Why do toxic fanfics keep popping up on my fyp, like no I don't want Gojo cheating on me, fucking me as an apology and me actually FORGIVING him???. I need a man who is OBSESSED with me and wouldn't even think of looking at another woman. The only fanfics that truly still my hunger are yander fics.
he comes home early to address the insult to his masculinity that's been eating at him all day. his wife, the woman he's supposed to be providing for and taking care of, has been sneaking behind his back and paying for things she has no business in contributing to, let alone worrying about.
he's allowed you, albeit reluctantly, to keep your job because you love the bakery a whole lot. it gives you practice at decorating and making sweet treats, and you and him get to share the cakes, pastries and donuts that are leftover at the shop by closing time.
however, the money you get from working never meant you could start slipping your own card in at the grocery store. it never meant you should be comparing prices on groceries, or help pay for a date. that's his job. and now you've gone behind his back and paid for insurance.
he responds gruffly to your excited, "you're home! oh my goodness, i have so much to tell you about work today!"
"mmh. evenin'. "
your face falls. he doesn't usually enter the home like this; he usually drops his things and opens his arms wide for you to run into, then presses a long, warm kiss to your lips and sweeps you off your feet to deepen it. right now, he's just staring at you and frowning.
you walk over to him, mood already plummeting at the thought of him having a bad day, or worse, being upset at you for something. you reach out to hold him and ask what's wrong, but he beats you to it, shrugging his coat off and taking a printed bank statement out of the pocket, pushing it into your hands.
"explain."
you freeze but recognize it immediately, the paper reflects our own bank activity, bolded and circled. it's impossible to miss the hefty payment labeled "insurance".
you look up at him with wide, guileless eyes. you'd simply made the payment because he'd been buying you so many things recently, pretty dresses, lingerie, a planned vacation to the country you've been daydreaming about for months; he'd noticed you looking longingly at pictures of the island online and had surprised you a week later with plane tickets. with so much money spent on you in such a short period of time, you thought the least you could do was contributing a little to some of your shared bills. "oh... it's just me chipping in a little. i thought i was helping…"
"helping?" his voice drops and he stares at you more intently. one of his large hands reaches up to cup your cheek and rub his thumb lightly beneath your eye, a reassuring gesture that's meant to lull you into a false sense of security. you immediately lean in to rest your face in his palm. "did i ask for help, sweetheart?"
"no, but-"
he slaps your cheek lightly so you go quiet, then he brings his hand down to your jaw and squeezes, making sure you're looking right into his eyes while he speaks. "and did i ever give you the impression i needed your money?"
you blink, stunned by the sudden shift because his palm that was so gentle a moment ago is now clamping around your jaw. your lips part, but he doesn't give you the chance to answer yet.
"you think i can't take care of my own wife?" he demands. "you think i need your bakery tips to keep food on our table and you in those pretty little outfits i like seeing you in?" you try to shake your head, lip wobbling. you hate when he's mad at you. you really thought he'd appreciate you trying to help out. "that's not-, i didn't mean it like that."
"i don't know what you meant," he cuts in, thumb swiping over your lip . "but that's not your job, sweetheart. it's mine. now i've got t'show you what yours is."
ᥫ᭡.
he's pressed behind you with one hand on the back of your neck and the other holding your hip to keep you in place. your face is in the mattress while he pounds into you with hard, rapid thrusts that make your body jolt every time. his cock drags against your walls hard and thrust, burying to the hilt each time while his heavy balls slap firm against your ass. "y'think i need y'fucking money, woman?"
you whimper into the sheets, hips arching, thighs trembling. And he grabs your waist tighter, rough fingers digging in like he's trying to brand you. "n-no sir," you manage to choke out through a loud whine that sounds garbled because it's mixed in with your squeaky little sobs.
his hands slide down from your waist to your thighs, lifting you just enough to shift, pressing deeper, harder. His hips slam into yours with a sudden, brutal force that knocks the breath out of you. "what kind of man would i be," he growls, squeezing the sides of your neck to make you dizzy. "if i let you run around spending y'money on me and letting you sneak behind my back?"
you're shaking under him, hips jerking up, thighs all shaky while he fucks you harder and harder. the slick between you has become a fucking mess by now. he's not just fucking, he's saying, loud and clear, he's the one taking care of shit. the one putting food on the table and keeping you in those pretty little things he can't stop staring at.
his cock is buried so deep inside you it feels like he's never gonna come out. he's fucking you straight into the mattress just to prove a point. he drags out slow just to slam all the way back in, hitting so deep your legs go weak and your breath catches in your throat. "you like that, don't you?"
"mmh, mhm... yeah," you mumble into the pillow. he scoffs at your dazed little voice. seems like all you care about right now is cock and not the lesson he's trying to instill in your stupid head.
his grip tightens on your hips, not enough to bruise yet but enough to jolt you out of your haze for a second and clench around him. your body responds even when your mind goes soft, even when he's scolding you like you're too dumb to understand anything but the stretch of his cock.
"so now you remember how to use your mouth," he mutters, "but you couldn't open it to ask me before you went behind my back, hm wife?"
you sniffle and try to say something, but he fucks into you too hard for words to form as he bullies his cock deeper into your soaked pussy.
he leans down over you, his broad chest blanketing your back, hot breath puffing against your ear as he shoves in again deep until you squeal. your hips collapse to the mattress and he doesn't let up, just grabs your ass with both hands, spreading you open and using you. filthy, deep thrusts that make your toes curl and your brain go soft. "let's get -fuck- one thing straight." he mumbles into your ear.
"you. don't. pay. for. shit." each word a thrust. each one harder than the last. "understand?" "y-yes-!" "say it." "i-i'm sorry! ohmygod," you gasp out, voice wobbling. "i didn't mean to, I wasn't trying to- mmh, sir, i'm sorry! i won't pay for anything!" "that's fuckin' right."
his hand slips up your back and tangles in your hair, yanking your head up just enough that your mouth falls open in a helpless gasp. he keeps your face turned to the side so he can see every expression while he keeps pounding your pussy.
you're dripping all over the sheets, thighs shaking uncontrollably, mouth slack with how good and overwhelming it feels. he watches for a second, watching the mess he's made of you, the way your body shakes with every thrust and tightens every time he presses deep.
your whole body locks up as your climax crashes over you without warning, a messy, gasping, trembling orgasm that leaves your thighs soaked and your voice gone. you clamp down around him and he grunts loudly in your ear, cock pulsing inside you hard as he spills thick cream deep into you and filling you even more.
he doesn't pull out. just wraps both arms around you, cradling you against his chest to soothe you.
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He stood outside the courthouse, using the building’s reflective glass as a makeshift mirror. He adjusted the tie she’d picked out for him that morning, tugging it loose and then tightening it again until it sat just right. His free hand ran through his hair, smoothing the strands she’d ruffled when she kissed him goodbye with a sly smirk. The faint scent of her perfume clung to his shirt, and he couldn’t help but smile.
“Man, your wife is insane,” an officer muttered as he walked past, throwing him a glance.
Without missing a beat, he chuckled, straightening his collar. “Yeah, no shit. Why do you think I married her?” He shot the officer a grin through the reflection, adjusting his cufflinks like this was just another day in his life. “I’m literally on my way to her trial right now, carrying her favorite cookies and wearing the shirt she insisted on. Hell, I’ve even got her eyeliner in this bag because, and I quote, she wants to look stunning for the pictures.”
He gave himself one last look in the glass, smoothing the fabric of his shirt, before turning to the officer. “And when this is all over, I’ll be paying her bail. Not because I have to—because I want to. She’ll come out, probably ask for a shopping spree or some fancy dinner, and you know what? I’ll give it to her. Every last bit.”
His voice softened as he glanced down at the cookies in his hand, a quiet smile tugging at his lips. “Because she’s my wife. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
