Eight months have passed since your breakup with Satoru. So why was he still thinking about you?
CW: NSFW. Dry humping, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, dirty talk, praise kink, multiple orgasms, sexual overstimulation. Jealousy, mutual pining, light angst w happy ending. Fluff & smut.
Before you even suggested the breakup, he’d been thinking about it too. After a year together, university had pulled you too far apart. There was no more time for dates, movie nights, or mornings spent eating breakfast together.
You told yourselves it was for the best — that love wasn’t enough if you didn’t have the time to enjoy it. You were adults; you were going to move on.
Or so he thought, until he saw you walking a little too close to another guy.
He was making you laugh, and Satoru noticed you lean in slightly, playfully punching him in the arm.
Satoru frowned. It’s fine. You’re not together anymore. It was for the best.
But then the idiot guy put his arm around your shoulders — too comfortable, too familiar, too intimate to be friendly.
Satoru clicked his tongue and looked away. He wasn’t jealous. He refused to be jealous.
You were free to date whoever you wanted. You’d agreed to break up. You were adults. Mature. Rational.
So why did it still feel like you were his, even when you weren’t? Why did his heart feel like it had just been sucker-punched?
He glanced again — because he was just that masochistic. The guy said something else, and you laughed again. Louder. The exact sound Satoru had spent months trying to forget.
Oh, come on. That’s not even a good joke. You used to laugh WAY harder at mine.
The guy leaned in like he was going to whisper something in your ear — your ear, the one Satoru used to nip at just to hear that pretty sound— No. Nope. He does not need to think about that right now.
Then the guy’s arm slid from your shoulder to your waist, too natural. Too practiced.
How long had this been going on? Did you think about tell him? Did you even think about him at all? Did he have the right to ask any of that? No. Of course not.
He could leave. He should leave. That would be normal. Healthy. Responsible.
But his feet didn’t move. In fact, he somehow found himself drifting closer.
He was simply being… civil. Right? You didn’t end on bad terms. You could have a nice chat.
Satoru adjusted his sunglasses, forced a smirk, and strolled forward with a confidence he definitely did not feel. Whatever. No one had to know.
You were mid-laugh when you finally noticed him approaching. Your smile dimmed just slightly — surprise flickering in your eyes— and he hated how fast he caught it. Eight months apart and he could still read you like a damn book.
“Hey, you” he said, voice smooth as ever, hands shoved casually in his pockets.
The guy — whose stupid hand was still comfortably resting on your waist — blinked, clearly confused by the tall white-haired intruder
“Uh, hey” you said, fighting for a neutral tone.
His gaze flicked down to the guy’s arm again, then back to your face.
“You must be her friend?” the guy said, stepping forward with his free hand raised.
“Ex,” Satoru corrected instantly, painfully calm. “I’m her ex.”
You closed your eyes like you wished the earth would swallow you.
Satoru continued, all sweet politeness dipped in poison. “But hey, don’t worry. I’m super chill about it.”
You shot him a look that screamed stop it, which he gracefully ignored.
The guy quickly removed his hand from your waist. Satoru felt a warm, petty satisfaction bloom in his chest.
“Oh,” the guy mumbled, realization dawning. “I’m gonna go grab us something to drink. You two… catch up.”
He gave you a look that silently asked, Is this okay?
The second he was out of earshot, you glared at Satoru. “What the hell was that?”
He lifted a shoulder. “Me? Being civil. I thought I could have a nice chat with my ex-girlfriend that I haven’t seen in a while.”
You narrowed your eyes, and he could practically hear your unspoken question: Why are you doing this?
Because I saw someone else touching you like I used to, and I realized I’m not over you at all.
But he had too much respect for himself, for you, for what you had to say that. So instead he asked,
“So, is he your boyfriend?”
Your jaw tightened. “Satoru.”
“What?” He smiled lightly, deceptively harmless. “It’s a simple question.”
“It’s none of your business.”
For someone who towered over everyone, he suddenly felt very, very small.
Then you sighed, looking at him with a sad, familiar expression “Satoru… don’t misunderstand me. I’m glad to see you. I’m always…” You paused, searching for either the right word or the right boundary. “…happy to know you’re doing well.”
“I’m not doing well.” Shit. Why couldn’t he shut up?
You shook your head. “This isn’t fair. It’s been eight months. We both agreed on this. You even told me you were thinking about it before I put it on the table.”
He flinched — barely, but you caught it. He shook his head, forcing a breath out and sliding a hand through his hair
“You’re right,” he said. “I just saw you and thought — hey, go say hi. I didn’t plan on…”
He gestured vaguely toward where the guy had gone off to. “…whatever that was.”
You crossed your arms. “You were jealous.”
Satoru swallowed “Jealous?” he echoed with a soft scoff. “No. I’m Satoru Gojo. I don’t get jealous.”
You held his gaze. Quiet. Patient. Unmoved.
Before either of you could say anything else, before the tension could turn into something more dangerous or more honest, the guy returned with two drinks, looking cautiously between you.
You stepped back from Satoru, and he watched the space open between you like it physically hurt him.
“Yeah,” you said, offering a small, polite smile. “Everything’s fine.”
Satoru pressed his lips together “I’ll get going,” he said, voice almost too casual. “It was nice seeing you.”
He turned before either of you had to pretend any harder. And you hated that something inside you was hoping he’d turn back around with some stupid joke, something to break the tension the way he always used to.
He kept walking, slipping between bodies and fading into the crowd. And maybe that’s why it stung — because you’d already lived this goodbye before.
It was ridiculous. Eight months, and nothing about the way he affected you had changed.
“So that was Satoru Gojo,” Kentaro said, pulling you back to reality.
His eyes softened. “You good?”
You nodded. “Yeah. Sorry. That must’ve been weird for you.”
“I get it,” Kentaro said with a shrug.
You didn’t realize you’d been holding your breath until you let it out.
Kentaro wasn’t dramatic. That was part of why things with him were easy. He’d shown up one night at a party, at a moment when your heart felt too heavy and too empty. It had started as a distraction — one you hadn’t been looking for — and instead of fading, it had softened into an easy friendship. No expectations. No pressure. Just two people keeping each other company while figuring their own shit out.
You knew he wasn’t Satoru — and you never once fooled yourself into thinking anyone could fill that space; but you hadn’t been trying to replace him. You were just trying to breathe without your chest hurting. And from what you’d heard, Satoru had been doing the same. That’s how real relationships end sometimes — not cleanly, not neatly, just two people trying to survive the absence of the other. That’s the messy truth about real breakups.
“You’re not over him at all, you know that, right?” Kentaro said.
Your lips tightened. “Is it that obvious?”
He smiled, not mocking — just kind.
“I just… didn’t expect to see him today,” you admitted.
“I know,” he said. “And he definitely didn’t expect to see me either.”
You let out a weak laugh. “He was just jealous. Men things, I guess.”
“Mmh.” Kentaro raised a brow. “I’ve been in love once too. Trust me, that was not only jealousy. That boy was yearning.”
You stared down at your drink, fingers tightening around the cup.
“Yearning,” you echoed, like the word didn’t quite fit. “I don’t think he—”
“He was yearning,” Kentaro insisted, calm but certain. “I’m a guy. I know the face. If the world hadn’t gone silent for a second when he saw you, he deserves an award for acting.”
Your stomach flipped painfully.
“We ended things for a reason,” you said quietly. “Things weren’t working anymore.” You closed your eyes. “Shit Ken, I’m sorry. I’m such a downer.”
“Hey,” Kentaro said gently. “We’re friends, aren’t we? You don’t owe me anything.” He nudged your shoulder lightly. “But… maybe you owe yourself a bit of honesty.”
The words didn’t stab, they just settled. Heavy. Familiar. Painfully true.
“You just don’t know what to do with it” Kentaro finished
Silence stretched between you.
“And for what it’s worth,” he said, “I think he’s going to try.”
Your heart skipped. “Try what?”
You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.
And as the two of you walked away, you couldn’t tell if the hollow ache in your chest was the ghost of an old relationship… or the quiet realization that you never stopped waiting for Satoru to come back.
“When are you going to stop being miserable, Satoru?” Suguru called from the kitchen, the sound of a blender whirring behind him while he made himself a protein shake or some other gym-rat abomination.
Gojo slumped deeper into the couch, long legs sprawled out, and a caramel macchiato with extra caramel, extra cream, extra everything, clutched in his hand. At least his brain was getting the glucose it needed to make up for today’s humiliation.
“I’m not miserable” he muttered, even though he very much sounded like it
“Satoru, you came home with the emotional stability of a wet paper bag”
“Suguru, you’re being a little careless talking like that to a man who just saw his ex with a guy. A very touchy guy”
“It’s not like you took a vow of celibacy the day you broke up” Suguru shot back, closing the fridge with his hip as he walked over.
Satoru scoffed. “No. You don’t get it” His voice dropped “That asshole was clinging to her like a parasite. She was laughing. Leaning into him like—” He cut himself off, jaw tightening. “She looked comfortable” he paused “and happy”
Suguru sat down beside him, shake in hand, a sigh leaving him through his nose. “You’re allowed to feel like shit, but..”
“She made a decision,” Satoru cut him. “I seconded that stupid decision.”
“Then make a new one,” Suguru said, calm but firm. “Because pretending you’re fine stopped working months ago.”
“I’m not a homebreaker. If she’s happy with her stupid new boyfriend, there’s nothing I can do. I shouldn’t even be—” he waved a hand helplessly “—thinking about it. She deserves to be happy.”
Suguru arched an eyebrow. “Boyfriend?”
Satoru rolled his eyes. “I asked. And she said — quote — ‘it’s none of your business.’”
“Which you translated as: yes, he’s my boyfriend.”
“I think you need to figure out if that’s actually true” Suguru said. “We both know her. I don’t think she’d jump straight into a new relationship.”
Satoru let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “You didn’t see them.”
“That’s exactly why I’m saying it.” Suguru took a sip of his shake, never taking his eyes off him. “You saw what you wanted to see.”
“I swear to god I did not imagine his hand glued to her.”
“You’re spiraling,” Suguru said simply. “You’re like this when it’s about her. You aren’t thinking straight”
Satoru dropped his head back against the couch, a long breath leaving him in one heavy exhale.
“Satoru,” Suguru said quietly, setting his shake down. “you two didn’t break up because you stopped loving each other. That’s why it hurts like this.”
He didn’t respond — he only frowned slightly, his gaze drifting toward the window.
“Before you assume she moved on… consider she might just be trying to cope.” He nudged Satoru’s arm lightly. “Same as you.”
He closed his eyes, letting himself feel the truth pulsing under his ribs: He never really stopped being yours.
Not even in other beds, the ones he looked for the shape of you, the ones he never stayed the night in. Not even in moments meant to distract him. Not even when he pretended he’d moved on.
You were standing between his legs, your hips brushing his knees where he sat on the tall bar stool by the kitchen counter
“Whose pretty boy is this?” you teased, holding a strawberry just out of his reach.
Satoru leaned forward, hair falling messily over his forehead, eyes bright with that stupid softness he only ever had for you.
“Mmh,” he mumbled, mouth full once you finally let him take it from your fingers, “Yours.”
He licked a smear of juice from his lip “Only cute?” he complained, looking down at you with that boyish pout that contradicted the heat in his eyes. “I’m being extremely handsome right now”
You rolled your eyes, but lifted another strawberry anyway. He leaned forward, nipped it from your fingers, and this time he didn’t let your hand go. He caught your wrist gently, pressed a slow kiss to the inside, then another higher, his lips warm and deliberate against your skin.
Your hand found his hair, carding through the soft white strands. He leaned into your touch instantly, like your fingers were gravity.
His fingers slid to the back of your thigh, caressing the skin softly. You felt the warmth of his palm, the lazy circles he traced there—mindless, possessive.
“Satoru…” you warned, though it came out a little breathless. “We have classes in thirty minutes.”
He dipped his head, lips ghosting over the side of your neck.
“Mmh,” he murmured, his nose brushing your skin, painfully slow. “We don’t need that much time.”
He smiled against your skin and bit your earlobe—soft, teasing—as his hand tightened on your thigh.
You whimpered. “Satoru,” you said again, but this time it sounded like a plea.
He pulled back only slightly, eyes half-lidded, pupils blown wide. His fingers trailed up your waist, slow enough to make your skin prickle.
“Tell me I’m only cute again,” he murmured, voice a low rumble.
You couldn’t even roll your eyes properly. “You’re impossible.”
You cupped his jaw, thumb brushing the corner of his mouth, and he looked at you like you were something sacred he didn’t know how to deserve.
“There’s a party next weekend. You should come.”
Satoru blinked, his friend’s voice pulling him out of his daydream. A nice daydream, actually. He could still feel it — your fingers in his hair, your voice saying his name. Eight months, and nothing had replaced that.
He turned to his friend, frowning. “Rin, as in the friend of the person who’s the reason for my entire existential crisis?”
Suguru rolled his eyes. “Yes.”
Satoru scoffed. “Do you hate me, Suguru?”
His friend laughed “Sometimes”
He let his head fall back against the couch, the caramel macchiato long forgotten on the coffee table.
“Is she going to be there?” he finally asked, as if the answer wasn’t obvious.
Suguru raised a brow. “What do you think?”
He let out a humorless sound “Then clearly I should stay here”
“You’re acting like a coward. This is dramatic. Even for you”
Satoru clicked his tongue “Fantastic. I’m being bullied in my own home.”
“What are you exactly scared of?”
Satoru exhaled through his nose. “I just… I don’t want to show up and— I don’t know. Complicate shit.”
Suguru crossed his arms. “It’s already complicated when eight months have passed and neither of you has clearly moved on.”
Satoru’s jaw tightened. “We broke up for a reason.” That’s what he’d been telling himself every day since that night.
“Exactly,” Suguru said while standing, hands loose at his sides. “You two didn’t have time. You both saw it slipping, and instead of dragging it out and letting it die slowly, you made the smart, painful decision to stop. Even if you don’t want to admit it, that was the right call.”
Satoru let out a humorless laugh. “Right. That doesn’t feel like the right word when it leaves me staring at her like an abandoned puppy.”
Suguru shrugged. “Sure, it hurts. But that doesn’t mean it’s over. That doesn’t mean you can’t… go back to being what you were. Do it the right way this time.”
Satoru dug his hands into the couch cushions. “And what if she’s moved on?”
Suguru raised an eyebrow, voice calm but sharp. “Perspective, genius. Do you really think she’s in love with someone else already? No. I’m sure she’s not. She’s probably just as confused, just as ridiculous as you are, and laughing with someone else doesn’t mean she’s in love with them. That conclusion? Stupid.”
Satoru stared at him, blinking. “Stupid?”
“Yeah, stupid,” Suguru said, mock severity in his tone. “You both are so stupid it’s giving me a headache. So stop being miserable and deal with your feelings like a big boy. You’re better than this.”
Satoru let out a long exhale. He wanted to argue, to insist, but… deep down, he knew Suguru was right.
“Think about it,” Suguru said, smirking. He started walking toward the door. “See you later”
Satoru watched him leave, the sound of the door clicking shut behind Suguru echoing in the apartment. Alone, he let the weight of his own thoughts settle over him.
Eight months. Eight months of trying to convince himself that you had done the right thing, that stepping away before it all collapsed was smart, necessary even. And it had been. He knew that. Every rational thought told him so.
But it had been enough time apart. He needed you. And if you needed him just a little, well… he was going to cling to that possibility.
He let himself feel it—anxiety, longing, frustration, and something sharper beneath it all: anticipation.
Fuck it. Fuck that stupid parasite boy. Fuck civil. Fuck smart, adult, mature, rational.
Tonight could actually be fun, you repeated it again while fixing your hair in the mirror. And God, you needed it. After a week of your brain torturing you with Satoru’s face, replaying a thousand memories you really didn’t ask for, a party—alcohol and your friends—felt like the only reasonable cure.
Even better, it was just Rin’s place: small, full of familiar faces. Nothing out of the ordinary. And definitely nothing that involved him.
Your ex-boyfriend would never show up here. Not at Rin’s. And that was fine—safer, even.
You didn’t worry about the possibility of bumping into him. Why would you? He wouldn’t come.
So you didn’t think about him while getting ready.
You slipped on your boots and checked your phone one last time before grabbing your jacket and stepping outside into the cool night.
By the time you reached Rin’s house, you could already hear voices echoing down the hallway. You knocked once and let yourself in. The living room was dim, lit by fairy lights. People waved at you, someone handed you a drink before you could even take off your jacket.
You let the noise drown out the week you’d had. You let your shoulders drop.
You didn’t think of him. Not until your brain decided to betray you in the one quiet moment you found—leaning back against the kitchen counter, your gaze drifting toward nothing.
The last time a night like this didn’t feel fragile was before everything cracked.
The rain that night felt heavier inside your apartment than outside.
Satoru stood in the middle of your room, hoodie half-zipped, shoulders curled inward, hair a mess.
You both looked exhausted.
His classes, your internship. His tutoring job, your lab hours. Schedules that didn’t align. Everything was pulling you in different directions.
“We can’t keep doing this,” you said quietly, sitting at the edge of the big bed you bought just so the two of you could fall asleep comfortably together. Your fingers twisted the sheets. “We need to stop before we ruin this. Before we ruin us.”
Your voice barely rose above a whisper, but it landed with the weight of a confession neither of you wanted to make.
He closed his eyes like hearing it spoken aloud physically hurt him.
“I know,” he murmured, almost soundless. The admission felt defeated. He’d been thinking about it for a while. It didn’t make the ache in his chest any less sharp. “I just… didn’t want to be the one to say it. Didn’t want to accept it.”
You didn’t mean to sob. It slipped out before you could swallow it, and the sound tore something open inside him. He swayed on his feet, chest tightening. He crossed the room in three steps and sank to his knees in front of you.
When he cupped your face, his hands were warm but trembling. His blue eyes—usually bright, teasing, full of summer sky—looked dim. Clouded. Like he was shoving every tear back where it came from because he didn’t want to make this harder for you.
You saw him do it. You saw the exact second he forced the pain inward, because that’s just who he was.
Your forehead touched his for a second, his breath shaking against your mouth. His fingers slid to your jaw, tracing you like he was memorizing every angle.
Your lips brushed once and his cologne, his shampoo, the faint caramel-sweet scent of his favorite coffee—all of it wrapped around you one last time.
When you pulled back, his hands lingered a second longer, reluctant, like they didn’t understand why they had to let go.
“I love you” he whispered one last time, his voice barely holding together.
Then he stood, turned, and walked out of your apartment. And you stayed there, heart in your hands.
When you finally snapped back to reality, you finished your whole drink in one go. Kentaro and Rin must have noticed your absence, because a moment later they were opening the door. You forced a small smile and lifted your hand in a half–wave
“Hey, why are you hiding over here?” Rin asked.
“I’m not hiding, I just came to get a drink” you said, half-true
“Sure. And I came here to major in economics. Let’s go, it’s better outside.” Kentaro said
You rolled your eyes, set the empty cup aside, and let them guide you back toward the living room. The door swung open, and a wave of laughter and chatter spilled out.
You were halfway down the hallway when Kentaro suddenly stopped.
Rin did too, so abruptly you nearly bumped into her. She lifted an arm in front of you, blocking your path.
“Okay,” she said too cheerfully, “you know what? The kitchen? Great vibes. Incredible vibes. We should definitely go back.”
“…What?” you said, confused
She didn’t answer. Kentaro didn’t either.
They exchanged a look— one of those wordless, loaded, oh-no looks.
You leaned between them and saw him.
He was there, leaning casually against the wall, looking like reality itself bent to accommodate him, like the space around him retreated before his presence. Tall, broad-shouldered, hair falling into his eyes with that infuriating, effortless perfection. A girl was saying something beside him—too close, too eager—but he wasn't listening. His gaze was fixed on you.
Rin whispered under her breath “Shit.”
“Told you,” Kentaro muttered. “That’s the yearning face”
Your pulse jumped so suddenly you felt a pain in your chest. Seeing Satoru Gojo twice in seven days shouldn’t have been allowed — not for your nervous system.
Nothing could’ve prepared you for the way he still occupied a room. Or the way he was looking at you now.
Not startled. Not smug. It was different from the look he gave you a week ago.
It was focused. Like in a room full of people, he’d found the only thing he came for.
You couldn’t take it—not this time. So you were the one to break the stare, your gaze slipping away first.
“We should go,” you said to your friends, and they didn’t argue.
The party kept spinning around you. You tried not to look again. You really did. But your eyes kept drifting across the room like they had a mind of their own. And every single time, Satoru was already watching you.
You grabbed another drink.
Eventually, the noise got too loud, your thoughts too messy, and your heart too aware of every shift in Satoru’s direction. You slipped away, weaving through the crowd until you found an empty room at the end of the hall.
The door closed softly behind you.
You weren’t sure why you were there — to breathe, maybe. To steady yourself. To stop feeling like he was seeing through you, like he could read your mind.
You heard the door click open behind you.
He leaned back against the door, cheeks flushed from alcohol. His eyes met yours and your throat tightened.
He was the first to speak
“I told Suguru I didn’t want to make shit complicated.”
He moved away from the door and stepped closer, slow, deliberate “You’re making that impossible.”
Words were stuck in your throat. Maybe the alcohol, maybe because he was looking handsome as ever, maybe because he was wearing that cologne that drove you crazy
“Are you dating him?” The question sounded ripped out of him.
“Satoru—” You knew he meant Kentaro, once again
“I know I don’t have the right to be jealous. But I am. Answer me and put me out of my misery, please” he begged
“No” you said “I’m not dating him”
His shoulders dropped in a silent exhale — relief he wasn’t able to hide. Then, his voice softened — dangerously, intimately:
“You’re not dating him” he repeated, more to himself than to you.
“Why are you here?” you asked
“Because you were looking at me.”
You blinked, but you didn’t look away. Not even when he stepped closer. Not even when his chest nearly brushed yours
“Do you even know what you’re doing to me?” His voice was low, truth loosening every word.
Your eyes flicked down — just for a second — to his mouth.
“Fuck,” he breathed, eyes dropping to your lips. “don’t look at me like that.”
“Like you want me to touch you.”
Your breath caught, sharp. But you didn’t deny it. And he saw that— the hesitation, the alcohol-softened truth, the pull you were both trying to ignore.
You didn’t even have time to think. He was the one who surged forward, his mouth crashing into yours with a kind of pent-up desperation that nearly made your knees buckle.
Your back hit the dresser with a soft thud as his hands gripped your hips. You gasped, and he swallowed the sound greedily.
You tugged at his shirt — the moment your fingers brushed his skin, he groaned, low and dark, pulling your leg up around his waist. His thigh pressed between your legs, and your hips jerked forward on instinct — his breath caught, sharp and obscene.
“Shit— I missed you,” he murmured between kisses “You have no idea—”
His hands slid under your shirt, slow but confident, fingers spreading over your waist like he was memorizing the shape all over again.
His head dropped to your neck, leaving wet, hungry kisses before he caught your earlobe between his teeth—just like he always used to.
You whimpered. He pressed into you, desperate, grinding just enough to make your knees shake.
The sound yanked you out of the moment.
The realization hit like cold water, your breath stuttering as the room tilted. This wasn’t right.
What were you two even thinking?
You tore yourself out of his grip so fast his breath hitched. You didn’t look at him—just turned, crossed the room in a rush, and pulled the door open before your mind could catch up.
“Woah—” a familiar voice said as your shoulder hit a solid chest.
Suguru blinked down at you, surprise flickering across his face.
He opened his mouth—maybe to ask something—but you were already moving past him, fast, barely offering a rushed “sorry.”
You didn’t look back. You just kept going, down the hall, out into the cold air.
Your pulse was still erratic, your skin still trembling where his hands had been, and your thoughts a mess of what the hell you two were doing.
You flagged the first cab you saw and slid inside, breathless.
Satoru was still staring at the doorway where you’d just disappeared. His hands were in his hair, his breath unsteady.
“I fucked up,” he muttered to his friend.
“You just jumped straight into making out without even talking about your damn feelings first, didn’t you?”
Satoru shut his eyes, jaw clenching. “I’m an idiot.”
“Go after her, you dumbass.”
He didn’t waste another second. He bolted.
He reached the entrance, swung the door open— Nothing.
Of course you were gone. Of course you ran.
He hurried out to the street, where his car was still parked, yanked the door open, slid into the driver’s seat, and headed straight for your apartment.
You hadn't been there long when you heard him on the other side of the door. A rough, uneven breath— like he was trying and failing to get himself under control. Then the knock, sharp but shaky, and—
Your hand was already on the doorknob before your mind caught up.
He stood there with a crease carved between his brows, mouth parted, chest rising too fast — like he’d sprinted the whole way and then forgotten how to breathe.
He didn’t step forward. Didn’t try to come in. He just looked at you, and something inside him snapped open, raw and unfiltered.
The words came immediately, spilling out faster than he could think them.
“I can’t— I can’t pretend that didn’t happen,” he said, voice rough, every syllable tumbling out in a rush. “I can’t act like it was some impulse or— or nostalgia or the alcohol, or whatever bullshit people say when they’re trying to downplay something that meant everything.”
You stayed by the door, fingers curling at your sides
“I haven’t been okay. Not for a long time.” A breath, shaking. “Fuck— I don’t think I’ve been okay since that night.”
Your chest tightened, a slow, warm ache blooming beneath your ribs.
“I never moved on,” he said. “I don’t think I ever even tried to. Everyone tells you that’s what you’re supposed to do, right? You go out, you work, you laugh at the right moments, you pretend you’re fine. And it works— until suddenly it doesn’t.”
He shut his eyes, breathed hard through his nose, and when he opened them again, something sharp and wounded flickered there. Satoru didn’t cry, but this was close— painfully close.
“Last week,” he said quietly. “When I saw you with him.”
Your heartbeat stuttered.
“I thought you’d moved on. You looked happy. You were smiling, laughing. And I just—” His voice cracked, barely but unmistakably “I went home and stared at my ceiling, trying to convince myself it was fine. That you were allowed to be happy with someone else.” He shook his head, jaw tight.
“And then I talked to Suguru. And something lit up in me. A stubborn, stupid hope that maybe— maybe you felt even a fraction of what I’ve been feeling all this time.”
You stepped closer, drawn in by a pull neither of you could fight.
“And then I kissed you.” He laughed once, thin and humorless. “Like my body decided it didn’t give a damn about common sense or self-respect or the fact that we’re supposed to have boundaries now.”
He swallowed, throat bobbing.
“But what actually wrecked me was that you kissed me back.”
He kept going, voice tripping over itself, desperate to outrun the panic rising inside him.
“Because when you kissed me back, I felt—” His mouth struggled around the word. “I felt like I had you again. Even if it was one fucking second, I believed it.”
You inhaled slowly. Your lungs felt too small. He stood rigid, arms stiff at his sides, as if touching you too soon would burn him.
“And when I saw you run away from me,” he whispered, “I knew I fucked up.”
You parted your lips to speak, but he shook his head sharply.
“Please let me finish.” Not demanding — pleading.
“We broke up because it was the responsible thing to do. Because life was too loud, and neither of us could breathe under it.” he blinked hard, steadying himself. “But I— I can’t be responsible anymore. I can’t pretend that kiss didn’t feel like oxygen after months underwater.”
Your throat tightened, your fingers slowly curling again at your sides.
“I’m not asking for anything,” he said, voice trembling on the edge of breaking. “I just—”
He exhaled shakily, then let everything go in one helpless, frantic burst:
“I needed you to know that I never stopped loving you. Not for a single fucking day.”
The room went utterly still.
“I love you,” he said, voice raw. “I’m so pathetically in love with you.”
His eyes searched your face like he was bracing for an impact he wasn’t sure he’d survive. “I’m sorry.”
Your heart slammed once, painfully hard. The words in your chest were too heavy to force through your throat. Inside you, everything trembled — because every piece of his pain mirrored your own.
The months pretending. The sleepless nights. Waiting for something inside you to quiet that never did.
And the overwhelming truth thrummed through every part of you.
You drew in a slow, steady breath and stepped closer—small, deliberate steps—until you were standing right in front of him.
Your hands rose to his cheeks, guiding his face down until his eyes were locked on yours. His breath trembled under your thumbs, but you didn’t hesitate.
“Satoru,” you started softly “I didn’t run away because I didn’t want you. I ran because everything came back at once. The feelings, the ache, the weight of what we were .. and what we lost”
You swallowed, but your voice stayed steady.
“I wasn’t okay either. All this time I kept telling myself to move on, to forget. That it was the mature thing to do. But it wasn’t maturity. It was fear.”
Your thumbs brushed the curve of his cheekbones, grounding both of you
“We thought leaving was the right choice back then. And maybe it was.”
His breath hitched—sharp, undone.
You leaned your forehead to his, your voice dropping to a whisper.
“I’m scared of losing you again. Terrified. But I’m more scared of pretending I don’t want this.”
You drew in a slow breath, a decision settling in your bones.
“So I’m choosing you. Fully. No excuses.”
His eyes widened— stunned, wrecked, hopeful at all once.
And then you said it, steady and certain:
His entire body reacted — a violent, shuddering exhale as he leaned into your hands like you’d just given him something he’d been starving for.
Every wall he’d built collapsed in a single, devastating instant.
A soft, broken sound escaped him— relief, disbelief, longing — everything he’d been holding back for months.
“I love you, Satoru” you repeated, firmer, because he needed to hear it—and because you needed to say it.
And then you kissed him—slow, deep, sure—
A kiss that didn’t run away from the fear, but walked straight through it.
He melted into it with a shudder, his hands sliding to your waist and the back of your neck, pulling you in like he’d been waiting months for this exact moment.
You kissed him again, deeper this time, your fingers curling into his hoodie—and he answered with every part of him— like you were something he’d lost and finally, finally gotten back.
You didn’t break the kiss when you dragged him deeper inside, one hand tangled in his hoodie, the other pulling him by the nape. He followed blindly, stumbling a little as you tugged him toward you.
He kicked the door shut with his leg, not breaking the kiss, not even breathing properly. His hands tightened on your waist, then your back, then your hips — like he couldn’t decide which part of you he needed to hold just to believe you were actually real.
“Satoru—” you whispered against his mouth.
He groaned softly and kissed you again, deeper this time, his hand sliding up your spine like he couldn’t get you close enough.
By the time you reached the couch, your pulse was hammering. You pushed him back onto it and he fell with a soft grunt, looking up at you like you were the only thing that had ever made sense.
You pulled your shirt over your head, letting it fall somewhere behind you, leaving you in just your black lace bra as you stepped closer.
He slid his hands to the backs of your thighs and drew you toward him until his nose brushed your lower stomach. He kissed you there, warm and slow.
“You’re perfect,” he murmured against your skin.
You smiled down at him and slipped off your skirt and matching black panties, his hands releasing you only long enough to let you strip.
“Take it off,” you told him, eyes flicking to his shirt.
He obeyed immediately, tugging it over his head, breath unsteady as his gaze returned to you.
Then you started to lower yourself between his knees, but his hand shot forward, cupping your jaw before your knees even touched the floor.
“No,” he said instantly — not harsh, but desperate.
Your brows lifted as you slowly rose, and he took both your hips, turning you around and pulling you back until you were seated between his thighs — your back aligning perfectly with his chest.
“Just like this,” he murmured, his hands sliding to your waist.
You settled into him, breath shaky. His legs spread wider behind you, and you bit your lip when you felt him against your ass, hard and already straining against his pants.
He kissed your shoulder once — slow, warm — then ran his hands down the length of your thighs.
“Open your legs for me,” he whispered against your ear.
“Let me touch you,” he added, voice cracking, “please”
You parted your legs. Sitting like this, your feet didn’t even touch the floor; you were completely in his hold — and he knew it.
Satoru inhaled sharply and rested his forehead against your shoulder for a moment, like he needed a second to steady himself. You were spread open on his lap, warm and exposed, and he looked a second away from losing his mind.
His fingers slid up your inner thigh, slow and warm, drawing soft circles that made your breath catch in your throat.
“Easy…” he whispered, lips brushing your neck, one arm wrapping around your waist and pulling you flush against him.
His other hand moved higher until his fingers brushed the heat between your legs. The light touch made your hips jerk, a soft gasp slipping out of you before you could stop it.
“Fuck, baby—” Satoru moaned quietly into your skin. “You’re so wet for me.”
The tips of his fingers glided through the slickness easily, your hips reacting before you could hold them still. You felt his breath falter, his chest pressing harder against your back as if the feel of you was too much.
He dragged his fingers through you again, slower this time, spreading the wetness over your skin. Your head fell back onto his shoulder, a shaky inhale rattling out of you each time his touch circled deeper, firmer, slipping over your clit perfectly. He knew you so well it didn’t surprise you—he found the rhythm you needed almost instantly.
Your eyes rolled back and you clutched at his forearm.
“Hm?” he hummed, kissing your shoulder, then your neck, then the edge of your jaw. “Let me hear you.”
A soft whimper escaped you, and you felt his smile against your neck a split second before he slid two fingers inside you—slow, careful, deliberate.
He held you tighter against his chest, curling his fingers inside you with devastating precision.
“That’s it… just like that,” he murmured, his free hand sliding up to cup and squeeze your breast, his thumb brushing your nipple through the lace in slow circles. “Let me take care of you.”
You were trembling now, unable to keep your breath quiet. He brought his hand to your throat, holding you gently as he licked and softly bit the side of your earlobe, his fingers inside you never losing pace—if anything, they grew more focused, more sure.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered against your ear. “So, so beautiful.”
You grabbed his thigh beside you, nails sinking into the fabric of his pants for something to hold on to.
“I know, baby,” he said, voice low and steady, lips brushing your ear. “Let go for me.”
His thumb pressed against your clit at the exact moment his fingers curled deeper, and your body melted back into him—heat flooding through you, aftershocks trembling through your thighs as a soft cry slipped out of you. He murmured your name into your skin, kissing along your neck as you came undone in his hand.
He kept holding you, grounding you, and when your breathing finally steadied, you slowly pushed yourself up, only to turn and straddle him.
You cupped his face, your thumbs brushing along his cheekbones, and kissed him —slow and deep, a kiss that pulled a low groan from the back of his throat. Then you trailed your lips down his neck, along the line of his jaw, to the hollow beneath his ear.
Your fingers slid into his hair and tugged lightly. His breath stuttered; his eyes fluttered; his hands finally moved, traveling up your sides like he couldn’t stop himself.
You pulled back just enough to look at him. He was flushed, lips swollen, hair deliciously messy. Pupils wide and desperate. Completely undone.
“Lie back,” you whispered.
He obeyed instantly, sinking into the cushions like he was offering himself to you.
“You have no idea,” he murmured, voice hoarse, “how much I missed you”
You smiled, letting your weight settle on his lap, feeling the hard length of him press against your exposed cunt “I think I do.”
A broken sound tore from his throat, something between a gasp and a curse. His hands clamped around your hips, fingers digging in like instinct, like he needed to hold on to something before he lost himself completely.
“Jesus—” he moaned, head falling back against the couch, chest rising in a sharp, trembling inhale.
You shifted just slightly—barely—and his whole body shuddered beneath you. His thumbs stroked your hips as he pressed his forehead to your collarbone, breathing you in like he needed it.
“Tell me what to do,” he murmured, voice low. “I’ll do anything.”
You dragged your hands down his chest, then lower, trailing until your fingers brushed the waistband of his pants and boxers.
His fingers moved fast, hooking into the fabric and shoving both his pants and boxer down his thighs, breath hitching when he freed himself. You bit your lip at the sight and reached behind your back, unclasping your bra.
The straps slipped down your shoulders, the lace falling away, and his reaction was immediate.
“You’re—” His voice cracked, eyes drinking in every inch of newly exposed skin “–too perfect for me”
You leaned in slightly, and he caught you by the hips, gentle but firm, desperate to keep you still.
“Don’t move yet,” he whispered, voice fraying. “Give me a second—just a second.”
His hands held you softly, reverently, fighting to hold onto the control he was already losing.
Then, wrecked as he looked, his gaze flicked up.
“Wait—” He reached blindly toward his discarded jeans, searching for his wallet.
But before he could even touch the fabric, your hand closed around his wrist
“We’re good,” you murmured, breath warm against his lips. “I’m on it. And I need you raw, please”
His pupils dilated so fast it looked like the air had been punched out of him.
You kissed him again, your hips rolling just slightly, enough to make his breath catch and his hands clench at your thighs.
He let out a low, desperate sound against your mouth.
“Fuck—” he whispered “You’re gonna kill me.”
“Not planning on it,” you said, lips brushing his jaw.
Your hand slid between your bodies, wrapping around him, and his hips were already twitching into your touch. You lifted your hips just slightly, guiding him to your entrance.
You moaned when his tip brushed against you, and with his fingers digging into your hips, you began to sink down onto him
“Holy—” He cut himself off with a strangled moan, his head snapping back against the couch, eyes squeezing shut “God, you feel— fuck—”
“Satoru…” you murmured against his ear, your breath hot on his skin. “Look at me while I ride you baby.”
His eyes fluttered open—pupils blown wide, half-lidded, worshipping you like you were the only thing keeping him alive.
God, he wanted to keep his eyes closed—just to survive you. But you smiled, and tugged his hair, dragging him like you owned him. And fucking hell… you did.
He tried to speak, maybe say something cocky, something clever—but the moment you started bouncing on him, every slap of your skin against his thighs knocked the thoughts clean out of his head, making him stupid for you. His mouth fell open, his chest rising fast as he failed to swallow a moan.
You rolled your hips slow and punishing, and everything in his mind burned white.
His grip on your hips tightened, desperate, fighting not to fall apart. You were guiding the pace and he let you—god, he wanted you to. He wanted to give you every bit of control with his body, the same way he’d already handed you his heart.
He whispered I love you into your mouth over and over like it was the only truth he knew.
Your pace quickened, heat coiling low and heavy between you, pulling both your bodies tighter and tighter—
“Satoru,” you gasped, nails sinking into his shoulders.
He cupped your face, kissing you like he was falling apart.
You moved harder, deeper, both of you unraveling, kisses turning messy, hands grabbing whatever they could reach.
You felt him stutter beneath you — his body tensing, breath breaking apart —
You kissed him hard, swallowing the noise that tore from his throat as he came inside you, his arms wrapping around you like he was afraid you might vanish if he let go.
Your own climax followed in a wave, heat crashing through you as you buried your face in his neck, shaking against him while he held you through it.
And then the world softened. He kept you pressed to his chest, kissing your shoulder
“I love you so fucking much,” he breathed, voice wrecked “Please don’t go”
“I won’t” you whispered, “I love you”
Satoru brushed his fingers up and down your spine, the soap slipping warm and gentle over your skin as the steam curled around both of you.
The shower was quiet except for the water hitting tile. His touch was slow, careful—nothing like the desperation from minutes ago.
“You okay?” he asked softly, kissing your forehead.
“Yeah,” you whispered, your cheek resting on his collarbone. “Are you?”
He let out a small, breathy laugh.
You cupped his jaw, your thumb brushing his cheekbone, and gave him a tiny peck.
He blinked once—slow— a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
When you stepped out of the shower, he wrapped a towel around you and dried you off before even bothering with himself.
He stayed in just his boxers, grabbed his hoodie, and held it open.
He pulled the hoodie over your shoulders. It swallowed you whole—warm, soft, smelling like him.
“Perfect,” he muttered under his breath, almost annoyed at how much he loved the sight.
You tugged gently at his arm.
He hesitated only because he was staring at you like you’d just handed him the sun.
Then he slipped an arm under your legs and another around your back.
“Satoru—” you squeaked, surprised.
“What?” he said, already carrying you toward the bedroom. “You think I’m letting you walk after that?”
You buried your face against his neck to hide your smile, but he noticed anyway.
He set you down on the bed carefully, then climbed in beside you. He lay on his back and opened an arm in silent invitation.
You moved instantly—curling onto his chest, your head rising with each steady breath he took. His hand slid into your hair, thumb brushing your scalp, while his other arm wrapped around your waist, keeping you close.
Your legs tangled loosely with his.
He pressed one last kiss to your hairline, sleepy and soft.
“I love you,” he muttered.
His hand squeezed your waist—barely there, already drifting into sleep.
And for the first time in months, sleep came easy—for both of you.
You opened your eyes slowly, still half-asleep, and the first thing you felt was Satoru’s large hand resting over your waist. His hoodie was warm around your body, and the faint morning light spilled beautifully across the sheets. A smile tugged at your lips.
At some point during the night you’d ended up as the little spoon — not that you were complaining.
He seemed to be asleep, breath steady and his chin resting on your head, so you didn’t dare move too much. But then, out of the corner of your eye, you noticed your phone on the nightstand.
Your eyes flew open. Oh god. You’d run out yesterday and completely forgotten to text anyone.
Trying not to wake the heavy, white-haired menace behind you, you reached carefully for your phone.
Rin: Where are you?
Rin: Are you alive?
Rin: Nevermind, I found you.
Rin: Thank god for Find My app, idiot.
Rin: ARE YOU WITH GOJO, YOU LITTLE SHIT??
Rin: ANSWER ME
Rin: Suguru already told me. Take care, lovebirds. Text me when you wake up hehe.
You rolled your eyes and typed a quick reply before switching chats.
Kentaro: heyyy
Kentaro: you good? did you make it home?
Kentaro: Rin told me ;) take care
You were about to type a response when a warm hand suddenly snatched the phone right out of yours.
You gasped and twisted slightly in his arms.
Satoru didn’t even try to hide that he’d been awake the whole time. His chin slid onto your shoulder, warm and heavy.
“Who,” he muttered, voice thick with sleep, “are you texting this early in the morning?”
He squinted at the screen. “Huh.”
“Satoru—” you reached for your phone.
He kept the phone out of reach, his arm caging you easily. “I wake up holding you, and the first thing I see is that parasite boy on your screen.”
“Parasite boy?” you frowned.
“Yeah. Your clingy friend.”
You rolled your eyes and tugged the device gently from his hand. “You can’t be mad.”
“I’m not mad,” he murmured—though the gravel in his voice suggested otherwise. His fingers slipped under the hem of the hoodie you were wearing—his hoodie—gliding slowly across your bare waist. “But I wake up with you in my arms, and then I see him on your screen.”
His palm flattened on your hip.
“And you were about to answer him,” he added quietly. “Before even saying good morning to me.”
He cut you off without raising his voice, lips brushing your neck.
“That does things to a man.”
You turned your head toward him, meeting heavy, possessive, half-lidded blue eyes.
“You’re jealous again,” you whispered.
“Maybe,” he admitted without shame.
“But also…” His gaze swept down your body, slow and deliberate, then back up. “I know exactly how to get over it.”
Your lips parted, but he leaned in first, murmuring against your ear:
“I was a good boy yesterday, wasn’t I?”
His hand slid up your side, over the hoodie, fingertips grazing your ribs.
“Now put the phone down,” he whispered, voice dropping into something dangerous.
His hand clamped around your hip, pulling you fully back against him—and that’s when you felt him. Hard. Thick. Pressed right against your ass.
“And be a good girl for me.”
Heat flooded through you.
The phone slipped from your fingers onto the mattress without resistance.
Satoru smirked—slow, satisfied—and lowered his mouth to your neck.
His hand trailed down your thigh, guiding it forward, parting your legs just enough. Then the warmth of him shifted behind you—his hand leaving your waist for just a moment—
—and you felt the soft rustle of fabric as he pushed his boxers down.
A second later, the bare length of him brushed against your backside. Hot. Heavy. Wanting.
“You feel that?” he whispered, reverent. “That’s what only you do to me.”
His fingers hooked the side of your panties and dragged the fabric aside—not off, just enough.
You were already embarrassingly wet, and he felt it.
“So needy,” he murmured, one hand returning to your hip, grinding himself slowly into the curve of your ass.
You inhaled sharply, hips shifting on instinct—
And his grip tightened instantly. His hand slid down to your thigh, holding you still.
He didn’t let you move an inch.
A command. Soft. Absolute.
“You’re punishing me,” you breathed.
He hummed against your neck. “Not trying to.”
Your gasp slipped out the moment the head of his cock slid between your folds—no penetration, just the thick, deliberate drag of him gliding through your slick. The friction jolted through your entire body.
Satoru exhaled shakily behind you.
He rolled his hips once. Slow. Controlled.
His length fit perfectly between your thighs, dragging right over your clit in devastating pressure.
Your hand shot back to grab at his thigh, nails sinking in.
He thrust again—smooth and heavy—grinding the length of his cock along your soaked cunt. Your legs trembled.
“That’s it,” he whispered. “You’re doing so good, baby”
Your hips jerked involuntarily.
He wrapped an arm around your waist, pinning you exactly where he wanted you.
“Be a good girl,” he breathed. “Take it slow. Let me make you come like this.”
You choked on a moan, clutching at his forearm.
His lips brushed your throat, teeth scraping lightly.
Another slow roll of his hips—harder, deeper—and the friction shot straight through your spine.
He chuckled softly. “I remember my beautiful girl having a filthy mouth when she’s horny. So say what you really want to say, honey”
“Fuck. I need your cock inside me now. Fuck me stupid, cum inside me—give me your fucking babies.”
You felt him twitch violently.
“Shit,” he groaned, voice breaking with the effort of holding back. “I will. I’ll fuck you exactly how you want.” he said, voice deep and sinful against your skin.
“But first,” he continued, his lips dragging up your neck, “you’re going to come like this.”
His hand slipped between your legs again, slow and knowing.
“And then I’m going to take you from behind, and you’ll come again.”
His hips pressed forward, deliberate, teasing.
“And after that…” his voice dropped to a growl, “I’ll fuck you while looking at your pretty face, and make you come a third time.”
He rocked into you with devastating rhythm
Your breathing turned uneven, your body tightening around nothing, the ache unbearable.
Your hand clutched his forearm, trembling.
“Come for me,” he whispered against your skin, voice ragged. “Soak me.”
Your knees tightened, your breath hitched, and pleasure ripped through you in sharp waves. Satoru held you through every tremor, whispering your name, steadying you until your body finally eased.
When your breathing steadied, he was already kissing your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth.
You nodded, dizzy and spent.
He shifted behind you— and you felt him again. Still hard. Still throbbing. Still very much not done.
“Good,” he said, turning you gently onto your back.
“Because now,” he whispered, settling between your legs, eyes dark and hungry— “I’m gonna give my girl what she wanted.”
You barely had time to breathe before he tugged his hoodie off your body in one smooth pull. Then his fingers hooked into your panties and dragged them down your thighs and tossed them somewhere in the room.
He flipped you gently onto your hands and knees, pulling your hips up to meet him.
Your breath tangled in your throat as his palms spread you open, thumbs pressing softly into the swell of your hips.
“Look at you,” he murmured, voice thick and already wrecked. “You’re the most beautiful thing my eyes have ever laid on”
His palm slide up your spine in one slow stroke and your stomach tightened. “Arch your back, baby.”
You did—instantly—and the sound that tore from his throat was almost feral
Then he lined himself up and he slid into you, slow at first, then all the way, filling you completely. The pace he set was relentless, devastating.
Every thrust dragged fire through your body, the pleasure coiling fast, too fast. You were slipping into that overstimulated, desperate edge again.
He pulled out almost entirely, then slammed back in—deep, heavy, claiming.
A cry tore from your throat. Your arms trembled.
“You can,” he groaned, thrusting harder. “You’re already close again, aren’t you? My girl is so fucking sensitive this morning.”
You whined, your body shaking.
“You like it like this?” he rasped, fucking you deeper. “Me behind you, holding you open, fucking you until you forget your name?”
You nodded—too frantic to speak.
“Yes—” you gasped, voice breaking. “I love it—I love you—”
His hips faltered for a split second. Then he cursed under his breath, the sound raw and disbelieving.
He groaned, head dropping to your shoulder blade as his pace turned messy, desperate.
“Come” he demanded, pressing a hand to your stomach “Give it to me again, please”
Your second orgasm slammed into you, shaking you apart from the inside out.
He held you through it—guiding you down onto the mattress with one hand on your back, the other squeezing your hip—keeping the thrusts deep and steady as you rode the aftershocks.
When your breath finally steadied, he slowed, pulled out of you with a quiet frustrated groan, and guided you onto your back.
He hovered over you, settled between your legs—hair messy, pupils blown wide, chest rising too fast. He looked wrecked. Beautifully, painfully wrecked. He was so hard it almost hurt just to look at him; he was holding back so much to make sure you came again and again.
You cupped his cheek and kissed him softly, your thumb stroking his lower lip.
“You’re so good to me…” you whispered against his mouth. “My sweet boy.”
His breath stuttered, hips jerking forward just from your voice.
You brushed your fingers over his eyelashes, tender and slow.
“You have the most beautiful eyes in the world.”
He let out a soft, broken whimper.
“I love when you look at me when you’re smiling…” you said, kissing him again, biting his lip gently.
“And I love when you look at me when you’re on top of me… when you’re inside me.”
His hand fisted the sheets beside your head. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, guiding him in. He slid into you again in one slow, devastating thrust.
“You f— you f-feel too good,” he choked. “Baby, don’t— you’re gonna make me—”
“You fuck me so well,” you teased, voice warm, sultry. “So deep. So… right.”
“I don’t know how I survived these eight months without you.”
“No one compares to you. No one.”
“I’m so lucky… the most handsome man treats me so well… and ruins me so perfectly”
His eyes squeezed shut, a helpless groan ripping from his chest.
His hands framed your face as he kissed you—deep, messy, claiming—his hips moving with a pace he was barely controlling.
“I missed you,” he whispered into your mouth, voice breaking. “So much—so fucking much—”
You traced his jaw, your voice breathless “You’re perfect”
“D-don’t— say it like that—” he begged, thrust faltering. “Baby, I’m trying to last—”
“Why?” you whispered in his ear, kissing down his throat.
“I want to feel you fall apart for me. I want you to lose it.”
His hips stuttered violently.
“S–stop—” he gasped, the word falling apart in his throat, “I can’t— I’m gonna— I’m—”
You dragged your nails down his back, pulling him deeper, anchoring him to you.
“Come for me,” you whispered, breath hot against his ear. “Come inside me, Satoru.”
His breath hitched—his whole body tightening above you—and then the words spilled out raw, unfiltered, instinctive:
Another thrust—deep, desperate, uncontrolled.
“Want you to be the mother of my children.”
His forehead pressed to yours, his voice breaking open completely.
“Wanna call you my wife— f-fuck— wanna wake up to you every morning, wanna fuck you just like this— every day— forever—”
You moaned, your walls clenching hard around him, pulling him in deeper.
“Come with me,” he begged, thrusting hard, messy, losing all control.
“Please—baby— come with me— I need it— I need you—”
Your orgasm hit like a shockwave, pulling his right out of him—
He groaned your name, long and guttural, and spilled inside you, hips pressed tight to yours as he came undone completely.
You held him, kissing his cheek, his jaw, the corner of his mouth as he shook through the last waves. He collapsed onto you gently, breath hot against your neck, still inside you, still trembling.
He dropped beside you a moment later, chest heaving, one arm automatically pulling you into him like his body didn’t know how not to.
“…Jesus Christ,” he muttered “I think I saw God.”
You snorted, half-dead. “I think you became God for a minute.”
“That’s right,” he mumbled, eyes closing, “worship me.”
You nudged him weakly with your elbow. “Shut up.”
He smiled — wide, blissed-out, boyish — and kissed your shoulder like he couldn’t help himself.
You groaned dramatically. “If I move right now my legs might fall off.”
“That’s fine,” he said, scooping you up with zero warning, “I’ll carry you.”
“Satoru!” you squealed, grabbing his shoulders as he lifted you bridal-style.
He laughed all the way to the bathroom.
By the time you stepped out of the shower, your legs had finally stopped shaking. You threw on an oversized shirt, and ten minutes later you were flipping eggs, humming to yourself, when a pair of big, warm arms wrapped around your waist.
Satoru dropped his chin onto your shoulder like a dramatic koala.
“What are you doing?” you asked, smiling.
“Making sure my breakfast doesn’t run away.”
You snorted. “You ate me alive half an hour ago.”
“And I’m starving again,” he said, squeezing your hips.
You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you. He kissed your cheek. Once. Twice. A third time just because he clearly had zero self-control.
“It wasn’t the heat of the moment.” he said suddenly
He repeated it, firmer this time. “It wasn’t the heat of the moment.”
You turned your head slightly, frowning. “What are you even—”
You choked on air so violently he had to grab your elbow before you sent the pan flying.
He laughed, delighted. “Relax. I’m not proposing. I’m not a simple man. I wouldn’t do it in the kitchen”
You narrowed your eyes. “Of course you wouldn’t. You’d probably hire a marching band, a parade, a helicopter, and a drone show spelling ‘MARRY ME’.”
He pointed at you proudly. “Exactly.”
You nudged him with your hip.
“I mean it. I want to call you my wife someday.”
Your chest tightened painfully sweet.
“Okay, husband,” you murmured, “but first we need to graduate.”
He groaned like you’d stabbed him. “Ugh. Why would you bring reality into my love confession?”
He swayed slightly with you in his arms.
“Well,” he sighed dramatically, kissing your shoulder, “if the rest of life is with you… I guess I’ll survive till graduation.”
You turned in his arms, cupped his cheeks, kissed him slow.
He smiled — soft, bright, wrecking.
And after eight long months, everything felt right.
this was my first ever finished and published Satoru fic!! It’s crazy how after this, I just couldn’t stop writing. Definitely not my best work, but it holds such a special place in my heart 🩷
reblogs are always appreciated!! <3
masterlist
