akugyu - Tumblr blog

akugyu · 2 years

Text

𝑲𝒊𝒏𝒌𝒕𝒐𝒃𝒆𝒓 𝑫𝒂𝒚 7 | 𝑺𝒐𝒎𝒏𝒐

somnophilia: the desire to have sex with someone who is asleep.

pairing: gojo satoru x reader

summary: you've always talked in your sleep, but lately it's been strange. you never feel refreshed anymore, and you're plagued these vivid, lucid dreams.

dreams where you're talking in your sleep, and someone else is answering.

You've always talked in your sleep. When you were a kid, your mom would tell you that you have full conversations with yourself in the middle of the night.

Past romantic partners have either been annoyed by it or have found it endearing, but there's really nothing you can do to stop it either way. It's just a strange thing that you; everyone has their quirks.

Some religious fanatics would say that talking in your sleep is demonic, evidence that you've been visited by entities that seek to possess you.

Obviously that's ridiculous.

Lately, though, it's been... different, for lack of a better word. It started a couple weeks ago, when you'd wake up far more tired than you were when you went to sleep the night before.

You dismissed it and kept going with your life, and then coworkers started commenting on your eye bags.

"Did you get enough sleep last night?"

"Are you feeling okay?"

"You look tired."

"You look tired" is almost always synonymous with "you look awful," so you especially resent those comments. But just like your sleep talking, there's not much you can do about your perpetual exhaustion these days.

The weirdest thing is that you're sleeping just fine, all through the night without ever once waking up, but you look and feel like you haven't slept in days or weeks.

The answer eludes you, until tonight at 4:44 a.m., you notice that you're sleep talking.

You'd startle awake if you could, but you can't. You're stuck in this half-dreaming, half-waking cycle, where you can't move anything other than your mouth, and your mind is too foggy to figure out what's happening to you.

"Am I asleep?" You ask the open air, trying to figure out what the fuck is going on with you, but also not yet panicking for some reason.

Though you should, you can't panic. The air feels cool and refreshing, the blankets wrapped around you feel softer than ever, even your mattress feels more comfortable than it usually does.

Your bedroom smells strongly of jasmine and camomile. You can't open your eyes, but on the backs of your eyelids you see images of the ocean-- waves breaking at night, with bioluminescent sparkles of neon blue sprinkled throughout them like diamonds.

"Yeah, obviously," someone responds to your earlier question.

It's then that you notice the dip in the mattress on your right side, like someone's lying right next to you. Someone much larger and taller than you are.

"What's happening to me?" You ask, and you can hear the words slurring together with exhaustion as you speak them.

"Don't worry about it," the person responds.

You decide he's a man, based on the deep timbre of his voice. He sounds rather bored or annoyed with you, like he's rolling his eyes when he has to answer your questions.

A man lying next to you while you're talking in your sleep? This must be a dream, especially because you still can't find it within yourself to worry about the fact that he's there.

He just is. Like any other night.

"Do you want something from me?"

"Nope, wrong question to ask," he scolds, "what do you want from me?"

"I don't, uh... understand."

"C'mon, and don’t fall back asleep before you answer again, what's your biggest wish? If you could have anything in the entire world, what would it be?"

"Mm... a partner, someone to be with forever, like a soulmate, I think," you answer without thinking.

It's true. You don't desire wealth, fame, status, or anything material more so than you desire to be loved and appreciated. Cherished, adored.

If you weren't asleep, you might've picked something more valuable monetarily, but when he's pulling these questions out of the back of your psyche, you can only answer with absolute truths.

"Oh, for fucks sake," he groans, and you can definitely hear him rolling his eyes this time, "that's your answer? I could give you a million bucks right now, but you want a boyfriend."

"I'm... sorry?"

"Well, you should be, because a mansion feels a hell of a lot better than a hug," the bed shifts and creaks slightly, as he grumbles to himself at your answer, "I mean, do I look like fuckin' Cupid? Christ."

"I don't know what you look like."

"I know that," he snaps back at you, as you feel two hands on your body, spreading your legs apart.

He's hovering between them, you feel his eyes on your face-- you feel his glare.

"Alright, let's make a deal," he says, feigning enthusiasm, "you let me in, I find you someone to love you. Easy peasy, everyone wins. Sound good?"

"Hm... I don't know about that..." You reply, scrunching your eyebrows up at the very suspicious nature of this deal, as much as you can, given that you're asleep.

"Why not?"

"Mm... shouldn't sign contracts without reading them."

He sighs, "The contract is-- I'll feed on your energy, you'll like it. You'll belong to me, and you'll like that, too-- I promise."

He plays with your hair, twisting it around his fingertips while he awaits your answer, "It feels good," he promises in a low husky voice, "it feels really... fucking... good."

You let out a groan. More so than anything you'd like to either go back to sleep, or to wake up fully. This much contemplation is taxing when you're in the midpoint between wakefulness and sleep.

"How about I show you?" He purrs, leaning down closer, "you can say no, you can tell me to stop... if that's what you want to do."

You huff, irritated that he's bothering you, "Okay, show me."

Whatever, if it hurts you'll say no. You'll probably say no anyway. There's nothing that this figment of your own imagination can really offer you that you'd like, right?

A wet tongue laps at your earlobe, as you gasp weakly and try to move away from it. He laughs at your weak resistance, chasing you.

"Just so you know," he murmurs roughly, as he moves to kiss your neck, "I don't do this because I have to."

His teeth sink into your skin, hard.

"I do it because I enjoy it."

The jasmine in the air turns into warm vanilla, dark chocolate, pomegranate. The images that are burned into your eyelids fade away from the ocean, morphing themselves into something new.

Now, rather than seeing calming and relaxing images to dull your senses, your mind is flooded with erotic, sensual ones. Visions of you lying on your back on blood-red, silk sheets with your legs spread apart, moaning.

A white-haired man you've never seen before is licking your cunt, he's moaning into your pussy, he's devouring you like a starved beast. And then as soon as your legs are shaking in pleasure, you blink and the scene has changed.

Your tits are bouncing, face contorting in pleasure, as he fucks you roughly. He's lying on top of you, kissing, biting, sucking the column of your throat, leaving bruises in his wake.

His hair is too white, his teeth are too sharp, his tongue is too long, his hands are too big, he isn't human. He looks human, but the proportions are wrong, the energy is wrong.

And fuck if you aren't a goner already-- you don't mind it. Every nerve in your body is alight with delicious, mind-breaking pleasure, like you're in the middle of an orgasm the entire time.

And he fucks into you the way that primal beasts would, he fucks into you with enough pure energy to move the furniture around the two of you, and you can't stop cumming around his cock, even when you want to.

"Say yes for me, baby, you can do it," he moans in your ear, "give in to me, give everything to me. Take my fucking cum, and I'll give you the world in return. Anything you want is yours, everything you want is yours."

You try to resist the call to agree with him, you try to resist the urge. He flips you over onto your stomach, grabbing a fistful of your hair to tug your head back into an impossible angle.

You can't tell anything anymore-- if this is a dream, if this is reality, if you're you or you'd even care if you weren't. All you know is that there's cum dripping down the backs of your thighs, and there's a monster of a man massaging your clit.

"Do you like it, baby? Does it feel good?"

"I can't-- I can't--"

Everything is moving too fast, the walls are collapsing around the two of you. Nothing is real. Everything is real.

"You can't? Oh, I think you can."

The world shifts again, you're on top of him, you're riding him now. You don't know how long you've been in this place with him, but it feels like centuries have passed. Empires have risen and fallen in the time that you've been in this bubble of warped reality.

He sucks your nipple into his mouth, as you slide up and down the delicious length of his cock with leisurely rolls of your hips.

"Mm, it took me a while to figure you out," he comments from beneath you, as he shudders and moans in pleasure, "but I get it, baby. I get you."

"Hmm?" You mumble, cocking your head to the side, running your fingers through his hair.

It's hard to pay attention to what he's saying when he feels so good, when your clit grinds against his abdomen with every movement, when his hands caress and grope your body like he wants to memorize the curves.

He presses both palms to your cheeks, holding you at eye level with him while you envelop him into your warm cunt. The look in his eye is so sincere that you could almost believe him when he speaks.

"You want me to love you?" He purrs, thrusting up into you once as he says it, "want me to take care of you, tell you that you're the only-- fuck, you're tight-- the only thing that matters to me?"

"Yes," you whimper back, exhausted and too ruined to resist the call any longer. Your voice is barely audible over the slick, squelching sounds that fill the room of red walls, red sheets, red floors.

He releases your face instantly and lays back on the mattress, he chuckles arrogantly.

Every glimmer of sincerity in his eyes disappears when he mutters, "Fucking finally."

You're flipped over onto your back, as he starts to look less and less human by the second. You're confused, you're lost, you're dreaming, and everything is spinning back into chaos quicker than your lust-addled mind can keep up with.

"You're mine now until the end of the world, mine until the end of the universe," he rasps, grabbing your hips with both hands and holding you down to the mattress, letting his claws dig into your flesh.

His hand wraps around your throat, he leans up so that you can see his flushed face, the feral look in his eye, the sharp teeth that show when he gives you a salacious, devious, fucking evil smirk.

"I'll drag you to hell, and you'll thank me for it," he says with a taunting laugh, "you'll fucking beg me for more."

"Yes, yes, yes--- oh, yesyesyes," you should be fighting, or running, or screaming, but all you can do is plead with him.

The ceiling morphs into a pitch black sky, filled with glimmering stars, his fingernails (claws) dig into the sides of your throat until they draw blood. The universe itself is crashing down around the two of you, until your vision blacks out entirely.

His hips stutter, "Take it-- take my cum, baby. Fucking take it and thank me for it."

You whimper as you fall apart alongside him, feeling his seed gush into you like a river of burning, aching lava.

Maybe you've died. You can't be certain.

A fingertip presses to your forehead. The last words you hear before you fall completely unconscious?

"Pleasure doing business with you."

THE NEXT MORNING

Waking up the next day, you chalked it up to a fucked-up dream, sleep paralysis. It happens to lots of people, you aren't the first to see and hear things in your sleep.

However, when you roll out of bed to get ready for work, you see the marks. Lilac bruises appear all over your neck, extending down to your chest. Scratches sit on either side of your hips, the shape of claws.

Possessed.

The word comes to mind with ease, like it’s the first and most reasonable explanation. The only one that makes sense. You unknowingly agreed to a deal with him, and now he owns you.

Of course. That makes sense.

THREE DAYS LATER

It happens again, and you halfway wake up to the feeling of a long, thick tongue lapping at your clit, needy groans reverberating through your body.

The smell of roses clogs the air until it's hard to breathe, your dreams are filled with lewd, erotic images of you being fucked in every position by this mysterious, monstrous entity.

You can't see it, but you know the tip of that tongue is forked. You can tell by the way he laughs at you tauntingly when you cum. And you don't have any choice but to cum, he figures out your sensitive spots easily, quickly, and he abuses them.

With him tongue-fucking your sweet spots, making wet, loud, slurping sounds against your cunt, you fall apart. He eats pussy messily, like he’s trying to consume you more than please you. Spit and drool drip down your thighs, soak into the sheets.

"Mm, you taste so fucking good," he growls, "can't get enough of you--fuck, mm, cum on my tongue. Do it for me, cum on my face like a whore."

You fall apart again, the smell of roses and sex grows stronger.

He’s so good at pleasing you that you don’t even dislike it anymore.

SEVENTEEN DAYS LATER

He appears differently in each dream.

Sometimes he looks like a normal man, though far more beautiful than any man you've seen before. His hair is snowy white and soft to the touch. His skin is perfectly unblemished, his cheeks glow pink when he's fucking you. A long lithe body, a long pink cock.

His teeth are pearly white, sometimes they're sharper than others. Sometimes he has these sharp canines that dig into the plush swells of your tits.

You find that the worse his mood is, the more monstrous he appears to be in your dreams.

Sometimes he has six crystalline blue eyes framed by plush, white eyelashes. He’s a beautiful monster, even on his worst days.

It’s like he was made for you– you’ve always been drawn to the unknown, to the unordinary. Maybe you just didn’t quite realize it until after you met him.

Now you know it, though. You know, because the new voice in your head tells you so. And he always has comments for you throughout the day.

He started talking to you in the daytime a couple weeks ago, and you panicked, but you adjusted.

Acceptance comes easily when there's no other choice but to accept the unacceptable, apparently.

Your demon, if that's what you want to call him, has opinions. His voice is distinctively different than yours, his thoughts are far more aggressive and sexual in nature than yours tend to be.

And even more bizarrely than him speaking to you directly, with each day he grows more and more fiercely protective of you.

A lady cuts in front of you while you're in line for coffee, a grave mistake, if you were to ask your demon.

The sharp tongue that speaks through your thoughts says, "You're just going to let her get away with that?"

You shake your head, trying to shut him up. He's too quick to agitation. It's fine.

"Okay, fine, you don't have to cause a scene. Trip her when she's walking out."

You think the word no, you hear him scoff.

"Pussy. I'll do it myself."

You have no idea what that means, so you ignore it. He's never physically appeared to you in the daytime, there's probably nothing to worry about.

And yet when the rude woman in front of you rushes through the door, hissing something about "her fucking net worth" into her phone, she trips over the air, and she spills her coffee all over her expensive blouse. It was hot, too. That must've burned.

Holy shit. Don't do that!

You're thinking to yourself, but more so to him. You know that your thoughts sound crazy right now, but it's not like you can tell anyone what you're experiencing.

"Stand up for yourself, and I won't have to."

At the end of the day, you decide it was kinda sweet.

TWENTY-ONE DAYS LATER

You’re so used to him being there that you struggle to remember what life was like before him. Yes, he’s difficult to manage, and yes his inner monologue is often louder than your own.

Frankly, he’s fucking annoying sometimes, but he’s sweet, too (sometimes). After he opened up to you for the first time, you stopped disliking him as much, self-preservation be damned.

Satoru Gojo is his name, and yes he’s a demon who’s latched himself onto you. You were shocked to learn that he wasn’t always like this, though.

At one point he was a teacher, at one point he was a lot kinder, a lot less quick to anger. At one point, he was a very powerful person.

But the more powerful a person is, the stronger their spirit is when they die, especially if they die with an influx of strong emotions.

Satoru Gojo died with rage coursing through his veins to the last second, and then this newfound version of him was born. This new existence of him is vengeful, greedy, and arrogant— he admits it himself that his worst traits were exacerbated upon death.

It’s no surprise to you that in life he was very… sexually active, for lack of a better term. He said that other people have vices like drinking, gambling, smoking, coke.

Satoru used sex, and now he can’t stop having sex. It’s a hell of a punishment.

Satoru has told you many things about himself now, like when he described in great detail what he sees when you’re having sex. For you it’s a tantric acid trip of pleasure and agony all at once.

The words he says to you are from his psyche directly, they’re his most primal and also most feral, insane thoughts thoughts you’ve ever heard.

Fortunately for him, you think it’s kind of sexy when he loses his goddamn mind inside of you.

For him, it’s just soft mutters and whimpers coming from your mouth. The pliant nature of your body when you’re asleep, a wet, slick cunt sucking him in even though its owner’s conscious is nowhere to be found.

He says that even when you’re asleep, you spread your legs when he appears before you, like it’s your second nature to do so, like you want to be fucked into a coma.

You’re not sure if you fully believe him, but you know that you’re stuck with this existence now, so you might as well enjoy it. You might as well take every pounding with joy, because despite your own survival instinct telling you that you’re crazy for indulging in madness, it really does feel fucking good, just like he said it would.

SEVENTY-SEVEN DAYS LATER

Satoru appears in your bedroom like he usually does, he finds you sleeping soundly. His cock throbs, it aches for release in an all-consuming way that he’ll never be rid of.

Shouldn’t have been so horny in life, huh?

He walks over to you, tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, and he kisses your forehead. He’s not sure why he does that, if he’s started to like you, or if he’s started to… more than like you.

He didn’t really think either of those were possible when he found you, but possessing you has made him clingy with you, protective over you.

If he were a man of worship and faith, he’d say you’re god to him. Not only do you keep him alive, but you accept him for what he is.

He… regrets being so mean to you when he met you, but he was a ball of unadulterated rage before you softened him up.

Sharing a subconscious, the two of you have really rubbed off on one another. To some degree, you’re making him more like he was when he was a human.

And he’s making you… less human, but he doesn’t like to think about that.

He likes to think about how you’re clingy with him, he can tell by the way that your legs fall apart when he touches you. You’ll be wet already, it always happens when he appears before you.

“Hey, baby,” he croons, pulling your shirt up higher to expose your tits.

God, he’ll never get tired of these fucking tits. He’d die again just as fucked-up as he did the first time if it meant he’d get to lick your hard nipples in hell.

“Mm.. ah..S’to..ooh…” You reply, no doubt thinking that you’re saying something important.

He’s never told you that you don’t talk coherently enough in your sleep for him to understand what you’re saying, and that he’s always just listened to your thoughts instead.

It’s cute. He just think it’s cute.

He makes the atmosphere more romantic, he shifts your thoughts in the way that he wants them to go, he controls your dreams so that you’ll be making a puddle of slick in his palm if he reaches down between your legs to touch you.

Which he does, and he finds you dripping with cum. It makes his cock swell even harder, throbbing against his abdomen.

Satoru lazily runs his fingers through your folds, before pressing one into your wet hole. He aches to fuck you, but he needs to make sure you’re ready for it first.

So, he jerks himself off while he fingers you. Bucking into his hand, listening to the soft, sleepy whines that escape your mouth. Your hips lift up a fraction of an inch to meet his pulsing fingers, he almost cums.

Panting and grabbing the base of his cock to edge himself, he continues curling his digits inside your warmth until your breaths stutter, and your body floods with the relief of your release.

“That’s it, baby, there you go,” he coos, stroking himself again as he watches you finish.

Your legs fall limp on either side of you, your cheeks are flushed, and your cunt is slick with warm cum.

There’s no more holding back for Satoru. He lines himself up with your entrance, pressing the red tip of his cock to your clit and rubbing it, leaning over to suck your hardened nipple into his mouth.

You moan brokenly, thrusting your hips upwards. Your eyes are still closed, but your pleasure-stricken face looks the same as it would if you were awake.

Unable to resist temptation, he presses the tip inside of you, inching further and further into the warm, wet confines of your pussy.

It feels like heaven, you look like heaven. He’s so glad he gets to be your partner. Sure, you didn’t choose him for the job on your own, but your pussy tells him that you enjoy his presence just as much as he enjoys yours.

He thrusts into you, before pulling back out and slamming himself in to the hilt. You jolt and moan, your walls clench around him, your cum drips down his balls.

“God fucking damn,” he rasps, as you tighten around his length like a noose, “one day, baby, ooooh fuck. One day, I’ll steal enough energy from you to do this while you’re awake,” he promises.

It’ll be so much sweeter when you’re awake, when you’re accepting him and wrapping your legs around his waist whether he’s cursed or not.

But this is okay— he just needs this, he just needs to bury himself inside of you and kiss your open mouth and fuck you like a doll. This is enough, it’s enough for now.

Sensing his own end is near, he brings his thumb down to your clit and rubs tight circles there to get you off with him. He needs to see it, needs to see it one more time, one more time, and then he can—

You shiver, your walls contract, you let out an airy broken sigh, “S’toru.”

It’s the most coherent thing you’ve ever said to him, his balls tighten, he fucks you in short little thrusts to get himself off to the sound of it. His nails dig into your hips, and he’s sorry for it, but he can’t stop— not when he’s emptying everything out of himself inside of your clenching pussy, and you’re accepting it so graciously.

He feels stronger after fucking you, feels the perpetual soul-deep itch for sex and violence recede, if only for a little while. At the same time, he feels the call of the void, and he knows that he can’t stay here in this form for much longer.

Just a couple more months, he promises himself and you. A couple more months, and he can live with you permanently, he can grant his end of the deal.

And you’ll accept him for what he is, a vengeful spirit who adores you, because you already have.

#𓆸 velvet blossoms #JIN STOP READING SMUT AT WORK CHALLENGE #when i tell you #i have never in my LIFE #been more obsessed with a fic #this hit so fucking hard #i’m melting. i’m gone. i’m a bigger gojo simp than i was originally #demon gojo >>>>#the right amount of smut and fluff too?????#OP you have outdone yourself truly #i am mesmerized #jjk #gojo satoru

1K notes · View notes