Thinking about yandere!ex who you finally break up with after discovering the tracking apps hidden on your phone and the tracker tucked beneath your car.
Yandere!ex who doesn't get angry when you tell him it's over.
He just stares.
Then smiles.
As if you've said something silly. Something impossible.
Yandere!ex who decides you're confused. Emotional. Not thinking clearly.
Because there's simply no way you'd willingly leave him. Not after everything he's done for you.
Yandere!ex who calmly tells you that you'll understand eventually.
Yandere!ex who keeps insisting that he's helping you even as he strips away every choice you have.
Yandere!ex who treats your attempts to leave like tantrums rather than decisions.
Yandere!ex who acts like the sweetest person on earth while keeping you trapped.
Who remembers exactly how you take your coffee.
Who knows your favorite movies by heart.
Who smiles proudly whenever he gets something right. As though any of it makes the situation normal.
Yandere!ex who looks genuinely heartbroken whenever you cry.
Who sits outside the room afterward, wondering why you're so unhappy.
Who cannot comprehend that he is the reason.
Yandere!ex who rushes to make your favorite meal after every argument.
Who nervously asks if you're hungry.
Who brightens the second you take a bite.
Who mistakes compliance for forgiveness.
Yandere!ex who keeps waiting for the day you finally understand.
The day you'll smile at him again.
The day you'll stop asking to leave.
The day you'll love him the way he thinks he loves you.
And that's the terrifying part.
Not that he's pretending.
But that he genuinely believes everything he's doing is kindness.
tw - hybrid au, non/con, mentions of violence/death, and obsessive behavior.
puppy-hybrid!gojo, who's never been very good at thinking for himself.
it's not his fault! he's a pure-bred war dog, meant to follow orders and track scents and chase when told to chase and bite when told to bite. he's all instincts and training, but the former's only good for making his mouth water when he smells meat and the latter goes to waste here, in your cozy apartment, where the only threats he has to deal with are the fancy collars you ask him to wear and your free-roaming vacuum cleaner. it's hard to remember why he's not on the field anymore - something happened with his handler, he thinks, something that involved a lot of blood - but it doesn't really matter. the details aren't important to him.
what's important, in satoru's mind, is that he gets to be with you.
you don't care that he's not the smartest mutt in the shelter. you're too nice to chastise him when he growls at the friends you try to bring home every so often, the strangers you invite into the sanctuary he guards so diligently. you don't raise your voice when refuses to wear a leash, or pull his snow-white hair while you're brushing it out in the morning. you don't even scold him when he crawls into your bed at night. he has his own, but you know he can't sleep in it. as hard as he tries, he just can't get it to smell like you.
you do get a little angry when you find him chewing on your panties, but you can't blame him. it's like his mind shuts off and something more primal takes over - the need to be close to you, to taste you, to comfort himself because you leave him for so long every day and he loves you so much and you know you can't stay mad at your big, dumb puppy for very long, right? he promises up and down at the damp stains he leaves on your pillowcases are just from his post-bath naps, and he swears, if you let him walk you to work again, he won't snap when one of your coworkers inevitably gets closer to you than he'd like. and if he does, he'll even make sure not to draw blood this time. he knows you don't like the idea of a violent dog.
and he's not a violent dog. really, he's not. it's just - he doesn't know his own strength, and he can't control what his brain tells him to do when he thinks about the way your nails feel against his scalp and his cock gets stiff and heavy and uncomfortable. he can feel you squirming underneath him, but if you really wanted him to stop rutting against you, he's sure you would yell, scream, order him to stop. he's sure that, if you really hated him like you keep whispering you do, he wouldn't fit so perfectly inside of you.
he knows he's being bad. the last time he followed his instincts so blindly, it ended with his handler's throat crushed in his jaw and enough sedatives to put down a grizzly bear shot into his system. but, last time, he'd been scared and alone and everyone had been so mean. last time, losing control had brought him to you.
if he could think at all, he would think that this time, it'd only bring the two of you closer together.
✮⋆˙ mdni. porn with a sprinkle of plot. power imbalance. unprotected piv sex. breeding kink.
The only place maids were meant to have in a prince's bed chamber was cleaning it.
Certainly not warming the silk sheets or having your legs spread and dangling off the edge. Especially not with said prince's cock buried balls-deep in your cunt.
"Y-your Highness," you gasped, clawing at the sheets, too cautious to scratch at his bare shoulder blades the way you truly craved.
Something like that should be saved for someone on equal standing.
Not a servant who just happened to temporarily suit his tastes.
"Satoru, sweetheart," he corrected you, cocking his head to the side as he plunged himself deeper, the pleasure coaxing your body limp beneath him. Your feelings for him didn't help. Heart ready to burst and chest straining to hold in the heft of your crush on the pretty prince you lived to serve.
"S-Satoru," you anxiously echoed, thighs tensing and trembling as you felt the knots in your stomach tighten the closer you came to unravelling - and the more unsure you grew of what would happen once the prince was finished with you.
You wanted to tell him you had no access to any of the herbal teas that would prevent you from conceiving, but every time you opened your mouth to speak, he practically fucked all the air back out of you. Hips slamming into your skin in fast thrusts, twisting your words into broken gasps.
"You look far better out of that uniform," he hummed, one of his soft palms tracing up past your exposed stomach to squeeze one of your breasts, smirking as he dragged a thumb over it just to make the rest of you shudder. "Maybe I should order you a shorter one."
"That would be indecent," you murmured, face flushing as you glanced over to the torn remains of the one you'd been wearing before he pinned you down and pried it off. The uniforms you'd been receiving lately all seemed to be...shrinking, but what were you supposed to do?
His word was final.
"I rather like you indecent," he teased, leaning in to wrap his mouth around a nipple, sucking softly as you bit back a keening moan. Scrunching your eyes shut as you toes curled, barely holding back your own climax as his teeth grazed over the sensitive bud, already peaked and swollen from how much he'd played with them before he even began fucking you.
"Y-you're being mean," you whined, stuttering over your words while your back arched off the bed, his swollen tip grinding deep into you and goading him into chuckling at your weak complaint.
"What? Would you like to leave?" He offered, just to make you say no, shaking your head and pouting as his lips curled into a cruel smirk.
"No," you softly said, unable to clear the fuzz from your head when he was making you feel so goddamn good.
"Maybe I should keep you stuffed," he hummed as he shifted from one nipple to the next, hips shifting to make you feel the full weight of him inside of you. "Would a baby keep you here?"
Your cheeks burned with embarrassment, your mouth falling open as you stammered for something sensible, "It would be a bastard."
The kind of child the court would look down on. Sneer at.
Maybe even poisoned or harmed if your baby had the misfortune to be born a boy - killed to ensure he never had a chance to sit on the throne.
He was supposed to be with a princess, or a noble lady.
You couldn't even dream to be a concubine.
"Says who?" He laughed, a dangerous glint in his eyes as he started fucking you faster, more deliberately, dragging his cock in and out like he was daydreaming about what a baby with you might look like.
"Everyone," you reminded him, briefly considering retreating, but before you could properly think it through, his hands found your hips, lifting them up at the same moment he bottomed back in, and you promptly forgot what made it such a bad idea.
"Don't worry, angel," he grinned, brilliant blue eyes narrowing as he shifted a palm to press directly down on your stomach. "You'll have my heir."
Pairing: Yandere!Gojo x Reader x Yandere!Geto (JJK).
Written in conjunction with this ask from @eevwrites.
Word Count: 1.9k.
TW: Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Nonconsensual Drug Use, Implied Stalking, Kidnapping, Obsessive Behavior, Overstimulation, Biting/Marking, and Slight Dehumanization.
Really, your only mistake had been choosing the wrong savoir after Satoru had slipped something into your drink.
Satoru was obviously, visibly, undeniably a creep. That much was obvious from the second he approached you, neon pink cocktail in-hand and that degenerate grin plastered across his lips. He was sketchy, but he was also rich, and fun, and willing to dance with you hours after the rest of your friends had called it a night. Suguru wasn’t a creep – or, he didn’t look like one, at least. When your vision started to darken, when it became harder than it should’ve been to put one foot in front of the other, it was his chest you stumbled into, using what was left of your consciousness to beg an imposing, aloof stranger to get the bartender’s attention and help you. It was what anyone else would’ve done. It was what you would’ve done, if the roles had been reversed.
It wasn’t until you felt his arm wrap around your waist, until you heard him call so lovingly to Satoru, that you realized how badly you’d fucked up.
Still, stumbling halfway across the club and throwing yourself at a total stranger must've attracted some attention. As Suguru gathered you in his arms, the bartender rounded towards you, eyeing your limp form and Suguru's slight smile warily. “Someone had little too much to drink,” he explained, nonchalantly. “It’s fine. Her boyfriend and I are going to take her home and make sure she gets tuck her in.”
‘Your boyfriend’ being Satoru, apparently, judging by the way he clung to Suguru’s side as you were carried out of the club entirely and piled into the backseat of an inconspicuous black car. Suguru drove and Satoru hovered over you – gnawing hickeys and bruises into your throat until you were too far gone to care.
Whatever they’d dosed you with, it was strong. You were strung out for most of the ride, only vaguely aware of passing scenery, Satoru’s keening whines, and Suguru’s gentle reminders to ‘wait, ‘toru’. By the time you felt your body being lifted, you were beyond the point of deliberate movement – your mind hyperactive, eager to latch onto every little sensation and spiraling thought, but unable to do much more than remind you to breath as you were hauled through a shrine courtyard and into a small, dimly lit backroom; the priest’s personal barracks, if you had to guess. Satoru babbled while Suguru lowered you onto a large, plush bed, and despite your best efforts, you caught most of it. “—and that’s when I knew it had to be you.” Suguru spared you an apologetic smile, his nimble hands moving over your body as he carefully removed your dress, then your shoes, then your panties, stripping you bare with all the care and all the tenderness of an avid collector undressing his favorite doll. “I mean, it took a few months, but I wanted it to be romantic, y’know? Suguru doesn’t get it. He thought I’d be happy with just anyone.”
“It took me a while to come around the idea. I might’ve gotten a little jealous.” You could only wish he would’ve stayed that away. “Come here, I need to show you what you’re doing.”
Suguru dragged you into his lap, keeping your upper body propped against his chest while spreading your legs apart in front of him. Satoru took his position eagerly between then, his eyes fixed on your cunt. “This,” he started, using two thick fingers to spread the folds of your labia apart, “is what you’re gonna fall in love with. Make sure you’re always paying attention to her clit – aw, look, it’s already poking out.”
It was humiliatingly clinical – how he touched you while explaining your anatomy in-detail, using the pad of his thumb to show Satoru how to play with your clit, dipping two fingers into your entrance while extrapolating on the importance of proper preparation, gathering your arousal up to make sure Satoru knew what it would look like when he was doing a good job. “Remember to be gentle. She’s going to be a lot more delicate than me,” he said, while curling two fingers inside of you, filling the bedroom with a rhythmic, humiliatingly wet sound. Your couldn't seem to open your mouth, and yet, little whimpers of discomfort and mewls of pleasure escaped your parted lips without resistance, each new noise drawing Satoru that much closer. “You’ll just be using your mouth, for now. We can talk about hands once you’ve shown some restraint.”
And yet, Satoru’s hands still found their way to your thighs, kneading mindlessly while Suguru split you open on his fingers. You tried to shake your head, to squirm against him, to tell him to stop, but the closest you got to anything coherent was a pitchy, keening sound not totally dissimilar to the whines Satoru would let out every now and then as he ground half-consciously into the mattress. You tried not to feel anything, either, but Suguru’s hands were so big, and his chest was so warm against your back, and with Satoru all-but drooling over your pussy, it would’ve been impossible not to come undone the second his palm ground against your clit and he spread his fingers apart inside of you, nursing you through your orgasm while making sure you were on fully-display. “See how she’s clenching down? That means she’s trying to milk your cock – you’ll get what I mean, once your inside of her.”
If only for a moment, your panic overshadowed your paralysis. Thrashing to either side, you did your best to fight against Suguru’s ironclad hold and finally spit something out, even if your voice was still barely stronger than a whimper. “N-No, don’t, you can’t—”
It was Satoru who cut you off, this time, albeit without breaking his nonverbal streak. His mouth crashed into yours with enough force to bruise, teeth clashing against yours as he shoved his tongue down your throat in less of a kiss and more of a prolonged attempt to choke you to death. It hurt, and you tasted blood, and if you hadn’t known better, than you would’ve thought this was his first—
Oh, god.
As if this couldn’t have gotten any worse.
He didn’t stay focused on your mouth for long. His attention drifted downward – first to your throat, then your collarbone, then your chest, latching onto one of your nipples and sucking harshly. You hadn’t realized how sensitive you were, not until his teeth dug into the plush of your breast and you let out a fractured sob, tears blurring your vision. Suguru’s response was instantaneous. In a fraction of a second, his slick-stained fingers were tangled in Satoru’s hair, prying him off of you entirely. “Gentle,” he repeated, his tone strict, authoritative. “Before I decide you need to be muzzled.”
For what it was worth, Satoru seemed apologetic. After Suguru loosened his hold, he nuzzled into your chest, lapping over his past love bites with the flat of his tongue. “’m sorry, just got excited.” And then, smiling up at you, “You didn’t mind, right? I mean, she definitely doesn’t.”
You had no idea what he was talking about, not until his head dropped to your cunt and he buried his face between your thighs, his attention suddenly solely dedicated to your pussy.
There was no attempt made to use his hands. Despite Suguru’s instructions, he ate you out like a starving animal – his tongue fucking into your cunt as the bridge of his nose ground mindlessly against your clit. Suguru kept his hand in Satoru’s hair, petting gingerly over his scalp as he watched Satoru drool and lap at your cunt. “Use your entire tongue, and don't inhale. She’s not going to be impressed if you manage to drown yourself in pussy.” Suguru tugged lightly, and Satoru let out an unabashed moan, the reverberations going straight to your core. “Don't get distracted, either. Don’t you want to know what she tastes like cumming on your tongue?”
Another moan, another rough buck of Satoru’s hips into the now disheveled sheets. He was terrible, and messy, and loud, and it was humiliating how quickly you lost control of yourself – going stiff against Suguru as Satoru all-but tore your second climax out of you. Suguru grinned against your throat, almost purring with satisfaction. “Good boy. So dedicated, so sweet.” He let go of Satoru’s hair – cupping your face, instead. It was only as his thumb traced over your cheek that you realized you were crying in-earnest, now. “She’s tearing up, ‘toru. That means she wants you to keep going.”
A mix of your arousal and his saliva stained the inside of your thighs, dampening the sheets underneath you, but he didn’t pull away – too caught up in your taste or Suguru’s praise to stop. It might’ve been the overstimulation, or the drugs, or some impossible, nebulous factor you couldn’t so much as begin to guess as, but time seemed to blur together, reality buckling under its own weight as Satoru wrung another orgasm out of you, then another, then another, as Suguru continued to shower him with praise and affection and promises that you liked him, that you wanted this, that you were only crying and thrashing and trying to snap your thighs shut because you felt so good. At some point, you lost the will to keep your eyes open, and minutes later, the harsher edges of your consciousness began to soften. For once, you couldn't be mad at your own body's instinctual submission.
You knew you were going to black out, but you weren't scared. By the time your vision flickered out and everything went black, the only thing you could think to be was grateful that you’d be fortunate enough to miss the main event.
~
You woke up what felt like days later, still lying on the bed you’d blacked out in. Their paralytics had worn off, but trying to make a run for it was out of the question. Every part of your body ached – from your hickey-painted chest to your aching hips to your poor, abused pussy – and even if you’d been able to move, it wouldn’t have done you much good. Familiar bodies caged you in on either side, Suguru’s chest still pressing into your back while Satoru clung to your chest, his arms wrapped around your midriff and his nails embedded in your sides. As if you hadn't already been thoroughly marked.
Suguru stirred first, predictably. It wasn’t hard to tell who was in charge between the two of them. “Our little sleeping beauty,” he muttered into your hair, kissing the top of your head as he sat up and shook Satoru away. “We were starting to get worried – must’ve pushed you too hard last night. You almost missed the most important part.”
Something caught in your throat. “…almost?”
“Yes, princess, almost.” With a groan, Satoru sat up, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. Immediately, his gaze fell to you, and just as quickly, he was on top of you – pinning you to the mattress, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. “You should be thankful that Satoru had the patience to wait. I wouldn’t have been so nice.”
You felt Satoru’s hands paw at your thighs, wrapping your legs around his waist as he aligned his stiff, leaking cock with your entrance. He moved enthusiastically, but mechanically, like a trained dog. Like he was following instructions. Weakly, you tried to push at his chest, to get him away from you, but you gave up quickly.
You’d been wrong to be grateful. It would’ve been better to get this over with last night.
At least, then, you might’ve been out of it enough to miss the twisted, blissful, lovesick grin painted across Satoru’s lips as he buried himself inside of you.
Pairing: Yandere!Geto x Reader x Yandere!Gojo (JJK).
Word Count: 3.3k.
TW: AFAB!Reader, Dub/Con -> Non/Con, Implied Kidnapping, Oral Sex, Threesomes, The Pervasive Aire of Homoerotica, Slight Exhibitionism/Voyeurism, Violence, Intimidation, and Biting. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.
He let you wait outside while he booked a room. It was a test, obviously – to see if you’d try and run as soon as he let you out of his sight. You didn’t. You kept your back pressed against the peeling cement wall and your hands in your pockets as the man at the front desk screamed, as you listened to the slick sounds of carnage and Geto’s muffled laughter. By the time he came out, his clothes dotted with dark stains and his hands lathered in the same dripping scarlet, you thought you might’ve been too sick for whatever he wanted to do with you.
He held up a hand, two keys and their accompanying plastic tags hanging from each finger. “Pick a number, one through ten.”
You just wanted to get this over with. Then, you wouldn’t have to worry about monsters or mysterious men or any of this ever again. “Eight.”
“Oh, the honeymoon suite.” Your eyes widened, and he cocked his head to the side. “Kidding, kidding. That’ll have to wait, for now.”
The room was nicer than you’d expected. Not quite the oppressively beige monstrosity you’d feared, but not as far from the eye-bleedingly pink love hotel that’d be the permanent backdrop in your worst nightmares as you would’ve liked. Currently, you were sitting on the edge of a king-sized bed with faux-velvet sheets, staring at your feet as Geto washed his hands in the in-suite bathroom. So lost in your own spiraling thoughts, you didn’t notice the water shutting off, didn’t hear him approaching you until the mattress dipped at your side and a pair of hands came to rest on either side of your waist. In one smooth, effortless motion, you were hauled into his lap, left to balance on his thigh as his eyes raked over you unabashedly. “You should try to relax. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were afraid of me.” His hand fell to the hem of your sweater. You’d gotten dressed in a blind panic after waking up to an apartment crawling with those awful things, but now, you regretted not throwing on as many layers as you could, not putting as many barriers as you could between yourself and the feeling of his calloused fingers skirting over your skin. “I can help take the edge off, if you’d like.”
For the first time that day, you felt a spark of relief. “Do you have anything? I’m alright with pills.”
“I was thinking something more along the lines of…” His hand splayed over your stomach, his tone laced with a dark edge. “Choking you until you black-out, then having my way with your helpless body?”
“Oh.” Just as quickly, that spark was extinguished – crushed under an unforgiving heel and stamped into total nonexistence. “I… I think I’d rather be awake, thank you.”
He hummed, tapping two fingers against your hip. “Have it your way, little one.”
Without warning, you were thrown onto the center of the bed. Before you could haul yourself up, before you could fully realize what was going on, Geto was between your open legs, mouth latched onto the inside of your thigh and his hands tearing at your shorts. The flimsy material gave away easily, and your panties didn’t last much longer. You took back what you’d said about wearing less revealing clothes; making this take any longer than it already did would’ve been torture. As deftly as he worked, the knot of dread forming in your chest was faster, quickly overshadowing every rational thought you might’ve had in favor of telling you that you weren’t supposed to be here, that this was dangerous, that you didn’t know what was going on, that you—
His broad tongue laved over your now-exposed slit, and your panicked mind went completely blank. His mouth was hot, and he didn’t waste time, latching onto your clit and sucking before you could think to push him away. Your body, nerves fried by adrenaline and senses dialed up to the point of hypersensitivity, responded immediately, your back arching as you struggled to swallow back a fractured moan. He encouraged your reactions, laving over your clit as two of his fingers found their way to your now-dripping entrance.
His digits slipped into you without resistance, scissoring apart and splitting you open as your own hands balled around the sheets, as you locked your jaw into place and did what little you could swallow back any sounds that’d make you seem more pathetic than you already were. Your pitiful attempts at resistance earned a throaty chuckle that reverberated against your clit and made your thighs clench together. Vaguely, in the distance, you felt his hand curl around your ankle, then you were being bent in half, your legs thrown over his shoulders as he ate you out like a man starved. It was all you could do to keep your eyes shut, the tears that would’ve escaped otherwise safely locked away, to make sure you didn’t kick or thrash or do anything that’d make him decide you’d be more entertaining after you’d been half-mauled by one of his monsters. It was all you could do to keep your mind blank, to block out the terrible, wet noises rising up from between your thighs, to—
The door creaked as it swung open, and you scrambled to pull away from Geto, to cover yourself before someone saw you being brought to the brink of climax by a murderer. He held you in place, though, his grip turning vice-like as he kept you splayed-open and on-display for the familiar, white-haired stranger now standing in the doorway. “Satoru,” Geto started, still idly pumping his fingers into you. “How kind of you to join—”
He didn’t get a chance to finish. You closed your eyes, and when you opened them again, Gojo had him pinned to the far wall, a small crater blown into the cement where the point of collision would’ve been. You could see an orb of blinding, blue light forming in his other hand, but Geto only clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “Keep your dick in your pants, pervert,” he purred, eyes flitting to you. “There are innocents nearby.”
The orb of light disappeared, but Gojo didn’t move. “I don’t mind getting my hands dirty.”
You watched a first form at Geto’s side, watched in a daze as his knuckles collided with Gojo’s cheek with enough force to send him flying across the room and into the side of the bed, fracturing the steel frame. “Me neither, ‘toru.”
Letting out a ragged exhale, Gojo pushed himself to his feet and their conversation devolved into a rush of blows and kicks and insults half-finished before Gojo’s fist collided with Geto’s chin or Geto caught Gojo’s throat in his teeth. Clothes were torn, blood spilled across cheap carpeting, and you blinked once, twice, before shaking your head and hauling yourself up and taking stock of the situation.
They were fighting. Eventually, one of them would probably win, and that winner would probably want to fuck you. Maybe, after that, one of them would also help you. Maybe.
Gojo caught Geto’s hair in his fist and pulled. You could’ve sworn you heard Geto moan.
Okay. Alright. Yeah. No. Fuck this, actually.
Slowly, careful not to make a sound, you stood up and pulled your sweater down to cover your still dripping cunt before inching towards the door which was, surprisingly, still in one piece (it would dawn on you later that Geto must’ve left it unlatched, if not open, much to your delayed mortification). You could figure something else out. There were two other people who knew about your monsters, which meant there must’ve been at least one more. Gojo had been wearing a uniform, when you first met him, running for your life from the mangled mess of teeth and claws that’d managed to sink its talons into you, and you thought you’d heard him mention a school. You could find someone else, someone who wouldn’t ask for sex, someone who wouldn’t know your name before you introduced yourself, someone who’d give you a protective charm or a talisman and then demand for money or unpaid labor in return. You could—
It felt like vertigo, like the surface of the Earth had shifted underneath you. Your body tilted, collapsed, and then Gojo’s arm was wrapped around your waist, his chest pressed into your back and his fingers burrowed into the flesh of your side. “Trying to get away?” His voice was raspy. Geto must’ve gotten his throat. “That’s not very nice.”
“You were the one who burst in uninvited and distracted me,” Geto muttered. His lip was busted, and he cracked his nose back into place as he hauled himself up from the floor. “If you hadn’t interrupted us, they’d still be cumming on my tongue so adorably.”
Gojo didn’t seem to pay him any mind. His attention remained fixed on you, his free hand drifting to your vulnerable pussy. Using his thumb, he gathered some of the slick staining your inner thighs, toying with it as he spoke. “I thought the first time I touched you like this would be more romantic.” He paused, his ears ghosting over the shell of your ear. “Or, the first time I touched you while you were awake, at least. It… it got harder to control myself, toward the end.”
You snapped to Geto, teeth bared. “This wasn’t what we agreed to. I don’t want to—”
“Don’t talk to him.” His fingers slipped into you, curling against the walls of your cunt. Your breath hitched in your chest, and Gojo pressed a fleeting kiss into your cheek. “Don’t look at him. He’s not supposed to be here.”
“I could say the same thing about you, Satoru.” Stretching his back, he made his way back to the bed and collapsed onto it, letting out a strained groan. “If I hadn’t been so kind as to donate all of those very valuable, very hard-to-come-by curses to your pitiful cause, you would’ve waited… how long? Another year before so much as breathing the same air as your little crush?” His half-lidded stare met yours, and he smirked. “You should have a taste. The poor thing is heavenly when they’re scared.”
“He’s always been this bossy. I’m sorry you had to deal with him on your own.” Gojo drew back, but didn’t let you go. Rather, he looped an arm under your knees and pulled you off your feet, carrying you back to that fucking bed. He laid you out with more care than Geto had, but his expression remained uncannily blank. He’d been blindfolded the first time you’d met, and whatever eyewear he’d come with had been either removed or torn away, revealing eyes that were almost painfully blue. The only mercy was his hair – long enough to fall over his face and obscure his empty gaze, his parted lips. His hand drifted to your injured leg, still bandaged from the knee down, and his lips quirked downward. “I’m sorry you had to get hurt, too. But…” He smiled, leaned in until his forehead rested against yours. “It’s good that we’ll get to be together, right?”
You wanted to scream. You wanted to tell him to stop touching you, to let you go home, but you couldn’t go home, so you said nothing.
Geto let out an exaggerated yawn. “I didn’t put this little reunion together because I wanted to hear you talk, ‘toru.”
“See what I mean? So fucking bossy.” And yet, one of his hands fell away from you. You heard fabric rustle, metal clink, and then his cock was free, prodding against the inside of your thigh. You could feel your heart drop into your stomach as your eyes broke away from his and raked over his pale shaft, his flushed head, already leaking beads of ivory precum. He was tall. They were both massive, but nothing attached to a human being should’ve been that big. “You’re lucky I’m letting you watch.”
“Who said I’d be watching?” So preoccupied by your own terror, you didn’t notice Geto shifting until you felt his hands on your sides, then at the hem of your sweater, pulling your only remaining protection over your head. You scrambled to stop him, but there wouldn’t have been much you could to do fend him off at your best, let alone in the state you’d been reduced to tonight. With a breathy chuckle, he finished stripping you down, his attention immediately falling to your chest. “You wouldn’t want me leaving you alone with him, would you, little one?” He bowed his head, catching your nipple with his teeth and pulling harshly. A pained whine slipped past your lips before you could choke it back, and he turned towards Gojo, grinning. “See? They like me.”
Whatever rage Gojo felt, he managed to bury it beneath a soft smile, a pulse of pure electricity in his eyes as he took his cock in his hand, dragging the tip over your entrance. You thrashed, kicked, fought, but he only cooed as he thrust into you, like he was trying to comfort you. Like you would need to be comforted if he just stopped.
He bottomed out, his hips pressing into yours with a blissful sigh, and you lurched forward, moving to claw at his eyes, to wrap your hands around his throat, to do something. Geto caught your wrists before you could so much as touch him, though – laughing as he forced your arms flush against the mattress. As Gojo started to move in earnest, Geto slotted his lips against yours, taking advantage of your distress to force his tongue into your mouth while Gojo fucked you open, whatever gentleness he’d been attempting to show you falling away in favor of burying himself that much deeper in your tight heat. As soon as Geto pulled away, Gojo took his place, his kiss not quite as aggressive but no less invasive, no less unwelcome. You should’ve never left your apartment. You should’ve never run from your monsters. At least they might’ve been kind enough to kill you quickly.
By the time he broke away from you, your vision was spotted with black, your lungs aching from a lack of oxygen. Jerkily, he straightened his back and raised a hand, his fingers soon tangled in Geto’s hair. You watched in a daze as teeth clashed against teeth and lips collided with a bruising force, and considered the terrifying possibility that you might’ve been the first person either of them had ever kissed.
Gojo’s pace turned erratic, his hold on your hip crushing. His pelvic bone caught on your clit every time he thrust into you. You’d been able to control yourself when faced with Geto’s teasing, but now, every little cracked moan and pained whimper slid past your lips, barely audible above the sound of slick squelching and skin slapping against skin. Unwillingly, you clenched around him, and Gojo doubled over with a throaty groan, burying his face in the side of your neck. You felt his mouth on your throat, then his teeth, sinking into your skin deep enough to draw blood. You clenched your eyes shut, willing your body to go numb to the pain, to ignore the coil of pure agony winding tighter in your core, but Geto caught your chin, forcing you to tilt your head back and stare up at him. “Trying to run away again so soon?”
“S-stop,” you half-sobbed, trying to pry his hand away from your face. “Don’t touch me—”
“We’ll have to bring a gag along, next time. That is, unless you learn to be more appreciative.” He shrugged his sweatpants below his waist, wrapping his fist around his cock and guiding it to your lips. “Open up, little one.”
You grit your teeth, keeping your mouth shut as tightly as you could, but Gojo bit down on your collarbone and you screamed, jerking against him. Geto took advantage of your misery, slipping a thumb into your mouth and prying your teeth apart, forcing his cock down your throat. “Bite down,” he muttered, voice low and tone sharpened, “and I’ll make sure he knocks you up.”
A wave of cold dread washed over you, but you didn’t have time to linger on your newly realized fear. Geto was already fucking your skull, already leaving you struggling not to choke as you tried to remember how to breathe around him. Where Gojo was uncontrolled, Geto almost seemed… unaffected, holding your head in place while he rolled his hips with the idle pace of a man determined to milk every second he could out of you. It was unbearable; the burning in your throat, the heat in your core, the feeling of Gojo battering into your cunt until you couldn’t stop your legs from twitching, your back from arching, your pussy from clenching around Gojo’s length and drawing a sinful noise from somewhere deep in his chest. You let out a ragged moan half-suffocated by Geto’s cock, and then you were coming undone around him, your body convulsing underneath his. Gojo wasn’t far behind. With a hitched groan, he pressed his hips into yours and pushed another open-mouthed kiss into your neck, making no attempt to pull out before flooding your pussy with something thick and awful.
Geto wasn’t far behind, his eyes falling shut as he came down your throat. For the longest time, neither of them moved, Geto forcing you to choke down every last drop of his cum while Gojo stare down at you, eyes blank and lips parted, his expression caught somewhere between tender and awe-struck.
Finally, he glanced away from you, looking to Geto instead. “Let’s switch. I want to feel their mouth.”
Geto let out a breath of a chuckle. With your body limp, your jaw slack, he pulled away from you, leaning just close enough to let his lips brush against your temple before straightening his back and moving to take Gojo’s place between your legs. “Whatever you say, lover boy.”
~
Hours later, when your skin was little more than a patchwork of hickeys and bruises and you couldn’t feel anything save for a constant, excruciating ache in your cunt, Geto had fallen asleep with his arm around your waist and Gojo laid next to you, head propped on his fist and a soft smile painted across his lips. You could see the sun starting to rise from behind the thin motel curtains, feel the dread that accompanied being in a strange place with strange men at a strange time, but it all seemed secondary, pushed to a distance by your exhaustion, your devastation. When Gojo wrapped his arms around you, pulling you out of Geto’s hold, all you could summon was a whine of protest, and even that was quickly glazed over with an airy laugh, a quiet hush.
Geto’s shirt (discarded three hours in, when he stepped aside for a shower while Gojo made you cum on his tongue for the fourth time) was pulled over your head, Gojo’s glasses (lost in the initial fight, found briefly while Geto was bouncing you on his cock with one hand and jerking Gojo off with the other, then lost again) snagged off the floor and pocketed. As he slipped out of the beaten motel door, you shut your eyes against the dim light, burying your face in his chest, and he encouraged you to, cupping the back of your neck as he pressed a kiss into your forehead. With his lips still lingering against your skin, he spoke, his voice muffled by his proximity. “It’s alright. You can sleep, if you need to.”
It might’ve been sweeter, if you hadn’t been able to feel every inch of his smile cutting into your skin.
Pairing: Yandere!Geto x Reader (+Yandere!Gojo) [JJK].
Word Count: 1.1k.
TW: Set Two or Three Years Post KFC Break-Up, Intimidation, Prolonged Stalking, Future Dub/Con, Mentions of Non/Con, and Unbalanced Power Dynamics.
[Part Two]
“You’re Satoru’s date, right?”
The voice was masculine, deep and as rough as it could be without crossing the line into gravelly. You stiffened, squaring your shoulders and burrowing your nails into your palm as your eyes darted across the table – where a man with dark hair and an off-putting smile was currently sliding into the unoccupied side of your booth. He reached out, clearly planning to shake your hand, but when you failed to move, he only let out an airy chuckle, propping his chin on his fist as he went on. “I’m a friend of his – Geto Suguru. You can call me Suguru-chan, though. Has he already told you about me?”
He was dressed like he’d just rolled out of bed – his attire limited to a form-fitting black shirt and a pair of loose sweatpants in the same color, his hair pulled into a loose bun. His tone was friendly, light. You returned it with a dead-pan stare, hoping it conveyed the weight of your exhaustion. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Is that what he told you to say?” Another laugh, somehow more blood-chilling than the first. Your attention shifted outward, to the late-night diner where Gojo had asked you to meet him. There were only a few other customers, the skeleton of a proper staff, but single other person would’ve been one too many. You didn’t need to make a scene, not again, not after last time. “That sounds like him. He’s always been a stingy bastard.”
With a pressed frown, you pushed yourself to your feet, but Geto’s grin only broadened. He snapped his fingers and as if it’d only been waiting for a queue, a shape manifested at the end of your bench. You couldn’t bring yourself to look directly at it, but you saw enough out of the corner of your eye; a bulbous torso, shrunken arms, too many eyes to resemble any living thing. Instantly, what little courage you still had was replaced with a knot of dread, a bolt of pure anxiety. You half-expected it to lunge, to bite, to attack, but it didn’t move, only standing guard at the foot of your table.
It didn’t move, but it didn’t have to. In a moment, you’d fallen back into your seat and shoved yourself against the wall, fighting not to shake. It was a sight Geto seemed to take a particular joy in, letting his head lull to the side as he watched you curl into yourself. “You can see them. I was starting to think I had the wrong person.” A pause, a glance towards his summoned monster before his narrowed gaze skirted back to you. “Don’t be shy, now. How much did he tell you?”
It took you a moment to find your tongue, another to swallow back the tremor in your voice. "He said he could protect me.” It was harder to admit than you’d expected – not so much that you needed protection, but that there was something you needed protection from. You’d spent so long writing off your monsters as hallucinations that it was still a struggle to act like they were anything more. But, for as unwilling as you were to confront your little monsters, the resounding ache in your right leg where that thing had dug its claws into you was impossible to ignore. “He… he didn’t mention anyone else, but we’ve only spoken once. He was supposed to explain—” You gestured to the monster. “—all of this today.”
A slight hum, a look of genuine surprise. “So, he’s got some self-restraint after all! I thought he would’ve cracked months ago, considering how long he’s been following you around like a lost puppy.” He must’ve seen your expression fall, your posture slacken, because he didn’t wait for a response before going on. “I mean, you must’ve known that, at least. Did you think he’d play knight-in-shining-armor for just anyone?”
“I…” You trailed off quickly, shaking your head. “I don’t care. As long as he can protect me, I don’t care why he’s doing it.”
“That’s a dangerous thing to say. You wouldn’t want to make Satoru feel so replaceable, now, would you?”
At that, you met his stare. “What do you want?”
His eyes skirted towards the monster, who took an obedient step back. For a second, you considered running, trying to slip away before the man in front of you or your newly-realized stalker could make you regret ever showing up at all, but Geto was quick to cut off your escape route, filling the empty space beside you before you could so much as pick which door you would barrel through on the way out. “Well, now that we’re on the same page,” Unlike his monster, he didn’t give you the option of leaving him in your peripheral; settling close enough for his leg to press into yours. At this proximity, you could pick up the smoke on his breath, the scent of stale gore clinging to him like a second skin. As if he’d just stepped out of a blood bath. “I’d like to make you an alternative offer.”
“You’d protect me?”
“Oh, I’d do more than just that.” His hand fell to your thigh. “I’d have everything you’ve ever been afraid of bowing to you by the end of the night.”
You swallowed dryly. “You didn’t answer my first question. What do you get out of helping me?”
His answer was nonverbal, but clear enough. With that same idle grin, he nodded toward the streaked window, to the building across the street. Your heart fell into your stomach. It was one of those sleazy, by-the-hour hotels – the sign missing more than a few letters and the parking lot as empty as the diner. It was the kind of place that you only went to for one thing, and you had a feeling Geto hadn’t found some miraculous second reason to want to be alone with you in one of those bug-infested rooms.
You weren’t sure why you said it. Maybe to buy yourself time. Maybe because you couldn’t stand the idea of being left in silence as what was left of your rational mind screamed at you to get out of there. “I don’t have any money.”
“It’ll be my treat.”
“What happens I refuse?”
“I kill everyone here,” His nails bit into exposed skin. “And then fuck you on this table while their bodies attract flies.”
You might’ve cried, if you hadn’t been so tired.
You might’ve done anything, if you could bring yourself to care about anything but keeping those awful creatures at a distance.
Stiffly, with your eyes shut and your teeth grit, you forced yourself to nod. Geto rewarded you with an impossibly wide grin, a breath of a laugh. “Smart little thing.”
This time, he didn’t pretend it was an option; reaching out, taking your trembling hand in his own, and squeezing so softly, you could almost convince yourself he was being gentle.
tw - period kinks, controlling behavior, LOTS of menstrual blood, and geto suguru (just, like, in general).
might just be my deranged little brain acting up, but i think geto would go absolutely feral when you're on your period.
his taste buds are bound to be a little fucked up after multiple decades of choking down curses, so when he gets a taste of your heady, sweet-tinged blood, he treats it like a fine wine. you'll spend all week on your back, your legs thrown over his shoulders and his face buried between your thighs as he happily eats you out for hour after hour, a mix of blood and slick and saliva dripping down his chin as he lethargically sucks and licks you far past the point of overstimulation. if he can convince you to sit on his face (at least until the first time you lose consciousness), even better. if it was up to him, the world you just be you, him, and your sweet pussy.
medication and heating pads are withheld because he's 'just so worried about the side-effects :('. if you want something for your cramps, you're going to have to either sit in his lap and warm his cock like a good little acolyte or, better yet, let him pump some ribbed, pulsing toy into your cunt and watch as orgasm after orgasm melt away any pain you might've felt. any time you complain that you have things to do that don't involve him playing with your pussy, he'll offer to knock you up and make it so that you don't have to worry about your period for a whole nine months :) you tend not to complain, after that.
it doesn't matter whether or not you're tracking your cycle, he's got it memorized. when he's at his worst (which is almost always), he might even conveniently ""forget"" to restock your supplies. he just thinks it's so cute when you get all embarrassed and teary-eyed, your voice shaking and your hands kneading at your stomach as you reluctantly ask him to run such a personal errand for you. he will, obviously, he'd do anything you asked him to, but he will absolutely might just drag his feet, use your discomfort as an excuse to haul you into a hot bath - but not before he takes it upon himself to clean you up with his tongue, to massage your aching chest with his big, calloused hands. if you're sore and hypersensitive, even better. he might take an extra few minutes just to watch you squirm.
tldr; geto suguru has a menstrual blood fetish and he's going to make it your problem. thank you for coming to my ted talk etc. etc.
an installment of the freak shit march gallery showcase.
pairing: yandere!geto x reader (jjk).
length: 3.0k.
warnings: non/con, fem!reader, watersports, infantalization, mentions of physical abuse, physiological abuse, implied kidnapping, and humiliation. dead dove: do not eat.
Geto Suguru was going to kill you.
Slowly, tortuously, and with pleasure. The same way he slaughtered curses too weak to be worth choking down, the same way he allowed his non-sorcerer acolytes to be torn apart after they’d expended their usefulness. Maybe he’d make you drink boiling water, or battery acid, something hot and corrosive that would destroy you from the inside out. Maybe he would drive some curve-bladed, ritualistic dagger through your heart and leave you on his altar to bleed out. Maybe he would have you drawn and quartered, even if you weren’t completely sure where he’d find the horses. You wouldn’t put it past him, though.
You guessed the method didn’t actually matter. Whatever he chose, whatever grisly end you imagined for yourself, the fact of the matter stood true.
He was going to fucking kill you.
You crumpled into yourself, pushing your body further into the back of the closet. Hiding would’ve been pointless, but you weren’t really trying to. Suguru had locked the bedroom door after shoving you inside, and you were beyond the point of trying to escape on impulse. It was all you could do to curl into yourself and try to forget where you were, what was coming, whose blood was drying under your nails. Even that was a futile effort – successful only in dragging your last minutes alive to a standstill and giving you that much more time to contemplate your utter hopelessness. You would’ve been better off banging on the walls and begging him to kill you now. At least, then, he might’ve gotten it over with quickly.
You buried your face in your knees, groaning aloud, but your spiral into complete despair was cut short. Distantly, you heard a lock click out of place, a door swing open, a set of padded footsteps growing ever-closer. You were tempted to stay where you were, to pretend he wasn’t there, but that would’ve only delayed the inevitable. Instead, you swallowed your fear, pushed yourself to your feet, and went to meet your hangman.
Of course, Suguru was waiting for you when you finally opened the closet door, and of course, he was the pinnacle of composure. Calm and collected, leaning on the foot of his bed, his hair pulled back and his traditional attire traded out for a plain black long-sleeved shirt and a pair of loose-fitting sweatpants. The three jagged lines carved into his cheek had been cleaned, but not bandaged over. Either they hadn’t been deep enough to be worth his time, or he wanted you to see them. Hopefully the former, but most likely the latter.
He smiled when he saw you – the expression softened, gentle. “There’s my pretty girl.”
You weren’t so serene.
Throwing yourself into his arms was more of a survival instinct than any real bid for comfort. He caught you easily, laughing as you barreled into his chest and buried your face in his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” you managed, voice muffled by fabric and proximity. “It was an accident, I—I didn’t mean to, please don’t hurt—”
“Slow down. I don’t even know what you’re saying.” He rested a hand on the top of your head, combing his fingers through your hair. “Why would I hurt you?”
Why wouldn’t he? He’d threatened to break your legs for so much as verbally wishing him dead, before. This was worse. This was a death sentence.
“Because…” It was hard to find an answer that wouldn’t incriminate you further. You pulled back, gesturing to your cheek. “Because of the accident.”
He hummed. “Remind me which accident, honey?”
Something curdled in the pit of your stomach. You let your eyes fall to your feet. “This afternoon, during your sermon.” And then, when Suguru continued to wait for a proper answer, “When you tried to pull me into your lap. You caught me off-guard, and I—” Fought back. Pushed him away. Acted like a fucking idiot. “—hurt you. It wasn’t on purpose.”
There was more to it than that. His followers had been watching, and the beat of silence that’d followed your little outburst had rung louder than anything he’d preached. You embarrassed him. It was only a miracle that he hadn’t gutted you on the spot.
“Of course.” His hand slipped down to your neck, his thumb rubbing circles in the apex of your spine. “And how could I punish you for something you didn’t mean to do?”
Easily. He’d done it before – more times than you could count. Your wrist still hurt from the day he’d dislocated it after finding a few loose coins underneath your mattress. You still weren’t sure they’d gotten there, let alone where you would’ve picked them up, but it’d been enough to make Suguru think you were planning to run away. Justification beyond that was superfluous.
But this wasn’t the time to point that out. You only nodded irrationally into his chest, and Suguru chuckled, kissing the top of your head. “I think someone’s had a long day,” he murmured, squeezing you against him before pulling away. “Let’s get you fed n’ cleaned up, alright? We’ll talk about your bedtime after that.”
You didn’t trust his sugary tone or saccharine expression, but obediently, you muttered a small ‘okay’. Suguru pulled back, taking you by the hand and leading you away.
His apartment was a small, depressing thing. He had a larger home further from the city, one with spare bedrooms for both of his girls and a private chamber where he could speak with his strange, eccentric guests privately. His live-in captive couldn’t exist under the same roof as his beloved daughters, though, and you weren’t the type of possession he liked to show off, so you were relegated to a well-maintained, but painfully unloved apartment not far from his temple. There wasn’t much decoration beyond the steel bolts on every door and window, nor did what few personal effects he kept scattered around bring you much joy – a cat o’ nine tails draped over the back of the sofa, a vacant dog crate set up in the corner of the living room. There was nothing of yours, of course. Suguru didn’t really let you have interests beyond him. Anything that demanded more of your attention than needlepoint or absentmindedly nodding along to his megalomaniacal rants was deemed unsuitable and quickly done away with.
The kitchen was a little homier, but not by much. Suguru sat you down at the kitchen table before moving to the nearest counter. There was nothing on the stove, no ingredients laid out to prep, but an electric kettle simmered quietly next to a small glass container. He hummed as he worked, filling the container with scalding hot water, measuring out a cup or so of some colorless powder and mixing it in. It wasn’t until he produced a lid – thick at the base with a pink-tinted nipple spouting out of it like some unfortunate tumor – that you realized it wasn’t a container, but a bottle. For a second, it was all you could do to sit there, motionless and bewildered, and wonder where he’d managed to find a baby.
The lid was worked onto the bottle, the temperature checked against his wrist. He placed it onto the table in front of you delicately, as not to damage the glass, and your confusion immediately turned to dread.
“I… I don’t think I have much of an appetite.”
“You’ll have to try. Growing girls need their calories.” He fell into the seat next to you, tapping his knee. “Right here, honey.”
You looked toward the bottle, then to Suguru – still smiling, still unwavering. You took a deep breath, reminded yourself that there were worse things in the world than ego-death, and pushed yourself to your feet.
Dinner was a slow, effortful, and humiliating task. Suguru held you snugly, cooing out praise as he held the bottle against your lips. You tried not to think about the lack of flavor, or the way the milk clung to the back of your throat in clumps, or why he’d apparently had baby formula and a nursing bottle on-hand. The bottle was refilled once at its half-way point, then again as you neared the last few drops. By the time you finished, your stomach ached and fatigue had knit itself into the very fabric of your being, encouraging you to shut your eyes, to rest your head against Suguru’s shoulder, to fall into the repetitive sucking motion despite the knots of soreness forming in your jaw. Still, you knew better than to complain. As far as punishments went, this was relatively tame. You’d embarrassed him in front of his congregation, and he’d embarrassed you in front of the only person allowed to see you - him. Fair enough, good game, etc.
There was no pretense of autonomy by way of reward. Suguru kept you gathered in his arms – tucked against his chest as he carried you through the empty halls and balanced on his lap while drew a bath, the water hot enough to steam. You half-expected him to leave you to your own devices or, more predictably, to strip down and join you, but he just perched himself on the edge of the basin, only breaching the distance to wash your hair or lather your skin. It might’ve been nice, in another context, with a more loving partner. Under Suguru’s watchful gaze, it was hard to feel like anything more precious than a pet being groomed.
As Suguru drained the water, you realized you had to pee. Badly.
Which wasn’t surprising, on its own. You’d practically drunken half your body weight, and it wasn’t like there’d been many chances for a bathroom break pre-punishment, either. You did your best not to squirm as Suguru patted you down with towel, not to complain when he carefully removed the toothbrush from your hand in favor of shoving it past your lips himself. “You’ve already gotten in enough trouble, today,” he explained as he took your jaw in his free hand, holding you still when you reflexively recoiled. “We’d better make sure you don’t have the opportunity to do anything else you might regret.”
After what felt like much, much longer than two minutes, he let you rinse your mouth out without further intervention. When you were done, you lingered in front of the vanity, shifting your weight from one foot to the other.
“Do you mind if I…” You swallowed. “…if I get a few minutes alone?”
He hummed. “And why would you want to be alone, love?”
Your face burned. Suguru was always terrible, but he wasn’t normally this dense. “I, uh—Nevermind, I guess. It’s nothing.”
If Suguru noticed your discomfort, he was more than happy to gloss over it. Your usual sleepwear consisted of, on good nights, one of Suguru’s oversized shirts or, on most nights, nothing at all. Tonight, though, Suguru seemed to be in the mood to play dress-up – forcing an ivory nightgown over your head, combing the hair away from your face, tying a delicate, pale pink ribbon around your neck. It was only after he’d taken the better part of five minutes to slide a pair of perfectly white, perfectly frilly knee-sigh socks up your legs that he seemed satisfied, taking a step back to admire his work.
This must’ve been the second part of your punishment. It wasn’t as bad at the bottle, sure, but there was something about the way Suguru’s gaze burnt into you, the vague amusement playing underneath his lovestruck grin, the pressing awareness that he was enjoying this. You let your eyes fall into your lap, but Suguru was quick to correct you – cupping your cheek and tilting your head back, coaxing you to meet his gaze. “Feeling shy?” He squeezed, the gesture playful, yet forceful enough to bruise. “You certainly weren’t during my sermon.”
You opened your mouth to protest, to insist that it’d been an accident, but Suguru’s patience must’ve been growing thin. His mouth was on yours before you could get a word out, teeth biting into your lips, tongue raking over yours. You felt his hands, next – eager and groping, slipping under the skirt of your dress, kneading at your ass and thighs. You squeaked, jerking away, and surprisingly, Suguru let you, his hands settling on your waist.
“I’m sorry, but I—” For the millionth time that night, your voice seemed to catch in your throat. This time, you forced yourself to choke it up. “I really have to use to the bathroom.”
You heard him laugh, felt his mouth against the crook of your neck. “I know, honey.”
One of his hands drifted to your stomach, pressing down lightly. You tried to scramble back, but Suguru held you in-place – bringing a knee onto the mattress for better leverage. “I’m serious, it’s really—”
“I never said you weren’t.” His touch drifted to your cunt, two fingers dragging circles over your clit. For all the time he’d spent picking out your clothes, panties had been strategically forgotten. “It’s alright. I’m here whenever you’re ready.”
Your breaking point was staggeringly abrupt and humiliatingly minor. Suguru’s arm wrapping around your waist, his body turning over yours as he fell onto the mattress and dragged you on top of him. The bulk of his thigh pressed into your cunt, and something inside you split, cracked, spilled. It was too fast, too hot, too wet, and you couldn’t seem to make it stop. You clenched your eyes shut, anything not to have to see the growing yellow stain spreading across the white of your nightgown, but that didn’t save you from the warmth trickling down your legs, the puddle quickly forming on Suguru’s lap.
It was a dizzying juxtaposition; the tightness in your lower stomach as more pressure was put on your bladder, the heat pooling in your core as Suguru continued to trace aimless patterns into your clit. His mouth latched onto your throat, sucking hickeys into tender skin before dropping lower, following the curve of your breast. His lips sealed around your nipple just as his fingers fell from your clit to your pussy, thrusting into you with only the slightest hint of warning.
Suguru was never careful during sex, not beyond what it took to keep from breaking your neck when he wrapped his hands around your throat, but he was normally deliberate, normally intentional in the ways he used and contorted your body. Now, he seemed determined to curl and spread his digits with little to no regard for your pleasure, to batter his fingers into your cunt like he was trying to split you apart from the inside out. It hurt, but even worse, it was working – slick staining the inside of your thighs as you struggled to close your legs around his hand. You tried to get him away from you, to dig your nails into his shoulder and scratch at his chest, but Suguru only groaned into your chest, sucking that much more harshly.
It didn’t save you from his laugh – barking and cruel – or his hand on your stomach, palm pushing into your bladder, milking your embarrassment. “This,” he hissed, venom sharpening the edges of his infantilizing coo. “is a fucking accident. The shit you pulled during my sermon – that was a brat begging to be put in her place. Don’t try to pass off one for the other again.”
You tried to open your mouth, to spit that you should’ve clawed out his eyes when you’d had the chance, but the only noise you seemed able to make was an unsteady, trembling whine. A flood of humiliated tears escaped despite your best efforts, forming searing tracks down the length of your face, and Suguru leaned towards you, pressing a light kiss into your temple before running the flat of his tongue over your left cheek. There was no attempt at comfort as he dragged your hips against his, as freed his cock and aligned his tip with your entrance. He thrust into you as the last deposits of piss were forced out of your bladder, your mess leaking down his shaft. Suguru only moaned, twitching inside of you.
You didn’t want to cry. Really, you didn’t want to, but apparently, you’d managed to lose control of more than one of your bodily functions. Suguru crooned as the first sob broke past your lips, then another, until you were all-but wailing as he bounced you on his cock. With an artificial sort of exasperation, he lowered you gently onto the mattress, rolling his hips against yours. “Aw, baby, did I hurt your feelings?” The question was sardonic, teasing. As if both of you weren’t covered in your piss. “Here – I’ve got just the thing for delicate little princesses like you.”
Through tear-blurred vision, you watched him pull his shirt over his head and throw it thoughtlessly over his shoulder. A hand was brought to the back of your head and your mouth forced against his chest – lips smashed against his nipple. “Go ahead.” His nails scraped against your scalp. “All little girls love their pacifiers, don’t they?”
It was a wonder, how you’d ever thought you would get away with damaging his pride so easily.
It was a wonder, why you’d ever thought death was the worst thing he could force onto you.
He thrust into you, and you went limp underneath him. A whimper dying in the back of your throat, you let your mouth fall open, latched onto his chest, and started to nurse.
TW: Non/Con, AFAB!Reader, Tentacles, Curse!Satoru, Mentions of Major Character Death, Stalking, Mentions of Kidnapping, Slight Overstimulation, Obsessive Behavior, and Body Horror.
Gojo Satoru died one year, eight months, and twenty-nine days ago.
You knew it was that length of time exactly because you considered each day, each week, each month to be its own little miracle, all worth tracking with a stomach-knotting sort of wonder, and you knew he was dead because you’d been the one to kill him. It sounded more dramatic than it was, really. He was determined to keep you, and you didn’t want to be kept. He’d been off his game, distracted, and you’d stabbed him so many times, it’d hardly made a difference when the blade of your knife broke off in his rib cage. He did what he wanted to, and you did what you had to. Anything to know he wouldn’t always be around the next corner, eyes locked onto you like he was never going to look away.
There was more fallout with the higher-ups. The idea of executing you was floated, but quickly abandoned. No one liked the idea of letting it get out that a civilian had been the end of their strongest sorcerer – a civilian he was keeping as a live-in hostage, at that. In the end, you were given a house in the countryside, an annual stipend, and strict orders to keep to yourself. You weren’t sure what story they made up about Satoru, but you weren’t sure you cared, either. You knew he was dead. That was really all you needed – to know he was dead.
And you did know. At least, you had.
It was a lot harder to be so sure when Gojo Satoru, less than entirely dead, was standing in your living room.
Except, it wasn’t Satoru. It looked like him, but in the way that a scarecrow looked human, in the way that an office cubicle looked like a house. He was too tall, head nearly scraping against your low ceiling. His silhouette was defined by absence – pitch-black, tar-like void forming the shadow that still haunted your worst dreams and dripping onto your carpet at the fingertips. Two additional pairs of arms jutted out from his sides, hanging limply where they had been grafted on. Not being able to see his face might’ve been a relief, but he’d never been so kind. Blue eyes, too bright and too focused and too many, circled what should have been his head, forming halos of voyeuristic intent. Watching. Waiting. Taking.
You dropped the paper bag in your arms, groceries scattering across the floor of your entryway. Your mind was caught in the same loop, attempting to weigh what was happening in front of you against how it could be happening at all, but your body was more reactive. Hand planted on the doorframe, you moved to sprint in whatever direction took you away, but Satoru was faster, just like he’d always been. Something damp and cold wrapped around your elbow, jerking you back and to the ground. Another tendril reached out, shutting the door you’d left ajar. That made sense. Satoru had always made it a point to corner you when he was alive, too.
The entity, the shadow didn’t move. You stayed where you were, staring up at him, trying to think of an impossible next move. There were knives in the kitchen. Would stabbing a dead man work? You couldn’t scream, the nearest neighbor was twenty minutes down the road. Maybe you were dreaming. If you hurt yourself, you might—
“My love,” he rasped, voice emerging from too many places all at once. He cocked his head to the side. “My love?”
You knew you were supposed to respond, but you just couldn’t seem you. The shadow seemed to take your silence as answer enough, ambling towards you on legs that never seemed to move. “(Y/n)?”
You forced yourself to swallow. “I’m here, Satoru.”
“That’s not what you call me.”
“Sorry, ‘toru.”
A deep purr sparked somewhere deep in his chest. He raised an arm, fingertips melding into one long, black tendril as he brought them together. This time, he didn’t grab or pull. The tendril made contact with your wrist, slipping around your forearm and winding up your bicep. It felt warmer than you’d expected. There was a strange, static buzz where he touched you – electricity playing just underneath the skin. Like the fibers of your being couldn’t decide whether or not to tear themselves apart.
“Waited for you, wanted—” Another tendril found your waist, slipping underneath your shirt. Your breath hitched as it circled upward, running over your chest. “It was dark. I couldn’t find you.”
“I’m sorry, ‘toru.” You straighten your back, doing your best to ignore the tapered point now idly circling one of your nipples. “If you let me go, I can explain what—”
“No.” His right hand – one of his real hands – lashed out. This time, his fingers kept their shape as they curled around your throat and shoved you back to the ground, cutting off your airway. You tried to gasp, regardless, clawing at his wrist, and Satoru’s grip loosened immediately. Monster or otherwise, he still didn’t seem to like the idea of hurting you. Not so directly, at least. “Not yet. Missed you.”
Your heart dropped. It wasn’t hard to guess what he meant, but the tendril now slipping off of your arm and down to your waist cleared up and ambiguities there might have been.
You made the mistake of trying to resist, of grabbing for the snaking limb slipping underneath your waistband. There was a surprising ruthlessness to the way he dealt with you – a single hand spared to gather up your hands and haul them above your head, spreading you out for his evaluation. You kicked at his body as he explored lower, but your foot only sunk into darkness. It took more effort to pull out again than it should have, like you were fighting a secondary gravitational force. Like you were skirting along the edge of a black hole.
Satoru didn’t seem to notice. All of his many, many eyes were focused on your body, the length of midriff exposed as your shirt rode up, the curve of your waist, your hips as his tendril nudged your skirt low on your thighs, taking your panties in the same motion. There was no pretense of teasing, of foreplay. A limb snaked around your thigh, squeezing gently as its tapered end found your clit. The texture was smooth, slick, wrong. The feeling of Satoru’s eyes burning into you, even more so.
His tendril drew slow, curious patterns into your clit. At the same time, another fell to run over your slit, easing itself as your body relented to his invasive touch. That was the worst part, really – how quickly you gave in. This wasn’t alien, as unnatural as it felt. You knew Satoru. You recognized him. And your body, however stubbornly your mind refused to, recognized this.
“I was gone for too long.” He trailed off, his remaining hand coming up to cup your cheek. The tendril inside of you bucked shallowly, experimentally, savoring the way you spread open around him. Your cunt clenched and above you, Satoru seemed to shutter, to lean closer. “You were alone. I left you alone.”
“I—” Your breath hitched as he fell into a steady rhythm, pushing himself that much deeper with every thrust. You could feel it curling against your walls, searching for something that made you shake and moan underneath him the same way you used to. Acting on habit, you guessed, and it was working. Despite yourself, pleasure sparked in your core, your body twitching in his hold. It reminded you a little of the first night Satoru spent with you, of the day your life ended. He’d held you just as tightly, albeit with fewer hands. “I wanted to be alone, you—”
“But you weren’t supposed to be.” The tendril coiled around your chest tightened. There would be bruises for weeks, if you survived this at all. Again, your nipple was his main area of concentration – circling it, swiping over it. For a moment, it almost seemed like his tendril split apart again, forming something not unlike a hand to palm at the curve of your breast, to dig his fingertips into plush flesh. That awful, beating buzz only made things worse, forcing your back to arch and your breath to hitch whenever he made contact with something more sensitive than skin. “I’m going to take care of you, I—”
His many arms went still.
“I remember, now. I love you.”
Whatever reprieve he might’ve offered you was brief. When he started moving again, it was with intention; pounding into your cunt with the same writhing force, bullying your clit, groping your chest. You tried to scream, but the head of yet another tendril forced its way past your lips and to the back of your throat, settling there as something hot and bitter seeped onto your trapped tongue. Your climax – because this was always going to end with your involuntary submission – was abrupt, strained, and prolonged. Your mouth fell open, but any protests were muffled into senseless noise by his makeshift gag, and your legs could only spread that much wide, to welcome him that much deeper. Satoru’s constant purr deepened into a full-throated rumble, the reverberations pulsing into your clit, your core. That was enough to tip you over the edge a second time, then a third. Satoru nursed you through the worst of it, then his pace slow.
It was more out of necessity than kindness. Even a monster had to know more so quickly would’ve broken you. The tendril inside of you drew back, curling your thigh, while the arm teasing your chest settled around your midriff. He hauled you up like that, keeping your arms above his head and your body limp in his hold. One of your hands was allowed to slip out of his grasp, and you made a desperate attempt to reach his eyes, to claw them out before he could—
A void-black hand caught yours by the wrist, drawing it close to his chest. The darkness seemed to slip apart, pull to either side, uncovering a heart – red and beating and fractured. White light spilled from the cracks, swallowed up almost immediately by his shadows. Even then, it was too bright. Even then, you knew it was going to burn through you.
Satoru cupped your hand against it, the atrophied muscle pulsing against your palm. “I love you.” And then, again, “I love you.”
It was astonishing, really.
Somehow, even with your hand pressed against his beating heart and obsessions puppetting what should’ve been his rotting corpse, you still couldn’t make yourself believe him.
TW: Dub/Con -> Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Figure Skating AU, Forced Deep-Throating, Implied Kidnapping, Social Isolation, and Unbalanced Power Dynamics. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.
Satoru was going to kill you.
You knew, rationally, that this wasn't your fault. He was a monster. He locked you in his penthouses and luxury rentals, cut off your access to the friends and family that might take you away from him, promised so sweetly that if you ever left his side, he would make sure the life you led without him wasn't worth living at all. The least you could do was push him away every now and then, even if all your resistance amounted to was refusing to kiss him before he left for another world championship, another Grand Prix, another opportunity to make everyone in the world worship the name Gojo Satoru. For luck, he'd said. And then, when you'd only cried and cringed away from him, Fine. You can kiss the medal after I win.
Only, he hadn't won.
He'd tripped.
It was his signature combination, too. The first jump had been alright, if shaky, but the second--
It was bad. On the ice, against the wall, commentators too shocked to speak bad.
And he was going to kill you for it.
It was all you could do to pace from one side of the living room to the other as you waited for him to get home. You'd tried to mitigate the damage - forcing yourself into the set of lingerie he'd packed for his victory lap and dimming the villa's lighting into something more romantic, something more forgiving. Still, your heart was beating too loudly for you to hear the front door open, to catch Satoru's heavy footsteps as he made his way to you. Your only warning was a deep breath as the loitered in the living room's doorway, a soft call of your name. Immediately, you swallowed your nerves down and ran to him.
Of course, Satoru welcomed you with open arms. His heavy coat crinkled as you through yourself against him, the beads and rhinestones of his costume somehow biting into you through the thick fabric. He was cold to the touch, but you'd come to expect that. He lived on the ice. The rest of the world, including you, was only a way to pass the time.
"Princess," he murmured, kissing the top of your head. He caught the hem of your babydoll, toying with the lace. "All this for me?"
You flashed a plastered-on smile up at him. "I thought you might need a little cheering-up."
"And why's that?"
Your heart clenched. "I-- I know you had a hard night," you managed, before the lapse was too noticeable. "I saw your skate."
He hummed, fishing something out of his pocket. "Not too bad. Look at this," he said, holding up his medal by the strap. The circle of polished, gleaming bronze felt like an accusation. Evidence of your wrong-doing. "Something new for the trophy case. I was getting tired of gold, anyway."
Right. Because Satoru had never gotten anything less than gold. Ever.
You felt like you were going to vomit.
Thankfully, he was already pulling away from you. Dropping the medal some athletes worked their entire lives to see thoughtlessly to the ground, he took your hand and tugged you toward the sofa. "C'mon. There's something I wanna show you."
Satoru traveled. A lot. He had high-end preferences, and after you became his favorite carry on, another requirement was added to his long list of necessities - the largest possible flat-screen T.V. Sometimes, he'd tow you to his competitions and make you cheer from the side of the rink, but he normally didn't want you getting so close to so many people. Somewhere to watch live, but at a distance, was more reliable. More within his control.
He fell onto the center of the couch. You moved to sit next to him, but he shook his head, pointing towards the ground. You grimaced, but you reminded yourself that things could be worse. A blowjob was leagues better than, you didn't know, being flayed alive with the blade of his skates or something.
You settled onto your knees at his feet. The steps were mechanical and familiar. Wrestle with the drawstring of his pants. Free his cock, already half-hard and leaking into your palm. You brought your lips to the flushed tip, lapping over it in short, quick swipes while your right hand worked his shaft. Satoru groaned, running his fingers through your hair. His free hand found the remote, the bulk of his attention still lazily focused on the flat-screen.
You tried to turn your brain off as you took him into your mouth. Mentally, you were somewhere else. The thing that felt the weight of Satoru's head on its tongue, the thing bobbing gently on a monster's cock - that wasn't you. Except, it was hard to disassociate when you could see color flashing in the corner of your eye, hear the ostentatious music and pretentious commentary of Satoru's chosen passion. His performance. He was watching his performance.
Whatever. That didn't matter. You sunk as low as you could, but admittedly, the depth wasn't very impressive. Your motivation was low and Satoru was big. You only had half of him in your mouth by the time his tip hit the back of your throat, and already, your jaw ached with the strain of it.
Normally, this was when you would find a rhythm, a pattern to fall into. Satoru would purr, laugh, praise you. Eventually, he'd cum and you'd slink away to find something acidic enough to wash the taste out of your mouth. Messy, but fast. That was what you'd gotten used to. That was your new normal.
But, Satoru wasn't feeling like himself, tonight. That was he'd fallen.
That was why he was doing this to you.
His cock twitched on your tongue as he pressed his palm down on the back of your head. You gagged around him, your throat struggling to accommodate an inch of his length, then two. You beat your fist against his thigh, trying to warn him, but Satoru's attention was elsewhere.
"There it is," he said, a minute or so into his routine. In the background, you heard a body slam against ice, commentators wincing in second-hand embarrassment. Satoru rewound, then let it play again. "Fuck, it looks so much worse from this angle. It hurt, y'know. Figure skating's pretty dangerous. I could've broken a leg. I could've broken my neck."
A mix of spit and arousal welled at the corner of your lips, dripping over your chin, your chest. Satoru only forced himself deeper. You felt your bottom lip split and start to bleed.
"I wasn't worried about that, though. To be honest, it's kind of hard to think about anything out there. You're listening for your cues, keeping track of where you are in the rink, smiling at the judges..." He let out a breathy laugh which trailed into an airy moan. His veins were like tracks of molten lava against your tongue, your throat. All raw heat with no room to flinch back. "But that's the weird part. Right..." He paused in the middle of a jump. "...here. I was doing fine, and then, I had this thought."
His nails bit into your scalp. Your nose pressed into his lower stomach.
You couldn't breathe.
"She doesn't love me." Another laugh, this one crueler than the first. "I don't know. It was just that, then I was on the ground. She doesn't love me, then I lost."
He shifted underneath you, leaning back. Your vision blurred, then began to darken around the edges.
"It's not true, obviously, but I'd love to hear you say it. Can you do that for me, princess? Can you tell me how much you love me?"
You couldn't. You couldn't, but you tried - mouthing the words around his length. The sound you made was intelligible, nothing more than whines and wordless vocalizations, but Satoru didn't seem to mind. His hand went stiff against the back of your head. He hunched over you, and then, something thick and choking and hot enough to blister was flooding down your throat. Satoru held you there for a second, then another before pulling back and letting his cum splatter over your face, your neck, your chest. If you'd been braver, you might've lunged at him, tried to do what his fall couldn't. If you'd had any strength left at all, you might've screamed.
But, you didn't. You collapsed against him, gasping for air. Satoru only cooed, combing the hair out of your face. Trying to get a clear of the misery he'd caused. "My pretty girl," he sighed. He leaned down, pulling your crumpled body into his lap.
His lips came to rest against the top of your head. You could feel the sharp edges of his smile, the low warmth of his breath as went on.
TW: Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Allusions to Child Neglect/Abuse, Mentions of Death, Minor Blood/Injury, Age Gap (Reader is early 20s, Toji is late 40s), Emotional Manipulation, Unbalanced Power Dynamics, and Semi-Public Groping.
Toji was late. Again.
It was your own fault for expecting him not to be, honestly. The only days he ever showed up on time were the days you unwisely agreed to meet him at a horse track, or a fighting ring, or anywhere else he could place a bet while you tried in vain to explain the details of you upcoming job. Shiu had warned you, but you had learned the hard way that Toji wasn’t the listening type. Maybe, someday, the lesson would actually sink in.
You shut your eyes, leaning back against the cool concrete. Seconds slipped past, pushing you farther and farther from your ramshackle schedule. You didn’t like being late. You didn’t like putting your rent money on the line for someone who couldn’t be bothered to show up. You didn’t want to like Toji, but that didn’t seem to matter
On your feet, now, nearly tripping over the guitar case at your feet as you passed the narrow width of the alleyway. You could call him. Despite everything, Toji had never missed one of your calls, even if he made texting a waking nightmare. But, calling him would mean you had to hear his voice that much sooner, and as desperate as you were to see him, a small part of you was quietly thankful for every moment you didn’t have to spend in his company. After every well-paying job, you’d luxuriate in the time you spent away from him, savor every day that passed without a looming figure in your peripheral or an overly large hand cupped over yours, pretending you didn’t know how to aim a pistol. That was after you got paid, though. If he was much later, you could kiss this check good—
A hand on your shoulder, a presence immediately behind you. You reached for the handgun tucked into your belt, but your assailant was faster – wrapping a strong arm around your midriff and pinning your arms to the side. You tried to kick out, but you were already being hauled off your feet, dragged against a broad chest as you struggled and thrashed. Your mind flashed to possible threats – a rival bounty hunter, a rouge sorcerer – and then practical solutions, like the knife strapped to your right calf or the case of cursed energy infused ammunition in your left boot. You’d just started to swing your knee up to your chest when, as suddenly as you’d been attacked, you were dropped and the alleyway was filled with a deep, rolling laugh. You blinked, humiliation-tinged rage slowly taking the place of primal fear.
Toji stood above you, terrible and gloating. He looked as tall as the skyscrapers on either side of you, the dark masking every feature of his expression save for that manic, self-satisfied grin. You let your eyes drop to the floor and pushed yourself up, pointedly ignoring the hand he offered to you.
“You’re late,” you grumbled, nearly under your breath. “The target arrived twenty minutes ago.”
“Thought you’d count your sweet ass lucky that I bothered to come at all. ‘specially with the way you talk to me.”
He kicked your guitar case upright, catching the handle haphazardly in one hand and holding it out to you – a peace offering, you figured. You snatched it away from him, slinging it over your shoulder protectively.
“It’s important. I wanted to be on the roof by the time he got to his room, catch him—”
“—with his pants down and his dick in his hand, got it.” He breezed past you, making his way to the locked door at the end of the alleyway. Begrudgingly, you followed after him. “Relax. You know you’re in good hands, right?”
Not right. You were prepared to tell him as much, too, but then he glanced over his shoulder and you were swallowing your tongue, suddenly only capable of staring pointedly at the ground. You hated what he did to you, forcing you to be so deeply, painfully aware that you were a very new player in a very old game. You hated how he made you feel, like you were just a puppy biting at the ankles of a mountain lion. You hated how you sounded around him – all whining and chirping, too childish to be respectable. You hated what he made you into.
You hated him.
Not that it mattered. In the end, you said the same thing you always did – nothing. Toji paused, cocking his head to the side. “Right, princess?”
A grimace, a stilted nod. It was a meager sacrifice, but it satisfied the beast. He marched on without another word.
You had planned to pick the lock, but Toji shattered the deadbolt with the heel of his foot. He shrugged past the door, and you followed after him, a lesser shadow fixed to the soles of something greater.
Work was quick with Toji, efficient. You’d seen him enjoy himself, watched him gut self-righteous sorcerers like the mindless cattle they were, but that wasn’t his usual motif. You stuck to back-halls and service corridors, disabling security cameras as you went. He communicated through glances and grunts, and you did what you could not to say anything at all. You avoided employees, but had you run into one, they would’ve been dispatched. Witnesses were a mess neither of you had the patience to clean up. You could deal with the guilt on a full stomach.
Finally, you slipped through an emergency exit and onto the roof. The line of sight from the west ledge was ideal, aligned perfectly with the penthouse of the hotel next-door. Toji scoped it out while you threw down your guitar case, unlatching it to reveal a perfectly calibrated, perfectly maintained sniper rifle just waiting to be put to use. It was your prized possession, your baby. You didn’t hold onto much, but you’d cling to your gun ‘till the day you died.
You pieced your weapon together while Toji gave you the run down.
“Lights are on but no one’s home. Saw him and a civilian head into the shower a few minutes ago – we’d be better off waiting them out.”
“And the windows?”
“Warded, but not bullet proof. They weren’t expecting us.”
They never were. The only things sorcerers cared about were invisible monsters and the profits they could earn from slaughtering them. Threats like you and Toji didn’t make the radar.
You shook a few specialized bullets out of your carrying case – nothing fancy, but engraved with just the right runes to break through any base-level spiritual protections. When your rifle was loaded and your jaw let, you laid on your stomach, propped your barrel on the ledge, and waited.
Toji was right – you’d be here for a while. The bedsheets were disheveled, the bathroom door ajar and steam pouring through the empty gap. You kept your finger on the trigger and your scope trained on the doorway. If this took more than fifteen minutes, you’d trade out with Toji for five so you could rest your eyes. You hoped it wouldn’t, though. You liked being able to deal the killing blow.
So concentrated on your target, you didn’t notice Toji behind you until you felt something bulky settle between your legs, his hands coming to rest on the backs of your calves. You winced, but stayed focused. This was nothing new. Toji liked to fuck with you. He’d get bored and leave you alone, eventually.
You counted out a minute, then another. Toji’s hands drifted, finding your ass. It was only when he started to knead that you snapped over your shoulder, glaring. “I’m trying to work.”
“Don’t let me stop you.” His tone dripped with something thick and sweet. “I’m just enjoying the view.”
Grimacing, you turned back to your scope, hoping your disinterest would be enough to shake him off. If he’d been in a kinder mood, it might’ve.
He wasn’t feeling very kind tonight, though.
“I like you.” He said it like a compliment, like praise. Calloused fingertips bit into the plush of your ass, then found higher ground, bracing around your hips. “Didn’t think I would. When Shiu told me I’d be training one of his newbies, I told him to shove it.”
He’d already told you this story. Sometimes, he mentioned changing his mind after seeing a picture of you or planning to leave a bullet in your head the first time you were paired together. Tonight, he was merciful enough to spare you the details.
“The whole ‘young and hungry’ thing really won me over. I’ve always had a soft spot for strays. Guess it comes with age.” Your hold tightened around the grip. A light flickered in the sorcerer's hotel room. “The pretty face helps, too. Love the way you look at me – all pouty and doe-eyed. Like I’m gonna take a bite out of you.”
He leaned over you, his crotch pressing into your ass. You could feel the outline of something stiff, something hot, and his right hand slipped underneath you, cupping your cunt through your jeans. You nearly pulled the trigger on reflex.
“Careful, there. I won’t be as nice if I have to clean up your mess.” He ground the heel of his palm against your clit. Rather than shutting your eyes, or kicking, or running, you poured yourself into your rifle. Toji wasn’t serious. Whatever he was saying wasn’t serious. All that mattered was you, the bullets in your chamber, and where you were going to aim them.
Not that Toji was easy to ignore. When you failed to react, he applied more pressure, lowered his head so that you could feel his breath against the nape of your neck. Your body felt too warm, too rigid. You needed him to stop touching you. You needed to be somewhere else – on a different rooftop, in a different city. You needed your target to come out so you could shoot something and be done with this.
“Eyes forward, mind off,” he muttered, voice nearly muffled by the proximity. “Just like I taught you.”
Two broad fingers pushed underneath your waistband. You heard your own voice before you realized you were talking.
“Please don’t.”
Toji pulled back. “One more time, dollface?”
“Please don’t.” You dug your nails into unforgiving plastic, gritting your teeth. The words seemed to scrape and claw at your throat, urging you to spit them out, to avoid disappointing your senior without cause. You wouldn’t. You couldn’t. You’d sooner die than—
Toji’s thumb toyed with the button of your fly, and you didn’t have a choice.
“I haven’t—” You flinched, swallowed. A hand wrapped around the bathroom doorframe. “I haven’t done this, before.”
His laugh was throaty and terrible. Slowly, he pulled away, pushing himself back onto his feet. “Too good to lose it on the clock, huh?”
Yes. When it came to Toji, at least.
You focused on the silver linings. He wasn’t touching you, anymore. He’d backed off when you put your foot down (or, you could convince yourself he had, at least). You’d be able to go home and take a shower hot enough to burn the feeling of his hands on your body away. You were fine. Everything was good. You were fine.
And yet, when a figure finally stepped into view, you didn’t check to see who it was before pulling the trigger.
~
You stopped answering Toji’s calls, after that job. You still picked up for Shiu, but you didn’t want to talk to Toji, didn’t want to think about him while life was good and you had cash to burn. You avoided laying on your stomach, or turning your back to strange men whenever you could help it. It took him a couple weeks, but eventually, he got the message. There were a few wonderful days of blessed radio silence, and then, he asked if you wanted something to eat.
An hour later, you were standing outside of a restaurant three tiers above your designated tax bracket, wearing a borrowed cocktail dress and hoping your desperation wouldn’t be too apparent.
He’d booked a private room. It was a business dinner, technically, which meant you choked down double your wait in pork and beef and calamari while Toji and Shiu reminisced on memories made while you were still in grade-school. Toji told you about the day he’d fought Gojo Satoru and beaten him to such a pulp, Japan’s strongest sorcerer had to buy him out of his bounty just to survive the match, and you pretended the story didn’t make your heart beat just a little faster. Shiu ordered sake, and you picked the brand. As you polished off the last of the bottle, Toji gestured for you to come to their side of the booth, and without thinking, you obeyed.
He pulled you into his lap as soon as you’d rounded the table. You should’ve pulled away, but he’d done this kind of thing before – made you sit on his knee while going over reconnaissance for a job, rested his hand on your thigh during a late-night train ride – and the alcohol made it easier not to care. Shiu chuckled as you settled into place, a thick arm barred over your waist to keep you where you were.
You tried to rest your head on his shoulder, but his free hand came up, catching your chin. He pinched your cheeks between his thumb and forefinger, earning an annoyed whine from somewhere deep in your throat.
“Pay attention. I was just telling Shiu about our last job.” You grimaced at the thought. Shiu’s expression turned pitying, but Toji went on uninterrupted. “You got a boyfriend yet?”
“…I don’t.” There’d been a few guys off and on, but nothing serious, nothing lasting. Isolation suited you too well to give up so easily.
Toji grinned. “Keep it that way. Me and him – we’re the only men you need in your life.”
“’s not true,” you mumbled, one word ebbing into the next. “Only one of you pays my bills.”
There was a bark of a laugh, a quick kiss pressed into your forehead. “Just say the word. I’ll have you moved into my place by tomorrow morning.”
You tried to picture where Toji might’ve lived, but you’d only just managed to visualize the beer cans and pin-ups when Shiu cleared his thoat, crossing his arms over the table. “Put her down, Fushiguro. She’s had too much.”
“She can decide for herself.” He turned to you, resting his thumb on your bottom lip. “Wanna stick with me, dollface?”
“I want—” Warmth. Locked doors. Open air. Your eyes skirted over the table. “—more meat.”
Another laugh, this one more exasperated than the first. You were deposited unceremoniously onto the seat while Toji got up, either flagging down your waiter or grabbing another drink - you couldn’t be sure. Shiu waited until he was sight before edging closer to you.
“Have you had a chance to think about my offer?” He asked, keeping his voice low. “I’ve got a few smaller jobs coming up. They won’t pay as well, but you’ll be able to work alone.” And then, as if he thought you couldn’t spell it out on your own, “Away from Fushiguro.”
This, you didn’t have to think about. “I told you, I’m—”
“Only interested in the pay-out, I know.” He drummed his fingers impatiently. “He’s been saying the same thing. Like I’m not giving him my best gigs hand over fist.”
His eyes narrowed, and for one awful, everlasting second, you were convinced he was angry with you. You were bad with anger, especially without a gun in your hand. Toji never got angry.
Then he sighed, and it was over as quickly as it started. He wasn’t angry, just exhausted, disappointed. That was fine. Disappointment, you could stand. “Fushiguro’s picking up the check, tonight. Can you guess the last time I saw him foot a bill?”
You shook your head, and Shiu frowned. “When he was paying for his fucking wife.”
Oh.
It was almost impressive, just how quickly your appetite died out. By the time Toji found his way back, a bottle of red wine in one hand and a platter of overly fatty, overly rich meat in the other, you couldn’t fathom feeling anything other than hollow.
Shiu made his exit hastily. With a soft groan, he pushed himself up, already fishing an all-but crushed carton of cigarettes out of his suit pocket. “I’m done for the night. Need a ride, kid?”
You thought about it for longer than you should’ve. You liked Shiu, how quickly he would let your conversation lull into silence when you made it clear you had nothing to say. You liked the stench of second-hand smoke and expensive cologne that clung to him like a second skin. You liked that, for as long as you’d known him, he’d never once touched you. It was a miracle, really. You’d been so desperate for work when you came to him, you would’ve done anything he asked you to.
Toji draped an arm over your shoulders. “Let the poor girl finish her meal. I’ll make sure she gets home safe.”
Shiu raised a brow, sending you a pointed look. Had he asked again, you probably would’ve shrugged Toji off and gone with him. Had he taken you by the wrist and pulled, you probably would’ve done whatever he said.
“…I’m alright,” you offered, leaning into Toji’s shoulder. “He and I should talk about our next job.”
There was a second of hesitation, a tight-lipped frown, but that was the extent of his protest. You would offer to pay for your half after he’d gone, but Toji only waved you off, insisting that you were already well taken care of.
~
Something went wrong.
You couldn’t be sure what. The last few hours of your life were a blur – all light and noise with no shapes or words to make sense of the overstimulation. You were trailing a pink-haired sorcerer, your rifle tucked under your arm and your bullets heavy against your ankle, and then, you were slung over Toji’s shoulder, the back of your head pulsing and every nerve in your body on fire. Time passed in clumps – glimpses of white hair and startlingly blue eyes, your gun being dragged out of your hands, Toji’s panting in your ear as he hauled you halfway across the city. You didn’t fully come-to until your back hit the stiff surface of an old mattress – a mattress that didn’t belong to you.
You jolted up, but Toji was already gone. You found yourself alone in a sparsely decorated bedroom, all blank walls and dim lighting. A collection of paperwork was spread over the unremarkable bedside table – a few folders from old cases, a couple crumpled contracts, and a single polaroid of a teenage boy with messy black hair and two dogs. You picked it up without thinking, the same way you might collect something your target dropped. You were still looking over it when Toji came back, falling onto the edge of the mattress.
He was in bad shape, too. Fresh bruises rotted across his left cheek, and his shirt was missing, replaced by a thin layer of bandage that covered most of his right shoulder. “For your head,” he grunted, holding two white pills up to your lips. You opened your mouth and swallowed without complaint.
“Where’s my gun?”
“In pieces where you dropped it. It was either you or the weaponry.”
Damnit. You wished he’d gone for the gun. There was a good chance that, between the three of you, it had the most value. “Who got us?”
Toji sneered, eyes darting toward the ceiling. “The Gojo kid. Fucking Six Eyes. The brat must’ve been one of his students.”
You felt your heart drop. Satoru.
You never thought you’d see him again, and he’d tried to kill you.
Biting down hard on the inside of your cheek, you forced yourself to think of something else – anything else. You thrust the polaroid into Toji’s chest. “You’re taking solo jobs.”
Toji’s grin was wide, immediate. “There’s nothing to cry about. You know I’m worthless without you.” He glanced at the picture once before setting it down just out of sight. “It’s my son. The Zenin clan took him off my hands a few years ago.” And then, with an airy laugh, “He probably thinks I’m dead.”
You could taste blood, flowing thick and heavy where your teeth had pierced flesh. “They can all rot in hell.”
“That might just be the longest sentence I’ve ever heard you string together,” Toji laughed. “Bad run-in with a Zenin?”
You should’ve nodded and let him believe what he wanted to. You should’ve told him you were fine and dragged yourself back to your own shitty apartment, your own uncomfortable bed. You should’ve kept your mouth shut, and yet, you found your lips parting, your shoulders raising as something inside of you tore own and spilled. “It was the Gojo Clan.”
He hummed, unsurprised. “I know. A distant cousin, right?”
“Usually they’d leave us alone, but Satoru had just started training, and—” You cut yourself off, shaking your head. “They were looking for another miracle case. The ones with little to no cursed energy got it the worst. Put us through hell and left us on the streets as soon as we turned eighteen. There just wasn’t enough to go around for the non-sorcerers to get a share, I guess.”
You felt Toji’s hand on your cheek, then the top of your head, petting gently through your hair. Despite yourself, you leaned into it.
“That’s a long time on your own.”
“Not really.” Your eyes moved to the door, then the windows, charting escape routes. The latter were barred and former had a deadbolt on the wrong side. “Only a couple years.”
“Long enough.” You tried to push yourself to your feet. Toji wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you back down, laughing. “C’mon, princess. We both know you weren’t made to be alone.”
His hand was on your hip, now. You felt the other cupping your cheek, turning your head toward him, and every good, self-preserving fiber of your being screamed for you to get up, to run. The rest when catatonic as Toji kissed you, paralyzed by the stifling warmth of his lips against the numbing frost that seemed to coat your skin. Distantly, you could hear him groan into your mouth, feel his tongue move over your bottom lips, but the sensations were only skin-deep – your body processing information and nothing more. In a way, it reminded you of growing up, the way your tutors used to have you walk across burning coals or starve yourself for days in hopes of provoking a drop of cursed energy, a reaction. It’d never worked. Of course, it’d never worked.
No matter how deep you cut, you just didn’t have anything to bleed.
He was pulling away, now, grinning as his lips fell to your neck, your collarbone. “You look scared,” he muttered, voice deep against your skin. And then, lifting his head, “Was that your first kiss?”
You didn’t say anything. Rather, you pulled back a fist and punched him square in the jaw.
It hit hard, but not hard enough. He let out a barking laugh, and then he was on top of you, wrestling you down to the mattress despite your best attempts to throw him off. He was strong – stronger than you and stronger than Satoru and too strong – and it was all you could do to slam your balled fists into his chest as he straddled your lower stomach, hands slipping underneath your top. Your teeth were grit, but he still made a softened, hushing sound as he worked the ruined material over your head. He could’ve torn through it easily if he’d wanted to, but there was something careful, almost gentleabout the way he undressed you. Your pants removed with the same sense of delicacy, and he settled into the space between your now bare legs. The only thing he rushed was your panties – caught under his ring finger and snapped in the same motion.
He didn’t kiss you again, but it was only because you would’ve bitten through his tongue. Instead, his lips trailed down your chest, pausing to latch onto the curve of your breast. His tongue laved over your nipple before drifting downward, pressing open-mouthed kisses into your midriff, your navel, your stomach. You tried to weigh your options, but that would’ve meant having options in the first place. Your hands were free, but trying to affect Toji was like clawing at a brick wall. You were only going to hurt yourself.
That’s what you told yourself, at least, until his lips sealed around your clit and you acted on reflex, tangling your fingers in his hair and pulling. The only reaction you earned was a low grunt, a fist curled around your thigh to hold you steady. His grip flexed as he dipped lower, running the flat of his tongue over your cunt. The feeling, the heat – all of it was alien, prone to making your throat tighten up and something at the pit of your stomach burn. You felt prinks at the corners of your eyes, but few tears and a single, miserable whine wasn’t enough to distract from the feeling of Toji’s tongue trusting into you, spreading you open while the bridge of his nose ground into your clit. Your hips bucked involuntarily, chasing the warmth, the pressure, but that wasn’t right. You needed to get away. You needed to lock yourself up somewhere safe, somewhere quiet. You needed to find someone who could—
“Look at me.” You didn’t realize you’d shut your eyes until you heard his voice, hoarse and reverberating. “Need to see those pretty eyes when I make you cum, dollface.”
You wouldn’t. You wouldn’t. And yet, when his tongue curled inside you, you were gasping for air, burying your nails in his scalp, doing anything and everything you could to hold yourself together while that awful, terrifying pleasure washed over you. The only help Toji offered was his own impatience – pushing himself up and crashing his mouth into yours rather than drawing it out. You weren’t in a place to bite back, anymore.
You were sobbing by the time he lowered you onto your back, forced to watch though water-stained eyes as he freed his cock. It seemed beyond nightmarish to have something that size inside of you, but Toji only cooed as your breath hitched, letting his chest press into yours. “I’m going to take care of you, alright?” His mouth found the shell of your ear, and you felt something blunt and thick slot against you. “Everything going on out there, anyone who’s ever put their hands on you – it doesn’t fucking matter. You’re mine. That’s all you’ve gotta know.”
He pushed into you, and for a second, you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. For a second, you were so small, and so hungry, and so helpless all over again.
Then, Toji’s hand curled around your jaw, pushing your head back and your eyes onto him. “You’re mine,” he repeated, pushing a kiss into the corner of your lips. “Say it for me. You’re mine.”
And the worst part was, you couldn’t pretend it wasn’t true.
Sniffling, you wrapped your arms around his neck, dragging him that much closer. His cock pulsed inside you, but you could ignore that. At least you were full. At least you were warm.
warnings: non/con, fem!reader, heavy drinking, age gaps, vomiting, object insertion, coercion, implied past assault, wildly toxic relationships, and obsessive behavior. dead dove: do not eat.
You should’ve known better than to drink with Toji.
It always sounded like such a good idea. He was good at that – making bad, stupid, dangerous things sound fun. Tell him the name of your latest terrible ex and find a few fingers on your doorstep the next day. Get on the back of his bike and take a joyride that reminded you precisely why he didn’t have a license. Go back to his apartment after an assignment and drink expensive sake and cheap beer until you couldn’t see straight. Inevitably, you would remember that Toji was physically incapable of getting drunk, but that was always well after you’d already guzzled down your weight in free liquor. He just had that effect on you. There was just something about Toji that made you forget how to look out for yourself.
Not that you were in a position to look out of much of anything, at the moment. Laid across the couch of his newest luxury rental, an arm thrown over your eyes to block out the blinding overheads, you could barely be considered aware, let alone able. Your mind was a pleasant fog and your body was an entirely separate entity – something warm and sensitive that seemed to wrap around you, the real you, like a fleshy shell. Distantly, you could hear footsteps moving across the padded carpet, feel something being pressed against your bottom lip. The rim of a shot glass, cool and smooth and welcoming. You opened your mouth and let Toji pour its contents down your throat, savoring the burn until all that lingered was a bitter aftertaste and his shadow looming over you.
“Want another, princess?”
You shook your head. You were exhausted. You felt sick. The last thing you wanted was more of whatever he was trying to give you.
Your voice was stained, the words blended into a single slurred drawl. “I wanna go to bed.”
“I can help with that.”
He sat next to you, nudging your limp body against the back of the couch. A large hand came to rest on your stomach, then moved north, over your chest and up to your neck. His palm settled at the base of your throat as he leaned down, pressing his lips against yours in a slow, hungry kiss. You tried to keep him out, but every muscle in your body felt loose, disconnected, and soon, his tongue was in your mouth, running over your teeth and filling the hollows of cheeks like some visceral, drooling, wolf-like animal. You could hear him groan, feel him panting against you. Urgh. Gross.
Too clumsily, you brought a hand to his chest and pushed. Toji pulled back, and you rolled onto your side, giggling. “I’m drunk, but—” A hiccup, another round of laughter. He waited patiently for you to go on, his scarred lips pulled into an easy grin. “I’m not that drunk, old man.”
This was part of the routine, too. He’d sigh and stand up, maybe watch a game while yourode out your stupor. Eventually, you’d drag yourself to the nearest bathroom and vomit, then wait for Toji to collect you off of the floor and deposit you in his bed. In the morning, he’d make a run for breakfast while you nursed your hangover. On the train back home, that afternoon, you would promise yourself that this was the last time, that you wouldn’t put yourself through that again, only to relapse as soon as he made his next offer. And so the wolf chased the moon, and the snake ate its own tail, and the cycle repeated ad infinitum.
That was how things usually went, at least. How they were supposed to go.
But Toji wasn’t backing off, tonight.
He nudged your legs apart and placed his hulking body between your spread thighs. You kicked at him playfully, but any blow you might’ve been able to land was feather-soft, as harmless as declawed kitten batting at its owner’s hands. If Toji felt anything at all, his only response was a low breath of a laugh. “Not drunk enough, huh?” He hooked a thumb underneath the waistband of your shorts. “I can fix that.”
You tried to sit up, to paw at his hands, but it was already too late. The crumpled denim slid away easily, pooling around your knees. Toji spent more time on your panties – dragging his big, calloused thumb over the seat until your slit was clearly visible. Humiliatingly, you were already wet. Liquor tended to do that to you – making you twitchy and warm and prone to having every little touch shoot straight to your cunt. You hadn’t been lying, earlier. No part of you wanted to fuck a man twice your age in a drunken haze, but it would’ve been impossible to control your hips as he traced sloppy patterns into your clit, to stop yourself from bucking into his face as he pulled your panties to the side and licked a long, warm stripe over your pussy. Messy. That’s what he was. Messy, and disgusting, and touching you.
You closed your eyes. You couldn’t stand up on your own, much less drag yourself to safety. Your only option, realistically, was to lay back, try to enjoy yourself, and beat the shit out of him in the morning. And, maybe if the world was a little kinder, that was what you would’ve done. Maybe if Toji was a little nicer, that was what he would’ve let you do.
Unfortunately, Toji wasn’t very nice.
You felt the glass, first. Circular and chilled, as if he’d only just pulled it out of the cooler, pressing against your entrance. You cracked one eye open, lips quirking downward. “’ji, I don’t—What are you—”
He hushed you, pecking your lips. “You trust me, right?”
You shook your head. Toji laughed.
“Smart girl.”
The stretch was immediate and painful. All the alien pressure of having someone forced inside of you without the give of an organic partner, the smooth glass of the bottleneck spreading you open from all sides. It felt wrong. It felt like you were going to bruise. Worst of all, it didn’t feel empty.
Toji worked a hand under your ass, lifting your lower body up and resting it on his bent knees. The position was awkward, too close for comfort, but Toji didn’t seem to mind. He rocked the bottle back and forth, pushing it in and pulling it out, spilling its contents inside of you. Confusion and hurt overshadowed anything else you might’ve felt, a mix of emotions you could only seem to voice in whining mewls. It must’ve been your imagination, but you would’ve sworn you could taste the sour tinge of beer in the back of your throat, that something was making the liquor in your stomach turn over and curdle. Toji’s thumb found its way back to your clit, the patterns harsher now – crueler. You weren’t sure if you were supposed to feel good. You weren’t sure if the thought had even crossed his mind.
“Been meaning to do this for a while, now.” He thrust the bottle into you. You could feel your cunt split open around the widening neck. “Ever since Shiu paired you up with me. You should really blame him, y’know. He knows I can’t stay away from the young n’ eager type, always so trying so hard to make me happy.”
You didn’t know what he was talking about. You could hardly hear him over the pounding in head, the sound of your heart beating in your ears. His pace got faster, the bottle deeper – its flared base now pressing into your pass every time he bottomed out. The textured rim brushed up against something soft and spongey inside of you, drawing out a garbled moan. Your vision was starting to blur.
“Just knew you were gonna be mine from the start.” And Toji was still fucking talking. You’d give anything for him to shut up. You’d give anything for him to drop dead and let you do the same. “I realized something, though. Probably ‘round the tenth time you turned me down. Wanna know what?”
You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to. He was already going on. You could only wonder how he managed to speak through that wide, sloppy grin.
“Once I got my hands on you, I wouldn’t want to let go.”
You weren’t listening. You were beyond that. Something was happening deep inside you – a tightening, a drowning, a rejection. Every muscle in your body clenched, your pussy clamping around the bottleneck was a mix of beer and slick leaked out of you and onto Toji’s couch. White tinged the edges of your vision as the room blurred around you, distorting into a senseless blend of colors and shadows before snapping back into too-keen focus. At the same time, you felt your stomach roll over, bile searing the back of your throat. Saliva pooled underneath your tongue, wetting the corners of your mouth. Immediately, you understood what was happening. Somehow, it was already too late.
You had just enough time to twist onto your side and lift your head before your throat tightened, before your breath hitched and you were emptying the contents of your stomach onto his pristine carpeting. That was something that had always surprised you about Toji – how neat he liked to keep things.
Little victories, you guessed.
Your orgasm was nursed to a tapered, anticlimactic end. Toji stopped moving, easing the beer bottle out of your cunt with a low whistle. “Think you might’ve had a little too much?”
You let out a miserable sob, collapsing into yourself. Too much. Way, way too much.
He hummed and gathered you up in his arms. You were vaguely aware of the moving scenery, of hard tile pressing into your knees, but you only fully processed where you were as your upper body slumped into cool porcelain – a toilet, the seat raised and your head hanging over the bowl. Toji was positioned behind you, his sweatpants shrugged low on his hips and his achingly hard cock aligned with your abused pussy. He eased the first few inches into you, and your chest spasmed, a now-familiar sensation rising to the surface.
This time, when you retched, it was less of a relief and more of an active expulsion – forceful enough to leave you shaking and gasping for breath, trying to fill the abruptly hollow cavity in your gut. Toji only laughed, draping himself over you. One hand remained on your waist while the other latched onto your jaw, holding you steady as he dragged his tongue over your open mouth, lapping up the acrid bile staining your lips. You could feel him pulsing inside of you, but you didn’t care. You couldn’t.
He pulled your limp body back, burying his cock inside of you. As his hips pressed into your ass, you closed your eyes and let the world go dark.
~
You woke up late the next morning, head pounding and body sore. Your mouth tasted like beer, sleep, and vomit. You were in Toji’s bed.
There was a bottle of water on the bedside table, which you chugged greedily. Just as you started to force yourself upright, the bedroom door creaked upon. Toji, already dressed and toting a plastic bag on one wrist, filled the doorway.
“Long night?”
“Fuck you.” You rubbed the sleep out of your eyes with your knuckle. “Was it? I can’t remember anything.”
“Keep it that way. Had to peel you off the bathroom floor by the time you were done.” He fished something out of his plastic bag and tossed it to you. Painkillers. You tore off the lid and swallowed down three dry – anything to stop the awful, throbbing ache seeping out of every part of your body. “Let me know when you’ve pulled yourself together. Shiu’s got another job lined up – wants us to stop by his place for drinks after we wrap up, too.”
You groaned. “Don’t you ever get tired of watching me embarrass myself?”
“When it comes to you, princess?”
He grinned, and for whatever reason, the sight sent a chill down your spine. If you didn’t know better, you might’ve called it fear.
an installment of the freak shit march gallery showcase.
pairing: yandere!toji x reader (jjk).
length: 3.0k.
warnings: non/con, fem!reader, step!dad + step!daughter, manipulation, mentions of death, mentions of grief, age gap (toji is in his mid 40s, reader is in her early 20s), long-term stalking, rampant daddy kinks, and slight infantalization. dead dove: do not eat.
Your plane landed about two hours before the funeral. By the time you got to the house (a tucked away two-story built for recluses and retirees), Toji was waiting for you in the driveway, already half-dressed in a pair of suit pants and a plain white button-up – leftover from a wedding or one of your mother’s work parties, you were sure. There was a fifty-dollar bill crumbled messily in his hand, and he palmed it to the cab driver after helping you out of the backseat and hauling your lone, malnourished suitcase out of the trunk. Another day, you might’ve tried to stop him, to insist on taking care of yourself, but you weren’t really in a place to take care of much of anything, at the moment.
You waited in silence for the cab to pull out, disappearing down the greenery-crowded backroad that led into town. When the vehicle was finally out of sight, you took a deep breath, shut your eyes, and collapsed into Toji’s chest.
His arms were around you in a heartbeat. You went boneless against him – exhausted from the news, the sobbing, the flight. If you hadn’t been so tired, you might’ve been able to greet him, to say you were sorry, to recognize that he was in mourning too, but you were tired, and you were sad, and it was all you could do to mutter distantly into his shoulder. “It just feels so…”
“I know, kid, I know.” He squeezed you against him, the same way he had the first time you’d failed a class, or after you’d heard your mother planned to sell your childhood home. It was the good, bone-crushing kind of hug, the type that flattened your lungs and made you feel safe. It was the kind of hug you’d only ever gotten from Toji. “It’s a lot to take in.”
“And you’re sure the ceremony is—”
“All taken care of.” He laughed airily. “We should get you dressed. I tried to lay out everything that still fits, but it’s gonna take some trial and error.”
His hold loosened, but didn’t fall away. You stayed where you were. “If we’re early, do you think I’ll be able to get a few minutes alone with her?”
He sighed, then kissed the top of your head. “It doesn’t matter what time we get there, princess. If anyone tries to stop you, I’ll deal with them.”
You sniffled, but straightened, determined to take consolidation where you could. Toji slung your suitcase over his shoulder and, taking your hand, led you inside.
~
You weren’t early. Toji had to help with your dress – your hands were shaking too badly to slot the buttons into place. You thought, briefly, about make-up, but you hadn’t remembered to pack any, and the only stock in the house would’ve been hers. Instead, you kept your head bowed and your eyes on the floor as you waded through rarely-seen friends and distant relatives, as faces you only just barely recognized recited hollow platitudes about how wonderful your mother was, how much they’d miss the light she’d brought into their lives, how fortunate you’d been to grow up with such a sparkling presence in your life. The business trips, the boarding schools, the screaming matches – those remained unmentioned, unthought of. It was the cruelest thing they could’ve put you through, and it was the most merciful they possibly could’ve been. It was terrible beyond description, and it was the best you could’ve hoped for.
Toji was at your side all the while, only occasionally stepping away to grab yet another box of tissues or a fresh bottle of water. He guarded the doors during your private visitation, and when you left a few minutes into the ceremony to vomit, he held your hair back without a word of complaint. His own estranged children – Megumi and Tsumiki – made an appearance. Neither spoke to you, but Tsumiki hugged you close and Megumi rested a hand on your shoulder. Their sympathy was hollow, but welcomed. What they’d gone through was different, easier. They’d lost both their mothers as children, when they were too young to really know what that meant, but you appreciated the sentiment.
There wasn’t a burial. Cremation had been in the will, added only a few months before the accident. It wasn’t your place to complain, but you wished she would’ve talked to you about it. Even a hole in the ground would’ve been more comforting than knowing you’d have to pick up a cold piece of porcelain containing what was left of your mother some time next week. Toji promised he’d take care of it as he drove you back home, and you couldn’t find it in yourself to argue.
Left to your own devices, you wandered the house. It’d been less than seventy-two hours since the accident, but already, the house seemed colder, emptier. Too many doors were shut rather than left ajar, too many counters clean rather than cluttered, too many blankets folded instead of absentmindedly thrown into a heap – the way your mother would always leave them when she got up. You tried to brave her bedroom, to find the sweater she’d been attempting to crochet for as long as you could remember, but you couldn’t make it farther than the doorway.
Toji caught you on the staircase. He stood at the bottom, arms crossed and back against the banister. As you neared the end of your descent, he sighed. “Any big plans, kid?”
You tried to smile, but it fell away quickly. “I think I might turn in early. I’m pretty tired from the—” You paused, swallowing. “—from everything.”
He hummed, letting his eyes fall to your feel. Abruptly, you realized that you hadn’t taken off your dress after the funeral. Or your jacket. Or your shoes.
“Yeah.” He straightened, pushing himself onto his feet. “That’s not going to happen. Change, get your ass on the couch, and put on a movie. I’m ordering take-out.”
He didn’t want you to be alone. You might’ve felt a little warmer, if you’d been able to feel anything at all. “I’m fine, I promise. You don’t have to babysit me.”
“And listen to you cry yourself to sleep?” He let out a breath of a laugh. “Ass. Couch. Now. I’ll be there in fifteen.”
It didn’t seem like he ‘no’ for an answer. Reluctantly, you shuffled past him and did as you were told – throwing on a pair of shorts and oversized shirt you hadn’t worn since your sophomore year of college. The living room seemed too big, too foreboding, so you stowed yourself away in the garage, your mother’s makeshift movie room. An unmemorable romcom was chosen out of a catalogue of identical titles with no particular sense of favoritism, but your mind began to wonder as soon as the opening credits started to play.
Toji was a good guy. Really, he was. You had to remind yourself of that from time to time, when something made you think of the bank-vault full of handguns he kept in the guestroom or your mother complained about how vague he was about his high-paying occupation, and you hadn’t always thought so – fuck, when she first brought home a man nearly fifteen years her junior with the build of a hitman and scars to match, you’d called her insane and insisted that, if they ever got married, you’d never speak to her again. You’d figured he was a scam artist, but a conman wouldn’t get up an hour before sunrise to make breakfast for their mark every day without fail, or volunteer for the droning domesticity of weekly laundry and vacuuming, or hide enough cash to cover the first three months of rent in their girlfriend’s daughter’s suitcase when she finally moved out.
You doubted he really loved your mom, but you doubted she’d ever really loved him, either. Toji was good for her, a steady hand to balance out her rashness, a beating heart to keep your home alive whenever her impulsivity led her elsewhere. When they did eventually get married in a small, unglamourous courtroom ceremony, you’d even acted as their witness. He was good to her, and she was happy. That was all that really mattered, you guessed.
When Toji came back, he was carrying a large paper bag printed with the logo of your favorite restaurant – ordered before your conversation, most likely. He pretended not to watch you as you ate, the action mechanical and joyless. You didn’t have much of an appetite, but you didn’t want to seem ungrateful.
The romcom had only passed the half-way mark by the time you tuned back in; the point where your protagonists began to lull into a false sense of security before their lives came crashing down around them. You would’ve expected Toji to leave after making sure you’d gotten something to eat, but instead, he sat stiffly next to you, half buried by your mound of blankets as you stretched your legs across his lap. The hero was delivering his nth poorly written monologue – something about family or belonging, it was hard to tell. As the actor struggled to cry on demand, Toji rested a hand on your knee.
As the heroine stormed out of his apartment and into the melodramatic rainstorm waiting outside, his touch wandered, skirting over your bare thigh.
As she ducked under the canopy of a brightly lit café, pulling out her phone to call her estranged parents for the very first time in five years, his hand slipped under your shorts and settled over your cunt.
Your immediate thought was, embarrassingly, that it had to be an accident. You weren’t sure how it could be, but the logistics didn’t matter – it had to be an accident. The stiff shape pressing into the underside of your calf was a nonfactor, static cast over your conscious mind. You wanted to get up, to take a hot shower, to lock yourself in your room, but your body wouldn’t move. Couldn’t move. That’d get his attention, and he’d realize what he was doing, and—
The heroine sobbed and threw her phone in the overflowing gutter, her reconciliation having ended messily. At the same time, two of Toji’s fingers slipped underneath your panties, tracing the length of your slit before pushing a quick circle into your clit. That was it. You scrambled off of the couch, your foot catching on a cushion and leaving you shambling and crumpled on the floor. You tried to pick yourself up, but you weren’t fast enough. Toji was already shifting, already leaning down, already taking you by either side. A little too easily, he hauled you back onto the sofa and threw your back against the armrest, the impact forceful enough to bruise the base of your spine. You cringed, but he only laughed, letting his hands fall to your hips and squeezing. “Where do you think you’re going, kid?”
“I wasn’t—” A knee was forced between your thighs, nudging them apart. Toji was quick to fill the empty space. “It’s—Uh, it’s kind of funny, actually. I thought I felt something touch my leg, and—”
“Mhm. Just like how I used to find you rooting around in my stuff because you thought it belonged to the old hag.” You winced. That’d been early on – when you were still too suspicious to let your guard down and too naïve to be subtle about it. You’d assumed he would’ve forgotten about that, by now. “Have anything else you want to get off your chest? Go ahead – Daddy’s here to listen.”
Disgust pricked at the back of your throat, bitter and acidic. It must’ve shown through to your expression - Toji smirked as he hooked a thumb underneath the waistband of your shorts, dragging them down to your knees. Your hands shot out on reflex, grappling for what was already lost, but Toji only clicked his tongue and bowed his head, his tongue drawing a wet stripe over the seat of your panties. In the end, it was all you could do to tangle your fingers in his hair and shut your eyes, as if drawing him closer had ever done you any good.
The sound was the worst part. Messy and indulgent, the soft click of saliva against skin and Toji’s airy groans as he buried his face between your thighs. He traced the shape of your cunt through your panties, only occasionally pausing to grind the fabric into your clit, to draw the meekest possible ‘no’ or ‘stop’ out of you. His hands fell to your thighs, forcing them over his broad shoulders and letting him pin you down that much more efficiently. Your body suddenly felt smaller than it had in years, as fragile and as helpless as the morning you’d first woken up with a strange, gigantic man in your home only to be told that the person you loved most in the world invited him in. It was hard to believe you’d ever trusted him, that you’d ever been stupid enough to trust anyone. You’d been in danger from the moment you decided you were safe.
You only realized you were crying when your vision blurred, when you felt the first tear drip onto your chest. Awareness accompanied revulsion as you felt your body start to react, your thighs going rigid as something other than Toji’s spit started to dampen the fabric of your panties. Arousal wasn’t really the right description. Fear-induced hysteria would’ve been a better fit, or a latent survival instinct you would’ve preferred to live without. Either way, Toji chuckled as he pulled back, dragging your panties to the side and thrusting his tongue into your now-sopping cunt. You felt him curl and flex, causing friction where stretch wasn’t possible. You let out a miserable sob, digging your nails into his scalp, trying to pull him away. In response, Toji only nuzzled closer, grinding the bridge of his nose into your clit.
Your orgasm was humiliatingly swift. You’d never really had time to date, not between work and school, and there was only so much that masturbation could prepare you for. You weren’t used to it – the heat, the slickness, the pressure of something splitting you open from the inside out – and it was all happening too quickly, too mercilessly to stave off. Your hands fell away from his head, darting up to cover your face as you came into his mouth. Rather than warmth, a cold dread filled you in-tandem with your climax, the knowledge that’d you’d just done something terribly, terribly. He was your mother’s husband, for fuck’s sake. He was your—
Your mind went blank before you could make the full connection, two wires disconnecting before the unthinkable could be communicated. You imagined black clothes and cardboard tissue boxes and coffins, and convinced yourself that nothing else had ever crossed your mind.
Toji wasn’t as introspective. He pulled back with a jarring sort of rush, then just hastily, shoved his mouth against yours. You could taste yourself on his lips, on his tongue as he all-but forced it down your throat. By the time he let you breathe, he was panting.
“Been waiting years for that.” He picked himself up, calling against the back of the couch. You stared blankly at the ceiling. “Since the first time I heard you fucking yourself on those pathetic little fingers. You know how thin those walls were, right? You were probably trying to get caught – needy little brat.”
You didn’t say anything. You couldn’t. Something vital to you had curled up and died in your throat minutes ago, and now, it was all you could do to try and suck in air around it. Toji’s gaze flickered over you, then he laughed. “C’mon, now, don’t play shy. You had to know.”
The words weren’t yours. They belonged to someone else, someone in another body. “You married my mom.”
“Jealous little brat, too.” You felt his arms around you, drawing you upward. Your body was stiff, uncooperative, but Toji was patient – carefully positioning you to straddle his lap, resting your hands on his shoulders and planting his own on your waist. His eyes were softened, half-lidded, his smile lopsided – weighed down by affection. If you didn’t know better, you might’ve mistaken him for genuinely lovestruck. “I had to. She never would’ve let me stick around if I didn’t, and—” He paused, squeezed your side. “I wasn’t going to give you up. Not when we were just starting to get to know each other.”
That wasn’t true. He’d already been living with you for years by the time they’d gotten married. You liked him enough not to tell your mom when you caught him smoking on the front porch or not using coasters, and he liked you enough to invite you out on his long, late-night drives and do your laundry with—
Oh, god.
He’d been doing your laundry.
Your voice was soft, almost inaudibly so. It took everything you had just to get your lips to move. “…can I go, now?”
“Not just yet.” A hand slipped between your body and his, dipping below his sweatpants. His cock – flushed and veined and monstrously thick – was pulled free, allowed to press into your stomach. Weakly, you tried to draw back, but Toji held you still, taking himself by the base and pumping once, twice. “I had to call in a lot of favors to make that accident happen, y’know. It’d be nice if you could show me a little love.”
The shock was cold, numbing. Toji guided you onto your knees, positioning the head of his cock against your entrance. Slowly, delicately, he dragged you down, lowering you inch by agonizing inch until your hips were slotted against his. He started to let his head roll back before thinking better of it and pulling you closer – burying his face in the crook of your neck.
You blinked. His cock twitched inside of you, and it was all you could do to melt, to rest your forehead against him and let your body go slack in his embrace. “Toj—”
“You know that’s not right, pretty girl.” His hips rolled against yours, drawing a pitiful whine from your lips. “Tell me who takes care of you.”
“D-Daddy.” And then, sniffling into his chest. “I’m really scared.”
“I know, baby, I know.”
It might’ve been easier to believe, if you hadn’t been able to feel his grin biting into your throat.
tw - minor jjk 0 spoilers, heavily implied non/con, kidnapping, obsessive behavior, threats of violence, and delusional behavior.
Satoru had been distracted for the past three days.
Normally, you would be grateful for the time apart. A distraction meant Satoru had something else to occupy his time with. A distraction meant you weren’t Satoru’s sole source of entertainment. A distraction meant you could traverse his prison of a penthouse without fear of unwanted affection, could go hours at a time without hearing so much as a word in that honeyed voice, could luxuriate in the closest thing you’d had to freedom in years. But, this was different. There wasn’t something calling him away – a mission or a student or a fight. That wouldn’t been too easy.
This time, he’d brought something home.
And he wouldn’t tell you what it was.
You stood outside of the guest bedroom. The door was locked from the inside, but Satoru had mounted a talisman to stop whatever was stowing away from getting out. When you held your breath, you could make out a muffled conversation, but it was to rule out that Satoru had started talking to himself. You racked your mind for explanations, but came up empty. It could be one of his surprises, but Satoru wasn’t that patient. He could’ve gotten hurt, but you’d seen him walk off missing limbs in less time than it would’ve taken the average person to recover from a head cold. He might’ve decided to finally kill you, but probably not. Satoru didn’t like breaking his toys.
You inhaled, letting the pressure in your chest mount until it hurt to hold. Slowly, as if bracing for impact, you raised your fist to the wood.
The door swung open a fraction of a second before you could knock. Predictably, Satoru filled the doorway, grinning from ear to ear.
“Sugarplum,” he started. That wasn’t good. Satoru only got creative with his petnames after coming up with yet another way to make you suffer. “I was waiting for you to check on us.”
Your curiosity dried up in an instant. “Sorry, I was just—”
“Nope. Too late.” He grabbed your wrist before you could jerk away, tugging you over the threshold. “He’s been dying to meet you, too.”
For one blissful, unreal moment, you thought Satoru might’ve brought home a dog.
And then, you saw the man on Satoru’s bed, and all such hopes dissolved immediately.
He was in bad shape. Actually, you were being too nice – he looked like was at death’s door. His right arm was gone entirely, fresh scar tissue webbed across his side and chest. His right eye was in-tact, but milky and unfocused, and dark hair hung loose over his pale face. He was naked aside from the sheet pulled over his lap, and the bedroom reeked of blood and sweat and sex. It wasn’t hard to guess what Satoru had spent the last seventy-two hours doing.
Satoru dragged you to the mattress, falling onto the edge and hauling you into his lap. The strange man didn’t look up. You weren’t entirely sure he was breathing.
“You know how much I love you, right?” Satoru made no attempt to mask his delight.
That, at least, was true. Satoru made sure you were constantly, painfully aware of how much he loved you. “Right.”
“And you know that nothing’s ever gonna change that, right?”
“Where’s this going?”
“I just want to make sure you’re not going to be jealous when I introduce you to the first love of my life.” He looked toward the strange man. “This is Suguru. He’ll be staying with us from now on.”
You spared a glance toward Suguru. “Is he alright?”
Satoru’s smile turned sheepish. “He might’ve had a slight run-in with one of my students. Yuuta’s very promising.”
“I think he might need a doc—”
“He’ll be just fine, sweetheart.” Satoru kissed the top of your head. It reminded you a little of when he’d first taken you away, how he’d pinned you down and promised over and over again that everything would be alright. Satoru good at that – justifying things, if only to himself. Anything seemed on the table, so long as it was for the sake of love.
Your gaze moved back to Suguru. Satoru wouldn’t hurt you. Satoru had never hurt you. But, up until now, you’d been his only toy. He couldn’t risk breaking what he couldn’t replace.
And you suddenly felt very, very replaceable.
Satoru seemed to notice your attention drifting. Abruptly, you were pushed off of his lap and onto the bed. “And Suguru,” Satoru went on. “This is the newest love of my life. Your competition.”
It was supposed to be a joke, but something pointed and angular lodged itself in your throat. This was not a fight you had known to try to win. And, by the look of it, neither had Suguru.
You tried to edge back, to get away, but Satoru’s hands found your shoulders and you were trapped. Swallowing back your nerves, you dug your nails into your palms and soldiered on. “It’s nice to meet you, Suguru.”
His good eye snapped up, locking onto you. One moment, his expression was slack and break, and the next, he wore a malice carved so deep, you could only imagine that it’d always been there.
His tone was deathly sharp, his voice cold as ice.
“I’m going to kill you, leech.”
Satoru’s laugh was immediate and barking, chiming bells and bird song and nails on a chalkboard. Suguru didn’t make another sound.
It was all you could do to bite your tongue and hope Satoru would stay distracted by his new, shiny toy for just a little longer.
TW: Gore, Blood, Major Character Death (Reader Is Fine), Implied Kidnapping, Non-Consensual Touching, Prolonged Stalking, and Delusional Behavior.
You found his latest gift on your doorstep.
It was a heart, this time – deflated but otherwise fully intact, blue viens still visible against pink flesh. A small puddle of blood and other gelatinous viscera surrounded it, but you ignored that in favor of wrapping the disembodied organ in your cardigan and unlocking the door to your apartment, too exhausted to fumble with your keys and too worn down to pretend you still thought you could get away from him on your own. His present was dropped into the ever-bubbling vat of crimson slurry you used to boil down his gifts until they’d been reduced to a less incriminating state, your shoes kicked off and left by the door. You didn’t bother turning on any lights. You were home, but you didn’t want to let yourself acknowledge that until he was gone.
You found Gojo in his usual spot; on the floor of your bedroom, his hands still stained red and one of your threadbare sleepshirts crumpled at his side, the dark material stained with something white and awful. That made two articles of clothing ruined, tonight. A few months ago, when the most he ever brought you was a half-beaten bouquet of roses and a list of questions for the strange man whose favorite place in the world seemed to be your living room, you would’ve been tempted to demand that he pay for the damages. You’d learned better than to imply you wanted anything from him, since then.
He was lying on his side, toying with something large and vaguely circular, his grin that of a cat dropping a slaughtered mouse at its owner’s feet. He was surrounded by more of his ‘presents’ – the disembodied organs of whatever poor criminal or curse user he’d taken it upon himself to dissect. You were glad you’d kept the lights off. You could see the outline of small intestine strung along the walls, assorted gore left in carefully considered piles wherever Gojo deemed it necessary. It’d take hours to clean up, after he left. Demanding that he help would only give him the impression that you wanted to spend time with him, and you weren’t going to make that mistake twice.
You moved to speak, but as always, he just had to be the center of attention. It was like he couldn’t imagine a world where you might’ve done anything but focus on him. “Welcome home,” he half-sung, pushing himself up and pulling his oblong, mishappen keepsake into his lap. “Do you want to start with dinner, or should I run you a hot bath? Or, if you want, you could always have a little of me—”
“Shut the fuck up.” And then, pointing in the general direction of your front door, “Get out.”
“So cold, babe. And after I went through all that trouble to set this up.” The coppery stench was starting to get to you. You could only pray the neighbors wouldn’t notice, or that you’d be able to think of a feasible enough excuse by the time they did. “I got hurt for you, too.” He held up a hand, gesturing towards the faintest, shallowest cut on his cheek. “Aren’t you going to dote on me? You know, like you used to – after you found me in that alley and bandaged my wounds. What was the first thing you said to me? That I was too pretty to bleed to death alone?”
You didn’t encourage him with a response, only crossing your arms over your chest and deepening your scowl. “Get out,” you repeated. “I don’t want you here.”
His grin only broadened. “If you keep saying things like that, I might start to think you’re trying to get me to leave.” Exasperation bled into your agitated expression, and Gojo let out a bark of a laugh. “Look, I know you like to play shy, but I’d really like it if we could use tonight for us. We could watch a movie, or—”
You let out a frustrated groan, dragging your hands over your face. “You know what? Fine. If you want to be here so badly, then stay.” You shut your eyes, standing a little taller. “I’m getting out of here.”
“Running off to spend the night with another man? Ah, what a cold-hearted temptress I’ve fallen for.”
“Oh, I’m going to do more than just spend the night with him.” You really should’ve shut your mouth. You should’ve bitten your tongue, swallowed your pride, refused to tell him anything save for the fact that you weren’t going to stay here any longer. But, the blood in the air was getting to you and you could still feel the cold flesh of the heart against your palm and you needed to get away, and you needed Gojo to know you were never coming back. “I met someone – a sorcerer. He knows you’ve been stalking me, and he offered to help.” You flashed him a grin, almost as awful as his own. “His name is Nanami, and he’s strong enough to keep me safe from people like you.”
You waited for him to laugh, to say he didn’t believe you, or better yet, to get angry, to feel a fraction of the dread and the rage he’d forced onto you. When he didn’t say anything, didn’t scream or yell or gloat, you opened your eyes. He was still staring, but his smile was softer, his eyes half-lidded in a way that could only mean something bad. “Oh, baby,” he started, his voice dripping with faux sympathy. “Whose heart do you think I went through so much trouble to bring you?”
A pebble threatening to slip off of its cliffside; two ends of a torn wire, a hair’s width away from connecting. Whatever he was trying to tell you, you just couldn’t seem to process it. “What?”
“Right. I’m sorry, sweetheart – that’s on me,” Gojo chuckled. “You were always more of a visual learner.”
The object in his lap was taken up and rolled towards you, coming to a teetering stop at your feet, where the residual light from the hall could illuminate it properly. In a daze, you dropped your gaze to it, allowed yourself to recognize blonde hair, razor-sharp cheekbones, and glassy brown eyes staring lifelessly back at you. There was a dark bruise on his jawline, paled by blood loss, and the mangled stump that used to be his neck was encircled by ragged flesh, as if it’d been torn from his shoulders. Despite everything, his mouth was closed, lips still pressed into a thin frown. As if he didn’t have time to so much as scream before Gojo got to him.
You must’ve passed out. One second, you were staring down at the disembodied head of your savior, and the next, you were on the floor, lying limp and breathless as Nanami’s blood formed a puddle underneath you. Gojo was already at your side, hauling you up and against his chest. You felt his arms around you, then plush of your mattress against your back. You were aware, distantly, that he was straddling you, that his mouth was pressing into the dip of your shoulder, then the curve of your throat. “It’s alright,” he muttered, his voice partially muttered by his closeness. “Why don’t you come stay with me for a while, after this? I’ve got a room ready for you back at my place and everything.”
He didn’t wait for an answer. Straightening his back, he let his lips crash into yours – his kiss lingering and deep and filthy. By the time he pulled away, he’d drunk the air from your lungs and frozen the blood in your veins, leaving you as empty and as lifeless as one of his gifts.
You thought, idly, of the heart being reduced to viscera in your kitchen, and wondered if you should’ve held onto it for just a few minutes longer.
“I’ll be able to spoil you properly, once I’ve got you where you’re supposed to be.”
Gojo can usually be trusted to do the right thing.
He knows he's not the best guy out there, but if he's given a choice between saving a cat from a tree and pushing a stroller into oncoming traffic, there's a good chance he'll choose the cat. His students might give him a hard time, but he knows better than to take it to heart when Megumi says the only useful thing about his dutiful guardian in his platinum card or Maki claims he could be replaced with a low-level curse and they'd struggle to tell the difference. He's not a saint, sure, but he doesn't entirely miss the mark.
That's why you felt so comfortable tag-along with him on a mission that took you to the other side of the country, why you didn't panic when you found out the higher-ups expected you to share a single (admittedly, still bigger than he'd like for it to be) bed, why you didn't think twice before stripping down to a tank-top and sleeping shorts and passing out - too exhausted to care about sorcerer decorum. Because Gojo can usually be trusted to do the right thing. Gojo can normally, generally, almost always be trusted to do the right thing.
It's just that he can't be trusted to do the right thing right now.
It's not his fault, Gojo reasons as he stares unblinkingly at the mold-stained ceiling, doing his best not to let his eyes drift. He's a hot-blooded man in the prime of his life, and you're... well, you're you - beautiful, smart, oblivious you. It's not his fault that you looked so pretty in the dim light filtering in through cheap curtains, that the stuffy motel room was too hot to justify using the paper-thin bedsheets, that all your tossing and turning meant your shorts were starting to ride up your legs in a way that wanted to make him dig his teeth into your thighs and--
And look at you. With a shaky breath, he sits up and rakes his fingers through his hair. Looking never hurt anyone. That's what he tells himself, at least, as he shifts onto his knees and lets his eyes rake over the length of your body. You'd rolled onto your side since the last time he could bring himself to check - your knees pulled up and your head tucked downward. He watches the gentle rise and fall of your chest for a moment, than another, before letting his attention fall lower - to where the waistband of your shorts had drifted below your hip, leaving a strip of supple flesh just a touch lower than what even the lowest-set of your jeans revealed. Both straps of your tank-top had managed to fall off of your shoulders sometime during the night, and careful not to touch you and cross a line he'd only half-heartedly set for himself, Gojo catches the flimsy fabric of your top between two fingers and tugs it downward, just enough to expose the swell of your chest and draw the material taut. Your nipples are already hard, he notes with just a little too much satisfaction. You wouldn't have been happy if you knew what he was doing, but your body might've been.
He feels his cock twitch, and he's palming it before he can stop himself. Touching himself wouldn't hurt you, either, and he wouldn't leave a mess, not if he could help it, not if he could summon that much self-restraint. Cursing under his breath, he shrugs his sweatpants down to his thighs and spits into his palm before wrapping his fist around his shaft. He's already stiff - had been from the second you started to undress, as hard as he'd tried not to acknowledge it. Biting down on his bottom lip, he pumps his hand over his cock to the tempo over your breathing, letting his mind wander to the space between your thighs. He couldn't, not without waking you up. He couldn't, but..
His attention drifts back to your lips, wet and ever so slightly parted. It wouldn't compare, but it'd have to do.
He positions himself carefully, his knees sinking into the mattress next to your head. Arousal beads at his tip, dripping down his shaft and filling the cramped room with a soft 'click, click, click' as he brings the head of his cock to your mouth, resting it gingerly on the crook of your lips. He does what little he can to swallow down his voice and smother the movement in his hips as your warm breath fans over his cock, as his fist tightens in a weak attempt to imitate how tight your throat would be, if he ever got the chance to fuck it properly.
He's thinking about how hot it would be inside of you, how adoringly your body would welcome him when his self-control snaps, when his hips buck forward and the head of his cock collides with the back of your throat. You gag sharply, your eyes snapping open and find his in an instant, expression a mix of shock and confusion and horror, pure and unadulterated. He wants to draw back. He wants to apologize. He wants to do the right thing.
Instead, he cums. His free hand falls to your head, and he holds you in place while he fucks shallowly into your mouth and rides through his orgasm. Your reaction is a pitiful thing - all choking and betrayal, but he can't seem to stop himself from grinning.
When he really thought about it, this was all your fault. You have no one to blame but yourself.
After all, Gojo can usually be trusted to do the right thing.
This time, you just didn't give him another choice.
warnings: non/con, amputation, unhealthy relationships, abusive relationships, obsessive behavior, amputation (no injury to reader in fic), handjobs, masturbation, and unbalanced power dynamics.
“Babydoll? You wanna let me in?”
A beat of silence, a light knock. You stayed where you were, crumpled on the bathroom floor, and Satoru sighed.
“C’mon, angel. I can’t help from all the way out here.”
You clenched your bloody arm closer, pulling your knees up to your chest. An orange-tinted, half-emptied pill container sat lidless and on its side next to you. Shoko’s pills took care of the worst of the pain, but a steady, persistent throbbing had lodged itself in the knob that used to be your wrist and refused to let-up. It probably wouldn’t for the next hour, if not the next day.
“I can’t take you to see Shoko if you keep me locked out.”
At that, you relented, uncurling with from your self-made bundle. It took a second to shift yourself onto your knees, another to find the doorknob with your remaining hand, but Satoru himself in as soon as the lock clicked out of place. Thankfully, mercifully, he gave you time to skitter back to your corner before crossing the threshold, but that didn’t stop you from withering as his eyes raked over you, as he evaluated the damage. Eventually, he collapsed against the adjacent wall and sunk to the floor, letting out a raspy groan before tossing you a familiar, crooked smile. You didn’t return it. “That mad at me, huh?” You didn’t respond, gaze dropping to your decimated hand – or, rather, the mangled stump that used to be your hand. His smile wavered, but didn’t fall away. “Yeah, no, I probably deserve that. Does it hurt?”
You didn’t indulge him with an answer. “Did you call Shoko?”
“On a mission,” he said with a slight shrug, a strong note of ‘what can you do?’ in his tone. Like this was some minor inconvenience, annoying but ultimately trivial. Like like you weren’t missing an essential part of yourself. “She said she’d swing by as soon as she’s done, but I’d give it another hour. I think she’ll kill me if I keep asking her to make house calls.”
Another beat of silence, another deafening failure to respond on your part. Finally, he turned to face you properly, leaning forward. “…can I?”
He always did this – paused like that, smiled like that, tried to make himself seem so gentle, so loving, so considerate. It might’ve been well-meaning, an attempt to let you know he was sorry without having to swallow enough of his pride to actually apologize, but all it ever seemed to make you feel was cold and alone, stuck in a shell of an apartment with a shell of a man. It was always the same. It was always going to be the fucking same.
And, like always, you relented, looking away as you nodded stiltedly. Satoru’s smile brightened as he closed the distance between you, his thigh pressing into yours as he settled against your side.
When you’d first gotten into a relationship with Gojo Satoru, you told yourself that if things ever so much as seemed like they might be going south, you were gone. You hadn’t known anything about cursed energy or sorcerer hierarchies or malevolent spirits, but you didn’t have to – even if you hadn’t watched him obliterate monsters the size of apartment buildings with a snap of his fingers, he still would’ve been the strongest person you’d ever met, a man capable of shattering bones with his bare hands and breaking open skulls with all the effort it would’ve taken you to swat a fly out of the air. He was dangerous to be around, even if you doubted Satoru could ever intentionally hurt another living, breathing person. He was rich, and pretty, and strong, and used to getting his way. You loved him, but you needed to be able to leave if it ever seemed like that love was going to put you in danger.
And you did leave. The first time you argued, the first time he lost control of his temper and you were left sobbing on the floor with nothing below your left knee, you’d gotten as far as you could as quickly as you could. It’d taken him a full week to track you down, another to convince you that one of his bizarre friends could heal you, and roughly half a minute of Satoru sobbing and clinging to your (newly restored) leg for you to forgive him, to write it off as an accident – just the kind of risk you took when you got into a relationship with someone who could deadlift armored tanks. The second, you’d stayed at a friend’s place for a few days before coming back on your own, as desperate for his miracle-cure as you were for the pet comforts that came with Satoru’s bottomless fortune. The fourth, you’d barricaded yourself in his bedroom for sixteen hours and only come out for Shoko, who’d muttered about your ‘wreck of a boyfriend’ as she rebuilt the three missing fingers on your right hand.
Now, on the ninth, you’d barely managed to keep him locked out of a bathroom for all of five minutes. It was embarrassing, more than anything. You wanted to be able to hate him, you wanted to be scared of him, but it was hard to be scared of someone you loved. Someone you loved as much as Satoru, especially.
You shook your head, dragging yourself out of your own spiraling thoughts. Your attention, instead, moved to Satoru – still slumped against the tiled wall, his head lulled back and his attention focused pointedly on the ceiling. You were dressed to go out, uncomfortable jeans and all, but Satoru looked like he just rolled out of bed – a plain white shirt pulled tight over his broad chest, a pair of pitch-black sweatpants falling low on his waist, the lights dim enough to mean his piercing blue eyes didn’t have to be locked behind tinted glass or thick fabric. That was what you’d been arguing about, even if it was hard to remember why it’d seemed like such a big deal. He had the day off, no class and no cursed spirits to slaughter, and wanted to waste his morning in bed, with you wrapped in his arms. You’d tried to tell him, as slowly and as tenderly as you could, that you couldn’t, that you had an important early-morning lecture, that you’d be back by the time he actually wanted to get up, but he’d whined and pouted and you’d lost your patience when he reminded you that you could ‘always drop out’. You tried to leave, and he tried to catch your hand, to make you stay for that much longer, and—
“Can I see it?” You were almost thankful to hear his voice, if only for the distraction. “Your hand, I mean. If you’re comfortable with showing me.”
You weren’t, but you were desperate not to sink back into your own head, either. Slowly, cautiously, you shuffled that much closer to him, folding your legs underneath you as you gingerly held out the arm you’d spent the better part of the last few minutes cradling. It made you sick to look at a part of your own body so violently distorted, so violently wrong, so you didn’t – keeping your focus trained on your knees as Satoru took up your shortened limb. His own healing abilities had taken care of the worst of the gore, but even with the open, gaping wound at the end of your arm closed, there was still a ring of bruising around your wrist, streaks of dried blood running down the length of your forearm, a raw quality to the skin where his hap-hazard repairs hadn’t quite taken. His touch was feather-light, skirting around the worst of the remaining damage and lingering near your elbow, then your bicep. Acknowledgement came in the form of a low whistle, an airy sigh. You tried not to let his casualness get to you. Sorcerers must’ve seen injuries like this all the time. This was the end of the world for you, but Satoru would be just fine. “I’m not going to let you lift a finger after this. You know that, right? I’ve gotta make sure my pretty baby’s still nice n’ spoiled, even when I go and fuck everything up.”
It wasn’t an apology, but it was as close as he’d ever get. You grit your teeth and nodded, taking a second to find your voice. Even with the delay, it came out as a croak; almost too low and too ragged to be coherent. “This can’t keep happening, ‘toru. I love you, but this can’t keep happening.”
“I know, baby, I know.” One of his hands remained wrapped around your arm while the other, unoccupied, fell between his open legs. “I don’t mean to. If I had it my way, nobody would be able to touch you, but…” A pause, a laugh. “I just get so stressed out when we start fighting, like that. All I can think about is someone hurting you when I’m not there to keep you safe, and I forget how delicate I’ve gotta be with you. It feels like I’m not in control of myself.”
Despite your better judgement, you felt a deep, churning well of guilt open up inside of you. It was your turn to sigh, now, to slump, to let your eyes fall shut. “I love you,” you repeated, like it was the only thing you knew how to say. “It’s just— It scares me, when you get like that. I know you’re just trying to be protective, but it hurts.”
You heard his breathing pick-up, his grip tighten ever so slightly. Not enough to hurt, but enough to feel. “I know, sweetheart. I’m just trying to take care of you.”
“You do take care of me, but—” You were cut off by a breathy swear, a throat groan. Momentarily, your fear and self-loathing gave way to irritation, a frown tugging at the corner of your lips as you opened your eyes and snapped towards Satoru. He was still focused on your arm – what was left of it, at least – but his gaze was glazed over, far away, and his hand was moving between his—
You put it together too quickly, the force of the realization leaving no time for numbing shock or dampening confusion. He was touching himself, grinding the heel of his palm into the base of his cock. You could see the outline of his shaft against the dark material – already half-hard, if not worse.
If you’d been able to feel anything, you might’ve felt sick.
Reflexively, you tried to pull away from him, but his hold on your arm only tightened, fingertips digging into your bicep as Satoru laughed, the sound strained and airy. “Sorry, sorry, my bad. I know you like a head’s up, but…” Now, he looked at you, but it was too late, too much, too sudden. All you could seem to think to do was gape back at him, unmoving and unthinking. “Guess it’s just what you do to me. I’ll try to make it quick – all you’ve gotta do is sit there and look pretty.”
It was a familiar line, a familiar excuse. You’d heard it a thousand times – mumbled into your neck as draped himself over you in the early hours of the morning, spouted off as he dragged you back to his car halfway through dinner at a restaurant you’d been looking forward to visiting for months – but it didn’t seem to make sense, this time, didn’t fit with the image of your missing hand hovering a few inches above your loving boyfriend’s erection. The dissonance only seemed to get worse, more dizzying as he shrugged the waistband of his sweats past his hips and down to his thighs, freeing his stiff cock. You’d been too generous, before; he was already hard, his tip flushed a dark pink and leaking thick beads of arousal. Again, you tried to get away, and again, he only pulled you closer, until your side was flush against his. There was a deep grunt, a hazy grin as he wrapped a fist around the shaft of his cock, his grip almost painfully tight. His eyes never left the dull stump on the end of your left arm, his raspy breathing soon turning to a deep, heady panting as you watched him pump his fist over his cock, his pace slow and methodical – a far cry from the spontaneous, erratic Satoru you were used to. A soft voice in the back of your mind, awful and treacherous, suggested that he might be trying to savor it, and a dozen more screamed loudly enough to drown it out.
“Satoru,” you said, nearly surprising yourself with how distant you sounded, how detached. You didn’t feel detached. If anything, you almost felt too grounded in the feeling of cool tile against your back, the heat of his body where it pressed into yours. “Please, stop.”
“I don’t really have a choice, babe.” He shot you a playful grin, and for a second, you could almost imagine hating him. “It’d go a lot faster if you helped me out, though.”
You didn’t answer, but he didn’t need you to. His hand was already groping for yours, already forcing your reluctant participation. The position was awkward, your body half-bent over his, but when you shifted, Satoru’s thumb dug into the bone of your wrist and instantly, you went still. This was bad. Not having control of your only remaining hand was bad. But having your only remaining hand taken away from you would be worse.
Satoru didn’t seem to see it that way. Sounds of aching pleasure bubbled past his lips shamelessly, turning the abruptly claustrophobic bathroom into an echo chamber of pitchy whines and raspy groans and the slick, wet clicks of his cock fucking into your balled fist. It was terrible – being able to feel how his cock pulsed against your palm, being forced to acknowledge the little, stilted movements of his hips whenever he decided your (admittedly lackluster) pace left something to be desired. In less than a minute, his head had lulled onto your shoulder, his voice muffled by the proximity as he struggled to speak in spite of his own unabashed moaning. “Love you so much,” he half-mumbled, half-panted. You could feel his breath against your shoulder, his drool starting to pool just above your collarbone. “W-wanna take care of you when you can’t take care of yourself, make sure nobody else ever gets to put their hands on you. I’d be good – cook for you, n’ shower with you, ‘n dress you up all nice n’ pretty,” He paused, nuzzled into the crook of your neck. “You… You wouldn’t hate me that much if we left it that way, right?”
You felt something drop into the pit of your stomach. “Satoru, you’re—”
“Please, baby.” It was the same tone he used when he was begging you to make a late-night snack run with him, or when he wanted to finish inside of you without protection. “Just—Just tell me that you’d let me take care of you. Just say that you’d still love me.”
It felt like your throat was swollen shut, your chest stuffed to bursting with shattered glass and razor blades and spiny needles only just beginning to poke through your skin. You didn’t want to say anything, you didn’t think you could say anything, and yet, when your mouth fell open, you found a voice that was not your own seeping out by means beyond your control. “It’s alright,” you muttered, distantly, as his cock throbbed in your hand. “I’d still love you, ‘toru.”
Although, you were starting to wish you wouldn’t.
You heard him groan, felt something thick and searing spill over the back of your hand. Satoru’s hand, cupped snuggly over yours, kept you moving until every last drop had been milked out of him, until the final ember of his climax had burnt itself out. He went limp against you, his vice-grip finally falling away, but rather than run, you only straightened, wiping your hand on your jeans before tucking it into your lap. How you looked didn’t matter, anymore. There couldn’t have been more than a few minutes left in your lecture, if you hadn’t already missed it entirely.
Silence interrupted only by panting breaths and the beating, drowning drum playing in your ears reigned over the confined space, keeping you in a state of bleary stasis until the sound of a sharp knock, shortly followed by a distant door opening broke through the fog. “That’s Shoko,” Satoru murmured, almost disappointed. He started to separate himself from you, only to relapse – burying his face in the crook of your neck and letting out a deep, contented sigh. “You know that I love you, right?”
“I know.”
“And you know that all I wanna do is keep you happy?”
“I know, ‘toru.”
“Good.” He pulled back, grinning. “’cause all I ever wanna do is take care of my angel. Don’t let anything ‘side from that get into your pretty little head.”
You only nodded as he pushed himself to his feet, as he slipped out of the bathroom to meet Shoko, to explain what vital part of yourself he’d torn away this time. You wanted to get up, to wash the cum off of your hand, to pump feeling back into your numb legs, but your remaining limbs were uncooperative, heavy and awkward and useless. It was all you could do to pull your knees up to your chest, wrap your arms around your legs, and hold yourself as you started to cry.
At least, next time Satoru decided to tear you apart, you might not find it so hard to hate him for it.
