Your parents think Gojo is your gay bff — if only they knew he’s been folding you like laundry behind closed doors ;)
“Honey, are you two okay in there?”
“We’re just fine, mom!”
“And Gojo?”
Smiling like the Cheshire Cat, he winks at you before he replies, “We’re fabulous. Don’t worry your pretty self about us!”
She giggles through the bathroom door. “Okay, but make sure you get her to shave her mustache too, sweetie. She’s not as keen on feminine hygiene as we are. Work her hard in there.” Ouch?
“Oh, trust me girl, I’m working her real hard.”
How she hasn’t figured out by now that your ‘gay’ best friend isn’t as gay as she thinks, you will never know. It seems so obvious — the constant sleepovers, the wearing his shirt, how touchy he was even to their face, and how he’d be sporting a boner when you entered his line of vision. But who are you to complain?
At least your parents’ obliviousness means you two can have as much sex in your house as you’d like. For example, right now, when he’s balls deep inside your pussy in the bathroom, fucking you against the cold tiles with the excuse of a ‘DIY spa-day’ as your cover.
Swallowing your moans, he kisses you until you’re dizzy and desperate for air. Every thrust, every grind of his pelvis to your clit, every throb of his cock inside your gummy walls, drives you wild. But you have to be quiet, have to not let the squelch! squelch! of your mixing juices bleed through the door, and give away your little secret. And it's oh so hard when he's fucking you oh so good.
Naturally, it was his idea — something about the sneaking around and deceiving everyone turned him on endlessly. The way he could make you cum through your panties under the dinner table with his foot as he chatted with your dad about taking him shopping, or fingering you under the blankets when watching Barbie for the hundredth time, and how he could actually come inside the dressing rooms in stores with your mother right outside, not knowing his tongue was exploring your pussy. And you won’t lie, it's pretty damn hot to be so obvious whilst everyone is none the wiser.
“Slay, boots down houston I’m -ngh- d-deceased,” he says through gritted teeth, his tip gliding past your walls and prodding that spot inside that has you creaming harder on his cock. “This pretty pussy never fails to -fuuuuck loosen up baby gonna make me cum early- to m-make my problems sashay away.”
Nails digging into his slippery back, you groan. “Shut up, Satoru. Seriously.”
He chuckles against your neck, hot breath tickling the sensitive skin. “Just method acting, babe. Respect the craft.”
Your father’s voice sounds out through the pleasurable haze. “How are my two queens doing in there? Can I say queens?”
Gojo snickers before he forces his own voice into an ear-splitting high pitched tone, still rutting into your sopping cunt. “You can say whatever you want, daddykins — we’re almost done.”
The older man laughs before he pads away and you two resume your animalistic, uninhibited fucking. Your own wetness is dripping down your thighs. His mouth is wrapping around your nipple, flicking the bud with the tip of his tongue. And they have no clue — it’s kinda embarrassing to have parents so airheaded but you love them dearly, just not enough to be honest it would seem.
Only after you both cum, shuddering against each other with long, quiet moans, do you finally ask, “Do gay men even say ‘daddykins’?”
He grins.
“This gay does.”
This might be offensive but my fr gay best friend gave me the go ahead so woke fiends don't come knocking at my door!
.ೃ࿔*:･ Riding Satoru Gojo for the first time! | porn w no plot aka straight up smut, 18+ minors do not engage/interact!
Satoru can't believe you can take his entire cock!
Like, down to the hilt. He's grown so used to being too big for the women he sleeps with that he knows to expect it.
But then you come along, straddling his lap and sinking down, down, down onto his thick length until your ass rests flush against his thighs, whimpering at the overwhelming fullness once you reach the base. As your walls flutter around him, he genuinely considers proposing on the spot.
Satoru doesn't know where to keep his eyes; on how your tight cunt stretches so desperately around him, and the creamy ring already forming at the base of his cock?
Or maybe on your round tits, watching them bounce up and down as you make up the courage to slowly ride him, hips lifting and lowering cautiously.
His favorite sight though, without a doubt, is that pretty face of yours contorted in pleasure; eyes rolled back and teeth biting down hard on your bottom lip in an unsuccessful attempt to contain your outright pornographic whines as you pick up your pace, bouncing on him harder and faster.
He watches intently with his large hands grabbing firmly onto your thighs, your ass, your waist. Anywhere he can touch you. His head leans into your ear, close enough that you can hear his whispered praise. "Jus' like that, baby. Fuck yeah."
And when your movements stall as you clench around him, head thrown back while you ride out the high of your first orgasm, he doesn't waste a moment before picking up where you left off, hips bucking as he thrusts his cock into you instead.
With him in control, his tip reaches even further inside of you, thumping your g-spot with every stroke and making you scream his name. He doesn't hold back either, not now that he knows you can take it. His hands grab your ass, fingers indenting flesh as he guides your hips all the way up before slamming them back down in time with his primal thrusts.
And he watches in awe—mouth agape and staring reverently through half-lidded baby blue eyes as he feels his own release building, and wills his body to hold on a bit longer so as to savor every second spent watching you ride him.
When your dainty hand instinctively flies to your neglected, needy clit, Satoru grabs your wrist, pinning it to his chest while his other hand takes over. He rubs slow, precise circles, the cadence at odds with the feverish pace of his hips thrusting in and out of your dripping pussy.
When he can't hold out any longer, he finishes with his head buried in the crook of your neck, groaning your name into your skin as his cock twitches deep inside of you, firing off thick white ropes of cum. You're right there with him, clenching impossibly tight around him while your body shudders and your nails press crescents into his pale skin.
But one look at you, completely fucked out yet still gazing hungrily at him through fluttering lashes, mischief written all over your face—one look's all it takes for him to imagine you sprawled out under him, on your knees for him, bent over every surface in his lofty house.
Before he can hold himself back, Satoru's kissing you again, white lashes fluttering with excitement when your hands thread through his hair and you kiss him back with just as much zeal before pulling away to ask, "c'mere baby, wanna see if your throat can take all of me too?"
The first mistake you made was using Reddit to find a roommate. The second was moving in with him anyway. Satoru Gojo is a gorgeous man and a terminally online incel who will explain exactly why a nice guy like him can't get a girlfriend.
When you decide to weaponize your hotness against his incel worldview, you expect to break him and his “alpha male" ideologies. You do not expect to spend a random evening getting your roommate's dick out of a stuck cock ring.
pairing: Gojo Satoru x reader
warnings: 18+ (mdni!!), explicit sexual content, afab!reader, modern AU, roommate AU, nerdjo, incel!gojo, virgin!gojo, oral (m and f receiving), piv, creampie, light degradation, praise kink, cum in hair, cum eating, cum-drunk, pussy-drunk, cock rings, fleshlights, improper use of hair tie, improper use of yogurt (accidentally ??), oil and fluids everywhere, it’s a bit disgusting, light choking, groping, big time copium from reader, secondhand embarrassment you’d die, reddit, incel stuff, crack treated seriously, fluff, smut, slow burn but the burn is just pure cringe
word count: 17k+
The first mistake you made was using Reddit to find a roommate. Should’ve been a red flag, really. The second was agreeing to meet the guy in person.
You walked into the coffee shop, scanning the midday crowd for someone who matched the description — twenty-something, remote-employed, appreciates a quiet living environment. You were expecting a tired grad student, maybe. Or some tech guy in a Patagonia fleece. Something like that.
Instead, you found a gorgeous, gorgeous looking man. And you were confident it was him, since there were exactly two men present — him, and some grandpa having his afternoon caffeine fix.
And the guy was, objectively and objectifyingly speaking, probably the prettiest guy you had ever laid your eyes on. Way too tall, way too broad, the messy hair and the cute glasses adding the je ne sais quoi of the hot nerd aesthetic you were simply too weak for. Even hunched over his phone like that, he looked aggressively cute. But, let’s be honest, you weren't exactly against a cheeky roommates-to-lovers situation, if you catch my drift.
You stopped dead in your tracks.
Oh no. Oh YES.
Your heart went thump thump thump! like crazy as you stood there, frozen between the door and the counter. Living with a man who looked like that was a direct threat to your peace. And his too, probably. You couldn't believe you had practically won a jackpot over freaking Reddit. And apparently Reddit was only full of weird people, as if. So you took a breath, adjusted your posture, and walked over.
But then the panic hit. Because someone who looked like that was probably bringing home a different girl every night. And you’d have to listen to the stupid Thump. Thump. Thump. of his bed through the thin drywall. Every single time.
Suck it and see, you never know, girl.
And from his seat, Satoru had already run the numbers. His eyes tracked your movement the second you started walking over, assessing. You were cute, yes. Approachable hot, not intimidating hot. You didn’t look like the type who’d expect him to pay for everything or make fun of his personality. And most importantly — you had messaged him first on the housing thread.
That meant the dynamic was already set. You were practically already his. Why else would a girl willingly want to live with a man? The power balance was secured. Handled. Handed to him on a silver platter, just like all the podcasts had promised.
You slid into the booth across from him. "Satoru?"
"You're exactly two minutes and forty seconds late," Satoru announced, and you feared that wasn't a joke. He checked his phone screen. "Statistically speaking, women in their twenties are usually ten to fifteen minutes late to initial meetups to assert social dominance. Two minutes is almost negligible. I like the effort."
You stared at him. What the fuck. You hadn't even taken your jacket off yet.
"I got caught at a red light," you said slowly, furrowing your eyebrows and eyeing his hands. Why were they so big?
“Right. Variables.” Satoru nodded, looking way too serious about the whole thing. He leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest.
“So — I brought the lease agreement. As I mentioned, I have a 780 credit score and I want dishes done within twenty-four hours. To prevent breeding grounds for fruit flies.” He slid the keys across the table along with the papers, completely unprompted. “I assume you don’t have a problem with basic hygiene? You shouldn’t have—” his eyes dragged over you, slow and sleazy, “—judging by your appearance.”
You looked at the keys. Then at his stupidly pretty, already supremely annoying face.
Your brain was trying to throw up big red warning signs, but you really needed the space. It was cheap. Close to work. And you’d have to survive maybe a year or two before you could afford a one-bedroom on your own.
You go, girl.
“I’m clean,” you said, picking up the keys. You narrowed your eyes at him, trying to figure out exactly what brand of lunatic you were about to chain yourself to. “Listen. You’re not going to be weird, are you?”
Satoru tilted his head, genuinely confused. “Define weird.”
You bit your lip.
There went those “quick” two years of your life.
You already knew the answer. You already fucking knew. Time for some hard coping. Maybe this was just a phase. Maybe he’d snap out of it soon. Maybe he’d gone through a breakup and was just being salty. That was probably it. Must have been.
And to be fair, the first few weeks weren’t actually that weird. You were getting to know each other, learning how to exist in the same space. It was quiet, even. You would’ve paid good money to keep it like that forever.
He mostly worked from his room, only came out for meals, did the dishes, and left you alone. He barely even talked to you, which should’ve been suspicious, but you chose to ignore it. You started to think maybe you’d read him wrong at the café. Maybe the breakup theory was right. Maybe he was just having a weird day.
But spoiler alert, because you couldn’t have been more wrong.
Satoru had not gone through a bad breakup. You suspected he had never gone through any breakup at all ever. Once he got comfortable enough to drop the act, or perhaps as some calculated 4D chess move to trap you past the point of getting your deposit back, his true colors started showing.
Satoru didn’t bring girls home. He didn’t do any of the hot-man things you’d expected either. Instead, he spent most of his free time on Reddit, arguing with strangers about the state of modern dating, and why “nice guys” like him were being overlooked by society.
After about a month, it clicked.
This man was chronically, terminally online. And an incel on top of it all.
The rule of never judging a book by its cover confirmed itself in the most jarring way possible. Would say, you played yourself there girl, but who am I to judge.
It started with the staring. You’d be sitting at the kitchen island in your sleep shirt, eating a bowl of Cheerios, and you’d look up to find him just… watching you. He never looked away when you caught him either. He’d just blink those big, stupidly pretty blue eyes at you, gaze heavy and analytical, like he was trying to calculate your exact molecular structure. Which, in a way, he kinda was. Carefully assessing the harmony of your facial features, exactly like the looksmaxxing subreddit had probably told him to.
You were always the one who had to look away first, your face feeling weirdly hot.
Then came the rants. You’d come home from a brutal shift and collapse onto the couch, and Satoru would emerge from his room like clockwork. He’d drop down next to you, eyes glued to his phone, and start talking like someone had asked.
“It’s basic hypergamy,” he announced one night, to absolutely no one. “Men are biologically disadvantaged in the modern dating sphere because of the top-twenty-percent rule.”
You didn’t even look at him. You just kept staring at the TV and wondered how long you could keep nodding along before it would become suspicious.
And he would just keep on going.
Spewing the most vile, stupid shit while you sat there, eyes flicking from the TV to him and back, nodding along because you genuinely did NOT care. Top twenty what percent? Wasn’t he objectively in the top ten at least? What the hell was he even talking about? And every time you didn’t answer, he probably took it as an agreement. You just deadass had nothing to say to him.
Not because you lacked the energy to argue. Though you kind of did, because talking to this manchild was like talking to a wall, and even that would’ve been more productive. Buut mostly because you weren’t even listening anymore. You’d learned how to tune him out pretty quickly.
You were tolerating him, which is what you told yourself. You were tolerating him, and it had nothing to do with the fact that ever since you first laid eyes on him, your brain had decided to revert to its default caveman settings.
Like that one evening when you were walking down the hallway toward the kitchen and the bathroom door opened. Satoru stepped out, dripping wet. White hair plastered to his forehead, water still running down his chest, wearing nothing but a towel dangerously low on his hips. You shamelessly followed his happy trail…The way the towel barely clung on his hips. Gaaawd.
Your brain stalled at the sight of his pretty body and your mouth went dry — or did you start to drool? You couldn’t remember anymore. You reminded yourself why you were tolerating him. Then berated yourself for doing exactly what he did — objectifying.
But hey. What's better than an incel asshole? A hot incel asshole! That's what's better. Be fucking for real. Congratulations to you specifically, really found a rock between a sea of gems.
You thought you had it handled. Juuust white-knuckle your way through the lease. Easy peasy lemon squeezy.
And then you walked past his partially open bedroom door and heard him on Discord.
"Yeah, I mean, the living situation is okay," Satoru was saying, sounding so perfectly reasonable. You thought he was going to say something nice. Like, what a good roommate she is, how glad he was to have you there.
"She's clean. And yeah, she's hot, but she's not like super hot hot where it's scary, you know? She's cute hot. Next door hot, pretty hot. Just my type, you know my type, dude. I can definitely work with that."
You froze in the hallway. Your face did something that could only be described as a visual representation of what the fuck.
Cute hot. I can definitely work with that.
What does that even mean? You knew exactly what it meant, unfortunately. He wasn't just a weird roommate. He was a weird roommate actively running some kind of deranged, incel-fueled long game on you. Casually. Over Discord with his incel buddies.
You quietly backed away, went to your room, locked the door, and screamed into your pillow.
It was not like your roommate was describing you like a property investment to someone over Discord while you were standing mere feet away.
You hated this. You hated him. And you hated yourself for having been even remotely apologetic about it, for feeling your heart skip a beat when he said just my type. Curse you and your completely stupid and irrational attraction to someone you should probably be filing a restraining order against! But god, he was so so cute. If he could just shut the fuck up, or get lobotomized, or something. You could take him to Claire's over the weekend?
But to his credit, and you could not fucking believe you were giving him even some credit at all right now, he was sometimes tolerable, heavy on the sometimes. The man never missed a rent payment. He scrubbed the bathtub weekly. He always bought the expensive brand of paper towels, the ones with the little flower pattern you liked.
Good roommate, generally speaking. Fucking nightmare, every other way.
And the attraction was just a proximity issue. Obviously. Trust. Everyone would have this problem! It would go away with time! His personality was ass. And soon enough you'd look at him and convince yourself his looks were ass too. Start acknowledging his hotness the way you acknowledged anything asexual.
It was totally fine. You were fine! He was just a guy. A guy who happened to look like a Final Fantasy character rendered in 4K, but still just a guy. A nice guy.
And work with that, he definitely did. Because he was fine too! Just not in any way he would ever admit to his Discord buddies.
Because doing it the normal way guys in their sexual prime do was completely fine. He was in his twenties, so naturally, his mind wandered a bit when his head hit the pillow with passing thoughts about the way your sleep shirt rode up your bare thigh. There was absolutely nothing wrong with getting off while thinking about someone! It was just the normal biological need the podcasts yapped about! It was healthy to be sexually active, even if his only active partner was his fist.
And if that happened to escalate into jerking off to a completely innocent Instagram picture and coming all over his phone screen while staring at your pixelated smile? Also completely normal! Everyone dealt with new living arrangements differently… Someone screamed into their pillow, someone else was jerking off every time you got said person inexplicably hard! He couldn't be expected to live like a celibate monk when he was just a poor, horny guy trapped in an apartment with a gorgeous roommate who also happened to be exactly his type. He wasn't being a creep! He was just adapting to his environment.
Goddamn.
It wasn't fine. He wasn't fine, you weren't fine either.
But as the weeks dragged on, he started getting worse.
The passive-aggressive creepiness turned into passive-aggressive entitlement. He had decided, completely on his own, that the two of you were basically already together. You could feel it in the way he hovered. In the way he looked at you like he was waiting for something. Like a bill was coming due and he was just giving you time to find your wallet.
It started with the food. Without any discussion, he started either making food for both of you or straight-up eating what you’d made for yourself. Like that was just the new normal now.
“Satoru, did you eat my food?” you’d ask, staring at the empty space in the fridge where your meal had been. The one you’d been looking forward to all day. And he’d just nod from the couch like it was the most normal, domestic thing in the world and not a direct violation of the rules you’d set when you moved in.
Or there was the night you came home completely drained, fully prepared to eat a sleeve of saltines and a bucket of ice cream for dinner, only to walk into the apartment smelling like garlic and roasted vegetables?
Satoru was actually at the stove, cooking. A rare sight — the man usually survived on takeout and DoorDash. And he’d used your expensive dried tomatoes too. The ones you’d been saving for a special occasion. The ones you’d shoved to the back of the fridge on purpose so he wouldn’t find them.
“Men in the kitchen are a rare sight, I know,” he said, not looking at you as he stirred, trying to look like the eighth world wonder. “But I thought — what if I made pasta? It’s the one my mom used to make. Figured I’d make it for myself. Made a lot though, so… you can have some too, I guess.”
He was already plating a portion for you as he spoke, trying and failing to look casual while clearly nervous you wouldn’t like it.
You watched him for a moment and felt something shift in your chest. You immediately labeled it as hunger and moved on.
He didn’t ask if you liked it. He just assumed you would. And he was right, yeah you ate it, but that wasn’t the point. The pasta wasn’t even that good. It was waay too salty. But it sat warm in your belly, and you didn’t have it in you to tell him the truth.
You thanked him for the meal but didn’t acknowledge the grand gesture you hadn’t agreed to in the first place. You didn’t make conversation either and went straight to do the dishes.
When you glanced back, he was watching you with that look again. Spooked, you looked away first.
And of course an incel like that would have opinions about your love life too.
You’d been seeing someone — nothing serious, just a guy from Hinge. Two dates in, and you were still on the fence. He didn’t make your heart do that stupid thump thump thump, and his hairline wasn’t all that great either.
You made the mistake of mentioning a possible third date while making coffee, trying to have a normal, boring conversation about your respective lives.
“I think I’m going to see him again on Saturday,” you said, mostly to your mug.
Satoru looked up from his phone. He was always on his phone doing gods know what.
"The architect guy?"
"Nah, I ghosted that one. Different guy."
A pause. He furrowed his eyebrows the way he did when he was assessing something. “How many are there?”
You gave him a warning look.
"I'm just asking."
"And I'm not answering," you said, rolling your eyes.
He put his phone down, which was never a good sign. You turned back to the coffee machine.
“I just think,” he started.
“Don’t,” you muttered, already regretting bringing it up.
"—that you're not being strategic about this."
You turned back around, mentally preparing for what was about to come.
“About dating. Statistically speaking, cycling through too many low-value options in a short period of time actually decreases your own value. If you want to attract a high-value man—”
He didn’t just mean men. He meant himself. Which, bless him, but also fuck him for putting it like that.
You stared at him for a moment, seriously considering yelling and throwing your mug at his stupidly symmetrical face.
“Satoru,” you said. “Did you just tell me I’m getting ran-through?”
He opened his mouth, then immediately closed it. His ears went pink — he had probably clocked his own stupidity, apparently, which was a first.
"No! It's not — that's not what I—" he started, hands coming up like he was surrendering.
"Where did you even hear that phrase?"
"It's a concept from—"
"No." You held up a hand. "No, I don't want to know, actually. You just made me really upset."
You picked up your coffee and looked him over. Standing there in his stupid nerdy sleep shirt, with his stupidly cute messy hair, genuinely confused about why this conversation had gone wrong. Like he really thought you’d realize he was right and apologize on your knees for even mentioning other men.
You felt furious, tired and something else you weren’t going to name.
You couldn’t believe you’d ever imagined getting railed into oblivion by this man. Instead, you had to talk to him like he was a toddler. You had a feeling you were going to become a cautionary tale. A PSA about what happens when you move in with an incel.
You went on the date that Saturday anyway. It was fine. The guy was fine-ish — less fine after the weird-ass conversation you’d had with Satoru prior. You came home to find him on the couch, waiting. Expecting something. But neither of you said a word. You just went to your room, got into bed, and stared at the ceiling.
You were so fucking tired. Tired of dates that were just fine. Tired of coming home to this. Tired of the whole thing.
So you cancelled the next one. And the one after that.
Men were mediocre anyway, you told yourself. You needed peace. You needed to stop cycling through low-value options and god, you couldn’t believe that phrase was living rent-free in your head now. You were going to find whatever the fuck podcast invented it and send the hosts very ugly, very threatening email.
And maybe the apartment really was full of questionable worldviews, because somewhere between the sexual marketplace value speeches and his creepy behavior, you developed one of your own.
You became morbidly into the idea of breaking his incel resolve. Like you’d accidentally discovered a new kink.
Not even in a romantic way. More like you’d started writing a very questionable mental screenplay about dismantling him piece by piece. Watching the podcast rot leak out of him in real time. Making the incel guy want you so badly he forgot every subreddit he was joined in, until he was pathetic enough to cry at your feet — and you weren’t even the dominant type!
Wasn’t there a term for that? There had to be. You’d read the fanfictions. You’d read the think pieces. And every time you’d wondered why women did this to themselves. Now you knew exactly why. It was like disaster tourism. Some people went to Chernobyl for the thrill, some people chased storms. You were simply built different.
Because when a man looked you in the eye and said shit like, “It’s actually been studied. Women who wear revealing clothing in domestic settings are subconsciously signaling availability to increase their mate value. It’s an evolutionary response to competition,” and meant it, like he hadn’t just dropped full Andrew Tate shit on a random Wednesday night, you simply weren’t going to let it slide.
You were already stretched thin. And he was on veeery thin ice. So you made a plan. You were going to show him exactly what skimpy clothing did to a man like him. And you weren’t going to think too hard about why this was probably the stupidest idea you’d had in a while.
Because who would voluntarily wear less clothes when they could just put on three more layers to prove a point? You, apparently.
So you dug out the shorts you hadn’t worn since sophomore year. The ones that left half your ass out and the tank top that made your boobs look obscene. All to "prove a point."
Satoru was at the kitchen island when you walked in, like every morning.
You leaned against the counter, grabbed your yogurt from the fridge, and started eating your probiotic-balanced breakfast, like every morning.
He was still on his phone. Andou were starting to think the plan had lowkey a flaw. Mainly the part where he wasn’t even looking at you when he stood up and walked over to the sink to put his mug away.
He reached past you. But the mug hit the bottom of the sink with a loud clang as he stood frozen and way too close. Staring at you with his mouth slightly open, ears going pink in real time as the color crept up from his jaw. He was looking at you exactly how you’d hoped he would… and now that it was actually happening, your stomach did a stupid little flip.
You went to put the spoon back in your mouth. But your hand missed and the spoonful of Activia went down your chin, down your neck, and disappeared between your tits.
Satoru’s eyes followed it the whooole way. You felt your nipples tighten under the thin fabric as he stared. Then his gaze dragged back up, up, slow, before dropping to what you were wearing.
When he finally looked at your face again, his ears weren’t just pink anymore. They were red.
“Uh. Y-you have yogurt. On your—” He gestured vaguely at your chest. “—on your b-boobs.”
You stared at him, he stared back — at your face, at your chest, at your legs, everywhere.
“Yeah,” you said. “I noticed, ‘Toru.”
You grabbed a paper towel and dragged it slowly down your neck, then slipped your other arm under your boobs to lift them higher, making the cleanup easier for you and significantly harder for him. You could tell by the way he was squirming.
He swallowed. A literally loud, audible gulp in the quiet kitchen. His Adam’s apple bobbed like it was trying to escape.
“Right. G-good — you cleaned it up. I-it was very messy,” he managed to get out, voice a full octave lower and cracking at the end. His eyes were half-lidded, ears still burning red.
Then he fled, turning so fast he clipped his hip on the doorframe and didn’t even react to the pain before disappearing down the hallway.
You felt victorious. You’d fried his alpha-male-rotted brain. You’d proven your point. You were the apex predator of this apartment!
But then you took a breath and noticed your hands were shaking.
Your nipples were still painfully hard against the thin fabric of your tank top. And there was a warm, insistent ache low in your belly, sending little shockwaves down to your toes.
Wait.
What the fuck.
You looked down at your chest, then at the empty doorway like he might still be there.
Why the hell were you horny?
You were supposed to be the disaster tourist here. You were supposed to be watching the meltdown from a safe distance. Disaster tourists didn’t usually get turned on by the radiation. They didn’t usually want the hazard to come back out of his room, pin them against the counter, and put his stupid big hands on their hips.
You threw the paper towel into the trash harder than necessary. It hit the side and did a pathetic little plop! down to the floor.
You slammed your bedroom door and threw yourself onto the bed, burying your burning face in the pillows.
The plan had worked perfectly. Even if you had to dig out your vibrator later just to make the weird tingling go away.
It was just a power trip. Just the adrenaline of winning. That’s all it was. Power trips made people horny. It was biology. It was science.
Take that, Satoru!
And oh, he took it.
Across the hallway, Satoru was literally melting into his mattress. A bruise was already forming where he’d slammed into the doorframe. The image of that yogurt dragging down between your tits was now burned into his brain. He was throbbing, and it was fucking pathetic.
He tried jerking off like usual — fist tight, imagining you on your knees, all that jazz — but it wasn’t enough anymore. Hadn’t been for weeks, actually. His hand wasn’t cutting it.
So he reached into the back of his bottom drawer and pulled out the silicone toy he’d bought recently. He was embarrassed, but way too worked up to care. At least now he could pretend it was your tight pussy he was fucking into.
It was a new low. He knew it was a new low. But he did it anyway, eyes squeezed shut as he used the fleshlight, imagining you on top of him, under him, beside him — it didn’t matter. Anything was better than coming on his own just from the memory of yogurt dripping down your flushed skin.
But of course, once the post-nut clarity hit, he took the whole thing the completely wrong way.
Because really, what did you think was going to happen? You thought parading around half-naked in front of a terminally online incel would make him fall to his knees and magically develop self-awareness?
No. Of course not.
He thought you did it on purpose. For him specifically.
And yeah, you did do it on purpose — just not for the reason he thought. You were trying to break his brain. Make a joke out of his worldview! Instead, all you did was make him hard for three days straight and give him a scary amount of hope.
It validated every single pseudo-scientific dating theory he’d ever read. In his mind, you weren’t mocking him. You were submitting to his superior frame. You were “signaling availability.”
You hadn’t broken his incel resolve. You’d accidentally reinforced it. Applause.
And now Satoru believed, with full Reddit-backed, 4chan-backed, and whatever questionable forum-backed certainty, that he had won. He’d played the long game. He’d kept his alpha composure. And now the cute roommate in the tiny gym shorts was finally ready to yield.
And worst of all? He started being creepy on purpose.
Before, the hovering and staring had been unconscious. Or at least giving him the benefit of the doubt. Now he was doing it with intention. It was time to “establish physical dominance” and “break the touch barrier,” according to whatever the fuck forum thread he’d absorbed that week.
He started finding excuses to be near you — reaching past you for things he didn’t need just to brush his chest against your shoulder, leaving you wrapped in his scent. He’d sit too close on the couch, close enough that you could feel the heat coming off him.
And it was working. You hated that it was working.
Every time his hand brushed yours or his fingers grazed your waist, your skin broke out in goosebumps. You could feel yourself reacting to his nervous little attempts to mark his territory, and it was driving you insane.
You were sitting on the couch eating your well deserved Pad Thai straight out of the takeout box while a true-crime documentary played in the background.
Satoru emerged from his room, did his usual hover-routine like some awkward mating dance, and then sat down right next to you.
Without taking his eyes off the TV, he reached over and placed his hand on your bare thigh.
It was this weird twitchy movement between caress and a customs agent stamping a passport.
His fingers kept flexing like he was fighting the urge to either pull away or drag them higher. You sat frozen, staring down at his hand, silently daring it to move. Then mentally cursing yourself for even letting it happen in the first place.
A rush of heat flooded your chest and cheeks. Your skin burned under his palm and shot straight down between your legs.
Ovulation. It’s just ovulation.
"Satoru," you said slowly.
He was staring straight ahead at the TV, posture stiff as a board and he was even redder than you.
“What the hell are you doing?”
He flinched, yanking his hand back into his lap and hunching over. “N-nothing.”
He cleared his throat but didn’t move away. His knee stayed pressed against yours. He took a breath, puffing his chest out as he tried to reclaim his whatever “alpha” frame, then glanced at you as you took a shaky bite of noodles.
“So,” he started again, voice slipping into that pseudo-intellectual podcast cadence that always made your eye twitch. “I was reading a thread today. About proximity and domestic investment.”
You didn't look at him, listened to the Ted Bundy facts coming from the documentary narrator. Chewed and brushed him off. "Fascinating."
“It actually is,” he continued, completely unbothered. He leaned back, stretching his arm along the back of the couch and caging you in. “Because it highlights the flaw in modern female psychology. Women always say they want a nice guy. Someone who provides stability. Someone who pays his bills on time, remembers to buy toilet paper, and keeps a clean, nice living environment.”
He paused, letting the weight of his own perceived perfection hang in the air. Here we go again.
“But,” Satoru said, turning his head to look at you, eyes locking onto yours like a fucking hard target lock, “when that exact man is sitting right in front of them, offering unwavering loyalty and a high-value domestic partnership, they stay willfully blind. They friendzone him. Tease him. Cycle through low-tier guys from dating apps instead. It’s biologically counterproductive.”
The only sound in the room was the dramatic music coming from the TV now. You dropped your chopsticks into the takeout box, which suddenly felt too heavy in your lap. He was so confident in his entitlement it actually made you sick. It was ruining your fucking appetite.
He thought doing the bare minimum — acting like a decent human being with basic hygiene — earned him loyalty points he could cash in for sex. Like some kind of fucked-up grocery store rewards program.
You turned your body toward him fully, voice eerily quiet.
“Let me get this straight,” you said. “You’re sitting here, in our living room, getting mad at me because your nice-guy vending machine is broken?”
Satoru blinked, his brow furrowing like he genuinely didn’t understand what the problem was.
“I’m stating a statistical—”
“Shut up.”
The words came out sharp enough to cut. You weren’t playing anymore, one more podcast quote and you were going to rip the hair out of his stupidly pretty head.
His mouth snapped shut and he looked genuinely startled. You’d never told him to shut up before — never like that. You’d always just nodded, or rolled your eyes, or tuned him out.
“You think this is a transaction,” you said, eyes narrowing. “You think because you scrub the bathtub and pay your half of the rent on time, you’re earning points? You’re keeping score. You did the bare minimum and now you’re waiting for me to drop to my knees in gratitude like you were providing for me?”
“I am a provider,” he argued, chest puffing out even as his voice lost some of its usual arrogance. “I bring high value—”
“You bring decency at best!” you snapped, throwing your hands up. “Doing your own dishes doesn’t make you a high-value alpha male, Satoru. It makes you an adult. But you don’t actually care about being a good roommate. You’re just dressing your entitlement up as niceness and acting like I owe you something because you haven’t been actively terrible to me.”
“That’s not—” He reached up to adjust his glasses, a nervous habit you’d never seen from him before. “I’m just saying that logically, the optimal choice for you—”
“There is no logic!” you snapped, standing up before you did something stupid like strangle him. “You don’t even like me! You just think you’re owed me because I’m convenient and I live here!”
Satoru flinched and all the color drained from his face. You stood over him, breathing hard, staring down at this gorgeous, six-foot-three idiot who looked up at you like you’d just insulted his favourite fellow alpha male incel entity — which, yeah, you probably had. He looked lost. So freaking stupid. Like he didn’t know what to do with his hands.
“But you acted like—” he started, then caught himself, shoulders squaring like he was trying to hold onto his alpha manliness. “You know what, forget it. You’re just proving my point. A guy does everything right, stays consistent, stays present, and the girl just—” he gestured at you with a disbelieving laugh, “—moves the goalposts. We’ve been living together for months. Friends for just as long. I thought if I followed the steps exactly, I’d finally get to— we would— I don’t understand how this is supposed to work, okay?! How is a guy ever supposed to figure it out if the steps are a lie and I haven’t even—”
“Satoru.”
He stopped, his mouth snapped shut and the tips of his ears suddenly burned bright red.
And the realization hit you like a bucket of cold water.Oh my fucking god. You’d suspected it once or twice, but the thought had always flickered and died but now it all clicked into place. He’d never gotten his dick wet.
Your roommate was a six-foot-three virgin who thought turning to men who felt entitled to sex was a reasonable solution to his problems. What an absolute fucking mess. You almost felt sorry for him.
Almost.
“You’re an incredibly good-looking guy, Satoru,” you said quietly, sincerely even. “Objectively hot. Get your shit together, touch some grass, and you’ll be fine. You’ll be more than fine. But until you stop treating women like a math test you’re trying to cheat on, nobody is going to want you.”
You shattered his ego completely. Or maybe, for the first time since puberty, Satoru actually formed a conscious, self-aware thought. Because he kept turning your words over in his head.
Objectively hot.
No one is going to want you.
What?
He tried to find the logical flaws. Tried to insert a counterargument, disprove your female emotional outburst with cold data. He couldn’t find one, not for fucking days.
You were avoiding him completely now, icing him out, not talking to him, not even looking at him. It was driving him insane. You used to search for his eyes, even if it was just to roll them. He’d only just realized how genuine your flustered blinking had been, and now he missed it. Embarrassingly so.
One night he walked into the bathroom to splash cold water on his face, carrying a petty mix of rejection, confusion, and constant, unbearable horniness.
Your pink hair tie was sitting on the edge of the sink.
He told himself he was just going to pick it up and put it in your organizer tray. So he picked it up. It smelled like your stupid, intoxicating strawberry shampoo. He hated it. Hated how the whole bathroom smelled like you after you showered. Hated how your scent followed you everywhere in the apartment, forcing him to breathe you in. The guys on Reddit had warned him about this. Pheromones. Dangerous.
He brought it closer to his face. Just to check. Just in case it wasn’t actually yours. And what happened next stayed strictly between Satoru, the bathroom mirror, and god.
He clutched the sink, bracing himself against it, breathing ragged and humiliatingly loud. He stared down at the pretty pink elastic wrapped tight around the base of his cock as he fucked his fist like he was trying to punish himself, desperately trying to imagine your hands instead of his own.
It worked too well. It scared him.
He came hard, so so hard the hair tie ended up coated in thick, frothy cum.
He carefully nudged the sticky pink tie back onto the edge of the sink, exactly where he’d found it. Then he washed his hands under scalding water like he was trying to burn the shame off his skin and walked out of the bathroom like a man fleeing a crime scene.
Rejuvenated? No.
Good? Not even close.
He just felt like absolute shit.
Get your shit together.
But how?
He picked up his phone, put it down, picked it up again. Again. And again. The fight was still eating him alive. The podcasts told him to take his frustration out on other girls or channel it into dominance and detachment. That’s probably what the current episode would’ve said.
But he didn’t want that. He didn’t want to sleep with anyone else. He didn’t want to be aggressive. He just… wanted.
And that was the problem.
For the first time in a long time, the alpha-male bullshit was starting to feel a bit too beta now. He was left with his own feelings like a normal person, and it was awful.
If he was truly a high-value male, he shouldn’t care. He should pivot. Download an app. Find some new, compliant girl to validate his stats. But the thought of calculating the facial harmony of a stranger made his stomach turn. He didn’t want a hypothetical female.
He wanted you.
He wanted you rolling your eyes at him. Laughing at him. Getting annoyed at him. Eating his pasta. Walking around in those mind-melting shorts. He wanted you to drop yogurt on yourself again just so he could lick it off your skin, linger on your neck, and kiss you stupid — the way he’d been fantasizing about since it actually happened.
He needed validation. He needed to be right!
His thumbs moved across the screen before he could stop himself. He ignored his usual echo-chamber subreddits and opened r/AmItheAsshole instead.
r/AmItheAsshole
AITA for expecting my roommate (F) to reciprocate my (M) romantic advances after I provided optimal domestic value?
Throwaway. This is gonna sound bad but I need actual advice.
I (M) have been living with my roommate (F) for almost a year now. I’m not gonna lie, I’m objectively good-looking and I’ve been carrying a lot in this apartment. I pay my half on time, I keep shit clean, I do the dishes, I even cook sometimes. I thought I was doing everything right.
A few weeks ago she started walking around in these tiny shorts and tank tops. Like, really small. I took it as her signaling that she was open to something. That’s what all the advice says — if a girl starts dressing like that around you, it’s usually because she’s comfortable and maybe interested. So I decided to initiate kino escalation. Nothing crazy at first, just trying to break the touch barrier a bit.
While we were watching something on the couch I put my hand on her thigh. She freaked out. Got really upset and started yelling at me about how I was treating her like a transaction and that I only did nice things because I felt entitled to her. She even said I was basically calling her ran-through for going on dates.
I tried to explain it calmly. Like, statistically, if a high-value guy is right there doing everything right, why would she keep going on dates with random dudes from apps? It just doesn’t make sense. She told me to touch grass and hasn’t really spoken to me since.
I don’t get it. I’ve been consistent, I’ve been present, I’ve been providing a good living situation. I thought that was supposed to count for something. Instead she acted like I was the asshole for expecting anything in return.
AITA?
He hit post. He sat in the dark on his bed, heart pounding like it was trying to escape his chest. He just had to wait, the logical thinkers would show up. They’d validate him with proper, objective analysis. They had to.
Ten minutes later, the notifications started rolling in. So he opened them expecting vindication and instead he walked straight into a digital firing squad.
u/GrassToucherGeto · 308 upvotes
YTA. Holy shit. You did a handful of nice things and you think that means she owes you sex? You sound like an actual sociopath. I’m surprised she didn’t run out screaming. She literally told you to get your shit together. What part of that are you not getting?
u/KentoTheNormalGuy · 291 upvotes
You're not alpha, man. Kino escalation? Are you trying to con her, or actually want her to want you? YTA.
u/NobaraJustice24 · 282 upvotes
YTA. She can wear whatever the fuck she wants in her own home, you creepy ass weirdo. I hope she breaks the lease and gets a restraining order.
u/RealityCheckChoso · 156 upvotes
This is the most pathetic thing I’ve read on this site in eleven years. This is straight-up incel fanfiction. Poor girl having to live with someone like you. YTA. Go outside.
u/yuji_8847362 · 124 upvotes
Genuine question, not trying to be an asshole: do you actually like her, or do you just think she owes you because you did some nice things? Those are two very different things, and your post doesn’t seem to understand the difference. YTA, but I hope you figure it out.
u/KingNaoya69 · 231 downvotes
NTA. She’s clearly testing you. The clothes were an invitation. Hold your ground, don’t apologize, and she’ll come around. Women don’t respect men who grovel. If she actually didn’t want you she would’ve moved out already. She’s still there, isn’t she?
Satoru stared at the screen in disbelief. He’d expected validation. Maybe just a few reasonable voices cutting through the noise, acknowledging the statistical validity of his position, maybe even offering some tactical advice.
Instead, he got hit with minus three thousand downvotes, a mod-locked thread, and three DMs telling him to go to therapy.
He thought it would give him clarity. Clear steps. A way to fix this mess. Something actually useful. It just made him feel… nothing. Except for the creeping realization that he’d said something eerily similar to what u/KingNaoya69 had posted. Recently. Maybe even last week.
He threw his glasses off and stared into the middle distance.
What the fuck was he supposed to do?
He had no idea.
The days that followed were miserable. You were giving him the coldest shoulder imaginable and let’s be honest, he deserved it. You were weaponizing the silence, slamming doors, giving short, pointed answers if any. Moving through the apartment like he was just another piece of furniture. Looking through him instead of at him.
He kept going back to the comments on his post, rereading them like he could find a loophole somewhere.
Yes, of course he liked you. But how was he supposed to want nothing from you if he liked you? He wanted your affection. He wanted you to want him back. But wasn’t that also expecting something in return? What the hell was he supposed to do?
Still… the Naoya guy had been weirdly right about one thing. You stayed. You hadn’t moved out. You didn’t even seem like you wanted to. If you hated him that much, why were you still here?
On the nth day, he was sitting on the couch when you came out of your room for water. You glanced at him, even if just for a second. You couldn’t help it, the silent treatment was getting to you too, even if you’d never admit it.
Your eyes were hard to read, but there was something in them. Something expectant. Like you were waiting for him to do something. To fix it. To stop being an idiot so the two of you could move on.
Oh, he thought.
Truly the lightbulb moment of the century.
Oh.
That night he unjoined six subreddits. Unfollowed every podcast except Joe Rogan — because hey, you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. Or was it unteach a new dog old tricks? Didn’t matter. What mattered was that for the first time since he’d discovered the internet, he was pretty sure he’d been an idiot.
And he was going to stop.
He made a plan. Simple. Walk out of his room, find you, and say sorry. Three steps. He’d been a person for over twenty years. He could do three steps. He had this!
You were in the kitchen. You were standing on the flimsy little step stool you needed to reach the top cabinet shelves, stretching up on your tiptoes for the glass Tupperware that Satoru kept putting up there, even though you had told him multiple times not to put it up there because you literally could not reach it.
"Hey," he said from the doorway, trying not to startle you. "Can we—"
You startled anyway, because what other outcome was ever going to happen here.
The stool wobbled under your socks. You gasped, swore something, grabbed for a shelf edge that wasn't there, and fully expected to eat the kitchen floor tiles before officially murdering your roommate from the afterlife.
But Satoru had surprisingly fast reflexes and caught you.
Well… almost.
He lost his balance as your weight shifted, and the two of you went down in a tangle of limbs and terrible timing. The impact knocked the wind right out of your lungs. You landed sprawled over him, pressed against his chest, his arms secured instinctively around you—
Around your boobs.
You froze. He froze. The entire world seemed to fucking froze.
And as you laid there, from the adrenaline shock of it all probably, his fingers did a little squish!
Huh.
You didn't say anything. You couldn't breathe, let alone speak. You slowly turned your head. His face was right there and so, so close to yours. You panicked and looked into his equally panicked eyes, his poor glasses askew.
He was searching for something in your eyes, his pupils blown so wide they almost swallowed the pretty blue. And then, as his chest was still heaving so heavily, his gaze dropped down to your lips.
You were suddenly very aware— Aware of his warm palms right through the thin fabric of your shirt. Aware of the way your tits swelled into his touch. Aware of how his thighs bracketed your hips, and how perfectly you fit against him.
His breath hitched and then his fingers flexed. He made a soft, barely-there sound in the back of his throat and squeezed again — slower this time. Kneading right over your hardened nipples.
And oh my fucking god, you parted your lips for a soundless gasp, and he huffed into your collarbone as the trance finally broke.
His arms slowly retreated, lazily dragged down your ribs, fingers grazing the soft of your tummy before finally falling away to rest on the floor, which somehow made it all worse.
"I—" His voice came out rough, barely above a whisper.
You scrambled off him like you had been electrocuted.
You sprinted down the hallway and threw yourself into your room, slamming the door behind you. You backed up until you hit something, you didn’t even care what, and slid down to the floor, knees pulled to your chest.
Your heart was pounding soo hard it hurt, your skin was buzzing, and the ghost of his touch was still burning across your chest.
I fucking hate him, you told yourself. He’s a podcast-rotted incel. I hate him.
…Do you?
Because why the fuck had you wanted his hands to stay there? Why had that second squeeze made you want to straddle him right there on the kitchen tiles and fuck him stupid?
You were just touch-starved. That’s all this was. You were projecting onto your terrible roommate because he was being a sleazy little shit.
You grabbed your phone off the nightstand with shaking hands and unlocked it.
Hinge.
Your ol’ friend.
You needed a date. You needed a normal, boring, completely average guy with a decent hairline and zero opinions on hypergamy to save you from whatever the hell had just happened in that kitchen.
You were in your room getting ready for your date, dressed to kill. Short dress, favorite lace panties, because after everything that happened… you were still weirdly, persistently horny? Might as well try to do something about it with someone normal.
Satoru was lingering in the hallway like always, doing his very obvious not-hovering hover.
"Going out?" he asked, clearing his throat, trying to act so aloof and unbothered.
You didn't even look at him properly. "Yeah. I have a date," you said smugly as you pulled your hair up into a ponytail. Hair down meant cute, but hair up meant business. And by business, I mean finally attempting to jump on some normal, average, and not-incely dick.
The second the words left your mouth, a wave of jealousy hit him so hard it nearly knocked the air out of his lungs. But he wasn’t even looking at your proud face. No. No. He was staring at the pink hair tie holding your hair up. No. No. NO.
He visibly gulped. His dick went from zero to painfully hard so fast he had to cross his legs just to hide it.
You furrowed your eyebrow at the uncharacteristic lack of response, but wasn’t entirely mad about it either.
"See ya," you chirped, completely oblivious to his internal meltdown, and walked out the front door.
The second the door shut, Satoru basically teleported to his room. He threw himself onto his bed, already fumbling with his pants, desperate to take care of the problem so he could think straight again.
But he spent exactly thirty minutes achieving absolutely nothing. What the fuck.
This had never happened before. Satoru was just staring at his ceiling, sweating, furiously gripping his aching dick, and completely unable to finish. Every time he closed his eyes, he imagined you laughing at some beta joke a 100% mediocre guy had made, while his past-tense cum was proudly sitting in your hair. He was literally too jealous to finish.
But jealous or not, he was still agonizingly hard, his dick standing painfully stiff against his stomach, stubbornly refusing to just calm the fuck down. He let out a frustrated groan. Okay. Fine. No hand? No problem! He reached for the silicone fleshlight, but he hadn't washed it in quite a while, and when he picked it up, a funky smell drifted off it.
Okay, NEVER MIND.
Which left him with only one option.
Today’s the day.
He reached into the back of his bottom drawer again and pulled out a silicone cock ring.
He had bought it right after he absolutely demolished your cute little hair tie. The hair tie. Because what does a normal guy do in that situation? Grovel first? Solve the underlying interpersonal issue? Nah. He goes on r/sex to research why a piece of elastic felt so hella good around his dick!
He hadn’t touched it since. Post-nut clarity had done its job last time. But right now, staring down at his aching, neglected cock and feeling rejected, humiliated, and completely alone… it was time.
Fuck it.
He ripped open the packaging and wrestled the thick silicone down his shaft until it sat snug at the base.
Almost immediately, something felt off. It was tight. Too tight. Not in a good way, just uncomfortable, constricting even. He tried to power through anyway, closing his eyes and stroking like he could force an orgasm out of sheer spite.
Ten minutes passed.
Nothing.
His brain was too far gone, and the pressure was quickly shifting from weird to genuinely concerning.
Fuck this.
He stopped, tried to take it off but it didn’t budge. Satoru blinked. He adjusted his grip and pulled harder. The skin stretched painfully, but the ring stayed exactly where it was.
Oh fuck.
A cold sweat broke out across his forehead.
Oh fuck, oh fuck.
He scrambled off the bed, grabbed his lube, and squeezed way too much directly onto the ring. He tugged and twisted like his life depended on it.
Nothing. Fucking nothing. It just made his hands uselessly slippery.
Okay, oh fuck. Wasn't lube like supposed to work?! Okay, new plan. Something else, something more slippery, something more oily—
Panic seizing him, he stumbled to the bathroom, dug under the sink, found your baby oil, and slathered it on.
Still stuck.
Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.
Different oil! Not enough slipperiness! Trust the process!
So he waddled out of the bathroom, practically sprinting into the kitchen buck naked. He tore open the pantry, grabbing the vegetable oil.
This has to work.
It did not work.
Ten minutes later, Satoru was sitting on the edge of the bathtub, coated in a slick, highly flammable mixture of lube, Johnson & Johnson baby oil, and Wesson canola oil, panting heavily.
Dick throbbing, but not the fun kind of throbbing anymore. It was turning a terrifying shade of angry red-purple, the silicone death trap literally suffocating his junior.
It was no longer just uncomfortable, nor just alarmingly stuck. At this point, it was a fucking medical emergency.
He was so fucked he might be patient zero of mpreg.
But what the hell was he supposed to do?
Call an ambulance?
Absolutely not.
The thought of a paramedic cutting a sex toy off him with trauma shears while asking for his emergency contact would genuinely kill him on the spot. He would rather die of necrosis.
Call his friends?
Fuck no.
If any of them found out about this, the screenshots would never die. They’d revoke his alpha card permanently and hold it over his head for the rest of his life.
He stared at his contacts.
There was only one person who could help without turning it into blackmail material or posting it online. The one person who lived in this apartment. The one person who was currently out on a date with some random guy. The person he had a massive, pathetic crush on and who would probably rather rip his dick off than help him.
He hit Call.
You stirred your gin and tonic while your date went on about his fantasy football draft like it was the most fascinating thing in the world. It was a perfectly fine date! The kind of fine that made you wonder why you even bothered.
You were nodding along, even though you had stopped listening roughly four minutes ago. Then, your phone vibrated on the table.
Satoru.
You ignored it. No, actually—you declined it. You smiled sweetly at your date, asked a vague question about tight ends so you would seem like you were actually paying attention, and took a sip of your drink.
Your phone buzzed again. And again. And again.
Annoyed, you held up a finger to the poor guy who was currently rating wide receivers, excused yourself, and off to the bathroom, fully prepared to yell.
“What?” you hissed the second you picked up. “I’m on a date, Satoru. If you locked yourself out—”
"Please come home," he gasped. He didn't even say hello. He didn't sound aloof, and he certainly didn't sound alpha. He actually sounded like he was drawing his final breaths on this earth. "You have to come home. Right now."
"What happened? Did something catch fire? Did someone break in? Are you—"
“I can’t tell you,” he whined, voice high and shaky in a way you’d never heard from him before. “I physically can’t say it out loud. Just— please. Please come home.”
You were ninety percent sure this was some pathetic attempt to ruin your night. Some last-ditch manipulation tactic he’d picked up from a podcast or Reddit thread. But the remaining ten percent made you ditch your date without a second thought and jump into an Uber.
You practically kicked the front door open, your heart hammering. The apartment was completely quiet, and it smelled all wrong…
Like babies and an industrial air fryer?
"Satoru?" you called out, dropping your bag. "Where are you? The apartment better be fucking flooding, or else I swear to God—"
A pained, muffled whimper came from down the hall. His bedroom door was cracked open so you pushed it wide, fully prepared to absolutely tear him a new one for ruining your night.
Satoru was sitting on the edge of his bed, completely naked, perched on a bath towel soaked through with some kind of glistening sludge. He was trembling, sweating, aggressively gripping the mattress. And his dick — very visibly, very aggressively hard — was pointing straight at you.
"Are you fucking kidding me?!"
You exploded the second you saw him, because an impromptu dick is still an impromptu dick! “Is this some pathetic plan to finally fuck me? You couldn’t even be decent about it! You just called me home so you could sit here with your cock out?!”
You expected some sleazy line. Some smug little smirk. Instead, Satoru looked up at you with wide, tear-filled eyes behind his smudged glasses and let out a broken, wet sob.
"I'm not—" his voice cracked terribly. "I'm stuck."
Huh?
Furrowing your eyebrows, you stopped yelling and your eyes actually dropped down. And then your stomach dropped with them.
Wait. Oh. He was so, so large.
But that wasn’t the problem. His dick was an angry, swollen red-purple, veins bulging like it had its own heartbeat. And at the base was a thick silicone ring, cutting into him so tightly it looked like it might actually pop off.
And all the anger drained out of you in an instant because suddenly, you felt the harsh reality of the literal medical horror you were now a part of.
"Oh my god. Satoru... what is going on?!"
“Fuck, it hurts— please help me,” he whined as he bounced his leg against the floor like that would somehow fix anything.
You stepped closer, the sheer absurdity of the situation making you drop to your knees between his spread thighs just to get a proper look.
“Is that… a cock ring?” you asked, voice tight as your eyes dragged over his swollen cock in equal parts horror and fascination.
Satoru nodded frantically, a tear slipping down his cheek and dripping off his jaw.
"Satoru, you know there is a fucking size chart to these things?! You can’t just buy anything with the size of your dick! Are you fucking stupid?!"
"HOW SHOULD I KNOW?!" he wailed, hands flying up to cover his face in absolute humiliation. "Wait—" He suddenly froze, lowering his hands just enough to look at you. "Did you just say I have a big dick? Wait. Fuck. OUCH. It just fucking hurts! Please, please help me, I've tried everything but it just won't budge! It hurts so much!"
You squinted at the slick mess coating his thighs and soaking into the bath towel and his bed. "Did you try lube?"
"Yes!"
"Baby oil?"
"Yes!"
"Did you... did you use the cooking oil from the kitchen?!"
"YES! FUCK!" he sobbed into his hands again.
"Why did you even put it on?!" you yelled back, genuinely baffled by his astronomical stupidity.
“I was horny, what else?!” he cried and shook his hands. “You left with the cum tie in your hair—”
“THE WHAT?!”
Your hands froze in the air. Your brain forcefully restarted about three times trying to process the sequence of syllables he had just screamed back at you.
The cum tie.
You suddenly felt the gentle pull of the pink elastic holding up your ponytail. The one that was your favorite. The one you had idly wondered before why it was suddenly so... crusty.
"You..." you whispered, a cold wave of fresh nausea washing over you. "You did what to my hair tie?"
“I didn’t mean to!” he sobbed and sobbed, face red and streaked with tears. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you, and I used it, and then you put it in your hair to go out with the guy and it made me crazy so I put the ring on!”
Your hand twitched toward your ponytail. You were going to rip it out, burn it ritually, shave your head and then fucking murder him. A jury would probably let you off in seconds.
But then you looked down again. His dick might actually pop! like a grease-filled water balloon. There was simply no time.
You took a deep, slightly deranged breath and shoved every horrifying thought into a box for later. You could have a full meltdown about having his reproductive fluids in your hair as an accessory after you made sure his dick didn’t fall off.
You aggressively ignored his stare, locking your eyes entirely on the crisis. "Okay. Okay, I've got this. This is a medical emergency."
Your mind started racing. You couldn't cut it off without risking severing something vital, you certainly weren’t a doctor, and the swelling was so so severe to just pull the ring back over the ridge. You knelt there, suddenly arriving at a horrifying conclusion that you were going to need a serious moment to accept.
Because there was only one way to get it off… And the only way to get it off was to get rid of the erection.
You had to make him cum.
“Okay,” you muttered. Then again. And again. Like repeating it would make it feel less insane. “W-we just need to… get it down.”
You bit your lip, giving yourself the quickest, most productive, and most threatening internal TED Talk in human history. Your hands twitched, but you finally reached out and wrapped them around his oil-slicked shaft.
“AGH— FUCK— NO!” Satoru immediately jerked back like you’d stabbed him, slamming against the mattress.
"What the hell?! I barely touched it!"
“The skin’s too tight!” he cried out, practically hyperventilating. “It feels like a razor blade— you can’t use your hands, it hurts too much!”
You tried again anyway, slower this time, gripping him carefully. The skin was burning hot, painfully stretched over the trapped blood. You gave one experimental stroke.
“No— no no no, please stop—” His voice broke into a real whimper as fresh tears spilled down his face. He pushed at your shoulders, legs literally shaking. “Please, I can’t— it hurts so fucking bad—”
You yanked your hands back, heart pounding as your own panic officially set in. "THEN WHAT ELSE?!"
“I DON’T KNOW! I thought you might know!”
"HOW SHOULD I KNOW?!"
A beat of deafening silence fell over the grease-scented bedroom. You looked at him. Then down at the problem between his legs.
Wait—
Your brain scrambled for literally any other fucking solution. Ice? Cutting it completely off? Calling 911 and collectively dying of embarrassment on the spot?
Nothing.
There was nothing else.
God fucking help you. You might as well die from the cringe right here on the floor.
You stared down at his lengthy cock again. It was a pathetic mix of pre-cum against his oil-slicked stomach. Satoru was breathing in short, panicked gasps, tears still tracking down his flushed cheeks, glasses fogged and crooked, looking totally helpless.
“No,” you whispered to the empty space between his thighs, stomach twisting with reluctant acceptance. Coming to terms with your own fate. Girl, it’s your fault. Your fate had been sealed the second you decided to find a roommate on Reddit. “No, no, no.”
“What?” Satoru cried through his teeth, barely audible. “What ‘no’?”
If your hands were completely off the table…
A wave of heat flooded your face and dropped straight into your belly. Surely from disgust. Trust.
You shifted forward on your knees, your dress dragging through the oily mess on the floor. The fabric was already ruined and sticking to your skin. You braced one hand on his trembling thigh, leaned in, and took the swollen head of his cock into your mouth.
The taste was vile as hell.
Canola oil, baby oil, lube, and the bitter salt of his pre-cum all hit your tongue at once. You made a muffled, disgusted sound around him as your lips stretched and you sank down. The mixture mixed with your saliva and slid down your throat as he pushed deeper than you expected.
Satoru’s entire body jolted as the mushroomy head hit the back of your mouth.
“Whoa— oh my fucking god—” His voice cracked into a broken, high moan. His stomach flexed like he was trying not to fold in half. Both of his hands flew to your hair, oily fingers catching in your ponytail, clutching without quite pushing or pulling. I mean, you already had cum in your hair anyway. What was a little more oil and lube?
His hips twitched. His thighs trembled under your hand. He clearly had no idea what to do with himself.
You started moving, and it was messy from the first second.
Everything was slippery. Your lips kept sliding, saliva mixing with the grease until it dripped down his shaft in shiny, frothy strings. You had to suck harder just to keep any kind of rhythm, cheeks hollowing, tongue working in messy circles under the head every time you pulled up. The wet sounds filled the room — slick sucking, soft gagging when you took him too deep, his broken little whimpers.
You hated the taste.You hated how your knees already ached against the hard floor. You hated that your dress was ruined, soaked through and sticking to your skin. And you hated the way he was looking down at you — in pain, in complete disbelief that you were actually sucking him off. And what you really hated the most was that you were looking up at him while you mouth was licking him up and your body was already starting to betray you.
Tingly heat was spreading low in your belly. Every throb along his length, every broken moan that slipped out of him, made you wetter. You weren’t supposed to be horny! You should’ve been so so disgusted. But the scent of him, the taste of his pre-cum coating your tongue, made your pussy clench around nothing. Your nipples were hard, rubbing against the inside of your dress. Your cunt felt hot and slick — whether from your own arousal or the oily sludge on the floor, you genuinely couldn’t tell anymore.
You bobbed deeper, taking him until your nose brushed the base and the ring dug into your skin, then pulled back with a wet gasp. A thick and slimy string of saliva and oil connected your lips to his cock before it broke.
Satoru was staring down at you like you’d personally broken his brain.
His chest was heaving. Tears were still leaking from the corners of his eyes — pain, pleasure, or the sheer absurdity of the situation, it didn’t matter. His mouth hung open, glasses sliding down his nose.
Then his hazy eyes dropped to your chest.
His gaze followed the way your dress had slipped lower during all the movement. Your tits were threatening to spill out completely. He made a strangled sound in the back of his throat.
His hands left your hair and reached down. Big, warm palms cupped your breasts through the thin fabric first almost carefully. But then he yanked the neckline down hard, dragging the fabric under your arms, practically rrrrripping it open, until your tits spilled free.
A fresh tear tracked down his cheek as he stared at them like they were something holy.
“Holy fuck— your tits—” he breathed, cupping them fully. His thumbs brushed over your hard nipples before he started kneading with desperate, greedy hands. Squeezing, lifting, rolling the soft flesh between his fingers exactly like he had in the kitchen — except this time there was nothing holding him back, because you certainly wouldn’t make him stop.
The moan you let out around his cock was involuntary and absolutely nobody’s business, alright? Your teeth grazed his sensitive skin and the vibration, combined with the impromptu bite, made his hips jerk violently. He let out a breathless gasp, hands tightening on your boobs almost painfully before he loosened his grip again, thumbs flicking over your nipples in a way that sent sparks straight between your legs.
The lace of your panties was useless now, clinging to your soaked pussy lips.
But the dress had become a real problem, at least that’s what you were telling yourself. It was restricting your movement, getting in the way every time you tried to take him deeper. It was uncomfortable as hell, which was actually true.
You pulled off his cock with a wet pop!, lips shiny and swollen.
Fuck this dress. And probably him too.
You sat back on your heels and yanked it over your head, kicking it away. Now you were kneeling in nothing but your ruined lace panties — the ones you’d specifically worn because you were hoping to get laid tonight.
Well. You weren’t entirely wrong, now were you?
Satoru made a sound like he’d been punched in the gut. His wildest dream had just come true in the most deranged way possible.
You leaned back in and took him into your mouth again, sucking with more purpose now. One hand stayed wrapped around the base near the ring while your other hand stroked his thigh and lower stomach — anywhere to try and soothe him.
His clammy hands were right back on your bare tits, rolling them between his fingers like he was trying to memorize their exact shape. You moaned around him because it felt so fucking good. Unfairly good.
The taste was still awful. The room still reeked of canola oil. Satoru was still quietly crying above you — overwhelmed, terrified, and so turned on he could barely think straight. But the way he was touching you, the way he was falling apart in your mouth…
You were dripping straight through the lace right onto his fucking floor.
One of your hands snaked down your body. You pushed your panties aside and started rubbing desperate circles over your poor clit while you kept sucking him.
What a development.
Righteous ideologies and all. Now you were naked on the floor of your incel roommate’s bedroom, sucking his cock while fingering yourself. Truly the most progressive way to handle this type of man.
Your pussy felt hot and aching. Your fingers slid through your own slick, making your hips twitch and another moan vibrate around his dick.
Satoru’s breathing sounded like a kettle about to boil over. His hands kept slipping on your oily skin, smearing the mess across your chest and shoulders. He was trapped in the most surreal, humiliating, perfect moment of his life — your mouth on him, you naked and touching yourself while the whole room smelled like a deep fryer.
He was half-sobbing, half-moaning.
“You’re— nghh— you’re actually getting off while—” His voice cracked as he looked down at you. You glanced up through your lashes, a little scowl on your flushed face, fingers still working between your legs.
You couldn’t even be embarrassed anymore. The absurdity had burned straight through your shame. You were horny. Stupidly, painfully horny. It was all too much and not enough at the same time.
Filthy sounds filled the room. He was crying. You were crying. Sweat was mixing with the oily mess coating your skin. You could taste your own tears mixed with the mess on his cock as they slid down your face. One of his hands was tangled in your ponytail, greasing it up nice and disgusting.
“You’re so fucking pretty,” he choked out, voice hoarse. “I can’t— ngh— I can’t believe this is real—”
You pulled off just enough to breathe. “Shut up and let me finish this,” you muttered, then sank back down, taking him as deep as the ring would allow.
His other hand relocated to your shoulder. Then his dick throbbed hard against your tongue. Swelling, twitching and you knew he was about to blow.
You started to pull back, but his hands moved faster. One fisted tighter in your hair, the other gripped your shoulder hard. He held you in place. Rough. Desperate. But he didn’t mean to!
You made a surprised, muffled sound around him as his hips jerked.
“W-wait—fuck—I’m—!” he gasped, betrayed by his own body.
You felt the first big pulse against your tongue.
You manage to wrench your head back at the last second because there was no way in hell you were swallowing a mixture of cum and baby oil — popping off just in time. But it was too late to get completely clear.
Satoru came hard.
The first thick rope hit you across the cheek and lips. The next few painted messy white stripes across your chin, your chest, and down your neck. It kept cooooming in hot, twitchy pulses until he’d almost emptied his aching balls.
And suddenly you were back in the kitchen. Only this time it wasn’t a freaking Activia dripping down your tits. It was him.
You stumbled backward onto your ass, cum cooling on your skin as he finally let go of you. You wiped the back of your hand across your cheek, smearing it further. He stared down at you like he’d died and gone to heaven — you, sprawled on his floor, covered in his cum, panties twisted half-off your hips, your blushing cunt smiling up right at him and your panicked eyes unblinking.
Holy fucking nirvana, right there.
You felt disgusting. You felt filthy. And somehow, you were still throbbing between your legs.
“Fuck— shit, fuck, fuck!” Satoru cursed, trying to stand up too fast. He slipped on the oily towel and nearly ate shit before catching himself on the edge of the bed. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hold you there, I just— it was too much, I panicked—”
He stumbled toward you on shaky legs, one hand reaching out like he was going to help you up, the other still hovering near his softening cock.
“Satoru,” you said, voice low. “Pull it off.”
He froze for half a second, then looked down.
And it was finally, finally softening. The angry red-purple was fading. The skin wasn’t stretched as tight anymore and there was a very small, very dangerous window before he’d be hard again and back in square one.
His eyes lit up with desperate hope. He grabbed the cock ring with both hands and yanked.
The sound that tore out of him was somewhere between a sob and a scream. It was violent, painful, and made you cringe so fucking badly. The ring caught on the ridge for one horrible second before it finally slipped off with a wet smack and skidded across the floor somewhere.
For a moment, Satoru just knelt there, breathing hard through the fading pain. Fresh tears tracked down his flushed face as the relief finally hit him.
Then he looked at you, at the mess he’d made across your pretty face and chest. At the absolute state of the room. At everything.
“I’m the worst,” he whispered. “I know I’m the worst. You should kick me out. You should call the cops. I didn’t mean to make it worse. You probably hate me—”
Satoru looked like he was about to start ugly crying for real. His shoulders were shaking as he braced himself for you to slap him.
And look — you wanted to. You wanted to go back in time so you would’ve never answered that fucking Reddit post, never answered his call, never come home tonight. Or maybe… go back just a little bit. To when your tongue was sliding over his frenulum and you’d never been so turned on in your life.
Either way, you weren’t sure anymore. Your brain was more scrambled than the eggs you’d had for breakfast.
So instead of slapping him, you surged forward, grabbed his face with both of your hands, smearing his cum and your own arousal all over his jawline and kissed him hard enough to shut him up.
At first he stayed completely frozen, too stunned to speak, or like… kiss you back that you were kissing him instead of murdering him on the spot. You nudged your tongue against his lips, urging him to kiss you back, because the last thing you needed right now was sucking your incel roommate off and then having him refuse to kiss you afterward. That would’ve been a new low. Truly historic.
But then he let out a shaky breath and kissed you back.
He kissed you desperately, messily, like he was trying to crawl inside your mouth. Saliva, cum, tears, and oil all mixed together as your tongues slid against each other. Teeth clicked. His hands came up to grab your waist, pulling you closer until your chest pressed against his own. He whimpered needily into your mouth and tangled his tongue with yours like he was starving for it.
His glasses got knocked even more crooked.
When you finally pulled back to breathe, you reached down and started yanking your ruined lace panties off. They were twisted around your thighs and sticking to your skin from all the mess.
Satoru, still breathing hard and clearly trying to regain some sense of manly control, decided this was THE moment, HIS moment to be useful.
“Here— let me help,” he muttered, reaching down with both hands.
The two of you fumbled together in some weird horny trance, his fingers sliding against your thigh as he tried to tug the lace down your leg.
But his hand slid right off your slick skin and he lost his balance completely. With a startled gasp! he pitched forward and crashed down right on top of you, pinning you to the floor.
His full weight pressed you into the cold hardwood. Chest to chest, hips slotted between your thighs. The kisses making him hard again, dick now twitching insistently against your tummy.
Then Satoru lifted his head from the crook of your neck and looked down at you. His hair was a mess, but there was something almost determined in his expression now.
“I’ve got it,” he said. Yeah. He definitely got this. He’d seen the porn. He’d read the r/sex threads. He was a man, the man! He knew exactly what he was supposed to do. Fluent in the dickology! Show you what a high-value male can do. You'll respect it. You’ll want it!
You stared up at him and raised one eyebrow.“…Are you sure?”
He looked faintly offended, but reached between your bodies anyway, grabbed his cock, and lined himself up against your slick folds. The blunt head nudged against your entrance before he pushed in with one unsteady thrust and you were honestly surprised he found your hole on a first try.
The stretch was intense. His cock bullied its way into your tight cunt, the sudden fullness making your back arch slightly off the floor. And it made you think that maybe… just maybe he’s a virgin incel but he somehow actually knows how to fuck?
Satoru made a choked sound above you. He braced his hands on either side of your head and started moving, a little too fast, a little too rough, like he was following some mental checklist of “how alpha males fuck” or something.
His hips snapped forward, rolling against yours. On a few of his clumsy thrusts, the sharp angle of his hipbone dragged right across your swollen clit.
A spark of pleasure shot right through you, made your breath hitch and his dick catch inside of you. Your fingers scratched on his shoulders and for a second you were hopeful, hopeful that perhaps incels were just involuntarily celibate men with a dick game like this.
It died almost instantly. His rhythm fell apart just as the plushy walls of your pussy fully enveloped him fully in the slick warmth. His movement turned erratic as his hips started stuttering.
“I—fuck—I can’t—ngh—!”
So… He lasted exactly forty-five seconds.
With a humiliated groan he slammed into your cervix one last time and came haard, painting your walls in thick, sticky white. His wobbly arms gave out again and he collapsed on top of you not very gracefully, face buried right back into your neck as he rode out the pathetic orgasm. He was breathing hard, the sound mixing with the wet squelching of oil, cum, and sweat between your bodies every time either of you shifted.
You stared sideways at the messy white strands of his hair currently tickling your pulse point, feeling his cum slowly leaking out around his softening cock. The frustration burning hot alongside with the ghost ache right in between legs.
If he had just let you ride him instead. Ugh.
“…Really?” you said flatly.
Satoru, mortified, made a small devastated noise into your neck and laced his fingers with yours like that would somehow make it better.
You hadn’t come from the fingering earlier. You definitely hadn’t come from his forty-five-second marathon.
You shoved at his shoulder.
“Satoru.”
He made a small, satisfied noise.
“Satoru. Did you just cum inside me?”
His eyes flew open. The bliss drained from his face instantly. He slowly nodded, guilty, not knowing if he should be terrified or glad.
You pushed him off you. He rolled onto his back with a wet squelch. You sat up, cum and oil smeared across your skin, and glared down at him.
“You ruined my date,” you said, voice low. “You were stupid enough to trap your own dick in a death trap and made me come home to deal with it. You came all over me without letting me cum, and then you creampied me in under a minute.”
He opened his mouth, “I was just claiming what’s mine—”ready to say something even more stupid.
You cut him off, because you were not listening to that right now and ever fucking again. “Don’t. I swear to god, if you say one more word of that pseudo-alpha, podcast-bro bullshit right now, I can promise you this will be the first and last time you ever have your dick in any pussy. Ever.”
He froze.
You leaned in, eyes narrowed, pussy suddenly drying up at high speed.
“I’m serious, Satoru. All that ‘high-value male,’ ‘she’ll respect dominance,’ ‘women secretly want to be put in their place’ garbage? It’s not cute. It’s not hot. It’s not working. It makes you sound like a loser. You’re only lucky that I’m stupid enough to actually fucking like you.”
And Satoru deadass had nothing to say, because it didn’t make sense, yet it made all the sense. And in the middle of the gears grinding he blinked up at you because… did you just tell him you like him?
Before he could grab your chin and kiss you stupid again, you pointed between your legs.
“Since you made this mess, you’re going to clean it up. Now.”
The color drained from his face as he stared at you. “Y-you want me to eat out my cum?”
“Did I stutter?”
He was too stunned and properly terrified to argue. He knew that if he didn’t get his shit together right now, this really might be the first and last time he ever saw pussy in real life. So he scrambled down between your thighs without another word.
He’s going to do it for the love of the game. Can’t be that bad, right?
He gulped as he nestled between your soft thighs, eyeing your tight little hole as a little trail of his cum mixed with your frothy slick leaked onto the floor below you. And it was the prettiest sight he had ever seen.
The reluctant pout on his face made it clear he was weighing eating his own cum against the very real possibility of never getting to fuck you again, so you made it easier for him. You grabbed a fistful of his messy white hair and yanked his face straight against your pussy. His nose immediately buried right between your wet folds, tickling the sensitive flesh.
And maybe he was currently terrified of you, or it was the fact that he finally smelled your sex up close — either way, he was now desperate to please you.
The first drag of his tongue through your folds was experimental, almost cautious. He did it again, licking with too much pressure and in all the wrong places, clearly thinking he was doing something impressive, missing your clit. Again. And again. And again.
For fuck’s sake, you lasted maybe fifteen seconds. You reached down, grabbed his silky hair again, and yanked his head up to adjust him.
He furrowed his brows at you, confused and a little offended, like he was about to argue — until his tongue accidentally flicked right over your clit.
His eyes widened slightly. He did it again, slower this time. A testing little flick. Eyes wide, as if asking what the hell just happened, feeling the little knob jumping.
You let out a shaky moan, fingers tightening in his hair.
“That’s my clit, Satoru.”
His eyes darkened and he dove back in with completely different energy. Okay, he knew where your cute little clit was. Now onto figuring out how to make you come on his tongue.
He started with the licking, up and down, until he pushed into your leaking hole. He almost immediately tasted his own cum, still warm, thick, and disgustingly bitter against your sweet pussy juices, and he made a guttural sound right against you.
He should have been disgusted, appalled, mortified through his militant incel brain. But why did it taste so wrong, it tasted so so right?
Eating himself right out of you — it was so pathetic, so raw, so hot. And you couldn’t fucking believe you actually made him do it.
Your pussy fluttered and he dove in like a man possessed.
A desperate whine vibrated against your clit as he started licking in earnest. Messy, unrestrained, starving. He was slurping loudly, tongue pushing deep to get more of the mixture, swallowing it down like he couldn’t get enough. Every time he tasted more of himself leaking out of you, another broken moan escaped him.
His hands gripped your thighs haaard, holding you open as he buried his face deeper. He was whining and whimpering into your cunt like tasting his own cum inside you had flipped some primal, pathetic switch in his brain neither of you even knew existed.
“Fuck— you taste so good— I taste so good on you—” Every few seconds he would pull back just enough to breathe, drooling, and mutter broken little things against your skin. And you were once again left wondering where all the skill came from.
Then he’d dive right back in, tongue flicking over your clit before dragging down to lap at your hole again, like he was trying to clean you out and make you messy all over again at the same time.
It was deranged. It was filthy. And it was fucking working.
Your hand fisted in his hair, gripping tight. He moaned loudly at the rough treatment, the sound muffled against your pussy as his tongue circled your clit, biting then sucking on it, then flattening to drag it through your folds like he was trying to devour you whole.
You were gushing at this point, and not a drop ever spilled on the floor as he slurped you like his favourite boba flavour. His touch spread across your entire body as the orgasm built quickly after getting edged the entire evening to fucking oblivion.
“‘Toru—” you cried, thighs starting to tremble around his head. And he bit down gently on your inner thigh when you tried to close your legs on instinct. Look, it’s not like you did it on purpose — who the fuck would want to close up shop when business was this good?
He kitten-licked your poor clit, sending sparks right to your lower belly. Your back arched off the floor as his hand snaked up at the right damn time to flick your nipple.
Oh.
“Holy— ngh— fuck, ‘Toru—!” you screamed and came all over his poor face, thighs clamping around his head as you tried to suffocate him with your spasming pussy. You shook like you’d been electrocuted and he kept licking and licking, to the point you weren’t sure if you came again or if it was just one big orgasm. He wanted to taste every damn second of you falling apart because of him, for him.
His face was a mess. Half of it was shiny and wet with your slick, lips prettily swollen. He’d thrown his glasses somewhere on the floor in the middle of it. His pupils were practically heart-shaped, and he looked so wrecked it was beautiful.
He was so cum-drunk he only stared up at you with his mouth open, resting his cheek against your inner thigh, waiting.
And your eyes might’ve been heart-shaped too, because the sight of him made you throb all over again.
“Fuck,” you almost moaned, reaching down to grab his shoulders. “Come here.”
Satoru didn’t need to be told twice. He crawled up your body like he was starving for it, for you. He crashed his lips against yours and the kiss was fucking messy. You could taste yourself on him as he smeared your slick across your chin, tongues sliding sloppily against each other like you were trying to devour one another.
His hands found your waist. He shifted his weight and rolled the two of you until his back was against the bed and you were straddling him in his lap.
You broke the kiss just long enough to look at him. His chest was heaving. And he was looking up at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.
Everything was still disgustingly sticky, but the way he looked at you made your heart go thump thump thump in a way it never had before. So you reached down, wrapped your hand around his cock, and sank down onto him in one slow, slick motion.
Satoru’s head tipped back against the bed with a broken groan that made the muscles in his neck jump. His hands immediately gripped your hips hard, fingers digging into your ass like he needed to anchor himself.
“Fuuck—” he slurred, voice sooo dazed. “Oh my god— you’re so warm— so fucking tight—tighter—”
You started moving, rolling your hips in frantic circles. Every time you sank down, you could feel the tip kissing your cervix, nudging right up against the entrance of your womb as he completely bottomed out.
It didn’t take long before his hands tightened on your ass and he started helping you. He pulled you down onto him faster, guiding your hips with desperate hands while lifting his own to meet you halfway.
“Shit— just like that,” he whimpered, kissing all over your jaw as his tip kissed your poor cervix again and again and again. “Ngh— you’re milking me so good—”
He was completely gone. Eyes glassy, mouth open, babbling whatever came to his mind as you rode him. And every time you clenched around him, another broken sound slipped out of him.
His mouth searched for yours again, licking into the corners of your lips before kissing you deep. You slipped two fingers into his mouth and he immediately sucked on them, tongue rolling around your fingers with a needy moan that made your pussy flutter and squeeze around him even harder. Your swollen clit dragged over his lap and lower stomach with every roll, his happy trail tickling your sensitive folds and sending sparks up your spine.
Satoru whined around your fingers, hips twitching up helplessly.
One of his hands stayed on your hip while the other slid up and wrapped around your neck. His thumb brushed along the side of your throat as he started moving you faster, pulling you down onto his cock with more urgency. The wet slap of skin on skin loud, filling the room.
“I’m so close,” he warned desperately against your lips. “Fuck— I’m gonna cum— you feel too good—”
His hand squeezed, holding you in place as he helped you bounce on him. Every time you sank down, he lifted his hips to meet you, fucking up into you until your jaw rattled. He was panting hard, forehead pressed against yours, completely pussy-drunk.
Satoru came with a broken, drawn-out moan, hips jerking up into you as he spilled deep inside. He held you down against him, grinding up as he pumped his cum into you like he was unconsciously trying to fuck it into your stomach. His hand on your neck tightened just enough to pin you down against him while he trembled through it.
Both of you were breathing hard. He held you close and kissed the side of your head as he hugged you.
“D-did you cum?” he mumbled against your skin, still dazed and half out of it.
You pulled back just enough to look at him, deadpan.
“WHAT?”
He blinked up at you, still glassy-eyed and fucked-out. “You squeezed me so hard I thought you did! Okay then— cum then!”
You stared at him for a second, somewhere between offended, frustrated, and fond, before letting out a short laugh.
“You’re actually so fucking stupid.”
You were still softly rolling your hips, using his softening cock like a dildo while you were still determined to cum again. Satoru just watched you, half-intently, half blissed-out, still breathing hard, feeling his cum escaping your pussy and pooling in his lap. After a moment, one of his hands slid down between your bodies. His fingers found your clit easily this time and started rubbing you.
“Fuck— you’re still so wet,” he mumbled, eyes locked on where you were grinding against him. “Keep going… I’ve got you.”
So you kept moving on his semi-hard cock while he fingered you, the combination making your thighs shake. Your breath started hitching and Satoru was watching your face closely now, still drunk but trying to focus.
When your mouth fell open so prettily and your eyes fluttered as he just hit that spot inside you with the angle of his cock, his other hand moved to your hip almost automatically. He gripped you and started moving you himself again, guiding you in short, deliberate rolls so his cock and his fingers kept pressing just right against that same sensitive spot from both sides.
“There?” he asked, voice low and rough. “Right there?”
You could only nod, a broken whimper slipping out of you as you started tipping forward, head on his sweaty shoulder until your thighs were trembling hard and you felt like a jelly.
You came with a sharp, shaky moan, clenching around his soft cock as the overstimulating orgasm tingled through you. Satoru held you through it, still moving you gently and praising you so nicely until you completely slumped forward against his chest.
He hugged you tight, face buried in your neck.
And you stayed slumped against Satoru’s chest for a long minute, both of you just breathing each other in. The adrenaline was finally wearing off, and reality slowly started to creep back in.
The room was in fucking ruin. You were both coated in a sticky mess, the mattress behind you was most likely ruined, and the floor was dangerously slippery. It smelled like greasy sex.
“Well,” you said.
“Yeah,” he answered quietly.
You slowly peeled yourself off his chest, shivering as the cool air hit your slick, overheated skin.
You looked down at him and he still looked completely fucked-out, and you decided you could get used to that look. As you stretched, you felt his cum trailing down your inner thighs. Satoru’s eyes followed it from the front row, his spent dick giving a weak twitch at the sight.
“I’m going to take a shower,” you said softly, breaking the quiet. You paused, a small smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. “…Wanna join?”
Satoru’s heart practically stopped. His eyes widened and for a second he looked like he was going to follow you like a lost, oily puppy. Dream fucking come true. But then he glanced around at the absolute state of his bedroom and reality hit him again.
“I’ll, uh…” He cleared his throat. “I’ll clean this up a bit first. You go ahead.”
You pouted but gave him a soft, understanding nod. “Don’t take too long, ‘Toru.”
You grabbed one of his random t-shirts that smelled like him from the floor and padded down the hallway toward the bathroom.
Left alone on the floor, Satoru stared at the opposite wall for a long time. He was deadass completely re-evaluating his entire existence.
He had just experienced the most surreal, life-changing two hours of his life, and the only thing he knew for certain was that he was completely whipped for you. For once, he didn’t care what his old incel education had to say about it. Which was fucking new and so so refreshing.
He reached over to his nightstand, picked up his phone, and wiped a smear of baby oil off the screen before opening Reddit.
r/relationship_advice
I (M) think I’m in love with my roommate (F) and I might have just completely fucked everything up in the most humiliating way possible
Throwaway because if she ever sees this she will murder me for real now.
I’ve been living with this girl for almost a year. She’s my roommate. For the longest time I thought I had everything figured out. I believed that if I just kept doing enough, she’d eventually see me as a potential mate. She didn’t, obviously.
Tonight I did something so fucking stupid I still can’t believe I’m typing this. I got a cock ring stuck on my dick. I panicked and called her while she was on a date and basically begged her to come home. She helped me. She got it off. And then… something else happened. Something I didn’t expect at all. And now she’s in the shower and I feel like I fucked up our friendship or whatever he had between each other beyond repair. My entire worldview feels kinda off.
I think I’m in love with her. I’ve been a terrible roommate. I’ve been a terrible person tbh. I don’t know what we are now. I don’t even know if I have the right to ask. But I think I love her. And I have no idea what the fuck I’m supposed to do.
Please help. And be nice this time, pls.
u/GrassToucherGeto · 183 upvotes
Is this the same guy who posted that viral “AITA for expecting my roommate to fuck me because I did the dishes” thread a few weeks ago?
u/KingNaoya69 · 56 upvotes
You fucked her? Good shit bro. Don’t fuck it up this time.
Satoru looked up the second you returned, now wearing his t-shirt, your hair still damp and smelling like strawberries again. Something in his chest went soft at the sight of you. You looked so prettily blissed-out, eyes cutely half-lidded, his t-shirt fitting you so so nicely, leaning against the doorframe and he couldn’t quite believe you were actually fucking real.
He was still sitting on the floor, holding a bottle of kitchen cleaner in one hand and a roll of paper towels in the other, and having no fucking idea what he was doing. Which, to be fair, he kinda did because what the hell do you even do with a room soaked in oil?
You sighed and gave him a soft, tired look.
“‘Toru,” you said gently. “You’re not going to be able to clean this mess up right now. Just go wash up.” You paused, biting your lip. “Let’s just sleep in my room tonight, alright?”
He blinked up at you, panicked and hopeful all at once. Did you just say sleep in your bed? Him in your bed?
You tilted your head, giving him the softest smile you’d given him yet. And that was all it took. He for sure didn’t need to be told twice. If you insist, m’lady and tips his fedora confused. He dropped the cleaner without a second thought and basically sprinted down the hall.
He took the fastest, most aggressive shower of his entire life, scrubbing the residual oil and shame and probably a layer or two of his skin like he was trying to erase the last few hours.
When he finally crept into your bedroom, the lights were already off and you were in bed. He climbed in beside you and the sheets smelled like you. It was warm, it was safe and it kinda made the anxiety in his chest go away for now.
You shifted over without opening your eyes, throwing an arm across his chest and tucking your face into the crook of his neck, planting a little kiss over his pulse point. You fell asleep almost instantly.
Satoru lay there staring up at the dark ceiling, gently nuzzling the top of your head with his cheek still not believing this is the reality now. But an overwhelming sense of peace settled over him.
Carefully, so as not to wake you, he reached for his phone one last time.
He opened Reddit and went back to his post. The comments had already blown up again. Some people calling the story fake, others demanding more details about the cock ring, a few calling him a simp.
Satoru smiled to himself.
He typed out one final edit.
Update: Nvm, she’s tucked into my side. Take this as a PSA to all the other incels out there. Mods, please flag this as SOLVED.
── Dividers from petalpx and fairytopea and melocor!
Back aching, dragging swollen feet you pad across the living room towards your husband, satoru.
Approaching his slightly drowsy figure on the couch you call out his name. Slowly his sleepy gaze lifts and lights up at the sight of his 6 months pregnant wife.
“Hey…baby” his voice soft, gaze lingering at your swollen belly and the cute pout on your face.
“What’s wrong?” he questions standing up, hands automatically resting on your hips.
“Carry the baby for me” you huff out.
Satoru tilts his head amused at his wife’s command “I would honey, if I could I would turn into a male seahorse and carry all our children”.
You glare at him, too moody for his silly antics and proceed to turn around on your feet, his chest to your back.
“Give me your hands toru” and being the ever pleasing husband he is he abides.
Bending down you feel your husband in the crook of your neck watching you guide his hands under your belly.
Something clicks and he whispers “yes ma’am” as he lifts your belly gently with his large hands.
A sigh of content leaves your lips as the weight of the bump gets transferred to your husband momentarily.
After all carrying the strongest’s offspring is no easy task.
Satoru watches as you melt into his chest, snuggling into your neck and inhaling your scent.
“I wasn’t joking about the seahorse part” your chuckle vibrates against his chest, his heart beating faster as your warmth ruminates through him, your mood clearly elevated.
firefly; my first post ever! i’m so nervous posting my work hopefully i can improve my writing through this ❀ུ͏
Your family sets you up with potential husbands….. rich, influential JJK men… for a business marriage. You try to scare them off by acting weird but it backfires… and now you have 4 men obsessed with you.
Pairings: Yandere JJK men x Reader
Ft. Gojo, Sukuna, Toji, Nanami
TW : MDNI, some 18+ jokes, fanfic
part 1 - Part 2 - part 3 - Last part
In Which You Learn That Rich Men Are Like Glitter (Impossible To Get Rid Of Once They’re On You)
“You’re fucked.”
Shoko’s voice… through your phone speaker had that particular tone of someone delivering bad news while also finding it hilarious, like a doctor telling you that you have a weird rash but also it’s shaped like a dinosaur.
“I’m aware,” you said, lying on your floor…. your cat was sitting on your chest. “That’s why I’m calling you at…” you checked your phone “…. fuck, is it really 3 AM?”
“What the fuck is wrong with these men?" You stared at your ceiling, which had a water stain that looked like either Jesus or a mushroom. You’d been meaning to get that fixed since you moved in. That was two years ago.
Silence.
Then Shoko started cackling like she’d just witnessed someone slip on a banana peel in real life. “Maybe they’re into weird girls?”
“It’s not FUNNY… ”
“It’s SO funny,” she wheezed.
You groaned. Your cat adjusted herself, digging her claws into your chest.
“Okay but here’s the thing,” Shoko said, and you could hear her typing, which meant she was already stalking, which meant this was about to get worse. “I did some digging”
“And?…”
“And babe.” More typing. “These guys don’t DO second dates.”
“What do you mean”
“I mean… Sukuna’s last 3 arrangements all withdrew. One of em moved to Sweden” More clicking “Gojo fucks his first dates and then ghosts them. Dick and dip”
“SHOKO!!”
“Oh and Toji’s dates end up becoming his sugar mommies.”
You sat up, dislodging your cat, who gave you a look of pure betrayal before walking off to knock something off your counter.
“So what you’re saying is…..”
“What I’m saying is you somehow did the impossible.” She sounds gleeful. “How does that feel?”
“Like I need to fake my own death and join the Swedish meatball girl”
You spend the next hour on the phone, going through theories. Maybe you weren’t weird enough. Maybe you were too weird. Maybe they’re all in a cult and you’re the sacrifice. Maybe this is an elaborate prank show and Ashton Kutcher is going to jump out of your closet.
“Or,” Shoko offers, “maybe you’re just hot and they’re willing to overlook the crazy.”
“I spilled water on Toji’s DICK.”
“Some guys are into that….”
You hung up and stared at your phone. At the four messages still sitting there. Haunting you.
Outside your window, a pigeon was trying to fuck another pigeon on your fire escape, which felt oddly appropriate for this situation.
You can do this.
You are GOING to do this.
(You can not, in fact, do this, and what happens next will haunt you for the rest of your natural life.)
Sukuna Ryomen - After the first date
Sukuna sat in his office, looking out at Tokyo’s skyline, and tried to remember the last time someone had annoyed him this much without ending up in a hospital.
The audacity. The fucking AUDACITY of sitting across from him and dropping designer labels like they were supposed to impress him.
A shameless gold digger. The kind of woman he'd normally have escorted out before the appetizers arrived.
Except.
Except something was off.
He couldn't place it at first. He'd seen gold diggers before. Hell, he'd dated a few. They had a certain ease to them, a comfort in luxury that came from either experience or genuine desire.
You had neither. You looked like someone playing dress up.
"Get me everything on her," he tells Uraume the next morning.
The report landed on his desk five days later. Sukuna opens it expecting a lifestyle propped up by daddy's money.
What he finds instead makes him laugh out loud.
Forty seven pages of utterly ordinary information. No luxury purchases. No country club memberships or spa packages or any of the shit gold diggers usually had.
Groceries from 7 Eleven.
Bank account balance: Depressing
Sukuna leaned back in his chair, staring at your photo attached to the report. You were smiling in it…. holding a cup of what was definitely not champagne while standing in what appeared to be your kitchen.
You looked... soft.
He picks up his phone… a small smile on his face.
Name your terms. I'm interested.
Send (why tf did he phrase it like a challenge?)
Date 2 Sukuna Ryomen
Location : Shopping district
Threat level : High (probable yakuza connections, definitely judging you)
Sukuna picks you up in a black car. The driver opens the door for you without making eye contact, which feels ominous. Sukuna is already inside, taking up most of the backseat.
“Hi!!” you beam at him "I'm so excited for today. I've been thinking about it all week.”
“Have you” He looks amused. That's... new.
Your soul leaves your body for a second, then reluctantly returns when you realize he’s still watching.
“Of course.” you laugh “I love shopping”
Twenty minutes later, you're standing in a store that doesn't have prices on anything. Which means you don’t know what to buy because you have no idea what anything costs.
A sales associate instantly recognises Sukuna "Mr Ryomen. A pleasure. How can we assist you today?"
"The lady wants to shop." His eyes slide to you. "Give her whatever she wants."
This is a trap. This is DEFINITELY a trap.
You approach the nearest display… a rack of coats and pull one off with zero delicacy.
"Ooh, this is cute!!!!" You hold it up, checking the label. Your eyes don't recognise the brand name at all. It's something German, maybe? Or Italian? Fuck. "Is this..." You squint. "Valentino?"
The sales associate's eye twitches. "That's Brunello Cucinelli, ma'am."
"Right, right. Bruno something." You wave your hand dismissively. "Same thing."
Behind you, Sukuna makes a sound. It might be a cough. It might be a suppressed laugh.
"This one….”
"That's a child's backpack."
You stare at the tiny pink monstrosity in your hands. It does, in fact, have a cartoon character on it.
"I knew that," you say weakly. ( Error 404 : Brain not found )
The corner of his mouth twitches. Is that a smile? Is he making fun of you? You can't tell and it's driving you insane.
"Perhaps," he says, stepping closer, "I should help you."
What follows is the most humiliating hour of your life.
Sukuna guides you through the store like a disappointed tour guide at a museum for idiots. He corrects your pronunciation of Louis Vuitton…. twice.
"You don't shop here often," he observes, handing you a dress"Try this."
"I… what?"
"Try it on." He gestures toward the fitting rooms. "I want to see how it looks."
You stumble toward the changing room… (THERE’S A CHANDELIER IN THE CHANGING ROOM) … clutching the dress. The fabric is soft… softer than anything you've ever owned… and when you put it on, you barely recognize yourself in the mirror.
You look... expensive. Like someone who actually belongs in a place like this.
"Well?" Sukuna's voice comes from outside the curtain. "Are you hiding?"
"No." Yes. "I'm just... adjusting."
"Come out."
You step out, feeling exposed in a way that has nothing to do with the amount of skin showing.
His eyes move slowly… face, shoulders, waist, back up. The way he looks at you makes every inch of skin feel suddenly, stupidly alive.
"Better," he says finally. "We'll take it."
"We'll… what? No, it's too much, I couldn't…. "
"I thought you wanted expensive things." He raises an eyebrow
Shit. Shit
"I do" you say, too bright. "This is great. Let's buy all of it.”
You gesture wildly at the nearest rack. Sukuna follows your hand to a display of men's accessories.
"You want me to buy you cufflinks?"
Your stomach drops into your fucking shoes “I… no. Those. Over there. The... things."
"The hats?"
"Yes!!! Hats. I love hats!"
You don't wear hats. You've never worn hats. The last time you tried to wear a hat, Shoko laughed so hard she choked on her drink.
But Sukuna is still watching you with that expression… amused, knowing, waiting (smug asshole)… and you can't back down now.
"Pick one," he says. "Whichever you want."
He pays for it, along with the dress you didn't ask for, and several other items you don't remember selecting.
After your date, you know three things.
One: couture is terrifying.
Two: rich people are stupid.
Three: Sukuna knows
Nanami Kento - After the first date
Nanami Kento was having a problem.
The problem was not work related, though his colleagues would probably disagree given that he’d missed two meetings and had to redo a contract because he’d been too distracted to catch a critical error.
The problem was not health related, though his doctor would probably be concerned about his blood pressure given how many cold showers he’d taken this week.
The problem was that he could not stop thinking about you. About your mouth on that wine glass. About the sound you had made and how he had to grip his fork so hard he’d nearly bent it.
About what you would look like on your knees….
He was in the middle of a client call when his mind wandered to what you would sound like if he…
“Nanami san? Are you still there?”
“Yes. Apologies. Please continue.”
This was unacceptable. He’d built his entire career on discipline and self control. He didn’t get distracted. He didn’t let his personal life interfere with his work. And he certainly didn’t spend five days straight having increasingly inappropriate thoughts about a woman he’d met once.
But here he was. Day five. Still thinking about you.
He tried to rationalize it. Tried to tell himself this was just physical attraction. That he needed to see you again to confirm there was no actual compatibility. That a second date would cure him of whatever this was.
(This was a lie. He knew it was a lie.)
On day seven, he broke.
I would like to continue our discussion. Are you free Thursday evening at 7:00 PM?
He hit send. What the fuck was happening to him?
Date 2 Nanami Kento
LOCATION: French Restaurant, Different This Time
THREAT LEVEL: Low (too polite to murder you, probably)
You arrive five minutes early.
Nanami is already there. Of course. The man probably arrived at the restaurant's founding and has been waiting ever since. His suit is different from last time…. but somehow just as pristine. Just as distracting.
Stop noticing his suits, you tell yourself. You're supposed to be making him uncomfortable, not yourself
"Mr. Nanami." You slide into your seat with what you hope is a seductive smile.
"Please." He stands as you sit…. gentleman, goddamn him…. before settling back down. "Nanami is fine."
"Nanami." You lean forward… smelling his cologne. It’s a nice cologne. Stop smelling him "I have to admit… I was surprised you wanted to meet again. You don't seem like the type to call women for second dates."
"I'm not."
"So what's different about me?"
There's an intensity to his gaze that wasn't there before… or maybe it was, and you just didn't notice. "I haven't determined that yet."
Okay. That's either flattering or terrifying.
You push forward with your strategy and order the messiest thing on the menu… pasta with red sauce, specifically chosen because there's no elegant way to eat it. You twirl your fork, let sauce drip onto your chin.
"Sorry," you say, dabbing at your mouth with a napkin. "I'm such a messy eater. But it's so good. Don't you think food just tastes better when you're not worried about being neat?"
"I... wouldn't know."
"You should try it sometime." You tilt your head. "Don't you ever just want to... let go?"
His eyes turn dark and hungry in an instant, sending your belly into free fall.
Oh
"I assure you," he says, voice low, "I am perfectly capable of letting go. When the situation calls for it."
Your heart rate spikes. “I need the bathroom….. ”
You practically RUN.
When you come back, he’s still there, perfectly composed, looking at you like you’re dessert and he’s planning how to eat you.
“Shall we order dessert?” he asks
“I’m good…..”
“Pity. I was hoping to watch you enjoy something sweet.”
Abort. Abort mission. This is not going according to plan.
Toji Fushiguro - After the first date
Toji wasn’t a stalker. He wouldd like to make that clear.
He followed you out on instinct, hands in pockets, expression bored, telling himself he was just making sure you got into a car and didn’t kill yourself crossing traffic.
You were different from the other rich bitches his family throws at him.
He had seen women play dumb before. Usually it's an act… a way to seem unthreatening, to make men feel smarter, to manipulate without being obvious.
This one couldn’t even walk straight… in heels you clearly couldn't handle, and….
You tripped.
Right there on the sidewalk. Over literally nothing. Your bag went flying, contents scattering across concrete.
"Fuck my life," you muttered, loud enough for him to hear from ten feet away. "Fuck it right in its stupid face."
Toji snorted.
He followed you all the way to your apartment building, watched you struggle with your keys for a full two minutes before getting the door open, and then stood on the street below your window like the world's most pathetic stalker.
Your light turned on. Then off. Then on again. You’d probably forgotten something in the dark.
Cute.
The word popped into his head uninvited. He immediately wanted to punch himself for thinking it.
Toji was fucking gone.
Hey, he typed on day seven. You're weird. I'm in.
His family's going to lose their shit when they find out he actually wants a second date for once.
Date 2 - Toji Fushiguro
LOCATION: Some random address in Shibuya
THREAT LEVEL: Unknown (not much details, which is concerning)
The address turns out to be an arcade.
An arcade???
You stand outside, staring at the neon lights and the sounds of digital explosions leaking through the doors, and wonder if you've been pranked.
"You came."
You spin. Toji is leaning against the wall beside the entrance, looking like he wandered in from a motorcycle gang's photo shoot. Leather jacket. Jeans. That scar on his lip curving with his smirk.
You follow him inside, immediately assaulted by flashing lights and the cacophony of a hundred games happening simultaneously.
"What are we doing here?" you ask, dodging a kid running past with a stuffed prize twice his size.
"Having fun." He looks back at you with an expression that's almost... soft? "You do know how to have fun, right?"
You tried your bimbo act. “I…. yes, of course I know how to have fun, I'm very fun, I'm the funnest…”
"That's not a word."
“Oh”
You lose spectacularly at every game you try.
"You're terrible at this," he says, leaning against the machine while you die for the fifteenth time.
You huff, pushing away from the machine. "Whatever…. the game is broken…”
Toji laughs, full and genuine, and something in your chest does a weird flutter thing.
No. Absolutely not. Focus.
"Let me try something," he says, and steps up to a basketball shooting game. He feeds in coins, picks up a ball, and proceeds to sink fifteen shots in a row without missing once.
Tickets pour out of the machine like a waterfall.
He hands you the tickets. "Pick a prize."
"What?"
"You've been looking at that giant cat thing since we walked in. Go get it."
He noticed that?
"I don't need you to win me prizes," you say, trying to recover your strategy "I can win my own prizes…..”
He's already walking toward the prize counter, your tickets in hand. You trail after him, protests dying on your lips.
The giant cat is even fluffier up close. The employee hands it to Toji, who hands it to you
"There," he says. "Now you have something to show for today."
You clutch the ridiculous stuffed animal to your chest and feel something dangerous building in your ribcage.
Don't, you tell yourself. Don't you fkn dare.
But when he drives you home on his motorcycle (motorcycle???)… you clutching the cat with one arm and his waist with the other….you can't help thinking that this was the most fun you've had in months.
Gojo Satoru - After the first date
Gojo knows you're lying before you even sit down.
It's the eyes. The too bright smile. The way your voice goes slightly higher when you're saying something you don't mean.
He's spent his entire adult life surrounded by liars. Business partners who smile while plotting. Models who swear they're "not like other girls" while being exactly like every other girl. Family members who claim to love him while treating him like a prize show pony.
He's learned to spot deception… instantly, instinctively, with a vague sense of disgust.
You're not as good at it as you think.
The church talk? He almost laughed. Your lockscreen might’ve had a church on it, but your nails had remnants of black polish, and there was a tiny tattoo peeking out from your collarbone that you had tried to cover with concealer.
The purity workshop thing? Just to avoid temptation.
Oh, sweetheart.
You wanted him to be tempted…. he thought…. That was the whole point, right? You had dressed like a nun specifically to make him think about undressing you.
Reverse psychology. Classic move. Bold as hell, though…. he'll give you that.
Most women try to impress him. They wear tight dresses and push up bras, laugh at his jokes, agree with everything he says.
You showed up looking like you were about to lead a prayer circle and told him he needed Jesus.
Gojo is delighted.
He pulls out his laptop, cracks his knuckles, and gets to work.
Social media: Private Instagram…. which yes, he has access to…. with party photos going back to college. Twitter that was mostly complaints about your job and retweets of cat videos.
Dating history: College boyfriend for two years, ended badly. Three short term relationships after that, all ending with you ghosting them when you got bored.
Employment: Work in management, hates your boss, online shops during meetings.
“Miss Virgin Mary,” he grins, scrolling through a photo of you doing a keg stand in 2019. “You absolute fraud”
Round two, sweetheart? My place, Friday. Don't worry, I'll be on my best behavior. He hits send
He can practically hear you screaming when you read it.
Perfect.
Date 2 - Gojo Satoru
LOCATION: His Place (concerning)
THREAT LEVEL: Maximum (the man is a predator)
Strategy: Bring actual chaperone.
You arrive with Shoko in tow. She's agreed to play the part of your "church friend" aka chaperone… for the evening, which basically means she's going to sit in the corner, drink his expensive alcohol, and watch you make a fool of yourself.
"You brought a chaperone," Gojo says when he opens the door. He doesn't look surprised. He looks delighted.
"I told you I would." You fold your hands primly. "This is my friend Shoko. She's from my congregation."
Shoko waves. "Praise Jesus."
Gojo's eyes sparkle. "Please, come in."
His apartment is obscene. Floor to ceiling windows with a city view.
Furniture that costs more than your entire existence. A kitchen that's clearly never been used for actual cooking.
You sit on the couch… knees pressed together, hands in your lap, the picture of modesty.
“So," Gojo says, settling across from you. "How's God?"
"Huh? Oh… He's... good. Great, actually. Very blessed."
"Mmm." He leans forward. "And what does God think about us? Did he give you any revelations this week?"
"Actually, yes." You clasp your hands together. "I've been praying a lot, and I really feel like the Lord is telling me to take things slow. Very slow. Probably years of courtship before any... physical contact."
"Years?" he asks
"At least."
"How many years?"
"Um." You hadn't thought this far ahead. "Seven?"
Shoko chokes on her wine.
Gojo's smile doesn't waver. "Seven years. Of no physical contact."
"Exactly."
"No kissing?"
"No." You smile brightly
"No hand holding?" he pouts
"Probably not."
"What about eye contact?" Those blue eyes fix on yours
"I…. what?"
"Eye contact can be very intimate." He's leaning closer now, voice dropping. "Some people find it even more intimate than touching."
You swallow. "I suppose... brief eye contact would be acceptable."
"How brief?"
"A...a few seconds?" you stutter
"Three seconds?" he asks
"Sure?"
"Like this?" And then he just... looks at you.
Three seconds stretch into five. Five into ten. His eyes are impossibly blue, impossibly bright, impossibly knowing. You feel stripped bare. Exposed. Like he can see right through your modest dress and your fake cross necklace and your bullshit act straight to the core of you.
Your face burns.
"Stop that," you manage.
"Stop what?" His smile is innocent. His eyes are anything but….. "I thought eye contact was acceptable."
"Not like that."
He laughs, low and warm, and you feel it in places you definitely shouldn't.
The rest of the evening is a torture. He finds ways to make everything sound suggestive. Offers you water and comments on how good you are at swallowing.
By the time you leave, Shoko is crying with suppressed laughter and you're seriously considering actual prayer for the first time in your life.
"This was fun," Gojo says at the door. "We should do it again."
"I don't think…. "
He cuts you off "Without the chaperone next time."
"There won't be a next time."
"Mmm." His hand reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. The touch is feather light. Devastating. "We'll see."
Fuck Fuck Fuck
AFTERMATH - The great ghosting
You decide to disappear.
No texts. No calls. No responses. Complete radio silence. Maybe if you ignore the problem hard enough, it'll go away on its own.
(This has never worked for any problem in the history of problems, but hope springs eternal.)
Day 1: Peace.
Day 2: Your mother called 47 times.
Day 3: Your father sent an email in all caps.
Day 4: Silence.
Day 5: Maybe they gave up….
DAY 6:
A cheese platter arrived at your office.
Expensive cheese in a wooden box with a card: “Since you can clearly tell the difference. - Sukuna”
Your coworkers descend on it like vultures. You barely get a piece.
When you get home: you can't open your front door. Because there's a bouquet blocking it.
Not a bouquet. A monument. Red roses…. hundreds of them…. piled so high you can't see over the top. It takes thirty minutes to drag the whole thing inside.
Card: “Red suits you better. - Gojo”
Three missed calls from Nanami.
Shoko sends you a screenshot of Toji lingering outside your building. “Should I be concerned?" She texts
Day 7
"There's four guys at reception," your coworker, Mei says, poking her head into your office. "They're asking for you.”
Your blood leaves your body “Four?”
"They're kind of... arguing? With each other? Security is considering calling the police."
You walk to reception like you're walking to your own execution. And there they are.
Gojo, arms crossed, glaring at Sukuna. "What the fuck are you doing here?"
Sukuna, looking murderous. "I could ask you the same thing. How do you know [name]?"
Toji, leaning against the wall. "Keep her name out of your mouth."
Nanami, trying to be the voice of reason. "Perhaps we should discuss this calmly….”
"Fuck calm," Sukuna snaps.
Mei appears at your elbow. "Are those guys here for you?"
"Please kill me."
"Do you owe them money?"
"I wish." you whisper
You take a breath. Then another. Then you walk into the chaos.
"Excuse me," you say.
They don't hear you. "Excuse me."
Still nothing.
"HEY!!!” you shout
Four heads turn. Four pairs of eyes land on you. Four expressions shift from hostile to... something else entirely.
Nanami opens his mouth, probably to say something reasonable, but you cut him off.
"Do you all…. know each other?" you ask weakly.
Silence.
“Unfortunately." Toji mutters
Gojo just grins. "Small world, isn't it, sweetheart?"
Your coworkers are watching this like it's the season finale of Love Island.
You are so fucked.
A/n : Your Reblogs and comments are appreciated 🫶💕
pairings — Perverted Bestfriend! Nerdjo x Popular Naive! Fem Reader.
꒰ྀི১ synopsis — he’s your best friend, of course you guys are super close. he says it’s okay because it’s normal, all best friends do the things that you guys do!
wc: 2.3k
warnings/tags: NSFW. MDNI 18+. college au, heavy corruption kink. sweet popular naive fem! reader (she’s a bit airheaded) x secretly vile and perverted! nerdjo (he’s actually a little sick in the head). dumbification, dollification, praise & degradation, somnophillia, dacryphillia, dubcon and noncon themes, coercion, power imbalance, emotional dependency, lots of masturbation on gojo’s end, facefucking, blowjob, spit, possessiveness, slight breeding kink, blackmailing, videotaping, heavy manipulation, gaslighting. satoru is lowkey sweet then cruel, doting then mean asf. no official relationship — just psychological ownership.
you were the girl everyone loved. the campus sweetheart. that’s what they called you. the girl who smiled at everyone, brought cookies to study groups, and somehow aced (or appeared to ace) all of her work because of her best friend was always there to “help.” you were sunshine in human form—soft cardigans, pleated skirts that fluttered when you walked, glossy lips that always curved in that gentle and slightly vacant smile. everyone loved you. but gojo? he owned you.
you met him in freshmen chem. he was the towering lanky nerd who wore oversized hoodies and framed glasses that always seemed to slide down his nose. always scribbling notes at an impossible speed while you stared at the periodic table like it was written in hieroglyphics. he offered to tutor you after you bombed the first quiz. you said yes because he was nice. safe. funny in that dry sarcastic way that made you giggle behind your hand. he was always polite, always offering to explain concepts in that patient, soft voice “you’re too pretty to stress like this,” he said once, pushing up his glasses with a shy smile. you thought it was endearing. he was the smartest person you knew yet he never made you feel stupid for needing help.
he became your best friend almost overnight. how could he not?
he helped you study all the time—by which he meant he did most of the work while you sat prettily in his dorm, legs tucked under one of the soft little skirts he brought you.
“it makes you feel empowered, right? like you own the room,” he’d coo with a boyish grin, eyes hidden behind those lenses as he watched how it’d ride up your thighs. you’d twirl for him in his dorm, oblivious to the way his eyes devoured the way the hem barely covered your ass. “wear this for me? i picked it out thinking of you.” you’d send him dozens of photos for “feedback”—outfits pics for every new piece he ordered with his family’s black card which you accepted with open arms, you loved that he looked out for you always. pleated skirts that barely covered anything when you bent over, expensive little dresses.
he saved every single one in a locked album on his phone named “my pretty girl.” he’d scroll through them, zooming in on the way fabric clung to your tits, the innocent little peace signs you made. he jerked off to them under his desk late at night, biting his sleeve so his roommate wouldn’t hear him, cumming all over the thesis he was supposed to be writing for you.
you never noticed how his breathing hitched during your late-night phone calls.
“—and he ghosted me, toru. i thought he really liked me.”
satoru leaned back in his gaming chair, one hand lazily stroking his thick cock under the desk while the other held the phone up to his ear. “shh, sweetheart. he didn’t deserve you. none of them do. you’re way too good for those losers.” satoru’s responses always were perfect — soft, reassuring, steady, comforting, all while his fist pumped faster at the sound of your hiccups. thumbing the head when you let out one particular pathetic, broken sob. fuck, the way you cried—so delicate, so broken. he imagined those same tears streaming down your face as you gagged on his cock, mascara running down those puffy cheeks, lips stretched wide and swollen. he came hard when you whimpered “i just really want someone who really sees me,” painting his fist while murmuring “i see you. you’re safe with me. i’ve got you,” whispering sweet nothings to you until you calmed down.
you never suspected a thing.
he loved keeping you dependent on him. there were times when you tried to study alone sometimes or attend a professor’s office hours — determined to be better. satoru would lean over your shoulder, voice honey-sweet and condescending “why bother with that when i can just do it for you? you’re too pretty to fry the brain on this.” he’d gently take the text book from your hands, the way words sounded like praise, but they carved away at your confidence bit by bit. murmuring “such a dumb little thing, aren’t you? it’s okay that you’re not as smart as me. that’s why we’re perfect together. i’ll always take care of you.”
the degradation always came wrapped in sugar. it made your cheeks burn and your pussy clench in confused shame.
or other times he’d just simply pat your head, then finish your entire assignment while you watched cartoons on his laptop “—aw, baby. look at you trying so hard. it’s cute, really. but we both know you aren’t built for this kind of stuff. that’s why you have me… see? no one understand you like i do. no one ever will.” you’d just mumble a little “i know, toru,” while absently staring at the screen, biting on the cap of a pen.
but the words sank in deep. you started believing it. why fight when satoru made everything so easy? he was so smart, so patient, so there.
sleepovers became routine, especially long nights cramming (him cramming, you napping on his pillow). “best friends can share a bed, silly. it’s not weird,” he’d laugh, spooning you innocently from behind, pulling you against his chest in nothing but one of his oversized shirts. no bra. you were too trusting, too naive to question it, you loved your best friend. he’d wait till your breathing evened out into deep sleep, then slip out of bed.
one night he couldn’t hold back. you were out cold, lips parted, head hanging off the edge of the mattress just slightly. satoru stood over you, cock in hand, heavy and leaking in his fist, stroking lazily at first just inches away from your sleeping face. the thin shirt had ridden up; your tits look so soft, nipples faintly visible through the fabric. your mouth looked so warm and inviting. the power was intoxicating — you, the untouchable campus sweetheart, completely vulnerable under him.
“just a little more…” he whispered to himself, hips jerking. he leaned in closer, the angry red head of his cock hovering inches from your lips. precum beaded at the tip and leaked onto the pillow beside your cheek. what if you woke up right now? the thought made his balls tighten. he jerked faster, imagining sliding between those plush lips, fucking your throat while you blinked up at him in confused, teary panic. he came hard—thick ropes painting the pillowcase right next to your face, some landing on your cheek. you stirred slightly but didn’t wake. in the morning you woke up and felt something sticky, assuming it’s lotion or something. you just yawned and chirped a “good morning, toru!” with a smile, completely oblivious. he watched with dark, satisfied eyes as you rubbed it in absentmindedly but then he just ruffled your hair and called you his favorite dummy.
he saved a short shaky, video from that night anyway. just the last few seconds of it when he came, zooming in to your painted face with the flash on while you were in deep slumber. insurance, he told himself, just in case. but he never used it. he was your best friend, after all.
the corruption deepened slowly, like honeyed poison.
he’d sabotage all your dates, though it was subtle. any guy who got too close suddenly seemed wrong. a few well-placed rumors, a “concerned” conversation where’d he casually mention the guy had been talking shit about you behind your back or only wanted to fuck you and nothing else. you’d cancel, crawl into his lap while he played video games. ass pressed right up against his constant hard-on. “you’re too good for them,” he’d murmur into your neck, hands on your hips, grinding up just enough to make you squirm. “stay with me instead. all friends sit like this.”
you’d blush and trying to focus on the game screen, babbling about any and everything else. too shy acknowledge the thick length throbbing under you. he loved how polite you were — too sweet to call him out, too airheaded to connect the dots.
you trusted him completely. he was your bestfriend. the smartest person you know.
he was doting and cruel at the same time. sweet kisses on your forehead when you brought him coffee. mean little degradations slipped in like affection: “my dumb little doll. what would you do without me?” followed by immediately by, “it’s okay, princess. i love how you need me.”
the breaking point came after another ruined date.
you showed up at his dorm in tears again, wearing the little baby pink dress he brought you last week. satoru pulled you inside, and sat you on his bed.
“toru… maybe i’m just not meant for anyone,” you whispered, voice small.
he cupped your face, thumb brushing your lower lip, “poor little thing. they always break your heart, don’t they? because they don’t know how to handle someone as sweet as you. but you already have someone, sweetheart. me. why keep wasting your time?”
you sniffled, nodding “you’re the only one who gets me, toru.” his cock twitched hard in his sweatpants. “that’s right, baby. i’m the only one.”
the manipulation was so smooth you didn’t even register it. one moment he was comforting you, the next his hand was guiding yours to palm him through his sweats. “just help your friend out a little? i’ve been so good to you. don’t you wanna be good for me too?” the tone felt innocent enough, but the intent was far from that.
you hesitated, eyes wide and glassy “but… isn’t that… weird?”
“it’s okay,” he murmured, guiding you to your knees gently between his spread thighs. “all best friends do stuff like this sometimes. it’s normal.” his voice was so reassuring, so logical. you were already his doll—pliant, airheaded, desperate for his approval.
you nodded shyly, hands trembling as you pulled down his sweats. his cock sprang free, long and thick, veins pulsing, head flushed angry red and already leaking. your eyes widened. “satoru… it’s so big…”
“shh, pretty girl. just the tip. just for a second. i just need to feel that sweet mouth. open up, baby. let me in.” he threaded his fingers through your hair, not forcing—yet—but guiding.
you obeyed because it’s satoru. because he’s safe. because he always took care of you.
you wrapped your lips around the head, sucking softly, tongue swirling like you were trying to be good. the taste was salty, musky. satoru groaned low, hips twitching. “fuck, look at you. such a good little cocksucker already. my perfect dumb doll.”
you whimpered around his dick, brows furrowing just slightly, the praise making you wet despite the confusion. he pushed deeper. “just a little more baby. you can take it.” tears pricked your eyes as he hit the back of your throat. you gagged, drool down your chin, but he held you there even as you sputtered. “that’s it. cry harder for me. you look so fucking pretty when you cry. choking on your best friend’s cock like you were made for it.”
the gentle best friend facade had cracked. he started thrusting—shallow at first, then deeper, fucking your face with wet, obscene sounds. “been dreaming about this pretty little mouth for months. every time you sobbed on the phone, i jerked off thinking about ruining it.” his voice was darker now, meaner “all those losers never deserved this. you’re mine, you know that? always been. no one gets to have you. my little fuckdoll. now say it with your mouth full.”
you couldn’t of course—just garbled moans and choked sobs as he used your throat. mascara ran streaks down your cheeks. he loved it, the power hit him like a fucking drug. loved how your naive little brain tried to process what was happening while your body submitted so sweetly. he pulled out just long enough to let you breath for a moment, slapping his heavy cock against your tongue, then drove it back in, balls deep, nose pressed to his pelvis and the snow white hair scratched you slightly.
when he finally came down your throat, it was with a broken groan, flooding your throat until you were coughing and sputtering, and even then he held you there until you swallowed every drop, coughing and gasping as he pulled out. strings of spit connected from your swollen lips to his softening cock.
you sat the on the floor for a moment, thighs pressed together, mind hazy and body aching with confusing heat. he was right. he always took care of you. why fight it? he pulled you up gently afterwards, adjusted his glasses, cleaned your face with a warm cloth, like the caring friend he pretended to be.
“good girl,” he praised softly, kissing your forehead gently, almost shy. “see? that wasn’t so bad, was it? best friends help each other.” then he turned back to his game, pulling you onto his lap like always, voice soft again, like nothing happened. like this was what all friends did. his cock still twitching against your soaked panties under that little dress, cunt neglected.
you sat there dazed, thighs trembling, cum still warm in your belly, wondering why your body felt both so violated and needed?
he never officially asked you out. he didn’t need to. you were already his—corrupted, dependent, sitting pretty in his lap while he played video games, whispering filthy promises about breeding his perfect little doll one day soon.
deep down satoru knew the truth: you’d given him the chance the moment you let him in. every study session, every late-night call, every skirt he dressed you in, every time you ignored his cock pressing against you — you were already his. he didn’t need a label. he didn’t need you to say “boyfriend.”
he owned you psychologically, piece by piece. and he’d keep ruining you sweetly, cruelly, until there was nothing left of the campus sweetheart except the pretty, vacant, dependent you who sat obediently in his lap.
why waste your time on anyone else when your best friend had been right there all along?
a/n: sometimes i get a lil tired of reading the nerdjo fics where he’s all shy and subby and shit knowing damn well that this mf would be freaky asf, so i decided to write something nasty for y’all, i hope y’all like it! xoxo, ly loves you 💋! divider by @/cursed-carmine
it’s in the middle of the night when satoru has you pinned against the warmth of his body, bare chest pressing against your back.
“pleasee, darling— just.. let me fuck you,” he whimpers into your ear, emphasizing his request by giving you a mean thrust of his hips.
his hardened length is nestled between your slick pussy lips right now. it’s rubbing on your clit so you can’t help it that some moans escape you.
the whole point of this was to just get you wet enough, so that satoru could slide his dick into you. he’d been so adamant about wanting to sleep with his dick buried inside you and today you finally said yes. but now? he’s too pussy drunk to even think straight.
“stop.. seriously satoru– I am not gonna agree another time if you mess this up,” your voice rings out harsher than you intend it to and he pouts, stopping his act on trying to demolish you with his cock.
instead, his hand wraps around the shaft of it and a second later you feel the head press against your entrance. it’s slick from satorus earlier mission to get you all soaked —which totally worked out for him. that said, his cock slides in easily, splitting you open just for him.
oh god
for someone who was so serious a second ago, the shaky gasp that comes out of your mouth sounds a little too needy for satorus liking. he’s grabbing your hips to pull you closer and in an instant he’s completely bottoming out with a low grunt against your neck.
your walls noticeably clench around his cock and you need to bite back a whimper with how full you are. god, how are you gonna survive the night?
both your breaths quicken and for some moments there’s only that filling the otherwise silent room.
and then there’s satoru squeezing your body tightly against his. he‘s probably trying to ground himself before he does anything stupid.
“we should.. sleep,” you manage to rasp out and try to actually relax in bed. but satoru is squeezing you so tight it’s impossible.
“satoru—“
“—I can’t do this anymore,” satoru whimpers out loud. his breath is ghosting over your neck and if it weren’t already for how devastated he sounds (which got you all worked up btw), you would’ve given him everything he wanted at latest now.
no time to answer, protest or react in any way; he pulls away from you, dick sliding almost all the way out. just to pound back into you with a hard thrust.
“satoru!–“ a deep groan makes it’s way out of his throat and you can’t bite back the guttural sound that leaves yours too. satoru starts to thrust into you with a punishing pace and you turn into a mess. eyes are rolling, head thrown back and pathetic moans spill out of you.
clap!, clap!, clap!
it’s nasty. the way his balls slap against you with every hard thrust, echoing through the room. and the air reeks of sex.
he’s not slowing down, ruining you entirely and even if you wanted to, you couldn’t do anything about it.
“fuck– fuuck! satoru—“ that’s all he’s hearing and it’s enough to spur him on even more. you’re close and it can’t be overlooked with the way your body’s shaking beneath him.
you’re a moaning and trembling wreck, trying to hold onto the bed sheets for good. though, it’s not helping you with the way satoru is ruining you. he himself is way too far gone, somewhere else in his head. all he sees right now is your pretty pussy wanting to get demolished by him.
his thrusts are getting messier with every pound. he’s close too. but he’s not letting that stop him.
his breathing turns hoarse and he’s grunting a lot. fuck, if that’s not hot.
“hmmpf– sato! ‘m c-close! hah— ! I-I’m gonna.. s-shiit,” your eyes roll back once again and a pathetic moan rips it’s way out of your lungs. you’re loud. you’re moaning his name over and over while you’re coming all around his cock and your walls squeeze him so hard as your orgasm wrecks your whole body.
“fuuuck– babe!—“ satoru isn’t spared by your orgasm. he’s groaning and whimpering as your walls squeeze him so bad that his own orgasm crashes through him right after you. spurts of his cum fill you up, so much that it’s already leaking out the sides.
he’s throwing his head back and grinding his hips into you like a mad man. riding both your orgasms out and pumping his seed back into you.
completely done, you both collapse onto the bed sheets then to try and calm your breathing.
finally relaxed you turn your head to satoru who’s still nestled deep inside of you. he’s running a hand through the sweaty hair sticking to his forehead and laughs nervously.
“phuu— that was something. but don’t worry darling, we can go to sleep now.” he grins as he tugs you against his chest again, cuddling you with his dick still buried deep and not making any attempts to pull out.
Satoru loves when you sweet talk him after a mission
ᥫ᭡
You were sat in bed patiently waiting for him to get back from a mission your ears perk up once you hear the front door click and satorus heavy footsteps leading to your shared bedroom door.
He sighs heavily opening the door not bothering to shut it behind him, taking off his sorcerer jacket tossing it somewhere on the floor then changing out of his entire uniform just leaving himself in his boxers.
“How was your mission?” you ask, eyes watching him climb into bed. He doesn’t respond for a moment still trying to get somewhat comfortable in bed, he shifts onto his back arm going above his head to prop it up a little bit more.
he lets out a soft sigh once he was comfortable, free arm coming out tugging you into his warm side.
“it was fine, im just happy to be back home with my sweet girl,” his fingers drawing shapes on the soft skin of your hip.
Your hand goes up to his face gently pulling down his blindfold, slightly dull eyes looking down at yours. You could tell he went a bit overboard just by that look and that one look alone made your heart clench.
your finger goes to the bridge of his nose trailing down to the tip of it, satorus eyes flutter shut as your finger continues to trace his facial feature. Nose, lips, to his white eyebrows.
“you’re so beautiful,” you whisper softly, finger trailing down to his cheek gently tracing the soft skin. He only him softly at yours words - white eyelashes flutter softly his body reacting to your tender touch and sweet words.
“you’re so resilient, doing everything for everyone all the time. working so hard everyday when you never asked to be the one to burden all of it.” satorus lips part once your words register in his sensitive brain his eyes flutter open looking down at you.
“what’s got my sweet girl all lovey dovey tonight?” he teases trying to hide how much your words effected him, yet his voice was soft you could tell how much it did. his eyes zeroed in on yours taking in every facial feature of yours as he feels your soft finger pad tracing his jawline.
“just wanna let you know how much i adore you,” Satoru heart clench’s his hand on your hip leading up cupping the side of your face.
“yea?” his lips turning into a small smile, you nod your head, finger pad trailing back to his lips tracing the soft curve of his top soft lip. Satoru lets out a small sigh through his nose - thumb caressing the side of your cheek.
“well then-,” he shifts, his arm going out behind his head laying his head back down on the pillow getting comfortable. He pulls you closer letting you snuggle into his chest.
“how about my sweet girl tells me more about how resilient i am.” he says with that same small smile on his lips, his eyes flutter back shut - large hands rubbing up and down your back acting as a method to lull you to sleep.
And of course you did.
For the next couple minutes you go on whispering loving praises to him. All about how resilient, adoring, caring and selfless he is your voice alone lulling him to sleep first. His breath evening out as his large hands stall on the middle part of your back. you press a kiss under his jaw before snuggling your face back into his neck - eyes flutter shut letting out a soft sigh.
“love you, sweet face.” you whisper against his neck, the sound of his breathing lulling you to sleep.
Once again like promised, he was back home after some demanding mission with the other thing left on him was his brain being overwhelmed from his technique which would cost you him whining about how much his head hurt while you cooked chocolate chip pancakes for his sensitive brain.
