You run into your mom's ex right before your older sister's wedding, the golden child of the family. You never could stand him when he was around the brief few years he dated her, and nothing's changed now. The fact is you never fit into your mom's bougie, country club life, you're a hot mess and the black sheep of the family, so.... what better way to solidify that position than to get shitfaced drunk and let her ex fuck you in a bar bathroom? There won't be any problems from that when you all head to that wedding... right?
pairings- mom's ex-boyfriend! sukuna x fem! reader
warnings - MDNI - Kuna is 35, reader is 25, messy dynamics, not stepcest but they joke about it, drinking, degradation, sadistic Sukuna, semi-public sex, oral (f receiving) creampie, finger sucking, they hate e/o, reader has SO MANY mommy issues, she's a hot mess and needs therapy tbh but dick works for now - Sukuna enjoys reader's damage </3
this is fully finished, I'm sharing here weekly (six parts) Every Monday night. be warned this is freaky lmao
art in the divider is by my sweet, talented mootie @winterrbluess so go follow her rn!
chap one
Your older sister was getting married, your mom’s pride and joy – fuck, everyone in your family saw her as that. A lawyer, successful, kind, fuck she does charity in her free time. Everyone who meets her absolutely loves her, and how can you blame them when you love her just as much? Even if you resent being the clear ‘least favorite’ from your mom, you can’t ever blame her.
You however?
A hot mess to put it nicely – you have two degrees which is pretty cool but you aren’t using either, instead trying to make a career out of your music which is basically a fucking pipe dream. ‘All that wasted potential!’ your family says constantly, at any get together you have, for the fact you chose to live alone and drop out of college to pursue your dreams.
You get it, you’re broke and struggling in a family of rich people, ones who have country club memberships and never worried for a fucking thing. You’re not up to their standard, throwing back a tequila shot the night before your sister’s rehearsal dinner. Fuck you’ve barely had the money to stay in one of their dumb suites they reserved for everyone, so this shot thankfully was on the house.
You smile and thank the man next to you, who asks you to throw in on a game of pool. Forever ‘single’ that’s another reason for the family to worry, you’re twenty four now, shouldn’t you be at least engaged? Your sister is only one year older and getting married this weekend, already four years into a relationship.
Problem is, you don’t really like people, and you sure the fuck don’t like many men.
You fuck, you’re not without your needs or anything, you have a couple friends that take care of you, and you return that. But it’s casual, it’s easy. There’s not a connection with either of them and no feelings, you get dick and you sort of just move on from it with a friendly hug goodbye, moving on to whatever city you’re performing in that week.
You’ve made a little bit of a name for yourself, you even have a following, but shit like that wouldn’t make ‘mommy dearest’ proud, and you’re not sure you really care if you do or not. You never fit in growing up as it was, the outlier, the outsider really, never even getting along with her string of ‘step dads’ or whatever you’d call the men she brought around - except one, of course.
Her last one was the worst.
Sukuna.
Just the thoughts of that arrogant man make your blood pressure rise, remembering just how much you hated him when you’d had to stay at your mom’s for a few months. Arrogant, cocky and overall so rude, you weren’t sure how she even got with him with his gruff nature aside from that man’s body.
Swimming in the same pool at eighteen near him had been absolutely brutal to your psyche at the time, no one needed that many slutty tattoos all over their fucking body, surely! You sigh now, thinking of that while some man walks up near you, and a familiar scent hits your nostrils.
Musky, heady, something you can’t quite place, a rolex glinting off a tattooed hand, business jacket adorning some man’s body. It takes you a moment to register it, dumb from his cologne, whatever it was fucked up your senses, the poor guy who bought you the drink is babbling on while your cunt is dripping from a scent.
The fuck sort of pheremones are in this shit!?
You clear your throat, he’s too close to you, this tall man, with tattoos that you just can’t rip your eyes away from, adorning huge hands with raised blue and purple veins underneath taut skin. The music and lights of the bar all fade, like some dumb movie you’d watch, your thighs pressing together, trying to rip your gaze from him and focus.
“I’ll have a whiskey on the rocks,” you hear it then, there’s no mistaking that voice, the one that used to make you so fucking angry, the man who’d had your mother dumb in love. You glare up then, for him to look down at you, taking his glass and smirking, ruby eyes lidded as he studies you. “Ah, it’s the brat.”
“The brat? Excuse me?” You roll your eyes at him, while Sukuna studies just how fucking sexy you look right now.
You’re a little older now, you lost some of that baby face, becoming even more pretty, a sharper jut to your chin, narrowed eyes with your lips all glossy and pursed together in irritation. Your hair falls against bare shoulders, you’ve got a different style than you did then to it, silky against your bare skin in that slutty little excuse for an outfit you’re wearing.
He drifts his gaze down to breasts begging for his hands, nipples pressing against pathetic fucking material, some velvet and lace bodice that should be in a bedroom only. He resists the urge to throw his coat over you, before eyeing the boy behind you trying to make conversation.
He gives him such a look that the boy literally fucking runs away, much to Sukuna’s amusement, smirking when you look over your shoulder. “Huh, looks like he got annoyed by you finally.”
“You’re still such a dick, nothing’s changed, huh?” You scoff, rolling your eyes then, he sits down casually, eyeing your empty glass.
“Want a drink?” You pause then, his thigh is brushing against yours, he’s close - too close again. “You’re old enough now, yeah?”
“Twenty-five. And you? Fifty yet?”
“You’re still bitchy as ever,” he rolls his eyes at you, leaning back on the seat a bit, sipping his glass, you watch his adam’s apple bob, the dark lights glinting off his frosty pink locks. “Thirty five.”
“I forgot mom was a cougar,” he chuckles a bit, the sound throaty and doing too much. “You still talk to her?”
“Yeah, I do. She invited me to your sister’s wedding. Me and her were pretty cool with each other – you were the little brat.”
“Yeah well sorry I didn’t want you trying to tell me what to do,” he leans forward, a fist under his chin, elbow on the bar.
“Your mom still a bitch to you?”
You pause, blinking a bit. “She’s always disappointed, if that’s what you mean, she’ll always be her favorite.”
Sukuna pauses a bit, the reason he and your mother didn’t work out had a lot to do with how stuck up and pretentious she was, of course she was beautiful and fun for the time, but she also just didn’t give a fuck. Especially about you from what he can briefly remember sticking around when you were eighteen and trying to figure out college.
“You got invited, huh?” He blinks a bit, the past slipping some. “Mom want some dick again?”
He laughs then, a husky, throaty laugh, running a hand through his hair. “If she does, I sure won’t be giving it to her.”
“What are you dating? My condolences to her.” His eyes narrow at your mean little smile.
“Nope,” he taps your glass again. “Do you want a drink or not?”
“I dunno, former step-dad.”
He scowls now, you’re giggling until he leans far too close, lips a breath away from yours. “Never was your fucking ‘step dad’. Unless,” his fingers drift across your cheek now. “You wanted me to be, ya got that many mommy issues?”
“You fucking wish,” you slap his hand, scowling up at him, meeting his energy in that moment. “Get me one then.”
“What little bitch drink are you having?”
“Dirty shirley.”
He laughs at you again, you shove his big ass, feeling those biceps under your hand. “The bitchiest of drinks.”
“Oh fuck you,” he chuckles and orders you one anyway, judgy as fuck when the bartender pops in a pretty cherry. “Thanks I guess.”
“Yeah, whatever,” you brush your hair back off your shoulders, exposing far too much of your pretty shoulders, lips wrapping around the straw. “Drinking your sorrows?”
“What do you care?”
“We’re both here, might as well catch up with my former almost step daughter.” You shove at his big body, he snorts in laughter, irritating you to no end. “Thought this was your kink.”
“Psh, you’re so annoying I swear. I’m doing music and busy being the family disappointment.” You raise your glass in a toast, he can’t stop the grin on his face.
“Could disappoint them more.”
“You think so?” He leans back, putting the crystal glass back up to his lips.
“Of course you can. You could become a stripper, they'd love that.”
“Shit, I could, maybe dance at the bachelor party?”
“There you go, that’d really get ‘em going,” you laugh then, the sound too pleasing to his ears. “You’re failing at being the disappointment.”
“I am, truly,” something feels almost comfortable about Sukuna in that moment, you try to ignore how sexy he looks when he loosens his black tie, swallowing more of your pink drink down. “I never liked you.”
“I know,” the lights flit a bit, casting shadows on a face that looks a little too fucking good to your buzzed senses. “I didn’t like you much, just a little brat. You still are it seems.”
“You’re still a dick it seems,” Sukuna just winks at you. “And pretentious.”
“Any other words?”
“Obnoxius, rude, annoying-”
“Just say you wanna fuck me already,” you shove at him again. “You ready for the wedding then? Gonna be in some ugly bridesmaid dress?”
“Of course I will be, it’s the ugliest thing I’ve seen too.” You pick up your phone, showing him a picture of you in it.
“Disgusting.”
“I know!”
“You’ll look like a fucking yellow bird in that thing.”
“It’s so ugly, I have to wear it to the rehearsal dinner too. Are you going to that?”
“I am, I’m not looking forward to seeing your mom again.”
“Aw,” you trail your fingers up his chest teasingly, a pout on your face. “Poor Sukuna, did she break your wittle heart?”
“You’re such a little brat,” he snatches your wrist then, big fingers entrapping it, leaning close to you. “You know your mom.”
“Not quite like you.”
“We’ve both been inside her tech– shit come back!?” You’re already hopping your drunk ass off the seat.
“I’ll deal with you tomorrow,” you mumble, so done with him then, yet he’s following you. “Are you bored?”
“Are you mad?” You scowl at him now, standing towards the entrance, your jacket slung over your arm. “Upset it isn’t you?”
“You’re trying to piss me off, doesn’t make any sense either, I won’t get you hooked back up with mommy.”
“You keep bringing her up,” he leans low, brushing your hair back, you tremble just a bit at the proximity. “You look good as fuck, y’know that?”
“Oh shut up,” you shove at him again. “What, do I look like mom?”
“Much hotter,” you scoff then, but the words have their fucked effect, his big hand on your waist with his lips against your ear when you phone rings. He pulls back and you take a step away, outside catching your breath. The fucker follows you out, lighting up a cigarette casually.
“Yeah, what’s up mom?” You ask, eyes flitting over to Sukuna’s form, leaning against the brick wall.
“What are you doing, I need you to help with plans! This is your sister’s wedding, you know!” Your jaw sets, hands clutching the phone tightly.
“Mom I’ve helped a ton, I just really needed a break.”
“And where are you – let me guess, drinking?”
“And?”
Her sigh of disappointment is louder than anything. “Get yourself together, your sister at your age was already engaged! She was in charity events and-”
“Yeah, I’m aware she’s perfect,” your voice is quiet, but Sukuna hears it, taking a drag on his cigarette, poking around on his own phone. “You don’t have to constantly remind me.”
“Maybe it will be motivational,” you almost laugh at her then. “Fine just don’t show up hungover to this rehearsal, the entire family will be there.”
“And they’ll all be drinking anyway, but sure I will be bright eyed and bushy tailed.”
“I’ll see you then.” She hangs up, you look up at the night sky for a moment, seeing the soft twinkling of the stars, before looking back.
“You smoke now?”
“Bad habit I picked up,” he murmurs, lips wrapping around it to take another drag, puff of smoke rising into the air, he flicks it quickly, hands back in his pockets. “Does mommy want you to leave?”
You laugh a bit without humor then, eyeing the time. “It is eleven, but I have my own suite, she just wants to have plenty of control.”
“Ya gonna give it to her?” You walk over then, shaking your head and brushing past him to the door.
“Wanna play darts?”
He grins, and soon the two of you are going head to head, and fuck Sukuna is competitive at it. They fly with expert precision, zooming past and landing bulls eyes over and over, your own join and meet his, red and black darts scattered all across the board. He’s got you another drink, you’re throwing back a shot with him and laughing, it’s far, far too easy to be around him.
Something you really never expected was that, Sukuna being easy to be around, he was intelligent and sarcastic as can be, but ultimately just fun. You’re laughing so much you almost forget the shitty mindset you were in before, a little too close to him when it’s your turn, soon people are watching you two, seeing the insane back to back competition.
“Hah, I owned your ass!” You flip him off as you pull back your last dart on the board, a big grin on your face that Sukuna finds far too attractive, it’s entirely impossible to register you as the same girl who used to piss him off all the time.
When he dated your mom you hated him, but you also seemed to not be able to stand your own mother. At first it seemed you were just a little brat or something, but he realized that there was clearly more to it in time. You never failed to stick your tongue out at him or
“I guess you did win,” Sukuna leans too close, chest right against your face as he pulls out your winning dart, you inhale that cologne, tummy tightening with his every movement. “What do you want for winning?”
“I get something, huh?” He nods, his hand slipping across your bare shoulder, leaving goosebumps in its trail.
“What would you want me to do, huh brat?”
“You’re at my mercy?” You raise a brow, body thrumming with a heady mix of desire and how fucked up this would be, to do what you’re thinking of with him.
“Never mind, you look scary as fuck, whatever you’re thinking,” he goes to pull away when you tug at his tie, pulling him down to you. “What is it?”
“Make me cum.”
Sukuna doesn’t spend another minute before he’s kissing you right there, lips mean and messy, hands slipping up your hips to tug you against him, leaning you against the wall with his hard body pressed against you. You gasp out, letting his tongue slip in, the faint taste of cigarettes and whiskey lingering on his lips. Sukuna moans and his hands grip your ass right there.
“Not here, are you insane?” You pull back and see his grin plastered on his face now.
“Make you cum, been a while?” He cups your face in a way that’s anything but delicate or sweet.
“Maybe,” you admit, his thigh pressing against your heat, pressing up so that you’re right against him.
“Fingers or mouth?” You blink in surprise then, flushing and looking down, Sukuna chuckles. “Cock? All three?”
“You’re slutty.”
“You’re slutty,” you kiss him again, the alcohol making your head swirl, any decisions being made in your brain shoved away for just how wet you are. “Slutty and soaking wet.”
“Shh,” you grab his wrist, navigating your way through the sea of bodies until you’re both stumbling into a bathroom, he tugs down your top, moaning.
“Filled out-”
“I will hit you,” he snorts and picks you up like you’re fucking nothing, dragging you over to the counter and spreading your thighs. “Mnh!”
“Shh, keep it shut,” he murmurs, your hands grip on his pink locks when he shoves up your dress, slipping your panties aside and groaning out. “Fuck…”
You arch your hips for him, when he laps up juices that have already spilled down your inner thigh, they’re trembling on either side of his head, cunt already pulsing from his breaths. Some odd, fucked up part of you wonders if your mom had him like this, and you try to feel some guilt, but the moment he parts your folds and flicks his tongue up your slit, the thoughts vanish.
“Oh fuck!” He chuckles and covers your mouth, hovering over you, looking down at you fucked out eyes.
“Keep it down, brat, ya that pathetic? Gonna cum from a lick?” You’re just desperately whining against his palm, when he’s back down there, tongue flicking mean while your head presses against the mirror.
“Sukuna…” You’re gushing down his mouth, ecstasy shooting straight through everywhere his tongue dives and slips, fucking you with it then. Your walls grip his wet muscle, the man you couldn’t stand who was with the woman you can’t stand, worshipping you right in the club bathroom. “Ah!”
“Mmm,” he’s slurping up all of your juices then, gummy walls gripping his tongue so tightly he can’t stand it. You’re so sweet then, for the mean little brat you usually are, all pliant and needy. He can’t help but look up at your already fucked out face and grin against you. “Prettier than moms.”
“You’re so fucked up,” you’re wetter though, he notices when his fingers slip up inside your hole, curling up and down, stretching you so much. “Tighter?”
“You’re the fucked up one,” he flicks his tongue on your clit. “Mommy issues out the ass.”
“Shh, get back down,” you shove his face back against you, and he’s so hard it hurts, throbbing and leaking pre, dying to be back inside you. “Mnh! There, there…”
He pulls back right before you’re about to cum, earning your soft whine, he keeps his two fingers pumping up and down, gripping your hair and pulling you to him. “Open, brat.”
You don’t know why, but you easily obey his command, doing just that and opening for his spit, mixed with your flavor, you swallow it down and get even wetter, so wet his fingers slip out, earning your frustrated whine. “Lemme cum, please.”
“You will,” he yanks them out again, shoving them in your mouth so deep you almost choke, sucking yourself off them desperately. “Good little whore.”
“Fuck you,” he just chuckles, pulling you down, you hear the unzipping of his slacks as he turns you to face the mirror then. “Watch your face while I make you cum, huh?”
You would say something smart, but you’re aching, soft moans escaping your throat – nodding quickly as he slips his spit soaked fingers down and into your snug little hole again. He moans against your ear, your taste soaking his mouth now, stroking his cock with his other hand, dying to slip it inside you, but also noticing your face is just too pretty.
He’d thought so years ago, you first met him the summer before college, in some tiny little outfit that had him feeling fucked up, but he promised then he’d avoid that. Yet he couldn’t help himself, finding you on instagram later, jerking it to your pictures long after he split up from your mom, and your body was better than he could imagine, he almost whispers it to you.
No way he gets that vulnerable though, you clearly want to cum and have some serious issues with your mother, and he’s glad to enable if it means he can fuck your pretty cunt at least once. You’re gasping out the quicker they go, teeth clenched together with the stretch, trying desperately not to make much noise though your cunt is loud enough with every movement.
Your hazy mind wonders just how you got here then - With Ryomen Sukuna’s fingers scissoring in and out of your slick cunt - the man who dated your mom for years, the one you can’t fucking stand, arrogant smirk devious as he moves them up and down. The pressure is too much, your head falls back, for his tattooed hand to grab a tit and squish.
“Ah!” You can’t stop that noise from escaping, before biting your lip, trying to hold back the noise.
“Such a little slut, already squirting down my fingers,” you looked in the mirror, Sukuna’s thick digits coated in your slick slipping into your mouth again, while his cock started rubbing up and down your slit. “Hah - fuckin look at you, ya want this inside you brat? Should beg for it.”
You shook your head, even as you arch your ass out for his cock, letting his tip glide between your folds, making lewd and wet noises that echo in the club’s bathroom, teeth nipping his fingers. “No, sure won’t – can’t stand you.”
“Ah, really? Why ya so soaked then, huh?” he’s grinning with a sharp flash of white teeth, lifting your thigh up so a knee was on the counter, pressing in then, hearing your gasp. “Fuck, feel her gripping me. You really hate your mom this much?”
“Just fuck me and shut up already - ah!” Sukuna needs no further urging, his cock is stretching you out so much you can’t take it, screaming out and earning a hand clamped around your mouth.
“So tight, loosen the fuck up,” he grumbles, you scowl even as your hole is quivering, gushing liquid all down his shaft, his fingers sink into your thighs, shoving his cock in so deep you can’t take it. “Feel her grippin’ me, tryna make me bust quick?”
“No, want you to make me cum first,” you take his hand off your face as you speak, slipping it down to touch your clit, he groans, fucking you harder, your hand guiding his to get that perfect angle, your legs are shaking, your vision blurring.
"Feel better than her too," you're desperately crying out at that, clamping down on his thick, veiny cock. "That get you closer? Fucked up little girl, aren't you?"
"Fuck you," you are but right now you just want every thought fucked out of your head, and Sukuna’s cock is so big it’s hard to get irritated with his snarky grin in that reflection. He pulls his finger off and you gasp. “Put it back!”
“Not till I say so,” he smacks your clit hard instead, lifting you when your knees buckle like it’s nothing. “Think you tell me what to do?”
“Lost darts, such a l-loser -hah!” He scowls and fucks you harder, which was exactly your goal, pretty grin on your face that makes him pulse inside you - tightest little grip he’s ever felt.
“Crazy little brat,” he huffs, but he’s lost in you, in not just how good you feel on his cock, his tip slamming that cervix, but your little sounds, your movements, your eyes rolling back in your skull. Sukuna loves to fuck, but he’s never felt whatever psycho witch magic you’re putting on him, burying his face for a moment. “Feel s’perfect.”
“Huh? Ah!” You think you hear something, but Sukuna just bites the fuck out of your neck instead, your head falls to the side, crying out to let him finally toy with your needy, twitchy clit. “Please, there, there.”
“Needy whore,” he is spitting the meanest words but all it does is make you closer, tummy clenching with hot need, his cock ruining you for anyone – even if you’d never fucking say it. “Need it?”
“Yes, f-fuck just, keep going,” your voice is a hoarse little whisper, one of his hands is toying with a nipple, the other working your clit while his cock drags on your spot, blinding you. “Oh god…”
“That’s it, cum on your stepdad’s cock,” you glare at him, even as he chuckles against your skin, ruby eyes lit up in the mirror. “Cunt is pulsing, you love that nasty shit, admit it.”
“You’re n-nasty, shut the fuck up and – oh my god,” you’re shattering with one more thrust and roll of his rough fingers, desperately whining out while he keeps pumping. Sukuna is holding you there in that sweet spot, making you shake and quiver while your orgasm shuts off your damn brain. “Ngh!”
“Look at that, the stepdad got you squirting,” you would glare if you weren’t trembling, he’s thickening inside you, slowing his movements, letting you ride it out on his slick cock. “Damaged fucking brat, feel this good?”
“It’s the m-mental issues,” he grins and you weakly laugh, for a moment you don’t know why you hated him so much, but only a moment. "Fuck me harder."
God Sukuna thinks he’s in love right now.
“Freaky slut, just wanna get used?”
You nod, he grabs your throat and chokes you, slamming into you like he owns you, like you're just a toy for his pleasure. He's relentless, his cock hitting you in all the right places, making you feel so full, his filthy strokes so loud they’re echoing.
"F-fuck... you're gonna make me cum," he grunts, his grip on your hips tightening. "You want it?"
"Y-yes," you pant, throat constricted, your eyes wide with lust. You want to feel him fill you up, to know that you've made him lose control just like he's made you.
“Can you take it all?”
“Shut up and cum, stepdad,” you tease, but he moans then, kissing your lips all sloppy, saliva dripping with the drool that’s pooled down the side of your lips, his hot cum flooding your pussy.
For a moment, you're lost in the haze of pleasure, the world outside the bathroom forgotten completely, so warm and dripping him already. But reality quickly crashes back in after he pumps a few more times, murmuring your name, pastel locks damp and sticking to his brow. You start to come to a bit, even drunk, and you realize what you've done. What you're still doing.
Maybe you feel just a little bad that his cum is starting to drip from your hole, but only the tiniest bit. He pulls out with a wet, suctioned pop and leaves you so empty you have to bite back the whine. You struggle to get your breath, shaking your head to clear your mind and grabbing at napkins, he smacks them out of the way, smirking and turning you to face him.
“Lemme clean up, weirdo,” he chuckles, slipping his two fingers down to where his milky seed is dripping, swirling around it until he shoves it back inside you. You gasp, head falling back, lashes fluttering shut and the soreness you already have, he just presses that cum right back in. “What are you doing?”
“Don’t waste it, you won it you know,” he pumps it up again, curling his fingers so that you almost cum again, pushing it even deeper, before pulling them out with a filthy wet squelch, sucking his own white ropes and you arousal off his fingers. He moans then, pink lashes fluttering shut, cheeks hollowing.
You stare, mouth open, waiting for red eyes to focus on you. “Wh-what are you doing?”
“Tasting us,” he tilts your chin up and kisses your lips, mixing both of your flavors on your tongue in the sluttiest fucking action. “Mnh…”
You both pull apart quickly when someone opens the bathroom, Sukuna has your tits put up but they’re stumbling drunk and giggling, staring at their phone. Your reality does start to hit, cursing yourself and rushing out then, adjusting your dress that he had up your thighs.
Fuck that felt too good.
Your sister calls you now, you answer as Sukuna unhurriedly steps out of the ladies room. “Yeah sis?”
“Oh my god, did you hear Sukuna is coming? Ah I loved him! I wish mom had stayed with him, you know?”
You frown, eyeing Sukuna and his shit eating grin. “Um… yeah I guess he was okay.”
“Mom still has the hots for him, wouldn’t it be romantic if she got back with him?” You almost laugh out loud at the absurdity of it, the smallest guilt seeping in more and more, but you throw back another shot, drinking it down. “Also if you got with someone finally!”
“Yeah, I dunno about mom or me, but I’m glad for you sis,” she sighs. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”
“Yes, love you!”
“Love you too,” you hang up the phone, Sukuna leans over the bar then, handing the bartender his card.
“Pay for hers too,” you raise a glass to him, his lips twitch up at the corners. “You got a ride back?”
“I’ll get an uber.”
“It’s nothing to -”
“There, got one,” you smile at him and wave the screen. “But thank you for offering.”
“Yeah,” he wants more of you, that could not be enough. He won’t say that shit out loud though. “See you at the..." he smirks now. "Rehearsal.”
“Yeah, um…” you awkwardly stand there, looking down as he looks too intently at you. “Night.”
You rush off without another word, inhaling the night air and wondering just how bad you fucked it all up.
hehe the full version is on Patreon but I am converting this story to here - so l will have these every week <3 (I am thinking of an epilogue too!) tags open <3
themes: COLLEGEAU, drinking, popular girl/loner, grumpy/sunshine, quick romance, eventual smut, modern au.
summary: Megumi Fushiguro doesn’t have time for distractions. Between his pre-law coursework and the weight of promises he made to a sister who isn’t here anymore, his life runs on discipline and detachment. So when his roommate Yuji’s bubbly, designer-clad friend starts showing up at their dorm constantly, Megumi writes her off immediately. Brielle is everything he resents: privileged, carefree, complaining about problems that aren’t real problems. She’s shallow. She has to be. And he doesn’t like shallow.
Brielle Johnson has never met anyone who seems so determined to dislike her. Megumi is cold, blunt, and frustratingly unreadable…but she can’t stop trying to crack him. She’s used to winning people over. She’s used to guys falling at her feet. But Megumi barely looks at her, and when he does, it’s with something close to disdain. For the first time, she finds herself second-guessing every word out of her mouth.
Forced together through mutual friends and shared spaces, they circle each other warily, until Megumi starts noticing the cracks in his own assumptions. Brielle isn’t shallow. She’s sheltered. And underneath the expensive clothes and easy smile, she’s genuinely, disarmingly good in a way that reminds him of someone he lost. By the time he realizes he’s falling for her, it’s already too late to stop it. But Megumi doesn’t do feelings. He doesn’t do relationships. And he definitely doesn’t deserve someone like her; someone warm and open and soft in all the ways he isn’t. Brielle will have to learn that loving him means reading between the lines, accepting actions over words, and holding space for a boy who’s never let anyone stay.
synopsis: it's 12:00 a.m. in a deserted parking lot, your phone is at 5%, and your tire is flat. you're halfway through a practical breakdown when the campus bad boy with the pretty eyes and the not so amazing reputation actually stops to help. he doesn't want your money, he doesn't want to talk, and he definitely doesn't want your coffee, but you're not letting him go that easily.
wk: 1.6k masterlist
the library closes at midnight during finals, which is the only reason you were allowed to stay that late, and the only reason you’re now standing in a mostly empty parking lot at 12:09 a.m. with a very flat tire and a phone that reads 5%.
you don’t know how to change a tire.
you’ve never needed to. whenever something’s gone wrong with your car, you call your dad, or one of the guys from the team, or literally anyone else, because people help you and it’s never been a problem before. but it’s late now, your dad’s three states away, the group chat hasn’t responded, and the tire is actually flat. not low, flat, the rim sitting on asphalt, and you’ve been standing here for ten minutes doing nothing because you genuinely don’t know what you’re supposed to do.
you’re crying a little. not a lot. just the frustrated kind that happens when you’re exhausted and nothing is going right and you spent four hours studying calculus and you still don’t get it and now you’re stranded and your phone is about to die.
“you good?”
you turn around, swiping at your face quickly. the wind catches the back of your neck, making you shiver in your thin hoodie. it takes you a second to place him.
dark hair. dark blue eyes. taller. good-looking in a way that almost sticks with you. you’ve seen him at parties…always in the corner, usually smoking a joint, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. you don’t know his name, but you know the vague details: gets into fights, keeps to himself, runs with the kind of people who are always getting into trouble.
he’s looking at you with a face that’s a total blank, like a steel shutter pulled down over whatever is going through his head. most people would find it intimidating, but if calculus isn't your forte, reading people definitely is.
“oh my god, hi.” you gesture at your car. “my tire’s flat. i literally have like no idea what to do, my phone’s about to die, no one’s answering…it’s like a whole thing. can you like, help? please. i’ll do anything.”
he looks at the tire, then back at you. “you have a spare?”
“um.” you think about it, biting your lip because you’re really not sure. cars are supposed to have spares right? so the chances are pretty high. “probably? i’ve never looked.”
he doesn’t say anything, just walks past you to the back of your car and opens the trunk. you step aside and watch him move your gym bag, a blanket, a bag of trash that you swore you were going to throw away…two months ago. he pulls up the bottom panel and there’s a smaller tire underneath, plus some tools.
“you have one,” he says.
“oh, perfect. i didn’t even know that was in there.”
he’s already pulling things out, crouching near the flat tire with one of the metal tools, and you realize he’s just going to do it. no discussion. no waiting for you to ask.
the night air is biting, making your ears sting, and every time a distant car engine revs, you jump a little. but megumi is like a localized pocket of calm. he doesn't seem to notice the cold or the creepy silence of the campus this late in the evening.
“oh. uhm- thank you so much,” you say. “seriously. you’re like totally saving me right now.”
he doesn’t respond. he’s loosening something on the tire, working fast like he’s done this a hundred times.
you lean against the side of your car and watch him. the parking lot’s quiet, mostly empty except for a few cars scattered near the other buildings. his eyes look focused and you notice how thick his eyelashes are, and the way his dark hair falls across his face as he works.
you should probably let him focus, but silence has never really been your thing.
“i was studying,” you say. “i have a calc test tomorrow and i’m literally going to fail. like, actually fail. my professor’s so bad, he just talks and doesn’t explain anything, and i’ve gone to every class but i still don’t get any of it.”
he pulls the flat tire off and sets it aside. doesn’t look up.
“i’m y/n, by the way. i feel like i’ve seen you around, like at parties and stuff?”
“megumi,” he says, not looking at you.
“megumi.” you repeat it back, testing how it sounds. “that’s cute. i like that.”
he’s putting the spare on now, and you notice his hands. nice hands, actually, kind of unfairly nice, and the way he moves like this is boring to him. easy. like he’s trying to get this over with as fast as he possibly can.
“you don’t talk much, do you?”
“no.”
“that’s okay. i talk enough for two people anyway.” you pull your phone out to check it. 4%. “do you live on campus or off? i’m off, like two miles that way. my roommate’s probably asleep, she has an eight a.m., which like ew, could never be me. i would simply not survive.”
he tightens something, his shoulders shifting under his jacket.
“are you in a frat? wait, no, you’re definitely not in a frat. i don’t know why i asked that. you don’t have the vibe. not in a bad way. just like, you’re kind of—” you wave your hand vaguely. “i don’t know. you don’t look like a douche or whatever. not that all frat guys are douches, like some guys are super cool obviously i hang out with them and—“
he stands up, brushing his hands off on his jeans and cuts you off. “done.”
you look at the tire. it’s on. it looks normal. you have absolutely no idea what he just did, but your car has four functioning tires again and that’s all that matters.
“oh my god, thank you. seriously. that was so fast. do you just know how to do that? like, is that a thing people know?”
he’s putting the flat tire and the tools back in your trunk, and when he reaches past you to toss the jack in, you catch the scent of him…cold air, laundry detergent, and a faint, earthy trace of something like sandalwood. for a split second, the space between you felt very small, and very warm. but then you look up, making the briefest eye contact with him, and you can tell he’s about to leave. just fix it and disappear.
“wait.” you push off from the car. “let me get your number. i wanna thank you for real. coffee or dinner or something. i could even pay you.”
“you don’t have to do that.”
“i want to, though.”
“i’m good.” he closes the trunk.
“okay, but i’m not, because you literally just helped me and i can’t just let you walk away like it didn’t happen. that’s weird. i have to repay you somehow.”
“it’s a tire.”
“it’s a tire that i would still be staring at and crying over if you hadn’t shown up.” you hold your phone out toward him. “just put your number in. please? i’ll buy you food. you look like you eat food.” you smile, big and white and pearly. the kind of smile that always has you get your way.
he looks at your phone, then at you. something flickers across his face, annoyance, maybe, but also something else. like he’s trying to figure out why you’re still talking.
“i don’t need you to buy me food.”
“it’s not about need, it’s about like thanking you. do you not let people thank you? that’s kind of rude, actually.” you’re smiling when you say it, you don’t mean it in a bad way it’s just when someone does something nice you thank them…it’s the order of things. “come on. one coffee. you can even ignore me while you drink it. i don’t care.”
he stares at you for a second. you keep the phone extended between you, not backing down.
“you’re not gonna let this go,” he says.
“nope.”
he doesn’t take the phone immediately. he just looks at you…not at your car, or the tire, but at you, for a beat too long. his eyes are like the ocean at night, dark and impossible to see the bottom of. then, with a sigh that sounds like he is losing a war, he snatches the phone from your hand, typing something in, then hands it back without looking at you.
“there.”
you glance at the screen. megumi, and a number. no emoji, no last name, nothing extra. very on brand.
“thank you.” you’re smiling again, genuine. “i’ll text you.”
“you don’t have to.”
“i’m going to, though.”
he’s already stepping back, putting distance between you, and he does that thing, the lazy wave without looking, dismissive, like this whole interaction is already fading from his memory.
“get home safe,” he says, and it sounds almost sarcastic, except it also sounds like he might actually mean it.
“i will. thanks to you.” you wave at his back. “bye, megumi!”
he doesn’t respond. rounds the corner. gone.
you stand there for a second, looking at the new contact in your phone. the battery warning flashes, 3% now, but you don’t care.
your phone buzzes. the group chat, finally: sorry babe we were asleep!! are you okay???
you look at the corner where he disappeared, then back at your screen, then at your car with its new tire.
When you accidentally get caught in the crossfire of an attack on the new clan head, Megumi Zenin, your world gets flipped upside down. Suddenly, you are part of his dark world and are getting much closer to the Yakuza boss than you both ever wanted. But living together with Megumi lets you see the man behind his cold mask, and what starts as an arrangement to keep you safe becomes a lot more.
Chapter 1 - Met you in a bar
Chapter 2 - You make everyone disappear
Chapter 3 - Gold cage, hostage to my feelings
Chapter 4 - Back against the wall
Chapter 5 - See you in the dark
Chapter 6 - I'm yours to keep, and I'm yours to lose
Chapter 7 - Wear you like a necklace - coming soon -
Warnings: 18+, female reader, fluff/smut/light angst. Modern AU, Yakuza-related crime and violence, Megumi kills to protect the people he cares about, alcohol, smut, forced proximity. Happy ending. Megumi and Reader are both in their mid/late twenties. Minors don't interact. I will put individual warnings before each chapter.
Playlist: Yakuza AU feat. Megumi Zenin
The fanart in the header was used with permission from the artist koonya911 on Twitter. Credit for the divider @/cursed-carmine.
If you want to get added to the taglist, please leave a comment or send me an ask. 18+ only!
about. you work a dead-end job at a bank until one night a heist goes sideways. instead of knocking you out, one of the robbers—quiet, tall, and way too pretty under the mask—makes you a deal. you keep quiet, you get a cut. simple, right? except now you can’t stop thinking about him… and he clearly can’t stop thinking about you either.
pairings. Robber!Choso x Bank Teller!Reader
words. 11.52k
content. smut (mdni!!), gun involvement + forced entry (it’s a bank heist duh), rough sex, biting, gun kink / gunplay (non-lethal), size kink, face reveal kink, power dynamics, dirty talk, humiliation but funny, criminal activity (obviously), and adult mentions everywhere. basically hot masked stranger holds you down, and you let him.
notes. well... hope you enjoy, i haven't read this FOR MYSELF but hey gon post it anyway because i loooveeee choso.
The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting that sickly, too-white glow that made the whole bank feel like a fish tank. You sat behind the counter, your chin propped in your palm, eyes flicking between the clock on the wall and the lobby that had been dead for the past twenty minutes.
Five more until closing. Five minutes until you could leave this miserable, low-paying excuse for a job and collapse into bed.
But five minutes was still too long when your manager was watching you like a hawk. “Try to look alive, will you?” Mr. Carver’s voice grated from the far end of the counter. He was the kind of man who smelled faintly of stale coffee and had a way of making every sentence sound like an insult. “If a customer comes in and sees you slouched like that—”
“They’ll what?” you muttered, not looking up from the computer screen you weren’t even using.
“They’ll think we’re unprofessional. Which, frankly, you make too easy.” You bit your tongue. No point in arguing; you knew from experience that if you so much as breathed wrong, he’d write you up. He already hated you— not for anything you’d done, but because you weren’t one of his golden employees who laughed at his dry jokes and stayed late without pay. You just did your job, collected your check, and left. That was apparently a crime.
A low whistle broke the tension, and you didn’t even have to turn to know who it was. “Evening, sweetheart.” The security guard, Brent, leaned against the counter by your station, his posture casual but his eyes doing that slow up-and-down that made your skin crawl. “Place is dead tonight, huh? Guess it’s just you, me, and your pretty face keeping me awake.”
You forced a tight smile. “Almost closing time, Brent.” Which was your polite way of saying leave me alone.
But Brent was immune to hints. “Hey, when’s your shift end again? We could grab a drink, you know. Loosen you up after a long day.”
You swore you could feel Mr. Carver’s smug gaze on your back — he always seemed entertained by Brent’s flirting, like it was harmless fun instead of unwanted attention. Like you were the uptight one for not giggling back. You reached for a stack of deposit slips, shuffling them just to keep your hands busy. “I’m good. Got plans.”
Brent chuckled, low and persistent. “One day, you’re gonna run out of excuses.”
“Mm,” you hummed noncommittally, already tuning him out. Outside, the streetlights flickered on, their glow stretching long shadows across the empty sidewalk. Through the front windows, you could see the dark sky swallowing the city, the kind of quiet that always made you uneasy. Something about being in a nearly empty bank after dark… it felt like waiting for something to happen.
You just didn’t know yet that tonight, it would.
The clock finally hit closing time, and you were on your feet before the second hand finished its sweep. Your back cracked in protest as you stretched, muscles stiff from sitting too long in that same uncomfortable chair. Mr. Carver was already fussing over his briefcase, muttering under his breath about tomorrow’s paperwork, while Brent gave a lazy salute from his post near the door.
“Lock up tight, huh?” Brent said, flashing you a grin.
You didn’t bother answering — just slung your bag over your shoulder and made your way into the narrow staff lounge. The space smelled faintly of burnt coffee and cleaning chemicals, the kind of scent that clung to your clothes and hair no matter how quickly you left.
You headed for the old punch clock mounted on the wall, fumbling for your ID badge. The sooner you clocked out, the sooner you could step outside, breathe real air, and not have to hear your manager’s voice for another blessed twelve hours. You were just sliding the card into the reader when you heard it.
A sharp, muffled thud from somewhere out in the lobby. Followed by a grunt — low, pained — then a cut-off groan.
You froze. Your fingers hovered uselessly over the clock-in machine, heart stumbling in your chest. The sound hadn’t been loud enough to be an accident— not the clumsy clatter of someone dropping something heavy. This was… heavier. Denser. The kind of noise a body makes when it hits the floor.
Your first thought was Brent. Maybe he’d tripped, maybe— No. That was stupid. Brent was obnoxious, sure, but not clumsy. And the sound… it was too quick, too sudden. Like someone had been put down.
You strained to listen, breath caught in your throat. The hum of the fluorescent lights suddenly seemed louder, the walls pressing in.
Nothing.
No voices. No footsteps. Just the eerie kind of silence that makes your skin prickle— the kind you knew meant something. Slowly, you set your bag on the counter beside the clock. You weren’t sure if you were about to step into something dangerous… or if you already had.
Your hand was already on your bag again when the air shifted — that subtle change in pressure you only notice when you’re being watched.
Before you could even turn toward the door, a shape filled the frame.
Tall. Broad. A shadow at first, until the dim lounge light caught on black fabric — a tactical mask covering the lower half of his face. His hair was messy, falling into his eyes, dark strands loose and careless like he hadn’t even tried to tie it back. But his eyes…
They weren’t wild. They weren’t frantic like you’d expect from someone in the middle of a robbery. No, they were half-lidded, dark, almost… sleepy. And locked directly on you. Your gaze dropped, catching the sharp black tattoos curling over the column of his throat and the backs of his hands. The gloves he wore looked heavy, built for grip. This wasn’t some cheap stick-up — whoever he was, he’d done this before.
“A staff is back here,” he called, his voice low and deep, carrying into the lobby. It was casual, like he was letting someone know there was an extra carton of milk in the fridge, not another living person who could scream for help.
It hit you then. You were being robbed.
The realization sank hard in your gut, but it wasn’t the money you worried about — you could barely make rent with what you earned here. It was you. Your body. Your safety. You took an instinctive step back, every nerve in your body screaming to move, to do something.
“Look, I don’t want any trouble,” you started, your voice sharper than you intended. “You can have whatever the hell you want, just—”
“Not here for you,” he interrupted softly. It was almost disarming, the way he said it. Not defensive. Not threatening. Just… factual.
“Good,” you snapped, though your pulse was still hammering. “Then keep it that way.”
He didn’t move. Didn’t close the distance. Just stood there, his eyes steady on your face like he was memorizing it.
“What?” you barked after a beat. “Never seen someone pissed off before? You gonna stand there staring, or are you gonna do your little—whatever—robbery thing and get the hell out?”
His gaze flickered, just slightly, like you’d surprised him. And for some reason, that pissed you off more.
“Seriously,” you kept going, the fear twisting into adrenaline and spilling out as heat. “If you’re gonna kill me, do it quick, because I’ve had the worst day and I swear to God I don’t have the patience for some masked freak playing games.”
You expected anger. A shove. Something. Instead, his eyes softened. Not much — barely noticeable. But enough for you to catch it. Enough to make your breath hitch, because what the hell kind of robber looks at you like that? Like he’s stunned. Like maybe he forgot why he was here in the first place.
You shifted your weight, heart hammering, and made a break for the door.
Big fucking mistake.
You moved first.
A sharp inhale, then you lunged, shouldering past him with every ounce of momentum you had. But he was faster. A hand closed around your waist, the grip solid, gloved fingers digging just enough to make your ribs protest. You let out a startled shout, half-growl, half-scream, twisting hard in his hold.
“Let me go—!”
“Shh—” His voice was low, urgent, close enough that you felt the warmth of it at your ear. You weren’t listening. Your elbow shot back, connecting with something solid — his chest — and he barely grunted. That only made you thrash harder, nails clawing at the thick fabric of his sleeve, heels digging into the grimy linoleum.
“I said—let—go!” you snarled, your voice cracking under the strain.
He caught your wrist before you could take another swing. “Stop—”
“You stop!” You twisted again, trying to wrench free, but his other arm had already wrapped fully around your middle, dragging you flush to his body. The solid wall of his chest at your back made your breath hitch, though you refused to admit why.
“Calm down,” he murmured, as if that was the simplest thing in the world.
“Calm down?” you barked, still fighting him. “You’re in a mask—there’s a body out there—you expect me to—”
Your words cut off with a sharp gasp when he caught your other wrist mid-swipe. In one smooth motion, he pivoted, pressing you forward until your hips bumped the edge of the staff lounge table. You tried to kick back, but his legs bracketed yours, caging you in without crushing you.
“Quit it,” he said, still maddeningly calm, even as you bucked in his hold. “Get your hands off me!”
“You’re gonna get yourself hurt,” he warned, tightening his grip as you jerked. “I’m not here for you—”
“Then let me go!”
“—but I will hold you here if you don’t shut the hell up,” he finished, his tone dropping to something harder.
The fight in you spiked again, but every time you pulled, he countered, steering your arms behind your back until both wrists were pinned in one of his hands. The position left you bent over the table, your cheek mushed against the cool surface.
And that’s when you felt it.
The heat of him at your back. The unmistakable press of something hard against the curve of your ass — unintentional, maybe, but there all the same. You froze for a split second. He did too.
His breath caught, then he shifted like he was about to step back, but you twisted again, and the movement dragged you against him just enough to pull a low, quiet sound from his throat. Your pulse hammered. “You’re disgusting,” you spat over your shoulder, trying to mask the way your stomach was flipping.
“Wasn’t—” His jaw flexed. “Wasn’t tryin’ to—”
“Sure you weren’t.”
“Hey,” he snapped softly, leaning down until you could feel his breath against your ear, the mask brushing your cheek. “I said I’m not gonna hurt you. You need to believe that.”
“You think I’m just gonna—” You broke off with a startled hiss as his gloved fingers adjusted on your wrists, firm but not painful, holding you steady while your body still tried to wriggle free.
“Just breathe,” he urged, and though his voice was low, there was something almost pleading in it. “I don’t want you hurt. I just… need you quiet.”
“Quiet for what?” His silence was worse than an answer.
You yanked again, but the hold stayed firm, his chest pressed to your back, the solid weight of him keeping you pinned in place. Every shift, every attempt to pull away, only reminded you of the heat radiating from him — the steady heartbeat you could feel through his sternum, the way his breath kept hitching like he was as aware of the proximity as you were.
“You’re insane,” you muttered, but your voice had lost some of its bite.
“Maybe,” he said. And you hated the way his tone dipped, just enough to make it sound like he was smiling under the mask.
Your wrists were still locked behind your back, cheek pressed close to the cold table, Choso’s chest solid against your spine. You could feel every shift of his breathing, every twitch of his muscles when you tried to jerk free.
“Fucking let me go!” you shouted, thrashing again.
“Stop moving—”
“Stop touching me!”
“I’m trying not to—”
A sharp voice from the doorway cut in, “The fuck are you doing?”
Both of you froze.
You craned your neck just enough to see two more figures in black masks, both holding bags that were clearly stuffed to the brim with cash. One had a baseball bat, the other had a duffel slung over his shoulder.
The one with the bat was huge— not just tall, but built like the kind of man who could lift a safe by himself if he felt like it. His black hoodie was stretched tight across broad shoulders, and the sleeves were shoved up to reveal forearms roped with muscle, veins standing out like they had their own pulse. Dark hair stuck up in a messy, spiked disarray, and even under the mask, you could tell he was wearing that lazy, cocky grin that belonged to someone who enjoyed making people nervous.
The other guy— the one hauling the duffel— looked almost too put-together for this kind of work. His mask sat neatly over his face, and long black hair was tied back at the nape of his neck, not a single strand out of place despite the chaos. He carried himself with an easy, deliberate calm, like the weight of the bag didn’t even register, like he was here because he’d planned every second of it and nothing could throw him off.
The one with the bat let out a low whistle. “Choso… what the fuck am I looking at right now?”
“She was screaming,” Choso said quickly, not loosening his grip.
“Yeah, no shit,” Bat Guy scoffed. “Why didn’t you just knock her out like a normal person?”
You barked a bitter laugh. “Normal? Oh, so you do know you’re all fucking psychos—”
“Shut up,” the duffel guy snapped.
“She’s pretty,” Choso muttered, like it explained everything. There was a beat of silence.
“...Jesus fucking Christ,” Bat Guy said flatly. “We’re robbing a bank, not speed dating.”
“Look, I didn’t want to hurt her,” Choso mumbled, sounding almost defensive.
“That’s sweet,” you said, dripping sarcasm. “Now maybe you can sweetly let me the fuck go so I can call the cops—”
“Woman, if you don’t shut the hell up—” Duffel Guy stepped forward, but Choso shifted his weight, subtly keeping himself between you and the others.
“She’s fine,” Choso said firmly. “Fine? She’s loud.” Bat Guy pointed his bat at you. “Do something to shut her up before she wakes the whole goddamn city.”
“I will wake the whole goddamn city,” you shot back. “Hope you like prison food—”
“Oh my fucking god.” Duffel Guy rubbed his forehead. “Manager’s out cold, security’s tied up in the car, we’re basically done here. This is literally the easiest fucking robbery we’ve ever pulled, and you’re back here—” He gestured vaguely between you and Choso. “—playing grab-ass.”
“It’s not—” Choso started.
“It fucking looks like grab-ass,” Bat Guy said. “Let her go or knock her out, man, we don’t have time for your… thing.”
You twisted enough to glare up at Choso. “What thing, huh? You got a weird little hostage fetish? You wanna explain that to your boyfriends over there?”
“Boyfriends—?!” Bat Guy nearly choked. “You are lucky I’m not the one holding you right now.”
“You wouldn’t last thirty seconds,” you shot back.
Choso made a small sound— almost a laugh — before clearing his throat like he didn’t want to be caught enjoying himself. “I’m not gonna hurt her. I said that.
“We don’t need her hurt, we need her quiet,” Duffel Guy stressed.
“Yeah, well,” you snapped, “you should’ve thought of that before you busted into my shitty minimum-wage job and—”
“Oh my god,” Bat Guy groaned, turning to leave. “I’m going to the van. If she’s still yelling when I come back, I’m gagging her with the deposit slips.”
“Romantic,” you muttered. Choso’s grip finally loosened, just enough for you to shift upright, though he still kept your wrists in his hand like he wasn’t ready to let you bolt. His eyes— those dark, half-lidded ones— were still fixed on your face like you were some kind of puzzle he couldn’t stop staring at.
The two other men — Bat Guy and Duffel Guy — exchanged a look that said we’re so done with this shit and turned toward the door.
“We’ll be in the van,” Bat Guy said, jerking his chin at Choso. “Five minutes. If she’s still alive, great. If not… also great.”
“Don’t make me come back in here,” Duffel Guy added, calm but edged.
The door swung shut behind them, leaving you and Choso in a thick, tense silence. He finally spoke, his voice low but careful. “If I let you go… can you be quiet?”
You glared. “Depends. You gonna fuck off?”
“I’m not gonna hurt you,” he said, and for some reason, it didn’t sound like a line — it sounded like he actually meant it. “I just… need to talk.”
You narrowed your eyes, but his grip on your wrists eased. And the second you felt freedom— You launched at him. It was pure instinct: nails first, catching the side of his neck, then teeth, because apparently you’d gone fully feral. You got a solid bite in, and his grunt was half-pain, half-disbelief.
“The fuck!?” Next thing you knew, you were bent back over the staff table, a hand flat on the back of your neck, his weight pinning you in place. The sharp click of a gun’s safety being flicked off rang right by your ear.
“You bit me?” he demanded, voice low but vibrating with irritation.
“You grabbed me!” you snapped back, still wriggling even with his front pressed against your ass. “We’re even—”
“Even my ass,” he growled. “You think I’m just gonna let you chomp on me like some rabid—”
“Okay, okay! I’m sorry!” you cut in, because the gun barrel was suddenly feeling very real. He stayed there for a beat, chest rising and falling against your back, before finally exhaling hard. “Jesus Christ…” You could hear the scowl in his voice. “I was trying to be nice.”
“You call this nice?” you shot back, cheek still pressed to the table.
“Wasn’t gonna gag you,” he muttered. “That was my version of nice.”
“That’s a low fucking bar, dude.”
“Yeah, well,” he said, finally straightening but keeping one hand firm on your shoulder, “you bit me. So we’re lowering the bar even more now.”
Somewhere outside, Bat Guy’s voice carried faintly through the door. “Yo, Choso! You fall in love back there or what?!” Choso didn’t answer. But you felt the faintest twitch of a laugh through his hand before he shoved you gently — but firmly — back upright.
Choso’s hand was still firm on your shoulder, keeping you angled toward the table. “Alright,” he said finally, voice low but with that lazy drawl that made everything sound slower than it was. “Here’s the deal. You shut the fuck up… I’ll give you a cut.”
You blinked. “A… cut?”
“Money,” he clarified, like you were slow. “Cash. Your share of what we just pulled.” You scoffed, but your voice faltered. “And why the hell would I take dirty money from—”
He leaned in just enough for his voice to skim your ear. “Because I don’t think you like this job. And I don’t think you like these people. And I know for a fact they’re paying you shit.” Your lips parted, ready to deny it, but the truth hit you square in the chest. Barely scraping by. Crappy coworkers. Manager who hated you. Flirty guard you couldn’t stand. You thought of the rent due at the end of the week.
“...How much?” you asked, your voice sharper than you intended.
He chuckled under the mask. “Enough to make this dump the last place you ever have to clock in.” You hesitated — really hesitated — but your mind kept circling back to Mr. Carver’s smug face and Brent’s sleazy grin. Finally, you muttered, “...Fine.”
“Good girl,” he said, and for some reason, it didn’t sound patronizing — it sounded like approval. He finally stepped back, letting go of your wrists. You turned slowly, straightening your clothes, but your gaze snagged on his. Those eyes. Heavy-lidded, dark, like they’d been watching you this whole time and were still seeing way too much.
You tilted your head, crossing your arms. “Let me see your face.”
His brows lifted a fraction. “What for?” “I’m not making a deal with someone whose face I don’t know.” “That’s the point of the mask,” he said flatly.
He didn’t break eye contact as he hooked a gloved finger under the edge of his mask. The motion was slow, deliberate, like he was making you wait for it. Then, with a faint scrape of fabric against skin, he pulled it down.
Your breath stuttered. The first thing you noticed was his mouth— full, with the kind of shape that could turn sharp if he was pissed or lazy and soft if he wasn’t paying attention. The shadow of stubble traced along his jaw, cutting up to cheekbones that were criminal all on their own. His skin caught the dim light in a way that made you wonder what it would look like in daylight— or closer.
Your eyes followed the messy fall of his hair, dark strands curling against his temples, the rest spilling haphazardly down, like he’d shoved a mask on without bothering to fix it. The tattoos on his throat peeked higher now that the mask wasn’t hiding them, black lines curling against warm skin like they’d been meant to be seen.
And those eyes— heavy-lidded, dark brown with an almost amber sheen near the center— stayed locked on yours like there was no one else in the room, like you were the first thing he’d seen in years worth remembering.
You felt it low in your chest first — that uncomfortable, traitorous skip of your heartbeat. Then higher, crawling up your throat, heat settling under your skin. It wasn’t like he smiled at you or softened; it was the opposite. He just looked. Steady. Patient. And that made it worse.
“...Goddamn,” you muttered before you could stop yourself. His mouth tilted up, slow and deliberate. “Yeah?” You blinked, fighting the heat crawling up your neck. “I didn’t say it was a compliment.”
“Sure didn’t sound like an insult, either,” he murmured, and you hated — hated — how right he was.
He took a step closer — close enough that you had to tilt your head back to keep his eyes in view. And god, he was tall. You’d noticed before, but with no table between you now, it was ridiculous how much he could loom without even trying. He lifted one gloved fist, slow and deliberate, and tapped it lightly under your jaw. Not rough — just enough to tip your chin up another inch. A soft tsk clicked from behind his teeth, his mouth tugging into a grin that was all heat and trouble.
“See you soon, pretty girl,” he murmured, his voice low enough that it skimmed warm down your spine. “Learn not to bite anyone.”
You swallowed, your pulse doing double-time, but before you could form a comeback, he was tugging the mask back up over his face. “...You’re welcome, by the way,” he added, adjusting it over his nose.
Your brows knit. “For what? For dry humping me into a table?”
The bastard chuckled — actually chuckled — the sound deep and warm. “No. For knocking the shit out of that cocky security guard who keeps flirting with you.”
Your mouth opened, then shut. “...You—”
“He won’t be bothering you again,” Choso cut in, already stepping back toward the door. And just like that, he was gone, leaving you in the staff lounge with your heart pounding, your wrists still faintly sore… and the most confusing mix of fury and something-you-refused-to-name thrumming under your skin.
You couldn’t stop replaying it in your head.
Not the robbery part — not the adrenaline, not the fear, not the fact that you’d been held against a table with a gun pressed to your neck.
No, your brain had chosen the insanity of realizing that the man robbing the very place you worked at… was hot. Stupidly hot. And instead of calling the cops the second he and his crew ran, you’d—what?—agreed to a deal? Lied for him? And now here you were, still riding the rush and grinning to yourself like an idiot.
You kept replaying it in your head like some fever dream.
Not the gun. Not the robbery.
Not even Choso bending you over the breakroom table to keep you from clawing his eyes out.
No — the real insane part was that you’d looked that man dead in his masked face and, instead of screaming for the cops, agreed to a goddamn deal.
Keep your mouth shut, get a cut of the take.
Which was why you were now sitting in a hard plastic chair at the police station, posture loose, eyes drooping just enough to sell “I got knocked the fuck out.” You kept pressing your fingers into the back of your head like it hurt — even though the only ache you had was a faint bruise on your hip where Choso had pinned you.
Across the room, Brent was slouched like a sulking teenager, ice pack pressed to his jaw. His right cheek was swollen, lip split. You didn’t have to try too hard not to feel bad.
And Mr. Carver — your manager — was pacing, all huffy in his cheap dress shirt like he’d been the one assaulted. “I told corporate she was trouble,” he muttered, loudly enough for the entire room to hear. “Always on her phone, always late—”
You bit your tongue. Hard. If you let one word slip right now, it’d be about him pocketing “extra” tips from the coin counter, and you weren’t trying to start that fire while the cops were still in earshot.
One of the officers slid into the chair opposite you, notepad ready. “Miss, can you tell us what happened tonight?”
You put on your best dazed blink. “Uh… I don’t… remember much. I was in the lounge, then I heard shouting. Next thing I know, someone’s grabbing me, and then—” You made a vague wave near your head. “Everything went dark.”
“So you were unconscious during the robbery?” You nodded, lowering your voice like it was hard to speak. “Yeah. Woke up after it was over. Brent was on the floor, and Mr. Carver was yelling.”
“That’s not what happened,” Brent piped up from across the room, voice muffled against the ice. “She was up the whole time. I saw her.”
You turned your head slow, letting your eyes narrow like you might bite him. “Oh, really, Brent? You saw me? You mean when your face was getting introduced to the tile floor? Or maybe when you were crying about your jaw?”
“I wasn’t crying—” “Looked like crying.” The officer cleared his throat, fighting a smile. “Miss, did the suspect say anything to you before you blacked out?”
“Uh…” Your mind flickered back to the heat of Choso’s breath in your ear, his hand locked around your wrists, the grin in his voice when he’d called you pretty girl. You swallowed. “No. Nothing I remember.”
Mr. Carver finally stopped pacing. “This is ridiculous. She’s lying. I know she saw their faces. She probably helped them.”
You let out a sharp laugh, leaning forward so your elbows hit the table. “Helped them? Carver, I make eight-fifty an hour and I can’t even get a lunch break without you breathing down my neck. If I wanted to help anyone, it’d be OSHA.”
The officer scribbled more notes, clearly amused, but kept the questions coming until you’d repeated the “I was unconscious” line enough times it sounded pathetic. Perfect. By the time they let you go, you knew the investigation would drag on. Carver would bitch about police check-ins, Brent would limp around like a war hero, and you’d smile through all of it. Because you weren’t fired. Yet. And even if you were, you had a payday coming that none of them could touch.
Bag. Secured.
The van smelled like sweat, leather, and that faint trace of gasoline that always clung to Toji’s jacket. Bills were spread across the bench seat like a green ocean, Suguru’s hands moving smooth and methodical as he counted, Toji leaning back with a cigarette hanging from his lips.
Choso was still leaning against the door, mask shoved up onto his head, neck throbbing where her teeth had sunk in. He hadn’t decided yet if he was pissed or impressed.
Toji flicked an ash into an empty fast food cup. “So,” he drawled, “you gonna explain why we didn’t have to knock out that girl in the staff room?”
Choso shrugged, keeping his eyes on the floor. “Made a deal with her.”
Suguru’s hands didn’t pause on the bills, but his eyebrow arched. “A deal.”
“Yeah. She keeps quiet, she gets a cut.”
There was a beat of silence, then Toji barked out a laugh that filled the van. “Jesus Christ, we’re getting swatted for sure. You realize if the cops bust in here ‘cause your little pretty girl got cold feet, I’m cuttin’ your dick off, right?”
Choso scowled. “She’s not—”
“She bit you, didn’t she?” Suguru said, smirking without looking up.
Toji slapped the dash, grinning wide. “Oh, she bit him. Look at him, sitting there like a kicked puppy. Our Choso, all whipped after one shift with Miss Bank Teller.”
Choso muttered, “She’s not a teller.”
“Doesn’t matter what she is,” Suguru said, voice silky. “What matters is you didn’t do what we usually do with witnesses, and now you’re making us partners with one.”
“She’s not gonna talk,” Choso said flatly.
Toji gave him a long, slow once-over and smirked. “Oh, I believe she won’t talk. Probably too busy thinking about how you bent her over the table.”
Choso’s jaw tightened. Suguru finally finished his stack and tossed it into the duffel. “You know what kills me? Out of all the banks in the city, you had to pick the one with the worst security. That guard—what’s his name? Brent?” He snorted. “One punch and the guy folded like a folding chair.”
Toji added, “Yeah, and the manager? Carver? I’ve seen Girl Scouts put up more of a fight. Only thing that man’s protecting is his stapler.”
They both laughed, Suguru leaning back with that lazy smile. “She’s too pretty for you, man. Way too pretty. If she had any sense, she’d be calling the cops right now instead of daydreaming about your sad, emo ass.” Choso just rolled his eyes, but his mind betrayed him — replaying the way she’d tilted her head at him, the spark in her eyes when she’d said, Let me see your face.
Suguru noticed the look and smirked. “Ohhh yeah. He’s done for.”
Toji grinned like a wolf. “Better hope she likes her cut, Choso. Otherwise, we’re all fucked.” Choso didn’t answer. He just pulled his mask back on and started loading mags, ignoring the heat crawling up his neck.
The slam of Carver’s office door still rang in your ears by the time you hit the sidewalk.
Fired. Not “let go,” not “downsized.” Flat-out, smug-as-fuck fired.
You could still see his smug little rat face, lips curling like he’d just done you a favor. “We can’t have employees who compromise security.” Compromise security, my ass. You were the one who got manhandled by a masked lunatic while Brent the Walking Boner took a nap on the tile, but sure — blame you.
You’d lasted exactly three seconds after he said it before you’d gone off. Every petty thing you’d been holding in for months came spilling out — about how he stole tip jar money, how he timed your bathroom breaks, how he smelled like burnt coffee and sad desperation. You called him a dickless control freak. Loud enough for the entire front lobby to hear.
Best three seconds of your week.
Now here you were, stomping down cracked pavement with your bag slung over one shoulder, muttering curses under your breath like a goddamn crazy person. The air was heavy — sticky with the end-of-summer heat and exhaust from passing cars — but it wasn’t the weather making your shoulders tight.
It was that feeling. The one where the back of your neck prickles like a live wire. The one that says something is just out of your peripheral vision.
You told yourself it was paranoia. That you were just still wired from unloading on Carver. That maybe you’d watched too many late-night crime docs where women get stalked in dark alleys.
But every step you took, you swore you heard another. Just a fraction behind yours. Soft. Unhurried. Your grip tightened on your bag strap, pulse climbing. You risked a glance over your shoulder — quick, casual, like you were just checking traffic.
And then your stomach dropped. Because there he was. Tall as hell. Broad enough to take up the whole damn sidewalk if he wanted. Hoodie up, shadowing his face — but not enough. Not enough to hide the sharp lines of his jaw or the messy fall of his hair spilling out over his forehead.
No mask this time.
And Jesus fucking Christ, he was still hot. Stupid hot. Like, can’t-even-be-mad-properly hot, which only made you more mad. Those same dark, half-lidded eyes locked on you like they had back in the bank — not frantic, not rushed. Just watching. Your chest tightened, but your brain? Your brain short-circuited straight to what the fuck. Because if the robbery had been a fever dream, this was the part where the fever came back twice as bad.
You stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk.
He didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away. Just stood there like six feet of unbothered trouble, hands in his hoodie pocket, that lazy slouch in his shoulders like he had all night to stare you down.
You turned fully toward him, chin high. “Well, well, well. Look who’s too pretty for prison.”
The corner of his mouth twitched — barely. “You kept your end of the deal.”
“Damn right I did,” you shot back. “I didn’t even tell the cops you breathe too loud, let alone that you bent me over a breakroom table.”
That almost-smile deepened, but he didn’t bite at the jab. “Which means I’m here to give you yours.”
You blinked. “My what?”
“Your cut.”
You actually laughed — loud enough that a couple walking by gave you side-eye. “You’re telling me you’re about to hand me a thick-ass load of dirty cash right here on the street, while I just got fired for ‘compromising security’? Yeah, that’s not suspicious at all.”
He just shrugged, eyes still pinned on you. “I said I’d pay you. I’m paying you.”
“Uh-huh.” You took a step closer, voice dripping smug. “C’mon. My apartment’s a block away. Unless you wanna risk handing me a fat stack where Karen-with-a-stroller can watch and call the cops.”
“You’re awful cocky for someone who was screaming in my ear a week ago,” he said, voice low enough to slide under your skin.
“Yeah, well,” you smirked, “you’re awful smug for someone who got bit like a chew toy.”
His eyes narrowed slightly, but there was heat in them — the same slow-burn heat that made your stomach twist back in the lounge. “You gonna keep running your mouth the whole walk?”
“Probably,” you said sweetly. “If you don’t like it, you can fuck off back to wherever you keep your robbery fan club.”
That earned you the tiniest huff of a laugh. He tipped his head, finally breaking eye contact just long enough to glance down the street, then back to you. “Lead the way, pretty girl.”
The words hit like they had no business hitting, but you just rolled your eyes and started walking. You didn’t have to look back to know he was following — you could feel him there, a solid, shadow-heavy presence eating up the space between you, every step making your pulse spike for reasons you’d rather chew glass than say out loud.
The lock clicked behind you, and you tossed your bag onto the couch like you hadn’t just let a wanted man into your shoebox apartment.
Choso stood in the doorway for a beat too long, eyes sweeping over the space — not in that judgmental “wow, you’re broke” way, but like he was memorizing it.
“You really just let me in,” he said finally, his voice rougher in the quiet.
You kicked off your shoes, shrugging like it was no big deal. “Yeah. Shocking, right?”
He leaned a shoulder against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why trust me?”
That one hit sharper than you expected. You paused halfway to the kitchen, then turned to face him, expression flat. “Truth? I hated that job. Carver was two inches from making me commit a felony anyway. Losing it was the best thing that’s happened to me all month.”
One of his brows arched, slow. “That’s it?”
You tilted your head, lips twitching into a smirk. “You really think I’m gonna stand here and tell you you’re hot, so you can strut around with your ego bigger than your dick?”
Something dark flickered in his eyes — and you couldn’t tell if it was amusement or something more dangerous. “So you’re lying.”
“Obviously.” You stepped closer. One step, then another, until you were close enough to smell the faint smoke and something warmer clinging to his hoodie. “So, tell me…” Your voice dipped. “Why didn’t you knock me out that day? Would’ve been easier. Cleaner. I was screaming in your ear, remember?”
He didn’t look away. Didn’t even blink. “Thought about it.” His tone was low, almost conversational — but every word landed heavy. “But then you looked at me. Not the gun, not the mask. Me. Like you wanted to figure me out.”
Your breath caught, but he kept going, his gaze locked like he was pinning you in place.
“I’ve had people look at me scared, angry, ready to fight — never like that. You didn’t see what I was doing. You saw me. And for a second…” His jaw flexed. “For a second, I didn’t give a fuck about the money. Couldn’t stop staring. Couldn’t stop thinking about how you looked with your mouth open, ready to curse me out. How your voice sounded saying my name— and you didn’t even know it yet.”
You swallowed, pulse hammering in your throat.
His voice dropped further, just for you. “So no, I didn’t knock you out. I couldn’t. You were the only thing in that room I didn’t want to take by force.” The air felt thick enough to choke on.
Your chest rose and fell, each breath tighter than the last. The space between you felt like it was shrinking on its own, pulled taut like a wire ready to snap.
He hadn’t moved, but somehow he was everywhere— the smell of him, the weight of his stare, the memory of his hands locked around your wrists.
You didn’t think about it. You just stepped forward, closed the last few inches, and grabbed the front of his hoodie.
The first press of your mouth to his was nothing like you expected. It wasn’t desperate or messy — not at first. It was slow, firm, a deliberate claiming. He inhaled sharply against you, and you felt it, the way his chest expanded under your hands.
Then his own hands were on you. One came up to cradle the side of your jaw, the other sliding low to the small of your back, pulling you closer until your body molded against his. The kiss deepened, his lips parting just enough to drag his teeth over your bottom lip before he caught it between his, sucking once, slow enough to make your knees weaken.
You made a sound — low, involuntary — and it seemed to light him up. His fingers tightened at your waist, the heat in his body bleeding into yours.
“Fuck,” he murmured against your mouth, the word half a groan. “Knew you’d taste good.”
You shivered, tilting your head to chase his mouth as he kissed you again, harder this time. His tongue brushed yours, coaxing, teasing, until your nails were digging into the cotton of his hoodie.
When he broke for air, it was barely a breath before he leaned back in, kissing you like he’d been starving for it. You could feel him smiling against your lips, and it made you grab a fistful of his hair, yanking just enough to draw a sharp hiss from him.
“Shit,” he exhaled, his voice gravel. “Do that again.”
You did — twisting your fingers in those messy black strands, tugging him down to you. His hands slid lower, cupping your hips, his thumbs digging in through the fabric of your jeans as he guided you back toward the couch.
The backs of your knees hit the cushions and you fell into them, pulling him down with you. His weight covered yours, pressing you deep into the seat, his mouth never leaving yours except to trail heat along your jaw, down the side of your throat.
He bit once, gentle but enough to make your breath catch, then soothed the spot with his tongue. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he muttered, voice low and ragged against your skin.
Your hands roamed without thinking — over his back, down to the solid muscle under his hoodie, back up to his hair. He groaned into your neck when your nails grazed the base of his skull.
“Choso,” you breathed, and he shuddered like the sound of his name out of your mouth had physically hit him.
“Say it again,” he rasped, lips moving against your collarbone, his fingers already sliding under the hem of your shirt, skin to skin. “Say it like you mean it.”
You grabbed his chin, forcing him to look at you. His pupils were blown wide, his lips slick from kissing you raw. “I do mean it,” you said, your voice low and sure, before pulling him back down to kiss him until you forgot where you ended and he began.
You didn’t even remember moving. One second, you were kissing him like you meant to drink him down, the next, you were climbing into his lap.
Choso leaned back into the couch, wide legs spreading automatically to make room for you. His hands locked onto your hips, steadying you as you straddled him, your knees braced against the cushions on either side of his thighs.
The shift made your chest brush his, and his gaze flicked down immediately — not even pretending not to stare.
“Fuck…” His voice was low, almost reverent. “Been thinking about these since you yelled at me.”
That pulled a short laugh from you. “My tits?”
“Mhm.” His hands slid up your sides, slow but sure, until his thumbs skimmed the underside of your breasts through your shirt. “You were bent over that table, screaming in my face, and all I could think about was getting my hands on you like this.”
Your pulse kicked hard. “You’re insane.”
“Yeah,” he said, grinning up at you. “And you like it.”
Before you could bite back, he cupped you fully, big hands molding around you like he’d been waiting for this exact fit. His thumbs circled over your nipples through the fabric, teasing them into peaks until you bit your lip and arched just slightly into his touch.
“There she is,” he murmured, watching your face. “Knew you’d be soft. Knew you’d fill my hands perfect.”
You leaned down, kissing him again, slow and wet, while his palms kneaded at you like he couldn’t get enough. When he broke the kiss to mouth at your throat, you rolled your hips over his lap, dragging yourself over the solid line of him beneath his sweats.
He groaned into your skin, one hand slipping under your shirt without hesitation. The heat of his palm against your bare breast made you gasp, the contrast of his rough fingers against your softer skin shooting straight down your spine.
“Fuck, you’re warm,” he said, his thumb brushing over your nipple in a lazy circle before rolling it between his fingers. “You’re gonna kill me, you know that?”
You smirked, rocking your hips again, slower this time, making sure he felt every inch of you against him. “Maybe that’s the plan.”
“Not before I get my mouth on you,” he shot back, tugging your shirt up just enough to bare you to the cool air. His gaze locked on your chest like it was the only thing in the room worth looking at. “Jesus, look at you…”
His head dipped, and when his mouth closed around your nipple, you let out a sharp, startled moan. He sucked hard, tongue flicking, while one hand kept working the other breast, pinching and rolling until you were squirming in his lap.
“You like that?” he asked against your skin, voice vibrating over your breast. You grabbed a fistful of his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan. “Shut up and keep going.”
He did — switching to the other side, biting just enough to make you gasp before soothing the sting with his tongue. His hands slid down to your ass, squeezing, pulling you tighter against the thick heat pressing up into you.
“God, you were so fucking wild that night,” he said, kissing up your chest to your collarbone. “Thrashing, swearing at me, and all I could think was how good you’d feel if you were moving on me like this instead.”
Your hips ground down harder at his words, and his grip on you tightened like he was holding himself back. “Careful,” he warned, voice low. “Keep that up and I’m not stopping.”
Your hips set the rhythm first.
Slow at the start, just enough for your clothed core to drag over the thick length straining against his sweats. The friction was dizzying — denim on cotton, heat building with every pass.
Choso’s head fell back against the couch, his eyes half-lidded but locked on your body as you rolled over him. “F-fuck… ngh—” His breath stuttered when you rocked down a little harder, and his fingers dug into your hips like he was trying to fuse you there.
You leaned forward, letting your breasts press into his chest, your mouth brushing his ear. “That sound you just made? Keep doing that.”
He groaned, low and rough, but it cracked halfway through. “Ah— fuck, you’re— ngh—” His head tipped back further, exposing his throat to you, and that’s when you saw it.
A faint purple bloom on the side of his neck. Right where your teeth had sunk in earlier.
You grinned. “Is that my bite mark?”
His gaze flicked to you, dark and half-guilty. “…Maybe.”
You slowed your grind to a lazy, deliberate roll, your hand coming up to cup his jaw. “You like walking around with that? Letting people know I put it there?”
His lips parted, his breath shivering out. “Yeah… I— ah— ngh— fuck, yeah.”
That little confession made something hot coil in your belly. You picked up the pace, grinding harder, dragging your clit over him through the layers of fabric. He met you halfway, hips lifting in short, sharp thrusts that made you gasp.
The room was filled with it now — the rough drag of clothes, the wet little sounds building between your thighs, the way Choso’s moans broke every time you found just the right angle.
“Shit— ngh— keep— keep going,” he rasped, one hand slipping up under your shirt to palm your breast while the other stayed locked on your ass, pulling you down into every thrust. His thumb brushed over your nipple and you jolted, the movement grinding you right over the thickest part of him.
His head tipped forward for a moment, mouth dragging over the top of your chest, sucking marks into your skin like he couldn’t help himself. “You’re— ah— fuck— you’re killing me.”
“You’re the one whining,” you teased, rolling your hips in a figure-eight that made his breath hitch.
“’Cause— ngh— you feel so fuckin’ good,” he admitted, voice wrecked. His thighs tensed under you as he snapped his hips up, his cock pressing hard against you through his sweats. “Keep— ah— just like that, please—”
The “please” was what got you.
You tangled your fingers in his hair and yanked, making him groan deep in his chest. “God, you’re a loser,” you breathed, and you felt him shudder under you. “Letting me use you like this.”
“Y-yeah,” he panted, hips stuttering. “Only you— ah— mm— only wanna be your loser.”
Your mouths crash again, messy and hot, teeth clacking until he groans into you. His tongue slips past your lips and it’s all spit and desperation, his big hands roaming—squeezing your tits, palming your ass, tugging at your shirt like he can’t get enough of touching you everywhere at once.
You slide a hand down his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his rapid breathing. The sweat-damp fabric of his hoodie clings to him, and when your fingers toy with the waistband of his sweats, his hips jerk up into your palm like instinct.
“Fuck— ngh—” he mutters against your mouth. You smirk, pulling back to look at him properly. His cheeks are flushed, lips kiss-swollen, eyes heavy with lust. He’s so gone.
“You want it that bad, Choso?” you tease, tugging at the drawstring.
He groans, tipping his head back against the couch. “Don’t— ngh— don’t fuckin’ tease me right now.” Then his gaze cuts back down at you, sharp, hungry. His thumb drags across your lower lip, pulling it down. “Get on your knees for me. Wanna see that pretty mouth wrapped around me.”
The way he says it—low, commanding, but almost trembling with need—has you sliding off his lap without a second thought. You sink to the floor between his knees, hands running up the inside of his thighs until you hook your fingers into his waistband.
“Pants off,” you murmur.
He lifts his hips obligingly, helping you drag his sweats and boxers down in one go. The moment his cock springs free, your breath catches.
“Holy shit…”
It’s big. Too big. Thick and heavy, flushed at the tip, veins running all the way up the shaft. It smacks against his stomach as it springs out, precum already smearing his skin. Your mouth goes dry.
Choso watches your expression and lets out this smug, breathless laugh. “Yeah? That big, huh?”
You swallow, eyes glued to it. “You’re— fuck, you’re huge.”
His hand cups the back of your head, guiding you closer. “Pretty little thing, already starin’ like it’s gonna break you.” His voice drops, rough and teasing. “But you’re gonna take it, right? Gonna make me disappear down that throat?”
Your thighs squeeze together at his words. You lick your lips, finally wrapping your hand around the base. He hisses instantly, his hips twitching.
“God— your hand looks tiny on me,” he groans, watching the way your fingers don’t even meet around him. “Fuck, that’s hot.”
You give him a slow stroke, precum smearing under your thumb. He’s thick enough that your jaw aches just imagining it.
“You’re gonna split me in half with this,” you mutter, leaning closer to drag your tongue over the tip. The taste of salt and heat blooms on your tongue.
Choso’s groan rattles out of his chest, his head falling back against the couch. “Ah— fuck— don’t say shit like that, I’ll lose it.”
You swirl your tongue around the head before pulling back just enough to murmur, “Lose it for me.” The sound he makes when you take him into your mouth—messy, broken, needy—is almost better than the weight of his cock stretching your lips. Your lips part wider, tongue flattening against his cock as you inch further down. He’s so thick you can feel your jaw protesting, spit pooling instantly and dribbling down your chin. You’ve barely swallowed half of him and already your throat flutters helplessly around the intrusion.
“Fuck— look at you,” Choso groans, fist curling in your hair as he keeps his eyes pinned on the sight of your lips stretched around his cock. His chest rises and falls in quick, shallow breaths, sweat beading at his temple. “I knew it. First second I saw you in that room—sittin’ there all sweet—fuck, I knew I was gonna end up here. With this mouth chokin’ on me.”
The filth makes your stomach clench. You gag softly when you push down further, throat spasming around him. He hisses through his teeth, thighs tensing under your palms.
“Yeah—just like that. Let me feel you struggle on it.” His voice drops to a ragged whisper, but his hips betray him, jerking upward. Suddenly the thick head is pressing deeper, forcing past your gag reflex. Tears spring at the corners of your eyes.
He groans low, eyes fluttering shut. “Goddamn—your throat’s so fucking tight. Can’t—shit, can’t stop myself.” You claw at his thighs, spit soaking your chin and dripping to your chest. The sound is obscene: messy gulps, wet slurps, the slick slide of his cock down your throat. He’s fucking you raw like he can’t hold back another second.
“You hear that?” he rasps, voice breaking. “That’s your throat takin’ it. All for me. Jesus, I’ve been thinkin’ about this—ever since I saw you smilin’ in that dress. Thought about draggin’ you somewhere dark and just—fuck—ruin this mouth.”
Your eyes roll up to look at him, watery and desperate, and that’s what finally shatters him.
“Don’t—don’t look at me like that,” he groans, pushing your head further down until your nose is flush against his pelvis. You gag, choking around the sheer size, throat convulsing. He throws his head back, a guttural moan ripping from his chest. “Oh, fuck yes. You’re killin’ me, baby. Throat’s squeezin’ me like a damn fist.”
His hips stutter, rutting sharp and fast, using your throat like it’s the only thing that’ll save him. His thighs tremble under your hands, his grip in your hair tightening until your scalp burns.
“I should stop—fuck—I should stop but I can’t,” he pants, voice breaking into a rough, feral groan. “Been wantin’ this—been dreamin’ about this. Pretty little mouth takin’ me like a cockslut. You love this shit, don’t you?”
Your muffled moan vibrates around him, and he damn near sobs, hips bucking deeper.
“Shit—shit—don’t do that—don’t—fuck—” he growls, pulling your head down hard as he ruts into you with reckless abandon, lost to the feeling. Your throat aches, spit dripping messily over your knuckles, but his filthy groans and the way his abs tighten above you make it worth every gag. Your throat flexes helplessly around him, slick and raw, spit bubbling past your lips with every brutal rut of his hips. You’re crying now, tears streaming down your cheeks, but the look in your eyes when you peer up at him makes Choso growl like an animal.
“Fuck—fuck, baby—don’t look at me while I’m doin’ this to you,” he pants, voice breaking as his abs clench. His cock twitches deep in your throat, heavy veins dragging against your raw walls. “You’ll make me—shit—you’ll make me cum faster—”
You gag when he pushes down harder, the swollen head bruising your throat. Your nose is buried against his pubic bone, lips stretched wide and wet. You’re choking on him, but you moan around it—moan like you want him to ruin you. And he just snaps.
“God damn it—” Choso’s voice cracks into a desperate growl, his hips jerking with ragged force. “Been thinkin’ about this mouth since the second I laid eyes on you. Couldn’t get the image outta my head. Knew you’d look so fucking pretty choking on me.”
Your gagging becomes sloppy, loud, spit spilling down your chin, soaking your throat and chest. The sound of it drives him insane. His grip in your hair shakes with how hard he’s holding you.
“Ahhh—fuck, I’m gonna cum—gonna fuckin’ cum down your throat, baby,” he moans, throwing his head back. His eyes screw shut, jaw clenched so hard it aches. “Take it. Take every drop—lemme ruin you like I’ve been wantin’.”
His cock throbs violently, then he’s spilling—hot, thick ropes of cum shooting down your throat. He groans raggedly, whole body trembling as he fucks into you through it, rutting shallowly to milk every drop.
“Yesss—fuck yes—swallow it, don’t waste a single fuckin’ drop,” he grits out, chest heaving as he watches your throat bob around him. “You’re mine now. My perfect slut.”
The mess is obscene. His cum leaks past your lips, dribbles from the corners of your mouth, streaks down your chin to join the slick spit already painting your chest. Choso looks down at you—tear-streaked, throat raw, face a ruined mess—and his cock twitches again, still hard even as he softens. He groans low, almost a whine, pushing your head back just enough to let him slide free with a wet, sloppy pop. Strings of spit and cum cling to your swollen lips.
“Shit,” he breathes, voice hoarse. He cups your face with a trembling hand, thumb smearing the mess across your cheek. His eyes are blown wide, pupils dark with lust. “Look at you. Never seen anything so pretty. You don’t even know what you do to me.”
Then his thumb presses your bottom lip down, smearing more of his cum into your mouth as his cock twitches weakly. “Open up—yeah, just like that. Lemme see that tongue.” He groans when you do, messy and obedient, showing him everything you’ve swallowed. “Holy fuck. You’re perfect. Perfect.”
Your body is still twitching when Choso hauls you up, chest heaving, cock still standing hard and angry against his stomach. He doesn’t even look at it—his eyes are locked on you, pupils blown wide, hair sticking to his forehead with sweat.
“Up here,” he rasps, dragging you into his lap before laying himself back on the couch.
You’re breathless, lips swollen. “Choso—what are you—”
He doesn’t answer. His hands hook into the waistband of your shorts, tugging them down in one slow pull until they’re around your ankles. Your panties go with them—thin, soaked, sticking to your pussy as he peels them away.
“Fuck…” he mutters when the fabric clings before snapping off your skin. He lets the ruined underwear fall to the floor, staring at the wet patch like it’s a trophy. “You’ve been dripping for me all night, huh? Knew it.”
“Choso…” you murmur, shy, but your voice breaks when he spreads your thighs, dragging you higher up his chest.
He settles flat against the couch, hair splayed across the cushions, and grips your hips. “Sit,” he orders, dark and raw.
“Wait, you just—” Your protest dies in a sharp gasp because he yanks you down, nose pressing against your clit, tongue swiping a long, wet stripe through your folds.
“Fuck!” you cry out, hands flying to his hair for balance.
Choso groans into your pussy like it’s oxygen, his voice muffled. “Goddamn—so sweet—been wantin’ this since the second I saw you.” His hands flex hard on your thighs, nails digging crescents into your skin as he locks you in place.
You whimper, trying to wriggle back from the intensity. “Cho—it’s too much—”
“Shut up,” he growls against your cunt, spit dripping down his chin as his tongue plunges into you. “Don’t run from me. Stay fuckin’ still and let me eat.”
He’s everywhere—tongue lapping, sucking your clit, shaking his head like he wants to bury himself inside you. You can’t stop the choked cries ripping out of you, hips grinding helplessly against his face.
“Choso—oh god—ahhh—”
He moans like you’re feeding him, hips rutting up against nothing. He’s sloppy, messy, absolutely drunk on you—licking, sucking, groaning, spitting into your folds just to lap it back up.
“Cum for me,” he snarls, breaking only for a second to drag his tongue flat across your whole pussy. “Drown me, baby. I wanna choke on it.”
That’s all it takes—you shatter on his tongue, thighs clamping around his head as he growls and keeps licking through it, drinking down every drop, until you’re sobbing his name into the empty room. When you slump back, trembling and overstimulated, Choso drags his mouth off you with a filthy pop. His lips, chin, even his cheeks are wet with you, glistening under the dim light. He licks slow across his mouth, eyes blown out, cock still twitching hard against his stomach.
“You taste like fuckin’ heaven,” he rasps, voice ruined. Then he smirks, tugging you back down by the thighs. “And I’m not done.”
Your body is still twitching when Choso finally pulls back from between your thighs, lips and chin shiny with you. His chest heaves, hair damp with sweat, and yet his cock is still raging hard—angrier now, flushed to the tip, leaking against his stomach like it’s been aching for years.
You try to catch your breath, but he’s already dragging you down into the cushions of the couch. His big hands press into your thighs, urging you to lie back.
“C’mere,” he mutters, voice hoarse and needy.
You blink up at him, flushed and still trembling, but let him guide you down until your back sinks into the couch. He cages you in, bracing a forearm by your head, his other hand sliding beneath the hem of your shirt.
“Wait—” you start, voice shaky.
He doesn’t take it off—he just pushes it up, slow, baring your chest until your breasts spill free. The look on his face when they do is almost reverent.
“Fuckin’ knew they’d be perfect,” he whispers, eyes locked on the soft curves, pupils so wide you can barely see the brown. He leans down, kissing over the swell of one, then catching a nipple between his lips, sucking until you arch up with a gasp.
“Choso…” your voice breaks.
He smirks against your skin, kisses messy and wet across both breasts. “Love these, baby. Could stay here all night.” His teeth graze your nipple just enough to make you whine. But then he shifts—one hand sliding between your thighs, guiding himself down to your soaked entrance. The blunt head of his cock brushes your pussy and you jolt, body clenching around nothing.
“Cho—wait, you’re—” You glance down, eyes widening at the sheer size of him. Thick, flushed, dripping precum, the tip nudging against your folds and making your walls spasm already.
“I—I don’t think—”
“Shhh,” he coos, leaning in to kiss you soft, swallowing your protest. “You can take it, baby. You’re mine, yeah?”
You whimper into his mouth, nodding, but when he pushes the tip inside, your nails dig into his shoulders.
“Choso—ahh—it’s too much, too big—”
He groans deep in his chest, forehead pressing to yours. “Fuck—you’re so tight, so warm—baby, just a little more. I got you. I won’t hurt you.”
You shake your head, thighs trembling as he stretches you inch by inch. “It’s not fitting—”
“Yes it is,” he murmurs, kissing you again, slow and messy. “It’s yours. Just relax. Breathe for me, pretty girl.”
His hand strokes up your side, over your breast, thumb brushing your nipple while he rocks his hips, feeding you more of him.
Your body fights it, walls gripping him so tight he groans and has to still. “Fuuuck—you’re squeezing the life outta me.”
Tears prick your eyes at the stretch, and he catches them with kisses at the corners. “Don’t cry, baby. You’re doing so good. You’re taking me so fuckin’ good.” Your thighs twitch, back arching, and little by little, he pushes deeper until you’re half full of him. He pauses again, chest heaving.
“Halfway there,” he whispers against your lips, like it’s a promise. “You can take the rest. You’re perfect for me.” He kisses your jaw, your throat, your breasts again, every inch of you worshipped as he pushes slow, steady, filling you with another thick stretch. You moan, broken, clutching at him. “Choso—too much—”
He shushes you with another kiss, thumb circling your clit in soft, coaxing circles. “Just a little more, baby. I’ll make it feel so good. Let me all the way in. Wanna be inside you—every inch.”
Your body gives, walls fluttering around him as he sinks in deeper, until you’re gasping against his mouth, stretched so wide you swear you’ll split, but every kiss and every whisper keeps you grounded. Choso’s voice is a husky rasp in your ear, his cock buried nearly to the hilt. “See? Told you. You can take it. My pretty girl, made for me.”
When the last thick inch finally pushes in, your walls clamp down so hard around him Choso curses, head dropping to your neck.
“Fuuuuck—baby… I’m all the way in. You feel that? Took me so good.”
You’re whimpering, legs trembling where they cling around his waist. Your mind is hazy, nothing but stretch and fullness and the overwhelming heat of his body over yours.
Choso doesn’t give you long to adjust. He pulls back, dragging his cock out slow, and then slams forward again. The sound that rips from your throat is broken, helpless.
“Choso—!”
His hips snap into yours again, harder this time, the couch creaking under the force. Sweat drips from his temple onto your chest, and he kisses down your throat between every thrust, messy and desperate.
“God, I love this pussy,” he groans, hips rolling deep. “You’re squeezin’ me so fuckin’ good, baby—made for me, yeah? Fuckin’ perfect for me.”
You can’t answer—your voice catches in half-formed cries every time he pounds into you. He smirks against your skin, licking sweat from your collarbone before sucking a mark just above your breast.
“Can’t even talk, huh? My dumb baby,” he pants, his words warm and sticky in your ear. “Dick got you all fucked out already.”
Your nails claw down his back, dragging over slick skin. He hisses but thrusts harder, faster, the slap of skin-on-skin echoing through the living room.
Your head lolls against the couch cushion, mouth falling open, drool slipping from the corner of your lips. Choso notices—of course he does—and his cock twitches inside you at the sight.
“Messy little thing,” he coos, kissing the saliva off your chin. “Look so cute when you’re gone like this. My pretty baby—love you like this.”
The sweat on his chest smears against your shirt where it’s bunched under your arms, his abs flexing with every brutal thrust. He pulls back enough to watch himself sink in and out of you, your slick coating his length.
“Fuck, look at that. You hear that?” He thrusts hard, sharp, making the squelch obscene. “That’s you. That’s how wet you are for me.”
You moan so loud it cracks, tears welling again, body arching up to meet him. Your pussy clamps down like it’s trying to pull him deeper, and he groans, nearly undone.
“Baby—shit—you’re gonna kill me. Feels too good.” His forehead presses to yours, his thrusts still rough, but his kisses are soft, clumsy, wet against your lips.
“Love you, baby,” he murmurs between thrusts, words slurring with pleasure. “Love this pussy. Can’t stop, don’t wanna stop.”
His hips slam faster, sharper, driving the air from your lungs, leaving you a babbling mess under him. Every thrust makes you squeal, whine, sob—until you can’t even think, can’t even speak, just claw at his slick back and let him use you.
Choso is dripping sweat now, hair sticking to his forehead, jaw slack with ecstasy. “So good, baby. You’re mine. All mine. Say it—say it’s mine.”
You choke on a moan, nodding frantically, and he rewards you with a punishing thrust that makes you see stars.
“That’s right,” he growls, kissing you sloppy, tongue pushing past your lips. “My pussy. My baby. Fuck, I love you.”
And he doesn’t stop—keeps fucking you like he’s starving, like the only thing keeping him alive is being buried inside you, messy and desperate and sweet all at once.
While arranged marriages are not uncommon in the jujutsu community, it was strange to receive a proposal from none other than the Zen’in’s, nonetheless your clan accepted and before you knew it, you were married off to Naoya.
Your new purpose was clear: to serve and submit, to be seen and not heard. To forget any sense of individuality in favor of obeying your husband.
Will this marriage ever flourish into something else? Will it change…for better or for worse?
Status:
Active ❤ but on hiatus!
Schedule:
Bi-Weekly, Sundays.
Warnings:
Arranged marriage. Misogyny. Explicit sexual content. Violence. Minors, DO NOT INTERACT.
Side stories — Small scenarios happening either during the main story, or before.
Hinata takes Satoru horse riding.Y/N’s first kiss. When Hitomi met Naohiko. Naoya’s and Y/N’s honeymoon. The wedding from Naoya’s POV. Reacting to Naoya’s scar (AU) What if Y/N was a peasant? (AU) Naoya asks Y/N to marry him (for real).
Asks — Just people sharing their love + some extras.
Your roommate grew up on a ranch before moving to the City and now she INSISTS that you come along with her to one of the biggest rodeos around. Having moved in not too long ago, you reluctantly agree even though dusty, wide open spaces are a foreign concept to your polished City girl demeanor. By chance, you meet one of the biggest names in pro-rodeo complete with a belt buckle as big as his ego. A cowboy through and through, he hates the City and the people that reside it. Little does he know that lasting eight seconds on a bull is easy compared to fighting feelings for a girl he’s supposed to hate.
Content Tags/Warnings Throughout Work: slight enemies to lovers, eventual smut, Sukuna is a rodeo cowboy, reader is a city girl, slight mentions of blood/injury from rodeo activities, happy ending, more to be added
AN: This was inspired by @indiewritesxoxo's He's (Not) My Man, it made me wanna take a stab at cowboy Sukuna! LMK if you wanna be on the taglist!
Pt. 1 - Long Haul
Pt. 2 - Out of the Blue
Pt. 3 - This Cowboy Breaks Horses not Hearts
Pt. 4 - Let Me Taste What I Need Most
Pt. 5 - Who Do You See When Your Eyes are Closed?
Pt. 6 - Her Evaluation of my Cowboy Reputation had me Beggin' for Salvation all Night Long
AN: alright so I was away for a few months…a few things had happened. But come to find out when i come back to reread my fanfic to continue with the story– i hated it. So i revamped it. Thank you for the love and support and some of the not so supportive comments haha. Please keep in mind that this is a free fic coming from my own time and energy. I love the sweet comments but the pressure can be so real dawg.
Also if you want a mini update...in this time…i have: switched jobs, moved to a new apartment, lost a few relatives, went through a sticky depressive state from the new work environment (a bit toxic but thats ok), aged up a number, and i have finally started reading again. I hope to reinstill some of my hobbies i had before and hopefully i can find some of that passion i had all those months ago. If you don’t wish to reread then that is okay! Im fleshing out some character dynamics and deleting small chunks i dont like. ill be updating as i see fit and as my fragile mental can tolerate!
Ciao, my friends
Warnings: yandere, obsessive behavior, possessiveness, mommy kinks, mommy issues, arranged marriages, forced marriages, angst, eventual smut, clan politics, age gap (5 years from meg, and a little over 10 with toji), toji aint the best dad, mentions of child abuse, slowww build. This is meant to be somewhat toxic, so if youre sensitive in any way to this please be advised and dont read. Spelling errors or possible plot holes. Were not cannon here, we free balling
Short summary: Your arranged marriage to Toji Fushiguro had been sudden and unexpected, but now you found yourself living under his roof alongside his moody stepson. Your only directive from your clan head before moving in was clear: keep a close eye on Toji, the notorious Sorcerer Killer, and his son, a potential sorcerer prodigy.
Lets Begin wk 5k
The black sheep of the Zenin clan wasn’t exactly known for his well-rounded reputation, teetering on the edge of severing all ties to his family at any given moment.
He hadn’t been in contact with them for years, and financial support on their end was nonexistent. He assumed it was retaliation for marrying outside the clan—without their approval. He was constantly broke, especially after Megumi was born. But when his late wife passed, he had already taken on her surname, somewhat severing himself from the dingey clan he had once called "family."
After her death, he picked up side gigs, earning just enough to provide for the two of them. Megumi was older now, around thirteen, which made it easier to leave him alone for longer periods. Toji often took days long "business" trips just to keep them afloat.
Word of Megumi's birth sparked much interest within the Zenin clan, despite Toji's attempts to keep his birth under wraps. More and more inquiries from differing clan members arrived once Megumi reached seven, demanding updates on his son’s abilities. Demanding to know if he inherited the ten shadows technique or showed any promise. Offering assistance with raising him as the next Zenin heir. Buy outs to just sell the boy.
And Toji will admit it. He wasn’t a great father, but at least he had kept his promise of keeping Megumi away from his late clan and that sorcerer bullshit.
Until he received an official notification from the Zenin clan head. A summons.
The pompous bastard had never formally reached out in years, only now to be met with a request—a demand, for his compliance in an arranged marriage. He couldn't help b ut scoff at the audacity. And initially, he planned to refuse. He wasn’t interested in an arranged marriage, wanted nothing to do with the sorcerer world, and even less to do with the Zenin clan.
Hell, the only reason he bothered showing up at the clan house that day was to set that fucker straight.
Then he saw you—a pretty little thing. Really, you couldn’t have been more than seven–no, maybe ten years younger than him. Likely just turning seventeen, maybe eighteen. He couldn’t say for sure. He hadn't bothered with the file that was sent over with the official summons. But one thing was for sure.
You were much too young for this shit.
They’d already brought you along for the proposal, as if they knew hed refuse–as if they knew he would change his mind the moment he saw you. And, fuck, if they weren’t right. Was it attraction?
You were beautiful. Polished and respectable. Speaking in low tones like the proper little housewife he was sure they’d trained you to be. He could see the endgame here. The reasoning behind pushing this arrangement on him. It wasn’t subtle in the slightest.
The higher-ups–his late clan heads, likely wanted a presence in his home. Someone to keep tabs on him and Megumi, no doubt. They hadn’t explicitly stated as much, but Toji wasn't dumb. With his own tendency to remain elusive, (and maybe just possibly with his notorious reputation of him being nicknamed as the “Sorcerer Killer”) he wouldn't be knocked off his feet if it came out that they wanna to keep a closer watch on him, too.
But the thought of them using a young girl–someone barely older than Megumi to achieve those goals left a bitter taste in his mouth, reminding him exactly why he left in the first place.
Toji didn’t give a rats ass about his reputation, but it was clear they were fishing for confirmation. Likely hoping to uncover all of the unconfirmed truths. He really was about to spit in that old mans face and walk off. Maybe spew a few nasty words.
But then he caught your eyes.
blank.
You looked nearly indifferent to the situation, but he could tell this wasn’t what you wanted. It couldn’t be. He understood the clan system all too well—how they saw their women, how they treated them. You really are just a child. And yet, that dead expression of yours sealed the deal.
He accepted it in a breath.
Fine.
His eyes never left yours when he muttered out that final word. The sighs of relief from the elders only background noise as he studied your reaction. Waiting to see what you'd do.
Call it generosity if you wanted. But if he were honest, it wasn’t that. He soon realized, those emotionless eyes reminded him eerily of his late wife—the fearlessness bordering on defiance. The sheer willpower it must’ve taken to show up in the first place. Most girls in your situation would have cried or begged, pleading not to marry some old geezer, especially one as infamous in the community. A killer to your kind.
But you didn’t cry. Didn’t beg.
And he could respect that.
Sure, it was another mouth to feed. Another brat to deal with. But he tried to rationalize it to himself. Maybe, just maybe, you’d be able to help keep Megumi in line while he was out working.
better that than leaving you to the wolves.
He studies the way you stepped into his apartment for the first time.
Overanalyzing your moves. Your gaze sweeping the room with a calm, measured air. There was no unease in your face.
No hint that you resented your situation.
This arrangement.
Him.
Hell, he wouldn't have even blamed you if you were actively planning your escape. You hadn't exchanged a single word with him since you left the clan house. Hadn't bothered sparing him a single glance.
He could practically see the gears turning in that pretty little head of yours. Assessing his space.
Your space.
He felt an unwavering itch to see a change in your demeanor. Any hint of a reaction. Anything. Your affect stirred old painful memories he immediately had to shove back down.
Before he realized it, you’d easily found your way to his bedroom (not that the two bedroom apartment was that difficult to navigate). Setting your things down, and touring the house easily on your own, as if you'd lived there for years.
Toji was never good with words, but he felt he had to provide some explanation. But as he had opened his mouth, the words died almost instantly on his tongue when he saw that you immediately began cleaning.
No requests, no word exchanges, and no questions.
It was like you’d already claimed your space, like you’d accepted the role handed to you without a second thought. He wasn't necessarily gonna demand your servitude, but he sure as hell wasn't going to complain about. The space undeniably needed a woman’s touch.
Toji didn’t linger.
He slipped out quietly, already lost in his thoughts about the oncoming job he had to handle. He’d be gone for two days—maybe one, if he played his cards right. He contemplated telling you how long he’d be gone, but on second thought he didn't want you knowing too much about him anyways. You were here to stay put, to take care of things while he was gone. Simple as that.
As he rounded the corner outside the apartment, that nagging feeling crept in—a vague itch at the back of his mind, like he was forgetting something.
He paused mid-step, frowning as he patted his pockets. Wallet? Keys? No, he had those.
He faltered for a moment, but he quickly shrugged it off, muttering under his breath, "Can't be that important."
Megumi had taken the long way home today.
Several boys in his class had been pissing him off to no end, and he’d been itching to punch something–anything to burn off the frustration knotting in his chest. He needed a distraction, something to cool him off before he did anything stupid. He really couldn’t afford to get into another fight. The pitying looks from his teachers were humiliating enough, especially when Toji never bothered to show up and pick him up afterward.
So he took the long way home. it was scenic. Calming in a way that nothing else in his life ever was. Trees lined the path, offering some peace as he trudged along. Leaves spiraled around him, as he felt a small chill in the air.
Letting out a sigh, vaguely similar to a huff, he inched closer and closer to his neighborhood. He wasn’t sure whether Toji would even be home when he arrived. He never really knew for certain.
And honestly, he wasn't sure he even wanted Toji there. He wasn’t in the mood for the blaring TV shows, the obnoxious phone calls, or the condescending teasing that never felt quite like affection. Ever since his mother died, whatever thin thread of connection they had snapped. He’d been too young to remember her clearly, but he remembered the mornings…too many of them, spent cleaning up after his father’s messes when he stumbled in from a job.
Still as useless as Toji could be, the only real comfort in him being home was that the place didn’t feel like such a cold, empty shell. The days he wasn’t there always felt a little more…hollow.
Either way, it didn’t matter.
What Megumi did care about right now was dinner. His stomach growled in earnest as he passed by the local smoked meat shop. His eyes glazing over as he contemplated spending his sad little stash of pocket change on a few skewers.
He thought back to whether or not he had made a grocery run this week. If what he had at home would be enough to scrounge up a passable dinner. Getting Toji to give him money for groceries was like pulling teeth. And the though of asking for more money felt out of the question.
Every conversation with his father had the potential to turn into a blow up. Raised voices, screaming matches, more attitude than you'd ever expect from a grown man, and if he was lucky then maybe a few extra yen that were fished out of his father pocket by the end of it. It was always easier to ignore him and handle it on his own.
Megumi had been scraping by, finding ways to earn enough extra cash for food. Sometimes he’d deliver things for the neighbors or help them with spring cleaning for a fair price. Those odd jobs usually kept him going, but lately no one needed anything. The sudden drought in work only served to fuel his frustration.
Climbing the stairs to his apartment, something made him stop mid-step.
The kitchen window was open.
Toji wasn’t the kind of man to leave windows open, even when the weather was good. A strange detail to remember, but Megumi was always like that. He eased the door open and slipped inside, moving slowly, quietly, every sense on high alert. When he peeked around the corner into the kitchen, he froze.
Someone was in the kitchen—a girl. No…a woman.
Your back was to him as you worked at the counter, slicing onions with quick, practiced motions. His initial burst of panic ebbed as he blinked, narrowing his eyes to study you more closely.
You were young—maybe only a few years older than him.
Definitely younger than Toji’s usual type.
Toji bringing women home wasn’t unusual, but they never looked like you. And they never stayed long. Most were gone before breakfast, offering a stiff smile and an awkward “bye” when they realized Megumi was sitting at the table.
He watched the blade flash as you chopped, catching the glint of a ring on your finger. So you were married–
“You can come out from there, y’know.”
Megumi flinched before he could stop himself. A flicker of embarrassment—spying and getting caught really wasn’t a good look, but he forced the feeling down, reminding himself.
This was his home.
He had no reason to feel embarrassed. Straightening his posture, he stepped out from behind the doorway, his sharp eyes fixed on you as you casually wiped your hands on a towel.
You turned to face him, and the first thing he registered was how pretty you were.
Tall and poised, you stood at least a head above him. The modest, traditional clothes you wore looked completely out of place in this shabby apartment, their neatness almost absurd against peeling paint and mismatched furniture. There was something elegant about you, a kind of refinement that felt worlds away from the usual sleaziness of his father’s one-night stands.
“Who are you? Why’re you here?” His tone came out harsher than he intended. Unintentionally huffy and childish, the immaturity of it made him falter for half a beat.
You looked him over with calm, assessing eyes, strangely gentle, as if his scowl was more cute than threatening. Then, with that same soft smile, you introduced yourself, explaining, simply, that you lived here.
Megumi’s brow furrowed, and he crossed his arms defiantly, his voice on edge, no doubt pushed from the shitty day he just had. “You don’t live here, you psycho. Leave.”
The attempt at a threat might’ve carried more weight if his stomach hadn’t chosen that exact moment to growl, and quite loudly at that. The sound shattered whatever tension had been building between the two of you.
He watched as you tried to hold back a laugh, your hand flying up to cover your mouth, but the amusement still slipped through your eyes, unbearably warm and impossible to hide. The sight made his heart give a faint, uneasy jolt.
“Ah,” lightly, your tone as soothing, “but I’m in the middle of cooking. Why don’t we eat first, and then we can talk?”
Your voice was gentle, your smile genuine, and Megumi couldn’t sense any malice from you. Besides, whatever you were making smelled incredible, and his stomach had been growling from the moment he walked in.
His gaze shifted to the counter, where ingredients and half-prepped dishes were laid out. He hesitated. Toji brought women home, sure–but none of them ever cooked. And definitely not for him.
Against his better judgment, he gave a small, reluctant nod.
Before long, the two of you were sitting at the kitchen table, three plates set neatly on the small table. It was late, but you still held onto the idea that you husband might come home. As you and Megumi ate, you made light conversation, trying to get a genuine feel for the boy you understood to be your stepson.
You’d been briefed by your clan before arriving. Told about Toji, told about his son, instructed vaguely to “watch the two” and “get on their good sides.” No one had bothered explaining why. They didn’t need to. Even with the change in scenery, you were still a prisoner regardless. A pawn.
Still, you wanted a real connection with this new “family,” false as it was. The man who’d approached you that day. Broad shoulders, muscle-packed arms, scar across his lip, If you were any other lady in the clan house you may have swooned at his chiseled face.
But you knew better than to trust a man, especially one who seemed perfectly comfortable with the rumors that followed him. Especially one who could easily crush your windpipe should you give him the reason to.
But at least your stepson was cute.
The way he stood there, furrowed brow and stubborn glare, reminded you of a fussy kitten. All bristling attitude and misplaced bravado. It was clear he wasn’t used to strangers lingering in his space, and his prickliness only served to make him seem all the more adorable.
You’d worked with enough children in the clan house to know how to properly care for them, one of the few things you were ever encouraged to do. There were plenty of reasons to be resentful, but you’d always had a soft spot for the younger ones. The ones who had no idea of the hell they were growing up in.
They followed you and your siblings everywhere, tiny shadows clinging to your sleeves, trusting you completely. You remembered buying them sweets at the corner store, patching up scraped knees, brushing dirt from their hands after a fall. Those moments were some of the only fond memories you had of that place.
You were reminded time and time again by your nursemaids that every prowling, nasty man had once been a child just like that. to just be a little more careful. to keep your distance... But it was hard to associate Megumi’s pouty, irritated face with the ones that stained your nightmares.
You'd admit. He looked so much like Toji. Same sharp features, same brooding energy, minus the flat hair and scar. You'd have no trouble figuring out whos kid he was. But despite it all, you couldn't find it in yourself to be formal with him.
As the meal went on, you started picking up little things about him. He stayed quiet, of course, his answers clipped and blunt, like he was rationing out his words. But the warmth of a real meal and the soft smile you kept giving him seemed to chip away at his walls. Just a little.
Eventually, he let his guard slip enough that you managed to coax his name out of him. And though he said it without much fanfare, it felt like a small victory. You already knew who he was, of course, but hearing it from him was…different. Comforting, in a strange way. You hoped maybe you could build some kind of friendship with him.
Even the smallest bit of closeness would make you feel a little less alone.
It wasn’t much.
But it was something.
And so you spent the next night in his home, without much fuss from him. He’d watched you quietly walk into his father’s room, the door closing softly after you wished him goodnight. You were a stranger, yes, but you seemed… kind. A little weird, sure, but undeniably kind.
He didn’t know how to feel about it. Some strange woman inviting herself into his home, staying without warning, claiming she lived there. But after everything you’d done so far, he found he didn’t really mind if you were some crazy stalker inserting yourself into their lives.
What unsettled him more was the golden band on your left hand. Your wedding ring.
Why were you here?
He’d gone to school that morning feeling more energetic than usual. Maybe it was the leftovers you’d boxed for him the night before. Maybe it was the faint scent of your fabric softener clinging to his clothes. He wasn’t sure how you managed so much in so little time. He was even more surprised you’d bought groceries, probably with your own money…your husband’s.
Did you even work?
You didn’t seem like the type.
You felt more like a housewife.
Questions swirled in his head throughout the school day, taking his mind away from the douchey kids causing a fuss. You plagued his mind.
And on his way home, he felt that familiar dread creeping in, the heavy certainty that the apartment would be empty again. He’d caught the scent from down the block through the open window and found himself walking faster, needing to see for himself that you hadn’t disappeared. And when he stepped inside, he was met with the same sight as the day before.
You.
Standing in the kitchen, chopping vegetables, the warm smell of dinner drifting through the tight hallway.
The floors were scrubbed, everything neatly in place. It was like you brought a clean breath of fresh air into his crippling home. The space vastly different from how he’d left it that morning.
And the thought hit him, reluctant but so very real, that if his father tried to send you away, he might actually go with you.
If you let him.
He couldn’t explain it, but he had a feeling that if he asked to go with you, you’d say yes. You just seemed like the type who would.
Night settled in softly, and your second day felt like a small success. You figured Megumi would be around the house tomorrow, with the weekend coming up. Maybe you could invite him out to do something fun. You were sure there was something around the area.
As you finished cooking, your gaze drifted to the third, untouched plate at the table. Toji’s. You wondered, just for a moment, if he’d show up at all. He hadn’t bothered the night before, and it wasn’t like you had a phone to check where he was or when he planned on returning.
“He probably won’t be back tonight,” Megumi said, breaking your train of thought. His voice was matter of fact, as if he had long since grown used to this routine. He shoveled another spoonful of food into his mouth before adding, “Probably be gone for a few days.”
This surprised you, sure, but no one would hear you complaining anytime soon. As long as you didn’t have to go back to that horrid clan house, you could put up with a missing husband. In fact, you kind of preferred it this way.
You let out a soft laugh when you noticed Megumi’s puffed-up cheeks, his ears tinting red as he swallowed too quickly. He was practically inhaling his food. Your constant smiles still seemed to catch him off guard, and you couldn’t help poking a little light fun at him.
The conversation flowed easier than you expected, much easier thank last nights. He was much more responsive, with you two bickering and throwing lighthearted questions on both ends. And surprisingly, Megumi seemed very curious about the random woman that suddenly showed up in his home.
“What’s the ring for?” he asked suddenly, his gaze flicking to your hand. His tone was casual, innocent even, as if the question wasn’t invasive at all.
As if he hadn’t noticed the simple gold band until now.
Or as if he didn’t truly understand what a ring like that usually meant.
Your fingers instinctively twisted the warm metal as you glanced down at it, the question catching you completely off guard. You almost forgot your situation. your predicament.
“Ah…well, I’ve just married,” you say softly, your voice carrying a faint melancholy despite your attempt to sound neutral. Your eyes zone out as you stare at the heavy band.
“It’s still new…” you murmur, “...an arrangement by my family.” You hadn’t meant to let that much slip, but the truth clung to the edges of your words. You hadn’t planned on trauma-dumping your shitty arranged marriage onto a kid, especially one who didn’t even seem to realize you were married to his father. It was almost comical, sitting across from him so casually like this.
Quickly, you forced a lighter smile, unwilling to let the mood sink. You reached over and gently ladled another spoonful of food onto Megumi’s empty plate, trying to shift the focus.
“Arranged marriage? With who?” he asked, the concept not foreign but undeniably unsettling. You seemed like such a genuinely nice person—gentle, calm, nothing like the women who drifted in and out of his home. Except you were sitting in his kitchen, cooking dinner, smiling at him. And you were married.
It didn’t make sense. Not at first.
Then his mind caught up, the pieces clicking together one by one.
“…Not…Toji. Right?”
His voice faltered, cracking just slightly. If you found it strange hearing him refer to his own father by his first name, you didn’t comment on it. You let out a soft laugh at his stunned expression.
“The one and only.”
His brows shot up, his mouth hanging open just a little, but beneath the initial shock, something else settled in.
Something heavy.
A faint unease tugged at the corners of his frown, tightening his expression. He looked wary, guarded, every instinct bristling.
He didn’t like this.
Not one bit
After dinner, you sent Megumi off to bed, tidying up the plates left behind. He didn’t wait for you to finish cleaning, retreating to his room with his thoughts spinning too fast to settle.
Lying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, he kept replaying everything you’d said. His father was married—to you, of all people. Supposedly.
And for some reason, the thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.
It was strange. He’d left the house empty and returned to find you there. He should’ve pieced it together sooner, especially after everything you’d said…and the fact that you were wearing a damn wedding ring.
If you were telling the truth, you were about to take over as his stepmother. He wouldn’t put it past his shitty father to suddenly show up married out of nowhere—it was exactly the kind of impulsive, reckless thing Toji would do.
But still…he couldn’t shake the suspicion that Toji had somehow ordered a mail-order bride. There was no way his father had enough charm, stability, or basic human decency to win over a woman like you. Not willingly.
Arranged.
Arranged.
The entire situation felt off. An arranged marriage wasn’t impossible—especially when he considered your gentle, polished behavior.
He’d heard rumors about prim, traditional clan women. The ones kept tucked away from the public, raised with formality and strict rules, pushed into arranged marriages for their family’s benefit.
You had that same quiet grace, that same softness. You definitely didn’t seem like someone who would choose Toji on your own.
But Megumi knew almost nothing about technical clan hierarchy or how arranged marriages between sorcerer families even worked. And if you really came from a sorcerer family… did you even know about the Jujutsu world at all?
Did you come from somewhere like the Zenin clan?
He couldn’t sense any cursed energy from you—nothing significant, at least. And from the little Toji had ever let slip about his own family, Megumi already knew they were shitty people, but powerful ones. Strong cursed techniques, overwhelming cursed energy, a whole lineage of wicked, cunning, twisted individuals.
And there was your age.
You were young, too young for his dad. Closer to his age than Toji’s. Was that considered normal? Or was Toji even more of a pervert than Megumi already assumed? Why would he have agreed to something like this in the first place? Toji never seemed like the type to settle down.
So what was this supposed to be?
A maid?
Someone to cook and clean while he ran off on his so-called business trips?
It didn’t seem fair. What were you getting out of this arrangement? You’d said your family set it up…but what could have possibly convinced you (or them) to agree to you marrying someone like Toji? His father couldn’t have the best reputation, considering the way he lived. And with even less cursed energy than you had, the whole situation felt backwards.
The more Megumi thought about it, the more wrong it all felt. There wasn’t any reason for you to be here. No reason for you to marry his father. You seemed too kind, too proper, too normal for any of this to make sense. There had to be something else behind it. Maybe you were being forced into it. Maybe you had your own reasons you weren’t ready to share.
But there was always the chance you were lying.
People lied all the time. Maybe you were some psycho ex-girlfriend forcing your way back into Toji’s life. Or a manipulative stranger with motives that had nothing to do with him at all. Maybe you’d rob the place blind, and Megumi would wake up to an empty apartment and no explanation.
You seemed nice now, but Megumi couldn't take everything you said at face value.
He sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the wall, thoughts spiraling. He didn’t know what to make of you. Didn’t know whether to believe the sincerity you seemed to radiate or see it for what it might really be…a practiced, carefully crafted mask.
One thing was certain—he wasn’t letting his guard down anytime soon.
He would wait, watch you closely, and see what happened when Toji finally dragged his ass back home.
p.2?
AN: Thank you for reading! Please reblog and like if you enjoy this series!
⟣ welcome to gojoath's 𝒴𝒜𝒩𝒟𝐸𝑅𝐸 𝒴𝒰𝒯𝒜 masterlist! all fics include yandere themes so please read the warnings on each individual fic before interacting :) all characters are written as adults / aged up. minors dni.
listen to the playlist for the series here.
DRABBLES / FICS
˖ ݁ . ࿓ the fics are in rough order of how they happen (kinda)
hello, you — 𝔂𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓮. dark content. mdni. you think it’s a funny stroke of fate that you keep running into the same pretty stranger, albeit not in your best moments. little do you know, he’s known you for months before that.
i’ll give you my heart — 𝔂𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓮. dark content. mdni. you think it’s going well with yūta— the new guy you just started dating despite the way you’ve only seen eachother a handful of times. that’s exactly what he wants you to believe though, this is all going according to his plan.
take your turn — 𝔂𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓮. dark content. mdni. yūta has always been a giver when it comes to you and your pleasure, but you do think it’s about time that you repay the favour.
ease the ache — 𝔂𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓮. dark content. mdni. your glad your boyfriend yūta was always prepared, offering you a sleeping pill when you were having trouble was helpful— but why do you feel so needy suddenly?
two halves of a whole — 𝔂𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓮. dark content. mdni. sometimes you swear you have two boyfriends, the one that loves you and the one that fucks you. wc, 2k.
stay home instead — 𝔂𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓮. dark content. mdni. you loved your boyfriend, you did. but you think there’s only so much of his.. devoted personality you can take before the cracks begin to show. wc, 6.4k.
are you still watching? — 𝔂𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓮. dark content. mdni. your boyfriend, yūta, doesn’t ever like sharing what’s his. apparently that statement goes for your fictional crushes too. wc, 3.2k.
never have i ever — 𝔂𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓮. dark content. mdni. a party with your boyfriend isn’t something you expected to turn so sour. but maybe that’s because you didn’t expect your past relationships to start coming out.. or for one of them to be sitting in the room with you. wc, 9.2k.
learn to play nice — 𝔂𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓮. dark content. mdni. you know that your boyfriend yūta could be a little bit… difficult, but as much as you love him, you can’t let him get away with it all the time. wc, 5.1k.
the part that lingers — 𝔂𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓮. dark content. mdni. yuta finds it hard to live his life without you, it’s even harder for him to get off when you’re not there. you’ve unintentionally broken him that way. but it’s okay, he still has his ways of ending up wrapped in you. wc, 2.8k.
just as he left you — 𝔂𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓮. dark content. mdni. your (ex) boyfriend yūta decides to pay you a visit on his way home from a mission. although he forgot how pretty you look when you’re asleep.. and how hard it is to resist. wc, 6.1k.
you said forever — 𝔂𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓮. dark content. mdni. yūta’s never been one to back down easily. especially not after you told him you’d be together forever. soulmates. you can’t expect him to just let you go. wc, 4.9k.
EXTRA
just this once — 𝔂𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓮. dark content. mdni. yūta thinks it’s cruel how good you feel despite the fact he’s not felt all of you yet. he knows that you can feel better, he hopes you’ll give him all of you just once, that should be enough to keep you forever. wc, 2.9k.
Please DO NOT read if you're sensitive to these topics.
AN: This story explores a heavily distorted dynamic between Yuta Okkotsu and the reader, where reality itself becomes unstable. What begins as brief encounters slowly turns into obsession, control, and a complete loss of boundaries.
Themes of coercion, emotional dependence, and psychological torment are central to the narrative. Certain scenes may carry implications of degradation and power imbalance as part of the horror aspect of the story.
Nothing in this work is meant to romanticize or justify such behavior.
Reader discretion is strongly advised.
This piece was written as a commission. The core idea and dynamics were requested by the client, and I expanded on it with my own interpretation. Thank you for trusting me with something this dark <3
Masterlist
Your sigh cut through the afternoon air before the words even left your mouth.
“Damn… fuck.”
Your fingers dragged through your hair in pure irritation as you stared at the crowded street stretching endlessly in front of you.
You stood on the edge of a busy road in Sendai, watching cars crawl through traffic while people rushed past on the footpath like their lives depended on it.
Salarymen with briefcases.
Students in uniforms.
Women checking their phones while speed-walking.
The normal rhythm of everyday life.
Which only made the situation worse.
Your shoulders slumped as another exhausted breath escaped you.
This better be a dream because what the fuck am I doing? Going to work, paying my bills, getting frustrated over everything—even when I'm in the JJK world now!!!??
You continued walking along the footpath, your shoes scraping lightly against the pavement as your eyes drifted over the passing crowd.
Everything looked so… ordinary.
Too ordinary.
The smell of street food from a nearby stall.
The distant rumble of a bus stopping.
Someone laughing on a phone call.
It all felt painfully real.
Your lips twisted into a grimace.
This sounds like more of a nightmare bruh..
Your gaze lifted to the sky for a moment before dropping again in annoyance.
Gege said there are three types of people in JJK… first, sorcerers… second, people with a little cursed power or who can see a bit of curses… and then normal civilians…
You shoved your hands into your pockets, shoulders tense as frustration bubbled up again.
But fuck… when I opened my eyes, I thought now I could do anything with my power… but there's nothing. No power, not even a bit—just a normal human like I was in my world!!!
“Tch.”
Your shoe nudged a small rock that had been sitting against the pavement. Without thinking you kicked it away, watching it skitter uselessly across the road before disappearing under a parked bicycle.
You muttered under your breath, voice dripping with disappointment.
“Oh… my dream to be with gojo.. and Sukuna and Toji and Nanami and everyoneeeeeeee.”
Your hands lifted to your head in pure despair.
The frustration had been building all morning, and now it finally burst out of you.
“AAAAAAAAAAAA—”
Your scream echoed down the street, loud and dramatic enough that a few people turned their heads.
But before embarrassment could even settle in—
Another scream cut through the air.
And it was nothing like yours.
High-pitched.
Raw.
Horrific.
Your voice died instantly.
“…Huh?”
The sound came from somewhere down the street.
Another scream followed.
Then another.
Suddenly the calm rhythm of the road shattered.
People began running.
Not walking fast.
Running.
Panic spread like wildfire through the crowd as bodies rushed past you from the same direction.
A woman nearly dropped her bag while sprinting.
A man grabbed his child and pulled him close as he ran.
Someone shouted something you couldn’t quite catch.
Your brows pulled together in confusion.
“What the—?”
You turned toward the direction everyone was fleeing from.
But there was nothing.
No fire.
No accident.
No explosion.
The road ahead looked completely normal.
Cars still sat at a red light.
The buildings stood untouched.
Even the street lamps looked the same.
Yet the panic kept growing.
Footsteps thundered against the pavement as more people rushed past you.
Your head slowly tilted, confusion deepening.
“Why are they—”
Someone slammed into your shoulder while running.
“Move!!”
You stumbled slightly but caught your balance, staring after them in disbelief.
“Bro what are you even running from!?”
—but then—
A sudden explosion tore through the air right in front of your eyes.
“WHAT THE—?!”
A deafening boom cracked through the street like thunder, the ground vibrating beneath your feet. A nearby storefront window shattered, glass raining down onto the pavement with sharp clinks and crashes.
But the weirdest part?
There was nothing there.
No car crash.
No bomb.
No truck slamming into a building.
Yet flames suddenly burst upward from the middle of the road as if the city itself had ignited. Fire crawled hungrily along the asphalt, licking at the sides of buildings while smoke spiraled into the sky.
People screamed.
Pure, unfiltered panic.
“RUN!!”
“MOVE!”
“GET AWAY FROM THERE!”
Your brain barely processed it before instinct kicked in. Your body turned and you tried to run with everyone else, heart racing as the crowd surged past you.
But before you could take more than two steps—
Something yanked your leg.
Hard.
“—AH!”
Your body jerked violently backward and you crashed onto the pavement, palms scraping painfully against the rough concrete.
“What the hell—?!”
You twisted around instantly.
Nothing.
There was absolutely nothing there.
Yet the pressure around your ankle tightened, dragging you slightly across the ground like an invisible hand had grabbed you.
Your breath hitched.
“Oh… fuck.”
Your voice came out weak as adrenaline flooded your veins.
You couldn’t see anything.
But something was definitely there.
Something holding you down.
Your fingers curled against the pavement as a shaky breath left your lungs.
You let out a dry laugh that sounded more like a wheeze.
“Yeah this is the end, isn’t it?”
Your eyes squeezed shut for a moment.
Great.
I get isekai’d into the JJK world and die before even meeting anyone cool.
Amazing.
But suddenly—
A blur of white moved past you.
Fast.
So fast you almost thought your eyes were playing tricks on you.
A figure stepped between you and the empty space gripping your leg.
You barely had time to register the white coat fluttering in the wind before—
Something slammed into the street with a violent crash.
The ground cracked.
Air pressure burst outward like a shockwave.
Your ears rang.
And then—
Silence.
Not normal silence.
A strange, heavy stillness.
The screams.
The fire.
The running footsteps.
Everything stopped.
Frozen.
A plastic bag hung midair as if time itself had paused.
Your body remained slumped on the pavement, completely unaware of the violent battle happening only a few feet away.
Because to you—
Nothing had happened.
Time simply skipped.
One second you were on the ground thinking you were about to die.
The next—
The air shifted.
Sound rushed back all at once.
Your eyes blinked open in confusion.
“…Huh?”
The pressure around your leg was gone.
You slowly pushed yourself up on your elbows, heart still pounding wildly.
Before you could fully process anything—
Someone knelt in front of you.
A soft voice spoke.
“Are you okay?”
Your brain short-circuited.
“…What?”
You stared at him blankly.
Had he always been there?
You hadn’t even seen him approach.
Your eyes dropped to your body quickly.
No injuries.
No wounds.
Your ankle moved fine.
Nothing was grabbing you anymore.
“…I—”
You slowly nodded.
“Y-Yeah… I think so…”
Your voice came out uncertain as you pushed yourself up from the pavement.
Dust clung to your clothes as you stood.
The street behind you still looked chaotic, people running in the distance, smoke drifting upward, but somehow the immediate danger had disappeared.
Your eyes lifted again.
And that’s when you actually looked at him.
White coat.
Black hair.
Soft bangs falling slightly over his forehead.
Your brain froze.
Once.
Twice.
You blinked.
Your mouth opened before your mind could stop it.
“Yuta—!?”
The word almost burst out loudly.
But the moment it left your lips—
He flinched.
Not dramatically, but enough that you saw the surprise flash across his face.
Your heart dropped straight into your stomach.
Oh shit.
OH SHIT.
Your hands immediately waved awkwardly in front of you.
“Ah—! I mean—!”
A nervous laugh escaped you.
“Haha… sorry—uh—”
You rubbed the back of your neck quickly.
“I thought you looked like someone I know.”
Your heart was pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it.
Idiot.
Why would you say his name out loud?!
You quickly dug into your pocket and pulled out a small handkerchief, holding it out toward him.
“Here—uh… you’ve got a little—”
You gestured vaguely near his cheek.
“Dust.”
Your smile was painfully awkward.
He hesitated for a moment before taking it.
“Thank you.”
The softness in his voice somehow made your embarrassment ten times worse.
Your brain screamed one command.
RUN.
Before he could say anything else, you spun around and bolted down the street.
Your shoes slapped against the pavement as you ran like your life depended on it.
Your heart was racing.
Your brain was screaming.
I CAN’T BELIEVE HE WAS RIGHT THERE.
RIGHT. THERE.
You ran for another block before finally slowing down near a footpath, bending slightly as you tried to catch your breath.
“Haaah… haaah…”
Your hands landed on your knees.
Your face burned with embarrassment.
“God…”
You huffed loudly.
“Of course he looks different in real life…”
You dragged a hand down your face.
“Human Yuta is kinda… different.”
Different.
Better.
Your face grew even hotter.
“UGH.”
You straightened up suddenly.
“WHY DID I RUN AWAYYYY—?!”
Your frustrated scream echoed down the street as you grabbed your hair dramatically.
“AHHHHHHH!”
You paced in a small circle on the footpath like a malfunctioning robot.
“Maybe I’ll never see him again!”
“Tch!”
“Tch tch tchhhhhh!!!”
You kicked a random pebble across the road in pure frustration.
“Idiot!”
“Absolute idiot!”
—
The last couple of months passed by.
And absolutely nothing happened.
No curses jumping out of the shadows.
No dramatic encounters.
No mysterious sorcerers appearing in the streets.
Your supposed isekai life had somehow become the most painfully normal routine imaginable.
Study.
Work.
Eat.
Sleep.
Repeat.
You leaned back slightly in your chair, letting out a long sigh as you stared blankly at the assignment paper in your hands.
This is… so boring.
A few strands of hair slipped into your face as you dragged a pen lazily across the last line.
Your life in the Sendai had settled into a dull rhythm.
University lectures in the morning.
Part-time work in the evening.
Instant noodles or convenience store meals in between.
No supernatural drama.
No cursed spirits.
And most disappointing of all—
No sightings of any JJK men.
You dropped your pen on the desk with a quiet clack.
“Seriously…”
You muttered under your breath while staring at the paper.
“I get thrown into the JJK world and end up living like a background NPC.”
A student next to you glanced over briefly, confused, but you simply ignored them.
With another tired sigh, you gathered your things and stood up from your seat.
The classroom was already starting to empty, chairs scraping softly against the floor as students packed their bags.
You walked to the front desk and placed your assignment neatly on the professor’s pile.
“Thank you,” the professor said absentmindedly while adjusting his glasses.
You nodded politely before turning and heading toward the exit.
The hallway outside buzzed with the usual university chatter.
Footsteps.
Laughter.
Someone arguing loudly about exam scores.
Everything normal.
Too normal.
You pushed open the large university doors and stepped outside—
Only to pause slightly.
A crowd of students had gathered near the front gate.
Whispers floated through the air as people craned their necks to look toward the street outside.
“Huh?”
You tilted your head slightly.
“What’s going on now?”
Curiosity tugged at you as you walked closer.
Several students were practically leaning against the gate bars, trying to see something across the road.
One girl whispered loudly to her friend.
“Did you see that guy?”
“He’s so tall—”
“And the girl with glasses looks scary—”
Your brows furrowed.
What are they talking about?
You stepped closer and glanced through the gate.
And then—
Your breath caught in your throat.
White.
That familiar white coat.
Walking down the street just outside the campus was a small group of three.
Your eyes widened instantly.
The boy in front with the white spiky hair and strange markings around his mouth—
You recognized him immediately.
Toge Inumaki.
Walking beside him was a tall girl carrying a weapon case, her sharp eyes scanning the street ahead.
Maki Zenin.
And a few steps behind them—
Your heart skipped.
There he was.
The boy in the white coat.
The same soft black hair.
The same gentle posture.
Yuta Okkotsu.
Your breathing stalled for a second.
Your fingers tightened slightly around the strap of your bag.
Toge and Maki seemed to be in a hurry, walking quickly toward some direction down the street like they were heading somewhere important.
Probably a mission.
But Yuta walked a little slower behind them.
And then—
His head turned slightly.
Toward the university gate.
Toward the curious group of students watching from behind the bars.
And then—
Directly toward you.
Your stomach flipped.
Your eyes instantly darted away.
What the fuck-!?
How the fuck did he see me from there!?
You turned sharply, pretending to suddenly remember something extremely important.
“Fuck."
You muttered to yourself awkwardly.
Without another glance you began walking quickly toward the side path that led to the other campus gate.
Your heart thumped loudly in your chest.
Maybe there's another mission for them…
You tried to sound casual in your own head.
That's probably why he's passing through here.
Your steps slowed slightly as you reached the quieter side of campus.
He probably doesn't remember me.
The thought made your chest tighten just a little.
You shoved your hands into your pockets quickly.
It’s fine.
Your lips pressed into a small line.
I'm gonna wake up from this dream anyway.
You exhaled softly.
“Yeah… probably.”
With that you left the campus through the smaller side gate and started walking down the familiar street toward your part-time job.
—
The late afternoon sun painted the sidewalks in warm orange light.
Your workplace appeared just around the corner like it always did.
A cozy little shop with a wooden sign hanging above the entrance.
Fresh flowers lined the display outside.
Roses.
Tulips.
Daisies.
The gentle scent greeted you the moment you pushed the door open.
A small bell chimed overhead.
“Ah, you’re here!”
The old woman behind the counter looked up with a warm smile.
She was the owner of the shop, a kind elderly lady who had hired you a few weeks after you arrived in this world.
“Good afternoon,” you greeted politely while placing your bag behind the counter.
“Good afternoon, dear,” she chuckled.
“You’re right on time as always.”
You rolled up your sleeves slightly.
“Of course. I’m a very responsible employee.”
She laughed softly at that.
“Then come help me arrange these lilies.”
You nodded and moved toward the worktable, gently picking up the stems and placing them into fresh water.
The shop was quiet.
Peaceful.
Normal.
Boring.
Just like the rest of your life had been lately.
By the time your shift finally ended, your whole body felt heavy.
You stretched your arms above your head while stepping out of the small flower shop, the bell above the door chiming softly behind you.
“Good night, Y/N. Don’t stay up too late,” the old shop owner called from inside.
You waved lazily over your shoulder.
“Good night!”
The cool night air brushed against your face as you stepped onto the sidewalk. The streets of Sendai had already quieted down compared to the afternoon rush.
Streetlights glowed softly.
A few cars passed by occasionally.
Most shops were already closed.
You pulled your sleeve back slightly and checked your watch.
10:47 PM.
“Damn…”
You rubbed your eyes tiredly.
“I’m dead.”
Your legs felt like jelly after standing for hours arranging flowers and dealing with customers.
Normally you’d take the main road home, but tonight your brain immediately suggested the faster option.
The shortcut.
A narrow side road that cut through the quieter outskirts of the area. It wasn’t exactly dangerous—just… less crowded. Mostly used by cyclists, scooters, or people walking home late.
You sighed and turned down the dimly lit path.
“Shortcut it is.”
The road was narrow, lined with low fences and occasional trees casting thin shadows across the pavement. Only two-wheelers usually passed through here, and even those were rare this late at night.
You slipped an AirPod into your ear and tapped your phone.
Your favorite song began playing softly.
Instant mood.
You breathed out slowly as the music filled your ears, shoulders relaxing just a little.
The cool air, the quiet street, the late-night calm—it was strangely peaceful.
Your footsteps echoed lightly against the pavement as you walked.
For a few minutes, everything felt normal again.
Then—
You heard something.
A voice.
Faint.
You frowned slightly but kept walking.
Probably just my ears ringing.
Or maybe your AirPods were glitching again.
You tapped one of them absentmindedly.
The music continued.
You shrugged and walked another few steps.
Then—
“Excuse me—”
The voice came again.
Clearer this time.
You stopped.
Your brows furrowed as you slowly turned around.
And nearly jumped out of your skin.
“—WHAT THE—?!”
You startled back a full step.
Because someone was suddenly standing right in front of you.
Your heart slammed against your ribs.
Your body immediately shifted into pure instinct.
Run.
Your muscles tensed to move, but before you could even take a step—
The boy in front of you quickly raised his hands slightly.
“I’m sorry!”
His voice came out hurried and awkward.
“I didn’t mean to frighten you—please don’t be scared—!”
The words spilled out messily, almost tripping over each other.
“I just—I wasn’t trying to sneak up on you or anything, I just—”
He stopped himself abruptly, clearly flustered.
You blinked.
Your breathing slowly steadied as your brain actually processed his face.
Black hair.
Soft bangs.
White coat.
Your eyes widened slightly.
What the…
Why is he here?
It was him.
Yuta Okkotsu.
He stood a short distance away, posture straight but shoulders slightly tense. His gaze avoided yours almost completely, drifting somewhere near the ground as if direct eye contact made him uncomfortable.
For a moment, neither of you spoke.
Then he shifted slightly and reached into his coat pocket.
His hand came out holding something small.
A folded handkerchief.
Your handkerchief.
He held it out toward you carefully.
“…Thank you,” he said quietly.
His voice was softer now.
“I wanted to give it back.”
Your brain blanked.
He continued speaking, still not quite looking at you.
“So… I was looking for you.”
Silence.
Complete silence.
Because your mind had already gone somewhere else entirely.
Weird.
The thought echoed loudly in your head.
This is weird.
Your eyes stayed fixed on the small piece of cloth in his hand.
I didn’t know Yuta does this kind of stuff.
Your brain scrambled through memories of Jujutsu Kaisen 0.
I mean… his personality is kinda different in the anime…
You glanced at him again briefly.
He still looked nervous.
Still avoiding your eyes.
Also isn’t Rika’s cursed soul with him?
Your stomach tightened slightly.
Should not I be killed by now?
The thought made your shoulders stiffen.
Then… why is he here?
Why does he remember me in the first place?
And he kept the handkerchief?
And looked for me for months?
Your thoughts tangled together in a confusing mess.
You were so deep in your own head that you didn’t notice the slight shift in his posture.
Until he spoke again.
“…Hey.”
His voice was gentle.
But it wasn’t what snapped you out of your thoughts.
It was the next thing he said.
Your name.
Your head lifted instantly.
You blinked at him, still caught between confusion and disbelief.
“Huh?”
The sound left your mouth automatically.
He didn’t react much to your confusion. Instead, he simply looked at you calmly—though there was a faint hint of uncertainty in his eyes as well.
“Yn… right?”
Your name left his lips carefully, like he was making sure he remembered it correctly.
Your brain short-circuited.
You just stared at him.
Speechless.
How the hell does he know my name?!
Your thoughts raced instantly.
From where did he hear that?
I never told him.
Did someone tell him?
Did he stalk me??
Your expression must’ve shown at least half of your internal panic, because he watched you quietly for a moment before his gaze drifted away again.
He looked around the empty road briefly, almost like he was checking the surroundings.
Then he spoke again.
“I know you’re feeling uncomfortable…”
His tone was soft and careful.
“I’m not that kind of guy… I just…”
His voice trailed off.
The words seemed to get stuck somewhere in his throat.
He looked down slightly, brows faintly drawn together as if he couldn’t figure out how to explain himself.
The silence between you stretched for a second.
And somehow…
You understood exactly what was happening.
Of course.
Your thoughts softened a little.
He’s still immature.
He doesn’t even know what he’s doing.
After all, this was still the time around Jujutsu Kaisen 0. He hadn’t fully grown into the confident sorcerer people later knew.
Right now—
He was just a quiet, awkward teenager trying to return a handkerchief.
You exhaled lightly.
“It’s fine.”
Your voice came out calmer now.
“Let’s just forget about it.”
He looked up slightly.
Then nodded once.
“…Okay.”
A small hum escaped him before he spoke again.
“Thank you.”
He held the handkerchief out properly this time, and you took it back from him.
The fabric felt oddly familiar in your hand.
Another moment of silence followed before he asked something else.
“Why are you out this late?”
His tone wasn’t accusing.
Just curious.
But then he added another question.
“And using this path…”
His eyes lifted again.
Directly to yours.
“Don’t you know how dangerous it is?”
Something about the way he looked at you sent a faint chill down your spine.
Of course you knew it was dangerous.
You knew exactly why.
Curses.
But you couldn’t tell him that.
You were supposed to be a normal human here.
You had to act like one.
Your throat tightened slightly as you forced a casual shrug.
“Uh—don’t worry!”
You quickly reached into your bag and held up a small bottle.
“I’ve got pepper spray with me!”
You tried to sound as natural as possible, like the danger you were talking about was nothing more than shady humans lurking around dark roads.
“See? Totally prepared.”
Your voice even had a small playful tone to it.
For a moment, he just stared at you.
Then—
A quiet chuckle escaped him.
Soft.
Almost surprised.
“Thanks for not spraying it at me.”
Your eyes widened slightly before you laughed too.
“Hey, I was considering it.”
The lightness of the moment lingered for a second.
And as you watched him standing there under the dim streetlight—
Calm.
Alive.
Your chest tightened unexpectedly.
He’s lively…
At least for now.
Your mind couldn’t stop remembering what you already knew about the future of this world.
What would happen.
What he would go through.
Your heart clenched painfully for a brief moment.
So you suddenly spoke again before your thoughts could spiral further.
“Uh…”
You glanced at your watch.
“It’s getting late.”
Your voice softened.
“I should go now.”
Then you gestured slightly toward the direction he came from.
“And you too.”
He seemed to realize the same thing and nodded quietly.
“…Right.”
His gaze dropped to the ground again.
For a second it looked like the conversation was about to end right there.
But before you turned away—
You suddenly spoke again.
Almost without thinking.
“You know the nearby flower shop by here?”
He looked up again.
You continued casually.
“Come meet me there sometimes.”
The words left your mouth like they had been waiting there the whole time.
His eyes widened slightly.
And under the pale glow of the moonlight—
They shone.
Bright.
Soft.
The exact expression you remembered so clearly.
Even now.
“Sigh…”
You leaned forward over the wooden counter, resting your chin lazily on your palm while staring out through the glass display of the flower shop.
The morning sun filtered through the window, casting soft golden light over rows of freshly arranged flowers.
Roses.
Lilies.
Tulips.
Daisies.
The entire shop smelled faintly sweet and fresh, the scent of petals and greenery filling the quiet air.
You glanced at the small clock hanging on the wall.
9:33 AM.
Today you had taken the morning shift.
No classes.
No assignments.
Just a slow, peaceful morning at the shop.
You absentmindedly traced a small circle on the counter with your finger, lost in your own thoughts.
It’s been three days…
Three days since that strange, unexpected meeting on the quiet shortcut road.
Three days since Yuta Okkotsu had appeared out of nowhere, returned your handkerchief, and somehow called you by your name.
Your lips curled slightly.
Memorable night… lol.
You huffed softly at yourself.
“Seriously… what am I thinking, geez.”
You shook your head lightly, trying to push the thought away.
It wasn’t like anything would come out of that.
Right?
Just as your brain tried to settle back into boredom—
Ding.
The small bell above the shop door rang.
Your head lifted instantly.
You straightened your posture quickly, slipping back into your polite customer-service mode.
“Welcome—”
The words stopped halfway in your throat.
Your heart skipped.
Standing near the entrance was a familiar figure.
The same white coat.
The same soft black hair.
It was him.
Your heartbeat picked up immediately.
He looked… slightly different today.
A little more tired.
There were faint shadows under his eyes, like he hadn’t slept well.
But despite that—
He was still unmistakably Yuta Okkotsu.
You blinked once before quickly recovering.
“Welcome.”
This time your voice came out warm and genuine.
He stepped inside slowly, glancing around the shop.
His eyes moved across the rows of flowers with quiet curiosity.
“So many flowers…”
The way he said it sounded almost mesmerized, like he was genuinely admiring them.
You smiled faintly.
“Yes.”
You gestured lightly toward the display.
“You should get one.”
He looked at you for a brief second before turning his attention back to the flowers.
His gaze moved from one arrangement to another carefully, like he was trying to decide which one to choose.
Finally—
His hand reached out.
He gently picked up a single rose.
The deep red petals looked vibrant against the pale light of the shop.
He walked slowly toward the counter.
Toward you.
Stopping just on the other side.
“I don’t have much with me right now…” he said quietly.
“So… this one.”
You glanced down at the rose in his hand.
A small smile appeared on your face.
You nodded softly.
“Let me pay for it.”
He blinked.
“No.”
Your brows lifted slightly in confusion.
“It’s fine,” you said casually. “You can pay later.”
But he didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, he fell quiet.
Completely quiet.
His gaze lowered to the rose in his hands.
The silence stretched for a second.
Then two.
Finally he spoke again.
“But…”
His voice was softer now.
“How can I take money from you…”
His fingers tightened slightly around the stem.
“…when you’re the one I’m giving the flower to?”
Silence.
Your smile froze halfway.
Your brain stalled.
Of course because of his words, yes—
But also because something else happened.
Something… strange.
For a split second—
The scene in front of you glitched.
It was less than a second.
So quick that you almost doubted your own eyes.
But you knew it wasn’t a mistake.
Yuta’s face—
The space behind him—
The warm interior of the flower shop—
Everything seemed to distort for the briefest moment, like a flicker in reality itself. The colors dulled, the edges blurred strangely, as if the world had skipped a frame.
Then it was gone.
Just like that.
Everything returned to normal.
The shop.
The flowers.
The morning light.
Yuta standing there holding the rose.
Your fingers tightened slightly on the counter.
…What?
Your heart skipped uneasily.
Did my eyes just…
Your thoughts couldn’t even finish forming.
Because your mind was still trying to process both things at once—
The strange flicker.
And his words.
“…Huh?”
The confused sound slipped out of your mouth automatically.
Your gaze lifted back to him, still trying to understand what exactly had just happened.
But, before you could say anything else—
He suddenly moved.
The rose was quickly placed into your hand.
At the same time, he dropped the money onto the counter with a small clink.
And then—
He turned.
Already heading toward the door.
“Wait—”
But he was gone before you could finish the sentence.
The bell above the door rang again as he hurried out of the shop.
The entire moment had happened so quickly.
Your hand remained frozen where he had placed the rose.
You stared down at it blankly.
All that time—
He hadn’t looked at you even once.
Not directly.
Yet somehow…
You could still tell.
His ears had been red.
His cheeks too.
Red.
Red like the rose now resting in your hand.
Your brain took a second longer to process it.
And then—
Heat slowly crept up your own face.
“…Damn?”
—
Days began blending into each other after that morning with the rose.
Not in a dramatic way.
Just… quietly.
Like something slowly settling into your life without asking permission.
He started appearing again.
At first it was random.
One afternoon outside the flower shop.
Another day near the university gate.
Sometimes he’d be standing a little distance away, almost like he wasn’t sure if he should approach or not.
Other times he’d already be inside the shop, staring at the flowers the same way he had the first day.
Yuta Okkotsu wasn’t exactly good at hiding the fact that he was there for you.
Not that he said it out loud.
But it was obvious.
And slowly, a strange routine formed.
He’d show up.
Stand awkwardly near the counter.
Ask something random about flowers.
Then end up walking with you when your shift ended.
Except—
You never actually let him walk you home.
Not really.
Every time he tried insisting, you somehow managed to derail the situation.
“Let me walk you home.”
You shook your head immediately.
“It’s fine, really.”
“But it’s late—”
“Hey, have you eaten yet?”
And just like that, the conversation would change.
You’d drag him to a nearby food stall instead.
Buy him something.
Takoyaki.
Bread.
Convenience store snacks.
Anything.
He’d hesitate every single time.
“You don’t have to—”
“It’s just food,” you’d say, shoving it into his hands anyway.
And he’d accept it eventually.
Quietly.
Still shy.
Still awkward.
Still avoiding eye contact more often than not.
It was… oddly peaceful.
Almost normal.
You thought things were going well.
At least on the surface.
But something in the back of your mind kept twisting uncomfortably.
The storyline.
That stupid, unchangeable storyline.
Your eyes would drift toward him sometimes while he talked about random things.
And the thought would creep back again.
Why is he here?
Because now it wasn’t just occasional meetings.
It had turned into something else entirely.
He appeared almost every three days.
Sometimes more.
At your shop.
At your college.
Around the streets you walked.
Thankfully not at your house.
Because he didn’t know where you lived.
Yet.
The thought made your stomach tighten.
He’s acting like he wants to stay around you all the time.
Which made absolutely no sense.
You wanted to ask him.
About his training.
About Tokyo Jujutsu High.
About missions.
About the things you knew he was supposed to be doing during the timeline of Jujutsu Kaisen 0.
But you couldn’t.
Of course you couldn’t.
Because as far as he knew—
You were just a normal human.
Someone who had no idea what a sorcerer even was.
So asking those questions would only raise suspicion.
Which meant you had to keep your mouth shut.
And watch him instead.
Watch him try to make conversation.
Watch him talk about small things.
Random things.
Anything that might get a reaction from you.
Even after all these days, he was still awkward around you.
Still hesitant.
Still slightly unsure of himself.
And one thing you had started noticing more and more—
Sometimes he’d stop talking halfway through a sentence.
Like he had almost said something he shouldn’t.
Then he’d look away.
His expression tightening for a second before he forced the conversation somewhere else.
It was subtle.
But it happened often enough that you noticed.
And it was slowly driving you insane.
Gosh…
Your fingers tapped lightly against the table as the thought returned again.
If he’s going to be around me the whole time…
Then who the hell is going to be the protagonist?
Your jaw tightened slightly.
Because you knew how the story was supposed to go.
You knew how things ended.
And most importantly—
You knew Rika Orimoto wasn’t supposed to be freed yet.
Not until the events of the movie reached their climax.
“Tch.”
The small sound slipped out of you before you realized.
Across from you, Yuta stopped mid-sentence.
His brows knit together slightly.
“…Sorry.”
His voice was careful.
“Am I bothering you?”
You blinked.
“Oh—”
You straightened slightly, realizing how that must have sounded.
“Uh—no.”
Your hand waved lightly in dismissal.
“That’s not… uh…”
You hesitated.
Your mind scrambled for something to say.
“I was just thinking.”
Your eyes shifted briefly toward him before you forced the words out.
“About you—I mean…”
You cleared your throat awkwardly.
“You seem like a student too.”
The sentence came out slower now.
Carefully.
“So I think you should focus on yourself… instead of being here with me.”
The moment the words left your mouth—
You saw it.
His expression changed.
Not dramatically.
But enough.
Something in his face faded slightly.
Like a quiet light dimming.
It almost looked like… hurt.
Your chest tightened instantly.
“Wait—”
You leaned forward slightly.
“Don’t take it the wrong way!”
Your voice rushed out quickly.
“You see, I just don’t want you to fall behind.”
Your hands moved awkwardly as you tried to explain.
“I mean—you should focus on your studies and stuff. I just want the best for you!”
The words tumbled out clumsily.
But you meant them.
Even if they sounded wrong.
Yuta didn’t respond immediately.
He simply sat there quietly.
Processing.
Then after a few seconds—
He nodded slowly.
“…Okay.”
The word was barely above a whisper.
And somehow—
That became the last thing you heard from him.
The last thing you ever saw of him.
Because the very next moment you blinked—
You were sitting at your desk.
Your hand rested on a computer mouse.
A familiar hum of electronics filled the air.
The soft whirring of a CPU. The clacking of keyboards. The low murmur of coworkers chatting somewhere across the office.
Your eyes lifted slowly.
White walls.
Grey cubicle dividers.
The same dull paint that had stared back at you every weekday for months.
Fluorescent lights buzzed faintly above your head.
Your computer screen glowed in front of you, some document still loading while several delayed files sat scattered across the desk.
For a few seconds—
You didn’t move.
Your brain struggled to catch up with what your eyes were seeing.
Then slowly, almost mechanically, your gaze drifted to the digital clock mounted on the wall.
2:39 PM.
Your breath caught in your throat.
No.
Your eyes scanned the room again.
The chitter chatter of colleagues.
Someone laughing faintly in the break room.
The sound of a chair rolling across the floor.
You were…
Back.
Back in your office.
Back in the real world.
Your fingers tightened slowly around the mouse.
“But… how…?”
The whisper barely left your lips.
Your mind spun.
Why…?
Was that all a dream…?
Your jaw tightened.
No.
That wasn’t possible.
It couldn’t be.
It had been too vivid.
Too real.
You could still remember the streets.
The flower shop.
The quiet evenings.
The awkward way he avoided eye contact.
Your grip on the mouse tightened further.
Did I do something wrong…?
The thought slipped in before you could stop it.
Your chest tightened painfully.
Where did I go wrong…?
Your gaze dropped to the desk.
“I… kept my identity hidden…”
Your voice was barely audible now.
“I didn’t say anything about sorcerers…”
Your shoulders slowly slumped forward.
The exhaustion hit you all at once.
Heavy.
Crushing.
“Then why…?”
Your vision blurred slightly.
The office noises around you felt distant now.
Muted.
Your chest rose and fell unevenly as a quiet ache settled deep inside your ribs.
If only I could go back…
The thought clawed at you desperately.
If I could just go back once…
Then maybe…
Your throat tightened painfully.
Maybe I could do something differently.
You sat there frozen, staring at nothing in particular.
Lost inside your own thoughts.
So much so that you didn’t notice someone approaching your desk until a voice suddenly spoke beside you.
“Hey.”
You flinched slightly.
A coworker stood there holding two paper cups.
“I brought you coffee.”
He held one out toward you.
“I actually got you one earlier too, but you were asleep through the entire lunch break.” He gave a small amused shake of his head. “Didn’t want to wake you.”
Your brows furrowed slightly.
“Asleep…?”
“Yeah.”
He chuckled lightly.
“You were out cold. Everyone already went out to grab food.”
Only then did you notice it.
The empty desks around you.
Several chairs pushed back.
Half the office gone.
He lifted the cup slightly again.
“So I grabbed another one on my way back.”
You blinked slowly and reached toward the desk to push yourself up.
“Thanks, I—”
The moment you shifted your weight—
A sharp, tearing pain exploded through your right ankle.
“—ah—!”
A strangled cry escaped your throat.
Your body collapsed backward into the chair as if the strength had suddenly drained from your leg.
It felt like something inside your ankle had shattered.
✧ summary the kingdom has sunk into a violent civil war, and you and your family, the lighthouse keepers, tried your best to stay out of it. that is until a group of rebels show up injured on your doorstep, begging for shelter you can't refuse.
✧ content mdni!; historical au; angst; slow burn; eventual smut; enemies to lovers sort of; mutual pining; hurt and comfort; yearning; dark themes; fighting; depictions of blood, injuries and treatments; will add more tags as we go
✧ a/n one thing about me is asoiaf is my favourite book series and since the dunk and egg show trailer came out i've been inspired! also pls forgive any historical inaccuracies
꒷꒦pairing꒦꒷ serial killer!Gojo x detective fem!reader
꒷꒦cw꒦꒷ NSFW, 18+ MDNI—(oh boy, here we go) modern AU, angst and smut and despair, explicit sexual content, graphic depictions of death and torture, so much blood (it's messy), moral quandaries, mentions of sexual assault, stalking, abduction, drugging, plotting & betrayal, heavy on the dub-con, mind fucking/breaking, choking (out hehe), slapping, knife play, (very) inappropriate use of firearms, dirty talk (threats count as dirty talk right?), 'make it fit' trope (big dick nerd mmm), fingering, face fucking, unprotected piv sex, creampie, sex with a dead body in the room, p0rn with a dose of murderous plot, obsessive and possessive and very yandere nerd gojo, he's a walking red flag and reader is kind of a freak as usual.
꒷꒦summary꒦꒷ the nerd in forensics has always been on your radar. everything about him is too crafted to be genuine. so you've always got your eye on gojo. the same can be said for him, but he’s just watching your back! you have a nasty habit of getting stalked by people who definitely aren't him. but it's mutually beneficial. you don't get murdered by the scorned, ex-con stalkers you've put away, and gojo gets another killer to bleed dry. you really are perfect for each other. but things are going off the rails this time around, and you finally see gojo for what he truly is. maybe you should have stopped looking so hard, but it's too late for maybe now.
꒷꒦a/n꒦꒷ this got out of hand so fast wow, but Dexter and Gojo? i couldn't stop, so now this is fat and absolutely filthy. it's still kinktober tho, right?┃art in the header by @/savoryjump on insta, dividers by @/cafekitsune, @/anitalerina, and @/sister-lucifer ꒷꒦w/c꒦꒷ 17.5k (holy shit, i swear its worth it T_T)
All the usual familiar faces greeted Gojo as he strolled out from the elevator, a box in one hand and a sugary coffee in a to-go cup from the cafe just down the block.
He flashed a smile, crooked and charming and with a few more teeth than typical for him at 8 AM, but he couldn’t help it. Gojo was in a great mood. How could he not be? He not only did the department a huge favor last night, but Tokyo as a whole.
“Good morning, Gojo!” A freshly promoted officer greeted him, wide-eyed and eager. Her uniform pressed, bright blue hair tied back in a neat ponytail, and a folder in hand as she walked through the open glass doors. “The lab had the results ready for that hair sample. I brought it up with me, figured I could save you the trip down!” She held the folder up in one hand with a smile as she kept pace with him.
Gojo glanced her way as he stopped to let a few people grab a pastry from the pastel pink box in his hand. They greeted him with distracted murmurs, eyeing the box for a favorite.
She was a new face around the department, and Gojo was already a little poor at keeping track of names. It’s one of the few things that made him both feel a little more human, and somehow even more removed from normalcy. It was a flaw, one of many, but in a different way than most of his. He should remember names; being remembered makes people feel a personal connection, like they matter. It disarms them.
When Gojo smiled at her, he made sure it reached his eyes, coming off warmer and more genuine that way. “That was very thoughtful of you, thank you. But, uh,” He glanced up towards the desks, a few still empty with officers and detectives off duty or having not arrived yet, and gestured to one with the hand holding his coffee. “I’m not the one to do any favors for. That’s who you should probably be grabbing paperwork for.”
Right on time—no, you'd have been there for at least an hour if he gauged the time by how your desk was littered with folders and a few open boxes. Your head propped up on one hand as your eyes darted up and down from your monitor to a page. Maybe you pulled another all-nighter, you were in different clothes, but they were already rumpled like you’d been in that fitted button-down for a few hours already. Critical and sharp eyes a little tired. But that’s how it always was when you were on the precipice of a break, especially on a case as big as the one he knew you were working on.
“The sergeant?” Officer whats-her-face asked, looking from you to Gojo again. “She didn’t want any help, I already asked.” She said sheepishly, and Gojo’s smile got a little wider.
“Yeah, that sounds like her.”
You grabbed a mug off your desk and took a sip, eyes glued to the screen for a long moment with the ceramic pressed to your lips. After taking in the same two sentences on the witness statement over and over until they blurred, you blinked, broke from the screen, and locked eyes with Gojo.
As if it's a reflex your body made the very moment you registered his presence; your eyes narrowed and your grip tightened on the mug. You looked him up and down fully, not an ounce of shame or hesitation in your sweeping gaze. You weren’t checking him out though; you were putting him under a microscope.
Like you could see the blood still on his hands, spattered on his face, and dripping from his hair if you looked hard enough. Like maybe he’d finally crack under the weight, and a piece of his mask would fall away if you cut through him with piercing eyes.
It happened every day, at the same time, no matter what, Gojo Satoru walked into your department with an effortless air of confidence surrounding him. There was always a smile on his face, sometimes it was small and seemed a little tired, his eyes distant, like his head was stuck somewhere else. Some days, he walked in like he was a fucking god. Wearing a smug grin like he’d won the ultimate prize in life, his unnaturally bright blue eyes satisfied and easy.
Always wearing some lame ass button down, untucked like he couldn’t be bothered. Sometimes—like today—he’d grace the collar with a loosely knotted tie. Looking like a university student showing up to their first job interview, an attempt at professionalism that missed the mark and landed somewhere in nerdy frat boy cosplaying a salaryman. His platinum hair pushed back a little, just a few strands falling back down on his forehead like he didn’t use product to hold it.
He was messy in a way that came off as endearing. Like he was just the nerd in forensics, appearances weren’t important, so he threw whatever on and stopped at the bakery down the block for assorted pastries that definitely were just random, it was chance that he somehow got everyone’s favorite treat every time.
He really was so likable too, maybe that’s what really pissed you off the most. He was generally nice, helpful, and smart—one of the best in his field. He was funny, and thoughtful, a little goofy, but it balanced out because he was infuriatingly good looking on top of it all.
You outranked him, but you were tilting your head back to make eye contact when he gave you a briefing at a crime scene. You’ve had to snap yourself out of it and yank your eyes off him when he rolled the sleeves of his shirt up over forearms roped with a little too much muscle for a nerd and flexed long fingers into blue latex gloves.
It was all a little too effortless for him; he was crafted in a way that seemed literal. Like the pieces of him were put together to disarm, to appease, and fit in, and keep people from pulling back a curtain and looking any deeper.
But you clocked it a long time ago. It seemed like overcompensation, and you started digging, especially when you were promoted to sergeant, and that’s when you saw the first crack.
Gojo had a habit of engaging in extracurricular activities.
A few hair samples here, a blood analysis there, print matching galore, and none of it tied to a case number.
When you confronted him about it, he covered so quickly and perfectly, all you could hear was a hammer cracking down the final nail in his coffin.
"Blah blah blah, data to support the arguments in a collaboration piece for a geeky magazine, it’s probably not your thing but it’ll be out in a few weeks if you really want to read it. You interested? Seems like it.”
It was the perfect mix of authenticity and teasing, a perfect explanation delivered with a smirk at the end that twisted the spotlight back onto you instead. Like you’d only be interested in one thing, and it didn’t involve advancements in DNA testing.
You’d crossed your arms, looked down your nose at him, and told him to notify you before putting lab work through without a case number, and if it happened again, you’d write him up for it.
“Yes, ma’am.” He winked with a mocking salute, like he loved it. Loved the way your nostrils flared at his insubordination and your glare at his smile that feigned innocence on the surface to hide something monstrous and sadistic lurking just beneath.
You could see it, though, and from then on, you had your eye on him.
Gojo nodded your way, smiling like he wanted your eyes on him, like he enjoyed having your sights set on him, the challenge of being in your crosshairs and getting away with it.
He strolled right up to your desk with a, “Morning, sarge!” You leaned back in your chair, your eyes staying trained on his through his thick prescription lenses, the black frames low on the bridge of his nose. “I think they threw your favorite in again, want something glazed to start the day?” He said slyly as he offered out the box, but he knew you’d decline, you always did.
“No, what I really want is the full report on the head hunter vic from yesterday.” You responded flatly, your mouth set in a hard straight line. Your eyes flicked behind him. “Kasumi, you’re coming with Nanami and I to verify the statement from the witness yesterday, something isn’t right here.” You murmured, gesturing vaguely at your screen.
“Yes ma’am! When do you want to leave?” The blue haired girl immediately jumped to action, coming up beside Gojo to address you.
“Help Gojo with his paperwork and then we’ll leave, his hands look a little full.” You looked right at him, the words curt and clipped and he grinned right back.
“Awe, thanks sarge, always so thoughtful.” Gojo's head cocked. Your eyes narrowed.
“Mm.”
“Good luck with your witness.” His smile grew by a fraction and your eyes flitted over his frame quickly once, cataloguing every bit of him before he nodded again, and turned to head to his lab. The new officer followed behind, file in hand.
The witness wouldn’t lead anywhere. None of your efforts would ever lead anywhere, not after last night.
The latest victim's head was the last trophy that sick freak would be taking. In a twist of something that Satoru likes to quantify as justice or maybe karmic retribution, but was really just Satoru making things a little more personal for the guy, a cleaver glinted as he pulled it from his kit, and hacked the killers own stuttering head off.
Who’s a fucking trophy now?
But his work is hardly over, it never is. The satisfaction only lasts for so long before hunger comes creeping back in. It all works out though because once again, and all thanks to you and your pretty face that can never keep out of trouble, tonight's the night.
A long moment passed within which you burned holes into Gojo’s back as he wound around the other desks, in absolutely no rush as he chatted around with others setting up for the day. Offering out the box of confections like he was fucking Santa Claus or some shit.
He could feel your eyes glued to him, and it just made him drag it all out more. He couldn’t help but like that you paid so much attention to him, because it just proved that he really was the best at what he did. Having you watching his every move and still getting away with it?
God damn, Gojo was good.
“You’re staring,” Nanami’s murmur yanked your attention off of Gojo as he and Kasumi moved on and headed to the lab set to the rear of the department floor. You glanced sidelong at your partner, his arms crossed, biceps straining at the blue cotton weave of his dress shirt. “It’s not polite.”
You scoffed, “Just keeping tabs on the department. Are you ready to go? Kasumi is coming with once she’s done in the geek hole.”
“Mhm, do you really think it’s worth it to redo the witness statement?” Nanami cocked his head, and you swiveled your chair a little to face him. “She seemed quite frazzled yesterday. I doubt it’ll be much different now.”
“We have to try,” You sighed, “But even if we just clean it up and get a consistent statement out of her, it’s worth it. Everything has to be perfect to nail this guy, you know that.” The chair squeaked as you leaned forward. “I’m not letting that L’Oréal ad of a defense lawyer fuck this up because of an inconsistency if that hair sample doesn’t pan out.”
“You’re right, but don’t let this consume you. You won’t be any help running on shitty coffee and konbini food instead of sleep.” Nanami raised a brow, his soft hazel eyes studying your face, the rings under your eyes that you know have deepened after an almost full 24 hours at the precinct. “You sacrifice too much on cases like this.”
“We’re so close. DNA and a witness? The perp is getting sloppy; this is our shot to catch up and finally nail the sick fuck.” Nanami visibly tensed, a slight grimace passing over his features. It’s been almost a full year of finding body after body, once beautiful young women violated and left posed with their hands splayed out where their heads used to be, a polaroid of their sleeping faces where the real thing once was. The heads of each never recovered.
“It can’t happen again. I can’t see another one like that, Kento, it’s just… you know.” You swallowed hard, and your shoulders slumped. Not defeat, you’d never accept that, just… tired. Tired of the same scene and little to nothing to show for it.
“I know.” Nanami said softly. His hands dropped, one went to a pocket of his grey slacks, the other thumbing the edge of a file on your desk. He cleared his throat, and changed the topic. “Are you thinking she lied? The witness.”
“It’s more likely that she wasn’t thinking straight, but it’s not out of the question. Why though?” You hummed, taking a breath. “I’m not sure.”
“Coercion?”
“From the perp?” Your brow furrowed, and you hummed low again. “Why would he have even left her alive? If she saw identifying features, it’d make more sense to kill her, and he’s definitely not the type to show mercy.”
“Maybe it’s to throw us off,” Nanami countered, pushing your gears to start turning harder. “Lead us on some goose chase with a mismatched description.”
“Like… maybe he’s trying to set someone up?” Your jaw worked, and you stole a glance at the window to the lab. “We’ve never found DNA, and now we find a hair? Shit.”
“You think it’s all just for a setup?”
Your chair screeched back, and you practically leaped from your seat. “What if he’s trying to make a getaway? It’s all way too coincidental.”
“Kasumi!” You called, storming off towards the lab, gaining a few turned heads. “Hustle up, we’re leaving!” Nanami groaned, slinging his jacket over an arm and following towards the lab. You threw a look over your shoulder at him. “Oh, what? She’s just doddling now, we have shit to do.”
“You need some sleep, you’re doing that thing again.”
“What are you talking about? What thing?”
“The one where volume control goes out the window.”
The second statement from your witness turned up nothing new, as you had kind of expected, but you noticed something off about her this time around. She was nervous. Her story was straighter this time around, and she cleaned up details about the events, rescinding contradictory bits and pieces until the statement was airtight.
She was treating it almost like an alibi. Like there was something to prove. It just didn’t sit right with you, but she was a witness, not a suspect. Sure, you could have brought her back to the station and set her in an interrogation room and grilled her with Nanami until something came of it, but you had a feeling that nothing would come of it besides a burst of tears and a firm reminder about proper witness treatment from the inspector.
It was the last thing you needed, so you gave a slight bow, and left. Going around in circles with Nanami in the car, Kasumi surprised you a little by chiming in nervously every so often from the back. She was new, inexperienced, but getting fresh and eager eyes on tired information never hurts.
But again, as expected, nothing new really came of it. Just that the shift from uncertainty about the features on the figure she saw to absolution, seemed suspicious. But then again, the shock of seeing a dead body—a headless one at that—makes much aside from that difficult to remember. Maybe she was just recalling things more clearly now with time given to get thoughts together.
Maybe you were looking for loose threads to pull where none had come free. But then again, that’s what made you good at your job. And maybe sometimes a little much.
Fuck, you hated this shit sometimes. There really was no winning.
Back at the precinct, Nanami told you he’d deal with the inspector, and to go home. You didn’t have the energy to argue, not much at least. So, you tidied up your desk a little and told him you’d be back after a shower and a catnap, and to make sure the geeks had a match on the hair sample by the time you got back.
As you grabbed a couple folders to take home for some light reading, your eyes gravitated towards the lab. Window unobscured with the blinds up, you saw Gojo working away at something involving the high-powered microscope. The lights dimmed slightly, and the bluish glow from his monitor cast a hue over his pale, defined features. Platinum hair shone silver, pushed back and held up by his glasses.
He frowned at whatever he was observing, slim pale brows upturned. He pulled back, biting his lip a little and studying the slide under the microscope like it would give him more information if he scrutinized it with eyes whose blue you swore could only be found on butterflies or flowers or tropical ocean waters.
Even his appearance was an enigma to you. But the perplexed look made him look kind of normal. Like even the perfect boy-wonder Gojo Satoru could be mystified by something.
You're hard on him. Maybe, just maybe, sometimes a little too hard. Sure, he was a weirdo, and he set off the feeling in your gut that only screamed at you when you were in the vicinity of something dangerous. But he'd never done anything solidly wrong. Just gave you glimpses of things that could glint at something more sinister, but you never saw that.
You've been looking for something, chasing something, that you had no hard proof existed. Maybe all that darkness you felt emanating from him, hanging around him like a cloud, maybe it was all just like… depression, or something. You’d been there before, hiding behind a mask to keep up appearances. Hell, you were feeling something similar now.
The bodies lately, the sobbing families, mothers who had to be told they'd outlive their daughters. Daughters who had whole, beautiful lives ahead of them, stolen by some psychopath who collected pretty faces framed by dark hair.
You'd been doing that a lot lately. Second-guessing yourself and your instincts. There had been too many cases like this one, where it just went on for too long. Some of them solved, the killers brought down and served up on a silver scale to the judicial system to lay down proper punishment. Something you felt could be harsher based on the horrors you've witnessed, but didn't contest because what else could you do? You'd done your job.
Some of them though, they haunted you. The killing stopped, the MO never picked up again, and it was like the killers just… vanished. You were grateful for that at least, but it meant they moved on. Got away with it, and were maybe even in another prefecture to play boogeyman there.
Your gut was usually bang on, but you've been wrong before. Maybe, just maybe, could you be wrong about Gojo?
The man in the lab rubbed his eyes with his forefinger and thumb, pinching the bridge of his nose before pulling his glasses back down to sit there, and looking up through the window.
You didn't look away; you met his immense blue gaze head-on just as you always did.
He smiled with a few too many teeth, waved once, and winked at you. Long pale lashes brushing a high cheekbone in a single flick that set your teeth on edge. It screamed, ‘I know something you don't.’
Nah.
There was something seriously wrong with this motherfucker.
The files dropped to your desk with a soft thud, and you marched toward the lab.
Gojo traded out the scrap of fabric under his microscope for a clear, flat slide with a print, and tucked the scrap in a drawer. He hit two keys on his computer, the monitor switched quickly to the DLC database, the page set to a window waiting for scanned print information to be input. Just in time for you to fling the door open without knocking.
“Hey, sarge. How'd it go with that witness?” Gojo asked as you stood in the doorway, crossing your arms under your chest. Practically squishing your tits together and shoving them in his face. Cleavage peeked from the buttons undone on your shirt, but Gojo was a perfect gentleman and kept his eyes on yours.
You ignored his question and asked your own instead. Your eyes narrowed and already unimpressed as you looked him over, sitting hands in his lap. “Did you pull any matches from that hair sample?”
“It'll be hard, I know, but try to contain yourself.” Gojo grinned, turning slightly to snatch up a folder off a pile beside his monitor. “I not only got a match, but the guy is a real piece of work too.” You swiped it right out of his hand as he turned back to you, frowning as you flipped the front open to look for yourself. “Got sentenced to fifteen years on two counts of aggravated assault, rape, and abduction. The girls survived, but they matched the descriptions for the head hunter victims. Guess he escalated things once he got out of prison.”
“Served seven years and out on good behavior, my fucking ass.” You murmured, eyes darting around as you flipped through. Gojo hummed in agreement. “Fuck me, he matches the witness description too.”
“Oh? Well, let's hope he's still in town.” Gojo chirped, propping his elbows on his knees and leaning forward a little. Reading through the file, you were distracted and Gojo let his eyes glide over you fully once. Slow, appreciative.
God, you looked fucking great. Smart and sharp as a tack. That shirt hugged your tits perfectly, and he knew the moment you turned to walk out the door, he'd get a great view of your ass. Lips pushed together in concentration as you studied the pages, he wondered not for the first time what they'd look like in an ‘o’ with a moan spilling out. Your service weapon holstered at your hip made you deadly on top of it all.
Truly the perfect little package. Gojo almost felt guilty for deceiving you so much. But he didn’t.
What you didn't need to know, was that the piece of shit rapist he just handed to you, had absolutely nothing to do with all those headless girls.
But he was going to take the fall for it regardless. It all just kind of fell into his lap. Why not get attention off the real killer currently in nine pieces at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean, get another scumbag thrown back in jail, and land you win with a huge case finally closed?
The witness was easy to convince, planting the DNA was a joke, he had early and backstage access to the scene, and bam! The perfect crime committed once again.
He was practically a fucking hero.
Well, maybe that's a stretch. Vigilante? Lame.
He was fucking good at this. That's what he was.
“How long have you had this ready?” You set a hard look on Gojo and he hummed.
“Maybe… an hour?”
“Why am I just now seeing it?” You snapped, shutting the file and crossing your arms once again. “I've been right there for fifteen minutes.”
Gojo’s jaw set, barely a clench.
That was one thing you were. You were so fucking ungrateful. But you were oblivious to all he did for you, so he couldn't be upset.
Maybe one day you'd see, but that day wasn't here yet. You weren't quite ready to accept whatever Gojo was.
Definitely not, actually.
“Sorry, sarge. I've been kinda busy in here.” Gojo shrugged, and you outright glared.
“With what? What could possibly be more important than a suspect on this case?”
“Um… the five other homicides on my plate?” Gojo said slowly, as if it were the most obvious thing on the planet. Knowing full well he was just pushing buttons now.
You scoffed. “Check your priorities, because you're wrong about that, Gojo.” Your arms dropped, and you put a hand on his desk, leaning into his space and boring your eyes into his. “If we're too late and this fucker gets away because of your time management skills, I'll make sure that goes in the report, got it?”
You wouldn’t be too late. He wasn’t going to get away because he wan’t even running. He had no idea what was coming for him. But Gojo feigned being sheepish and apologetic because he guessed that in your eyes, he fucked up.
“Sorry, sarge, it won't happen again.”
Your eyes took a slow trip down and back up over him, looking for something but not finding it, so you removed yourself from his personal space. Not that he minded you there. “Better not.”
“I'll just give you a call next time.” He drawled, a lazy smirk on his lips as he slung an arm over the back of his chair.
“Mm, please do.” It looked like it killed you to say those words, so you added a light, "That's what the damn thing is for after all.”
“You’re so right.” Gojo crossed a leg over the other, and cocked his head. “I’ll be sure it gets put to good use.”
You didn’t say anything else, just took the folder, turned on a heel, and gave Gojo a great view of your ass as you marched out, leaving the door open. He sighed, pulling out the fabric from the drawer he’d stuffed it in to resume his side work.
God damn, you were so much work. But he always lived for a challenge. And he could take the backtalk and the pressure you loved to put him under when you served him up guys like Zenin Naoya almost like a sacrifice, he’d take anything you threw at him.
It was absolutely perfect. You put the Zenin guy away for a few years on some assault charges, and a grudge was born. No, something deeper than a grudge, like a personal vendetta. Something strong enough that he’d want to make you pay for ‘ruining his life.’
Fucking unacceptable. That the piece of shit would ever think he had the right or even could come close to you, take you for himself, hurt you. Gojo already had some… mildly violent tendencies, and something about the thought of another person, another man putting his hands on you just made the red he saw even bloodier.
He’d never get the opportunity to get close to you. Not with Gojo around, he would always make sure of that. The Zenin worm would be in bags at the bottom of the Pacific before the sun rose.
Gojo glanced up through the window. You were talking with Nanami, flipping through the file as he looked from you to the turning pages.
Nanami was… fine. He was a good guy, he looked out for you—not that you’d ever need anyone but Gojo for that. He wasn’t a cop, he couldn’t be your partner out in the field or anything, so Nanami was probably the best of all the options you had. He just didn’t like the way Nanami looked at you sometimes. A little too lingering. A little more than just friendly affection in his eyes.
It was fine though. Nanami could be your partner in the field; he could help you with cases in the traditional sense—he was definitely that kind of guy anyway—but he could never do everything that Gojo did for you.
Nobody could ever do what Gojo did for you.
The neighborhood was near empty, typical for—Gojo pulled the sleeve on his shirt back enough to check his watch—10 PM. Cars lined the sides of the street, all your neighbors were home and settling in for the night, but not you, though. You’d likely be out at the precinct all night again thanks to the suspect you picked up earlier.
How perfect was that timing? Almost like someone planned it all.
A familiar car pulled up, and Gojo watched as it parked a few spots up from him. Gojo had everything ready for tonight. He had all he needed confirmed to finally act, and you’d be gone all night.
It was perfect. A nice night for this, too. Cool enough that it wasn't too hot with a beanie covering his distinct and immediately recognizable hair. Left his glasses at home in favor of contacts in case of a brawl because he could never be too prepared.
Naoya would wait around for a bit, but being the impatient little fuck he was, he’d get bored once he realized you wouldn't be home and head to his usual spot; an izakaya a few minutes away, and get obliterated.
Tonight was the night, and everything was perfect.
Gojo couldn't help but smile a little as he took a long sip of an iced matcha latte, letting the sweetness of extra vanilla syrup roll over his tongue, savoring it. He usually would save a sweet treat for afterwards, but he just had to get a little something for the stakeout.
The driver door on the Zenin creeps car opened, and out stepped the worm himself, glancing around as he tucked something in the waistband of his pants behind him. Gojo’s smile dropped instantly.
What the fuck was he doing?
The door shut, and Naoya made his way up the street towards your house. A scowl pulled Gojo’s mouth down, and he jammed the drink back in a cupholder. He gripped the wheel to keep his hands occupied and off the door handle. The creep was about to break in. He was going to wait for you inside your house.
The thought made Gojo’s skin crawl; it made him yearn and itch to go knock the ugly fucker out right then and there before he had a chance to get into your space, to touch your belongings. But Gojo reminded himself with a breath that you’d be gone tonight. That it would be fine, and Naoya would get bored of waiting quickly and give up once he realized it was pointless to hang around. He would just come back another night.
Too bad he wouldn’t get another night.
It was fine. Seeing Naoya stalk around the side of your house and disappear from view, it kind of made him want to grab the hunting knife from his kit and slit the wormy fuck groin to sternum and gut him like the animal he was, but Gojo took another long and cooling sip from the iced sugary drink and reminded himself that it was fine.
It was the perfect night. He had it all planned down to a tee; one little setback wouldn't put the whole thing off course.
Gojo sat for an hour in his car, and Naoya stayed put in your house. He was more annoyed than seething at that point; he really wanted to hurry this up. It was the second night in a row he’d been out hunting, and he was running on fumes and sucrose and the warm, metallic stain he could still feel as it spattered his lips.
As he was about to check his watch again, headlights beamed in his side mirror. His eyes went to them immediately, knowing it was likely just a passerby using the residential area as a shortcut or—
He jerked upright in his seat.
What the fuck were you doing here?
This was wrong. You weren’t supposed to be here. Why the fuck weren’t you still at the precinct? It was barely past 11 PM. If you were going home to change, he knew that wouldn’t happen until the early hours of the morning. So what the hell were you doing?
He didn't have time to analyze the why. You pulled into the spot right in front of your gate, and your car shut off. You were about to step right into the trap Naoya had set in your house. He had to do something, and fast. You couldn’t see him here, though, how the fuck was he supposed to do this?
God, you were so much fucking work. And of course, you couldn’t just make things a little easier by doing what you always did and just stay at the precinct all night. Tonight of all the fucking nights.
Did you want to die or something? Sometimes he wondered.
Gojo reached back and grabbed the small zippered case from under the backseat, and watched you walk up to your front door. He waited until you shut it behind you before you threw his own door open.
It had taken a lot of convincing, but with the suspect in an interrogation room and holding fast on total innocence and refusing to budge despite having him practically dead to rights, Nanami finally told you to leave. You could come back and join the action again after a brief rest and a shower. He assured you that he’d call if anything happened, but that you’d likely be walking into the exact same situation after a few hours away.
Nothing would happen while you were gone. It would be fine. You kept repeating it as you kicked off your shoes and flicked on the light in your hall, dropping your keys on the small table by the door.
The kitchen light flicked on and cast the area in a warm glow. You’d get a bite to eat, shower, try your best to sleep for a few hours, then head back. Your fridge didn’t offer much aside from a box of takeout from a couple of nights ago, so you grabbed it and threw it in the microwave.
While it was heating, you made your way down the hall to your bedroom. A few photos of your family lined the walls, your academy graduation photo, the one with—
You halted midstep. The photo with Nanami, the both of you in uniform, his hand on your shoulder as you wore the sergeant's shield for the first time with a small, proud smile, was crooked.
Maybe there was a minor earthquake in the area?
None of the other photos were off, but you drew it up to the hook potentially being loose, and straightened it, continuing down the hall and unbuttoning your shirt.
In your room, you placed your service weapon on your dresser and changed out of your work attire quickly. Slipping on a black and white Tokyo Metro Police Department shirt, a few sizes too big and softened from years of washing and wearing.
Your pants were off and around your ankles when you heard a creak in the hallway. Your head snapped up instantly, and you kicked off your pants, creeping out to check the dim hall.
Tip-toeing along the hardwood in an oversized t-shirt and panties, you felt almost like a horror movie damsel. It felt strangely eerie, and you thought for a moment about running back to your room to grab your service weapon, but before you could—
A figure stepped out. Dressed all in black, hair covered by a hood pulled up, face obscured by shadow, the person stood in your way at the end of the hall. Their hand moved, and you noticed the glint of light reflecting off metal. A gun.
Sure, you were a cop, a detective, but you weren’t impervious to fear. And that was exactly what ripped through you as the intruder took a quick step forward. Then another.
“What the f—stop!” You stepped back, almost stumbling over your own feet as you backed towards your room, towards where your gun was, and away from the intruder moving towards you. “I said stop! Right where you—”
Your words halted completely as your eyes found another figure behind the first. This one was moving faster though.
Fuck. There were two of them in your house. You had to get your gun, and fast. You started to turn around as the second intruder caught up to the first and—
In an instant, the second person brought a hand up to the first's neck, and they both came to a halt.
“Gotcha,”
The first intruder crumpled to the ground like a doll, and you stood in shock for a moment, staring at the man on the floor with your mouth hanging open.
What the fuck just happened?
Your head snapped up, back to the intruder still left standing. It all happened so fast, but as you looked a little harder at the second intruder, you felt your brain short-circuiting. You… recognized him. Well, you recognized the bit of hair that was uncovered by his hat.
Pure, abject horror crept in as he held his hands up, and stepped towards you.
“Oh my fucking god.” You took a step back. You didn’t have your phone, you didn't have your gun. All you had was the short distance between you and Gojo, who was in your fucking house for some reason.
“Okay, okay, I know this looks kind of bad, but that—”
“What are you doing here?!” You cut him off, still moving backward as he kept taking tentative, almost delicate steps toward you. Like he was approaching a wounded animal with its teeth bared.
He scoffed, shoulders dropping a little. “You could say thank you. That guy was gonna kill you, you know that, right?” The light from behind reflected off of something in his hand. The same hand he’d brought the intruder down with.
It was a fucking needle.
“Thank you? For what, breaking into my house? What are you even doing… here?” A realization settled in, and you barely breathed the word out. You almost couldn’t believe it. He said nothing, just cocked his head at you, like you were finally catching up to him.
Your eyes darted back and to the side. You could make a dash for it. Your room was right there, along with your gun and your phone. Gojo followed your eyes, and you both stood in silence, neither making the first move.
“Sarge, let's just—”
You lurched for your room. Launching into a sprint and pushing off the door frame to dart inside. Heavy, fast footsteps ran after you. Your fingers grazed the dresser, your gun was in reach, but a hand twisted into your shirt, and yanked you back.
You swung around, hand flattened to hit him in the throat, but he ducked out of the way. Catching your arm and pulling you around so your back was to his chest.
You made a fist with your free hand and slammed him in the balls with it.
“Ngh, fuck,” He gasped and groaned and hunched behind you, grip softening on your arm, and you tried to wrench free. But Gojo was bigger than you, and apparently, he was stronger too because his hand tightened fast and a thick bicep came up around your neck, pressing hard into your windpipe.
You fought for air, and got none as he squeezed tight and pulled you up, leaving your toes barely brushing the ground.
“Always so fucking difficult,” He rasped into your ear, breath hot as his lips brushed the shell. You clawed at his arms, scratching the fabric of his shirt, and he hissed, his arm around your neck was near crushing. “I could kill you right now, so stop fighting or I will.”
Oxygen was running out, your head was getting light and airy, but that sent a hard shiver through you.
You were right. You had been right the whole time.
Gojo was a fucking psycho.
And now he was going to kill you.
What you didn’t know was that Gojo was bluffing. He definitely could kill you, but he wouldn’t. And definitely not like that, with your face turned away from his.
This was unreal, though. He knew it was bad, that he’d fucked up by letting you see his face, letting you see him at all. But you hadn’t really given him a choice; it was all because you’d come home early, so he may as well live in the moment and revel in feeling your body flush against his. His arms wrapped tight around you in a moment he’d only imagined for a long time, and here it finally was.
“Sorry, Sarge, I didn’t want to do this.” It was a half-truth murmured in your ear as he felt you struggle and fight against him. Kicking and punching and scratching weakly until the last bit of air ran out, and your body slowly went limp as you lost consciousness in his arms.
Gojo loosened his arm around your neck and turned your face to him. The blood vessels around your eyes had burst, and little purple specks, almost like freckles decorated the skin. It was kind of cute. You even had a little furrow to your brow, he figured that was kind of a permanent thing for you.
“What the fuck am I gonna do with you?” He shifted an arm under your knees, and lifted you fully into his arms. Your head fell back, lips parting, and he looked over your sleeping, half-naked form as he strode back into the hall. Zenin Naoya was still in a pathetic pile on the floor.
“What a fucking mess.” Gojo grumbled, stepping over the creep in his way.
He was right. This was a fucking mess.
The ground beneath your feet was cold, like stone or cement. Your head throbbed, and as you pried your eyes open, the vision they took in was blurred.
You shifted, and found your arms were bound when you tried to pull them up to rub your face. It woke you the fuck up instantly, and you jerked upright. Blinking furiously to clear your eyes, your breaths started to come in shorter as you looked around yourself. You were sitting in a chair, hands tied behind the back of it. Your feet were unbound, still bare from the waist down.
Where the fuck were you?
What the fuck was going on?
“Good morning.” A familiar voice sing songed from across whatever room you were in, and your head snapped up to Gojo. You opened your mouth to speak, but barely rasped out what before you choked on it and coughed instead.
“Ah, yeah,” He chuckled, looking almost sheepish as he rubbed the back of his head. “I was kind of hoping to use the M-99, but you didn’t give me much of a choice. Sorry.”
You lurched forward, and your wrists stung as hard plastic bit into the skin. The room around you was sterile, plastic covered every inch of the floor and walls, and soft yellowish light shone from behind the sheeting. There was a table between you and Gojo, and something was atop it.
A man.
You cleared your throat and swallowed a few times. The movement was difficult, like an impossible lump was there to block your esophagus, but you forced it down and looked Gojo in the eye again.
His hands splayed out, palms flat on the table between you and leaning over the figure with a coy smirk.
“What… the fuck… have you done?” You rasped out, almost choking on the words again.
“What have I done?” He echoed, cocking his head at you. “Well, for one, I saved you from this guy.” He gestured to the man on the table. He seemed to be asleep still, not moving as Gojo waved a massive hunting knife over his laid out body. “The least you could do is say thanks.”
“Thank you?” You cried incredulously, pulling hard at the restraint around your wrists. You wrenched and fought as panic started to creep in. “You fucking psycho! You choked me out! HELP! HELP ME!” You screamed at the top of your lungs, as loud and as hard as you could with your windpipe still suffering the aftereffects of being closed off.
“Go ahead, scream your head off!” Gojo yelled back, “Nobody can hear you.”
“Oh my god, I fucking knew it, fuck I knew it. You’re insane,” Your head hung, pulling at the ties around your wrists as you murmured more to yourself, “fuck he’s crazy.”
It's not like you wanted to be right, but you did feel a slight twinge of satisfaction being validated. You weren’t crazy, you saw it, and you were right.
“Why did you come ba—”
“Are you going to kill me?” You cut Gojo off, and he stared open-mouthed for a long moment, contemplating. Hesitating. “Oh my god! Fuckfuckfuck, okay, you don’t have to do this, we can—”
“Just relax, I'm not going to kill you.” He waved the knife in his hand around, dismissing your panic with an annoyed eye roll. “I don’t kill innocent people, but I can't really say the same for this guy.”
“What?”
“Do you recognize him? You should.” Gojo took the man's head in his hand and turned his face to you. Dyed blond hair and dark brows, upturned eyes shut, sharp features and a few piercings on his left ear.
“Is that… Zenin Naoya?”
Gojo smiled and let Naoya’s head drop back to the table. He was covered in a layer of plastic just like the room around you. Gojo strode around the table towards you, and you slumped back in the chair as he approached you, hunting knife still in hand. He crouched beside you and gestured to the wall of plastic to your right by Naoya’s feet.
“See those?” You followed the tip of his knife; there were a few photos of women, their faces bright and smiling. They all looked familiar; you’d definitely seen all of them at some point. “They were found in ditches on the outskirts of Tokyo, their heads all bashed in. Same murder weapon used in all three unsolved cases.”
Of course, they looked familiar; their faces had been up on the board in the briefing room for months. Their cases eventually grew cold, and the precinct had moved on with no leads.
“The only physical evidence we ever had was a fabric scrap found a few meters from the last body, barely even a few threads, and it never led anywhere. But,” Gojo whipped the knife back around, pointing it directly at Naoya with a wicked and satisfied grin on his face. “I found a shirt that matched it in a safe, in his apartment.”
“Why… why not hand over the evidence?” You felt you already knew the answer to the question, but you asked it anyway.
Gojo gave you a flat look in return. “There's a few reasons for that, a couple of which you definitely already know.” He straightened up, standing tall over you. He put a hand on the back of the chair and leaned in close. “First, I didn’t obtain the shirt… legally, as you’d say. The evidence would be thrown out immediately, but you know that.”
The tip of the huge knife pointed in your direction, Gojo dropped his head closer to yours, and your breath caught in your sore throat. “Second, Naoya has held a bit of contempt for you for a while now, guess he didn’t appreciate you putting him away on rape charges a few years ago. He’s been following you, and he was gonna act tonight if I didn’t stop him first—so you’re welcome for that.”
“And third,” Gojo sucked his teeth, pulling the knife away and backing out of your space, towards the table behind him. “If I handed him over to the department, I wouldn’t get to kill him. Duh.” His icy blue eyes rolled like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
With a hard swallow, your mouth opened and out poured years of hostage negotiation training. “You-you’re right, but you don’t have to do this, Gojo. It’s not too late, if you just let-let me go, I’ll take Zenin in and I’ll make sure he goes away for a long time. We can do this the right way.”
“Come on, Sarge,” Gojo tipped his head to the side, amusement playing on his handsome features, glasses nowhere to be found and hair falling across his forehead. He looked so different than usual, almost sympathetic.
“We both know that's a lie. Even if Naoya went away, it wouldn’t be for near long enough.” He twirled the knife in his hand, still looking at you as it spun in his fingers. “Sometimes, the world just needs to be cleansed of its filth.”
You opened your mouth to try again, but Gojo cut you off. “Just stop, the cop talk-down doesn’t work when the subject knows all the tricks.”
Fuck.
You took Gojo in in full. He had on a butcher's apron over a black, long-sleeved compression shirt. Black latex gloves covered his hands. There was another table covered in plastic with a black mat atop it, and an assortment of blades gleamed, tucked neatly in each slot.
He was going to kill Naoya. With you right there.
“This isn't the first time, is it?” You asked on a breath, almost a whisper, but Gojo heard, and he shook his head with a smile.
“This wasn’t how I wanted you to find out, but I didn’t have much of a choice.” He sighed, walking back in your direction. A gloved hand came up, and your breath caught as he brushed your cheek. You jerked your head away, but he caught your chin and forced you to face him again. So close you could see each pale eyelash as his gaze flitted around your face.
“You shouldn’t have come home. If you’d just stayed at the precinct like you were supposed to, none of this would’ve happened. Too late for woulda, coulda, shoulda now though, right?”
A shiver shook through you. Incredulity twisted your features, and Gojo pouted. “Oh come on, don’t look at me like that.”
You swallowed hard. “Like what?”
“Like I'm some kind of monster or something.” His head tilted, lip jutting out still. “I’m just doing what you and the rest of the department can’t. I’m on your side here, really.”
“Are you looking for acknowledgement? A thank you or something?”
He shrugged, “I wouldn’t say no to that.”
“You broke into my house and choked me out, you’re a fucking psychopath.” You spat out, glaring.
“After you punched me in the dick,” Gojo scoffed, “and I didn’t really have a choice there because you were definitely going to shoot me.”
“No shit! You broke into my house!”
“I’m not going in circles with you on this. I was there for a reason, and it’s because you can’t watch your own back for shit.” He let you go and walked back to the table where Naoya was somehow still passed out cold.
Your head was swimming, still fuzzy from the oxygen deprivation and the impossible scene you found yourself tied up in, literally.
There was no exit you could see, and Gojo had said no one would hear you scream.
You were kind of fucked. All you could do was watch as Gojo pinched something close to Naoya’s face, and the man strapped to the table jolted awake with a gasp.
“What the f—”
“Shut up,” Gojo cut Naoya off, gripping his cheeks hard and bringing his face close. “You’ve been very bad, haven’t you?” Gojo practically purred in Naoya’s face. He took up the knife again and pointed it at the three photos on the wall, forcing Naoya to follow the tip of the blade. “Emiri Saito, Chieko Yamada, and Narume Kojima, look at them. You had the balls to take something from all of those girls, so have some fucking respect and look at them.”
“What the fuck are you talking about? Who are you?” Naoya managed to get out with his face squished in Gojo's hand. “You’ve got it wrong, I-I’ve never seen any of them before!”
Gojo snorted, “You’re such a bullshitter, Naoya. I think I speak for everyone here when I say that nobody is buying that.”
Naoya seemed to register the words, and he looked around frantically, his eyes finding you quickly.
“You,” He hissed, “You fucking bitch, you did this, didn’t you? Set me up again, you fucking cunt!”
Before you could refute or object, Gojo slapped Naoya hard. He grabbed him by the throat, squeezing tight enough to cut off air, and snarled in his face. “Watch your fucking mouth. Don’t even talk to her you fucking scum.”
Your already hammering heart kind of… skipped?
Gojo tore his eyes off Naoya and met your gaze. The blue in his irises was brighter somehow, wide and wild and almost crazed, and your thighs squeezed together under the weight of it all. He chuckled, bearing a smile that flashed a few pearly teeth and fit with the look in his eye.
He was kind of right; what he was about to do wasn’t right, but he was doing what you couldn’t. If Naoya really was what Gojo said—a killer, taking the lives of innocent young girls after he’d violated them, maybe he kind of deserved whatever Gojo was about to do.
You should have been more scared than you were. But you weren’t.
What the fuck was wrong with you?
“Did you like that?” Gojo asked, his voice low and rough.
Maybe.
“You’re fucking crazy.”
It wasn’t a no, and Gojo took note of that. He saw the shift in your posture, your knees as they pressed together.
Such a bad liar.
He clapped his hands, looking almost giddy as he took a breath. “How exciting, I've never had an audience before. I’ll be sure to make this entertaining.”
Entertaining was one way to put it; Gojo put on a fucking show alright.
Gojo had spent a few years in med school before joining the forensics unit at TMPD, and he was sure to flex the skills he learned on Naoya.
He went through a few packets of smelling salts, pushing Naoya practically to the brink of death, passing out a few times before bringing him back to consciousness.
It was messier than usual. Naoya was missing a few fingers; the few he still had were mangled. Shallow stab wounds littered his torso, only where the knife would miss vital organs. Deeper cuts severed tendons and ligaments, rendering Naoya immobile even without the plastic strapping him to the table.
The eyeball just popped right out with the optic nerve still intact; he pulled until it snapped. Naoya screamed and screamed like a little bitch and passed out again. He was still out cold, and Gojo had yet to wake him up again.
The blood was glorious. They were both covered; it dripped from Gojo’s hair, down his face, and back onto Naoya in a cycle of sorts, then to the floor to pool with the rest.
Naoya wouldn’t last much longer; it was time to finish this. Gojo tore his eyes off Naoya to look at you.
He thought you might have been sickened by it all, and you definitely looked like you might literally be sick a couple of times, but you held out. You looked away a few times and winced when you heard a bone crunch and a pathetic cry choke out.
“How should I do it? Stab to the heart, slit his throat, sever the carotid artery and let him bleed out slowly? Ooh, I could cut his head off, but I did that with that last one.”
“Why would you do all of this?” You asked, your voice sounded weak and small. It didn’t even sound like you, and his smile fell.
“Because Naoya deserves to suffer. You know what happened to those girls,” He gestured to the photos with the bloodied knife, and his expression went cold. “He would’ve done the same to you, and I couldn’t let that happen.” Just the thought of it made him want to drive the knife home right then, but he held out. He’d need to wake Naoya up first.
“Don’t you see? All of this,” He gestured around himself, down at Naoya still out cold. “It’s all because of you, to keep you safe from scum like him.”
“What happened to this being about your fucked up sense of justice for those girls? Don’t pin this on me.” You snapped, and Gojo’s smile returned.
That's more like it.
“I’m not blaming you. Naoya would’ve ended up here regardless of whether he went after you or not. But he did, and I’m feeling quite passionate because of it.”
Your eyes widened a fraction, like you were just now realizing the extent of things. The things he would do for you, like you hadn’t just witnessed it all.
Gojo cracked a fresh pack of salts and held it to Naoya’s face. “Wake up, asshole, we’re not done yet.” The man startled and whimpered as consciousness returned, and he felt the full extent of his wounds all over again.
“What do you think, sweetheart? Should I put him out of his misery?” Gojo cocked his head, and Naoya glanced at you with one remaining eye.
He started to gurgle, “Fuck y—” The words cut off abruptly as the blade in Gojo’s hand carved through his throat with a roar.
“I told you not to fucking talk to her!” Fresh crimson spattered his face from the slit gaping wide on Naoya’s neck.
Gojo looked like a fallen angel, something horrifically biblical and cast from heaven as he heaved ragged breaths. Rage twisted his face, his eyes wide and the whites and blues burned bright against the deep, bloody red that splattered the rest of his face.
He groaned a low, “Fuck.” And ran a hand through his hair, streaking the stark white strands a bright red. He looked up from Naoya’s lifeless body to you, and your breath caught.
Still holding the knife and covered in Zenin Naoya's warm blood, Gojo stepped around the table and walked to you. You shook from the cold and something deep in your gut, like fear, swallowing hard as your head tilted back to look at Gojo.
He grabbed the back of the chair and tipped you backward. Your bare feet left the ground as Gojo loomed over you, his face close enough that you felt the heat of his breath on your lips, saw the individual specks of blood that decorated his face like freckles.
“I’d do anything, fucking anything for you. You understand that now, right?”
Your mouth opened to respond, but no words could make it up and out of your throat because warm lips wet with fresh blood pressed hard to yours.
You didn’t move. You couldn't move.
You had been trained to deal with hostage situations and knew what to do in theory if you were ever in one yourself, but nothing could have prepared you for something like this.
What the fuck were you supposed to do when your captor kissed you?
Probably not kiss them back. Right?
Blame it on adrenaline, the numbness of watching someone be tortured and killed, and maybe a few brain cells dying thanks to the headlock Gojo himself had you in a few hours ago, but his mouth on yours didn’t feel terrible.
It felt kind of… good?
Gojo was a psychopath. A confirmed killer. As a cop, you should have been thinking of any way to get out and get him detained, bring him to justice.
But as a captive, and the object of his twisted, fucked up affection…
I’d do anything for you.
Your lips parted, and you kissed him back.
What the fuck else could you do here, really? You really hated it, but you’d always found him attractive. Even being covered in blood and holding a knife didn’t detract from that.
In a perverse way, it was kind of flattering. Horrifying, of course, but maybe you’d been desensitized to all this shit from so many years of investigating brutal murders, seeing the bodies yourself, because what Gojo had done right before your eyes didn’t make you as sick as it should have.
He was right. Naoya was scum. And now he was gone, and Gojo did it for you. It was wrong and illegal, so fucking illegal, but he’d done what you and the law couldn’t. Served up justice with a blade, and now Zenin Naoya would never hurt another girl again, and that was certain.
Fuck. You should really stretch before doing mental gymnastics. Maybe you could blame it on Stockholm syndrome, too.
The taste of pennies and something sweet like vanilla hit your tongue as it met Gojo’s. A slick, gloved hand gripped your thigh, the knife pressed flat to your skin under his wide palm. It was still warm, too.
Gojo almost couldn't believe it. It was impulsive, the high of a fresh kill left him up in the clouds, and there you were, tied up and half naked and wide-eyed, and he just did it. Kissed you without expecting anything in return because he couldn’t stop himself.
But you were kissing him back.
He’d shown you the deepest, darkest part of him and expected disgust in return. Not… this.
Maybe you were more fucked up than he thought.
You still trembled a little, but you didn’t pull away as his hand glided up on your thigh, streaking blood on your skin. Blood he spilled for you.
Gojo pulled back just enough to look you in the eye, to see the blood smeared on your lips. “You liked it, didn’t you, sweetheart?” You shook your head, but you were squirming in your seat. “Don’t even try to fucking lie to me.”
“What are you going to do to me, Gojo?” It came out breathless, pitched, and almost desperate, like you were thinking of all the things he could do to you, that you couldn’t stop him from doing.
He laughed and tilted his head a little, “What do you want me to do to you, sergeant?”
“I-I don’t…” You trailed off, your eyes flitting away for a moment. Gojo dropped his head, and your nose brushed his. He pulled his hand from your leg, and the tip of the knife caught the hem of your shirt.
“Tell me when to stop, I might.” He smirked, and slowly lifted the blade in hand, pulling your shirt up with it. You looked panicked as your shirt went up over your panties, cute and black with a pretty lace trim. But you said nothing, just breathing hard and fast with eyes impossibly wide as he exposed more of your stomach.
What were you doing? You should say it, say stop and hope to god that Gojo would. But you didn’t. You said nothing as the tip of that huge knife dragged lightly over your sternum, up between your breasts, staring silently at Gojo as his eyes lowered.
Cold air hit your breasts, your nipples pebbled with the cotton barrier removed, and you finally spoke.
“Let me go.” You whispered, but it wasn’t stop, and Gojo looked you in the eye again.
“You know I can’t do that.” The knife halted close to your neck, the blade pressed to your skin just under the collar of your shirt. “Tell me what you really want, and don’t lie this time.”
You stayed silent, lips pressed together almost as hard as your thighs were.
What the fuck was wrong with you? Your body was committing the ultimate betrayal; heat was pooling low in your gut despite how you shivered against the cold. It had been a while since you’d had time for a relationship or even just a hookup, and Gojo had just lit up something that demanded satisfaction after being long ignored.
Why now?
Was your own sex drive going to be the thing that got you killed?
Gojo let the back of the chair go, and the feet slammed to the floor with a bang that made your teeth clack. He flipped the knife around fast, and the blade tore through your shirt with a loud rip.
You inhaled a sharp gasp, and Gojo chucked quietly. “Oops, I slipped.”
He was always like that. A teasing little shit, and it always irked you, and the irritation broke you from the silence you’d been holding. “Are you a fucking animal? Why not just take it off?!”
Gojo seemed a little taken aback by the outburst; you were too actually. But he recovered quickly and scoffed, lifting a pale brow. “Well, you didn’t tell me to take it off. Don’t get pissy because you’re too chicken shit to say what you want.”
The knife dragged down your stomach, leaving a thin red trail in its wake. Stopping only once he reached the waistband of your panties, the tip hooked in and caught the lace.
“Should I cut these off too? Or will you use words like a big girl?”
“Fuck you.”
Gojo gripped your face with his free hand, and he sneered. “Watch it. I like you, but don’t push your luck here.” He was close enough again that his lips brushed yours as he whispered the next words that sent a fresh jolt of lightning up your spine. “You’ve seen what I do when I’m pissed off, so be careful, sweetheart.”
He kissed you again, still holding your face in place as his tongue pushed into your mouth. It must have stolen rational thinking from you, because you kissed him back again instead of biting his tongue like you probably should have.
Gojo’s hand left your face, but you didn’t take the opportunity to turn away. No, for some reason, you angled your head, leaning into it more and more. It felt too good for the situation you were in, but maybe that was what made it impossible to pull away from. The electricity that sparked with each flick of his tongue against yours, the danger that lurked in his lips, so pretty and warm and nice sliding against yours with little chu’s.
Something cold and hard pressed to your temple, and clicked. Gojo smiled against your mouth. You knew the sound well, and your eyes flew open with a gasp, breaking the kiss.
“Tell me, sweetheart. Tell me how badly you want me to fuck you, or I’ll pull the trigger and do it anyway.”
“Oh my god, what the fuck is wrong with you?” You whimpered, and only received the cold steel of the barrel of your own gun pushing into your temple harder, and a manic grin in return.
“A lot, you should’ve realized that by now. Say what you want, don’t think I won't do it.”
He was still covered in the blood of a man he’d brutally killed right in front of you; you had no doubt he’d pull the trigger.
Fear filled your wide eyes, glassy with unspilled tears you were holding back. It looked so good on you. He wanted you to shake and cry and beg almost as much as he wanted you to admit the truth.
Gojo usually just dealt with the body and grabbed a sweet treat after dispatching a killer, but he had the feeling you’d taste better than any dessert.
Your eyes darted from his, to the gun in your periphery, wide and panicked. Your chest rose and fell fast. You were struggling, trembling, and overwhelmed by the shift and thinking your life hung by a thread, easily severed by one little twitch of his finger.
He wouldn’t do it like that, though. Not with a bullet to your head, that was so impersonal, and not his style.
You hated this feeling. Fearing for your life and for some reason still not pulling away from the person threatening it. It was like nothing you’d ever felt before; your skin burned hot despite the cold with your shirt bisected and hanging open. The gusset of your panties was slick and sticky, and you kept your legs squeezed shut to keep it hidden.
Had you ever thought about Gojo like that before? Maybe …yes.
Were you thinking about his hands on your body, what his cock was like, and what it would feel like if he fucked you right now? That was a shameful maybe.
Would you ever admit that without your life on the line? Probably not.
But it was. Gojo literally had a gun to your head. You had to say it, right?
You took a deep, shaky breath and swallowed. “You’re fucking crazy, Gojo. But I-I want you.”
Something like surprise flickered in his eyes, almost like he hadn’t expected you to actually say it. But you didn’t get a moment to analyze it. Gojo slammed his lips to yours. It was bruising and desperate, and the barrel dropped from your temple, dragging cool steel down the side of your face, down your neck to press up under your jaw.
You probably would have done it anyway, but he forced your chin up and your head to tilt, deepening the kiss you could already barely breathe around.
The knife at your hip moved, and you heard another rip.
You groaned into Gojo’s mouth and pulled back a little. “What the fuck, I said—”
“I felt like it.” He murmured, cutting you off and putting his lips back on yours. The knife clattered on the ground, and Gojo’s fingers curled into the waistband of your panties and yanked. They tore like fucking paper and left you exposed.
He pulled the gun away from your jaw and used both hands to pull your legs apart. You didn’t fight it. Your mind was melted and spinning, and you didn’t even try to close your legs when two fingers glided along your slit. Gojo swallowed the moan that spilled from your lips, then pulled his tongue from your mouth and broke the kiss. A lewd, pinkish string of saliva still connected your wet lips to his.
“Were you this wet when you denied liking getting to watch me kill Naoya? Bet you were, a liar and a slut.” He tsk’d and slid two thick fingers still wrapped in slickened latex, into your cunt, watching closely as your face contorted.
Your brows turned up, lips parting a little as a quiet “Ohh,” escaped.
Fear looked good on you, but that was the face Gojo had been dying to see. The one you made as he fucked you nice and slow on his hand. Savoring the sounds that spilled from your lips every time he pushed in deep and the way you gripped around him when he curled his fingers.
Gojo kept going until he finally hit a spot and pressed up, and you gasped, legs trying to clamp shut around his hand. He didn’t bother forcing them back open; he just put the muzzle of the gun under your chin again, and your eyes went wide. He didn’t miss the way your cunt twitched and pulsed with your own gun put to your head.
“Ah, keep them open.” You obeyed, legs falling open again. You bit your lip and let your chin be pushed up when he nudged with the muzzle. Gojo pressed his cheek to yours, letting his lips brush your ear as he spoke. “I've never seen you like this, so obedient. I didn't even think you could go thirty seconds without barking at me like a bitch.”
Your vision unfocused, and your eyes almost rolled as Gojo pulled his hand back, and pushed back inside with a third thick digit. The muzzle pushed your head up again, and you felt Gojo’s teeth on the side of your face as he smiled.
“You like this though, don't you? Like being held on the firing end of your own loaded service weapon with the safety off?”
A whimper left your mouth, and you barely registered the feeling of steel dragging down your chest over Gojo nipping at your ear. Your mind was splintering a little more with every thrust of three fingers into your cunt that seemed to get faster.
So suddenly, you almost choked on the spit pooling in your mouth. Gojo's hand pulled away, and cold metal pushed into you instead. Your legs closed on instinct, and Gojo’s now free hand pulled them open again.
“Tch, if I want to fuck you with this thing, I will.” His tongue traced the shell of your ear. The cold muzzle glided through your folds easily with the slick still drooling from your hole. “Would you like that? Would you scream and cry and shake and come all over it like a slut?”
The cold, thick barrel barely pushed inside. It felt perverse. The metal felt wrong, unforgiving and alien, and so fucking wrong.
Dehumanizing, you felt like something was being stripped from you with each centimeter of your own service weapon that your cunt was forced to stretch around. Tears that had been held back up until that point broke free and spilled over.
Your own body was betraying you again. Your rational mind knew you should object, knew that you should have tried to stop all of this before it got out of hand.
But you didn’t. And now you were getting fucked with your own gun by a killer still coated in the blood of his latest kill, the one he did for you, and it felt wrong but not bad, and that fact splintered the rest of your mind.
You were supposed to be able to deal with situations like this, ones where your life was on the line and it was you and your experienced mind versus whatever crazy had decided to take you on.
But Gojo was different. He wasn't just another crazy. He was smart and calculating and psychotic. He'd planned for this, all while you should have seen it coming, but didn't.
You knew there was something wrong with him, but you never saw him coming. And now, you were trembling, biting your lip hard to keep a pathetic noise in your throat as the last few centimeters of cold steel were shoved inside you.
The tears streamed down your flushed cheeks, burning from shame at the way your hips shifted around with the barrel stilled inside you.
“I've never seen you cry before,” Gojo marveled as he looked you over. “You're even prettier than I had imagined.” You hated the way you leaned into his palm as he cupped your face and brushed a thumb through the wet tracks.
His voice was sweet like saccharine honey and at complete odds with how he pulled the barrel out halfway and pushed back in. “Be good and make lots of noise when I make you come, sweetheart. I've been dying to hear what you sound like.”
You could feel every cold ridge and edge of the barrel as it dragged slowly in and out, so deep that the trigger guard pushed into your clit and made you jolt. It felt purposeful, like Gojo wanted you to feel every little bit of it, wanted you to sit and squirm and take it as he fucked you with the most deadly inanimate object a person could encounter.
Your face was something Gojo had never even imagined. Better than anything his own mind could've created. Contorted in pleasure and fighting it hard. Cheeks flushed a deep red, lashes wet and clumped together as more tears spilled. Like you hated that you liked it, maybe even loved the way it felt.
He was torn. Watching you twitch and jerk and fight your own body from doing what it really wanted was beautiful, and he didn't want to stop until you couldn't hold it back any longer. He didn't want to stop until you broke by his hand and gushed around the cold steel barrel.
But on the other hand, he wanted to feel it himself. He doubted you'd object, you'd probably welcome the replacement of cold metal—that was probably still shockingly cold compared to how hot your cunt was—with his dick.
But the desire to watch you fall apart and shatter first outweighed the need to stick his dick in you. Just barely.
Your lip trembled, your eyes were far off somewhere else and glassy, darting around the room behind Gojo. They landed on something and went round, your breath caught, and you hiccuped. You looked at Gojo again, fear and pleading in your blown pupils.
“P-please,” Your voice cracked on the word. He had never seen or heard you like that, never thought you even could beg or whine like that.
He brushed your cheek again with a thumb, wiping the fresh wetness that fell. “Please what, sweetheart?” He never stopped the movement of his hand, still savoring the way he could feel your cunt gripping the barrel.
You whimpered, “Please, fuck, I-I can't—I can't… fuck,” You couldn’t even finish the sentence, biting down on your quivering lip. You were writhing, chest heaving, and he finally realized that…
You were about to come, and you hated it.
“You can, just stop fighting it.” He pulled your lip from between your teeth with his thumb.
He tore his eyes off your mouth, still stained red, looking like you’d been wearing lipstick before he came and fucked it up.
“Give in to me, I promise you'll feel so fucking good. I'll make sure of it.” Gojo’s lips brushed yours, not a kiss, not yet. He had to hear you say it. Say yes and let go, let him make you see stars and forget how fucking wrong what you were doing was, and just give in to how right it felt.
You were right there, dangling on the precipice of breaking. Your eyes glazed, lashed fluttering as you held his gaze and whispered his name.
“Gojo, please.” The sound of you begging, pleading him. Uttering his name like some kind of broken prayer that could save you from what was happening, what was about to happen.
It was so unbelievably easy, you made it so easy. Just dripping slick arousal and the barrel slid through your cunt. It was a mess. You were a mess, and the sounds of your pussy squelching and sucking the barrel back inside were obscene.
Your jaw dropped a little more but no sound came out, and Gojo sent the command into your open mouth. “Do it,”
Your body tensed, he felt it. Your eyes started to roll, losing focus and your legs shook. You were still fighting it.
“I’d do anything for you, I'd fucking kill for you, so come for me.” Gojo gripped the back of your head, fingers tangled in your hair. Your glassy eyes were on his, the look that bore through him was there but it was like you were finally seeing behind the curtain. His lips were on yours as he poured the words he’d held back for years right into your mouth.
“Just give in, let me break you. I’ll be yours forever."
Legs shaking, your hips lifted. Spine arching into a bow, chest pushed up and your head dropped back into his hand. Looking like a fucking angel in a tattered black t-shirt as you finally let go. A pretty moan spilled right into Gojo’s mouth as the tether holding restraint snapped, and you broke.
Wrong. It was wrong how disgustingly good it felt. The heat that coiled and tightened and wrapped through your entire body finally freed, you heard the sounds that came from your own mouth and almost couldn’t believe it. Guttural and unrestrained, your wrists stinging as sharp plastic bit into your skin and drew blood with every shift and pull.
Gojo kissed you again and you let him in without a fight. Still tasting of warm metal, like sucking on coins after being held in hand. It was filthy. Tasting the blood of one man while you were kissing another. Your walls pulsed and gripped around the barrel as Gojo fucked you through the mind melting orgasm, pulling your hair and holding your head back to him as you saw stars and felt them bursting through you.
The last waves shuddered through and you twitched as he pulled the barrel out and left you empty. Breaking from your mouth with another filthy string of saliva tying you together.
He bought the slick coated barrel up to his face, holding it upside down, pinky resting on the trigger. Safety off, hammer cocked. One slip of that finger, and you’d have been bleeding out.
It shouldn't have been so hot. You shouldn’t have shivered at the sight of Gojo, blood streaked in his hair and spattered on his face, sticking his tongue out to lick the full length of the barrel. Pale lashes fluttered, moaning as he tasted you on the steel.
“I’d love to let you hold it while I suck this thing clean,” Gojo waved your gun and winked, “But I get the feeling you’d pull the trigger if I did.” His tongue glided up the barrel again and flicked over the muzzle.
You swallowed hard, and countered with, “Take the bullets out then.”
He seemed to contemplate it, head tipping to the side as he tapped the muzzle to his lips. “Hmm, but I’d have to cut those straps.”
“Is that a bad thing? I could touch you, don’t you want me to?” You bit your lip, angling your head a little with the doe-iest eyes you could summon. Gojo’s jaw clenched, gaze growing heavy under thick, pale lashes. It only lasted a moment before he licked his teeth and a wicked smile spread in its stead.
“Think you’re smart? Sorry, sweetheart, that won’t work.”
“I want to touch you, Gojo.” You pouted, it wasn't a complete lie.
“Satoru,” He corrected, gently but firmly. “We’re past formalities now, don’t you think?”
You pulled forward, as far as you could with your arms behind the chair, bringing your face closer to him. “Let me touch you, Satoru.”
Fuck. Maybe he shouldn’t have said that.
So pretty, and catching onto the fact that you could ask just about anything of him and he’d do it. You looked like a trap, like the moment he took the bait, steel would clamp around his hand.
Gojo knew restraint, he could wait and be patient and bide time. But he had limits. That bait was you, squirming around barely covered by that bisected shirt, thighs glistening and slick. Eyes wide and pleading and fucking needy. Looking at him like you needed him.
“You’re not getting the gun, loaded or not.” Gojo straightened, stepping around the chair to stand behind you. He grabbed your chin, tilting your head back to look up at him. “Try anything, and my finger might slip.”
Acknowledgement came in a slow nod, lip caught between your teeth. Gojo lowered his face to yours, pulling your lip free with his thumb. “Very good, remember that, sweetheart. I’d hate to do it, but I won't hesitate to snuff you out.”
Gojo kept the gun in hand as he snapped the bloodied zip tie around your wrists, breaking the plastic at its weak point and your shoulders sagged as your arms were freed. He straightened again and watched you closely as you rubbed your wrists.
You were free, you could run right now. Instinct made you itch to leap to your feet and dash for the closest exit.
Too bad you had no idea where that was, and Gojo would catch you before you could figure that out for yourself.
Looking around, you saw the knife near your feet. If you lunged for it, you’d get a bullet to the head.
Gojo could see the gears turning in your head. But you were fucked here. Even if you got out you'd be running into practically the middle of nowhere being on the far outskirts of Tokyo.
He pulled the tie on the butchers apron free and tossed it aside, moving to stand in front of you again. You lifted your eyes to his, hands in your lap and idle.
“Stand up,”
You definitely weren’t running anywhere, your legs still trembled a little as you rose to your feet. You took a tentative step forward, bringing yourself close enough to feel the heat of Gojo's body through the clingy black shirt. Eyes trained on his, you reached out with one hand to glide over his wide chest, and down.
A sigh left his pretty, full lips as your fingers curled into the waistband of his dark pants. His shirt had ridden up a little and you could see the lines that curved along his hips and dove down, your fingers brushed through a trail of soft hair, bright white just like the mess of it on his head. He tensed when you touched him, biceps flexing, but he didn’t stop you.
Silently, you lowered to the ground. Your knees hit the hard ground and plastic crinkled quietly. The only other sound was heavy breathing as both hands moved to pop the button on his pants open.
Gojo took your chin in his gloved hand and lifted your face up to him. “Is this what you want?”
Your lip caught again and you hummed. “Mhm,”
Gojo pulled it free again, and slipped his thumb past your teeth, into your mouth to press down on your tongue. “No biting.” He winked. You nodded, opening the closure on his pants. The knife was just to the left of your leg, it was in reach, but the second you moved you’d get a bullet to the head.
Distract him.
That’s all it was. The saliva pooling in your mouth, the slick dripping down your thighs. You ignored that. Ignored how wet you were getting and how heat coursed through you as you pulled his boxers low and freed his cock.
Of course it was pretty too. Pale with a little curve, blushing tip beading pre-cum from the slit. Long and thick enough that you could just wrap your hand around the base because of course he’d have a big dick too.
It was always the fucking nerds.
Gojo jolted a little and a pitched noise like a whine caught in his throat as your hand twisted up the length of his cock, and your thumb brushed his tip. Spreading the pre-cum that just kept leaking.
His thumb left your mouth, gliding over your lips, wetting them with your own spit.
“Want me to be gentle, sweetheart? Or should I fuck your face?” He asked, breathless and cheeks already flushing pink under the spatters of crimson.
You shook your head, pumping his cock slowly. “I don’t want gentle, Satoru.”
He slapped you. Hard. Your head snapped to the side and you choked on a gasp as your cheek started to sting.
You said it. So he was going to deliver.
His hand tingled from the impact and his cock throbbed as he watched you recover from shock. Taking your chin in hand again, he gripped hard and turned you back to face him.
Your body was as masochistic as Gojo was sadistic and your cunt drooled, the heat on your cheek from the slap was everywhere else too.
He did it again, palm flat as it connected to the same cheek just as hard and your head snapped to the side with a little less force. Like you’d prepared for it that time. Your jaw clenched but it didn’t stop the whimper from coming out. Your thighs shook and rubbed together, sliding easily with the slick that smeared.
Gojo almost did it again when you lifted your face to him all on your own. But the look you gave him made him falter a little. Brows turned up, lips glossy and parted, bright red deepening on your cheek, and your eyes. Fuck. The need in your eyes almost brought him to his knees. Tears gathered and ready to spill, about to fucking cry all over again.
He wanted those tears to fall when you choked on his cock.
“What a slut.” He crooned as your lip trembled, “Remember, sweetheart. Bite me, and I’ll put one between your eyes and keep going till I come.”
Looking horribly angelic with a smile that was pure and sweet, Gojo spewed vile filth that made your heart kick at your ribcage, and your core flood with heat.
Wrong. There was something seriously wrong with you. Because you nodded and, and opened your mouth wide.
His fingers thread into your hair, holding tight but he didn't pull or guide you, just held as you licked the drip of pre-cum off the tip of his cock. Tasting salt and sweetness on your tongue. He sucked a sharp breath in through clenched teeth as your lips closed around him.
The sounds he made were pretty and pornographic and matched the look on his face as your lips stretched around the thickness and he hit the back of your throat. Pulling back, your tongue traced a prominent vein along the underside and he moaned again. Pale brows knit together, the baby blue of his irises rendered to a thin ring with the wide black of blown out pupils.
You couldn’t help but think he looked so pretty like that. With his lip caught in his teeth, blood streaked his brilliantly white hair pink, pieces of it fell into his face, across his eyes and framing his face.
I’d do anything for you.
I’ll put one between your eyes and keep going till I come.
It was a shame he was such a nut.
Your eyes went wide and you choked as he tightened the hand in your hair and thrust into your mouth, shoving almost all the way in. He groaned deep in his throat and his cock pulsed in yours. Tears pricked your eyes and fell as you blinked.
The hand in your hair held your head in place as he started to fuck your throat. Your eyes rolled, hand dropping away to your side as control was taken from you. “Like that, huh? Fuck, you’re so filthy. Such a—mnnh—such a slut.”
It went right to your aching cunt, pulsing around nothing. Throbbing with Gojo’s cock hitting deep in your throat, forcing you wide open to him as he held your head and fucked your face. Drool dripped down your chin, so much it trailed down your neck in lewd streaks.
Your mind was splintering again as your nose buried in the soft, fluffy hair. Lashes fluttering as your eyes rolled and you gagged.
“Ohh my fucking god,” Gojo moaned loud, his head flew back and your objective snapped back into place. You moved, reaching to your left and your fingers closed around the handle of the huge hunting knife.
Gojo’s grip tightened, your scalp stung.
The tip of the knife barely pushed into his side before steel pressed to your temple again.
“Gotcha,”
Fuck.
The blade pricked and cut into his side, the tip of it broke skin and was pushing in between his ribs. You gave him a weak glare, throat tight and still choking on his cock with the muzzle of your gun to your temple.
He was close already, balls tight and abs clenched to hold himself back. But that sight alone pushed him right over the edge.
He grunted a “Fuck,” and his hips stuttered. Your eyes went wide and you blinked furiously as his cock kicked in your mouth, and he spilled hot cum down your throat. “Don’t—ngh—don’t fucking look at me like—ugh—like that,” He muttered through clenched teeth, shoulders drooping and panting.
“Think you’re sneaky, huh?” He asked, catching his breath as he pulled your face away. You gasped for air and coughed when his cock pulled from your throat. Holding the knife that cut into his ribs. He held the gun to your head as you recovered. “Saw that one coming the second you got on your knees, sweetheart.”
“Fuck… you,” You choked out with a glare.
Gojo gripped your arm and hauled you up to your feet. The knife pulled from its spot between his ribs and moved to his throat quickly, blade pressed to a critical vein. The muzzle of the gun went under your chin.
He held your naked body to his, his face amused as he asked, “So, what now?”
You searched his face, lips puffy and glossed with spit. Your cheek still bright red from the slaps.
You lurched forward, and kissed Gojo, lips pressing to his hard.
It caught him a bit off guard, but he got his shit together quick and wrapped an arm around your waist. Your head tipped and your arm went over his shoulder, fingers threading up through his hair. The other still holding the blade to his neck.
The muzzle of your gun stayed pressed to your temple as Gojo walked you backwards until you hit a wall covered in plastic. Your mouths clashed, short breaths hot and mingling together as your tongues tangled and slid together.
He pinned you to the wall with his body, hard chest pressed to yours.
Gojo lifted his face away and pulled the latex glove off his free hand with his teeth, tossing it to the floor. His mouth found yours again and he gripped and squeezed along your body. Your spine arched, pushing your breast into his bare hand as he pinched and rolled your nipple.
You moaned into his mouth. His hips pushed forward, to you. Cock already hard again and pressed to your stomach.
Wrong. So, so wrong. How badly you wanted it. How twisted and dangerous and fucking hot it was with a gun to your head and a blade to his throat.
Maybe you were a nut too.
Gojo slid his hand down to your thigh, lifting your leg to the side. You pushed up on your toes to get yourself a little closer to his height.
“Say it,” He murmured to you.
You were aching, doing everything but begging for it at that point.
“Fuck me,” It was a whisper of a plea into Gojo’s mouth and it made him smile. That you’d finally admit it, admit that you wanted him. For real this time. The cards were all out in the open, no sneaky blade was about to stab into his vitals because it was already at his throat.
“Anything you want,” He glanced between you, “Give me a hand, sweetheart. Mine are a little full,” He tapped the muzzle to your temple lightly with a smirk.
The hand in his hair dropped, gliding over his broad shoulder. Down his chest, you felt every line and dip and defined muscle of his abs. Your eyes lowered to follow to trail down, and you gripped his cock. He took a sharp breath, eyes trained on your face as you bit your lip and slid the tip of his cock through your folds.
Long fingers dug into your thigh, gripping hard as you lined him up to your drooling hole. The heat of your cunt was driving him fucking crazy, and he wasn’t even inside you yet.
You looked up again, lip in your teeth, and he drove his hips up.
Your face contorted, nose scrunching as your pussy struggled to take the thick intrusion. The blade at his throat trembled as you cried out, clenching around Gojo’s cock as he pushed halfway in and stilled.
Fuck. You were so fucking tight.
He’d imagined something like this before, but nothing, not the vision his head fed him to pump his cock to, no other person, nothing could ever come close to being buried in you.
Gasping for air, gripping his shoulder and bunching the fabric of his shirt in your fist as you trembled on his cock. Stilled halfway in, every little twitch and pulse of your cunt made his breath come short.
“Fuck…” You whimpered as his lips touched yours again. “Gojo, I can’t—”
“Satoru,” He reminded, “I’m literally inside you, sweetheart.” He groaned and pushed into you deeper, “You can take it all, right? Make it fit like a good girl, yeah?”
You whined, shaking on tip toes. “Don’t fucking call me that,”
“Want me to call you a slut instead?” He grinned, breathing hard and pulling out to shove back in deeper. “What if I called you mine?”
You shut him up with another kiss. He licked into your mouth like a claim, branding you with his hot tongue and his cock buried so deep it felt like he was in your guts already. The stretch burned and took your breath, pain and adrenaline made it melt into pleasure that you craved more of.
Fucking into you steadily, you felt every vein that dragged through your walls. The angle had him push into a sweet spot on every thrust into you.
Moans and heavy breathing and obscene squelching echoed off the plastic as he fucked you up against the wall, holding you open to him with the muzzle still pressed to your head.
“You’re mine, you understand that now, right?” Gojo murmured to you, “You’ve always belonged to me, now I'm just taking what’s mine.”
He nipped your lip, dragging his mouth over yours as he pinned you to the wall and bottomed out with one hard thrust. “Say it.”
Fucked. That’s what you were. So unbelievably fucked.
You looked him in the eye as you breathed the words out.
“I’m yours,”
It didn’t feel like a lie. It felt like you belonged to him. Gojo killed for you, why didn’t that scare you more? Make you want to run from him and the claim he’d seemed to set on you long before this.
The gun dropped from your head and clattered to the ground. You had leverage now, he was giving up control and power and you could do it, tell him to stop and use this to get out.
But you didn’t.
You dropped the knife, threw your arms around his neck, let him pick you up with both hands, and kissed him.
Gojo carried you across the room and set you down on the table that held Zenin Naoya’s lifeless body. He broke the kiss, still buried inside you, and turned your head to face the corpse. You shut your eyes against the sight of it.
Gojo’s lips brushed your jaw as he spoke, his voice was raw and low. “Look. He’ll never hurt another girl again, and it’s because of you. Because I’d do anything for you.” Gojo turned you to look at him again. “I belong to you, too. Every fucked up part of me is yours.”
He looked as raw as he sounded. Eyes wide and vulnerable like he was bearing his soul to you, and you nodded. You didn’t agree with the method, but you understood.
Too many times you’d felt you weren’t enough, like you were failing the people you swore to serve and protect. Gojo had done the same, and he was doing it in a way that made certain the monsters that roamed free would never harm again.
You were always into the vigilante thing, you guessed. It was pretty hot. Maybe Gojo would wear spandex and a mask too.
The thought made you laugh a little and you cupped his face with both hands. “You’re a fucking psycho. Take your shirt off, this feels unfair.”
Gojo grinned, wide and wicked and so pretty it wasn’t fair. “I’m crazy for you, sweetheart. Anything you want.” He pulled the tight black shirt over his head and tossed it to the floor.
That wasn’t fair.
You always thought it weird that a nerd holed up in a lab all day would be so jacked, and now you understood why. You eyed him without shame, just as you always did. Lingering on his broad chest, gaze sliding down the ripples of his abs. There was a bloody cut on his oblique from where the knife had dug in.
Oops.
“Fuck me,” He was still buried inside you, but you said it anyways. And Gojo obliged.
He spread your legs open with both hands, and held tight as he thrust hard into you. He split you open on his cock, panting into your mouth and staring with lidded eyes into yours as he slammed in balls deep.
Your head flew back and a guttural sound came from deep in your chest. The pace he set was brutal, like he’d held something back before and it was snapped free now. A sound like a growl rumbled in his throat, teeth raking down your jaw, over your throat and he latched on to the skin.
He sucked and bit and bullied into you. Pushing your legs wider as he angled his hips up to push into a spot that made your head spin. Stars glittered across your vision and your nails dug into skin as you gripped his shoulders.
The pain didn’t bother him one bit. He reveled in it, savoring the sting of your nails breaking skin. He bit harder and moaned against your throat. The table rocked with every hard thrust.
He never wanted it to end, your cunt gripped and pulsed around his cock, greedy as fuck and sucking him in. Wet and loud and hot, what heaven might feel like. Your pussy was better, and he’d never even get to see the gates to compare.
Gojo rocked into you, sliding in deep and whining around your throat as the tip of his cock ground against your cervix. You cried out, cunt fluttering around him. Your legs shaking in his grip, spine bowing to push your chest up to him.
It was perfect. You were perfect.
He wanted to ruin you, break you just to put you back together and do it all over again.
Heat coiled through you, wrapping through your insides like a white hot wire that burned anything it touched. Every drag of his thick cock through your walls sparked more and you clawed at Gojo’s shoulders, keening as you clung to him.
You were so lost in everything you didn’t even notice his hand move until his thumb pressed to your clit and your eyes rolled.
“Oh my god, f-fuck!” Your body locked up, shuddering as he toyed your clit, pressing mean circles on the sensitive bud.
Your cunt gripped tight, like you were trying to slow him, but Gojo was relentless, never slowing even as his abs clenched. He pressed his forehead to yours, both slick with sweat.
“Let go, come for me sweetheart, I want to feel it.”
Another shudder wracked through you, and the wire snapped free. Your jaw dropped in a silent cry, your cunt pulsed and gushed around Gojo’s cock. Warm slick flooded and dripped as he hammered into you. Thumb wet and slipping as you twitched with every messy circle he kept rubbing, drawing out your orgasm until his balls tightened.
“Gonna come in you. You’re mine so I’m fuckin’ fill you up.” It wasn’t even a question, you wanted it just as bad as he did. As if you’d go through all of that just for him to fucking pull out.
He threw his head back and moaned. A pretty sound, almost as pretty as the sight, the column of his throat exposed. He gripped the plush of your thigh hard, buried to hilt in your still twitching cunt, and the ache in his cock finally released.
You felt the kick deep as he shuddered, hips stuttering as he spilled. Spurts of hot cum coated your walls. He didn’t stop, head falling forward again and whining as he fucked it all deeper into you. You keened and jerked on every short, sloppy thrust. Sweat dripped down your neck and your body felt beyond spent.
Finally Gojo stilled, both of you caught your breath a little before he kissed you again. Softer, less urgent with the tension released. He pulled back and murmured against your mouth, cupping your face and brushing his thumb over your cheekbone.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. Don’t be mad when you wake up.”
Something pricked your neck and you jerked back, eyes going wide. “What the fu…” You couldn’t even finish the sentence before the syringe of M-99 he pulled from his back pocket worked its magic and you passed out. He caught you with an arm around your waist and lowered you to the table. He pulled out of your cunt and watched as his cum poured from your pussy. Pretty and used and dripping milky cum.
What a fucking sight. Everything about you was so pretty. But he didn't quite trust you not to stab him in the back and run the moment you got the chance, not yet.
You’d be just as pretty when you woke up again tied up, even if you were in a blind rage when you did.
He always did kind of like when you yelled at him.
꒷꒦a/n꒦꒷ if you made it thru all of this and haven't already, please go check out TMD by Innka on ao3, her work is incredible and seared into my brain and got me through this one (TMD is unfinished but still brilliant and worth the read). huge ty to my soulmate and beta reader @sadtrash69 for making this legible omg T_T
Context: This is a long-fic that will follow Gojo and the reader through childhood -> adolescence -> adulthood
I have tried to stay as canon-compliant as possible with a few tweaks here and there.
This is a female reader-insert story where Y/N is used. While I tried not to make her an OC, she does have a set family and last name (i.e., Morisato) as it was central-ish to the plot.
Links to Chapters 1, 2, and 3 below <3
Plot:
You were born into the Morisato clan, a lesser, respected jujutsu family just like the Inumakis. The issue, however, was that you lacked the cursed energy to ever be useful to jujutsu society or your family’s ambition. Because of that, you were expected to strengthen the clan through a different means—a marriage to a powerful sorcerer.
Volume 1 — Growing Up
Ch. 1 -> Ch. 2 -> Ch. 3 -> Ch. 4 -> Ch. 5
Synopsis:
Every friendship has a beginning, though some are born in the unlikeliest of places. On the sprawling grounds of the Gojo estate, a simple game of hide-and-seek brings together two children who might never have crossed paths. Satoru Gojo is the miracle child of his clan, born with both the six eyes and limitless technique. You are the youngest of your family, dismissed as weak and unworthy by your clan elders. Yet in the shade of several summers, small promises spark a connection that will shape the course of your lives—for better or worse. That's up to you to decide.
Tags (will update as the story progresses):
Gojo x Fem!Reader, Gojo x ChildhoodFriend!Reader, Long-Fic, Slow Burn, Childhood Friends, Childhood Bonds, Fluff to Angst, Arranged Marriage (maybe?), Clan Politics, Jujutsu Kaisen, JJK, JJK x Reader, Jujutsu Society, Coming of Age, Slice of Life, Found Family, Protective Gojo, Reader-Insert, Power Imbalance, Possessive Gojo, Yandere Undertones, Darker Themes Later, Eventual Smut (18+ content)
You'd lived an entire life without knowing of the hidden world of cursed spirits and jujutsu sorcery in Japan. That is, until you caught the eye of someone who thinks your very existence must be justified—after all, what use can a monkey who can't even see curses have?
Pairings: Gojo x f!Reader
Content warnings + tags: 18+ MDNI: Modern AU, graphic violence, blood/gore, death, pandemic themes, survivalist trauma, body horror/zombie content, grief, PTSD elements, eventual sexual content (smut), emotional codependency, slow-burn romance, implied mental health struggles, scenes of panic and mass hysteria. Note: This is a zombie apocalypse AU with heavy themes of loss, fear, and survival. Please read responsibly.
Synopsis: You were never supposed to fall for your coworker. And the world was never supposed to end. But when the virus hit, it didn’t care about what was fair. It turned cities into graveyards and neighbors into monsters. Before all this, you were an art teacher. He taught physics down the hall. You were coworkers, maybe friends, maybe something else—something neither of you had ever dared name. Now, you’re surviving together. Fighting to stay ahead of whatever’s spreading through the country like wildfire. Holding your breath with every cough, every siren, every scream. And somewhere in the middle of it all—between the blood, the silence, and the sharp edge of grief—there’s still him. Satoru Gojo. The only person who makes you feel like the world might still be worth something. Even now.
Before the Outbreak... | Day One... | The Aftermath...
Learning to Survive...
A Good Man Dies Standing... | Days Gone By... | I'll Find You...
