charlotte

20 weekly updates of 'Silver Deference - Gojo Satoru x Reader'

[charlthotte]

Masterlist - Silver Deference

Gojo Satoru x Reader

You were always careful to never reveal your cursed technique to anyone, lest they could use it against you and render you useless. Those who knew that any question they posed your way would compel them completely and utterly to your following command could overpower you with a snap of their fingers. These were the teachings of the Inumaki Clan. Your family was correct, of course, you were powerless against those who knew the secrets of your technique. Their teachings implored you to trust never a soul, to never reveal your clan heritage. You knew better than to divulge your secrets to an unruly group of teenagers, least of all the loud cajoler with the eyes of the azure skies. So, when you joined Jujutsu High as a first-year, alongside the cheerful Haibara Yu and the brooding Nanami Kento, you were bewildered by your overwhelming desire to trust this bunch of idiot teens. Even more so, you were perplexed by the unfamiliar stirrings in your soul around the titular Gojo Satoru, and yet despite your brain's protestations to such flutter and fancy, you were unaware of just how weak your heart was.

0. Prologue 1. First Names, First Impressions 2. The Boy From the Sky 3. Never Mix Sorcerers and Sushi 4. Brain-freeze 5. Budget Cinema 6. Ineptitude 7. Nightmares in Wake 8. Caffeine 9. The Impure and the Interred

UPDATED WEEKLY, ON SUNDAYS

[charlthotte]

Silver Deference - Gojo x Reader

Masterlist - Prev, Next

9. The Impure and the Interred

Yaga wasted no time in hurling Gojo across the library like a weightless javelin. The miscreant teen flew past the stacks of books like a bullet, laughing ungraciously at his weightless predicament. You and Nanami both whipped your heads to follow your thrown classmate, wondering what kind of misdeeds could have deserved such a reaction. You couldn’t help but be nervous for the delicate tomes that had a dangerous projectile careening towards them.

Yet, just short of damaging the collections of ancient works irreparably, Gojo rebounded off of some kind of invisible barrier, his infinity, first on the wall and then the floor, the fall causing him not a lick of harm. It was quite the impressive feat that his sunglasses stayed perfectly in place throughout Gojo’s unexpected flight.

‘What should Y/N ask me about, Nanami?’ Yaga reiterated, careful not to direct his question onto you.

‘I told her that she might find cursed tools to be of some use.’ Nanami replied, somewhat sheepishly as he tried to lean over the desk to mask the spilt coffee.

Yaga nodded receptively, ‘Most sorcerers use some kind of weapon. It’d be stupid to not give you that chance.’ He said, turning to face you.

‘Only losers have to rely on pieces of junk!’ Gojo butted in from across the library, still sat in a heap on the floor.

‘Be quiet, Satoru.’ Yaga warned, his tone harsh and unforgiving as he glared at the second-year student. Gojo merely pouted in return, frowning and folding his arms like a scolded child.

You tried to ignore Gojo’s inadvertent claims of your weakness, focusing on your teacher, ‘How would I go about getting my hands on one?’ You asked.

‘Follow me and I’ll take you to our stores.’ Yaga said straightforwardly. ‘The other two can stay behind and clean up this mess.’

Nanami nodded in deference, realising his efforts of hiding the caffeinated mess were for naught. Gojo on the other hand, didn’t take the command well. Rising quickly from his prone position, he began to sprint down the centre of the library, protesting his designated chore. ‘Let me come with you guys!’ He shouted.

Not bothering to waste a breath on his misbehaving student, Yaga silently summoned one of his cursed corpses, and in a flash, a mass of pink felt dashed towards Gojo with a fist aimed straight for his face. The punch resounded with a painfully loud smack, sending Gojo back down the library’s corridor with his pristinely white hair covering his eyes. His sunglasses no longer remained in situ. Gojo began whining more than he had before, but the cursed corpse was tenacious, allowing him no time to follow you and Yaga as you departed the library, with you following your teacher’s lead.

You spent what felt like hours turning down corridors and staircases as you followed Yaga to where he said the school’s collection of cursed tools resided. In reality, you had no idea how long you spent walking the school’s labyrinth of pathways – you had been walking for so long that you no longer had a grasp upon the concept of time. Seconds were hours and hours were seconds. You could have spent years trundling behind Yaga without realising.

Most of these corridors were completely foreign to you: they had no windows, no daylight, no sign of where or when you were. You seemed to keep descending into what felt like the flesh of the earth, through capillaries and organs and into the belly of the beast.

Several of the doorways you passed through seemed to be mouths into a different world, where the fabric of reality seemed to churn differently. The air was thicker, denser, somehow more important than the air of the surface. The walls of the featureless corridors were both forgettable and inordinately memorable.

Yaga paused before a locked shed, stroking his chin as he let the gravity of something was over him. He peered around himself, seeing something you weren’t in the endless parade of undecorated brick. ‘It’s almost time, huh?’ He muttered to himself.

You peered up at him with the quizzical face, wordlessly asking him to elaborate on his words.

‘Tengen’s barriers,’ Yaga said, continuing to stroke his bearded chin, ‘There’s something different about them lately. A new successor must be in order soon.’

You knew about Tengen, the person who kept jujutsu society safe with their barriers, but you didn’t know the ins and outs of everything. You knew Tengen was perhaps the most important person in the world in that regard, but you still didn’t completely grasp the magnitude of it all, especially the weight of Yaga’s tone. For the sake of simplicity, you chose not to interrogate him over it.

With the click of an unlatching lock, Yaga removed the chains from around the handles of a pair of doors. You stepped into the room after him, taken aback by the abject darkness surrounding you. Yaga fumbled around the wall for a light switch, finding it after a while.

The bulb flickered with a dim, golden-coloured light, bathing the dusty air. Around you were countless displays of unique and powerful weapons. The atmosphere around some of them seemed to hiss with the sheer amount of cursed energy they exuded. There were katanas, daggers, crossbows, cleavers, spears and much more lining the shelves. Some were locked in glass cages, some in ornate chests, while others were out in the open. Your eyes were spoilt for choice of what to focus on.

‘This is one of our many stores of weapons,’ Yaga began, ‘these are some of the school’s most potent tools.’

You didn’t doubt that at all as Yaga started to remove some of the cursed objects from their holdings, gathering them carefully before laying his selection out on the dusty table before you.

‘I’ve seen the way you struggle with your cursed energy, as if it doesn’t exist when you haven’t been asked a question. And given your family history, I find it deeply peculiar.’ Yaga stated, wiping dust from his hands. ‘I want to know if you’ve ever given the concept of heavenly restrictions a thought.’

‘Not really,’ you replied, ‘I’d just assumed my technique manifested differently.’

‘Within families with inherited techniques, the answer isn’t often that simple.’ Yaga explained as you listened intently, enraptured by the idea that your lacklustre powers weren’t your fault. ‘Cursed speech is an ancient technique, passed down by generations, but your Silver Deference is unique, brazenly so. Without your technique being activated, I’ve observed that your stores of cursed energy are infinitesimally small, almost non-existent, which is unusual for a cursed speech user. But when your technique is activated, especially with direct compulsions, I’ve noticed that you release massive amounts of cursed energy. And your compulsions don’t have any recoil like those of standard cursed speech. Your family has to be careful of the words they speak, so that they don’t incur any damage upon themselves, but you never have that kind of risk. Y/N, I think this is your heavenly restriction – your randomly assigned gift. In exchange for massive amount of cursed energy after being asked a question, you have almost no cursed energy when you are asked nothing. These restrictions don’t happen often, Y/N, but they can often be used to their owner’s advantage. Some of the strongest people have heavenly restrictions, taking one aspect of strength away to galvanise another. You shouldn’t be deterred by the weakness I’ve seen you perceiving in yourself.’

‘How can I use a lack of cursed energy to my advantage?’ You asked, pondering Yaga’s longwinded explanation. ‘How can I be a sorcerer and exorcise non-speaking curses without it?’

‘That’s why we’re here,’ Yaga responded, ‘cursed tools can prove instrumental in the fight against cursed spirits. I think one of these three will prove the most useful to you.’

With those words, Yaga presented his selected array of weapons to you, from a broadsword to a knife, to a pair of Sai.

‘These particular weapons are imbued with massive stores of cursed energy, enough to make up for your restrictions when it comes to battle. Take a look at them, see which fits you the best.’

Obliging, you first picked up the broadsword. It was decorated with sapphires and burnished gold, and made of ornately-smithed iron. Flipping the hilt around in your hands, your body was weighed down by the heaviness of the shining metal. You struggled to brandish the weapon confidently: it was almost as tall as you, so your centre of gravity was massively altered, and not for the better. Yaga observed you handling the weapon silently, letting you make your decisions for yourself. Tossing the sword hand to hand, you quickly realised that the broadsword was not for you.

Moving onto your next option, you grabbed the knife, removing it from its leather sheath. It was much lighter than the previous weapon, but something about it made your skin crawl. The metal was nothing out of the ordinary and its decorations were nothing too strange, but something about the tool was incorrigibly wrong. A black aura flickered around the blade menacingly; it was evil and unwelcoming. You almost threw the knife back onto the table, unable to stomach its cursed energy.

You stared at the last option before you, a pair of Sai. One was black and ashen; one was lustrous and silver. They seemed delicate upon observation, but when you let them rest in your palms, their power was immediately apparent. The black Sai was otherworldly and potent, while the silver Sai felt calm and magnanimous, as if they were two opposite halves of a whole.

You smiled slightly, with those two blades in your hands, you felt as though you had unlocked a level of power that was previously alien to you. ‘These ones fit the best.’

Yaga nodded, seemingly agreeing with your choice. ‘They’re Izanagi and Izanami,’ he said, ‘the Lamenting Twins, named after the Shinto creator deities.’ Folding his arms, Yaga gestured towards the black blade in your left hand with his elbow. ‘Izanami, the sister, is the reaper of the two, infused with amplified and potent cursed energy. She is the interred, residing in the underworld, deigning to send more her way. The other,’ he said, pointing towards the silver Sai, ‘is Izanagi, the impure. He deals with reversed cursed technique, expertly crafted by a swordsmith of the Heian Era. He repairs, turning the negative into the positive.’ Yaga paused for a second, a grave look upon his face. ‘The Lamenting Twins are a hugely powerful duo, but they are only powerful because they are together. The swordsmith who made them imbued half of their soul in each of the Sai, and separating them renders them useless and destroyed. Damage upon one is damage upon the other, so you must be extremely attentive in using them.’

‘Got it.’ You said, ready for the challenge of keeping the twins together, relishing the way their massive flames of cursed energy made you feel.

‘You should know, Y/N, that in using tools with such huge stores of cursed energy – you will become a lot more noticeable to everyone who can perceive it. Curses and sorcerers alike will see you with clearer eyes and your life may be made more difficult for it.’

Normally, you would have hated the idea of being more noticeable, hated the risk of being asked more questions, but somehow, something in the shed of cursed tools put you in a much more confident and foolhardy state of mind; you would have power both with and without your cursed technique being activated. You liked the notion of always having strength, of always having cursed energy to call upon, even if it wasn’t your own. Immediately, you wanting to start training with your Sai, to improve your fighting prowess, so that you could begin to exorcise curses both weak and strong on your own. On the weak you would use the Lamenting Twins, and on the strong you would use Silver Deference.

Everything seemed to fit into place perfectly, even in your tired and exasperated mind.

While you surveyed the feeling of your new cursed weapons in your grasp further, Yaga began rootling through a cupboard. He was faced away from you, so you couldn’t quite identify what he was searching for, but he seemingly found the object of his search and quickly threw it towards you.

You caught the object ungracefully, by wrapping your arms around it, whilst keeping a tight grip on your Sai. Carefully, you placed the blades down on the dusty table, so that you could properly inspect what Yaga had thrown your way. It was a mass of tangled leather, and it looked like it hasn’t been touched in decades. You tried to untangle the straps, and soon you were met with the sight of a double scabbard. It had a belt made for tying around your waist, and two pouches on opposite sides, each made to house one of the blades.

Tying the leather straps to fit you, you tightened the buckles around your hips before fastening them and placing the Sai in their scabbard homes. You spun yourself around, testing the new feeling of the extra weight. It wasn’t cumbersome, but you knew it would take some getting used to.

After tidying everything away, you and Yaga departed the school’s weapon store, making your way back through the unending labyrinth of featureless brick hallways. You wondered how your teacher had his bearings so expertly while navigating the deep tunnels of Jujutsu High.

Once you were back to the surface, and underneath by blanket of the cool, blue sky, you and Yaga were suddenly beset by a pair of nosy teens. Gojo and Geto stood before you two, eyeing you both suspiciously. Yet, something in Gojo’s eyes told you that his suspicion was mostly directed at you.

‘You’ve changed, Y/N.’ He said, peering at you over his round sunglasses, his wide and inquisitive eyes drinking in the world around him.

[charlthotte]

Silver Deference - Gojo x Reader

Masterlist - Prev, Next

8. Caffeine

The morning birds began to stir outside while you remained sleepless and motionless in your cold bed. This was but another dawn upon your record of nights spent awake and restless. You were beginning to tire of the charade; exhausted all day, barely able to converse with Nanami and Haibara in class, too drained to fathom manifesting your cursed energy in training, miles too weary to spend your evenings with your friends like a normal teenager. Yet, when the nights drew in and you attempted to settle under the covers, you couldn’t sleep no matter how hard you tried. Something in the room’s hostile atmosphere was forbidding you from resting. The cycle was unsustainable, and you needed a change.

Listening to the delicate birdsong that decorated the morning sky and its amber dregs, you became jealous of the flighted animals. Every night they got to rest in their perfect little nests, surrounded by feathers and family, waking to sing a symphony more awe-inspiring than the most practised orchestra. You were simply forced to listen to their chirpings, their constant reminders of the nights that passed you by without respite.

You opened your curtains in defeat, letting the orange dawn wash your dorm in its beautiful hue. Staring out at the forest that encompassed your school, you tried to fashion shapes out in the darkness to entertain yourself, but your tired mind could barely recognise the leaves and branches of reality. You leant against the windowsill, letting the morning rush over you as you hung your head in your palms, sighing. As your eyelids drooped without satisfaction, your mind began to wander. You were positive that you weren’t the problem in this sleepless conundrum: you’d slept in class, upon Shoko’s shoulder, in Gojo’s arms, just never in your room. The reasons were beyond your comprehension.

A faint buzz echoed from your phone as it laid face-down upon your bedside table. It seemed a peculiar time for contact from anyone sane, so with muted curiosity, you flipped the screen towards you.

It was a text from your mother, complete with a photo of your younger cousin, Toge, with the seal of the Inumaki clan freshly tattooed over his face. It was your family’s tradition to mark someone with the snake eyes and fangs on the advent of their cursed technique awakening. Toge was barely six years old, his white hair wild yet silky. His massive purple eyes shone up at the camera with the zeal of a child that had yet to be broken by the world. You missed your cousin, and you would continue to miss him. Now that his technique had activated, you couldn’t talk to him anymore, he was going to become just another member of your family to leave you alone.

The position of his tattoo told you everything that you needed to know: Toge wasn’t like you. He was a regular cursed speech user; there was no need to hide his family seal for the efficacy of his technique – any of his words could be potent.

In a way, you were jealous of your young cousin. He didn’t need to hide his family relations like you did, he didn’t need to fear other people’s words and questions, he’d just have to limit his vocabulary like every other Inumaki. You wished your technique was simple like his and the rest of your family’s, only having to control yourself, not having to hopelessly try to weave around everyone else’s every word.

Checking yourself, you realised how wrong you were to be jealous of a six-year-old. But still, it still stung to know that a child like him could make such fast progress with his cursed energy whilst you were stuck with a technique that you couldn’t subjugate. Being surpassed by someone who didn’t know multiplication created a special kind of humiliation. You felt like you were undeserving of the name Inumaki.

You reached behind your neck, tracing your fingers along the seal tattooed in your skin. The ink felt like it was burning, like it was rejecting you, but your skin was ghostly cold. You needed to be out of your stuffy room; you needed peace from the suffocating silence.

Deciding to loiter in the library for the morning, you passed by several vending machines, draining them of their coffee and energy drinks. You had taken Shoko’s comment to heart about you needing more caffeine, and her advice had certainly proven helpful. The caffeine was your lifeline against weeks of sleeplessness.

You took a sip of the cold, cheap coffee, grimacing at the unpleasant taste. Jolts immediately hit your heart, and it began to beat more passionately and desperately than before, as though your lifeline would force it over the point of no return. You felt woozy, but it was nothing you couldn’t handle. With each day, you found yourself closer to the answer of your exhaustion, but it was still out of reach.

Jittery and uneasy, you stumbled into the library and were immediately beset by mountains of bookshelves and ancient scrolls. Archaic stone tablets lined the walls in decrees, calligraphy and edicts. You stopped to read some of them, and it was apparent straight away that these were relics of the Heian Era, a time when jujutsu reigned supreme and sovereign. The ancient texts called to you as you wondered whether the aged tomes contained secrets that could help you in your journey as a sorcerer.

Scouring the shelves, you happened upon a manuscript penned by an anonymous scribe. Its diction was curious and penmanship questionable, as though multiple hands had scrawled across the paper simultaneously. Nonetheless, from the words you could fathom and follow, the text seemed valuable enough.

You settled into a desk, occupying yourself with a routine of reading and sipping on caffeine. The library was silent, and though it was full of the ghosts and spirits of the past in the pages of the old tomes, you didn’t feel unwelcomed. Seemingly, the ancient spirits whispered lullabies to you, as you were soon asleep.

Awoken by the midday bell, you were unsure of how long you’d been out for. But certainly, it was long enough to wreck your already broken sleep schedule. You peered across the desk, sensing a change in the atmosphere, only to notice Nanami sat across from you with his face buried in a book.

He seemed unbothered by your presence and unentertained by his book, with his drained and sunken eyes. You sensed a kindred spirit in him.

After a while, he flitted his hazel eyes upwards, acknowledging your presence as he delicately placed a bookmark between the pages of his novel.

He spoke at a diluted volume, careful not to disturb the library’s spirits, ‘I don’t think those are working.’ He said, gesturing to the array of coffee and energy cans that littered the desk in front of you.

‘Thanks for the great observation, Nanami.’ You replied sarcastically.

‘You’re welcome.’ He said, fiddling with the ends of his hair.

You stretched, groaning at the aches in your joints. Nanami raised an eyebrow at your show. ‘How long was I out?’

‘I got here two hours ago,’ the blond teen replied, ‘but you were already fast asleep by then, dreaming too. You mumble.’

Immediately beset by embarrassment, you sunk your face into your hands, chuckling mirthlessly at your own actions. ‘Did I say anything interesting at least?’

A small twitch made its way to the corner of Nanami’s mouth as he tried to hide his amusement, ‘Something about frogs, but I didn’t really catch the gist of it.’

The subject matter was immediately familiar to you; you must have been repeating your conversation with the second years about the merits and demerits of tadpoles. You didn’t remember dreaming it, so you were thankful that your dream matter wasn’t humiliating. You would have died if Nanami heard you mumbling the other thoughts you had had that night.

‘Mhm. Yeah. Super scary nightmare. Evil frogs.’ You said, your joking tone barely visible behind the veil of exhaustion.

‘They are freakish, I’ll give you that.’

You laughed, ‘Don’t tell Geto you said that.’

Nanami raised an eyebrow again, folding his arms and leaning back into his chair. He seemed to ponder something before speaking, ‘Geto certainly seems like the type to have a soft spot for the small.’

‘You could say that.’

A silence settled between you two before either of you spoke, but it wasn’t strained, just slightly awkward: you were still discombobulated by only having recently woken up, while Nanami seemed secretly appalled by the idea of small talk. Even so, he made an effort to continue the conversation.

‘Why frogs?’

‘Oh, I uh, went to the pond with the second years a few days back and Gojo and Geto kept arguing over the value of tadpoles.’

Your companion narrowed his eyes, puzzled but unsurprised by the antics of his seniors. ‘Leave it to the two strongest to be the biggest fools.’

‘Nanami, you’re strong, right?’

‘Weird segue, but maybe, there’s still a lot I need to refine.’ He looked at you quizzically. ‘Why’d you ask?’

Sure, you had qualms over revealing your cursed technique, but your desperation to better control your cursed energy was more vociferous. ‘Training.’ You began simply. ‘You channel your cursed energy well. How do you do it?’

‘I know exactly where it comes from.’ Nanami replied matter-of-factly.

‘Negative emotions?’ You questioned.

‘Yeah, that’s the gist of it.’

‘But?’ you pressed, sensing that Nanami was truncating his explanation.

‘It’s more complicated than that. Each cause of cursed energy is specific, and you need to know it well in order to tap into it.’

‘So, it’s no use trying to focus on the bad when I need to focus on my own specific bad?’ You gathered.

‘Essentially. But it’s futile to spend your time focusing on those emotions when so much of cursed energy is innate.’

‘I hate paradoxes.’ You groaned, sulking back into your chair and taking another bitter sip of coffee.

‘Welcome to the real world, full of paradoxes and contradictions.’ Said Nanami, moving his swooping hair out of his eyes. ‘Try focusing on one of your empty cans, it might be easier than using your hands.’ He instructed.

You didn’t mind your peer being your mentor for the moment, and even though Nanami was your age, you felt he was echelons above you in terms of ability, so you accepted his advice. Settling your gaze on a can in front of you, you tried to think of what the specific cause of your cursed energy would be. You knew it would somehow be related to your technique, as it stemmed from your cursed energy output, but you couldn’t fathom a singular, primary cause. You shuffled the potential triggers in your mind, cycling through; uncertainty, doubt, sadness, hatred, and fear – but nothing stuck.

For the save of brevity, you homed in on uncertainty, on the burning unpleasantness of being in an uncomfortable middle between opposite extremes. You tried to focus on the feeling of being pulled apart, as though the extremes were splitting you down the middle in your indecision. There would be pain, there would be screaming, and there would be blood. You stared at the empty coffee can with a more determined glare, imagining it was you dangling in middle of the abyss of uncertainty. You steeled your mind, attempting to crush the can in the negativity of indecision, but your cursed energy was still too little. The can only rattled slightly against the wooden table. You had improved marginally from before, that couldn’t be denied, but you were still nowhere near the level of your peers. A mere rattle of a can was insignificant compared to them.

Nanami took your slump of defeat as his cue to demonstrate his advice. Wordlessly, he stared down at the can closest to him, not knowing it wasn’t empty. The flow of his cursed energy was too powerful, so you had no time to warn him before liquid caffeine flew into the air and down onto the table with lightning speed. It was so quick that Nanami didn’t seem to react in time, only realising the error of his ways as a massive puddle formed on the wooden desk.

Cursing, you both dove into your bags and pockets for anything that could soak up the energy drink before it ruined the surrounding books. Nanami produced tissues and you an old t-shirt.

‘Why didn’t you say it wasn’t empty?’ Nanami questioned, a small vein popping up on his forehead in annoyance.

In that moment you had to refrain from speaking what you really wanted to and compelling Nanami into something unbecoming. You chose to be civil for the sake of cordiality and secrecy.

‘Because you didn’t give me time to.’ You replied, reaching over to flick his frowning forehead.

The corners of the teens mouth turned upside-down in an unimpressed mood. He sighed deeply, rolling his eyes before too deciding to be the bigger person and changing the subject. ‘Have you thought about using a cursed tool?’ Nanami asked while mopping up the carbonated mess.

‘Not really.’

‘It might make channelling your energy easier,’ your companion explained, ‘You should ask Yaga about it.’

You thought about that idea for a second, thinking it wise to find a straightforward way to keep your technique secret and yourself safe. Your ponderings were cut short as an imposing presence loomed before the two of you.

‘Ask me what?’ Yaga interrogated, his frown somehow deeper than before. He stood before you and Nanami as if he had appeared out of thin air, restraining a squirming Gojo in his arms.

He always knew how to make an entrance.

[charlthotte]

Silver Deference - Gojo x Reader

Masterlist - Prev, Next

7. Nightmares in Wake

You let your eyes follow Gojo as he sauntered away from you under the cherry blossoms. With each step he took, you couldn’t help but notice how the heaviness of his soul multiplied, as if he released it as he was sure that no one was watching him. His previous cheeky demeanour was nowhere to be found amongst his new aura of exhaustion. It was as though he was letting his deepest qualms breathe.

While he was facing you, that heaviness could only be found behind the most hidden flecks of his blue irises, only you saw it. However, as soon as he had finished giving you his contact information, and he turned away from you, his hefty sadness resumed its perch upon his tall and proud shoulders. The way it seemed to weigh him down was heartbreaking. The flames of his soul struggled to continue their great, youthful conflagration as he became an undeserving Atlas, forced to carry a world upon his shoulders. You had heard the whispers of the power of Satoru Gojo; how he was unbeatable, how he changed the balance of the world with only his presence. It was an unfair burden for such a young boy.

It saddened you that he hid himself behind the guise of the teen he wanted to be.

You stared at your phone, at the name that Gojo had given himself. You were adamant that it was just another instance of him trying to distract everybody, as he must have noticed you noticing him. He possessed the Six Eyes, after all. It was an emotional conclusion, but it was the most logical to you in that moment.

Pressing your phone’s delete button more times than necessary, you erased the name Hot Mentor from existence, replacing it with the much more sensible Satoru Gojo. A name would certainly raise less questions than a professing of attractiveness. The idea that anyone would believe that you thought about Gojo in such a way mortified you beyond comprehension. He was unbelievably pretty, but you told yourself you would never admit that to anyone.

With that, you departed the peace you had found beneath the swishing rosy blossoms, heading towards your dorm. You were still tired from your late-night misdeeds with Shoko, so the idea of crawling into bed sounded perfectly tempting.

The world was rather tranquil. The quiet of Jujutsu High was a welcome change from the quiet of your home: at least the trees acknowledged your presence. You didn’t pass anyone as you continued your walk towards your bedroom, but you didn’t mind that: you were still ashamed by your failure to harness your cursed energy in any capacity. At least the walls of your dorm wouldn’t perceive your shortcomings.

You turned the key in the lock of your door, pushing it forwards as it let out a high-pitched creak. As your room came fully into view, you were immediately beset by a familiar feeling of unwelcoming dread. All was as it had been before, but that was the problem. The air of your room was still stagnant and lifeless, still vastly alien. Something unpleasant lingered still. The feeling it imposed upon you was of a great fear, reeking of such cold and panic that it reminded you of nightmares, like the terrified sweat you would wake up in after being flung from dream to reality. This nightmare in wake was paralysing, pressing upon your chest, making your breaths shallow while you remained tethered to the threshold. The atmosphere had certainly grown more potent since you had last stepped foot there.

You couldn’t bare to spend a single second longer facing the looming dread of your room, so you decided to occupy yourself someplace else. Shutting your door with more force than necessary, you quickly turned away from the forsaken place. You paid little attention to where you were headed and in which direction, focusing only on releasing the heaviness of your dorm from your heart, mind, and soul. Perhaps you should have been more spatially aware, as in your absentmindedness, you collided with Shoko, who was simultaneously exiting her room.

‘Oh, hey, Y/N!’ She said, a certain tone of surprise in her words.

‘Hi Shoko!’ You replied, a similar shock in yours.

‘You alright?’ she questioned, her tone suspicious as she investigated your expression, ‘you look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

‘I’m fine,’ you quickly reassured her, ‘just tired from last night.’

‘I see.’ She pondered aloud, ‘I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that you’re not as chronically sleep-deprived as I am. Please don’t follow my example, Y/N.’

‘Wouldn’t dream of it,’ you joked, ‘I enjoy sleeping far too much for that.’

‘Huh, could have fooled me, staying up ‘til 3AM last night!’ Shoko chuckled.

‘Once a week is the most I’ll sacrifice,’ you groaned, ‘I value my ‘beauty’ sleep!’

Shoko nodded, pausing for a second, seemingly thinking something over. ‘I was just about to go out to meet Geto and Gojo at the pond. You want to come with?’ She asked with a genuine interest.

‘Would I be intruding?’ You asked, careful not to compel her into anything with your answer. You wondered if Shoko could sense the surges of your cursed energy like Gojo could.

‘Not one bit. We’re probably just going to muck around and do nothing of any value. Typical important sorcerer business.’

‘In that case, I’ll join you.’ You acquiesced, hoping that an evening with Shoko and her friends would allow you to forget your shattered ego and the nightmares skulking around your room – as much as putting yourself in the firing line of their questions would let you. You didn’t care if you were swapping inconvenience for inconvenience, you liked the idea of hanging out with people that you thought had the capacity to understand you like you understood them. They didn’t, but it was a pleasant dream.

Shoko hooked her arm around yours, and with much more energy than you had, she led you towards the school ponds with a pep in her step and a cigarette in her mouth. She was always careful to not let the smoke billow in your direction.

Between trees and around winding, barely-trodden paths, Shoko took you towards a part of the school you had never witnessed. She seemed to know the paths well, navigating them with an ease as the sky began to darken. You tripped up on exposed tree roots several times, but Shoko didn’t ridicule you for it, only grinning slightly.

The two of you soon came upon an idyllic pond, surrounded by grassy banks and tall reeds. Lilypads were strewn across the water like green freckles, and crickets chirped among the grasses like an orchestra performing their finest concerto for their visitors. The sound was pleasant enough to have the ability to lull someone to sleep. Ripples danced across the pond’s surface in shining ribbons of the fading sunlight. The hour was golden and so was the water.

By far the most stunning aspect of the pond was the swarm of fireflies that littered its surroundings, lighting the world around you in a way that put poems to shame.

Gojo and Geto appeared from behind a patch of reeds, waving towards you and Shoko, unfazed by your unexpected presence. They greeted you both warmly and with the same regard, but you paid no attention to the words they said, enthralled only by the way Gojo looked among the fireflies. The blue of his eyes became more concentrated in the golden light. The fading sun and fireflies worked together to enhance his beauty to make him seem as though he had been carved by a hand better than the finest human craftsman’s. In his eyes, the skies and the Sun coalesced in a harmonious show of unrivalled proportions. They were skies and Suns in themselves, two spheres of perfection.

His hair fanned out like a halo around his head, the gold lights bleaching the strands to elevate Gojo to godly echelons. Each tuft seemed so sumptuous. His skin glowed as though his veins flowed with golden ichor, perfectly unblemished and sparkling. Even his lips shone with a level of magnificence humans could only dream of.

You were so completely and utterly distracted by the ethereal Satoru Gojo. It seemed strange that only Geto had fallen in love with him.

‘Did you two know that it’s tadpole season?’ Gojo asked sarcastically, as if he was trying to prove a point.

‘Not at all.’ Shoko answered.

‘That’s not really my area of expertise.’ You chuckled awkwardly, embarrassed by the fact you had been so distracted by someone’s appearance.

Gojo turned to Geto, sticking his tongue out, ‘See, Suguru! No one knows these things!’

‘I would have thought it common knowledge that Spring brings new life.’ Geto responded nonchalantly.

‘Yeah. Lambs and stuff.’ Gojo said.

‘Chickens, rabbits, those kind of animals.’ Shoko added.

‘Exactly! Not tadpoles! They’re gross and slimy and their survival instinct is crap.’ Continued Gojo, getting up into Geto’s face whilst wildly gesticulating.

‘I think they’re cool.’ You said, joining in on the bickering, ‘Tiny little blobs that turn into frogs.’

‘Y/N gets it.’ Geto stated, folding his arms as he tried to ignore Gojo’s antics. He feigned annoyance, but the sparkle in his eyes told you other things.

The four of you spent an ungodly amount of time exploring the ponds for signs of hatching tadpoles, sometimes venturing close enough to the water to dampen your toes. And for someone who professed such a disinterest in the fledgling amphibians, Gojo avidly searched through the waters for something to show his best friend. At one point, he leaned too far over the pond and went tumbling into the groggy waters. Luckily, as he was Satoru Gojo, he was blessed with his infinity to keep himself dry, and luckily for everyone else, infinity didn’t keep his ego dry.

As the darkness set in more permanently, the only lights that remained were the flickering fireflies; you four decided to settle on the grassy banks beside the pond. You all huddled together as the chilly night air began to settle, resting against each other. Your head was upon Shoko’s shoulder and hers was upon yours, while she hummed a relaxing tune that you had never heard before.

With the day’s death, your tiredness waxed stronger as the moon commanded you to sleep. The sonorous crickets lulled you into the slumber you had forgone the previous night. That said, you hadn’t slept well in your room at all, owing to its hostile aura; so, the many sleepless nights at Jujutsu High caught up to you while the grass cradled you to sleep. The pleasant breeze caressed you like a soft blanket. You could barely protest your tiredness, and in minutes you were a resident of the land of dreams.

You awoke in a strange position. Your feet weren’t touching the floor but somehow you were moving. You rubbed your exhausted eyes to remove the blur from your corneas. You surveyed the moving trees that bobbed along in the darkness as if you were walking. The feeling was peculiar enough to make you wonder if you were dreaming. The fact that you were in Gojo’s arms didn’t register to you for a comical amount of time.

‘Mornin’, Sleeping Beauty.’ Gojo teased, carrying you along the winding paths with ease.

‘Mm?’ You sounded, too tired to form words.

‘You’ve been out for over an hour.’ Shoko said matter-of-factly.

Your reality hit you like a ton of bricks. You were in Gojo’s arms. His arms were on your back. They were around your legs. You were embarrassed, astounded, and nonplussed all at once.

‘Put me down, please.’ You requested.

‘Mmm, no.’ Gojo responded, mimicking your sleepy noises.

‘Satoru, put her down.’ Geto chided.

‘Fine.’ Gojo complained, placing you on the ground, careful that your stance was steady before he completely let go.

‘So, you’ll listen to him.’ You said under your breath, peeved.

‘You know, Y/N, you should probably drink more coffee.’ Shoko butted in, admonishing your tired state.

You barely registered what she said as you tried to regain your ability to walk, as well as your composure. Your mind was elsewhere, focused on the warm impressions in your skin that Gojo’s arms had left. You felt slightly comforted at the residual pressure, but you told yourself that you were simply touch-starved. Even someone like Gojo’s touch could feel like Heaven for someone who hadn’t hugged someone in ages. Nothing more.

[charlthotte]

Silver Deference - Gojo x Reader

Masterlist - Prev, Next

6. Ineptitude

Your head hit the desk with an ungracious thump, and yet, you did not regret your late-night shenanigans with Shoko. You fought your sleepiness with the strongest gusto you could muster, but the temptations of slumber were much too strong for you.

Haibara looked across at you with the most earnest concern, his eyes wide at witnessing your early morning humiliation. You rubbed your forehead tenderly, hoping that the sturdy wood of the desk would not bruise you; you wouldn’t be able to live it down. The teacher glared at you with both concern and admonishment, which you tried to ignore, telling yourself that your concentration in that class wasn’t of the utmost importance, since you weren’t being taught anything jujutsu-related. Nanami seemed to share your sentiment, leaning back in his chair with a disinterested expression painted on his face. To be fair to him, the lesson wasn’t exactly the most enthralling thing, with the teacher droning on and on about asinine aspects of grammar and punctuation. You would have rather been enjoying the open air.

Luck seemed to be on your side after the debacle of falling asleep at your desk, as your next lesson was outdoors, training your jujutsu. The Sun smiled at you, as you, Haibara, and Nanami walked into the fresh and open breeze. It was the start of the school year, so the cherry blossoms were still blooming in their full and rosy glory, dotted in and around the sea of green leaves. Petals fell, swimming about your vision in a beautifully delicate dance, dotting the ground in an aromatic sea of pink. Mixed with your massive tiredness, the beauty of the scenery before you made it easy to believe that you were dreaming. However, the latent sting on your forehead made it obvious that you were painfully awake.

Yaga emerged from his office, his armed folded and with a deep frown on his face. Absentmindedly, you straightened your posture as he made his way closer to you three; he was trustworthy, but the sight of his hulking presence still frightened you. You had seen the way he had dealt with the misbehaving Geto and Gojo and didn’t want to incur the wrath of your teacher’s fists.

‘Get warmed up, everyone.’ He began, somehow deepening his frown. ‘Today, we are going to focus on purposefully channelling our cursed energy. Observe.’

Yaga widened his stance, bracing himself as he unfolded his arms. He brought his broad hands into fists, tightening his digits with a massive strength. He took a steadying breath, visibly concentrating. In a flash, blue flames of pure cursed energy erupted from Yaga’s hands, flickering with the anguish of millennia of doubt, hate and anger. The power emanating from this blue fire was immense, you could do little to question your teacher’s prowess as a sorcerer.

Once Yaga deemed his demonstration adequate, he shook out his fists, extinguishing the cursed flames just as quickly as he manifested them. Not even embers remained, only barely-visible residuals of his cursed energy.

‘You’ll need to harness the negativity that your cursed energy stems from and try to direct it into a specific part of your body. You should focus on your hands since they are your most useful tool when fighting curses. Do not let your cursed energy run freely without inhibition; you cannot forget the danger that cursed energy possesses. Your energy is a weapon. Do not let it assimilate into your person. Your energy is yours, but it is not you. Use it, it should not use you.’ Yaga cautioned, pacing slowly about you and your classmates, placing careful emphasis on his words.

Haibara looked curiously at his instructor, ‘Is there a specific way to direct our cursed energy throughout ourselves?’ he asked, clenching and unclenching his fists, staring down at them.

‘You need to focus on the negative emotions within yourself and separate them from your mind. Concentrate on your hands, and put the emotions there, imagine them there, push them there. That way, your energy will manifest.’ Yaga instructed, ‘Enough talking. Try it for yourselves.’

Separating yourself from the rest of the group, you found a space in the middle of the grass, stretching your muscles to ready yourself for the task ahead. You had never before tried to harness your cursed energy in such a manner, and the uncertainty in your own ability made you question yourself – but you tried to remain strong against those thoughts, remembering Yaga’s advice to not let curse-birthing negative emotions overcome you. Instead, you tried to compartmentalise them and make them tangible in your palm. You focused on the deep, warm sting of anger, letting the wrath wrap around your fingers. The feeling pulsed in your hand, unwelcome and unpleasant, throbbing like an exhausted heart. Concentrating on the sensations of ire, you attempted to manifest your own blue flames – holding your breath in meditation, until your lungs were screaming for the relief of oxygen. And yet, the flames didn’t come. You couldn’t even ignite a spark. Your hands remained warm with the anger you imagined, but still they were cold – powerless and fireless.

In that moment, your ego was dealt a destructive blow. You couldn’t manifest the most meagre form of your cursed energy. The situation seemed stupid and cruel to you; you could command a person to do anything they said under the right circumstances, but you couldn’t command yourself. It was as if your cursed energy remained under lock and key until it was freed by another’s question, you couldn’t access it yourself. Without being asked a question, you were essentially a regular person, you were not a sorcerer, nor a cursed speech user. Your ineptitude made you want to kick yourself.

You looked over at Nanami and Haibara from across the field. The former brought flames to his fists with a practised ease – the power exuding from him was palpable. He was a student like you, you told yourself, so what gave you the excuse to be so inadequate?

Haibara struggled more than Nanami: the blue flames from his fists flickered and sputtered, but still, they were present. Immediately, your two classmates were miles more adept than you. By channelling their cursed energy, they would become better sorcerers, they would aid jujutsu society better than you ever could. What could you do other than fulfil wishes? Talking curses were few and far between, and curses that were eloquent enough to form questions were even rarer, and they were far more powerful. Against the vast majority of threats, you would be nothing more than cannon fodder. You told yourself that you should give up while you were ahead.

You didn’t want to be the outlier, the only one unable to harness their cursed energy, because people would question that, and each question would be a reminder of the unbridled power that you possessed but could not control. So, keeping that in mind, you tried again. Again, and again until you had spent every last morsel of your vigour. Again, and again until your lesson had ended, and you had nothing left to do but wander the campus, pondering.

You headed for the trees, wanting to find solace amongst the leaves. The soft ground underneath your feet cushioned your bruised mind, drinking some small dregs of your exhaustion, letting them seep into the earth, as though they were nourishing tears of the heavens.

Sitting beneath a cherry blossom tree, you slumped against the trunk, gazing upwards at the rosy cloak above you. The pink blanketed you, comforting you as you hid from your previous failures. You held your hand out in front of you, trying to catch the falling petals as they danced towards the ground. Nothing settled in your palm, as if the petals were ignoring you, as if you repelled them.

The noise of a rowdy conversation distracted you from your thoughts. You turned your head in the direction of the commotion, but you needed no clues as to who the people were. Gojo’s distinct laugh rang through the atmosphere, it was not a pretty laugh, in fact, it was garrulous and unattractive. However, because the laugh was so distinctly and uniquely Gojo’s, it was beautiful. It was innocent and carefree, unlike the heavy hurt behind his eyes. You wondered what had made him guffaw so.

It was made more obvious that Geto walked alongside Gojo as they moved in tandem in your direction, their voices becoming louder and clearer mid-conversation. Their words became louder and clearer too.

‘Haibara said no one’s spoken to her since training.’ Geto’s voice said, hushed, but not hushed enough.

‘And?’ Gojo questioned, his tone both cocky and annoyed, ‘Some people prefer to be left alone.’

The two seemed to stop in their tracks as they continued their dialogue.

‘Think about it, Satoru. Does Y/N strike you as the type to ditch her friends without as much as a word?’

‘Like I’m supposed to know.’ Gojo replied curtly.

‘Satoru, you’re her mentor. It’s your job to know these things.’

‘Mentor, shmentor. I don’t wanna look after anyone.’ Gojo complained.

Geto sighed, presumably rolling his eyes at his companion. ‘You should check up on her. No one’s first attempt at harnessing their cursed energy goes smoothly.’ He paused for a beat, ‘Obviously, except you.’

‘That doesn’t mean I have to be anyone’s therapist.’ The white-haired teen whined.

‘Then be her friend, Satoru.’ Geto chided.

‘Ugh, don’t try that ‘lesser of two evils’ bullshit on me, Suguru,’ said Gojo with the petulance of a spoiled child, ‘but friend I might be able to do.’ There was something inspired in those eight words.

You paid no attention to the rest of the dialogue as your thoughts became louder. The two boys’ conversation irked you, particularly the way Gojo spoke about you. The lack of empathy he openly displayed for weakness was something you disliked greatly. He spoke of you as if you were a burden, and no beauty of face could blind you to that fact. You didn’t want him to check up on you if that was how he felt.

‘You found my spot.’ Gojo said, approaching you alone. He seemed a changed person in the way he spoke to you from the way he spoke about you to Geto mere moments before. The duplicity made you uneasy. Though, you supposed, Gojo was always harbouring a duplicity – the ache behind his eyes and his jovial, jokey countenance were worlds apart. You couldn’t have expected anything else from him.

‘You own it, do you?’ you questioned, trying not to sound too friendly, nor too distant.

‘Nah. I just like coming here after missions.’ Gojo replied.

The prospect of a student being sent on perilous tasks perplexed you. ‘Missions?’ you asked.

‘Yep.’ Said Gojo, taking a seat on the ground beside you, stretching to lean against the trunk. Even sat down his height could not be denied. ‘It’s one of the many privileges of being a special grade.’

‘Oh,’ you muttered, trying to ignore another reminder of your lack of prowess in jujutsu, ‘I don’t have a grade yet.’

‘Relax, most first-years don’t get one straight away.’

You pondered for a second, wondering what your own grade would be. Without your technique being activated, you were useless, lower than a grade four, but with your technique activated, you supposed you would temporarily be higher. Despite your conflicting thoughts on the boy beside you, you wanted Gojo’s opinion.

‘What grade do you think I could be?’

‘You have special grade potential.’ Gojo said simply, not looking in your direction. ‘You have these random massive surges of cursed energy, and I mean crazy surges of cursed energy. With those on your side, you could be one of us.’

Gojo had again noticed something that you had deigned to hide. The surges he spoke of occurred when you were asked a question, removing any restriction or limitation on your cursed energy. The fact that he had noticed them gave you another reason to want to control and subdue your energy with more finesse.

‘How do I control them? How do I become stronger?’ you asked desperately.

‘I don’t know. You’d be better off asking someone else. All my techniques are innate.’ Gojo said, fiddling with the buttons on his phone. ‘But still,’ he continued, ‘know your surges of cursed energy are undeniable, okay?’

To say that Gojo had previously ardently professed against the prospect of therapizing his mentee, he seemed to be doing it well enough.

You were quick to unassumingly answer his question. ‘They’re obvious?’

‘Yeah, little miss secretive. They’re obvious. You have potential; that’s why I like you.’

You were flattered that such a cool and composed person expressed a positive view about you, but you would have rather been liked for who you were, not how powerful you could be. That wasn’t to say that you didn’t want to be known as powerful, rather, you wanted your strength to be recognised. It was your purpose to be a powerful sorcerer. It was your goal to be appreciated.

‘Pass me your phone.’ Gojo commanded, putting his waiting palm out in front of you. You did, and he started typing something into it, turning the screen away from you as he did so. He seemed amused with himself, a cheeky smile was upon his face. ‘Here,’ he said, bequeathing your phone back to you, ‘in case you need to reach me about anything.’

With a smile and a tilt of his head, Gojo rose, leaving you alone again beneath the cherry blossoms. You looked down at your phone screen, staring at the new contact. You were speechless when you saw what Gojo had written as his contact’s name.

Hot Mentor.

[charlthotte]

Silver Deference - Gojo x Reader

Masterlist - Prev, Next

5. Budget Cinema

The air of your dorm was strange and unwelcoming – it perturbed you. The walls, bed and surfaces had all been decorated to your own familiar standard, so the room was not entirely alien to you. But, there was something new and off-putting in the atmosphere, a feeling and smell you couldn’t shake. The room was yours, but the air was not. It was stagnant and lonely, as if you were the room’s first resident in decades. At least, that’s what you hoped the problem was.

Sitting on your bed, atop the uncomfortably springy mattress, you pondered your room at home. You had practically lived alone, surrounded by those four walls for most of your life. Living with a family of cursed speech users wasn’t the most sociable situation, especially since your clan was small and insignificant in comparison to others. You had no siblings, only a cousin ten years your junior, so your childhood was a lonely one. You didn’t know a traditional mother’s warmth, nor did you know a traditional father’s guiding hand – your house was often silent. As the outlier to the cursed norm, you suffered. The rest of your family had traditional cursed speech, unlike the conditional nature of your own – you could talk to them, but they couldn’t respond. It was truly a detestable thing to be the loneliest member of the loneliest clan.

Even physically, you differed from your family. Everyone but you wore the snake eyes and fangs sigil over their face and tongue, while you wore yours secretly, on the back of your neck. This measure was supposedly taken for your safety, in order to hide your clan relations from your adversaries, to keep the nature of your cursed technique hidden by extension. It saddened you, that even in your childhood, your family only thought of your use in battle, they only thought of how to keep your cursed technique at its most powerful. You would have given anything to be a regular child, to have been happy in a world unhindered by questions and compulsions. You still would have done anything to release yourself from a world of curses, from a world of torture. Your newfound friendships could only dilute that turmoil, you needed something catastrophically new, a gargantuan change.

No matter your own wishes, you always knew that you had to adhere to your family’s wants: the world was not stable nor safe enough for you to live openly with your technique. You had to live a life in which you were most useful to jujutsu society, not a life which was your own. This was your onerous task.

A deluge had set in, thrashing relentlessly against your windows in an ominous, yet comforting beat. The raindrops trickled down the glass, you watched them as they fell downwards in artful tracks, racing each other to the windowsill. The window breathed the coldness of the outside, but you didn’t want to shut out the sky in case a true star revealed itself from underneath the pollution of the city.

You settled into the rhythm of the racing raindrops, thoughtless. Lit only by the moonlight, you continued to sit upon your bed, wrapped in a blanket to fight the night’s chill. To wish for a central heating system in such an old school was a foolish ask.

Just as you continued to revel in the distraction of the rain, a knock reverberated from the other side of your door. It was late, so naturally you questioned who would be stupid enough to be lurking outside in such weather. Usually, knocks on your bedroom door were never met with pleasant news, but you tried to tell yourself that at Jujutsu High, you could form new patterns and expectations.

You rose, tightening your blanket around you as you walked towards the door, gingerly turning the handle in your hands as you prepared to face whoever was standing behind it. You could have laughed at yourself when you saw it was Shoko.

She was stood on your shared deck, underneath the overhanging roof with a bored expression on her face, and a pack of cigarettes in her fist. No longer was she in her uniform, instead she wore a baggy set of pyjamas, seemingly unbothered by the inclement weather. She held the pack towards you, ‘Want a smoke?’ she asked.

Not wanting to be rude, you had half the mind to accept the cigarette, but you also had no desire to unwind with dregs of tobacco. ‘I’m fine, thank you.’ You responded, making sure to answer her question quickly enough to not freeze Shoko. The apprehension on your face must have been starkly apparent, as Shoko quickly withdrew her outstretched arm, her face softening as she did so.

‘No worries,’ she said, ‘I’m just bored, so thought I’d see what you were up to.’

You chuckled lightly, ‘Spacing out, mostly.’

‘Sounds like you could do with some company.’ Shoko stated, half joking, half serious.

‘I’m not against that.’ You spoke.

Shoko nodded in recognition of your words, tucking her hair behind her ear and putting the cigarettes back into her pocket. ‘Let’s make the trek to mine, then,’ she said sarcastically, ‘if that’s good with you?’

‘Yep, that’s all good.’ You answered, putting your slippers on before locking your door behind you. You were relieved that you didn’t have to face the rain in order to reach Shoko’s dorm, since hers was directly next to yours.

As you entered Shoko’s room you were surprised that you could barely detect the smell of smoke in the air. In fact, the air of Shoko’s room was much more inviting than your own. Unlike the stagnant atmosphere of the room next door, you did not feel perturbed at all.

Her room was perfectly decorated, not too maximalist, not to minimalist, with several band posters and bookshelves dotted around the walls. ‘Make yourself at home.’ She said, taking a leap onto the pile of cushions on her bed.

You sat down next to her, still wrapped in your blanket, and you were immediately beset with the comfort of her mattress compared to yours. To say you were jealous was an understatement. Taking notice of your apparent relaxation, Shoko piped up, teasingly, ‘Nice, isn’t it?’

Slumping further into the comfort of her bed, you smiled in Shoko’s direction, ‘Absolutely! Who did you have to bribe for this?’ you asked, partially incredulous.

‘Gojo lost a bet.’

Fully incredulous, you laughed, ‘And you got him to buy you a mattress?’

Shuffling under the covers to warm herself, Shoko smirked, ‘Yeah, burning holes in his wallet is a favourite pastime of mine. You should try it sometime.’

‘Isn’t that a bit mean?’ you asked, wondering if Shoko was hyperbolising or not.

‘Oh, not at all,’ she chuckled, ‘I don’t actually think it’s possible for his wallet to be dented. Affluence of the Gojo clan and all.’

‘Generational wealth?’ you questioned.

‘You have no idea.’

You and Shoko soon settled into a relaxed rhythm of conversation, ignoring the passage of midnight on the clocks as you both took turns trying to beat her high score on snake. You spent hours draining her phone’s battery in that way. Out of nowhere, she asked you another question, ‘Want to watch a movie?’

You were slightly confused, because there was no television or any other device in Shoko’s room in which you could watch a movie on. You let that confusion pass for the sake of answering her question quickly. ‘Sure. I don’t need sleep.’ You said, telling a barefaced lie; it was a weekday, you had class the next day.

Chucking her phone onto the carpeted floor with little care, Shoko rose from her supine position, going to close her curtains before opening her wardrobe doors. ‘Now, Y/N, I’m not exactly meant to have this…’ Shoko professed, wheeling a TV cart out from behind her clothes, ‘but it serves its purpose better here, than in a disused classroom.’

You didn’t mind your new friend’s thievery, in fact, you found it resourceful – you had seen the number of abandoned classrooms in Jujutsu High, so you found Shoko to be making treasure out of someone else’s trash. You wondered if there were objects you could procure for yourself in those empty rooms – the idea of free merchandise was tempting.

As Shoko wheeled the TV cart to the centre of her dorm, your mind itched with a question, ‘Do the others know about this?’

‘Not at all.’ Shoko answered. ‘They’d turn my room into a cinema, and I’d never be left alone again.’

‘That certainly seems plausible.’ You chuckled.

Shoko nodded, her eyes wide in imagining the horrors of her private space being invaded by the four idiot boys, ‘Anyway, what do you want to watch?’

‘I don’t mind.’ You said, but truthfully, you were stuck – you couldn’t fall back on the wishes of the rest of the group, like you did when she asked you what kind of food you wanted to eat, nor could you tell her what you wanted to watch, nor could you tell her to take her pick; as the compulsion would have been painfully obvious.

Shoko eyed you in a mildly suspicious look, ‘That’s your loss.’ She said, reaching for a DVD from her shelf. The movie she chose was one you had never seen before, it was some live-action adaptation of a manga called Nana. Shoko said it was one of her favourites, she even offered to lend you the manga to read, which you politely refused on the grounds of not wanting to harm her personal copies.

With the two of you snuggled into your schoolmate’s bed, you watched the movie while the night turned into the early morning, almost falling asleep at several points. That was no fault of the movie’s: you found it deeply entertaining and interesting, but rather,  it was the fault of the hour. Once the film had ended, you both made measures to ensure that the stolen TV cart remained hidden in Shoko’s wardrobe. But even then, with the movie finished and both of you tired beyond comprehension, you still remained together, lounging and absentmindedly chatting, with only the moon privy to your words.

‘You know,’ Shoko began, ‘I’m happy you’re here. I had a great time; we should make these movie nights a regular thing.’

You smiled, grateful that someone appreciated your presence, ‘I’d like that. I had a great time too, Shoko.’

‘It’s more than that.’ She countered, ‘I don’t mean right here, right now. I mean in general – the dynamics are better this year, now that the first-years are here.’

‘Were things not great last year?’ you questioned, curious.

‘They weren’t dire.’ Shoko said, chuckling dryly and sarcastically. ‘It was a lot lonelier, though.’

‘How so?’

‘I was the only girl at the school, and Gojo, Geto and I weren’t as much of a trio like we are now. Gojo was even more arrogant than he is currently, and that’s saying something – and Geto was so focused on being his friend that I kinda got left out of the picture. Don’t get me wrong, though, I love those dickheads.’

‘Yeah, I can see that,’ you said, imagining the horrors of the world that Shoko described, ‘I’m still mad that you’re not my mentor, and Gojo is.’

‘Me too.’ Shoko responded while trying to stretch her tiredness away, ‘Still, better you than Nanami. You seem to be able to deal with him well.’

The compliment made you feel weirdly proud, ‘Thanks, I guess,’ you said, ‘though not nearly as well as some.’

‘Geto’s a trooper for putting up with what he does.’ Shoko sighed.

‘He seems to take that job with a silent delight,’ you inferred, thinking on the way Geto always gazed at his classmate, ‘it’s like dealing with Gojo is his divine purpose.’

Truthfully, you only mentioned the matter because you wanted to gauge Shoko’s opinions on their relationship.

‘He doesn’t hide it very well, does he?’ she said, smiling weakly.

You smiled back with an equal lack of fervour, ‘Not at all. Are they…?’ you responded, not finishing your question, letting the telling inflection of your words speak for you.

‘Together? No, they’re not. Geto’s a coward and Gojo’s oblivious to the point that it’s both infuriating and hilarious.’ There was another hint of suspicion in Shoko’s eyes as she answered your question – you didn’t doubt her perceptiveness, but you tried to tell yourself that she had nothing to perceive, that there was nothing you wanted her to perceive. And yet, there was something inside of you that was relieved by Shoko’s answer, but you didn’t fully recognise that. Instead, you told yourself that your relief was only a manifestation of your dislike for relationship drama within friendship groups. That was the sole logical conclusion you could fathom at that time; you couldn’t grasp a relief that was greater than that. You didn’t want to grasp a relief greater than that.

[charlthotte]

Silver Deference - Gojo x Reader

Masterlist - Prev, Next

4. Brain-freeze

You hated how susceptible your nerves were to the cold: you loved ice-cream, but it had never loved you back. So, when Gojo dragged you all to his favourite ice-cream stand in Tokyo, you were apt to follow along, enjoying the prospect of a new desert to try. Your stomach was happy; your brain was not.

As the strawberry-flavoured treat melted over your tongue, you were almost immediately hit with the familiar, yet massively unpleasant sensation of ice subjugating your neurons to misery. You winced, unable to hide just how uncomfortable you were. In vain, you tried to focus on the delectable flavour of the ice-cream, even consuming it further to distract yourself. Realistically, you knew it wasn’t going to help, but you fell for that same tactic every time.

The others didn’t seem to notice your suffering, they were too busy observing Haibara, whose tongue was painfully stuck to his green popsicle. ‘You’ve got to wait for it to melt, Haibara,’ Shoko said, sighing as the unfortunate teen kept tugging at his tongue in attempt to release it from its frozen prison, ‘you won’t do anyone any favours by pulling your tongue out.’

‘You can do that?!’ Haibara inquired with a lisp, his eyes wide in fear of what Shoko had told him. He immediately relented in his fight with the frozen desert.

‘Yeah, I had a cousin who did that once.’ Geto remarked nonchalantly, brushing his fringe away from his eyes. He was leant against a wall next to Gojo, his elbow rested on his shoulder.

‘Really?!’ Haibara questioned, unable to properly form the word.

‘Mhm. Blood was everywhere.’ Geto continued, clearly jesting – which didn’t seem to register with Haibara. He looked absolutely petrified.

‘He’s obviously messing with you, Haibara.’ Nanami explained, unenthused by the attempt to scare his classmate.

An immediate wave of relief washed over the tormented teen’s face, ‘Phew.’ He spoke. It sounded nothing like that however, with the ice lolly still lolling off his tongue.

‘Never say never though, right?’ Gojo added, in one last attempt to scare his underclassman.

Geto sighed, raising an eyebrow as he turned to face the boy next to him. ‘Satoru,’ he said, purring the name like it was the world’s holiest song, ‘the joke’s over.’

Gojo huffed, annoyed that the antics he had planned had been put to a halt. Stuffing his face with his own ice-cream, he scanned his peers with eyes the same colour as his desert – they landed on you in your suffering. He seemed entertained, chuckling lightly as his cheeks were filled with teeth-rotting sweetness. Through your own pained winces, you could practically hear the thoughts swimming around his head as the brain-freeze refused to subside.

Gojo swallowed his own ice-cream before smirking, intent on taunting you in your misery, ‘What’s wrong, Y/N? Too weak for a little frozen treat?’

The voice inside your head erupted with the most unbridled laughter: unknowingly, Gojo had subjected himself to whatever your ticked-off mind told him to do. Normally, you would have been far too afraid to use your technique so openly, but you couldn’t let the opportunity of retribution pass you by. You disliked being called weak, even if it was over something as light-hearted as ice-cream, and you wanted Gojo to know that. It greatly annoyed you that he was the type to pick on the unfortunate and weak. As much as you found his company tolerable, and fun at times, and as much as you found him utterly stunning, you couldn’t imagine yourself being truly close with someone who bore such proclivities. You knew he was stupid and young, and you knew that you were equally as stupid for getting worked up over something as simple as brain-freeze, but you wanted to show him he was wrong, even if he wouldn’t know the scale to which you were demonstrating your strength to him.

He had asked you what was wrong, and you knew exactly what you were going to say. ‘Brain-freeze.’ You replied, trying your best to focus on the unpleasant ice-knives in your head and not on the hilarity of serving Gojo with sweet retribution.

Gojo grimaced, using his free hand to knock it against his skull as he contorted his face in discomfort. It was the most entertaining thing you had seen in weeks. To say how strong your classmates had professed the white-haired boy to be, he certainly seemed unable to deal with pain in the most discreet manner. He began groaning and moaning as the pain you were feeling was cloned onto him, it was medicine to you.

‘I’m never ever, ever, ever, ever eating anything frozen again,’ Gojo said between grimaces, ‘Warm food only.’

‘Give it a day.’ Said Shoko.

‘Give it a couple hours.’ Geto responded confidently, knowing the weakness of his best friend’s will when faced with sugar.

‘Oh, you’re on.’ Retorted Shoko, reached out to shake Geto’s hand in solidification of their bet. ‘Winner’s choice?’

Geto shook her hand in agreement, ‘Winner’s choice.’ He spoke.

‘I don’t appreciate you two making a game out of my misery.’ Gojo complained.

‘Don’t be too weak for a frozen treat then, Satoru.’ Said Geto, twisting his friend’s words like a betraying knife. Gojo’s face spoke only of bewilderment at such an idea.

With that, you and the rest of the group began laughing at the exchange before you, your brain-freeze finally subsiding as Gojo’s remained. You didn’t have any sympathy for what you had done to him, in your mind, he deserved humbling. You didn’t know Gojo all that well, but you thought that no sixteen-year-old should ever be that cocky.

It took Gojo quite a while to come around from his brain-freeze, each second filled with agonised groans that were hardly warranted. You wondered whether he was hyperbolising the scale of the pain for dramatic effect, or whether he truly felt the pain so intensely.

Once he returned to his senses, his eyes locked on you, something knowing and accusatory flickering within them. The blue of his irises was partly obscured as he narrowed his eyes at you. You were immediately nervous. Something in his expression worried you, you wondered if he had figured something out. The look in his eyes was not omniscient, he hadn’t figured everything out, that was for sure – there was no way he could have figured your technique out as simply as that. However, the glint that flickered in the cerulean said that he had figured out the gist of something about you. You didn’t know what scared your more; the idea that he had figured out your technique, or the idea that he had figured out your thoughts.

He knew you were an Inumaki, so the notion that he had realised you were a cursed speech user wasn’t out of the question, but your technique was far more complicated than regular cursed speech, so you doubted that you had been truly figured out. There was no way he could have the knowledge of direct, indirect, and delayed compulsion. Desperately, you wished to dive through his eyes and into his mind, so you could know exactly what Gojo was thinking about you. You were more than nervous now, the way he looked at you scared you. You knew you had to ask him about it sooner rather than later.

In that moment of your mind’s turmoil over the ghost of something in Gojo’s eyes, your white-haired adversary tried to dissuade the tension between you in the most infuriating way you could have possibly imagined. He winked at you. You hoped that it was quick enough to escape the gazes of the others. Yet, you were confused, you didn’t know what the wink meant, you just hoped that it meant that Gojo would keep whatever morsel of information about you that he had discovered to himself. You needed him to have meant that. The idea that the wink meant anything other than that was scary.

Your mind continued racing as you and your classmates explored Tokyo as the Sun began to set, casting a lovely orange glow over the sky, like you were all insects set in an eternal amber. You paid scant attention to the details of every little thing you saw – being a Tokyo resident, you had seen many of the landmarks and such before. But, seeing them again wasn’t such a horrible thing – in the company of these newfound friends, you found a kind of calm to spite the worries of your mind in constantly fighting to keep your truth and your cursed technique to yourself.

You all began to make your way back to the school once the Sun had said its final goodbyes to the sky for the night, tucking itself away for its daily slumber. You wished you could have seen the stars, but between the clouds and the pollution of the city, they were nowhere to be found in the deep indigo of the night. The only things that flickered were satellites and aeroplanes, manmade stars. You wanted to wipe away the fog and smoke, and dim every skyscraper and streetlight, so you could see the stars again. It was always the places with the least stars that birthed the most curses, the most worries and the worst fears. The places where man had triumphed over the landscape were the places where curses triumphed over man. And so, those were the places where sorcerers like yourself were forced to triumph over curses for the sake of man. It felt wrong to be at the top of the order, like some apex predator, you didn’t want to be that far removed from the stars and the landscapes, but the people who had subjugated the land had also subjugated the sorcerers – you lived and died to protect those who had killed the stars. It often felt unjust, but that was the way of the world, you knew nothing else, you could fathom nothing else.

Just as you were pondering, your group became beset by a small swarm of fly heads. It was silly of you to think that sorcerers, even sorcerer students were ever off-duty.

Shoko, Nanami, and Haibara stepped back immediately, as if they knew the battle was not theirs to fight. Not that you could have called it a battle, not with how quickly Gojo and Geto dealt with the smallest manifestation of curses. Gojo bulldozed the small swarm with a ball of blue light birthed from his hands, while Geto decimated the remainders a kind of cursed serpent that seemed to spring from nowhere. With how quickly the fly heads were dealt with, you yourself had no opportunity to react, not that you could have don’t much against a non-verbal opponent, in that way you were weaker against weak curses and stronger against strong curses.

No one said a thing as the air was cleared of curses for the time being, as if instances like that were something completely ordinary in the life of a student of Jujutsu High. Everyone simply settled back into the pace and rhythm that you walked at beforehand.

You lingered at the back with Shoko, chatting over trivial and absentminded things as she held a cigarette between her lips. You found it perturbing that someone as young as her could have developed a penchant for such a thing, but you said nothing, accepting that every person had their vices. You had yet to find your own.

Shoko was nice to talk to. She was calm but showed passion where and when it was required. You found it quite comforting that you had settled into the group so seemingly seamlessly. Sure, you spoke to each person in a different manner, and to different amounts, but for the first time in a long while, the majority of yourself did not feel ostracised. There were the secret parts of you, that you knew would remain as pariahs for an exceedingly long time, but even in that disjointed existence, you found comfort. You liked having friends. More so, you liked trusting them, you liked that the blabbermouth Gojo had kept your relations to the Inumaki Clan a secret. But still, you were nervous.

[charlthotte]

Silver Deference - Gojo x Reader

Masterlist - Prev, Next

3. Never Mix Sorcerers and Sushi

Despite protestations from everyone, you all followed Gojo back to his dorm, aiding him in delivering his comical mountain of confectionary to his doubtlessly humungous stash. You all took turns holding his door open as you ferried the sweets one by one into an unceremonious pile on the floor. Gojo said he didn’t mind, in fact he said he’d have the time of his life rifling through the pile when he got home.

‘How you manage to not throw up is beyond me.’ Geto said, shaking his head at his best friend.

Nanami flinched slightly at those words, his face seizing in disgust, ‘Please never mention throwing up when we’re about to go out to eat.’ He spoke.

Geto paused for a second to ponder his underclassman’s words, ‘Hm. Yeah, sorry about that.’

Wasting no time to stuff his already bulging pockets further, Gojo began assaulting everyone’s eardrums with the painfully loud crinkling of the candy wrappers, offering you all only a guiltless cheeky grin in return.

‘Come on, dude’ Shoko groaned, ‘at least say you’ll share some with us later.’

Gojo stuck his tong out at her, crinkling his face in a teasing contortion, ‘I paid for these fair and square, Shoko. Fight me.’ He half-joked, assuming what was meant to be a threatening stance.

‘Ugh. I hate you.’ Shoko replied. She turned to you in order to distract herself from the annoyance caused by her classmates.

‘Y/N,’ she began, in a tone that meant she was going to ask you a question, you were nervous, ‘where do you want to get food from?’

You hated questions like that. Sure, you could have had your way and compelled Shoko into choosing whatever food you were craving at the time, but you didn’t think that doing that would have been conducive to friendship. Making someone a slave to your whims wouldn’t have made for a good first impression. You knew you couldn’t have told Shoko to pick wherever she wanted to go either, as that would have certainly raised suspicions in her, as she seemed like the type to take the opinions of the group into consideration, not just her own. After all, that was why she asked you for your preferences. You pondered the conundrum momentarily, careful not to waste enough time to freeze Shoko for long enough to raise her suspicions. ‘I think we should go wherever the majority wants to go.’

Shoko, of course, relented to the power of your technique, albeit unknowingly – she didn’t seem phased. You let out a small breath of relief.

‘Hands up for ramen.’ Shoko said to the group. Only Haibara raised his hand. ‘Hands up for, uh, meat.’ Shoko continued, to which she shamelessly raised her hand. You didn’t mind either of the options, but you were waiting for more than one person to raise their hand.

‘You’re missing the obvious option.’ Gojo complained, to which Shoko gave a quizzical brow, ‘Sushi!’ he said, immediately flying his hand into the air, ‘With ice cream after!’

You watched as Nanami raised his hand quickly, yet nonchalantly, with Geto raising his after watching Gojo’s go up. Deciding to hide and follow the herd, you raised yours too.

‘Score! Sushi it is.’ Gojo chuckled.

‘Fine.’ Shoko acquiesced, unimpressed, but unwilling, and unable to fight everyone’s decision.

The walk to the revolving sushi restaurant was a surprisingly short and pleasant one. As most of the group bounded off ahead excitedly, you trundled at the back with Nanami, enjoying the comfortable silence that the two of you could share, which was only broken whenever someone in the group ahead would do something stupid and Nanami would make sure to voice his disapproval. He didn’t seem to fit in with the rest of the group like all the others did, and as no stranger to the feelings of an outcast, you could empathise with that aspect of him. However, despite being so vastly different from the rest of his friends, he never seemed to dislike them – rather, he kept his like for them hidden behind bored stares and sarcastic comments. He had a certain confidence about himself, you respected it.

You all arrived at the restaurant luckily before its busiest hours, electing to sit at a booth in a back corner of the room, away from the rest of the patrons who would doubtlessly be perturbed by the volume of certain members of your number.

You made a move to sit in the booth’s corner, preferring to be in a position where you could see everyone’s faces without turning. Haibara tried to sit at your side, but Shoko gave him a forceful stare as he tried to sit down, warning him against it. Sheepishly he rose, leaving you alone again.

Smoothing down her skirt, Shoko slid into the seat next to you, giving you a silent smile as she reached over for the menu. Haibara took the seat at Shoko’s other side. Gojo sat across from you with a shit-eating grin. Geto sat at his side, and Nanami at his.

Electing not to start any new conversations, you simply listened in on what the others were already talking about, eyeing the menu in front of you, scanning it for something to take your fancy. Turning the pages, your concentration fell away from everyone else and onto the paper in front of you. So many of the options seemed delectable, you were spoilt for choice.

Your peace did not last for long. With a bang, Gojo grabbed a hold of your menu, slamming it down on the table with an excited and determined look glazed over his beautiful eyes. You met them for a second, taken aback by the sudden attention.

‘What is it?’ you asked.

‘The thing. Guys, she doesn’t know about the thing.’ Gojo said, jittering with zeal.

‘Huh?’ questioned Geto.

‘The thing, Suguru.’ Gojo replied.

‘The thing, Suguru.’ Shoko repeated, with a concerningly menacing tone.

‘Oh, the thing.’ Geto said, letting a smirk creep up on his face, it was obscured partly by his unique fringe.

‘This isn’t scary at all.’ You said sarcastically. ‘What is the thing?’

‘It’s a little tradition us second-years have.’ Shoko started to explain.

Gojo nodded along enthusiastically to Shoko’s words, itching to butt in. ‘It’s a competition. Whenever we get sushi, we do this thing where we try to sneak wasabi into each other’s food without them realising it before it’s too late. Whoever gets the others to eat the most tampered food wins.’

‘What’s in it if I win?’ you asked, tempted by the prospect of winnings.

‘Everlasting glory.’ Nanami said bluntly.

‘And everyone else pays for your share of the meal!’ Haibara added.

It was silly moments like these where you wished the secret of your cursed technique was out in the open so you could use it to mercilessly crush your competitors. You could use any question they asked to force them to down as much wasabi-laced food as they could handle. The win would be yours every time. But alas, you were not so fortunate.

‘May the best man win.’ Gojo jested, rubbing his hands together as if he were a scheming villain.

‘Or woman.’ Shoko whispered as she leant towards you, winking.

As the sushi was delivered to your table, you all eyed each other in anticipation of rivalry and metaphoric bloodshed. Each of you were quick in taking your plates from the conveyor belt, keeping your eyes peeled for rogue deliveries of wasabi. Gojo seemed especially concerned with protecting his plate, making you wonder how much he’d failed at protecting his food from unwelcome wasabi deliveries. Often, you imagined, to warrant that degree of protectivity.

You wasted no time in eyeing up your targets, settling on Shoko as she was the easiest victim. Wiping a small glob of wasabi onto the end of your chopsticks, you waited for an opportune moment to strike her tastebuds. She looked away momentarily towards a couple entering the restaurant with the ding of the doorbell, and you wasted not a second before depositing the green substance beneath one of her tuna makis. You pumped an imaginary fist as your escapade went completely unnoticed.

Shoko was fuming when she realised what had been done to her, wincing as the piercing flavour of the wasabi hit her nose. She gave you an accusatory stare as you only smiled guiltlessly back at her.

Tucking into your own sushi with a newfound glee, all your happiness was dashed as the familiarly pungent taste of wasabi hit your tongue. You cursed yourself; you had been too distracted in trying to catch Shoko off-guard, that you had been so too. You had only looked away for barely a couple of seconds – these people were fast; they took the thing very seriously.

Across the table, Gojo spluttered, failing to hide his amusement at your misery. ‘You’re not allowed to win on your first outing,’ he teased, ‘that wouldn’t be fair on the experts.’ He said, gesturing to himself, Geto and Shoko. The smug grin on his face made you want to win even more. More than that, you wanted to smack that smug grin off of his face.

Geto noticed your annoyance, squinting his eyes and tilting his head to the left in a way that told you he wanted you to distract Gojo. Still peeved, you decided to join your upperclassman’s scheme.

‘Oh hey, Gojo,’ you began, capturing his attention, ‘you’ve got something on your cheek.’

He looked mortified at the prospect of his appearance being tarnished. Smacking his hands to his face, he felt around his cheeks for the imaginary blot you had pointed out. ‘Is it gone?’ he inquired, turning his cheek toward you.

You flicked your eyes in Geto’s direction, he still hadn’t finished with his plot on his friend, so you schemed to give him more time. In a brief moment of boldness, you hatched your plan. ‘Hang on, I’ll get it.’ You said, your words essentially anchoring him in place as you reached for a napkin to dab away at the non-existent mark on his cheek. You rubbed at it quite forcefully, trying to cause Gojo enough discomfort to pay him back for the discomfort he caused you.

Geto leant back, giving you the nod that he was done with his plot, so you quickly released Gojo’s cheek from the torment of your napkin. ‘There,’ you snickered, ‘all gone.’

Gojo frowned at you, his white eyebrows knitting in a cute expression of anger, ‘That hurt.’

‘You can’t complain, Satoru,’ Geto said smoothly, ‘you let your infinity down for that.’

‘Well, sorry, I wasn’t expecting to get roughed up in a sushi restaurant.’ Gojo whined.

The white-haired teen sulked back into his corner of the booth, reaching for a piece of sushi to displace his hurt ego. As he bit into it and started screaming at the massive hill of wasabi on his tongue, you questioned what the ‘infinity’ Geto had mentioned was. You assumed it was some kind of cursed technique of Gojo’s, but to what its nature was, you were clueless.

Reaching over the table towards you, Geto presented his hand for a high five, which you granted. Upon realising he had been duped, the betrayal on Gojo’s face was utterly hilarious.

The rest of the meal went by in much the same manner, with distraction after distraction serving as windows of opportunity for a sneaky application of wasabi. Nanami was surprisingly adept at this trade, winning the competition of the day by a landslide – you were lucky you were sitting so far away from him. Haibara was not so fortunate, he was Nanami’s easiest target, and he suffered like he was paying retribution for a cosmic-level mishap. He didn’t seem to mind that terribly though, his wasabi tolerance was definitely the best of the group.

You on the other hand, were impressed with yourself and your ability to adapt to the techniques of the thing so quickly. Third place wasn’t too bad, you thought, but it did mean you were left to pay part of Nanami’s share of the bill on top of your own. You were going to get free food next time; your competitive spirit dictated it.

[charlthotte]

Silver Deference - Gojo x Reader

Masterlist - Prev, Next

2. The Boy From the Sky

Yaga broke you from your reverie with a call for everyone’s attention. ‘Now that you’re all here,’ he began gruffly, ‘I think it wise to introduce this year’s new mentor initiative.’

The white-haired boy sputtered out with an ungodly guffaw, a scheming grimace on his face. He released himself from Shoko and the other boy, reaching towards Nanami with menacingly wiggly fingers, ‘Nanami~’ he sung, rushing towards his perturbed underclassman, ‘it’s fate! You can’t escape me forever!’

Nanami stepped aside as the sunglasses-clad teen careened towards him, ‘I think I’m having a nightmare.’ He said monotonously, ‘Pinch me, Y/N.’

Obeying his request, but not wanting to cause any physical harm, you poked your classmate’s arm. ‘Any better?’ you joked.

‘Unfortunately, not.’ Nanami spoke as he once again dodged a tackle from the mischievous student.

‘Gojo.’ Yaga warned, his tone wearing the threat of a thousand knives, ‘Give it up.’

The white-haired boy you then knew to be Gojo relented, sighing as he dropped his shoulders dramatically. ‘Just showing my love.’ He retorted.

Yaga gave him a glare that would have made a child cry. He folded his arms as he continued, ‘This mentor initiative is only a pilot scheme that the staff have created in order to help the first-year students settle in better. You three second-years will recall the difficulty of navigating this place, so in the hope of making the transition easier, each first-year will be given a second-year to show them around, talk to them, and offer them help in times of uncertainty. The initiative is only a trial thus far, so if all goes south…’ Yaga stared pointedly in Gojo’s direction, ‘The scheme will be rescinded.’

Haibara’s big brown eyes gleamed with a thousand questions as he shot his hand in the air in a quest for his teacher’s attention. Yaga nodded in his direction. A hopeful grin was plastered on his face as he posed his conundrum, ‘Can we choose our mentors? Or will they choose us?’ Haibara looked at each of his seniors in turn, seemingly not minding who he was paired up with, being only curious about who his mentor would be.

‘I sincerely hope that it’s the former,’ the black-haired boy spoke up, ‘For Nanami’s sake, at least.’

‘Hear, hear.’ Shoko agreed unenthusiastically.

Yaga shook his head, ‘Neither is the case. The mentors will be randomly assigned to their mentees.’

Nanami breathed a visible sigh of relief, however, Gojo still seemed doggedly and beautifully determined to make him suffer.

‘Haibara,’ the teacher called, ‘Come pick a name out of this box to determine your mentor.’

Obliging, your talkative classmate shuffled towards Yaga, excitedly plunging his hand into a small wooden chest that the teacher had produced from his pocket. Upon retrieving the paper, Haibara furrowed his brow as he unfolded a delicately tiny origami crane. It seemed like quite the task of dexterity for him, as he struggled with the paper for far longer than necessary. Once he successfully returned the crane to its flat state, Haibara pumped his fist as he read the name scrawled across it, ‘Geto!’ he cheered, bounding over to the student whose eyes burned for Gojo.

Geto seemed relatively amused at the prospect of being Haibara’s mentor, even if it were because he found humour in the fact that Nanami could still have ended up with Gojo.

You went next. You prayed that the crane you pulled would be the one with Shoko’s name on it – not that you disliked Gojo, you found his face pleasant enough. He was loud and chatty; Shoko was reserved and spoke out of necessity. In the face of your cursed technique, your mind would have benefitted from being paired with Shoko, whereas with Gojo, like with Haibara, your mind would suffer the turmoil of the constant threat of their questions.

You disassembled the crane fold by fold, flattening the corners into a perfect rectangle. The side of the paper that faced you was blank, the name on the other side. You dared not look into the faces of your fellow students; in case their reactions gave the identity of your mentor away. Flipping the paper quickly, like ripping a plaster from your skin, you came face to face with the name you dreaded. Satoru Gojo. Nanami peered over your shoulder, ‘Ouch,’ he said, ‘fate is cruel.’

Gojo could glean only one conclusion from that reaction, and he leapt towards you, his arm outstretched, waiting for a high-five. You granted his silent request with a small smile, dreading the doubtless slew of inquiries that was coming. ‘See, Nanami?’ Gojo said, peering down at the unenthused blond over the top of his sunglasses, ‘That’s how easy it is to be nice to me.’

Good, you thought, at least Gojo is focused on someone else for now.

Nanami simply ignored the jokester, making his way over to Shoko, taking the crane meant for him in his hand, even though everyone knew what it would say.

And that was that. The three pairs parted ways, each heading to different destinations within the school. You didn’t know what to say to Gojo as you spent your first few moments alone with him. You dared not even introduce yourself, you thought the less conversation you had, the better.

Gojo did not share that sentiment however, ‘Y/N, right?’ he questioned, wasting not a second before putting himself in the crossfire of your cursed technique.

‘Yes.’ You answered simply. ‘How did you know?’

‘Listening, observing, scrying.’ Gojo responded, taking off his sunglasses to clean them on the hem of his untucked shirt. His naked eyes were hundreds of shades brighter than the eyes you had seen just minutes before. You peered into them, hoping he wouldn’t notice your curiosity. His eyes were bright enough to put the most dazzling sapphires to shame; the most lustrous aquamarines seemed dull in comparison to him; the most tropical oceans were boring next to him.

As he flicked his line of sight back to you, he clocked the intensity of your stare, arching his eyebrows to question you, ‘Simply awestruck?’ Gojo asked, posing dramatically, as if a catwalk lined with adoring fans spawned around him.

‘No.’ You half lied. He was gorgeous, but God was he annoying.

Gojo brought the back of his hand to his forehead in feigned insult, ‘The hate is too much!’ he cried, pretending to fall back onto a chaise lounge, ‘Someone praise me before I die!’

‘Shut up, Satoru!’ Geto shouted from across the school, you had no doubt that Gojo was loud enough to be heard halfway across the country.

Your mentor feigned hurt again, clutching his poor, insulted heart, before jumping back to his lively feet. ‘Anyway!’ he said, ‘It’s time to do my job.’

‘First, tell me how you know my name.’ you commanded without using your technique, disgruntled by the teen’s knowledge of you.

‘Relax.’ Gojo replied, diffusing the tension you created, returning his sunglasses to his face. He ruffled his unkempt hair with his hand. ‘Yaga mentioned you yesterday. Besides…’ he paused, leaning in towards you as you walked, whispering cockily, ‘You’re an Inumaki, right?’

Your world stopped spinning. You cursed yourself, knowing you should have done better than trusting a school you barely know to keep your identity safe. Absentmindedly, you reached for the tattoo of your family seal on the back of your neck, to check that it was covered correctly – it was.

An undeniable fear seeped into your expression as you stared silently back at your frozen schoolmate. He had asked you a question, that you hadn’t answered, leaving him statuesque for several seconds as you attempted to formulate an answer. You couldn’t hide the hurt in your words as you asked, ‘Who told you?’

‘No one.’ Gojo shrugged, attempting to appease your starkly apparent fears. He removed his sunglasses again as he turned to let his naked eyes fall completely and wholly upon you, ‘It’s my technique, the Six Eyes. I see everything, pretty much.’ He laughed at you as your reaction gave your thoughts away, ‘I ain’t a perve or anything. I’m just observant.’

You didn’t know how much you could trust the boy, but you hoped for the sake of yourself that you could trust him with your soul and your whole identity. ‘You’re sure no one told you?’ you reiterated, still unconvinced.

Gojo placed a reassuring hand upon your shoulder, which you flinched at, ‘Absolutely positive. I’ll never mention your family again, if that’s what you want.’

‘That’s what I want.’

Your mentor only nodded in response, resuming your walking tour of the school where he excitedly pointed out each room, tree, and landmark. He pointed you towards where your dorm would be, next to Shoko’s – they were comically detached from the rest of the school campus, Gojo said it was because of some old rule about honour, respectability and so forth. You didn’t mind: you liked the quiet.

The rest of the tour was chaos. In between advice on how to survive Jujutsu High, Gojo attempted to climb far too many trees, which he was surprisingly adept at – you supposed it was the fault of his comically lanky limbs. Many times, he tried to get you to join him in his childlike escapades, but you were far too protective of your bones, a fact that Gojo didn’t seem to understand terribly well.

Once he had climbed his hundredth tree, Gojo started running, running far quicker than human comfort, after he shook leaves and twigs from his uniform. You didn’t have enough passion in you to attempt to run after him. You simply followed the residuals of his cursed energy as he darted out of sight.

It took some searching to find him, but ultimately, he gave away his location as you noticed the sound of coins clattering in a vending machine. Comically, Gojo was crouched with his face pressed into the glass screen of a candy-stocked one. Item after item, he drained from the machine and into his clutches. His pockets were hilariously overstuffed as his eyes didn’t waver from the sweets for a second. He seemed not to mind the massive dent that the purchases were putting into his wallet. Upon noticing your presence, he called you over, ‘Y/N! Help me with my haul!’

You listened to his light-hearted command, transferring items from the tray of the vending machine into his cradling arms. He looked at his trove of sweets as if they were his children.

As you tried to place the last chocolate bar atop of the mountain of confectionary in Gojo’s arms, he shook his head, saying, ‘Wait, wait, wait! Please can you open that one and put it in my mouth, I’m starving!’ His pleading was not lost on you.

Sighing out of annoyance at his tomfoolery, you removed the wrapper from the vanilla flavoured Kit-Kat and popped it into his waiting and gaping mouth like he was a baby bird in your nest. Gojo chomped down gratefully, his eyes shining in delight as he ate it further, offering you a muffled thanks between chews.

Once he had finished his first snack of many, Gojo attempted to precariously rise from his crouched position without spilling a single morsel of his collection. Surprisingly, he did so, but that didn’t last long. With each step the two of you took, one sweet after the next fell out of Gojo’s embrace and onto the floor. He looked at you pleadingly to fetch his lost children for him.

Trailing behind him as you continued to walk, you retrieved each piece of candy as it fell, pocketing the odd one or two for yourself – you felt it was a fitting recompense for him putting you through the stress of revealing your surname. You knew he noticed you doing that, but he didn’t say a thing, besides, the stash in your pockets could never have rivalled the caches on his person.

‘You two are ridiculous.’ Shoko said, seemingly appearing out of nowhere with the rest of the students.

‘Ridiculously stupid.’ Nanami added. You playfully frowned at him for lumping you in on Gojo’s antics.

‘Satoru, you’ll spoil your appetite,’ Geto cautioned softly and annoyedly, ‘The rest of us are going out for a meal.’

‘And we’re exploring Tokyo after!’ Haibara added.

‘I’m never not hungry, Suguru.’ Gojo replied, ‘Count me in.’

‘And you, Y/N?’ Shoko asked, something hopeful upon her face.

You wasted no time in responding to her, ‘I’ll come.’

Sure, you had your doubts and worries about these new people, but the optimistic part of your soul told you only to walk towards the light you had found.

[charlthotte]

Silver Deference - Gojo x Reader

Masterlist - Prev, Next

First Names, First Impressions

A hulk of a man stood before you. His eyes were obscured by a deep frown that pierced directly through your skin. You were afraid of the coming year with him as your teacher.

‘I assume you want your relations to the Inumaki clan to be hidden.’ The man you knew to be Masamichi Yaga gruffly said. He knew the secret of your cursed technique: it was one of the requirements set for you to join Jujutsu High as a first-year student. You felt safe enough to know that he would never ask you a question.

You nodded nervously, unnerved by the pile of cursed corpses surrounding the man. They looked too cute for what they were. ‘I want everyone to know me as Y/N, and only that.’ You replied, already dreading the coming slew of years in which you’d have to weasel around every conversation without manipulating anyone beyond their comfort. ‘To tell everyone that I am Y/N Inumaki would make it far too easy for them to figure out the nature of my cursed speech.’

‘Very well.’ Yaga asserted. Rising from a crouching position, he beckoned you to follow him towards what would be your classroom for the rest of the year.

The corridors around the school were perplexing. You had never been one for directions, so with each corner after the next, you began to dread navigating the halls on your own. Each corridor seemed similar, with the same screen doors and windows, the same wood. You wondered just how many trees had to be felled to construct the school that all except a select few knew to be a temple.

Yaga halted in his steps, turning to a room on his left. ‘This is the first-year class. You’ll spend most of your time here during school hours.’ He motioned for you to step into the classroom, saying, ‘The other first-years are already at their seats, and introductions are in order.’

The anxiety in your soul was palpable as you gingerly shuffled to the front of the class, bowing slightly to your peers. Two teenage boys sat before you, one brooding and the other beaming. The brooding one seemed to be utterly expressionless, as if he cared for naught in the world. However, he did nod his head in acknowledgement as you bowed. You didn’t mind the quiet types – the less people talked the less questions they asked, and the less acrobatics you would have to perform to avoid compelling unassuming minds. His hair was blond and neatly styled, his uniform pristine and ironed, which you thought impressive for a teen who looked after themselves. You tried to smile in his direction, but he offered no smile in return. You couldn’t blame him though; you hated the situation too.

A dark-haired boy waved enthusiastically in your direction, his face adopting the brightest smile you had ever seen. He was smaller than the blond, but the sparkle in his eyes glittered like a thousand stars. There was a zeal in them that made you jealous.

Coughing quickly, Yaga drew the room’s attention toward himself, ‘This is your new classmate. Please treat her respectfully.’

The blond nodded again with the passion of a rock, conversely the dark-haired student gave you a cheerful nod while giving a thumbs up to his teacher. With that, Yaga beckoned you to introduce yourself to the others as he took a seat at his desk that was covered in mountains of felting tools. He began fiddling with them as you started talking.

‘Please call me Y/N,’ you started, staring at the empty desk before you, assuming it was yours. ‘I’m not one for all those formalities, so there’s no reason for you to call me anything other than that.’ You were careful not to mention a surname; in case they inquired about it. ‘I’ve lived around Tokyo my whole life, but I’m excited to join your class in an area of the city I’ve never stepped foot in.’ Already you were itching to take your seat and no longer be the centre of attention – you hoped Yaga would be satisfied with your truncated introduction.

You glanced quickly in your teacher’s direction, silently begging him to let you take your seat. His expression was intimidating and unreadable, only the minimal tilting of his head towards your empty desk told you that your request was granted. Sat between the two boys, you felt them looming over you, not necessarily in stature, but in fear. You hated meeting new people because it always led to dire amounts of small talk, with redundant question after redundant question for only the sake of filling an awkward silence. Silences had always been your best friend, whether awkward or comfortable, as each second you spent not being conversed with was a second you were free from the restrictions of your cursed technique.

Unluckily, you were not blessed with silence that day: the face of the cheerful peer on your left itched mightily with the very apparent urge to talk to you. He wasted no time in doing so, ‘Hi, I’m Yū Haibara!’ the boy chirped, his white teeth bared wide in an exaggerated smile, ‘It’s nice to meet you Y/N! I’m so happy there aren’t just two of us in this class!’ His tirade showed no signs of stopping as word after word came tumbling from his racing mouth. You paid little attention to the substance of his words, however, only watching out for the questioning inflection that you dreaded. Haibara’s zeal did not seem fettered by you not matching it. Instead, he continued his unending spew of sentences, telling you much more random information than you had interest in, ranging from his childhood escapades to the upperclassmen that he admired. It was a miracle that he hadn’t asked you a question.

But of course, knowing that no amount of good fortune could last, Haibara turned his diatribe into an inquisition, asking one of the questions that you dreaded the most; ‘What’s your cursed technique like?’

You froze. You knew lying straight to the face of your new classmate was wrong, nor could you lie very convincingly. You also knew that being truthful about your cursed speech was out of the equation. Haibara seemed trustworthy enough, the blond aloof enough to not care, and Yaga knew already – but you couldn’t fathom a scenario in which you bared your technique to someone willingly without fully trusting them body, heart, and soul. First impressions were important, but there was no way you could divulge your deepest secret to your new peers.

Attempting to fashion an answer out of the minimal wisps of thought in your mind, you tried your best to formulate a sentence that would not compel the innocent Haibara. You took a quick breath to ready yourself, ‘It’s still in construction, so I can’t be certain.’ You spoke. That was mostly the truth, you hadn’t managed to form your innate domain, so you were clueless as to what your fully refined technique was. You hoped it wouldn’t make your life any more difficult.

Haibara chuckled to himself, ‘Mine’s the same!’ He announced, his smile not faltering for a second. ‘I can’t wait until I’m older when I can fully realise my technique, like Nanami and all the cool second years!’ Haibara said, gesturing in the direction of the disinterested blond. ‘Did you know he can hit a black flash already?’

Another question. The teen’s ramblings seemed electrically charged.

Tilting your head to the side quizzically, you shrugged, hoping to hide your nerves behind a charade of intrigue. ‘I, uh, don’t know what that is.’ You responded, wishing your jovial classmate would quieten of his own volition.

You held no contempt against him and his curiosity, rather, you found his zeal refreshingly endearing, and his character immeasurably self-assured and friendly. In a perfect world, you would have been able to chat with Haibara for hours without fear of what his next words would be. In a paradise of your own making, your words to others would be nothing but what they meant at face value; people would ignore you without worry and you wouldn’t have to think everything you said a thousand times over before speaking. You desired nothing more than a normal friendship. You hated that so much of your technique was out of your control. That being said, you knew you would still try your damnedest to form true friendships with your peers at Jujutsu High. You would take the fear and nerves over a world of isolation.

‘You’ll find out!’ Haibara chirped, ‘We’ll be training with the second years soon. Shoko will be so excited to meet you, she’s been complaining about being the only girl here for the longest time!’

You nodded along, also relieved that you’d have some female company, especially in a school in which you boarded.

The blond to your right spoke up for the first time, ‘You should know that it’s perfectly acceptable to ignore the other two second years.’

‘Delinquents?’ You questioned, concerned.

‘Worse.’ Nanami deadpanned, ‘Utter goofs.’

An internal chuckle rippled inside of you at Nanami’s entertainingly monotonous delivery, you tried your best to not let it show. ‘I see.’ You spoke.

Haibara soon butted in, ‘The strongest goofs!’ He averred loudly.

‘The world is often a cruel and unusual place.’ Nanami replied in the same monotonous tone, albeit sarcastically: there was no sense of scorn in his words. You enjoyed people who could master the art of dry humour.

The rest of the period unrolled in much the same fashion, with Haibara bombarding everyone with conversation after conversation, and Nanami only offering his curt thoughts at the most opportune moments. Yaga continued to sit at his desk, felting all kinds of strange amalgamations of creatures, uninterested by the brash displays of youth before him. He simply let you teens continue to be teens.

Not before long, Yaga led the three of you outside towards a sunken track centred by a patch of plush grass. The air was clean, peaceful, and empty. You had to admit that from the outside, the school was rather beautiful when dappled in the midday sunlight. Trees rustled sonorously, their emerald leaves dancing in the gentle breeze, performing their ancient ritual to the world. The sky’s azure expanses rolled across your vision, not a cloud in sight, nothing between you and the friendliness you found in the Sun. You adored the natural world because it simply let you exist as yourself, without the need to worry over what it would ask you next. The flora and fauna accepted you as you were.

You could have groaned aloud when you noticed the footfall of several people plodding along the track as you continued to gaze up at the trees. Turning to meet the sound with your eyes, you saw a group of three teenagers; you assumed they were the second years that Haibara had mentioned and Nanami had cautioned you against. They walked as a unit, their arms impossibly woven around each other’s, snickering with each other as they stepped in unison.

At the centre of the three was a girl with shoulder-length brown hair, you presumed she was Shoko. Her eyes were dark and tired, underlined by purple scars of exhaustion, but immeasurably kind. She smiled briefly upon seeing you. From around the shoulder of the dark-haired boy to her right, she waved her hand in greeting towards you. The other two were not so aware of what was occurring around them. Standing either side of Shoko, their heads above hers, they bickered incessantly with each other, over what matter you couldn’t glean.

The boy on Shoko’s right seemed to operate under a confident swagger; his hair meticulously styled in a bun, and his baggy trousers perfectly tailored. He seemed friendly enough. What struck you most poignantly about your new upperclassman was the adoration gleaming in his eyes as he bickered with his peer. Even though you had taught yourself to read people like a second nature, the longing in his eyes was visible to even the most ignorant parts of your mind. He stared at his classmate with eyes that spoke of something so intense that it could have put the Sun to shame. Even from such a distance, you could feel the love radiating from the black-haired boy.

As you turned to focus on the object of his yearning, you realised you couldn’t blame him. A tall, beautiful boy stood before you. He was uniquely stunning. His hair was the colour of clouds, as if the entire sky had cleared to make room for him; it was lazily styled and unkempt, but you didn’t mind, the brightness of it was utterly striking. From behind a pair of sunglasses his cerulean eyes flitted towards you momentarily, and it was though you had been petrified as stone. You had never seen a pair of eyes so enthralling – they spoke of a summer’s sky, like he had been brought down from the heavens to bless humanity with his beauty. He was utterly singular.

But behind all of that, you recognised something deeper: a gnawing boredom, a burning sadness, a writhing loneliness. He felt so tired, but he didn’t outwardly appear that way. It was the song of his soul that lamented its turmoil, a song that the others seemed deaf to. You needed to know more.

[charlthotte]

Silver Deference - Gojo x Reader

Masterlist - Next

Prologue

You often wished you were never born into the Inumaki clan. To you, cursed speech was always more of a hindrance than a tool for the greater good of Jujutsu society. Every night throughout your childhood, you vehemently yearned for your family's curse to release its rusted chains from your poor, weathered soul. You often thought to yourself that you would undergo any hardship, any travesty, if it meant that you would be freed. You often dreamed of futile things.

Silver Deference, your technique, allowed you complete and utter control of a person or curse under the right circumstances. Upon any instance of someone asking you a question, they would wholly open their mind to whatever machination your mind could fathom. It was like their question acted as the formation of a pact; a pact that's terms were completely subject to your jurisdiction. You found it comical, silly even, that something as simple as someone asking your name could spell certain death for them if you desired it. You never possessed that maliciousness, however.

There were three modes in which your cursed technique operated. The first was direct compulsion, in which you answered the person's question immediately, causing an instantaneous performance of your command. This mode was the most potent, where you could utter the most vile or violent commands that your adversary could enact. With this, you could compel every neuron and nerve in their body as though you were the electrical impulse sent by their very brain.

The second mode was indirect compulsion. This method was explained by the nature of the pacts forced by your commands. Since your technique operated on a one question, one command basis, any silence you kept following your most recent speech preceding the question, would be taken as an indirect command of nothing, freezing your opponent for any amount of time less than your previous silence. The time spent by your opponent in this frozen state was random. Had you spent five minutes in silence before their question, without you giving a command, your adversary would wholeheartedly freeze for any amount of time less than five minutes. After that, your indirect compulsion of silence is considered fulfilled.

Delayed compulsion was the third and final mode of your technique. This particular method was a mix of your direct and indirect compulsions, as, at any time during an opponent's freezing, you could give them a command. However, because the command was not immediately after their question, the potency of the available compulsions lessened. You would no longer act as the electrical impulses from their brain, you would act as their conscious mind, able to compel them to do anything that they could normally do themselves. All of this was often very inconvenient for you. Most of the time, you had no desire to compel a person you were conversing with, so you would quickly usher their questions away with an immediate response which you were always careful could not be taken as a command.

 So, you trained yourself to observe people, to know within a second of meeting them, what they did and didn't want. Any time a question was posed that couldn't be answered without a command, you were quick to give them an answer that your inferences deemed most fit for their wishes. Soon, this turned into an all-encompassing habit of people-pleasing, compelling them in ways you thought they wanted. You hated the notion that you were some puppet-master, manipulating people to your whims as you saw fit - and yet the cruel caverns of your mind shouted it incessantly.

But you couldn't have helped it: you never chose to be born into your clan.

[charlthotte]

Final Update

This story may be now a distant, fragmented memory to you all - but it never left me. Breaking Through the Iron Wall made me realise my passion for writing, and I am actively pursuing it as my career path. A lonely, lovelorn 14-year-old, I began this all on a whim, knowing only I wanted to include a confession of love with a red tulip atop a quaint bridge. 

Alas, the direction the story was going by the end of chapter 18 was vastly different to what I had envisioned when engendering the plot, so I chose to abandon it, part way through an unfinished chapter - that will now never see the light of day. 

I will never be able to forget the tears, both joyful and forlorn, writing this has given me. But, this story is not mine, these characters are not mine. So it is with this that I am officially ending this story. Ending one era, to fully birth the next. 

That is not to say that this story’s characters and essence will be lost - I have done my best to salvage the plot into something that is entirely my own. As of now, I call it ‘Tuberose’ but that is still subject to change. You all are welcome to follow this story along, alongside my others - one such taking my entire attention. 

I just want to thank all of you for your support during this story’s writing process. Your heartfelt comments made me able to write for nights on end, they made a lonely teenager feel much less alone. 

This now 18-year-old, who was that formerly lonely 14-year-old is eternally grateful to you all. 

[charlthotte]

I wanna apologize on behalf the rude anon. While they are right with that too many Gender Neutral Fanfics have female pronouns in it, it gives that Anon no right to talk so rude. Your Aone fanfic had some she/hers in it, but the story is so amazing that I couldn't care less. I read it in one sitting and can't wait for more ^^

If you could, could you please point out where the she/hers are? I don’t check my work after writing it so there’s probably a few mistakes :)

[charlthotte]

It's honestly disgusting how some fem aligned people that write fanfic make their "gender neutral" fanfics female orientated and call that gender neutral, y'all don't give a fuck about trans mascs and other boys' mental health and the fact that they want to enjoy fanfiction. You literally use she/her pronouns in your "gender neutral" aone fanfic, stop tagging it as gn.

Well first off, I have tried my best to make my Aone fanfic as gender neutral and vague as possible, only making one physical specification (to my knowledge). But I’m pretty sure that I’ve never used female pronouns in this fic, and if I have - I apologise and will try to edit it out. But that would have been an innocent mistake. Secondly, I wrote this fanfic for me, as an escape from reality. It is your choice if you read it or not, and if you don’t find it satisfactory - stop reading. As I have done on other fics. There is no need to be so abhorrent in your words. You do not know me, anonymous person, so stop with this negativity. How would you know that this story has been a lifeline for me. At least show your face if you’re going to say things like this. To finish off, I know this isn’t my territory, but I don’t believe you can speak for all male aligned persons. I have had rather a few male aligned people thank me for making it inclusive, as well as many other people from many different walks of life. And not one of them have complained, yet alone like this. Don’t use me as an outlet for your feelings. Goodbye.

[charlthotte]

Breaking Through the Iron Wall - Aone Takanobu x Reader

Chapter 18

Without a moment’s hesitation, Futakuchi bombarded his shoulder into the door frenziedly – his face the epitome of panic. Relentlessly. Not ever stopping to take a breath, nor recognising the fact that he was probably injuring his shoulder beyond relief. Furrowing his brow, he wiped at the sweat accumulating on his forehead from the sudden rush of adrenaline, and the fact that he would simply not give up. “Hey! Takanobu! Please, just listen to me. Stop whatever you’re doing… Right now.” Kenji commanded, heaving unsteadily, wincing at the discomfort from his shoulder. “Please… You’re my best friend.”

Right then, I witnessed something I never believed I could set my eyes upon, the stoic yet master cajoler, Futakuchi Kenji shedding a tear. His desperation to see his truest friend unharmed taking precedent over everything else.

Gathering his remaining strength, he gulped down his nervousness, his Adam’s apple bobbing in inhibition. With the force of a wrecking ball, he collided into the door, shouting out in agony he clutched his marred shoulder, his face writhing in anguish – but alas, the door had finally been opened.

Behind it was a greatly dishevelled Takanobu, in a crumpled heap on the floor, various objects from the medicine cabinet strewn about it. However, what concerned me immediately was the unscrewed bottle of bleach, clumsily set next to the trembling wreck. Darting right to Takanobu’s side – I cupped his lolling head with my unsteady hand, firmly grasping his shuddering palm with the other. He could barely keep his eyes open.

Trying to muster the calmest, unwavering voice I could, I tried to reach out to him, but all to no avail – no matter how hard I tried, there was no response. Almost as if he was drifting away to another plane of being. He didn’t even shed a single tear.

Right at that moment, the mood snapped, as did Futakuchi. Not caring that the bleach bottle was entirely unscrewed, he yanked it from the floor, his eyes seething with an emotion that I couldn’t quite place into one category. But there was one thing I could see: desperation. “Takanobu,” he spat between gritted teeth, “How much did you drink?” No response. “HOW MUCH DID YOU FUCKING DRINK, TAKANOBU? YOU NEED TO TELL ME!” Takanobu flinched, burying his head into the crook of my neck.

“Futakuchi.” I said, my tone laced with warning. “Calm down.”

“NO, (Y/N). I CAN’T CALM DOWN. IF YOU HAVENT NOTICED, MY BEST FRIEND IS DYING AND YOU’RE DOING NOTHING LIKE THE SELFISH BITCH YOU ARE! SO JUST SHUT UP AND HELP ME.”

I took a deep breath, not wanting to ascend to his level of anger, “Kenji, I-“

“Do you even care about him?” he spat, venom adorning every inch of his words.

“Of course, I do.” I glared back at him, “But, Kenji – now really isn’t the time for this.” I sighed heavily at the floor, “You should know what your priorities should be in this moment in time.”

Faintly, Takanobu whimpered into my collarbone, Futakuchi taking an instant notice to it. “You’re right.” He deadpanned, his voice still swarming with fury.

Taking my free hand, I gently cupped Takanobu’s face, lifting it so we were eye to eye. “Hey…” I nearly whispered, “How much did you drink?”

Burying his head in his shoulders, Takanobu stifled a cascade of tears. “Only a little.” He answered, his voice gruff and hoarse from the pure agony he was experiencing.

“Thank you for telling me,” I smiled, trying to distract the snivelling wreck from his sombre thoughts. “Just don’t try to vomit, okay? Or if you feel like you need to, tell me. It’ll only hurt you more and we don’t want that at all.”

“What’re you talking about? Leant against the bathroom wall, arms folded, Kenji scowled once again, “You’re hurting him more by not making him throw up.” He glowered, returning to his cynical mood.

I turned towards him, careful to not let my anger get the better of me, “Futakuchi Kenji,” I scorned. “Trust what I say, I do know what I’m talking about, after all.” Pausing to take a breath, I attempted to cool myself down against the riling heat of the cantankerous Kenji. “Please could you go and call the ambulance? We are going to need it either way.”

With a little more volume lacing his steps than usual, Futakuchi sauntered out of the room, leaving just Takanobu and myself. Once his footsteps were no longer audible, a tonne of tension rose out from Takanobu’s body, letting him finally have a moment of ‘peace’ for the first time in a while. Despondency woven into his demeanour, he clung onto my arm, sinking his face into it – desperately trying to hide his wounded expression. “Don’t listen to anything he said, okay?” I averred, partially cradling the dejected person in my arms, “I don’t know why he acted that way, but just know that that isn’t Kenji, that isn’t your best friend.”

Feebly, Takanobu nodded into my arm, sniffling slightly. “I’m sorry.” He croaked, “So, so sorry.”

Reassuring him, I softened my voice, “Don’t apologise, Takanobu. You did nothing worth an apology, so don’t worry about me leaving. I’ll always be there, do you understand?”

“I do, (Y/N). Thank you so much…” He paused, “For everything…” His last words barely perceptible, he began to drift off, and to which plane I didn’t know, and that petrified me.

A few seconds I waited with bated breath, anticipating his. Soon they came, albeit pained and wheezing – but at least they were still there, even if only by a fraying thread. Repeatedly, I caressed my hand up and down Takanobu’s back, as if to reassure myself that he was still existent – he hadn’t disappeared yet.

The faded sound of the phone ringing partially distracted me from my preoccupations, if only by a miniscule amount. As it continued to ring, Kenji began to curse in both anticipation and fear, his guise wearing thin, from vague translucency to complete transparency.

Quite the substantial amount of time passed before the phone was connected to an emergency service worker, which Futakuchi seemed to take notice of – he certainly wasn’t any world close to cloud nine. “I need an ambulance to my current location,” He paused for a second, presumably listening to the person on the other side of the line, “Of course it’s urgent, that’s why I fucking called you.” A second-long plateau, “No, I can’t calm down, just send the damn ambulance. My best friend just drank bleach, okay?!” With a bucketload of vigour, he slammed the phone down onto its holder, virulently cursing under his breath. Damning the poor operator who was only doing their job.

Letting out a fevered scream, he writhed in the turmoil of both his internal and external quandaries, not bothered if anyone within a galaxy’s radius could hear him. He had not a single clue how to present himself or even what to think – his worst nightmares made starkly apparent to myself and everyone around.

Seemingly after having calmed himself down, he trudged up the staircase, but not into the bathroom – his action acting as some sort of repentance, and for the first time in his life – reticence. The mercuriality of Kenji knew no bounds. His head in his knees, his body flush against the wall, he sank to the floor, mirroring Takanobu. A metre away, but somehow a lightyear.

The air stagnant, not a single muscle twitched until the ambulance’s siren came into earshot, they blared, startling Takanobu from his dreary state of something close to slumber.

Was, he thinking straight? I don’t know. Was he having a newfound revelation? I don’t know that, either,  but what he said after he awakened made every one of my heartstrings snap like those of a tragic harp.

“(Y/N)… I don’t want to go.” His voice as shaken as a petrified child. “I’m scared.”

“I know…” I averred, careful to choose my words wisely, “But, Takanobu – you’re not going anywhere where I’m not right there by your side. Just hang on a little longer…”

With great care, I wrapped my hand around the back of his head, pulling him in closer than humanly possible until his head was close to merging with my shoulder. Running my fingers through the snowy peaks of his hair, I had to refrain from my next action. So badly, I longed to kiss him upon the forehead, to let him know that everything would turn out just fine. But I couldn’t. It wasn’t the time nor place, it seemed that never would have been the perfect time, having to curtail my feelings for his sake, for Takanobu’s sake. After all, I couldn’t risk hurting him even more.

While I sat, marinating my thoughts, the ambulance’s blaring sirens halted, finally parked outside the house, paramedics cascading through the door, unto the stairs – their stretcher hurtling up behind them.

It was all a blur. Takanobu being hurled onto the stretcher, away from my grasp – his eyes never leaving mine, a heart wrenching look of longing upon them – and that was when I finally saw how broken he truly was. Sclerae crimson from tears and turmoil, yet somehow dull and dejected, as if nearly all life had been sucked out of them, only the tiniest wisps remaining. Sockets sunken into the skull, skin being the only thing that separated him and a skeleton. And even though he stood above 190 centimetres tall, he cowered like a mouse, burying away from its predator, absolutely petrified of being eaten. No longer the stoic mountain I met on a bus a mere 20 days ago – such a short amount of time for him to become completely intertwined into my life – and I into his. Almost “a pair of star-cross’d lovers”, but I the Petrarchan, the love unrequited, never to see the light and freedom of the daytime.

Before I knew it, the stretcher aboard the ambulance, Takanobu finally on the way to achieve some sort of salvation, but not that of his sombre standard. But with it all being outside of my hands, the world felt to be crumbling to pieces, dust to crumbs, to stones, to boulders, to asteroids.

A paramedic turned to address both Kenji and I, “I’m sorry, you two but there’s only room for one of you to accompany the patient to the hospital. So, make a decision between yourselves about who’s going to go.”

Without a second thought, Futakuchi piped up, “You should go, (Y/N).” he muttered, his tone utterly monotonous.

After taking a step towards the ambulance, I halted, “You’re sure about that, Kenji?” I questioned.

Silently, he nodded, taking the spirit of his best friend upon himself, gesturing for me to get on the vehicle. Once sat, I writhed my hands together, inhibitions taking the best of me – which was when one kind paramedic, her face calm and understanding, rubbed my back, reassuring me that things could only get better from that point forward. She then poked her head out of the back side of the ambulance, somehow noticing Futakuchi’s sullen mood without even seeing his face. “Hey, kid! Come in here, you can take my seat: I don’t mind standing up for a bit!” She smiled, bringing a miniscule amount of light unto the situation.

Silently obliging, Kenji hopped upon the vehicle, taking the seat opposite me, but his face in his hands, distancing himself from everyone in the vicinity. For what reason I didn’t know, but I presumed penitence for his actions barely ten minutes before.

The benevolent paramedic held out her palm out towards me, “Hinode Megumi.” She introduced, a small beam upon her face.

Giving my palm to her, I responded, “(L/N) (Y/N).” That handshake we shared was strangely yet vaguely comforting.

She did the same for Kenji, yet he didn’t bother to lift a finger, or even his line of sight. “Futakuchi Kenji.” He sighed, making only eye contact with the floor. Seemingly having entered some kind of trance-like stupor.

“Is there anyone you need to call?” Hinode asked, eyes fastened with concern.

I nodded, immediately fumbling inside my pocket for my phone – dialling Ejiri’s number with shaky hesitation, only apprehending as something inside me told me she’d become enraged with me, having been unable to keep her nephew safe. However, not in a single circumstance would that be the reality, Ejiri seemed to be the forgiving type, hardly the choleric person.

When her voice met my ears, the instant worry in her words became apparent, “(Y/N), is everything alright, has anything happened to you?”

“I’m so sorry Ejiri, but it’s not me.”

“Okay…” She sighed; inhibition twined into her dialogue, “Can you tell me what happened, dear?”

Gulping, I sat with bated breath, unable to let those next words escape my lips, “Well… Takanobu tried to kill himself. He drank bleach…”

“I see,” Her voice cracked, petrified. “I trust that you’ve called an ambulance?”

“Mhm.” I hummed, voice beginning to waver, “We’re in one now, I’m so sorry.”

“There’s no need to apologise, dear. I’ll be waiting for you when you arrive.”

“Thank you, Ejiri” I barely whispered. Unable to say goodbye, I hung up the phone.

At the mention of her name, Takanobu seemed to stir, only slightly, just enough for me to see. He never opened his eyes, though – as if he was unable to face the world that he felt a burden to. And so, after what felt like a millennia, we finally arrived after the hospital, rather shaken up by the rickety ride. And just as she had promised, Ejiri stood at the ambulance bay, arms outstretched and running as soon as the door to the ambulance opened, but not for her nephew, no, but for me – scooping me up in a long-awaited embrace that I could have taken residence in.

Before I could take a second breath, the stretcher Takanobu lay upon was rushed into the hospital’s interior, far away from me in more than the literal sense. Sensing that unease, Ejiri hugged me tighter, citing the words, “Everything’s going to be okay.”

Without a word, Kenji loitered behind us, eyes sunken with dismay, following closely behind me as Ejiri and I waited outside the room where Takanobu was having his   stomach pumped.

The noises exuding from that room were close to unbearable, squirming, sobbing, retching. I had half the mind to become the next Vincent Van Gogh. But I couldn’t show that, it wasn’t my time to be vulnerable, all I could do was wait, wait unable to blockade the tirade or abhorrent sounds oozing from the walls behind me; and to not let a crack appear in my exterior, Takanobu’s infamous stoicism having transferred unto me. I didn’t even notice Ejiri sat at my side, averring many statements, trying to release me from my tenterhooks, but they were just background radiation compared to the nuclear meltdown in the room in my posterior direction.

As that debacle carried on, Kenji was nowhere to be found, perhaps having walked away when I wasn’t paying attention, whether her was simply around the corner or loitering in another end of the hospital, I didn’t know – but what I did know was that I could probably never see him under the same rose-tinted light I was used to. The way he turned almost feral at the snap of a finger was utterly astounding; obscenities blurting out from his mouth, words so contrary to his usual snarky persona I could have sworn he had been possessed by a malevolent spirit. I wondered if I’d ever be able to see the real him again.

I do not know how much time passed before the doctors finally exited Takanobu’s hospital room, but after waiting what felt like several eternities and after being given the all-clear to be able to see him; I rushed straight towards his bedside, almost crumbling at the sight of his body trembling in fear.

My legs buckling under me, I collapsed into the chair next to where Takanobu’s head lay, facing away from me, completely passed out from exhaustion – not even stirring the tiniest bit as I smoothly brought his hand into mine, intertwining our fingers, unconsciously gripping so hard, unable to let him out of my grasp once more. Pressing the back of his hand onto my lips, tears began to prick at my eyes, but couldn’t fall. No matter how much they welled up in my eyes, as though I had lost the ability to cry, or I simply wouldn’t let myself.

Out of reflex, my voice close to breaking, I acquiesced my feelings to Takanobu’s sleeping body. “I know I probably shouldn’t, but I feel like I need to apologise to you. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there when you needed me, Takanobu. I should have made you stay by my side… And then, none of this would have ever happened, we wouldn’t be in this situation right now – you exhausted from coming from the brink of death, and me a mess over a person I met not even a month ago. None of this feels real. To think that you could have changed my life completely in such a short amount of time. Normally, I would have thought that… Falling in love with someone so quickly was strange and shallow, but it’s the deepest feeling I’ve ever felt for anyone: my parents, my friends or even celebrities on the television.

Originally, I was bitter about the move from Hokkaido, but now, I don’t think I could ever move back. My life is here, with my family, and most importantly… You.

And I’m sorry that I’m not saying this to your face, or your conscious face at least, but I don’t want to heave all of my feelings onto you. You deserve some time to yourself, to better yourself, not worrying about me… Of course not.

There is one thing I want to say to you however, because I know I probably won’t ever have the courage to say this to you directly. Aone Takanobu, I-“

Abruptly, I was cut short at the most agonising time by the brooding figure of Futakuchi bounding through the doorway, his jacket slung over his forearm, hair unkempt and his eyes uncharacteristically red and puffy. Seemingly out of his previous disposition, he shot me an apologetic look from his strained eyes, his expression truly repentant.

Sitting down on a stool at the foot of the bed, he slouched over the sides of it, once again avoiding eye contact. “I’m sorry about earlier, (Y/N), I really am. I don’t know what came over me.”

Giving him only a mirthless laugh in return, I looked down at mine and Takanobu’s entwined hands, feeling only a tiny flash of warmth radiating from his.

Kenji paused, quietly scoffing to himself at my reaction. “I’ll rephrase that, I lost control of myself, I let my fear turn into anger and I let it out on you and Takanobu, my biggest mistake yet. He definitely hates me now. My best friend, who I’ve known since I was a child – I might have lost in an instant.”

“Don’t be stupid.” I interrupted him, “You know he won’t hate you. If you’ve been friends for as long as you say you both have, he’ll knows that wasn’t the real you.”

“I guess so.” He sighed, “I want to apologise to you too, (Y/N). What I said to you was unacceptable, and once again, I’d lost control of myself and let the heat of the moment take the driving wheel – which isn’t an excuse at all. What I said was so fucking disgusting, and I promise it’s not a representation of the real me.”

“I know that you idiot.” I cajoled, trying to lift the mood away from the stagnant food looming in the room. “You don’t think I already know the real you? You’re not that hard to miss, Kenji. You don’t think I’ve seen your scheming smirk enough times for it to be burned into my retinas? You don’t think I’ve seen how happy you make Takanobu? You are his best friend Futakuchi Kenji, and I don’t think that will ever change.” And with that, I finally managed to crack a smile out of the previously vacillating man.

“Thanks, (Y/N). I needed that.” He chuckled, straightening his posture.

Neither of us spoke for a while, the silence harsh but oddly comforting. While I leant back in the hospital chair, having let go of Takanobu’s hand, resting my eyes while ruminating my thoughts. Sure – I’d forgiven Kenji, but I still hadn’t forgiven myself.

Futakuchi sat on his phone, presumably texting his parents about his location, typing away in silence, while I drifted off into the realm of slumber. And just as I was about to pass the brink of falling asleep, Kenji spoke up. “Why didn’t he come downstairs rather than going to the bathroom?” He asked. He blamed himself too.

“He probably didn’t want to bother us.” I answered groggily, rather annoyed about being disturbed.

“He wouldn’t have bothered us though! God, why didn’t he just think it through?” He questioned, his voice rising in volume.

“Quiet, Kenji – let Takanobu rest. And besides, he was going through a lot, with losing Shiro. The straw that broke the camel’s back, in my opinion. Unable to get that thought out of his mind, he couldn’t think of another way to escape it. We probably weren’t a part of that thought process.” I said, my tone closer to a whisper.

“I guess you’re right. I just want him to know that I’ll always be there for him.” He exhaled, hopelessness emanating from him.

“I know… And so do I. But I think its best to leave him for the moment.”

However, right as those words escaped my mouth, Takanobu stirred, groaning meekly and shifting around in the bed. My whole body froze in a second, my longing to be there for him took over, springing to action immediately, I hopped to his bedside, hoping to see his face with the smallest semblance of life’s vigour.

In a second, all hope was diminished as Takanobu ceased to move once again, his stirring only being an unconscious movement in the realm of torpor.

Kenji didn’t seem to take much notice of Takanobu’s small movements, but he did take a great interest, seemingly, in my reaction. He leant towards me, even though he still sat near the foot of the bed and I near the head, a quizzical expression upon his face. The expression of a great detective. “You like him, don’t you?”

I shot my head in his direction, my eyes widening slightly, then immediately turning back to Takanobu, giving him no verbal response.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” And with that, he stood up, hands upon his thighs, exiting the room, leaving a great imprint in the air.

(A/N) And here’s Chapter 18… published on the one-year anniversary of this story’s birth. I want to thank everyone reading this for your immense support, no matter how long you’ve been following this story. Thank you all again, from the bottom of my heart.

[charlthotte]

Breaking Through the Iron Wall - Aone Takanobu x Reader - Masterlist

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Final Update This story may be now a distant, fragmented memory to you all - but it never left me. Breaking Through the Iron Wall made me r

[charlthotte]

I'm loving this so far; please continue! Writing it in 1st person makes it so much more of an experience.

Thank you ❤️:)