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hollowghostsonfilm · 3 months ago

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[Fic] Yours, Yours, Yours [Sugu/Sato - NSFW 18+]

Summary:

Satoru keeps coming back. Not for love. Not for forgiveness. Not even for pleasure. He comes back because with Suguru, he can fall apart without being shattered. With Suguru, he can be touched without being destroyed. The fourth time he returns, there are no sunglasses. No jokes. No armor. Just silence, a collar, and the leash of something neither of them will name. This time, Suguru makes him say it. This time, Satoru breaks. And still, it’s not enough to stay.

Warnings: NSFW / 18+, Explicit Sexual Content, BDSM, Power Play, Dom! Geto, Sub! Gojo, collaring, leash kink, Orgasm Denial, gagging (consensual), Mirror Sex, Crying During Sex, Biting, non-verbal safe words, Unspoken love confessions, Mutual Destruction, intimacy issues, Repressed Emotions, Canon Divergence, Geto defected but Gojo still has sex with him

Previous Part

AO3 Link or Read below:

The fourth time that Satoru comes back, he doesn’t make a joke at the door to Suguru’s bedroom. No sunglasses this time. No smirk. No posturing. Just silence. The kind that hums low in the bones, like the stillness before a storm.

Suguru doesn’t say anything either, just steps aside, lets him in.

He’ll always let him in. Kill order or no.

The door closes behind them with a soft click, sealing the tension into the space like incense smoke. Familiar. Heavy. Dangerous.

Satoru doesn’t move to touch him.

He just stands there, hands at his sides, fingers twitching like they’re not sure what to do if they’re not working through mudras or slipping past defences. His eyes flick up to Suguru once, then drop again.

Suguru watches. He catalogues the details. What is different, what has changed, but what has remained the same.

Satoru looks exhausted. Not just tired. No, he looks frayed. Cheekbones sharper than usual. Hands trembling at rest. Like he’s holding himself together by sheer force of will, and that will is starting to rot him from within.

The world does not deserve Gojo Satoru.

Suguru walks across tatami to the bed.

Satoru follows.

The collar is tucked beneath Suguru’s futon, and he kneels down to pick it up before straightening. It’s black leather with a silver buckle. A D-ring at the front. Suguru hasn’t used it before, but he’s kept it here, on the off-chance that he and Satoru ever made it from the reception room to the bedroom.

What a lucky day.

“Strip. On your knees.”

He doesn’t have to look to know that Satoru hesitates. Just for a breath. Before he obeys. Just like that. For all his talk of rebellion, ultimately, Satoru always does.

His jacket hits the floor first, followed by the white shirt he always wears beneath them. Suguru turns to watch the show. Watching how Satoru’s hands shake. Not with fear, Suguru knows that much. But with restraint.

When Satoru sinks to his knees, naked and bowed, Suguru steps forward and crouches in front of him. He hangs the collar in front of Satoru’s face from one finger, right in front of his nose.

“You don’t speak unless I tell you to.”

Satoru swallows. Always a hard rule for him to follow.

Suguru wraps the collar around Satoru’s throat slowly, deliberately. He feels the way Satoru’s pulse jumps under his fingers, feels the tension coil like wire beneath the other man’s skin. He watches as Satoru’s adam’s apple bobs.

He closes it with enough room to fit his fingers beneath and then attaches the piece de resistance. The leash. Suguru stands up, walking around so that he’s at Satoru’s back, watching as Satoru’s shoulder blades draw together. He knows he hates it when he can’t see him, the feeling of vulnerability of having his back to what his brain tells him is an enemy.

Suguru would never attack him in this situation though. There are rules.

He pulls on the leash and Satoru is forced to tilt back, spine straightening. His hands go up to it on instinct, resting against the leather. Suguru tugs again and there it is. That flicker in Satoru’s eyes. Not fear or submission. Relief.

Suguru doesn’t speak for a long moment. He just watches him. Studies every inch of the man kneeling at his feet. The way Satoru’s spine stays straight, even if his head bows; the way his breathing stutters; the way his fingers curl into fists like he’s trying to hold onto something tight enough to draw blood.

Satoru looks up at him through white eyelashes, lips parted, mouth already pink from biting his lip.

He’s still beautiful.

He’s still Suguru’s.

Suguru drags fingers down the name of his neck, along the curve of his shoulder. He hums to himself, and then pulls a koshihimo from his sleeve. He always kept one to tie his sleeves back, and now it’ll do perfectly. He walks around Satoru to face him again.

“Open your mouth.”

Satoru does without hesitation.

Suguru slips the koshihimo between his lips. Soft and wide enough to muffle, but not choke him. He ties it firmly at the back of Satoru’s head, knuckles brushing against the buckle of the collar as he tightens the knot.

Then he leans forward to press a single kiss to Satoru’s forehead.

“There. Now you can’t accidentally break the rules.”

There’s a quiet, muffled sound. Agreement. Submission. Perhaps thanks.

Suguru holds up a single finger. “Green.” He holds up a second finger. “Amber.” He holds up a third finger. “Red.”

Satoru’s eyes are slightly glazed, but he nods, and his right hand uncurls to show a clear single finger.

Suguru smiles, just a little.

Then he takes his time.

He pushes Satoru down onto his back on the futon. He arranges Satoru’s hands up above his head, somewhere he can view them clearly, and presses on them. A clear command to keep them there. Every moment is slow, careful, intentional. Satoru keeps his arms there without even needing to be told, his eyes tracking Suguru’s even move.

Suguru kneels between his thighs, fingers trailing lightly down the inside, stopping just short of his cock. Satoru’s already half-hard, and his cock twitches when he sees Suguru look at it.

Suguru doesn’t touch it.

Not yet.

Instead, he reaches for the leash still clipped around Satoru’s throat and wraps it once around his hand.

“Tonight, you only get what you earn.”

Satoru’s hips buck slightly, a helpless, needy motion. Suguru slaps the inside of his thigh, hard, leaving a pink handprint against the pale skin.

“Still.”

A muffled whimper in response.

Suguru leans forward and cups Satoru’s jaw, tilting his head back so that Satoru has to look him in the eye. Satoru tries not to for half a second, before those beautiful blue eyes lock onto him.

“Good. Now breathe.”

He runs a hand down Satoru’s chest, circling a nipple, then teasing it with a light pinch, not enough to hurt but enough to provoke. Then he moves to the other. Then lower…

Satoru’s breath hitches in anticipation. Those pretty eyelashes flutter. Suguru half-expects him to buck up, but he doesn’t move. Not this time. Suguru finally brushes the pad of his thumb over the leaking tip of Satoru’s cock in one devastating stroke and watches as Satoru breaks just a little.

“You’ll come tonight,” Suguru purrs. “Eventually. But not until your body tells me the truth.”

Satoru’s pupils are blown wide, but the gag swallows any word he might have said in response.

Suguru drags his tongue slowly across his own bottom lip, watching as those eyes track the movement feverishly, then he leans over Satoru’s body. His hair drags over Satoru’s stomach, and he can see the shiver that produces.

“Why do you keep coming back here, Satoru?” he whispers into the other man’s ear.

Suguru doesn’t expect an answer. Not yet. The gag guarantees that there won’t be one anyway. He’s not looking for words. He’s not sure Satoru even knows how to put it into language.

He wants the flinch, the twitch, the jerk of hips when he drags two fingers down the underside of Satoru’s cock and stops just before the head. He wants the frustrated moan caught in that pretty gagged mouth when Suguru leans down and spits on him instead of giving him what he wants.

He watches as Satoru’s eyes flutter, cheeks flushed and burning. His fingers are twitching above his head, but when Suguru glances at them, Satoru dutifully shows him one finger.

He’s not fighting it. Not really.

He’s holding on.

Barely.

“You look good like this,” Suguru murmurs, mouth still close to Satoru’s ear. “Holding yourself back. Quiet.”

A sound escapes the gag, high and choked. Satoru turns his head left, but Suguru grabs his chin and forces him to look to the right instead.

At the mirror that Suguru usually uses to put on his robes, but right now is perfectly placed for Satoru to see himself.

“Look,” Suguru says. “Look at how pretty you are when that mouth stops lying.”

Satoru whimpers. His cock twitches again. Tears gather at the corners of his eyes, lashes damp, and his chest heaves like he’s on the edge of something. Pain or pleasure or confession, Suguru doesn’t know.

A quick glance at Satoru’s hands grants him a Green.

Suguru reaches down and strokes Satoru again, slow and tight and unrelenting. Satoru bucks up into the touch, hips stuttering, gag muffling what sounds like a sob.

Suguru stops immediately, letting go. Satoru’s whole body tenses, trembling in frustration.

“You don’t get to come until your body tells me you’ve earned it.”

Suguru runs a finger over the collar, slow and deliberate.

“Why did you come back here, Gojo?”

The use of Satoru’s last name is intentional. Cold. Distant. Designed to trigger something in Satoru that is beyond the physical. It works almost too well. Satoru’s lower lip trembles, his hips lift again. He wants to answer. He wants to please.

Suguru hums. “Not enough. You want your voice back? You want to beg for me to touch you?”

Satoru nods frantically.

Suguru continues to watch him, wrecked, flushed, crying, and Suguru has barely touched him.

“Earn it.”

Suguru moves down Satoru’s body again, mouth hot, fingers cruel, stroking him just enough, then leaving him there. Hard enough to hurt. Hurt enough to need.

Then he stops.

He does it over and over.

By the third denied orgasm, Satoru is sobbing through the gag, his whole body slick with sweat. His neck is flushed red where the collar rests against his skin.

Suguru sees the moment it happens, the moment he knows he’s got Satoru to that headspace he needs. Then, only then, does he reach out and pull the gag from Satoru’s mouth.

“Now, say it.”

Satoru gasps, broken and breathless.

“Because…” Satoru chokes, his voice scratchy, “because I don’t know where else it’s safe to fall apart-“ He doesn’t finish the sentence.

Suguru strokes him again, painfully slowly in response.

“Again.”

Satoru moans. “Because I want to break. I want you to break me. I want – fuck, I want you to hold me together again after.”

Suguru stills.

That truth hangs between them, hot, wet, and trembling. The truth that, no matter what fucked up things happen, they are still the only ones who can understand the other. The only ones who can fit together this way. So perfectly.

Suguru leans down and kisses him, hard. Tongue deep, stealing Satoru’s breath from his lungs, dominating his mouth until Satoru’s lips are red from being bitten.

“Come for me, Satoru.”

But Satoru doesn’t come. Not straight away. Even after that confession, raw, ragged, scraped out of his throat like a wound, his body trembles on the edge but he holds.

His hips twitch, his breath stutters, his cock strains against the air, still flushed and weeping, but he still doesn’t let go.

Suguru sees it.

That last bastion of stubborn pride. That flicker of control that Satoru still tries to cling to, like not falling apart completely will save him from the fucked up mess of this world. Will save him from this.

From Suguru.

“Still holding on?” Suguru murmurs, lips grazing his cheek. “After all that?”

Satoru’s mouth works around a dry swallow. “I can-“

Suguru slaps him. Not cruelly, not hard enough to truly hurt. No, this was meant to ground. Remind Satoru what coming here means. What is between them. What is agreed.

Satoru gasps, tears sliding from the corners of his eyes and into his hair. His hands clench and Suguru glances up at them, but all he gets in response is a one again. Satoru’s thighs spread apart a little further in response.

Suguru grabs the leash again, tugging on it, and pulling Satoru forward just enough to press their foreheads together.

“I will break you then. It seems so far I’ve only got you halfway.”

Satoru whimpers.

“I’m going to watch you break, Satoru. All the way. And when there’s nothing left, when there’s no walls, no pride, no lies, I’ll hold what’s left of you in my hands and remind you who you belong to.”

It’s the closest thing to ‘I love you’ that Suguru has ever said.

He forces Satoru’s face towards the mirror again.

“You think you’re not there yet? Look at yourself.”

Satoru does. Suguru can see in his eyes that it ruins him. His own reflection, cheeks flushed, lips swollen, chest sheened with sweat. That tight collar around his throat, his legs spread, cock twitching and the leash leading back to Suguru’s hand.

Suguru kisses his shoulder, then his jaw, then his temple.

“You’re beautiful when you like to yourself,” Suguru whispers. “But you’re gorgeous when you break like this.”

Satoru shakes his head, his voice coming out small and cracked. “I can’t.”

Suguru moves so that he’s behind Satoru now, slowly moving the other man where he wants him. He undoes his own robes, knowing that Satoru is watching in the mirror. He reaches between Satoru’s legs and his brows quirk when he finds Satoru already wet and soft.

“You came prepared, did you?” He chuckles, but the thought that Satoru didn’t just come here on a whim, but spent time somewhere, slowly fingering himself open for Suguru’s cock is a thrilling thought.

Suguru holds Satoru open like something precious, lifting his hips just enough to line himself up.

“You can. You can let go with me.”

He stops short of being inside Satoru. The head of his cock nudging against his entrance, and he waits. Satoru gasps like he’s been plunged into cold water.

“Suguru-“

“No,” Suguru says, calmly. “Don’t call my name if you’re not going to say it.”

He reaches around to grab the leash again, a sharp pull that causes Satoru to arch back, his body trembling in anticipation.

“Tell me what you want.”

Satoru shakes his head, eyes wild in the mirror.

“I told you – I told you –“

“You’ve told me some things. Now tell me what you want.”

Satoru moans, shaking his head even harder. “I don’t… I don’t know.”

Suguru jerks the leash again and Satoru jerks with a cry.

“Try.”

Another pause.

The head of Suguru’s cock presses a little harder like a promise. Just enough to breach the outer ring of muscle, but not enough to push inside.

Satoru sobs.

“I-fuck-I want-“ he gasps, frustration curling in his chest like claws. “I want you to break me.”

“You already said that. Don’t bore me.”

“I want-“ Satoru’s voice cracks, lower how. Honest. “I want you to ask me to stay again.”

Suguru stills. He hadn’t expected that. Satoru’s body shudders, his eyes are wet, his lips trembling. He’s looking at himself in the mirror and seeing himself torn down to the wire, heart bear and body open.

Suguru watches as he slumps forward slightly, pressing his cheek into the futon, body finally surrendering.

“Please. Sugu. I want you.”

Suguru exhales so hard it hurts.

“Say that again.”

“I want you.”

“Say your mine.”

Satoru moans like the words cut straight through him. “I’m yours.”

Satoru says it like it’s breaking him. Suguru still doesn’t move, doesn’t push in. He doesn’t even breathe. He stays where he is, cock poised, body pressed close.

Satoru makes a sound, choked and wet, like he’s not sure if he’s being punished.

“Suguru…” he whispers again, but his voice is softer, pleading. Vulnerable in a way Suguru has never heard before.

Suguru rests his hand on Satoru’s hip, not pinning him. Just feeling how much he’s trembling.

“Say it again.”

“I want you. I’m yours.”

“Mean it this time.”

“I-“ Satoru swallows hard. “I meant it before.”

“Then why are you crying?”

Satoru stiffens, like that hit something real in him, then he deflates, shoulders slumping, arms slack, his breath catching low in his lungs.

“Because I don’t want it to be true,” he whispers.

Suguru hums low in his throat, but he’s not angry. He knew this already. That Satoru can’t accept happiness with someone who has done what Suguru has done.

Well, he can’t undo the past, nor will he change his convictions. He will work with what they have, and that will have to be enough.

He leans forward, pressing his chest along Satoru’s back, speaking low and careful.

“You said it, Satoru. You’re mine.”

Satoru nods, a broken, stuttering little movement.

Suguru shifts the leash in his hand. “You think I’d let anyone else see you like this?”

Satoru whines.

“You think I’d let anyone else touch you like this?”

“No-“

“You think I’d let you fall apart in someone else’s arms?”

“No- I don’t want – fuck – no!”

“Say it again.”

“I’m yours,” Satoru whispers, and this time there’s no hesitation. No resistance. Just ruin.

Suguru ghosts his lips against Satoru’s neck. “Good boy.”

He holds him for along moment, letting Satoru watch them in the mirror like this. Together, but for a moment. Beautiful and surrendered. Thighs shaking. Suguru’s hand ghosts over his side, down his ribs, over the curve of his hip, learning the lines of him.

Suguru leans in close, his lips brushing the shell of Satoru’s ear.

“We do this, then you leave. You come to me, you bed for me to ruin you, then sleep in my bed and leave in the morning. You pretend it didn’t happen.”

Satoru doesn’t answer.

“You don’t get to pretend anymore, Satoru. You see yourself in that mirror. See what you look like when you’re all mine.”

Satoru nods, dazed.

“Yeah, I see it.”

Suguru smiles against his shoulder and finally, finally shifts. Satoru’s whole body is trembling.

And Suguru moves. Spreads Satoru wide and slides in slow. Deep. Relentless. He picks up the leash again, pulling it just tight enough to make the collar pull and Satoru cries out. Not from pain, Suguru suspects, but from relief.

He can see it in the mirror, the way something clicks into place behind Satoru’s eyes. The way his eyes roll back, his mouth falls open, his spine arches and his hands spasm helplessly to stop from reaching.

Satoru is hot and tight and Suguru savours every twitch of his body while inside him.

“That’s it,” Suguru moans low in his throat.

Satoru chokes on a gasp as he tries to breath through the rush of sensation as Suguru begins to move, grinding in deep.

“Keep looking at yourself. Keep watching what you let me do to you.”

Satoru does.

Suguru wonders what he sees. Truth? Power? Love?

Or just himself being fucked open by the only man who he allowed to touch him until he fell apart.

“Say it again.”

“I’m yours,” Satoru sobbed.

“Again.”

“I’m yours – fuck – Suguru – I’m-“

He doesn’t finish the sentence because he’s coming. Hard. Without a single touch to his cock.

Just from being taken, just from watching himself in surrender. From Suguru’s voice, from his cock, from his presence filling every part of him that he tried to keep untouchable. He breaks apart with a cry so full of grief and gratitude that it barely sounds human.

Suguru holds him through it, fucks him through it, doesn’t stop even when Satoru has gone soft, wrecked and sobbing, drool on his chin and tears on his chest.

“Yours. Yours. Yours.”

Suguru doesn’t know if he even knows he’s saying it. It doesn’t matter. He fills Satoru soon after, pulling Satoru’s limp, twitching body against him, biting into his shoulder.

The bite must have brought Satoru back from wherever he’d gone, because he’d stopped babbling.

Suguru holds him through the final grind of his hips, and then he stays in him, pressing a kiss to the bite mark that he’d just left on the pale skin in front of him. He unclipped the leash.

And waited.

It takes a minute before Satoru moves at all. A tremor that is more reflex than choice. A wet inhale, a choked exhale.

Then, “Suguru?”

His voice is ruined. Just a rasp, as if speaking will tear something open again.

Suguru brushes the hair from Satoru’s eyes and cups his cheek gently, guiding that beautiful face away from the mirror to look at him directly.

“I’ve got you.”

Satoru’s eyes flutter, rimmed red, but soft.

“I can’t move,” he whispers.

“I know.”

“I’m a mess.”

Suguru chuckles softly. “You’re beautiful.”

Satoru lets out a huff that’s an attempt at a laugh, but it dissolves half way through. His lower lip wobbles.

“Can I bring my arms down?”

“Not yet.”

Satoru doesn’t fight it. He just closes his eyes, breath trembling.

Suguru presses his forehead to Satoru’s temple, holding him there. Lets the heat settle between them, sex fading to stillness.

Satoru starts to breathe deeper, slower, his shoulders slowly sink.

When he’s sure Satoru is ready, he finally whispers:

“Stay.”

Satoru swallows and Suguru leans forward to kiss the corner of his mouth.

“You don’t have to join me. Just don’t leave in the morning.”

Satoru’s voice is smaller than it’s ever been. Barely audible.

“I can’t.”

Three fingers.

Suguru backs away, pulling out of him and rolling over to get his robe. “You can let your arms down now.”

Satoru does so, rolling his shoulders. He reaches up to remove the collar around his neck as well, discarding it to one side carelessly.

“I can stay for the night though,” Satoru offers, a half way compromise that Suguru doesn’t want to accept but has no choice but to.

Satoru looks up at him, then slowly reaches up his arms with a wince. Asking to be held.

Suguru’s heart feels like it will jump out of his chest. He lies back down again, pulling Satoru into his arms tightly. He was made to be here. Why can’t he see that?

Suguru pulls Satoru against his chest, fingers curling around the hand that snakes across his stomach. Minutes pass, and Suguru thinks that Satoru has fallen asleep until he speaks again.

“Do you hate me?”

The question is small and crooked. Like it was never meant to take up air.

Suguru’s breath stills in his chest. “No.”

Satoru shifts a little. Exhales. “I don’t hate you either. Even though I should.”

Suguru closes his eyes, breathing in deeply. Tomorrow will come, and Satoru will leave, but he’ll be back again.

They belong to each other.

#satosugu #jjk fanfiction #stsg #dom geto suguru #sub gojo satoru #intimacy issues #break me then hold me #sex as communication #satosugu brainrot

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