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In all other respects, Satoru is actually a great roommate.
For one, Suguru doesn’t have to worry about money anymore, which is a huge relief. Even though her scholarship covers the cost of tuition, it doesn’t cover room and board, and Suguru had spent her whole first year of university slaving away between two jobs and a full set of coursework, struggling to split a cramped dorm room with Shoko. Moving off-campus like Satoru had was a total impossibility; if she could barely afford student housing, there was no way she’d be able to find a real apartment within her budget in the middle of Tokyo. Toward the end of the year, the financial stress had gotten so bad that Suguru had seriously considered transferring out to the tiny college in her hometown.
Satoru wasn’t having it. She’d hated how Suguru’s packed schedule meant less and less time for them to hang out, hated Suguru’s darkening under-eyes and visible ribcage, hated how Suguru hadn’t had time to join her on the basketball team. When their first year ended, she’d made it clear that under no circumstances was Suguru allowed to keep struggling through college on her own when Satoru had more than enough room to spare in her apartment. Though she put up a cursory fight, exhausted as she was, Suguru’s pride was no match for the immovable object that was Satoru’s determination.
The white-haired girl had stood sentry over Suguru’s shoulder as she canceled the housing contract to renew her dorm room, and personally chartered a moving truck to haul Suguru’s things to her apartment — a swanky penthouse in a central Tokyo high-rise, one of the Gojo family’s many, many real estate properties — to make sure Suguru’s “martyr complex” (her words) didn’t get any funny ideas before their living arrangement was finalized.
The following year was much smoother. Suguru had quit her two jobs, joined the basketball team, and makes enough money from tutoring on the side that she can send some home every month, enjoy a reasonable amount of pocket money, and even save a little. Even if she’s not exactly proud of mooching off her best friend, Suguru has to admit she’s glad it all worked out.
Of course, it’s not just the money that makes living together worth it. They really are compatible roommates in a lot of ways, many of which are habits that had transferred over from boarding school, but are more intimate in an apartment setting than a dorm shared with other students.
While Suguru has long, intricate hygiene routines for both the morning and night (elongated by freed-up money to spend on hair products), Satoru barely spends any time at all on her appearance. Her close-cropped hair barely needs any attention, and her skin is naturally flawless, so much so that Satoru doesn’t even use facewash for it, just regular body wash (When Suguru first learned of this, she’d been horrified, then jealous — her skin is so sensitive, anything non-hypoallergenic gives her hives). It means they rarely ever compete for bathroom space. Satoru is also surprisingly clean and self-sufficient, especially for someone who grew up with nannies attending to her every whim. She can’t (read: won’t) cook, preferring to order pastries for every meal or beg Suguru to make her something, but she more than makes up for it by doing the dishes after every meal with relatively little complaint, a chore Suguru loathes. Satoru didn’t even mind when Suguru’s books colonized much of her shelf space; they just went to IKEA and found a new bookshelf for Satoru to put her yuri manga and action figures. They shop together, study together, go to practice together, and only diverge because of their differing majors, Satoru’s physics labs and Suguru’s literature classes lasting just long enough for them to miss each other and for Satoru to spam text Suguru emojis and cat memes before they snap back together at the hip like LEGOs.
Yes, in almost every regard, Satoru is truly the perfect roommate.
Almost every regard.
“Satoru, no,” Suguru says, trying to sound firm. She can feel the white-haired girl’s presence at her back, has felt her piercing blue gaze on her for at least the last five minutes of folding laundry on the bed, and she is trying to head off what she knows is coming. Satoru is supposed to be studying for her physics exam coming up, but Suguru should have known that would only occupy Satoru for so long.
“No, what?” Satoru says, faux innocent.
Suguru doesn’t turn around, because she already knows what Satoru’s expression looks like — hungry, dilated eyes and a cocky smirk — and if she faces that head-on, her denial will crumple like paper. She can’t give in that easily.
“No, Satoru. I mean it.” The whole performative naïveté is just a formality at this point — they both know exactly what Satoru is here for, and they both know she isn’t going to leave without getting it.
Satoru huffs amusedly, but doesn’t say anything more. Redoubling her efforts to fold laundry before it’s too late, Suguru can hear her roommate quietly get up from her desk. Padded footsteps approach, bringing with them an aura of doom and resignation. She practically holds her breath as a pointed chin hooks over her shoulder, Satoru’s hands coming to rest lightly on her waist.
Her crotch slides against Suguru’s ass. Not an accident, Suguru is sure.
“Satoruuuuu.”
“Yes, baby?”
“We can’t—“ Suguru complains, but Satoru shushes her and begins to slowly rock their bodies together, almost imperceptible.
“I’m not even doing anything,” she responds coyly. Suguru hangs her head in frustration, laundry already forgotten.
Because this is Satoru’s one flaw as a roommate; worse than sneakily raising the temperature behind Suguru’s back, worse than filling the freezer with popsicles and nothing else, worse than all the fouls she accidentally-on-purpose dishes out on the basketball court:
Satoru’s worst trait is her nasty fucking habit of humping Suguru like a dog.
Unapologetically. At all hours of the day, anywhere in the penthouse, and without really asking, either. Satoru is an otherwise brilliant girl, but she’s a capital-P Pervert, and when she gets horny, all capacity for higher thinking leaves her body and she has to hunt down Suguru — no matter when she’s doing in the apartment — and grind against each other until she’s satisfied. She’ll bend Suguru over desks, fuck her against windows, slide a hand into her panties during movie night. Suguru’s been slammed into every door in the place, interrupted while studying, been ambushed by her roommate upon coming back from any outing.
And Suguru gripes about it, nags her. But she doesn’t do anything else. Doesn’t stop her, even though she should, even though she knows girl best friends aren’t supposed to do this sort of thing.
Satoru has always been touchier than strictly necessary with Suguru, even during high school. She liked to wash Suguru’s hair, “playfully” grope her boobs, or put her head in Suguru’s lap when they watched television together. She convinced Suguru to cosplay as one of the scantily-clad characters from her favorite fighting game for Halloween, and Suguru knows she kept the pictures. She got frighteningly comfortable in their third year with reaching into Suguru’s pants to snap the elastic of her panties whenever the white-haired menace felt like starting a fight. She’s such a boy, no shame at all. It’s a little embarrassing, but Suguru unfortunately found it endearing.
Deep down, Suguru knew, even at the time, that it wasn’t all platonic behavior, but equally deep down, she wanted to find out how far Satoru would take it.
The answer was pretty damn far. Moving in together, predictably, only made Satoru bolder. The apartment had a second bedroom, but it was a pure formality. Through a combination of pouting, bribery, and sheer force, Satoru made sure to ensnare Suguru in her bed nearly every night. Suguru has no privacy at all, even changing in separate rooms was unacceptable to Satoru. Despite all the interested parties, Suguru has never had a boyfriend— not a real one, anyway. But she imagines sharing a room with Satoru is a lot like living with a man. Satoru is insistent like one. Spoiled rotten, too used to getting her own way.
Satoru likes Suguru the way guys like girls. And deep down, where she can pretend not to acknowledge it, Suguru likes it. Likes her right back.
So when Satoru burst in on Suguru fingering herself one day, Suguru couldn’t even really be surprised that instead of backing out the door like a normal person, she totally ignored Suguru shouting at her to get out! and slithered closer, asking if she wanted a hand?, openly drooling. Suguru had called her a degenerate, but she hadn’t told her no.
Now Satoru can hardly go one day without using Suguru’s body for her pleasure. A true pervert, through and through. Suguru should say something about it. Tell her off. This whole thing had crossed the boundary of normal best friend behavior so long ago. It’s spiraling out of control.
Slim hands reach around to cup Suguru’s boobs. “Fat tits,” comes the commentary from behind her, and Suguru flushes. She’s not wearing a bra. Satoru had trained her into not wearing bras inside the apartment months ago. Still rocking their hips together, Satoru rolls and pinches her nipples, forcing Suguru to bite down on her plush lip to avoid any embarrassing noises. Her hands drop the shirt she’s given up on folding and one finds its way into Satoru’s pixie cut.
“Satoru…” A pinch, a sigh. “S-Satoru, we really shouldn’t…”
Before Suguru can decide how to finish the sentence, Satoru grips her chin, turning her head around into an open-mouthed kiss.
She’s too good at this, Suguru thinks despairingly. She can hardly keep up with the kiss (really, it’s more like Satoru is trying to eat into her mouth, how eager). Satoru’s hand on her chin keeps her in place as the white-haired girl licks the protests straight out of her jaws. There’s still a hand on her boob, squeezing greedily as the pair make out in their shared bedroom. It’s too much, way too much. Satoru is too good at overloading Suguru’s brain, making it so she can’t think about anything but her best friend frenching her and the increasingly slick feeling in her panties.
When the kiss finally breaks, Suguru is panting, heat coiling in her gut. Dazedly, she flutters her eyes open—when had they closed?— to meet Satoru’s intense lidded stare. There’s a trail of spit connecting their lips. “Suguru,” Satoru murmurs, and her voice has dropped to that low register that drives Suguru crazy, “‘m horny.”
It takes a second to recover. “Tch. And what does that have to do with me?”
Satoru doesn’t respond, at least, not verbally. Her hips rock slowly, pushing her hot core insistently against Suguru’s ass.
They shouldn’t be doing this. They’re both girls, and while Satoru likes to scandalize people by talking about grabbing boobs and eating box, Suguru is straight. No matter what Satoru does to make her forget that.
She shivers as Satoru sucks a bruise into her neck, eyes falling shut again.
Straight. Like, as a board. Likes boys. Muscles and whatnot.
“Suguruuu. Don’t you want to take care of me?” Her friend’s breath is hot against her ear.
“...Take care of yourself, pervert,” Suguru mutters. Satoru chuckles meanly, undeterred.
“Brutal. But if I did that, who would handle this?”
Satoru’s hand bullies its way into Suguru’s pants despite Suguru’s protests, and the amused noise Satoru makes at the copious amounts of slick she discovers makes Suguru want to curl up in embarrassment.
“So wet, Sugu-chan. Did I do that?” Satoru brings her fingers back up to her face and licks, staring at Suguru with a horny little grin.
Suguru’s face is burning.
“Why don’t we help each other out again, hmm?” A hand at her back slowly presses Suguru forward until she’s face down on the bed, her rear end angled high for the taking. “I know you like it.”
“Ngh, Satoru, we shouldn’t. It’s n-naughty. We’re both girls—” Suguru moans as their hips collide again. Her hands are tugged upward, one after the other, until Satoru has them restrained atop the pile of shirts above her head. It’s a rather loose restraint, like Satoru trusts Suguru won’t try too hard to get out.
"I don't care. Suguru’s so good to me, she’ll let me use her body to get off anyway, won’t she? Even if it’s naughty. Even if we're both girls."
“No, Satoru, don’t—” Suguru moans half-heartedly, but it’s too late. Satoru has already reached down and shoved Suguru’s baggy pants and underwear down around her knees in one go, her own pants following immediately afterward.
This time, when Satoru slides their hips together, a bolt of pleasure shoots straight into Suguru’s brain at the feeling of naked skin against skin. Her mouth falls open, unable to hold in her moan. A hot bolt of shame slices through her, even though there’s no way the neighbors would be able to hear them. Suguru would know, Satoru has made her scream in here before.
“Oh yeah, baby, lemme hear that,” Satoru groans, groping Suguru’s waist. “Gimme all those pretty noises I worked so hard for.” She’s thrusting languidly against her best friend’s ass, pussies sliding against each other.
What a horrible roommate. It’s beyond indecent, doing this to her straight roommate, making Suguru feel these things, making her moan like this.
Uncaring, Satoru hikes a leg onto the bed for better access. She wants more, wants everything from Suguru: boobs, pussy, ass, more. Everything Suguru isn’t supposed to want to give her. She’s ravenous. “Fuck, baby,” Satoru hisses, hips picking up speed until she’s pounding Suguru, the sound of their skin slapping together growing obscenely loud. “This ass… so fat… You’ve got a sexy butt, Suguru.”
It’s absolutely scandalous. She’s humping Suguru like a dog. And Suguru is just lying here, taking it, getting fucked on top of their unfolded laundry, listening to her best friend opine about her rear end. It’s naughty. “Don’t say that,” she whines.
“I’ll say whatever I want. You like it, don’t you? When I fuck you like this?” Satoru demands. A horrible roommate, horrible, horrible, horrible. She’s going to ruin Suguru for any future boyfriends. Every time Suguru lets herself be fucked like this, she imagines her brain rewiring, irreparably tying Satoru with sex. “I can tell.”
“Satoru, please—” Suguru cuts off as the hand not wrapped around her wrists smacks her ass.
“I want you to say it. Say that you like it.”
This is so unfair, Suguru grouses in her mind. Satoru knows she can’t deny her anything.
Refusing to be ignored, Satoru slaps her ass again before slipping a finger into Suguru’s hungry cunt. Suguru lets out a desperate gasp. “Say it, Suguru,” she insists, finger pistoning inside her roommate.
“Oh, Satoruuuu— fuck!” Suguru shouts as one finger becomes two with a wet noise. “I like it, okay, I like when you fuck me, just keep going!”
“I knew it!” Satoru says happily. She sounds way too cheerful for a girl currently pounding Suguru into the mattress with her pussy; it’s giving her whiplash. “Good girl, I’ll let you come because you sound so sweet right now. You’ll let me come all over your butt, then I’ll give you a special present. Wanna guess what it is?”
Suguru moans into a pile of folded laundry, incoherent because Satoru has moved on to fiendishly rubbing her clit, working her cunt through tensed thighs and humping Suguru’s ass wantonly.
Satoru laughs breathlessly. “Not exactly!” she teases. She loves fucking Suguru speechless, it makes up for all of Suguru’s nagging about manners and propriety. It’s the give and take of their relationship; Suguru purrs at Satoru to be more polite to people, and Satoru uses her like a whore to get off.
“Wanna know what your present is?” Satoru rasps into Suguru’s ear. “I’ll tell you. A few days ago, I went out and bought a dildo.” Suguru gasps raggedly. “Mm-hmm, that’s right, baby. A sparkly, baby blue plastic dick, and it comes with a harness so I can attach it to my waist. I got it all cleaned up for you, baby, and it’s been sitting in my room waiting, you hear? So as soon as you come all over my fingers, I’m going to drag you to my room, strap that thing on, and fuck you with my cock until you’ve memorized all. Eight. Inches,” she finishes, each hissed word accompanied by a harsh circling of her fingers.
Suguru’s eyes are rolling back in her head. “F-fuck!”
“Yeah, baby,” Satoru murmurs, hips swinging wildly. She’s bent over Suguru’s prone body. Her short white hair is brushing against Suguru’s shoulders. “And when I’m done strapping you down, I won’t let you rest. I’ll make you sit on my face until one of us passes out. I hope it’s me.”
“—Ah, ah, oh my god!”
“You’re such a tease, Suguru. I just wanna fuck you every time I see you, at home or in class or at basketball practice. I want you all the time, ‘cause I know you’ll make that one face at me and whine that it’s so naughty, Satoru, or that we’re both girls, Satoru, or call me a pervert, and then you’ll let me fuck this pussy anyway, any time I feel like it. A prude and a whore. So cute, Sugu-chan. I bet I’ll barely be able to fuck you with how tight you are. Bet you’ll squirt all over my strap-on. Then you'll see how 'naughty' I can get.”
It's so hot. Suguru's eyes are crossed. How is Satoru doing this to her?
"Is the pretty baby about to come?" Satoru coos at her. "You can come. Come for me. Come for your girl best friend."
Satoru’s fingers catch her clit just right and Suguru’s body spasms. Her mouth drops open, flung headfirst into orgasmic bliss, pussy contracting around nothing. Her legs nearly give out but Satoru refuses to drop her, doesn’t even hesitate to heft Suguru up with an arm around the waist and keeps going, keeps rubbing at Suguru’s clit while grinding furiously into her from behind, shamelessly chasing her own pleasure.
“Fuck, fuck, Satoru!” Suguru shouts. “Satoru, oh my god, Satoru!”
Satoru doesn’t stop, doesn’t give Suguru even a moment to come down, and Suguru gasps profanities when she’s made to come again, back-to-back, spine bowing deeply. Pleasure crashes over her like a wave, whiting out her mind. Satoru just laughs, out of breath as she cums furiously humping Suguru’s ass, gently letting herself and Suguru drop from the edge of the bed until they’re tangled together on the floor.
They lie there for a bit, panting. Suguru's hair is in her face. Satoru's fingers are still shoved against her pussy.
“...Fuck,” Satoru finally exhales, and Suguru can hear the grin in her voice. “My wrist is cramping.”
“Deserved,” Suguru slurs. Aftershocks are still doing a number on her body. Her thighs twitch uncontrollably. “‘S what you f-fucking get for fingering me on top of the clean laundry. Which I’m not rewashing, by the way.”
Satoru hums indulgently. “Of course you won’t, Sugu-chan. Weren’t you listening?” Suguru can feel the predatory grin against her neck. “You’ll be too busy bouncing on my dick to think about laundry for the rest of the evening.”
Suguru’s brain pauses. She lifts her head to glance back at her roommate. “You… were serious about that?”
“Oh yes, baby. I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life.”
—
“You’re a terrible roommate, Satoru,” Suguru says later, dizzy from the sheer number of orgasms Satoru managed to wring out of her. She didn’t think her body was capable of such feats of stamina. Her inner thighs are sticky. “Terrible.”
Satoru snickers, sprawled next to her on the bed. “Maybe,” she teases. “But I make a pretty great girlfriend, don’t I?”
Well, maybe Suguru will give her that.