Pleaser
Dark!Gojo Satoru x reader -College AU
word count: 6.6k
Synopsis: You’ve always had a hard time standing up for yourself. Your new roommate loves that about you.
(Warnings: yandere, dark content, manipulation, slight exhibitionism, forced voyeurism(?), non-con, gojo being a freak)
It was a clerical error.
Gojo Satoru wasn’t supposed to have a roommate because he was Gojo Satoru. The apartment was specifically his, as most things were.
You were a mistake.
The administration apologized to you both. They’d fix it in no time, they promised. This would only last a month before you’d move to your permanent residence.
You didn’t mind the error. His apartment was large and expansive, and you’d already unpacked your stuff. The plan was to keep you there until everybody settled in for the semester, and then they could swap you out to an empty room.
Gojo didn’t seem to mind too much either. You assumed he’d be a bit more irritated with the situation, but his lax nature was a pleasant surprise. You wouldn’t necessarily call the two of you close, but you weren’t on bad terms either.
Positive, is the better word. Not exactly neutral, but not too friendly either. You existed on the edges of each other's peripherals, and you were pretty happy with that. Gojo wasn’t a bad roommate either. He kept the apartment mostly clean and didn’t leave any food out. You thought you’d have to deal with loud parties; he seemed like the type, but the tiny circle he gravitated towards never overstayed its welcome.
The only issue was the music.
It wasn’t bad music. You enjoyed his taste. You would just rather not hear it blasting through the walls at 2 am.
A roommate disagreement. It’s the first one you’ve ever had.
You want to do this right. Your biggest worry is offending him. You spend days figuring out the best way to approach him. You look up ways to gently bring up disagreements between your roommate. You fill a bag with treats and sweets–the kinds you’ve seen him munch on before. You even write a letter because you know how flighty you get in these situations, and you can’t thank him enough for all that he’s done for you, but if he could just maybe perhaps slightly–
“-So you just want me to turn the music down?” Gojo interrupts your rambling.
He’s sitting on the sofa, one leg across the other. You remain standing, too strung up to really relax. The paper you were reading out loud crinkles as you fold it back up.
“Yeah.” You mumble. “If you can.”
He takes another candy you’d gifted him, popping it in his mouth.
“Yeah, sure.” He shrugs, as if it were hardly an inconvenience.
You, on the other hand, nearly deflated in relief. You didn’t expect it to be so simple. You were half-preparing for the possibility that he’d blow up at you and go back to administration, demanding your eviction. Everything was resolved so easily.
“Thank you.” A genuine smile graces your lips.
Gojo hums. The candy cracks between his teeth.
“You’re pretty shy, huh?” He tilts his head, studying you.
A laugh escapes your throat. Nervous.
“I just don’t like confrontation,” you admit.
Gojo nods, returning your wave when you say your goodbyes. You think nothing of the exchange. Hours later, you’re still riding the high of how effortless it all went.
⌂
Two things change today.
First, Gojo is up this morning.
He’s never up this early. Usually, you only hear him moving around at noon. You’re the early bird, not him. You never minded his routine. If anything, you appreciated that you ran on separate schedules.
Second, he was naked.
Gojo typically dresses conservatively: T-shirts, sweatpants, hoodies. He adorns the look of a typical college student most days. His tastes are a bit on the expensive side, considering how casually he wears luxury brands, but he’s mostly covered up.
Today, Gojo walks around the kitchen in nothing but boxers.
You’re awkwardly standing in the hallway. You want to go back to your room and hide out until he leaves, but you’re already running late for class. Briefly, you think about keeping your head locked on the ground and slinking out the door. Maybe, if you’re lucky, he won’t notice you.
You aren’t that lucky.
Gojo looks at your miserable figure. There’s no embarrassment about how little he’s dressed. No apologies. No stutters that will make you feel the tiniest bit human. He bares his white teeth as he smiles.
“‘Morning, roomie!” He chirps.
You repeat the pleasantry with far less enthusiasm. You avoid looking at him directly, preferring to look at the counter, the floor, the refrigerator, anywhere that didn’t have Gojo in it.
This was normal, you kept repeating to yourself. This is his house. You’re practically a squatter. He should be comfortable in his own home. He should wear whatever he wants.
Besides, now you can make the most of your situation. You first considered skipping breakfast, given his situation. Now that the worst has happened, you could grab an apple or something.
You slip past him. You think Gojo is making some type of smoothie, but you refuse to look directly at him to confirm. The fruit basket is right at your fingertips. You start to swipe the first one you can grab before making your escape.
Something presses against your back, caging you against the counter. You freeze. You feel hard muscle as Gojo reaches up to mess with the cabinets.
“Sorry.” Gojo casually excuses, rifling through the shelves. “I’ll just be a second.”
One second.
Five seconds. He’s still there. Your knuckles are white from how hard you’re gripping the counter.
“Gojo–”
“My music didn’t bother you last night, did it?” He asks.
For a second, you wonder if that’s why he was doing this. Maybe you had offended him earlier with your complaint. But you don’t hear any resentment in his voice. He sounds cheerful.
Delighted, even.
“No,” you say, “it was fine.”
He hums. When he finally pulls away, you get your autonomy back. You scramble away from the counter, not wanting to get caught again.
“That’s good,” He says, “I’m glad you were upfront about this. We’re roommates! No use in hating eachother, right?”
Temporary roommates, you correct in your head.
“Also, we should use our first names from now on, roomie.” Gojo continues. “We should speak more comfortably.”
Fine, whatever. You just wanted to leave.
He suddenly leans in so he’s eye-to-eye with you. You hadn’t noticed it before, but his gaze is intense. You try to back away, but there’s nowhere to go.
“Say it.” He lowers his voice. “Sa-to-ru.”
It feels like he’s mocking you, but you can’t seem to find the joke.
“Satoru,” you obey.
He smiles.
“Yeah.” He pulls away. “Just like that.”
⌂
After a couple of washes, you finally notice its absence.
It wasn’t the most expensive of your collection, but it was still pretty pricey. You liked the silk material and the dark red color. It was your favorite pair of panties.
You skulk around the apartment, hoping it just fell from the basket. That, or the washer ate it. You tried not to think of the other option.
Days pass, and you give up searching. You decide to forget about it. You have other pairs. It’s not the end of the world.
A part of you thinks about asking Satoru, but you’re quickly squashing it down. No way would you willingly ask him something so embarrassing. You just toss it to the back of your mind, hoping it will just show up again.
And then, Satoru invites you into his room.
It’s not exactly an invitation. When you’re trudging home from class, he pops out from his room, excitedly telling you about a TV show before you’re being dragged inside. You’re not a big fan of the genre, and you have no interest in the show. It doesn’t matter to Satoru. You’re forced to sit on his bed as the characters on screen follow the script.
He’s doing that a lot lately. Interrupting. Invading. You keep brushing off the thought that he’s testing you, somehow.
“Roomie, this guy is so annoying.” Satoru comments. “Don’t worry, he dies in the next episode, so you don’t have to suffer for long.”
You say nothing as he casually spoils the show for you. Honestly, you couldn’t care less. You were getting a little bored. Your eyes wander around his room. It’s cleaner than you thought it’d be. A few clothes are scattered around. A college hoodie hangs off the door. There are all sorts of papers on his desk, each is covered in meaningless algorithms you can’t decipher, and you suddenly remember he’s a physics major. You ask about maybe getting some math help from him later on, before you’re brushing that thought away.
There’s a snap of fingers. Your gaze drifts back to Gojo.
“Roomie, pay attention!” He whines, urging you back to the screen.
There are only 10 minutes of the show left. Fine, you sit there, counting down the minutes until you can make your escape.
Satoru’s hand brushes the edge of your bare thigh.
He’s not exactly touching. You two are sitting pretty close. He was just sitting comfortably, resting his weight on his hands. It’s barely a touch, but it’s there. You can feel his fingers on your skin.
He doesn’t move his hand back. It’s more likely because he doesn’t notice, you convince yourself. You’re overthinking things again.
He shifts. His hand slips even closer.
When you try to open your mouth, he hushes you with a, “This is the best part!” and all the courage leaves your body again.
It feels like hours until the credits finally roll. Satoru steps off the bed to turn off the TV, and you make your move too, eager to find refuge in your room.
“Oh yeah.” His voice stops you in your tracks. “What did you want to talk about earlier?”
You stare. It feels crazy to bring up what happened just now. See? He didn’t even notice.
But now, you have nothing to say, and saying nothing feels like a lie.
“Did you see something in your laundry?” You blurt out before you can even think.
Satoru encapsulates a picture-perfect replication of an innocent doe. He tilts his head in confusion.
“Like what?” He asks.
Dark red panties, with just the hint of lace. You can’t say it. You just can’t.
“I think we might’ve swapped some clothes.” You unhelpfully murmur. “If you see anything…just let me know.”
He nods. “Sure thing, Roomie!” He calls to you as you hurry back into your room and lock the door.
Soon, Satoru’s actions turn less ambivalent.
Sometimes, you’d hear him once or twice in the middle of the night. He’s loud. The walls thankfully muffle most of it, but you know what he’s doing. You usually just plug in your headphones and try not to look at him the next day. So far, things have worked out pretty well.
Today, his door is wide open as he jerks off.
You’re standing right next to your own door, mouth agape, forced to listen to his moans and babbles for five minutes. You’re already late for class.
But you can’t bring yourself to even open your door.
To get out of the apartment, you’d have to cross Satoru’s room. The one that is currently open, where you’d see him stroking his dick.
You know this is going too far. You needed to fucking do something already. There’s no way you can be kept a prisoner in your own home.
And yet, you stay, forced to listen to him openly masturbate.
“Fuck yes,” you can hear him say over and over again. “Just a little more, pretty girl. C’mon, just a bit–there we fucking go.”
He’s talking to someone. No, that’s not right. He’s fantasizing about someone.
More babblings and you’re squeezing your eyes shut as he comes. He curses again, and you stand there until you no longer want to melt into the floor.
A few minutes later, you’re stomping around the room, trying to be as noisy as possible. You loudly adjust your bookbag and fiddle with your chair. You try to give him as much time as possible.
By the time you come out, the apartment is back to normal. His door is still open. You stare straight ahead, ignoring the clear invitation to look as you pass his room.
“Hey, Roomie.” Satoru casually calls from his place on the bed.
You nearly trip over your own feet. Satoru gives a hiss.
“You good?” He asks.
No.
“Yes.” You adjust your bag. “Just tripped.”
“Okay.” You hear him shift. His bed creaks under the weight. “Have fun at class, pretty girl.”
You slam the door a lot harder than you should. You were ten minutes late for class that day, but it doesn’t matter. As much as you tried to focus on your professor’s drones, your mind kept drifting to the name he called you right before you fled.
No, no it couldn’t be. You needed to forget about it.
Also, he was holding something in his hand. You didn’t know for sure, you didn’t want to stare but…
…it was a dark red piece of fabric.
⌂
You like it when Satoru’s friends come over. They create a buffer between you and him.
These days, you aren’t in the apartment as much. You’re out early. You come in late. You aren’t avoiding Satoru. You talk to him when he talks to you. You listen to whatever ramblings he has that day. You aren’t avoiding Satoru.
Today is one of the few times he manages to catch you. Maybe you should count yourself lucky that he did it today, because Suguru was here.
He lounges on the sofa as Satoru drags you behind him. Suguru barely glances up from his phone. He’s pretty used to Satoru’s antics. You aren’t.
Satoru plops right next to his friend, picking up his remote.
“Okay, we’re ready,” he says before frowning and glancing around. “There’s no more space.”
He’s right. Both men are big, barely overcrowding the minuscule couch. You awkwardly loiter nearby as they both set up. You open your mouth, ready to say that you were fine with not joining, that you didn’t really care about a video game, no matter how awesomely Satoru described it.
Satoru’s grin is filled with nothing but delight as he turns to you.
“Here–” he eagerly pats his lap “–I've got plenty of space left, pretty girl.”
You blanch, and his smile just grows wider. He starts to reach for you before his friend steps in.
Suguru shoves him off the couch. Satoru dramatically collapses onto the floor.
“Don’t be a dick.” Geto chides before motioning you to sit.
You take a seat, with a relieved smile directed at Geto. Satoru grumbles from his spot on the floor, but he doesn’t try to move back as you thought he would.
“I can’t believe you’re abusing me in my own home,” Satoru complains. “Where I pay rent.”
“Your parents pay rent, you trust fund baby.” Geto is more than happy to refute.
“Same thing.” Satoru rolls his eyes. “It’ll all go to me in the end.”
Out of all of Satoru’s friends, Suguru seemed to have the biggest hold on his collar. They seemed close. Maybe their friendship had spanned years before college. You don’t know if anyone could bear to be around Satoru for that long, but maybe Suguru is that exception.
You think you spend about an hour watching them play. You aren’t too interested in video games, much less combat games, but they seem to get a kick out of it. Eventually, Gojo demands to play with you. Geto relinquishes his remote to your reluctant hands, more than happy to go back to his phone.
“Damn.” Satoru laughs as he kills you for the 4th time. “You’re bad at this.”
You frown at the YOU LOSE on your side of the screen.
“I haven’t played this before,” you respond.
“I can tell.”
He doesn’t seem particularly upset that his new gaming partner sucks. If anything, the more he kills you, the wider his smile gets.
“We should place bets.” He suddenly pipes up. “However looses a round: strips.”
You shrink. Geto rolls his eyes.
“Satoru, stop bullying your roommate and play the game.” He leans back. “Let the poor thing breathe.”
“Bullying?” Satoru sounds offended. “I’m joking. Y’know I’m joking, right?”
He whirls around to look at you with wide eyes. You can’t tell whether he’s being genuine. You glance away.
“Yeah.” You fiddle with the remote. “I know.”
“See, it’s fine!” Instantly, Satoru forgets the game. He crowds into the couch to circle his arm around you, pulling you into his side. “You’re the only person who understands my humor, pretty girl.” He sighs.
“This sounds more and more like a hostage situation.” Suguru idly comments.
But when you look at him, really look at him, you can see the apathy clear in his eyes.
Maybe that’s why they got along so well.
“Shut up.” Satoru snaps.
“You’ll tell me, though, right?” Satoru says as he snuggles even closer. “If I’m going too far?”
You want him to get off of you. You know he knows, too.
“I will.” You say instead.
Satoru grins, continuing to swaddle you with his body.
“See?” He blows a raspberry in Suguru’s direction. “My Roomie loves me.”
⌂
Sometimes you prefer to be alone with Satoru. He just gets worse with more people around.
The club he dragged you into was smoky, with the occasional lights that flicked and changed colors, illuminating the floor. It was crowded. Someone spilled a drink on the floor earlier that night. The sweet sticky scent lingered in the air.
Satoru had brought a couple of other people too, more than happy to stuff the lot of you into his car before driving off. One of Satoru’s other friends, Shoko, was here somewhere. Suguru was here too, but you lost sight of him sometime back. You, standing against the wall, wonder if you could take a bus back to the apartment.
The only person in your line of sight was Satoru.
Earlier, he’d asked if you wanted to dance. You declined. You thought he’d make a bigger fuss out of it, like usually he does when you don’t fully accommodate him. Instead, he shrugged off your rejection, casually tossing over his shoulder to ‘join in at any time’.
Someone else was with him. She was shorter than him, even with the heels. You watch as she drags manicured nails across his arms as he leans down to kiss her. You doubt they know each other. Satoru’s just like that. Overly friendly.
It reminds you of all the people he brings over for ‘late-night study sessions’. Apart from the noise, you don’t mind the girls and guys. Most of them are pretty nice. They actually give you a lot of relief whenever you see them. For a second there, you thought that the reason Satoru was doing this to you was that he–
So yes, the people he brings over are a nice thing.
Someone clears his throat.
You don’t recognize him. His grin is sheepish. Polite, you smile back.
The small talk is a bit awkward at first. It’s hard to hear him with the screaming crowd and music. You two exchange names. He comments on the phone case you have, claiming his sister likes that character too. He perks up when he says something that makes you laugh.
“Did you come here with anyone?” He finally asks.
“My roommate,” you offer, turning your head to point to Gojo.
He isn’t there. Neither is the girl he danced with earlier. You wonder if he decided to ditch you and take her home. You don’t think you’d be surprised if he did.
At the implication you aren’t seeing anyone, he asks:
“Can I get you a drink?”
You think you’re about to refuse. You know Satoru and the rest of his group will be drunk by the time the night ends. You’re pretty sure the only reason you were dragged along was to play babysitter and drive them home.
You open your mouth for a polite rejection.
Satoru does it for you.
He was fast. You hadn’t noticed him until he was putting himself right between you and your conversational partner.
Satoru’s smiling. It doesn’t look friendly.
“Hey man,” Satoru casually says, “the fuck are you doing?”
He can read between the lines, something you’re grateful for. Within seconds, the stranger is hurrying off. Lucky, you think to yourself, watching his back disappear into the crowd. Satoru lets him go so easily.
Unlike you.
He turns on you almost immediately. You want to sink into the wall.
“We’re going.” He finally says.
You pliantly nod, letting him lead you out the seedy club. Only when you get to his car do you realize he meant just you and him.
“What about–” You cut yourself off when you see his eyes.
Dark. They no longer resemble the color of cloudless skies. Now, they’re more like thunder and rain.
You’ve never seen him more furious than the entire time you’ve known him.
You remain silent as you slip into the passenger seat, tucking yourself into the seatbelt. Satoru starts the car with a distinct rumble. The locks click into place.
You’ve always known Gojo to be an erratic driver. Tonight feels even worse. His knuckles are white from how hard he’s squeezing the steering wheel. The car keeps speeding up and up, careening past the speed limit. You can hear your heartbeat thudding in your chest.
And Satoru?
Satoru looks like he’s about to murder someone.
“Who was that?” His voice is cold, devoid of all the playfulness he had earlier tonight.
“I don’t–”
“Who the fuck was he?” He demands.
You flinch, and your hands curl into fists to keep them from shaking too much. You can’t do anything but stare into the window, watching the night sky dwindle past with all the other cars on the highway.
“I didn’t know him.” You weakly tried to defend, even if you didn’t know why. Your instinct was to placate. “He just came up to me, and we started to talk.”
He laughs. It’s dry, bitter, and sardonic.
“Okay.” He tells you, turning the wheel so sharply that you press further into the door. “I let you outta’ my sight for two seconds, and you’re letting some fucker feel you up?”
“I–”
“What’d you two talk about?” He demands. “Did he ask if he could touch your pussy? If he did, you would’ve let him, right? I mean, you were practically throwing yourself at him like a slut, so maybe the guy thought he had a chance.”
It hurts to breathe. Something stings in your eyes as your vision blurs.
No one has ever said such horrible things to you before.
“Nothing like that happened.” You insist. Why was he doing this? Why was he acting like this? “Please just–”
“Shut up.” He snaps back. “What, you seriously thought anyone would fall for the shit you pull? You think he actually cared for you? Don’t make me laugh. He only wanted your tits and holes.”
The words Satoru barks out are mean and vulgar. Your body freely shakes, you press yourself further up against the door, feeling tears stream down your cheeks. Satoru’s voice only softens when your hiccups and sobs fill the car.
“Baby, no, I–I didn’t mean that shit.” His voice is oddly strained. You feel fingers brush against your neck, but you only shift away.
You didn’t want to be in that club. You didn’t want to talk to that man. You didn’t want to get into Satoru’s car. You just wanted to go home.
He can’t even let you have that.
“No, pretty girl, it’s okay,” Satoru comforts, “Don’t–don’t cry–Fuck fuck.”
The car slows to a stop right in an abandoned parking lot. Satoru kills the engine, letting the car hum into silence. Whatever happens, you think it will happen now. At this very moment. You prepare yourself for the worst, squeezing your eyes shut.
But it’s even worse.
There’s a hiss of a zipper. Your eyes open just in time to see Satoru pull out his dripping cock.
He’s already hard. His cock curves up, almost touching the steering wheel as he wraps his fingers around the base. The tip is painfully swollen as beads of pre-cum leak down his cock. Veins bulge against his skin as he frantically pushes his hand up and down.
Your fear melts straight into horror as you stare at him. He’s staring right at you, desperately pumping his cock with his hand. The worst part is his eyes–wide, blown out like he’s high. He looks right at you like he wants to eat you alive.
You’re immediately reaching for the handle. No matter how much you tug, the car won’t open. You’re trapped there, forced to watch as your roommate jerks himself off in front of you because your crying turned him on.
Your sobs quieten. All you can hear in the car is his moans and the words he mouths, your name over and over again.
You think the worst part is that he still tries to talk to you, to comfort you.
“You’re okay–you’re okay, baby.” He’s spitting the words out through his teeth as his hand throttles his pulsing dick. “Lemme–lemme–can’t help m’self–just–”,
You flinch when he comes. His cock spurts white cum all over his hands.
You’re fully silent. The only thing you can hear is his heavy breathing as he cleans up.
You think he’s about to reach for you. His fingers never make contact.
You stare out the window. Everything’s dark. Nobody was around. No one was around to see you. To hear you.
Even if someone was around…what could you say?
“Can we go home, please?”
There’s a sharp inhale.
“Sure.” The affection in his tone makes you nauseous.
You close your eyes.
“Anything for you, pretty girl.”
⌂
Ten minutes later, you’re still twiddling your fingers in the waiting room.
Getting this appointment had been excruciatingly difficult. Constant last-minute cancellations. Reschedules. It felt like they were trying to deter you from entering the housing office.
They promised you this was a temporary arrangement. You were only supposed to be at Satoru’s place for a month, maybe even less. But then one month turned to two. Two months turned to three. You don’t think you’d last another day in that apartment.
He was getting worse each day. It was only a matter of them until he—
A man steps into the lounge. He’s tall and lanky, carrying a smile that screams dismissive. You perk up as he squints at you. When he calls your name, you immediately rise, following him into the back of his office.
It’s stuffy. There are papers everywhere. You squish into a chair just before he starts talking.
It’s the usual stuff. You spell out your name, and he pulls up your housing account. He squints at the computer.
“You said this was a temporary assignment?” He asks.
You eagerly nod, straightening your posture.
“Yes,” you say. “My roommate wasn’t supposed to have another one, but there was a mix-up and—“
“No.” He taps on the screen. “You said it was temporary, but here it says it’s permanent.”
You swallow.
“What?”
He messes around with his mouse for a bit. Your hands feel strangely clammy.
“Ah, here it is.” He cleared his throat. “It says you came in a month ago wanting to make the change. I see your and your roommates' signatures. You must have come here a while ago.”
You struggle to find the words.
“I don’t—“
“In any case, it’s too late to change anything now. The deadline for reassignment passed weeks ago.” He gives you a sympathetic look that strangely cuts deep into your skin.
“Are you and your roommate having issues?”
You think about the truth.
“No,” you hear yourself say. “Everything is fine.”
You don’t remember much after that. You think you were polite as you stood up. You think you shook his hand. You think you walked out of his stuffy office and out of that stifling building. Everything is a blur until you step into the sunlight, feeling it beat down your face.
You don’t want to go back to the apartment. You still feel too raw, too fresh.
You don’t have any classes left for today. You can’t hide out on campus. Satoru will find you. He always finds you. Maybe you should stay at a friend’s place and recuperate.
Right, you don’t have any friends. Satoru made sure of that.
Briefly, you think about going to the police. Could you maybe use them as a buffer somehow? At the very least, it might scare him from taking this any further.
But then you glance over at the campus buildings. The name Gojo flashes brightly in the sun.
You aren’t stupid. You may not know his family all that well, but you know the influence of his background. There is a reason his campus apartment is thrice the size of everyone else’s. There is a reason he wasn’t supposed to have a roommate in the first place.
He is everything. He has everything.
You are nothing. You have nothing.
When you arrive at the apartment ten minutes later, Satoru is already lounging on the couch.
He excitedly waves you over. When you get inside striking range, he reaches out, pulling you onto the cushions. You pretend not to notice the way he breathes in your scent as you settle on the sofa. An arm wraps around your body, pushing you into his side.
“Where were you, roomie?” Satoru whines. “Didn’t class end an hour ago?” It would be a harmless question if his grip weren’t so tight. You won’t be surprised if you find a bruise there in a day or two.
Something plays on the TV. Neither of you pays attention.
“Sorry.” It’s all you can muster to say.
He seems satisfied with your answer–the submission of it. You find yourself counting down the clock. Seven minutes go by before you speak up again.
“Satoru?” You ask.
There’s a distant hum of an answer.
“Did you tell Housing I was staying?”
For the longest while, Satoru does not speak. Then, he relaxes. He groans, easily delving into your space. A hand rests on your thigh.
“Oh, that.” There’s a yawn. “Yeah, I just went ahead and told them you didn’t need to move out. We were getting along so well, ‘makes no sense why you’d get a different apartment, right? Sounds like a hassle moving halfway through the semester.”
Then he shifts. You can feel him stare right down at you.
“Unless you have a problem with that?”
He doesn’t even bother to hide it. Pure excitement.
Was there ever a possibility you could’ve come out unscathed had you just stood up to him earlier? Maybe you should’ve been a bit less timid when speaking to him about his music. Maybe you should’ve commented on his lack of clothing around the house.
Or maybe it was always going to end up this way.
“No.” You tell him, staring straight at the TV. “I don’t have a problem with that.”
A couple of days later, another pair of panties goes missing.
Unlike last time, you don’t bother looking for it.
⌂
You always locked your door at night, but looking back, it was stupid to assume Satoru didn’t have a spare key.
This is his apartment, after all.
The lock gives with barely a click. You’re already wide awake, body rigid, tucked underneath the covers as hallway light bleeds into the room. You’re facing the textured wall, watching as his shadow drifts into your bedroom. The door shuts in a way that sounds final. It’s dark again.
He’s quiet. You can barely hear the sounds of his breath. There’s a footstep. Then, another. Eventually, he’s right behind you.
You don’t know what he was doing. You’re too scared to turn and check. Naively, you think if you pretend to be asleep, he’ll leave.
One minute.
Two minutes. He’s so still, for a moment, you wonder if you imagined the whole thing.
The edge of your blankets lifts. Your bed creaks under his weight. His chest presses against your back. Warm hands grasp your shoulders.
He’ll leave eventually. If you pretend to be asleep, he’ll leave.
You squeeze your eyes shut when his head nuzzles into the crook of your neck. He inhales.
Fingers play with the ends of your shirt.
He’ll leave soon. He’ll leave soon. He’ll leave–
“You’re not gonna stop me, are you?” His voice makes your shoulders tense. You can practically hear his smile.
His fingers manage to slip under your shirt. You can barely hold in your gasp when he grabs a handful of your tits. He doesn’t even bother to be gentle, squeezing and pulling until you’re practically whining.
“C’mon.” Satoru coos into your ear. There’s a kiss on your neck. “Say it. Tell me no.”
He nibbles the skin right on your jawline. His hair tickles your cheek.
Your hands reach out to grab his own. You squeeze, digging your nails into his skin.
“Please stop.”
He laughs–the kind of laugh you’d give to a toddler if they misbehave. It feels so mean.
“You’re so cute.” Another kiss right at your ear.
“Stop.” You repeat. His hands don’t budge, not even when you start to draw blood. “Let go. Don’t–don’t touch me–”
He flips you right on your back. From the streetlights peaking through the blinds, you can see his face. The widest smile is stretched over his pretty lips. It looks almost manic.
Your eyes sting.
“Can I kiss you?” He asks. It’s almost cruel how soft his voice is.
You shake your head. His teeth gleam.
“Please?” He leans closer. “Just one kiss?”
It’s heartbreaking how sweet the kiss is. Soft, barely touching as he melds his lips with yours. He keeps a hand on your chin, holding you in place before the greed takes over and he ravages you.
By the time he pulls away, your lips are bitten and bruised.
He sinks lower, face dipping into the skin of your neck as he makes himself home there. It’s laughingly pathetic how weak you were compared to him–how little you fare when he pulls off your shirt, then your shorts. Soon, his clothes join yours, leaving a small puddle of cloth at the foot of your bed.
He pulls away from your body, looking over the whole of you.
“Oh, baby.” His eyes are blown out like he’s high. “I…I just wanna do everything to you.”
You can’t hold back the tears anymore. They drip down your face, sculpting your cheeks. He coos, sinking lower to pepper your face in kisses.
“I’m sorry, baby.” The excitement in his voice betrays him. “Don’t cry. I won’t do anything bad, I promise.”
Liar, you want to call him, but you don’t. You can’t. Your throat traps your voice as his fingers delve underneath your panties.
There’s no tact as he presses into you, immediately filling you up with his finger. Your pussy can barely fit one of him, almost choking when he slips in another. There’s no rhythm, no grace for how fragile you are as he thrusts his fingers deeper and deeper.
You can barely muffle your cries as he hits a spot deep inside you.
“See?” he asks, toying with your clit. “Not bad things, right?”
You don’t answer, barely able to keep the noises in check as he abruptly pulls out of you. His fingers are shiny from your pussy juices. He crudely wipes his fingers on your tits.
You’ve seen his cock before, but it looks even bigger from this angle. It slaps against your inner thighs as he finishes yanking off your drenched panties. The mushroom-tipped head brushes against your slit. He tosses one of your legs over his shoulder, opening your hole just enough to get his cock in the perfect position.
The fight comes in too late. You think you’re reaching up to claw at his face, those pretty blue eyes.
It dies as he bottoms out inside your pussy in one thrust.
He doesn’t wait for you to settle down; he’s not kind enough for that. As soon as his cock sits as deep as it can into your pussy, he’s immediately moving. Your abused cunt immediately tightens around his cock, almost like you’re trying to suck him back in.
You squeeze your eyes shut as you feel Satoru collapse on top of you. His head drops into the crook of your neck. You can hear his ragged breaths as he fucks himself deeper and deeper into you.
“‘need you to relax for me, baby.” He hisses like it’s your fault he can’t control himself. “Can–can barely fit into this cunt.”
To emphasize his words, he reaches down. There’s a soft slap right on your clit. You yelp. He soothes you with gentle circles with his thumb.
“Satoru,” you can barely get out from the pressure, “please just stop–” Another smack on your pussy. Harder.
“Can’t stop.” His breaths are ragged, and his hips shift so he can plow into you at a different angle. “Can’t ever stop. Not when I know how good you feel.”
There’s a rasp of a laugh as your own noises get louder and louder. Your back arches. Something hot writhes in your belly the more the fucks you. He’s gripping your waist so harshly that you know they’ll leave bruises.
It’ll pair well with the clawmarks you leave on his back as you arch further into his raw cock.
There’s a sharp hiss before he’s kissing you again. There’s a harsh thrust that makes you moan directly into his mouth. He reluctantly pulls away, licking the taste of you out of his mouth.
“I’m so glad I found you.” He tells you, continuing to ram into your pussy.
“Can’t even imagine how–how someone else would react to you just givin’ yourself to ‘em. Fuck, even thinkin’ about it makes me wanna kill someone.”
Distantly, you think about all the times you could’ve stopped him. You think about what you could’ve done differently to never cross paths with a man like Gojo Satoru.
“You’re all for me.” He sighs, leaning close so he’s whispering right in your ear.
He wants you to hear this right before he makes you cum all over his cock.
“It’s all you’ll ever be.”
You're writhing against his cock as he forces you through an earth-shattering orgasm. Your pussy clenches hard around him, milking him for all he’s worth as your climax is reluctantly dragged out of your exhausted body.
There’s a grunt, then a sigh as something fills you to the brim. His cock pumps his cum steadily into you. There’s so much your poor pussy can’t keep it all inside. It leaks crudely from your hole.
He stays like that for a minute, breathing you in as you start to come down from your high. Then, Satoru flops to your side, gathering up in your arms. You’re forced to lie against his chest, listening to his quickening heartbeat.
The anger comes too late to do anything about.
“I hate you.” You hiss as he continues to cuddle you. “I hate you, I hate you–you sick, twisted–”
“Aw, you don’t gotta’ pretend to be mean with me, pretty girl.” Satoru coos, snuggling into your exhausted figure. You can feel the hard shape of his cock press right against your thigh.
There’s a chaste kiss on the top of your head.
“I love you just the way you are.”
