JoJo !

Just some 20y/o making shit The Ultimate Masterlist

[jojikawa]

About Me

My name is Jojikawa! I've been writing for several years, and I am a Full Sail University student, working on my creative portfolio by writing as much as I can and creating a dark romantic visual novel for enjoyers of the genre to play!

The contents of my writing (and upcoming game demo) are 18+ MDNI.

I touch on taboo subjects, so a "DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT" warning is warranted!

All Links || Fanfic Masterlist

[jojikawa]

I haven’t began writing the next part of contest of gods bc I gotta write something for school. My work/life balance is so bad lol I have to write a 5000 words short story by tomorrow LOL ahahahaa ☹️ anyways…

[jojikawa]

Omg I finished my fingers ACHE im so tiredahahahahahahaha

[jojikawa]

Contest of Gods ❤️⚔️

Ｐａｒｔ ２： Ｗｈａｔ＇ｓ Ｉｎｓｉｄｅ？

Choso Kamo x Fem!Reader

Masterlist

DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT ⚠️ Grooming (Adult MC was groomed by Kenjaku as a minor), Emotional Manipulation.

Your fingers idly trace the lines of wiring across Kenjaku’s forehead. The stitching is neat and meticulous, as if he were very careful in choosing the body he wanted. No sign of force, just surgical. It gives you a sense of familiarity, yet still foreign, like you can’t tell where this feeling comes from or even if it's real.

Maybe your brain wants to believe you two are destined lovers. The universe has aligned the stars with such precision that it has led Kenjaku to you. An ancient person like him, traversing life for a millennium, falling for you.

“What are you doing now?” He asks playfully, but doesn’t stop you. Instead, he pulls you closer into him, planting featherlike kisses on your collarbone and neck after he’s parted the yukata he’d commissioned to expose your skin.

“These stitches I’ve always seen you with… It doesn’t hurt?”

He chuckles, “Not at all.”

Kenjaku asked you to choose what the two of you would do today. You were tired of being asked the same thing. You always choose everything you do, so you asked him what he wanted to do.

It didn’t take him long to choose.

It’s Spring, so naturally, he wanted to visit the cherry blossoms in the park. Luckily, an event was being held at a high-end ryokan in Kyoto. A “Hanami.”

The two of you stopped at a traditional boutique, where you put on the pink yukata he’d asked you to wear. It was comfortable, but heavy. He says that it being heavy means it's good.

Now, he has you all to himself.

Your gleaming heart-shaped pupils remain fixated on the imperfection on his perfect body. Like it remains on the tip of your tongue, and then it’s gone like sand through your fingers.

“What’s the real ‘you’, Kenjaku?” You whisper. “Every time you’ve come to me, you have a new body with these markings. But what do you look like inside?”

Kenjaku stills, then lifts his head so your eyes would meet. His face is neutral, then his smile appears.

“You wouldn’t like it,” he says. “You’d find it… appalling.”

You study his face.

Suguru Geto.

Your fingertips have traced every inch of “Suguru’s” face.

It was nice, having a lover that could take any body he wanted, but you can’t help but wonder about the people before and what he looks like on the inside.

“Why would I when it’s the real you?” You say, gaze falling to his face. You raise your hand, placing a fingertip on his cheek. “And this man that you are inside of now, how did you come across him? Who was he?”

He catches your hand, bringing your knuckles to his lips, kissing them. Your heart flutters, your eyes shine and sparkle at how effortless the action is.

“I have no idea,” he says. “I guess I’m lucky.”

“But you said you chose it for me… he was dead when you found him, right?”

“Correct.”

You hum, examining his face some more. His hair is pristine, thanks to you, but he always keeps it in one style. Your drink him in, eyes tracing his muscles through the outline of his robe.

That stupid robe.

You huff, pushing yourself from his lap so you’re sitting beside him, but your thighs still touch. The wooden bench feels easier to look at for some reason. The backs of your eyes burn as you press your manicured nails into the softwood.

You thought being out would help your mood, but it seems that was incorrect. So, you turn your head towards him, who’s been watching you fondly. His gaze is soft, and you can feel the love coming from it. You think it’s love.

Just then, a curse emerges from underneath the bench, brushing against your clenched hand. You fear it's a bug before you realize it’s not.

It’s an orb of flickering ash, as big as a plush toy but shaped like a tiny storm cloud, sad and gray, and meandering towards you through the air, pulsating like a dying heart. You’ve seen this curse before, hovering around those who are especially sad. It seems to have taken a liking to you.

You pick it up, sweet and gentle.

Is this the culprit of your loneliness? The black speck in the sky in your world of pink wonder?

It was cute, but in a pathetic way that made you want to crush it between your palms so that you can watch it bleed and die.

Instead, you help it into the air where it’s carried away like pollen in the wind.

“Kenjaku, tell me more about what you know about love.”

Love is a beautiful feeling, but there are times when it feels like you’ve hardly experienced it. You know what it is because you see it. You read about love—no, you read about someone loving someone else —and want to know what it would be like if you were that someone or the other.

How can a beacon of everything that is love feel so much sorrow?

“Love is a curse. It makes you weak.”

Your eyes narrow a fraction, but you blink away the confusion. “How so?” you ask, feeling slightly insulted, but his bluntness isn’t always made to offend. He’s ancient, after all.

“How does loving me make you weak when me loving you makes you strong?”

You’re aware of your own power. Someone else is needed for it to work. You amplify the cursed energy of someone you love so that they can protect you from danger. So far, you think it requires a strong monogamous connection to be successful. But you have only ever had feelings for Kenjaku.

The power is weak in theory since it requires an external force, but in ancient times, Men fought, and lilies bloomed in rivers of blood-soaked war from their deaths. Empires rose and fell, dynasties blossomed from the ashes to be snuffed out. All in the name of love. Men would do anything for a woman who could make them a god.

And this power wasn’t passed down biologically. A new user could crop up anywhere, but only in a pair. Female and a male. And clearly, you are that female this time around.

You paid a little bit of attention to your history teachings before Kenjaku whisked you away for good.

“Because love is the only thing that’s made me want to… slow down,” he begins. You give him your full attention, waiting for more.

“Slow down?” you repeat, leaning into his space.

“I’ve lived for hundreds of years, wanting nothing more than to go through it in an instant so that the pieces would fall into place to achieve my goal. But your life is fleeting. I will continue to live after you’ve died. Our relationship will be a blip in my everlasting existence,” he says, his monotone voice uncanny to the feeling he is expressing. “And I will suffer a loss unlike any other because you’re the first woman who has not made me feel alone.”

Your face heats, and your body perks up as if his very words have given you sustenance. “Really?”

You wrap your hands around his arm and scoot closer. “You’ve helped me feel not alone, too. I honestly don’t know what I’d do if I weren’t with you. I probably would’ve killed myself.”

“Aw, don’t say such things, sweetheart. I’m sure you’d still be a bright and beautiful woman who’s pure of heart. Of course, not as bright as you are with me. We are soulmates.”

You heat even more, feeling it pool in your abdomen. When you think about it, you realize that his words really are sustenance. Loving someone without being loved back makes you weaker. If Kenjaku never found you… You probably would have died.

“I owe you my life!” You bury your face in his side.

“And owe you mine. Now, we should get something to eat before we return.”

After the Hanami, he leads you to a car that’s been waiting for the two of you.

“I’m not done spoiling you yet,” he said, “There’s a nearby place where the food is almost as delicious as you.”

The entrance is discreet. The well-dressed staff members wordlessly bowed deeply to a private tatami room with a view of a lantern-lit garden, although they weren’t lit since it was daytime.

He helps you sit, then kneels behind you to adjust the obi of your yukata. When he comes up, his lips barely brush your neck when he murmurs “Comfortable?” against your neck.

You nod with a hum, patting the spot next to you. As usual, you prefer him beside you if you can’t sit on top of him. Sitting across is too far. Much too far for kissing and clinging and cuddling.

The first thing you notice upon settling is the overwhelming scent of wood: sandalwood, agarwood, and cherry blossom, but it doesn’t overpower the aroma of savory dashi broth and grilled wagyu. Hints of seafood and the faint grassy smell of the tatami mats beneath you. A feeling simultaneously familiar and uncomfortable activates in your belly, but it isn’t much longer before the two of you order, and appetizers arrive.

You dine in comfortable silence, being together so long that anything that could be said has been heard already. But you feel tempted to ask about his mysterious errands.

Usually, he tells you everything, but occasionally, over the course of several years, he’d disappear into the night. You didn’t think he was cheating. He would never. You two are meant to be. But he’s usually very open and honest. You remember the first time he’d told you about his plans to change the world, along with the idea that you would be the princess who completes this world he envisions.

“This world is broken,” he’d say. “A far cry from the world I was born into.”

“I’ll create a world where only the strong will remain. Where weak people can’t take advantage of your beauty and kindness.”

And you believe him. How could you not?

For a long time, you felt like it was absurd—the idea of him purging everyone deemed weak through essentially a battle royale of sorts.

You ask, “These games… would I need to fight in them…? It sounds scary, and I can’t really fight…”

“Of course not, my sweet girl. You are already the strongest thing in my world.”

The sea of stars that’d fill your eyes at his picturesque promises gave him satisfaction in a way that had nothing to do with cursed energy.

And as you grew up with him, he’d instilled his idea of the world into you, and you realized that the world could benefit from killing people.

Just at a glance, no one would be able to tell that Kenjaku and you now share the same ideology.

Especially Choso.

“Humans are inherently weak.”

His heart clenched at your cold tone, sounding exactly like the man you were sleeping with.

In a way, it was like you were made for each other.

But Kenjaku wants to be closer— closer in a way that would repel any outside sources of contamination, but how?

He knows how. And no, it’s not what you think. Not yet. Only in an emergency would he pull that card. Something else, more risky, but less risky at the same time.

He’s finished eating, and now he stares at you, head resting in his palm. Eyes blinking slowly, he finally speaks.

“(y/n).”

“Yes?” You reply as you face him. “Don’t go asking for my food again. I refuse to let you make this hot body out of shape!”

He chuckles, perhaps genuinely. “No, I’ve had my share…”

Then he frowns. “…But I think you should give up trying to see the ‘real’ me.”

Your eyebrows raise. “Why?”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea, that’s all.”

“But why wouldn’t it be a good idea, though?” You blink, your heart-shaped pupils bore into his dark, malevolent eyes.

He’d rarely acknowledged it, but the way you affect his body with your power unsettles him. It was always there, always giving him strength, but when you’d look at him… the way you’d look at him would make him feel bad. Almost.

It makes him hesitate. The soft, unwavering devotion he diligently brought to fruition.

“This body,” he says. “The one that holds you, kisses you, takes care of you… Is that not enough? What makes you so interested in what’s inside when I’ve gone through the trouble of finding such a vessel?”

“Kenjaku, I don’t love you for just your body.” You smile, barely noticing the microexpression he makes at your words. “Our love itself is a beautiful thing. And as you said before, our love transcends gender and identity. So, wouldn’t that mean I am in love with the real you?”

You don’t know anything about love, is what he almost says. It’s what he thinks when you go on about it.

“I want to know what every part of you is like… every part of the person I love and who loves me.”

You finish your meal, setting the chopsticks aside and pushing the bowl away from your yukata so you don’t get anything on it.

You face him, taking in his slightly amused expression, knowing it's fake. You feel it is.

“I just… want to see the heart of my true love.”

Silence ensues.

You feel your heart pounding, waiting for his honeyed rejection. Now, his eyes bore into yours. His gaze is crushing, but you hold as you’ve been wanting this for as long as you can remember.

“Please?”

Kenjaku exhales, and for the first time, he looks away first.

“Hmph,” he hums, almost fondly. “You are very persuasive when you want something.” His hand raises slowly to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, and he leans down until your foreheads touch.

“Alright, but only for a moment.”

He knows it's safe to do so. When he made the reservation, he made sure no hostesses or waiters would bother them ahead of time, just in case he needed to commit any sexual acts with you.

Normally, he’d tell you to close your eyes whenever anything ugly was about to commence.

Don’t look.

Close your eyes.

Such common sayings, followed by his hands over your eyes.

But he doesn’t utter those words as he pulls back, locking eyes with you as he brings his hand to his forehead, careful and deliberate, before undoing the string that holds his true form back from your delicate heart.

The anticipation weighs on him. Denying you this opportunity would plant the seeds of doubt, and over time, the little things he says you can’t have will cause them to sprout, slowly killing the love you dish out.

You are so naïve— so stupid. Why do you have to make him do this?

The skin parts cleanly, revealing the translucent cast that houses the real him—the brain.

Disgusting. Pale. Grotesque.

It floats there in a shallow pool of fluid, emitting cursed energy with long salmon-colored tendril-like wires that connect it to the nervous system of the body of Suguru Geto.

The sight is unsettling, repulsive, and demonstrably unromantic.

Your large eyes widen. “Oh,” you squeak, drinking in the sight. “…I see.”

The words hang in the air.

You reach out, stopping just short of the uncanny mouth with yellowing teeth.

“It’s… different,” you begin, voice hushed and melodic as if you’re whispering to the brain and not the body of Suguru. “It's… you. The one who listens to me, the one who buys me pretty things, the one who protects me from evil, the one who holds me like I’m the most important thing in the world… the one who loves me.”

You resist touching it, already feeling how deeply uncomfortable this is for him.

He doesn’t reply, just slowly closes the hatch, and the stitches rethread on their own.

“I didn’t think I’d fall in love with a brain,” you add, giving him that ravishing smile you don’t know you have.

Kenjaku pulls you into his arms, cradling your tiny body against his. “You’re really full of surprises, (y/n),” he murmurs into your hair. “People always run from me, but you… You just keep loving.”

You snuggle into his chest, the aura of love flourishing from you. “Thank you for showing me.”

✿ · · · ✿ · · · ✿

The sun barely sets before you’re back home, exhaustion pulling you towards your bed. A bag of goods you insist on carrying hangs off your arm.

“I had such a good time~!” You muse, plopping on your couch. “The cherry blossom event really tired me out. So much walking in these heavy clothes…”

“Well, I’m glad you enjoyed yourself,” Geto says, sitting beside you and kissing your temple.

“You should take me out more, Geto!”

“Alright, I will, since you’re always so good to me.”

You change into pajamas, even Geto substitutes his usual traditional robes for something more casual and lounge-y.

There’s no time to settle in before a timid knock sounds at your door.

“I’ll get it,” he says, rising from the couch, movements slightly languid. He’s tired.

You pad behind him, waiting until he answers the door before wrapping your arms around him. Peeking around his broad body, you see that it’s Choso, who turns a light shade of pink as he lays eyes on you.

Geto notices.

“What is it that you want, Choso?”

He flinches, “Oh, uh, my brothers have just reached where the finger is located…”

“How wonderful. Is that all?” Geto questions, tilting his head.

Choso’s eyes briefly dart to you before landing back on Geto’s face.

“…And Mahito asks if you and (y/n) would like to… play a board game he found.”

You perk up. “Board game?”

“Not interested.”

You glance at Geto. “What? But I wanna play. We can be on the same team!”

Choso sees annoyance across his face. Then he smiles and looks down at your cuddling form. “Are you sure you have the energy, (y/n)? We’ve been out all day. Don’t you want to rest?”

You nuzzle into his back. “Yes, of course, I have the energy if it means spending more time with you.”

The game takes place in some random old game room. It’s open and harshly lit by a dying overhead lamp. Aged ale sits on shelves, forgotten and covered in a thick layer of dust. Ashtrays with old cigarettes burnt out, connected by cobwebs, as if the residents of this gameroom left in a hurry, but beyond your time entirely.

Three red chairs surround the table.

“Ugh, no chair for me, really, Mahito?” Your stern voice makes him jump.

“Um, excuse me, little missy, but you’re not even supposed to be playing, so lucky I even found a piece for you!” He bites back, clearly mocking you.

“That’s bullshit, you’re just trying to piss me off! Choso said you asked for Geto and me. And even if you want just Geto, we are a pair. I go where he goes.”

Geto sits in his respective chair, turning out the childish bickering you and Mahito would engage in regularly.

“Oh yeah?” Mojito says, “I can’t imagine a girl like you going anywhere without her male handler anyway.”

“Male Handler?!” You exclaim. “What do you think this is? The 1950s? Geto is not my male handler. We are lovers, but a patch face freak like you wouldn’t know anything about love, would you? You’d scare off all the women with your ugly looks and dogshit personality.”

Geto’s gaze remains fixated on Choso’s, who is deliberately avoiding eye contact.

“Oh wow, how long-winded of you!” Mojito beams. “The little girl’s able to form a sentence to me without crying~ You really are all grown up~.”

“That’s enough, you two.” Geto’s voice cuts through your quarrel. He opens his arms, ushering you to him. “Use me as your chair, sweetheart. Don’t let Mahito upset you.”

“Hmph!” You climb into his lap, mimicking Mahito’s expression and sticking out your tongue.

Geto’s arms wrap around you, a hand sliding up your shirt and resting just below your breasts. His eyes remain on Choso, who idly fumbles with his set of game pieces.

It seems Choso has lied to him.

The game begins.

Of course, without more arguing between you and Mahito. You had no idea how to play, and you were teased for it.

“You should know! It’s a human game~!”

But the game starts eventually.

It’s difficult for Choso to pay attention. He often loses track of what the rules are and struggles to retain information. And it’s not because he can’t. He just… doesn’t care.

The feelings he harbors inside himself are so much stronger than he ever imagined. Seeing you at rest after a long day fills him with something heavy and warm, but not suffocating. And when you laugh, his stomach twists in a way that is far from unpleasant. That pleasure that’s almost like pain is something he wants to chase, not get away from. Is it what humans call “butterflies”?

They don’t exactly feel like the flies made of butter, but what it does feel like is the ever so slight sensation to throw up when you simply brush against him. Not of disgust, but like how you’re so overwhelmed that the butterflies must exit his body.

Choso can’t handle butterflies.

When you talk to him, he holds his breath, and he stares, like if he breathes or blinks, then you’ll disappear, or worse: realize that you don’t like talking to him.

The thumbs brushing his cheeks as you spoke to him before is something he continues to replay in his head. Your voice was so soft and pure. Much too pure for Geto. Now, he has this unwavering urge to protect you.

His eyes dart to you and Geto, cuddled together. All he can think is that he doesn’t like how he’s holding you. Like you’re an object and not a beautiful woman. But his vision can be clouded. Maybe Geto really loves you, and he is lying to himself about how his actions are pretend. Choso thinks that’s only a possibility if Geto loves as deeply as him.

And this feeling of love can’t possibly be felt by anyone else.

This sensation he feels inside isn’t always as pure as you are. Sometimes, it feels like hunger. He wants to consume your affection like a curse would flesh. To feast on your softness. To swallow the moans of his name when he touches you.

It terrifies him.

Am I no better than Geto?

The things Choso thinks of doing go beyond just kissing and holding.

Geto moves his piece on the game board, his hand returning to your midsection where he’d rub idle circles and occasionally kiss your cheek.

What if I did that? Would she like it?

Was it the action you liked, or was it because Geto is doing it?

However, his thoughts are soon eclipsed by a snap.

Threads being cut from him like limbs being viciously torn away.

Then it hit.

Eso.

Kechizu.

The gentle image of loving you shatters.

Pain explodes through him, raw and visceral, as if his own heart’s been ripped out.

He feels it. The exact moment their cursed energy vanishes from this world. An energy he’d felt since their birth.

The only constant love he’d ever known…

…severed in an instant.

His brothers are dead.

Silent anger floods him like molten rock, burning away everything else.

Mid-turn, Choso stills, and the anger reaches his fingers, causing him to crush his piece before he can place it.

He ignores Mahito’s whining and Geto’s redundant questions.

“Both of my brothers just died.”

tagged ppl: @alebrasil0101 @iloooooveemangoesssss @qwertygrrrrlll @ironsaladwitch thx so much! :)

[jojikawa]

Contest of Gods ❤️⚔️

Ｐａｒｔ １．５： Ｗａｒｍｔｈ ｏｆ Ｌｉｅｓ

Choso Kamo x Fem!Reader

Masterlist

🌧️ — Choso's feelings for you grow heavier after his accidental confession, even as he tries to lock them away. Meanwhile, a looming sense of loneliness leads you to act out, and Kenjaku must remind you exactly who you belong to.

DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT ⚠️ Grooming (Adult MC was groomed by Kenjaku as a minor), Emotional Manipulation.

Part One

The memory of your hands on his face remains etched into Choso’s brain. A feeling he will never forget long after you pass on. He can’t remember a time he’d been touched with such care, if ever. 

And the brief moment he felt your power enter him, he thought that you’d look the most beautiful you’d ever been—your unique eyes, your cute face, the fullness of your lips. His heart twists with sorrow, and his stomach burns in delight. 

Love, love, love.

Why does it have to feel like this? He’d felt so much pain in his lifetime, but nothing could match the pain he felt when seeing Geto manipulate you. 

And then his confession.

“I love you.”

It was never meant to be said out loud, but somehow, it happened anyway.

Could this have been a byproduct of your abilities? To bring the love he holds for you to the surface so effortlessly? 

Controlling his emotions was an easy task. 

But you make it unimaginably difficult.

Choso had been tending to Eso and Kechizu, giving them blood-based sustenance as the two of them would soon be sent out to retrieve one of Sukuna’s fingers on behalf of Mahito. He wanted to make sure they were at their best in case they encountered problems. 

That’s when Geto enters.

He’s quiet, not making himself known until he’s too close not to sense.

“Choso.”

He would’ve flinched if he wasn’t expecting it. He’s not allowed anywhere in your room Geto doesn’t allow. And he knows you encourage it, but he’d never scold you.

Choso turns to meet Geto, who’s standing in the doorway, an unreadable smile on his face.

“(y/n) told me what you said. That you love her.”

Choso doesn’t deny it, only meeting Geto’s eyes.

Geto steps closer, staring him down with his gaze alone. “Listen carefully,” he says. “I won’t punish you. Not this time. But if you want to keep that body… and for your brothers to keep living… You will refrain from talking about love to (y/n) again.”

His brothers.

“Do not confess any further. Do not encourage her poetic, pointless little speeches about the subject. Do not feed into her affection in any way that makes her question where her loyalty should lie.”

His eyes narrow.

“The goal is simple: keep her isolated. Keep her dependent. Keep her love focused only on me until the time is right. She is a gift. Nothing more. Nothing less. Do you understand?”

He turns to leave, then pauses.

“And Choso… the next time you feel the urge to tell her you love her, remember this: she already has someone who owns her heart. Don’t make me remind you again.”

Geto leaves without another word.

Own her heart.

Words like this should make Choso give up. He should accept that you belonged to someone else, and that was that. It didn’t matter if you were being used for a plot he knew little of or what would be your fate once your role was fulfilled. It shouldn’t be this difficult to push down feelings like this. The tightening of his chest when you look at him, the clenching of his fists when he tries to resist touching you, the warmth in his stomach when he imagines the sweet things you say to Geto being said to him instead.

They stay inside this box in his heart, but it gets larger and larger, and at any moment, it feels as though his heart may burst.

It was you who told him that it was love. His brothers knew nothing, and he was a fool to ask Mahito or Geto what this feeling was. So, he asked you. 

“Aw, Choso, that’s called love.”

Choso turns to his brothers, Eso and Kechizu, who knew better than to intervene or comment on disagreements between Geto and their older brother. 

“Be careful,” he says, “The finger’s power is strong. It’ll attract a lot of attention. If anything goes wrong, remember what I taught you.”

“You care about her,” Eso says. 

Choso doesn’t answer right away. He thinks of your gentle hands on his face. He imagines you saying, “I love you, too.”

“I care about all of you,” he mutters, voice rough. “And that’s enough. Now, get going. I’ll stay here. Too many of us can’t be too far from (y/n).”

Choso bids his brothers farewell, not knowing it will be the last time he feels their brotherly bond. 

Romantic love is foreign, as there is no need for it. He didn’t even know it was something he could desire. That feeling of “want” that makes one want to be so close to another that they want to become one. But the love he holds for his brothers is that of a well-kept garden he nurtures daily with his blood and sweat. But the feeling he gets with you isn’t unwelcome, pollinating every flower in this garden of relationships he tends to, creating a new flower he wants to separate from everything else and keep close.

“Choso!”

Your voice cuts through the quiet, making him jump. He turns to see you poking your head through the half-closed door. 

“I need your help!” You yell hoarsely in a poor attempt to whisper.

“(y/n)? You’re not supposed to be out…” He makes his way over to you, trying to usher you out the door. 

“I know, I know, but I can’t keep waiting on Geto, and I don’t wanna ask Mahito for help.” You smile, “I want to go home for a bit.”

His eyes widen.

“No…”

“Please!?”

“Geto won’t allow it.”

“But there’s stuff there I need there! It’ll be quick. I promise.” You beg with pretty, pleading eyes, your hands clasped together. Such a fruitless thing, that could jeopardize everything, and it would be his fault.

“Did you ask Geto if this was okay?” 

For once, you retreat inward, eye contact no longer being so easy. Your head sinks. 

“Yes,” you answer, “I did.”

“...and? What did he say?”

Your perpetual smile falters slightly, “...he said no…”

“Then I’m saying no. I’m sorry. Where is Geto?”

You step forward, getting really close before he can step back. “He left, I don’t know for how long, but we can go and come back before he notices~!”

“Wouldn’t that make him angry?”

“Not if we go and come back,” you say, fisting his garb. “Please, please, please!” You comedically nuzzle your head into his chest.

“B-But what will happen if someone sees you?”

You cease your nuzzling to look up at him and beam, “You’ll protect me!” 

His hands hover at your sides, unsure whether to touch you. The idea of denying you eats at him, but who knows what can of worms this could open?

“What do you need that you can get a new one of…?”

Suddenly, you pull away, and the warmth vanishes.

“Ugh, fine. I guess I’ll just wait a hundred years until Geto says it's okay.” You pout, “I can’t rely on anyone for anything here.”

Choso perks up. “What? No, that’s not—”

The door closes with a soft click.

His mouth presses into a thin line. It was just moments ago he’d been scolded for being close to you. Waiting until Geto’s gone to bring you somewhere as dangerous as your former residence would definitely cause issues. He doesn’t know if your family members are particularly skilled sorcerers, but they must be some kind of threat if Geto has kept you hidden from them for most of your life.

Saying no is something he must do, even if it hurts you.

But seeing you hurt, even just a little, hurts him too, if he’s the one causing that pain.

On the other hand, Kenjaku knows that you’ve outgrown the small world he’s carefully built for you. Your love for him wanes and plateaus, even when he pushes the boundaries of how much you can love a single person, essentially, if he wishes to stay victorious in any heated confrontations.

“Why did you ask Choso to take you home?”

You jump, even looking in the mirror, you hadn't seen Geto come in. It’s never something you quite get used to. He’d been gone all night and appeared once you’d woken up for the day.

“Oh, Geto! You scared me. Ever heard of knocking?” You say and smile, rising from your ornate princess-adjacent vanity.

Geto remains silent, looking past you, his eyes making micromovements as you approach him.

You wrap your arms around his neck, pressing your body to his, waiting for his hands to wrap around your waist, but they don’t.

“You know you can always count on me.” He adds, his voice low and in that tone that makes your heart clench.

He’s annoyed.

You raise on your toes to kiss him, but he’s much too tall, and he doesn’t meet you halfway. You frown, not having much heart to keep up the attempt.

“... Sometimes I miss them,” you say, finding the floor much easier to keep eye contact with. You don’t want to see his expression at the statement. That stern look of a parent. He isn’t, but in moments like this, he reminds you of one.

“I love you, and I love being with you, but sometimes I-”

“(y/n).”

You raise your head to meet his eyes. His lips are pressed into a line, and you search his perfect face for any sign of emotion you can understand, to no avail. 

His hand hovers near the side of your neck.

Then you feel the warmth of his skin against yours. His palm travels up until it meets your jaw, where he cups your cheek.

“You shouldn’t care about them,” he begins, knowing you’ve heard it all before. But you need to hear it again and again until you understand. “Because they never cared about you. Don’t disregard the cruel things they’d done to you because you bleed the same blood.”

How could you forget?

“I just miss… everything else. Like… people… and things.”

“How can you miss a place void of love?” He questions, his thumb rubbing your cheek. “Do you think an animal would miss captivity the way you do?”

You knit your eyebrows together, “It’s deeper than that.” You swat his hand away and turn to resume your previous task. “You don’t get it, you’re too old. Everyone you know is dead.”

The silence that follows is deafening.

Geto’s hand remains in mid-air where you’d swatted it away, and for a second, he only stares at the back of your head, watching you search the cluttered vanity for whatever accessory you wanted to pile on top of the dozen you already wore. 

His expression remains unreadable, with his body stilled to a point that wouldn’t qualify as human. Slowly, he lets out an amused exhale.

“...too old,” he repeats, his smooth voice dangerously quiet. “Everyone I know… is dead.”

You find the earring you’d been looking for, and when you look up, you see him less than a foot behind you in the reflection of the mirror. 

You face him, the intimidation radiating off him causing your shallow anger to melt. You back up until your thighs touch the edge of the vanity, and he’s towering over you. Both of his hands brace the table beside your hips, trapping you, but not yet touching you.

“You’re right,” he says softly, his usual smile returning. “I am too old. I’ve watched empires rise and fall. I’ve buried lovers, children, and bloodlines. I’ve forgotten more faces than you will ever meet.”

A hand finally moves, gently… almost tenderly, as he catches your chin to lift your crestfallen face to meet his gaze. His thumb brushes your lower lip.

Like he always does when he’s about to kiss you.

“But you…” His voice is a whisper. “You’re the first thing in centuries that has managed to make me feel old. Because only someone very young and very naive would look me in the eye and say something so stupidly thoughtless.”

You want to take it back. Apologize. Hug him.

But you can’t.

Come on. Say you’re sorry.

Do it.

Your mouth works, but he speaks first.

“Do you enjoy reminding me how alone I am, (y/n)?” he asks, almost conversationally. “That the only person who has stayed by my side in a thousand years is a fragile little girl who goes behind my back because she misses the cage she used to live in?”

He leans close, his lips mere inches from your ear. 

“I could have left you there. Rotting in your little princess tower until the inevitable came. Forgotten and used by people who never deserved you. Instead, I’ve made you my princess and given you so much. And the moment I don’t do something you want, you throw my age in my face like a weapon?”

He chuckles, but you know it’s fake.

“So cruel.” He pulls away, and all of a sudden, you feel too ashamed to speak up, even if it's to apologize. “You don’t want to know what it’s like when I say cruel things now, do you?”

He lets his words sit to make himself clear.

That’s what he feels like he should do.

Then he feels it. A growing emptiness.

Kenjaku loves your power. Someone attuned to cursed energy like him can always feel it. The slight pressure in his chest that feels familiar to him, like you’re always with him.

But in times like this, it wanes. The uncomfortable exposure after taking off a weighted blanket, the chilled sensation of your skin after stepping outside in winter.

He pushes away from you, and the space is once more your own.

“I’ve decided that we should do something together.” He hums, low and pleased. “You’re too cooped up in this apartment.”

His relationship with you requires so much more effort than it used to when you were a little girl. Even with limiting your interactions, you’d developed a deeper sense of what love should be like through media consumption and self-reflection alone. Ever since you’d become a woman, your standards have shifted. Your love for him would only continue to dwindle if he didn’t do something.

And what would become of the both of you if you began loving someone else?

Taglist: @alebrasil0101 @iloooooveemangoesssss thanks so much!

[jojikawa]

Pervy!Takaba x Fem!Assistant Reader Headcanons (˶>⩊<˶)

Tw? Takaba is 35 and depraved, fem mc is in mid 20s, so small age gap.

❀ Pervy!Takaba, who has the hots for his cute new manager (who applied because his last one quit after another bad show).

❀ Pervy!Takaba, who can’t stop staring into your pretty eyes during your interview. He doesn’t even know if you can do the job well, but you’re hired! 

❀ Pervy!Takaba, who watches you print cute flyers that you have out yourself, saying, “My boss is really funny! You should come see him.” His heart flutters. You successfully negotiate with small venues that can’t say no due to your charisma.

❀ Pervy!Takaba, who notices you always sitting in the front row, laughing at his jokes, and clapping enthusiastically. It makes him so happy!

❀ Pervy!Takaba, who is pleasantly surprised when he comes into his dressing room to find that it’s already cute and decorated.

❀ Pervy!Takaba, who’s constantly flushed at you calling him “Takaba-san” in the sweetest voice when you bring him coffee in the morning.

❀ Pervy!Takaba, who has to look away when you bend over to pick up anything, because he didn’t realize how short your skirt has been until just now (but he won’t tell you).

❀ Pervy!Takaba, who can’t stop staring at your thigh spread when you sit on his desk to show him new social media trends that he could work into new material.

❀ Pervy!Takaba, who looks forward to your encouraging hugs after every rehearsal. He pretends it’s friendly, but he thinks about your body against his a little too much. 

❀ Pervy!Takaba, who pretends not to notice you struggling to reach something on a high shelf because your skirt rides up and he can get a glimpse of the panties you chose to wear that day.

❀ Pervy!Takaba, whose brain immediately pictures sliding his large hands up your skirt to feel the exact fabric of those panties. He imagines they’re satin, but he’d love to be corrected if not!

❀ Pervy!Takaba, who has to turn away so you don’t see him getting hard.

❀ Pervy!Takaba, who understands you have no sense of personal space or boundaries when you sit in his lap because there’s no other chair available in the meeting that makes or breaks his next show.

❀ Pervy!Takaba, who sits perfectly still! Refusing to breathe and tries to focus on what’s important… until you begin to shift and he feels your soft ass against his crotch. His dick twitches traitorously! 

❀ Pervy!Takaba, who daydreams about gripping your plush thighs while he eats you out instead of working on his material. An empty stage after a show. You're naked, save for the stockings you wear under your skirt, beckoning him to kneel, and he obeys.

❀ Pervy!Takaba, who’s driven insane by your sweet voice, saying innocent things like “You’re so tall.” “Your hands are so big.” Because he can imagine you moaning, “You’re so big inside of me!” and he has to excuse himself.

❀ Pervy!Takaba, who masturbates before a show to calm his nerves, picturing you riding him, asking him for guidance and approval of your performance in a bashful tone. “Am I doing it right, Takaba-san?” He melts at the idea.

❀ Pervy!Takaba, who’s sad and depraved, but in a cute “i jerk off to your voice notes” way. So kinda endearing.

❀ Pervy!Takaba, who thinks about you sexually nearly every day. Sometimes multiple times a day. After every interaction. 

❀ Pervy!Takaba, who nearly explodes when he stumbles across your personal social media where you post cute, innocent candids of yourself with friends, with pets, and sometimes… him! “Wow, she’s not embarrassed to show me off to her following? She’s so sweet!”

❀ Pervy!Takaba, who imagines your small body under his, your hair wrapped around his fist as he rails you against his desk. 

❀ Pervy!Takaba, who’d never force you into anything or make you uncomfortable. His filthy depravity stays purely in his head as daydreams when he sees you bending over, or zooming in on your thighs and cleavage on the pictures where the soft skin is visible, and fucking into his fist 30 mins after seeing you when he finally gets home. But it leaks out physically in lingering hugs and staring shamelessly at your breasts and panties. That person in tiktok w/ the Takaba plushie made me like him.

[jojikawa]

I haven’t began writing the next part of contest of gods bc I gotta write something for school. My work/life balance is so bad lol I have to write a 5000 words short story by tomorrow LOL ahahahaa ☹️ anyways…

[jojikawa]

Contest of Gods Masterlist

A story where you are Kenjaku's lover and have been since you were 11 years old. He saved you from your toxic family, and now, at 26 years old, you owe everything to him, but Choso knows that this is wrong. He loves you more than anything, and in a sequence of loss and misfortune, Choso vows that he will save you from this new life where you have been used and abused.

Center of Attention

Warmth of Lies

What's Inside?

[jojikawa]

I can finally write my Choso fanfic!!!

[jojikawa]

I may tell a joke, but I don't tell a lie baby!!!!!

[jojikawa]

Contest of Gods ❤️⚔️

Ｐａｒｔ ２： Ｗｈａｔ＇ｓ Ｉｎｓｉｄｅ？

Choso Kamo x Fem!Reader

Masterlist

DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT ⚠️ Grooming (Adult MC was groomed by Kenjaku as a minor), Emotional Manipulation.

Your fingers idly trace the lines of wiring across Kenjaku’s forehead. The stitching is neat and meticulous, as if he were very careful in choosing the body he wanted. No sign of force, just surgical. It gives you a sense of familiarity, yet still foreign, like you can’t tell where this feeling comes from or even if it's real.

Maybe your brain wants to believe you two are destined lovers. The universe has aligned the stars with such precision that it has led Kenjaku to you. An ancient person like him, traversing life for a millennium, falling for you.

“What are you doing now?” He asks playfully, but doesn’t stop you. Instead, he pulls you closer into him, planting featherlike kisses on your collarbone and neck after he’s parted the yukata he’d commissioned to expose your skin.

“These stitches I’ve always seen you with… It doesn’t hurt?”

He chuckles, “Not at all.”

Kenjaku asked you to choose what the two of you would do today. You were tired of being asked the same thing. You always choose everything you do, so you asked him what he wanted to do.

It didn’t take him long to choose.

It’s Spring, so naturally, he wanted to visit the cherry blossoms in the park. Luckily, an event was being held at a high-end ryokan in Kyoto. A “Hanami.”

The two of you stopped at a traditional boutique, where you put on the pink yukata he’d asked you to wear. It was comfortable, but heavy. He says that it being heavy means it's good.

Now, he has you all to himself.

Your gleaming heart-shaped pupils remain fixated on the imperfection on his perfect body. Like it remains on the tip of your tongue, and then it’s gone like sand through your fingers.

“What’s the real ‘you’, Kenjaku?” You whisper. “Every time you’ve come to me, you have a new body with these markings. But what do you look like inside?”

Kenjaku stills, then lifts his head so your eyes would meet. His face is neutral, then his smile appears.

“You wouldn’t like it,” he says. “You’d find it… appalling.”

You study his face.

Suguru Geto.

Your fingertips have traced every inch of “Suguru’s” face.

It was nice, having a lover that could take any body he wanted, but you can’t help but wonder about the people before and what he looks like on the inside.

“Why would I when it’s the real you?” You say, gaze falling to his face. You raise your hand, placing a fingertip on his cheek. “And this man that you are inside of now, how did you come across him? Who was he?”

He catches your hand, bringing your knuckles to his lips, kissing them. Your heart flutters, your eyes shine and sparkle at how effortless the action is.

“I have no idea,” he says. “I guess I’m lucky.”

“But you said you chose it for me… he was dead when you found him, right?”

“Correct.”

You hum, examining his face some more. His hair is pristine, thanks to you, but he always keeps it in one style. Your drink him in, eyes tracing his muscles through the outline of his robe.

That stupid robe.

You huff, pushing yourself from his lap so you’re sitting beside him, but your thighs still touch. The wooden bench feels easier to look at for some reason. The backs of your eyes burn as you press your manicured nails into the softwood.

You thought being out would help your mood, but it seems that was incorrect. So, you turn your head towards him, who’s been watching you fondly. His gaze is soft, and you can feel the love coming from it. You think it’s love.

Just then, a curse emerges from underneath the bench, brushing against your clenched hand. You fear it's a bug before you realize it’s not.

It’s an orb of flickering ash, as big as a plush toy but shaped like a tiny storm cloud, sad and gray, and meandering towards you through the air, pulsating like a dying heart. You’ve seen this curse before, hovering around those who are especially sad. It seems to have taken a liking to you.

You pick it up, sweet and gentle.

Is this the culprit of your loneliness? The black speck in the sky in your world of pink wonder?

It was cute, but in a pathetic way that made you want to crush it between your palms so that you can watch it bleed and die.

Instead, you help it into the air where it’s carried away like pollen in the wind.

“Kenjaku, tell me more about what you know about love.”

Love is a beautiful feeling, but there are times when it feels like you’ve hardly experienced it. You know what it is because you see it. You read about love—no, you read about someone loving someone else —and want to know what it would be like if you were that someone or the other.

How can a beacon of everything that is love feel so much sorrow?

“Love is a curse. It makes you weak.”

Your eyes narrow a fraction, but you blink away the confusion. “How so?” you ask, feeling slightly insulted, but his bluntness isn’t always made to offend. He’s ancient, after all.

“How does loving me make you weak when me loving you makes you strong?”

You’re aware of your own power. Someone else is needed for it to work. You amplify the cursed energy of someone you love so that they can protect you from danger. So far, you think it requires a strong monogamous connection to be successful. But you have only ever had feelings for Kenjaku.

The power is weak in theory since it requires an external force, but in ancient times, Men fought, and lilies bloomed in rivers of blood-soaked war from their deaths. Empires rose and fell, dynasties blossomed from the ashes to be snuffed out. All in the name of love. Men would do anything for a woman who could make them a god.

And this power wasn’t passed down biologically. A new user could crop up anywhere, but only in a pair. Female and a male. And clearly, you are that female this time around.

You paid a little bit of attention to your history teachings before Kenjaku whisked you away for good.

“Because love is the only thing that’s made me want to… slow down,” he begins. You give him your full attention, waiting for more.

“Slow down?” you repeat, leaning into his space.

“I’ve lived for hundreds of years, wanting nothing more than to go through it in an instant so that the pieces would fall into place to achieve my goal. But your life is fleeting. I will continue to live after you’ve died. Our relationship will be a blip in my everlasting existence,” he says, his monotone voice uncanny to the feeling he is expressing. “And I will suffer a loss unlike any other because you’re the first woman who has not made me feel alone.”

Your face heats, and your body perks up as if his very words have given you sustenance. “Really?”

You wrap your hands around his arm and scoot closer. “You’ve helped me feel not alone, too. I honestly don’t know what I’d do if I weren’t with you. I probably would’ve killed myself.”

“Aw, don’t say such things, sweetheart. I’m sure you’d still be a bright and beautiful woman who’s pure of heart. Of course, not as bright as you are with me. We are soulmates.”

You heat even more, feeling it pool in your abdomen. When you think about it, you realize that his words really are sustenance. Loving someone without being loved back makes you weaker. If Kenjaku never found you… You probably would have died.

“I owe you my life!” You bury your face in his side.

“And owe you mine. Now, we should get something to eat before we return.”

After the Hanami, he leads you to a car that’s been waiting for the two of you.

“I’m not done spoiling you yet,” he said, “There’s a nearby place where the food is almost as delicious as you.”

The entrance is discreet. The well-dressed staff members wordlessly bowed deeply to a private tatami room with a view of a lantern-lit garden, although they weren’t lit since it was daytime.

He helps you sit, then kneels behind you to adjust the obi of your yukata. When he comes up, his lips barely brush your neck when he murmurs “Comfortable?” against your neck.

You nod with a hum, patting the spot next to you. As usual, you prefer him beside you if you can’t sit on top of him. Sitting across is too far. Much too far for kissing and clinging and cuddling.

The first thing you notice upon settling is the overwhelming scent of wood: sandalwood, agarwood, and cherry blossom, but it doesn’t overpower the aroma of savory dashi broth and grilled wagyu. Hints of seafood and the faint grassy smell of the tatami mats beneath you. A feeling simultaneously familiar and uncomfortable activates in your belly, but it isn’t much longer before the two of you order, and appetizers arrive.

You dine in comfortable silence, being together so long that anything that could be said has been heard already. But you feel tempted to ask about his mysterious errands.

Usually, he tells you everything, but occasionally, over the course of several years, he’d disappear into the night. You didn’t think he was cheating. He would never. You two are meant to be. But he’s usually very open and honest. You remember the first time he’d told you about his plans to change the world, along with the idea that you would be the princess who completes this world he envisions.

“This world is broken,” he’d say. “A far cry from the world I was born into.”

“I’ll create a world where only the strong will remain. Where weak people can’t take advantage of your beauty and kindness.”

And you believe him. How could you not?

For a long time, you felt like it was absurd—the idea of him purging everyone deemed weak through essentially a battle royale of sorts.

You ask, “These games… would I need to fight in them…? It sounds scary, and I can’t really fight…”

“Of course not, my sweet girl. You are already the strongest thing in my world.”

The sea of stars that’d fill your eyes at his picturesque promises gave him satisfaction in a way that had nothing to do with cursed energy.

And as you grew up with him, he’d instilled his idea of the world into you, and you realized that the world could benefit from killing people.

Just at a glance, no one would be able to tell that Kenjaku and you now share the same ideology.

Especially Choso.

“Humans are inherently weak.”

His heart clenched at your cold tone, sounding exactly like the man you were sleeping with.

In a way, it was like you were made for each other.

But Kenjaku wants to be closer— closer in a way that would repel any outside sources of contamination, but how?

He knows how. And no, it’s not what you think. Not yet. Only in an emergency would he pull that card. Something else, more risky, but less risky at the same time.

He’s finished eating, and now he stares at you, head resting in his palm. Eyes blinking slowly, he finally speaks.

“(y/n).”

“Yes?” You reply as you face him. “Don’t go asking for my food again. I refuse to let you make this hot body out of shape!”

He chuckles, perhaps genuinely. “No, I’ve had my share…”

Then he frowns. “…But I think you should give up trying to see the ‘real’ me.”

Your eyebrows raise. “Why?”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea, that’s all.”

“But why wouldn’t it be a good idea, though?” You blink, your heart-shaped pupils bore into his dark, malevolent eyes.

He’d rarely acknowledged it, but the way you affect his body with your power unsettles him. It was always there, always giving him strength, but when you’d look at him… the way you’d look at him would make him feel bad. Almost.

It makes him hesitate. The soft, unwavering devotion he diligently brought to fruition.

“This body,” he says. “The one that holds you, kisses you, takes care of you… Is that not enough? What makes you so interested in what’s inside when I’ve gone through the trouble of finding such a vessel?”

“Kenjaku, I don’t love you for just your body.” You smile, barely noticing the microexpression he makes at your words. “Our love itself is a beautiful thing. And as you said before, our love transcends gender and identity. So, wouldn’t that mean I am in love with the real you?”

You don’t know anything about love, is what he almost says. It’s what he thinks when you go on about it.

“I want to know what every part of you is like… every part of the person I love and who loves me.”

You finish your meal, setting the chopsticks aside and pushing the bowl away from your yukata so you don’t get anything on it.

You face him, taking in his slightly amused expression, knowing it's fake. You feel it is.

“I just… want to see the heart of my true love.”

Silence ensues.

You feel your heart pounding, waiting for his honeyed rejection. Now, his eyes bore into yours. His gaze is crushing, but you hold as you’ve been wanting this for as long as you can remember.

“Please?”

Kenjaku exhales, and for the first time, he looks away first.

“Hmph,” he hums, almost fondly. “You are very persuasive when you want something.” His hand raises slowly to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, and he leans down until your foreheads touch.

“Alright, but only for a moment.”

He knows it's safe to do so. When he made the reservation, he made sure no hostesses or waiters would bother them ahead of time, just in case he needed to commit any sexual acts with you.

Normally, he’d tell you to close your eyes whenever anything ugly was about to commence.

Don’t look.

Close your eyes.

Such common sayings, followed by his hands over your eyes.

But he doesn’t utter those words as he pulls back, locking eyes with you as he brings his hand to his forehead, careful and deliberate, before undoing the string that holds his true form back from your delicate heart.

The anticipation weighs on him. Denying you this opportunity would plant the seeds of doubt, and over time, the little things he says you can’t have will cause them to sprout, slowly killing the love you dish out.

You are so naïve— so stupid. Why do you have to make him do this?

The skin parts cleanly, revealing the translucent cast that houses the real him—the brain.

Disgusting. Pale. Grotesque.

It floats there in a shallow pool of fluid, emitting cursed energy with long salmon-colored tendril-like wires that connect it to the nervous system of the body of Suguru Geto.

The sight is unsettling, repulsive, and demonstrably unromantic.

Your large eyes widen. “Oh,” you squeak, drinking in the sight. “…I see.”

The words hang in the air.

You reach out, stopping just short of the uncanny mouth with yellowing teeth.

“It’s… different,” you begin, voice hushed and melodic as if you’re whispering to the brain and not the body of Suguru. “It's… you. The one who listens to me, the one who buys me pretty things, the one who protects me from evil, the one who holds me like I’m the most important thing in the world… the one who loves me.”

You resist touching it, already feeling how deeply uncomfortable this is for him.

He doesn’t reply, just slowly closes the hatch, and the stitches rethread on their own.

“I didn’t think I’d fall in love with a brain,” you add, giving him that ravishing smile you don’t know you have.

Kenjaku pulls you into his arms, cradling your tiny body against his. “You’re really full of surprises, (y/n),” he murmurs into your hair. “People always run from me, but you… You just keep loving.”

You snuggle into his chest, the aura of love flourishing from you. “Thank you for showing me.”

✿ · · · ✿ · · · ✿

The sun barely sets before you’re back home, exhaustion pulling you towards your bed. A bag of goods you insist on carrying hangs off your arm.

“I had such a good time~!” You muse, plopping on your couch. “The cherry blossom event really tired me out. So much walking in these heavy clothes…”

“Well, I’m glad you enjoyed yourself,” Geto says, sitting beside you and kissing your temple.

“You should take me out more, Geto!”

“Alright, I will, since you’re always so good to me.”

You change into pajamas, even Geto substitutes his usual traditional robes for something more casual and lounge-y.

There’s no time to settle in before a timid knock sounds at your door.

“I’ll get it,” he says, rising from the couch, movements slightly languid. He’s tired.

You pad behind him, waiting until he answers the door before wrapping your arms around him. Peeking around his broad body, you see that it’s Choso, who turns a light shade of pink as he lays eyes on you.

Geto notices.

“What is it that you want, Choso?”

He flinches, “Oh, uh, my brothers have just reached where the finger is located…”

“How wonderful. Is that all?” Geto questions, tilting his head.

Choso’s eyes briefly dart to you before landing back on Geto’s face.

“…And Mahito asks if you and (y/n) would like to… play a board game he found.”

You perk up. “Board game?”

“Not interested.”

You glance at Geto. “What? But I wanna play. We can be on the same team!”

Choso sees annoyance across his face. Then he smiles and looks down at your cuddling form. “Are you sure you have the energy, (y/n)? We’ve been out all day. Don’t you want to rest?”

You nuzzle into his back. “Yes, of course, I have the energy if it means spending more time with you.”

The game takes place in some random old game room. It’s open and harshly lit by a dying overhead lamp. Aged ale sits on shelves, forgotten and covered in a thick layer of dust. Ashtrays with old cigarettes burnt out, connected by cobwebs, as if the residents of this gameroom left in a hurry, but beyond your time entirely.

Three red chairs surround the table.

“Ugh, no chair for me, really, Mahito?” Your stern voice makes him jump.

“Um, excuse me, little missy, but you’re not even supposed to be playing, so lucky I even found a piece for you!” He bites back, clearly mocking you.

“That’s bullshit, you’re just trying to piss me off! Choso said you asked for Geto and me. And even if you want just Geto, we are a pair. I go where he goes.”

Geto sits in his respective chair, turning out the childish bickering you and Mahito would engage in regularly.

“Oh yeah?” Mojito says, “I can’t imagine a girl like you going anywhere without her male handler anyway.”

“Male Handler?!” You exclaim. “What do you think this is? The 1950s? Geto is not my male handler. We are lovers, but a patch face freak like you wouldn’t know anything about love, would you? You’d scare off all the women with your ugly looks and dogshit personality.”

Geto’s gaze remains fixated on Choso’s, who is deliberately avoiding eye contact.

“Oh wow, how long-winded of you!” Mojito beams. “The little girl’s able to form a sentence to me without crying~ You really are all grown up~.”

“That’s enough, you two.” Geto’s voice cuts through your quarrel. He opens his arms, ushering you to him. “Use me as your chair, sweetheart. Don’t let Mahito upset you.”

“Hmph!” You climb into his lap, mimicking Mahito’s expression and sticking out your tongue.

Geto’s arms wrap around you, a hand sliding up your shirt and resting just below your breasts. His eyes remain on Choso, who idly fumbles with his set of game pieces.

It seems Choso has lied to him.

The game begins.

Of course, without more arguing between you and Mahito. You had no idea how to play, and you were teased for it.

“You should know! It’s a human game~!”

But the game starts eventually.

It’s difficult for Choso to pay attention. He often loses track of what the rules are and struggles to retain information. And it’s not because he can’t. He just… doesn’t care.

The feelings he harbors inside himself are so much stronger than he ever imagined. Seeing you at rest after a long day fills him with something heavy and warm, but not suffocating. And when you laugh, his stomach twists in a way that is far from unpleasant. That pleasure that’s almost like pain is something he wants to chase, not get away from. Is it what humans call “butterflies”?

They don’t exactly feel like the flies made of butter, but what it does feel like is the ever so slight sensation to throw up when you simply brush against him. Not of disgust, but like how you’re so overwhelmed that the butterflies must exit his body.

Choso can’t handle butterflies.

When you talk to him, he holds his breath, and he stares, like if he breathes or blinks, then you’ll disappear, or worse: realize that you don’t like talking to him.

The thumbs brushing his cheeks as you spoke to him before is something he continues to replay in his head. Your voice was so soft and pure. Much too pure for Geto. Now, he has this unwavering urge to protect you.

His eyes dart to you and Geto, cuddled together. All he can think is that he doesn’t like how he’s holding you. Like you’re an object and not a beautiful woman. But his vision can be clouded. Maybe Geto really loves you, and he is lying to himself about how his actions are pretend. Choso thinks that’s only a possibility if Geto loves as deeply as him.

And this feeling of love can’t possibly be felt by anyone else.

This sensation he feels inside isn’t always as pure as you are. Sometimes, it feels like hunger. He wants to consume your affection like a curse would flesh. To feast on your softness. To swallow the moans of his name when he touches you.

It terrifies him.

Am I no better than Geto?

The things Choso thinks of doing go beyond just kissing and holding.

Geto moves his piece on the game board, his hand returning to your midsection where he’d rub idle circles and occasionally kiss your cheek.

What if I did that? Would she like it?

Was it the action you liked, or was it because Geto is doing it?

However, his thoughts are soon eclipsed by a snap.

Threads being cut from him like limbs being viciously torn away.

Then it hit.

Eso.

Kechizu.

The gentle image of loving you shatters.

Pain explodes through him, raw and visceral, as if his own heart’s been ripped out.

He feels it. The exact moment their cursed energy vanishes from this world. An energy he’d felt since their birth.

The only constant love he’d ever known…

…severed in an instant.

His brothers are dead.

Silent anger floods him like molten rock, burning away everything else.

Mid-turn, Choso stills, and the anger reaches his fingers, causing him to crush his piece before he can place it.

He ignores Mahito’s whining and Geto’s redundant questions.

“Both of my brothers just died.”

tagged ppl: @alebrasil0101 @iloooooveemangoesssss @qwertygrrrrlll @ironsaladwitch thx so much! :)

[jojikawa]

do you have an ao3 for your fics??? i love your writing!!

Thanks! It means so much. I do have an Ao3 but it’s terribly neglected:p

https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jojikawa/profile

[jojikawa]

Imagine a fic like this with Modulo Yuji, perhaps? I’m dying to read.

[jojikawa]

Contest of Gods ❤️⚔️

Ｐａｒｔ １．５： Ｗａｒｍｔｈ ｏｆ Ｌｉｅｓ

Choso Kamo x Fem!Reader

Masterlist

🌧️ — Choso's feelings for you grow heavier after his accidental confession, even as he tries to lock them away. Meanwhile, a looming sense of loneliness leads you to act out, and Kenjaku must remind you exactly who you belong to.

DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT ⚠️ Grooming (Adult MC was groomed by Kenjaku as a minor), Emotional Manipulation.

Part One

The memory of your hands on his face remains etched into Choso’s brain. A feeling he will never forget long after you pass on. He can’t remember a time he’d been touched with such care, if ever. 

And the brief moment he felt your power enter him, he thought that you’d look the most beautiful you’d ever been—your unique eyes, your cute face, the fullness of your lips. His heart twists with sorrow, and his stomach burns in delight. 

Love, love, love.

Why does it have to feel like this? He’d felt so much pain in his lifetime, but nothing could match the pain he felt when seeing Geto manipulate you. 

And then his confession.

“I love you.”

It was never meant to be said out loud, but somehow, it happened anyway.

Could this have been a byproduct of your abilities? To bring the love he holds for you to the surface so effortlessly? 

Controlling his emotions was an easy task. 

But you make it unimaginably difficult.

Choso had been tending to Eso and Kechizu, giving them blood-based sustenance as the two of them would soon be sent out to retrieve one of Sukuna’s fingers on behalf of Mahito. He wanted to make sure they were at their best in case they encountered problems. 

That’s when Geto enters.

He’s quiet, not making himself known until he’s too close not to sense.

“Choso.”

He would’ve flinched if he wasn’t expecting it. He’s not allowed anywhere in your room Geto doesn’t allow. And he knows you encourage it, but he’d never scold you.

Choso turns to meet Geto, who’s standing in the doorway, an unreadable smile on his face.

“(y/n) told me what you said. That you love her.”

Choso doesn’t deny it, only meeting Geto’s eyes.

Geto steps closer, staring him down with his gaze alone. “Listen carefully,” he says. “I won’t punish you. Not this time. But if you want to keep that body… and for your brothers to keep living… You will refrain from talking about love to (y/n) again.”

His brothers.

“Do not confess any further. Do not encourage her poetic, pointless little speeches about the subject. Do not feed into her affection in any way that makes her question where her loyalty should lie.”

His eyes narrow.

“The goal is simple: keep her isolated. Keep her dependent. Keep her love focused only on me until the time is right. She is a gift. Nothing more. Nothing less. Do you understand?”

He turns to leave, then pauses.

“And Choso… the next time you feel the urge to tell her you love her, remember this: she already has someone who owns her heart. Don’t make me remind you again.”

Geto leaves without another word.

Own her heart.

Words like this should make Choso give up. He should accept that you belonged to someone else, and that was that. It didn’t matter if you were being used for a plot he knew little of or what would be your fate once your role was fulfilled. It shouldn’t be this difficult to push down feelings like this. The tightening of his chest when you look at him, the clenching of his fists when he tries to resist touching you, the warmth in his stomach when he imagines the sweet things you say to Geto being said to him instead.

They stay inside this box in his heart, but it gets larger and larger, and at any moment, it feels as though his heart may burst.

It was you who told him that it was love. His brothers knew nothing, and he was a fool to ask Mahito or Geto what this feeling was. So, he asked you. 

“Aw, Choso, that’s called love.”

Choso turns to his brothers, Eso and Kechizu, who knew better than to intervene or comment on disagreements between Geto and their older brother. 

“Be careful,” he says, “The finger’s power is strong. It’ll attract a lot of attention. If anything goes wrong, remember what I taught you.”

“You care about her,” Eso says. 

Choso doesn’t answer right away. He thinks of your gentle hands on his face. He imagines you saying, “I love you, too.”

“I care about all of you,” he mutters, voice rough. “And that’s enough. Now, get going. I’ll stay here. Too many of us can’t be too far from (y/n).”

Choso bids his brothers farewell, not knowing it will be the last time he feels their brotherly bond. 

Romantic love is foreign, as there is no need for it. He didn’t even know it was something he could desire. That feeling of “want” that makes one want to be so close to another that they want to become one. But the love he holds for his brothers is that of a well-kept garden he nurtures daily with his blood and sweat. But the feeling he gets with you isn’t unwelcome, pollinating every flower in this garden of relationships he tends to, creating a new flower he wants to separate from everything else and keep close.

“Choso!”

Your voice cuts through the quiet, making him jump. He turns to see you poking your head through the half-closed door. 

“I need your help!” You yell hoarsely in a poor attempt to whisper.

“(y/n)? You’re not supposed to be out…” He makes his way over to you, trying to usher you out the door. 

“I know, I know, but I can’t keep waiting on Geto, and I don’t wanna ask Mahito for help.” You smile, “I want to go home for a bit.”

His eyes widen.

“No…”

“Please!?”

“Geto won’t allow it.”

“But there’s stuff there I need there! It’ll be quick. I promise.” You beg with pretty, pleading eyes, your hands clasped together. Such a fruitless thing, that could jeopardize everything, and it would be his fault.

“Did you ask Geto if this was okay?” 

For once, you retreat inward, eye contact no longer being so easy. Your head sinks. 

“Yes,” you answer, “I did.”

“...and? What did he say?”

Your perpetual smile falters slightly, “...he said no…”

“Then I’m saying no. I’m sorry. Where is Geto?”

You step forward, getting really close before he can step back. “He left, I don’t know for how long, but we can go and come back before he notices~!”

“Wouldn’t that make him angry?”

“Not if we go and come back,” you say, fisting his garb. “Please, please, please!” You comedically nuzzle your head into his chest.

“B-But what will happen if someone sees you?”

You cease your nuzzling to look up at him and beam, “You’ll protect me!” 

His hands hover at your sides, unsure whether to touch you. The idea of denying you eats at him, but who knows what can of worms this could open?

“What do you need that you can get a new one of…?”

Suddenly, you pull away, and the warmth vanishes.

“Ugh, fine. I guess I’ll just wait a hundred years until Geto says it's okay.” You pout, “I can’t rely on anyone for anything here.”

Choso perks up. “What? No, that’s not—”

The door closes with a soft click.

His mouth presses into a thin line. It was just moments ago he’d been scolded for being close to you. Waiting until Geto’s gone to bring you somewhere as dangerous as your former residence would definitely cause issues. He doesn’t know if your family members are particularly skilled sorcerers, but they must be some kind of threat if Geto has kept you hidden from them for most of your life.

Saying no is something he must do, even if it hurts you.

But seeing you hurt, even just a little, hurts him too, if he’s the one causing that pain.

On the other hand, Kenjaku knows that you’ve outgrown the small world he’s carefully built for you. Your love for him wanes and plateaus, even when he pushes the boundaries of how much you can love a single person, essentially, if he wishes to stay victorious in any heated confrontations.

“Why did you ask Choso to take you home?”

You jump, even looking in the mirror, you hadn't seen Geto come in. It’s never something you quite get used to. He’d been gone all night and appeared once you’d woken up for the day.

“Oh, Geto! You scared me. Ever heard of knocking?” You say and smile, rising from your ornate princess-adjacent vanity.

Geto remains silent, looking past you, his eyes making micromovements as you approach him.

You wrap your arms around his neck, pressing your body to his, waiting for his hands to wrap around your waist, but they don’t.

“You know you can always count on me.” He adds, his voice low and in that tone that makes your heart clench.

He’s annoyed.

You raise on your toes to kiss him, but he’s much too tall, and he doesn’t meet you halfway. You frown, not having much heart to keep up the attempt.

“... Sometimes I miss them,” you say, finding the floor much easier to keep eye contact with. You don’t want to see his expression at the statement. That stern look of a parent. He isn’t, but in moments like this, he reminds you of one.

“I love you, and I love being with you, but sometimes I-”

“(y/n).”

You raise your head to meet his eyes. His lips are pressed into a line, and you search his perfect face for any sign of emotion you can understand, to no avail. 

His hand hovers near the side of your neck.

Then you feel the warmth of his skin against yours. His palm travels up until it meets your jaw, where he cups your cheek.

“You shouldn’t care about them,” he begins, knowing you’ve heard it all before. But you need to hear it again and again until you understand. “Because they never cared about you. Don’t disregard the cruel things they’d done to you because you bleed the same blood.”

How could you forget?

“I just miss… everything else. Like… people… and things.”

“How can you miss a place void of love?” He questions, his thumb rubbing your cheek. “Do you think an animal would miss captivity the way you do?”

You knit your eyebrows together, “It’s deeper than that.” You swat his hand away and turn to resume your previous task. “You don’t get it, you’re too old. Everyone you know is dead.”

The silence that follows is deafening.

Geto’s hand remains in mid-air where you’d swatted it away, and for a second, he only stares at the back of your head, watching you search the cluttered vanity for whatever accessory you wanted to pile on top of the dozen you already wore. 

His expression remains unreadable, with his body stilled to a point that wouldn’t qualify as human. Slowly, he lets out an amused exhale.

“...too old,” he repeats, his smooth voice dangerously quiet. “Everyone I know… is dead.”

You find the earring you’d been looking for, and when you look up, you see him less than a foot behind you in the reflection of the mirror. 

You face him, the intimidation radiating off him causing your shallow anger to melt. You back up until your thighs touch the edge of the vanity, and he’s towering over you. Both of his hands brace the table beside your hips, trapping you, but not yet touching you.

“You’re right,” he says softly, his usual smile returning. “I am too old. I’ve watched empires rise and fall. I’ve buried lovers, children, and bloodlines. I’ve forgotten more faces than you will ever meet.”

A hand finally moves, gently… almost tenderly, as he catches your chin to lift your crestfallen face to meet his gaze. His thumb brushes your lower lip.

Like he always does when he’s about to kiss you.

“But you…” His voice is a whisper. “You’re the first thing in centuries that has managed to make me feel old. Because only someone very young and very naive would look me in the eye and say something so stupidly thoughtless.”

You want to take it back. Apologize. Hug him.

But you can’t.

Come on. Say you’re sorry.

Do it.

Your mouth works, but he speaks first.

“Do you enjoy reminding me how alone I am, (y/n)?” he asks, almost conversationally. “That the only person who has stayed by my side in a thousand years is a fragile little girl who goes behind my back because she misses the cage she used to live in?”

He leans close, his lips mere inches from your ear. 

“I could have left you there. Rotting in your little princess tower until the inevitable came. Forgotten and used by people who never deserved you. Instead, I’ve made you my princess and given you so much. And the moment I don’t do something you want, you throw my age in my face like a weapon?”

He chuckles, but you know it’s fake.

“So cruel.” He pulls away, and all of a sudden, you feel too ashamed to speak up, even if it's to apologize. “You don’t want to know what it’s like when I say cruel things now, do you?”

He lets his words sit to make himself clear.

That’s what he feels like he should do.

Then he feels it. A growing emptiness.

Kenjaku loves your power. Someone attuned to cursed energy like him can always feel it. The slight pressure in his chest that feels familiar to him, like you’re always with him.

But in times like this, it wanes. The uncomfortable exposure after taking off a weighted blanket, the chilled sensation of your skin after stepping outside in winter.

He pushes away from you, and the space is once more your own.

“I’ve decided that we should do something together.” He hums, low and pleased. “You’re too cooped up in this apartment.”

His relationship with you requires so much more effort than it used to when you were a little girl. Even with limiting your interactions, you’d developed a deeper sense of what love should be like through media consumption and self-reflection alone. Ever since you’d become a woman, your standards have shifted. Your love for him would only continue to dwindle if he didn’t do something.

And what would become of the both of you if you began loving someone else?

Taglist: @alebrasil0101 @iloooooveemangoesssss thanks so much!

[jojikawa]

Met Keith Silverstein at my local anime con! He talked like Zhongli for me!

[jojikawa]

I’d like a Naoya x Misandrist reader that beats the shit out of him

[jojikawa]

That frieren thing I wrote is doing numbers I’m so sorry I have no idea what I wanna do for that story in terms of an overarching plot 💔

[jojikawa]

Pervy!Takaba x Fem!Assistant Reader Headcanons (˶>⩊<˶)

Tw? Takaba is 35 and depraved, fem mc is in mid 20s, so small age gap.

❀ Pervy!Takaba, who has the hots for his cute new manager (who applied because his last one quit after another bad show).

❀ Pervy!Takaba, who can’t stop staring into your pretty eyes during your interview. He doesn’t even know if you can do the job well, but you’re hired! 

❀ Pervy!Takaba, who watches you print cute flyers that you have out yourself, saying, “My boss is really funny! You should come see him.” His heart flutters. You successfully negotiate with small venues that can’t say no due to your charisma.

❀ Pervy!Takaba, who notices you always sitting in the front row, laughing at his jokes, and clapping enthusiastically. It makes him so happy!

❀ Pervy!Takaba, who is pleasantly surprised when he comes into his dressing room to find that it’s already cute and decorated.

❀ Pervy!Takaba, who’s constantly flushed at you calling him “Takaba-san” in the sweetest voice when you bring him coffee in the morning.

❀ Pervy!Takaba, who has to look away when you bend over to pick up anything, because he didn’t realize how short your skirt has been until just now (but he won’t tell you).

❀ Pervy!Takaba, who can’t stop staring at your thigh spread when you sit on his desk to show him new social media trends that he could work into new material.

❀ Pervy!Takaba, who looks forward to your encouraging hugs after every rehearsal. He pretends it’s friendly, but he thinks about your body against his a little too much. 

❀ Pervy!Takaba, who pretends not to notice you struggling to reach something on a high shelf because your skirt rides up and he can get a glimpse of the panties you chose to wear that day.

❀ Pervy!Takaba, whose brain immediately pictures sliding his large hands up your skirt to feel the exact fabric of those panties. He imagines they’re satin, but he’d love to be corrected if not!

❀ Pervy!Takaba, who has to turn away so you don’t see him getting hard.

❀ Pervy!Takaba, who understands you have no sense of personal space or boundaries when you sit in his lap because there’s no other chair available in the meeting that makes or breaks his next show.

❀ Pervy!Takaba, who sits perfectly still! Refusing to breathe and tries to focus on what’s important… until you begin to shift and he feels your soft ass against his crotch. His dick twitches traitorously! 

❀ Pervy!Takaba, who daydreams about gripping your plush thighs while he eats you out instead of working on his material. An empty stage after a show. You're naked, save for the stockings you wear under your skirt, beckoning him to kneel, and he obeys.

❀ Pervy!Takaba, who’s driven insane by your sweet voice, saying innocent things like “You’re so tall.” “Your hands are so big.” Because he can imagine you moaning, “You’re so big inside of me!” and he has to excuse himself.

❀ Pervy!Takaba, who masturbates before a show to calm his nerves, picturing you riding him, asking him for guidance and approval of your performance in a bashful tone. “Am I doing it right, Takaba-san?” He melts at the idea.

❀ Pervy!Takaba, who’s sad and depraved, but in a cute “i jerk off to your voice notes” way. So kinda endearing.

❀ Pervy!Takaba, who thinks about you sexually nearly every day. Sometimes multiple times a day. After every interaction. 

❀ Pervy!Takaba, who nearly explodes when he stumbles across your personal social media where you post cute, innocent candids of yourself with friends, with pets, and sometimes… him! “Wow, she’s not embarrassed to show me off to her following? She’s so sweet!”

❀ Pervy!Takaba, who imagines your small body under his, your hair wrapped around his fist as he rails you against his desk. 

❀ Pervy!Takaba, who’d never force you into anything or make you uncomfortable. His filthy depravity stays purely in his head as daydreams when he sees you bending over, or zooming in on your thighs and cleavage on the pictures where the soft skin is visible, and fucking into his fist 30 mins after seeing you when he finally gets home. But it leaks out physically in lingering hugs and staring shamelessly at your breasts and panties. That person in tiktok w/ the Takaba plushie made me like him.

[patgoers]

oh, i like my boys playing hard to get!<3