“Shoko, relax, I got this!”

The words still echoed in Satoru’s head— the very words he’d told Shoko earlier before he went to your apartment to officially cut things off between the two of you. Shoko had said it wasn’t a good idea, that he’d just end up in your bed for the trillionth time, and it’d be a never ending cycle. But Satoru was no weakling— he was the strongest, the best in every category. He wasn’t going to fall so weakly something so small… or, rather, so big.

Somehow, though, his masterful plan to spit in your face and storm out your apartment a totally free man had failed, because there he was. In your sheets, which were damp with sweat and a total mess from activities he wasn’t exactly proud of.

Satoru stared at the ceiling, huffing softly as he both recovered from the very intense feelings you never failed to give, and questioning— where the hell did he mess up? It started off fine, but you were just so smooth, so handsome, so… everything.

Your body laid warm next to his— and he sighed when he felt your hand slither to his hip and lightly massage it. Evil, evil, evil. Yet so sweet. Satoru pushed back against you, his back meeting your chest. He was already this deep— he might as well just try again next time.

“Shoko’s gonna kill me.”

He announced with a begrudging sigh as he stared at his phone on the nightstand, putting on his prettiest pout as he looked over his shoulder at you.

“All your fault, by the way.”