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Less God Here
(than there is in hell)
💌Yandere!Keigo Takami | Hawks x F!Reader💌
10.6k words
Sequel to Ingrate | Inspired by Stuck with Me (TNBH)
Summary:
Keigo and you are both so wonderful at pretending. You could waste days in a fantasy, forever dreaming, smudging over the ugly past.
TWs for: Rape, pee stuff (mention), miscarriage, suicide (mention), self harm, abuse
Tags:
Codependency, a pretty sad sex scene, a lot of crying, purble place, bedroom roleplay but its like… yikes, mindfuckery
———
The past is mutable.
At least to you and Keigo, that is. He’s lost the breath and effort to keep correcting you. He goes along with what you say, carving away the ugly details and smoothing them over with fallacy, whittling away at the memories in your head. He agrees with you when you tell him that your first date was romantic. He concurs with you when you bring up how kind he was to leave gifts at your doorstep.
You treasure them.
Candy that hasn’t yet gone out of date in ornate tins (he rations you with them, saying that it’s a bad idea to have too many in one day- you don’t even want to eat them in the first place, only cherish the sweets for the rest of your existence). Teddies with beady eyes, ogling you from within the guest room. Keigo keeps trying to make you sleep in it. In the end, you always end up crawling into his bed, teary-eyed, telling him you can’t get to sleep without him.
Keep reading
#“I’m not doing anything. I never get to do anything at all.”#yandere#bnha x reader#fic rec#hawks x reader#hawks
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spoonfed / suguru geto
word count: 1,181
tags: yandere, drugged sex, non-consensual drug use, forced orgasm, bath sex, vomiting, implied kidnapping, aphrodisiacs, established relationship (LOL)
a/n: “have you ever read sharp objects?” me:
summary: After a night spent at Suguru's, you find yourself in poor health.
It’s all very funny, mostly. You’d felt anxious, but fine going to sleep last night. Then when you woke up, the first thing you did was run for the bathroom. You’d hoped sheepishly to return to bed unnoticed, but naturally when you walked back into the bedroom Suguru was awake, waiting with a glass of water for you.
You’d tried to play it off, but then you threw up again, and again. After, Suguru held you close, told you not to hide your whimpers. He said something then, almost blurted it like he couldn’t help himself.
“I guess you won’t be able to make that work trip.”
That was right, wasn’t it? You’d had a trip, one you were supposed to leave for today, but you didn’t have one anymore, it seemed. Suguru had slid out of bed for a moment, grabbing his cell, telling you there’s nothing to worry about, he’ll take care of it.
Now, you feel like a frail Victiorian child. It aches to stand, to breathe even. You’d hoped to find your clothes, to get out of Suguru’s place once you’d gained a bit of strength. You couldn’t imagine yourself willingly letting him see you like this in a million years, but now it’s happening and you’re hating every second of it. If you could only leave, you’d be able to take an extended break to recover, so you’d be at your best the next time you saw him, if he’d want to see you again.
“You should get back into bed.” You hadn’t even noticed his arrival, which wasn’t surprising. However, instead of being amused, you feel pure dread.
“Um, thanks,” you find yourself trailing off. Has it ever been this hard to put one word in front of the other? “Actually though, I should probably go home. I’ve been here too long and… I don’t want to get you sick.”
“I’ll be fine,” Suguru sighs. He seems to glide across the room until he’s right in front of you, wrapping cold hands around your arms to fold you back into his sheets. You were shaking in the frigid air of your boyfriend’s bedroom but swallowed in fabric you suddenly start to burn. It’s not long before you’re hurling yourself over the side of the bed, desperate to preserve some measure of self control, of decency.
There’s already a trashcan there for you, and Suguru holds your hair back as you empty the contents of your stomach. It’s liquid and bits of apple. You’d been so weak he’d had to feed you himself, bits freshly chopped into small pieces. His hand on your shoulder, moving softly over and over on the same piece of skin.
“I feel sick,” you raise your head as much as you can, ashamed of your condition. It’s Suguru who grabs your chin, lifts your head so you can see his face (or so he can see yours). You find yourself surprised that he looks so… kind.
“Maybe the hospital–“
“Don’t be silly,” he says, smiling, “Like I would let anyone else take care of you. Now, into the tub.”
He carries you there, and against his chest, you can hear his heartbeat through his robe, feel it too. You think it’s racing, but it’s equally as possible that your sense of time is just distorted.
He says nothing as he strips your nightgown off you. It doesn’t even make you blush at this point, and he hums softly at your display of reliance.
The water is hot, so much so that you panic and try to escape, but Suguru’s there to push your shoulders down. Instantly, you sink until the water is just below your breasts. Stagnant, waiting for his next move.
He drops to his knees behind you, probably so you can’t see what he’s doing. It takes more effort than it should, but you turn your head. You’re barely able to see as he pulls out two capsules from what seems like nowhere, and inside are two yellow pills. You hold out your hand, but he gently pushes it away and holds the first one to your mouth. You don’t fight it, or the second one which comes moments later. Then, there’s another glass of water to drink. All the while, he strokes his other hand through your hair. You’re embarrassed that the gesture works to comfort you.
Suguru scrubs your flesh with a soft brush, using the soap you have at your place. You realize that he must have bought it for his. He washes your hair, your face. He treats you with care, but at the same time it feels a bit like a checklist. Once you’re done with one thing, he’s moving on to something else. Still, it’s all routine procedure, until he surprises you.
“Open your legs,” he tells you, and when it takes you too long to comply he does it himself. Then you feel his fingers cup you there. Suguru doesn’t move them; he only applies a bit of pressure you can barely manage. Precise like a surgeon’s hands.
“What are you doing!” You try to be stern but it comes out like a weak moan. You’re so overwhelmed by the illness, by shame of being like this in front of him, that the slightest bit of something pleasurable stuns you.
“Taking your temperature,” he says with no shame, and you’d never believe that’s really what he means to do. “You’re hot.”
“I bet,” you manage to mutter. When Suguru smiles, you realize your lip is trembling.
“In fact, I think I should cool you down.”
He thumbs at your clit, kisses your neck. It takes barely that to wind you up. Quickly, you find yourself panting for him, out of breath doing nothing at all. You’re worried how reactive you’ll be if he makes you come, but Suguru isn’t scared to push you there.
His fingers tease at you, stroking softly, but you whine as he presses harder on your clit and begins rubbing it with soft strokes. Your instinct is to writhe, to shake, but you feel too dizzy with pleasure for any of that.
“This is good, right?” you’re asked, like he doesn’t know. “It makes you feel better.”
“Suguru,” you plead, but it falls on deaf ears.
He leads you towards your orgasm with commands, stay still even though you aren’t moving. Don’t fight, when you haven’t the strength to try. He tells you to kiss him, and you lean your head back to meet his lips. You feel his moan in your mouth, and he coaxes your tongue to touch his. The hand not working you holds your jaw so you’re stuck to him.
You come like that, with his fingers on your cunt. The feeling is hot and muffled. Suguru kisses you the entire time, whispering words in between. He tells you he’s being gentle for you, that it’s nothing you’ve haven’t taken before, probably a hundred times. He’s not wrong, but you still feel worse than ever when he finally opens you up and slips a finger inside.
#my writing#jujutsu kaisen smut#jujutsu kaisen x reader#suguru geto smut#suguru geto x reader#suguru geto#jjk smut#jjk x reader#smut#if you saw this before no you didn’t!#yandere suguru#yandere geto#yandere
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not that there are any concrete plans but i wanna put more male reader stuff into the space… like a lot
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there really isn’t a good place to post original writing
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general information
i don’t necessarily take requests, but i do take suggestions. if an ask sparks my interest i’ll certainly try to fulfill it!
feel free to send anything in, but here are things i usually don’t like: pregnancy (breeding is fine), dumb/bimbo/airhead reader
i do write both male and female reader,
byf: i will be (re)posting dark content which may include but is not limited to: yandere, dub/non-con, toxicity and abuse
will be updating as i figure out what i need to include here…
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i’m thinking yandere with sociopath reader… they want you to care so badly, but you won’t. you can’t.
#yandere cw#dark content cw#i guess i’ll start tagging this stuff…#the most ones who crave intamacy the most would be particularly devastated#the ones who aren’t content just to have you physically#they need you mentally too but…#i’ll write it at some point#thoughts
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the way I am on my Leon era and then watched the Spiderverse movie and I am now in both Leon era and Miguel era.... and then I read ur Miguel fic and opened ur profile to maybe read more but see Leon....... I WON FR 😭
BEST OF BOTH WORLDS 😭🫶
i guess it was just perfect timing. i’m glad you enjoyed them!
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if ur taking requests, can we see what happened the time reader denied miguel and he begged? if ur not taking req you can just ignore this <3
word count: 1143
a/n: this got much longer than intended, i don’t think it necessitates explicit tags, but there is dubious consent. I suppose there are slight hints to events in the film as well, but honestly blink and you’ll miss it stuff. referenced fic here.
The date goes alright. The man in general is alright. Reasonably you know you should be satisfied with alright. It's not like you have much going on elsewhere. Except for the fact that you're fucking Spider-Man. One of them, at least.
You don't know much about Miguel other than that, and a couple of other things you've pieced together. Most things you didn't even learn from him. Corporate gossip is the source material for half of his portfolio. It's taken you months to get just those pieces, and you know you're not a girlfriend, but can you be blamed for wanting more?
He certainly expects more from you, you realize, when he shows up at your place an hour after you get home from being out.
“What a coincidence," you laugh. “I had a feeling you might show up, and here you are."
"You look nice," he sidesteps aggressively. It's unlike him to ignore anything resembling an attitude, but he does now. For what reason doesn't even seem important. All you can think is that you want this man out of your apartment, and maybe even your life.
“That's what he said." you reply, wincing at the brightness when you move to hang up your coat. The lights are set to activate when there's a human presence, but he must have hacked the system to turn them off, so he could sit in the dark like a lunatic. “He said, 'you look very nice,’ too. Except he had a lot more enthusiasm."
"So what? You pick him. That's it?"
"I'm not picking you. You aren't even an option.” The rage quietly taking over his features isn't like anything else when it's directed towards you. His brows begin to pinch, and when he opens his mouth you see hints of his fangs.
"Why not?" He starts to step into your bubble. You have less space to retreat before your back is against the way. You can’t see the rest of the room past his broad shoulders, and he’s got his neck craned down so he can see every cute expression you make.
"I know nothing about your past, or even much of your present, to be frank." You say the words monotone secretary style, still trying to have control. "I assume you're busy with things I can't even dream of, and I don't think you want me near any of that either. You have issues, and I don't need you to spill your guts, and we could go on about this forever. It won't be worth it, it's not even interesting.”
“I can make it more interesting." You can see that he intends to fuck you. To use sex to make the problem disappear.
"One for the road," you smile, because at this point why not. He's never been bad at this part, but you have leverage, and if it’s the last time you’ll see Miguel, you might as well blow it. “Sure,” you say, “if you beg me.”
You clench your things when you see him even consider it, and it gets worse when you hear him.
“Please,” he starts, teeth gritted, and you start to think about them in your flesh. “Please, let me fuck you. That’s what you wanna hear? I wanna fuck you. I wanna feel you come on my dick. That good enough for you, baby?”
“Sure, good enough,” you try to downplay, but you think you might want it more than he does.
He's faster to take you than a human man ever could be. You’re pinned to the floor, his fingers in your hair, one hand at your hip and the other at your neck. He just holds his hand there, flexes his fingers, so you can feel the threat of a squeeze. He stares you down. “Nothing like that,” when you cock your head, he doesn’t elaborate.
“Give me a kiss,” Miguel demands. He’s so shy about it that you fall for the bait. He doesn’t waste a minute before trying to shove his tongue in your mouth, like there’s no point in kissing you if he can’t, but the problem is he also drools, because he’s keeping his mouth just a little too wide so he doesn’t cut you with those teeth.
“Just fuck me,” you hiss between kisses, feeling like you’re drowning in him.
“Gonna be nice after being so mean, huh?”
“Maybe,” you groan, “if you stop talking.”
“You sure, baby,” he gives you one last out, “you want me to split you on my dick? Not my fingers first?”
“I don’t care. Do what you want.” You let yourself go limp in his hold, and he does as he threatened. You feel him remove your layers slowly, a small torture, but you’re fit to endure when it leads to the warmth of his hands. They grab you all over, your stomach, your tits and shoulders. Then they make their way down.
Miguel makes a pleased grunt when he finds you wet, and doesn’t waste any time. You feel his cock split you, something you can’t get used to. You used to try and fight it, writhe and squirm. It took you a couple times to realize you’re too weak. In Miguel’s hands all your strength needs nothing. Every time he’s pinned you against him, held you close while inching his cock inside.
He moves his hips till you can feel his balls on your clit, and then sighs. Relief, something you wish you could be granted. You’re whining, all because you can feel him throbbing in your guts, against your cervix.
“Listen to me next time,” he grumbles, sounding strangely fond of you.
Then the sympathy fades away, and he starts to move. He’s not gentle, he’s fucking you to prove something. He’s the only one who can give it to you like this. Who can make you lose your mind on a cock.
“This is what I wanted, fuck.” You can tell it affects him when you wrap your legs around him, dig your feet into his ass to push him in deeper. “Feel so good. Can’t stop clenching all over me, huh. Feels like you’re trying to milk me.” He huffs into your neck. “That it? You want my come, baby?”
He brings his hips down harder, so deep in you breathing feels difficult. You moan and agree to whatever he says, nodding without thinking. Making promises you can’t keep.
He tells you that your cunt’s the best, nobody else can take me this deep, and that’s why you can’t date other guys, need to keep this pussy mine. All while you look into his eyes with a blank stare, almost like you love him while he drills you.
“That’s why you’re gonna be good for me,” he says, “because if not, I’ll just remind you again, just like this.”
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…
he/him. 21. mainly film, tv, and lit, but other stuff too
— most recent: spoonfed
masterlist / general / ao3
last updated 10/23
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can’t quit you / miguel o’hara
word count: 1642
tags: oral sex, size kink, friends with benefits, strength kink, slight angst, commitment issues
ao3 link: here
summary: you know what an addiction is, and the definition doesn't seem too far off.
a/n: i’d like to add a better graphic but the movie just came out. one day!
small prequel: here
“This is practically breaking and entering,” you tease. You’re less than new to returning from work to a huge form sprawled across your couch. Miguel has no issue making himself at home, at least not in your apartment. You figure it’s a sign that you don’t scream at the sight of him, even if you’re stuck on how weird it is, coming home to a shadow at night and not being bothered. It’s part of his strange charm (and you secretly revel in the fact that he’s only this comfortable with you).
“Wouldn’t have to break in if you’d let me have a key,” he’s entirely serious.
“You know why that can’t happen,” you say, like you’ve had to say a dozen times. Any number of excuses come to mind. You’re emotionally intelligent enough to know that he’s emotionally unavailable, no matter what he says, or thinks.
“I can be your man,” he says with his typical resilience, “more, if you’ll let me.”
You don’t even know what more means, if he’s already in your apartment like it’s his, if he’s already been inside you like you’re his. What will one more step do? You know what an addiction is, and the definition doesn't seem too far off.
“Miguel…” He’s run out of reasons to refuse you. You’ve run out of reasons to refuse him. Nice reasons, at least. But knowing what’s good for you doesn’t mean that’s what you want.
He rises from the couch, and it is a rise. He normally towers over every piece of furniture in your place, over you. It doesn’t take much trying. You’ve wondered if it’s hard for him to always be the biggest thing in the room, but a guy like him probably likes that, likes being unavoidable.
Miguel only knows how to kiss one way, sloppy. When his lips meet yours it’s like all the desperate parts of him come out of hiding. His tongue grazes all parts of your mouth like there’s something sweet inside, and you whimper when you realize he’s swapping spit with you. Even his saliva runs a bit hotter. It makes you pull back, panting in lieu of straight up whining.
“Baby,” he says with your face in his hands, like he knows it’ll make you weak. You try to avoid his gaze but he catches your jaw, squeezed a little the way he knows you like. “No,” he sighs, long and heavy. “Don’t tell me you’re gonna say no now.”
“I’m not saying no…”
Miguel sinks to his knees and looks up at you like you take the wind out of his sails. Being able to look down at Miguel is a hard pill to swallow. “Gonna let me taste that sweet pussy again? Or are you gonna make me beg like you did last time?”
If you remember well, denying him didn’t end well for you the last time. You have flashes of being put in a press, legs to your ears with Miguel growling, talking about the feeling of your wet cunt on his dick, about how good you felt milking him, about how if he didn’t know any better he’d think you want his cum. You didn’t even know he could talk like that, talk about anything other than preserving and protecting. It’s like a switch is flipped when he’s with you, even if it’s been weeks or months between seeing him.
You give an inch and he takes a mile. Lifts your thigh over his shoulder so he can get at what’s between your legs. His hands travel up your thighs, gripping at parts of your flesh just to hear the sighs you make. When he goes under your skirt you expect to feel something, his fingers or tongue, but instead it’s just him breathing against you. Smelling you.
“You’re disgusting,” you whine, flushed anyway.
It doesn’t stop him, probably encouraging him instead seeing as he nestles his face in deeper, grabbing your hips so you can’t pull away. Your squirming only pushes him further into you. You can feel his nose bump your clit, and his tongue pushes fabric against your pussy.
“Miguel, come on.” You feel so ridiculous, even though he can’t see you.
“I want you to beg me,” you hear him say, “I want you to beg me like you made me beg the last time. Bet you feel just as needy as I did. I can hear it in your voice. so it shouldn’t be that hard.” He starts to palm you just to prove a point, dragging thick fingers up and down your slit. It doesn’t take long for you to start soaking through the fabric.
“Please,” you murmur, “pleasepleaseplease.”
“Please what?”
“Please, Miguel, touch me. Touch my pussy.”
“All you have to do is ask, baby.”
You feel him drag your underwear down your legs, toss it somewhere in the room. Then he’s free, free to pull apart your folds so he can see you clench and drip around nothing. He leaves you just like that, before you feel the heat of his tongue, lips following soon after. And it’s not just touching, it’s like he’s making out with it. You can’t help the throb that goes through you, and you’re sure he can taste it in his mouth.
You shiver at the heat of him, aggressive and persistent, not unlike a raging fire. Your body is torn between reactions, goosebumps on your flesh and sweat on your brow.
“It’s ok, baby,” he’s saying, sounding like he’s got a mouthful of you. “I won’t look at the faces you make. I know how embarrassed you get.”
Miguel slides two fingers in deep, and then starts curling. It doesn’t make much of him for you to feel split open. He’s big all over, everywhere where it counts.
“Cute,” he mutters, when you buck against his hand, “you still think you’re strong enough to get away from me.” His words have the intended effect. You feel powerless, so you give in. You’re barely standing on your own feet, his hand and shoulder and face giving you all the support you need.
“I know,” you moan, “I know, I can’t.” You feel yourself gone boneless in his grasp. He has you.
“Here’s what’s gonna happen: I’m gonna keep you on my fingers until you soak my hand, and then I’m gonna make us both come, okay.”
“Yes, yes, okay,” you agree without listening, “Miguel, please make me come.”
He takes away his fingers, but not before sliding them against your pussy again, like he’s trying to collect all that drips out of you. When he moans shamelessly into you, and you start to hear a slick sound, you realize that can only mean one thing.
“Are you…” You can’t say the words.
You can hear him fist his cock, spread what he took from you all over his dick, using it as lube. The sound of wet skin so loud you can almost see him. Shlick. Shlick. Shlick. You know how he gets when he’s pent up, how he leaks like a faucet if he hasn’t come recently. You’ve felt him throb in your hand, seen the dark look he gets when your hand can’t even wrap around him. Miguel moans like he knows what you’re thinking, and goes at you harder. You barely feel there, like he’s just using the taste of you to get off.
“You’re wet,” he slurs, like he’s confirming, “‘s gonna make me come.”
“Me too,” you sigh, high on the feeling of him. “I’m gonna come too.” But you can’t yet, not until you see. Your hands are clumsy and shaking as you fumble with the buttons of your skirt. You pop them out one by one until it all falls away and you can finally see Miguel.
He looks as debauched as expected. His jaw and mouth shine with what you’ve done to him, and when his eyes flicker open he looks like he’s under a spell.
“What’s wrong?” His voice is a lilting tease, “I thought you wanted me to make you come.” He looks you straight in the eyes as he leans back in, licks your clit until you whine. You’re right back on the verge of orgasm.
You know he’s close too by the way he shivers. It’s his tell, you’d realized the first time he fucks you. Miguel shakes like the pleasure is too much, and when it finally is you hear it rather than see it. Thick streams of his cum wasted on the floor beneath you. The sound of him so eleated, knowing it’s the taste of you that has him like this, has you right where he wants you.
You grab onto him as you come, feel his strong shoulders tense with the effort to hold you tight. He doesn’t let up with his mouth, licking up all of you until you shake from the stimulation.
It’s not surprising that you teeter when Miguel lets go of your legs, still weak from your orgasm. “Oh, baby,” he says, “if you needed to lay down you should have said so.”
You end up intertwined on the floor, his hand combing through your hair. You can hear him breathe deeply, and the peace of it threatens to send you into a deep sleep. It’s laughable to have him fawn over you like this, when in the morning you’ll choose to go back to separate lives, so much so that you can’t help but joke about it. “You treat all your girls like this?”
“There are no girls.”
“Sure,” you giggle, “so when I don’t see you for a month…”
You don’t believe him for a minute until you look at him, and his face is so honest, so genuine, that in the back of your mind you wonder if there could be a future for the two of you after all.
#marvel smut#marvel x reader#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o'hara smut#smut#my writing#spiderverse smut#spiderverse x reader#miguel o'hara#1k#2k#3k#4k#5k
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fairytale / leon kennedy
word count: 3323
tags: possessive behavior, abo dynamics, rut/heat cycles, knotting, breeding, hints at yandere, mentions of rape and abuse, alcohol, hazing, smut, fake dating, intimidation
ao3 link: here
summary: you and leon happen to be in the same training squadron. further events pull you even closer.
When you’re told alphas, betas, and omegas train indiscriminately, you wonder whether they’re toughening you up or throwing you to the wolves. But you don’t falter, like you maybe think you should. Ignoring your instincts is something you’ve had to learn, because most of the time they just tell you to run.
They at least do you the favor of rooming you with another omega, one of the few others in your camp. Mostly the training squad consists of alphas, not even closely followed by betas, and both those populations dwarf yours. Nothing close to what it’s like if you walk down the street.
You quickly learn the ropes, courtesy of said roommate, and there’s plenty to know. Don’t go off alone with any alphas. Keep your scent blockers on, maybe even double up. Basically, keep your fucking head down and know your place, but sometimes things feel so tough that you wonder why they put you you here at all.
“And if all that isn’t enough to scare you,” she says after she’s given you the lay of the land, “just watch what happens to the ones who aren’t as smart.”
…
Her words prove true just a few days later. It’s the weekend, and there’s a kickback a few miles off base. You don’t know whose house it is, or even whose party, but a chance to unwind is worth all of that stupidity. Even your roommate agrees.
“Be cautious, yes,” she’d said, eyes locked on her own as she applied her mascara, “but social ostracization isn’t great either.”
When you’re handed a drink, you’re told to keep an eye on it. Not that she needed to say so, but there’s a weird sense of irony keeping your guard up among people you sweat and bleed with every day.
Some of the other cadets are determined to get as fucked as possible, so before midnight hits there’s a drinking game taking place in the middle of the living room. It’s mostly organized by two alphas you recognize to be pretty important in your squadron. In between them is a girl, an omega. Both of the boys have one arm on her, a strong suggestion.
You can’t imagine what they’d smell like that close. It must be suffocating.
“Does this happen often?” You ask your roommate.
“All the time,” she says.
There’s some chatter to explain the stupid rules, beers and sodas and liquors are put in cups, and then it begins. The drinks are thrown back like water, and you can’t help but notice how many of them go down the throat of the young omega, whose face is getting redder and redder as she tries to keep up with people two times her size.
Despite her effort, she still loses the game. Nobody objects as they put her into position for her punishment, an extended keg stand. The handstand drains all color to her face, even as the beer begins to spill from her cheeks, down her face to fall towards the floor. And when it’s over, it’s no surprise that she pukes everything back up.
What is surprising is that when she’s done, they just leave her there, in her vomit. You’re smart enough not to do anything; you’re as bad as everyone else. It’s a smart way to assert dominance in an overarching way. You’re aware that this could easily be you, next weekend or the weekend after that. Your second gender makes it so easy to fall prey to almost anything.
Later on, like everyone else, you watch in silence as the omega runs out the door, until she’s entirely out of view and you can’t hear her cry anymore. You have a strong feeling you won’t be seeing her again. 8 out of every 10 dropouts are omegas, or at least, that’s what they say.
The party doesn’t go on for long after that, the mood tanked by the lingering smell of vomit and pheromones of distress. You end up catching a ride with an older cadet, who your roommate sits across from. When you open the door to get in the backseat you’re a little surprised to see the back of a man’s blond’s head.
You quickly recognize him from training: Leon, an alpha. You also quickly recognize that you don’t know much about him other than that. It isn’t quite obvious that he’d be an alpha either, at least to you.
He doesn’t say anything, other than a noncommittal grunt, but you’re not offended. As much as he tries to mask it, you can smell that he’s somewhat distressed. The alpha behind the wheel must be able to tell too, as he rolls down the windows once you’re on the open road.
“See,” your roommate yells at you over the sound of the wind, before taking another sip of warm beer, “I told you so. Everything I said… the rules…”
“You did,” you reply, but you’re fixed on Leon’s expression. You can’t get the troubledness of it out of your mind. You want to fix it, desperately.
…
Even following all the rules, it doesn’t take long for trouble to find you.
A lot of people hate your Major Krauser, but in particular you hate the way he sounds. An alpha, naturally he has no issue throwing his weight or his power or anything else in his arsenal. He’s got commanding blood running through his body, apparent in his voice when he speaks, but it’s never been aimed at you before, not like this, not at you.
“Do I have to say it again, omega?” You swear you can feel the spittle. “My office, ten minutes.”
It’s not unusual for commanding officers to request the presence of subordinates, but there have been rumors surrounding Krauser that don’t exactly have you wanting to be alone with him. Talk of him requesting favors, forced affection, omegas coming back to the barracks on shaky legs.
You know what a visit to his office means, and you’d rather be a willing lamb to the slaughter than embarrass yourself by fighting.
The corridor to Krauser’s is endless, almost comically so. It feels like fate is a door away, but the feeling seems to disappear as you hear a grunt from a couple yards away. A sound you swear isn’t new to you.
“Krauser, sir.” It’s Leon. Looking at him, hearing him, makes it finally register. He’s an alpha, no different than Krauser.
“Yes, Kennedy?” He seems to be amused, and even with just a throwaway glance you realize something that has your stomach curdling. You’re kind of expected to keep your mouth shut.
Leon’s eyes glance at you, and you find that you understand exactly what he’s trying to do.
Krauser’s buying whatever Leon’s doing. He looks between the two of you, brow arching slightly. “Oh,” he drags out. “I see. She’s yours.” The venom on the last word pulls a shake out of you.
You can feel the sweat on your temples, and your hands twitch with the urge to wipe it away. You bet you look pathetic. You’ve got someone looking out for you and you can’t even speak up to confirm his story.
Krauser tilts his head like he’s pondering fucking Leon over and just taking you anyway. “Have her then, if she’s really yours,” he says finally, suddenly bored with the whole situation like he wasn’t about to knot you over a desk. He gives you a firm pat on the shoulder before shoving you in Kennedy’s direction.
You can’t deny that walking over to Leon feels like crossing a bridge to a better place. Just by the smell of him.
“You should probably let me… y’know, scent you from now on.” Leon says later, when you’re alone. He sounds like he’s asking, but there’s something that in his eyes, intense, determined. It’s in his smell too… Does protection have a smell?
You agree without much argument. It feels right. And some part of you is happy to have someone looking after you. When he moves to touch you you can feel it lighting up, synapses in your brain, and when he lets you go you find you feel a bit woozy. You wonder if he feels it too, this gravitational pull.
“I’ll take care of you,” he says, and you agree. It must be the best option.
…
You’ve never been to the rut barracks before, and they certainly don’t have anything like that for you, but when the officer told you he was in rut, and asked if you wanted to do anything about it, you felt obligated. His tone was crooked when he said it, when he teased you about your “nice little relationship, your fairytale.” Did everyone know? He wanted to keep you protected, but how much did he say?
He’s told you stories about how hard training was, that in the beginning it was nothing he would have been able to even dream of before Raccoon City.
Knowing you has helped, you’ll remember the warmth that spread through your body at those words forever, but you try not to think about it too much, because you don’t remember talking to Leon all that much during his early out of training, at all really until he started pretending like you were his.
When you open the door, you can almost feel the heat of Leon’s lust. He’s awake despite the time, in a lounge chair he’s put in the corner in the room. You can tell he’s been sitting in it for hours. Muscled hands cling to the armrests like they’re a lifeline. His eyes are glazed, obviously from the rut, and he makes no attempt to hide the obvious boner he’s sporting. The sight of him like this distracts you from any hesitation you had before, from anything outside the room.
You take just one step, and his eyes lock onto yours impossibly fast. His spine shifts, and he looks somewhat like he does when he’s ready for combat. Leon tries to speak first, but you’re holding your hand up to stop him from getting a word in.
“Shhh,” you feel yourself purr, like you’re approaching a feral animal, which might as well be true. “I know you don’t feel good,” you tell him, “but I can make you feel better. You know I can.”
Your ears feel like they’re underwater but can make out that he’s protesting. He’s saying something about not wanting you to get hurt but you know deep down you won’t feel bad about it, about doing this with him. You have to force his walls away, so you do your best to put out a disarming smell.
“Leon,” you say, holding out your hand.
“You came,” he gasps. He’s warm around you, and his face in your neck feels natural (or maybe more like instinct). He’s trying to be careful with you, barely even moving, but you want him closer. You know he wants to be closer. You wrap your arms around him, and for once allow yourself to really feel his body.
Leon’s form is strong, and this isn’t really much of a surprise to you, but touching it is something else: a different way to know his strength. You drag your hands across every muscle and you know you’ll remember the warmth that spreads through your body for a long time. You feel him sigh, deeply, before his hands grip you a bit tighter and pull you more towards him. “This is ok?” He’s suddenly asking, with a raw voice. But you get the feeling he won’t be asking for long.
“You came to take care of me?” He’s asking, but his eyes are so lidded they seem closed, and his nostrils are flaring like crazy. He’s so worked up, and you haven’t even been with him for five minutes.
You mutter back a shy affirmation, and just to really drive, you pull at his belt. The shudder that goes through him is a reward all its own.
“Ohhh?” He’s almost all over you instantly. He’s warm around you, and his face in your neck feels natural (or maybe more like instinct). He’s still him, still so careful with you, but you want him closer. You bet he always wants to be closer. You wrap your arms around him, and for once allow yourself to really feel his body, like he makes you do when you’re under him.
Leon’s form is strong, and this isn’t really much of a surprise to you, but touching it is something else: a different way to know his strength. You drag your hands across every muscle.
Meanwhile, he’s panting, almost to the point where you can feel his wet saliva. And he’s slurring something you can’t understand, and until two huge hands cup your face and put your forehead to his.
“Ohhh,” he moans shamelessly. “Where are your blockers? I-I’ve never… I always knew you were—but I never got to smell you. But you took them off now, huh? Did you do it for me?”
His pupils are so black, the ice blue ring around them half as piercing, but worse than that is his cock you can feel pressed up against your stomach, almost letting you know how bad he’ll stretch you, before he even gets his knot in. It’s getting you wet, needy.
“Yess,” you hiss as you feel his incisors draw lines down your neck, “for youuuu.”
“You’re gonna let me take care of you? Let me give you my knot, huh?” His words make you buzz. You feel like you’re going to fall into something you can’t get out of.
“I wanna take it, I will,” you’re murmuring like you have a fever. It occurs to you: it’s a strong possibility that his rut will trigger your heat. But that doesn’t seem so bad.
“I heard he was taking you,” Leon’s saying, teeth gritted with the effort not to snarl. You realize the he in question is Krauser, that he’s talking about that day. “I couldn’t let him. Didn’t want him to have you. And he won’t. I’ll take care of you, you’re mine.”
His scent is so strong you feel sick on it. Even when you’ve been with other people you could always smell yourself, but he’s wiped you out.
“How’d you know?” Leon asks, with what seems like his last grain of sanity.
“They told me.”
He laughs but there’s a pain in it, “‘course they did.” He pulls gently at you, leading you towards the bed he’s so far left untouched.
You can tell he wants you badly but he’s trying to be gentle. It crosses your mind to give yourself up to him completely, tell Leon he can do whatever he wants with you. But you aren’t quite sure how that’ll turn out with him so turnt up like this. You still have your guard up, but there’s a part of you that lives to serve.
You do so by ridding him of his clothes, his vest and his cargo pants, and then his briefs, where you can see his cock, leaking and throbbing. You can see hints of the knot he’s gonna make you take.
The sheets are engulfed in his smell. You find out as your body sinks into them with Leon’s weight over you. His eyes seemingly follow every part of you at once. His hands grab at you, at your ass and hips. Before long, he’s undressed you as well.
“Just take me,” you tell him, “I can handle it. I know you need me.” You hope he can feel how you ache for him in return.
Leon hums to himself, but doesn’t obey your request. Instead his fingers prod over to your opening and he moves them through the slick of you. He doesn’t dip them in, and seems content to just play with you, get you even wetter, even with his dick weeping pre onto your thigh. He lets you stir in his arms until you start to beg.
“Leon,” you say, for both of your sake’s, “please.”
“Wait,” he hisses, “just give me a second. You smell so good I could…” he trails off, like he’s not supposed to say it, but you’re not interested in should or shouldn'ts. You need his knot.
“Please,” you beg again, not even aware you’re baring your neck.
Blue eyes lock onto yours for confirmation, and when he finds it he slides his dick in slowly, maybe less so you can get used to it and more so he can see you shake and writhe as you feel just how deep he goes. Without preparing you you’d think it’d feel worse, but you must just want it that badly.
“God, your pussy feels so good,” he says into your ear, when he’s worked himself all the way in. You can feel his balls as he rocks his hips against you before he begins to fuck you. You welcome every part of him, his lips on yours, his hands, and you can feel the base of him getting thicker.
“Can I have it,” you’re shocked at the sound of your whining, “your knot?”
He huffs, “no.”
“What? Why?” You’re desperate for him. He’s warming you from the inside out and he smells so good when he’s close and you feel like you were nothing before this, like the memories of before he made you his will slip away when he makes you come.
“Because,” he gasps as he goes deeper, like he’s shocked it can even feel any better, “I wanna feel you come, please. What do you need? You need it harder?”
Rather than wait for your answer he just tries it, gripping your hips just to pull you back into his cock. Using you because he’s strong enough and you’re letting him and he can. Something in that makes your brain fuzzy, makes you clench around his cock until he’s growling into your neck, giving it to you even harder.
It works, it does make you come, but you still feel needy. You pull Leon closer into all you can feel is him. Your’s mouth’s to his ear.
“Give me it,” you whine. “I know you’re close. I want it.”
“Yeah,” he says like he’s realizing it too. That he’s getting too thick there to keep fucking you like this. “Please, say you want it again.”
“Please,” you cry, “Leon, knot me, please. It’s too much if you don’t.”
He looks at you for a long moment before licking every one of your tears away. Then he fucks you he feels it.
All of you seems to soften when Leon gets caught in your pussy and comes. You can feel him filling you up, warming you from the inside out. Even better than that is the pleasure on his face. His teeth are clenched. You wonder if he’s grinding them so they don’t end up in your neck.
He cuddles you until his knot goes down, and then he bathes you (you didn’t even know there was a full on bathroom), dries you, redresses you. His cock leaks the entire time, but he ignores it in favor of you. You’re scared to say anything about it. You love the way he looks after you.
Later in bed though, you can’t help but ask him. “Why?” you say without naming anything explicitly.
“It feels natural,” Leon says, and you can tell he’s thought about it. “Feels good to give you what you need.” In all this misery it must feel good for him to save someone, rescue someone, and that someone is you.
“And you know what that is?” You can’t help but ponder. It feels uncharacteristic to say, but it also feels like the last chance for either of you to turn back from whatever this is.
“I have to,” it’s the voice of your alpha replying.
#resident evil smut#resident evil x reader#resident evil#leon kennedy x reader#leon kennedy smut#leon smut#smut#my writing#dark content cw
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HOW TO BE A DOG. | S. GOJO | PART 2
⊹ general tags ; fem + afab!reader, reader presents femininely and has some specific character traits (i.e. personality traits, nothing physical), reader is shorter / smaller than gojo but nothing specified, reader is a teacher, gojo carries reader at some point (but he is canonly able to do very insane things physically so)
⊹ content warnings ; dead dove. do not eat, yandere gojo satoru, manipulation, stalking, obsessive behavior, delusional behavior, workplace harassment (not from gojo), victim blaming, canon typical violence, graphic depictions of murder, minor character death, excessive religious imagery, coercion, gaslighting, abuse of power, something akin to stockholm syndrome, graphic depiction of noncon / sexual content, forced intimacy, fingering, hickies / bruises, begging, edging, loss of virginity, size kink, 18+.
all sexual content present in this part.
MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING FOR GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF NONCON, COERCION, AND SEXUAL VIOLENCE.
⊹ wc ; 18.4k / 36.1k
link to extended authors note | ao3 | how to be a dog, by andrew kane.
LINK TO PART ONE.
⊹ a/n ; here's part two!! miss ame has read it so im all good to post. i will upload to ao3 as soon as im awake i promise lol. hope you enjoy the fic and please heed the tags. likes and rbs always appreciated. also the last part is, relatively tame. the crazy gets amped up to ten so be careful.
⊹ synopsis ; with six eyes to see it becomes clear, you are being watched.
"You must learn, once you have sampled the freedom of a life without a chain, that it is better to return and be chained again. Or you may learn that it is not—a fugitive is also a kind of dog." - andrew kane, how to be a dog.
⊹ PART TWO : SOMETHING TAKEN IS BORROWED. SOMETHING RUINED IS YOURS.
Snow is falling outside. The world is covered in white.
Gojo Satoru sits on his hands and watches the blizzard outside from his window. His apartment is dark and there’s frost on his window. He can hear the wind from inside, and can feel the cold chill of glass as he stands close to it.
Snow is falling outside. The world is covered in white. Spring feels like an innocent century ago.
Nothing’s changed, but everything is different. It’s starting to feel comedic. It’s so cyclical. He has two states of being. Being with you, and not. It dictates his internal world. He functions the same as usual. Repetition. Working, coming home, and waiting.
Gojo feels like he’s waiting. Perpetually waiting for time to set again so he can see you. There’s something in him only you can fulfill - an itch only you can scratch. Gojo is drawn to irreplaceable people, so perhaps it’s no surprise that he’s latched onto you this way.
There’s nothing to call it other than greed. Sometimes love, but mostly greed. A habit he can’t break free from. Gojo wants to see you. He doesn’t know why either. There’s not any particular reason. Or if there is, he hasn’t examined it too deeply. Gojo has always known in some innate way that he’s lonely. That his loneliness makes him untouchable - but not in the same way it might make a God.
The thought of doing anything without you makes paranoia creep up in his throat like bile. Gojo is that sort of lonely. Is it too much to ask to be next to someone, who never goes anywhere he can’t see? Monopolizing your time and all the ways to do it best take up most of his energy.
When was the last time anyone made him feel warm, in the cold white of winter? He thinks maybe he realized it too late, that he cares about you this much.
The reality is that Jujutsu Sorcerers are better off learning how to cut their losses. You love people and they die. You like people and they die. Gojo doesn’t think he can accept that from you so easily. He doesn’t think he should have too.
Does he need a good reason to want to keep you?
Gojo doesn’t want to make you hate him. He just wants to make sure you’re alive even if it means you might hate him. You might never understand either. Because you are still foolish, naive and human. Is that really asking for so much?
It makes him hesitate from the call to action. That instinct in his bones. He sees having met you as a blessing from the Heavens who’ve banished him. Gojo Satoru is not god. He understands God, but he’s not God.
No matter how much Gojo reaches for omnipotence, his long fingers can’t stretch towards it. Godliness is uninhabitable, an abandoned house. If Gojo casts his eyes on you for more than one second, he can do nothing but long. How can God long? Perhaps if he were more godlike, he could treat your inevitable death like a sacrifice. A martyrdom, or proof of your undying love for him.
Despite that, he understands how God's love can reach. Inciting violence to bring you closer to him is merciful. It’s only then you’ll come to understand it to the highest extent. That Gojo loves you after all, more than anything mortal in his world. He can hold all of you in his hands, keep you safe for the rest of your life. It’s what he wants so badly. If you just give him the chance to protect you - he could do it so easily.
Religion can be so much like a dog and its master. Maybe, you could understand Gojo’s feelings if you saw it as an animal instinct to protect you. Even if it’s a falsity, a fictitious tale, detached from what's true.
He doesn’t want you to hate him. He’s your watch dog, your keeper, your divine love. He needs you all to himself and he needs you to understand that you’re his reprieve. That in a universe decided by fate, the two of you are also red strings knotted together perversely.
He needs you. He needs you. He needs you.
Snow is falling.
__
Come Saturday, Gojo receives a knock on his door.
He’s usually sleeping in on the weekends, so he’s startled by it. School doesn’t start till later and if it was an emergency relating to sorcery - Yagi would’ve dialed him personally. He answers the door with sleep still in his, rubbing his eyelids as he yawns. He’s dressed in his P.J.’s with his hair messy and mind jumbled.
He’s not unhappy though, when he opens the door up to see you. You’ve got something in your arms, a bag it looks like and a look on your face that Gojo can’t decipher.
“Oh,” He says after registering who he’s talking to you “What’re you doing here so early?”
You sigh, deeply, rubbing your arm. That anxious little habit again, your eyes darting every which way.
“A pipe broke in my apartment. Like, flooded the whole thing. Spent the whole morning scrounging my stuff together a-and I called maintenance but they won’t be here for a while and.” You stutter as you explain yourself and Gojo stares at you in confusion “I need a place to stay but going back to my parents right now is gonna be so hard and plus there’s work,”
Gojo soothes you silently, putting a hand up.
“Hey, calm down,” He says first, smiling up at you. He reaches out to pat your head “I’m here. It’s okay. Slow down and tell me what's wrong?”
You sigh, closing your eyes and bracing yourself.
“Would it be alright if I stayed with you? Just for a few days, until I figure this all out?”
If God exists, maybe this is his way of giving Gojo grace. Gojo takes a minute to pretend, leans against his door frame and watches you fidget anxiously. He blinks at you, the way your teeth are pressing into your lip. You fold underneath the pressure of his gaze easily. He hums and haws.
“Hm,” He says, leaving you uncertain for as long as he can before you try to react. He’s memorized all your tells by heart “Well, there’s no reason not to, right? You’ll have to sleep in my bed though.”
He half-jokes, but not really. He waits on your reaction.
“Oh, uhm, then,”
He interrupts just then, raising his voice. You jump back.
“Just kidding! Of course you can stay with me. I’ll take the couch for a few days so don’t worry your pretty little head about it, okay? Stay as long as you like.”
You look relieved. It makes Gojo smile a bit watching you take a deep breath, leaning on the door frame as he stares.
“What?” You ask when you notice. He shakes his head.
“It’s cute when you get nervous,” He says, inhibitions lowered. You pout at him and Gojo has to stop himself from reaching forward to grab your face in his hands.
“You’re so mean,” You say with a sigh, arms crossed over your chest “I was really freaking out just now,”
“I know, I know - but it’s kinda fun watching you fuss. Dunno. Maybe it’s cause I’m sleepy,”
“You're wide awake right now!” You point out. He snorts.
“Noo, what? I’m half-asleep right now,”
“Gojo,” You whine, and he has to stop the blood rushing through his body “Let me in? Please?”
“Try Satoru. Sa-to-ru,” He says. You frown at him, sighing as you rub your face.
“Satoru,” You say, hardly getting the syllables out “L-let me in,”
He pats your head one more time as your frown deepens.
“Good girl,” He purrs, before switching his tone to a more lax one as he welcomes you “Come on in!”
Another sigh of relief. Gojo finds it fascinating that you can find relief in his presence. It speaks to how well he’s been doing to make sure he’s acting in accordance to expectations. Despite how easy the opportunity has fallen into him, he doesn’t think it’s time yet. You’re still skittish.
Still, he should get something out of your stay here. And he will, but he should let you settle in first. He gives you a hum as you shuffle inside, standing awkwardly in his living room. He shuts the door behind you and locks it up.
“Don’t be so stiff,” He says, waving a hand in the air before yawning “My home is your home. Be comfortable. Is there anything you need or wanna do?”
“Could I borrow your shower?”
Gojo feels something pressing into his ribs at the idea of you using his things - sharp and sinful.
“I was gonna shower this morning but, y’know.” You gesture vaguely. He’s quick to agree of course, nodding his head as he points in the general direction of the bathroom.
“Pretty sure our places are built the same so you should know where it is. The towels on the rack are all clean. Feel free to use anything in there and uhhh,” He scratches his head unsure of what else he needs to add. Though he’s certain he’s missing something “Oh, and I’ll give you some clothes,”
You flush at the sentiment. So maybe you do know what this seems like, at least on the surface. Gojo peers at you as you turn his words over, interjecting before you have a chance to refuse.
“Don’t say no,” He says, voice sing-songy. watching your expression morph into something nervous again. Maybe you caught it, because you certainly jump in your skin, but he switches into himself with ease. Over and over and over - startling you never gets less fun “Let me play out my domestic fantasies a bit as compensation,”
“That’s a bad joke,” You say, throat thick.
You want to trust him don’t you? He wants to praise you for that.
“Aw, c’mon. It’s lonely. Let me indulge a little,” He begs with enough lightheartedness that you don’t run away.
“Geez. I thought you were popular with the ladies,” You try and joke back, though it’s stilted and awkward. He can tell you’re getting prepared to squeeze to the bathroom before the conversation is too much.
“Old ladies do love me,” He says contemplative. You elbow him lightly.
“Stupid.”
He gives you a soft smile as you pass by him.
“Is there anything else that you need while you’re in there?”
“I don’t think so,” You reply back. Gojo watches you disappear into the hall, trailing after you silently. He waits, listening carefully for the sound of the shower to turn on.
When the water rushes, he follows you.
He almost has a conscious standing in front of the closed door. The water pressure in his apartment is a little higher than it’s supposed to be. The closed walls keep all the noise inside them, making it almost impossible to hear what’s going on outside. Even with heightened senses like him.
For someone like you, it’s probably impossible.
It’s knowing that he follows behind you, lying in wait. He counts up to 5 minutes as he waits, letting you settle into it before he puts his hand on the door knob. He finds it unlocked. He’s pleased with that.
You trust him, or you try too.
When he feels certain you’re relaxed, he opens the door. He could teleport in but it’s noisy. Steam plumes outward as the door opens. He looks around the bathroom. Your clothes are folded neatly, with your pants hanging on the rack next to you.
He stares at the fabric for a long time, contemplating what he has time for.
Ultimately, he suppresses whatever urges come up to do what he came for. Too many to count and even more that are risky to act on. Instead, he checks the tags of each piece, committing it to memory. After, he stares at the shower curtain until he’s sure he overstayed his welcome.
He leaves right after though, shutting the door just as quietly as he opened it.
The less you know the better. Gojo makes his way back into the living room.
He sits on his couch when he’s back. The sun hasn’t come up yet and he’s only turned on a single lamp for light. It’s hard for him to describe how he’s feeling. Things have been different for weeks now, but proceeding normally hasn’t caused him too many issues. Strangely the sense of routine has been grounding.
He’s been dealing with it better than he expected. For all of that restraint to unravel so quickly is funny.
But, Gojo thinks, that everything leading up to now must’ve been a sign. There are so many instances that befall him that feel aligned with fate. He’s naive in thinking you're different. He’s the only heir of the Gojo clan, the only one with the Six Eyes for nearly 400 years. He hears the water rush faintly through the walls of his apartment, picturing you trapped in those four walls. He thinks of how you met. Your proximity to each other.
It’s only now and in such circumstances does he think that you’re the due that the universe is paying back to him. Robbed of everything, of every joy he’s ever had - it’s both righteous and fair to take you. Gojo doesn’t want you to hate him. Not necessarily.
But they always say in sickness and in health. Through the best of times and the worst. If you were made for him like he suspects (like he knows, believes deep down) then he thinks it’ll be fine. As long as it's you. As long as it’s yours. Even if you cry or scream, what matters to Gojo is that it’s yours. That he’s yours.
Holding back is starting to be too much. Gojo’s never been the type to sit on his hands and wait. Being scared is so much like starving. Deprivation like that always threatens to turn Gojo to ruin.
But like anything he does though, he can’t take the easy way out. There’s a method to the madness. An order even among his most disorderly actions, there’s things that need to be done the right way for the best possible outcome. On less of a whim than it seems, Gojo decides that he’ll do his best to make that reality happen.
The thought settles in his body and suddenly he’s present again. He feels a pang of hunger in his stomach, causing him to stand to his feet. He feels lighter as he waltzes into the kitchen, whistling to himself on what he should make. Maybe crepes? He’s not a skilled cook but he’s pretty good at making those.
At the very least, he thinks you’ll like them too. He proceeds into a normal-ish routine. He follows the motions of making breakfast as he hums to himself silently. Grabs a bowl from the cupboard, eggs and milk from the fridge, and flour from the pantry.
He thinks to himself, immersing himself in the practical ritual. His comment from earlier about domestic fantasies was a half-joke at best. Gojo really does want to do this kind of thing with you, and he doesn’t want to miss the opportunity to play the part either. Even if it’s temporary. He’s giddy at the thought of doing this with you everyday, a warm fluttery feeling spreading through his body.
He grabs a whisk off of the wall as he dumps everything into an empty bowl, turning the heat of a non-stick low. He whistles a song he can’t remember the name of, cracking an egg on the metal edge.
Despite living in a nicer part of Tokyo, Gojo has yet to have an induction stove top. It’s not uncommon to have gas for smaller, cheaper apartments. Most of the stovetops in the Jujutsu Tech dorms are gas and Gojo has no issue using them. He doesn’t cook for himself often in the first place, so he’s never thought to complain about it or get it changed.
Maybe he should. Once you live here, it might get inconvenient. The thing about gas stoves is that they never heat evenly. It’s not impossible to work with, and the heat is easier to control - but induction lets every inch of the pan get hot the same way.
( He often thinks of the analogy for boiling a frog. If you put anything living in heat too directly, it’ll jump to save itself. But if you keep the heat tepid, gently raising the heat till it boils - it’ll let itself stay in the treacherous waters until the very end. It’s best to keep the heat even. It’s best to fix it sometime soon. )
The whisk makes a pleasant sound as it hits the bowl, metallic scratch softened by the presence of batter. He picks the whisk up and watches the yellow liquid drip off the edge, a hand over the pan. Still too cool to the touch, he clicks his teeth.
He waits, idly. The shower turns off, he hears, and feels his breath hitch. He has to steel himself, curb his enthusiasm.
Too much heat, and you’ll jump to save yourself.
Once the pan is hot enough, Gojo busies himself with cooking. It helps him distract himself, the monotony of pouring and flipping and waiting. He gets through almost 6 before he hears your feet pad gently across his hardwood floor, slipping into the kitchen with a towel wrapped around your neck.
You’re wearing what seems like the only clothes you managed to bring. Gojo wonders how long it’ll last you. Despite it, he notices the way you smell. How you smell like all of his fancy bath products and soaps. There’s a twitch in his sweats that he barely gets under control. He lowers the heat and turns to you.
“Morning,” He says. You giggle a little.
“Morning. Are you making breakfast?”
“Yes ma'am. The only thing I know how to make but,” He puffs his chest up “Pretty good, I’m told.”
You roll your eyes at him, but smile anyway
“Guess I’ll be the judge of that,”
“The audacity,” He says, full of theatrics “I’ll knock your socks off,”
“Oh, I’m sure you will,” You say, flippant and giggly. Gojo decides then, maybe, in its entirety. That he’ll have all of you and soon “Can I help with anything?”
“Get started on some coffee maybe,”
You nod your head and yawn.
“Sounds good to me,”
__
You decide to stay for a week.
More precisely, Gojo convinces you to stay for a week. That’s how long it will take for your apartment to get fixed completely. Concerned about inconveniencing him, you initially suggested 3 days - insisted you could find somewhere else or pay for a hotel for the rest of the time.
But Gojo insisted too. A week is more than fine (even longer would be better) and there’s no reason for you to go out of your way. Hotels are expensive, your parents live out in the countryside, and it’s not like you can’t board with a friend for a few days right?
But won’t that trouble you? Of course not. Gojo doesn’t mind at all. It’s like having a week-long sleep-over.
I don’t have the stuff I need. That’s fine. Gojo can take care of it. He already bought some clothes for you, an act of kindness. He can get the rest too. You can consider it a favor, if you really want to be sure.
Are you sure? Of course he’s sure. More than sure. You’re doing him a big favor, he assures with nothing but affection. Being alone at home is pretty boring, anyways. What’s sleeping in the same room when we’re neighbors?
Even with your unease, you agree to stay the whole week. You’re weak to being convinced, and hard-pressed on not fighting about things Gojo is adamant on.
(He’d be stupid not to notice how your earnesty makes you easy to exploit. It’s a good thing it’s only Gojo who knows.)
The first day passes quietly. You and Gojo go to your respective jobs and greet each other when you get home. At home, things are simple. Domestic. There’s no other way to view it. You graded papers and looked over lesson plans in the living room while Gojo got in his daily sets - TV playing in the background with neither of you particularly tuned in. Gojo sleeps on the couch.
(He doesn’t make it a day without touching himself. The proximity is too much, too stimulating, and even with all of the restraint in the universe - it’s hard for him to stave it off. What you don’t know can’t hurt you. Alone under the moon, he thinks of what you look like when you’re embarrassed and spills into his hand.
Eventually, he’ll graduate to watching over you. You leave the door unlocked because you’re naive and Gojo stands with his cock in his fist, watching intently. You squirm in your sleep but you sleep deeply - because despite all the noise, you don’t stir one even once. He stops it from touching you, so close to your mouth, to your skin. )
On the second day of living together, the clothes Gojo bought you come to his door. You’re not home when it arrives, so he waits until you are home to open it with you. You come home a little later than usual (parent-teacher conferences, apparently).
(“I have a surprise for you!” Gojo says, as finally comes back into the living room. You’ve returned from your shower, on your last pair of PJ’s. You blink at him softly, tilting your head to one side as he hands you a package.
“For me?” You ask. Gojo nods, grinning.
“For you,” He confirms. He walks with you as you set the box onto the coffee table. You stare at it for a minute, glancing up at Gojo. Your eyes search for your keys. Once you find them, you take the sharpest key and rip through the tape on the top of its sides. An unceremonious krrk sounds through the room, echoing in the dimly lit living room.
The clothes are wrapped in white, plastic packaging. You pick them individually, examining them closely. You look at Gojo again, more uncertain than before.
But Gojo shakes his head, nudging you towards opening the packages themselves. A promise to explain afterwards, silent in the air. You nod, confused, but do as he suggests. You rip the top open, dropping the thin plastic onto the table. More bags, this time clear. You repeat the action until the material flounces in your hands. You undo the careful folding for a minute, then stare at it.
“...Clothes?” You repeat.
“Surprise!” He says with his usual silly cadence “For you, free of charge.”
A lot of things pass over your expression. Gojo watches each of them carefully, amused. He wonders what you’ll do. What you’re thinking, it’s a shame Gojo can’t read your mind.
“How’d you know my size?” You say first, inquisitive but not accusatory. Gojo shrugs.
“Guessed. We’ve spent enough time together,” He says noncommittally. Your face changes, like you don’t quite believe him. But there’s not enough there for you to question him either. He can almost hear you narrate it in your head. The heart you wear on your sleeve, tender red and bleeding, thumps anxiously as you try to get a read on him. It’s not a sound he dislikes.
He’s been good to you. He’s just being nice. You shake your head, regretful of your own doubt for a minute. You force a smile, and Gojo doesn’t hate it even though he knows where it comes from.
The power of love, he thinks almost whimsically.
“This is a big box. How much stuff did you even get?” You repeat, noticing the contents are up to the top. He feigns indifference. Pretends not to know that he spent countless hours looking over it.
“Mm, dunno. Just whatever I thought you’d need.”
“I’m only here for a week, Gojo.” You mutter, hands grazing over the cardboard edge.
“So? Maybe you need a lot of stuff. I don’t know what women go through.” He says with a pout, lips together. Joking with you to lighten the mood, which makes you huff through your nose.
“You’re so dumb. It’s too much stuff,”
“I already bought it and I don’t feel like returning it,” He tells you, making it clear he’s not going to negotiate “Just think of it as a gift from Santa Claus.”
You snort.
“You even have the hair,” You reply. Trying to make yourself feel better in the process, Gojo gives you a half smile “Still. I feel like I’m really indebted to you, lately.”
“Yeah? You can count this week as one big favor, if that makes it easier.”
“I don’t remember Santa doing favors for people,” You quip. Gojo laughs.
“Change in management,”
You laugh a real laugh at that, and Gojo watches you turn the situation over again and again.
“Well. Thank you. Might as well look through the rest of it, huh?”
“Take your time,” Gojo says, before checking the digital clock on his wall “I need to go get something from the store. Just leave the empty stuff next to the trash and I’ll take it out tomorrow morning.”
“Oh, okay. Yeah. I’ll start on dinner. See you, Gojo.”
“Yeah. See you” )
If you notice all the clothes come in shades of blue, you’re smart enough not to say anything.
The third day passes in a blur. Nothing notable, but he’s content. You wear the clothes Gojo bought you and he’s careful not to stare while you know. He takes it upon himself only to do it when he knows you’re asleep, his nightly routine staring over the bare inches of your body in a dark room being a reprieve of his other desires.
On the fourth day, he doesn’t have the restraint not to touch you. Too many days in the same room and he wants access to everything already. He hates being patient more than he thought, but there’s a method to this - he has to remind himself.
Like taking out his aggression, he decides he needs more relief. Something to scratch the itch. With his infinity, you can’t feel his fingers ghosting over your legs. He checks if you’re wearing the other stuff he bought, settled at the bottom of the box. Not lingerie, but panties. Plain and cottony - white over your cunt as you sleep with your leg hiked up. Gojo knows you can’t feel him now, but part of him wants you too. He wants to know why you’re wearing them despite yourself. Gojo realizes too late that he’s interested in your misery just as much as he is everything else, and so far - that discovery has made everything all the more difficult.
On the fifth day, things proceed the same. There’s a routine you’ve settled into together despite the time limit on it. That night over dinner, you and Gojo spend time together. There’s not really much to do - it’s a Friday. It’s the first time neither of you are completely occupied with any one task.
You get to talking like that. On the fifth day, Gojo gets as close to opening up as he’s ever gotten in his life. Part of him isn’t sure why he does it. He thinks he’s seeking confirmation for something, but what that could be is lost on him.
(“So, you’re the only person left in your clan?” You ask, half-way through a glass of tea he’s sure has gone cold by now. The T.V. is on but muted. Gojo looks at you in the low lights, fighting his own sleep.
“Mhm. Technically, I’m the sole heir.” He replies.
“...Is it okay to ask what happened?”
Gojo laughs at you. You really can’t help your curiosity, but he still finds it amusing.
“It’s not a pretty story,” Gojo says honestly.
“That’s okay,” You say, voice filled with an air of innocence that Gojo has a hard time wrapping his head around.
“Most of them were wiped out. We had a lot of enemies, me included. A lot of them are dead, the remaining are somewhere far-away and have no combat abilities.”
“You included?” You pick up on, naturally. Gojo nods and smiles a little.
“Once I inherited my technique it was pretty commonplace. I went through a lot of assassination attempts,” He yawns in between, because this is an old, boring story “It took a lot of time for me to get strong enough to where I am now. But I got there eventually.”
“You say that so easily,”
Gojo peers at the frown on your face and laughs quietly to himself.
“It was a long time ago, now. I never really had a lot to mourn, except for when I was a teenager. I’m used to it.”
For a long time, you remain completely silent. Gojo almost thinks you’re going to cry. He doesn’t know how to feel about that. It’s proof of something. Of his ambivalence towards the idea of sympathy. Sure, it’s meaningless now for someone to feel bad for him. It’s a pointless endeavor, because Gojo is a selfish dick and the strongest - and he knows both of those things intimately. He accepts them as part of himself in the same way, he doesn’t know what he’s like without being frivolous. Without being the strongest. The line between misery and character is paper thin and Gojo hasn’t known it since he was born.
It’s especially pointless for you to feel bad for him, because he’s going to ruin that very innocence you hold in your heart before the week is over. He’s going to do it with purpose and conviction. He won’t feel remorseful about it at all.
There’s an irony to it. A dramatic irony that brings him closer to Godliness than he’s ever really been. Because Gojo knows that this conversation is confirmation that he needs you, just as much as he knows he’ll do anything to have you even if it means you can no longer look at him like this.
He wonders how long you’ll hold sympathy for him. He decides for now, there’s no reason to not lean into it. It makes him happy that you care enough to feel sad. Even if it’s pointless. He doesn’t remember the last time someone did.
Maybe when he was 17.
“You look like you’re gonna cry.” He says lightheartedly. Sincere in a way he hasn’t been in very well over 10 years. You sniffle.
“How are you not crying?”
“I never cry.” Gojo says smoothly, not blinking “I’m a heartless bastard.”
“That’s not true.” You say, almost exclaim, turning yourself to look at him so seriously. It’s cute, he must admit, that you’re so sure on his character “You’re not heartless,”
“But I am a bastard,” He clarifies, mischievous. And you pout, less eager to correct him on that
“...You’re not heartless. Clearly.” You say again. Gojo laughs, a real laugh. He can feel it preemptively, how much he’ll cherish every minute of this conversation. He hums.
“Oho, you almost sound like you’re defending me.”
“From yourself, I guess. I know you’re not heartless,” You say, with some kind of clarity that you have him figured out. Maybe you do. It’s a little shocking. It’s not usually how this goes “You’re…weird. But you care”
“That’s true,” Because it is, and Gojo has no reason to lie to you right now. “More than that, I’m hung up on the idea of the future.”
“Isn’t it usually being hung-up on the past?”
“Right? Usually, that’d be the case,” Gojo says, unsure of what to express “But the past is the past. I can’t go back to it. My technique is infinity. It means I can see infinite realities.”
You sound like the winds been knocked out of you “That’s terrifying,”
“It is. But you know, even in those realities, the past is the past. There are places where the past hasn’t happened. But it can’t be changed. It becomes part of infinity, when events occur. The only thing that can be changed is the future,” Gojo explains, though he leaves out so many intricacies “There’s a future I want to see. I’d like if my students could see it too,”
“Because of your friend, right?”
Gojo smiles.
“Because of my friend. And for less selfless reasons.”
“Like?” You ask, curious.
“I like being able to do whatever I want, without consequences. Being strong lets me do that. For now it’s up to me, but eventually, I can raise strong comrades.”
You’re silent for a while, again.
“Seems lonely,” You say, simply. Easily. It’s true, and he knows that. It’s the most obvious thing in the world, and you’ve said it with little regard for anything. Almost mindlessly, a natural response to such a sad story.
Gojo feels it again. Those stifling, pesky emotions that linger in the cavity of his ribs. He can’t bring himself to be honest, because when does he ever? But he does smile again, a little more melancholy than usual. You notice, certainly, but you have the courtesy not to say a word.
“You think so?” Gojo says, passive and wilfully ignorant “Does it make you wanna hug and console me?”
He offers it sarcastically, but you don’t tear your eyes away from him. It’s almost enough to shake him. Almost.
“...A little? You feel like a sad dog in the rain.” You say, too honestly.
“Jeez. Maybe you just miss Pokupan. Thinking about another man right in front of me. I can’t believe I’m the other woman,” He says, with a faux pout.
You laugh, though it’s laced with sympathy. Gojo can tell you want to fuss. That you want to admonish him for being the way he is, and he’s almost willing to let you. That’s just the thing.
You see Gojo as human, still.
Gojo Satoru isn’t God. But he isn’t human either. If you want to know how God lives, asking Gojo is always viable. But you shouldn’t mistake false omnipotence for forgiveness, like you are now. You see Gojo for all of his humanity, but you're blind to his divinely violent tendencies. You will be until it’s too late.
So, Gojo doesn’t think you need to comfort him how you’re thinking you should. Gojo wants you to depend on him. Because coveting you is an affair distinctly inhuman and crueler than even the heavens could be and he believes that you’re owed to him.
Gojo wants to protect this version of you, even at the sake of corrupting it. He doesn’t want to let you go ever, for any reason. And he wont.
He turns the heat up gently. You’re none-the-wiser. The night swallows you both, but Gojo will remain untouched. He’ll hold you when it inevitably spits you back out. When reality washes into you, you should’ve trusted your gut after all.
For now, he smiles at you.
“If it’s any consolation, I’d be very sad if you disappeared.” Which Gojo hopes you can interpret without his interference. It seems like you do, because you smile to yourself.
“Me too,” You reply. Gojo knows he’s going to ruin you. “I’d be really sad if you disappeared, Gojo. So, don’t, okay?”
And if Gojo were an honest person, or a good one - he’d tell you you’re the last person who should worry about missing him. That you’ll be seeing him for a long time.
But he’s neither, just like he’s not god or man. He lightens his tone and holds out his pinky, which you link with his.
“Scouts honor,”
When he’s ready to look away, you pull a bare thread from Gojo’s clothes. Frowning at him, as you dust away the fabric with your hand. He stares at you.
“What was that?”
“You had a thread loose,” You say simply, unconcerned with anything “I just pulled it off.”
Gojo stares.
“Yeah. Thanks.”)
The sixth day passes quickly. Gojo doesn’t think there’s anything worthy of saying. By then the routine is so practiced and so constant. The sixth day passes like a shadow in the night, disappearing through the woods before morning comes. A stepping stone.
Today is the 7th day.
On the 7th day, things are different. The same but different as they so often are. You don’t have work today, so you do what you’ve been doing. You and Gojo work in proximity to each other, share meals, and idly watch T.V.
Night falls on the 7th day.
Gojo wants to take part in the act of creation, as the sun dips below the horizon. He’d set this in motion when the week started and now that it’s here - the anticipation is too much to bear. When Gojo Satoru sets himself out to be conqueror, the universe trembles at the sight of him. There’s no sound at all. The night reeks of death, in Gojo’s presence it trembles. Too fearsome to speak.
Night falls today. Gojo starts his usual routine with less caution than he’s had the previous six. Where he usually bides his time and enters the room carefully - today he merely enters. He places his hand on the silver handle and pushes it open. A breath rushes from his lungs, adrenaline entering his system as he steps inside. His room has felt so unfamiliar to him lately, but like this - a sense of serenity washes over him.
He stares at you. With his Six Eyes, with vision clear as ever, Gojo looks onto you as you are now. You can never reconstruct a flower crushed under steel boots. You’re not mud or earth, not adaptable like the sea. From the moment he’s met you - Gojo has known you to be so much like a flower. Gojo has never wanted to take the petals off of something so much in his life.
And Gojo is in this instance, a natural disaster ready to pluck the root of you up from the ground. He’ll pick you up in a storm but return you to his feet. There’s a method to this. Gojo stares at your silhouette wrapped and tangled in his sheets, body so loosely dressed. Your visible figure rests easy.
The night is glorious and silent. Gojo watches on in some cross of indifference and utter starvation. He blinks, leans on the wall.
Like a call from fate, you start to stir awake.
Gojo moves towards you. He decides it might be easier just to join you in bed, so he gently works himself into the sheets.. He creeps towards you slowly, and re-familiarizes himself with the feeling of his bed. It’d be lost on him for a week, but your presence in it makes it feel especially brand new. The bed dips under his weight, creaking. You shift lethargically, turning your head to look at Gojo.
You look startled once you realize. For the first time in your entire relationship, it seems to dawn on you that something is wrong. Just a minute too late. He gives you a second to wake up. Your breath hitches, a stifled gasp as you greet Gojo’s expression.
The hunger in his stomach is gnawing. Gojo feels like he’s starving. He thinks doing this will only half-way relieve the urge. This part of Gojo is inhuman as the rest of him.
Gojo’s presence suffocates you so much in the moment, you can only barely open your lips to say your next words.
“What are you doing here?” You sound still innocent. Gojo smiles briefly, under the glow of the moon. He can see your expression clearly. Sleep in your vision. A sheerness to your skin that comes with rest. Your bags are packed, and your things are cleared from his bathroom. You’re still wearing the clothes he bought.
He knows he shouldn’t think it, but some part of him is vindicated. You’re leaving him today and Gojo finds abandonment to be the highest betrayal of them all. So, he’s vindicated. He licks his teeth, usual mirth coming back to him.
Then he talks, his voice tender.
“Getting my debts repaid,” And he means it, more than he’s ever meant anything he’s said “You owe me one, remember?”
It dawns on you. Realization flickers in your eyes before it twists into fear. Gojo wants to encourage it. A curse starts to form, like tendrils around you. You’ll leave it here when you’re gone in the morning and Gojo will have a piece of you left with him.
“W-what are you…? What do you mean?”
He’s shrill, almost, leaning close to you. His sudden proximity makes you freeze. You know better, know so clearly it stops you from running. Gojo is tempted to see if you’ll do it. If you’ll run or if you’ll thrash or if you’ll fight. He’s not particularly sadistic, but he likes you - and he’s curious to know what your reaction will be to something like this.
He eases you into it, He brushes his knuckles over your cheek as your heart sky-rockets like you’re being hunted. Gojo thinks he ought to be gentle with you. Regardless of how this is happening, it’s your first time together. Your fingers tremble as you reach up to grab his wrist. It seems like you’re trying hard to pull him off, and wiggle away from his grip. You ready yourself to give him push back and Gojo times it so that it seems like you’ll be able to break free.
But Gojo is strong. Stronger than you by a lot, and you know that by now. When he finds that you’re trying to escape him, he’s quick to grab your wrists with his hands. They both fit perfectly in his palms. He pulls them up over your head and your eyes widen as you feel his grip - near bruising (though he is trying so hard to be gentle) on your body. He stares down at you.
You look so frightened.
“Wh-what are you..?”
“You owe me one for letting you stay here, right?” He asks enthusiastically, licking his teeth. Your eyes widen “I’ll take this as compensation, okay? It’s a good deal for us both I think,”
“I don’t,” You squirm underneath him “I don’t—I,”
“Shh,” He quiets you, humming softly “Don’t overcomplicate it. Just wanna see you,”
Gojo watches you turn it over in your head. He was wondering about this. What’d you do in these circumstances. If you’d act like you always do, pleasant and pliable trying to do what's best. Damage control for what's coming.
Gojo pulls his hands away to undress you and yours fly to his shoulder blades. You heave as you push, mumbling something about how he doesn’t need to do this. Your expression is grief-stricken. Gojo soothes you.
“You can bite, scratch, kick, scream - whatever works,” Gojo says, communicating his affection as best he can. He drives his hands under your shirt, laying his palm flat over the skin of your stomach. He runs his thumbs over your sides, committing every inch of you to memory. Without his infinity, Gojo feels every part of you “It’s not gonna hurt me,”
You look like you’re at a loss for words. He gives you a warm grin.
“Maybe we’re going about this all wrong,” Gojo says after some thought “Is this your first time?”
You whimper, nodding meekly. Gojo groans against your skin. You flinch.
“Fuck, course it is. Shoulda known. Such a sheltered girl like you,” He adds the last part with a hint of condescension, watching your face curl up into a frown.
“Didn’t say it was a bad thing you know,” Gojo is careful as he pulls your shirt higher and higher. Your breath is being held, afraid of what’ll happen if you let g.o “We’re tied together like this. Isn’t that nice?”
“Gojo,” You say, swallowing something. Words that threaten to bubble up that you can’t find the strength to say. You’re not wearing anything underneath and Gojo feels a chill in his spine “Please,”
“Not wearing a thing even though you’ve been sleeping at a man's house all week,” He reprimands. He lets the material sit over the swell of your chest, just under your neck where it stays. He can see the outline of your tits clearly now, just enough light from the open window to illuminate your skin. Your nipples are hard, heaving. Gojo can hear your little heartbeat thump against your ribs “I’m not telling you off you know? I’m glad you trust me. Great job, on that really. But you really should be more careful.”
“Gojo,” You plead again, throaty. The sound goes through his system, sends blood rushing to his cock.
“Satoru,” He insists on, knowing it will take more than that to convince him “I’ll try and listen to your requests if you say Satoru,”
He doesn’t promise to stop, because he doesn’t think he’d be able to follow up on it. Still, with the level of desperation you show - Gojo thinks it’s worth it to gain something out of. You follow up his request almost instantly, lips wrapping around the syllables with a weak breath.
“S-Satoru,”
He gestures to take your shirt off. You’ve become more pliable, if only a little, letting Gojo see all of you completely bare as he tosses his clothes somewhere onto the floor. Shameless in viewing you, your instincts kick in to cover your chest. He clicks his teeth, pushing your wrists together again over your head.
“That won’t do,” He coos at you softly “I wanna see you. All of you,”
You hiccup, sobbing, Gojo reaches his palms towards your breasts, cupping them gently. Your nipples rub against his palms and he groans feeling how soft you are.
“So pretty,” He admires you. Means it. Gojo lets his gaze catch on the edges and curves of you with enthusiasm. Your chest is sensitive to his touch, thumb and forefinger tweaking and teasing your nipples as you remain underneath him obediently. Your eyes look so watery, soft like lilies in freshwater “So cute,”
“Satoru, please, I don’t—don’t want—”
“So ungrateful,” He tsks. He smacks your chest lightly, enough to make you squeal “That’s the only request I can’t listen to,”
You hiccup, looking away. Gojo hums as he hovers over you, seated over your figure. He pulls his mask off from his eyes, material falling into his fingers. Grabbing your wrists with his palms, he wraps the material around them - tight enough to keep you but with enough room so it doesn’t hurt. He places your hands over your head gently, kissing your covered wrists.
“Don’t squirm too much, ‘kay? Stay like that. I’ll make you feel good.”
“I don’t,”
“Hey,” This time he’s stern, and you slink back into yourself. It’s the first time he’s had to use this tone on you and hopefully the last “What’d I say? You owe me this much, don’t you think? After everything I’ve done for you, the least you can do is not turn me away. It’s not like I wanna do anything bad with you, y’know”
A pang of guilt passes through you. You stop squirming. Gojo keens, baring his teeth as he smiles.
“Good girl.” He dips his head to kiss the place under your ear, where your neck meets your jaw. He scrapes his teeth on the skin so you can feel his teeth over your pulse “You learn quick.”
You keep your arms over your head like he’s asked, hesitant and stiff. Gojo can work with that at least. He leans towards you, tipping your jaw so you’re forced to look at him. Tear-eyed and whimpering, a shudder passes through him.
“So pretty,” He mumbles. He leans forward, presses his lips to yours - hand resting on the base of your neck. You make a noise of indignance but Gojo keeps you there. He eases you into obedience, forcing his tongue in your mouth, grazing the inside of your mouth.
He swallows every sound you make. Distress and frustration and reluctance lend themselves to giving in easily. Your body is sensitive to touch, a trail of goosebumps where his hands touch you. On your waist, trying to ease you into it.
He pulls away from you, a string of saliva connecting you.
“First kiss?” He asks. You shy away, clamping your mouth shut. Gojo chuckles, teeth nipping at you “Didn’t say it was a bad thing.”
You remain silent, so Gojo fills the space.
“Mm,” Gojo presses kisses down the curve of your jaw, all the way down your neck where he stops and bites - hard enough for something to be there tomorrow. He undresses the rest of you. You try to resist this time too, but Gojo doesn’t bother putting up a show. It’s easy to overpower you. He tugs your shorts off with your panties and tosses them somewhere. Unceremonious and uncharacteristically impatient.
He takes his time now that you’re all naked. It’s thrilling to watch distress fill your lungs, a ballooned breath and muffled protest. Gojo sucks hickies into your bare skin. It’s only fair to give you something to look at while you’re departed. Your blood rushes, capillaries breaking under the hardness of his incisors - ridges pushed against your delicate skin. He licks the bruises afterwards, kisses them tenderly.
“Gonna be a little sore for a while,” He says warmly. You’ve hit the stage of grief where you’re angry and resilient again but one look from Gojo is enough to make you slink back “Might as well enjoy yourself.”
Despair flashes in your expression.
“I mean it, you know.” He offers, stating it like he’s trying to appease you “You should relax a little, let it roll off your shoulders.”
It seems like you register that Gojo is teasing you. He does mean it, about thinking you should enjoy it. Everything else is deliberate and you know as much. It’s good you’re starting to understand him a little better.
“Why are you doing this to me?” You ask hoarsely. Gojo is surprised by your question.
“Ah, it’s a secret, so you can’t tell,” He starts. He squeezes the fat of your chest in his palms, silver tongued and playful “I like things that I can keep.”
A flash of true horror washes over you and you almost go ragged in realization. Weakened in your resolve once glimmering so brightly, Gojo takes the opportunity to please. He kisses down your sternum, runs his hands across the sides of your chest. He presses this thumb against your hardened nipples, rubbing lightly. Gojo takes them into his mouth. He bites then licks like he licks a wound
It pleases him immensely when you respond. When you gasp in a helpless sort of way and go to cover your mouth in shame. A sense of delight washes over his body and he does it again and again. He teases, changes from sucking harshly to lapping oh-so gently on the skin. Over and over until your voice can longer be contained no matter how hard you try - sharp gasps and cries of desire filling the air.
When he thinks you’re worked up enough, he slots himself against you and nudges your legs apart. He can feel the heat from your bare skin against his body, clothed. How you tremble underneath him. He eases his hand down gently, fingers trailing down to your pussy.
You hiccup. A sob of defiance stifled with obvious arousal, forced from you so easily. Gojo laughs.
“You don’t wanna?” He pricks, intentionally. Gojo lets his middle finger ease along your slit, dragging his digits up and through - catching on your achy clit “Are you sure?”
It’s torture for you. Of course it is. A pretty, sheltered little thing. It’s your first time with something like this and he’s sure all this is too much for you. Even if you tell yourself you don’t want it, your body can’t refuse him. You can’t either, try as you might. That’s why your legs are spread and why you’re practically dripping for him. Gojo thinks of it as admission. Your clit is hard underneath the pad of his middle finger, as he rubs too light and too gently.
You cry out, pitchy and broken. Gojo laughs.
“You need it here,” He punctuates, adding enough pressure that you gasp “Need me to touch you here, hm?”
You shake your head at first. Gojo tucks himself against your chest, sucking the skin gently.
“Be more honest.” He encourages a mockery as he so barely presses his finger inside of you - threatening to touch but never doing it “What do you want?”
“Don’t, I don’t.” You say, or you try.
“Liar,” He snips playfully against your clavicle “Your pretty little pussy is dripping wet and you want me to believe that?”
Gojo smacks your cunt softly. Once, then twice, then three times for good measure as you cry.
“C’mon,” He encourages meanly “Tell me what you really want.”
It’s a sick little mind game that Gojo is having too much fun playing with you.
“P-please,” You stutter, so unbelievably broken with so little done to you at all. Gojo will take all of you at a later time. When you’re thoroughly pliable and broken and so beautiful all for him “Please.”
So dependent like Gojo always thinks you should be.
“Please what, hm? What are you asking for?”
You swallow thickly. All your dread and doubt and disbelief gone as a sense of real and true need ignites within you. Of course this is too much for you. Gojo overwhelmed you like this on purpose. The resentment of wanting despite it all, despite how miserable you are makes for something so tragically Gojo’s. Whatever you have in your heart will always be for him. Good or bad, ugly or beautiful - like this you are all his and so perfectly too. It’s titillating, the sensation of control that wisps around him. It strikes him like a hammer on hot iron.
Gojo wants you to say it. Wants your selfless little heart to beg for his mercy this once. You’ll understand some time later, that this is how Gojo loves. Selfish and twisted. Cruel. Intimate beyond mortal comprehension. All of him just for you, just like this.
Strangely, it's perfect. Gojo teases you some more. Toys with your clit and feels a pool of arousal rush and drip from your sore cunt. He hits it with the palm of his hands as you try to form the words. You tremble in his arms, a vestige of your will to resist.
You want to resist so badly, he can tell. But it hurts now to leave it alone and you want it despite yourself. It makes you so frustrated you cry. Limp, crystal tears down your face that Gojo licks up nearly immediately. Salty and bitter. Gojo kisses the apples of your cheek, nose nudging your skin.
“So cute when you give up.” Gojo praises sincerely. You sob somewhere deep inside of your “Be good and be honest. I’ll reward you, hm? How’s that?”
Gojo can feel the moment you give in completely. When acceptance settles over your hazy and contorted mind. You let the tides take you, curling into yourself. A sound like you’re in pain even though you’re not hurt.
“Please touch me.” You whisper, hoarse and defeated. Gojo laughs airy, peppering your face with kisses. You wince.
“Good girl.” He coos, dipping his fingers down lower and lower. Heel of his palms pressed into your swollen, needy clit “That’s all you had to do. Easy, right?”
You scowl at him (you try too).
“Open your legs, baby,”
You listen this time, opening your legs wide enough for him to touch. Your pussy is so wet for him. Sticky and soft like you’ll fall apart, Gojo thinks it feels divine, wants to squeeze and grope and touch until you’re disintegrated. He likes feeling you like this. Vocal chords strung tight, all the noises throaty and gone. You throb against him like you’re begging. Gojo doesn’t stand to let you acclimate, flipping between three fingers in a gentle rub to a soft and well-practiced spank.
Only when your words start to come out t0gether, like you’re spitting them out because they fill your mouth too quick - does Gojo bless you with any mercy. He lets his hands sink lower, deeper - until his middle finger brushes your twitching hole. Your breath hitches, and the hands once stuck to your side, reach for Gojo’s hard to hold.
He licks his teeth, some unspoken feeling sending an bullet through him as he feels your body resist. Needy thing you are and so untouched that even the point of your middle finger makes your breath slower. You’re wet enough he doesn’t need anything else to aid him. He pushes in slow, slow, slow - painstakingly carefully as your wetness envelops you.
Because he intends to cherish you in his own way, he resists the urge he feels to flip you right over and take you. He’s being kind, and you’ll realize it later - when you’ve adjusted to him a bit more and know when to pick your fights. If he didn’t think it’d ruin the set-up, he’d have flipped you on your back just feeling. Fucked you without any consideration, just to feel your pussy around him in a vice grip.
It’s all he can picture, but he shows restraint. He’ll fuck himself off on you when you’re sleeping maybe, just to scratch the urge. You might pass out before then.
He comes back to you like that, a promise to himself to give the relief he needs with the body he finds oh-so tempting. He pushes his perversion aside to touch you. You let out a little sound every time he fucks himself deeper, gets his middle finger down to the first bend the all the way to the knuckle.
When he thinks you’re adjusted - ready for more, he gives it to you without making you plead. He uses his ring finger this time - his longest ones and feels you stretch around. He groans, deep and appreciative, as he feels how tight you are. You preen, squeeze your thighs together and call his name
“Oh, Satoru, its.”
He shushes you before busying himself with tasting your skin. Closes his mouth around one of your tits as he repeats the process. In, in, in until he’s all the way to his knuckles. Fucks you till it’s easy, till you’re wanting more.
If he were more merciful, a good man or a better one - he’d stop here. He doesn’t though. A third finger has your eyes widening. You gasp. Gojo kisses your face again and again.
“Easy, easy,” He coos, voice coarse but encouraging “It’s a good exercise for the future.”
You don’t register the words and Gojo doesn’t expect you to. Even still, he thinks giving you the heads up is quite nice.
Three fingers proves to be more than enough. It pushes you to an edge he has seen before. He fucks you with three. Your mouth falls open, slack jawed. Gojo curls his fingers. He rubs up like he’s motioning for you to come here, deep enough until he feels it. That spongy spot inside of you, apparent through the sounds you start to make as he touches it.
He hits something of a stride like that, finger fucking you with pressure on your clit and his mouth on your skin. Gojo takes to watching you once he knows he’s getting you to that edge. Your body stiffens underneath him, breathing going noticeably shallow. Mouth wobbly, lower lip trembling. He can tell you’re feeling it, just as much as you’re resisting it. Gojo coaxes you by whispering against your skin.
“C’mon,” He hums, nudging his nose to your neck “You wanna cum don’t you? I can tell you. You too scared? Need me to help you.”
You whimper “Aah, aah,” Gojo can feel you pulse. Can feel your insides tighten. He’s doing it on purpose, tipping you just over the edge. He wants to hear you beg. Wants to know what it sounds like when you beg for him. He fucks into you slowly, until you’re no longer able to put on a show of being composed.
“S-sato—oh, please, oh—please m-make me,”
“Want me to making you cum? Say it. Say, ‘Satoru, please make me cum,’ can you do that?”
A bitter sob leaves your lips and Gojo can’t think straight. It strains you.
“S-satoru, pleasemakemecum—please.”
Gojo grins. “Of course I can,” He quickens his pace enough to make you feel it. Your eyes shoot open before screwing closed again “All you had to do was ask me.”
He watches you intently. How you fall apart under his fingers, delirious whimpers of no, no, no - even though you begged so sweetly a minute ago. He hums as he feels the walls of your pussy start to tremble, a soft squelching sound hastened now. You say something he can’t decipher, words too jumbled for him to make sense. Gojo stares hard. Lets the infinity bleed away so he can feel you just like this, feel you cum on his fingers despite everything.
He feels giddy to the point he’s sick with it, moaning as your hands grip at the roots of his hair. He kisses your breast tenderly, just over the latest lovemark.
“Don’t hate me too much, kay,” Gojo says, whispering, means it so you carry it with you because he can feel the resentment nudged so deep into your heart by now “Come on. Cum for me, sweet girl. Want you to feel so good.”
And so you do. You cry, scream - but the noise amounts to nothing. A cosmic thing, like you’ve been struck by a comet. Gojo fingers you through it, absolutely delighted at the hot rush of liquid that comes pouring out of you. Your first orgasm from him and you’re squirting all over his fucking wrists, soaking his sheets and his arms and his PJ’s with your back curved in a beautiful arch. You break apart in an almost violent way, like the pleasure’s vicious. It tears into you and you succumb with a whimper.
Gojo shushes you as you break down finally into a teeny, tiny sob. You must be exhausted because you don’t pull away when he comforts you, despite the little angry why, why, why that you whisper. You hit his chest softly. He kisses your forehead and listens as your breathing goes still and you fall asleep in a heart-beart, still curled up into his bed and too tired to run away or go anywhere.
He stays with you like that, relishing in the warmth of your body until you’re deep asleep. He flips you onto the side of the bed that isn’t wet, and presses a kiss to your forehead before moving out of the sheets. .
When he stands to his feet, it’s to collect the curse that’s gathered itself on the foot of the bed. It manifests as a white snake with blue-eyes. Gojo finds himself amused. Of course the curse you’ve made is pretty. Gojo grabs it by the neck, watching it as it pries its mouth open and bares his fangs at him. He grins, pricking himself on the teeth to see if it makes him bleed.
It hisses loudly before wrapping itself around Gojo’s arm. It doesn’t take any effort to subjugate it, sensing his power it stills with some effort. Gojo tilts his head as he walks out of the room, glancing at you before turning his head back at the snake.
“Better warm up to me,” He whispers in the dark, a contentment to his words “You won’t be seeing your mama for a while,”
—
Communication stills.
Radio silence, more like - a busy bunch of messages deftly still. Suddenly, a raging storm of grief and anger disappears. The morning after Gojo assaults you, he wakes up to see you off like nothings happened.
He mostly does this because he wants to see what you’ll do.
You spend the morning perplexed and confused. You eat breakfast with him. You sit at the table, contemplative and silent and Gojo chats away at you idly. About the news and the weather and the classes he has today. You chew your food but don’t taste. You listen but your replies are short and stilted - out of touch.
Gojo learns that when something bad happens to you, you respond to it by detaching yourself. Though yesterday you were hot and fiery, the day after you seem to be mourning. Your grieving process starts early, and Gojo thinks rather amused—that you remind him a lot of himself.
He thinks you’re a little closer now that you understand the apathy of losing something that can never come back. And once this whole thing is over, once you find yourself back here - he’ll tell you all about it. You get it now right? It’s painful to feel like you can never be the same.
They say that mankind was fashioned from their Lord. Gojo supposes he’s made you in his image. You look a little empty, and though you’re both so different - you can become close by having the same wound. You can understand him a little more this way, all while retaining your sense of resilience.
What is mankind not known for if not perseverance? Of course he knows, once you recover from your grief, you’ll return to your usual spitfire. He’s counting on it, counting on you to fight and run. Escape from him and never come back.
But that cat and mouse game is more than okay. Gojo isn’t looking for your obedience, really. You’re too defiant of a character. Gojo thinks it’d be pointless if you’d just stayed the same.
You need to have hope to stay the way you are. Thus, Gojo doesn’t plan to rob you of it. He figures it’s best to give you breathing room. After all, he has full confidence in his ability to find you. He could hear the rhythm of your heart a continent away and chase it down without thinking twice. But it’s better if you’re able to show him some resistance. He thinks of it like a compromise. That sort of thing is typical for married folks, he thinks. He gives and you take.
Eventually, you might realize that the endeavor of running away is fruitless. Maybe you’ll be clever enough to recognize that it’s not that you’re succeeding, but that Gojo is letting you. You’re definitely smart enough to do so early, but just stubborn enough to believe that there’s hope in spite of that. If you try hard enough, persevere a little more, etc.
Gojo likes this part of you. Always will. You always put your best in everything and this is his own way of nurturing it.
It’d be a shame to take that from you. Gojo has remained out of your sight for the time being to try and reinstate it. While he raises the curse up in his apartment, he watches you through windows and flitters into your bedroom to peer at you before disappearing again. He makes sure that you can’t sense him or that he’s gone before you can. The more ease you feel, the easier everything else will go.
Feeding the curse you’ve left behind in his house has been taking most of its time. It’s obedient to him since he’s strong, and it’s big now. Longer and wider and more sinister looking (he feels a weird affection for it, maybe just because it’s from you), more hostile. He’s been careful to maintain it. Too much feeding will make it overgrown.
It’s currently on Gojo’s floor, on a dog bed like a disobedient pet - all in a single coil. He has to be careful not to endanger you by making it too strong or giving it too much range. It’s just meant to be a showpiece - a prop at best and a scraped knee at worst.
He’s been building it up for a long time. Then, though, it wasn’t such a clear desire. He figured sewing seeds of fear in you would benefit you in a different way. But that’s fine. The means don’t matter as much as the ends and in doing so - he’s made this all sort of seamless.
It’s not a complicated plan, ultimately. He’ll tell the curse to let loose, freak you out a little, and eventually - you’ll call the only person you know who knows how to handle it. Gojo will save you, and when you’re finally caught in his arms, you’ll have a little reunion amongst yourselves. He’ll reprimand you (but only lightly) and you’ll thrash (but only for a little while) and then he’ll keep you by his side again.
Except this time he won’t be so quick to let go. He’s sure you’ll protest (and be all gung-ho about it). He’ll feign cruelty and push you to the edge. Whatever response you do have, he’s thought of a way to reply.
A way to tend to it.
Like any relationship, things take time. He’s not expecting this to settle right away - but he’s confident eventually it’ll work out how he wants too. Gojo can make that happen as long as you’re within view.
He watches you through the window as you come in from your classes. You’re dressed up today despite the chilly weather - a blouse and nice pants with bangles on your wrist. He wonders what the occasion is given the time of year. Your bag is hanging loosely off of your shoulder - having only just returned.
A sense of warmth spreads through him as he peers at you, a smile on his face. He really does like looking at you quite a bit.
The curse hisses at the sense of your presence and Gojo waves a hand at it to keep it quiet.
“Calm down or I’ll exercise you right away,” Gojo says coldly. It retracts itself. “I’m getting impatient, too, you know? It’s been a long time.” He says wistfully.
He keeps looking until you’ve effectively disappeared from his sight. He listens for you outside of his door. The sound of the building buzzer, soft footsteps, and the slight jiggle and turn of keys before you’ve gone in - sound by a dull thump.
He leans against the wall near his door where he was listening, eyes up at the ceiling as he turns over his options. He should wait it out a little longer. Giving everything enough room to mellow out before it picks up again is an important part of the process.
But he doesn’t know how much longer he can wait. Plus, keeping this curse around is starting to be troublesome. He’d much prefer you back in his arms, in his bed - all back to that kind domestic fantasy that he’d been thinking about again for weeks.
He supposes there’s no right decision, in this case. Just what he wants to do, versus what he should do, and some kind of middle ground he’s been spending too long looking for.
He stands to his feet, no longer leaning on the wall before glancing at the curse from the corner of his eyes.
“Today seems like it’s too soon yet too far,” Gojo pauses between sentences, scratching his head woefully “But it should be okay, right?”
__
At 7pm, the curse slips underneath the door of his apartment into the hallway. Gojo sits comfortably in his living room, one leg crossed over the other with his phone in hand, a warm mug of tea cooling on his coffee table.
The news is playing. A general and loose sense of anticipation fills him as he pays attention to the newscaster. Another storm is going to hit and the temperatures are dropping to an impossible low. Officials recommend buying bottled water and keeping warm as it continues to blow out.
There’s a soft hiss as the muscled curse squeezes itself underneath the tight crack of his door. It’s unfortunate he can’t monitor it directly. Though the instructions ( and subsequently the consequences of disobedience) were made clear - curses are greedy as they are stupid. This one in particular seems to be self-aware enough not to try to go against Gojo’s word.
So, when the time comes he sits patiently and waits. Watches the news. His ears itch and his skin pricks as he listens for the first whisper of your voice. He wonders if you’ll scream. You didn’t when he thought you should’ve but maybe there's a reason for you to do so now.
The clock ticks away. It’s unceremonious. Gojo thinks to himself that maybe this entire thing is esoteric. Capturing you is a tragedy that he writes to himself and he’ll re-tell it to you all the time in different ways.
The clock ticks. Again and again, the monotony is starting to settle in. Time moves slower than you could imagine. Like trying to pipe honey into straw, thick and impossible.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
At 7:02, a dog barks outside. It sounds cagey, and it’s not Pokupan because Gojo knows what that mutt sounds like. Nor is it cosmic. It does sound desperate, though - like asking someone to be let in. And if Gojo didn’t have such a pressing matter to attend to, he’d go outside and do it himself. After all the wind is frosty and the air is unforgiving and winter devours things so slowly it's painful.
Gojo can’t abandon his task. It’s too important for him to stick his neck out for a being he doesn’t even know. He hopes briefly that it survives. That someone lets it in before it gets anymore violent (or desperate or willing)
At 7:03, he reaches for the tea on his coffee table to drink it. It’s still piping hot, but Gojo can swallow it with his infinity. He does for a reason he can’t name. It’s just a compulsion, inspired by the fact it will probably be too cold when he comes back for it. He thinks, instinctively, that he should cherish the warmth in the glass despite the barrier that prevents him from feeling it. Ultimately it’s still milk tea. It will still fill his stomach and taste vaguely sweet where he permits. He ought to drink it when it’s warm even if it’s just an illusion.
The clock ticks again, this time to 7:04 and Gojo regains a sense of bravado that’s riveting. There’s a commercial airing now for a new type of kitchen gadget, an airfryer with more settings than any one person knows what to do with. The advertiser is enthusiastic and loud. He wonders what happens when it switches to the next one. Do actors on set feel awkward when the cameras turn off? He knows a thing or two about performing, which is why he finds himself so curious.
At 7:05, the first whisper of your pleading filters through the hallways. Though Gojo figures he’s not meant to be able to hear it - because however vague it is, the sense of shame that it holds is hard to ignore. Despite his urge to run to you, Gojo is reminded of the fact he is teaching you a lesson and this is all a show for you and in a way for him too. There’s timings and cues and calls, so Gojo lets your first prayer get passed through the winter winds. He’s sure it gets dropped off somewhere in the snow.
The dog outside bares its teeth and barks louder than before.
At 7:06, the feelings of fear and negativity start to weasel their way into his apartment. Through cracks in the floorboards and the aeration in the spackle - he can feel it come through his door and penetrate his being like waves of wind. With no barrier and no filter, your fear is a familiar presence in his life. It comes to a crescendo as he leans his head back on the couch and blinks up at the ceiling. He’s pleased with it so far. It’s proving to be just right. All the months of delicate orchestration have culminated into such a lovely overture. A symphony of sobs. It enchants him like a bird song, or maybe the whistle of a blizzard.
He waits for it to die down. He waits for it to start back up again. He waits for the sniffling to become sobs and for the sobs to become demands and for the demands to go back to sniffles. He waits for the dog outside to be let in because he can hear the buzz of the gates all the way from his apartment.
When Gojo has had enough of waiting, it’s 7:15 sharp.
He stands to his feet and walks through his door with not so much as a look back. The T.V. is still playing where he fazes out and he leaves it because this will be quick and easy.
You’re right across the hall. The walk is short. The building moans like it’s dead.
He stands in front of your door and presses his ears to it and there’s some semblance of an altercation. Mostly the sounds of shattered glass.
If you were any more familiar with this world, you’d know the thing is stalling. It has harmful intent but Gojo’s presence is too risky. If you knew anything about anything, then you’d know you were never in any real danger and even calling Gojo’s name when you hate it so much now would be pointless.
But Gojo has done his due diligence in keeping you in the fateful dark.
So this part is easy. He reaches for the door but it’s locked, so he teleports.
When he enters, your apartment is in terrible shape. The curse itself notices his presence but does not stop to act. He stops to take a look around. He figures you’re cornered and holed up in your bedroom. A trembling figure in the corner praying for God to save you.
Your house is effectively thrashed like there’s been a robbery. He’ll have to make up something in the report. Officials will come, but they won’t question his word. All the glass is broken and scattered and everything is torn up. Papers ripped and fabric shredded.
(The stuff Gojo demanded not to be touched has remained that way. Even he’s not so much of a monster to ruin your students' keepsakes. He’s sure you’ll look relieved when he returns them to you later. How kind he is.)
He prepares himself like an actor might for a role. He thinks of the lines he’s practiced and the way things will play out. This simple, choreographed tragedy. A manifestation of your fears. Gojo thinks that he is probably good at becoming the thing people love yet resent.
He’s sure you and Suguru would have a lot to talk about in another life.
He checks the time on your digital clock, left unscatched in all the destruction.
At 7:18, Gojo phases himself into your bedroom like he’s only just arrived. He hears you gasp in a sharp fear that quickly breaks into a sob of relief. He glances at you where he stands. He’s never been in your room. Kind of a waste it’s happening like this.
The first thing he does is check if the door is locked. When he finds that it is, he laughs to himself but covers his face before he turns to you. You are exactly how he predicts. Something curled tightly into your fists, fearful and backed into a corner. He coos internally. At what he's done to you. How this has played out.
It wasn’t enough to break you a little. This part is necessary.
Like he starts most interrogations off, he asks you question.
“Are you okay?”
“Oh, Satoru.” Your voice sounds shattered in such a way he finds it almost hard to stomach “Oh, it’s—Oh it’s you.”
“Happy to see me, huh?” He says, tilting his head. You close your eyes instead of replying.
“H-how’d you…?”
“I can feel cursed energy,” He says, and it’s not untrue “I felt something very strange in your apartment. It’s been a while.”
You still can’t find it in yourself to say anything. Maybe desperate, maybe afraid, maybe exhausted by your own paranoia - you relent.
“Yeah.” You say. Gojo can feel the curse grow impatient. It lets out a loud hiss and you gasp in fear.
“Hey, you didn’t answer. Are you okay?”
You stare at Gojo for a long time.
“I’m not hurt but,” You swallow thickly. Upon looking at you closely, you look exhausted. He feels a little sorry for you. He’ll let you rest for a while when you’re home “I’m s-scared.”
“You’re right to be scared,” Gojo says, and he means it a little. Not about the curse, but in general “It’s a pretty powerful class. A special grade, probably. You share cursed energy.”
You look agape as he relays this to you.
“Share…?”
Gojo gives you a look. He can feel the creature coming towards you door down, slinking across the wood slowly. A coy, soft smile appears on his expression as he reaches down for you. You flinch from his hands but Gojo doesn’t falter. He strokes his thumb across your cheeks, peering at your eyes and how they reflect light from the outside.
“It was made with your cursed energy,” Gojo explains very gently to you. You look at him in disbelief “Curses are negative emotions. So something like this isn’t uncommon. No idea how it got so strong, though. But that’s all your.”
He watches you closely as a wave of horror settles over you. A nauseous feeling that has you cupping your hand over your mouth like you’re ready to throw-up. He masks a smile, but he doesn’t condescend you. Not openly, at least. Not to the extent he would like too. He reprimands you like a teacher - a sensei and his beloved mentee.
“I told you didn’t I,” Gojo says nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders as you quell your own disgust at the thought “You have to be careful. And you can’t fight all by yourself, so you’re kind of helpless. What were you gonna do if I wasn’t around?”
You look like you’re going to cry. Gojo keeps going.
“You can’t call the police, you know. They can’t help you at all. Good for nothing bunch, really.” Gojo states, gesturing vaguely. He tugs his masks off of his eyes so you can get a better look at him “But you can rely on me if you need to. I’ll always protect you. Next time just give me a call, okay?”
It must dawn on you, just then, what exactly Gojo is doing. Or some extent of this is hitting you for the very first time. The look on your face is picture perfect. It’s exactly what he wanted. An understanding he’d be hoping for for so long it’s unbelievable.
“I’m the only one who can keep you safe, understand?” But he’s not really asking. You know that too “Can you nod your head and agree?” He pricks. You don’t hold back your tears but you don’t cry them either. You break down silently nd you nod.
Gojo reaches down and wipes them off for you.
“Don’t be so sad,” He says to you, and he means it because what a shame it would be to wallow too much on such a nice day. Winter is for warming up next to your loved ones, isn’t it? “I’ll protect you now.”
Left with no choice, you nod again slowly and clutch your pillow. Gojo kisses the crown of your head and leaves you to untangle your feelings.
Then, almost on cue, the curse itself bursts through the door. The wood breaks off with the hinges.
It’s really a weak thing. If Gojo was trying to keep his powers contained, he might’ve put up more of a fight as it lunges at him in your bedroom. It knocks over your things left and right but he’s mostly busy trying to muffle the noises so he doesn’t disturb the neighbors.
It’s as fast as a gust of wind as he strikes out, neck elongated and jaw as unhinged as far as it can go. This time, Gojo can feel the weight of its desire to kill. A rampant sense of bloodlust in it’s every action, Gojo dodges each attempt and swipe at him. He leaves a barrier over you temporarily so that it can do you no harm.
It doesn’t go for you either. He figures maybe it has some understanding of its own predicament. Desperate animals can be clever too. Perhaps those things have always been linked together.
But he figures a fair-ish fight is as much as Gojo can do to stave the thing off before he sends it off officially. Plus, he can feel you watching his back - like you’re trying to measure how strong he is. It’s a smart thing to do. You’re learning. It’s probably better to show you now, since there’s not much left to hide.
So this time, when the snake comes flying towards him - Gojo reaches his hands out. He uses his infinity to stop it in its place. A noise of anger leaves its mouth, a low hiss as it hits the wall in front of him. Wide blue eyes stare at Gojo, a predator with its fangs bared.
Gojo stares back, a predator with its fangs bared.
He uses a reversal of his Limitless, the infinite blue. The creature is pulled into him closely, crashing first into the space he’s created before disappearing into nothing but smoke and ash. It’s gone just as quickly as it happened. A curse so inferior, it can’t have been more than ten minutes to fight even with all the purposeful delays Gojo set in place to finish it off.
It’s gone now, the product of you and him. A weird part of him is sad. But now he has you, so he cuts his losses. Now there is only you and Gojo, and a ruined bedroom and broken apartment.
Gojo, who has no intention of enlightening you, turns his back to look at you.
“Don’t know how long it’ll be gone but,” He shrugs, rolling his shoulder and cracking his spine “But it’s gone for now. Some officials will be here in the morning but with the way this place is, you might wanna come back to stay with me for a while.”
This is all a formality. He’s sure you know too, but instead of turning away - you’re shivering figure wavers in the dark. You’re terrified enough to reach for his hand and hold it. You know what’s coming, but that knowing does nothing to save you. You were a victim to fate from the moment you met. Yet, you still look to him for comfort in safety because even knowing better, there isn’t anything you can do.
And it’s just like you, to want to trust and forgive him. To reach your hand out hesitantly and try. Everything is tangled up and you are terrified and Gojo Satoru loves you.
“Come on,” He says, encouraging you to get closer. He reaches over your bed to scoop you into his arms and you don’t do so much as protest “Let’s go home.”
__
Gojo brings you home quietly.
When he enters, the T.V. is still on. You are curled up in his arms. He has no idea how long you’ve been crying and about what in particular - but that’s okay. Tonight, to him, is something like an anniversary. Like any time before, he has no intentions to treat you roughly.
It’s a good night, he thinks. Even in the state you’re in, Gojo can only think of making it even more memorable. You’re an injured thing in his arms. A delicate bird with clipped wings, or a butterfly with a missing antenna. Without Gojo there to pick you up in all your broken pieces, you might’ve really fallen apart.
It’s reasonable enough. For someone like you, he’s sure tonight has been so scary. It makes him feel a little sorry for you. It makes him want to make it all worse before he makes it all better.
He can’t describe it, but there is something so right about seeing you like this.
All angry and resentful and volatile. All lonely and scared and saddened and somber. All Gojo’s forever, permanently through everything. He’s made you so completely in his image, something he’s always wanted to do. Maybe you’re a trial run, in its own right, of all the things Gojo will be able to do in the future. What he’s capable of creating with enough effort.
Gojo is gentle to you. Tender, as he carries you into the apartment. You help him turn off the T.V. and put the mug into the sink. He carries you too afterwards, rewarding you with a kiss to your temple, before pulling through the threshold of his bedroom.
Just like that, you find yourself again in Gojo’s bedroom like you were so many weeks prior. You’re weakened and exhausted, so willing that he is endeared. Like this, he hovers over you. Looks at your tearstained face and smiles so lovingly.
Regardless of everything that’s transpired, above all - this is a reunion of two lovers to Gojo Satoru. So in the midst of it, he wipes your tears and kisses your cheek and you don’t pull away. Now you’re so ruined you relish his comfort if only a little, and this time it’s perfect. It’s everything he’s always imagined.
He’ll give you hope and freedom and let you be. Eventually, you’ll come to realize you’ll always need him a little. And it doesn’t matter, does it? That he’s made it that way on his own. Because it’s true. It’s righteous and religious and godly. Gojo Satoru is not god, but he does understand the urge to make something that listens.
He kisses your soft cheeks and hums at you, nose nudging your skin.
“Still feel like crying?” He asks you. You blink up at him like you’re only just now realizing where you are. Some emotion overwhelms you, but ultimately you shake your head no. Gojo grins impishly.
“That’s good,” He says tenderly. He kisses your lips this time, and you kiss back. It catches him off guard but he doesn’t dislike it “You didn’t get hurt did you? And now we’re together again.”
This does seem to incite waterworks in you but you don’t look like you have the energy to cry. He doesn’t push you too much. Though it is fun seeing you like this, Gojo is grateful he has some time to cherish you.
“Scary world out there, y’know?” Gojo says between kisses. He adjusts you, your arms around his shoulders loosely “Hold onto me okay? I’ll make it all better.”
You whimper under your voice but don’t go to thrash. There’s something about you that feels limp. A spirit softened and dampened, like wet soil. Gojo is okay with anything as long as it’s you, and there is some part of this he likes too. How pliant you become under the weight of your fear, so tantalizing to Gojo he can’t help himself but kiss you. Riper than the fruit of Eden. Just as sweet.
He kisses you for longer than necessary. It’s intimate and hopeful. All tangled hands and pulling different parts of you up to his lips.The occasional press of his teeth in your skin, with his senses so high he can practically feel the blood rush through them. Your mouth is soft and warm, the breadth of mint on your tongue. He pushes his tongue past your lips but this time around, you don’t do anything to refuse it.
So accepting like this. Gojo thinks life with you will prove to be exciting.
He rests his hands on your waist and you don’t pull away from him. Such soft skin covered in a sheer layer of sweat. It’s making him dizzy to have you like this, to kiss you in his bed. Again, again, again. You belong here with him and nothing has ever been so true. The euphoria of everything is overwhelming. He can’t get enough of you. Even if in the moment he carved a spot into you forever and buried himself there, he cannot help but want to be spoiled by your lenience and affection. He can’t help himself but to possess all of you so even time cannot spoil iit.
Despite yourself, you touch Gojo back gently. Knowing you, it is a way to deal with the pain. You want to forgive him as much as you want him to save you. You hate him as much as you love him.
From the beginning, everything has been exactly like this. This was the end of all ends.
This is a lesson in divine truth.
You’ve made Gojo this way as much as he’s made you. If Gojo Satoru is to play as God, then he supposes you are much like an owner. Some part of you has made him love you unconditionally. A dog and his master. An animal with a love so violent it shakes windows. Gojo Satoru makes you love him through violent means, and like a dog left abandoned in the snow - your own empathy for his unconditional but broken love makes you protect him. It’s cyclical. It can never change because the universe has ordained it. Because everything Gojo touches is a divination from the heavens.
Where Suguru proves to be a lesson, you are the dues he is owed.
This is a lesson in divine truth.
More simply, Gojo Satoru loves you in his own way. Any loyal dog will chase its owner no matter how far they run. He lives for you, after all. He’s made you in his image. The difference between god and dog is nothing more than a matter of positioning.
You love him back in your own way. Because his character and his tragedy makes it so difficult to abandon him and your disposition will never allow you. You’ll hate and resent him. You’ll grieve and you’ll cry. You will want to turn your back but he will always come to save you. And who can love you so loyally as a dog undisciplined? Who can keep your sheltered being protected like a wild hound?
Spring was an innocent century ago. Winter is here. Gojo loves you.
“My birthday passed recently,” He tells you. You blink at him.
“Oh?”
“Can you guess what I want?”
You don’t do much more than nod. It’s not permissive. You just know better by now, and that too is not something Gojo finds himself pleased with.
“You don’t have to do any work,” He offers you as a reprieve, busying himself once again with undressing you. You’re still wearing the clothes he bought you all those weeks ago “Just don’t run away from me.”
If you notice how heavy the words are, you’re smart enough not to do anything. Even still, Gojo can’t tell if there's a purpose behind it. Perhaps you just know it instinctively not to.
He takes you apart carefully. Careful, thick fingers unbuttoning the front of your shirt. You’re wearing nothing underneath, and the sight of your bare skin is almost too much for him. The hickies have yet to heal, though now they’re yellow and softened by time. Gojo will have to leave more to bring back all the color to you.
He starts at your jaw this time, teeth against your earlobe. Heart in your hands, he knows your body a little better now.
And he takes his time with it this time too. Even slower than before. Even more consuming, even more adoring.
He laps his tongue against your soft skin and eats. Your skin is salty and sweet and Gojo can’t contain himself. He gropes you lightly, planing his palms over your shoulders and squeezing your breasts tight. He’s missed touching you more than he knows what to do with.
Even in being gentle, there’s little he can stop himself from trying to devour. You lay about him squirming as he undoes each and every part of you. He can’t pick which place to go and what thing to do first because he wants so wholly. It’s making his head spin to listen to your sweet and short whimpers. You spread yourself as you lay under him, hands pinned to your sides - demure and needy.
How different it is but the same. Something about how you’re clinging to him so desperately is making him feel sick with lust.
Instead of going any further, he pulls away from you momentarily. He puts his arms on your sides and flips you over till you’re on top of him
The sudden change in position leaves you gasping for air. Gojo gives you an amused grin as you fall forward - as he props himself up on pillows while you try and steady himself. He holds you close to him once you’re all set, face to face like this.
“Don’t run away from me,” He says, more seriously. You swallow. Gojo lets you up until you’re half-way over him. You’re so much weaker than him, moved and manhandled so easily. There’s a target on your back so often and Gojo loves being an arrow.
He kisses the side of your body as you stand on your knees beside him. His fingers hook into your shorts and panties, sliding them off of your body all in a fell swoop. He squeezes your ass slightly, spreading you apart.
“Look at you all bent over for me,” He coos, hands reaching underneath you to toy with your pussy. You whine, shuddering, clinging to his shoulders. “So pretty, baby. Prettiest girl.”
A hiccup bobs in your throat. Gojo moves his fingers lower and lower, familiar now with the feel of you. Your cunt is just as welcoming as he remembers. The idea of making love sends a shiver through his whole body. Blood rushes to his cock like a bolt of lightning in his veins. He pushes his middle finger into your twitching, needy hole.
Another sound, cut off by a garbled word of surprise, falls out of your mouth. You’re soaking. Ripe for taking. Gojo wants to fuck you more than anything.
He takes a deep breath, whispering to your skin.
“Fuck,” He laughs, giggling at the thought of it “I’m gonna break you, huh? Gotta be—shit, need to be extra careful with you, right my love?”
“Please be gentle.” You say at his request.
“Of course, of course but—” He squeezes your hip as he feels his middle finger go into you down to the knuckle. You roll your hips against him involuntarily “You just—you’d look so good so full of my cock, y’know? Been thinkin’ about it for weeks.”
And he has, means every word. You shudder at the confession. He quirks his lips as he fucks into you, relishing in those pretty little sounds that fall out of your lips.
“You like that?” He grunts, another finger to stretch you out a little more for him “You like when I tell you about all the dirty things you make me think about?”
Shame fills you, like Gojo’s lit a match under you. He can feel your heartbeat pick up. Is it the being so wanted or is it the crassness and humiliation? Maybe both. Sometime later he’ll pick it apart more closely. He lets himself talk you through it, so close to your skin as he whispers all the filth to you that he can. Confesses it to you.
“Weeks and weeks, baby. Couldn’t stop thinking about how perfect and wet you would feel when I finally took you like this. Gonna make it so good for you, you won’t have to think about anything else again.”
The promise sends you limp. When Gojo finally feels both of his fingers slide in and out of you with no resistance at all, he sighs lightly and pulls away. The loss of contact makes you whine, but he brings you back to his lap now, sitting with your legs on either side of his.
His cock, clothed and restrained in his sweats, swells against your wet cunt. He watches your eyes widen as you stare at it, lucid enough this time to realize what it looks like. He looks up at you, kissing the corner of your mouth.
“C’mon. You can look.”
He guides you to the waistband of his sweatpants. You pull his pants down slowly, looking up for permission (which Gojo gives in a loving nod) before taking his boxers off too. His cock is so hard it’s almost painful. The tip is a flush red, white hairs trimmed neat at the base and feeling so fucking heavy Gojo can’t stand it. He hisses as your hands reach for him instinctively, and you try to pull away before he stops you.
“Touch it, sweetheart” He encourages, wrapping your hand around it for you “Feel it? That’s all you.”
A flush graces your features. For a minute, it’s all love and nothing more. Nothing less. Too briefly for it to mean anything, but enough for Gojo to know it. You wrap your hands around his shaft and stroke tentatively and Gojo groans shamelessly into you, rutting his hips into the round part of your palms.
“Fuck that’s it,”
He looks at your expression, examining the concentration before chuckling. Your lip is poked out, eyes dazed. He pulls away from you, securing you close to him.
With the new proximity, he holds his cock close to you. Measure it up against your skin, against your tummy. He feels you against him, Around him, folds nudging apart for him, The skin on skin alone has him so breathless. A dizzy sort of feeling as he presses the tip of his cock hard against your clit. You feel like silk around him.
Looking at you like this, all helpless and needy, he can’t help but think about how easily he can overpower you. He’s stronger and bigger. His cock would be enough to split you in half. How he’s gonna make himself fit inside of you spins in his mind over and over. Maybe like always, your pretty little pussy will yield just for him. You’ll open and endure and take him so deep.
He can’t help appreciating it. Can’t keep his thoughts quiet from telling you.
“See that? How deep I’m gonna go?” He measures up to you. A hand on the bottom of your stomach, stroking his thumb “Gonna feel me right in here. You ready?”
You close your eyes and look away. Gojo grabs your chin and tuts at you.
“Nuh-uh. Want you to see. Don’t close your eyes.”
It’s not a question or a request.
So, you watch. Gojo lifts you up just enough to line up with your entrance and sinks you down so, so slowly on his cock. It’s agonizing how slow. It’s incredible how fucking good you feel. How perfect one sensation could possibly fucking be - Gojo could die here in complete bliss. He can feel the stretch of your pussy trying to accommodate. That sensation of resistance that sends him reeling, spine tingling and skin prickling with a heat so intense he feels like he’s going to pass out just sitting there.
And then there’s looking at you, which proves to be an entirely new animal. You have this pinched expression, a shocked little gasp as Gojo pushes through. A whimper leaves your lips. Gojo rubs his thumb on your lower lip as he eases you down.
“Hurt too much?”
“N-no. Just… feels weird.”
He laughs a little at your honesty, before fucking himself into you even deeper. Another inch and he really starts to feel you. Your walls feel like they’re sucking him and Gojo wouldn’t leave if it killed him. He groans, deep in his chest as you shake. Your grip on his shoulders gets tighter and tighter.
With one more smooth thrust, Gojo sits you down on his cock completely. He feels so complete like this. Everything in him is at ease feeling your insides spasm and melt around him. He sighs contentedly.
“Still okay?”
You nod weakly.
“Can I move?”
Your reply is nothing more than a whimper.
So he does, but he does so slowly. Just to get into the rhythm. He thrusts up slowly.
‘O-oh. Oh, oh it’s,”
He chuckles against the crook of your neck, hugging you close to him. He loves the way you feel against his body, the way your frame fits so perfectly into him. He rolls his hips up into you so there’s no effort on you to move. You whine that time, and he does again and again until your voice is a mess.
“Starting to feel good?”
“S-satoru.”
He swears.
“Fuck, stop that,” He swears “Gonna—shit, gonna cum right away. Moving so hold onto me tight, baby.”
You take his words for it. Gojo feels your soft tits pressed into his chest as he pulls your hips up and starts fucking up into you. Each time he does, he feels like he can feel all the way to the back of you. None of his fantasies could compare to the feeling of being this deep inside, cock nudging against that sweet spot that keeps making you fucking mewl into his ear. He can hardly take it as it is now, focusing hard on not cumming until you do.
Making it good for you is his priority. Always has been, but you make it hard for him like you do most things.
“Touch yourself for me, okay?”
You look at him surprised but listen to his request regardless. Gojo takes to fucking you steadily. He builds an even rhythm as he keeps you up, hands firm on your hips as he pistons you from underneath. The pleasure comes in waves, undulates as blood continues to rush to his cock. He’s so hard he can’t think straight but he keeps each of his thrusts consistent, lines them with the pace you play with your clit so he can encourage you to cum for him.
He can tell you’re starting to feel good when your mouth falls agape. He drags on your walls with each punctuated movement and your thighs shake and tense. Everything comes together so slowly but the pleasure comes at once. It’s a force that’s nearly earth shattering. All the planets aligned, everything in the same plane. Everything for him and for you. For the togetherness he’s created and chased after so long.
Now this part of you is all his too.
“Sa—Satoru,” You warn, your hands trembling and fingers cramped up with need. He grunts as he stares up at you through thrusts “G-gonna…”
“Gonna cum for me? Gonna cum on my cock? Go on. Know you can do it, baby. So good for me. Perfect for me.”
It’s all babbling for him now, the sensation hitting him in waves. Your mouth falls agape and you cum so hard Gojo can feel every fucking pulse. Squeezing his cock hard enough he wants to grit his teeth. He presses his mouth to yours instead as you moan out, unable to hold it in. He swallows every noise like he’s trying to embed them into himself.
You cum hard and fast and Gojo is so quick to follow you. Only seconds after you fall limp into his arms does he feel it - no longer able to stave off the urge to cum so deep in you it stays forever. To mark you deeply you never think of anything. It’s almost animalistic for him. Every nerve on his body is on fire as he shoots his cum deep into you, sitting you on his dick with nowhere for you to go.
Panting, he pulls back to gaze on you. He’s still hard as he’s twitching. He can’t hold off tonight, he doesn’t think. But he’ll give you a minute to collect yourself. He presses a kiss to your hairline.
He whispers softly as the night comes to a quiet, quiet still.
“I’m yours and you’re mine baby. Forever and always.”
You shake. And Gojo knows you well enough to know that it’s the resentment coming back in waves. But that’s okay, because Gojo loves you.
And with this, he’s taken everything.
EPILOGUE / OVERTURE :
Your senses are accustomed to Gojo by now.
You never thought such a day would come. You spent the first year of this relationship (if you can call it that, to begin with) in trenches so deep you couldn’t really tell left from right. So many things persisted as normal, but nothing was ever the same.
In that, though, Gojo stayed by your side till the bitter end. He nursed you back into health and sometimes treated you so kindly that you could almost forget who you were dealing with. Sometimes the weight of everything became too heavy. You think you love Gojo almost as much as you hate him.
But it doesn’t particularly matter what your feelings are. Has it ever, in any of this? You always knew that something was strange but you didn’t think you were so clueless. Blindly following wherever his voice took you.
The first time you try to escape Gojo feels like so long ago. That time, he let you go quite far. You made it out of the house and even went out of the country during summer. But you were sloppy and inexperienced. When he found you and brought you back home, you figured it had been a fluke. You’d learn from it. You’d do it again and that time you would succeed.
That’s what you told yourself anyway. It’s how this all started. Where you would run, and Gojo would let you before he started to miss you. He’d come and he’d discipline but it was never too cruel.
(You wished it were. You wished it were sickly and sadistic and tortuous. You think it’s so much worse to beg for mercy when you are sobbing from pleasure. For Gojo to coddle and sedate you and never yield. You think you’d prefer if he were just out of it. Just cruel instead of what he is. Which is knowing but certain. Justified.)
This has been the farthest you’ve ever gotten. You don’t think you’ve ever been this far away from home. A cabin in the woods where you lived peacefully for days. You don’t know how Gojo found you.
You had been so sure. This was it. It had to be it.
Your heart shatters as you hear him. Feel him in your bones so much it frightens you. The world is covered in a sheet of white, and your ankles are bruised and bleeding from where you’ve fallen. You’re cold and your heart is beating so loud - but no matter how much you run you can’t find any heartbeat to motivate you.
Gojo pulls through the thickets with a frown on his face. Blue eyes and black coat, his feet crunch the snow as he comes towards you. You crawl away. You try too, anyways.
Gojo leans down to your level, looking at you closely. He reaches out to brush snow away from your skin.
“My birthdays soon, you know?” He hums, not angry today. Not even wanting to discipline you “It’s not a bad place, y’know? The cabin. We can spend some time there before we go home. Might be nice. But we should get going so we can check on your foot.”
He reaches his hand out to you this time. Too injured to run, you take it and he smiles before offering to carry you on his back. You hop on, arms around his neck and don’t even cry. A numbness settles.
It is not the cold.
“Oh, look,” Gojo says, reaching his hands out “Snow’s falling.”
You suppose it is. Another Winter will pass just like this.
A dog howls somewhere far off in the distance.
#‘There are places where the past hasn’t happened. But it can’t be changed.’#jjk x reader#gojo satoru#gojo satoru x reader#fic rec
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HOW TO BE A DOG. | S. GOJO
⊹ general tags ; fem + afab!reader, reader presents femininely and has some specific character traits (i.e. personality traits, nothing physical), reader is shorter / smaller than gojo but nothing specified, reader is a teacher, gojo carries reader at some point (but he is canonly able to do very insane things physically so)
⊹ content warnings ; dead dove. do not eat, yandere gojo satoru, manipulation, stalking, obsessive behavior, delusional behavior, workplace harassment (not from gojo), victim blaming, canon typical violence, graphic depictions of murder, minor character death, excessive religious imagery, coercion, gaslighting, abuse of power, something akin to stockholm syndrome, graphic depiction of noncon / sexual content, forced intimacy, fingering, hickies / bruises, begging, edging, loss of virginity, size kink, 18+.
all sexual content present in part two.
⊹ wc ; 17.3k / 36.1k
link to extended authors note | ao3 | how to be a dog, by andrew kane.
LINK TO PART TWO
⊹ a/n ; well. its here. i wont ramble too much but i hope you enjoy and if you dont...well don't tell me. thank you to ame for your endless patience. likes and reblogs mean the world. the title is inspired by the poem linked.
⊹ synopsis ; with six eyes to see it becomes clear, you are being watched.
“Of course you must learn to love, to love always and love entirely and to be wounded by nothing so much as the violence of your own love.” - andrew kane, how to be a dog.
⊹ PART ONE : A CHILD BORN IN WINTER MUST NOT LONG FOR SPRING.
There’s a dog living outside of Gojo’s apartment. It’s a collarless, lonely thing. Clever, too.
Though, Gojo doesn’t know much about its life before it started hanging around the area, he gets glances on occasion. It’s not emaciated and it doesn’t look hungry, but it’s roughened up with matted fur and a healed tear in one ear.
More importantly, it doesn’t bother anybody in the neighborhood. Despite its outward appearance and hostility when approached, its aggression won’t go farther than a warning bark or growl. Most of the adults living in the building know better than to try, but some of the kids living upstairs desperately attempt to befriend it. Of course they fail, and Gojo thinks that that poor thing is growing apathetic to the touches of sticky hands.
The whole building is pretty fond of it, surprisingly. Gojo lives in a upend complex in a metropolitan part of Tokyo and the people here can be snobbish. So it comes as a shock that this dog wasn’t shooed away months ago.
Everyones sort of agreed to take care of it. There’s a food and water bowl outside of the security office - and just last week a sign was implemented of Do’s and Don’ts for what food scraps can be left. There’s a donation box to get some proper shots and paperwork - since it looks like the building's doorman has agreed to take it in if everyone chips in for the expenses.
(Gojo suspects this has something to do with those very kids, devastated by the thought of it being gone.)
Warm welcomes from the residents aside, Gojo hasn’t seen it act friendly before. He wonders about that. It seems hesitant to trust anyone and he’s sure there's a good reason. It’s just that it's clever. To be a stray in this area of Tokyo and be so calm is an impressive feat, so he thinks it probably has some grasp of his own situation. If it acted cuter, it could get a warm house and family too. Though the whole aloof and distant thing does the job just fine, Gojo can’t help but wonder what such a clever creature is doing, turning away from living lavishly.
Much like everyone else, Gojo’s contributions have come in the form of food scraps and some donation money to work towards the 5,000 yen goal. On the occasion their paths cross, Gojo sits near it. Sometimes, they share a moment of silence and Gojo talks just to see if it’ll ignore him. It seems like it’s listening. It always makes a grunt of dismissal when Gojo turns to leave and he’s started to count that as a little victory.
Gojo isn’t intrigued by anything as much as that dog. At least not lately. It’s damn near impossible to seriously pique his interest and yet that clever fellow is one of the few things he stops to ponder at.
Today, Gojo is intrigued by the dog that lives on the street of his apartment and the strange woman who’s petting it like some sort of domesticated baby.
He’s very, very intrigued by that.
The rain comes down in heavy sheets. It’s a Wednesday, and he has no classes to teach so he’s home and preparing to run errands. He’s going about his day as usual, basically. When Gojo isn’t swamped with a mission or the reformation of Jujutsu Society - he likes to play the part of the average man.
The plan for today was to take his unused car out of the lot so he could get some dry-cleaning done, go buy a new pair of sunglasses because his old ones are scratched, and go do some shopping. He needs to buy groceries again ( an uncommon occurrence) so that one's on the list too.
He’s dressed down. A black windbreaker is hanging over his shoulders, tight gray shirt and some comfortable jeans. He’s got on his errand shoes, a nice pair of sneakers and his keys are hanging from a loop in his belt. His hair is styled down and he’s got on his glasses instead of his typical mask.
He has a gameplan, a fully fleshed out expectation of how today will go, and it’s derailed by a woman he’s never seen before. He’s drawn to you so naturally it’s baffling.
You’re crouched just in front of the security office. Dressed in a loose skirt and long sleeves, looking down by the local neighborhood stray. For the first few seconds, he just lingers on in utter awe. You’re carrying a comically cute umbrella, clear with flowers and a pink edge. He kind of thinks you look like a peony.
He approaches slowly, quietly.
When he finally gets close enough to really see, he can hardly believe his eyes. That old, menacing mutt is happily getting his chin scratched by you.
“Oh, uhm. Hello?”
The sound of your voice startles him out of his trance. Snapping back to reality, he glances down to where you are and realizes he’s towering over you. In an effort to be polite, he steps back and gives you his most disarming smile.
“Hi. Sorry for the intrusion, I was just,” He glances at the dog who almost looks offended at the interruption “I noticed you were… petting this dog. Guess I was a little surprised.”
“Surprised?”
And your surprise surprises him even more. He blinks slowly.
“Yeah. He’s not aggressive or anything but uh,” Gojo chuckles, concluding you must be a little new “Well, he’s not exactly friendly. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone succeed in well…petting him.”
You’re taken aback by this information. Yeah, definitely new.
“Really?” You glance at Gojo before looking back down at it “I just gave him some treats and waited a bit. He’s such a sweetie. Sure you mean this dog?”
Gojo gets a good laugh out of that. Partially at your cluelessness and partially at your disbelief. He nods, smiling a little.
“I’m very sure, actually. He must really like you,” He says, hands in his pockets. He bends down to join you, but he’s still a little bigger than you at that height “I guess I can see why. You’re pretty friendly.”
You peek over at him. You seem a little shy at the compliment. Gojo feels his interest pique a second time today alone. New record.
“Oh, uh. Thank you. I teach kindergarteners so I sort of have to be.”
He hums. Reaching his hand towards the dog, who sniffs and cuddles his palm (something it’s never done before) in order to win your favor more. It really is a clever little thing, just like he’d always suspected.
“I’m a teacher too. A highschool teacher, though. No need for me to be friendly, I guess.”
You laugh at his joke, smile reaching your eyes as you hug your knees to look at him.
“You seem plenty friendly to me.”
He pretends to think about it.
“Maybe you have a gift for making people come out of their shell,” He says with sincerity, relishing in the fact he’s finally getting to pet the dog in any capacity “I think this little guy could probably attest to that.”
“And you have a knack for flattery.” You quip.
The natural chemistry is noticeable enough for it to catch Gojo off-guard. He grins.
“Hey. I’m not all bad. And what's flattery if I’m being honest right?”
“Sounds like something a flirt would say,” You tease, airy. He laughs a little.
“You seem like you’re having fun giving me a hard-time.” He pouts. You giggle.
“A little,”
“Jeez. How rude of you…” He waits, prompting your name. You smile.
You give him your name. You say it soft and easy. He makes sure to return to the favor.
“And yours?”
“Gojo Satoru.”
__
You live up to your first impression in the time that Gojo gets to know you as his neighbor.
Friendly. The word he’s looking for is friendly.
There’s other words though. Sometimes meek, typically cheery, oftentimes quiet. You’re quite unassuming, and possibly too gentle when compared to everyone else in the general area. You fit in fine, no worries there. And Gojo knows that for certain because he can’t stop himself from watching over you like a hawk.
He doesn’t really understand it himself. Gojo gets along with everyone. He’s always been a people person who likes to talk and likes to get to know strangers. There’s nothing that special about your connection in that way. You live next to him, directly across the hall. You often knock on his door to give him something that you’ve made too much of or ask to borrow some sugar
And it’s not done with any romantic intent. Gojo is good at reading people. He’s never seen someone so blatantly romantically uninterested in him. You’re not even conscious of him as a man, cemented to him by the one time you came to the door dressed in paper-thin PJ’s. He hasn’t recovered from the shock. One of the many times in his life where he was grateful no one could see where he was looking.
He’s had a few months since your first meeting to get an idea of your personality and what things about you he should keep in mind. You noticed that he’s often not in his house, so you’re relatively aware of your surroundings. You’re often up late because your lights are always on well into the evening.
(He finds out later you’re usually making lesson plans or little gift bags or planning birthdays. You really love your job, something he can commend while simultaneously feeling quite jealous about.)
You favor the lovely spring colors like pink and purple because you have so much of it always on you. You dress brightly in general. And you smile, often, and stumble over yourself trying to be nice to the other tenants. The kids in the building adore you. The sheer amount of propositions you’ve received to be someone's full-time nanny could probably keep you employed for another two decades.
And you always put your best into everything, no matter what.
This is probably the aspect Gojo is most fascinated by. It’s not exactly a novel trait. He’s encountered something like it before. One of his most prized students is Maki Zenin. Her whole thing is kicking ass through sheer spite.
But unlike his students or anyone else he knows - you don’t seem to be motivated by spite or anger or frustration. Even when you are angry or upset - you always force yourself into being more understanding. Into being nice, kind, and still giving it your best if you’ve been shorted somehow. He’s tempted to call you a try-hard. It draws on the line of people pleasing sometimes but it doesn’t matter either way. This is a quality in you Gojo likes all the same.
He's always been drawn to people who are earnest. His company favors such things. He cherishes Yuuji for such a reason, and can say something similar for Nanami. It’s a refreshing perspective. He’s not a bitter person, but he’s not an earnest one either. So Gojo likes that you’re so properly, gently sincere.
For the last few months he’s made a real effort to talk to you. So he’s not just the guy next door, but at least an acquaintance and at best a distant friend. On the mornings you both have classes to teach, he walks you to your car and if he wakes up before you - he’ll bring you a cup of coffee or a pastry he knows you enjoy.
You’ll often do Gojo little favors and he’ll return them - joking to each other about being a good neighbor. An inside joke with each other that Gojo is growing increasingly fond of, all together with leftover cups of coffee and glances that linger too long. Some mornings, he takes out your trash when you’re feeling too tired and you’ll do him the favor of getting the stuff out of his clothes that he doesn’t want to dry-clean.
It’s these little exchanges that make up the bulk of your interactions.
He’s even been to your apartment (another reason he’s sure you’re not attracted to him). He went last week to help you cut out little autumn leaves to put on your classroom walls, and you rewarded him with some lemonade.
He’s still thinking about it days later, how you sit on your legs and the way your cardigan hangs off your shoulder. When you’re focused, you leave your mouth open a bit and poke your tongue through your lips. He’s endeared by it.
By you in general.
It’s all boring and mundane, but that’s what makes it. It’s a luxury he rarely affords. Craves, really, which is why he’s starting to go straight home more often than not.
It’s nice that you’re always there. That you’re usually home and when you’re not - Gojo doesn’t have to guess too hard about where you are. It’s so constant. He basks in the feeling of constancy like an expensive silk.
It’s little luxuries like that, he thinks, that make you so special to Gojo without much effort on your behalf. Being up at the top means he is always fascinated by the place closest to the ground.
What’s heaven to a man born there?
__
In your fourth official month of residence, the neighborhood dog finally gets adopted.
He’s not there for the big reveal. He hears it from you while he’s on a mission, through a text message and a photo. He acquired your number early on, but you’ve only started doing these text exchanges recently. Reason being Gojo’s had an unusual amount of cases that need his attention and you’ve been very aware of his absence.
(The first time you texted Gojo after 3 days on the other side of the country, he was scarily happy. After all, most times when he leaves - people are expecting his return. There’s an assurance that he will return alive, that he has to. It’s not often people worry.
It was another thing he learns about himself through you. Being fussed about is refreshing.)
Currently, he’s all the way down in Nagasaki. He’s been investigating what the local government has described as an “infestation in the water,” leading to poison and all sorts of hallucination. It’s been causing all of the local hospitals to fill up and the news is advising people to distill their water if possible when at home. Make sure to buy bottled, and double check on your children.
In other words, there’s an unidentified curse wreaking havoc in small towns and rural areas at an unusually fast rate and Gojo has been sent to figure out its origin. What’s really weird is the location. He’s in Nagasaki prefecture, specifically in Hasami - a town in the Higashisonogo district. He really didn’t have much time to do research on the area, save for a few quick google searches and probing questions to his student, the well traveled Yuta Okkutsu who is a hair more familiar with the region than he is.
But there wasn’t much for him to find. Hasami is known for the porcelain it produces. The population is a little under 15,000 and the weather is nicer in spring than it is in summer where it gets too humid. It’s considered a small town, though that number is relative in consideration, and currently the local officials are sending off reports about the water supply.
Even when doing deep research using official means, there was nothing that unusual about the place. No major criminal incidents or occult presence or some other thing that would make this occur naturally. Gojo is no stranger to small town violence or bullying and they can often produce the most volatile curses.
But he’s currently on his 3rd day here, where he’s taken up talking with the locals and he can’t find any specific attitude that would foster a special grade.
It had led him to a conclusion, but one he was deliberately avoiding. That someone planted the curse here in Nagasaki, or maybe somewhere else. Which really complicates the whole affair, because then this is an investigation and not just a situation of fate. It also means that this curse was likely harvested somewhere and that Gojo can’t be sure it’ll be easy to get rid of.
Most importantly, all that fanfare means he’ll be home late.
Given how much he’s longing to see you, it’s the thing he’s been dreading most.
It’s weird. He’s never dying to see anyone, with the exception of an old friend long gone. But Gojo has been desperate to see you for the few weeks he’s been away from home.
(He can’t tell if it’s normal to long this much for a person he truthfully doesn’t know that well.)
But, while he’s away from home, the thoughts of you play on loop in his head. Like white noise, static yet constant - there, all the same. As he walks the rainy streets of Hasami, hands in his pockets - he can’t help but wonder when the next time he gets to see you will be
It’s like some sort of miracle (aren’t you always one?) when Gojo hears his phone ring, buzzing against his abdomen.
He’s drawn back into reality when he feels it. In front of a store that sells handmade plates and glasses, he lets it go for a while. Feels it buzz against his pocket while he settles his thoughts. He examines his surroundings, notices the cars, and the mother with her daughter across the street and the gray sky - all before he picks it up. Your name flashes him on screen, and something itches deep in his chest.
The clouds open up. And it’s still raining, but there’s a ray of sunlight cutting through them. For a minute Gojo feels worldly, grinning with damp skin before he slides his thumb across the phone.
You’ve never called him before.
“Hello?” He greets, wondering if it was an accident. Then you come through the other side of the line.
“Hi ~,” You say, clearly doing something in the midst of talking “How’ve you been?”
“I’ve been alright. Very shocked you called me, yanno?”
You laugh quietly.
“Sorry about that. I just wanted to check in. And I wanted to say thank you.”
“I mean… I’ll accept but I feel like I should know what for.” He jokes. Your tone goes sincere, marshmallow soft and twice as sweet.
“You paid the rest of the fees for the dog out of pocket, didn’t you?”
He smiles to himself.
“Ah. Busted. That was supposed to be a secret between me and Mr. Security-Man,”
“He didn’t tell me. I just…guessed. Seems like something you’d do.”
His first instinct is to disagree.
“It’s not like I did it out of the goodness of my heart, okay? It was looking a little sad sleeping during the cold seasons. It was very pitiful. So bad, so sad.”
“Why’d you do it?” You ask, probing but not too deeply “Like… really. It was really nice of you, but it was a couple thousand and that can’t be cheap.”
He relents, head leaning back on the wall behind him.
“The kids, remember?” He murmurs, eyes staring up at the gray clouds “You said they’d be sad if the dog didn’t get adopted soon.”
“The way you’re talking about it makes it seem like you’re doing this for me.”
“And if I was? Would that bother you, hm?”
You wait a minute, hesitating with your words.
“Well…no. I guess not, I just—thank you. I guess I’m just a little… embarrassed about it or whatever.”
“Shy, huh? Cute.”
“Jeez,” You huff. Gojo can practically hear your grinning from the other side; it makes his heart flutter. He wants to go home, to wherever you are “And you always say you’re no flirt.”
“I’m not a flirt. I’m just telling it how it is.”
“Yeah? Well, thanks anyway then. It made them really happy. You should’ve been there to see it. Maybe you can tell them when you get back?”
“Don’t wanna.” He states outright.
“You didn’t even think about it!” You exclaim.
“Mm, because I don’t have to. I definitely don’t want them to know.”
“Why not, though? You’d be their hero, y’know?
Maybe it’s something in the air. The damp weather out closer to the ocean, or the distance between you. There’s a tiny echo in your words, mechanical through the speakers. The word hero leaves a melancholy in his mouth, floating in the back of his throat like liquor refusing to go down. He chuckles.
“Ooo, are you into that kinda thing? Like, super charming knights in shining armor? Or superheroes, maybe?”
You giggle on the other side of the line. If you notice him avoiding answering you, you have the courtesy not to say anything.
“Isn’t everyone? I don’t know. I think if a really good-looking guy saved my life, it’d probably make my heart race a little, yeah. I’d catch feelings over that for sure.”
He takes a deep breath. Everything smells like rain.
“Is that so?” He says, chest blooming with warmth “I’ll keep that in mind.”
__
Gojo returns from his mission empty-handed.
He was out there for a long time, at least longer than usual when he’s traveling for a mission. He’s not used to hitting so many dead ends. The problem kept growing, but every trail he’d uncovered went cold in about a day. Just before he gave up hope, he was called in by Yagi. Since the issue has spread into other parts of the city, it’s no longer his solo jurisdiction.
More hands on meant more time for Gojo to be teaching. It also meant that he would finally see you after so long. You waited for him outside the day he returned to Tokyo - wearing a cream colored sweater and the prettiest smile Gojo had ever laid eyes on.
Gojo returns from his mission empty-handed but it’s not entirely pointless. Upon returning - he had a somewhat shallow epiphany about the way you make him feel. About the way he’s affected by you, which is arguably more valuable than some lead.
Being away from you for so long is something that makes him so irritable. He’s had some time between then and now to come into terms with it.
Falling back into his routine, it was obvious. Suddenly there was a gap he’d never noticed before that blew wide enough for him to fall through. He actively avoids not seeing you if he can, and ever since your permissive conversation a few weeks ago - it’s harder to notice the way his desires fester.
There’s not much he wants out of his life. So when anything noteworthy pops up, Gojo is always eager to get a hold of it before it’s too late.
He usually soothes that by reminding himself of your position as a civilian, a kindergarten teacher at that. The responsible thing to do is make sure you’re safe. To play the hero from the sidelines and ensure you don’t encounter anything from his line of work. That’s his whole life's work. To create a life like that, and it helps to stay on that path when he believes you’re sheltered from that reality.
That’s why, when you tell Gojo you can see curses, he feels the entire floor collapse from underneath his feet.
He receives such devastating news over a cup of coffee at that.
It’s closing in to Fall slowly and Gojo has decided to take you out to eat as an apology for his disappearance. He intended to give you another half-truth about his job so you wouldn’t lose any sleep over him.
When it happens, it’s less that you tell him, and more that you keep glancing. Just over his shoulder, with this terrified expression that Gojo couldn’t not notice, even if he tried.
You’ve got your hands around a warm drink, in a white, ceramic mug but your gaze keeps diverting to the place behind him. When he looks over to that same place, a curse is there. Small. More insignificant than a bug, but there.
It’s risky to mention it. Because if Gojo is wrong, it’s not something he can brush off. He’d have to come up with something to excuse himself, and he isn’t sure how to lie out of that (even with his natural disposition of being a trickster.) But when you keep looking, his instinct kicks in. There’s no way you aren’t seeing it.
He doesn’t ask you directly. That’d be too incriminating, so he lowers his tone. Watches you briefly as you tremble in fear.
(A small, small part of him is only asking because he doesn’t like how distracted you are from him. Killing the curse seems like it’d relieve that annoyance too.)
“Can you see it…?”
The question makes you jump out of your skin. You reel back, eyes widened before the realization really sets in.
“....It?”
Gojo looks around the cafe for a minute, to make sure no one is listening before he turns around and points to the cursed spirit behind him.
“It,” He says, thumb pointed at the deformed curse moaning in one of the booths.
When it dawns on you that Gojo sees what you see, you cup a hand over your mouth in shock. He can’t describe the way getting that confirmation feels. It raises so many questions about who you are. More than he had before, at least.
No longer are you the innocent, clueless civilian and that changes every interaction he’s had with you since the start. Though it’s not uncommon for people who can see curses to fall through the cracks, he can feel his own curiosity dig into his skin like seeds taking root. He doesn’t think he should be excited, but he is.
He’s excited watching your fearful tremble. He’s never seen you like that.
“Yes,” You say, voice a little shaky this time “I can see… it.”
He takes the spoon out of his latte and cleans it with his mouth. Studying your expression momentarily, he takes a deep breath before standing to his feet. The terror is so subtle, the kind he can only catch because he’s so familiar.. He knows those emotions better than he knows most.
Curses aren’t phobias. Not illusions or ghosts, but tangible madness. Impactful to those who can see it, but nothing to those who can’t. Fear like that, which can’t be shared with anyone, has a specific look when it shows up in someone. Gojo hasn’t felt that fear since he was very, very little. He watches curses with the same bland expression he might watch a horror movie, but he can understand your reaction at least. He knows it like the back of his hand. All the people he’s saved, who could see them too, always wore the same one.
Still, he’s caught off guard. He feels bad that you’re scared. But the proximity between you and him which was once oceans wide has decreased significantly in no time at all. That feels good. Even better than he would’ve imagined.
“Are you scared?” He questions intently, maintaining a sense of neutrality.
You swallow a lump in your throat, eyes glued to the table in front of you.
“Yes,”
Your voice is a hoarse whisper. The corners of his lips twitch upward.
When he’s sure no one is looking, he stands up and walks over to the table behind him. Pretending to look for something so he doesn’t look out of place. It doesn’t take more than a second to destroy it. It’s tiny, something he’d never think of fighting since it’s so harmless. The curse equivalent to a fly.
He gives it a violent death and sees you look on with horror in your expression. He finds himself pleased with that, wiping his hands on his pants before returning. Maybe you recognize his strength when he sits back down. Still, instead of pulling away again, you fold your hands in your lap.
“T-Thank you,”
He grins at you.
“Of course,” He says “Can I ask you something?”
You nod your head and sip your tea.
“Do you know who I am?”
You look confused.
“...Are you a celebrity?”
He laughs hard at that. Hearing that makes him not want to tell you.
“I’m Gojo Satoru,” He reintroduces. You nod slowly “I’m a sorcerer.”
Another lie of omission. The strongest, he should say. He takes a sip of his latte, frowning at the bitterness. Through his mask, he watches as you fiddle with your hands. He stacks the empty creamer cups together before opening two more sugar packets and stirring them.
“A sorcerer…” You look perplexed. Confusion settles into the lines of your face. Sheltered, Gojo concludes. Only parents, who shelter you wouldn’t tell you what a sorcerer was despite your ability to see them “What does that… mean exactly?”
“It means I kill curses for a living” He replies simply.
“I thought you were a high school teacher.”
He smiles.
“Smart cookie. I am, but the school I teach at specializes in cursed technique and sorcery.”
“Oh.”
You look befuddled.
Gojo thinks he might be an opportunist.
“Do you really not know anything about them? It’s rare for people to be able to see them and not know anything about them.”
You shake your head, eyes peering into your drink. He watches how the image reflects in your eyes.
“Uhm. Not really. My parents told me to do my best to stay away from it. We lived in the countryside but I had to move out into the city for work so I kept… running into them. I can’t like… kill them. And I don't always see them.”
“You can’t use cursed techniques?”
“I guess that’s what that is. I don’t think I can, no.”
Vulnerable.
“Hmm. What circumstances,” He says, purposeful in weaving concern in his words.
“Is it that bad…?”
Not really. His job and the job of his peers is to make sure civilians make as little contact with curses as possible. There are more people like you, and because curses feed off of negative emotions - many dangers can be shafted by just not reacting. Even so, it’s customary for people to have some semblance of protection. A weapon if nothing else, for anyone who can see them.
“Do you carry anything with you?”
“Like a weapon? I have mace for when I take the train late at night.”
“Not that kind of weapon,” He says gracefully. He can tell you’re out of your element, and some small and twisted part of him would like to keep you in the fateful dark.
“What other kind would there be?”
“There’s a lot you don’t know,” He half answers. Your frown deepens. He puts his palm over the top of his coffee cup but doesn’t feel any warmth “Aw, don’t be like that. I’m just teasing. You’re always so calm and collected, I was surprised to see how scared you got, you know?”
“Everybody gets scared sometimes.”
“Mm,”
His non-committal response leaves you nervous again. Fidgeting with the edge of your cup or the loose threads in the sleeves of your clothes. What a bundle of nerves you are. Gojo puts all the comfort he can in his voice, dredging up some sense of sincerity.
“Well, since it scares you and I’m such a nice guy, I’ll protect you if you get into any trouble.” He says, snapping his fingers and pointing at you.
That makes you relax. Makes your shoulders droop, a smile gracing your pretty face. Gojo can feel the floor underneath him sinking as you tease him. His eyes trace the curve of your neck. He’s glad you can’t see him or where they look.
“Oh, what? Are you gonna come running every time I need help?”
He smiles.
“I’ll be your personal Superman.” He promises, making a silly expression trying to make you laugh. It feels good when he succeeds, the weight of his words softened by it. If you feel how heavy the comment is, it doesn’t show up on your face.
You snort, taking a sip of your drink and there’s something so kind in your expression that Gojo aches over.
“That right?” You hum, smiling over the edge of your ceramic mug “You’re my hero.”
__
Since then, Gojo’s kept quite busy.
The last time he saw you at all was at the diner a few weeks prior and little has been different since then. You send more nervous messages than before, but aside from that things are the same.
He’s done a good job, he thinks. Partly of ensuring you, partly of instilling healthy fear. Your eyes always widen like you’re caught off guard by his comments - sometimes washed away with a laugh but other times genuine. Gojo likes to keep you on your toes. A bit of harmless fun and endlessly amusing.
Gojo would be there to protect you just like he promised before, so even scaring you isn’t something he thinks of as bad. It’s not untrue that you should be a little more vigilant, but just telling you to do so is no easy feat.
He would like to be spending time with you today just the same as he has before, but he’s home alone instead. There’s been a brief reprieve between cases so he’s on his own to unwind. There’s nothing he wants to do, so he decides on a movie.
Gojo is the only one of his friends who still has cable TV. According to Shoko it’s a luxury purchase but for him it’s one less choice he has to make when coming home to relax.
It’s an American film on now, some psycho-killer classic that he’s already seen a handful of times with Japanese subtitles.
None of the lights are turned on, so the TV illuminates the room in flashes of color. He grabs a soda from his steel-gray fridge and cracks it open, listening to the soft fizz that comes to a slow halt. Pulling it to his mouth, he travels slowly back to his couch. The leather squeaks under the weight of his body. The weight of his back creates a divet that he can be comfortable in. He rests his head, glancing back again at the screen.
A scream rips through the house, agitating his every nerve. He picks up his remote and turns it down just a tad before watching the movie with a sort of disinterest. Horror movies aren’t his favorite, admittedly. He pretends he scares easily, but the opposite is true. Gojo has seen too much for it to be entertaining, no less scary.
He likes movies based on their creative merit. He’ll watch one on its creative merit.
But to be scared? For frights? Not really. Very little gets his heart pumping hard like that. Sometimes the storytelling is good. Other times there’s something cathartic about the formulaic death. The final girl, the call from inside the house. The dependable and clean ending of tropes. Even if it’s messy or sinister, it’s fantastical. Fictitious and detached.
Gojo enjoys that. For anyone else, it’s probably a twisted way to think about it but to Gojo it only feels natural. He doesn’t examine that detachment very deeply. He’s just aware of it, lingering in the back of his head.
He takes a long sip of his drink. The sickly sweet taste slowly coats his mouth. Fizzy and smooth, it goes down easily. He sits up in his seat, making himself comfortable as he tries to pay attention to the movie. The main girl is hiding in the bathroom, and the killers' steps are echoing through the house. The broken, somber string instruments in the background, fill the white noise with apprehension and terror.
Gojo doesn’t feel a chill down his spine. His eyes are still fixed on the screen though, with slight anticipation of what's next even though he already knows. It’s nearing the end and he’s seen this movie before. She’s not going to make it, and Gojo knows that.
He watches intently in spite of that. The door bursts open and there’s a knife in her chest - and screams. It’s horrific and ugly, blood-spattered and graphic.
He doesn’t flinch until the whole way through.
It’s brief, but the thought passes his mind. Lately, the only thing that Gojo seems to react to is you.
But he doesn’t think about it too deeply. There’s no need to.
The TV goes to commercial and Gojo realizes he’s finished his soda. He stands back up, onto his feet to toss the can and grab another. This time, he grabs some snacks too. Piles them onto a plate, dried meats, and something mildly sweet for after before he returns to his living room. Sitting back down on his couch, he scrolls through his phone for anything interesting but comes up short of any results.
He sits up a little straighter as the next movie plays.
__
Spending time around curses is a necessary part of the learning experience.
Things you can’t learn in all the lessons and tutoring in the entire world. Even though Jujutsu Tech exists, and even given Gojo’s lineage - when he started working officially, he didn’t know everything. You can’t. No matter to what extent you study, there’s some things that you can only gauge through experience. Going through something over and over, like muscle memory.
Gojo spent a lot of his life wanting it to make sense. Wanting curses and the way they showed up to make sense. This is a lesson in truth, divine truth you can only take up in experience. Curses are human emotions, which means that they are finicky and everywhere. And the dangers of them will always look like the aftermath of destruction.
Sometimes, there’s nothing you can do to prepare for why things happen. It’s why Gojo is always grasping for light where he can find it.
Gojo Satoru stands in an empty parking lot all the way in Osaka. He examines the sight in front of him and can’t find anything he’s learned to prepare for what's next.
Fog has rolled in thick clouds over every inch, limiting his vision. The air tastes of smoke, and the earth underneath him is damp. The wet concrete squeaks under the weight of his shoes as he takes in the surroundings. The parking lot of an animal hospital, in particular - where all the staff were reported to have fallen unconscious. After being rolled out by the proper authorities and after all the animals were moved into a different location - Gojo was left to examine the remnants of the incident.
The reports are similar all across the country. Not the location. but the symptoms. People falling sick and ill. The initial reports of a water-borne illness didn’t progress far past the first city. It’s evolved since then. People get sick, pass out and hallucinate and animals lose all control.
The aftermath isn’t very messy so luckily it doesn’t attract too much attention. There’s no bodies, or blood - nothing heinous thereafter. The effects appear later in the people affected, taken over by an unnamed madness that appears to turn their internal experience to ruins. Gojo would’ve preferred the first situation. Violence like that becomes easy to digest with enough exposure.
These kinds of symptoms are always hard to stomach. Civilians get answers that placate them. The truth is that there's something bigger out there at play and they were just so unlucky to bear witness to the terror. With altered memories and the badge of trauma, what they don’t know can’t hurt them.
Gojo knows though, and sometimes he envies their ignorance.
He makes his way into the building. A set of glass doors greets him when he turns the sidewalk, with a blinking sign. Osaka Animal Hospital is written at the top in neon, accompanied by the words 24hr service. Gojo only glances at it briefly before sighing, hands on the bar to push himself through the heavy glass doors. He has to lean some of his weight to get through, and there’s just another set beyond those where he has to do the same.
Then, he’s inside.
The presence of the curse and of cursed energy ignites familiar caution within him. It’s here, in some capacity - or it was recently. The perpetrator is here too. Why that is, Gojo can’t quite understand. It seems a little backwards to linger here after everyones been evacuated and there’s no doubt someone would come to investigate.
All Gojo can think is that maybe they weren’t expecting him. But by now, they must know he’s there too. Gojo’s presence is intentionally oppressive - by nature it must be. Now it’s a waiting game, a quiet one at that.
Hospitals are always echoey and this one is no different. The squeak of his boots bounces off the walls as he takes steps towards the receptionist desk just to see if he’ll find anything.
He leans over it, to stare at the left over records - untouched by the authorities. Everything looks like it was left in a hurry. Strew pens and a corded phone just barely back in place - with computers on a blue idle screen. All the daily documents are still out sitting on the desk with no organization to indicate they’ve been filtered through. No paper clips or post-its telling the next person working about what to do.
Instead of walking behind the counter, he climbs over it with relative ease. Once he’s behind it, he takes better note of his surroundings. He doesn’t find anything completely relevant. There’s painting of animals, and some certifications for bills of health as well - but nothing that warrants his attention. He redirects through the papers in front of him, coming across a stack unexamined. Those answer sheets they give you to fill out so they can assess the situation before meeting you.
They’re split into two piles it looks like, though that could just be some coincidence. Still, he flips through them. Directing his attention to the little comment box with the prompt what are you being seen for?
It’s nothing serious. Normal things an animal owner would be upset or worried about like bowel movements and eating something that shouldn’t have been consumed. A minor injury or a worrisome behavior - but nothing that sticks out. For pages and pages, Gojo flips through the little packets trying to find anything.
It’s not what he sees, but what he doesn’t. A blank packet of papers, with no name for the owner or the pet. Only a description in the prompt box, neat handwriting in a single line.
“Showing signs of anxiety.”
Gojo smiles to himself. Interesting.
He jumps back over onto the other side once he’s seen it. It’s strange. Why would they go to the lengths of premeditating it like that? Whether it’s the curse itself or some third party, it’s an unreasonable thing to do.
“Not like people like this are usually reasonable, but,”
He saves the rest of the thought, sighing. The room has two hallways to go down. Both directions have some lingering cursed energy, but the hallway leading to the overnight area is much stronger. It’s separated by a big metal door, so Gojo braces himself to go through it.
He walks towards it slowly and through the doors even slower. It’s a long, empty hall. The ceilings are low, white fluorescent lights over his head like a falsified halo. They flicker on and off, with the ones at the very end of the hall having fizzled out completely. Gojo can hear, feel, and see everything. He can hear his own breathing and the artificial crackling of electricity. Feel the lingering presence of sickness, the sediments of a curse preparing itself to emerge like a butterfly from a cocoon.
He peeks into the different rooms of the hallway. One half of the hall is kennels, once again empty and left in the same messy state as the front desk. The other half of the rooms look like surgery rooms, with a storage closet tucked into one corner. The hall comes to an abrupt stop at the end, a painted gray wall with nothing to offer at the end.
But when Gojo is half-way through, he hears it. A heart-beat. A human one, slow and steady like it’s not worried at all. Not moving or running, just there. Thump, thump, thump.
Gojo perks his head up as he walks, leaning over to get a look at every room. Empty, empty, empty.
Then, in the very last one is a shadowy figure. The sound of the heartbeat is louder and the feeling of cursed energy is so strong it’s nauseating. Gojo pauses when he peers in, waits for there to be any response to his presence. There’s no way whoevers lurking doesn’t know he’s there, but there’s nothing that makes him react. He frowns.
His hand reaches for the handle of the door with a sigh, the mechanism inside clicking to let Gojo know it’s open. He takes a deep breath before opening it, stepping inside and shutting it behind him.
Even with the room as dark as it, the person inside is clear to his vision. A young girl. Probably no older than 17 with…
He furrows his brow. With a dog, from what it looks like. No ordinary dog, obviously. A curse in the form of a dog, with teeth too sharp for its mouth and fur that looks like a smear of charcoal and nothing like hair at all. It’s on a long leash, the chain wrapped around the young woman's palms.
The dog seems to tense up at the sight of Gojo. The eyes are empty and white - almost transparent. It’s a snarling thing, muzzle over the mouth and clearly on edge. Gojo looks at its owner, the perpetrator in this instance. Who looks calm, black mask tucked over face and long dark hair with bangs cut sharp.
Gojo doesn’t know what to say here. He wasn’t expecting to make contact this easily with a curse and its master. It’s been months now, the authorities chasing after this special grade from city to city. She’s obviously strong, and so is that curse that’s strained against its collar like it’s ready to rip him in half if he moves. Not stronger than him, because no such thing ever happens - but strong enough for him to be cautious.
He doesn’t step forward. He stops by the door and tilts his head. He’s sure she can’t see his eyes, but they make eye contact all the same. None of it makes any sense, but making sense of it isn’t Gojo’s job.
Instead of introducing himself, he opens the conversation with a question.
“Why’re you still here?”
“I knew I was going to get caught soon.”
An answer he couldn’t predict even if he tried. Gojo huffs.
“There was some time between the authorities coming and this investigation. You could have left before then, no?”
“Doesn’t matter. Something would’ve stopped me.”
“What a weird kid. What led you to that?”
There’s a minute where the dog (?) starts barking, but the noise is nothing like a bark. It’s cosmic and strained, and sounds more like a distorted radio than an animal noise. It’s in the shape of an animal but it isn’t one, like it couldn’t complete itself to be one. Gojo winces at the sound, intensified in the closed walls of the room. It’s piercing, and a little annoying.
When she soothes it, it calms down quickly. It’s obedient.
“Uh. A vision. Closer to a premonition. Fate.”
“Fate said you were going to get caught today. Right.”
“Aren’t you a shaman? Shouldn’t be that hard to believe.”
“Point taken. How did you know I was a shaman and not some murderer?”
She gives Gojo a pointed look.
“Look at you. Plus, I can feel that you’re a shaman.”
“Another premonition?” He asks, this time sincerely. She shakes her head.
“No. Your aura.”
Gojo stares ahead.
“...Right, yeah. It doesn’t look like you’re planning on attacking me.”
“I don’t think I’d win. I’ve never met anyone stronger than me.”
“I’m the strongest there is, so I guess not. How did you wanna go about this, then? Famous last words?”
“You go first. I’d rather talk to you than the other officials.”
“Hm. Don’t know if I have any questions, kiddo. My job is catching you, not interrogation. I guess I am a little interested in why.”
This makes her deflate a little. It’s hardly noticeable, but Gojo sees it anyway. The dog seems to react, snarling at her discomfort. He’s starting to understand the connection between them.
She thinks for a minute longer before sighing.
“Well. I guess I should start about why, right? It’s an old story. I came from a small village. I used to walk miles to school everyday and I’d get bullied a lot since my granny was a shaman. It was just us growing up. A nice old house with not a lot of modern anything,”
Gojo crosses his arms, leaning back on the wall and nodding his head. He figures she’ll tell him top to bottom, so he doesn’t give any input.
“My granny died a few years ago. I didn’t have any family so I moved on my own. Even back then, the only other thing I cared about were animals. I started working at a shelter and then I met Senbei.”
The more she talks, the worse he feels. Gojo already knows how this story will end, but he doesn’t interrupt her as she pauses between her sentences. Being 17 and bearing the burdens of loss is something he regards as a nightmare.
“Senbei was my best friend. Most loyal dog ever. And you know, I started my job with high hopes and kept him by my side. I wasn’t always angry. Working in that shelter and watching animals come in trembling every time I fed ‘em made me angry. How cruel and sick people could be.”
Her explanations are jumbled and clumsy. She sounds angry but it’s not that simple, curling in on herself the more she talks. Noticeably, she doesn’t try to justify it. She says it easily, with acceptance that it happened. He thinks that acceptance is harder to bear than delusion. Gojo can’t help but commend her silently.
“I’m sorry you went through that.” Gojo replies.
He’s being sincere.
“Should you be sympathizing with me?”
“Doesn’t matter. I just do.”
Her expression softens. She looks sad, and it’s not like Gojo doesn’t understand. She keeps going though, hands shaking in her lap. Gojo thinks she might’ve been waiting to tell someone.
“I don’t know when I stopped seeing the good in people….I always thought about—about my granny and how no one—no one came to see her. She was always taking care of everyone and no-one—“
“I know, kid,” Gojo says with a sigh “I get it.”
“Then you know,” She pauses, taking a deep breath. There’s frustrated tears pouring down her cheek this time. What a strange, sad thing she is: “That you can’t go back. Even if you forget. It just—it changes you.”
Yeah. Gojo knows something about that, too.
“I was already pretty desperate when Senbei was alive. Just trying to hold on. When he was killed, I lost it. I just fucking— I lost it. I’m sure you understand. You get it right?”
Gojo looks at her confused. She shakes her head, looking down in her lap at the curse in her hands.
“I can tell you're like me. That's why your aura is so tainted and… fucked up and malicious. It should be crystalline blue kinda like spring water—but it’s muddy. Rigid.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The fact you’re hanging on by a thread. You can feel it too, right?“
Gojo remains quiet at her observation. He doesn’t know how to react.
“When you want something so bad, it just— does something to you. Either because it won’t happen or because it needs to take your life to exist. Happened to granny, to me. It’ll happen to you, too.”
“I doubt that,” Gojo says, your face flashing in his mind. He shakes his thoughts away.
“You’re thinking about it too literally. You want something, so you chase it and lose yourself in the process. You’re dead. No longer you, all tangled and in ruins. It’s not too late, but if you keep going—that thread is gonna snap.”
“A premonition?” He says, partially sarcastic. She shakes her head.
“No, a prediction. You don’t have to consider it if you don’t want to. I just thought I’d tell you since you gave me some last minutes with this Senbei.”
Gojo shakes his head.
“I don’t have any reason to be forceful if you comply. Take your time. I don’t have anything better to do.”
Gojo glances at her as she pets it, having resigned herself to silently gazing upon it. He can’t stop himself from thinking about everything she’s said, so he averts his gaze to the ceiling and pretends otherwise.
The silent stretches, a pregnant pause before she speaks one more time. She has a look on her face Gojo can’t read.
“You know, it’s funny. Everyone thinks dogs are loyal to their masters, but that’s because we made them that way. We can’t stand being alone or unloved so we made something that can do both without ever seeing any less of us.”
“You’ve had a lot of time to think about it.” Gojo says, unsure of how to reply. She isn’t expecting anything, but remaining silent fills him with a sense of dread.
“Guess so. You should take some time to think about it too,”
She says to him, petting the curse that whines like it’s been hit in her small hands. Gojo takes a deep breath.
“…Yeah. I’ll do that.”
__
The case ends anti-climatically.
Gojo finds it funny. The officials came and the young girl was promptly arrested. He never even got a chance to ask her name. He learned through some probing that she only made two asks before being taken.
The first, to keep her curse dog with her, and to send her thanks to the sorcerer who had apprehended her in the first place.
On the news, much later in the week - a news report surfaces. “Danger in the Deep,” giving reasonable and logical explanations for the events that occurred in cities across Japan not even a few weeks ago. New studies show, experts say, here’s a word from your local—a barrage of fancy language to pad the publishing, add depth and realism. The public is none the wiser.
Gojo has to admire the commitment to keeping the peace. The case ends, and the girl gets arrested and put on trial. He doesn’t know if he’ll be seeing her again any time soon, though he’s sure he has the power to intervene.
He’s hesitating to do so. Why stick his neck out for her in a situation like this one? Over other situations, more dire ones at that. She’d make a good ally.
Their last conversation hasn’t left the back of Gojo’s mind. He’s conscious of it, albeit it hasn’t slowed him down. He’s not looking for another assessment of who or what ghosts are haunting him. He’d prefer to put it all behind him now
So life, in some capacity, has returned to its baseline. It’s normal. He has cases but they don’t take him more than three days. He’s able to do his usual chores without anything impeding them. He’s been teaching, no longer forced to make his students fend for themselves.
He’s been seeing you again regularly, too.
He’s getting ready now to do just that. Scheduled to get another coffee together (something of a tradition now) and pick up some conversations. You’ve been busy, though Gojo doesn’t know the details of what.
He wants to know. He’s even tried asking but as soon as he gets close to the subject, you slink into yourself like you’re trying to disappear. Besides, he doesn’t want to intimidate you into telling him.
(Though, it would be so easy to do. You’ve got a record for being a scaredy cat, and as much as it endears him - he is entirely too hung up on the potential for exploitation to admire it kindly. It’d be easy to turn the notches up, pressure you. With how easy going you are, you’d let him do it. Gojo bets you’d cave. He thinks the face you’d make would be entertaining too.
Above all, the offer is tempting.)
In spite of your refusal to discuss the specifics, Gojo does want to cheer you up in whatever capacity he can. So, he’s taking you out for a while and hoping a comfortable environment and the presence of other people will soothe your nerves a little.
He’s getting dressed for it now, rifling through his closet for decent casual attire.
He’s got his hair styled down, a pair of new sunglasses on the table and his clothes folded on his bed before he tries them on. Most of his closet is uniforms, plain black and boring. For now, he’s settled on a black crew neck and blue jeans - ripped at the knees.
He looks over his appearance in the mirror, posing in it. Arms flexed and stretched over his head before putting them out in front of his body.
He takes his time to take part in the ritual. He slips his boxers up over his legs, waist band tight around his torso and clinging to the curves of his thighs. He pulls his jeans up, low at his hips with a belt buckled through the front. Then comes his sweater over his abdomen.
He wants to look nice. Though, he could be deluding himself - lately you seem a little more aware of his appearance. It makes him happy that his good looks haven’t failed him in the instance they matter most.
As he puts on his accessories (in this case a watch and a ring) his phone buzzes atop his dresser. He stops to pick it up, a message from you on the screen. He peers over so his face can be read, then smiles.
(sent 11:15am) Ready ~
He laughs to himself.
(sent 11:16am) Almost ready. Need to look my best for such a tremendous occasion.
(sent 11:16am) For coffee?
(sent 11;17) For coffee with my favorite kindergarten teacher ofc ♡
You send back a simple reply telling him to hurry and come out. Gojo chooses to interpret your embarrassment as a sign. It puts some pep in his step, and he hurries to finish dressing up.
He steps out of his house, locking his door from the outside before shuffling down a single flight of stairs and out into the front entrance of his complex. He notices you waiting at the front gate from where he’s standing.
The neighborhood dog (officially named Pokupan) is asleep by the security office. You’re the same as always. Today's outfit is a dress with long sleeves and colored tights. It suits you. A splash of warmth in an otherwise dreary world, Gojo stands in place as he watches you for an unidentified amount of time. Minutes feel like seconds as you pace back and forth. Your phone must be in your purse because he can’t find it anywhere on you.
He’s delighted when you finally turn your head to look at him. You cup your hand and give him a kind wave which he laughs at and returns enthusiastically. His stride is long, walking towards the gate.
You have to tilt your neck up to look at him (making his chest squeeze unhelpfully) but you smile when you do so.
“Hey,”
“Hello there Miss. Waiting for a special someone?” He jokes. You flush.
“They’re an important friend,”
He tries not to let his smile falter. Friend.
“Then, is it a bother if I ask to take you out?”
This time you falter. Gojo notices it out of the corner of his eye, the briefest brush of nerves that makes it seem like you’re warming up to him after all. It’s gone as quickly as it came but it’s there and Gojo etches it into the back of his eyelids for memory. He smiles at you as you look away, flush
“Not at all,”
He grins, again, even brighter. Then he sticks his arm out for you to loop in. You hesitate again. This time Gojo can’t be sure why.
“I’m just being a gentleman, you know?” He pouts. His frown takes effect as you loop your arms together. He keeps it friendly. Too much pushing and you’ll skitter away right before his eyes. Still, even this much progress feels good. It feels whole and light and good.
It’s a pleasant sort of day.
Not that it’s warm, or even sunny. It’s cold, on the edge of Autumn that dances into Winter. Freezing but bright out, the kind of sky where everything is clear. During the day the sky has no clouds and no stars when it comes to night time.
Nonetheless it’s nice. The cold is the kind that makes you want to cozy into someone for warmth, so Gojo doesn’t mind walking in. The walk itself isn’t very long either. The cafe is near your complex, just about 15 minutes worth of walking. There’s no snow or ice to trip on, and because it’s freezing - you shiver every time you stray too far from the heat of his body so the walking is done exceptionally close together
There are kids and parents walking together on the street alongside you, dogs and their owners, street vendors with hot tea. It’s that kind of day where the cold doesn’t keep anyone indoors, in fact everyone seems to relish in the fact they can run and run and run without overheating. It feels like everything is in sync with each other, comfortable and harmonious in spite of everything else.
After 15 minutes, you’ve arrived at the store front. Not long enough for Gojo, but that’s okay. There’s next time he has to look forward too.
(He tells himself this every time. It’s never enough for him. He can never get enough of listening to you talk. He could probably mimic your cadence without having to try. It’s a sound he doesn’t get sick of―a miracle, another one, because Gojo hates so many sounds―yet there’s one he always looks out for.
There has to be a next time. If he forgets to tell himself as much, he gets so restless he can hardly stand.
The cafe is nice. It’s one of those places that you see on Instagram often with plenty of sweets for Gojo’s taste and plenty of fancy teas for yours. The outside has beige-colored brick and a brown sign decorated with cutesy drawings. You spend a good amount of time crouched beside it, taking a picture or two to later post on your story.
“You have to tag me, okay? It’s your payment for wasting our precious time together,” He jokes.
You stand to your feet and brush off your pants, the material of your coat rustling as you do.
“Yes, yes ― I promise. I’ll have to ask who drew them when we get in there.”
Gojo smiles at your enthusiasm before opening the door for you. Another one of those glass ones with a logo printed on the top half and the metal tinted brown. A little bell chimes above your head as you head in first, and Gojo heads in after you. He has to duck not to his his head on the top of it.
It’s not too crowded at this hour. A handful of people sit among the many tables and booths. Your head is turned to the menu and Gojo trails behind you like a shadow. One to compliment all your light.
It smells delightful inside. Like warm cookies and vanilla and tea. Gojo feels his sweet tooth kick in the minute you two stand in line. The barista is a doe-eyed blonde college student. There’s another employee with long dark hair and thin, narrow eyes. It reminds Gojo a lot of that girl he met a few weeks ago but he tries to put that thought out of his mind.
He sticks his hands in his pockets and eyes the menu. The special item is a yuzu cream cake, the picture of it hanging on the wall like employee of the month. There’s a glass display of all the other items and the menu matches the rest of the decor.
“This was a good choice,” Gojo says, entranced by all the desserts around him. You laugh, turning your head slightly to look at him.
“Are you complimenting yourself right now?”
“Am I wrong?”
“Your sweet tooth is so bad,” You say through giggles “Your poor dentist,”
He gasps in offense.
“I will have you know I keep my pearly whites pristine. Not a single cavity for the record.” He says back, placing emphasis on the last words. You snort a laugh.
“I’ve never had one either,” You repeat back, perhaps mindlessly before saying “There’s a lot we don’t know about each other yet.”
Yet. Yet. Gojo’s subconscious will hold onto that word for too long. It makes his heart beat too loud. He’s relieved that you’re nothing like him. If you were in this very moment, you would hear the thunder raging inside of his ribs.
Instead of saying anything, he scoffs playfully.
“I bet you were such a goody two-shoes that you never ate sweets before bed-time.”
Your eyes widen in surprise followed by embarrassment, where you tuck your chin into your sweater.
“Ugh,” You say, so weakly Gojo can’t stop himself from laughing “What’s wrong with being a goody two shoes, huh?”
Gojo feels almost feline in his self-satistication. “I didn’t say anything was wrong with it, just that you were one.”
Your frown deepens.
“I don’t care for your tone, mister.”
“Are you gonna scold me like one of your students?”
“If it gets you to be nice,” You say firmly, in that Teacher voice that Gojo has caught glimpses of over the last few months. He does a fake salute.
“Yes, ma’am!,” He proclaims, soft enough so only you hear it. You break out into another set of his giggles, melting his cold heart. It’s not the smile so much as it is yours. The line moves up just a little bit. Gojo steps in front of you before you have a chance, his figure shadowing you.
“What do you want?”
“I think I’m gonna get one of those fruit teas and some cake.” You say absentmindedly. He smiles at you playfully.
“Heard,”
Gojo turns to order for you both, laughing through your obvious protests about his paying for you. He’s able to block you from getting in the way as the cashier looks on the both of you bemusedly. When the order is placed, Gojo taps his phone against the reader before moving aside where you stomp your feet and follow him.
“I told you I would get it this time,” You whine. He hums.
“Mm, there’s always next time?”
“You say that every time!”
“So you never know? Maybe it’s next time for sure.”
You seem to realize that this is a fruitless conversation and that he’s not going to relent. With a flush on your face, you cross your arms and pout.
“I’ll get you back one of these times, I swear….Anyway, thank you.” You add the last part quietly. He hums.
“It’s only fair, you know. After all, who else would come here to eat sweets with me?”
You look taken aback but Gojo doesn’t retract his statement. He’s sure there’s someone he could ask. But there’s no one who would agree to it as easily as you have. The environment wouldn’t be so welcoming, either. Someone who would do something like this with Gojo is long lost. It almost feels foreign to him now.
In order to ease the tension, you look up at him warmly.
“Then, I’m glad you asked me.”
There it is again. That warm, sort of fluttery feeling he gets in his chest being around you. He wonders if he’s allowed to be so happy.
The food arrives at the counter, the young woman calling out for Gojo. You and Gojo split the task of carrying the plates, picking a nice booth in the corner with the top covered, You slide in across from him, situating your bag.
You and Gojo go back and forth, setting up everything so it looks nice under the lights. Gojo takes on taking the photos this time, clicking from a few different angles and stopping to show you after each photo.
“I’ll send you the picture later, okay?”
“Don’t forget.”
“I won’t, I won’t. Let’s eat, okay?”
You nod enthusiastically.
__
You and Gojo eat and chat comfortably for a while.
He’s not sure how much time passes. He wasn’t checking because why would he? He’d like to be with you a bit longer, so he refrains from thinking about it and hopes you do the same. Just a bit more, he tells himself. Until you really, really have to go.
There’s nothing major to catch up on. You tell Gojo about your job, mostly and how you saw some friends from out of town the week before. Winter is coming and you want to do something nice for the holidays. You’re getting along well with your fellow teachers which is good. He was worried about that, but he can’t keep eyes on you at school.
(Not for not having tried. He’s thought about it, but his presence would be too noticeable and he doesn’t trust anyone else to the task)
So it’s relieving. Your only complaint has been that some of the students have the sort of parents you can’t handle. Pushy and involved in a way you can’t ignore but can’t tolerate either. Gojo jokes to take care of them, gesturing to his arm like he’s ready to knock someone's lights out.
That makes you laugh, and following it you have this melancholy look that sends alarms blaring in Gojo’s head. You don’t broach the subject at all afterwards. You talk about everything else you can. The sale on radishes at the market, thinking about getting a car just to have it, maybe visiting your parents sometime soon.
Gojo listens. He doesn’t have much to add. His work is strictly classified to people who aren’t in the field and it’s nothing fun to begin with. He does tell you what he can - usually about some antics his students have gotten into during training. He can at least talk about that.
He tells you about the movies he’s watched, how he went drinking with his co-workers last week, and how he thinks Pokupan is starting to act friendlier to him.
It’s fun because it’s you. Gojo likes feeling like he’s involved with you intimately. He likes hearing you talk. The sound of your voice is such a pleasant contrast to his own. You talk with a kind of joy Gojo could never hope to carry, all gestures and smiles and interjections - trying to make sure your point comes across. How you don’t think the kid sitting in the front is a bad kid, just needs guidance. How the material of your sweater isn’t really cashmere but more of a blend.
Time passes comfortably that way. The drinks and food have been reduced to crumbs and cold drops of tea, glasses emptied and phones abandoned.
But neither of you have made any move to leave, and Gojo is still listening to you talk with a pleased smile on his face. It was a pleasant sort of day, remember?
“So it was fine in the end, but the classroom was such a mess seriously―”
So, it throws Gojo off when you stop speaking so abruptly. How easily the atmosphere melts, and what an unpleasant film it leaves behind.
It feels like an axe hammering on a stop, a sharp and near violent thud that cuts off the end of your sentence. The air becomes tense in the blink of an eye. Gojo can feel it, the sensation of cursed energy. It’s stagnated, little like pebbles at the bottom of a creek. But it’s there, and Gojo can feel it creep over your shoulders like a sixth sense. Like someone skipped a stone over that same water. He senses it in the air like dust in the light.
He sits up straight, focusing his attention on you.
“Hey,” He calls out, softening his voice as much as he can. Trying hard to identify what's wrong exactly “You okay?”
Your hands shake as you lay them flat on the table. You’re almost completely spaced out by now. It all happens in the blink of an eye.
Gojo stares at you, calling to you a second time.
“Hey. Hey, look at me?”
When you finally hear him, you jump in your skin. Your shoulders relax when you realize it’s only Gojo. Normally that would make him happy, but not like this. Your hands are shaking. A nervous fidget in all of your movements that he’s never seen before, like you’ve been shocked with electric wire. He hates it. The taste of your fear (this fear) is different and unfamiliar.
He doesn’t like it.
You turn your head to look at him then avert your eyes again. He can’t follow your gaze as it shifts. It’s too erratic.
“No, uhm. It’s just, uhm.”
“Woah! Hey, Miss. I wasn’t expecting to see you here,”
Everything feels like it slows down as Gojo watches your eyes snap up. Your expression drops again, even lower, and if he listens close enough he can hear the sound of your heart. Your discomfort is tangible. It leaves a metallic taste in Gojo’s mouth as you suddenly curl in yourself, shoulders hunched and peeling skin off your nails.
You don’t even look to Gojo for help. Instead, your words go soft. You become helpless in front of his eyes.
“Oh. Yes, hello.” You bow your head trying to say as little as possible. Gojo stares as you shake like a leaf in the wind. Something ugly curls up inside of him, a knife twisting in his chest.
“Aw, c’mon? What’s with the unfriendly act? Is it ‘cause you’re here with your boyfriend?”
You look up at him panicked. Not because of the comment, but because of his tone. Gojo hears it too. How sinister it is. Like he’s blaming you for it somehow, like you’ve wronged him. The feeling inside of him is so ugly, it’s so wretched. His knuckles turn nearly white from how hard he’s closing his fist. You put your hands up and go to explain yourself anxiously.
It makes Gojo sick. He smiles, turning his head just a little so he can see. He opens his eyes and stares, focusing his vision on remembering every detail of the bastard's face.
“I’m not her boyfriend. We’re neighbors,” He explains, tone as cold as ice but smiling.
Gojo puts pressure in the atmosphere. His natural and suffocating aura returns to him easily. He smiles and remains unnervingly still, waits in quiet for the man to respond. He scratches the back of his head, still indignant.
“Uh. Okay. I guess that’s good. Wouldn’t be appropriate for a teacher to be out on a date like this huh?”
Again. This guy, whoever he is, turns his head like he’s trying to talk down to you. Diverts his perversion and sadism towards you that leaves Gojo wondering what his head would look like against concrete. A bitter, heinous feeling waits inside of him, nesting into his ribs as the sound of every voice in the room comes to be muffled. All Gojo can hear is his heart. How long it's been since he’s heard it.
It’s loud. A cacophony, or a hymn. Divine rage in the sound of his soul leaves has him unsure of how to proceed.
Gojo glances at you. Your eyes are rounded, full of desperation. Pleading.
Gojo hates whoever this is. Gojo wants to save you. He thinks you deserve to be saved.
He stands up. He has enough height on the guy to be intimidating, the guy just barely coming up to his shoulder. Gojo stares down wildly, pulling his glasses to the bridge of his nose to peek briefly over the edge. The bastard stops talking immediately, words coming to a stutter, It’s satisfying.
“Who are you?” He asks.
“Wh-why is that any of your concern? Can’t you see I’m talking to―”
“I didn’t ask about who you were talking to. I asked who you were,”
He hears you from behind him “He’s a parent from my school,”
“Ah, okay. Interesting. Since you’re a parent, we wouldn’t want to make this a confrontation right?” Gojo says, bemused “It’d be a real issue for everyone if it turned out that way,”
Gojo puts a hand on his shoulder, tightening his grip hard enough to hear him gasp. He’s weak, but that’s to be expected.
“So, I suggest you turn around and head home, hm? Since we wouldn’t want it to be a big fuss.”
Gojo can see it now. With a little pressure, he could turn the blade of his shoulder in sawdust and watch him fall to his knees. He’d let out a cry, a sharp pathetic wail like a hit dog. Gojo would make him say sorry to you before he lets up his hand from his skin. He’d do it infront of everyone in the store so they could hold a little fear in their hearts.
He won’t do it. Just for now. If it complicates your work then you wouldn’t be able to support yourself. What would he do if you ended up somewhere far away? Out of his sight, something like this could happen again and Gojo wouldn’t be able to take care of you.
So he doesn’t crush it. He pushes his palms into his shoulder blades and whispers quietly, just so the two of them hear. He pulls away and watches as his face goes pale, a simple stutter leaving his lips. Something about how he’ll see you later and that somethings come up before he turns around and leaves.
Gojo watches as he does. The door chimes again, and the man disappears. The patrons who might’ve glanced turn away again like it was just a simple altercation, which is good. Then finally, Gojo looks at you where you are. Your hands are trembling so hard, a shake of relief in your shoulders as you cover your face. You look like you’re getting ready to cry, so Gojo takes it into his own hands. He cleans up all the food, wipes the table, and even grabs your jacket and bag as you take a minute to collect yourself.
He taps your shoulder lightly afterwards, waiting for you to look up. Once you do he smiles, reaches a hand out to you so you don’t have to think twice.
“About time to get out of here, huh?”
You nod, so slowly. You look so relieved, even as you sniffle. Your hand is so small compared to his. He squeezes it protectively as you slide it into his own, and helps you walk out of the store together.
The air is cold, the same as before, the temperature having warmed just a bit. The bell above the door rings as the two of you finally leave, standing in the street. Unlike before though, there’s something bitter in the air. The sun has hidden itself completely in the clouds and the streets feel emptier, lifeless.
Gojo turns to you with a somber expression, trying to smile. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Do you want to go somewhere to talk about it, maybe?”
You chew your lower lip then sigh “...Yeah. Probably should, huh?”
You and Gojo decide on a place not too far from where you are. It’s a small park, a good place to end off an otherwise good day.
You have to take the bus to get there, but there’s not many people. Gojo eventually gives you back your things, lets you slide your jacket on and fix your face - but ultimately takes your hand and holds it on the ride there. He brings it to his lap and you don’t pull away even though you seem to fidget the whole time.
The bus finally stops in front of the park. It takes hardly any time, but Gojo finds he’s unable to let go of your hand so he doesn’t. Instead, he holds tight and lets you trail behind. You let him lead you quietly out back in the street. You give your thanks to the driver as the doors close.
He can’t let go of your hand, though he knows now would’ve been a good time to do it. His grip only grows tighter.
“Let's go find somewhere to sit,” He offers. You squeeze his hand this time and don’t look away.
“Okay,”
He tries to keep pace with you this time, instead of walking ahead. Your strides are shorter than his so he’s careful that you don’t fall behind. Your eyes still have that watery look to them but you’re no longer trembling from fear. Just the cold, if anything.
And your heartbeat no longer sounds so hazardous. Gojo is still restless, still fidgety. His thumb is rubbing circles into your skin but it’s not really for you.
You find a bench, eventually - in the middle of the long walk-way just a distance away from a playground. Gojo juts his chin out towards it, before turning over to look at you.
“Let’s go sit,”
You nod as you walk together towards it. You sit first, and Gojo finally lets go of you. He sits besides you. There’s a minute where the whole world is deathly quiet. There should be something calm about it, but it isn’t. You’re no longer terrified, and a distance away. There’s no danger lurking in the dark and there’s no cars passing or children crying.
Everything is calm and silent, but Gojo couldn’t feel more unease if he tried. He thinks he hides it well. But there’s that itch again, in a place behind his ribs he can’t reach into and he finds it hard to breathe.
“So,” He starts, breaking the tension “I’m guessing it’s not a friend,”
The stupid joke makes a smile appear on your lips. It’s small, but Gojo takes some comfort in it anyway. You wipe away your lower lash gently, a wet laugh leaving your mouth.
“No, not a friend. He’s uhm… a parent from my school.”
“The one who’s been bothering you for all these weeks?” Gojo supplies. You turn your head, eyes widened in surprise. Gojo lets out a breathy laugh.
“You….knew?”
“Not about him specifically, but I could tell something was bothering you,” He admits, and then adds “I always pay attention to my favorite person, you know?”
The addition has you looking away, but Gojo doesn’t mind. You sigh, rubbing your face with your palms before leaning back against the bench with your head hanging off the edge.
“He’s the parent of one of my students. Akio, he’s a good kid. A really well-behaved one but… too well-behaved. Never raises his hand, never complains or says he won’t do something.”
“I’m guessing that sent off an alarm bell, huh?”
You nod softly.
“Yeah. I figure it was something at home, but I’d met his mom prior and she was a real angel. Then, his dad came to visit. The man we met at the store, and I knew right away.”
Gojo feels his jaw clench listening to you talk.
“But still, you know, my job as a teacher is to be as respectful as I can. I always politely declined him when he would make comments and remained professional. Eventually, his mom stopped coming altogether and—I tried, I really—but he…” You trail off, a lump in your throat. He watches as tears form in your eyes, his anger getting more and more tangible. He tries not to express it, putting a hand on your knee “He just… kept pushing. A-and once, he looked like he was gonna get violent. I made a report, you know, to the school. But you know how they are,”
“They never even bothered investigating huh,” Gojo sneers. You laugh a tired sort of laugh.
“Of course not. After that, I just tried to endure it. And I know he hasn’t done anything technically, but it doesn’t really feel like a matter of if but when,” You explain haphazardly. Gojo squeezes where his hand rests.
“I believe you. It’s okay,” He says as soothingly as he possibly can “It’s okay. I’m here,”
There’s a sense of relief that washes over your whole body and before he knows it, you’re breaking down. He feels a lot of emotions all at the same time, watching your little frame as you lose it so easily in front of him. A part of him is so furious he wants to make it everyone's problem. Another part of him is so deeply sad knowing you’ve suffered all on your own.
And the most notable part of him is the sense of protectiveness, burrowing inside of him. A sense of possession. It sinks into him like teeth, seeps into his blood like the venom of an animal so that he bleeds and breathes it. Gojo can’t shake that deep sense of urgency, a nameless and faceless desire that consumes him. He shudders.. He holds it in, all of it. Cups his hands so desperately so that it doesn’t spill over and touch you, the ink of ruining the soft white of your clothes.
In a world that you have made beautiful, desire is ugly. Hideous and infectious, it tears Gojo limb from limb. It makes Gojo feel on edge. Gojo should not desire for any more than what he was. People always die when he does.
But maybe they don’t have to. Maybe, he can protect you. He can keep you safe. He wants to keep you safe. He wants to keep you all to himself.
It’s in an effort to soothe those feelings that his arms find themselves around your form. It’s the first time you’ve hugged in such an intimate way. Where expects you to turn away - you don’t.
Instead you cling, your arms around his jacket and your face in his chest. You cry and weep and sob and you look so small like that. You look like you’ll collapse and Gojo holds you. Says it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay as you let it all out. It must feel good to finally let it all out, after everything and he doesn’t intend to stop you.
“I promise I’ll always protect you from now on,” And he says it, and means it. If you feel the weight of his statement, you don’t let it show “It’s okay. You can cry if you need too,”
You cry and cry and cry.
And Gojo thinks the call of heaven is nothing in comparison to the sound.
__
In the end, Gojo can’t forgive him.
It’s not without effort. He tries to do it at your request, because after all the tears he wants to help. He says he can maybe pull some strings. But that gentle heart you have declines. You don’t want it to become a big deal. You feel a little better knowing he knows. In the end, you don’t want it to affect that brats reputation.
“You know how kids can be,” You say, voice full of concern for everyone but yourself “I don’t want to make school life anymore difficult than his life at home must be,”
So, Gojo tries to listen to you. But days pass, and days turn into weeks. In the end, a month goes by and Gojo is full of terrible and divine anger.
In the end, Gojo won’t forgive him. Gojo can’t let it go. He feels so righteous in it, he starts avoiding his own eyes in the mirror. There’s something inside of them he has no desire to look at. Eyes that tell all, Gojo turns away from their gaze. Gojo is angry for you, and it’s not in his character to do nothing about it.
He decides on less of a whim that it looks. He wonders about alternatives, if there’s anything that can stop this feeling from imploding inside of him but nothing comes.
When he decides that nothing can be done, Gojo goes out of his way to start watching him.
Like any mission, he needs enough background information to map out a plan. He wants to make sure that it has virtually no pushback for you. There’s always a possibility you’ll get caught in the crossfire and that’d be the worst possible outcome. Gojo can protect you from a lot of things, but he’s not as confident about the law.
(Not that he can’t. Just not in the good, right way he’s sure you want him to protect you in. Gojo’s love is divine, not right. There’s nothing in this world Gojo can’t shield you from, because he’s the strongest.)
He also can’t make anything obvious or leave any room for interpretation. If there’s anything that feels off when the reports go live - you’ll stick your nose where it doesn’t belong. He thinks in the instance you find out (about all of it, the premeditation especially) you’d probably tuck your tail and run.
(Gojo would find you. But the chase means there’s some time you’re apart. The thought is almost nauseating.)
He likes that you’re curious about everything. In most instances anyways. But he thinks it’s better to leave you in the dark sometimes. Having you worry about it would ruin the point of this. And sometimes, it’s better not knowing every detail. Honeytraps are more ethical than nets.
He’s doing it for you in the end, like he does most things. And the kid will benefit, maybe even get some sympathy from his classmates for a while about the tragedy that befell his father. Gojo thinks it’s a good plan because no one loses. It’s a lot like killing a curse.
It only takes two weeks to learn virtually everything there is to know. A guy like that doesn’t have much he can hide.
The name of his target, he learns, is Nobu Watanabe. Father to Akio Watanbe and ex-husband to Akiko Watanbe. He’s a recently released felon (let off on good behavior) with a battery and assault with a deadly weapon charge. He’s a college drop-out, and has been working a lot of odd-jobs since he was 16.
His personality is bad, worse is his drinking and smoking habits. He’s often found drunk in the street, and has a track record for single nights spent in a cell. His ex-wife is usually the one bailing him out. Gojo can’t help but feel sorry for her. Somehow, he doubts that he’s good to her. He’s a deadbeat father through and through. He only offers to pick up his kid to harass you. At least from what he can tell.
He isn’t as awful to his kid as everyone else. Gojo doubts that was always the case. Akio isn’t a bad kid, but it’s hard not to notice the way the light in his eyes disappears when his father comes around to pick him up. A head always looking towards the floor, hands tucked in his pockets.
It’s difficult for Gojo to feel any guilt about what he’s doing. After everything, he can’t find it in himself to feel any regret.
His target is currently working at a dock, not too far from the city. He seems to work there most days, working at a bar on the weekends. It’s a big company that handles foreign goods that he does physical labor for. Lifting and moving boxings, checking inventory - it’s not a complicated affair.
If there’s not a major shipment, he still seems to clock in so he’s definitely paid some kind of hourly wage. He smokes often on the job, but works diligently when there is something to do. An easy but physical job, he’s strong. Gojo can understand what intimidates you about him.
Gojo, though, isn’t intimidated by him at all.
He waits a week before he takes action. To shake off anyone or anything that might be trailing him, and to make sure that everything is the same as he observed. That his schedule wasn’t going to change. A week passes, and when Gojo has confirmation - he decides to do what he does best.
Gojo Satoru decides to play God on a Sunday.
Sunday is a day shipments come in and a day he often works alone. The pay is better on Sunday and Nobu is the only one on his shift who takes it. He’s not expected to finish the strenuous work because he’s alone for such a long stretch of time - just to make a dent in it. The people at the next shift are the ones who finish the job.
He starts his day as early as 6am. It’s near winter, so the world is painted in a miraculously melancholy blue. Gojo follows him that morning. He knows the route well enough to trail behind him and not attract any attention. They pass together, turning corners and taking bus rides until Nobu’s finally in at his job.
There, they part briefly. His target goes into the big white building and he goes on top. Gojo has to teleport to the roof because everything is gated with security cameras covering every inch of the property. Following him puts Gojo at risk. So he waits on top of the building, hands in his pocket and pacing until Nobu comes out the otherside to the docks. His jumpsuit put on haphazardly, only half-pulled up to his waist, with a clipboard and pen as a bunch of boxes waiting for him to check them.
After Gojo confirms that he’s alone, he lies in wait. He sits and waits - watching as the clouds pass. Watching the open sea, how it remains unchanging no matter what boats pass through to shore. He looks at his phone every now and again to check the time.
It shouldn’t be too difficult to actually do it.
You know, if Gojo turns his infinity on, there’s nothing in the world that can touch him. He can touch it, but it can’t touch him. There will always be a barrier between his hands and the world. Between him and the known universe, a bridge that started burning the minute Gojo was born into it. If Gojo turns on his infinity, there’s no way to leave traces of him behind.
Did you know? If Gojo turns on his infinity, his fingerprints don’t show up. There’s no DNA to find. Not a trace of him in the world that he hasn’t left purposefully. Even if Gojo chokes him with his hands bare hands - he wouldn’t be touching him. But Gojo can feel it. Feel his pulse, feel his breathing come down slowly.
If there’s such a thing as heaven or hell, Gojo wants to ask God about being homicidal. If it was a flaw of human design or their Lord reflected inside of them.
He lies in wait on top of the roof until 7.
When 7 hits, the world around him is still so dark. No one kills in broad daylight. The heavens are murky, sky full of black clouds like puffs of smoke. It’s freezing cold, a spine-tingling chill making its way up Gojo’s skin and hardening his hands. . Gojo waits for the doors of the garage to creak open. When the sound echoes into the air, a metal screech in the void, Gojo stands to his feet.
He jumps to the ground, landing with a dull thud. He comes out unscathed, a cat on his feet. He dusts off the front of his pants. Nobu hasn’t taken notice of him. Gojo takes a look around them. There’s no cameras in the warehouse. Gojo waits alone in the dark.
Five minutes. It’s five minutes when all of the lights go out.
“What the fuck?” Nobu mumbles, dropping his clipboard on top of a bunch of boxes, running a hand through his hair. Gojo waits in silence, watches as he turns around.
When he finally does, he jumps back in shock. Gojo feels a cold chill run through his body.
“What the fuck? Who the hell are you?” Nobu asks. Gojo grins.
“Ah, you don’t remember? We met a few weeks ago! We had a nice little exchange and everything.” He says, voice going higher by an octave. The man in front of him stares, off put by Gojos’ presence. He stumbles in his thinking, his body tensing up.
“Who the…what the fuck is going on?”
“Hey, don’t be so scared,” Gojo says, then uses his teleport to phase himself closer. Nobu’s eyes widen, shocked. Scared out of his wits, with the story of heartbeat like he’s being hunted. “Tough guy like you has nothing to be scared of, does he?”
“W-w-what…how did you…”
Gojo shakes his head.
“Don’t worry about it, man.” He says, voice calm and smooth and even. He’s surprised by how his emotions feel in his body. Like he’s so angry that he’s not. There’s something inside of him, the white waters that wade, that Gojo can feel. It’s strange “We’ve got about 5 minutes till the lights come back on.”
For a while, they stand at a draw. No one moves. Not him, or Nobu, or the open oceans. It’s quiet for a dock. Even quieter for a dock in Tokyo, and Gojo’s not even using his abilities. He probably won’t need too, other than infinity - there’s not any good reason for him to exert himself any more than he must.
Weeks of planning, weeks of watching, weeks of waiting. Nothing feels like it matters at the moment. He wants it to be over soon-ish.
It’s not that Gojo is particularly sadistic.
It’s just that, everything feels like it’s teetering over this very moment. He thinks it to himself quietly like someone trying to remember where they last left their keys.
Briefly, Gojo thinks “I can’t go back,” after this. In the back of his head he just knows.
He envies this aggravating strangers' ignorance, too.
“What do you want from me?” He says, stuttering - a gasping breath of fear in his lungs that snaps Gojo out of his thoughts. Gojo shrugs.
“Nothing, really. I’m not short on money, you know? I make a good living,” He says, spouting off about nothing as he closes the gap between them. Stepping closer infinitely until Gojo backs him into the garage, into the tall tower of boxers where there’s no cameras and no witnesses “Hm…is there anything you can do to fix this?”
No, Gojo answers mostly to himself, But wouldn’t that be nice?
“P-please, I have—”
“A son right? And an ex-wife, and a dead mom in Saitama. You didn’t think I came here without doing any research, did you? We’re the same in that way you know, I might be a frivolous - but hell if I’m not diligent,”
He looks like he’s going to throw up. Gojo remains indifferent.
“Who are you?” He asks, this time really wondering. With that hoarse voice of curiosity, of defeat.
Gojo hums.
“Good question. Who do you think I am?” Gojo poses and lifts his hands up. He puts them around his neck, pushing hard until his back is against the stack of boxes. It’s dark but Gojo can see everything. He keeps his open, tightening the grip of his hands slowly.
Nobu tries to spit something out but the words get sputtered, muffled by lack of oxygen.
“Do you think I’m a devil? An angel? God? I wonder,” Gojo says, staring. With his mask on, but his eyes opened wide. “Guess I’m kind of like a boogeyman,”
Gojo can feel it. His body underneath his palms, gasping and struggling for air. He can feel his hands try to pry his hands off. He can feel his body slowly start to lose its air, how he deflates like a balloon. Gojo is unmoving, unfazed, unworried. He’s near motionless except the hard grip of his hand on his neck and the pulse that slows gently under his palms.
It takes 5 minutes, maybe less, with all the strength in both his hands. Gojo isn’t counting. He holds on for maybe 2 minutes after that, just to make sure it’s not a fluke. He waits till the heart stops sounding in his ears and until the body is completely limp except for where Gojo is holding him away. He goes out sad. Useless, even.
When Gojo stops, Nobu’s body drops to the floor with a dull thud. He stares at it for a while, then sighs. It’d be nice if he could just leave it there, but he does his due diligence. Picks it up from the ground with relative ease, over his shoulders.
He walks it out towards the dock - the very edge, before tossing it in water and watching it sink. When it disappears from his sight, Gojo is left with his reflection in the deep blue. He meets his eyes for the first time in weeks, and knows he’s seeing exactly what he thought he would.
His anger has settled, just barely. Just enough to be able to see the change in his own vision. With his Six Eyes, Gojo can see that there’s no turning back.
With his mask on, he looks at himself, warped in the vision of the sea. The vision of him—crystalline and white and blue—murky and moving.
Gojo jumps to the roof and turns the light on again. The power comes back.
A dog barks distantly, over and over and over. Gojo watches the sun rise alone.
__
The following weeks pass without a hitch. Gojo feels like nothing has changed.
(But that’s not true. Everything is different. The same but different)
At the two week mark, winter has set in and Gojo is spending time with you in your apartment together. Currently, you’re cooking dinner (after carefully instructing Gojo to stay put in the living room.) Gojo is sitting watching T.V. He’s helping you grade papers at the coffee table, humming to himself.
It’s about 7 when the news starts to play. A local news channel and a familiar face on the T.V. Gojo is surprised when the breaking news report airs.
“Two weeks ago, a missing persons report was filed for ex-convict Nobu Watanbe. Sources say he was last seen working at a Dock in Tokyo - which experienced a power outage. It’s reported that Nobu seemed to have gone missing at the time, and hasn’t made contact with anyone since then. Could this be the work of a…”
The rest of the report Gojo tunes out. He turns his head slightly to see if you’ve noticed. Your eyes are glued to it., standing and staring silently. You place your spatula on a towel on the counter.
“We got word about a week prior to this,” You say, breaking the silence after some time without Gojo prompting. He looks at you “Akio started coming with his mom again and she gave me the story. It wasn’t unusual for him to up and disappear, but he hadn’t done so since Akio was born,”
“That so?” Gojo says, nonplussed. You nod.
“I feel guilty but,” You trail off, rubbing your arm anxiously “I can’t help but be… relieved. Just a little. I don’t want the guy to be dead or anything, but it,”
Gojo stops you in the middle of your sentence.
“You don’t have anything you need to feel guilty about,” He corrects, voice stern. You give him a sad look but he remains firm in his stance “He was harassing you for weeks. It’s only natural that you feel relieved, you know?”
You’re not entirely content with the response, but you seem to know well enough this isn’t something Gojo will compromise on. You sigh, looking down at the floor.
“Yeah. That’s true I guess, but still. I wonder what happened to him, or if he just decided to run away,”
Gojo pretends to think about it.
“Maybe. Otherwise…guess it was God’s divine punishment,” He says, continuing to grade papers. He doesn’t even look up as he says it. You let out a puff of air through your nose in amusement .
“Yeah,” You say, “Maybe. I should thank him some time,”
Gojo hums.
“I don’t think that’s a bad idea,”
#gojo satoru#gojo satoru x reader#jjk x reader#oh this hit all the boxes#the buildup…#the ‘original sin’#fic rec
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Head empty. No thoughts. Just bratty Jacob.
This man is the KING of “Make me” and “Oh yeah? What’re you gonna go about it?”
Ahhhhhh fuck yesssss gimme bratty!Jacob and dom!reader 😧😩🥵
Warnings/Info: gn!reader; cussing, sexual themes; 18+ only!; handjob (m receiving); dirty talk (eh 🤷🏻♀️); praise kink
Your eyes keep shifting between the road ahead and the map on the screen in hopes that the latter will refresh as soon as your phone gets any service.
You've been driving for hours while your boyfriend sits in the passenger seat next to you, enjoying the ride and having the nerves to complain about boredom while you struggle to find any signs or directions to Hackett's Quarry Summer Camp. Luckily, it's only midday, so you might not be the last counselors to arrive after all.
"Have you got any bars?"
No answer.
"Babe?...Jacob?"
You look to your right and catch him snoozing with his head leaning against the window.
"Jacob Giovanni Custos!", you hiss through clenched teeth; knuckles turning white as you grip the steering wheel tightly.
"Huh?"
Jacob is the epitome of discombobulated as he wipes the drool from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Are you seriously taking another fucking nap?"
"Hm, wha- no! I- I was just trying to suffocate a bug that flew into my eye!"
You snort and shake your head at his silly excuse. Somehow, you cannot stay mad or be angry with Jacob for long. He reminds you of a puppy, and who can be mad at a puppy?
"Okay, you got me", he confesses, sighing dramatically. "I did fall asleep, but only because I'm so fucking bored, baby."
"Bored? How can you be bored when you get to look at a scenery like this? Look how pretty everything looks in the sunlight!"
"It's not like I don't agree with you, but I've been looking at trees for the past four hours, I'm ready to see something else, preferably you...uh, naked."
You roll your eyes but smile involuntarily.
"Well, sorry Jakey, but that's not gonna happen for the next two months."
"What? Why?", he shrieks, shifting in his seat to face you, his expression nothing but offended. "I- you- you can't do that to me, baby. I'll die when you close the sex tap!"
You shrug, enjoying the way his voice cracks as he tries to reason with you. You're just messing with him, of course, but he doesn't need to know just yet.
"Well, consider the sex tap closed, Jacob. We'll be around kids all summer, and sneaking off to fuck would be so inappropriate."
"Oh...my god"
He leans forward and buries his face in his hands as if the world is about to end.
"If I'd only known that earlier, I would've...I don't know...lasted longer, err, I mean, enjoyed it more?"
"Wow...thanks man.", you huff as you continue to keep your eyes on the road.
"Aw come on, baby, don't be like that now, please."
It's quiet for a moment, and you try your hardest not to laugh as you hear him talking and cussing under his breath.
"I seriously don't know how I'll survive these two months, especially when you're around. That's just cruel and...and abusive."
Out of your peripheral vision you can see how he crosses his arms in front of his broad chest, pouting as he stares ahead.
"Jesus Christ, Jacob, will you stop. That's not - how can you even say that with a straight face?", you cackle, both amused and in disbelief at his choice of words.
"No, I won't stop.", he grumbles. "You obviously don't love me anymore, and by the way, if you want me to stop you have to make me."
The tone of his voice is contentious yet hurt, and it makes your skin prickle and your heart flutter. You didn't mean to agitate him like that, but sometimes you can't help yourself. It's so easy to rile him up, and you enjoy it when Jacob acts all bratty and desperate for your love and attention.
"Fine then -", you retort with a click of your tongue as you place your hand on his muscular, upper thigh; your fingers sprawled out as you squeeze firmly.
Jacob squirms in his seat, baffled by your sudden action.
You hit the brakes gently and set the turn signal as you pull up on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere.
"I'll make you stop, Jakey."
Jacob gulps as you look at him challengingly. You put on the handbrake and switch of the engine before turning towards him, pointing at his crotch.
"Get your cock out for me before I change my mind."
He looks baffled at first, but you can see his cheeks flushing and his pupils widen with arousal as he fumbles with the strings of his grey sweatpants.
"Shit, baby, I -", he stammers all flustered and tries to mask it by chuckling. "I might bust already when you keep talking to me like that."
"I know, but you won't this time", you say as you swat his hands away to take over. "because you're my good, obedient, lovely boyfriend, right?"
"Ah, fuck...yes"
He swallows thickly and nods frantically enough to shake off the black cap he's wearing. You palm him through the fabric of his pants and feel him get hard beneath your touch.
"Aw, are you that horny, babe? Would you like to fuck me in this car?", you purr as you lean in close enough to kiss his cheek.
Jacob chokes back his answer when you pull his cock from his sweats and boxers. You rub your thumb over the tip and tease the slit as you use his pre-cum as lube.
"Look at your pretty cock, Jacob. It's so swollen and dripping cum already"
His chest is heaving at this point as you continue to jerk him off slowly and firmly, just the way you know he likes it. He grips the grab handle with one hand eventually and you can watch his knuckles turn white.
"- and you're so quiet now, Jakey. Are you done running your big mouth, hm?"
"I...ah, fuck, I'm gonna come", he pants while his nails dig into the leather of the seat.
"Oh, already?", you coo, playing dumb as you go even slower. "Nah, you can hold it a little longer."
But Jacob shakes his head, his hips bucking up into your hand impatiently to get more stimulation.
"No, baby, please...don't play with me like that", he whines, his eyes squeezed shut now.
A grin spreads on your lips as you watch his handsome face. You just want to kiss him and give him as many orgasms as he likes, not now though. You're not done with him yet.
You let go of his cock, and it throbs and twitches when you go lower to grope his sac. Jacob groans as his head lolls back to rest against the seat.
Suddenly, you catch a glimpse of red and blue lights flashing in the rear view mirror. You immediately snap out of it when you realize it's a cop car, approaching you from behind.
"Oh, shit! Jacob, put your dick away!", you hiss, panicking slightly as you retrieve your hand from his pants to wipe it clean on a tissue while your boyfriend struggles to get his blood flowing back into his brain.
"Huh?"
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arrangement / jacob custos
word count: 2967
tags: size kink, love bites, hurt/comfort, angst, morning wood (more accurately nap wood), referenced masturbation, pining, insecurity, creampies, slight breeding kink, transfer of affection (sorta), savior complex
a/n: personally, i found this guy pretty endearing, especially if you look at his insecurities which are more apparent in some routes than they are in others. i know that isn't exactly a popular opinion (it's certainly a bit frustrating that the writers set him up by making him largely "responsible" for the events to follow), but hopefully there are enough like-minded people to give this some attention.
It’s often said that what you fear, you attract. You’re a little more receptive to that type of loose philosophy than you should be, so you aren’t exactly surprised when one day, the words come true.
Jacob’s voice calls out your name, soft, unlike him. “Are you awake?”
You’re glad you’re facing the wall. It gives you a chance against him, to not let him into your arms again. Other than pretending you’re asleep, there’s really no way out. Now that all the kids are gone, and the counselor you were supposed to share it with never showed up, you have the cabin all to yourself. Thinking about him had already kept you up all night, so you really just want to take a nap before you have to load the van up, not… this.
Seeing his face, those sad eyes, will end your resistance where it stands.
What the two of you have isn’t good. Against your intentions you’ve become at best a therapist, and at worst a replacement. Who you're taking the place of is unclear. At first you thought it was Emma. It wasn’t far-fetched to believe that you were covering for something that clearly wasn’t working. You were so sure, but more time with Jacob has left you doubting that. It has to be something in his past, something that happened a long time ago, inflicted by someone that you remind him of in one way or another. Being a proxy probably hurts him as much as it helps him, and you’re not exactly sure what it does to you.
What have you become? You’re not exactly the other woman. As far as you know, nothing’s really happened between Jacob and Emma in a long time, enough time that there’s a chance those flames have been swept out. You can see how Jacob’s affections burn hard against the cool of Emma’s practically nonexistent feelings.
You’ve let him, at least half a dozen times, come to be consoled by you. It began when he ran into you as you were heading down to the lake, one night when you couldn’t catch a wink of rest. When you later asked why he thought he could trust you, he didn’t have much to say.
You’ve let Jacob speak to you, cry to you. He mostly talks about nothing in particular, but if he nods off against your shoulder, he’ll mumble troubled, troubled words that make your heart pang. Lost thoughts about being alone, unwanted.
He has a lot of problems.
Around everyone else he can pretend he’s fine. You can learn as much from the truth as you can from a lie, but only if you’re looking.
He says your name again, in the midst of you faking a breath. You snuggle deeper into the thin fleece that Mr. Hackett gave you, trying to give the appearance of being slightly disturbed but not awoken. Something about the situation is giving you a feeling. You shouldn’t do this!
You can hardly think of anything at all when you hear his footsteps. He approaches your bunk cautiously, before you hear the creak in the floorboards and the movement of fingers. He tosses his shoes to the corner of the room. Then his sweats and shirt go too. You’re squeezing your eyes shut even though you desperately want to look at him. If not to admire his looks than to read the expression on his face.
When he lifts the blanket from your body. You’re so shocked by the action that you can’t even fight it, the way you shiver all over. Jacob climbs into bed and wraps his arm around you. You can feel the warmth of his body, his furnace-like chest against your back as his head rests against your shoulder.
Without him, you run cold naturally, especially when you sleep. Now that he’s in bed with you, you’re worried the temperature of his body will make you sweat.
“I know you’re awake. You can tell me to go,” he says weakly. “I’ll go.”
“I never want you to go, Jacob, even if I feel like you should.” You can’t hold back the reply. Logic fails you around him, at least when you’re alone.
If your words are vague, he still knows what you mean. He rewards you, you think, by gripping you tighter, murmuring thank you before pressing the lightest of kisses against your neck. You get the sense that he’s used to it, getting affection through transactions. He can’t give you much out here except his body heat, and he has more than enough of that for the both of you.
You’re expecting the regular dialogue when he takes a deep breath, like he usually does, but that’s not what you hear at all.
“I feel totally useless today,” Jacob says, “all I can think about is how nothing ever goes right. I feel like everyone is just tolerating me. I’d just wanted the day to end so I could come here and be with you. Even if you wouldn’t be caught dead speaking to me when the others are around. Then I remembered that we were leaving today…”
Maybe that is how things appear to him. With all the complications between the group, the crushes and the grievances, you’ve always thought you’re better off not adding whatever’s going on between the two of you to the mix. You’ve always acted like nothing had changed around the others, and he’d followed your lead. You didn’t think he had any problem with it.
All at once you realize how deep your concern for him goes. Has he wanted for something he felt you weren’t prepared to offer? You wonder how he’s felt every time you’ve paired up with someone else, if there’s ever been a hurt glance you missed. A jealous glance.
You still can’t look at him, but your hand searches for his, and when you find it you squeeze gently. It’s not natural for you, but it’s worth it to hear the way he gasps, like he really can’t believe it.
“It’s never been like that,” you tell him, “I just don’t want things to be awkward. Even if we aren’t usually… I don’t want things to change. I never knew how you felt either.”
He huffs, long and hard (listening for once) and you shake lightly as you feel it on your skin.
“I hope I haven’t been making you feel bad.” You sigh, “I wasn’t even thinking about it like that. Sometimes,” you were worried this would be a blow to his already lacking confidence, rather than anything constructive, “I don’t like the way you act around everyone. Like you have something to prove.”
“I… I feel like I do.”
“I think you think you do, but I think everyone else just feels like you aren’t being yourself. Some people,” you don’t want to say her name, “they can smell the blood in the water.”
“You haven’t been making me feel bad,” he murmurs, mouth close to your ear, “I love the way I feel. Around you, right now.”
You know there’s a chance he doesn’t mean anything by it, that he’s emotional and vulnerable and confused. Desire and confusion could sometimes be the same thing. But when he says things like this, as he has before, you can’t help but think about what it would be like.
You’ve certainly done more than just think. One hand down your shorts and your face buried in the fleece, the scent of him still on it, the smell of his cologne and his sweat. You’d put your palm to clit as you slid a finger inside, thinking of the outline of his cock the one chance you’d had to see him in it.
Down at the lake, a day of swimming, he’d had a swimsuit you swore hadn’t fit him since middle school. It was the definition of tight in all the right places.
Fat, was really all you were able to process. You’d blushed incredibly hard, swimming in the opposite direction before anyone had a chance to notice. The image filed away for later use.
Him, holding you down, slipping inside. The sting of it, of him making you take him. The sounds he would make when he was all the way in, balls against your clit. Teeth on your skin to muffle his moans.
It’d seemed like a pipe dream. Now you weren’t sure. In any case you hadn’t wanted to be fucked so bad, by anybody, in your life.
You flip over to face Jacob, staring deep into his eyes for the first time today. They’re misty, red, and they seem very sad. The whole thing makes you feel like a bad person, like a pervert. You wonder if he can see how black your eyes are with want for him. Can he feel how wet you are, right here next to him?
“Let’s go to sleep…” You venture, not meaning it at all, still glad that he agrees when he shifts to get comfortable and you feel his breathing even out. It’s far too long before you fall asleep yourself, too lost in visions of everything you want.
You know you’ll regret it later, that you’ll be nodding off when you shouldn’t be, but you can’t stop thinking.
. . .
You wake up thinking something troubling. You wish you could make Jacob understand. You don’t always need to get your happiness from people, but you know you only really mean other people. You’d have no problem being a rock for him. You want to give him a way out of the feelings that drown him every day. It’s what he so desperately seems to need.
But it can’t keep going on this way.
He must wake up moments after you do. Possibly aware of the change in your breathing, or maybe the way your heart rate has increased tenfold. He sighs, before chuckling in your ear, “what’s got you so worked up?”
“I just wanted to make sure I hadn’t overslept,” you look at the clock on your dresser. It’s only been half an hour. “Didn’t want to hold everyone up.”
It’s him, of course, but you can’t exactly say that. At least he seems in higher spirits than before, you consider.
The meaning becomes too literal when you feel his cock against you. Morning wood, probably. As much as it makes you wish the sheets would swallow you, it also sends your mind to other places.
Jacob tries to freeze, but his arm is still over your hips, caging you with his body, so there’s little you can do other than ignore it. But that already seems impossible, you can start to feel desire, burning in your pussy. You want him
It’s easy to feel him moving, attempting to be discreet but failing entirely. Every inch moves you with him because he’s unwilling to let go of you, whether he realizes it or not.
“I don’t mind,” you whisper, “or care. I mean I don’t care.”
“I care,” he bites back, seeming insulted. “I know you see that, so stop pretending like you don’t.”
You try to turn in his arms, but Jacob holds you still with little effort. He’s stronger, you think, obviously. You’re never able to escape him, mentally or physically.
“You think my problem is being insecure, fine. Your problem is that you’re always thinking, you never just feel.”
You know he’s right, but what can you say to that?
What was once a tight grip on your wrist turns into a comforting gesture, his thumb rubbing gently over the skin of your hand.
“L-let me make you feel something,” he sighs, “for once.”
You sigh, defeated in the best way possible.
Jacob's hard against you still, and he starts grinding into your ass gently. A gasp leaves you before your head is turned and you feel him on your cheek, a sweet kiss, before Jacob’s lips are on yours and he gives you a nasty one.
It’s your first kiss with him, but it doesn’t feel that way. You learn that Jacob likes to be close to you. He knows just how to get you to sigh, open your mouth up so he can press his tongue inside. It gets sloppy fast. You both moan, unable to part until you need to breathe. There’s spit connecting the two of you.
He moves your body beneath his, palm on the back of your neck an oddly comforting pressure. “Should’ve been kissing you this whole time,” he sighs.
“Doesn’t matter,” you tell him, putting your own hand to his cheek, “you have me now. Do whatever you want.”
Jacob makes quick work of your clothes, rids you of your bra, then tugs his trunks down to free his dick.
You want to blush at the sound it makes, the weight smacking against your stomach, lined exactly up with where he’ll be inside. Almost to your naval.
There’s a moment of just breathing, and when you look you see that he’s eyeing the same thing you are.
“I’ll fit,” he groans when he sees your expression. “Promise.”
You lick your lips. “Just prove it.”
Your panties are pulled to the side before you can hear him lick his thumb, once, twice. He must think it’s enough spit because he begins to use it to touch your clit, only to groan so loud you want to muffle him.
“Oh, oh. Fuck you’re already wet.”
“Yes,” you hiss, “I want you.”
“Yeah,” he mumbles. The words seem to make him shake. “Tell me again.”
You walk your hands up his back, and he moans when your nails drag lightly over his muscles, “I want you. Give it to me, Jacob, please.”
He kisses you again. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll give it to you.” It’s mumbled against your mouth as he preps you. Sliding his cock through the folds of you, gathering enough pre from you and him to just get the head inside.
You shudder, and he moans. It’s loud, scaring you enough to slap your hand over his mouth.
“‘’M sorry,” he grunts, removing your hand. His chest lowers down to touch yours, his face in your neck. “I didn’t mean to. Your pussy’s so good,” he shifts his hips to feel more of you. “I’ll be q-quiet, won’t make a sound. I don’t want to stop.”
You wrap your legs around Jacob, practically humping yourself onto him, “c’mon.”
His cock feels bigger than you should be taking. You want to wheeze when he bottoms out, leaving you stuffed. You can feel his tongue on your neck, hear vague moans as your cunt clenches on him.
Jacob starts to rock his hips, keeping his mouth busy with your skin in an effort to keep the noise down. But none of that matters when he’s fucking you into the mattress. Deep thrusts that make the frame of the bed groan.
You can feel how wet you’ve gotten, how wet he’s made you. You wouldn’t be able to take him otherwise. It’s surely all over your thighs, probably dripping down to his balls. You can feel everything, his skin, his mouth, a hint of teeth, the way his dick is burning you up inside.
You shock yourself when you come, hard. You bite into Jacob’s shoulder to muffle your scream, wrapping every limb you have around him to keep him deep inside.
“Fuuck,” he’s trembling. “Fuck it, I need- I wanna come inside. Tell me you’re on the pill. I want it.” You can feel him throbbing in your pussy. It’s a good thing you are; he probably wouldn’t be able to pull out in time anyway.
You hum out an affirmation, teeth still between his flesh because you can’t stop moaning, and it’s only half a second more before you feel him cum, and if you weren’t wet before you are now. You can feel it, hot, inside, and even leaking out of you.
Jacob’s whole body tenses, before every muscle in his body seems to relax, like he’s been needing this for a long, long time. His arms falter, but he catches himself before he crushes you.
The both of you wince when he pulls out, and you’re thankful that he doesn’t mind the obscene amount of cum that you both will surely have to deal with eventually. The clock tells you It’s still early, there’s still time.
He’s gone to cuddling you again, tucking you into the side of his body. He’s certainly much more open to touching you now that he’s fucked you. His hands explore whatever skin they can reach.
You make an attempt to do the same, but when you touch his shoulder you can feel the slight indent of teeth. Not terribly deep, but there.
“I’m sorry, Jacob. I shouldn’t have done that.”
“Don’t say that,” he scoffs, totally nonchalant. “Your neck isn’t looking too hot either.”
“I know,” you sigh, “but some guys are really weird about stuff like that.”
“Ha,” he laughs it off, checking it out before giving you his typical grin. “I don’t mind it. It’s like you claimed me.”
You wonder if that’s something to think about.
Laying there, both of you lightly doused with sweat, the smell of sex absolutely unavoidable, your first thought is that your sheets are ruined. It’s a good thing that you’re leaving today, at least for that reason.
Whatever you’ve just done, you know now that you can’t shut Jacob out. How that will work out isn’t something you need to figure out now, or even today.
Despite Jacob’s epiphany concerning you, you’ve got dibs on a great seat in the van, and that should give you enough time to do all the thinking you need.
#the quarry smut#the quarry x reader#the quarry#jacob custos x reader#jacob custos smut#jacob smut#smut#my writing#jacob the quarry#1k
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