Yandere Jujutsu Kaisen - Blog Posts

Swinging.

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JJK Masterlist

Yandere! Satoru Gojo x Fem! Reader, light Suguru Geto x Reader.

Warnings: Yandere themes, sexual themes, smut, handjob, masturbation, voyeurism, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, vaginal sex, creampie, fingering, oral sex; fem receiving, overstimulation, forced squirting.

Summary: Gojo's incessant begging to his best friend about swinging partners finally pays off.

W/C: 4.6k+

“Are you sure about this?” You ask Geto for the fifth time in the morning. “I already told you, if you don’t want to do this-” “It’s not that.” You interrupt his assurance. “It’s just… weird.” You repeat, glancing to the other end of the hallway that leads to the entrance of the students’ dorms, anxious for Gojo’s arrival. “We’ve already talked about this, it’s only going to be one week, but you can call it off whenever you want.” Geto places his hand on the side of your face, directing you to look at him and caressing your cheek lovingly.

“I know.” You sigh. “And don’t worry about me, have some fun yourself.” He smiles. You hear a door being kicked open and jump into Geto’s chest who instinctively wraps his arms around you, being startled at the sudden sound and seeing that understandably; Gojo’s the one to blame for the dramatic entrance, his own girlfriend following behind. Gojo’s mouth starts moving in what you assume is a greeting but all you can focus on is the girl clinging to his arm; the one you’ll be switching places with.

You take a look at her while she stares at your boyfriend, eyeing her bigger chest, slimmer waist and shorter stature, starting to feel a bit self-conscious and wondering if Geto will even miss you. You think back to the start of the situation and remind yourself that Gojo’s the one who wanted to swing partners, not Geto, and that the only reason why you and Geto said yes was to stop Gojo’s weeks of pestering to swap partners, whining about how he’s ‘always wanted to try it’.

You look back up to your boyfriend with a soft smile, feeling reassured and taking in his words. “Remember, just one week.” He says. “I know, I know.” Gojo rushes out, trying to get on with the situation. “I’m serious Satoru, I don’t want you to then turn around and say two weeks.” Geto starts speaking in a stern voice, further assuring you. “Okay, I get it, are we doing this or not?” Gojo responds in an annoyed tone while looking away nonchalantly.

Geto looks down at you lovingly and gives you a soft smile, holding your face in his hand and stroking your cheek tenderly, before gently pressing his lips against yours in a long soft kiss, unaware of how Gojo rolls his eyes behind his glasses while sticking his tongue out at the display of affection. After pulling away, Geto leans in your ear and whispers loud enough for only you to hear while holding you close to his chest.

“Remember, Gojo will most likely try to bed you in the first night- if he waits that long.” He pulls away. “You can come back whenever you want.” He repeats out loud. “After a week.” Gojo adds to which Geto gives him a dirty look. You finally pull yourself away from him and take the few steps between you and Gojo, ignoring how his own girlfriend walks to Geto a little too eagerly for your liking.

As soon as you're in within arms reach of Gojo, he restrains himself from yanking you to him into a kiss and instead wraps his arm around your lower back while leading you to his dorm, visibly pulling you as close to him as possible while giving Geto a smug smirk to which he gives a glare in return. You nervously look to your moving feet at the sound of Geto’s temporary girlfriend telling him all the things she wants to do with him before night while Gojo guides you through the opened door of his room.

The door closes after walking in and you hear the ominous noise of the lock clicking while you look back at him, suddenly feeling small under his piercing gaze despite his pitch-black round glasses. “You mind taking a shower?” He suggests, the lack of a smirk on his face having you thinking he doesn’t mean it in a sexual manner. “… I just showered.” You meekly respond. “Well, then shower again.” He insists in a stern tone, making you feel uneasy at the absence of his loud personality.

“… Okay.” You quietly agree, walking to his bathroom. “Make sure to brush your teeth.” Gojo adds, making you glance back to catch a glimpse of his bright eyes staring at you through the side of his glasses before stepping in the bathroom and closing the door behind you. You’d always notice he’s a clean and pretty well-groomed young man, but you had never actually thought he could be that picky about germs.

After going through his cabinets, you find a spare toothbrush and make sure to brush your teeth thoroughly and scrub your tongue, washing the leftover paste from the brush and setting it next to Gojo’s brush afterwards. You absentmindedly unclothe yourself and step in the shower, pulling the glass door shut and starting to wash yourself, feeling your thoughts wander to Geto and what he must be doing by now with Gojo’s girlfriend.

Before you know it, you’re scrubbing your body for the last time, having zoned out and been staring at the wall ahead of you until you were left staring at the floor with an emotionless expression, your hands settling on either side of your neck in deep thought. “Why’d you stop?” You hear a low cocky voice ask. Startled, you let out a small noise of surprise with your head snapping to your side to see Gojo leaning against the wall by the door, facing you with his arms crossed and glasses hanging low to let you see his eyes.

“What are you doing here?” You rush out of your mouth, an arm over your breasts and a hand over your lower region in attempt to cover yourself. “Isn’t it obvious?” He asks in the same low tone. “I’m enjoying the view…” He responds in a seductive tone while you continue to stare at him, the water suddenly feeling awfully cold. “Go on, don’t mind me.” He coaxes you to further your actions, making your cheeks start to burn.

You return your gaze to the floor with wide eyes, slowly starting to remove your hands from your body to rub more soap on it. You start with your shoulders, slowly rubbing with your hands past to your arms and leaving your body completely bare for him to stare at, dreading what comes next. Your hands reach up for your breasts with hesitation, holding the mounds only to hear a soft somewhat relieved moan from the door.

You fail to keep your eyes to yourself and take a small peek to your side at Gojo, seeing how his hand slowly slips into the front of his pants to a painfully prominent erection, slowly rubbing himself. You quickly avert your gaze while your hands subconsciously rub at your peaked nipples, continuing with the rest of your breast and dipping in the underside. One of your hands work over the rest of your torso as the other one reaches behind your shoulder, spreading the soap along your back.

Soon, both hands are drawing slow circles on your lower back, exposing your front again and having your back forming a small arch that pushes your tits further out, an audible sigh making its way to your ears to which you force yourself to keep your eyes on the floor. Your hands keep moving lower until they reach your ass, rubbing softly at the cheeks and pressing on the underside to Gojo’s delight before moving to the back of your thighs.

With your body starting to bend over as your hands stroke at the rest of your legs, Gojo finds himself unable to decide whether to keep his eyes on the curve of your ass or on your tits and the way they start to hang obscenely from the new angle. He bites down on his lip after his tongue briefly lolls out past his lips while jerking his painfully hard member against the wet patch of precum on the front of his boxer briefs.

You finally finish at your ankles and move to stand straight again with your hand reaching to the knob to turn the water off. “Ah ah ah.” He protests, interrupting you before you can touch the knob. “Aren’t you forgetting a spot?” He points out, pausing his movements. Your breath hitches in your throat with your hands lightly trembling, a shiver running up your back with a small whimper getting stuck in your throat.

You bring your hands back to your body and slowly run them down over your stomach to your lower area, stopping briefly in hesitance before feeling a finger brush against your clit to which your body responds by clenching your thighs together despite your opposing orders. “Good girl…” Gojo praises in a small moan as he starts to jerk his length again, this time successfully eliciting an audible whine from you that in turn makes him groan.

Skimming your hand lower, your fingers run through your folds, rubbing the last of the remainder of the soap on them while your other fingers tend to the outer lips. The pad of your finger reaches your entrance while soft pants start making their way to your ears through the running water, your body continuing to respond to Gojo’s actions judging by the way it releases a wave of wetness onto your fingertip.

Before you can notice, you’re slipping a finger through the plush walls of your insides as deep as you can, trying to reach your g spot to no avail. A grunt coming from your right interrupts your movements and draws your attention to the sound, seeing him with his eyes clenched shut and head thrown back against the wall, hand still in his pants yet unaware of how tightly he grips the base of his cock to keep himself from cumming, refusing to empty himself anywhere but inside you.

His eyes crack open to the sound of a familiar creak with the water being shut off, seeing you step out of the shower onto your pile of clothes and wrapping his towel around yourself as he catches onto his breath, pulling his hand out of his underwear. “You’re acting like you didn’t just finger yourself to me fapping to you.” He comments after letting out an airy laugh regarding the towel. “Well? Come on.” He waves his hand over with a grin, waiting for you to approach him.

He places a hand behind your shoulder to lead you to his bed and manages to sneak a small squeeze to your covered ass cheek, getting a feel of it before going further. You crawl over his bed with him slightly bending over to get a peek of your pussy that his towel fails to cover before you turn around to sit on the center of his bed with your knees to your chest.

Gojo removes his glasses and sets them aside with a confident expression, shows off his eyes for a small moment and then proceeds to follow you onto his mattress. Crawling on top of you, he forces you to lay back onto his pillows and soak the covers with the water left on your skin before he sits back on his calves, slowly running his hands between your ankles over your bottom and the back of your thighs, spreading them open in a quick motion that has you letting out a noise of surprise.

He sighs in relief at the sight of your cunt that followed with your legs and spread open slightly, taking in the way your clit is barely covered by the lips and the way your folds leave your opening exposed. You feel his hands grip at your waist and pull you harshly into his crotch in a fake fucking motion that makes you moan in surprise, keeping you pressed to his hardened cock. “A little help doll?” He asks while grinding down on you hard.

After some hesitation, your hands move forward to slip your fingertips in the waistband of his underwear, getting him to stop humping you as you press him further into you, pulling him closer to reach better his button and zipper. Slowly pulling open his pants, you eye with a nervous expression the more prominently visible bulge hidden by the dark thin fabric of the underwear, subconsciously hooking your ankles behind his thighs to keep him close.

Gojo watches carefully how you pull down the waist agonizingly slow, uncovering his lower abdomen and staring at his v-line that trails your sight lower to a soft patch of white hair starting to peek over the underwear. You stare at the tufts of hair with your mouth suddenly going dry, continuing the slow pace of uncovering him and despite his desperation, he stays composed and lets you give yourself a show at unveiling him.

With his cock still sitting on the mound of your cunt, you finally manage to see the base, revealing the thickness and pulling the cloth lower to further expose the length of his erection until the neglected cock eventually springs out of its confines standing proud against his lower stomach with a string of precum dripping onto your own sex from the almost red tip of the swollen head. “Enjoying the view?” He asks in a low tone, grinning widely at you.

You swallow thickly at his words with burning cheeks just before his arms reach behind him to grab at the back of the shirt of his uniform and pull it off over his head, showing off his toned arms and torso with a smug expression. After a small pause, he pushes his pants along with underwear down to his knees and manages to kick them the rest of the way off, leaving himself completely naked to your eyes.

Taking a hold of his pulsing cock to lay it flat over your pubic bone, his heavy balls press tightly against your swollen clit, showing you how deep he’ll reach once inside you, making you let out a shaky breath at the sight. His free hand slowly trails over your stomach under your towel and slowly spreads it, reaching for your covered tit with a pleased moan and groping it harshly, his nails digging into the soft skin.

You spread open the towel the rest of the way to his surprise and press your tits together for him, urging him to play with them to which he responds to by pressing down on your nipple. Suddenly, he starts breathing heavily and yanks your legs to him to press your knees on either side of you and barely even grinds his dry length on your soaked folds before shoving himself inside you with a grunt that has you moaning loudly.

You continuously moan despite him not moving in response to desperately trying to accommodate his size in your unprepared cunt with him panting above you and keeping you locked in a mating press, slowly pressing his weight on top of you feeling your arms wrap around his back with your shaky hands needing to hold onto something as he presses the front of your legs painfully flat against the bed.

In the guise of letting you adjust to him, he bites harshly on his lower lip while trying to get used to the feeling of your tight walls wrapped around him, keeping his chest pressed to yours with his lips muffling grunts next to your ear and upper arms on either side of your head as he grips tightly onto the bed sheets under the pillow where your head rests. As you get accustomed to the feeling of him inside you, you start letting out light pants against his ear, catching his attention for him to look over at you.

Turning his gaze to the side, he stares with his eyes half closed at your parted lips, soft wet tongue resting just past them and making him realize he hasn’t kissed you yet. The whole reason as to why he wanted you to brush your teeth, the whole reason as to why he wanted you to rid yourself of your boyfriend’s essence and he hasn’t even kissed you yet. Gojo takes your jaw in a hand, pulls your face over to him and finally; takes your lips in his own in a kiss.

A noise of surprise is muffled in his mouth along with your eyes shooting wide open in shock while he wastes no time in shoving his tongue past your lips and continuing in a rather soft pace, kissing you tenderly as opposed to his previous actions. Your eyes flutter shut again at his tongue pressing with yours, sliding along each other and taking your own drool in his mouth, he finally takes in the taste of you with the light flavor of mint still noticeable.

Loud noises of your lips smacking together and pants for breaths fill the room with him starting to grind deeply into you, the tip of his member rubbing your cervix making you moan into the kiss. He humps into you for a while longer, seemingly trying to press himself deeper in only to have his heavy balls pressed harshly to the lower part of your cunt, almost as if he were trying to shove them in as well with the pristine white hair adorning the base of his shaft brushing your clit with a pleasant amount of stimulation.

Not long after, he goes to slowly move his hips back while maintaining the rest of his body glued to yours only to feel your tight insides sucking him back in, forcing a deep groan that breaks your kiss to emit from his throat. “You’re, ah- sucking me back in.” He moans with a small smile as he slowly moves in and out of you bit by bit, gazing into your eyes lovingly before noticing you staring between your chests instead.

He follows your line of sight to your compressed chests and finds out with ease of your desire to see where your bodies meet, keeping the encounter purely sexual in his opinion to which he grips your cheeks after letting out a frustrated huff to pull your face back to his and keep your eyes on his. He smiles again at your eye contact, but it easily gets broken again with your eyes rolling to the back of your head and mouth left agape at the first pull of his member nearly all the way out and push back in.

If you wanted him to give you a reason to have a hard time maintaining eye contact, fine, he’ll give it to you. Deeply narrowing his eyes at your unsuspecting form, he finally breaks and starts slamming his hips into yours without letting you further adjust, making you instantly start to let out loud moans and screams. He didn’t want it to be like this, he didn’t want it to be just sex, he wanted to take it slow with you, to be intimate with you but his patience can only go so far.

It’s all your fault. It’s also your fault that he immediately went straight to the point and skipped over all foreplay. It was all you and your voluptuous body that tempted him and kept him from laying his head between your legs and pleasuring you rather than yourself, not to say he can’t do both at the same time, but he wanted to show you how much of a selfless partner he can be. He’d just waited for so many weeks that when he finally saw you, he just couldn’t take it anymore.

Gojo continues to hammer into you mercilessly with gritted teeth and furrowed brows in an angered expression, dumping out his frustrations on you and feeling how your juices soak his balls along with the inside of your thighs while you cry loudly at the overstimulation. With your arms crossed over his back, your nails find their place at the base of his shoulders, digging into the skin while the sound of your squelching fills the room and the skin slapping on his reaching all the way to the halls.

With your nails slowly dragging lower and lower down the expanse of his back and leaving a harsh burning that has him hissing in return, your hands reach the tensed mounds of his ass and grip tightly at it. He feels you taking handfuls of him and pulling him toward you as if trying to shove him deeper as if he wasn’t poking deeper than you could handle judging by the tears trailing down your cheeks that he couldn’t stop eyeing.

A particularly louder cry leaves your mouth with your thighs tensing harder in Gojo’s hands at a familiar coil starting to quickly form in your lower stomach, your insides tightening even more around him making him grunt in return and thrust harder through the newfound resistance. “Damn!” He grunts in frustration, curses starting to fall from his lips while he tries to deny the blush on his cheeks as well as the fact that he’s feeling himself embarrassingly close to his own release.

He blames you once again for bringing him so close to his orgasm so easily while digging his nails into your skin because it’s not like he wasn’t already used to this whole feeling, he just wasn’t used to you, and still isn’t. It’s all you, always you. A shaky breath escapes past his lips with his eyes staring down at your trembling form, relishing in the signs that soon he’ll be able to let himself loose, refusing to reach his high before you do.

Suddenly, the feeling of him slamming into your cervix and the soft patch of hair continuously rubbing your sensitive clit becomes too much and you finally release yourself on him with a loud cry, drenching him even further with the way your hands unintentionally spread his ass cheeks apart to pull him in closer setting him off as well. Burying himself as deep as he can with his eyes clenching shut, he cums with a loud grunt, flooding your insides and hearing you whine in return.

After emptying himself inside you, a relieved sigh leaves his mouth with his eyes fluttering open, smiling tiredly to himself and basking in the fact that other than finally bedding you, he managed to cum inside you without a condom. His eyes look down at you and take in the sight of you in your post-orgasmic haze, feeling your hands losing their grip on his ass to which he chuckles, watching you pant lightly in an effort to catch up with your breath.

He slowly pulls out with a pleased moan, watching how as soon as he leaves you, his cum starts leaking from you. A shaky moan filling his ears makes him look over at you, seeing the flustered look on your face and looking back to your cunt to see a stream of his white liquid rolling out of you, realizing that you’re pushing it out. His ring and middle finger instantly go to it and trail it back up, shoving it back inside you with his hand twisting to have the pads of his fingers pressing uncomfortably towards your ass.

Before you can protest, he’s twisting his wrist again and pressing into your g spot, curving his fingers and rubbing harsh lines with your noises starting to fill the room again. Your legs start to falter and move to lay flat on the bed only for Gojo to immediately press them back on either side of you with his forearm, taking the flesh in his free hand and gripping and releasing it as he moves lower on the bed to be faced with your sensitive opening, after all, he still has to show you he’s not a selfish lover.

He wastes no time in taking your clit in his mouth and sucking, kissing and licking while pressing hard on it with his tongue in effort to bring you to another orgasm before you can properly come down from your previous one. His tongue trails down to your folds, taking them in his mouth as well while thrusting his fingers relentlessly into you, keeping them curved to rub at your spongy spot with his leftover cum leaking between them as his mouth continues its descent to your loose opening.

You feel his tongue press softly at the edge wrapped around his fingers, feeling him prodding while you whimper uncontrollably until his tongue wedges in between his fingers and your pulsing walls, drawing a small gasp from you before more of your wanton moans fill his ears. The hand on the back of your thigh leaves you to reach your swollen clit and rubs harsh circles on the nub with your leg instantly falling to his shoulder and pressing to the side of his face, your other leg remaining restrained by his forearm.

You cum with a loud scream onto his tongue and fingers and expecting his movements to stop only for his fingers to continue moving inside you incessantly, tongue still licking at your insides and the motion of his thumb on your clit unfaltering. Your back arches off the bed with your hands fisting and pulling the sheets with your throat quickly growing sore at your screams and cries at his merciless movements prolonging your orgasm.

A burning feeling quickly starts to form in your lower area with your hands going to grab at his arm and shoulder instead to push him away to no avail, unaware of the slight frustration filling him at wanting to see you squirt, hoping that you can do so otherwise he’ll just continue abusing your poor hole. Your wails muffle an irritated grunt coming from him but you undoubtedly feel the vibrations reaching your convulsing sex and let out a louder scream through your burning throat while gushing on him.

The liquid squirting on his face takes him by surprise to which he jerks away with wide eyes, hands removed from you and face drenched in your essence with his mouth slightly agape. He blinks your liquids out of the corner of his eyes and wipes some of it off with the back of his wet hand, the sound of your short quick breaths interrupting him before he can even revel in the fact of being covered in your juices and having him looking at your trembling frame.

He takes in your tear-stained face and quivering body, slowly crawling over you and gently taking your lips in his own briefly before staring at you, seeing your eyes still rolled to the back of your head, tears still leaving your eyes, mouth agape with your tongue peeking out and chest quickly rising up and down with your short breaths. He brushes the hair off of your face and smiles smugly at himself at being convinced that it was your first time squirting and moves to lay next to you, carefully turning you over to your side.

His arm pulls you close to him to embrace you until you finally come down from your high while he continues to smile triumphantly to himself, knowing that no doubt he’s given you your best fucking yet unaware that despite it being the best sex you’ve had, you still missed and desperately needed the level of intimacy that only you’re boyfriend can give you and that by the end of the week, you’ll still run back to Geto and he’ll only be a memory left behind.

Donor 1.5.

Main Masterlist

JJK Masterlist

Part 1

Yandere! Satoru Gojo x Fem! Reader.

Warnings: Yandere themes, creepy themes, pregnancy, vomit, talks of infant death.

Summary: The events of the pregnancy set along the middle of the first part.

W/C: 2.4k+

2.5 Weeks.

Gojo slowly stirs awake, his eyes instinctively opening to be met with the blindfold placed over them, having him pushing the side off of one of his eyes to make sure of his whereabouts. He’s at his apartment, on the couch of the living room of his penthouse with the large glass wall before him informing him of the early hours of the morning given the barely visible spew of sunlight over the horizon.

He remembers having gotten back home late, sitting with you on the couch and insisting that he ‘wasn’t that tired’ before ending up asleep on the couch. He groggily starts to wonder why he was woken up and quickly receives an answer to his question upon the sounds of retching coming from behind him to his left; the direction of your room. Gojo quickly stands up and rushes in, barging through your room and taking his blindfold off in the process before slamming open the door to your bathroom.

“Get out!” You try your best to shout, embarrassed at being seen spilling your guts out in the toilet. “Leave!” You shout once again, throwing a random object at the door to close it right before you continue expelling your dinner while Gojo keeps staring through the door in astonishment. You’re throwing up. You’re pregnant. You have to be, what other explanation is there? He did it. He impregnated you. Him.

It hurts him that you’re in pain, so much, but he’s never been so happy about your misfortune, or happy at all. You’re actually pregnant, and he can’t do anything but smile maniacally as he continues to watch you throwing up down to the last bit of food and stomach acid you had. You finally step out of the bathroom after having brushed your teeth and rush into Gojo’s arms to which his eyes widen open even further, lips parted in surprise as he slowly processes what’s happening.

His arms slowly move to wrap around you and hold you tightly, wanting to never let you go. He can’t believe you’re actually hugging him. It’s been so long since you actually hugged him. The last time you hugged him was before his incessant flirting grew too much for you, before you’d had enough of him continuously asking you out, hugging you, touching, it was before you finally put a stop to his displays of affection.

This has to be it, you have to be pregnant, and pregnancy is getting you hormonal and screwing with your emotions. If he had known that getting you pregnant would finally make you pliant, he would’ve knocked you up ages ago. “What’s wrong?” He innocently asks, pulling back enough to look at your watery eyes. “I want to be pregnant.” You sob. “You’re not?” He asks with confusion, not understanding what’s going on.

“I don’t know! I don’t want to take the test and see it say I’m not, I want to be pregnant.” You cry, your words only assuring him that you are pregnant, why else would you make a big fuss about something so simple? “Don’t worry, how about I run to the store to get you a few test? How does that sound?” He asks in a reassuring tone. “No! I’m supposed to wait until my period’s late.” You complain, tears starting to leave your eyes.

“Don’t worry,” He repeats himself. “Come on, just wait for me here, I’ll be back soon.” He directs you to the spot where he previously was at the living room before rushing to the nearest store for pregnancy tests.

2 Months.

Your eyelids finally start giving out on you and start closing, ready to succumb to the overwhelming exhaustion your body’s been put through only to be jolted awake once again and being forced to sit back up and plant your feet on the floor, coughing harshly into the empty trash can while retching only for nothing to come out, instead feeling the clenching pain of the muscles in your back desperately trying to squeeze something out.

There’s immediately a pair of hands on you, one making sure your hair’s out of the way and the other trying to rub soothing circles at the side of your upper back, where your back muscles ache the most. Your body finally gives up and you slump back in the pile of pillows against the wall, the back of your head hurting from constantly resting it on the once soft pillows which now feel as hard as stone.

With your hands resting on your sensitive stomach, you close your eyes in frustration with tears starting to leave trails down your cheeks for Gojo to quickly wipe them off. You sniffle and weakly open your eyes, struggling to lift one of your frail arms to hold his hand in yours to show your appreciation. “It hurts.” You quietly cry. “I know.” He sadly stares at you, looking down to your stomach and hoping your pain ends soon.

Ever since upon entering your third week into pregnancy, you’ve been vomiting almost every day. It wasn’t too serious then, you still managed to keep some food and water down for part of the day but now, you’ve been sick for almost half a week, unable to keep even liquids down and with the doctor constantly coming to your shared apartment to test out different medicines, none of which seemed to suit you yet. “… I didn’t think it’d hurt this much.” Your weak hand rubs your belly.

“…” Gojo stays quiet, not knowing how to console you while keeping his head down, finding it hard to watch how your body slowly deteriorates, dehydration really sinking in and taking it’s toll on your body. You haven’t gone to the bathroom in a whole day, your body never letting anything past your intestines, and every time Gojo tries to get you to walk to uncramp your body, you often get light headed and dizzy to the point that he always has to keep his hands on you.

“Wait here.” He gives you a soft sad smile, letting go of your hand and leaving the room, his room. Soon after the incessant throwing up, he insisted that you move into his room so he could ‘take care’ of you, and in your sensitive state, you agreed. Not long after, he finally comes back with his hands behind his back, shutting the door with his foot and careful to not let you see behind him. He sits in front of you once again and reveals a small present box beautifully decorated.

“What’s this?” You ask. “I was waiting to celebrate the start of your next trimester, but… here.” He hands you the box, waiting patiently for you to slowly pull it open. “It’s a doppler. For the baby’s heart rate.” He explains, having you instantly growing more emotional. You take your time taking out the tube of gel in the box and gently applying some on the end of the probe before turning on the device and starting to rub it along your lower stomach.

You turn the volume higher with a sniffle and hear some type of static as you move the probe around, trying to find your unborn baby. Once you reach a certain spot of your belly, the screen picks something up and displays the heart rate with the speaker playing the sound of the heartbeat. You immediately let out a cry with your free hand cupping your mouth, crying into it at the quick-paced sound of your baby’s heart.

8 Months.

You pull at the zipper and unzip the small luggage case and start putting in clothes, toiletries and other stuff you’ll need when you finally go into labor. You’d just come back from baby and pregnancy stores with Gojo and while you started packing, he was taking an awfully long time to ready the baby car seat. While you had already gotten some clothes to fit your pregnant belly along your pregnancy, and most of the stuff that you would need, he thought otherwise.

Gojo insisted that you’d get everything new, as if the baby clothes gifted to you were used, and managed to convince you by talking about his copious amounts of money and how they’re just sitting there. You pull out of the next bag a small swaddling blanket and look at it longingly, observing the white gender-neutral color with fluffy round bear ears at the top with a pink center in them.

You thought it’d be more exciting if you didn’t know the gender until the birth, but Gojo being a drama queen said that he couldn’t handle the suspense and still to this day insists on knowing the gender. You neatly fold the blanket and place it in the also brand new luggage case and next pull out a regular baby blanket with ducks on, continuing to pack until Gojo walks in your still shared room.

“Baby seat’s ready.” He notifies. “Are you sure?” You teasingly ask without looking over at him, continuing to pack the last of your items. “I think you’d be surprised by how well I placed it.” He smiles triumphantly while walking over to stand next to you. “Sure.” You lightly roll your eyes, zipping closed the case and having decided to double-check the seat before placing your baby in. As soon as you go to stand, he’s quick to help you up, offering both of his hands and gently pulling you to your feet given the extra weight.

“Thank you.” You thank him in a soft voice, smiling to your stomach as you take a seat on the edge of the bed with him sitting as well next to you. “… What’s going on in that head of yours?” He brushes your hair out of your face, something that you don’t think too much of due to being entrances in your unborn baby. “In just another month… I’m gonna be a mom.” You rub your belly.

10 Months.

You cry against Gojo’s chest with your hands gripping his shirt tightly, his arms wrapped around you in hopes that the warmth of his embrace can ease you if even just a bit. Your enormous stomach standing in the way of him being able to properly hug you only serves as a reminder of your worries, making you cry even harder. 10 months pregnant and nothing. Your baby just isn’t ready to come out yet and you’ve already tried everything, or everything you could.

You’ve exercised proper workouts for pregnant women, tried acupuncture, spicy foods, tried stimulating your own breasts which were far too sensitive to get anything but pain out of them, and still nothing. You know that stressing about it won’t help, but what else can you do? You can only handle so much, how else are you supposed to feel when so many complications can start arising; lack of oxygen, an infection, what else can you do?

“They’re doing it first thing in the morning.” Gojo brings up your scheduled cesarean in attempt to console you. You sniffle against his shirt and hold onto him tightly, trying to calm yourself with a few harsh coughs making it difficult. “Let me make you some tea.” He pulls away from the hug with a light frown, taking your hand and leading your waddling form from your bedroom to the kitchen.

Gojo, same as you, has been upset ever since your pregnancy started lasting longer, being just as worried for both of you. It’s been hard on him too, watching you try to somehow stay calm while knowing your baby could have stillbirth, a medical term that could never ease the blow of your baby’s possible death. You stand quietly as Gojo makes your tea, an unbearable silence surrounding you both with neither of you being able to look at each other.

“… Don’t worry, everything’s going to be alright.” He makes a poor attempt to console you with a hand brushing your hair away, being as upset as you are. “I’ve tried everything, everything I can, and nothing.” You sob with your eyes glued to the floor, your vision blurring from tears. He brings you in once again for a hug and holds you tightly, not wanting to let go as you continue to soak his shirt even further with your tears, feeling inconsolable.

You both stand together for a few minutes, the tea long forgotten and only starting to pull back when your arms feel tired, your arms lowering but still keeping your bodies pressed against each other. You feel him press his lips softly on your forehead and then lean his head into yours, holding you and hoping to make you feel better. “I’m sorry.” He quietly says, feeling himself starting to shed tears as well.

Opening your eyes to look at him, you see him already looking at you and take notice of his tears and slightly shaky figure, the sight making your heart ache even more. You reach up to his face and hold it in your trembling hands, wiping away the tears and looking at him with sorrow. He tries to narrow the space left between your faces with his nose gently bumping into yours to which your instinctively flinch yourself back, his hands on your body preventing you from putting space between you.

With your arms still on him, body pressed on his, and with the way you don’t push him away, he waits a few seconds to take in your unsure form, giving you time to move away if you wanted to, but when you don’t, he moves in closer. He notices how you slowly lean away from him but stop at a certain point to which he more than takes as an invitation, rather than noticing you can’t lean away any further.

You flinch when his lips touch yours, not yet kissing, but instead brushing together as if to test the waters, and when you don’t say anything to stop him, he moves to close the last gap between you… only for you to pull away with a harsh gasp. Gojo feels something inside him start to crack, his blood boiling and feeling like slapping you, but his thoughts are immediately shut down when he hears the sound of water splashing on the floor.

He freezes in place stiffly and does a slow scan of you, your hand clasped over your mouth, eyes wide staring between your feet, the dark damp spot on the cloth covering your lower region, and finally, the small puddle soaking your feet.

Imposter.

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Yandere! Satoru Gojo x Fem! Reader.

Warnings: Yandere themes, sexual themes, smut, semi non-con touching, male masturbation; hand job.

Summary: Request:

Are you accepting requests? If you do, can I request a Yandere! Satoru Gojo (or Yandere! Nanami Kento, you choose) pretending to be a gynecologist just to be able touch intimately his darling? I'm sorry for my English, it isn't my fist language. Have a nice day :)

W/C: 2.8k+

A/N: If Gojo seems a bit OOC (Out Of Character) in the way he talks, he purposefully decided to talk a little more 'professional' for the given situation.

You continue to wait at your seat in the waiting hall, hoping that your name finally gets called, a plead that gets answered quickly by the sound of your name filling your ears. “Yes?” You ask as you stand. “You may wait in Dr. Nanami’s office now.” The person who called your name indicates, leading you to the office and opening the door. “What do you mean ‘wait’? Is Dr. Nanami-” “He’ll be here soon.” The door is shut behind you, having you wondering why most of the staff was always quite rude.

You move to sit in the chair in front of the familiar desk where surely enough, Nanami isn’t sitting, having you wondering of his whereabouts, and as the minutes pass, well after your scheduled appointment, you question what’s going on. Nanami’s never been late with an appointment, and now you were passed to his office while he’s gone, something else that has never happened, he’s always had you wait until the exact time.

The door behind you nearly bursts open, making you jump and look behind you to see an unfamiliar man in a white coat with matching white hair and oddly enough with sunglasses resting on his nose. “Good evening miss L/N, I’m very sorry but it seems like Kento won’t be able to make it.” The man closes the door behind him. “Who are you?” You ask as he walks over to the other side of Nanami’s desk.

“Dr. Satoru Gojo, though you can just call me Satoru,” He removes his sunglasses, showing his pristine white lashes and his alluring neon blue sapphire eyes, having your eyes widening at the sight and cheeks nearly burning. “You see, I like to feel comfortable with my patients. Miss L/N, are you alright?” He asks with an almost playful smirk at how you stare at him. “Yes, sorry.” You apologize after letting out a small cough against your closed hand, attempting to break the awkward moment.

“Kento had some personal problems and had to leave but didn’t want to cancel your appointment, so he sent me instead, sorry for the wait.” He apologizes with an almost giddy smile. “I was informed that you’re here for a breast ultrasound and pap smear for a check up, right?” He pulls out a neatly folded hospital gown from a bin behind him. “Yes.” You respond. “Here, you can go to the bathroom.” He hands you the gown, briefly pointing to the bathroom to your right.

“Oh, and miss L/N?” He calls before you walk in the bathroom, looking back to him. “Make sure you take off your underwear…” He reminds in a nearly seductive manner. You make a small grimace at the uncomfortable situation before entering the bathroom and closing the door behind you, your body betraying you and lightly clenching your thighs, and while you undress yourself, multiple questions run through your head.

Why hadn’t Nanami informed you that someone would be replacing him? You thought he was more professional than this. What happened that had led to him having to call in someone else? Once you finish changing to the gown, you set your clothes and other belongings on the small counter by the sink before exiting the bathroom. “Are you ready?” He waits for you next to the examination table to which you quietly respond in affirmation.

You take a seat on the crinkly paper with the help of the small step up stool, your feet dangling while he pushes off your shoulders the crossed front of the top of the gown, exposing your breasts to him. As you raise your arms to place your hands behind your head, being familiar with the procedure, you miss the way your alleged doctor stares at your breasts, unaware of how quickly his pants tighten and how close he is to wetting them, your legs blocking the view.

As soon as his bare hands come into contact with your breast, you notice something off in his start. “Aren’t you supposed to start at the underarm?” You look at him. “Hmm?” He hums, seeming to have been snapped out of some sort of daze. “Right here.” You point at the junction where your underarm and chest meet. “… Oh! I’m sorry, you see; I didn’t get much of a good night’s rest.” He apologizes, excusing himself while you lift your arm again.

You calmly stare at the wall ahead while feeling the fingers gently running from your underarm to the start of your breast as your nipples harden from the cold air in the room, the sight having him swallowing thickly. The pads of his fingertips continue to travel across the expanse of the soft skin, touching and feeling every inch and finally reaching your nipple.

His thumb slowly circles around the peak, grazing it with the side of his finger while tracing the areola, feeling his skin starting to prickle in sweat at having to restrain himself. Once he’s done, he finally brings himself to lightly press on top of the nipple, the action making him bite down painfully hard at his lip in attempt to continue to hold himself back, his jaw lightly quivering as he suppresses the moan that so desperately wants to escape his throat…

Wanting nothing more than to than to grope, pull and yank at the soft tissue, squeeze it in his large hands until the fat seeps between his fingers. “Is there something wrong?” Your voice pulls him out of his thoughts, having him clearing his throat before answering. “No, I’ll just check the other one now.” He responds, reaching for your other breast and performing the same slow procedure until he’s done, turning away briefly.

“This might feel cold.” He warns, squeezing the thin bottle in his hand until the thick transparent liquid lands in the palm of his hand. “I know.” You reply and lay back on the reclined examination table before he applies the cold gel on your tit, seeing small goosebumps forming on the skin. After smearing the gel on your breast, he grabs the ultrasound transducer and presses it against the globe, making sure to spread it thoroughly this time.

While you look at the screen to your right, you once again miss the way he stares at your chest, spreading the substance that resembles his cum an awful lot. The sight makes it easy for him to get a detailed image of what your tits would look like painted in his cum, the thick semen trailing down your perked nipples and slipping between the valley. What would you have finished doing? Were you jerking him off with your smaller hands? Maybe one of them cupping his plump balls…

Or were you blowing him? Keeping him warm in your mouth with your nose reaching his lower stomach, nestling in the softly trimmed hair. Or were you letting him fuck your tight little throa- “What’s that?” You stare at the black screen with blurry white lines along it. “Nothing to worry about.” He assures after quickly composing himself after what feels like the hundredth time.

The rest of the ultrasound is spent with you missing your other doctor, the one who always explained every detail thoroughly and actually made you feel confident in your health, as opposed to the one standing before you who’s awfully quiet. “Well,” His voice pulls your attention to him. “Everything seems to be fine, I’ll just clean you up now.” He sets away the transducer.

Before you can interject, he’s already grabbing tissues and cleaning the smudged mess, wiping the gel with ease and in a manner that could almost seem… loving. After all, it was his chance at showing you how good he’d be with cleaning you up after your activities. While he finishes cleaning you, you awkwardly look away, not knowing what to say and instead choosing to stay quiet as you bashfully look away.

After a few tissues are thrown in the trash bin, he crouches down to reach the stirrups and readies them to a proper height as he feels himself growing more excited by the second, if possible, while the height of the table conveniently covers the way his pants are forced to tightly restrain his erection. “Now that we’re all set, let me help you.” He says in a low almost seductive tone, the situation alone making it hard for you to breathe.

He gently settles the heels of your feet on the stirrups one at a time, your gown barely covering your cunt while you wonder why you’re feeling so nervous. You never felt nervous with Nanami, he never once made you feel uncomfortable and always kept everything strictly professional, so despite having an attractive man looking at your lower region, it was easy to get used to the situation, but with Satoru…

You suddenly feel awfully nervous and a bit self conscious at having someone like him seeing your private parts, every last ounce of your calm and collected attitude having left when he insisted on cleaning your breasts. He slips a pair of gloves on with ease and swiftly moves over to reach for the speculum and is quick to work, dropping down his knees and deciding to briefly tease himself by slowly moving the bottom of your gown away, bunching it around your waist.

Warmth instantly spreads through your cheeks at being exposed to him with the angle of your body leaving you unable to see him. He stares at your bare cunt for a moment, taking in the sight with wide eyes and blushing cheeks, feeling the embarrassingly large amounts of precum leaking his swollen tip soaking his underwear. After a small moment of silence, you finally feel the smooth cool metal come in contact with your labia.

You let out a quiet nervous breath as you slightly fiddle with your hands that rest over your stomach, unaware of what your doctor’s really doing. As he slowly inserts the end of the speculum, his nose hovers mere inches away from your sex, inhaling and taking in the smell with cheeks burning red and tongue peeking out from his mouth. He pleads in his head, begs just to get a taste from you, he’s just a flick from his tongue away, just- please.

Nearly close to tears from frustration, his free hand shakily reaches for his pants and quietly unbuttons them followed by a muted pull from his zipper with your insides still slowly engulfing the metal object, careful not to hurt you. His hand slips in the opening of his pants and pulls out his heavy length, aching for any sort of stimulation with the dripping head thick and swollen the same way as his balls which he pulls out to rest over the zipper.

With a single tug of his hand from the start of his dick to the base, he reaches his orgasms and cums with his eyes instinctively widening in surprise and letting out a cough to cover up for his actions with his other hand leaving you to cover his mouth. “Are you okay?” You quickly ask, raising your head but still unable to see him. Another cough leaves him in attempt to block the loud groan that desperately wants to escape while endless streams of cum shoot from his tip with his eyes squeezed shut.

With the first spurt having landed on the table, he aims himself to the floor to spill his load on the white tiles, dick twitching in his tight grip and balls feeling unbelievably tight. You remain quiet until he regains himself from what you can only assume is a coughing fit and unknowingly let him finish releasing all over the floor, creating a rather large puddle. His hand leaves his mouth and goes to his balls to lightly fondle them and help bring him down from his high as his length softens, slowly falling to his balls.

“Dr. Gojo?” You ask after clearing your throat, slowly sitting up with a creak of the table to which he immediately shoots up to his knees to keep you from looking any further. “Yes?!” He quickly rushes out his mouth with wide eyes, looking similar to a toddler having been caught doing something bad. “… Are you… alright?” You repeat yourself with uncertainty. “Oh, yes, I’m fine, I just swallowed the wrong way.” He nervously excuses with burning cheeks and a flustered expression.

“I’m sorry about that, I’ll just continue now.” He ducks back down. You lay back on the table and feel the end of the speculum finally kissing your cervix with him enjoying the view for a small moment of the small stretch that it gives you, wondering if that’s how you’d look like with his fingers inside you. As his soft cock rests outside his pants, he focuses in moving the speculum to spread your walls open and receive a view of the inside of them.

He immediately associates the image with the way your insides would look upon being impaled by him, though the stretch would be far wider and unfortunately, if he stretches you wider, you’ll grow suspicious given that the size of the brush isn’t that big. He stops expanding your walls and carefully inserts the brush while your cheeks start burning at similar dirty thoughts running through your mind and soon enough; with your body betraying you.

Panic washes over you once you feel the familiar leakage in your lower region and you pray for it to be over soon, the sensation of the brush swabbing the deepest part inside you filling you with relief. After pulling the brush out, he stares at it and examines it in great detail with a piercing gaze, looking at your essence smeared on it, cock twitching in response. Without thinking, he softly parts his lips and peeks his tongue out as he brings the brush closer, ready to get his taste of you that he’s been craving for so long.

“Are you done?” Your quiet voice still makes it to his ears, desperate to clothe yourself again. “Yes, just a moment.” He replies, disappointed in your interruption and instead slathering your juices in a small container beside him, placing the lid after and closing it. The speculum returns to its original state and is pulled out of you with a thin coat of your liquids followed by him shoving his spent member in his pants and buttoning them.

He casually stands, sets everything aside on a small table and helps you bring your feet down before moving his hands to your arms. “Let me help you.” He insists with a smile, aiding you to stand on your feet and directing you to the bathroom to get dressed, all the while standing between you and the puddle of his cum. As soon as the door’s shut, he quickly scampers to clean his mess, just now noticing the size of the puddle…

Thinking to himself how he hadn’t cummed that much since the day he first got hands on a pair of your underwear. He throws the last dirtied tissue away and contemplates about continuing what was interrupted from him but is instead met with the noise of the bathroom door clicking, making him look over to your once again clothed body. “When will you have the results?” You question after an awkward cough.

“Kento has a pretty busy schedule, so I’ll just call you to let you know.” He explains and you thank him for… the most uncomfortable appointment you’ve had, though of course you don’t say that part. “No, thank you.” He ominously thanks, placing a hand on your shoulder and leading you to the door while saying his goodbyes. He opens the door for you and once he does, a familiar figure is standing in the way.

“Dr. Nanami, you’re here.” You point out while he stands in front of you with a hand out as if he was about to open the door. “I- yes. What’s happening here?” He questions, staring at Gojo. “Dr. Gojo said you sent him because you had to leave.” You point at the white haired man. “I see.” Nanami’s fists clench, continuing to stare at the other man rather harshly. “Glad… to see you could make it.” You try to break the tension. “So, you’re finished here?” He asks without breaking his stare.

“Yes, Gojo did my pap smear and… my breast ultrasound.” Your voice quiets down at the dangerous tension you feel, for some reason feeling that you should run away. “Just like you said, right?” You add, wondering why your hands are trembling. “…” Nanami stays quiet with Gojo smiling as if he did nothing wrong. “Dr… Nanami?” You meekly asks, the scared tone in your voice finally getting him to look at you, the angry look on his face disappearing.

“Yes.” He finally responds, removing Gojo’s hand to replace it with his own. “Now please leave, I have to have a talk with Gojo about your routinely check up.” He lies with ease, leading your almost shaking frame away. You’d never seen him angry, and certainly not to that level. “Is… everything okay?” You turn to look at him again. “Yes, there’s no need to worry, you may leave now.” He assures you, seeing you rush away and facing Gojo again who simply looks at him with a smirk and a cocky expression.

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Creep.

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Yandere! Satoru Gojo x GN! Reader.

Warnings: Implied yandere themes at the end, implied non-con threat, light physical abuse.

Summary: After leaving work early in the morning with an empty stomach, you stop at a gas station for a quick meal but instead get more than you bargained for.

W/C: 1.3k+

You continue to walk through the dark empty streets of the night with a pain in your stomach, reminding you of how your lunch had gone bad, leaving you unable to eat. You could’ve walked to the nearest place where you could buy the closest thing to food, but it would’ve taken over half of your lunch break just to get to the food, not to mention having to wait for it, it would’ve been too late by then and unfortunately, your boss was in a bad mood already- well, they always were.

Putting your faith in the large meal you had before work to pull you through the rest of the day proved to be a wrong choice. You quicken your pace to reach sooner the gas station you’ve come across many times, already feeling relieved as soon as it comes into sight in the distance. After what feels like an eternity, you finally reach the doors, pushing one open for you to pass. “Good morning.” You nonchalantly greet the cashier who gawks at you as soon as your back is to them.

You easily find your way to the ‘quick meals’ section, pick something out and ready it for the microwave. While your food spins in the small space, you take your time to wander through the isles on the left, quickly regretting it due to your growing hunger urging you to buy everything that catches your eye. As you take your last turn, you realize you're alone with the cashier, nothing really coming to your mind until you walk back to the microwave, noticing the disgusting stare they give you.

You stand in a proper position to keep them in your peripherals while staring at the numbers, wishing they would go by faster. Your pleads fall on deaf ears, noticing that even worst, the cashier leaves their spot and approaches you. “What are you doing here so early in the morning?” Their voice asks. “Nothing.” Your tone gives a clear sign of being uninterested, hoping that they’ll get the hint and leave.

You manage to block out the noise of their voice, feeling worry clouding your mind when you notice how close they’re standing to you. You visibly take a step further from them, once again hoping that they’ll leave you, but they seem to have no problem carrying the one-sided conversation while following your migrating form. Their hand falls on your shoulder for you to push it off only for it to find its way to your lower back instead, now having to shove it away.

“Do not touch me.” You look up at the larger figure. “Oh come on, clearly, I’m-” Their threat gets interrupted with the door opening behind the two of you. You look at the taller man and take notice of his dark purple clothes, nearly black with pure white hair and even more noticeable, the black blindfold covering his eyes. Despite his eyes being covered, he seems to have no problem walking through the isles and grabbing a few things in his free hand, the other one holding a duffle bag.

“Listen,” The cashier continues the conversation in a hushed voice as soon as the other man is out of sight, squeezing your shoulder painfully. “I’m clearly the bigger one here, so play nice and stick around until this asshole leaves.” They release your shoulder as the microwave dings. You lower your head and glance behind you, seeing a peek of the white hair over the isles. You sprint as quick as you can to the other man with the cashier after you, slowing your rushed pace once you take a turn with the tall man in your sight.

“Oh my god! It’s been so long I wasn’t sure it was you! How have you been?” You try your best to sound convincing and pick up a conversation with the stranger who moves to stand straight to face you, his glance to the cashier behind you being blocked by his blindfold. “… Now I remember you!” He plasters a more than convincing smile on his face as opposed to the neutral expression he had.

“It’s been so long! No wonder you looked familiar!” He gushes with an upbeat attitude while you thank the stars for the man following the lead. “What are you doing here?” You ask with a smile. “Just a quick stop before I head home, I had a long work trip.” He responds while the cashier leaves with an angry expression. “You want me to walk you home?” He gives you a warm smile while you briefly eye his bag, wondering if he really was on a work trip.

“Yeah.” You answer, your facade falling for a split second, still not feeling comfortable with the man but he seemed like a better option, at least on the surface. “How have you been? What are you doing here so early in the morning?” He continues to the conversation, waving a hand over as he passes you, signaling you to follow behind him. “My lunch went bad at work, I didn’t think I’d make it home.” You explain, eyeing his odd form.

You acknowledge his height even more when he’s forced to crouch down to pick up something on the lower shelves. “Oh man, that must’ve sucked.” He tries to console while you eye the way he spreads his legs unnecessarily far apart, making you wonder if it’s a habit. “It’s okay, I’m here now.” You say, taking a few seconds to come up with something else to continue to conversation. “So, why were you on a work trip?” You ask as he stands.

“Oh, you know how the higher ups get on me, it seems I can’t catch a break.” He walks you to the microwave. “I’m just glad I’m seeing my kids again.” He adds after pointing at the microwave, reminding you of your food. “You have kids?” You ask as you take your food out. “I might as well, they’re my students.” He walks with you to the register. You continue to question his answers in your head, gathering that he’s some sort of teacher, now wondering what kind of a teacher goes to work trips?

Maybe he was actually finding it hard to keep up with a facade. “I’ve got three of them, they’ve really been improving.” He sets his items on the counter. “What about you? You got any kids?” He asks. “No, I’m too busy with work anyway.” You see him pay for his items. “When was the last time you took a break?” He comments while you pay for your food. “It’s been a while.” You admit, following him to the exit and giving him a small ‘thank you’ when he opens the door for you, exiting behind you.

“… So, do you mind me asking what you were doing out at two in the morning?” He continues, trying to comfort you with a smile. “… My food went bad at work.” You repeat. “You weren’t lying then, well, neither was I, I just got back from a work trip.” He says, giving you a feeling that he appreciates your honesty. “A work trip as a teacher?” You question after taking a large bite from your food.

“Yeah, it’s a little weird. I didn’t want to wait until tomorrow to come back, one of my students might as well be my actual kid, I wanted to see him again.” He explains, easing a little your worry. “Now, are you sure you want me to walk you home, or do you want to take it from here?” He asks. “It’s okay, I can take it from here, I don’t want to keep you from your kid. Thank you so much.” You thank. “Are you sure? My kid’s safe at home, but you’re quite exposed out here.” He insists.

“If it’s not too much of a bother,” “Not at all! I’d feel better knowing you’re at home and safe as well.” He assures. “Thank you so much.” You bow. “There’s no need for that.” He follows your lead in the direction you’re walking. “Just please consider changing your shift, I’d hate for you to deal with more people like them.” He suggests to which you agree with a smile, unknowingly creating another creep.

Donor 1.

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Part 1.5

Yandere! Satoru Gojo x Fem! Reader.

Warnings: Yandere themes, somewhat non-con, implied panty-stealing, implied male masturbation.

Summary: Gojo decides to make a few last minute changes in your artificial insemination.

W/C: 1.4k+

“Okay, thank you, you too, bye bye.” You bid farewell over the phone while the apartment door opens in the background before you hang up, letting out a noise of excitement. “What was that? I didn’t know humans could make that noise.” Your roommate jokes as he enters the kitchen area. “Gojo! I just got off the phone with the facility, someone just cancelled and they gave me their spot! I’m going in tomorrow!” You enthusiastically explain, unaware of the way his smile falters, replaced by a frown.

Tomorrow? That’s too early for him. He’s been too busy to make his move, and despite still being busy; he has to make the time now. “I’m finally gonna be a mom!” You add with the biggest smile he’s ever seen. “That’s amazing!” He quickly composes himself, burning with rage inside. “Though, to tell you the truth… you don’t need artificial insemination to have a kid of your own.” He comments.

“I know, but I don’t exactly have a volunteer, and knowing the dad of my kid sounds like a hassle.” You roll your eyes at the end. Of course it’d be a hassle, you hate relationships, it’s the whole reason why Gojo’s had to tone down his insistence on taking you out, at least he doesn’t have to worry about someone else stealing you away. “Well, if you need a volunteer, I’m right here.” He gives you a thumb up, pulling his blindfold up from the side to let you see him winking at you with a goofy smile.

“Come on now, that joke’s gotten old. You know I’d never do that.” Your voice turns serious, annoyed at him for repeating himself. He feels a sharp pain in his stomach with his rage boiling hotter, forced to maintain his front. “Relax, of course I know that. Anyway, I just dropped by for a quick shower before heading out again.” He moves towards the exit of the kitchen. “What’s it about this time?” You ask.

“Just the higher ups with the same problems, nothing to worry about.” He waves a hand dismissively as he heads to his room, locking the door behind him before unzipping his pants with a hand reaching into his drawer for a used pair of your underwear.

~.~

“Good evening, I’d like to speak to Dr. Tanaka.” Gojo stands at reception. “Do you have an appointment with him?” The receptionist asks. “No, but he’ll want to hear this.” Gojo assures. “I’m sorry but Dr. Tanaka is very strict in regards t- Hey! You can’t do that!” She shouts when Gojo snatches a paper that informs him of his whereabouts. “Don’t worry, it’ll be quick.” He tosses the paper behind him nonchalantly, walking through the halls of the facility you’re scheduled to go to the next day.

“Dr. Tanaka!” Gojo bursts through the door, seeing him sat at a desk with a patient, startling them. “It’s so good to see you again, I’m sorry to burst through but I have something very important to tell you.” He continues speaking. “What the hell are you talking about?! I don’t know you! Get out!” The doctor shouts at him, having stood up from his seat. “Don’t worry miss, this’ll only take a few minutes.” Gojo directs out the older patient.

“What are you doing?! Who the hell are you?!” The doctor continues to shout as he shuts the door. “Now that we’re alone,” He locks the door, dropping his smile. “Let’s get to the point.” He turns around. “I don’t know who the hell you think you are but-!” The doctor marches up to him before being interrupted. “Listen,” Gojo sternly states, completely dropping his facade, the rage and anger he’s been feeling since you gave him the news finally surfacing.

“This is what’s going to happen, tomorrow, a woman is going to come in for an artificial insemination, I don’t care what donor you had in line, you’re going to give her this one instead.” He explains, holding up a closed container filled to the brim with his cum. The doctor stares in fear at the anger Gojo emanates but manages to compose himself enough. “A- And why would I do that?” He cautiously asks.

“Because you’ll regret it if you don’t.” Gojo picks him up by his collar, staring him down for long enough until he feels him give in. Gojo releases him from his hold and hands him the container, plastering another smile on his face. “Now then, I’m glad we were able to get to an agreement, I’ll see you tomorrow doctor.” He slaps a wad of cash onto his hand, turning around to open the door. “Oh, and while you’re at it doctor, get a woman to do it.” He stands at the doorway.

“Wait, how will I know who to give this to?” The doctor asks. “You will.” Gojo looks behind him before leaving.

~.~

“It’s alright, you’re going to be fine.” Gojo assures you while holding your hands in his, seeing you take deep breaths in the waiting room of the facility. “I know, I just feel nervous all of the sudden.” You smile nervously, quickly followed by the call of your name. “Here!” You shoot up. “This way please.” The soft voice directs you with Gojo following behind with a comforting hand resting on your shoulder.

“Here.” You reach your stop, having the door opened for you as you give a small ‘thank you’. You walk in with Gojo behind you, shutting the door while giving the doctor a certain smile, causing him to swallow thickly at the memory of his threat. “Please excuse me.” The doctor stands as you and Gojo take a seat, quickly exiting the room. “Well that’s rude, why did he call us in if he wasn’t ready?” You complain, anxious to get the procedure started.

“Don’t worry, it’ll be fine.” He smiles to himself. You wait for a couple of minutes in silence before somebody finally returns to the room with a knock. “Good morning, I’ll be attending you today.” The woman’s voice says, introducing herself with her name. “I thought Dr. Tanaka was-” “There’s no need to worry about that.” She assures, closing the door. “Now, let’s get started.” She states and in just a matter of minutes, you’re laying flat wearing scrubs for hospital patients.

“Will it hurt?” You ask the doctor. “Not at all, it’s completely painless.” She answers while Gojo squeezes your hand in a reassuring manner. In just a few more seconds, you’ll be filled with him, just the thought alone makes his pants tighten. “Now, I’ll insert the tube.” She warns. “Okay.” You agree, expecting at least a little pain considering that the tube is meant to go through your cervix, but it never comes, after all, it is a small tube.

You only feel something reach your cervix but not much afterwards, not until you feel the liquid go in. The way your eyes widen in surprise informs Gojo of what’s happening and he’s forced to contain a moan at the look on your face. You make a small cringe expression with your face at the odd feeling but soon enough, it’s over. “All done, please remain in your horizontal position for at least 15 minutes to let the sperm work. I’ll be back in half an hour.” She explains, standing from her position and leaving.

“That’s it?” You ask after the door closes. “Well, I guess it really was a simple procedure.” Gojo comments. “How do you feel?” He looks over at you, trying to contain a smile that would only scare you. “Weird, it’s hard to explain…” You focus on the still unfamiliar sensation. “Are you sure it didn’t hurt?” He asks. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just wish I’d asked her if I can lower my legs.” You look at your raised legs. “You should leave them up just in case.” He suggests.

“Yeah… I can’t believe I’m gonna be a mom.”

~.~

You stare at the newborn in your weak arms with as much confusion as you can muster after the brutal hours of birth, still trying to catch your breath. As a pair of stronger arms find their way under your own shaky ones to offer aid, the newborn continues to stare at you with its bright blue eyes, pristine white lashes kissing its cheeks with every blink as it takes a gentle hold at the finger offered by its father, seeing him offering a bright smile.

MASTERLISTS

The following masterlists will only feature posts with notes above 1k. All characters are aged up!

♡ INSERT MASTERLIST

♡ BOKU NO HERO ACADEMIA

♡ JUJUTSU KAISEN

♡ BLUE LOCK

♡ HAIKYU!!

Having nasty thoughts about Gojo. I feel like he’s the type to frustrate and bully you until you cry.

He’d defo also force you into little space all the time, telling you things like “you’re too little to understand” and cooing at you in a really condescending tone, every time you get mad or try to fight him he’d continue the bullying and the cycle would just repeat.

He’d show up at your work, tell everyone you know that you two are dating. If you ever tried to bring it up he’d play it off, acting smug and asking you if you had a crush on him before antagonising you some more.

He would blow hot and cold, telling you that you’re delusional and in the same week, show up out of the blue offering you a bouquet of flowers and begging you to move in with him (after your apartment blew up under “mysterious circumstances” ofc). How did he even know where you lived?

Eventually you’d be too exhausted to fight him and end up in little space all the time. Whining at him and asking him permission for the smallest things, the worse thing is, he’d break you down so slowly over a long period that you wouldn’t even realise its happening .

I feel like he wouldn’t want you to be too tame however, he’d let you act up, riling you up in public spaces and punishing you privately at home.

Don’t make him too jealous tho, he wouldn’t like that. He’s all smiles in front of his darling whilst contemplating where to dispose the body of the guy you were so brazenly flirting with. He’d keep his cool, playing up appearances until he gets home, and next thing you know you’re kept tied to his bed all weekend. 💜

Yandere Writing Blog

Please call me Peach, I’ll be posting Dark/ Yandere content for:

Hunter x Hunter

Castlevania

Jujitsu Kaisen

Hazbin Hotel

JoJo’s Bizarre adventure

Demon Slayer

Original Characters

Other Fandoms may be added if i find interest in them. Please beware this is an 18+ blog and if you find things such as dubcon/ noncon and kidnapping upsetting please do not proceed.

Parasite

Sum: Nothing bad ever happens from a fling, right?

Yan!SatoSugu x Reader

TW: Yandere Behaviors, Pregnancy/Implied Baby trapping, Non-con/Dub-con, Double Penetration, Power imbalance, mild gore (curses), Execution mentions, MDNI

WC: 3.5k

A/n: there will be another part eventually! Mwah!

You knew this was wrong - every part of it. You shouldn’t be here, ensnared between the two most dangerous sorcerers alive. You shouldn’t be gasping sweet moans into the mouth of the enemy, pressed between their feverish, toned bodies. And yet, here you were, lips crushed against Satoru’s, desperation tangible as he chased every breath you tried to take. Hungry. Starved. Intent on devouring you whole. His long, slender fingers found their way to the curve of your waist, dragging the blunt edge of his nails along the softness of your skin. His lips followed, trailing down the column of your neck, branding you with searing heat. Behind you, Suguru pressed closer, his warmth a slow, creeping heat licking up your spine, airy touches ghosting down your body. That voice - silken and intoxicating - curled into your ear, pulling a sigh from your lips before you could stop it.

“I missed you,” he murmured, those thick fingers of his flexing against your tender, pliant flesh. Then, with a teasing lilt, he added, “And you know… I don’t think I’ll let you leave this time.”

The same joke. The same dangerous hint of a smile in his words. He used to say it back when you’d slip into his dorm in the dead of night, when stolen kisses in dim hallways felt like secrets worth keeping. But that was then.

You felt Suguru’s hands glide up from your hips, pulling you from your thoughts, his soothing touch tracing idle patterns into your skin. There was an almost languid hunger in the way he moved - a need to claim, to memorize every curve, every tremor that rippled through you under his touch. Big, warm calloused palms, rough from training, grazed over your flesh, scorching everywhere they touched. Higher and higher, teasingly slow, until they reached their destination, cupping your breasts, kneading softly before his thumb flicked over your sensitive nub, coaxing a gasp from your lips.

His mouth was just as sinful, hot and insistent. Lips latched onto the nape of your neck, sucking a bruising mark into your skin - one you’d surely chastise him for later. 

Yet, in this moment, all you could focus on was the way you were sinking onto Satoru. The thick stretch of him stole your breath. God, you’d forgotten how full he made you feel - almost too much, the urge to say wait nearly slipping from your lips. But you couldn’t stop - not with Suguru pressing in behind you, trapping you between them, the weight of what was at stake pressing just as heavily against your skin.

How long had it been since the three of you planned this? A month? Two? If the higher-ups ever found out -

“You’re overthinking again,” Satoru whined, his voice breathy with need. He gazed up at you, those bright, lust-hazed eyes brimming with impatience. His grip on your hips tightened before he yanked you down, forcing his length deeper inside you. A sharp moan tore from your throat, body trembling as pleasure jolted through you.

“Can feel you dryin’ up,” Satoru murmured, his voice dipping into something teasing yet edged with need. “C’mon, pretty - focus on us.”

Suguru seemed to notice as well, one hand slipping away, trailing down to the small of your back. With a firm, gentle nudge as he guided you forward until your body melted against Satoru’s warm chest. Hazy and pliant, you let your lips find his in a slow, heated kiss, too lost in him to register the shift behind you.

At first, you barely noticed the second press of a velvety tip at your entrance, too caught up in the way Satoru’s fingers tangled in your hair, keeping you tethered to him, deepening the kiss. But when Suguru pushed forward, sinking in inch by inch, Satoru stilled, smiling against your lips as if savoring your reaction.

The stretch was dizzying, a sharp gasp tearing from your throat - one that Satoru eagerly swallowed, his tongue licking into your mouth to steal the sound. Behind you, Suguru let out a low, satisfied hum, his grip tightening as he cooed,

“It’s just a big stretch, Angel. You can handle it.”

The sinful reassurance dripped from Suguru’s lips that only made the overwhelming sensation all the more dizzying. Sounds you’d never made before were quickly swallowed by Satoru, his soft, glossy lips moving hungrily against yours as your mind slipped into a hazy, pleasure-drunk daze. It was too much - you felt too much.

You tried to speak, to push the word yellow against Satoru’s lips, but he was too lost in you to notice. Too absorbed in the way your body trembled between them, too caught up in his own pleasure to realize you were instinctively trying to move forward - to run - only for Suguru’s grip to turn cruel as he began pulling your hips back in place.

The first wave crashed through you, the lights from the room turning into blurring stars as you did your best to focus on anything but the overwhelming stretch, away from the pleasure being dragged out of you. As your maw went slack, drool spilling past your lips, your body greedily clenched around them both, walls closing in on their thick cocks that seemed to twitch as your cunt sang to their ears. Satoru sucked in a sharp breath beneath you, his grip on your waist faltering as he stilled.

“Fuck - ” a deep groan pushed outwards, his perfect face contorting into pleasure as his white brows furrowed, stuttering a few pleasure-laced breaths before heat flooded inside your body, swarming with your juices. White rings forming around their cocks as both your bodies tensed from the sensation, as your cunt wrung every last drop, sodden walls clenching down mercilessly. Satoru whined, high and breathy, shivering beneath you, but Suguru didn’t stop. Of course, he didn't, instead a soft moan left his lips as he pushed himself deeper, to witness the twitches in Satoru’s body from the overstimulation. 

Satoru had always been an early finisher. His hands however, remained bruising on your skin, fingers dragging down your back, leaving behind stinging scratches as his pale body twitched from the sensitivity as Suguru’s cock dragged against his. You yelped, the sharp sensation blending into the white-hot pleasure building inside you, your moans growing more desperate. You were close - so close.

Satoru pulled you tighter against his chest, cradling you as Suguru’s pace quickened, each thrust sending you spiraling higher, sending your mind spiraling higher as the words yellow to red formed on your lips, words that didn't have the chance to escape. As Satoru's mouth was already there, devouring, consuming, smothering every syllable before it could escape. His tongue swept into your mouth, swallowing every fractured breath and plea. The pleasure crested a blinding, suffocation sensation that sent your body shaking. a keen whine manages to break through your throat, ragged and breathless as tears prickle at your lashes. Hot and stinging. Slipping free in the spaces where neither of them was watching.

Satoru, ever the sweet talker, murmured soft breathless praises into your ear, his voice dripping with adoration. 

“That’s it, pretty,” he cooed, voice hazy as he felt Suguru’s cock twitch against his dragging a breathless, pitiful whine from his lips before continuing, “Just let go. We’ve got you.” 

You don’t remember much after that - after the gasp that tore from your lips, the slick warmth pooling between your thighs, after the small press of something making you feel impossibly fuller. Sleep had dragged you under far too quickly, faster than the aftercare, faster than the quiet murmurs and touches meant to tether you back to them.

When you awoke, the room was silent, save for the muffled hum of the city beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. Tokyo’s skyline bled into the dim hotel walls, casting soft, shifting reflections across the room. The heat of their bodies had long since vanished, leaving behind only the ghost of them - cologne, sweat, and the unmistakable, sinful scent of last night.

You groggily pushed yourself up, muscles aching, the soreness wrapping itself around your limbs like a cruel embrace - a stark reminder of why you needed to keep your distance. A month should be enough. A month to shake off their hold, to regain some semblance of control. You didn’t envy the poor soul who ended up with them permanently.

Blinking against the remnants of sleep, your gaze landed on the nightstand. A neatly folded note sat there, the ink bold and familiar, the elegant scrawl unmistakably Suguru’s.

Hotel is paid for. I’ll have my assistant schedule our next meeting. Order some food. Please. Satoru turned off your alarm - you looked exhausted.

And beneath it, a final line, one that made something in your chest twist.

I hope this time you’ll consider saying yes.

Of course.

There it was.

Your eyes drifted lower, and sure enough, a small velvet box sat beside the note.

This had to be the fifth - no, the sixth - ring they’d given you.

The first had been simple: a thin silver band pressed into your palm the night Suguru defected. His bloodied hand - blood that wasn’t his - had cupped your cheek as he begged you to come with him. As he whispered that he couldn’t leave without you.

Instead, you had backed away.

You had stayed while they left.

You had chosen the world that they had rejected. A world focused on protecting the weak. A world that the strongest had abandoned.

And somehow, despite everything, you had ended up in this arrangement -  was it lust? Was it the ache of loneliness? Or was it something far along the lines of the intoxicating thrill of being wanted by the strongest?

You weren’t sure. However, you did the same thing you always did.

You left the ring untouched. You never even opened the box to see what elaborate choice they had made this time. It didn’t matter. It never mattered.

This was a fling. Nothing more. At least, that’s what you kept telling yourself. A day later, the Google invite arrived - subtle, inconspicuous, something that wouldn’t raise suspicion among the higher-ups. Two private addresses - never the same location, never the same time. Just a casual meeting of sorts.

You knew better. You knew exactly what would happen if the higher ups caught you with the enemy. And those two knew too - constantly reminding you in soft murmurs and teasing threats that you would be executed.

You tried not to think about it.

So, out of pure spite, you pressed the response button to their invite:

Maybe.

Not like they could contact you, anyway.

But when the end of the month arrived and your period didn’t, the world seemed to fracture beneath you. You counted the days again. And again. You told yourself it was nothing - stress, exhaustion, the toll of constant missions. You tried to believe it.

Still, when the next invitation came, you declined. No explanation. No excuses. Just Declined.

You were busy. Too busy. Missions, training, anything to keep yourself from spiraling. Anything to push the thought - the creeping, gnawing what if - out of your mind.

Anything to push them out of your mind. You didn't need them. This is where you draw the line. Where you hope to never cross paths again.

But that didn’t stop Suguru. He always had his ways of reminding you. Reminding you of his love. The curses came first, creeping from the shadows like nightmarish specters - grotesque things with gnarled, sinewy limbs and rotting flesh that peeled in thick, oozing sheets. Their twisted bodies slithered toward you, spines snapping and limbs jerking with unnatural movements, but it was their mouths - oh, their mouths - that haunted you most.

Petals.

Blood-red roses, blooming in grotesque mockery, spilled from their jagged maws, dripping with saliva and something darker. The scent of decay mixed with the sickly sweet perfume of crushed petals as they gurgled and snarled, teeth flashing between the soft, delicate flowers. Their fingers - long, clawed things  - reached for your flesh, desperate to tear, to consume, to remind you.

Suguru always was a cruel bastard.

But he never sent anything you couldn’t handle. Never anything that could truly harm you - only the most horrifying of his discarded creatures, his unwanted experiments, cast-offs he no longer had use for. They were love letters written in nightmare fuel, messages of devotion carved into the flesh of his creations, each one a whisper of don’t forget me.

And then another month passed.

Another invite.

Another decline. You had things to do, a family-mart to visit. The open bag sat beside you, its contents spilling haphazardly across the sink - water bottles, half-torn hydration drink wrappers, and an obscene number of pregnancy tests. The dim bathroom light flickered above, casting sickly yellow hues over the mess around you. Shadows stretched and twisted against the walls, warping your reflection in the mirror, making it seem as distorted as the thoughts racing through your head.

Your hands trembled violently as you stared down at the scattered tests, their tiny plastic frames stark against the floor. Five. Five identical windows, five glaring verdicts. Five quiet executions of your denial.

Double lines.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Your breath hitched, ragged and uneven, the walls pressing in tighter with every second. Your fingers curled as you grabbed another test, fumbling with frantic, clumsy hands. The packaging crinkled, tearing easily under your shaking grip. Your pulse pounded so loud, so deafening, that you barely heard the sob clawing its way out of your throat.

They have to be defective.

They had to be. Each and every single one of them.

Your vision blurred, hot tears streaking down your face as you fought to steady your hands. The plastic test felt too light, too fragile in your grip - like it was toying with you, waiting to deliver the final blow, waiting to write your execution for something you should have prevented. You uncapped the pathetic thing. Was it because you bought the cheap ones? You should go back and buy the fancy digital ones. Your mind raced as your stomach began twisting, breath began stuttering. The air felt thick, suffocating, heavy with the scent of cheap drugstore plastic and the artificial sweetness of cherry flavoring clinging to the back of your throat. You forced yourself to sit down, legs weak, heart hammering. One more time. Just one more.

One negative is all you were asking for.

You set the test aside, gaze locking onto the result window as if sheer willpower could bend fate. Seconds stretched into an eternity.

Blank.

Blank.

One line.

Two lines.

A strangled, broken laugh escaped you, the sound barely human. Your fingers curled around a hydration bottle, knuckles white as you wrenched it open, nearly crushing the plastic in your grip. You tipped it back in desperate, greedy gulps, the icy liquid searing its way down your throat - sharp enough to make you gasp, sharp enough to ground you in the reality you wanted so desperately to escape.

The tests stared back at you. You weren’t sure how it happened. Well you know how it happens, but you took precautions. You took your pill every single day. Same time. Same routine. Same - your breath caught in your throat.

Satoru turned off your alarm.

A slow, creeping dread slithered through your veins, colder than anything Suguru had ever sent your way.

You missed a day?

No.

You would’ve noticed.

You should have noticed.

…Right?

But the truth lay there before you, undeniable, etched into every test scattered around you. The parasite growing inside you, feeding off your body - their child. A shudder racked your spine, ice pooling in your veins. Your breath hitched, coming in short, uneven gasps as the weight of reality pressed against your chest like a crushing vice. Trembling fingers drifted to your stomach, ghosting over the bare skin as if the simple touch could ground you, could somehow make this feel less real.

But there was no escaping it.

No rewinding time.

No undoing the impossible.

For the first time in years, you were utterly, hopelessly lost.

Your gaze flickered toward your phone, the dim glow of the screen barely cutting through the suffocating darkness of your apartment. The silence pressed in, thick and smothering, tightening with every shallow breath.

A name.

A person you could call.

Your trembling fingers hovered over Satoru’s contact, the letters blurring through the haze of unshed tears.

Satoru - the one who used to press featherlight kisses against your cheek before missions, grinning like the world couldn’t touch you both. The one who would cup your face between his hands, his breath warm against your lips as he whispered the plan to sneak sweets into the dorms, as if it were some grand conspiracy the two of you shared. Sneak them in before Suguru could roll his eyes and scold you both.

Satoru, who left with Suguru.

Satoru, who had clung to you in one last, desperate embrace, his fingers digging into your uniform, his entire body trembling as he silently, wordlessly begged you to come with them.

Begged you to be under their protection.

But you stayed.

You hesitated. Your fingers twitched away from his name. You knew how it would go - he would answer immediately, voice laced with curiosity, amusement, with the confidence that he could fix whatever was wrong. And he would come for you. No hesitation. No delay.

And then there was Suguru.

Your thumb hovered over his contact, breath shuddering out in uneven gasps.

Suguru, who would let the call ring twice - never once, never three times - just long enough to feign indifference, to uphold the meticulously crafted illusion that he wasn’t waiting for you to reach out. That he wasn’t hoping.

But you knew better. You could already hear the smug smirk in his voice, the lazy amusement when he’d finally answer, when he’d ask if you got his flowers.

Not a chance.

And then - Shoko.

Shoko, who had left with them.

Shoko, who had always been your rock, who made those two make sense.

Shoko is a doctor; she would understand what to do, who to talk to, options to - no you couldn't. You should find another way, you should-

Your stomach dropped. Your fingers jerked away from the screen as if burned, but it was too late. The screen flashed. Your pounding, thundering heart had stopped and sank to the pits of your stomach where your parasite now resides.

You were already calling her.

A sharp inhale rattled through your chest, uneven, choked. A fresh wave of panic crashed over you, drowning you in its suffocating weight. Tears burned at the edges of your vision, hot and relentless, blurring the damning sight of the pregnancy tests littered across the bathroom floor. A tremor wracked your entire body, bile clawing its way up your throat, acidic and revolting, as the cold, inescapable truth settled like lead in your stomach.

This wasn’t just your problem.

This wasn’t something you could pretend didn’t exist.

If you carried this child - their child - the higher-ups would execute you both. No hesitation. No trial. No chance to beg. No hope for leniency.

The dial tone barely rang once before a voice sliced through the suffocating quiet.

"Yo." Shoko’s voice rang light, unbothered. However, in the background, a quiet shuffle. A soft scuffle.

Then a familiar, whining voice. "Lemme listen in - " Satoru. A shiver rolled through you, dread sinking its jagged claws deeper into your chest. They were together.

You couldn’t tell them.

You couldn't tell anyone.

Because, your family - your colleagues, the very people you swore loyalty to - would brand you a disgrace. A traitor. A whore who spread her legs for the enemy.

Because, the higher-ups would carve your execution date into stone.

Because -

"I might not let you go this time." Suguru’s voice slithered through your mind, smooth as silk, suffocating as a noose. Your throat constricted, something raw and primal clawing at your chest, your heart pounding so violently it hurt. Your grip on the phone was white-knuckled, shaking so hard you thought you might drop it.

And all you could say to Shoko was -

"Wrong number."

Before hanging up. Before glancing at the string of texts filtering through with Shoko's name attached to them. Texts you assumed weren't from Shoko. Your fingers pressed Block on the contact after seeing the last one. "I miss you" before tears spilled your eyes once more.

You weren’t sure what to do.

Who to speak to.

Who was safe.

Who wasn’t.

Your vision swam, the weight of it all crashing down like an tide, dragging you under.

Why did you stay?

Why did you return to their arms?

And why did a small part of you think it would be easier to just go to them.

"It's All Your Fault, Isn't It?"

Yan! SatoSugu x Reader Sum: You've had the chances, why didn't you take them. In the end you'll always just lose the purest of love. Last part of: Can my friend join?, This is Love, Right? ** Can be read as standalone fics** TW: Yandere Behaviors (Obsession, Manipulation, etc), Death of Child Character, Blood, Toxic Relationship Dynamics, Depression, Dubcon, Lactation, Pregnancy themes, SatoSugu, Angst No Comfort. MDNI WC: 7.7k

A/n: I got supperrr stuck in the loop of editing, so I am just gonna post it, I feel like rereading it after the tenth time. I almost just pressed delete lol. :) enjoy!

It’s all your fault, isn’t it?

You did this to yourself. You should have walked away when the chance was there, when the door was still open, even just a crack. You should have screamed, fought, run—anything to reclaim a sliver of your freedom.

But you didn’t.

You stayed.

Was it the security? The comfort of knowing you’d never struggle to pay bills or scramble to find work? Was it the way Satoru promised, over and over, that you’d never go unloved, never feel the ache of loneliness again?

Or was it something darker? Something you couldn’t quite admit to yourself?

You told yourself it was love. You told yourself you were lucky. How many women could say they had someone who’d give them the world? Someone who, with a flick of his wrist, could bend the rules of life itself to ensure you had everything you could ever need?

So, you stayed.

Even before Suguru became part of the equation, you stayed. You even stayed when Satoru would come home in the dead of night, his footsteps a faint echo through the silent halls before his hands found you. You’d stir from your sleep as he pulled your panties down with barely a word, his breath hot against your neck.

There was no tenderness in those moments, no love—just need. A raw, consuming need he claimed you had to fulfill. And you let him, didn’t you? You let him push inside you with barely any preparation, your body yielding to him because he knew it so well.

Satoru knew the places that made you crumble, the spots where your body quivered, the way your breath hitched when his fingers grazed just right. He knew you better than you knew yourself, didn’t he? His movements were deliberate, practiced, the wet noises filling the room a cruel testament to how thoroughly he’d mastered you.

You’d given him permission. He reminded you of that often, didn’t he? That you’d said yes. That he worked so hard, carried so much, and that this was his right. That he had needs only you could meet.

And you understood. You always understood.

After all, he was the strongest, wasn’t he?

So, you let him use you.

Like a doll.

You’d lay there, staring at the ceiling, as he buried himself to the hilt one last time, his loud groans of release cutting through the stillness. A pathetic little whimper followed, muffled by the darkness, as he spilled himself inside you. And then, as if the act meant nothing, he pressed a sweet kiss to your temple, murmured something soft and indistinct, and rolled over to his side of the bed.

You stayed there, silent and unmoving, the lingering heat of his body beside you doing nothing to warm the cold ache between your thighs.

That’s when the thought would creep in. A sick, unwelcome whisper:

You didn’t even climax.

You hated yourself for thinking it. For letting it matter.

But still, you stayed.

Was it fear that held you there? Or was it hope—a desperate, foolish hope that one-day things would change? That one day, every day would feel like those rare, sweet moments when he pressed teasing kisses against your lips before dragging you out to get sweets. That he’d touch you with love, with the tenderness he so effortlessly showed to others—when he wasn’t breaking them apart piece by piece with that same teasing grin.

And now, looking back, you can’t decide what’s worse: that you didn’t leave when you had the chance…

Or that part of you still doesn’t want to.

You stayed, even when the small arguments started. The little spats about wanting him to open up more, to share pieces of his life with you, the pieces he always kept hidden. Perhaps it was selfish—maybe even naïve—but you wanted to know why he loved you.

Really, truly loved you.

But you never asked.

You saved that question, tucking it away deep into your heart, right alongside the cracks that had already started forming. You told yourself it wasn’t the right time. That maybe he wasn’t ready. That you shouldn’t push. Instead, you focused on the good times, clinging to them like lifelines.

Because they were good, weren’t they?

What other guy would give you the world like Satoru did? What other guy would bring you flowers every week—a different color each time, sometimes traditional, sometimes exotic, but always beautiful? What other guy would shower you with affection so openly, so shamelessly, pressing kisses to your skin, nuzzling into the crook of your neck as though you were the only thing keeping him grounded?

Satoru had told you he loved you. And maybe he did—in a way that wasn’t entirely built on desire, the need to keep you within his grasp, or the insatiable craving to hold you close for the rest of your days.

That’s what you told yourself, anyway.

That’s why you stayed.

Even when Suguru came into the picture—when those dark, calculating eyes lingered on you just a moment too long when his quiet, honeyed words wove themselves into your life like threads binding you to a tapestry you couldn’t escape—you stayed.

You had the choice, didn’t you? You could have said no. You could have walked away.

But you didn’t.

You stayed, and now there was no one else to blame.

So, truly, it is all your fault.

However, your heart’s at fault too, isn’t it? For leaning into Suguru's touches, craving his warmth, even when you knew deep down that he was a cruel and awful man. A man who veiled his darkness in sweetness, wrapping it in gentle words and tender caresses that made you doubt your own truths. He was a master of contradiction—soft hands and sharp edges, honeyed lies hiding an iron grip.

You could have left.

You could have said no to the whole relationship, shut the door before it ever opened.

But you didn’t.

You stayed.

You told yourself that maybe this was the best you could hope for, the best kind of love someone like you deserved. Because it was love, wasn’t it? They loved you. Even if it was conditional. Even if you had to give and give, piece after piece of yourself, just to receive a sliver in return.

Love comes in many forms, after all. And this was love.

Or so you continued to convince yourself.

This is what you deserve. That you should have listened to your gut, back when every touch felt too heavy, too lingering, too much. Back when their words seemed to wrap around you like chains instead of promises. You should have left before the walls around you closed in. Before you realized that leaving wasn’t just difficult—it was dangerous.

You had your chances, didn’t you? If only you’d taken them.

You knew Satoru would tear the world apart to find you if you ran. He’d find you, no matter where you went, no matter how far. But… would he really?

If you’d left early enough, maybe it wouldn’t have been like this. Maybe it would have been nothing more than a bad breakup, a lesson in heartbreak you’d recover from in time. Maybe, if you’d left after Suguru’s return, Satoru would have leaned on him instead of spiraling further into obsession.

But you didn’t leave.

You stayed.

Such a stupid, stupid girl.

And yet…

It was never just about them, was it?

Because you craved love too, just as much as they did. You wanted it desperately—so much that you ignored the warnings in your heart, the creeping dread in your chest. You wanted to be loved, to feel wanted, to belong to someone in a way that was absolute, undeniable, and unshakable.

And that’s exactly what they gave you.

But love like that—it came with a cost.

And you paid for it in silence, in submission, in the pieces of yourself you’d never get back.

So now, here you are, locked away in the beautiful Gojo estate. A place so grand it should feel like a palace, yet it suffocates you like a gilded cage. Every corner gleams with wealth and power, every surface reflects the life you’re supposed to be grateful for.

The maids don’t meet your eyes.

To them, you aren’t Satoru’s wife. You aren’t a partner. You’re something lesser.

A pet.

Because you aren’t the one ensuring the estate runs smoothly while Satoru is away on his endless missions. That responsibility doesn’t fall to you—it belongs to Suguru, doesn’t it? He’s the one in charge. He holds the reins, commanding the household with a quiet authority that leaves no room for question.

And you?

You remain.

The pet. The wife. The child-bearer.

Barefoot and pregnant, with a swollen belly to show for it, you shuffle through the estate like a ghost. Your body aches, weighed down not just by the child growing inside you, but by the chains of a life you can’t escape.

Suguru sees to it that the estate runs like a well-oiled machine, all while maintaining his title as the second strongest. His responsibilities never seem to tire him, never seem to dull his devotion. If anything, they only make him more overbearing.

He adores pampering you.

He drapes you in the softest blankets, ensuring you’re always warm. He dresses you in the finest clothes, silks and satins that cling to your growing belly, showcasing the proof of your usefulness. He loves the way your independence has been stripped away, loves the way you’ve been forced to rely on him for everything.

When did you become so dependent?

When did you start accepting his affection like a loyal dog, start leaning into the way his rough, calloused hands would trace the curve of your stomach? When did you start craving the way he’d gaze up at you with that lovesick smile, his voice low and honeyed as he murmured sweet words about the future?

“I hope the baby looks like Satoru,” he’d say, his eyes dark and soft as they met yours. Then, after a pause, “I hope it’s a girl.”

The words always made your chest tighten, made your stomach twist.

You know he must miss the twins.

It’s not just the weight of their absence—it’s the way he’s filled that void with this child, this unborn life. You can see it in the way he touches you, the way he watches you. He’s more excited about this pregnancy than you are.

And that’s the cruelest part, isn’t it?

Because to him, this isn’t just a child. It’s a legacy. A purpose.

To you?

It’s another chain.

And yet, you hate how loving he is. How he’s always there to hold your hair back when you’re bent over, heaving in the dead of night. How his large, warm hands find every knot in your aching limbs, massaging away the tension with a tenderness that makes your heartache.

It’s cruel, how gentle he can be. How he disarms you with care just when you think you might muster the strength to fight back.

There’s a constant mantra in your mind, a desperate hope that the baby won’t resemble either of them.

Because the thought of seeing their features reflected back at you stirs a fear too heavy to bear.

The thought of seeing their features reflected in those tiny, innocent eyes is terrifying. It brings the fear that every decision will feel like a mistake, that allowing any of this to happen will become an unbearable regret.

You tell yourself you hope, but it’s hard to ignore the possibility, isn’t it?

What if the child inherits Satoru’s piercing blue eyes—so crystalline they seem otherworldly, glowing even in the faintest light? The same eyes that burn and freeze you all at once, stripping you bare and exposing every secret, every hidden part of you.

Even his grin—boyish, sharp, too wide—lingers in your mind. A grin that could charm and cut in the same breath, leaving you unsure whether to lean closer or step away. What if that grin appeared on a smaller, softer face, just as devastating?

Or worse—what if the baby inherits Suguru’s gaze?

Those dark, soulful eyes that pull you in like the tide, gentle at first glance, inviting even, but hiding endless, churning storms beneath their surface. Eyes that promise escape is not an option. Unlike Satoru’s, Suguru’s smiles are quieter, softer—but no less dangerous. His smiles feel deliberate, like they’re slipping past every defense you didn’t even know you had.

Would the baby inherit Satoru’s arrogance? Suguru’s patience?

Or worse—would the child inherit both of their possessiveness?

The thought makes your skin crawl.

But the fear doesn’t end there.

Because it’s not just about the baby, is it?

It’s about you.

About how they’ve already carved themselves so deeply into your soul that you can’t even imagine a world without them. You hate that truth. Hate the way it festers inside you, a bitter root growing into every part of you.

You hate Satoru’s smirk when he strides into the estate after a mission, brushing off the exhaustion and blood as if it’s nothing. How he towers over you, his white hair catching the light in a way that seems almost ethereal, his fingers tilting your chin up with a mock tenderness that makes your breath catch.

You hate how he always knows exactly what to say to make you crumble, his voice dipping into that teasing lilt that makes your heart flutter in spite of yourself.

And Suguru—oh, you hate how he lingers. How his touch lingers. His hands are always warm, always deliberate, tracing paths across your skin as if he’s claiming you, piece by piece. Every stroke of his fingers feels like a silent reminder that you are his, that you belong to him. His voice, low and soothing, is a cruel contradiction—a balm against your nerves, even when his words are laced with quiet threats you pretend not to hear.

You hate them.

You hate the way they consume you, the way they’ve woven themselves into the fabric of your life so tightly that even your thoughts feel tangled in their presence.

And yet, as you sit in the vast, lonely expanse of the Gojo estate, the weight of your belly grounding you, you know the truth.

You’re not just afraid of the baby looking like them.

You’re afraid of what that child will mean.

Because if they look like Satoru, with his arrogance, his fire, his brilliance, how will you deny the pride swelling in your chest? How will you stop yourself from feeling that flicker of awe, even when you know you shouldn’t?

And if they look like Suguru, with his quiet strength, his steadfast devotion, how will you deny the love? How will you stop yourself from melting beneath those familiar eyes, from imagining them crinkling with joy or softening with affection?

You can’t.

And that's horrifying.

You won’t be able to ignore how Satoru has changed, how he’s become softer, more attentive in ways that make it harder to hold onto your resentment. How he lingers closer to you than he ever did before, as if the mere distance between you might undo something fragile inside him.

How he’s started resting his head in your lap as you sit together in the serene gardens, his white hair catching the sunlight like spun silk, almost ethereal. His long lashes cast soft shadows over his cheeks as his half-lidded gaze flickers up to meet yours, brimming with a tenderness you don’t know how to process.

He murmurs lazy words of affection, his voice low and warm, the kind of sweetness that drips like honey and sticks to your skin. His fingers trace absentminded circles on your thighs, soft patterns that feel far too intimate, far too easy.

And you hate how much you crave it.

You hate the way his presence soothes something raw inside you, even when you tell yourself it shouldn’t.

You hate how he’s begun helping you with the small, intimate things you wish you could keep to yourself. Like the unbearable ache in your swollen breasts, the pressure building so much it leaves you trembling, whimpering in pain. How he doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t even ask.

The way Satoru's lips wrap around you with loud, deliberate suckles, the sound echoing in the quiet as he eases the pressure with almost clinical precision. He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t falter. His hands grip your hips to steady you, his thumbs pressing reassuring circles into your skin.

You hate the sound.

You hate the warmth of his breath against your skin, the way it prickles, a constant reminder of just how close he always is—too close.

When he’s finished, he pulls back with a satisfied hum, his lips brushing against your collarbone with a lingering kiss. His voice low, almost tender, as he murmurs, “I love this version of you.”

The words settle into you like stones. His lips, still soft from the milk, press against yours, and the faint sweetness lingers, almost cloying. Satoru murmurs more words—gentle, saccharine things that would feel kind if not for the way his hands start to roam as they wrap around your waist.

“How nurturing you’ve become,” he whispers, his tone carrying a dangerous sort of reverence.

That’s what he loves. That’s what he says.

And the way he looks at you when he says it—those bright blue eyes glinting with something dark, something that sinks its claws into you—makes your skin crawl. Because you know exactly what he means.

He doesn’t love the nurturing in and of itself. He loves how it ties you to him. How it binds you to this role, this life, this carefully constructed world where you are his and only his.

The version of you he loves is one that has no room for defiance, no space for resistance—only the space to give, to sacrifice, to bend under the weight of his love.

And that’s what makes it so much worse.

Because even as you hate it, even as your stomach churns and your skin prickles, there’s a part of you that leans into his touch. A part of you that longs for the softness, for the fleeting moments when it feels like love instead of control.

And you hate yourself for that, too

Because you know how it goes. You’ve seen it now. Lived it.

How one pregnancy ends and another begins.

The cycle repeated itself after your firstborn, didn’t it? Barely a year after you gave birth, they had you pregnant again. You didn’t even have time to recover, to heal, before they decided it was time for another.

But they love you, don’t they?

Satoru’s affection is impossible to miss—the way he grins at you, almost childlike, as he cups your face with hands that can destroy worlds but hold you as though you’re the most delicate thing he’s ever touched. How he showers you with gifts, flowers in every shade imaginable, rare treasures that sparkle as brightly as his endless energy.

How many times has he told you, in his low, teasing voice, “You’re my world, you know that? I could do anything, have anything—but none of it would matter without you.”

It sounds like love, doesn’t it?

And Suguru—Suguru loves you too, in his quiet, steady way. You see it in the way he watches you, his dark eyes softening when you enter the room, the weight of his gaze feels suffocating. He’s the one who stays calm when you cry, wrapping his arms around you and murmuring, “Shh, it’s okay. I’m here. You don’t have to carry this alone.”

And you believe him, don’t you?

They love you. That’s why they insist on keeping you close. Why Satoru kisses your forehead every morning, why Suguru runs his fingers through your hair as he whispers sweet nothings you’re too exhausted to resist. That’s why they ensure you’re taken care of, why they never let you lift a finger, why they promise they’ll always protect you.

“You don’t have to do anything,” Satoru once said, kissing your swollen belly as he grinned up at you. “Just stay here with us. That’s all we need.”

“It’s not just for us,” Suguru added, his voice softer, more measured. “It’s for you too. We want you to feel safe. Loved.”

And in moments like that, when the weight of their words settles in your chest like a lullaby, you almost believe them.

You tell yourself that no one else would love you this much. No one else would care for you so completely, so unconditionally—because this is love, isn’t it?

The maids barely acknowledged your struggles. Their gazes were cold, dismissive, even as your body ached and your mind screamed for reprieve. They would gently pry your child from your arms with hushed whispers.

“You need more rest,” they’d say, their voices soft but unyielding. “We’ll take care of them. Don’t worry.”

And what could you do? You’d watch helplessly as they carried your baby away, leaving you empty-handed, empty-hearted. As if you were nothing more than a vessel, an incubator meant to bear and birth heirs for the Gojo family.

Your firstborn was a boy.

A son.

An heir.

He looked just like Satoru.

Those piercing blue eyes stared back at you from his tiny, cherubic face, wide and curious, already holding a glint of brilliance and confidence you couldn’t deny. His hair was the same stark white, impossibly soft beneath your trembling fingers as you brushed it back, memorizing every perfect strand. Even the little smirk he gave in his sleep mirrored Satoru’s—a playful, almost mocking curl at the corners of his mouth that made your heart ache with emotions you couldn’t unravel.

You loved him.

You hated that you loved him.

And when Suguru would cradle him in his arms, his dark eyes soft and filled with a devotion that seemed to crack the carefully constructed walls around your heart, you couldn’t deny the warmth blooming in your chest. He’d whisper promises to the child—vows of protection and guidance.

When Satoru would swoop in, effortlessly spinning the boy around with an energy that filled the room with light, the sound of your son’s uncontrollable laughter echoing like music, that warmth would return. It would swell in your chest, suffocating and undeniable, a cruel reminder of the chains you wore willingly and unwillingly all at once.

This is what they wanted, wasn’t it?

This is what they’d planned all along.

And now, with another child growing inside you, you realize something that terrifies you more than anything else.

You’re not sure if you stayed because you had no choice.

Or because you wanted to.

Again, it’s all your fault.

For trying to run, again.

For thinking, just for a moment, that you could escape them.

You were far too pregnant. Belly too far swollen, body heavy and slow, every step a reminder of how deeply tethered you were to this vast estate. But the thought wouldn’t leave your mind. The desperate hope of freedom burned too brightly, too wildly, even as your body betrayed you.

Even as you were dragged back to that sickening place, back to the people that you convinced yourself—desperately, foolishly—that this was love.

You’d screamed at Suguru, the words spilling out like a torrent you couldn’t stop. You told him the child was yours too, that you had the right to hold them, to sleep in the same room, to be more than a vessel. Your voice cracked, raw with frustration and desperation, as you hurled your defiance at him.

You remember the way his gaze darkened.

He didn’t yell. He didn’t snap. That wasn’t Suguru’s way.

Instead, he stepped closer, his movements slow, calculated, as though he were approaching a frightened animal. He tilted his head, his expression calm, disarming, the warmth in his dark eyes a stark contrast to the undercurrent of control they held.

“You’re upset,” he murmured, his voice soft, soothing. His hand reached out to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing away the tears streaking your face. “And that’s okay. You’ve been through so much, haven’t you?”

The quiet warmth in Suguru's voice made it hard to breathe, made the frustration clawing at your throat turn to something else—something like shame.

“You need to calm down,” he continued, a warm calloused hand slipping down to cradle the side of your neck, his thumb pressing lightly against your pulse. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself. I don’t want you to hurt us.”

His words lingered, heavy with meaning, as he pulled you closer, his forehead pressing against yours.

“I know it’s hard,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. “But I love you. We love you. Everything we do—everything I do—is for you.”

You wanted to push him away, to scream that it wasn’t love, that this wasn’t love. But as his arms wrapped around you, strong and unyielding, pulling you into his embrace as though Suguru could shield you from the very world they had trapped you in.

“You’re everything to me,” he murmured, soft lips brushing your temple. “Don’t you see that? You don’t need to run. You don’t need to be afraid. I’ll take care of you. I’ll always take care of you.”

A voice that was so tender, so achingly sincere, that it almost broke you. Suguru's words were enough to extinguish the fire of defiance burning in your chest, to leave you standing there, trembling and helpless in his arms.

The maids saw it, didn’t they? They whispered about you, their quiet voices slipping through the halls like ghosts. They called you ungrateful. Sick. They said you didn’t understand how fortunate you were.

“You should be enjoying this,” they murmured, their words laced with thinly veiled judgment. “No responsibilities, no struggles. A carefree life. Everything is taken care of for you. What more could you want?”

What more could you want?

No choices.

That’s what they meant, wasn’t it? No choices. No freedom. No you.

Was something wrong with you? Maybe.

Maybe there was something wrong with wanting more. For wanting to feel like a person again, instead of a vessel, a doll, a beautifully dressed incubator meant to carry their legacy.

It really is all your fault, isn’t it?

Because when labor came, it dragged you into hell.

Thirty-three grueling hours. Each contraction ripped through your body like a punishment, an unrelenting reminder of every fleeting thought of rebellion, of every moment you dared to imagine a life beyond them.

The emergency c-section was chaos—a flurry of hands, sterile lights, and voices rising above the incessant ringing in your ears. You were losing too much blood. Fever scorched your skin, your body trembling as the edges of the world blurred, your thoughts slipping between consciousness and darkness.

You couldn’t make sense of what was happening. You weren’t even sure whose tears streaked your skin as they fell—were they yours? Satoru’s? Suguru’s?

You didn’t know.

You didn’t know what happened after that.

All you remember are the words.

Suguru’s voice, low and steady, cutting through the haze. He leaned close, his hand resting on your clammy cheek with an almost painful tenderness. His dark eyes bore into yours, soft yet heavy with something that made your stomach twist.

“You shouldn’t have run,” he whispered. His tone was calm, soothing even, but the edge beneath it was sharp enough to draw blood. “Look at what you’ve done to yourself. You should’ve listened.”

And for a long time, you didn’t have the strength to argue.

The days that followed blurred together. Feeling like a ghost in your body, too weak to move, too tired to speak. Satoru and Suguru hovered, their gazes flickering between concern and something you couldn't quite place. The maids continued to whisper on with their rumors, their eyes darting to you with pity or disdain, as though you’d done this to yourself.

In their eyes, you were lucky.

Lucky to have survived. Lucky to have them.

And lucky, in their eyes, to not have another pregnancy until your first two boys turned five.

Five years of peace. Or something that resembled it.

Five years of watching your sons grow, of hearing their first words, of feeling their small, warm arms wrap around you as they giggled into into your neck. Five years where it was almost believable that this was normal, where you could almost convince yourself this was love.

Because it did feel like love, didn’t it?

Until the day you overheard Suguru speaking to them.

His voice was hushed, but not hushed enough.

“Mommy is sick,” he said, tone calm and soothing like he was explaining a simple fact of life. “Sometimes she says things she doesn’t mean. Sometimes she gets confused. But that’s okay. We love her, don’t we?”

A pang sent through your chest, breath catching as you froze in the hallway. Those cruel words lies carved like knives, each one slicing deeper than the last.

He was planting seeds, wasn’t he?

Teaching them to see you the way he wanted them to see you. Fragile. Dependent. Broken.

However with fists clenched, nails pressing into palms with a sting sharp enough to ground the swirling emotions within. The urge to scream hovered at the edge, to cry and storm into the room, demanding explanations with the desperation of a cornered animal. Words burned on the tip of the tongue—protests that it wasn’t true, that sickness and confusion weren’t the chains binding this existence.

But what would they believe?

Suguru’s steady, patient voice, rich and even, always laced with quiet authority? The father whose dark eyes always seemed to understand everything, who carried himself with calm, unshakable control, even when his smiles didn’t quite reach his eyes?

Or you?

The mother who had tried to run, who had collapsed and bled and screamed, who had been scolded for her defiance. The one they saw as weak, frail, and ungrateful.

You wanted to run again. The thought burned in the back of your mind, relentless and wild.

But you didn’t.

You stayed.

Because, in the end, what choice did you really have?

But by the time your third child—a sweet boy who looked like a perfect blend of you and Suguru—turned three, the illusion of peace began to crack.

Suguru was already leaning close, his voice soft and coaxing as he murmured into your ear, “I think it’s time we try for a girl.”

Satoru, of course, was on board almost immediately.

After all, your third child was different. A nonsorcerer, just like you, showing none of the abilities your first two boys possessed. Those two had cried in the dead of night, their small voices trembling with fear as they described the horrors only they could see—things you couldn’t even begin to comprehend.

But that wasn’t why your husbands looked at Kiyoshi with quiet disapproval.

It wasn’t his lack of cursed energy that made them see him as an anomaly.

It was his heart.

From the moment Kiyoshi was placed in your arms, red-faced and wailing, he clung to you with a desperation that never faded. He didn’t want the maids to hold him, didn’t toddle after Suguru’s composed steps or reached for Satoru’s strong arms. He wanted you. Always you.

He was a mama’s boy through and through, and that was love.

A love so pure it felt like a lifeline in the suffocating world you’d been forced into.

While you loved your first two boys deeply—how could you not?—there was always a distance there, a reflection of the walls your husbands had built around you. The first two cuddled into your lap, their small hands clutching yours as they whispered things that broke you.

“Mommy, we want you to get better.” “We don’t like it when you yell at Daddy to let you leave.”

They were too young to understand, too innocent to see the chains tightening around you.

But Kiyoshi understood, in his own way. Even as a toddler, he refused to leave your side, refused to let the maids or his fathers pull him from your arms. He was always on your hip, his little hand clutching your clothes, his head resting against your chest.

“Kiyoshi,” Satoru had said once, his tone laced with false amusement, “means ‘pure sadness.’ Don’t you think that’s fitting?”

He smiled as if it were a joke, but you could hear the bitterness beneath it.

And maybe it was fitting.

Because Kiyoshi only stopped wailing when he was in your arms, as if he already knew the world outside of you was too cruel, too cold.

By the time he turned three, Kiyoshi would toddle after you in the gardens, small, sturdy legs working hard to keep up. His face—a blend of Suguru’s gentleness and your warmth—would brighten with the purest smile. When his eyes crinkled at the corners, just like yours, you couldn’t help but feel your heart swell.

“Look, Mommy!” he’d say, holding up a flower he’d plucked from the garden, his tiny fingers dirt-stained and clumsy. “For you!”

You’d crouch down, brushing his dark hair back as you took the flower, your voice soft and tender in a way you hadn’t heard in years.

“Thank you, my sweet boy.”

And for a moment, it felt like it was just the two of you.

Like you could breathe again.

But you knew better.

As the sound of approaching footsteps always shattered moments like these. Heavy and far too familiar. You didn’t need to turn around to know it was Suguru.

His softspoken voice broke the fragile silence, calm and even, as always. “Kiyoshi,” he said, warm and affectionate, though laced with something you couldn’t quite name. “You’ve been keeping your mother all to yourself again, haven’t you?”

Kiyoshi stiffened at your side, the little hand tightening its grip on your kimono as he glanced nervously toward Suguru.

Suguru stepped closer and crouched down to Kiyoshi’s level, dark eyes softening as they met his son’s. “Come here, son,” he murmured, holding out a hand. His tone was gentle, coaxing, but there was an unspoken expectation beneath it. “Let Daddy hold you for a little while. I’ve missed you.”

But Kiyoshi didn’t move. His small fingers curled tighter into the fabric of your kimono, his face pressing into your side as though trying to make himself small, invisible.

Suguru’s gaze flicked to you, lips curling into a faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “So shy,” he said softly, his voice carrying a note of amused affection. “But you don’t have to be, Kiyoshi. Daddy just wants to hold you. You know that, don’t you?”

You felt your heart clench, torn between the instinct to shield him and the weight of Suguru’s presence. The tenderness in his tone, in the way his hand remained outstretched, made it all the harder to breathe.

“Kiyoshi,” Suguru said again, his voice dipping into a firmer edge, calm but unyielding. “Come.”

Reluctantly, your little boy let go of you, his steps slow and hesitant as he moved toward his father. Suguru’s smile widened, soft and reassuring, as he scooped Kiyoshi up effortlessly, cradling him with a gentleness that felt too deliberate, too controlled.

“There’s my good boy,” he murmured, brushing Kiyoshi’s hair back with careful fingers. His touch lingered, as though committing the texture to memory. “You love your mommy very much, don’t you?”

Kiyoshi nodded silently, his small face burying itself in Suguru’s shoulder.

Suguru’s gaze lifted to meet yours, a gentle smile, his tone almost playful. “You’ve spoiled him,” he said, a note of amusement threading through his words. “He’s too attached.”

You opened your mouth to respond, to say something, but the words caught in your throat.

What could you say?

That you were the only warmth in a world that terrified him? That his attachment wasn’t a flaw, but a desperate grasp at something safe?

Satoru appeared not long after, his presence impossible to ignore as he strolled into the garden, hands in his pockets and a grin that seemed too bright for the moment. His eyes, however, betrayed something softer—something that lingered only when they landed on you.

“Kiyoshi giving you trouble again?” Satoru's voice came out light, tinged with curiosity.

“No trouble,” Suguru replied smoothly, a hand still resting on Kiyoshi’s small back. “Just a little too fond of his mother.”

Satoru chuckled, shaking his head as he moved closer. His cerulean gaze flicked briefly to Kiyoshi before returning to you, that playful grin softening as he moved to brush a kiss against your temple. “Well, can you blame him?” he murmured, his voice low, meant only for you. “You’re hard not to love.”

The warmth of his affection made your heart twist, and your stomach flutter. For a moment, it was easy to forget the way his words often carried double meanings, easy to believe he was simply being sweet.

He straightened, turning his attention back to Suguru with a teasing smile. “But we’ll fix that soon enough, won’t we?”

They didn’t mean to hurt him, you told yourself. They wouldn’t.

But you knew better.

Because Kiyoshi was different. He didn’t fit into their world the way your first two boys did. And in their eyes, difference was something to be controlled.

For now, they let him cling to you. They let him toddle after you in the garden, offering flowers and dirt-streaked smiles that made your heart ache with both love and dread. For now, they allowed him to stay close, to hold onto the warmth you gave him, to believe he was safe in your arms.

But you knew it was only a matter of time.

Because your sons didn’t belong to you. Not really. They never had.

And no matter how much you wanted to shield Kiyoshi, no matter how fiercely you loved him, you knew one simple, devastating truth:

They’d let you have this for now.

But they would take him, too.

Because, after all, it’s all your fault.

For fleeing in the middle of the night.

The day was supposed to be perfect—a rare moment where Satoru and Suguru had taken the older two boys to the school, their voices filled with excitement as they promised to teach them more about the world they were destined to inherit. Your sweet boys kissed you goodbye with a tenderness that felt almost cruel, leaving you behind with Kiyoshi in the quiet, sprawling estate.

You had been on your best behavior. Smiling more, laughing when Satoru teased you, letting Suguru hold you a little longer than usual. You’d made them believe you were finally settling, finally accepting your role in their carefully constructed world.

And it worked.

So when the sun set and the house fell silent, you made your move.

You bundled Kiyoshi up in the softest blanket you could find, the small body warm and sleepy against your chest. He stirred only slightly as you slipped out of the estate, his tiny hands clutching onto your clothes.

He didn’t cry.

He didn’t make a sound.

It was as if he understood. As if even at three years old, he knew that silence was the only thing keeping you safe.

He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, his soft breaths warm against your skin, and you couldn’t help the tears that welled up in your eyes.

The highway stretched out before you, an endless black ribbon under the faint glow of the moon. The lights of the city sparkled in the distance, a beacon of hope, a promise of sanctuary.

You walked for miles, the cold night air biting at your skin, legs aching with every step. But you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. Not with the faint echoes of paranoia whispering at the back of your mind.

Were they already looking for you? Did Satoru sense you slipping away even from miles away? Did Suguru wake in the middle of the night with the suffocating weight of intuition, already calling for their forces to track you down?

You didn’t know.

And you didn’t care.

The city limits were closer now, the glow of neon lights growing brighter, sharper. The faint hum of life and sound buzzed in the distance.

Kiyoshi stirred in your arms, his little head lifting just enough to peek out at the world around him. His dark eyes, so much like Suguru’s but filled with an innocence his father could no longer claim, glanced up at you with quiet curiosity.

“Mommy,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the soft hum of the wind.

You pressed a kiss to his forehead, your tears wetting his soft hair. “We’re almost there, my sweet boy,” you murmured, your voice trembling under the weight of hope and fear. “Just a little farther.”

Sanctuary was so close you could taste it.

But it’s all your fault, isn’t it?

Born a nonsorcerer.

Blind to the horrors that lurk unseen. Powerless to fight them off. Too weak to keep that sweet little boy safe.

You always imagined curses as massive, grotesque creatures—monsters so obvious that the very air would change in their presence. That the world would stop, that everything would smell of death and decay as they loomed closer.

But when a curse appears, nothing changes.

There’s no warning. No shift in the wind.

The only thing you feel is the sudden weight of your child going limp in your arms.

And then the blood.

And then the blood.

It coats the ground—dark and endless, pooling around your knees and seeping into the cracks of the earth. Sticky and warm, it clings to trembling hands, staining your kimono, your skin, your very soul.

You can’t move. Can’t breathe.

Your little boy—your Kiyoshi—lies limp in your arms, his small body growing colder with every agonizing second. Tiny fingers, once so eager to cling to you, now dangle lifelessly. His dark lashes rest softly against pale cheeks, unmoving.

He looks like he’s sleeping.

You tell yourself that, over and over, as if saying it enough times will somehow make it true. Shaking hands brush back his dark hair, trembling as you whisper his name. Softly at first, then louder, your voice splintering with every syllable.

“Kiyoshi… wake up, baby. Please.”

But nothing changes.

The world around you feels wrong—too quiet, too still. The city lights in the distance mock you, their glow a cruel reminder of the sanctuary you’d been so close to reaching. You’d promised him, hadn’t you? Promised that everything would be okay. That you’d make it there. That you’d keep him safe.

You lied.

“Kiyoshi,” you choke out again, pressing a desperate kiss to his cooling forehead. Hot tears streak down your face, wetting his soft hair as you clutch him tighter, as though you could anchor him to you—keep him here, with you.

A wail tears through the night, raw and broken, shattering the oppressive silence. The sound is unrecognizable, guttural and full of despair. It takes a moment before you realize it’s coming from you.

The blood stains everything—your hands, your clothes, the ground—but it’s the loss of his warmth that destroys you.

How did this happen?

Your mind races, replaying the moments in broken fragments. You’d been walking, your legs aching, his small body cradled against your chest. He’d been so quiet, so trusting, his head nuzzled into the crook of your neck.

You were almost there.

Then the air shifted—just slightly—a subtle wrongness you hadn’t noticed until it was too late.

You didn’t see it.

You didn’t even know it was there until his body jerked in your arms, a sharp, unnatural movement that stole his breath—and yours.

And then he went limp.

It doesn’t make sense. None of it makes sense.

You rock him back and forth, tears falling freely, your voice hoarse as you beg him to wake up. Leaning to press your cheek against his, murmuring his name over and over, as if the sound alone could bring him back.

Because you failed him.

Because this is your fault.

Suguru’s arms wrap around you, their weight unbearable. His warmth presses against the chill of the night, suffocating in a way that makes the air harder to pull into your lungs. He cradles you like something precious, something fragile—like he cares, even as his words twist the knife deeper into your chest.

“We’ll take care of this, just like always,” he says, his voice soft, almost gentle. His lips brush against your hair, lingering, and the tenderness in the gesture makes your skin crawl. “You just need to stop fighting us. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

Satoru stood frozen, head bowed, white hair catching the faint glow of the city lights. Kiyoshi’s lifeless body was pressed tightly against him, his hands trembling ever so slightly as he held him close. For a moment, you thought you saw something crack in his expression—something raw, something human.

But it was gone just as quickly as it appeared.

When he finally turned his gaze to you, his blue eyes were as hollow as you’d ever seen them. “You shouldn’t have done this,” he said quietly, his voice devoid of its usual teasing lilt. “Why couldn’t you just stay?”

The question stabbed deeper than you thought possible, the shame and guilt coursing through you like poison.

Why couldn’t you just stay?

The image of Kiyoshi’s bright smile flashed, his tiny hands offering you flowers from the garden, his laugh ringing out like music in the suffocating silence of the estate. He’d been your light, your tether to something good.

And now he was gone.

Because of you.

You sagged further into Suguru’s hold, the fight draining out of you entirely. The tears wouldn’t stop, falling silently now, soaking into the front of Suguru’s shirt as he held you tighter.

“There, there,” he murmured, his hand stroking your hair in slow, deliberate motions. “That’s better. You don’t have to fight anymore. We’ll make it right.”

But there was no right in this.

The car waited nearby, its door open like an unspoken command. Suguru’s grip on you didn’t waver as he began guiding you toward it, his movements gentle but unrelenting. Satoru followed behind, cradling Kiyoshi’s small form like he was made of glass.

Your legs moved on instinct, numb and heavy, the metallic scent of blood lingering in the air.

The city lights grew fainter as the car doors shut behind you, locking you away from the world you’d been so close to reaching.

You told yourself you’d tried. That you’d done everything you could.

But deep down, you knew.

You’d never escape them.

And as Suguru’s fingers intertwined with yours, as Satoru’s empty gaze lingered on the horizon, you realized something that hollowed you out completely.

It wasn’t just that you had nothing left.

It was that you no longer cared to try.

It really was all your fault.