

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

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

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

His composure finally snaps.

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

He's breathing hard, almost gasping between words.

"Not until you."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Holy shit," you mumble.

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

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

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

"I love you too, you needy disaster."

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

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

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

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

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

"Clingy."

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

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

“you said you needed to recentre your thoughts.” you murmur between kisses, hips already tilting to let his hands find the sides of your shorts. he eases them down just far enough to get his fingers where he wants them, digits circling the rapidly dampening spot at the center of your panties.

you reach back to feel him through his sweats, grabbing where he’s stiff for you and stroking him through the fabric just to see him twitch a little. nimble hands tug at it without ceremony, nails catching gently on the tented fabric. neither of you bother to strip properly—this was meant to be a pre third game intermission at best.

“we both need recentering,” he mutters as you slip your hand into his briefs, easing his dick out with a low sigh. he’s thick and heavy in your grip, tip flushed and already slick with a glossy bead of precum clinging where you swipe your thumb.

his fingers eagerly work the gusset of your underwear out of the way, hovering you right over where he needs you with easy hands, tip nudging the damp seam of your folds. the push inside is easy with how wet he’s gotten you and with how stiff he is, rosy mushroom tip sliding past the bit of resistance at your entrance to steadily work himself inside you. “biggg push-“

“shut up.” you laugh, hands bracing on either of his thighs for balance, “keep going. I can take it..”  he smiles against the side of your neck, hips lifting in sync with his hands pulling you down as the rest of him splits you open inch by inch till you’re seated on his lap again, ass flush to his thick upper thighs.

his low groan has you biting back a smile, both hands clamping down on your hips to still you for just a moment so you can both adjust. satoru’s head tips back against the cushion, breathing slowing to try to level his thoughts.

similarly, your head falls backward, easing into the crook of his neck as your eyes flutter closed. it’s no more than a couple seconds or so before he’s breaking you out of your momentary peace.

“..are you ready for round 3?” you don’t register what exactly he’s referring to till he’s nudging something cool and solid back into your hand, glancing down to get a look once your eyes open again.

“you’re not being serious.”

satoru hums, lopsided grin tugging at the edge of his mouth. his hands are already reaching for his own controller, shifting to stir his cock inside you. “we said best out of three.” a strained sound punches out of you, walls fluttering around him. “this is the tie-breaker, pretty.”

you’d been the one to suggest doing best of 3 in the first place but he only now decides to refresh your memory?

you gape up at him in sheer disbelief—he’d just buried himself deep inside you, fat tip within inches of your sweet spot, stretch mind numbingly good… and he thinks this is the perfect time for the 3rd round of fucking mario kart? not that you don’t love the game, you do, just not during sex! “gojo satoru.“

“my darling angel.” he’s pressing ‘next round’ before you can really wrap your head around being set up, planting a kiss on your cheek with an exaggerated mwah sound for extra effect. “it’ll be fun, trust me!”

okay, so he wanted to play dirty. fine. you’d play his game and win both of them without even breaking a sweat. the little intro for merry mountain plays out, camera panning throughout the entirety of the map before the countdown begins:

3..2..1, GO! and you’re off before him…like always.

perching you on his lap like this, catching you off guard and he somehow still manages to fall behind, you’d tease him if you weren’t so locked in.

the first lap goes without any issues. maintaining a lead throughout which feels like a personal victory given your circumstances. satoru's being surprisingly well behaved, chin propped on your shoulder so he can see the screen, arms locked around your waist with the controller in his hold, keeping you trapped against his warm chest. part of you thinks he'd just wanted to be close intimately—cockwarming while gaming wasn't a crazy concept. he wasn’t actually trying to cheat you out of a win!

…your illusion of peace and safety starts to crumble the moment you clear the checkpoint and start the second lap. your cockwarming guess goes right out the window with the first, slow, even roll of his hips up into you. satoru sets a gentle rhythm, hips rising and falling, barely fucking you but doing enough to have your focus faltering already. maybe you're just easy.

"satoru.." you giggle despite yourself, focus only straying when you nudge your head against his playfully. it's a little cute to you how this is his best method for distracting you. "baby, s—nng—stop it. play fair."

"i'm not doing anything?" he genuinely sounds confused and you can't help but laugh again, sound breaking into a moan when his hips snap upward, the flared head of his cock pressing somewhere deep. "you're gonna go off the side, pay attention."

you, in fact, cannot pay attention. everything goes to absolute shit from that point on. it’s almost embarrassing. you manage solid turns, you gain speed on the booster pads...just to lose first place again when satoru decides it's good timing to start rocking his hips again.

the third lap comes around, a cpu that has no business overtaking your character overtakes and you’re somehow now in fourth place.

satoru’s feet plant heavy and solid on the carpet, hips jerking upward with a mind numbing consistency that has your blood running hot, eyes glazing over rapidly. it’s a pressure you can feel in your stomach, you can’t think - you’ve gone off the side of the stupid map twice on the same stretch and it takes everything in you to lock the fuck back in, eyes narrowed on the screen. “fuck. q-quit it.”

“but you feel so good..” he runs his nose along your pulse, mouthing at your neck. “touch yourself.” he breaths the words out against your skin, teeth grazing over the heated flesh. “you’ll feel so much better.”

he’s not even trying to play it off, just overly unashamed. “I c-can’t. i’m focusing—”

“you’re so good at multitasking though—” he lets one of his hand fall away, sliding over one of yours to lead it away from the controller and down to where you’re connected. “—so good at taking my cock…so good at everything.”

his larger one over yours, guiding two fingers to press right over your sensitive clit. gently stroking the bud, controlling the pressure while he moves inside you. his thrusts don’t let up, you’re not sure what place you’re in now but the controller fell out of your grip in favor of holding his thighs to brace yourself better. the filth he’s breathing into your ear doesn’t help your case. words of how warm and perfect you feel, how bad he wants to feel you cum for him.

your feet kick out helplessly with a solid strike to your sweet spot, nails biting into his thighs, meeting him thrust for thrust, head falling against his shoulder. you’re probably in dead last, being beat by bots. but hell, what can you do at this point?

“that’s it. t-that’s it, baby. move your hips.” satoru wishes his next hand was free so he could freely feel you up, lift and drop you on his cock but he lets his hips do the work, lets his free hand guide your fingers a little faster. your telltale spasming around his cock clues him in, paired with your paced breathing and the flutter of your pulse against his lips. “almost..almost there—”

“satoru—mmh!” your orgasm crests hard, back arching, toes curling inward. slick pools warm around his length, whines breaking out of you as your pleasure rolls over you in waves. being worked through it by satoru’s still moving cock inside you.

you don’t need to look at the screen to know that he’s crossed the finish line, the triumphant jingle and his “I—o-oh fuck—I won! I won!!” tells you enough.

shameless fucking cheater.

author's note :: 𑣲⋆ fingers crossed that I didn't miss typos because I finished this at 4 am -`♡´-

“i doubt it, you big back.”

“you’re so mean to me.”

you laugh, the sound breaking into another kiss because satoru seems physically incapable of letting more than a few seconds pass without stealing one.

“kissing me until i forget what i was saying?”

“…is it working?” he muses.

you pause. “…maybe.”

“i know you‘re enjoying yourself,” he says softly, brushing his lips over yours again. “you haven‘t pulled away yet.”

“seems like i’ve made questionable life choices.”

he gasps dramatically, though his smile gives him away.

“oh? dating me is questionable?”

“sometimes.”

another kiss.

“when you leave your socks everywhere.”

mwah.

“when you eat all my snacks.”

mwah.

“when you—”

he kisses you longer that time, lingering just enough that you forget where your complaint is going.

“…see?” he murmurs.

“you are so annoying.”

“but?”

“but…” you smile. “you’re very cute.”

his grin is immediate, and he kisses the corner of your mouth

“what do you want for dinner?” you ask.

“hmm…” he pretends to think hard, his forehead resting against yours. “you.”

“oh my god,” you groan. “you’ve been waiting to say that, haven’t you?”

“maybe.” he grins into the next kiss.

“you should be embarrassed.”

“can’t hear your mean remarks when you’re this close.”

your lips meet in soft, absent-minded kisses between tiny conversations about nothing at all. whether the laundry is finished, whether the weather looks nice tomorrow, or how his teaching is going.

“toru—” kiss. “—how am I supposed to—” another kiss. “—focus?”

“why’d you need to?” his smile softens into something quieter, gentler than his usual teasing grin.

“…we still need groceries.”

“tomorrow,” he insists.

“tomorrow,” you give in.

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

“gum?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you do. pathetically.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“don’t.”

satoru freezes, hand hovering. eyes wide and innocent.

“don’t what?”

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

satoru gasps, offended. “i'd never.”

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

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

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

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

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

then he opens his arms wide.

“now. hug.”

“no.”

“hug.”

“satoru, your entire front is—”

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

you feel the tacky residue transfer. everywhere.

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

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

“perfect.”

“perfect?”

“now everyone will know we hugged.”