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Satoru was having a pretty crappy year.
It all went downhill when his parents cut him off—emotionally and financially—after they found out about his “career plans.” That conversation still annoyed the hell out of him.
“We’re not supporting you to be a YouTuber, Satoru. It’s not realistic. You need a serious job.”
Yeah, right.
That was just their excuse to drop him and cut him out of the will.
Minecraft gaming was massive right now, whether they liked it or not, and Satoru was damn good at it. He could build, destroy, and talk non-stop for hours. Seemed like the perfect gig to him!
Whatever. He didn’t need them.
Sure, his channel had blown up in six months, but it wasn’t bringing in enough to fund the lifestyle he wanted. He’d already started shopping at bargain stores, cut back on sweets (which sucked), and downgraded to just one TV per room—and considering he lived in a studio apartment, that wasn’t saying much. This wasn’t the life someone like Satoru Gojo was meant to live.
Finding a part-time job to help out wasn’t any easier.
After being pampered his whole life, applying for jobs at 26 with no work experience? Not exactly a winning move. He didn’t even have a résumé because he never thought he’d need one. Guess he was wrong about that too.
But hey, that just gave him more motivation to grind harder. He started streaming as soon as he hit 100K subs, and that’s where the real money started coming in. Twitch was way better than YouTube for cash flow. He dabbled in other games now and then, but his hardcore Minecraft world was what people wanted to see. That’s where the real fanbase was.
Today, after cashing out for rent, he noticed something exciting—he had extra money. Enough to treat himself. Finally, he could indulge a little. A snack run was definitely in order.
Bag full of candy in hand, Satoru headed back to his place, feeling pretty satisfied for once. But as he got closer, something felt off. Through his window, he sees his apartment light was on.
Weird. He knew he’d turned that off before he left.
Walking up a little more cautiously, Satoru rounds the corner to his door and notices it’s cracked open. The bolt’s been completely torn off the handle. Okay, what the fuck?! His heart jumps as he drops his bag of snacks and rushes inside.
As soon as he steps in, he spots someone slipping out through his balcony. And in their hands? His fucking television.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hey! Stop!” Satoru yells, startling the thief, who doesn’t even hesitate before leaping off the balcony—TV in hand. Panicking, Satoru runs to the edge and peers over, but the guy’s already gone, nothing below but some bushes. Fuck. Shit.
He quickly scans the street, trying to catch sight of anyone hauling a 70-inch flat screen down the block, but there’s no one. Damn it. He rushes back inside to check if anything else is missing. His place is a mess, but after tearing through every room, it seems like the TV’s the only thing they took.
He groans, slumping against the wall. Of course his apartment got broken into. Just his luck. As he fights the urge to lose it completely, he goes back to the door to grab his snacks—only to see a group of kids running off, giggling with his candy bag.
Satoru stares after them, completely defeated. He shuts the door, buries his face in his hands, and lets out a muffled scream.
•
Later that night, he’s venting about it on stream.
“Yeah, guys, I got robbed twice in like, 45 seconds,” he says, shaking his head in disbelief.
“First my TV, and then these little brats made off with my snacks. Didn’t even get a good look at the dude. Or girl. I’m guessing it was a guy though. Dude was built like a brick wall.”
He rolls his eyes as the chat blows up with questions, all while waiting for Stardew Valley to download.
Satoru scrolls through the donations, thanking each person as their names pop up on screen. He’s seriously grateful his computer didn’t get taken; the TV? He doesn’t even watch it that much. He’ll get over it—probably just buy a new one or snag something cheap off Craigslist.
“Thanks for the 10 subs, geekycharm,” he says, before squinting at the attached message. “Uh, no, I’m not making an OnlyFans to buy a new TV. Screw the TV at this point, I need a new lock. Dude busted my door bolt. I’ve got my bookshelf covering the door until further notice.”
The police had been completely useless. Since his apartment didn’t have cameras near his door, and the ones downstairs were too blurry to catch anything, they just gave him this lame “get a better lock and keep an eye out” spiel.
“Yep,” he says with a sigh, still annoyed as chat keeps asking. “They told me to somehow call the police and hold the guy here until they show up. Like that’s gonna work.”
He shakes his head and opens the game, brushing it off. “Anyway, I don’t wanna keep talking about it. It’s just pissing me off. Let’s get into this—you guys said it was good, right?”
Satoru dives back into the game, his mood instantly lifting as he loses himself in the world of Stardew Valley. An hour in, though, something pulls him out of his gaming trance. He pauses, holding one side of his headphones off his ear.
Was that a door opening?
He listens intently, waiting for any other sound—but nothing. Just his imagination, probably.
With a shrug, he puts the headphones back on.
“Sorry, guys. Thought I heard something.” Of course, his chat jumps at the opportunity to roast him.
“No, no. Nobody’s here. Fuck you, kingofcurses. He didn’t come back for seconds.” Satoru laughs, reading the chat.
A few more minutes go by, and he gets distracted by the sassy blonde on-screen.
“Wait, can I get with multiple people in this game? Fuck farming for a second, I’m trying to—” He pauses, dramatically pretending to hump the air, “—with Elliott too. He’s so dreamy. Can you have kids in this game?”
Chat explodes with responses, and Satoru snickers. “So, yes, I can hook up with both, but I can only marry one without mods? Lame. Tell me some good mods in the chat guys. Moderators, find the best ones for me.”
He stretches, pausing the game. “Quick piss break.” Satoru pulls off his kitty headphones, moving the divider between his bed and gaming set up and heads to the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He whistles while peeing, then casually wipes and rinses his hands.
As he turns off the sink, he hears it again—definitely the sound of a door opening. His heart races. It’s too distinct to just be the wind.
And now… footsteps.
Satoru freezes. Then, a crash—a sound like his divider hitting the ground. Panic floods his chest, and he rushes out of the bathroom. He immediately spots the wide-open balcony door, curtains flapping in the wind.
Then, to his right, he sees him. A man in a black ski mask, holding a giant trash bag, reaching for his computer.
“Hey! Hey!! Stop!!” Satoru shouts, blocking the stranger’s direct route to the balcony. The masked man freezes, eyes wide in shock—like he didn’t expect anyone to be home.
Satoru’s mind races. Shit, where’s his phone?! He pats his pockets frantically—nothing. Before he can act, the guy ignores him and starts yanking at the cables for the monitor.
"Stop! What the hell—get out!" Satoru snaps, launching himself at the stranger with no hesitation.
That’s his life.
But the guy's fast, slipping out of reach in one smooth move that sends Satoru barreling into the wall.
Undeterred, Satoru recovers, grabbing the stranger and pulling him into a messy, scrambling fight. They wrestle, Satoru's grip tightening as he nearly gains control, fingers brushing his stuff.
Victory's close—he can taste it—until something hard slams into his cheek.
Pain flares, sharp and white-hot, making him stumble back, clutching his face with a hiss. He barely has time to shake off the sting before he looks up—and freezes. The stranger's pulled a gun, its barrel pointed right at him, steady as a heartbeat.
Satoru halts, hands shooting up in surrender. His mind blanks. He’s only seen guns in movies or TV shows—Japan’s gun laws are too strict for something like this to be happening. This guy shouldn’t even have one.
But he does.
Satoru’s heart thunders in his chest as he stares at the gun, all bravado drained out of him in an instant. This wasn’t some late-night stream bit.
This was real.
The gun is steady in the guy’s hand, a cold threat that keeps Satoru rooted to the spot.
He feels the weight of the situation pressing down on him like a vice—this isn’t how things are supposed to go.
He was supposed to come home, enjoy his snacks, play games, and stream, not end up in some life-or-death standoff in his own apartment.
The masked man, his eyes narrowed and focused on Satoru, tightens his grip on the bag of stolen loot. The leather gloves he wears ensure that no fingerprints will be left behind, and that thought aggravates Satoru more than he expected.
He glances at his monitor, still plugged into its cables, and notices the intruder’s growing impatience as he tugs at the device in frustration, clearly eager to make his escape.
For a moment, their eyes meet, Satoru’s defiance clashing with the thief’s nerves. He can see it—the guy’s tense, probably never had to pull a gun on someone before.
Hell, he might not even know how to use it, but Satoru doesn’t want to take that chance.
“Alright, alright, just take the shit and go.” Satoru’s voice shakes, and he hates it, but there’s nothing he can do. His hands remain raised, fingers twitching as his mind races for a way out.
The guy doesn’t respond, just focuses on pulling out Satoru’s monitor, cables and all. He yanks hard, and the whole setup comes loose, monitor and tower wobbling dangerously on the desk. Satoru watches helplessly, biting his lip to keep from yelling.
If the guy drops his rig, it’s game over for his entire livelihood.
But the thief’s only got eyes for the monitor, hastily shoving it into the trash bag, not caring about the cords or anything else dangling out the side.
Satoru can’t stand it.
His body itches to do something , but that gun remains a looming reminder to stay still.
Once the guy has the monitor packed away, he glances back at Satoru again, like he’s sizing him up, deciding whether or not to take more. His gaze shifts briefly to the rest of the room—the scattered setup, the few personal items left untouched.
“Dude, you’ve got what you came for. Just leave, alright?” Satoru tries again, this time with more urgency, praying to every god he’s heard of that this idiot doesn’t take his actual computer too.
He’s already lost the TV.
His gaming setup is the last thing keeping him from total collapse.
The guy doesn’t answer. He walks up slowly, his eyes darting between Satoru and the open balcony door.
Satoru steps back, instinctively giving him space, anything to get him the hell out.
For a second, it looks like the guy’s going to leave, and Satoru’s breath catches in relief. But then, in one quick motion, the guy turns and lunges for the computer. He grips the tower by the edge, yanking it up, cords flying out with a snap.
“No! Stop!” Satoru’s voice cracks, adrenaline flooding him as he reacts purely on instinct. He lurches forward, reaching for the guy’s arm, but the gun swings back toward him before he can make contact, grazing his lip.
“Don’t!” the thief yells, finally speaking for the first time, his voice frantic and low-pitched. Satoru freezes again, now too close to the gun for comfort. The thief’s grip shakes, finger twitching over the trigger.
“Okay, okay!” Satoru backs off immediately, throwing his hands up, his heart racing. “Just… please don’t take that. Anything but my computer! Take whatever you want— just not my computer.”
Panic bubbles up inside him as he realizes just how out of control this whole situation has spiraled.
Sure, he could find another computer, but when the hell would he ever have the cash to buy a new one?
He watches the guy, and for a second, it seems like he might actually consider Satoru’s plea.
The silence stretches, thick and uncomfortable, filled only with the sound of his racing heart and shaky breaths.
The stranger grunts and motions with his gun, pointing it toward Satoru’s scrappy little couch.
“Y…You want me to sit?” Satoru asks, his voice shaky. The intruder nods, gun still trained on him, and Satoru’s stomach drops.
“Okay, okay, no problem.” He nods back, moving slowly as he shuffles over to the couch, his feet feeling like lead.
Sitting down feels like stepping into the ring for a fight, but he can’t afford to panic right now. He can’t afford to make any sudden moves.
The room is dead silent, and the stranger’s gaze feels like a weight pressing down on Satoru.
He can hear his computer whirring in the background, a reminder of the normalcy that feels miles away now. Sure, he could scream for help, but that would only get him shot.
No way he’s risking his life for a shot in the dark.
The intruder drags the bag containing Satoru’s monitor and whatever else he’s stolen over his shoulder, the gun still aimed right at him. He steps closer, boots leaving dirty smudges on Satoru’s carpet.
Satoru’s eyes widen as the intruder looms over him, and he can’t bring himself to look up. He feels small and powerless, counting his breaths to keep from losing it.
Then, out of nowhere, there’s cold metal pressed against his forehead, forcing him to tilt his head up. Satoru whimpers, feeling the weight of the gun and the intensity of the intruder’s stare.
“What’s your name?” The question comes out gruff, breaking through the tension, and Satoru’s brain takes a second to catch up. Why does he want to know? Should he even answer?
“G-Gojo.” Satoru says, trying to sound more confident than he feels.
The intruder grunts again, eyeing Satoru intently, and he feels frozen in place. The gun presses heavily against his forehead, an unwelcome weight that amplifies his fear.
"You have some pretty eyes, Gojo." The stranger's voice comes out almost gentle, like he's complimenting a lover, and it completely throws Satoru off.
He blinks, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, searching for words.
Suddenly, the intruder shoves the gun harder against Satoru's forehead, pushing his head back into the couch with a force that sends pain shooting through him.
"Say thank you." The tone shifts, rough and agitated, as if he's lost all pretense of gentleness.
"Thank you! Thank you!" Satoru rushes the words out, desperately trying to keep his eyes from squeezing shut.
He'd be pissing himself right now if he hadn't just been to the bathroom.
The stranger hums in satisfaction, his eyes crinkling as though he's smiling under that ski mask.
"Good. Now, tell me why I shouldn't take this computer."
It’s a weird question that only serves to irritate and throw Satoru off some more.
"Uh, because it's my stuff, and I—" A sharp tap from the gun interrupts him, causing Satoru to instinctively squint against the pain, tears welling in his eyes.
"Better question: Why shouldn't I blow your brains out right now?"
Satoru's breath catches in his throat, the gravity of the threat sinking in.
His mind races, grasping at anything that might convince this guy not to strip him of the one thing he can’t afford to lose along with his life. He sucks in a shaky breath, forcing his voice to steady.
“That’s my entire life,” he says, tone more pleading than he’d like. “I work from home. It’s my only income. If you take it, I’ll have… nothing. Please.”
The intruder doesn’t respond. Instead, he trails the barrel of the gun down Satoru’s face, slowly, almost like he’s savoring the moment.
The cold metal grazes his brow, glides down the bridge of his nose, and stops beneath his eye, right on the swollen mark he’s put on him. It stings like a bitch and it’s definitely bruised.
Satoru’s heart is hammering, loud enough he wonders if the guy can hear it too.
He swallows, forcing himself to speak again. “Look, I don’t have cash to give you, but… I could give you something else. If you’d, uh… if you’d want that.”
The words barely come out, his voice thick with fear. It’s humiliating, but he’s past pride now.
Satoru doesn’t even have sex like that.
Sure, he’ll have a fling once in a while—mostly with older men looking for a date and Satoru looking for a meal. So what makes this any different? It’s just another favor to get something he needs in return.
Anything to get out of this.
The guy pauses, eyes narrowing, and Satoru realizes just how little he can read through the mask. A few agonizing seconds pass in silence before the stranger’s hand shifts, tightening his grip on the gun.
Then, with a swift motion, he cocks it, the sound sending a cold chill down Satoru’s spine.
“Oh god. Wait, wait—please don’t,” Satoru’s voice cracks, his breath hitching. He knows he’s close to breaking, close to tears he’s fighting to keep down, but it’s useless.
He’s begging, and he’s never begged anyone for anything in his life.
And still, the guy doesn’t say a word—he just presses the gun against Satoru’s lips, hard enough to make him feel the unforgiving metal against his teeth, to force him into silence.
Satoru freezes, staring up wide-eyed. The intruder’s voice comes low and rough, like gravel. “Suck.”
The single word echoes in his head, and for a second he just sits there, stunned, his mind trying to catch up. Then, reality sinks in: this is what he offered.
The guy’s taking him up on it.
Swallowing back the bile that’s threatening to rise, Satoru parts his lips slowly, letting the cold barrel slip past. It’s tasteless but harsh, a jarring contrast against the warmth of his mouth.
His tongue barely brushes it, but every muscle in his body is taut, bracing for anything. He holds the stranger’s gaze, watching his reaction in the depths of those crinkling eyes.
Please don’t shoot.
Please don’t shoot.
The intruder’s gaze never wavers, dark and unblinking, as Satoru’s lips wrap around the tip of the gun. The weight of it feels heavy in his mouth, and he does his best to ignore the unease curling in his gut. Slowly, he lets his hands trail down to the intruder’s thighs, giving a tentative squeeze.
No reaction.
Just that same, intense stare, watching him with a threatening patience that makes Satoru’s cheeks burn.
The stranger's hand tightens at the back of Satoru's head, twisting and pushing the gun deeper, forcing it to graze his throat. Satoru gags in surprise but quickly recovers, relaxing his jaw wider to brace against the pressure.
The cold metal scrapes along his tongue, every ridge catching painfully against the sensitive sides, and no amount of slickness can dull the ache. He steadies himself, throat tightening, as the stranger's unrelenting grip keeps him exactly where he wants him.
The gun presses so far down his throat that the trigger guard scrapes his teeth, and the stranger’s fingers graze his lips with each twist.
Satoru’s vision blurs, his eyes squeezing shut as his jaw strains, a rough thrust hitting so deep he’s left light-headed. His chest tightens, the edges of his consciousness starting to slip, and for a moment he wonders if he’ll pass out.
Just as black spots dance at the corners of his vision, the gun yanks back, leaving his mouth painfully empty.
Satoru gasps, lungs burning as he drags in a breath, the metallic taste sharp and lingering on his tongue as he fights to stay upright.
The intruder rubs his thumb across his now slick lips. Satoru sticks his tongue out tentatively, reveling in the praiseful hum the intruder sends his way. He rubs the leathered thumb up his tongue gently, cradling his chin.
“Such a pretty little mouth,” the stranger praises, and Satoru can’t deny the shiver it sends straight to his core. His body betrays him, throbbing with unwanted heat, and shame follows quickly, deep and overwhelming.
This is crazy—this man has already taken his things, and now he’s claiming his body, too.
His thoughts are jarred by the sharp crack of a slap, head snapping to the side as the sting spreads across his cheek. The leather on the stranger’s hand only adds to the pain, making it burn fiercer than he’d expected.
“What do you say?” the stranger asks, his gaze unblinking. Satoru rubs his injured cheek, fighting back tears. He can’t let this man see him cry.
“Thank you,” he whispers after a pause. The stranger’s thumb presses against his lips, slipping into his mouth and pushing down on his tongue, forcing his jaw to slacken.
“Obey, and you won’t die. That sounds like a good deal, right?” the intruder purrs, dragging his now spit-slicked thumb across his bottom lip.
Satoru nods slowly, fear (and a little excitement) bubbling up at the thought of being hit again for staying silent. But he catches the crinkle at the corners of the intruder’s eyes beneath the mask—a hint of a smile.
The intruder’s fingers reach out, gently gripping the tip of Satoru’s tongue, pressing until it lolls from his mouth.
“Close your eyes,” he says. Satoru obeys, feeling the warmth of the intruder’s gloved hands withdraw, leaving cold spots in their wake. He hears rustling above him and takes a moment to assess his situation.
He’s still gripping the stranger’s muscular thighs, the only thing grounding him in this chaotic moment.
The intruder’s musk isn’t… unpleasant; there’s a strange, primal quality to it that somehow feels oddly comforting, despite the situation.
Satoru shifts slightly, wincing as he remembers the sharp sting in his cheek, which still hurts like a motherfucker.
The pain serves as a harsh reminder of the tension in the air, but it also makes him acutely aware of how vulnerable he is right now, caught between fear and an inexplicable curiosity about what comes next.
Satoru hears a wet sound, his brow furrowing in confusion. A warm thumb brushes away the crease in his forehead, and that same hand cradles his face gently.
Suddenly, a thick glob of spit lands on his tongue, and he can't help but let out a moan, surprising himself. The sound draws him back to the moment, and he opens his eyes just in time to see the stranger tugging his mask back down over his chin.
"Fuck," he mutters, gripping Satoru by the nape. The stranger slips two fingers into Satoru's mouth, pushing and sliding the spit around his tongue, hitting every taste bud.
Satoru has no choice but to whine softly, overwhelmed by the sensation. It feels good—almost too good—and it feels even better when the stranger makes him close his eyes before spitting in his mouth again. Satoru can only guess it's so he doesn't see his face.
Some of the spit misses Satoru’s tongue, hitting the corner of his cheek instead. He can’t deny how much it affects him when the stranger pushes it back into his mouth. Instinctively, he hollows his cheeks around the fingers, feeling a rush of genuine heat.
He’s trying to focus on doing a good job, hoping it will convince the intruder to let him go.
The stranger groans, pulling his fingers out and dragging them across Satoru’s cheek, smearing spit on his skin. Oddly enough, it feels soothing against the bruise forming there.
The intruder taps underneath Satoru's chin, signaling him to close his mouth, and the gun is back on him. Satoru tenses but doesn't fully panic; at this point, it feels more like a guide than a threat.
"Undo my pants," the stranger says firmly.
Satoru gulps, knowing it was coming, but it still feels surreal. Is he really about to do this?
His eyes flicker down as he shifts his hands from his thighs to the buckle of the intruder's belt. He looks back up, catching an impatient glare that tells him he's moving too slowly.
His fingers work quickly to unravel the belt, unbuttoning the pants and sliding the zipper down. Once that's done, Satoru hesitates, placing his hands back on his thighs as he looks up at the stranger, waiting for the next command.
The intruder huffs an uneven breath, his hand trembling slightly as he presses the gun back against Satoru's temple. Satoru winces but forces himself to keep eye contact. For a moment, he notices a twitch in the intruder's briefs, and his gaze flickers there before snapping back to the stranger's eyes.
Shit, that's big.
"Take my cock out." The command comes out huskier this time, but it still carries that firm authority.
And Satoru is a little more eager to comply this time.
Eyes darting back to his target, he takes in the wet stain on the front of the intruder’s briefs, emphasizing his large tip. Satoru reaches and pulls them down, the man's thick cock slapping against Satoru's face, leaking precum onto his nose bridge.
Satoru flinched initially but found himself gasping, his eyes widening as he took in the magnificent sight before him. It’s fat and long, nothing like Satoru’s ever seen before in real life, only in porn.
“Holy shit.” He hisses under his breath. The intruder chuckles and pushes his hips forward, rubbing his length all over Satoru’s face, smearing precum all around.
“You like it, pretty thing?” He says gently, grabbing his cock to stroke himself, guiding it all over his face, slapping his cheeks.
“Y-Yeah. Yeah I do.” Satoru replies softly. And he means it. It’s a nice size, a nice girth. He just doesn’t know how it’s all gonna fit in his mouth.
As if on cue, the intruder pinches Satoru's nose shut. "Open up," he commands, and Satoru quickly parts his lips, desperate for air.
After a moment, the intruder slides in, sighing happily. Satoru groans at the taste-salty but clean—his tongue wrapping around as much as he can reach.
The stranger's length presses to the back of his throat, and Satoru knows there's still more to take.
"Almost... you almost got all of me, just a little more, doll." The intruder's words drip with satisfaction. Satoru moans around his cock at the pet name, eyes rolling back.
He can't breathe through his nose, the intruder's fingers still pinching it shut, forcing him to gag as the last inch pushes down his throat.
It's so deep that even if he tried, breathing wouldn't be an option. He fights the urge to cough, nervous about what the intruder might do with the gun on him like this.
"Such a good boy. You're so good at this, baby. Feel how deep I am?" the intruder murmurs, his voice thick with pleasure. He finally releases Satoru's nose, placing a thumb against his neck and pressing down.
Satoru's thighs clench tight as he moans, feeling the intruder's cock pulse in his throat, vibrating against the pressure of his fingers.
The praise is so nice and he wants to hear more of it.
Desperately.
Satoru puts his hands back on the intruder’s thighs and pulls him forward, burying his face in his curls. And he smells so good, feels so good clogging his throat like this. The stranger lets out a strangled, surprised moan, grabbing the back of Satoru’s head to keep him there.
“Yeah? You’re gonna be like that for me, baby? So good.” The intruder groans, rutting into Satoru’s face, delivering these short tight thrusts, making his balls rest firmly against his chin with each one.
Satoru longs to take them into his mouth, craving every inch, but for now, he can barely handle what he has. It's pure determination that keeps him going through the overwhelming sensations.
He's gagging hard, struggling to keep down the bile that threatens to rise. At some point, the intruder had set the gun aside, using both hands to grip the sides of Satoru's head, guiding him back and forth along his cock.
“Fuck, look at you, good fucking boy. You’re such a good boy, Gojo.”
Hearing his name makes Satoru moan dramatically, gargling around the intruder’s cock. His thighs are slick with his own mess, as he’s been rubbing them together like a desperate virgin.
He just needs some pressure.
It’s too slick right now, his clit throbbing aggressively in his PJs. He never imagined he’d actually enjoy something like this. Especially from this stranger.
The intruder presses him down until Satoru's face is flush against his pubes, pushing until he's practically pinned against the couch.
Satoru flails briefly, choking around the intruder's cock and his own spit, his head pressing back into the cushions as he struggles for breath.
“Take it, take it, I know you can.” The intruder coos, pushing the hair out of Satoru’s face and holding him there, just like that. He slowly starts moving his hips, fucking into his mouth.
Satoru's arms flail a bit longer before he realizes he can put them to use. One hand slips into his own pants, fingers pressing against his neglected pussy, unsurprised by the slick coating his inner thighs. Shame is out the window now, he decides.
“Fuck, look at you. You really getting off on this?” The stranger startled him a little and he makes eye contact, but Satoru continues furiously in his pants, hollowing his cheeks out around the intruder’s cock. He’s dying for that praise.
“This is what you’re made to do, huh? Worship my cock?” Satoru hums as best as he can around his dick, eyes hooded as he looks up at the intruder. His hand moves lightning fast over his clit, hips humping up into the motion.
Yes, yes, yes.
More, more, more.
He’s drunk off the feeling, off the affirmations, the smells, everything is driving him absolutely insane. The stranger buries himself deep in his throat, planting his hips bruisingly against his face before pulling out completely.
Satoru gulps down air rapidly, realizing just how out of it he was as he coughs and sputters. The intruder gently pets his head before standing up and stepping away from the couch.
“Turn around.” He commands simply.
And Satoru’s up, immediately turning and presenting himself. "So eager," the stranger laughs, tugging his bottoms down just enough to expose the swell of his ass, stopping just above his thighs.
Satoru tries not to let it bother him; he really is eager.
Hope swells within him that this might help him get his things back—and maybe even convince the guy to be his new fuck buddy.
“You got any lube?”
Satoru laughs under his breath at this.
“Uh, I don’t really need—“
“Oh, fuck.” The stranger interrupts, spreading his lip with his leather thumb, rubbing curiously over his slick hole.
Satoru feels some pride, laying the side of his face on the back of the couch, staring over his shoulder at the intruder admiring his pussy.
Satoru gasps in surprise when he feels a warmth in his pussy, a warm, thick tongue pushes against his slick folds, slowly circling his entrance. It starts off tentative at first, but the intruder starts moaning into his pussy, licking sloppily.
Satoru hears the thud as the intruder drops to his knees, eagerly spreading Satoru's behind to grant himself better access. He buries his face in Satoru's moist heat, eagerly lapping and moaning into his cunt.
He can’t even lie.
It feels amazing.
Satoru's past disinterest in sex flew out the window tonight, replaced by obsession as the stranger's magical mouth moves between his thighs. His folds are gently spread, and a warm, questing tongue pushes inside, lapping at his hole and swirling around his throbbing bead. He's hooked. Can't stop whimpering.
The intruder’s hands grab roughly at his ass, kneading it almost like a cat as he eats him out.
Satoru's breathy sighs mingled with the stranger's muffled purrs as he gently arched his back, subtly rolling his hips to guide the intruder's probing tongue even deeper.
A firm suck to his clit has Satoru trembling, mouth dropping open to let out a throaty moan. The stranger obviously takes note and does it a few more times, his masked nose causing delightful friction against Satoru’s hole.
"S-Shit... I'm... I-I can't..." Satoru pants, the stranger's intense focus on his pussy robbing him of the ability to form coherent thoughts, let alone speak.
The stranger stands abruptly, leaving Satoru immediately disappointed at the sudden loss. Glancing over his shoulder, Satoru catches sight of the intruder’s chest rising and falling heavily as he reaches down to stroke himself.
Satoru’s eyes drift upward, caught on the stranger’s wet, chiseled chin and full lips.
But as he lets his gaze wander to the exposed nose and the slick strands of black hair slipping out from under the mask, a gloved hand suddenly grips his head, fingers twisting into his hair and pressing his face down into the couch.
“Don’t,” the stranger murmurs, low and breathless but firm.
“Sorry, sorry,” Satoru mumbles, his mind racing. This might be his chance to catch a glimpse of the intruder’s face if he plays his cards right. He realizes he doesn’t care as much as he thought he would, but he still needs to keep his guard up—just in case the intruder decides to take his stuff anyway.
At least he’ll get a good fuck out of it, and he can identify the man.
Satoru reaches back, spreading his ass a little, and dares another glance with low, hooded eyes.
“I just want to look you in the eye when you fuck me,” he says softly.
The intruder doesn’t respond, but his grip on Satoru’s hair loosens. He hesitates for a moment, as if considering, then releases Satoru and grabs his cock with one hand, pressing the other over Satoru’s hand on his ass.
Satoru watches as the intruder changes his mind, reaching for the gun instead. A shuddering breath escapes him, fear coursing through him at the thought that he might have insulted the man somehow. He should have kept his head down, kept his mouth shut.
Suddenly, he feels the cold metal pressing against his cunt, and he jumps in surprise, but the firm hand on his ass keeps him still.
The intruder rubs the tip of the gun between his lips, gliding it over his clit, and the sensation sends an unexpected thrill through him as the gun's opening seems to pull him in.
Satoru shudders at the strange feeling, overwhelmed by the warmth sliding down his cunt—spit from the intruder—and then he feels an odd intrusion. Is he—
"Don't make any sudden movements if you want to live. My fingers are on the trigger," the intruder says, and Satoru immediately freezes.
He knows he sure as hell won't risk it—this guy is fucking crazy. The gun's ridges press painfully against his cunt, dragging roughly against his insides.
"That—oh, my god," Satoru breathes out, his voice strained as he tightens his grip on the back of the couch. The intruder is taking it slow, relishing the moment and making sure Satoru feels every inch.
"This is a Glock 17," the intruder murmurs, twisting the cold metal inside Satoru, pushing it deeper until it presses firmly against his cervix. Satoru cries out, his body taut with tension, but he doesn't dare move, his arms trembling under the pressure.
"Seventeen rounds in the mag," the intruder continues, his voice steady. "Standard issue. Reliable. Enough to get the job done every time." Satoru shoves his face in the cushion when the intruder presses just a little harder, as if daring him to understand just how close he is to real danger.
"Your pussy swallows it up like it's nothing. Do you feel it? How light it is?" he asks, his tone light as if Satoru could answer clearly. But Satoru tries anyway.
"Y-yeah, feels good."
"Oh? It does?" The intruder's voice drips with cockiness as he pulls the gun out.
Satoru breathes a sigh of relief at the loss, but only for a moment—because the stranger shoves it right back in.
Instantly, Satoru tenses up again. Yet it's hard to stay still; the discomfort fades as the gun rubs against his insides. It feels surprisingly good now, gliding against him, the thickness of the ridges bullying his cervix with every push of the man's hand.
“I want to let you go after this. I really do,” the stranger coos, his voice low and almost soothing. “But if you’re thinking about going to the police afterward…”
Satoru's whines grow louder, yet his body remains stiff.
“I won’t, I won’t. I promise.”
One wrong move, and he knows he'll have a bullet lodged in his womb.
The man seems satisfied, picking up the pace, the sound of metal sliding in the wetness of Satoru's cunt mingling with his desperate cries.
"Please, please," Satoru begs, unsure of what he's pleading for. Is he begging for the man to hurry up and fuck him, or for him to take the gun out? Either option seems to work in his favor.
"Yeah? You want me to fuck you now?" the intruder coos, pulling the gun out and tapping Satoru's clit with it.
Satoru relaxes slightly, his hips jolting at the unexpected sensation. "Y-yeah, fuck me. Please."
The intruder seems pleased with Satoru's answer, his impatience evident as he withdraws quickly. Satoru turns his head again to glance over his shoulder, watching as the man spits into his hand and begins to stroke his cock, his gaze locked onto Satoru's pussy.
Spreading Satoru’s ass, the intruder taps his entrance before slowly sliding in, and, oh, shit.
That’s wayyy thicker than the gun.
Satoru had already felt overstuffed when the thick, blunt head of the other man's manhood forced itself into him, yet somehow, the stranger managed to cram more of his length into him, making him feel even fuller than before.
Once again, Satoru Gojo does not have sex very often!
He’s out of breath, fighting for his life at the absolute mass stuffed inside his tiny pussy. As soon as he goes to speak, to beg for some time to adjust, the intruder starts moving.
“So fucking tight. Are you a virgin? Can’t be with the way you suck cock. Fuck, what the fuck.” The intruder babbles, pulling Satoru onto his cock with deep thrusts. He firmly plants his hips, and with the way Satoru’s back is arched he’s slamming directly against his cervix.
It hurts, Satoru can’t even lie, but it also feels so fucking good. The way that the stranger fills him up so easily, so thick and hot inside of him, conquering his cunt like this makes him want to cry.
“So full, fuck, you’re making me feel so fucking full.” Satoru whines breathlessly, moaning as the stranger picks up the pace. He makes a genuine effort to fuck him, leathered hands gripping his hips so rough he could leave bruises.
The sound of their skin slapping together and their mingled moans fill the room. Satoru grips the couch, tearing at the fabric. It’s so good. He fucks like he knows what he’s doing and Satoru loves it, loves every single pulse and throb inside of him.
The stranger pauses for a second to put a leg up on the couch before fucking into him again, angling his hips in a way that has Satoru loud.
He’s never felt anything like it before, the new angle hitting something crazy good inside of him. Satoru twists around, still half-draped over the back of the couch, and damn near loses his train of thought.
The guy’s pulled his mask up, probably to breathe a little easier, and it’s resting high enough to reveal a few dark, silky bangs brushing over his forehead.
Not at all what Satoru expected—he thought he’d catch some scruffy, pathetic-looking thief, but this?
This man is fine. Sharp jawline, intense eyes—way too attractive to be stealing from him. He needs to be modeling. The absurdity almost makes him laugh.
And, yeah, maybe it’s messed up, but the sight totally turns him on even more. Every feature gets burned into his mind, and he stays there, just taking it in, feeling a little thrill crawl up his spine.
The intruder reaches around and grabs his throat, pulling him back against his chest. And, fuck, it’s so much deeper this way. Satoru can practically feel the head of his cock bullying its way inside his cervix.
It’s just enough that Satoru feels it numb, pain turning to hot pleasure as the intruder digs in him.
"Are you crying?" The voice barely cuts through the haze of Satoru's own moans. He turns his head, and, yeah, he guesses he is—hot tears slipping down his cheeks as he looks up at the intruder, who actually pauses, breath catching.
Satoru lets out a soft whimper, and the intruder's control snaps. In an instant, he's pulling out, turning and pushing Satoru down against the couch, his hand firm around Satoru's throat. Satoru gasps looking up at him.
As the stranger climbs on top of him, it's clear he's given up on hiding his face. Satoru can't help but feel a rush of excitement; the guy is seriously eye candy, and he's glad to finally see him up close.
"Fuck, fuck, keep crying," he groans, voice thick and husky. "Let me hear you."
Satoru's eyes widened in shock, choked gasps spilling from his lips as the stranger's grip on his throat tightened. He lines himself back up with Satoru’s entrance and buries himself to the hilt with one thrust.
"Look at those pretty eyes. God, yes—keep crying on my cock, baby," the intruder grunts.
Satoru mewls and his legs wrap around the intruder in an instant. “Fuck—“ He chokes out, a sob raking through his vocal chords. His body arches into the intruder, pulling roughly at his clothing.
“I’m gonna make you my wife, yeah? Gonna put a kid in you, take care of you. You won’t have to worry about anything ever again. You’ll be mine.” The intruder’s words catch him off guard. He’s taken out of his headspace within an instant.
“Wait, no—no, no, I don’t want that, stop—” Satoru whimpers, pushing against his shoulder.
The intruder’s expression darkens, and within seconds, the warm, slick barrel of the gun is pressed to Satoru’s temple, his hips moving messily but his aim steady. The intruder’s breath is hot against his face, forehead pressed tightly against his.
“Say it. Tell me you’ll be my wife, or I’ll blow your fucking brains out.”
Satoru’s sobs grow louder, his voice breaking. He can’t say that shit— he doesn’t want that. “Please, no, stop.” He pleads weakly, terrified that he’ll be shot if he doesn’t obey what he says.
The man moves around, pausing his thrust to grind into him, and Satoru can swear he feels the head pop into his cervix.
The intruder’s hot breath brushes against Satoru’s ear, sending a shiver racing down his spine. “You’ll be so gorgeous, all round and glowing with my kid. Tell me you want it. Tell me now.”
Satoru whines, pushing against his shoulders instinctively, but the instinct to resist fades fast. He finds himself gripping the man tighter, drawn to the heat radiating from him despite the chaos surrounding them.
“I—I want your baby. Please, give me your baby. Make me yours,” he cries, the words tumbling out in a mix of desperation and submission.
It’s humiliating, and yet, he can’t stop himself.
Wrapping his arms around the intruder feels like the only thing keeping him tethered in this storm.
The stranger growls low, a possessive rumble that sends a thrill through Satoru. He grabs Satoru’s face, his grip firm but not unkind, allowing him a moment to breathe. But even that brief reprieve is tainted by the cold metal of the gun pressing against Satoru’s temple, a constant reminder of just how precarious this situation is.
Satoru locks eyes with the man, both fear and lust clouding his mind. There’s something dark and hungry in the stranger’s gaze that both terrifies and excites him.
As the man’s expression twists into something more primal, his pace quickens, and he starts slamming into Satoru with an intensity that leaves him breathless.
Each thrust hits like a jolt of electricity, making Satoru feel alive in a way he never expected. His heart races, not just from fear but from the overwhelming sensations flooding through him.
It’s like he’s caught in a whirlwind, teetering on the edge of something dangerous and intoxicating.
The intruder shifts, bracing one forearm against Satoru's head while his other hand lifts, shoving the gun into Satoru's mouth.
Satoru gags and moans around it, tasting himself, his cries muffled. He keeps his eyes locked on the stranger's, knowing that's what he wants.
If he wants tears, Satoru will give them.
If he wants a baby, he'll get that too.
He hates how much he craves this, how his body responds despite the wilting turmoil in his mind. The gun no longer scares him, it only enhances the pleasure he’s already feeling. And it feels so fucking good now.
“‘M gonna come. I’m coming—“ Satoru chokes out around the gun, his orgasm hitting him with unexpected force, his body writhing violently as he squeezes his eyes shut.
He’s on cloud nine, his legs trembling around the man’s form as his back arches instinctively, surrendering to the sensation. This was, without a doubt, the hardest he'd ever come in his life.
By the time he regained his senses, the gun’s out of his mouth and the man above him has stilled, buried balls-deep within Satoru's warmth. He could feel the stranger's essence filling him, hot and heavy, as his own body stretched taut around the intruder.
Satoru’s fingers flex on his shoulders before ultimately deciding on pulling the intruder closer, burying his face against his neck.
He’s so tired.
“Satoru.” The stranger’s voice returns to normal, sweet and gentle in his ear. Satoru’s body instantly relaxes, humming softly in response.
"Satoru. You still with me?" Suguru coos, pressing soft kisses across his face. Satoru groans and tightens his grip around him.
Suguru sighs contentedly and rubs his face against Satoru's neck, showering him with kisses there as well.
"You did so good. Did you have fun?" he asks, slowly trying to wiggle free from Satoru's embrace, but Satoru whines and pulls him closer instead. Suguru laughs, shifting to get comfortable in his hold.
"At least let me pull out." Satoru can feel Suguru grinning against his neck, and he makes a disapproving noise.
"Nope. You promised me a kid," he grumbles, wrapping his legs weakly around his boyfriend. Suguru snorts, surrendering and laying his head on Satoru's chest.
"You're right, I did."
The silence is comfortable, wrapping around them like a warm blanket. Before Satoru has the chance to drift off, lulled by the aftermath of their shared moment, Suguru speaks up, breaking the tranquil spell.
"When you told me you wanted our first time to be a little kinky, I didn't expect... this."
"Mhm. But you were definitely into it, right?" Satoru teases, a playful glint in his eye as he leans back against the couch, reveling in the intimacy of the moment.
"Definitely," Suguru replies, his voice warm with sincerity.
There's a brief pause, a moment of silence where Satoru feels the weight of Suguru's gaze on him. He lets Suguru shift, now laying comfortably on top of him, their bodies fitting together perfectly.
Satoru's thoughts drift to practical matters.
"You'll put my TV back, yeah? And my monitor? I never finished streaming."
"Mhm. I was thinking we could set it all up at my place instead," Suguru responds, a smile creeping onto his face.
Satoru's eyes snap open, surprise lighting up his features. "Really?" He searches Suguru's face for any sign of hesitation, but all he sees is a genuine smile.
Suguru nods, his expression softening.
"Really."
A grin breaks across Satoru's face, and he squeals with excitement, wrapping his arms tightly around Suguru.
"Let's get married! I'll give you as many babies as you want, I swear," he rambles, caught up in the moment.
Suguru bursts into laughter, the sound warm and genuine as he runs a hand soothingly down Satoru's back. "Sure, but first, I want to put some ice on that bruise you got."
Satoru groans, arching into Suguru's touch.
"You're so fucking hot. Do you know that?" The words tumble out before he can stop them. “Round two, come on, I’m ready.”
Suguru cackles.