tw - fem!reader, kidnapping, non/consensual touching, gojo being gross. i have a very high fever. assume this is unrelated.
“She’s pretty sick.”
“She is, Satoru.”
“Think she’s gonna throw up?”
“No, Satoru.”
“Like, at all?”
“Why do you sound disappointed?”
Above you, Satoru frowned. He was straddling your stomach, a knee planted on either side of your waist, leaning so far down that his forehead nearly touched yours. On any other day, you might’ve been able to deal with his enthusiastic disregard for personal space, but on any other day, you wouldn’t be running a temperature more commonly found on the surface of the sun. Your chest ached from coughing and your eyes refused to stay open for more than a minute at the time. A romantic, poetic part of you thought it might be your body physically rejecting the two men who’d been holding you captive for months, now, but more realistically you knew it was probably just a head cold.
The mattress dipped next to your head. A cool, scarred palm pressed against your forehead, lingering for a moment before pulling back with a click of the tongue. Suguru. He’d started his mother-hen routine as soon as you’d admitted (stupidly, in hindsight) to feeling a little sick and had yet to give it up. Part of it must’ve been nostalgia. His daughters were in their late teens. It’d been years since he’d had anything soft and vulnerable to dote on. But, as you glared at him through watery eyes, you would’ve sworn there was something else there. An edge. A shadow. The slightest, barest hint of anger that there was anything on this planet that could hurt you other than him.
But then you blinked at it was gone, replaced by stoic neutrality as he snatched a bottle off the bedside table and twisted off the childproof cap. You felt something pressed being pressed against your lips and pursed them tighter, in response. Suguru sighed.
“It’s just medicine, sweetheart.”
Yeah, right. You’d heard that one before.
Your voice was all grit. Driveway gravel lubricated with battery acid and strained through a sandpaper funnel. “…label.”
Suguru rolled his eyes, but handed the bottle over anyway. You forced yourself to sit up, lasting just long enough to scan over the bold-font logo and excessive use warnings that you would be gleeful ignoring before collapsing back onto your pillow and letting Suguru place the pill on your tongue. It tasted like chalk and misery, which was somehow still better than the god-awful herbal tea he gave you to help swallow.
Meanwhile, Satoru watched it all, unmoving and unblinking. He tended to do that whenever Suguru was pampering you – forget he was part of scene and relegate himself a silent, observant feature of the background. He only came back to himself when you sniffled, ducking your head to sneeze into your comforter. A smile pulled at the edges of his lips, one of his hands reaching up to ghost over the curve of your jaw. “You’re kind of hot like this. All helpless and whiney, I mean.”
He moved to cup your chin. Suguru caught his wrist. “Don’t even think about it.”
“That’s not fair,” he pouted. “How come som virus gets to be inside of her and I can’t?”
This question was swiftly and mercifully deemed too stupid to answer. Suguru pushed himself to his feet and Satoru sighed languidly, flopping onto the bed next to you. “It’s not like I’ll catch anything. World’s Strongest Sorcerer, remember?”
“That doesn’t mean you can’t get sick, idiot.”
“But what if it doe—”
You cut him off with a conveniently timed coughing fit. The ugly type – prolonged and hacking, forceful enough to leave you panting while your throat burnt. Satoru grinned. Before Suguru could stop him, he threw himself into you and licked a long stripe over your open mouth, then laughed as you groaned and swatted him away.
“See?” he asked, smirking at Suguru. “Nobody died.”
Suguru responded by pitching the bottle of pills at his co-kidnapper, nailing Satoru in the head with enough force to crack the plastic.
Exactly one week later, well after you’d recovered, Satoru would find himself tucked into the same bed, coughing and sneezing while Suguru held you in his lap on the living room couching, whispering sweet nothings and going on about how glad he was to have you all to himself just loudly enough to be overheard.
i’m sorry ive been gone, ive had a really hectic time but always in a good way. so many new opportunities and chances to learn new skills. happy i could take some time to update my blog on here!
i will be spamming your timeline today with all the art ive made after leaving tumblr, tw its juicy as hell 😈
feel free to block me if it becomes oversaturated with bunni content :3!
Real ones know it’s YAN ALPHA SHOUTO AND YAN MEGUMI AND YAN KUROO THATS WHERE WE BEEN AT ✌🏾
humbly begging for a part 2 my precious queen pleaseee🧎🏾♀️
EXACTLY!!!! to the day i'm still mad that the yan kuroo doesn't have any interactions i genuinely think that's one of my best works.
i will die on the hill that yan megumi and yuta are the best jjk yans. ever. you can fit so many issues into those bad boys.
speaking of buckle or yield, i used to be mad that the yan alpha shouto also didn't get much love but occasionally it'll get a reblog or a like so i'm happy. ive been wanting to do a p2 to that one SO bad. i definitely think i will becaus theres something missing and that i could expand on in another installment
PLS MAKE PART 2 OF DELIRIUM AND MY LIFE IS YOURS 💔💔
hi anonja! i'm only responding to this one in particular because you are actually the third person to request this (i suppose it suddenly blew up??) and i already started writing the request fic out on another ask. but yes, long story short, i will and it will get written eventually.
I really really really REALLLYYY love your yan gojos as much as everybody does🥹🥹 Are we going to see more of him?🥹🥹🥹🥹
yes anonja, yan gojo seems to be a hit with everyone. i really enjoy writing him, but he is a very complex character (even without the yandere tendencies) so it's very challenging for me to write him. especially since characterization is really important to me.
but to answer your question : yes! there is the part 2 of the yan sherrifjo in the works. and in the future, i plan on writing for yan fratjo (which will be another 2 part installment).
however, i do want to branch out a bit for other jjk yandere's as well as my other fandoms. i don't want to be known as just a jjk blog or a yan gojo blog. so it'll probably be a while before i post those drafts i mentioned.
A poor scholarship student disrupts the fragile hierarchy that keeps Hakuho Academy standing.
tags. no blue lock • boarding school au • class gaps • codependency • unhealthy friendships • scholarship student reader • dark nagireo • drugging • threesome • alluded non-con
i was originally going to do this for satosugu...but i figured theres probably like, a dozen boarding school aus with those two.
dont worry about how none of the education makes sense at this supposed boarding school. i combined the social scene of a kdrama with the academic competitiveness of a british ivy league and the (very questionable) ethics of an american university
Early on, Reo had learned that most of the worlds problems could be solved with money.
Silence and affection—both could be bought. A lot of fuss, typically, but Reo saw uses in people that many did not.
A well timed gift. A discreet favor. A quiet promise or a sharp cutting threat. Money was the world's currency that bought all of those things and Reo had more than enough.
At Hakuho Preparatory Academy, the Mikage name held substantial weight and value. His name meant money and his name meant an ancient, iron clad reputation.
But you...you were immune to those things. You had a reputation too. Reo was sure that even if you knew what it was, you wouldn't have cared. In all of the ways that mattered to the students at Hakuho Academy, you were no one.
A scholarship kid. Poor. Kids had been shunned for less grievous offenses. You could not wave a hand and make your problems disappear. You arrived wearing a uniform a size too small and terribly tailored. Your loafers had seen better days. Where other girls smelled of luxury, the scent of department store vanilla and coconut followed you around.
By those accounts alone, your future should have been set in stone. A nobody. Reo knew how they treated scholarship kids—who were brilliant on paper but worth nothing in reality. Kids who were only admitted because of taxes paid by real Hakuho Academy students.
And brilliant you were. But you were unpredictable. Something no one had been able to control. Not Reo. Not anybody. A storm that refused to bend. Rock that refused to erode.
You challenged professors, faculty and students openly. You outscored Reo, and other legacy students without apology. You did not bend when students went for the cheap shots. Your tongue was sharp as steel and your mind quicker still. You turned your peers around and inside out, without resulting to petty squabbles and tricks.
You refused to adhere to the social hierarchy that kept Hakuho Academy alive.
You were interesting, and for that reason alone, Reo had to have you. And because Reo wanted you, Seishiro did too.
Sunlight filtered through tall, arching windows. The student lounge at this time was empty. No one came in when Reo did, unless he wanted them to.
He hadn't wanted anyone here but Seishiro, because Seishiro liked the quiet and the hum of the vending machines and the fact that the student lounge connected all of their major classrooms together and in an agreeable distance from their dorm room.
In his lap, Seishiro made a clear whine and the sounds from his mobile game fell quiet as his phone dangled precariously from his hand. Reo chuckled softly and resumed carding through his hair as ordered. What his treasure wants, his treasure gets.
This bubble of tranquility continued on for half an hour more, before the doors opened. Moment now broken, Reo's eyes snapped to the doors of student lounge, annoyed.
That annoyance bubbled out of him immediately once he saw that it was only you.
Of course you wouldn't respect the unspoken rule that the student lounge was his and no one could come in while the doors were closed. Reo watched with deliberate precision as you crossed the floor and moved over to the vending machines.
If you noticed Reo and Seishiro sitting on the couches, you said nothing. You didn't even look their way. By now, his treasure had once again paused his game, head moving in Reo's lap as he fixed his gaze on you.
You seemed to be stuck between two choices for a while. Reo clicked his tongue, and obediently, Seishiro lifted his head from his lap. He rested against the arm of the couch instead and watched, ever quiet.
Reo's mouth curved into a smile as you still refused to acknowledge him—even when he had moved to stand right beside you. Your eyes drifted from the box of cookies and cream pocky to a bottle of water as if you were making the hardest decision in the world.
At last, you sighed. You pulled your wallet from the inner pocket of the school issued blazer (this time, fitting properly). It was, like the rest of your personal things, far from new. The brown leather was fading. In some places, there was no leather at all.
Reo's last gifts to you had gone under with very little success. He quickly learned you were not moved by the expensive watch, or designer phonecase or discreet third-party offers from threatened staff. The Prada loafers pulled a snort from you directly. And you left them sitting there; on the corner of your desk. You did not take them with you when class dismissed.
You pushed the first bill into the machine and cursed when it was returned. Not straight enough—and you had put it in backwards, anyway. You pulled the bill free, and rolled it straight on the corner of the vending machine.
Reo cancelled your order. Now you seemed to register his presence. His fingers were quick, measured, not too eager—even though that was exactly what he was.
"I think we got off on the wrong foot" He said, pressing both the water bottle and box of pocky into your hands. Why choose between anything, if Reo was there? He'd give you anything you wanted.
You stared at his face for a moment, and then drifted down to the peace offering in each of his hands. You clearly seemed to be considering the implications of accepting such an innocuous gift.
Again, there was that brilliance.
"I don't want anything from you, Mikage" You said slowly, with narrowed eyes.
"Of course not" Reo agreed, giddy and smiling. He liked the way you said his name. He'd have you saying his given name soon, no doubt about it. He jostled his hands again anyway. "Don't tell me you are too proud to even accept a small gift like this from a friend?"
"We're not friends" Came your immediate response. But you took the pocky and the water anyway, warily shooting him a concerned look—like you were expecting him to take it away.
To that, Reo said nothing. Instead, he steered the conversation in another direction. "Have you found a group for Dr. Ego's research proposal yet?"
Reo knew you hadn't. The moment Dr.Ego announced the project, your face had gone grim. He watched as you had stared down at your desk with intense focus while your peers turned to one another, eagerly grouping up.
Leaving you out of the fray. No surprise there.
"No" You said, again with the wary tone. "I was going to ask if I could do it alone"
Reo laughed. "All twenty pages of it? Alone? And the presentation as well?"
"Yes."
"On top of all of our other coursework?"
Here, you paused. "If that's what it'll take, then yes"
"I admire your boldness" He said truthfully, swiping his card for a cold lemon tea. "But Dr.Ego won't allow it...unless you want to be ridiculed in front of the entire class?"
You were gripping onto your water bottle so hard your knuckles were turning white. "I think I can handle myself just–"
"Seishiro and I are looking for a third" Reo knew the double entendre was not lost on you. "Of course, we don't need the extra weight dragging us down. But you're far from that. You could actually keep up with us"
Your brows jumped to your forehead...and for someone so cautious, you had the cutest habit of wearing your expressions openly.
Again, you looked at him warily. "Okay" You said stiffly, eyes darting between Reo and Seishiro just once. A familiar grimace darkened your features. You breathed so softly he didn't hear it, just the slightest rise and fall of your chest. "I look forward to working with you"
Reo waved the words away, grinning. "Pleasure's all mine"
In theory, the research proposal project was simple. Take a concept discussed in class and build something experimental around it.
In reality, the research proposal project was hell.
A twenty page paper. A ten minute (minimum) presentation which must be defended against Dr.Ego himself—who wouldn't spare a student even if they suddenly caught on fire right in his classroom.
On any other day, Reo isn't all that fond of Dr.Ego. The man has a stroke of insanity hiding behind those blunt bangs that can't be beaten back with money.
His professor is concerned with one thing only : his research, which was funded by the school. The only thing second to his research was training a bunch of mindless students to be just like him.
But. Reo would be a fool not to see just how big of an opportunity this project is. Seishiro does too, considering he's actually alert and awake when you stroll into the reserved library room five minutes later than the agreed time.
His treasure's eyes don't leave your body once, tracking you like an old hunting dog as you drop your bag into the empty chair beside you with an annoyed grunt.
"Sorry for being late" You murmur
"Why?"
Your head snaps up to the sound of Seishiro's voice. Clearly, you weren't expecting him to speak anytime soon. "Huh?"
"Why were you late?" Seishiro intones, dry voice colored with a hint of something that has you going still, eyes darting between the two of them.
"I...have a part time job" You explain, and Reo catches the hesitant way your lips part around the words. Like you're expecting one of them to make a pointed jab about it. "I wrap up there, go to my dorm and then head here"
"We could have pushed back the agreed time" Reo offers, who is noticeably no longer irritated at your lateness.
The things you can get away with, and you have no idea.
"I have a busy schedule" Is your reply, which Reo might have expected, considering how rare it is to see you outside of class. "This is the only time that works for me. I won't be late again, let's get started now"
Seishiro, for a moment, looks as though he wants to press the issue further. But his treasure does not, and instead hums noncommittally.
Reo takes the reins. "So, does anyone have any broad ideas they'd like to share?" It's obvious that he's speaking to you, and you only—considering he and his treasure always move on the same wavelength.
Silence. Your eyes drift from Reo's to Seishiro's and then back down to your own spread notebook. "Well. I enjoyed the time we spent in class learning about ego. I've...overheard some of our other classmates discussing their own topics and that wasn't a common choice"
Building an experiment around the human ego was difficult, which might be the reason why virtually no one had picked it. And his classmates aren't the most driven people. In some regards, he and his treasure can be considered the same. Why go above and beyond, when they could just write off a check and achieve those same results?
"He'll be impressed" Seishiro mutters, hair flopping into his silver eyes. "If we manage to do it, and well"
But what about the human ego, and identity, could they explore that hadn't already been explored already; through countless decades of research?
Reo thought on it for a moment. He regarded you with an openly curious look. You met his stare openly, if not a little cautious.
"Why did you decide to come here?" He asked, which he could tell wasn't what you expected. "To Hakuho?"
"Why...did I accept the invitation of the greatest school in Japan?" You repeated, as though Reo were simple.
It made him laugh. "Who determines what it means to be the best? The cost in tuition? The level of education of the professors who teach here? The pedigree of the students? What really makes us Hakuho kids greater than the vermin at the nearest public university?"
"Our egos" You supplied, understanding dawning on your face. "So we need a situational experiment that...tests what makes us believe in truly being 'the best'?"
God, it was like you understood what he wanted without even having to nudge you in the right direction. A wide grin spread against his face as he sank his fingers into his treasure's hair, snowy white strand's sliding through like silk.
"Let's use soccer" Seishiro mumbled, tilting his head so that Reo's fingers could slide against that made him all boneless. If his treasure was bothered by the curious way you looked between he and Reo, he didn't show it. His eyes flickered open. "Hey. You play soccer right? Reo and I have been obsessed with it lately"
"I...I mean I played in the little leagues when I was a kid" You offered, shrugging, shaking yourself out of your stupor. "But that's about it. I don't even remember the rules all that well"
"It's okay" Seishiro said, as though forgiving you for a large misgiving. "Reo's the best. He'll teach you the ropes"
"That's okay, I'm actually not inte—"
"So. Soccer" Reo interjected. "We can explore what it means to be the best striker. Involve bits of sports psychology, group dynamics. What do you think?"
Again, if the weird push and pull between the two confused you, you didn't show it.
"Developmental psychology might be worth looking into as well" You murmured, already typing on your laptop. "Of course...we'll have to discuss the history of soccer in Japan as well, for the literature review portion. I think Dr. Ego will be pleased"
The three of you discuss the project for what feels like an hour and a half. As you edge closer and closer to the end of the allotted time—the project is the last thing on either Reo or Seishiro's mind. It doesn't seem to be particularly fascinating to you either, if the way your eyes keep jumping to the clock on the wall just behind his treasure's head.
It's clear that you want to leave, but are unsure of how to broach the subject of maybe including some of this for next time.
But after the third off topic question Seishiro' asked, you finally seem to snap. "If we continue to discuss my private life instead of the project, I'm going to leave"
"Are you?" Reo asks, which throws you completely off your tirade. "What sort of things are you getting up to, that you can't even share amongst friends? Are you being naughty?"
"I–what." You stammer, before rerouting, choosing not to jump to the bait. "Actually, it's just about time for us to leave anyway. I have other homework to do if I don't want to fall behind"
"That's fair" He mollifies, which seems to surprise you as well. "Why don't we schedule our next meeting? This isn't due until the end of the semester. We have plenty of time"
Your brows furrow. "How about two weeks from now? Same time and place?"
"You don't want to meet somewhere more comfortable?" Reo inquires "Like your dorm room?"
Your face flushes with heat, and you shove your things into your bag. The strap is beginning to fray. He'll have to buy you a new one. "Why would we meet there?"
Seishiro is content to be silent, resting his head on Reo's shoulder, lips entirely too close to his neck to be innocent. "You could come to ours if that's better"
He says it in such a tone that's impossible to discern whether or not he's joking.
Before you can really blow your lid, Reo laughs.
"We're only kidding" Reo teases, only he isn't and Seishiro isn't, either.
But you don't have to know that now.
Life continued. He and his treasure hoarded what time they could with you. But you wouldn't budge. Wouldn't give them anything more than what you deemed strictly necessary. You seemed intentional on keep your relationship with Hakuho's gem and genius, strictly professional.
In fact, the more they push, the farther you pull away.
Your popularity since teaming up with him and his treasure seems to have sky rocketed. Now, Reo can't seem to catch you alone. Not without some begging hound nipping at your heels, desperate for scraps.
What is it like, to be chosen by Reo and Seishiro, they ask. To be important. Special.
It's just a group project, you always tell them. The audacity. There's nothing going on.
And therein lies the problem.
You see, this current arrangement you have isn't working for Reo. And it isn't working for Seishiro, either. You aren't seeming to get the memo of who it is you belong to.
It's starting to drive Reo insane. Watching you sit with other people. Watching you hang out with them. Always watching, because you won't let either of them get within ten feet of you if it isn't for Dr.Ego's stupid project.
"I see you're struggling with macroeconomics" Reo had started conversationally, coming up on your side as you stare down at your textbook as though its personally hurt you.
You look up. For a moment, a hint of surprise flashes across your features. Rare for him to be without Seishiro, he knows.
"I'm fine, thank you" You tell him, even though it's obvious that you aren't. "I actually joined a study group. I just want to see if I can get a heads up"
Reo's brow twitches. Why are you so frustrating? Why won't you just give in? If it had been anyone else, they would have killed to be in the position you're in now : receiving tutoring offers from Reo Mikage.
"I heard as much" He says, plastering a smile onto his face. He only realizes his mistake, revealing that he knows entirely too much, when your face screws into one of confusion. "With that no good Isagi, right?"
"What wrong with Isagi?" You ask, almost snapping the words. Horrifyingly, it dawns on him. You're protective. Over the Isagi brat. No fucking way.
There a hundred things wrong with Isagi. Not even to mention that whole stint freshmen year when Isagi had nearly stolen Seishiro away from him for good. Reo would have a harder time finding something right about him.
"He isn't someone anyone should want to be tutored by, is all" He offers, which is about as diplomatic on the subject of Isagi as he can be without throwing up. "It's not like he makes top of the leaderboard when it comes to these things. Being around him is a waste of time" Not like me. Not like Seishiro.
You catch the words for what they are. At least, Reo thinks you have, if not for the scathing way you had responded.
"I see more in people besides how they can be of use to me"
Reo's struct a nerve somewhere. He just doesn't know where. Your walls come up, and he has no idea how he's meant to climb them. He's never messed up this badly with someone before.
"Of course not—"
"Thank you, Reo" You interject, and then force your eyes back down to your workbook. "But I think I can work it out on my own. If I can't, I'm sure Isagi and I can struggle together. Since most people seem to think we're both not worth the effort anyway"
"I think you misunderstood—"
"I'm sure I haven't" Your hand slides between the pages of your book. Your chest heaves with exertion. "People like you—so high up they can't even see the people below...they really infuriate me. I don't even think you really realize how...how egotistical you sound. Isagi doesn't want anything from me other than my friendship"
And so, seething, Reo was forced back to his treasure's dorm room—tail between his legs. And he must have looked just as awful as he felt. Because Seishiro had taken one good look at him and pulled him down into the bed to fool around without a word.
They usually try to fuck it out of their systems, the complicated, twisted feelings they have for you—but it isn't working. Not anymore.
They fuck when neither of them can sleep. They fuck when they're angry, or tense. They fuck when they're bored. When they miss you. It works, for a little while. Then it gets less and less receptive and more desperate. So they keep fucking.
Reo shoves Seishiro into an empty classroom or bathroom stall (and on a couple of desperate occasions, into a janitors closet), getting a hand around his treasures cock, muttering, she'll come around baby, okay? Don't worry; she'll see reason. And Seishiro whines into his neck, kissing and worrying the skin with his teeth until he comes so hard he fucking screams.
Reo doesn't want to do anything drastic. Some problems can be solved with force. Others need to be eased in the right direction. Reo typically goes with the latter. Less fuss and objection, that way. Trying to force something that needs to be coaxed won't get the job done any faster. It just makes a mess.
But now Reo's starting to believe you need a rougher hand. A firmer push in the right direction. Because he's tried being gentle. He's tried coaxing. He's tried forcing your hand. Nothing seems to sway you.
Reo just needs to push a little harder. That's all. He's sure you can handle it.
In the end, it isn't hard for Seishiro to swipe your laptop. Not when you're constantly surrounded by cronies now. But Reo makes sure they keep it locked away for a day or two. Just to make sure you really miss it.
"Are you looking for something?" Reo asks, one hand curled around his backpack strap, the other around Seishiro's wrist.
The three of you haven't spoken since you blew up on him four days ago in the student lounge. But Reo knows that you know he isn't as innocent as he appears.
You're smart enough not to call him out on it either. Hanging around Isagi must have finally taught you some tack. It's a shame. Reo preferred you beforehand.
"My laptop." You say thinly, lips pursed and expression flat. "I think someone might have stolen it"
Seishiro hums, hooking his chin over Reo's shoulder, peering down at you with hooded basil colored eyes.
"That's not good" Seishiro says, tone flat. "Most of our work is done digitally. Your grade will really plummet without it"
"Yes." You intone, brow twitching. Like you can't tell if Seishiro's making fun of you or not. "Have you seen it? Either of you?"
You don't expect them to answer. Reo turns his head, just so, roves his eyes over his treasure's immaculate features.
"It's an ancient looking thing, isn't it?" He asks, turning back to face you. "Navy blue. HP? I think I found one of them by the dorms"
"It's mine" You breathe a sigh of relief. "If you found it; why didn't you turn it in to the lost and found?"
"No one goes to the lost and found" Seishiro replies, stifling a yawn against the back of Reo's neck. It's true. No one would be caught dead trying to get something back from the lost and found. Not when they can just buy a new one.
A beat passes. Then another. Finally, you cave.
"Do you...still have it?"
"I think so" He says, and pretends to consider it for a moment, drawing it out. "Treasure, you left it on the charger, didn't you?"
"Yes, boss" Seishiro affirms, nuzzling against him sleepily. You watch the ongoing affection with the amount of caution someone would stumbling upon a bear.
Reo knows he's got you, hook, line and sinker. You can't afford a new laptop. And it's not like you can continue using the desktop computers in the library forever. You know this.
"Great. Thanks." You stand, shoving your things into your backpack, brows furrowed. "Maybe I could meet you before Dr.Ego's class tomorrow and get it back?"
Seishiro sucks his teeth. "Can't"
"What do you mean you can't?"
"I have a sudden taste for the Swiss Alps" Reo tells you, and jostles his treasure's wrist for emphasis. "So I'm taking him skiing. Switzerland is beautiful this time of year, you know? We won't be back until next week"
"But I can't wait until next week" You rush, too panicked to save face.
"You could always come get it tonight" Reo offers, and slides his hand into his pants pocket, bag strap digging into his shoulder. Your face falls. "Unless you have other plans?"
"No...no" You mumble, which is a lie. He knows you had plans with Isagi. Again. You even manage to look genuinely crestfallen. "I can move some things around?"
"Sounds like it's for the best" He comforts, clicking his tongue. "Well, we need to head back now. Someone decided to wait until last minute to tell me they hadn't packed a single bag. So we're in a bit of a rush. Just swing by any time after seven, alright?"
You don't say anything for a beat. You glance between Seishiro and Reo. Maybe you're starting to feel guilty for the way you treated him that day. Maybe you're starting to see how good they are. How trustworthy.
Maybe you're starting to realize you made a mistake choosing Isagi over them. So many maybes. But it doesn't change the fact that punishment is due and your behavior is in need of correction.
Flunitrazepam is a handy drug. Inconspicuous. You won't see it. Won't even taste it. Reo had mixed it into your water glass while Seishiro distracted you with innate, small, one-sided conversation.
You're itching to get out. It's obvious by the way you hum, foot tapping a mile a minute against their floors. Anxiously, you gulp down the water. Chilled, just the way Reo knows you like it.
"So, uhm..." You start, drumming your fingers on the island bar. Your eyes glance around. "I thought you said you were in the middle of packing?"
Reo jerks his thumb towards the attached bedroom. They don't actually need it, and use it as a spare room and closet. There aren't any suitcases in there either, but you don't need to know that. Rohypnol. Smaller than a dime. White in color.
He just needs to wait a handful more minutes for it to kick in. He didn't give you that much. No fun in playing with something lifeless and damn near unconscious.
"Uhm..." You start again, already sounding winded and out of it. "You said you had my laptop?" Your eyes dart to the exit. Reo wonders if he's imagining the sweat beading along your brow.
"Right! Of course" Reo says, and meets Seishiro's eyes. His treasure skulks off towards the bedroom, sweatpants slung sinfully low down his hips. Reo would be willing to bet his entire Mikage fortune that Seishiro isn't wearing underwear.
That particular roofie drug goes by a lot more common man names. Larocha. Roches. Ro-shay. Reo's particular favorite is the Run-Trip-And-Fall. Which is exactly what you do the moment you get that laptop back into your hands.
"You need to be careful" Reo chides, picking your laptop up from the ground. He passes by Seishiro when he places it onto the bar.
"You don't look so good" Seishiro adds, crouching in front of you. "Are you alright?"
"No" You garble weakly, missing the calculated gaze in Seishiro's eye. "I feel weird"
"Yeah?" Reo parrots, and you should be used to this by now. The way he and Seishiro pass you back and forth in conversation. "Feel funny, sweetheart?"
Clumsily, you nod. You try to stand again, collapsing against Seishiro's front on shaky legs. Like a little lamb.
"Wha's wrong...with me?" You mumble, fist white-knuckling his treasure's shirt. Seishiro doesn't say a word, just stares down at you in awe at the fearful lilt to your words.
Sweat trickles down the back of your neck. Seishiro is the first of them to speak. But he isn't acknowledging you. His gaze searches Reo's face.
"Can I?" He asks, plainly
Benevolent, Reo inclines his head in your direction. Nodding with a bemused smile. "Go right ahead. She's yours too"
Seishiro barely even lets the first word out before he darts forward and claims a kiss from your slack mouth. You startle, whimpering in confusion. You try to fight him off for a moment; but you're too uncoordinated.
Reo slips in behind you. "Let me help you" he murmurs in your ear, slipping your thin parka off of your shoulders. "That's better, isn't it? Not so hot anymore?"
As if obeying, your body shivers. Seishiro pulls back enough to let you breathe. Drool spills over your bottom lip. His treasure pads it away with his thumb, licking it away. You cringe.
"I want to go home" You mutter, trying to push him—either of them—away. When neither of them budge, the real panic sets in. Your brows furrow. Your hands slam against Seishiro's chest. But you might as well be hitting him with a feather duster.
Like two cogs in a machine, he and his treasure drag you off into the bedroom, kicking and flailing. Reo coos into your ear, tries to get you to calm down. What he can't accomplish, the Run-Trip-And-Fall certainly makes up for it.
You whimper as Reo's fingers unbutton your jeans. Seishiro distracts you with more kisses, though you hear your treasure hiss out in pain. Reo's head darts up from between your thighs, brow raised, confused.
"She scratched me" Seishiro murmurs petulantly
"Now thats not nice" Reo says, kissing his way up your body. His gaze bores into yours. Drugged just enough to make you pliant, but enough to feel everything else. "Do we need to tie you up, sweetheart?"
Your teeth sink into your bottom lip. You don't say anything for a minute. When it becomes clear to Reo that you won't answer him at all, he sighs.
"Don't be like that" Seishiro sighs wistfully against your throat, caging your body between his and Reo.
Reo's fingers skirt up around your bellybutton. "I'll level with you, baby. You misbehave, we tie you up. I don't want to tie you up. Sei, do you want to tie our pretty baby up, restrict all of her movements?"
Seishiro whines in dissent. "Sounds like a hassle" he says.
"See?" Reo points, fingers sinking into yours cheeks and wrenching your head back to meet his eyes. "If we tie you up for being naughty, I've gotta give Sei something real special for going through such a hassle to keep fucking you."
He brandishes a small golden foil wrapper before your eyes and watches with glee as the Run-Trip-And-Fall weakens in the face of your utter dread at what he's implying.
Be good. Or the condom comes off.
"Now" Reo starts once more, kissing your throat, marking you up real pretty, letting you squirm against him. "Are you gonna behave for us, pretty baby?"
Jerkily, your head bobbles in a nod. Up. And then down. Reo can't help but coo. That probably took what little strength and bodily autonomy you had.
"Jus...please" You warble pathetically. Some sardonic part of him whispers, not so much better than the rest of us now; are you? Honestly—the things they let you get away with. Even Seishiro, who hates fuss, indulges your pathetic whimpers with a half smile, laving at your nipples until they peak. "Please keep it on, please..."
"We promised, didn't we sweetheart?" Reo shushes, kissing the wrinkle away from your forehead. "Just keep being good and we won't do anything reckless, alright?"
Of course, Reo has no intention of keeping that condom on. And one quick glance up at his treasure confirms much of the same.
I really really really REALLLYYY love your yan gojos as much as everybody does🥹🥹 Are we going to see more of him?🥹🥹🥹🥹
yes anonja, yan gojo seems to be a hit with everyone. i really enjoy writing him, but he is a very complex character (even without the yandere tendencies) so it's very challenging for me to write him. especially since characterization is really important to me.
but to answer your question : yes! there is the part 2 of the yan sherrifjo in the works. and in the future, i plan on writing for yan fratjo (which will be another 2 part installment).
however, i do want to branch out a bit for other jjk yandere's as well as my other fandoms. i don't want to be known as just a jjk blog or a yan gojo blog. so it'll probably be a while before i post those drafts i mentioned.
Thinking that if yandere satoru had you waiting at home (kidnapped, locked down, his precious darling). How would have the shibuya uncident go down ? 😭💔
SWEET SALVATION ──── YAN! SATORU GOJO
13k ·༻𐫱༺· During Gojo's absence for Shibuya, you reach several epiphanies.
are you really a dark content author if you haven't written at least ONE kidnapping / stockholm syndrome fic???
ignore how late this is....ok? yan gojo is a lot harder to write than you would think
You know what he's doing.
The casual way Gojo touches you. An arm around your shoulders. Lying half on top of you, nose pressed in your throat, even as your body goes rigid with fear. The almost comical way he'll throw his hands up and back away if you flinch away particularly hard from him.
As if you have any choice in being able to reject him.
Asking what you want for breakfast, or lunch, or dinner. Like he hasn't let you starve when you don't request anything. Or worse, feeds you whatever sickening sweet thing it is he's craving. Ice cream for breakfast. No lunch. Thick iced cupcakes for dinner. Sunny smile the next morning (?), what do you want for breakfast, baby?
The illusion of choice.
A trinket (now there's an entire shelf of them) from every single place he's gone to on a mission. Pressing it into your palm, laying beside you. Telling you the circumstances of how he had come to land on that particular thing.
The way every single good thing you have in this fucked up situation comes directly from his hands.
So you know what this is. Gojo's not stupid. He knows you know. And he knows that you know it's working.
Your body doesn't stay locked and rigid the entire time he decides to pounce on you for cuddling. Your chest doesn't jump up and down with exerted breath, eyes wide and panicked like he might physically hurt you.
The entire time you've been here, he's never hurt you. Not physically. Mentally, maybe. Emotionally. Does that even count?
You can't hurt him either. The first time he allowed you to leave the room, you took the first thing you could find and tried to strike him with it. But it just bounced off of him, like running into a door you couldn't see. And the extra force made you fall on your ass.
Who even leaves a wooden beam just lying around, conveniently right within reach? That should have been your first clue. Even when he explained Infinity to you, you hadn't really understood it. Not the physics part anyway. But you understood that you weren't going to fight your way out of this. Every hit you've gotten in against Gojo since then has been because he lets you.
Still. The locks on the outside of the front door slide and click. You perk to attention, curling up against the arm of the couch, trying to sneak a peek.
You hate the way your heart practically skips a beat at the first sight of that snow white hair around the corner. Excitement. Relief. You don't know which is worse. You try to tell yourself that it's a perfectly reasonable response. It's not like Gojo allows you to see anyone else.
It takes a moment for Gojo to realize you're there. A long while. You're practically vibrating on the couch, waiting for him to acknowledge you. You have to pinch yourself really hard not to give in and speak to him first. He's whistling a tune to himself, kicking off his shoes messily and sliding into a pair of house slippers. There's a white grocery bag hanging off his arm.
The smell of rain clings to him slightly, though you can tell he used Infinity to stay dry.
Your eyes meet. Gojo grins. "Well, hello there" He says, folding himself in half to kiss you. Kissing isn't new, so you're used to it. Sometimes it feels kind of nice. "Don't tell me you're that excited to try the apples I brought?"
There's an undeniably wolfish grin on his face. Your own expression pales.
You were waiting for him.
Now you realize your mistake. You always always hide in your room, back against the wall, knees drawn up to your chest, barely breathing. The shoji door slides open with too much force, announcing his presence. That's the way things work. You swear the sound of Gojo's loud footprints usually rattle in your brain. You won't leave unless you have to pee. Or unless Gojo makes you.
Your captor cocks his head down at you. Waiting.
The apple. Right. You nod. Too forced. Overly aggressive. "Ye-yes. I'm excited. I can't remember the last time I've had apples"
Because Gojo doesn't let you cook. And he can't cook well either. He can do the basics...passably well. But he usually just brings you stuff from restaurants. Now that you've unlocked household privileges, you have access to the cabinets. But the only thing Gojo keeps in there are snacks.
"Lucky for you pretty girl," He says, walking off into the kitchen. It takes everything in you not to trial off after him. Instead, you sit there and wait for him to come back. "They're in season"
He sits next to you on the couch, paring knife in hand. The peach glistens with water. The drops slide off brush against his hand. He's turned Infinity off. He usually doesn't keep it on when he's home. Not anymore.
You could attack him, maybe. If you were fast enough. Claw at his wrists or his face. Run from him. As if knowing where your thoughts are headed, Gojo's baby blues shift upwards to meet your own.
Who are you kidding? You turn your gaze to the floor. Infinity or not, you wouldn't be able to make it off the couch.
"Say 'ahhh'" Gojo hums, sickening sweet. There's the tiniest sliver of fruit on the tip of his fingers. Your mouth drops open obediently and he pushes it into your mouth.
Juice bursts on your tongue. It's good. More than that. Your captor takes one look at you and laughs good naturedly. Against your better judgment, you give him a shaky smile in return. "Is it that good?" he asks. You nod.
"Damn," He says, chewing on a second thin slice. He even whistles. If this were a normal situation with a normal man, you'd chastise him for bringing in bad luck. "That really is good, wow"
The knife slices against the flesh. The sound is abnormally loud in your ears. He could use that thing...cursed energy to cut it. You've seen him do it before. But he knows it frightens you. So he doesn't. It's nice of him to consider things like that. It could be worse.
He kidnapped you, a voice deep inside your mind whispers. He isolated you. Starved you. He won't let you leave. He's threatened to kill your family. He isn't nice.
Yeah. That's true. Gojo pushes another little sliver past your slack lips. But he only did that stuff because you were bad. And you aren't going to do that stuff anymore. As long as you behave, Gojo's pretty predictable.
You crunch down on the last piece of the apple. Without further prompting, you say, in a very quiet voice : "Thank you Gojo, for the gift"
"Always so polite" He says, but it's with one of his real grins. He pats your head, a little too hard, but he doesn't really know how to reign in his strength. "I got so lucky with you, didn't I?"
To that, you don't respond. You don't like being reminded of anything that brings up memories of your past. Before he kidnapped you. No matter how small.
"I want to go back to my room now" You whisper, already beginning to curl into yourself. Like if you make yourself small enough, he'll forget you exist and finally let you leave.
More alarmingly, you can feel your heart tugging. Some part of you wants to stay here, and the louder it gets, the more you know you have to get away. Re-fortify your mind.
Because that's all you have, to be honest. You don't know how long he's had you here, could be months, could be a year. But one thing he's made abundantly clear is that you aren't getting out of here by fighting. He's stronger than you, faster. You'll have to outsmart him. Somehow. And for that, you need to keep your wits about you.
Gojo sighs. Crosses one freakishly long leg over the other. "But I just got here" He whines, tipping his head back.
"I'm just tired" You rush out, shaking. "Please. I want to take a nap"
"Alright alright" He says, shooing you off. You hate how fast you scamper from the couch, hightailing it out of there.
You run into your room (you hate that you're beginning to think of it as yours), narrowly avoiding slamming the shoji sliding doors. You hate this. You hate this so much. You hate how this room makes you feel safe. You hate how Gojo lets you run away from him. How he makes you believe that there's anywhere in this house that could be possibly be considered safe in the first fucking place.
You hate how grateful you feel towards him. That he didn't overstep your boundaries. That he's nice enough to respect your space in this laughably ironic way. You hate that you know he'll let you hide away in here for an hour, maybe two.
And you hate, maybe more than anything, that once you come out of here, you'll feel more receptive to whatever it is he wants to subject you to. Because the lines between captor-friend-roommate are beginning to blur and you're losing more of yourself to him than you'd ever anticipated.
There are a few times in your life where you've seen curses.
Of course, back then you didn't know they were called curses. And you couldn't always see them. Most of the time, it just felt like you were being watched. You would whip your head around, hairs on the back of your neck raising—only to find nothing.
As a girl, you lived in a small coastal village. Your family owned a good bit of property, fertile land where you helped tend to the garden that had saved your ancestors through famines and droughts and terrible sea storms.
Your parents were fighting. Your friend, Chisaki, said they were probably going to get a divorce. You didn't want them to, even though Chisaki said it wasn't all that terrible. Having two birthdays and two Christmas's.
To escape the sounds of their marriage dispute, you ran. You ran until your lungs burned and your vision swam. And them you ran some more. You placed your hands on your knees, crouching over and sucking in a lot of air. Like you did in gym class, face dripping with sweat.
That's when you felt it. The hairs on your neck and arms rose. It felt like being doused with a bucket of ice water, right down the back of your shirt, despite being covered in sweat mere minutes ago.
You wiped your forehead and brow, legs wiggling like the water slime you played with, trying to clear your head. You saw it then. Too tall. Skinny. Grotesque in the face. Swinging back and forth like a metronome, making some odd clicking scratching noise that felt like nails down a chalkboard.
You couldn't help but whimper. You slapped your hands over your mouth, but by then it was too late. It saw you. Its head was swinging so hard you heard it snap. Even bent, its throat was gurgling and spitting.
When you saw these things before, instinctively you knew not to draw attention to yourself. But this one wasn't small. It wasn't something you could bat away or ignore. You fell on your ass, chest pounding, too scared to move. It was running, or you think it was. But if it had legs, they were moving at a speed your eyes couldn't trace.
Just then, crazy old man Nobu opened his screen door and screamed at you to get out of his yard. You weren't in his yard. You were actually outside of the fence, on the dirt path. But crazy old man Nobu fought in the war, and your parents said his mind wasn't all that right. And besides, he always called you by the wrong name anyway.
It was enough. The thing, as ugly as it was, whipped its head to Nobu. You pushed yourself up and ran home. When you heard the crazy old man scream, and the crunch of his bones, you slammed your hands over your ears and hummed very loudly to distract yourself.
Your father wasn't home by the time you got back. You searched for him, shaking and terrified, telling yourself he was mostly likely at the bar. Getting a drink and watching baseball with his buddies. That didn't mean the monster had gotten him too.
"What in the world are you doing in there—?" Your mother asked, annoyed, when she found you hiding in the closet, rocking back and forth and sobbing. "I thought you said you were done with this"
When you woke up, Gojo is standing at the foot of your bed, watching you sleep.
You startle, partly because you hadn't meant to actually take that nap. And partly because, even though you've had to force yourself to become a light sleeper and Gojo is about as quiet as an elephant in a china shop, you didn't hear him come in.
"Hi" He says, looking as sheepish as he can manage, gesturing to you in an abstract manner. "Sorry for..."
Whether he means watching you sleep, or you catching him in the act, you don't know. A part of you doesn't want to.
You curl the blankets around yourself, sitting up, back flat against the wall—trying to put as much space between you and him as possible. "It's okay" you say quickly, wishing he would just leave already.
Silence. Gojo was studying you. His eyes were glowing a little. Maybe they always glowed. Sometimes you could feel him watching you, like it felt with the curses, but he would be somewhere else.
He studies you for a moment, Crouches down so that you're both on the same level. "Did you have another nightmare?"
Tears spring up in the corner of your eyes. You hate the softness of his voice. How it sounds like he could maybe care. Like a friend. Your body betrays your mind, and your head bobbles into a nod.
You expect Gojo to milk this for all its worth. He doesn't. He stands up, plasters a smile on his face.
"How about a movie to take your mind off of things, hm?" He proposes, and your body jolts up in happy surprise, like it did when you heard the front door opening.
Movies are Special Treats. You don't get to watch them often. When you're really good. You try to wrack your brain for something you could've done to earn something so big but come up short. Maybe you've been so good that movies can become a normal part of your day now.
Gojo's got a huge collection of them, and lets you flip through the titles, even when he isn't home. He took all the horror ones away, after the first time you saw something that resembled a curse and started ugly crying and panicking.
"Okay" You say, nerves all frazzled, untangling yourself from your blankets. "I'm...uhm. I'm hungry too"
"Yeah I figured" He says, and swings an arm around your shoulder, steering you to the couch. "I grabbed some stuff while you were out. How about we eat on the couch and watch rom-coms. Sound cool?"
You're not a fan of them. Rom-coms always make Gojo act...weird. Flirty and touchy. Like he's seeing what behaviors you like and trying to emulate them. But something is better than nothing. And he's right. You do want something to take your mind off of things.
"Okay." You mumble, nodding. "That's cool"
"Great" Gojo says, and grins. It's a real one this time. He beckons you forward with a click of his tongue.
Your captor waits for you to join his side, slinging an arm around your shoulders and humming all loudly and off key. He's so awful at it that you don't even have the mind to be nervous about being so close to him.
Gojo bustles around, here and there, as he sets everything up. He selects a movie at random, pops it in the player, and darts off to the kitchen. When he returns, there's the familiar take out bag of the fancy steakhouse restaurant in Roppongi. Again, something that's usually a reward for good behavior.
He sits a bit too close, knocks his knobby knee against yours accidentally a couple of times. But you don't really register it. Your mind spins out of control the further the movie progresses.
It doesn't add up. Gojo is predictable, a method to his madness so to speak. But this isn't typical behavior for him. What's his plan? Is he trying to purposefully disregulate you? Or have you been so good that Gojo's being for real?
You try to think back on your behavior for the past couple of weeks. You haven't given him any major wins, but you haven't regressed either. You're receptive—to a degree. You won't have sex, but kissing is fine. Cuddling is nice. You usually won't stand to be in the same room with him. But if he ignores that and presses anyway, you're up for conversation. It isn't even awkward.
So about forty-five minutes in, you crack.
"Gojo," You start slowly, eyes shifting away from the screen to him. "Why...uhm. Why are we really watching a movie?"
He doesn't make any sudden movements. For a second, you don't think he heard you at all. Just when you're about to part your lips and ask him again, he says : "Maybe I just wanted to treat you a little bit, hm? Can't I give my girlfriend nice things?"
I'm not your girlfriend, you want to say. That isn't what this is. This is a hostage-captor situation in which you play the unwilling victim.
But you don't say any of that. It wouldn't be worth it. He has selective hearing anyway.
"Gojo" You press, almost a petulant whine.
The man of the hour laughs. It's not the loud boisterous one he does when he's trying to take your mind off the situation at hand. It's more bitter. Subdued. Like something is wrong.
Again. You call out his name. More hesitant this time. Scared.
"I have to leave for a bit" Gojo says, and angles his body towards you.
"Oh. Okay." You don't see how this is any different from usual. Gojo leaves for missions all the time. He usually pops in for an hour or two between them, but you're used to the house being a little quiet whenever he has to go. "When will you be back?"
"I don't know" Gojo replies and your heart sinks immediately. It shows on your face. You know it does. It's no surprise that over the course of however long it's been, that you aren't fond of uncertainties.
Gojo is the strongest. You are certain of that. Gojo will always come back. Again. Of that you are certain.
So what happens if he doesn't. If he just...leaves one day...and doesn't come home? What will you do? How are you supposed to survive? You can't imagine a worser fate than wasting away in this house, completely alone. Your heart pounds in your chest and you start breathing hard like you did before when Gojo had to take all the scary movies away.
"Oh, no, no, baby, come here" He says, pushing aside the takeout to take you unwillingly into his arms. You don't know if you should push him away or give in and let him comfort you. His hand strokes at your head. "I didn't mean it like that"
"Then how?" You practically wail "Y-you said you're the strongest. You sa-said that you'll always come back" That I'll never ever be able to get rid of you.
"Do you remember my old friend that I told you about?"
You stop talking. You pull back from him, sniffling pathetically. "Suguru?" Even the mere mention of his name causes Gojo to shrink in on himself. Your face scrunches into one of confusion. "But you said he was dead"
Gojo's face scrunches up. He looks a little miffed by your choice of words; or perhaps the tone they were delivered by. If your mind was as sharp as it should have been, you would have finally delighted in causing him some grief for once.
His wide palm rubs your back from underneath your shirt. He runs warm. Yet you flinch from it anyway, but soon relax. It's feels... okay. There's nothing wrong with admitting that the touch designed to make you relax feels pleasant.
"Well." Gojo pauses, hums. His free hand strokes the bottom of his jaw and chin. Like he's trying to debate how best to answer your question. He said he was a teacher. But some things lie outside of your meagre non-wizard (sorcerer) understanding. "I did kill him. And Suguru is dead. There's just a curse user out there wearing his skin"
He says the last particularly hard. His eyes darken, features scowling and the words twist themselves free. But then he seems to remember you exist, and the change is instantaneous: his brightens, pulls you close, and peppers chaste kisses all across your face.
Gojo says curse users are sorcerers who use their techniques for bad purposes. One time you asked him if that made him a curse user, and he shook his head at you laughing. And then he said, still laughing— silly, I didn't have to use my technique to bring you here.
You try to scrub the memory from your mind. But, much like Gojo himself, it's persistent. Still, you have to try.
"Anyway" He continues "We anticipate a wide scale attack. Curses and curse users alike. All hands on deck, that sort of thing. Hundreds of people will die. Not to mention the damage it'll do to us sorcerers"
"That can't be easy" You heard yourself murmur from far away. You rest your head on your knees and glance curiously at him. "How far is Shibuya from here?"
Gojo grinned, and booped the tip of your nose. "Nice try, honey-bunch. Let's finish the movie now"
Of course you didn't think it would be that easy. With a long-suffering sigh, you redirect your attention to the movie. By now, the plot is completely lost to you, and you're forced to try to pick it back up again, mind racing.
But you can't. Your palms sweat and delicious fear curls right in the cage of your ribs. There's not much you can control here. And before—back when you were alone, back when you didn't have a name for the grotesque things only you could see...you survived on that control.
You function on rules. Those rules carefully kept your head above water. Don't look at them. Don't let them know you exist. No matter how loudly they screech and shout or say scary things, you never, never acknowledge their existence.
Mr. Nobu filters suddenly through your head. You haven't thought of him in a while. He didn't know about the rules. He didn't follow them. That's why the beast—curse—ripped him apart. And he wasn't the first, nor the last.
What will happen to Gojo in Shibuya? And furthermore, what does a ' large-scale attack' even consist of? How many people will have to die before it's all over? You don't want him to die, you know that much. At least, not while you're still here.
"Please don't die" You mumble, voice sounding clogged with tears, even though you're trying really, really hard not to cry. "Gojo—please don't die in Shibuya. Just kill him and come back. Please don't leave me here"
You sniffle, eyes burning. Before the tears can trail down your cheeks, you push your body close to his, practically shoving him into the arm of the couch. He doesn't so much as grunt, pulling you in tighter, broad hand stroking the bare stretch of skin at your waist.
"I'm the strongest" He says, a familiar line that actually works in settling your nerves. "I'll never leave you, sweetie, alright?"
"Alright" You parrot, sniffling. That's right. Gojo is the strongest. There's nothing : sorcerer, curse user or curse, that he can't defeat.
A part of you hates that you take comfort from those words. The same words that strangle you, words that cause you grief and fear. You want to leave here. You should be ecstatic that Gojo's going to be gone for a while. It could give you time to break out of here.
But all you feel is dread. You don't know where you are. There's no one around for miles. And because Gojo can be anywhere in the world in an instant, there's no real way to know where he could be keeping you. Do the people speak English? Japanese? How long do you have to wander out there own your own before you find another human being?
All of it—the uncertainties are anxiety inducing. Here, you have control in Gojo's predictability. Sure, there's no way of knowing what Gojo might do to you a month from now. A year. What boundaries he'll knock down next.
But you know what he'll do right now. There's safety in that. In knowing that Gojo won't mind if you toss your legs into his lap because they're starting to fall asleep and feel all achey. You watch his thumb stroke the bone in your ankle and feel relief and vindication that he doesn't do anything more than that.
See? Completely predictable. You rest your head on his shoulder, but only because he's so gangly and tall and you're starting to get a crick. And only because you're so tired and all of that crying and worrying zapped what little energy you retained from your nap right out.
Gojo laughs at something on the screen. You don't know what's so funny. It's like the movie's playing in an ancient language. One only he can understand.
You don't want to be grateful for the comfort. Just how you don't like being grateful for every other good thing Gojo gives you. But just like with everything else, you can't exactly stop it.
It's a terrible thing. Being aware that something is wrong but being powerless to stop it. It makes you feel small and insignificant. It makes you want to retreat inside yourself and never come out. But then your own thoughts scare you so much that you want Gojo around—because at least Gojo can protect you from those scary things.
He's bad, you tell yourself. He's evil. He's sick and twisted and you need to get out. But that part of your mind is very quiet. It grows quieter every day.
You know how crazy this all sounds. You know it isn't safe to depend on Gojo in this way. You know you need to shove him off and retreat back into your the bedroom. None of this is safe for you. And unless you can find a way to escape when Gojo leaves for Shibuya, you'll never be safe again.
But you can't bring yourself to do any of that. All you do is relax further into his embrace with a sigh that seems to come deep from the center of your exhausted soul.
Gojo shifts. You pay no mind it, or at least you try not to, but then he dips his face down and starts kissing your neck. They can hardly be called kisses anyway. His lips graze your skin before moving to the next little area.
You squirm anyway. You lift your hands to push him away. You try to sound assertive. It just sounds weak instead. "Stop it"
He doesn't. There's a puff of air, and you realize he's laughing at you. He bats away your hands lazily and shifts again so that he's practically blocking your view of the TV.
"Hey I have a great idea" Gojo says, eyes twinkling with mischief. Your heart plummets to your stomach, Whatever he has in mind won't be fun for you. But when you try to turn away, he grabs ahold of your midsection to hold you still. "Let's makeout"
You can't quite stop yourself from grimacing. Kissing is one thing. You've never made out before. And you don't want to with Gojo of all people. "I want to finish the movie"
Gojo acts as though you haven't said a word, peppering kisses up your jaw and across your cheeks to stop just on the outside of your lips. You push him away again, more harshly this time. You don't know where the energy came from, considering that you felt numb to everything ten minutes ago.
Once Gojo realizes he'll probably have to physically force you to do it; he stops. It's weird. He doesn't mind forcing you to do everything else. But whenever it comes to the sick idea of romance he has inside of his head, he never forces you to do the 'lovey-dovey' stuff.
He hasn't forced you to have sex with him. And he doesn't force you to kiss him. He didn't force you to the very first time either. No. Gojo prefers knocking down the pillars of stability you have in this hellhole, until you give in. At least a little.
"C'mon" He goads "Haven't you always wanted to makeout while watching a movie?"
"No" You mumble, because when exactly would you ever have time for that?
Something about your tone must be humorous to him, because he laughs. You (foolishly) hope that'll be the end of it. But you're proven wrong when he starts kissing your neck again, this time tugging on the collar of your shirt to place a couple of them across your collarbones and shoulder.
"No?" Gojo repeats, "You don't want to do it for me, sweetheart? Even though I'm leaving tomorrow?"
The floor falls out from under you. You freeze, and only just barely catch the tail end of what it is he's said next. "....make the most of the time we have?" But even his voice sounds far away and hollowed out.
You give in. You turn your head, just enough so that he knows you won't fight him anymore, and softly slot your lips together. Gojo, for his credit, doesn't immediately take control of the kiss. For a while, it's nice. You want it to be nice.
You're going to wake up alone tomorrow. You aren't going to know when he's coming back (if). And you don't want your potential final moments with another human being to be terrible. Gojo always understands the weight of your compliances. He's predictable. And you can trust him to make it good for you.
Wide hands cup your cheeks. He maneuvers you how he likes, kissing you once more. His way. A bit strong, enough force to make you jerk backwards. On screen, the characters are arguing. You try to focus on that and not on the way his slimy tongue slides into your mouth.
You haven't kissed many people in your life. But you've never really liked this part. When Gojo's tongue slides against your own before darting back to run against your molars and incisors. Maybe you like it less because it is Gojo.
He pulls away and you suck in as much air as you can. There's a bit of spit on the corner of your mouth and you lift the back of your hand to wipe it away, chest heaving. His eyes slide over your form in that calculating way of his.
It feels a bit like a curse watching you. Your body shudders, and you try to push the thought from your mind. You don't know what it is, but when he leans in to kiss you again, it's better.
You lift your hands to cradle his face. Not really because you want to. But if you don't start becoming an active participant, Gojo will inevitably push you into doing so. It's just easier and less fuss when you're agreeable.
Gojo hums into the kiss, like you've doing something right. Maybe you have. His tongue doesn't force itself inside of your mouth this time. It traces the seam of your lips. You can't stop him from doing it, but at least you know that he plans to slide you tongue this time and you can mentally prepare for it.
When he does, you work very hard not to give him a Bad Reaction. You don't flinch, you don't go stiff—barely. It takes a few more beats before you can reciprocate, shyly brushing your tongue against his.
You only jolt when his hand slides underneath your shirt and begins groping at your chest. Instinctively, you foolishly attempt to push him away. All of your squirming ceases when you feel something hard against your thigh. You glance down for only a second to confirm Gojo's arousal before jerking your gaze upwards again.
He's gotten hard before, you tell yourself, it doesn't mean it's going to lead to anything. It rarely does. Well, there was that one time in the beginning where you suspected he might be touching you in your sleep. Even then, you can't really prove anything. So you work with what you know. If Gojo gets hard, he usually excuses himself or lets you leave. You don't have to do anything yet. Gojo said that stuff could wait.
But you can't shake the feeling, a physical sort of dread at the back of your mind, that tonight, something about that is going to change.
Gojo trails kisses away from your mouth down to your neck. He seems to have some odd obsession with it.
"You have really soft tits" Gojo breathes, face hovering above yours. You make a face and he laughs, flicking the bud of your nipple with deft fingers. "What? You don't like that word?"
In order to stop yourself from saying what's really on your mind, you rapidly shake your head, verbally betraying nothing.
He laughs. "Well they are" He says, and to your morbid embarrassment, flips up your shirt. His other hand joins the first while he grops and fondles your breasts like it's a fidget toy. "Very pretty too"
This continues on for some time. Gojo has then since crowded you against the couch, making himself comfortable between your spread legs. You, on the other hand, are pretending that you don't feel his hard cock resting right up against your cunt.
"Gojo!" You yelp when he suddenly bends down and encloses his lips around the nipple on the left side. Your face grows hot with arousal shame as he begins to suck. He ignores you, sucking and biting until your nipple pebbles.
He pulls off, fondling it. He switches to your rest breast, hovering. "Can you believe that milk is supposed to come out of here?" He asks, bluebell gaze shifting upwards to pin you in place. "I wonder what it would taste like?"
Your face pales, body shuddering at the implications. Does he intend to someday impregnate you? How are you meant to raise a child in a house where you aren't even allowed into the front yard?
"I don't want to" You whine pleadingly, shaking. "Gojo—"
"Relax. You'll ruin the mood." He says, tutting at your hackled nerves. "Besides, it's way too early for a baby. I want to be a present dad, you know? My parents weren't really around to raise me. Our baby will be different"
You don't say anything. Even if there was something to say, the only thing you can think about is screaming.
"Can't really do that if I have to leave every few hours to handle curses" Gojo spits, voice dark. He squeezes your breasts too hard and his face softens when you let out a painted gasp. "Sorry, sorry. Forgot I was holding precious cargo. You forgive me honey?"
"I forgive you" You respond almost automatically, because if you say anything else, he might pinch at your nipples and breasts until you cry.
As robotic as you sounded, Gojo doesn't bring attention to it. Mercifully, he shuts up about babies and your potential future. Unmercifully, he goes hack to marking up your throat. The movie is over, credits rolling, but even if you tried to bring attention to it, nothing would come of it.
His cock jerks in his pants. He grunts, hips grinding upwards into yours while his breath hits your sensitive neck and face. You hate the way arousal jilts down your spine and back. How your hips shift against him, trying to get a little more friction.
He gives you what you want, face in your neck while his cock rubs against your pussy. Snowy white strands tickle your cheek. You can feel your stomach clenching, heart picking up as tingles zip through your body.
Then that...feeling again. Of being watched. Dissected. Your eyes lift to Gojo's—only to find them glowing blue and staring at you. You cease moving entirely, realizing how pathetic you must look to him, trembling and rubbing up against him like a needy dog in heat.
"I can see how wet you are" He mumbles, more to himself than you. His fingers toy with the waistband of your shorts. "I mean, I know what Six Eyes is capable of but it's different when it's like this. And you've never done it before. Hm, but who knew? A little softness gets your pussy wet"
You flinch. From the crude language and the offhand, almost careless way he refers to you. As if you're not human. No. Just a lesser being than he. He says nothing else, wordless as he goes to pull down your shorts.
Your body kicks into overdrive, grabbing at him and squirming around, shaking your head. "S-stop. Stop, I don't want to. I want to go lie dow—"
The look on his face makes you stop talking. Gojo considers you for a moment, and the positioning is a little awkward. He's still close enough for you to see the pale little beauty mark underneath his eye.
"Sure. We can stop" Gojo says, and pulls back, grinning again. You can't regulate yourself. The control is a rope that's being forcefully tugged out of your hands. He switches between moods so quickly you don't know what to expect. And that honestly terrifies you. "But, baby, if you don't want to tonight, 'm just gonna go"
You start shaking your head, grabbing at him. "N-no. No. No, please don't"
"Well then make up your mind, sweetie-pie" He says, playfully rolling his eyes. "You kissed me, remember? Started rubbing on me and got me hard. But now you wanna stop? It's like hot and cold with you, baby. Really inconsiderate. If you don't want me here, I'll just leave. I'm not going to force myself on you. That's not what we do here, right?"
"Ri–right" You don't know why you suddenly feel like crying. Why your eyes burn and feel hot. Why your bottom lip wobbles. You just want things to be safe again. For Gojo to stop scaring you. "I'm s-sorry...I just. I'm scared. I don't—please don't leave me"
Gojo softens. Your body relaxes at the sight. He feels bad for you. That's good.
His hand strokes your face as he hums, considering. "Guess I might have moved too fast, huh?"
Your head tumbles into a nod. "We still can" you rush, because you don't want him to remember what he threatened just moments ago. You don't want him to make good on it. "I...just. Slow. Please?"
A grin. The tension (or what's left of it) melts away.
"Just hands" Gojo promises, toying with the waistband of your shorts again. You don't flinch, but it's a near thing. "I'll even keep my hands in your cute little panties, how about that? That might have been what made you so nervous."
"Okay" You agree quietly, and give him a wobbly little smile, so he knows that you aren't going to fight him on it. "Thank you fo-for...for being considerate"
"Of course, honeybun" Gojo affirms, and slides his fingers into your underwear. Your breath quickens as the heat of his hand slides against your cunt. You hardly even touch down there. You can't even remember the last time you have. Long before you even knew of a Gojo Satoru. "I'm nothing if not generous. How's that feel? Good?"
You nod, breathing softly, squirming. The pads of his fingers stroke your sex as though they were caressing a little flower. It does feel good. You could almost pretend that you wanted any of this.
And after all he put you through, don't you deserve to feel good?
Those same fingers stroke further back, tracing your hole. He even presses a little. Like he might actually do it. You moan, a tentative little noise, biting your lip, stomach clenching hard, rushed breathing—
Your eyes fly open (you shut them?) when Gojo's free hand latches onto your wrist and guides it to the hard-on tenting the front of his black sweatpants. It's the first time you've ever directly had any sort of contact with his dick and you don't realize you've went shock-still and tense until Gojo is whispering :
"Just hands, okay?" And kissing at your face. His finger pushes into your cunt, and his thumb strokes at your clit, which bombards you with sudden sharp sparks of pleasure.
You force yourself to relax. Besides, it's not like you can just go back on your word. Then, you force yourself to touch his cock more directly. At least through his sweats. You knew this was coming. Isn't it just better to get it out of the way? And besides, it's exactly as he said. Just hands.
He lets you pet around for a moment or two before taking your hand and shoving it into his pants. He isn't wearing any underwear. You get a sure grip around his cock, sort of...amazed at the dampness of it. And how warm it is. At the weird way his pants seem to swallow your hand wrist. Like some sort of infinite void.
Gojo swears as you tighten your fingers, hips arching upwards to chase it. "That's good, honey...feels really good, baby"
Saliva pools in your mouth. It feels like you're way up high in the air. Like your ears are seconds away from popping. He guides your hand up and down his cock for three quick strokes before it retreats and you get the memo.
You lift your gaze away from your hand up to his face. His eyes are lidded shut, but you can see them moving behind his eyelids. He praises you, voice all soft and breathless in a way that makes you squirm. The movement makes you realize that his hand is still in your underwear, fingers lazily stroking your cunt from the inside.
It's overwhelming. Trying to focus on both. So you don't. It takes some practice to focus just on him. On stroking his cock and making him feel good, rather than the hand inside your shorts. The way his eyes seem to want to pin you down like a butterfly to the board.
It helps to think of it as a dream. Like you're watching it happen to someone else, instead of being forced to do it.
So you keep your attention on Gojo. The soft whines and moaning. The way he sounds in the bathroom when it's jerking off to you, but louder. Impossible to escape. The bitten off curses and the dirty praise.
But it takes longer than you thought it would.
Your arm is sluggish, sore and borderline cramping before Gojo's breath hitches and his pace goes a little haywire. His hand is gripping your asscheek hard, biting and sucking at your neck—making odd rumbling noises. It hurts, and you let out a pained noise but he either doesn't hear you or doesn't care and several long seconds later it's over, wet sticky stuff between your fingers.
Gojo's breathing pretty heavily, cheeks ruddy red. You pull your hand away and he stretches himself with a grunt—reaching for one of the takeout napkins to clean your hand off. The world comes rushing back in, the weight of what you allowed him to do. The self loathing and disgust, coupled with something that feels like relief at having given in. At getting things back to a sense of normalcy.
"Ack." Gojo says with a start, once he's caught his breath. His hand pushes you in the center of the chest, making you fall back against the couch. "You didn't even cum did you? God, that was selfish of me. Let me fix that"
Your mouth opens to tell him no. To try and angle for the tired line again. To fake yawn. Something. But you don't. You don't even protest him pulling down your shorts and underwear (just hands, he said it was just going to be hands—).
Of course. What more could you have expected from him? Gojo Satoru, after all, is predictable.
The sun streams through the windows.
You lurch upwards, the echo of Gojo's name on your lips. But he isn't there. And you don't know when he'll be back. You don't get up from bed for some time, too afraid that moving will make it all real.
Distantly, you know this isn't what you should be feeling. Far from it. Has he already won? Is fighting him pointless? He's already gotten you to do what he wants. It's just that final step.
You should feel relieved. Finally, you have a break from him. You don't have to play by the rules. You don't have to worry about keeping your head above water. For the first time since he's brought you here, you have nothing but the company of your own peace mind for the unforeseeable future.
It scares you, more than it comforts you. People don't do well when they're isolated, right? They go all crazy. Nobu lived by himself, and hardly talked to anyone. And he was crazy paranoid enough for three people.
But you can use this time to escape. It's not like he can stop you from leaving and deal with the mass attack on Shibuya at the same time. The thought gives you pause. What if there wasn't a mass attack on Shibuya? What if Gojo was lying? What if this is just all a big test to see what you'll do?
What if you make it out, and Gojo is waiting there for you? What will the world's strongest man do to you then? You sit up in bed, dragging your knees to your chest, whimpering fearfully.
No. You can't think like that. That's how you'll lose your mind. You just have to trust that Gojo isn't lying.
The thought causes you to snort. "Yeah, never thought I'd say that" You mumble, just to hear the sound of another voice. Even if it's your own.
Eventually, you have to get up from bed to relieve yourself. You do so quickly, washing your hands idly when you see it. The marks on the side of your neck.
Simply put, it's looks as though you were mauled by a bear. Your cheeks heat as embarrassment from the night before comes hurling back. Does that count as losing your virginity if you didn't go all the way? Are you still pure? Or has Gojo dirtied you forever?
Thinking like that won't change anything. It'll only make things worse. This was a lesson you had learned in the very beginning. To survive, to keep your mind intact, you cannot allow yourself to think of your actions as willful. Because they aren't. Gojo always has the upper hand. Everything you've done since he kidnapped you has been to survive.
The mantra usually comforts you. Now, less so. Instead of being reassured, you now feel weak. You slide down right there onto the bathroom floor and breakdown. Loud, wracking sobs erupt from your soul. Your mind goes from one instance to another, things you should have done—things you had always taken for granted.
Things you may never get back again.
You let it all out. Gojo wouldn't allow you to do so otherwise. Sure, you've cried plenty. But there's always a point...where he gets fed up with all the noise.
But this is different. There's shame, anger, fear. All emotions you instinctively try to suppress. Emotions you don't want him to know you feel. You slip up sometimes (more often than you'd ever like to admit, actually). Because everytime Gojo comforts you, it feels like losing another part of yourself.
The fact that Gojo isn't here to brush away your tears and hug all of the darkness away feels as good as it hurts. Then the bittersweet ache disappears entirely, and when you have no more tears to cry, you feel a bit better.
Your head is pounding and everything is sore. But you feel a bit more like yourself again. Like you haven't in a while. You sniffle, drawing your knees to your chest. A plan. That's what you need.
You tip your head back against the wooden cabinets. The sun shines through a small window. How nice will it feel? To have the sun on your skin. To have the wind caressing your face. To complain of the heat, of mosquitoes. Of having your plans dashed by a sudden storm.
When you get out of here, you swear you'll never take another thing for granted ever again.
With Gojo's...temporary absence, he has given you back your cooking privileges. The fridge is stocked full of food (he must have done all of this while you were sleeping yesterday afternoon). It's enough for a month at least. Not counting the takeout from last night, and all of the non perishables in the cabinets.
You don't think about what could happen if all the food runs out; and you fail to think of an escape plan.
Feeling optimistic, you rifle around the living room to find a pen and tally one mark on a piece of paper. Before, any attempts at marking the day were quickly stopped. Another surprising benefit to Gojo's absence.
He left the DVD player behind too. The remote. And all of his movies. Another privilege. Your earlier assumption had been right. You must have been so good that he gave you infinite Movie Nights on top of cooking privileges, and all of the snacks in the kitchen.
That was nice of him, to alleviate your inevitable boredom this way. He could have left you with nothing. He could have made you starve. Instead, he's playing right into your hands. You'll escape him in no time.
Nervously giddy, you microwave a big bowl of popcorn (you promise to ration everything properly after that) and find the goriest action movie he has and nestle down on the couch to watch it.
You'll never watch another rom-com. Not even when you escape.
You watch one movie after another, only getting up to relieve yourself in the bathroom. Your fingers prune from salty butter and there are bits of kernel, sharp, stuck in your teeth. You pick them out with your fingers.
And then, horridly disgusted with yourself, and the barbaric lack of manners—you then resolve yourself to a hot bath. The water is scalding hot, and you take care not to glance at your reflection too keenly in the waters surface. You scrub and scrub and scrub, skin practically raw, cleaning yourself of him.
When you finish with that, you clean around the house too. It isn't dirty. But sweeping the floors and washing the dishes gives you something to do besides sit there and gnaw on your own leg. So you do it. Anything to pass the time.
There are no clocks on the wall. No real ways to tell time. The time on the microwave always says 06:06 and there isn't a single electronic device in this entire house. Not that the house is very big. The windows are placed in a way that you can't see much of the outside world. Only slivers of light are able to pass through.
Usually, you can only tell time when Gojo is home. He never minds answering your hundredth or thousandth, what-time-is-it 's. Bears them all with a smile and a pat on the head. Sometimes he comes in smelling of rain, or food from a restaurant. On bad days, days where he comes home looking so stagnated you don't even bother acting out—he smells like metal and something decaying.
The house could be floating in space, you muse, quite depressively at that—and you wouldn't have a clue. Not a single clue.
Just as quickly as your elation had arrived, it flees, leaving despair in its wake. How many hours has it been? The natural light is dim, slightly purple and orange. Sunset. What is Gojo doing in Shibuya? Is he thinking of you? How many people have died?
Hopefully he isn't one of them. You hate him with all your heart. But Gojo dying is...it's ridiculous. He put you through so much. For a man like him, dying is simple. Maybe not expected. But you want Gojo to suffer. Endlessly. You want him to pay for what he did to you.
You want to forget him. Angrily, you toss aside the throw blanket and stalk around your cell.
The first thing you do is try the window. All of them. None of them budge. You throw your entire weight against them. Nothing. Huffing, you pick up a chair and toss it. You might as well be playing in a plastic house.
In your mind, Gojo laughs at you. Did you really think it would be that easy, he say, eyes twinkling with mirth. You hadn't—but it was worth a shot. Defeated (temporarily), you crawl into bed. The blankets smell a bit like him.
Horrifyingly, the smell sends you right into a calm state of nearly-sleep. Tomorrow, is your last conscious thought, eyes falling shut now against your will. I'll find a way out tomorrow.
The scrap of paper marks six lines. It hasn't been even a week and yet you've scoured the entire house only to find nothing. There are so hidden doors behind paintings, photographs or the bookshelf. There is no hidden latch that will take you to either an attic or basement through the ceiling or floorboards.
You've torn the house apart and put it back together again within four of those six days—only to find jack shit. It was your fire, your purpose. You went without sleep, without food. Then, those things felt pointless and insignificant. Why eat, why sleep, why bathe? Once you were free again, you would have time to do all that and more.
Without something to focus on; some goal to reach, you feel useless. Empty. You do nothing but the bare minimum to keep yourself alive. You tell yourself you do these things because you have to. Because you want to be free again. Because you don't want to die.
Every 'day' it gets easier.
Until you start to do a little more. Eating three times a 'day'. Making sure there's no dirt underneath your nails. Keeping the house clean. Making sure it smells nice, almost obsessively so.
You wouldn't admit the real reason. Not at first. It felt like betrayal. To know that you bathe and moisturize your skin everyday. That you keep your face clean. That you keep your lips soft by periodically applying chapstick. That you're doing all of this so that when he does inevitably return (because under no circumstances do you allow yourself to believe that he's out there dead somewhere), you want him to...still like you.
Still desire you.
Because that's what everything boils down to, right? He kidnapped you because he desired you.
He is capable of murder. Of pulling you apart atom by atom until there is nothing left. Despite your abhorrent behavior in the beginning, Gojo has not killed you. He dotes on you. Kisses you. Makes sure you're comfortable and as happy as the current situation will allow because he desires you.
He might even love you.
In the beginning, you thought the worst thing that could happen was dying here. Never seeing the sun again. Or feeling the wind against your cheek. No. There is something worse. There is always something worse. It is only in Gojo's absence that you've learned that.
The worst thing that could happen is Gojo returning, and not wanting you anymore. You try to imagine Gojo's face twisting into a snarl or a sneer, the way it does when he talks about things he hates. Like the higher-ups. A man named Toji Fushiguro.
Imagining him viewing you that way...it's horrifying. If he treats you like things he hates. Only now do you realize just how patient Gojo has been. He never complains (much) whenever you want space. When you lash out. When you cry. He bears it all with a smile and a laugh.
How frustrating it must have been, dealing with your mood swings! He's the strongest. There will never be anyone on par with him. And yet—when Gojo could have anyone, he chose you. A small, nameless woman who returned to the same coastal village you fled from—desperate to put the demons of your childhood behind you.
He must love you, you think, to weather your storms like that. If he were here now...if only he were here. Then you would have someone to talk to. Something to hear other than the unbearable weight of silence that covers the house. He would tell jokes. Pull laughter from you. You would be more receptive; you swear. You wouldn't hide away anymore. You wouldn't go all 'hot and cold' on him.
You could be the sweet girl he's always wanted.
And he would bring apples. And pears, and little persimmons. Tomatoes, still green. All of those wonderful things. If you asked, you're sure he would.
Gojo is very kind. And very reasonable. He would do it because he knows how happy it would make you. Because he loves you very much.
You curl into yourself, holding one of his shirts from the dirty clothes hamper. It still has traces of him on it. Unabashedly, you lay down, the soft fabric underneath your cheek. The scent curls under your nose.
Something that sounds like laughter twinkles like bells in the background. It isn't hard to imagine who it could belong to. But you don't turn towards it. Not anymore. Not when you know there's nothing there but an empty house.
You hope that whatever is keeping him in Shibuya is almost over. You want Gojo to come home.
The hardest parts are the memories.
There isn't much to do besides think. Sure, there are puzzles (small ones, big ones, puzzles with pieces missing). There are lego sets still in their boxes. Plants and ferns to water that somehow survive on the same amount of sunlight you do. Of course, there's that huge collection of movies.
But after a while, and in your case, twelve whole days without a single human interaction...all of that gets boring. You've seen the movies. But watching the actors do the things you'll never be able to do again hurts. The puzzles you've done and taken apart and rebuilt again. Fiddling with the legos is fun. But not so much when you realize there's no one to show them off too.
So you destroy those too. Once, you stepped on a little practice brick you could have sworn you put away, and was sent careening to the floor. After that, you haven't touched a single set.
So you think. You fantasize about the future. How great things will be once Gojo comes back home. The things you'll talk about. You won't annoy him right away. Obviously. You want him to still like you, after all. And he might be tired from all of the fighting and curse-killing. So comforting him is your top priority.
You just hope he won't have to leave for a while. You don't think you could handle it if he had to go for more missions. You hope that this Shibuya thing is the Final Battle.
Once you've exhausted yourself with every conceivable possibility of the (near?) future, you're forced to go back in time. That's the hard part. Sitting for hours, held immobile by things you could have sworn you forgotten. Or things you could never forget.
Your first kiss. The night your parents took you out to a restaurant. And then to the fair, where the let you try out anything you wanted. How they ended the night with the news of their divorce. Your highschool graduation. Your childhood best friend getting married.
You wonder how they're doing in your absence. How long have you been missing? You wish you knew. It was a summer night in August when he took you. A Thursday...you think. It was hot and humid and there was sticky sweat on the back of your neck when you agreed to meet up with him on the beach so he could explain all of the strange things you had been seeing.
Have your parents any hope for your return? Do they miss you? Have they already excepted that you're most likely dead? You wonder if they have a shrine set up for you. If they light candles and beg for forgiveness in front of your photo, every-time they leave their respective homes. Gojo met them a couple of times, you're sure. What has he told them about you?
You want to cry. Really, you do. But you have nothing left inside of you. You've cried and cried and cried. Resigned, you go off into the kitchen and eat a small container of red bean and vanilla mochi standing up. You suck the dusty sugar off your fingertips, staring at the tile walls blankly.
Once that's over, you perfunctorily wash your hands in the kitchen sink. Twenty seconds on the front. Twenty on the back. Like you were taught in daycare. You can't believe you even remember that.
But small snippets like that have been coming back.
The name of your favorite stuffed animal. Your imaginary friends (were any of them curses?). A beloved pair of sneakers. A teacher you hated. The way you hated sleeping over at Chisaki's because she always sleep-talked...and walked...and kicked.
The first time you were ever a bad friend to her. Embarrassing moments too. The time you tripped on a field trip to the museum in the big city and everyone called you Big Foot for weeks. The diary you bought at the school book fair r in the third grade that came lock and key. Sometimes you would leave and forget to lock the diary. Once, your mom had stumbled—
Wait.
Isn't the house like the diary? It locks from the outside. And only Gojo has the key. If the house comes with one. Or perhaps he is the key. You don't remember much from the night that he left. He carried you into the bedroom. He shucked off his clothes (this, you remember, because you tripped on them on your way to the bathroom).
Could it be that he forgot to lock the door? Against your will, your eyes travel to the door from where you can see it clearly from the kitchen. It's far-fetched. Extremely so. But your feet carry you to it anyway; each step louder than it should be. Or maybe your sense of hearing is off with so many days in solitary confinement.
What are the chances that Gojo forgot to lock the door? Not likely. But could his mind have been on Shibuya, and the fact that he would be forced to, perhaps in mere hours...days, to kill his beloved friend again?
You admit that the door is one of the things you never tried. In fact, you try not to look at it when you can. There's no backdoor. You have no hopes in trying to rush past Gojo or anything like that. You never even tried.
Could it be that things really were that easy? Your hand shakes in midair as you settle it on the doorknob. It's not a great door. It's quite simple in design. Unassuming, if not for the sheer negative aura its gives you. The metal knob feels odd in your grip. Like it's just there for show.
You turn it. Just barely. Just a little. It moves like it could give. You gasp, snatching your hand away. Your heart pounds in your throat. The door rattles and shakes, like a beast trying to get through. Or maybe it's all in your mind. Lately, you've been seeing things that aren't there.
It's nothing, you reason. Wiping the crime of your in-honest deed on the fabric of your thin pants. But you can't quite shake the feeling of dread it gives you.
Later that 'evening', you are able to properly identify the emotion. Guilt. That's what you were feeling. Guilty. Not for yourself. For giving up. But for Gojo.
What if the door had worked? What if this really was all a big test? How would he have reacted to your betrayal? To the fact that you tried to deceive him? In your mind you could have pictured it. Satoru coming home from a literal massacre. Perhaps he is the only survivor. Perhaps, all he wants is a little comfort from his sweet little girl. A hug or a kiss.
And what would he find? Nothing.
You bite down on your knuckles to stifle a cry. What was it that he had said? Oh, yes, you remember now. Gojo...not Satoru, grew up very lonely. You had the love of your parents, even if they didn't love one another.
But Gojo never had that.
The only person whom he trusted had betrayed him. His colleagues don't see him as a person. To them, he is but only the strongest weapon in their arsenal against an undefeated, always evolving, foe. But Satoru, he doesn't resent them for it. He almost...expects it.
And you would have added to that grief. To his pain and suffering. You won't say what Gojo did was right. He lied to you. He got you to a secure location and kidnapped you. It was just as he said. He didn't have to use an ounce of cursed energy to do it. He got you there using nothing but the sheer amount of trust you had in him. Because you came back to convince yourself that the monsters you had seen weren't real.
The moment you met him, you knew Gojo was different. He was dressed like a tourist. Or perhaps a man on a business trip. But he had an attractive air about him. As if he held the answers to all your questions in the palm of his hand.
Sure, you were happy with the attention in the beginning. Failing to mend the broken relationships with your parents and old friends. Happy to have someone on your side. Even if that someone was a complete stranger. You had done, from the beginning, what you had always done with him. You played hot and cold.
You tempted him. If you had opened your eyes, if you were smarter. If you hadn't been so blinded by him, it would have been easy as day to see what he planned for you.
Or maybe...maybe you didn't want to see. Maybe you just wanted to play pretend a little while longer. You felt your features screwing up in a grimace. That didn't seem like something you would do. You were never that person. You didn't just play with people's feelings.
...do you?
Not for the first time. Not for the hundredth time, you wished that Satoru was here. He could make everything okay again. He could ease your suffering.
Please just come home, you think, curling up on the floor and sobbing. I'll never do it again. I'll be good. I'll listen. Please just come home.
Today is Day 13. The irony of the infamous unlucky number is not lost on you. In fact, you break down about it several times before 'midmorning', muttering to yourself about superstitions and bad luck. Things you wouldn't have normally paid attention (better yet—scoffed at) to before.
Recent events have given you a new outlook on the world of the supernatural.
You force the broken parts of yourself together again. Even if it all feels pointless, you know you can't give up. Satoru is expecting you to be A-OK here. And you can't...you can't let him know that anything is amiss.
That you almost tried to leave him yesterday.
I said I was done thinking about that, you tell yourself, getting a late start to your usual morning routine. I can't change the past. Of course. No one can. But you can prepare for the future by allocating properly in the present.
And that means, brushing your teeth. Washing your face. Exfoliating your skin in the bath. Dressing up pretty. Doing the no-makeup makeup look. Dewy dark skin. Sure, your eyes seem a little dull and your general air is plain depressive. But all of that will change when Satoru comes–
(if)
No. Not if. When. And that could be any moment now.
(but what if he doesn't)
(what if he doesn't want you anymore because yo—)
You said you weren't going to think of that anymore.
(because you tried to leave him)
A piercingly loud scream erupts from your throat. With one wide sweep of your arm, all of the makeup goes clattering to the floor.
(jesus. you've done it now)
You immediately bend down to pick up the broken pieces, biting your lip nervously. For once, you agree with the oppressive voice inside your head. Most of this stuff is completely damaged. If not the powders themselves, then the casings. You could explain one of these away. But four of them? Even Satoru would be hard pressed to believe that.
Of course. More likes. That's your solution?
"No" You mumble, a bit feverishly. Like a crazy person. But crazy people don't know they're crazy and you feel a bit weird. Cabin fever. But cabin fever isn't the same thing as crazy. "No. No more lies. He has enough people lying to him already. I can't be apart of that"
Besides. You glance at the brand on the bottom of one of your eyeshadow palettes. Nothing you've heard of. But if you asked, you're positive Satoru would just buy you the replacements. Because he's just that good of a person. He understands you make mistakes. And that you mess up sometimes.
Doesn't that speak leagues for his love for you?
It brings a smile to your face. You're able to clean up the mess with no further issues. The weight on your shoulders and the voice inside your head is silent. It tries to pipe up a few times throughout the 'day'—but your sudden strength surprises you. Each time, you're able to defeat it and push it down once more.
While you make breakfast. As you throw everything out of the trash chute, pushing down that thought to jump down and see where it takes you. If you'll end up on the other side of wherever it is you are. As you read a book, glancing at the front door with all of its locks on the other side.
(it's unlocked)
"No it's not" You whisper, staring down at the book again. You had to beg Satoru for books. And now the words swim on the page, like they're trying to purposefully escape you. "It's not that easy. There's no way out of here. And you know it"
(then why won't you tr—)
You slam your hands over your ears. That does not disquiet the voice. Of course it doesn't. It's inside your head. Outside of it. Everywhere. Inescapable. Much like this damn house. But you can push it down again. You just need to draw on Satoru's strength. His devotion.
It's not easy. Nothing ever is. But you manage to succeed. Of course you do. Your love is insurmountable. You stand. You glance at the door again. But you do not walk towards it. Instead, you put the book back onto the shelf. Your fingers splay flat against the spines as your eyes rove over the titles.
You don't really feel like reading anymore. But what else is there to do? Puzzles? A movie? When Satoru comes back...and if he isn't too tired, you'll need to ask for more things to do around the house. You don't want to be bored like this ever again.
Hm. That poses a thought. What hobbies would you like to do? You've always wanted to try baking. But working full time and school didn't leave much time for that. Now—you have all of the time in the world. Maybe he could buy some proper baking equipment and you could begin to explore some of those cookbooks you're pretty sure he got for you as gag gifts.
Maybe he could even help. The thought makes you giggle. Baking is nothing like cooking. Baking is more of an exact science. You can't picture Satoru being good at science. Not without tripping and messing things up. Maybe he can just sit at the island bar and try your samples like a dutiful assistant.
The day trudges along slowly. You've seen paint drying faster than this. After a hearty lunch and nap, and then more of those pointless menial little chores—you set down to binge a few movies.
After the first two and halfway into the third, you need something else to do. Or else your brain is going to melt out of your ears. You decide to do one of the puzzles. A last ditch effort. Carefully, you select the 200 piece set and lug it over to the small dining table.
The movie continues to play on in the background. A little animation movie about Little Red trying to find the mysterious identity of the person who stole her grandmother's super secret recipe. Your fingers sort through the puzzle pieces, grouping similar images and colors together.
You've done enough puzzles in captivity to know that it's easier to start from the outside and work your way inwards. As a bit of a challenge, you decide to work from the middle and go outwards. You get really into it, neck bent in an awkward angle over the table as you scrutinize each and every piece.
The final product is a family playing on a beach. You try not to think of any possible connections. You get up to relieve yourself and then head into the kitchen to wash your hands and fix a bowl of gummy worms to take back to your puzzle when the hairs on the back of your neck all raise up.
In fact, the energy in the entire room seems to shift.
Elated, you turn around. Only, the look on Satoru's face stops you in your tracks completely. Because he doesn't look happy. Not really. His eyes narrow in on the point right above your shoulder.
Like he can't bother to look you in the eye.
He knows.
He must know. You open your mouth and shut it again. Nothing comes out. Will confessing make him have mercy on you? Will he be less angry to know you didn't mean it? Silently, he steps forward. You take one back and the backs of your thighs knock clumsily against the counters.
"Satoru—?"
That seems to make him pause a little bit. His face goes through a shuffle of emotions, too quickly for you to properly pin down and define. It's hard to focus when your mind is currently hurdling through all of the ways he might punish you for trying to leave, each more creative and tortuous than the last.
"You've got," He says, sweeping his hand along the length of your shoulder, face screwed back into disgust. "A little curse"
"Oh" A gust of air (?) brushes along your neck and shoulders. Suddenly, you don't feel as tense anymore. You roll your shoulder, humming. "So that's why—"
"So thats why" Satoru repeats, already looking better. His blue eyed seem brighter, but not scarily invasive this time. You're so relieved to see him that you throw your arms around him, squeezing tightly. He chuckles, and the sound is so familiar it makes you ache. His hand rubs your back. "I know, I know. I missed you a whole lot too"
The thought warms your heart. You pull back, resting your chin in between his pecs (which...seem a bit firmer than usual?). "Really?"
"Of course I did!" He gasps, aghast. "Why wouldn't I miss my good little girl?"
Your heart sinks at the reminder of your treacherous behavior. Satoru doesn't know. He really doesn't know. You muster up a smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes, tugging on the sleeve of his jacket, intent to set rights to wrongs. "Uhm...Sato—"
"Not right now, baby" Satoru brushes you off completely, pulling off that jacket (you seriously hope those stains isn't blood). His head swivels around, as if it's his first time in the house again. "I need a bath. Don't I stink?"
The confession haggles at you, tugging harshly on your conscience. But instead of getting out the dirty little secret, you fix a wan smile on your face and silently follow him into the bathroom. Satoru doesn't seem to think much of it, and is happy to carry on your conversation.
He only pauses once the water is gushing from the faucet, glancing over his shoulder at you. "You don't want to wait for me in the room?" He asks, slow and kind of curious.
"I...uhm" Your teeth gnaw at your bottom lip. The words you want to say can't come. How you don't want to be alone. Not anymore. How the oppressive silence of the bedroom might actually kill you if you have to be apart from Satoru for more than a second. You'd follow him to the bathroom to watch him piss if you could. Just. You can't be alone anymore. "I would rather just stay here. If that's okay?"
Satoru's grin is all-knowing. His hand (dirt, blood, gore—you think you're going to be sick) rubs the top of your head. "Oh I get it. You're scared there might be curses in the other rooms, huh? And you wanna stay with me, the strongest sorcerer of the modern world?"
"Yes, I am a little scared" You tell him, which is sort of a lie. You hadn't been scared before, but he has a weird way of tilting your stable world on its side while also being the one thing that can keep it stable. You sit on the floor, leaning against the tub, thinking real hard. "Curses can't come in, can they?"
"Nope" He replies, popping the 'p'. You want him to explain more, like he usually would. But Satoru tugs off his shirt and shucks off his pants and underwear. He isn't ashamed of his naked body, which makes you feel embarrassed for the way your own skin flushes hot.
You duck your head quickly—even though you did already see everything, ignoring the way Satoru laughs. It's ridiculous. It's not like you haven't seen a man's...stuff before. And you already lost half of your virginity to this one anyway.
But thinking of that makes you think of what happened right before Satoru left. The tingles and the heat that curled up in your stomach and the way you got really wet between your legs. There were other parts too. The low croon of his voice and the soft pads of his fingers. The hard-to-describe way his breath felt on the innermost part of your thighs.
A jet of water hits you right in the face. You sit up with a start, sputtering and spitting soap foam out of your mouth. Satoru cackles, and makes another splash, wetting your shirt.
"Someone's thinking dirty thoughts!" He sing-songs, and your entire face bursts with heat.
"I'm not!" You protest, voice cracking—which only serves to incriminate you further.
"You were so" Satoru says (childishly). "You were looking at me like you wanted me to pounce on you" his hands dance out of the water, trailing along the tub's porcelain edge, brushing against your arms and face. "Is that what you want, honeybun? You want me to pounce on you?"
Do you? You don't know. It felt good. But you didn't like how out of control you felt. And you didn't like that Satoru pushed you too far. Or had your body language somehow told him otherwise—that you wanted to? He's not a rapist. He didn't hold you down and force you to cum around his fingers and tongue. He would never do something like that.
Maybe he just got carried away.
But would he like you to say yes? You're sure every guy must be excited for his friend-girlfriend-roommate to want to have sex. Even half sex like you two did on the couch. Maybe it would make him happy. If that's what he wants, it's what you want. After all, everything runs more smoothly when he's pleased. But the thought must make you look stricken, and helplessly you're forced to watch as the moment dies down and dissipates entirely.
"I'm happy your home" You mumble, resting your face and chin against the cool porcelain. The heat from the water wafts up into your face. "And that you didn't...die in Shibuya"
The words make your breath hitch, and your eyes water.
"I almost did" Satoru says, quietly. You can tell he didn't quite mean to say it. He starts and then his eyes fall down to meet yours. "I knew he would be there. But still I wasn't...I—"
You place your hand on the bony knee tenting out of the water like the top of a mountain. "You were just surprised to see him?"
"Yeah," Satoru chuckles, but its a bitter, dead sounding thing. "He got the jump on me. Then I was imprisoned in an alternate dimension—" your eyebrows jump up to your hairline, which makes Satoru laugh for real, and his wet thumb smoothes it out. "Yeah; baby. Then some good friends of mine busted me out, Oceans Eleven style. And here I am"
You get the distinct impression that Satoru's left a lot of it out. For some reason that bothers you a bit. After all, that's what you exist for, right? To comfort him? How can you do that when he hides how he really feels?
"What was it like," You broach quietly, keeping your eyes on his face. "Truly?"
"Lonely." Satoru replies immediately and it pierces you right in the heart. You know a thing or two about loneliness. "I thought life outside of that damn thing was isolating. But inside of the Prison Realm...decades passed. I couldn't age, I couldn't die. When I was free, nearly everyone had died. And I had only been imprisoned for a few days. A few days without me is all it takes for the curses to overpower us"
You sucked in a sharp breath. There was a faraway look in his eyes now. You couldn't imagine the amount of guilt he must have felt. The responsibilities, the weight of mankind on his shoulders.
It makes you feel worse for your betrayal. For your behavior. Hands shaking, you pluck the loofah from his grasp. He's practically strangling the poor thing anyway. You can feel his eyes boring down into you, sharp.
"You left the front door unlocked" You mumble, gently dragging the loofah across his chest. The cold tile hurts your knees a bit, but it's a discomfort you can bear. Satoru sucks in a breath, like a wounded animal. You can't tell if it's because you've hurt him, if he's happy to have you initiate touch or some other secret third thing. "On...maybe on accident. I don't know. Maybe it was all a test. Maybe you already know I tried to leave"
You sniffle, blinking back tears. God, you don't want to cry right now. But your vision blurs and you start seeing hazy doubles.
"I wanted to leave" You drag the loofah down his arm, to his wrist and then his hand. The water grows murkier. "I tried so hard to leave. But I just couldn't. I kept thinking of how lonely you would be if you came home and saw that I wasn't there anymore. I know you've been through a lot. A-and this is just another problem for you to deal with and I'm...I'm sorry."
Satoru darts forward suddenly. You flinch back from him, but he's too fast. He holds your face in his hands. He says nothing and his face betrays not the slightest of what he could be feeling. His eyes dart across your face. You can feel the warmth of the glow reflected onto your skin.
"I know" Satoru says quietly, thumbs stroking the hot aching tears away. "I could feel it, you know? You don't have a lot of cursed energy. It's so small and insignificant that the recruiters would pass right by it. But I can see it."
Your eyes flicker down to your hands, wet and soapy.
Satoru nudges your chin with the tips of his fingers. Eyes up here. "But I didn't need Six Eyes to tell me you were unhappy here—"
"I'm not unhappy!" You rush out, because it sounds like Satoru's about to break up with you, or something. And would happen to you then? How are you meant to go back to a 'normal life', that feels centuries behind you?
"You're not?" Satoru asks, and chuckles mirthlessly, shaking his head. "How can I believe you? How can I believe that tomorrow, you won't hide from me? What about a week from now? That you won't act like my hands disgust you. That I disgust you?"
Because I know I'm not getting out of here anymore. I had my chance, and I gave it up. But those words won't come. Would Satoru even believe you if you said them?
What you do know, is that there needs to be no room for hesitation. Not anymore.
Your hands dart outwards, cupping him by the face. You nearly stumble and fall into the tub. Your elbow bangs against the porcelain, and pain shoots up to your skull. But all of that is nearly secondary.
Because what you know is that Satoru needs something more fulfilling than words. It would be foolish to hope for him to simply forgive you, not when you've done nothing to show him how apologetic you are.
"Sometimes I wish I could go outside. Just for a little bit. But I don't wanna leave. I swear. I swear I don't." You murmur, and kiss him. And again. You don't stop until your lips feel a little numb. Until Satoru warms up and kisses you back. You slide your tongue against the seam of his lips and smile when he parts for you. "You still...you still want me, right, Satoru?"
His fingers massage the soreness of your elbow. He tilts his head to the side, decidedly puppy-like. And then he grins. Immediately, as if contagious, you feel yourself smiling too.
"Of course, sweetie. I love you. " He teases you a bit. Tickles your inner-wrist and stomach. Skirts his hands upwards. "And what about me? Do you love me?"
You don't even have to think about it. No hesitation.
"I do love you, Satoru" You express as earnest as you know how. "I won't try to do anything like that, ever again"
Satoru smiles again, all-knowing. "I know you won't, honeybun. It's all water under the bridge. Don't worry, I forgive you"
He's the most forgiving, patient man you know. He makes you feel stable, and safe. Warm and protected. Here, nothing can ever hurt you. It would have to come between you and Satoru first. You're so incredibly lucky to have him.
That he saw you that day, and decided you were his.
hiiiii how's the rewrite of the end of the yan gojo fic coming along? any clue on when it'll be out?
hiii anonja!! thank you for asking. it was memorial day weekend (i don't actually celebrate. i just use this as an excuse to do nothing and eat snacks all day) so i've written very little. but it gave me the necessary space to try again and NOT try to rush my way through. i hope to have everything finished by wed or thurs!
but in the meantime, enjoy this random excerpt below the cut. you and all the others who are waiting deserve little holiday treat!!
awe that's so cute! they def will get more popular, they're so good 🥹 if you ever want tag recommendations tho: fandom name tags! ie. jjk x reader, jujutsu kaisen x you, so forth according to what the fandom is. you can always check what tags other writers use too!
no pressure to do this ofc, i just wanted to share. dw abt clogging them either. ppl just be putting actual bs up in there anyway, everyone would love to see your peak 😭💞
okay that actually helps a lot more with what to do and i'll implement these tags because it sounds like a great idea to boost my things! this blog is about 2 years old (for the first year i didnt even write anything 😅), and at one point before that i had another blog—maybe 6 or 7 (ahahaha) years ago and back then tumblr had this feature where only the first 5 tags counted towards the algorithm? idk if anyone else remembers that feature but i have ptsd from it apparently.
and anonja i know i shouldn't make fun of other writers or that i should genuinely be supportive if everyone but the only reason why i started writing in the first place was because i hated the popular fics at the time. i genuinely just write for myself and i'm shocked that there's nearly 400 of you who are on my same exact freaklength 🥹🫶🏽
stay with me now, but yandere crown prince and his childhood friend reader who's coming to him to beg for aid as a literal last resort to spare her and her own family from the mad king's wrath. surprisingly distance does make the heart grow fonder and the ten years you've been apart seem to mean nothing to him because he's super kind, generous and hospitable. nothing at all like that mad king he calls a father.
baratheonpilled
jacobvanloon
izzy806
tangentwithtanner
dailybridgerton
dededos
areudirty
ellievsbear
discoholicmusic
