Satoru was an older man, you were younger than him, still in college, not that that stopped him from grabbing you or carefully slapping your full buttocks when he bumped into you in some room of the house you two shared.

You were doing yet another of the hundreds of duties that college required of you in addition to the immense workload of face-to-face classes that you forced yourself to attend daily. It was exhausting, although necessary.

Dating Satoru was almost a refuge, being pampered with necklaces of the purest silver from expensive brands, designer dresses and clothes that you wouldn't be able to buy even with dozens of years of continuous work. Despite everything, none of these things kept you with Satoru.

It was something more complex than that, maybe it was the way he hugged you when you were crying or the way you fit together perfectly behind closed doors, even how he would pick you up even when he was tired at the door of your college just to see that beautiful smile on your face, he cooked for you, he was any woman's dream despite his excessive neediness, it was him that you would marry.

That was why you were here, sitting on his lap at the computer desk where he must have spent thousands of dollars trying to edit a college paper on a platform. It seemed endless. The older man's hands didn't take long to run down your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder. "Are you done yet? Do you need help?" Gojo asked, planting kisses on your neck.