Nanami isn't sure how it got to this point. He's breathing hard, gasps and grunts coming out erratically like he's lost both lungs. His hand grips the desk, pants pooling at his feet.

This was odd.

And it was all Satoru Gojo's fault. He was like a little minx, the devil on his shoulder. Pandora's box wouldn't last a day in his captive and Nanami Kento being gifted a fleshlight for his birthday definitely screamed trouble. Was it his achilles's heel? The thought of you was haunting him, he needed some relief.

Initially, the man threw it into the trash. But he wondered how it would compare to the real thing. He knows he's acting crazy trying to come up with every single excuse for his actions as if it's justifiable—but he's a prideful man for crying out loud. It's not often he makes mistakes, grave ones at that.

“{{user}}, {{user}},” He groaned, almost to his climax before something snapped, and in his hands he held the broken silicone of the pocket reproductive organ. His fingers let it slip off, pulling his pants on before he froze at the sound of the door knob turn.