Tw:noncon - Blog Posts

The Sun Eats the Moon

Dark!Gojo Satoru x reader

(Warnings: noncon, dubcon, rough sex, oral sex, bullying, harassment, one mention of choking, penetrative sex, afab!reader, coercion, forced relationships, implied baby trapping, pregnancy kink(?))

Synopsis: Your boss takes on Gojo Satoru as his newest client. Much to your relief, he doesn't seem to recognize you.

WC: 9.4k

𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓

You wanted to quit the second you read the name. 

You should have. It would have been so easy to hand in your two weeks, tell your boss that you just couldn't. Or maybe you could have convinced one of the other paralegals to take your place. 

It's pathetic. Almost a decade had passed and you still felt yourself slink into the girl you once were, rolling under his thumb, utterly helpless. You should be better than that. You worked so hard to reach where you are now. 

You were different now, you told yourself over and over again. You were older, smarter. Besides, it'd been a decade, would he even remember you?

It's Higuruma who notices your restless fingers. You shouldn't have underestimated him, despite how exhausted he looks, nothing goes past your boss. He asks about it when you two are seated in a beige room, waiting for the client. 

"Is everything alright?" 

You're still staring out the window. How high were you? 16 stories, maybe even higher. Resentment, you can feel it rise up your throat, build throughout your body. Of course, he has fancy cars, pretty buildings, and limitless money. Men like him will never know what it's like to have nothing. All men were born equal. What a fucking joke. 

Higuruma shifts, and you jolt out of your thoughts. "Yes," you console, "apologies, I'm just tired." 

The lawyer hums, and you're not sure if he believes you or not. Before he can say anything, the frosted doors open. The rest of the legal team comes in, sitting at the long table you and Higuruma inhabited. 

He comes in last. He'd always had a liking for theatrics. 

Not much had changed within a decade. He was taller, bigger. He'd switched out of his high school uniform, opting for something more business-friendly. He still made heads turn. Became the center of attention. 

It's his smile that throws you. Sincere, real. Lingering on his face like extravagant jewelry. Hard not to notice. 

You react better than you anticipated. You don't shake or tremble or cry when he passes you. You just squeeze your fists, bunching your skirt in your palm. It helps. 

He sits down, right at the end, so everyone can see him. One foot elegantly crossed over the other. When he tilts his head, his soft white hair threatens to shift over brilliant blue eyes. 

"Well, I'm sure you don't need me to explain why we're all here." A few chuckles resonate from the small group. "Let's just do our best and hope nothing gets too out of hand."

His eyes slide over to meet yours, and you steel yourself for his eyes to widen. For something wicked and cruel and nasty to sink into his face. 

Nothing. 

Gojo Satoru maintains that same smile. The blaring sun. Painfully innocent. His gaze lasts barely a second before moving to the next face, and the next, and the next. 

"I look forward to working with all of you."                                     

𖤓

If you could describe Gojo Satoru in one word, it would be: celestial. 

He's like a shining star. Brighter than the sun. Everywhere he went, he was bound to attract attention. Much like how the Earth is drawn towards the sun, people are drawn towards Gojo Satoru. It's the natural order. 

But, if an insignificant planet resists the Sun's gravitational force, it'll get crushed. You learned this the hard way. 

Gojo had always been in your class for years. The third year was no different. Despite the commonality, you two never talked to each other. You had no reason to. Until the vending machine gave you two cartons, and you suddenly remembered from an overheard conversation that Gojo liked chocolate milk too. 

"Want it?" You hold it out to him during lunch break. He was in the middle of a boisterous conversation with his friend. They did intimidate you, but you had no reason to be scared. It's not like they were bullies.

Gojo's sunglasses dip down. He eyes what you're holding in your hand, before his gaze drifts back up to you. 

"The machine gave me extra," you supply, "do you want it?" 

"Oh, sure," he says after a moment. Your hands brush. "Thanks." 

You nod, and then you walk back to the cafeteria. It was meaningless. A favor between acquaintances. He was helping you more than you helped him. You didn't want to carry chocolate milk around in your backpack. You forgot about the interaction within a few hours. 

𖤓

The meeting ends hours later. When you stumble home, it's barely evening but you can still feel the stress creeping through your legs and arms. 

You go straight to your laptop. Fumbling through the keyboard, desperate, searching. 

He's famous. Of course, he is. In his mid-twenties, but already a multi-millionaire. The head of an extremely elite family. Your eyes scan picture after picture after picture. Photos of him drinking with models in skimpy bikinis. Fancy cars. Huge houses. Private jets. Gojo Satoru: the man behind Gojo Co., Gojo Satoru and supermodel Menza hinted at relationship, Gojo Satoru, Gojo Satoru, Gojo Satoru, Gojo Satoru. 

You pull away when it starts to burn, when the rage and sorrow become too much. He has everything. Everything he could want. He made you go through hell for months, and yet he never got punished for it. The universe rewards him with lavishness you'd never be able to touch. 

It's not fair. It's not fair. It's not fucking fair. 

Through your blinds, the sun happily shines. 

𖤓

You don't notice it until it becomes painfully unbearing.

Gojo calls you by your name now (until that day you bet he didn't even know you existed). He's like a ghost, constantly appearing out of nowhere to sling an arm around your shoulder, eager to chase off any of your friends to talk to you about things that don't matter.

He constantly offers to walk you home (and then Gojo ignores your refusals and does it anyway). It stays like that for a few days, never bordering beyond friendliness. You think he's harmless. Maybe he just hasn't had someone genuinely do a nice favor for him. Besides, you're flattered by the attention. Even you can be swayed by the pull of Gojo Satoru. It feels nice to be wanted. 

You reason it'll just be for another week. A week later, you two will be nothing but acquaintances, sometimes exchanging quick smiles during class. 

It doesn't truly dawn on you as to what he's doing until he comes out and says it. 

"What?" Because you must have misheard him. 

"We should," he says, not even bothering to repeat himself, "I mean, we're practically dating already. Let's just make it official." 

You stare at him. As always, he's utterly beautiful. The light of the setting sun makes his skin glow gold. Whenever he's walking you home is one of the rare times he removes those sunglasses. His eyes are like jewels, pretty things that you wish were yours. 

You laugh. It's high and panicky because you still think he's joking. He doesn't laugh with you. You stop. 

"Oh-oh, I'm sorry Gojo-I wasn't-I didn't think. I'm just not...interested in dating anyone right now. It's not you! I think-I think you're great, but it's just the wrong time, and school is getting so much busier and-" you keep rambling, coming up with excuse after excuse because you're convinced Gojo would cut you off with an awkward laugh, tell you it's fine. 

He doesn't do either, letting your flounderings get more and more pathetic. His smile had dropped. You can't read his expression anymore. 

Eventually, you grow quiet, standing with him in that silence. When that gets too much, you timidly tell him to have a goodnight and walk home. He doesn't follow, staying rooted to the sidewalk where you left him. You're not running away, you tell yourself over and over again. And yet, you can't help but feel relief as soon as you can't feel his eyes. 

Don't resist the Sun. It'll crush you. 

𖤓

It was something minuscule. 

Barely considered legal work. The case would most likely be finished in a couple of weeks. The defendant had nothing on Gojo Satoru, at least from what you and the other paralegals could see. You highly doubted it would even go to court. Higuruma always had a knack for bringing anyone to the table. Gojo would be let off from whatever he did without a hitch. No punishment. Just like always. 

"Word of advice, don't think about what happens in the private sector," Higuruma says, over whiskey. 

The firm was celebrating another victory at a fancy bar. You were still stewing over the face of that young woman's face when the judge ruled in your client's favor. She looked heartbroken. You can still remember the sleazy smile your client had given her. 

"It's a job," he says, "do it. Boost your resume, and get out." 

He takes another dainty sip of his glass. Tonight, the circles underneath his eyes seem even darker. "You're a young kid. Do something else with your life." 

When he offers to buy you a round, you accept. You think about that night sometimes, and you wonder if Higuruma wished someone else would have given him that advice when he was younger. 

Do the job, and get out. Easier said than done. Especially when the job involved Gojo Satoru. 

Associating with him was dangerous, you knew that firsthand, especially when he was interested in something you had. You'd left, but that wouldn't save you. The space of decades would not help. 

Burn Gojo once, he won't forgive you. Burn Gojo twice? You don't think there's anyone alive who did that. 

Over the coming days, you expect something from him. It's a nagging feeling in your stomach. The delayed response to a gunshot. Dread. You expect him to snap. Push. Break. 

He never does. Gojo remains pliant, the same to you as he remains to your boss. There's no additional touching, no disgusting nicknames, no scathing looks. Nothing. 

You don't get the confirmation until a week later, when Gojo stops you near the elevator. 

"Higuruma's...assistant, right? Sorry, never got your name," he says, and you steel yourself because the two of you are alone and here it comes but if you yell loudly enough maybe-

"He asked for some paperwork, and I finally found it for him." Gojo hands you a stack of sheets with a cheery smile. "You won't mind giving that to him, will ya? Thanks!" 

Just as quickly as he arrives, he leaves, shoes clicking down the hall as he goes. You can only stare at his rescinding back, the palpable feeling of relief nearly making your knees buckle. 

The best news you could have possibly received. Gojo Satoru had completely forgotten about you. 

When you got home later that evening, the rain was heavy, and the sun was nowhere to be seen. 

𖤓

You don't have proof it was him. 

It's unjust to accuse people of things they didn't do. You lack any evidence. It could have easily started by itself. You'd always been meek and timid. People were bound to take advantage of that. 

But the timing was just too perfect for it to not be caused by him. 

In the weeks following the incident with Gojo, school went from tolerant to hell. It started small, at first. Tiny. Unoticable. Insignificant. Some people (Gojo's lackeys, you'd later realize), would nudge you as they passed you by the halls. They apologized, mid-laugh, and in the beginning, you truly thought they were sincere. Then, the nudges turned into pushes, then shoves. That's when you knew you had a target on your back. 

At first, you found it kind of hard to believe. Bullying? It sounded so childish. Something reserved for petty middle schoolers. You were in your final year of high school. You were already an adult. You laughed it off, for a bit. Mostly because it was so ridiculous. Only when it starts becoming more severe, more apparent that you were his target, do you start taking things more seriously.

There was no proof, but everyone knew it was Gojo. And being on Gojo's bad side wasn't something people were willing to risk. One by one, your friends started to disappear, reducing their involvement by sending strained smiles during passing period. The more stubborn ones who were more adamant about staying by your side were chased away too. They'd skip school for a few days, before coming back and completely ignoring you.

Teachers and staff were no help either. Why would they? Gojo's family held them in the palm of their hand. The most your homeroom teacher would do was avert his eyes whenever something was thrown at you for the third time in class, and quietly remind students to settle down. 

You fell on the ground with an embarrassing thump. A chorus of laughter, and a mocking 'sorry' is all you hear from the crowd. Other students step over your scattered papers, giving you looks of sympathy but never bothering to help. You'd call them cowards, but you know you'd do the same.

Instead, you focus on collecting your papers. You avoid the lump in your throat. The tears that threaten to break over your waterline. It's humiliating, being stuck on the floor like this. It's only Wednesday, but you already feel like breaking.

Hands, scarred, move past you, collecting the rest of the sheets. His face is carefully blank as Geto Suguru neatly tucks his share all in one piece before handing it to you. You give your thanks. He ignores it. 

“Are you hurt?” Geto asks, his voice barely loud enough to hear.

You think you scrapped your knee during the fall, but other than your pride, you're fine. You shake your head. Geto sighs. It's not out of relief.

“That's good,” he says anyway.

You found it ironic that Gojo's best friend is the only one who bothers to help you these days. It makes sense, in a way. It's not like he'll send his goons to Geto, instead. In this solar system, Geto Suguru is the only person unaffected by Gojo's solar flares. 

You work in relative silence, collecting the mess that fell out of your bag. Geto hands you the last of the supplies, idly watching as you tuck them away.

“Take my advice,” he says just before he leaves, “give in.”

He stands up. Geto Suguru has always been taller than you, but now the difference feels even worse. When he looks down at you, a flicker of pity lingers in his eyes. It's gone before it can mean anything. 

“It'll only get worse from here if you don't.”

Worse, he had said. God, what could be worse? You were already at rock bottom. All you have left is your dignity. Something you intend on gritting your teeth to keep.

You quickly learned something about Geto Suguru: he knew his best friend. 

Friday. The end of the worst week of your life has finally arrived. The week after is break, and then maybe Gojo will move onto some other hyperfixation, and finally leave you alone.

Classes were out. You were done, free to run home and cry the entire week away. And then, you noticed, your locker was open.

Smashed in, was a better term. Completely, irrevocably, destroyed. It looked like someone had taken a wooden bat to repeatedly smash in the metal until it cracked open like an egg. 

You don't want to look, but you have to. The busted door is barely hanging on its hinges when you push it open. 

It's worse than anything you could think of. 

Your books, textbooks, journals, are all torn apart and written on. All the contents of your bag have been thrown around. Your assignments, your notes, your pens and pencils. But it's your laptop that makes your throat stop. Smashed, broken without any hope of being salvageable. Your everything was in there. Why why why would he do this to you? 

This wasn't bullying. 

This was abuse. 

Fuck pride. Fuck dignity.

You were so tired. 

Despite the hell his lackeys put you through. Gojo Satoru himself never bothered you. In fact, you hadn't seen him all week. He doesn't make himself impossible to find. You know where his group hangs out after school. You're barely holding yourself together when you hear his voice. His pretty laugh. You don't care about how you look, close to breaking, your voice high-pitched and shaky. 

"Why?" 

Your voice catches his attention. He falls into silence, just like the rest of the group. Gojo surveys you for a moment. There's a scoff, a hint of amusement before he waves off the rest of the group. 

"Get lost." 

They comply, dispersing in multiple directions. For the first time, in a long while, you and Gojo are left alone. You and Gojo are left, alone. 

"Well?" he tilts his head, completely bored. 

"What do I have to do?" You ask desperately, "What-what do I have to do to make this all stop? Please I'll-I'll do anything, just-just make it-" 

It's all too much. You can't hold your sobs in, bursting into tears as you fumble through your words. He tuts in mock pity. You flinch when you feel his hand against your cheek, but he doesn't let you shy away. 

"Anything?" He asks when your sobs simmer into hushed whimpers, "Really? Anything?" 

You blink, looking up at him with rough teary eyes. He's grinning, wide and manic. Your heart drops when he lowers himself to whisper in your ear. 

"Anything, right?" 

You nod once. He sighs in pure delight. His breath tickles your cheek. 

"Get on your knees." 

You jerk back, but Gojo doesn't let you go far, a hand on your shoulder, keeping you rooted on the spot. At your look of pure panic, he only laughs a little. 

"I-I-Gojo you-" 

"And call me Satoru now. Since we're gonna get to know each other a lot better," he interrupts with a chiding grin, ignoring your wide eyes. "What? I thought you said anything, right?" 

He's asking, but it's clear you don't get a choice anymore. His grip on your shoulder is tight, close to crushing skin and bone. You're trapped. No, you were trapped the moment you talked to Gojo Satoru. 

To think this all started because of two cartons of chocolate milk. 

You relent when his grip gets too painful, sinking down to your knees. The grass is cool, and you know it will leave damp spots on your skirt, letting everyone know what you did for him. 

"Good girl," he coos, and you shudder at his hand petting your hair. Like you're some precious pet. To him, maybe you are. How could anyone think of treating a human like this? You should be grateful he does it for you, instead of demanding you to pull him out. Still, the jiggle of his belt makes you wince. You turn away, not being able to bring yourself to look. Only when the tip of his cock reaches your peripheral, do you look back. It's big. You should have expected it, considering his height. It's already leaking, a bead of precum that makes you shudder. He moves forward and you instinctively grip his thigh. 

"Gojo I-" 

"Nuh-uh. Satoru," he ununciates, "Satoru. You gotta' start listening to me baby, or else we're gonna have problems." 

You look down at the grass. Green, soft. 

"Satoru." 

His eyes flash in satisfaction. 

"Open up, pretty girl." 

The last of your fight disappears, sinks into the soft grass. You swallow, once, before you take him. It's a slow, torturous process. He's too big, your jaw is already starting to ache. Satoru barely notices your discomfort, sighing in contentment when you start to gag on his cock, reaching down to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. 

You make a muffled gurgle and he tilts his head down. His sunglasses fall forward, two pretty eyes stare at you. 

"What? Don't act like this is your first time-" he stops himself, mid-thought. 

"Wait...this can't be your first time, right?" 

If you weren't humiliated enough. You can't even lie, averting your eyes to avoid any further shame. 

"Poor baby," Satoru says, all too delighted, "lemme' walk you through it. Gotta' suck on it, just like a lollipop-that's it-use your tongue," he encourages, still gripping his cock in his hand, like he was feeding it to you. 

You can feel your mouth open wider. Tears stream down your face, not just from your pride, but also from pain. Satoru lets you take him in like this for a few more moments, just enjoying your warm mouth. 

"There we go," he breathes, "take-fuck-take all of me." 

But Satoru isn't known for his patience. You've barely taken all of him in yet before he grabs your hair to fuck your throat properly. You choke, sputtering all over his cock. He barely pays you any mind, his head thrown back as he rams himself down your mouth without a care in the world. 

"Y'know, our first time together could-could have been nicer," he says through gritted teeth, the heat was starting to get to him, "but you just had to go and mess it up, huh?" 

If you were stronger. If you were braver. You would have rejected it. Screamed. Fought. At the very least, you would have denied his delusions. But you weren't strong. You weren't brave. You were weak. Stupid. This was all your fault. Had you just given in the moment he asked, this wouldn't be happening to you. Or maybe, he'd be a bit nicer about it. 

He hisses, gripping the back of your head before something warm and disgusting fills your mouth. Above you, Satoru lets out a shameless groan, a mix of your name as well as a curse. He releases you then, finally letting you sink to the floor. You fall forward, resting on your hands and knees, panting, trying to regain your breath, some semblance of sanity. You can still taste him. It's salty, a sickly tang. You spit as much as you can on the grass. It doesn't help. 

He kneels, getting down to your level. With the way he's silently watching you, you know he's waiting for the right answer this time. 

Don't resist the Sun. It'll crush you. 

So, you drop your gaze down. You take in a deep long stilted breath. 

"Yes, Satoru," you say, voice quiet, pliant, "I'll go out with you." 

His demeanor drops in just a second. He smiles, painfully innocent, like you hadn't spent the last few moments choking on his cock. He cups your face with both hands and you wonder how he could look at you like that, gently, as though you weren't covered in tears and his cum. 

(You still feel it drip down your mouth. Tonight, when he finally lets you go home you'll cry for hours in the shower, hoping the water will wash away all the shame you feel. It won't.)

"Finally!" He exclaims, laughing, light, happy, elated, "I'm so glad you finally came around. I was starting to think I was ugly or something." 

 You stay like that for a while. Underneath him. You let his hands run up and down your body, like he's feeling the space that makes up you. Soon, you'd realize Gojo Satoru liked to touch things that were beneath him. A thought muddles it's way through your numb brain. You bring yourself to look at him. 

"Satoru?" you ask. He sighs in satisfaction, stroking your hair. 

"My laptop...it's broken." 

You didn't know what else to say. It sounded accusatory, even to your ears. Righteous. You wondered if he heard it too, if he'd do something about it. 

Satoru only scoffs.

“that old thing?” You flinch. It was a gift from your aunt, you highly doubted he cared enough about the sentimental. He hugs you closer, almost like a snake, constricting you within its scales before it devours you. 

(You think the worst part is that he didn't even deny it.)

“I'll just get you a new one, baby.”

He walks you home later that evening. When he demands a kiss, you comply, numbly pressing your aching lips to his. 

The sunset is pretty today. 

𖤓

It's not a particularly hard case, but Gojo has a knack for keeping those who work for him busy. Higuruma had asked you to stay behind, once again. The two of you were stuck alone in the office building, a room that Gojo had graciously supplied. 

You were milling through a stack of papers when someone new walked in. You didn't recognize her. She was tall, pretty, sparkling jewelry littered her neck and wrists. Your eyes drifted up and down her outfit, something that definitely wasn't business-appropriate. A part of you wants to ask where she got that lipgloss from. 

"Oh," she tilts her head, surveying the two of you with pretty eyes, "is Sato not here?" 

You inwardly cringe at the nickname, but choose not to show it. Higuruma is the one who saves you, in the end. He speaks on both of your behalf. 

"Mr. Gojo isn't here at the moment," he says, "feel free to wait." 

She does as she's told, plopping down on a seat right next to her. Higuruma goes back to ignoring her, dutiful in everything like he always is. You, on the other hand, don't like the way some of the other associates eye her legs. When you wordlessly hand her your jacket, she gratefully accepts. 

"Thanks. I love your bag, by the way," she cheerily says and a part of you feels bad for her. 

Minutes pass. She crosses her legs and then uncrosses them. When she crosses them again, you have to look up from your paperwork and ask if she's feeling alright. 

"Just nervous," she admits, "I-I haven't seen Sato since our...last meeting." 

Everyone in the vicinity knows this wasn't a casual business meeting, you don't get why she's avoiding the elephant like that. Probably to save face. It's clear from her behavior that she wasn't expecting so many visitors, so perhaps this situation is new for her. You found it strange that a booty call would be called up to an office building, especially when people were clearly watching, but you doubted Mr. Gojo cared about that. He was always shameless in that regard, uncaring about anyone's reputation, even his own. That's why he's in this legal mess in the first place. Besides, you were part of Gojo's Satoru's legal team. Part of your job is to be discreet about his extracurricular affairs. 

Gojo Satoru hadn't changed at all since high school. Why would he? His personality has gotten him this far, after all. The Sun would never change, it's a constant sphere of fire. You wouldn't want him to change. You were banking on his stagnant nature to slip by. You couldn't imagine if he did change, improve himself, and realize how horrible he'd been to you. How would you be able to keep yourself together if he pulled you aside one day and tried to apologize? You'd break. Things are better the way they are now. Let Gojo Satoru indulge himself in all this lavishness, forgetting about the people he's tortured. It's better this way. 

You glance over at the girl. She's young, maybe a couple of years younger than you. You can see the flush on her cheeks. The clear swooning. A part of you wonders what she'd think about that man if you ever told her what he did to you. What a monster he is-

"There you are!" Mr. Gojo strides in, just as silent as always, making himself known when he wants to. 

The girl jumps up, her eyes lighting up in pure excitement as she practically drags herself into Mr. Gojo's arms. He places an arm on the small of her back, scarily close to touching somewhere inappropriate as she chatters away. They disappear off to wherever rich men like him go. 

It's so quick. You must have imagined it because, for a second, you were sure he'd glanced back at you. 

𖤓

By now, everyone knows you're Satoru's. That means, like him, you're untouchable. 

You're not celestial. If Satoru was a star, then you were a stray meteor he'd found hurtling through space, and he couldn't resist forcing it to revolve around him. In exchange for suffering through his solar flares and radiation, he protects you from bigger planets that are all too eager to smash into you. The one relief is that no one seems to bother you anymore. You haven't been shoved around, pushed, or prodded. Sometimes, you receive glares from Satoru's old ex's, but it's more tolerable than burnt homework. 

Satoru has officially chased away all your friends, but he's more than happy to keep you company. You sit next to him in lunch now, quietly listening as he prattles on to the rest of his friends (you recognize some of them, the ones who messed with you, they never seem to hold your gaze for long). You used to study on campus alone, right after school let out. Now, you still do it, but with Satoru watching. It's hard to concentrate with his wandering fingers and wet lips. 

He takes all of your firsts. You don't give them to him, much less, he demanded it of you. The first time he fully takes you is far less romantic than you'd ever hoped. It was on his bed after he'd practically dragged you over to his house that night. You went home the next day covered in marks that took nearly a week to heal. A little while after that, Geto came to talk to you again. For the second time ever. 

"Here." He offers you a packet. Pills. You're confused for a moment until you realize Satoru didn't wear a condom. 

"Thank-" 

"Don't," he cuts you off, "Don't thank me." 

He says it with so much hate that you think it's directed at you. It isn't until years later that you realize the disgust was towards himself. 

There are theories that the Moon once had color. 

It wasn't just white. It was green and blue, and red. 70 million years ago, it could have been much like the Earth. It didn't have a strong atmosphere, however. The gaseous layer was slowly stripped away. The sun didn't help. With no atmosphere, the unfiltered solar radiation slowly began to bleach the once colorful celestial body a dull white. Before long, the sun had created the moon to be its image. Now, the only color the moon has to offer is the sun's reflection. 

When the moon was out, you often stared at it, reveling in its beauty. Now, trapped in between Satoru's arms, you find its skeleton a bit too haunting to look at. 

Three more weeks. Just three more weeks. 

Graduation is coming up soon. You already had your college picked out, far far away from this backward town. From his conversations, Satoru was planning on going to some high-end college in Tokyo. With the way he kept looking back at you, you had a feeling he was planning on dragging you there too. 

You were intelligent enough to keep your mouth shut about your plans. Satoru never asked, so you guessed he assumed you would let him bully you into whatever he wanted. He was right, so far. It's not like you'd ever argued with him. 

Your parents were the only people who knew about your plan. They were excited, albeit for the wrong reasons. 

"I'm so glad to see you're this interested in higher education," your mother beamed, "why the sudden change?" 

You look at your mother's face. People have told you that you share the same smile. You wonder if she'd keep smiling if you ever told her about what Satoru's been doing to you, the bullying, the harassment. 

You can't. You won't, because you can't bear to see her give you the same pitiful look your classmates give-the one Geto gives. You don't want her to see you as something broken. 

"I'm just starting to think I might go into law," you finally say, "definitely need college for that."

On Thursdays, you have to sit inside the gym during Satoru's basketball practice. You wait on the bleachers, reviewing notes, and listening to the squeaking of sneakers. Satoru's good at the sport. You know last year they won a few tournaments. Whenever he scores a point, he gives a cheer, turning back to see if you saw it too. In those moments, you remember he's just a kid. He's your age. You can feel the envy. There, but too insignificant to do anything. He pleasantly lives his childhood, even after he stole yours. 

Practice ends, always a little later than it's officially supposed to. Coach gives the final whistle and then Satoru is jogging back to you. Your things are already neatly packed into your bag. His breath is barely ragged, you can smell the hint of sweat as he kisses you on the lips. You can feel eyes on you, same as always. It's getting easier to ignore the gawking. After all, you're Satoru's now. 

"Miss me?" he asks when he pulls away. He grabs your stuff before you can, hauling your backpack away. To others, it may look like he's being a sweet boyfriend. To you, it's another leash, tugging you to where he wants to go. You're not sure how Satoru sees the action. 

You clamber out of the bleachers, following him without a word. Usually, Satoru would walk you home. You'd share a kiss with him on the front porch. And for the rest of the day, he'd finally leave you alone. 

He grabs your hand, shooting you a wink when you lightly jostle into his body. Instead of heading out the door, Satoru turns his gaze towards the empty locker rooms. The light's automated. It flickers an unsettling white, casting a sick glow along the tiles. You are barely through the door before Satoru's pinning you against the lockers, kissing you as aggressively as he can. 

Your hands immediately find their way to his shoulders, squeezing. It's not enough to hurt him, but it grabs his attention anyway. He lets up a little, relaxing into your touch. 

"Sorry, baby," he says not sounding apologetic at all, "just be good f'me, okay? Need you." 

He's pent up, you realize and you look at the door. School's out. The campus is nearly empty. But people are still around. And the door he just shoved you through doesn't have a lock- 

Oh, wait. Would it even matter if someone came in and saw you? Everyone knew you were Satoru's. 

Three more weeks. Just three more weeks. 

He's trailing down, dropping to his knees. He flips up your skirt, pushing aside your panties, and attaches his hot mouth to your pussy. He's ravenous, today. Sucking on your clit like he can't bear to do anything else. You gasp, immediately assaulted by the shocks of pleasure running up and down your back.

You press against the wall, arching your back, giving him even more to suck on. He hums in approval, his voice getting lost in your wet folds. You're practically dripping now, and Satoru, with all his debauchery, gladly licks it all up as you writhe and whimper above him. Your thighs grow tighter around him, threatening to crush his skull if both his hands weren't carved into the fat of your thighs, squeezing. 

Your initial panic is washed away, crumbled by his insistent tongue and fingers. You whimper out his name again as his tongue circles your clit and two fingers continue to move in and out of your sopping pussy. You're crying now, tears of pleasure and brokenness floating down your cheeks. Despite how blurry your vision is, you can see Satoru looking up at you. 

"Getting close?" he's breathless, but there's still a hint of playfulness in his voice, "gonna sing, pretty girl?" 

He gives a particularly hard suck on your clit and you're gone. You seize, throwing your head back as your legs shake from the force of your orgasm. It's a scream, so loud and shameless. Satoru gives a groaned pant, lapping up your aftertaste, making you jolt from the overstimulation before he finally gets to his feet. You watch as he haphazardly wipes the remnants of you with his sleeve before he's kissing you again. 

"Always so sweet f'me," he purrs, biting at your lips before he fumbles with his belt. His cock is already red and strained. He pants, head shifting to fall at the crook of your neck as he lines himself up and sinks into you with one full thrust. 

You whine a mix of a sob and a hissed moan. He hushes you with a stilted breath, barely keeping himself together as he pumps himself into you. Both of you are sweating now. You can feel the beads draw down your neck. He licks at your clavicle, biting when he starts to get more aggressive. When it's too less, he hikes your thigh over his waist, keeping it there so he can go even deeper. 

"Fuck, I'm crazy for you," he slurs against your skin. You can barely pay attention to his words, barely keeping your own voice in check, "’would do anything for you, pretty girl." 

He raises his head, looking you in the eye. His sunglasses have been tossed on the floor. You can his beautiful eyes, two cosmic galaxies of blue. You could stare at them for hours, discovering each variant of cerulean, naming each one. You bet each day you look, you'll find another shade. They're so pretty.

You wonder how pretty those eyes would look floating in a jar. 

"'Toru-!" you gasp when Satoru rocks himself into again, even faster. The name you accidentally gave him when you're too fucked out to comprehend language makes him laugh in pure delight, his smile uncontrolled, delirious. 

"Right here, baby," he moans into your sweaty skin, hand reaching down to rub your clit, "your ‘Toru's right here. Just where you need him." 

His fingers move under your shirt, squeezing at your tits, exploring, roughly grabbing at your chest. The sensation makes you wince. Your walls draw even tighter, choking his cock. 

"Too-too much, 'Toru, p-please." He growls at your begging, burying his face in your neck again. He nips at your damp skin, you flinch. 

"I gotcha' baby," he breathes, "just-just lemme-" He presses on your clit. It's all you need. 

You come with a sob, your pussy squeezing, milking Satoru for all he's worth. He's not too far behind, hips stuttering before he whines in your ear. Something warm fills your cunt. 

You flounder, sagging against the wall. Satoru's the only thing that keeps you upright as you fight to catch your breath. He isn't in any better shape, panting just as hard as you are. He lifts his head, pressing his damp forehead onto yours. There's a dreamy smile on his lips. A look of absolute adoration. 

"I love you." 

You look at him. There's nowhere else to look.

"I love you," he repeats, leaning forward to kiss the corner of your lips. His lips trail down, caressing your cheek, your jaw, your neck. It would almost feel nice, but you can only stare straight ahead. You can see the dull green lockers in the distance. You can smell the mold in the damp locker room. You can feel Satoru's cum slowly seep out of you, trailing down your thigh. 

Fuck three weeks. 

You needed to get out, now. 

𖤓

The only reason you went is because you were told Gojo Satoru wouldn't be there. 

His assistant had off-handily mentioned that he had a meeting on the other side of town. Very last minute. The building as a whole would be empty, just a skeleton crew and a couple of security guards to keep the place running. It made sense, it was 8 pm- long past any proper business hours. 

Higuruma could have easily gone, but it's clear the sleepless nights have been getting to him, or the stress. His paralegal is more than qualified to act like a middleman between him and Mr.Gojo's associates. It's an easy mission. Just grab a few things, and get out. 

Gojo Satoru wasn't supposed to be there. 

And yet, there he was, leaning against the door, blocking you into the room. 

His assistant had always been a mousey thing. Tonight, however, he'd been extra ansty, looking around the room. Babbling out excuses as to what was taking him so long. Now, when he can barely even look at you, you realize he was just a distraction. 

"You're off the clock, Fimo," Gojo finally breaks the silence, "take tomorrow off too, okay?" 

His assistant quickly nods, keeping his head down to flit out the door. You can't even bring yourself to be mad at him. Gojo always had a habit of singling out the weakest, crushing them within his fist, unless they bent or broke. 

The door shuts with a click. 

"You know, I didn't even recognize you at first," he starts. He takes a small step forward. 

You take one back. He puts his hands up. 

"Okay, don't be like that," he sighs, exasperated, "It's been what, 10 years? How you've been?" 

He steps around you, barely brushing against your shoulder to get to his desk. He reaches down, grabbing a wine bottle and two glasses from a cabinet, setting both down on mahogany wood. 

"Wanna drink? Technically, it's against company policy to serve alcohol in the building but I won't tell if you don't." He grins. It looks bloody. 

He looks so casual, the man who's haunted your nightmares, leaning against a desk in a building he owns. Your heart's beating in your chest. It's so loud. You wonder if he can hear it too. 

When you don't respond, he rolls his eyes. 

"Figures." He pops the cork. "You were always such a stickler for the rules." 

"What do you want?" You ask, your tone weaker than you'd liked. 

"What? Don't you wanna catch up? I missed you." You flinch at his words, looking away. "A paralegal, huh? Gotta' say, wasn't what I expected, but it fits you." It sounds condescending, but you don't poke the bear, opting to stay silent. 

He seems to take an issue with that, regardless. 

"Are you mad? If anything, I should be the one upset at how you just ran off like that. After all that time we spent together too. I didn't even get a breakup text." 

 His last words, send a chill up your spine. A warning. Staying here any longer would be a mistake. 

You go to move. 

Satoru's faster. 

Your head slams against the wall. Hard. Enough to hurt. You struggle anyway, clawing at the hand that's gripping your throat, the body pinning you down. Above you (he's gotten so much taller now), Gojo tuts in disappointment. 

"I tried to be nice and look where that got me. You tried to run again," he muses, like he's disappointed, "I shouldn't be surprised. You've always needed something with a bit more teeth." At his threat, his hand on your throat tightens. You freeze. 

It's barely choking you, but it's enough of a warning. His other hand is playing with the end of your blouse, feeling the fabric. You can feel the tears start. They're a familiar taste. Only this time, they're twinged with bitterness. 

"Don't do this," you whisper, "Don't-don't-" 

"Yeah, I don't think you're in any position to make demands right now." He's grinning, but when you look into his eyes, you can see the anger. A fire that has burned for a decade. At that moment, you realized Gojo Satoru had changed. Now, he was better at hiding how he truly felt. 

You should have quit the moment Higurama got him as a client. 

Gojo's dragging you over to the desk, haphazardly pushing away the stuff already on it. The computer, the bottle, the wine glasses all fall to the floor with a deafening crash as he shoves you down, splaying you across the table. He follows you down, leaning to meet your lips in a frenzied kiss. It's different than all the other times he'd kissed you. He'd lost all the inexperience, more keen on making you stay put and bleed. When you try to turn your face, pushing at his chest, he only growls. A large hand grabs your chin, keeping you in place for him. 

When he pulls away, there's a hint of blood on his plush lips. It's not his. He licks it up regardless. 

You're full-on sobbing now; barely in sucking air as your body shudders and jolts. You don't expect comfort, least of all from him, but he's cooing, wiping away your tears. 

"Missed this," he purrs, ignoring the way you weakly push at him, "'guess that was my mistake. I was expecting you to be different. Nah, you'll be the same crybaby you always were. That's how you managed to slip under my radar." 

He buries his face into your hair, sighing in contentment as you shiver underneath him. His lips graze the crown of your head, a complete juxtaposition to his words. 

"Scream all you want. No one's here, baby." No one's gonna save you from me.

 Still, you try anyway. Your hands grip his broad shoulders, digging in your nails until he hisses. 

"Fuck maybe you have changed." He rasps, fiddling with his belt. "You're bitchier now." 

"Gojo-Gojo what are you-" He bites on your bare clavicle. You squeal, stilling underneath him again. 

"Satoru," he insists. You slump over the desk as he takes both your hands, wrapping his leather belt around your delicate wrists. You wince when he twists it into a knot. The leather bites into your skin. The fight dissolves just as rapidly as it arrived. He hadn't even lifted a finger against you. You were just that pathetic. 

"Satoru," you breathe, waving your flag of defeat. He hums, licking at the bitemark. You can feel the heat bloom on your skin. They'll be a mark tomorrow, and much like Satoru, it would go away so easily. 

"There's my good girl," he groans, cold hands fiddling with the buttons on your blouse, opening it up until your bra pops out, "I know I should be more mad, but I've always had a soft spot for you. Guess things will never change, hm?" 

His mouth dips down, tracing your collarbone to your breasts. He wiggles down your bra, letting your tits spill out and into his hands. He squeezes one while taking another in his mouth, swirling the bud with his tongue before devouring. His moan is barely muffled by your tits. Yours is clear, high-pitched and breathy. Satoru always had no problem being shameless. And he often dragged it out of you too. 

He's mouthing something against your skin, but you're too distracted by his other hand, slinking down your waist, pushing up your pencil skirt, letting it bunch around your hips. In the moment, you chastised yourself for wearing something so easy to get rid of, but it wasn't like you were expecting for him to be here, to bring you down just like he did when you were in high school. It's not like you were expecting to fall. 

Satoru feels around your pantyhose, running up and down your thigh, searching. He squeezes the sheer fabric, before he rips a hole into it. You gasp, jerking at the action. 

"That's-"

"I'll buy you new ones," he says, voice muffled by your tits. The conversation feels familiar. 

He bypasses your panties immediately, finding your pussy with practiced ease. You're already soaking. At this, he raises to look at you. You can't keep eye contact, timidly looking away. He laughs. It sounds sickenly affectionate. 

"You're so cute." He purrs just as he leaves another mark on your chest. Your tits bounce under his attention as he pushes two fingers into your tight sopping hole. Your back curls, arching off the desk as he starts pumping his fingers in and out of you. Disgust grows within you, not at him, but at yourself, for letting yourself get this low. This desperate. 

It doesn't stay for long. He's cruel like that, moving in a way that makes you forget your humanity. His fingers get even faster, digging into your cunt and curling somewhere deep inside, hitting a spot that makes you gasp. You're reduced to whimpering moans by the time he finally stops, fingers exiting your pussy with a wet noise. He brings them to his mouth, sucking on his fingers, eyes rolling to the back of his head at your taste. 

"Fuckin' sweet," he moans, taking his fingers out with a sickening pop before wiping the drool on your heaving tits. 

Your eyes float to the window. The moon is out, you blearily realize. It's a blood moon, a rusty red. Once every 3 months, it'll lose its heavenly glow. The innocent milky white will get shadowed by the Earth's rusty atmosphere. It'll regain its color eventually. The Sun doesn't like to be overshadowed. 

Something hard and blunt slides between your legs. You're barely given a second to comprehend it before Satoru grabs you by the hips, filling you up with one thrust. You yelp, a semblance of his name on your lips, but it's shrouded by the moan you give out. 

He stays like that for a bit. You should be grateful he is letting you adjust to him. His cock is sickenly familiar to your walls. Satoru's hair brushes your cheek as he leans up to whisper in your ear. 

"How many?" he sounds like he's gritting his teeth, barely in control, "how many guys have you let fuck you since you ran?" 

You blink, wondering if he's seriously asking, but you can hear the seriousness in his tone. Even now, he's concerned with the wrong things. He's always been petty like that. 

"You," you say because there's no point in lying, "it's only ever been you." 

You say it like it's a curse, because to you, Satoru had cursed you. He'd stolen something you'd never be able to enjoy, devouring it, keeping it for himself. A part of you will always hate yourself for letting him do that, just like a part of you will always be his. 

Satoru deflates, as if he's relieved, easing his face into the crook of your neck, placing an almost loving kiss on your shoulder. He starts slow, slowly drawing his cock out, just until his tip is barely still in, before he pushes himself back into your hole. His pace is slow, controlled. It's different than when he was younger, more eager to get himself off more than anything. Now, it's like he's enjoying the intimacy, the feeling of your walls squeezing him. The wet noises. He's barely affected. Unlike you, writhing underneath him, close to falling apart. It's his length that gets you, forcing your pussy to stretch just to fit him. His cock hits everywhere, all at once, an endless torture of pleasure. 

It takes you a while to get your brain back together, to collect the mush, and realize that Gojo isn't wearing a condom. 

"S-Sato-" You try, just when he spreads your thighs apart, pushing them close to your chest so he can get deeper and kiss you at the same time. His hand slips down to your swollen clit, rubbing tight circles and you feel yourself getting even closer. You squeeze your eyes shut at the onslaught. 

"Try again," Satoru huffs, "What's my name? I know you know it, pretty girl." 

"'Toru," you beg because it's all you have left. Your breathless gasps make you sound even more unconvincing but you still manage to stutter out, "I'm-I'm not on anything, so-so please-" 

"That's okay," he mutters, though it's clear he's half-listening, "I'll take care of you and the baby."

"No-I-I-can't-" 

He drops his leisure pace in exchange of shorter, faster thrusts. His cock barely leaves your pussy, grinding in your hole as his breathing starts to get a little less controlled. 

"I'll make sure it takes this time too." 

Your eyes open, and you forget your panic to stare at him. You think back to the pills 18-year-old Geto had handed you. Always discreet. You'd...you'd always thought they were Satoru's idea. 

He hits something inside you, right then. You implode, crashing and burning as you gush around his dick. He's not kind enough to ease you through it, ramming his cock even harder inside your battered pussy until he's hunching over you with a shudder. You can feel his cum settle deep inside your womb. 

You stay like that for a few moments, not saying anything. It feels like hours before Satoru is moving again, drawing his softened cock out of your overstimulated pussy. You can feel the cum drip out of you too, spilling onto the desk, but you don't think Satoru's too mad about that. He flicks your clit a few times, watching your hips jerk and you give an exhausted whine. 

He kisses your breasts. He kisses up your jaw, before finding your lips. Dazed, you find yourself kissing back in reluctant acceptance, your body aching for any semblance of gentleness. 

"I love you." 

You look into his eyes, and you realize he's right. Gojo Satoru loves you, and this is how a man like him loves. He meant it, all those years ago, just like how he does now.

Satoru loves like the Sun. Too bright. With enough heat to burn your soul away. It's why you ran. 

"I love you," he repeats like the phrase doesn't kill you each time he says it, "so you're never leaving me." 

"Not ever again."

There are theories that the Moon once had color. 

It wasn't just white. It was green and blue, and red. 70 million years ago, it could have been much like the Earth. It didn't have a strong atmosphere, however. The gaseous layer was slowly stripped away. The sun didn't help. With no atmosphere, the unfiltered solar radiation slowly began to bleach the once colorful celestial body a dull white. Before long, the sun had created the moon to be its image. Now, the only color the moon has to offer is the sun's reflection. 

If Satoru was the Sun, then perhaps, you were the Moon. Stripped of your color. Unable to create light of your own. Reflecting only what you're given. 

How foolish of you to think you could ever escape his radiation. 

I love this sm

⌜Sanzu's Girl⌟

cw - fem reader. noncon. kidnapping. murder.

wc - 3.2k

a/n - repost. lightly edited/revised. no part two unless an alien fucks me first so don’t ask. also @katslutski @suspirihah bc they asked to be tagged :’)

Sanzu let his eyes take in the décor of your room; pink. It was a lot of fucking pink. He glanced down at the strands of silky, pink hair resting against his shoulders and snickered to himself.

Won’t like pink for much longer.

You’d soon come to associate all the horrors of the world with that eye-grabbing color once he finished what he came here to do, and that was putting your father six feet under the ground—Naoto Tachibana.

He had stuck his filthy fucking snout in too many places it didn’t belong, Bonten business being one of them, and Mikey had officially put a hit out on him after letting him run wild for so long, something he only did for the sake of Takemichi. Takemichi. Sanzu wasn’t sure what kind of friendship the two shared, although he had a sneaking suspicion it was more romantic than anything—because Sanzu would only ever go to the lengths Mikey went for Takemichi over a nice piece of ass, and even that was pushing it.

Sanzu hummed to himself and walked over to your bed where you were peacefully sleeping, completely unaware of how your life was about to be turned upside down. He sighed, corners of his lips pulling up as he watched the steady rise and fall of your chest under the sheet that was covering you. So innocent..so dumb..so clueless. Did you not feel his presence? Were you so trusting in your father’s ability to keep you safe that you hadn’t developed any survival instincts? What a Goddamn shame. Naoto had failed you. Now he had another reason to send him down to the pits of Hell, not that he ever needed one in the first place.

Killing wasn’t something Sanzu needed to justify. He liked to do it, so he did it. It was fun for him, entertaining even. He liked shooting people, stabbing people, suffocating people, drowning people, blowing people up—he liked it all. It was fun. He could already feel the excitement brewing in his stomach as he danced in his spot, his heart race increasing as he pulled the katana off of his back and unsheathed it, crystalline blue eyes reflected in the blade. His tongue ran along the back of it until he reached the tip, and a deep groan left him as it pricked his tongue, a familiar copper taste flooding his taste buds as it did.

His eyes snapped over to you when you stirred in your sleep and rolled onto your side, and his heart jumped at the prospect of you waking up and giving him a reason to put his blade to use early. You weren’t the target, but you always could be. Mikey wouldn’t give two shits if Sanzu slit your throat. Or if he forced the blade down it until it reached your belly. Sanzu could do whatever he wanted, to whoever he wanted.

His shins hit the edge of the mattress as his lips split into a wide grin, scars at the corners of his mouth pulling, and as he mulled over the most gratifying way to slit you open in his mind, you shifted once again, this time rolling into your original position on your back, and Sanzu’s thoughts of splitting your belly open left as the sheet displaced itself, revealing your lack of clothing underneath it.

His fingers danced across the hilt of the katana the same way his eyes danced across your body; your breasts and the taut nipples that adorned them, the curve of your hips, the pudge of your thighs and what lay between them—a pussy covered by a light dusting of hair—and down to your—fucking sheet. He pushed it the rest of the way down with the tip of the blade, and his cock, that was already at full mast from his earlier thoughts, was now leaking in his slacks, a problem that his dry cleaners would have to deal with when he dropped his suits off at the end of the week.

But fuck that, it wasn’t time to think about that bitchy front desk attendant who he wouldn’t mind seeing on a missing persons poster. No, it was time to think about you. Time to think about—is that a dildo? He sheathed the katana, and with care that only came out with his most prized possessions, he gently laid it on your bedside table before leaning over your bed to get a better look at the object laying beside you. A dick. A pink, silicone dick. He grabbed it, a laugh that was more of a huff than anything leaving him as he looked it over. Your juices were still on it, cold and sticky, as if you had just recently used it, and with a perverseness that would make the wickedest criminals blush, he lifted it to his nose and inhaled deeply, his tongue darting out a second later to lick it base from tip. Fucking divine.

Eyes rolling and chest heaving, he pushed the dildo into his mouth to get more of your taste, a deep groan leaving him as your flavor flooded his taste buds. He suddenly stopped his greedy sucking when he looked back at you, more specifically your cunt. He pulled the dildo out of his mouth and snorted, finally realizing he could just get it directly from the source. Fuck, I’ve gotta lay off the coke.

He moved to the end of your bed, and his hands grabbed ahold of your ankles as he prepared himself to yank you down, but he froze in his tracks when he realized that would surely wake you up and send you into a screaming fit. He didn’t want Naoto coming in to ruin the fun before it even started, so with a slowness and calmness so unlike him, he pushed your legs apart and crawled onto your bed on his stomach, careful not to jostle you too much.

By the time he was finally face to cunt with you, his face was red with annoyance at having to move at a snails pace, but that feeling died down when he spread your folds apart with two fingers, dopey grin making its way onto his face as he saw traces of your previous orgasm. Having waited long enough, he pushed his face forward, the warmth from your pussy feeling like home, and licked a stripe up your cunt. His eyes closed on their own accord as he lapped at you like a dog, spit dripping off his chin, and he flicked his tongue back and forth over your clit to incite a new rush of slick from you, just barely containing an excited chirp when he got his intended reaction.

He didn’t know how long he stayed between your legs, loudly sucking and slurping away at you, nor did he care. The only thing Sanzu loved more than killing was fucking—and besides, the longer he spent defiling Naoto’s daughter under his roof, the more time he’d have living. Before he killed him, he’d make him thank him for his generosity.

Sanzu pushed his tongue into your hole, and his mind immediately went to how it’d feel to have you creaming around his cock. His hands kneaded the flesh of your thighs as he tongue fucked you, his nose pushing into your clit, and he made a noise in his throat when your walls tightened around his tongue, signaling your orgasm, and he greedily drank up all you had to offer. He pulled back and smacked his lips as if he had ate a five star meal, and in his mind he had. If there was a restaurant that had your pussy on the menu, he’d order it every damn time and savor it like it was his first time tasting it. Fucking. Divine.

He glanced up to your face to see you were still sleeping oh so peacefully, the only indication Sanzu had spent close to an hour—judging by the clock on your wall—laid between your thighs being the furrow in your eyebrows and the light trembling of your legs. He pushed up so he was back standing, and kicked his shoes off as he worked on the button of his pants. They pooled around his ankles before he stepped out of them, now completely bare save for the black button down he wore, and he worked on unfastening the buttons as he climbed back onto the bed, pushing your legs further apart with his knees.

Once his shirt was undone and showing off the lean muscles of his chest and stomach, he cupped the backs of your knees and pushed your legs up as far as they’d go, no longer caring if you woke up. He was within distance to shut you the hell up in an instant, and with that security blanket, he snapped his forward, cock bullying it’s way inside you and sinking in deep. You winced, but otherwise didn’t react, and Sanzu laughed under his breath as he let his head fall back, needing a minute to keep from coming already. How fucking embarrassing would that be? And imagine if you were awake...he’d really have to kill you then.

Once he was certain he wasn’t gonna blow like a teenage virgin copping a feel of his first tit, he began to thrust in and out of you, his pace slow and steady. Your pussy was wet enough—thanks to his eager mouth as well as your little solo session earlier— for it to be an easy glide, and he relished in the lewd squelches that sounded each time he pushed into you, your walls happily sucking him in. His eyes watched the way your tits bounced with each roll of his hips, and he gave you a particularly hard thrust, grinning at the dramatic bounce before his attention was pulled away by you finally starting to stir awake.

Your nose twitched as your head softly thrashed side to side, and Sanzu watched as you blinked your eyes open, a groggy moan forcing itself out of you as he twirled his hips, thick cock hitting something and bringing forth another one of those pretty sounds. Your eyes glanced down between the two of you, and Sanzu spread your thighs to give you a nice view of how he was fucking you, and grinned as your eyes slowly trailed up his body until they landed on his face.

“Hell of a good way to wake up, right?” You blinked at him, and he could have cooed at how stupid you looked right now. “Wish I woke up everyday to a nice fuck,” he rasped, pace picking up as he watched your face contort into a terrified expression, eyes filling up with tears as your mouth opened and closed. “You’re a real lucky girl, you know that?” He groaned as you tightened around him, from fear probably, and his hand dropped one of your legs and covered your mouth when you sucked in a big breath, no doubt getting ready to call for the nosy piece of shit bitch you called a father.

“Make one noise and I’ll bury that,” he jerked his over to his katana, and you looked over, eyes comically widening when you saw it. “In your daddy’s guts. You got that, princess?” He was going to do that anyways, obviously, but it was fun to watch the cogs turned in your head as you thought over what he said. You were probably thinking, ‘just be quiet and let him finish and no one’ll get hurt’, or something like that. Or maybe you weren’t as dumb as you looked, maybe you knew he was going to kill him either way, possibly even you—hell, maybe you even knew who he was.

A spark of recognition shone in your eyes, and Sanzu’s signature grin was back as he moved his hand from your mouth, his hips stilling as he pushed his face into yours, now so close that your breaths mixed together. “I know that look…” That look of horror that he was always greeted with when someone finally realized exactly who was standing in front of them. “What’s my name?” His finger trailed down the side of your face, and he watched your lips tremble, his breath hitching when they finally managed to form words.

“S-Sanzu..” he raised a brow. “Sanzu Haruchiyo.” He hummed, a low deep sound that made you flinch, and let his finger run down the length of your neck before he wrapped his hand around it. You gasped as he squeezed, hard, hard enough to give you an idea of what it’d feel like to die by his hand in this moment.

“Your daddy tell you that? Tell you how much of a bad man I am?”

You nodded.

“‘S about the only thing he did right.” He muttered. “That, and raising a daughter that knows how to take a cock.” And with that he started up a brutal pace, relishing in the way you tried to bite back your cries and squeals each time he slammed into you. You were trying so hard to keep your dad alive; lips pressed tightly together and eyes squeezed shut, your hands pushing at his stomach to try and slow him down, but he fucked into you faster and harder—so fast and hard that the headboard began to tap against the wall with his movements.

His hand dropped down so he could thumb at your clit, and he laughed in your face when a moan managed to slip out, your face crinkling in shame and embarrassment before you covered it with your hands. “Ah, fuck that’s real cute.” He didn’t let up on you, instead switching to a slower pace that allowed him to make sure you felt every sensation; every drag of his cock along your walls, every brush of the pad of his thumb on your surely sensitive clit, he wanted you to feel it all. He wanted to see pleasure overtake shame. Wanted to see your eyes roll back as he forced you to cum on his cock this time and not his tongue as you called out his name. He wanted it, and he’d get it, because Sanzu always got what he wanted.

The hand that wasn’t between your legs moved to your breast, and he pinched and rolled your hard nipple between his fingers, eyes darting up just to see you still covering your face. “Enough of that. Let me see you,” you shook your head, “that wasn’t a fuckin’ request.” He momentarily let go of your breast to snatch your hands away, fixing you with a cold glare to warn you not to do it again, and then his fingers were back to toying with your nipple. He was now free to watch your face contort in a mix of pain and pleasure, and his eyes drooped as he pressed down hard on your clit, cock throbbing inside you when a pathetic, whimpering moan slipped past your lips. “That’s what I wanna hear.” He did it again and got the same response.

His smile was back on his face as he once again picked up the pace, and your moans that you had kept so quiet before were now freely flowing, egging him on to fuck into you faster to see just how loud you could get. Would you be loud enough for Naoto to hear you? Would he come check on you? Thinking you had snuck a boy in only to be met with the sight of the man he had been trying to put behind bars for years balls deep in his precious little girl? Would the last thing Naoto see in his life be your face screwed up in pleasure as you came around a murderer’s cock?

Sanzu threw his head back as he laughed; a loud, unhinged sound that rivaled all the other noises going on in the room. His thrusts were just as erratic as his behavior, and soon enough he felt your pussy clamp down on him as you cried out a shrill ‘Sanzu!’—and at the moment, your bedroom door burst open. Sanzu turned to look, his eyes locking with a pair of shocked ones, and his eyes rolled back into his skull as he buried his cock inside you, the band in his stomach snapping as he filled you with his cum.

There was a moment of silence, Naoto trying to get over the shock of watching his daughter get fucked by the criminal he had been building a case against for years, and you from trying to get over the shock of being fucked by said criminal and getting walked in on by your dad.

Ay yi yi, what a mess.

That brief moment of hesitation was Naoto’s downfall. With a swiftness that no one was expecting, Sanzu slid off the bed and retrieved the gun that laid on the floor, it having fell there when he dropped his pants, and took aim at Naoto’s leg before pulling the trigger. Two screams rang out as the bullet pierced his flesh, and Sanzu was grateful that Naoto had chosen to buy a house in total isolation.

Naoto crumpled to the floor, his hand pressed to the wound as blood spurted out around it. Sanzu walked over to the nightstand and picked up his katana, and he glanced back at you who was still on the bed, soiled sheet clutched to your chest. “You might wanna cover your eyes, princess.”

“Did you take care of him?”

Sanzu looked at Mikey and nodded his head with a grin, fingers tapping the arm of the chair he was sat in. “Mhm. Strung him up in the yard for the mailman to find, too.” Mikey looked up from the paperwork he was signing off on, and Sanzu’s grin widened at his blank expression.

“I told you not to make a mess.” He looked over the splotches of blood covering Sanzu’s clothes, as well as the dry, crusted blood that was in his hair. “And what is this?”

“What’s what?”

Mikey sat down his pen and leaned back in his seat, his hands clasping together as he exhaled through his nose.

“What’s that,” he nodded his head to you who sat perched in Sanzu’s lap, your empty gaze locked onto your knees. “And why is it here?”

“Oh, this.” Sanzu tucked you further into his chest as his hand moved to tilt your head up, your dull eyes that had an uncanny resemblance to his boss’s now focusing on Sanzu’s lips. “Introduce yourself, princess.” You mumbled out your name, and he grinned before placing a messy kiss on your cheek, whispering a ‘good girl’ in your ear as he did. “She’s my souvenir. Isn’t she cute? You can use her any time, Mikey.”

“I’ll pass.” Of course he would, Sanzu thought. “Keep her out of sight and make sure she doesn’t get away from you, because if she does,” a gun was suddenly pointed at Sanzu, and he breathed out a laugh as Mikey clicked off the safety. His finger pulled back on the trigger, and Sanzu didn’t so much as blink as the bullet whizzed past his head, grazing his cheek as it went. “That’ll be between your eyes instead of in my wall.”

“You don’t have to worry, Mikey,” Sanzu wrapped his arms around your waist, his face nuzzling into your neck. “She’s gonna be on her best behavior, because if she’s not..” He pushed his mouth against your ear, and he lowly chuckled when he felt you shiver. “She’ll end up just like her daddy.”

ᥫ᭡ ─ PEEK-A-BOO! ⸝⸝ shuji hanma.

ଘ. featuring ⸝⸝ bully!shuji x f!bimbo!reader

ଘ. synopsis ⸝⸝ your dumb little self can't stop being so clumsy, especially around the biggest school bully, dropping your glasses and getting on your pretty knees in search of them only to just be teased for them..

warnings ⸝⸝ 1.1k+ wc. sws. dc. non/dub-con. noncon recording. coercion. time skip!hanma. college au. reader wears glasses. oral sex (m. receiving). public blowjob. face fucking. oral creampie. cum eating. throat bulging. voyeurism. dacryphilia. asphyxiation. hair pulling. bullying. degrading. slight masturbation. this is so taboo, help. (17+).

note ⸝⸝ yes, reader lowkey kinning velma, she a blind bitch— but BUT, this was supposed to be a kisaki fic but some whore–@dilftaroooo–convinced me to make this mr. turnip heads fic.. *runs on all fours*

“dumb bitch.”

were the first words you heard growl beside you the second your foot overstepped the last staircase. your eyes fall to the polished floors in front, legs buckling and anchoring themselves to the ground, and you can feel your jaw clench in anticipation already in resigned to the discomfort to follow.

your poor knees scrape against the campus floors when you were met with gravity, even when you try to heed your fall; newly painted nails skidding across the tiles, the pain radiates in a way that shatters your brain, or was it just purely embarrassment that made your breathing suddenly shallow?

either-or..

a silent sob prys from your mouth when you try to gather yourself up as quick as you can but hearing all of the snickers of how much of a loser you are stifling around made your breathing hitch.

yet, those slick comments didn't phase you that much; used to the remarks your classmates would always whisper around about you throughout the years..

used to them always giggling at you when you're desperately in search of those glasses that had always fumbled with gravity as well..

used to them always leaving you helpless, walking around you, blissfully unaware of the pain you endure..

you've always damned yourself about those goofy oversized glasses in silver frames because they were always finding themselves on the ground when you did. they've always made you look like a complete idiot in search of them; knees halted to the campus floors, hands sliding against the dusty tiles to find them desperately, not caring about the pile of clipped papers and books that went down too..

you just needed your glasses first. and everyone knew that. but they all only pointed and laughed at your clumsiness before leaving you behind like some dead meat..

“oh, oh, please,” your fingers slide across the tough leather of your books, dipping around them to find those thick lenses, “where are they..” your voice is faint as you ponder, just how the voices that teased you all fainted away slowly when the school bell rung.

so attentive on finding those lanky glasses of yours and worried about being late to class, the clicking of boots that bellowed closer and closer was out of your focus..

“hey, sugar, you wanna know somthin’?” a familiar deep and taunting voice echoes down the stairway behind you. you jump slightly, eyes squinting as your head spins around.

before you can process the blurred figure walking toward you, the man speaks again, “the number of times your dumbass has dropped these ugly ass glasses is the same number of girls i’ve fucked,” he's close now, feeling the heavy presence of the mans taller frame leaning down to you.

“and that's a lot.”

“h-hanma?” you know that snarky voice laced with foul intent by heart.

his screaming taunts always stung you and left a ringing in your ears throughout the years of his brutal harassment. just hearing his pitched voice made your skin cold, hands to even cramp up from the memories of him flinging your glasses across the room to only watch you crawl around for them before stepping on your newly painted nails with the heel of his boots.

“in the flesh, cutie.” hanma cooes before flicking at your forehead, a gentle pang from his pointer finger to your skin.

“leave me alone, asshole.” you pry away from him, trying to swat away his inked hand from your face.

“oh? fine then. i was tryna be nice and give you your glass but you wanna be a bitch–”

“no, give them to me.” you go to stand up quickly but the sudden familiar sharp sting to the roof of your hand kept you down. wincing at the tough feel of his boot imprinting against your skin made you whine, bones feeling as if there being crushed between the sole of his shoe and cement.

“hanma! get off of me! that hurts!” your free hand swats at his leg, only to take a new route of actions quickly; gripping at his thigh instead when he put more of his weight down.

“you gonna stop being a bitch then?” you almost pout at his words but instead you simply nod, too weak compared to him so what's the point of fighting him off when you know he always wins in the end?

“eh.. i don't know if i wanna give 'em now. you hurt my feelings.” you can practically hear the laugh he's holding in his chest slip through his teeth.

your burning eyes flicker up to his; partially a blur of a face but you can see the outline of that shit-eating grin he always holds highly around campus imprinted on his lips. hanma didn't mean to twist his tongue in his mouth and loosen his death grip on your hand, but he never realized how pretty your lips look when you pucker them up into a frown; the heavy gloss on them shining just like the stinging tears pricking at your lower lash line..

he truly never cared to even notice how the mesh of your skirt raised higher than it should have when you're on your bruising knees after a hard, embarrassing fall..

or even cared to realize how pretty you really do look on your knees in front of him..

hanma swallows down that bubbling feeling in his belly that rises at the pleaing look you give him. but seeing you almost whine, desperate with mercy in his hands, he couldn't help the way how his pants suddenly stiffen around him, feeling how the growing bulge in his jeans press painfully against the leather of his belt.

“heh, fine. you want them?” you nod vigorously, eyes squinting and seeing his hands motioning around your face, but hearing the clasp of a belt unclip made your brows knit together.

“have 'em.”

hanma frees your hand from under his heavy boot, and you can feel your blood rush to it instantly but the second your hands reached up for your glasses, your blood could only pump faster, feeling something harder and thicker than the silver hinges you're used to holding.

your hand flinches back. eyes now open all the way like someone was prying them apart, trying to get a good look of that thick blur prodding in front of your face.

“h-hanma? what're you doing? what is that?”

“do you not want your glasses?” he cooes, voice whisked like auditory caramel, “they're right in front of you.” hanma nudges himself closer to you, just enough to smell the deep husk of him and caving you in with your back staggering against the wall behind you.

barely, the focus you were putting in rushes; a fuzzy image of his pretty long cock in chastity that drools with a pearl of pre, his cock swinging heavily close to your face with your bent glasses resting close to his dark-haired base. your brain stutters, mouth left agape at the surreal sight.

hanma? the shuji hanma, your worse bully? prodding his beating cock at your lips? in the campus stairway halls?

the air felt as if it became thicker, harder to suck in when your focus moved to the side, seeing how his long legs caved you in, a lanky hand pressing against the wall beside your head.

“c’mon. quit actin’ stupid ‘n suck my cock already or your not getting them.” he's already nudging the crown of cock between your pursed lips as he enunciates.

all of this was happening too fast, your brain was still trying to catch up on how you even fell in the first place. but now? you couldn't even understand if this was a fever dream or not.

you try to push away, eyes wide, owlish-like, confused as to why this was even happening. yet, that irk of an itch in the back of your brain was bugging you, feeling the cool air hit against your panties that suddenly drool a little with your slick..

that itch in your brain screaming out to you to finally get some dick, even if it was your bullies fat and pretty dick..

and soon, that annoying itch was quickly brushed off the second you allowed his prodding tip to break past your pretty lips..

“mm, good little slut. open wider, gonna take a whole lot more than just this.” hanma groaned, head hanging low against his chest as he watched you take in more of him.

those golden eyes never left you, not even for a second, even if he heard people walking around the halls. he was too focused on the way you wrap your pretty lips around his length, the warm feel of your mouth before dipping further in, feeling the way your throat contracts around him.

your hands reach out for stability on his thin legs, gripping around them tightly when ‘sin’ rooted itself into your hair, fisting it into a ball to push you down against him faster.

“oh, fuck,” his eyes narrow, hooding into slits, only seeing a thin line of yellow glowing under his lashes as a smirk runs along his face, “why haven't i done this before?!” the fingers at the back of your head knot firmly into your hair, almost threatening to pull it from the roots.

your eyes almost knock to the back of your head when he crushes you fully against him, nose being tickled by the dark hairs at his base and the cold feel of your glasses.

tears begin to quickly prick from your eyes, nose beginning to run, and drool slipping from the sides of your mouth as he guides your head faster and faster over his cock. the tight feel of his cock head jabbing at the back of your throat made you whine around him, hips shifting around and a sharp pang to shoot between your thighs.

your hand twinges, quickly guiding itself down between your bodies and past your thighs to relieve that ache of tension. the pads of your fingers run along the sticky trail against your panties, adding pressure to your weeping clit that throbbed at the slightest touch.

“you getting off to this, whore?” hanma growls, a guttural moan scraping at his throat, “like being used like the hole you are?” he grows harder, forcing your throat to work him in and out of you at his impatient, incessant pace.

“answer me slut. you like this, don't you? playin’ with that little pussy while i use you?” he tugs the back of your head, making your lips pop off around his cock. bubbles of spit drool off the fat of his tip with a slimy string connecting to your lips.

you go to respond, a heavy breath of air catching in your throat but he was only toying with you, wanting to catch you off guard and stuff your pretty mouth full again. wanting to make you retch around his sheer mass that stretches your throat, a subtle bump of his cock bulging through when he slides back in.

his hands clapping around the back of your head to keep you in place, your mouth struggling for any agency. you try to flatten your tongue and try to drop your jaw as much as possible, licking lightly and stroking against the underside of his thick cock, but it felt impossible with his size to make some room without cramping up.

“yeah, keep playin’ with yourself like that, this the only attention you'll get from me, stupid whore.” pleasure was rising messier and greedier the more he rocked you back and forth. the sudden bucks of his hips sync with the devoted bobbing of your head that drove on with a singular intent.

though the words that slipped through his lips along with strained moans stung you, you do as he says; your fingers rolling around your panties with enough pressure against your sensitive bud, pinching and lolling it over, till you were moaning in coeval with him. you tease your clit, the smooth pads of your fingers running along the messy pool of your arousal as hanma can only scoff.

“never knew you were so fuckin’ filthy,” he titters over the loud bubbly slurps you provide around his cock, “‘n–fuck–never knew your throat can handle me like this.” his head lolls off to the side, craning over with his jaw hinged open.

his harsh words shouldn't have affected the way they did, but you can only moan around him, the tingle of vibrations makes the apple in his throat to bob.

trying so desperately to breathe but forgetting how to tell your body to do so, you can only hope he was close before passing out.. and so, you try to run your tongue over his cock to heed your help, soon feeling a particularly prominent, rising hardness begin to stand.

hanma didn't even want to give you a warning either, enjoying the sappy tears that roll down your flushed cheeks, makeup drooling along the streams as well. you looked so pretty below him like this, crying over him, desperate need to breathe all because of his fat cock. he couldn't help it, bucking his hips hard enough till your eyes squeezed shut and feet to tap against the floors.

he couldn't help it..

the desperate feel of you trying to prove to be able to handle the frantic indulgence and pleasures coming on stronger for his needs, he couldn't help but pinch your nose close.. watching the way you try to pull back when he forced you back against his base, suffocating you with the fat of his cock.

the heavy and hot tears that clump up around your chin drip down, just how his thick ribbons of cum shoot in the back of your throat. feeling your mouth being filled quickly with his hot sticky mess, some pooling out the sides of your mouth made your brain numb.

and you couldn't tell if it was the lack of oxygen or the high feel of your mouth being used for the pleasure of him till he popped and your pussy to drool even more..

“fuck, yeah, yeah, take all that fuckin’ cum,” his calloused hands keep you hostage to swallow it all, deeming you till you did, “any slips out ‘m breaking these glasses, bitch.” he snips.

finally, he lets you pop off his cock, but the recovery was short-lived, ‘punishment’ pinching into your stained cheeks, “y’know, just as pretty as you look on your knees, you look a lot hotter on camera.” he grins.

₍ ੭ᐢ..ᐢ)੭ @getoswhore — refrain from plagiarizing, translating, modifying, and/or reposting my work!

Best thing I‘ve ever read I‘m DYING

house of cards

ft. bully!mikey x reader

+ mikey has built quite the reputation for himself, you can't help but be tempted to make it all tumble down.

cw. dark content, college au, afab!fem!reader, noncon filming and pictures taken, slapping, dom!mikey, toxic mikey, name calling, degradation, objectification (?), writing on skin, he rubs his dick on ur face um yeah, unprotected sex against reader's will, mentions of STIs tho mikey's clean, one mention of piss, death threat, slight overstimulation, bullying.

an. 18+, minors dni. i love mean mikey yup yup make me cry ilysm. this is a drabble okay ?? :) smile and nod or else. 1,8k, not proofread. please lmk if i missed any tags.

The door swings open like a gale of wind attempting to wreak havoc in your dorm. Not a storm, no—Manjiro Sano. You look over your shoulder before plunging back into the comfort of your bed.

"Most people knock, you know." Boots thunder against your cheap hardwood floors, icy and nimble fingers harshly grabbing at your jaw as he leans over the bed in all his mad glory.

"Is that so?" His words drip of venom and the abyss hides itself in his charcoal eyes and midnight hair. "Most dogs behave, you know." You gulp—you didn't think he'd be this mad.

"Are ya gonna explain yourself," You yelp as he pulls your hair and drags you off the bed. "You sneaky little bitch?" He shoves you down on your knees while he plops himself comfortably where you were lying just a second ago. "I didn't—I didn't do anything-" Your head turns abruptly and your cheek stings. Tears well up in your eyes and a sob escapes you. "Wrong."

Mikey lets out a deep sigh and runs his fingers through his hair. "I don't think you understand the situation you're in, sweetheart." His silence speaks volumes, filling in blanks you wish you couldn't read. "Confess to your filthy little sins and maybe I won't make your life a livin' hell." It's terrifying, the way his lips tug into a wicked smile, not a single speck of benevolence in his vicious eyes.

"I might have.. said some things.." His eyebrow quirks up, lithe fingers pointing down at his jeans. "Do I need to help you with every fuckin' sentence? Spit it out already, mutt." You fumble with his belt and the metal clings clearly in your mind. Pulling down his zipper, you gaze up at him—regret washes over you the second his orbs meet yours.

"I told Senju to," You clear your throat when your shaky hands press against the wet patch of fabric, Mikey's cock twitching despite his cold demeanor. "-told her to spread some rumors about you.. They weren't anything serious! Just a little funny-" "Funny?" Mikey clicks his tongue.

"Spreadin' a rumor 'bout me having more STI's than letters in my name is funny?" You don't know what demon possessed you to snort when you were one foot in the grave already, but Satan's never liked you that well. "Oh? You're a brave one, aren't ya?" If he wanted you to answer, he doesn't let you when he shoves your face into the soaked fabric of his boxers.

"Wasn't just one lie you blubbered with that useless mouth of yours," His pupils dilate and the faintest of moans slip out between his plush lips when your tongue wets his underwear and laps at the precum dripping through. "Seems like I can't get it up either, huh?" They're all blatant lies, that much is evident when his cock springs up when you pull the fabric down—it blushes red at the tip and leaks down the sides of his length.

"What'cha even good for if you can't get my dick hard?" You ogle at him with big puppy eyes. It's already hard, you fucker. His dick bounces against your chin, vein pulsating against the flesh.

Mikey presses the tip against your face, admiring the way his cock drools down your skin. Bored by the current flow of the ongoing event, he wraps his fingers around your throat before pulling you towards the bed. His hand tightens its hold before he roughly throws you onto the mattress.

Cold fingers dip underneath your clothing and they make haste sliding each attire off your skin. Barely a few seconds pass with your bare body exposed to the air before he rubs his leaking slit around your entrance. "Wh-what are you doing? Put on a condom already."

"Nah, don't feel like it." He circles your pulsating clit with a hand wrapped around his shaft and a perverse glint in his eyes. "I mean, sharing's caring, yea? If the rumors you poured your heart 'n soul into are lies, then ya have nothing to worry 'bout!" A devilish smile with pitch-black orbs bore into you.

His hand snakes up your body till Mikey has his palm covering your mouth. Eyes drip of obsidian when he impales himself inside you with one deep and painful thrust. You gasp and drool into his hand, being completely at the Devil's mercy. "But lyin' ain't cute, sweetheart."

Rasping against your walls, Mikey's length pistons inside you with fervor and no care of your incessant whining. Legs thrown over his shoulders, his abs flex with each roll of his hips. Mikey's always been a piece of shit—there's not a single person on campus who hasn't heard his name at least once.

Notorious for seeking out trouble and adding fuel to the fire which is his insanity, any person in their right mind would walk the other way when seeing him. Unfortunately for you, he simply came running to you—itching to make you his new victim for his continuous bullying and pestering.

There's nothing he enjoys more than others suffering as a result of his foul actions. Taking your underwear before class, spitting on you when he sees you in the library—hell, one time he fucking peed inside you after fucking you in the public bathroom. There's no escaping his atrocities; one word and he could change the trajectory of your life for the worse.

Is it really that surprising that you wanted to get back at him just once? Though it's clear as day to you now—once is one too many when it comes to Mikey and his limited patience.

You wish you could bring yourself to walk away, but there's no hiding the slick that runs down your thighs every time he drags his fat cock out of your clenching hole. Shame floods your veins and your cheeks heat up at the sheer loudness of each squelch of his balls against your skin.

"This pussy's fuckin' mine, got it?" A paroxysm of pleasure strikes like lightning through your veins, nodding along in a frenzy. His hands dig into the flesh of your hips, tongue darting out to lick his lip. "If I see ya with someone else I'll fuckin' beat them to death," Clenching around him like a vice, your velvet walls quiver when his mushroom tips kisses against your deepest spot.

"Cunt's got my name on it, but my cock will never be yours." He snickers. You can't bring yourself to say anything back, the heat spreading in your abdomen about to burst, fingernails digging into the palms of your hands and eyes shutting close. "'M gonna-gonna cum—Mikey!" Fingers dip down to squeeze at your nipples with a haze of lust swirling in his eyes. "Look at me when you cum on my cock, slut." Your eyes roll back into your skull and your back arches into his body.

"Cunt's so sloppy, got an expiration date on this shit?" The filthiest and most gutwrenching words spill out of his lips, yet his violent pace turns erratic and a gurgled moan slithers out of his throat when he pinches your clit and you cream all over his cock.

His calloused hand grabs your left leg, squishing the flesh when he presses it close to your chest. "The only dick fuckin' into you is mine, sweetheart." Harsh and deep rams of his shaft into your trembling cunt has you sobbing from overstimulation.

"How 'bout we start a new fuckin' rumor?" Your eyes cross when he flickers at your clit and you jolt against Mikey's clenching muscles. "..Huh?" He chuckles at you despite never halting the continuous 'pap, pap, pap' against your skin. "'This bitch y/n is such a cockhungry whore, throwing herself at Mikey just to be his personal cumdump'," He delivers a sharp thrust, burying himself deeper in your pulsating walls, fat balls hanging low and full of seed ready to blow in your tight cunt. "How's that for some drama?" He snickers at your dazed look. "You got the look already, don'cha?"

There's some rustling on the other side of the bed, but you don't catch it with the way his cock throbs inside of you, kissing that one spot that has you going stupid. "Yeah, that's the shit—squeeze my cock jus' like that," Mikey throws his head back, reluctant to cum anywhere but deep in your womb, but you don't deserve that.

He pulls out with a hiss, cock coated in slick and cum as he tugs and drags on his length with his lips tucked between his teeth. A guttural groan runs throw him as he sprays white seed out of his throbbing tip all over your tits and dripping onto your stomach and bare pussy. A blinding light coats your body and a 'click' resonates throughout the room.

"Ain't ya lucky—you're one photogenic little cocksleeve." Mikey presses his chest against your and bites your bottom lip till it bleeds and you whimper when he licks over it with a nasty grin on his face. "Got a pen or somethin' 'round here?" You're not coherent enough to understand the words tumbling out of his lips, let alone answer him.

You hear him rummage through your room with a light hum and delicate footsteps. "Ah, found one!" Like a giddy little kid, he jumps back into the bed, hands quick to fondle your tits and press against every inch of your skin.

"Don't move." You jerk when the tip of a pen digs into your skin, gasping into Mikey's arm. "I said," His eyes roll and he grips both your hands and push them into the mattress above your head. "Don't fuckin' move."

You trash and shake under his gaze, eyes hung low and focused on your ink-stained skin. "It tickles..!" His tongue darts out in concentration. "Almosttt done.." Mikey sits back on his heels and puts the top back on the pen, chuckling at his work.

"Now, just smile one last time." Your head lolls to your side in confusion, but a lazy tug on your lips will have to suffice. "No, no, no. Smile. Gimme that dumb grin you had when I drilled my cock in ya." Maybe it's the nefarious tint to his grin that has you obeying, a flash blinding your eyes before you can think to decline. When a video and pictures leak and flood social media like a plague, you gasp in horror at the blurry images—it's unmistakenly you.

A lewd video of the invincible Mikey ramming into your pussy and hole sucking him back in with each thrust circulates throughout campus and spreads like wildfire. By the time the original video has been taken down, it's been shared too many times to have any hope of ever disappearing.

Though, the image of your cute little grin with "Mikey's jizz jar" written in bold, blue letters on your lower stomach, right above your pussy—it's his favorite.