๐๐ก๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ซ ~ ๐จ๐ธ๐พโ๐ป๐ฎ ๐ท๐ฎ๐ฟ๐ฎ๐ป ๐ช๐ต๐ธ๐ท๐ฎ.
Gojo Satoru has rituals.
Sick, depraved little rituals that he follows religiously.
Every night, once heโs sure youโre asleep, he breaks into your apartment. He doesnโt have to, not when he already has the cameras, the recordings, the stolen photos. But watching you through a screen isnโt enough.
He needs to be there.
He moves carefully. Silent. You never wake up, never sense him standing over your bed, watching the slow rise and fall of your chest. He studies the way you breathe, the tiny twitch of your fingers, the little furrow in your brow when you dream.
He touches things.
Not youโnot yet.
But your pillow, your blanket, your books. He drags his fingers over the worn pages, tracing the words your eyes have lingered on. He plucks a strand of your hair from the fabric and tucks it into his pocket like a keepsake.
Then he goes through your things.
Your laundry basket.
He digs through it, pulls out your underwear, and holds it up to his face. His breath comes out shaky, uneven, as he presses his nose against the fabric, inhaling. His cock stirs immediately, swelling against his jeans.
He grips it through the denim, gritting his teeth.
Not here.
Not when youโre so close. Not when one sound, one wrong move could wake you up, andโfuck, he wants that, wants to see the horror in your eyes, the fear, the realization that youโve never been safeโ
But not yet.
He forces himself to leave, slipping out as quietly as he came.
He doesnโt go far. Just back to his apartment, where your underwear is fisted in one hand, and his cock is in the other. He doesnโt even make it to the bedโhe shoves his pants down right there in the hallway, leans against the wall, and starts jerking off.
Itโs fucking filthy.
Heโs too big for his own grip, thick and heavy, his balls already tight with need. He strokes himself fast, desperate, the stolen fabric pressed against his nose, drinking in your scent like an addict.
His mind is full of you.
The way your lips part when you breathe, the little noises you make in your sleep. He imagines slipping into bed with you, pressing up behind you, feeling your soft body against hisโimagines your sleepy confusion turning into terror when you feel his cock grinding against you.
His hips jerk. His breath shudders.
โFuckโโ
His cum spills hot over his fingers, dripping down onto the floor, onto your underwear. He groans, hips twitching, body trembling with the force of his release.
And when heโs done, when heโs gasping, spent, his stomach sticky with his own messโ
He licks it off the fabric.
A slow, obscene drag of his tongue.
Then he folds it neatly, tucks it into his drawer, and gets ready for tomorrow.
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๐๐จ๐'๐ฌ ๐๐ซ๐จ๐ญ๐๐ ๐จ๐ง๐ข๐ฌ๐ญ 