My worst fear? Being falsely accused of murder and having to sit in the courtroom while the district attorney reads out all of my Tumblr posts that say things like ‘I want a boyfriend for dissection purposes.’ and ‘I like it when men are bleeding and whimpering.’ Yours is snakes? Yeah. Probably a more rational fear. Snake bites are kind of erotic when you think about it, especially the whole sucking out the poison thing which doesn’t actually work but I love to see- Fuck! I’m doing it again. Goddamnit.
character: todoroki touya
genre: smut
warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, pseudo-cest (adoptive siblings), implied size difference, fem!reader, noncon, dacryphilia, touya is mean and abusive, dry humping (frottage), a hint of degradation, semi-public, toxic power dynamics
words: 3.2k
notes: this was originally a warm up exercise that just grew out of control, based on the time i nearly strained my back trying to grab a piece of fruit from the back of the trunk lmao. please heed the warnings and stay safe! the noncon is pretty explicit in this one.
“God, I knew I shouldn’t have listened to you,” you’re grumbling as you reach into the trunk, body half-buried in the depths of Touya’s stupid Audi, fingers stretched out and straining to grasp at the back. “The peaches are all over the place!”
“Christ, it’s not a big deal,” Touya huffs, rolling his eyes. “They’re just pieces of fucking fruit.”
“It is a big deal, actually. These are going to be all bruised now, and they cost a fortune! Mom’s gonna kill me.”
A cute little grunt sounds at the back of your throat as you endeavour to reach further, the tips of your fingers just barely brushing the fuzzy skin of the peach, the action causing the hem of your skirt to ride up higher.
“Ugh—Touya, can you help me instead of just standing around?”
“God,” he’s groaning, and you can hear his boots on the cobblestone getting louder, heavy heels colliding confidently with the ground. “You are such a fucking brat.”
“Oh, shut up, just—”
Your voice dies in your throat as a sudden weight blankets your body, crushing the air from your lungs, Touya’s chest pressed flush against your back, his lips now at your ear.
“Touya!” you squeal, immediately squirming beneath his body. “Get off of me!”
“What’s the matter?” he asks, a mocking pout in his voice, the question humid against your flesh. “I’m helping you, like you asked me to.”
“I wanted you to reach in next to me, not smush me and reach over top of me! Get—Off!”
The muscles in your arms ache as you try to shove back against him, using all your might, but he doesn’t fucking budge, dead weight laying on your spine.
“Is this the way you treat your big brother when he’s trying to do something kind for you?”
His voice is infuriatingly calm, his question a sort of musing, as if he’s pondering a philosophical inquiry instead of being fucking annoying.
It is a stark contrast to your voice, which is already breathless and rough around the edges, ragged from all of your thrashing.
“Yeah, yeah, keep struggling, feels kinda good.”
You’re about to ask him what the fuck he’s talking about, elbows still locked and bent at 90 degrees, when you feel it—something swollen and hard, prodding against your bum in shallow, rhythmic motions.
Blood turns to ice in your veins, body gone rigid and still as panic pierces through your chest, spiked and sudden, shocking your heart into a faster gallop. Breath stalls in your throat as ice encases your brain, numbing your thoughts.
“T-Touya-nii…” Oh, so small, so soft, so scared.
Fear sits thick in your throat, making your voice sound weird to your ears, odd, off, not your own—hollow, yet mangled.
“Mm?”
“Stop it.”
“Stop what?”
“You—You know what.”
“What?” he presses, derisive and condescending. “You too baby to even fucking say it?”
And despite his harsh words, spit from his tongue drenched in disgust, his lips are gentle—too gentle as they trail along the line of your jaw, stringing a garland of messy, half-formed kisses.
“Or are you afraid to say it because you like it?” His head knocks against yours, temples bumping together. “Go on. Say stop humping me, Touya-nii.”
“I don’t fucking like it,” you say instead, a spark of your trademark fire reigniting in your chest. “Fucking get off of me.”
“Oh, I’m gonna get off all right,” he snorts, and you roll your eyes. “The question is whether you want to get off with me.”
“The answer is no.”
“You sure about that?” His hips roll forward with conviction, slow and hard. “It’s always no at the start, isn’t it? But that doesn’t mean you don’t like it.”
“Touya,” you whimper, the name nothing more than a pitiful whisper, trembling on your tongue. “Please, stop.”
“Aw, begging already?”
Dirty hands slither up your bare thighs, easily slipping beneath the pleated fabric of your skirt to curl around your hips, blunt nails biting into your flesh and keeping you pinned to the car. His movements grow a little more conspicuous, a conscious and concentrated rutting into your ass as slim fingers dip beneath the waistband of your undies, playing with the elastic.
Your eyes squeeze shut against the familiar sting of tears—you will not cry, you will not cry, you will not cry—jaw clenching as saliva begins to well up in your throat, dense and burning.
“Niichan…”
And you hate how fucking weak your voice sounds, the term of endearment a pathetic last ditch effort to halt this situation, a flash of anger searing through your chest.
“Niichan’s here,” he mumbles distractedly, leaning back enough to kick at your inner ankles, steel toes sending bolts of pain shooting up your calves. “Niichan wants to feel your bare cunt on his hard cock.”
You jerk wildly, trying your best to raise your torso, to push back against him and escape, but the large hand splayed wide on the small of your back stops you, pinioning you to the car once again.
A shiver crawls up your spine as rough fingers tug at your panties, pulling them to the side and exposing your most vulnerable parts. Touya grunts as he shifts behind you, repositioning himself and slotting his cock up against your slit, knees forcing your thighs open even wider.
You’re still struggling, the muscles in your legs tensed and flexing as you attempt to use the ground as leverage, pitiful little sounds of effort falling from your lips.
“Fuck,” he breathes as he blankets you yet again, hips already starting to rock, working up a steady pace. “Can’t you just be good for me? For once?”
The denim of his jeans is grating against your sensitive skin, each drag of his clothed cock leaving behind sharp little tingles snuggling into your flesh.
“No,” you growl out through gritted teeth, lids still glued shut, keeping the tears brimming in your eyes smothered. “I fucking hate you.”
You fucking hate him, but your body is already starting to relax without your permission, mollified by the familiarity his own body brings—family.
“You hate me, yeah? And how about if I touch you here, huh?” his hand worms its way between the trunk floor and your body, two callused fingers finding your puffy clit. “Do you still hate me? Still want me to stop then?”
Yes, yes! Please, stop, yes!
Yes is what you should be saying, head nodding viciously, but your tongue refuses to form the word, thick pools of saliva collecting in the divots of your mouth as a shameful sob claws at your chest, breath stuttering with a hiccup.
Everything burns, the blood surging through your veins spiked with humiliation, prickles erupting across your flesh as you buck involuntarily, body responding to him instinctively, instantly.
“Go on,” he breathes, and you can feel the smile in the hot breath beading along your neck. “Tell me.”
His fingers roll over your clit in slow circular motions—unhurried, savouring—and your back curves, hips pressing into his sinful touch.
“Tell me,” he demands again. “Because it doesn’t fucking feel like you want me to stop.”
Tears scald your cheeks as they finally break past your scrunched lash line, flowing down your face in hot, wide streams, nose twitching with a sniffle as your head shakes.
“No?” he gasps, pulling back ever so slightly, as if to fully look at your profile, to absorb the whole picture. “No, you don’t want me to stop? Or no, you won’t tell me?”
You still can’t speak, tongue useless and slimy in your mouth, head merely continuing to shake in sloppy motions as another rush of tears clouds your vision, vile mortification sinking in your chest.
Wrong, wrong, wrong, you are both so fucking wrong, homegrown into one crooked, twisted, withering being, teeming with parasites that have left permanent festering wounds, too deep to ever be healed.
“Does it even matter?” Touya muses to himself, nosing along the shell of your ear. “No says enough, doesn’t it, no matter which question it answers.”
The last of your resistance deflates, a silent agreement, body gone limp and molding to his own, putty in his scarred hands.
The chuckle that wafts across your skin is dark, deep and rumbling against your back, and your head drops to the carpeted floor of the trunk, defeated. Salty tears run down your face in gleaming little trails and Touya coos, tongue unravelling from his mouth to lick a fat stripe up your cheek, sopping up tears with his flesh and replacing them with cooling spit.
The fingers shoved between your thighs start to accelerate in their movements—a reward of sorts, for finally cooperating—Touya’s gyrating speeding up to perfectly match their pace.
“There you go,” he pants out. “Just give in. It feels so good, doesn’t it?”
The sob that rattles your ribs in response is nothing short of vicious, strings of spit coughed out in shimmering little webs along the trunk floor. Touya’s still cooing and hushing, nuzzling his face into your own in a crude form of comfort, a crude sort of caress.
You’re weeping out his name in a steady string of garbled letters—a chant, a prayer, a curse, only interrupted by the hiccuped sounds he manages to pull from you as those hardened fingertips swipe over your now slick clit, your nails scrabbling against the carpet, searching for purchase.
His free hand reaches up to overlay your own, threading your fingers together, caging it in his grasp. It provides an anchor, though—something for you to grip as you’re forced to climb to ecstasy, another small semblance of sick comfort; familiar, predictable, yours.
“M’here, m’here, c’mon, let me play with you,” the words are mumbled against your face, lips dragging them across the curve of your cheek in a vulgar imitation of a kiss.
Your legs automatically obey his request, spreading wider as your ass pushes back into his thrusts, a petulant whine sounding in your throat at your own dismal inability to control your body.
“Still don’t want it?”
Your head nods, then shakes, then nods again, and Touya flicks your clit with a tut of his tongue.
“I dunno,” he hums thoughtfully, two fingers swiping along your slit, slow and deliberate. “Your pussy says something else.”
Fucking traitorous bitch.
“She likes you better than I do,” you say, and although it’s supposed to be a complaint, spit with disgust from a screwed up face, it comes out as a lie, small and whimpered and full of shame.
“I’m alright with that.”
His fingers trail back up your cunt, petting your clit almost gently, almost lovingly, as if he cherishes and appreciates such a treasure, and your pelvis rolls toward his touch, hungry, craving more.
He resumes his steady rhythm then, and you stay in line with him, hips rocking back and forth as you attempt to hump his fingertips, each graze sending another spark of pleasure zipping through your gut.
“That’s it, baby, yeah, yeah, yeah, fuck back on me,” he gasps out, forehead pressed tightly to the back of your skull. “Keep goin’, just like that.”
The intoxicating encouragement—so coveted, so controlled—only works to drive you further, movements speeding up in an ambitious effort to earn more praise from him, every gyration of your hips further eroding the resolve you were so desperately clinging to, revealing something sick and snivelling hiding at it’s core.
“God,” he inhales a hiss through his teeth, leaning away again to watch how you hump back against him, ass rotating in tight, fast circles, yearning cock slipping between your cheeks.
His free hand pushes the hem of your skirt up further, forcing it to pool around your waist and fully exposing your bare ass to him. Blunt nails sink into your plush flesh, snapping tiny tangles of blood vessels beneath their grip as Touya grabs a healthy palmful of your ass, squeezing until you yelp.
“I love it when you wear such slutty little outfits—it makes it so much easier for me.”
A sharp slap sounds, adding insult to injury as blood begins to flood the surrounding tissues, a biting sting radiating from the site.
“They are just for me, right?” And you swear you can detect a hint of genuine jealousy in his voice, caustic and possessive. “Not for Shouto or Daddy?”
“Yes, Touya-nii,” you sigh out, your actions slowing to something intentional, purposeful and hard as you grind into his cock, accentuating your answer. “They’re only for you, always for you.”
“Good,” he says, body draping over yours again, lips suddenly at your ear. “Because this pussy is mine.”
The growl of ownership vibrates against your back, shivery dread climbing the notches of your spine, your head beginning to nod instinctively.
“Mine, and no one else’s, you hear me? If I find out another Todoroki cock has been anywhere near my cunt I will cut that cock off, I swear to Christ.”
His voice is cold, firm, a fucking oath—a dangerous promise. There isn’t a single doubt in your mind that he means every word of what he just said.
Yes, Touya-nii, yes, Touya-nii, yes, Touya-nii!
The agreement spills from your mouth as your hips speed up again, back arching into a perfect curve to reveal more of your cunt to him, pelvis twisted at an unnatural angle.
It pulls a moan from his throat as the head of his cock begins to catch on your needy little hole, pulsing around nothing, begging to suck him in, to be stuffed full.
“H-Ah, fuck, fuck.”
The denim of his jeans no longer hurts, the fabric turned slick and soaked with your arousal, making each glide of your pussy smooth, effortless.
“Y’feel how wet you are for me, baby? Feel how much you love my cock?”
The whine you let out is pathetic, another bout of humiliation flushing through your veins, sending pins searing through your blood.
The muscles in your legs are beginning to tremble, fatigued from being on your tiptoes for so long, pushing up even further in a futile attempt to give him more of your cunt, calves taut and firm.
You can feel it beginning to form in your gut, a tense, concentrated ball of fire furling in on itself tighter and tighter with each stroke of Touya’s fingers over your swollen clit, alternating between quick figure-eights and rapid, pulsing waves.
But you’re getting too goddamn loud, fucking damn it—much too loud for Touya’s liking, choked little noises of pleasure tangled with pain reverberating off the cement walls of the garage, amplified as they bounce back at you.
“Shut up,” Touya growls, the fingers of his free hand reaching easily for the peach that started this whole fucking mess and jamming it into your open mouth as a makeshift gag. “You tryna get me into fucking trouble?”
No, no, no, your head is shaking fervently, fruit beginning to slip from between your teeth.
“Then keep this here,” his palm shoves the peach further into your mouth, fuzzy skin scraped by your incisors as they dig into the sweet flesh, “and shut the fuck up.”
You’re trying! you want to wail, the sentiment reduced to a high pitched whine, a fresh torrent of tears flooding your eyes. You’re trying, but it feels too good, it’s too much, you’re too close!
The rocking of your hips has turned ruthless, muscles in your lower back cramping from being scrunched in such a position, and you hump back toward Touya with a certain voraciousness, almost as if you’re trying to fuck him through his jeans.
It tugs another one of those coveted broken moans from his throat—so delicious, so gorgeous, and you wish you could see him, sapphire rolling back in his head, angular jaw on perfect display, prominent Adams apple bobbing with his shattered little sounds, all coming together to form a masterpiece of pure pleasure.
“C’mon, c’mon,” he gasps out, voice strained. “I want you to cum from your big brother playing with your clit. Come on, sweetheart, I know—I know you can do it.”
A shudder ripples through your flesh, disgust and desire, and his fingers speed up, rubbing over your clit in fast motions, that ball of fire coiling more, and more, and more until finally it bursts, sending a cascade of wet heat gushing to the apex of your thighs.
Your whole body tenses beneath him, cunt squeezing violently around nothing, so much that it hurts, and you weep out some mangled version of his name, smothered by the fruit.
“That’s it, that’s it, make a mess on niichan’s pants, you little sl-slut,” he’s nearly whining, his movements growing vigorous as he chases his own high, both hands curling tightly around your hips and forcing you to stay still, to take everything he’s giving, keeping his cock slotted flush and hard against your cunt in an effort to feel it convulsing on him.
A cry hitches in your throat as his grip strengthens, sticky fingertips burrowing into soft flesh as his hips roll once, twice, three times before he’s filling his jeans with hot, thick cum, the hands on your body roughly compelling you to rut against him through his orgasm.
And, God, it’s so fucking hot, his thick cock throbbing almost viciously into your grinding ass as he floods his pants with cream, a curse shattering on his tongue and a tremor coursing through his form.
You’re still whimpering into the fruit stuffed between your teeth when Touya collapses on top of you, chest heaving, his scalding breaths dewy against your skin.
Touya? Is that you?
It’s softened by layers of drywall, but it’s still loud enough to send jolts of shock buzzing through your veins, Touya’s body jerking up immediately.
“Yeah, mom,” he calls back, voice slightly hoarser than usual. “Just got home.”
Make sure you don’t leave the produce out on the counter again, or it will spoil!
“Yeah,” he shouts, exasperated, and you can practically hear him rolling his eyes. “Will do!”
He waits for a couple more moments, the sound of harsh, uneven panting the only noise echoing around you, your ears ringing as they strain to listen—for more instructions, for footsteps, for a doorknob turning.
But mom has gone back to whatever it was she was doing, the state of the groceries already forgotten, and then Touya’s leaning over you again, his face so close that his forehead nearly bumps against your own.
“Look at me,” he growls, a hand expertly knotting itself in the hair at the back of your head and yanking, ensuring your gaze stays trained on him. “You say a fucking word about this to Daddy and I swear to God, I’ll make sure you never step foot in this house again, you hear me?”
Your head is nodding before he’s even finished speaking, a fresh pair of crystalline drops blooming at the corners of your eyes, nose twitching with a sniffle. A dirty hand pulls the peach from your mouth, the ache in your jaw suddenly becoming apparent, the hinge stiff and sore as your mouth begins to close.
Touya glances at the fruit in his palm, now bearing deep little indents strung in two crescents, and smirks to himself, deliberately ripping out a chunk of sweet flesh from where your teeth had been buried.
Peach juice dribbles down his chin, sapphire eyes sparkling as he watches you.
today's episode of...who the fuck did I marry? (literally)
synopsis: so you woke up next to the hottest man you've ever met. except, you've never seen him before and he swears he's your husband. and the more you talk to him, the less certain you are he's even human. what'll break first? him? or your sanity?
pairing: eldritch-esque entity!gojo x f!reader
wc: 7.3k
content: mdni, DARK CONTENT, angst, light smut, gojo is an entity masquerading as a human lol, but he's down BAD for you, basically God!Gojo has no concept of any kind of societal norms and is pathetically in love with you, technically kidnapping, gaslighting, manipulation, obsession, gojo gets everything he wants and that includes you, Geto guest starring as fellow gaslighter LMFAO, some slight body horror (occasional extra eyes and limbs), wet dreams, fingering, touching, casual affection, mentions of taking meds (that aren't actually needed), reader is convinced she's going crazy, messed-up dynamics, some codependency
a/n: this was a super special commission from @specialgradefckr that was SO fun to write!! hope you guys enjoy too <3
The man sitting across the table from you was not your husband.
It didn’t matter what the shiny gold ring on his finger said – or the glittering diamond on your own. His mouth was moving, but nothing was coming out. Pretty pink lips parting, the bright white teeth behind them opening wider, the sharp tips of his canines catching the bright sunlight streaming through the window of an apartment you’d never been in before.
You weren’t even sure he was human.
Or if you were still asleep.
“Something wrong, sweetheart?” He cocked his head to the side, but he couldn’t even get that right. You guessed it was supposed to be cute (well, it kinda was) but it was angled too far, his ear nearly touching his shoulder.
The newspaper in his hands was upside down. The coffee in front of him was half sugar. He hadn’t blinked once in the past two minutes.
You might not have picked up on that if his eyes weren’t so blue. It wasn’t the same shade as the oceans or the sky. Nothing in nature matched what was staring straight at you. They shimmered, brilliant and burning, intensely focused on each little twitch of your face.
Spit was pooling in the back of your throat, pulse pounding in your ear as you smoothed down the hem of a thin slip you definitely didn’t own and certainly hadn’t dressed yourself in the night before. No, you just tossed on a ratty old t-shirt before crawling into your own bed, pulled the comforter over your body and crashed. When you woke up, you were here, wherever here was, with no fucking clue how you got here. Or who he was.
With him half on top of you, sturdy arms wrapped around you and the prettiest man thing you’d ever seen purring good morning in your ear. Kissing your cheek like you and hugging you tight like you were some stuffed toy he always slept with.
You pinched the back of your hand under the table. Hard enough for your nail to break the skin. You weren't dreaming.
So he was, for better or worse, real.
“I should go,” you cleared your throat, glancing down at the almost untouched plate in front of you. Pancakes, apparently, although you’d personally never had any that were so…spongy. You poked it with a fork when he first set it down, but you couldn’t bring yourself to stomach it.
“Is my cooking not good enough for you?” He quizzed, stark white brows scrunching together like it was a problem he had to solve. Like you were.
“What do you mean?” He frowned as you stood up, dropping the newspaper he wasn’t reading to stand too.
You stepped back, only glancing away to mentally calculate how far away the front door was.
“I should go back home,” you slowly reiterated. Not that you had any way to get there. You didn’t have your phone, your wallet, your keys. No clue how fucking far you were from your place.
“This is home.”
You shook your head slowly, left hand closing into a fist, but it just reminded you of the ring on your finger. Five carats, set in white gold and glimmering while you reflexively looked down at just another detail that didn’t add up.
“No,” you muttered. “This-”
You blinked, and you were on the couch. It was softer than yours, didn’t creak when you shifted, missing all the spots and stains that came from people actually sitting on one. It scratched something in the back of your brain, bothered you for a reason you couldn't name as you sat up and looked around to confirm your suspicion.
“I'm worried about you,” Satoru murmured, carrying a glass of-
Wait.
How the hell did you know what his name was?
Was it on something you’d seen without realizing it? On his phone when you were waking up? On a diploma or piece of mail somewhere your brain had subconsciously picked up on?
He placed the drink on the clean coffee table in front of you. There was only a small vase with a few white-and-blue flowers stuffed in it as decoration on it. No coasters in sight. And somehow, no scratches or water rings staining the light wood finish either.
“Who are you?” You asked, hearing how hoarse you sounded. Scared.
You didn’t want to take the water – but all you could think of was how sore your throat was, reluctantly reaching over to take a sip.
“Your husband?” He insisted, firm and a little sarcastic, like it should be obvious.
“I’m not married,” you scoffed, even if the weight of the ring on your finger got heavier by the second. “I don't even have a boyfriend.”
He made a soft sound, a coo, humming like this was still normal.
And then it clicked.
It had to be a prank. Probably pulled by one of your asshole friends who heard you complain one too many times about how sick of being single you were – or maybe even part of a shitty show that would only get aired on an absolutely unethical network.
“Are you an actor?” You asked, and he laughed, as if you made a joke. “It's not fucking funny. Did someone pay you? Or-”
“I'm your husband,” he echoed, like it was one of the only lines they'd given him.
“Seriously, are there cameras somewhere?” You started to stand, but your legs felt like jelly. Not quite limp, but unsteady on your feet as you took a step forward. But you bumped into the corner of the table right as he grabbed your arm to steady you, water spilling on the carpet, the cup remaining intact and rolling under the couch.
The only stain on it.
“Cameras, baby? Really?” He dismissed, innocence you didn’t believe in shining in those big blue eyes.
“That’s not a no,” you pointed out, looking up and around from the furniture to the corners of the room for any blinking lights or objects out-of-place.
But nothing stood out.
Except for the fact there wasn’t a single personal item in sight. No photos or signs. No bookshelves stuffed with albums of memories or even shoes or socks left forgotten on the floor?
“I mean, it doesn’t even look like anyone lives here,” you kept going when he didn’t deny it, gesturing to what could be a stock photo for a bachelor pad. “I mean, you didn’t bother photoshopping a single photo of us? That’s just lazy-”
He slid a photo album across the table you were pretty fucking sure had just been empty.
You stopped, stared blankly at the clean black leather, uncracked. Shiny as he flipped it open to the first page.
And there you were, in a white wedding dress you’d rather die than wear, one of those poufy princess ones you couldn’t believe actually existed. Your mouth fell open, mid-exhale as your fingers trembled to flip through yourself.
If it was edited, he’d done a good goddamn job at it.
His arm was around you, fingers flexing against your waist and a beaming smile across his mouth. No glaring issues or missing fingers to point at. But the flowers in the vase were almost identical to the bouquet in your hands in the photo.
You pulled one free from the plastic, flipping it over to find a date on the back. Almost a full year ago.
“What is this?” You asked, but the bite in your voice was gone.
“Our wedding pictures, pretty girl,” he answered, and his bottom lip pushed out like he felt bad for you.
You didn’t know what was worse, the pity on his face or the pride in his voice.
Each photo was more perfect than the last. The lighting, the shadows, your makeup, his suit, all the tiny details that might give the deception away in order and as expected. Not even a stray hair in sight.
Your family was in them. Standing in the background or barely in frame, friends laughing and drinking and toasting to a marriage that just materialized.
“You wanna call someone and ask?” He offered, a calm expression on his face, and you couldn’t help but think he’d done this before.
“Where’s my phone?” You felt weak, your brain getting foggier as you tried to organize and collect all the information being splayed out in front of you.
He dug it out of his pocket, and you wanted to protest – tell him that it was weird as shit that he had it.
You held your tongue though, trying to think of who wouldn’t go along with a prank like this and would actually come clean if they knew someone who would.
It was kind of hard when your homescreen was him though.
A candid too, one that looked like it’d been taken in a restaurant somewhere, across the table from him with a candle burning and casting warm shadows on his unnaturally pretty face.
Your thumb still unlocked it though, and all your contacts were still there – even if there were also now a thousand more photos of him clogging up your storage when you scrolled through.
It took five phone calls to convince you that something was very, very wrong.
Family members, friends, even a fucking coworker, and they all thought you were the one pranking them. Chuckling at your discomfort, asking how Satoru was, inviting you both over for dinner before your panicked pleas for them to tell you the truth twisted their amusement to concern.
When the last one hung up on you, you couldn’t even look up.
Just stared down at the smile on your screen, the first full squeeze of fear taking hold in your heart when he said nothing either, waiting for you to look up at him. You could feel his eyes on you. Oppressive and heavy, almost as if some invisible force was pressing against you.
“I think we should schedule another appointment with your psychiatrist,” he hummed, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead, like he really just wanted what was best for you.
Which, according to him, was an emergency session with a man you’d also never seen.
You had a psychiatrist already – an appointment you always kept. Every three weeks, curling up on a couch and complaining about work and your friends and venting about everything that bothered you from stupid to significant.
But he was about half a foot shorter and balding. Not another absurdly attractive guy who shouldn't know your name and still somehow did.
You blinked at him.
He stared back at you.
The clock ticked – your appointment time slipping by in silence when you refused to speak at first.
You broke first. Glanced out the window at the barren trees outside, wind blowing a brittle chill and frosting the edges of the glass. Shifting seasons. “Weird weather we’re having, huh?”
“Is that what you’d like to talk about today?” He cooly replied, a sharp edge of sarcasm cutting through the tension.
You shrugged, not that you expected him to answer back with anything actually helpful.
It was summer last night. The heat had choked out the ac in your apartment, your skin sticky and slick with sweat when you fell asleep, mumbling under your breath it was too fucking hot before you got under the covers
That was the first thing you’d noticed this morning. Your first clue. Eyes still closed and thinking that it was freezing – that your ac must have somehow fixed itself.
The weather was wrong outside. The man on the other side of the door kept saying he was your fucking husband when you knew he wasn't. And the rest of the world seemed to be in agreement.
“What brings you back so soon?” Your new psychiatrist asked, one hand firmly gripping a ballpoint pen while the other pushed a thin pair of glasses higher up his nose. How were you supposed to answer when you didn't even remember seeing him once?
Rationality hadn't quite let you, your brain suggesting reasons you didn't fully believe. Maybe your old one quit, some family emergency or last-minute thing and this was just a replacement he'd forgotten to tell you about.
You looked over the diplomas proudly displayed on the wall for a Suguru Geto. You made a mental note of the name, one you were sure you’d be searching and scouring the internet for later to see if any of them were real and he was actually an accredited doctor.
God, that really did sound fucking insane.
Genuinely suspecting the fact a (hopefully) licensed psychiatrist was just another paid asshole fucking with you?
There was a calendar by the diploma closest to the windows, and even though the days hadn’t been marked off, it was still on the last month you remembered. You pretended not to notice, shifting your stare back to him.
What the hell had happened in the past twelve hours?
“I’m not crazy,” you preemptively said. It wasn't very convincing coming from someone sitting on this side of the desk though.
“Did I say you were?” He smiled, but it was sly. He reminded you of a fox in a funny way, casual remarks coming off crafty. A hint of cruelty hiding underneath his polished, professional surface.
“You’re staring like something’s wrong with me.”
“What would be wrong with you?” He returned your statement with another annoying question, your scowl coming easily as you picked at your cuticles in your lap.
“I don’t think anything is,” you argued back. Except he wasn’t arguing – he was just setting traps and waiting for you to walk into them.
“Then why are you here today?”
Because you fell asleep and somehow in eight hours you’d gone from your bed to living a stranger’s life? Even worse, becoming a stranger’s wife?
“Why don’t you tell me?” You frowned, eyeing the thick folder he pulled out when you walked through the door, one he quickly closed before gesturing for you to sit.
“Your husband started bringing you here before for, ah, memory issues for the past year,” he soberly said, like his seriousness could make up for the fact he was full of shit too.
You almost scoffed. A year? No fucking way.
“Memory issues?” You repeated, daring him to elaborate and dig them both in a deeper hole.
He cleared his throat, eyes narrowing like he’d decided on a different approach since the current one wasn’t working.
“We could start considering inpatient treatment,” he started to suggest, a flare of panic seizing your chest at the thought of a future spent in grippy socks and stuck with needles.
“No,” you swallowed hard, shaking your head and quickly turning to where your husband was waiting on the other side. Even if you didn’t know him, couldn’t remember a fucking thing about him and didn’t have an explanation for any of it, he wouldn’t let that happen, would he?
“How about this? I'll write you a new prescription then and schedule a follow-up in a few weeks to see how you're feeling,” Suguru smiled at you, but it was cold.
“Sure,” you returned his fake smile.
It wasn’t like you had another choice. How hard would it be to flush pills anyway?
“Mind sending your husband in for a few minutes?” Your possibly-fake psychiatrist asked, and you could feel your brow twitch, threatening to betray your suspicions. You weren’t all that familiar with privacy laws, but it still felt like a breach of confidentiality. “I would like to discuss a few details of your care plan.”
Care plan – like you were some troubled child that needed nurturing and hand holding instead of actual answers.
Stuck sitting in an uncomfortable plastic chair out in the hall while they chatted behind a closed door, unable to hear what they were talking about. Just that the man you were supposedly married to looked thrilled walking out, leaning down to kiss your cheek and promise to pick up your favorite food on the way home.
You figured out two answers of your own about him in the car. The first being he was a really bad driver. You weren’t sure how you hadn’t noticed on the way there, but you guessed you’d been busy staring out the window trying to discern whether or not this was just a really weird vivid dream or not. But now? Paying full attention to the way his hands were positioned on the wheel, the complete and total lack of awareness he had for anyone else on the road?
It was ridiculous.
He rear-ended someone five minutes into it. Completely crushed the back of her bumper, about to drive away until you hissed at him to stop and give the other driver his insurance information. He cocked his head to the side like he didn’t really understand, but he got out of the car anyway – in the middle of the busy road and blocking all traffic behind him.
The woman he hit was pissed, short hair bobbing in the wind as she started shouting at him while you attempted to hide your face in the passenger seat.
Until your husband just grinned at her, pointing at her probably totaled car and casually chuckled. That was all it took for her to freeze, mouth hanging open, cheeks blushing when he took another step closer.
“I think that was your fault,” he hummed, and she nodded.
“I must’ve stopped too fast,” she said it like she hadn’t been screaming three seconds ago, her eyes glittering like he was a goddamn celebrity who was so kind to grace her with his presence and hadn’t just hit her car.
“Yeah, you should be more careful,” Satoru cooed, all condescending and still somehow charming, clapping a hand over her shoulder and squeezing before getting back in the driver’s seat.
You stared at him, and he just looked to you for approval.
“Do you always get what you want?” You asked, too surprised to even frown.
“Pretty much,” he flashed a smile. What, was it just pretty privilege?
That the world bent around him because he thought it should?
You weren’t sure when you started to bend too.
Just that the proof (and inconsistencies) started piling up – and started burying you beneath it.
He knew everything about you – things you never told anyone else. Not just the easy stuff like your favorite color or food, but what hole-in-the-wall restaurants you liked to order it from and what day you liked to do your laundry on. Could recite off when you were born and what you got for your fifth birthday, collected memories of yours like coins or stamps he wanted to save.
Any way you tried to slice it, he was either the most sentimental man you ever met or a stalker.
Maybe both.
When you asked for the marriage certificate, he pulled it from the shelf on a bookshelf in his office. When you wanted to know what college he graduated from, suddenly there was a degree hanging on the wall. If you questioned how long you’d been dating, tried to pick apart his timeline, he pulled up the messages between you from as far back as your first date.
“You don’t trust me,” he pouted, pushing out his bottom lip too far as he tossed his phone on the couch.
You bit your own lip. Looked at the floor so you wouldn’t have to find something wrong with his face.
“Why me?” You asked instead. Why couldn’t he go pick some other girl to torment? Get a divorce and unbind his life from yours?
“Would you believe me if I said it was love-at-first-sight?”
You didn't really believe anything he said.
Even if he always had an answer (or an excuse) at his disposal.
But other stuff stood out, getting ready for work a few mornings post your psychiatrist appointment just for him to furrow his brows and station himself by the front door to ask where you were going.
“My job?” You huffed, slipping on your shoes. All your clothes had come with you here, half his closest stuffed full of them, your shoes set up on a nice little rack by the door. There were a few things you knew you hadn’t bought, frilly and flimsy and all in that unnatural shade of blue, but you ignored them.
Foolishly tried to kid yourself that pretending they weren't there would make them go away.
“You don’t work,” he casually replied.
“I do,” you insisted, trying to push past him before he stopped you with a firm hand wrapping around your wrist.
“Sweetheart,” he tried to sound kind, but there was no mistaking the authority in it. “You quit six months ago.”
He guided you back to the kitchen table, sat you down softly before walking over to one of his dark cabinets. Pulled out something from the top shelf and returned to you like he was every ounce the devoted husband he was pretending to be. He handed it to you, something you were sure was supposed to be a show of trust.
The pill bottle was clear. Thick, almost translucent, white label stretching around with pretty blue pills rattling inside when you shook it.
Simple instructions printed neatly below your name to take two a day with food.
“I’ll make you breakfast, baby,” he promised, waiting for you to open the cap and take two. Part of you wanted to accuse him of just not being able to open the child-proofed caps.
You slowly did, feeling ill already, although it was hard to tell if it was from the idea of eating his cooking or taking the pills.
He waited for you to put them in your mouth, stood there while you let them sit on your tongue.
“Don’t make me check,” he chuckled, a low warning you could tell he meant.
You swallowed.
And still, through the side effects and brain fog they seemed to bring on, you clung to the edges of your sanity, the logic remaining. Enough that when he was distracted typing away at his laptop, you were trying to text former coworkers, your old boss, anyone that would know anything more.
But none of the messages were ever marked delivered. And when you looked up your former place of employment, you discovered everything about them had been scrubbed online, completely wiped. Like it never even existed.
And when you managed to slip past him four days later down the stairs and out into the parking garage, you couldn’t find your car.
The days dragged on - no jobs, no distractions. Just him and the cocktail of prescription drugs to coast on.
His work schedule wasn’t kind to you. Allowed him to ‘work’ remotely, although he barely seemed to be in his home office, usually too busy bugging you. Half the week he never even stepped foot in there at all. But they never fired him. Never seemed to pester him to finish projects or demand for more of his time.
You, apparently, were the most difficult part of Satoru Gojo’s life.
“One kiss?” He pouted, pointing to his cheek and leaning against the wall by the office door, an easy grin on his face.
“I haven’t brushed my teeth,” you excused, itching to walk away for the few hours of peace you got a day.
“Later then,” he shrugged, still unbothered, like he had all the time in the world.
He liked to take you shopping after work or on weekends, doll you up in dresses and treat you to overpriced restaurants where he always seemed to score free meals or desserts every time. Although, the first time, he accused a waiter of flirting with him (and eventually you) just for asking questions about what he wanted to eat, demanding to speak to a manager. Squinting and scrunching his nose up like ‘is the food to your taste?’ was the equivalent to asking what color underwear he was wearing. No one listened when you tried to apologize for him. Paid any attention to you saying it was fine. The waiter was fired and your food was comped.
People stared when he passed by. Men asked him about his cologne and his clothes. Women told you how lucky you were to lock him down.
As if it had ever been your choice in the matter.
Sometimes, you'd slip. Forget that you should be fighting this. Instinctively reach out for his hand in crowds in public, offer him bites or your food, roll over closer to him in bed on cold mornings. And somewhere deep inside, you knew it wasn’t right, but you seeked his comfort anyway, soothed yourself with his freezing hands and warm voice like it’d make your skin stop crawling, like it’d scrape away all the paint and varnish covering up the ugliness hiding underneath your relationship.
You always snapped back to what was left of your reality eventually.
It was after you pulled back that it would be there, the unsettling discomfort of his stare when you turned away from him.
It was the worst in the mornings.
Crawling out of the sheets first, leaving him with his legs tangled in the blankets. He only ever slept in his boxers, his chest bare and rising slowly. It took too long to fall, like he was faking it. Mimicking sleep the last way he mimicked the people he saw in movies.
And even when his eyes were closed, long white lashes fluttering, you could still feel them watching.
His body, however pretty, however perfect, felt more like a shell, a casing containing something too big for it. A man who’d never been told no – and knew how to make sure it was never an option for you.
Not when every day you teetered closer to crazy, swallowing pills you didn’t need, sitting next to Satoru on the couch with a strong arm slung over your shoulder, stuck in a never-ending routine of brain-numbing domesticity.
You couldn’t even lay in bed and sleep in late.
The sky outside his window never seemed to get lighter until you got out. Your phone was always out-of-reach – Satoru didn’t confiscate it, but you conveniently could never find it once night time rolled around. He never had watches around either – even though he seemed like the exact sort of asshole that would own a Rolex and brag about it.
You might’ve called him out. Confessed your suspicions, made a whole fucking list of them to shout at him, scrutinize every tiny detail and demand answers. Until you started seeing the eyes and were forced to reconsider the growing possibility that you were the problem here.
He was talking – he almost always was. Telling you some convoluted story you were pretty sure was the plot of a bad tv movie he must’ve watched while you were sleeping, one you had overheard blaring from the bedroom, the volume also perpetually stuck too loud. He never left the remote out for you to change it either.
Your stare had been fixed on the tv anyway, nodding along bored until you caught a glimpse of it out of the edges of your vision. Right below his cheek. An extra eye, just as bright and observant as the other two. It blinked, and you turned.
But it wasn’t there anymore, and Satoru was staring at you innocently, head tilted to the side like he was pleased to have captured your attention at all.
“Everything alright, pretty girl?” He purred, reaching out to place his hand over yours. You didn’t pull away, couldn’t convince your body to move when the surprise had left you practically paralyzed.
You tried to sleep it off.
But they kept popping up. Behind you in the mirror. When he was making breakfast. On his hands and face and even once on his back. The second you looked, the moment you tried to look directly at it, it was gone, dissolved back into normal skin like it’d never been there at all.
And then came the ones in places they couldn’t be.
On the walls and in the furniture. Constantly being watched whether you were alone or with him.
You used to think you could get used to anything.
But the paranoia never ended – and you were starting to question if maybe he’d been right this whole time. How much of this was him? And how much was in your head?
“How have you been doing since the last visit?” Your psychiatrist asked, fixing you in the same cold stare as last time. You hadn’t wanted to come back, but Satoru insisted – and despite all your digging, you couldn’t find any proof he wasn’t who he said he was.
“Fine,” you lied.
You were one string away from unravelling. On a short tether ready to snap with one more eye, one more changed memory or crooked detail that didn’t match up.
“Have you remembered anything? Any flashes? Images?” He asked, like someone who had a degree probably would.
You shook your head, the urge to claw and scratch and fight this slowly seeping out. “Um, no.”
“Well, we can talk about something else then,” he smiled, and it still didn’t reach his eyes. He shuffled through the folder in front of him. “How about your family then? Or maybe your friends?”
Your mouth had started to open, to dismiss the idea of talking about the one area of your life you still considered somewhat private until a name he shouldn’t have known left his lips. Until he continued to mention more information you only ever told your old psychiatrist about.
“I think I’m done today, actually,” you muttered. You brushed down your skirt, standing up and hurrying over to the door to twist the knob just for it to bump into something on the other side.
Satoru had been listening in.
But he didn’t condemn you for ending your session early. Just wrapped a strong arm around your shoulders and brushed your hair out of your face before asking if you wanted to go out to eat or pick something up.
Suguru Geto would never be able to give you the help you needed.
You didn’t think help like that even existed. What god would be able to overwrite your husband when it seemed like he was the one who wrote the rulebook? Who never did wrong and always got precisely what he wanted?
In a weird way, there was an odd comfort in being with him. He didn’t make you feel crazy – even when you threatened to throw his shit out the window and cried yourself to sleep when you did throw his shit out just for it to reappear in the same spots. He just cooed that it was okay, promised that it would be better soon, pressed faint kisses against your shoulder blades and down your skin like his touch could make the world stop spinning.
Something was seriously wrong with him and you.
You were both bad at pretending to be normal.
Maybe you didn’t remember him. Maybe you hallucinated eyes on the walls and buried in his skin. But here he was, sitting on the couch while the sun was still out watching a girl get her back blown out with a fucking notepad in his lap.
Squinting at the screen while she got backshots in 4k Ultra-HD, making unintelligible scribbles on the page. Pants on, fully clothed, not even fucking erect or hard or anything.
If he noticed you behind him, he didn’t say anything.
“You're not jerking off,” you dryly commented, leaning against the doorframe.
“Do you want me to?” He glanced over his shoulder, sincerely asking.
You stared at him, lips parting as you tried to formulate what the fuck you were supposed to say to that, your own eyes shifting down to where the notepad was suddenly gone, his hand already tugging down his zipper and about to pull out his cock.
Maybe you would've said no, but you shut up the second you saw it. And really, it was kind of fucking absurd.
Bigger than what the guy on screen was packing, like someone copy-and-pasted what an ideal one was supposed to look like, vein throbbing and pre-cum leaking around a pretty pink swollen tip. As if it hadn't just been soft and hidden under his jeans a handful of seconds ago.
“I'm, um, going to bed,” you awkwardly stammered, jutting your thumb down the hall.
Sleep washed over you here. Like a hand pushing your hand under waves until you were forced to suck water into your lungs.
But you never drowned.
You dreamed of being somewhere vast, where the dark stretched out endlessly in each direction. Outside, you guessed?
Except there wasn't a sky. No ceiling. Just space – cold and cruel but not empty. Eyes were everywhere. Instead of being on CCTV, you were being captured from every goddamn angle by the same unblinking blue eyes that haunted your days. You used to think two was a lot. That it was all he needed to see though you.
Here there had to be at least two hundred.
All watching you splayed out for their viewing pleasure. Pale hands held your wrists in place, veiny arms and thick fingers tracing and groping you. Squirming against (into?) him while another set of palms spread your thighs. His touch seared.
Burned into your soul with each pattern he painted and pressed along your skin and inside you. It wasn’t like he had a face, or like you could hear his voice. But you knew it was him all the same.
And you didn’t resist.
Didn’t want to.
When dreams had blended into your waking world already, what was so wrong about letting yourself have him like this? The rest of your life was wrong anyway. You closed your eyes, rested your head back for another hand to hold it up, fingers petting your hair while another set did the work of spreading you open and stretching you out.
It didn't feel like fingers though, not when each touch was pure energy, electricity that raced through you and back down, pressure building and cresting just to come back twice as hot with each pump of something thick and hard thrusting inside you. It curled cruelly, reached places you never could on your own, invisible and intoxicating as it dragged you close to your climax just to rinse and repeat.
Time didn't exist. It could've been five minutes or five hours. Lost in the void of him while he lost himself inside you.
You could've lived in it.
But your life had taken on its own dreamy shape, one that bordered on fantasy.
The sheets were damp. Thighs soaked and slick.
“Sleep good, sweetheart?” He prodded when you woke up to the sun shining through the window, a lazy arm slung over your side. Deceptive. You knew if you went to slip out, if you pulled away too soon, his relaxed grip would turn into a harsh squeeze, holding you against him until you whined that it was hard to breathe.
You were about to turn around to look at him, but his fingers groped your tits and when you started to count how many there were on you, there were too many.
In your panic, you elbowed him, pulling away before he could fully react.
And you saw it.
Not just a glimpse. Not a flash.
But a full second where there was an extra arm attached.
It was gone again by the next blink. But you'd seen it, and it felt like everything shattered again.
“You-” You started, pointing at where it had been.
“I what?” Satoru dared you to say it.
“You had another arm,” you accused, voice trembling.
“You must have missed your dose yesterday, huh, beautiful?" He crooned, still smiling at you like it was okay you just implied he was a fucking shape shifter or alien or some fucking creature charading around as your husband.
He'd pull documents out of thin air the same way he made an entire limb disappear. Convinced people to give him whatever he wanted for free with just a wink or a purr.
How easy would it be for him to do the same to you?
“I'm not crazy,” you said it again, but you weren't so confident.
Because whether it was real or not, pieces of him, thoughts and images and daydreams, had all started to seep through into your heart. Consideration or codependency, although maybe that was just you coping. Telling yourself that it wasn't some fucked-up form of lust or love.
There was too much you couldn’t reconcile from reality and the world he was trying to convince you of.
Something had to snap - and it was you.
And still, he tried to act like everything was normal, tried to hold your hand in the waiting room and took you to the conveniently-available doctor.
Suguru Geto tapped his pen against his desk.
And you tapped your nails against your leg.
“I think my husband isn't human,” you admitted. Said the big bad words that had been bouncing around in your head out loud. “I don't really know what he is, but-”
“You do realize how ridiculous that sounds, right?” Suguru dismissed, but the corner of his mouth twitched.
“I know,” you nodded.
You'd come up with a list of theories on the car ride here while Satoru promised to prove how much he cared about you. An alien disguised as a human? Some freak stalking you? That one didn't explain the arms or the eyes. The dream you guessed could've been all you, spurred on from seeing his cock.
“One moment,” Suguru held up his finger, and you figured this was it. He'd call the psych ward and you'd have white walls to look forward to instead of the cool blue of Satoru’s bedroom.
He stood up, walked towards the door where Satoru was waiting outside. Offered you another professional smile before stepping out.
Your file was left on his desk.
It took you two seconds to snag it, flipping through it, half-expecting it to be normal. To be another piece that you'd be left wondering if it was fabricated. But no, most of them were in familiar handwriting, notes taken by your previous psychiatrist, signed and dated precisely how you remembered.
Suguru was a fraud – and your husband, whoever (or whatever) he was, was too.
His office was unfortunately on the third floor, too far from the ground for you to make an escape through the window. So, you did the next stupid thing you thought of, pressed your ear against the door like you'd hear anything that would fix the anxiety churning in your stomach.
Your brain was trying to block out the information you found, to hit erase and rewind the clock on today. You felt fuzzy, thoughts slipping away before you could fully hold onto them.
“You really fucked this up,” your pretend psychiatrist grunted, irritated as you tried to blink away the fog, to drag your mind out of the haze and back to clarity. “I told you this would happen. Just scrub her memories and then add your own.”
“I want her to like me for me,” Satoru whined, and the next blink made the world around you sway.
“You're an idiot,” Suguru scoffed at him.
“Am not,” he argued back. “I'm intelligent, attractive, attentive, shouldn't that be good enough?”
“Not when she doesn't know you,” Suguru retorted.
You felt like you were going to pass out.
“Well, you said she started to figure it out so-”
You didn't mean to make a sound, but your knees threatened to buckle, and you had to lean against the door to stop yourself from falling. They immediately stopped talking. The doorknob jiggled, and then opened, Satoru catching you before you could collapse.
“There's my smart girl.” He poked your nose, one long finger pressing softly against the cartilage as he chuckled. Like an owner playing with its pet.
A kid testing the limits of his toy would probably be closer.
A vein throbbed across Suguru’s forehead, annoyed at how this was playing out. You guessed he was like him too. Something that was out of your understanding, too much for you to fully conceive, under the cover of human faces and fucking around with someone like you because they could.
“What are you?” You bluntly asked, unable to pretend to not know. To act like you hadn't been listening.
“Your husband.”
You wondered what he'd do if you asked for a divorce. Although, here, in his arms, with him looking at you like he loved you, like in spite of everything else, that was real, you didn't want one.
What vows had he sworn?
For better or worse? In sickness and health? Whether human or not?
“Fix this.” Suguru didn't ask. Demanded.
Satoru frowned, but there weren't any frown lines. Barely even a crease between his brows either. An emotion he hadn't mastered well in this body of his.
“I could just reset her,” he grumbled, unhappy at the prospect.
You barely had any strength left – but you scraped together enough to shake your head. You didn’t want to be fucking reset.
“No,” you hoarsely said. “Don't.”
Satoru’s face immediately brightened, grinning and pulling you closer, squeezing too tight again, until you hit his chest twice to get him to stop.
“Sorry, Suguru,” he shrugged. “I do what my wife wants.”
You fiddled with your ring in the car on the way home. For the first time, it felt like yours. Or maybe, you'd just accepted it as part of you. Let go of the pieces of you that didn't fit anymore. Shed those parts of your skin like he stepped into this one.
“What do you want?” You asked as he ran a red light.
“You,” he easily answered.
“You could've asked me on, like, a date,” you grumbled, resting your head against the window.
“Do you want to go on a date now?” He quizzed, cocking his head to the side at the correct angle this time. Learning, adapting to acting his role out.
“I want to go home,” you murmured.
The image in your head wasn't your apartment anymore. When you thought of bed, you thought of his.
And when he parked the car (and managed to scrape the front bumper against the concrete wall), he still hurried around to open your door for you, to hold your arm to steady you.
Took off your coat when you got back inside, got down on his knees to take your shoes off.
“You know you can ask me for anything, right?” He hummed, and there was something unsettling at the thought he could actually conjure up anything he wanted.
But being scared was exhausting.
So you didn't say anything when he followed you to the bedroom.
You stripped off your clothes, one piece at a time, methodical, precise. He stared, reverent. The lump in his throat bobbing as he took small steps forward.
“Do you love me?” You asked, unsure.
“You're the only thing I care about,” he reassured, fingertips settling slowly on your hips, one-by-one too. Dipping into the flesh, feeling it for himself and breathing in your air. His eyes glowed.
Literally.
A bright gleam that hurt to look at, burning into you with a dangerous intensity. When he spoke, his voice reverberated into your core. “Do you love me?”
passing this fic around to all my treasured mutuals like it's a blunt -
sjdgfhlshdkdfgh in seriousness though, AMAZING job indie!!! this was so fantastic to read!! there's so many fascinating twists and turns and little nuggets of weirdness in gojo's behavior and the shit that's happening around you. it feels like the reader is being gaslit along with the reader insert about what the FUCK is going on and it's so good!!!!
i loved going into the meetings with geto and having just no idea what to think like. he really goes from "oop maybe you should be institutionalized :)" to "awh ok sweetie let me talk to your husband then :) about what's best for you :) just go sit in the waiting room while the adults have the important conversations :)" fgkshdfglhsdg
he is SO slimy and VILE khsjlfghsdhg I HATE HIM you absolutely knocked his creepy conversations out of the park!
and gojo,,, is such,,, a fucking bizarre freak of nature lmao. just runs into a woman, sighs, gets out, convinces her it's her fault and drives off like BRO STOP RUNNING RED LIGHTS SKJGFLSHDG i have anxiety
the breakdown is like, just really good. how your entire life is just moving according to gojo's whim, how nobody listens to you and everyone listens to gojo, how you don't have anyone from your old life to talk to, no one is on your side. it feels so believable when you just slip into going along with it, playing a normal couple.
and it feels believable when you freak the fuck out because what are you doing!!! who is this man! what the fuck is happening and why can't you control anything about your life!! it's YOUR life!!
then there's the sex scene,,, i loved how it has its own take on eldritch-fucking, how you're all surrounded by eyes (the "being watched" theme,,,, so sexy and SO creepy) but you don't actually seem to see what's touching you, you just relax and let yourself feel and it feels weird and impossible and good and the narration was great at getting across the pleasure and the strange timeless dreamy state,,, augh,,,, just. so fun!
plus that line at the end,,, "But being scared was exhausting" man the anxiety was SO prevalent throughout the fic, there's so much worrying and being unsettled and being afraid. it definitely does feel tiring at this point, you're fighting this strange losing game with rules you don't know against beings you don't understand. and satoru did agree not to erase you, right? he said he loves you. he said he's your husband.
maybe you don't have any other choices, but at least maybe you've found some peace with this one,,, or found something worth enjoying in it >.> it was such a great ride, thank you again for the awesome job you did <3
Warnings. MDNI. NSFW🔞, mature content, voyeurism, exhibitionism, unprotected sxx, FREAKED OUT Satoru and Suguru
“This is my girlfriend,” Satoru introduces you and your name to Suguru, rubbing his large palm into the side of your waist affectionately.
A look of shock overthrows Suguru’s expression. But it morphs back into soft coolness quick enough that you almost doubt you saw it right.
“Hi, it’s so nice to meet one of Satoru’s friends.” You smile at Suguru, jutting out your hand.
Suguru shakes your hand politely and a soft smile climbs on his lips as his gaze flicks down your body and then up to Satoru before landing back on you.
“Ah, I wouldn’t say friend,” Suguru huffs playfully, “Haven’t seen him since college.”
“Work is busy,” Satoru shrugs, raising his arm to wrap around your shoulders. His arm weight pulls you down a bit but you don’t mind.
“So, how long have you been together?”
“Um— about a year.” You smile and nod at him. Satoru hums happily before pressing a kiss to your cheek. Suguru can tell you’re a shy, sweet little thing, putting a weak hand to Satoru’s chest and resisting futilely as he peppers your face with kisses in front of all of these people.
“Yo, Gojo!”
Satoru is suddenly pulled away by one of his old friends to compete and see how many shots they can take back to back, and since he hasn’t seen these people in a bit, you smile and push him to go have fun.
You’re left with Suguru. You sip your drink and shift your stance a bit as he subtly takes in your overall appearance.
You clear your throat. “So, did Satoru date around a lot back in college? I wouldn’t be surprised.” You’re jesting, cutely, trying to break the ice and the nervous tension between you and Satoru’s friend.
Suguru chuckles. “Ahh, not really.”
You eye him from over your cup as you take a drink. “Is that why you seemed so surprised that he’s with me?” It’s said in a lighthearted tone but you’re clearly curious.
“Oh, I’m sorry— I didn’t mean to offend you or anything.” Suguru is being nothing but genuine and you can tell.
“But.. ?” You’re leading him into the rest of what he isn’t saying.
“There’s no but,” Suguru denies softly and then shrugs, “You’re just not the type I was expecting.”
You’re clearly offended, a bit hurt right off the bat and Suguru can immediately see that.
“Oh god, no, no,” Suguru quickly backtracks with a sympathetic look, “I didn’t mean that you aren’t attractive, you are. In fact, you’re more my type than what I expected his to be.”
You blink at him owlishly and brush your hair behind your ear. “Oh. What kind of girl was Satoru into during college?” You chuckle, airily, but you can’t fool him or yourself. You’re invested.
Suguru huffs into his drink, a jump to his brows as if you’ve said something ironic.
“The type with balls.”
Your eyes widen and you’re almost in disbelief of what he’s claiming. “You— oh. You’re saying Satoru was with men?”
He nods and watches you with slight amusement. Satoru must have kept this from you for some reason.
You blink down at the ground, a slight pang of jealousy slides through your chest. Satoru never mentioned this. You were under the impression that he had told you every past partner and relationship he’s had, like you’ve told him. It’s not a good feeling to feel as though this man you’ve never met before knows more about your boyfriend than you do.
“Ah— I’m sorry,” Suguru says, clearly feeling bad that he said anything at all since it seems you’re feeling hurt, “I really didn’t mean to bother you or mess with your relationship—”
You brush off his concerns and interrupt him. “No, no. It’s okay. Um—” you clear your throat, “like a lot of men?”
Bless your heart, Suguru can tell why Satoru is enthralled by you. You’re a sweet thing, clearly committed to the guy, even when he has obviously been keeping things from you.
Suguru grimaces a bit, not because of you, but because of what he’s about to say.
“I,” he laughs and scratches the back of his head, “I think I’m the only one. I could be wrong.”
Your jaw just drops but before you can ask the millions of questions you are itching to ask Satoru’s apparent ex something, intoxicated Satoru comes bursting back with a wide smile, shoving a shot into your hands while he slams his lips into yours.
“Hey baby, take this shot,” he preens into your lips, “You need to catch up.”
You chuckle awkwardly and take down the shot with a sweet smile for your boyfriend who has no idea you’ve been told that he’s been keeping something from you.
The next day. 4:07pm.
You’re pouting. Satoru can tell something is wrong. You’ve been giving him that sad cat look since this morning that screams, ‘my owner hit me and I can’t decide whether I’m mad or sad.’
“You wanna get take out? That mochi place is open,” Satoru offers, rolling on his side to grab at you and pull you into his arms to spoon.
The book you’re reading doesn’t leave the space right in front of your face as he cuddles your backside.
You shrug and hum briefly, as if you don’t care.
Satoru wraps his arms deeply around your middle, squeezes, and shoves his face into the side of yours while his brows furrow. “And then we can make love all night with a belly full of mochi, hmm?”
You don’t even spare a glance. Another shrug. Now he knows for sure, something happened.
His head raises and he looks down at you. “Hey, c’mon, what’s going on?”
You mumble incoherently but he can make out that you’ve said, ‘nothing.’
“Did I go too hard last night? Did I do something?” He asks with concern, thumbs rubbing into the skin of your sides where he’s wrapped around your midsection. He has blips of blanks in his memory from last night, mixing alcohol is never a good idea.
You exhale a puff of air and drop your book down, a small pout permanently taking home on your face.
“Suguru was nice,” you mumble as your eyes stare forward at nothing in particular.
You’re speaking in riddles, not a good sign. He squints and maneuvers your body so you’re on your back and he’s leaning on his forearm beside you so he can eye you properly.
“Suguru? Did he hit on you?”
You cross your arms stubbornly. “He did say I was his type.”
Satoru’s face turns into a look of discontent. “I knew he’d try something on you. I’m sorry, baby. Did he make you uncomfortable?”
You basically ignore his words, watching him suspiciously. “Matter of fact, he said I’m more his type than I am yours.”
He looks taken aback and confused. “He’s just being stupid, trying to see if he can get with you.” He pauses and blinks at your expression and overall aura. “Wait— Are you mad at me, right now?
“I don’t know, am I?”
“Baby,” Satoru grabs onto the side of your head to hold your attention, “Talk to me.”
You sigh and sit up, criss crossed. He slowly meets you there, sitting across from you, carefully.
“Did you and Suguru used to date?”
Satoru’s brows jolt up and he blinks in genuine surprise.
“Me and Suguru? No, are you serious? That’s what he told you?” He huffs in disbelief.
“Okay, then, you guys used to fuck? In college?”
Satoru blinks for a beat with his lips parted. “I— Okay, yeah, yes. But we never dated, that’s ridiculous.”
Your face explodes into disbelief and you abruptly stand up, pushing his hand away when he tried to grab at you.
“Oh my god, I knew it. Why did you keep that from me?” You’re clearly upset and Satoru moves his way to the edge of the bed on his knees to face you as you stand.
“Keep it from y— Wait, wait that’s a bit of an exaggeration—”
You shake your head and start pacing, ignoring him.
“Do you know how stupid I felt? Asking your ex— or fuck buddy or— whatever— about you? About my own boyfriend? Things that I should already know after a whole year of dating?”
Satoru cringes in sympathy. “Fuck, I didn’t think—”
“No, you didnt,” you confirm, interrupting him. Your steps come to a stop in front of him. “I mean, god! You introduced me and let me talk to him all nice and polite like he hasn’t fucked my boyfriend!”
“What, you would’ve treated him differently if you knew?” He huffs, unable to hold back some amusement, despite knowing he’s done something wrong.
You shoot him a deep glare. “Yes! I would have— I don’t know— asserted dominance or something— grabbed your dick— I don’t know!”
Satoru lets a self indulgent smirk sneak out and you poke his chest with a mean, stern look. “Hey! Stop enjoying this so much.”
He immediately grabs onto your hand and lays it flat on his naked chest like he’s trying to keep you close and with him. “I’m not, I’m not!— I just— you can’t blame me for thinking it’s sexy when you get all jealous,” he purrs towards the end, leaning in and snaking a kiss to your jaw. You grumble and almost flinch away from it but then he lays an open mouthed, slow, warm kiss lower down, on your neck, and you melt.
He hums, feeling your body relax into him, and that’s what jolts you out of the haze. You pull away and point at him with squinted eyes. “No. You’re not allowed to do that. I’m actually hurt, Satoru.”
A pleading look grows on his face and he stands quickly to get close to you. “Okay, okay, I know. I’m sorry, baby. I should have told you. It slipped my mind, genuinely. What can I do to make it better?”
You humpf as you cross your arms, pouting as he softly brushes some hair from your face.
“Hmm?” He goads on, tilting his head down to eye your pretty face. “What can this horrible, mean boyfriend do to make it up to his sexy, amazing girlfriend?”
“Were you on top or bottom?”
Satoru pauses, thinking he has to have heard you wrong because you kind of mumbled it quietly.
“What?”
You look up at him. “Did you fuck him or did he fuck you?”
Satoru’s jaw drops, shocked by your question as you move to sit on the edge of the bed behind him, waiting.
He turns slowly to face you, this has to be a trap. “Why do you want to know that, baby? That’s just gonna upset you.”
You ‘Aha!’ like he’s been caught. “I knew it! You’re hiding this from me deliberately!”
“What? No,” he immediately shakes his head, hands moving quickly as to dispel what you’ve said, “A question like that is— I wouldn’t want to know all the ways you’ve fucked Toji in the past, it would upset me! I just don’t want to upset you.”
“Ohh, now you’re bringing up Toji.” You cross your arms. Toji was a bit of an issue for your relationship at the beginning. You used to date, and let’s just say Toji has a bad habit of fucking with people— they used to get into fist fights despite being friends. Honestly, Toji was usually asking for it: smacking your ass casually when you’d hug in greetings, a hand rubbing your thigh a little too far up when you’d laugh in conversation, etc. all with the excuse that he was just so used to doing it when you were dating that he forgets not to.
Satoru shakes his head. “That’s not what I meant.”
You sigh. “I want to know, Satoru. If you’re not trying to keep things from me, then tell me.”
Satoru rubs his eyes and then runs a hand through his hair. He has a feeling this isn’t going to be resolved by tonight. “I have nothing to hide, okay? I was on bottom, I guess.”
You hum and nod, like you know something he doesn’t and you just caught him.
“So he used to fuck you in the ass?”
Satoru’s growing more and more confused. “So what? Does it upset you that I was with a dude?”
Your jaw drops and you stand, a hurt pinch to your brows. “Of fucking course not, Satoru.”
“Then, what? I get that it was fucked to let you talk to Suguru without knowing. But, you’re mad because I happened not to tell you one person I’ve had sex with?”
“It just makes me feel like,” you exhale, avoiding his gaze, “you didn’t tell me because I can’t give you what he could.”
Satoru’s face expands in shock. He grabs onto your face with both hands and holds it up to look you in the eye. “What do you mean, baby? I fucking love you, you give me everything I could ever want.”
“I can’t give you dick,” you mumble.
“That’s,” he hesitates, searching your face, “That’s what’s bothering you? You think I kept it from you on purpose because I didn’t want you to feel bad for not having a penis?”
The corners of your lips and the pinch in your brows deepens within your pout.
“Oh baby,” he coos deeply, pulling you in to hold you close, unable to let out an airy laugh.
You whine, “Stop laughing at me, Toru!”
He squeezes you harder with a grin and you grumble into his chest.
He exhales, deeply and in content, having you in his arms. “You don’t need to worry about that. I’ve never once wished you had a dick and balls. I would have told you about Suguru, I didn’t mean to keep it from you. I’m sorry I made you feel stupid when he told you.”
You mumble something into him and he hums in question, not hearing you.
You pull back to look up at him as he continues to hold you into his front.
“I said,” you sniffle, eyes gleaming widely, “But I heard guys have their g-spot in their ass. So, that means I’ve never made you feel as good as he can or did.”
Satoru shakes his head. “That’s ridiculous, I’ve never had better sex than with you. C’mon, let’s order food and lay back down.”
Your pout stubbornly gets deeper, like he’s lying to you to protect your feelings.
“Up we go.” He decides for you, picking your body up easily and softly tossing you onto the bed before climbing in behind you.
“Come here baby.” He’s holding you the same way he was before, arms around your tummy. He creeps his hand up your shirt and the second it brushes your breast, you shake your head and nudge it away.
“No, I don’t have the right parts. I just have a stupid hole.”
Satoru whines in frustration, sliding his arms up until he’s holding you just under the swell of your tits so he’s not crossing the line but still able to touch you.
“But I love that hole,” he chirps woefully into your ear, sliding his right hand down to curl inward until it covers your clothed pussy entirely. “My favorite hole.” You can hear a deep frown on his lips.
“This hole is closed for business forever and ever.”
Chills race down Satoru’s spine. “You don’t mean that.”
“Maybe I do,” you shrug, but you’re not making any move to take his cold hand away from your cunt. “Maybe you should call Suguru.”
“Oh baby, please. This is ridiculous.” He groans into your neck, hard cock pressing into the lower part of your asscheek.
You suddenly turn to face him, forcing his hands to retreat so you can comfortably turn.
You look up at him. “Is that what you want? For me to buy a strap?”
He sighs. “Not really,” he mumbles.
“Oh okay. So, just him. Fine.” You’re about to turn your back to him again but he doesn’t let you, grabbing a strong hold of your sides.
“Listen to me.” He looks into your eyes, intensely. “When I push inside of your sweet little pussy, I feel a level of pleasure that exceeds reality. I love fucking your beautiful cunt, made just for me to push into. Do you understand me? I want to dominate your insides over and over and over until you forget what it feels like to be empty— all day, everyday. I don’t need you inside me. I want to fucking live inside you.”
You blink at him owlishly and dumbly chirp out, “Oh.”
“I don’t want you to— you don’t need to buy a fake cock because you think I need it to feel satisfied. If anything, I should buy you a fake fucking cock with how much you wear mine out.” He huffs, rubbing his nose into yours affectionately. “Okay?”
You exhale deeply, body relaxing into his. “Okay.”
He brushes his fingertips down your tummy until he slides his whole hand between your thighs, once again claiming your entire clothed pussy to his palm and long fingers.
“My sweet girl,” he coos as his other hand reaches over you and takes a handful of your asscheek. “My horny, horny girl. You wanna satisfy me so bad, huh?”
You grumble a little, soft hands pushing into his chest futilely as he chuckles.
Satoru hums some random tune soothingly as he kneads your back and ass for a long while, keeping the other hand snug against his favorite hole.
A week later. 10:35pm.
Seeing Suguru again wasn’t on your radar, but here he is, at some a party most of your own friends are at.
You and Satoru enter the party together and walk up to some of your friends crowded in the kitchen around a cooler full of an assortment of canned alcohol and ice.
You hug some of them in hello, starting with Shoko and ending with Toji. Satoru greets everyone with a loud, playful, drawn out, “Hello party people!” before wrapping his arm around cheery Haibara.
You lean down and grab some random fizzy drink from the cooler as everyone greets Satoru in their own unique ways.
“Hey again,” Suguru’s familiarly soft voice greets you with a smile as you stand back up.
“Oh, hey.” You pop open your can. You’re not upset with Suguru, it’s not his fault Satoru left a few bits of information out. Suguru didn’t mean any harm, you know that. He still fucked your boyfriend, though.
He gestures for you to come stand by him so you can chat. You smile and nod before stepping over. Satoru pats your ass sweetly as you leave, not taking his attention off of his idiotic conversation with Nanami, bothering and teasing him like he loves to do.
Suguru nods at your drink. “You like that fizzy sweet shit like him, huh?”
You turn the can to eye the name of it and shrug. “It does the job. How about you? You one of those -dry whiskey with no straw- types?”
He hums a soft laugh with a smile. “Like you said, whatever does the job. But no, not always. I dabble.”
You take a swig of your drink. “I respect that.”
“Hey,” he begins with a sympathetic scratch to the back of his head, “I really hope I didn’t mess things up for you after that conversation we had.”
You chuckle and glance over at Satoru with a loving, affectionate look, watching as Nanami holds him in a headlock that you have no doubt he could get out of if he really wanted to. “No, no. Don’t worry about it, we’re good.”
Suguru hums with a smile on his lips, glad you’re not upset with him for telling you something he figured you’d know.
You turn towards him with a playful smile on your lips. “Anything else you wanna tell me about you and Satoru before the night goes on, though?” you joke, making Suguru throw his head back and laugh.
He comes back down to earth and takes a step towards you, leaning his hip against the counter casually as he eyes your face with a tilt of a smile.
“You’re sexy,” he all but coos down at you, voice soft and deep.
Your brows raise and you huff. “Are you hitting on me right now?” While your boyfriend, who he used to fuck in the ass, is standing a few feet away?
He shrugs and swigs his drink. “I see why Satoru is into you.” An answer that isn’t an answer at all.
“And why is he into me?” You entertain his sillies with amusement.
He exhales deeply, in thought. “Sweet, compassionate, caring, beautiful, loving, funny, a good listener, knows how to cook a warm meal. Am I close?”
He’s playing with you, naming all of the generic compliments one could find on a hallmark card. He doesn’t know you well enough to actually answer, but he knows that he likes to make you laugh. You can’t help but do just that, shaking your head in amusement, and fidgeting with the lip of your can with the same hand that holds it.
“Oh, you’re right on the money. You know me so well,” you say with playful surprise.
He huffs out a few laughs and tilts his drink in dismissal. He licks his lips of the wetness of his beverage.
“So, he mad at me for telling you about our dorm life?”
You inhale and exhale an airy laugh. “He might be.”
“Ohh,” he hums drawn out, amused, but still as soft toned as ever. His brow quirks down at you, “So, you were upset.”
You look away and take a drink with a soft scoff. He wormed that insinuated information right out of you.
He continues, despite your silence. “Because your boyfriend was with a guy?”
You roll your eyes, a ghost of a smile on your lips. “No.”
He hums, head rocking back. “Then..?”
“You should go ask your old dorm mate if you really wanna know,” you land on, like you’d be interested in seeing how that would go.
He hums in contemplation, casually glancing at Satoru. “I’m betting that wouldn’t end well for me.”
You shrug, casually. “Never know until you try.”
“Eh,” he brushes it off, “Why would I do that when my new friend is so fun to talk to?” He might as well have said ‘fun to play with’ instead.
“Oh, friends, huh?” You tilt your head.
“Oh come on,” he smiles back down at you, looming over you a bit so you can smell his nice scent, “We have so much in common. We both like drinking, we’ve fucked the same person, we’re both wearing black clothing, I think you’re sexy, you think I’m sexy— we’re best friends already.”
You make a little expression of surprise, laughing.
“I think you’re sexy? Oh I didn’t know that.”
“Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that, my bad. Yeah, you think I’m sexy.” He speaks definitively, clinking his drink into yours in a soft cheers.
You hum dramatically, continuing to go along with whatever he throws out. “Right. Must have slipped my mind.”
He prods once again. “So, new friend, what was it that bothered you about the fact that I’ve had sex with your boyfriend?”
You let out a deep exhale as a thunderbolt of jealousy shoots through your chest, ignoring that wildly observant gaze he’s had locked on you since you came into view.
“Well, how big is your dick?”
Suguru almost chokes on his own spit, not expecting such blunt words. “Oh?” He laughs, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.
You’re relaxed as you face the others, watching Nanami’s forehead vein bulge while he grabs hold of Satoru’s collar. Haibara’s laughing and trying to calm him down, though Satoru looks content where he’s at.
“You could go ask Satoru.” Suguru smiles with utmost entertainment, close enough to your side that your arm is brushing his abdomen. He reaches to brush some hair behind your ear and then trails his fingertips down the edge of your ear briefly. “I’m sure he remembers, if you really wanna know, pretty girl.”
Suguru is fucking with you, you’re not stupid. But you think he’s likely doing it for shits and giggles, like he’s testing if you can handle some teasing or if you’ll actually get upset. He might actually be into you too, maybe seeing if you’d fuck him as well, and then he could confidently say he’s been with both you and Satoru.
You take a deep breath and take your eyes off of your friends to face his anticipation.
“Why would I do that when my new friend is so fun to talk to?” You use his own words, making Suguru’s soft smile grow.
“Besides, you know Satoru,” you lean towards him on the tips of your toes and he slouches to meet you halfway, waiting for you to speak into his ear. “His memory is all messed up. He can just never seem to remember not to cum inside me before we go out to a party with all of our friends.”
You can almost hear Suguru’s eyes flicker in surprise.
Suguru exhales slowly as you lean away. You watch him stand up straight as his tongue swipes against his lips. He adjusts his crotch area. “He does have a horrible memory, doesn’t he?”
He’s pleased with your response, clearly, as his eyes flick down to the in between of your legs where you have no doubt, he’s imagining the cum pooling in your panties.
You aren’t sure if you won that conversation or if it was even a competition in the first place. You gesture to the side. “I’ll see you later,” you say politely and he nods with a smile that’s anything but appropriate.
You make your way over to Satoru, Nanami, and Haibara and you can still feel Suguru’s eyes.
“Hey, baby.” Satoru notices your approach immediately, slithering his hand lightly onto your ass like it’s muscle memory.
“You guys mind if I steal him?” You ask a very fed-up Nanami and an energetic Haibara.
“No, we do not.” Nanami confirms deeply, adjusting his glasses with a permanent glare.
Haibara swings his arm to rest on Nanami’s shoulder and gives you a thumbs up. “Go for it!”
You’re already yanking Satoru’s wrist to follow you as you walk. He should be stumbling over those long legs since you’re moving so fast but he’s still keeping up.
“Where are we going?” Genuine curiosity laced with that natural playful air of his.
You don’t answer as you lead the two of you through sweaty, drunk people.
He dramatically puts on a show of stumbling to a stop when you let go of his wrist in some empty hallway upstairs. “Jeez, what’s—”
He ‘hmph’s when you suddenly push him up against the wall— more like when he allowed you to— and you start fumbling with his belt.
“Why do you wear these stupid belts? They’re made out of fucking steel.”
“What’d he say, baby?” His eyes are on your concentrated face while your frantic hands are at work.
You already know who he’s talking about. “He didn’t say anything.” You unlock his belt.
He tilts his head down to eye you better while he tilts your face up. “He bother you again?”
You exhale, looking up into his beautiful eyes and blindly unzipping his pants. “Honestly, I can’t tell if he wants to fuck me or fight me.”
Satoru huffs at your words as you focus back onto his crotch, popping his button open to reveal his pink heart littered boxers. He’s not surprised Suguru is toying with you.
“This is just how he is, he can probably tell he’s getting a reaction out of you.” He caresses the side of your face sweetly as you shove your hand into his boxers. “Want me to do something?”
You shake your head in brief denial as you pull his cock out.
“Want to fuck,” you mumble with most of your focus on jerking his dick to full mast while you maneuver your leg up so your knee and calf is pressing into the wall beside his hip.
“Right here?” he coos with amusement, though he’s actually not even slightly worried getting caught. His large palm aids in holding your leg up without you having to ask. “Didn’t I just fill this hole up? She’s gonna get overwhelmed, baby.”
You give him a scornful pout, pausing. “You don’t want to be inside me?”
He can immediately tell what you’re worried about. You just spoke to Suguru, who has a dick that used to be used on him, and Satoru knows the idea of not having a dick now bothers you. It’s ridiculous, really, but he knows it’s coming from a place of yearning to please him so he leans into you.
“Fuck to the yes I do. If I ever say no to that, shoot me in the head. You hear me?” When your expression gives into a hint of acceptance, he licks the side of your face like a cat and then kisses it. “Gimme that pussy baby,” he mumbles into your skin in a purposefully demanding, playful tone.
The second those words leave his lips, your movements grow desperate and fast again.
You yank your panties to the side and all but shove him into your creamy pussy. He wasn’t even sure this position was possible, it can’t be comfortable for you; not to mention, no foreplay, but you seem to be more than okay with it. His sweet girl is on a mission and he’s more than happy to be collateral.
He groans, head falling back onto the wall with a ‘thunk.’ “Oh man. You’re so slimy.” His previous load surrounds his throbbing cock, your walls are just drenched in it.
You’re breathing sharply as your head spins in your own little world, drunk on the odd interaction with Suguru and your jealous desire to be everything Satoru needs. You somehow start humping his cock to the best of your ability in such a position while your legs shake.
“Fuck,” he groans at the squelch, softly meeting your sloppy thrusts halfway with his hips. His free hand grabs onto the back of your skull and lowers it down till the top of your heads are touching, forcing the both of you to watch your sloppy connection move in and out. “Look at thaaat.”
You whimper as your lips stick to his skin every time his cock fully mounts you and then breaks away with a string of slick and cum each time it withdraws.
“He said,” you pause to take choppy breaths, moving your head up to search for eye contact, “you remember how big his dick is.”
Satoru rolls his eyes but it quickly transforms into an eye roll of ultimate pleasure when your pace quickens with your growing jealousy.
“He— oh fuck— he’s just trying to,” his voice breaks into a moan, hips stuttering, “get under your skin, baby.”
“How big is it?” you persist passionately, slamming your hips down as hard as they can go, resisting your own muscles screaming at you to change positions.
Satoru sputters with parted lips and whited out eyes, hands spasming in utter euphoria that just won’t allow him the ability focus on your important questions.
“Fine,” you stutter, pausing to drop your forehead onto his shoulder to moan, “I’ll just find out for myself.”
Satoru’s eyes snap open. The next thing you know, he’s walking you backward while fucking you the entire way over until your back is slamming against the opposite wall. It’s an utterly awkward stumbling, hopping on one leg situation, but Satoru basically carries you the whole way anyways.
You gasp as your back collides with the wall, urgently grabbing onto his broad shoulders for balance. “Oh fuck! Satoru— wait—”
He shakes his head frantically, hips snapping into yours at an electric pace that’s making the picture frames on the wall desperately hold onto their hinges as they rock aggressively. “You want to ‘find out about his cock?’ Hm? And how are you gonna do that?”
You whine as he playfully and yet aggressively, spat the words into your open mouth, harshly recycling sharp breaths with you between words. “I’m not— I don’t know—”
“Yeah,” he breathes in a cocky tone, interrupting you. You squeal when he slams his entire body weight into a thrust, basically hammering you into the wall behind you, “You don’t know. Your sweet little pussy is not going any where near his cock. Do you understand me?”
You nod eagerly, drooling down your chin as he makes harsh, possessive love to you.
“That’s my good girl,” he purrs into yours neck, nodding at your skin before slurping it into his mouth to suck on, meanly.
But then, you’re slipping, legs finally giving out, and Satoru is letting you— in fact he’s going down with you. He just can’t afford to slip out of your cunt, so his one track mind just fucks you all the way down until you’re in deep missionary on the cold, hard floor. You hiss and your back arches at the discomfort of it.
“Don’t tell me to pull out,” he pleads, roughly, shoving your legs down to your chest so he can lean over you and get a deeper angle. “Please, I can’t stop.”
You shake your head and whimper loudly, grabbing onto his frantic hips with shaky hands, feeling his muscles contract and tremble. “Don’t stop, it’s okay— mmfh!— get yourself off.”
He groans loudly and shoves his tongue into your mouth while he takes hold of your skull, large palms encasing it possessively. “Ohh you want that, don’t you? Naughty girl. You know how much I love you and this pussy? I’m about to show you just how much.”
Your hand extends and slams down onto the floorboards, nails digging into the wood, creating marks as you cope with his heavy hips punching into your insides over and over and over. You’re starting to forget why you took his cock out in the first place.
He’s close, you can tell by the way his legs gradually spread out and how he drops a bit too much body weight onto you to get deeper, stretching out the muscles running along the back of your thighs, painfully.
“Ah-ah-ah— shit! Gonna fucking breed all of my load— love into you.”
And then he’s doing just that, chopped up exhales fanning directly into your mouth that sound like an old man finally feeling the relief of taking a piss in the middle of the night. He slobbers all over your face as he cums, smearing his drooling lips against your skin deliberately and you just lay there, whining and basking in it, cunt twisting around the pulsing, invading shaft.
Satoru groans loudly into your ear as he comes down, grinding his hips into yours like he’s churning butter for good measure, making you gasp and groan out a sound full of submissive coping.
“You didn’t cum,” he voices in a relaxed slur, moving up on his forearms beside your head so he can look at your face. You shake your head and bring your hands up to caress his cheeks.
“People might come,” you say shyly, glancing up to look at the exit of the upside down hallway behind you.
“Ha!” he shouts dramatically right into your face, “that’s funny, really. Like I’d fuck your gushy pussy and then just leave you all needy and horny.”
He suddenly pops his cock out of your sensitive, crying, stuffed-full cunt and you both hiss. He quickly crawls his way down to shove his face between your legs.
You jut your chin down to your chest shyly and he shakes his head with an amused chuckle, breath fanning your throbbing clit.
“No way you’re getting all shy now. If someone walks by, it’s on you my little exhibitionist.” Before you can respond, he’s opening his mouth wide with his wide tongue stuck out and obnoxiously encases your pussy within it. He’s not afraid to look ‘ugly’ to give you the stimulation needed to blow your mind.
Your fingers curl into his soft white hair and you moan pathetically as he sloppily makes out with your leaky, nicely bred, sore core. You might be hallucinating, but was that footsteps?
You anxiously glance back at the exit. “B-Baby— I think someone’s coming. Maybe we— ngh!— should go to a room or something.” You tap his head anxiously.
“Yeah, someone is cumming,” he murmurs quickly into your cunt, “you.”
You groan and yank his hair, knowing you’re unable to successfully pull him off even if you wanted to. Satoru has always been firm on the idea: you don’t interrupt a man eating a nice, warm meal. You just don’t.
It’s not long before an orgasm approaches, I mean, obviously. He’s focusing beautifully on the edges of your clit where he knows it’s not too sensitive and actually allows ecstasy to form. Let’s not forget, the adrenaline and pressure to ‘hurry up’ and get an orgasm in before the time is up and someone catches you only hurdles you closer.
Satoru purrs aloud as he eats, always has. It sounds like a cat that’s biting ridiculously large mouthfuls of their food possessively while they warn potential predators around that this is theirs and only theirs. It’s ridiculous and it makes your toes curl and your legs shake.
“I’m so close, don’t— don’t stop.” Your plea makes Satoru’s brows twitch in satisfaction as he works your clit, hands kneading your soft inner thighs.
You nervously glance back at the exit to the hallway and let out a blood curdling gasp when you see none other than Suguru Geto leaning against the wall, watching the scene like it’s some television show as he sips his drink. You’re about to scramble, snap your legs together, and hide yourself, shout, do something, because the delicious idea of getting caught is never as alluring as the brutal reality— but then, Satoru worms two fingers inside to assault your g-spot way past speed limit without changing a thing about the pace he’s licking your clit at, and you just fucking burst with a pathetically drawn out, choppy moan. Your eyes roll and your back arches completely off of the hard floor, it feels as though you had no choice but to fall off the steep cliff and that only makes it more intense.
Oh, bless your heart. Suguru huffs an airy laugh as you spasm, ignoring the incessant throb in his painfully hard cock.
As you finally come down, you blink your bleary eyes at the exit, focusing on it until you can see clearly. You lazily smack at Satoru’s head. “Satoru— get off— someone is—”
Your vision clears and Suguru’s not there anymore, no where to be seen. Satoru lifts his head and licks his lips obnoxiously, climbing up over you and looking over at the area you’re focused on. He laughs and leans in to the side of your face. “I made you cum so hard you’re seeing shit.”
“Wha—What? No, he was— he was right there.” Your brows knit, eyes locked on the exit as Satoru hums noncommittally and peppers kisses onto your neck.
Later, re-joining the party after you cleaned up (Satoru licked your panties and then slid them onto your sore pussy with a pat and a direct order to ‘hold in all of his babies’), you can’t help but steal peeks at Suguru who’s acting completely normal. Satoru’s ego is too large to entertain your claim because apparently his ‘magical tongue’ isn’t called magical for nothing and you fear it would actually crush his big heart if you persisted that it wasn’t actually the orgasm he gave you that made you see Suguru.
Satoru scoops his arms around your body, holding you close. “You okay?”
You nod and exhale deeply, letting your arms wrap loosely around his neck. “I’m okay.”
“You’re not still worried that I want dick in my ass, are you?”
You can’t help but laugh, making Satoru smile, having accomplished his mission to put some warmth on your distant face.
You give him a nice, sweet peck. “No, I can still feel your ‘love’ dripping out of me.” You nuzzle his nose with yours and he chuckles, squeezing your ass affectionately.
“Good. If I knew keeping you stuffed would stop you from pouting, I woulda set up a breeding schedule way sooner,” he hums.
“Hush,” you laugh, shaking your head.
He glances to the side where Suguru is chatting with Nanami, “And anyways, if he actually saw us like you said, he’d be all over you right now, teasing you and getting under your skin.. under your panties too. Trust me, I know him.”
You sigh and nod softly. “Right, yeah. I’m probably just tired, paranoid, I don’t know. Talking to him earlier got me all— bleh.”
He hums an affirmation and softly, adoringly pats at your ass. “I know just the thing. I’m gonna get us something to drink.”
You nod and he skips his way over to the cooler, not missing the chance to flick Nanami’s head and act as though it wasn’t him that did it as he interrogates him.
You huff and shake your head at the sight of your silly boyfriend.
“I hope there’s not anymore trouble in paradise?”
Suguru’s soft voice, much closer than you could have expected, makes you jump and gasp, slapping a hand onto your heart as you face him. “Jesus, you scared the shit out of me.”
He chuckles and rocks back on his heels, hands stuffed in his pockets. He leans towards you on the way back to balance on his soles, in that alluring way he seems to do with women— or just you. “Ah— my fault, I didn’t peg you for the jumpy type.”
You exhale deeply as you catch your breath. “I’m usually not.”
He hums with a smile and you clear your throat, looking back towards Satoru as Suguru stands beside you.
“You come over here to chat about your dick size again?”
Suguru snickers with the upmost amusement before exhaling deeply on his last chuckle.
“No, no.” He leans down to your ear and brushes a few fingers down your spine, making you stiffen up, “I wanted to tell you that you might wanna change your pretty little dress.”
You blink, brows furrowing and focus waning from your boyfriend over to his presence engulfing you. “Uh— why?”
The warm hand that isn’t on your lower back reaches down and slides up your inner thigh, making you gasp. A smile crawls on his face and you can hear it as he purrs into your ear.
He holds a few sticky, cum webbed fingers in front of your face. “You’re leaking.”
You're a non-sorcerer. He can't just tell you about cursed spirits and everything. You'd freak out. Your whole world, your whole life, it would be scarier for you to go about your life knowing they were there when you couldn't see them.
Sometimes he remembers, though. That you have an ex. Options. A whole life outside of him.
Maybe it would be good if you were scared. Living in constant fear of an invisible terror you couldn't fight or detect in any way. Worrying over every shadow and creak in the night.
Wondering if something was really out there this time. If what he'd told you about was finally coming to get you.
Wishing, praying, wanting nothing more than for him to be here with you right in this moment.
It makes his chest feel warm, pants tight. The thought of you curled up in terror under your bedsheets, shivering and crying and waiting for him to come save you.
But he's good, so good. He doesn't tell you about any of that.
SLAP!
"FUCK you, Gojo! You lying piece of shit!"
Of course, it did lead to times like this. A mission running late - they were already ridiculous with their hours - and no good explanation from him on why.
"Babe," Satoru cups his stinging cheek as he speaks, "I swear, it's just work. There's no one else."
He'd long since mastered the art of a perfect pleading tone, of having big, wide eyes that draw you in. It's hard for you to look away from his face, even now, enraptured as you are infuriated.
"Then where the FUCK were you?!" It's a wet scream, full of raw-throated fury, and all the tears he knows you're swallowing.
He's so hard it hurts. The slap. The rage. The desperation. He's throbbing.
Satoru's never wanted to fuck you more. Never wanted to kiss away the tears he knows you're too proud and angry to cry. Never wanted to feel you slap him again, and again, even lower, on his dick -
SLAP!
"Gojo? Are you fucking listening?"
God, you care so fucking much. He's throbbing.
"Babe," His eyes well up, lip bitten, lashes lowered as he bows his head, "I'm sorry - I'm so sorry. I was wrong, I was bad. Forgive me, baby, I'll make it up to you..."
He closes in, step by step. And you let him. You do. It's intoxicating, makes his chest soar, how you stare daggers at him but don't back away.
SLAP!
This time when your hand hits his face he groans, lashes fluttering. There's a wet spot on his pants now, leaking precum all over.
If you hit him again he might just cum his pants. Whoops.
Your hand swings through the air -
Satoru catches it, though. Like he could have the first three times.
He knows how to placate you. Always does. On his knees, with big, wide eyes, sweet words. Whispered promises, swearing over and over again.
Wrapping his arms around your legs, nuzzling at your groin. Lurid eyes whispering for permission, fingers tugging at your hem.
Hands fist in his hair, and he knows to hurry. To sate you.
And he does. Mouth wide and ravenous over your thigh. Sucking and biting like he wants to claim you; see, I've marked you too. It's okay. Mark me up some more.
Satoru lurches into your cunt, just to feel your fist pull his hair harder. The unmistakable scent of your arousal on his nose - but then, at this point you were conditioned to it.
He makes you angry. You lash out. He rewards your bad behavior with his tongue on your sex, sucking and lapping loudly, enthusiastically. Moaning into it when you tug his hair, whimpering.
By heart he knows that special squeeze, the way you tense when you're close, how your clit seems to twitch against him. It's second nature to wrap his lips around it, soft, enveloping, suckle gentle pressure until you're shuddering and squeezing and panting out your release.
You always come down from your high at least a little placated. His arms cling to your hips like he's the one afraid of being left, like a man drowning at sea.
Like a lamb to the knife, eager and offering. You can't be satisfied with just that, right? He has to give you more.
Steps stumbling to the bed. Maybe he lifts you, maybe not.
There's words - so many words - how he loves you, how you feel good, how every moment without you is torture and he hates being apart as much as you do.
It's not even a lie. Not that you buy it, anyways.
None of it matters. All that matters is the feeling of your skin against his, hot flesh slapping against flesh. Sinking himself into the warm embrace of your cunt, wet and slick and welcoming him home.
This is where he belongs. You know it, he knows it, and better than knowing it - you feel it.
In every thrust, in every squeeze of his hands over your skin, in his roaming lips and biting teeth.
The heat, the sting, the pressure, the pull. His voice in your ears. His taste on your tongue. Every sensation that slowly drowns to the rising tide of pleasure, to clever fingers that play with your clit as he pumps in and out and in again.
Satoru knows your body like his own. Where to touch to get the loudest moans. How fast you like it, what angle. When to speed up.
He can always make you feel better. Make you feel good. Because he loves you, and while you'd doubt his words, you can't doubt his body.
Oh, yes. It's always so easy to distract you by slipping his shirt off, letting you stare at the same powerful, lean form he uses to make love to you.
No matter how mad you are - screaming, crying, slapping or hitting - you never tell him no.
You always accept him. You take whatever you can get, furious and desperate and oh so hungry for even scraps.
This is the love that Satoru Gojo recognizes. It fits in his heart like a lock in a key.
He knows it so well. The fear of being left behind. The daunting reality of a life without the one you love. A life where your loved one could even turn against you. Love someone else.
Your love is shaped so perfectly for him. He can't even bring himself to question it.
Every harsh word, every strike confirms it. Sometimes your eyes linger on his cheek. Where you've bruised him, or left his skin red. Heavy with guilt.
Satoru does his best to reassure you. It's not like it hurts. It's proof that you love him. His body belongs to you, anyways, you can mark it up however you want.
He says the words to you then, because he believes them, because what you need then is comfort, reassurance.
Later, you'll remember him saying it didn't really hurt and think it was a pity. You'll seethe. Because what is the point of striking him, in your rage, if not to make him hurt like you do?
You'll feel bad about that, too, he's sure.
That's what love is. Pain. Guilt. Desire. And the euphoric pleasure of knowing, despite it all, you'll still be waiting for him at the end of the day.
It's not his fault he only knows how to love this way. This is what love has always been like.
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