#•fics | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wolkoshka · 2 years

Text

JJK: | SWEET ESCAPE |

characters: gojo satoru x y/n, gojo x you, kento nanami, itadori yuuji, megumi fushiguro, nobaru kugisaki, yuuta okkotsu, maki zenin, inumaki, panda, etc

synopsis: after surviving a night you shouldn't have, sorcerers and curses alike come after you, and the only thing standing between you and ultimate demise is a 6ft4'' wall in the form of gojo satoru

warnings: m for now; fluff; sfw; slow-burn; eventual romance; smut in later chapters; violence and death; will turn explicit in the future

parts: 1

•Chapter two: the Vow•

Sorcery. Sorcerers. Curses.

You had to be trapped in some foul joke in the making. Some form of ignominy. You clearly made some enemies over the years, it seems. Maybe someone developed distaste to your existence and sponsored your suffering. I mean, you concluded, you did run the given projects with an unforgiving tact, resulting in their continues successes. That must be the superior explanation, because what this man before you exposed could not be of any sense.

Not to mention he kidnapped you!

You couldn’t possibly take anything he said in good faith. You should be freaking out, but more than that, you were irked beyond belief.

Sat in a wooden chair, arms cording against your chest, you huffed. “First you lie to me, and then have the cheek to steal my coffee, all the while mocking me for my harmless assumption, but now, after kidnapping me, mind you, you sell me more lies. Lies! How dare you! Kidnapping is a federal crime! And, and, and execution? For what offense? Huh? Even if I were responsible, who do you think you are to suggest I wouldn’t have a right to a fair trial? Mmm? Stop looking at me like that. And why aren’t you answering? Cat got your deceiving tongue? Where even am I?” You threw your arms in the air, exasperation lacing your question.

The room was dimly lit and every inch of the walls was decorated by talismans and ancient seals, a form of warding off a certain kind of evil. Or keeping one from getting out.

Internally recoiling and hugging yourself a bit tighter, you shifted your focus to the white-haired man before you. He sat with his chest to the back of the chair, thighs parted and encasing either side. He clasped the head of the chair with interlocked forearms, but more than that, he sat with an air of unbothered confidence, the faint play of amusement on the corners of his lips provoking a grimace form you. Screw attractiveness! You wanted to push his smug ass off the chair!

The lowly-lit fiery hues of the candles cast shadows on his features, sharpening the tip of his straight nose and the smooth angle of his jawline. The blindfold only managed to accentuate the eerie aura he presented. Kami, what a look. If fallen angels had a face, you no doubt affirmed they’d look like him. Were you judging him too harshly? Yes! Because he kidnapped you!

How did he even do that? One moment, he was jerking you close to him, and the next, you woke up in this weird room of seals. Maybe you passed out, but that’d mean he knocked you dead out in the middle of a busy street. People would have noticed. They would have done something. Right? So many questions, so many confusing answers.

“Ugh, whatever. I’m leaving.” Prompting to your feet, you made for the door. If you could play the ignorant fool for maybe sixty something more years, you’d be kissing this world goodbye and then nothing would matter anymore.

He didn’t budge, not even offered the courtesy of facing your direction. “You can’t keep me here. But before I leave,” you paused, “answer me this at least: is caramel mocha even your favorite cup of coffee?”

“No,” he finally retorted, but still refrained from looking your way. After a heavy pause, he tilted his head back, side-eyeing you through the blindfold. The corner of his mouth twitched. That little…

You were not going to kill someone over a disagreement. Nope. You inhaled deeply…exhaled slowly… Okay. All right. Calm. You got your answer. Now you just had to leave. Except, you could not locate any doors. What? What!

“Where is the door!” you yelled, losing your mind.

Your hands swept over the walls of seals, some even zapping you. “Ow!” You cradled your fingers to your chest. You jumped, aiming to reach as far as you could for the ceiling in hopes of discovering some kind of latch. A window. Anything! “No, no, no! I’m not going to be murdered in some dingy room by some— some creep!”

A loud “Huh?” resounded, breaking through your panic. That’s what offended him? He tsked, shaking his head. Then lowly chuckled. “This is a first.”

Your search advanced to you knocking on walls and listening for hollow spaces. “What, you being called a creep? I highly doubt that.”

“No, not that. Advocating for someone who simultaneously admitted and denied the dire reality of their situation.”

“Okay, whoa, Mr. Blindfold Guy.” You rounded on him, index finger up in defense. “One, kidnapping someone is not the same as advocating for them, check the, uh, I don’t know, common sense department? Two, I’m fully, out-rightly, whole-heartedly denying everything!”

After a moment, he suddenly waved a hand in the air, all cheery. “Maybe you’re right.”

“Now you’re talking.”

“Maybe you didn’t see the curses you did. Maybe one didn’t try to eat you. And maybe you didn’t blow up an entire neighborhood for it. And now maybe the rotten higher-ups aren’t planning your execution because they can’t have a ticking bomb like you walking the streets unsupervised. Yeah, what the hell, right?”

He uncurled from his seat, broad shoulders climbing higher and higher toward the ceiling. The shadows cast violent angles on his body, causing the very sharpest and deadliest parts of him to stand out. His entire body bespoke of a hidden prowess, and you once again felt oh, so small.

“And maybe I’m just wasting my time on you,” he finished in a more serious note, casting you an unreadable look.

Your brows knitted. No, he was wrong about everything. You didn’t cause the explosion. You didn’t! Wait… You swallowed, heart skipping.

“How did you know one tried to eat me?” you whispered.

“Why do you care?” he whispered back, albeit tauntingly.

Gritting your teeth, you glared at him. “Fine,” you gave in. “I’ll consider the notion of your words to be truthful. Now, answer me.”

He smirked. “So demanding. Well, if you must know, I only take orders in the bedroom. Now, sit back down, Ms. Kami, I Swear I’m Not a Bad Person,” he mockingly mirrored your voice, “and pay attention.”

You scoffed, but still felt your cheeks heat at his jab. And you definitely did not inquire to know that. But the brief, sultry image of this giant of man tangled up in your sheets filled your mind, and the heat speared down your neck and chest. It’s just been a while since you last, well, dated anyone.

Clearing your throat, you did as told, throwing one leg over the other and crossing your arms against your chest. “I’m not a bad person, and you definitely wear a blindfold.”

He generously plopped back on the chair and slightly leaned over the top, arms folded. “Now that we’ve established useless facts, let’s drill your memories for better ones.”

Right. The reason why you were agitated in the first place. After this “sorcerer” explained how you essentially had no choice in the matter, his next mission in unveiling your past was what initially set you off. No one had a right to it but you. No one. And yet here this stranger was, outright demanding it.

The stranger in question, Satoru, as he’d called himself, pinched his chin in thought. “My eyes tell me your cursed energy is put in a limit, but it is unlike any I’ve ever seen. Almost non-existent, and limits are known to have repercussions. From what I can tell, your vitals are strong, and you’ve shown none. Yet.”

You listened and shrugged. “Then I guess that concludes it. I’m not that great of a threat and can walk away a free woman. Yay me.”

“Not quite.”

“Okay, this is feeling more like an interrogation than a friendly conversation.”

“This is an interrogation.”

“Oh.”

“Now listen carefully. Dig into those memories of yours and tell me if you’ve made any important promises.”

Oh. Oh, okay! This was going to be easy. You filed out a few. “Well, as a designer, I promised to never mix the colors orange with pink. Absolutely horrid results. When twelve, I promised to never ride a bicycle for more than half an hour because my legs easily tired out and I crashed into a thorny bush. Had to get twelve stitches on my right knee, a disfigurement I carry to this day. Sad. Same with people, maximum interaction is an hour and then I’m out, but it’s not because they did something, per se, it’s just that they always ask a lot of questions. Why do we humans do that? It’s ridiculous! ‘Where have you been’? Or ‘what are you doing these days’? Or ‘how are you’? What are you, a human questionnaire?” You snort-laughed at your own joke. “Am I right? What else, what else? Oh, yeah, no lying. And stealing. Duh. Well, actually, no, scratch that one. I once stole a chap-stick that smelled like buttered coconut because the salesperson was being a bitch, so. That showed her. Oh! Oh! Eating hot soufflé every Friday to celebrate the end of the week. It’s more a tradition than a promise, but it keeps me happy. Oh, yeah, and learning how to bake a different dessert every month to improve my amazing culinary skills.” You flipped your hair over your shoulder. “Obviously the important ones where I promise to never mistreat myself, the boundaries I’ve laid out, and core values, you know how that goes. Me, myself, and I or whatever. To never date a guy who wears flip-flops to dinner. Kami, was that a tough lesson! Ha! You could only imagine the scandal. I started viewing toes differently after that experience. Something involving them never seeing the light of day. They’re so wriggly. Yuck. Of course there’s the matter of never painting my nails yellow again. I don’t know what I was thinking. I guess that’s about it for now.”

Satoru hummed like he didn’t just experience ten whiplashes. “Yeah, that one’s on me. Allow me to rephrase: any important past vows?”

Your heart faltered, and something inside you told you he caught the act. Because he ever so slightly straightened. With the way he was staring at you, you felt like a deer caught in the headlights. You licked your lips and shifted uncomfortably in the chair. “Well,” you cleared your throat, “well, I’ve only ever made…one.”

He waited for you to continue.

Right.

“The thing is... Well, it’s private.” You pursed your lips. “It’s too private.”

After a moment of silence, he sighed. He rummaged his pocket for something. A phone, you realized, as he tapped on the screen.

“I was hoping to spare you the embarrassment.”

“Of what? Asking for my number?” You buffed your nails, but did not miss the manner his lips leisurely drew up in a soft smile.

“Please. I’m too shy.”

This time, you snorted big and loud.

“Besides,” he continued, unfettered, “I already have it.”

Before your slackened jaw could produce any sounds, he held out his phone to you, screen first, as it played a video.

You adjusted yourself to indulge him, but found yourself straightening moment later, heart starting to beat fast.

It was you. Not only that, it was CCTV footage of the night the Blackout occurred. In it, you were being lifted midair, supported by nothing, no monster in sight, and then—

You gasped.

A white-hot explosion ripped from your chest, eviscerating everything in its path and ending the footage with a cracked screen. And then nothing.

You grabbed the phone from his hand and replayed it. Again and again and again. Before you even realized, you had risen to your feet, phone to your face as you watched, eyes gaping.

By the fourth, sixth, tenth repeat, your eyes had already burned and blurred.

“No,” you whispered, but this time, you knew, the word held no conviction. Somehow, someway, your spine found the support of a wall, and you let yourself go against it, sinking to the floor in a dejected heap. Phone forgotten, you pressed the heels of your palms to your eyes—and sobbed.

Sobbed like you were nine years old again, drenched in the pool of your brother’s blood.

It was all real. You could no longer deny it. No longer fool yourself. You were responsible, and that reality tore through you. All those years of self-exile was for nothing. Absolutely nothing. You still managed to get hurt despite your best efforts. Still managed to hurt.

Embarrassed, humiliated, you covered your face and turned away when you felt the sorcerer’s presence burn your side. He crouched, but the act still managed to make him look big and encompassing. Perhaps it was the manner in which he did so, but you were in no mind to dissect it. So you sobbed.

Hopeless, confused, and scared, you sobbed, because you didn’t know what else to do. How else to feel. Knees hugged to your chest, you feared to face the man kneeling before you.

He made no effort to touch you, console you, and he was in every right.

You wanted no comfort, no solace. Any touch right now would char you. And, for some reason, you sensed the sorcerer understood that all too clearly.

But, “I don’t— I don’t understand,” you blubbered out. “I don’t understand. I don’t understand.”

Face smudged in tears and an embarrassing amount of snot, you cried, head shaking, face still hidden. “I did everything right. I avowed. I made sure. I— I—“

“What did you avow,” came the soft words.

You involuntarily shook your head in response.

“What was the vow,” he repeated. “Hmm?”

You cried harder.

Gojo said your name, not loudly, but sternly enough to get your attention. And…

You paused. After a stifling moment, your head slowly lifted. He said it again, and this time, you swallowed down all the tears and anguish. The way your name sounded in his voice, emerging from his lips, in the absolute sumptuous lacing of his timber around the softness of your vowels, for some peculiar reason, clicked something in your chest.

You could tell him. You could tell him everything. He wouldn’t judge. He wouldn’t hurt you. A voice in you told you he was a safe zone. The voice within you told you it was okay. For once, it was okay. It was okay. It was going to be okay.

Silently, tear-stained eyes watched him as he watched you. “It was the fourth of July,” you began, voice hoarse, “one a.m. when Akira, my brother, snuck out of the house to hunt monsters. He dared me to follow him, that is, if I had the guts. I followed him. We always went to the alleyway by the abandoned theater house, a street or so away from where we lived; they hosted small monsters my brother could poke with a stick and dangle around in my face. He liked to joke around like that.” You smiled at the memory, but your smile died away. “It was supposed to be just like every other night. Fun. Harmless. Bloodless… But the hour of the witch had something more sinister in mind for the naughty kids way past their bedtime. It taught us…me…not to trifle with forces my little hands could not ward off. I escaped with a slight cut to my back, but my brother…” Tears suddenly flooded your eyes, and your voice broke at the memory. “They got him. They were so big. So terrible. He was so small. He was so scared. And they got him. Ate him.”

You shied away your heated face, uncontrollable sobs racking your entire form. “He didn’t deserve that. He didn’t deserve to die like that. He was good. He was good. He was so good.” You nodded absently to nobody in particular. “He told me to run, to never again seek out these monsters, these murderous creatures, and so I ran. And I was a coward to do so! I left him. I left him and he died. I left him,” you blubbered again, “and when I came back, they’d only left half his head. So I vowed. To never, ever, see these creatures again, know these creatures again, sense these creatures. For him. For his memory. For my brother.” You meekly shrugged. “And over the years, that seemed to be the case. I scarcely saw them; knew them; sensed them. Something within me was tempered down. Sealed, almost. And I lived my life avoiding them whenever I chanced upon them. But the Blackout…that night, the hour of the witch came for me again, I guess. And now I believe the lesson was that I could never escape my fate. I should’ve died with my brother that night. Maybe I should die. All those people…”

Your lower jaw shook, lips wet and wobbling, breath trembling. “In that footage, all those people…I hurt them. I did that. I caused them pain.” Strands of your hair stuck to your teary cheeks as you found yourself shaking your head again. “But I didn’t mean to. I would never…”

“I believe you,” said the sorcerer. His words performed their duty for the second time in stilling your heaving sobs. You watched through glossy vision. He tilted his head of snow-white hair, like winter itself had made a home in those silky strands, and calmly continued, “No one has or will ever have access to that footage but me. Now, I understand you. Your case is…different. In short, a vow between sorcerers is for life and can only be broken in death. The fact that you are still able to practice yours means…”

His lips fell into a grim line. “That’s a problem for another day. From what you’ve said, I believe the vow has inadvertently put a limit to your cursed energy, sealing it, as you’d stated. The thing about limits is that, the longer the time they limit one’s cursed energy, the stronger and more powerful it grows, until…”

“It erupts,” you finished in a whisper.

He nodded. “So it seems. Truth be told, no sorcerer has ever limited their cursed energy for that amount of time. There are always repercussions that follow. You’ve kept your cursed energy limited for the better half of your life. The Blackout is only the start of it.”

You shut your eyes and bit your lips. Trapped tears fell loose from your lashes and down your cheeks, coating your lips and chin, the salty taste of them saturating your tongue. You had never tasted more miserable than now. “That means…I’ll hurt more people.”

His elbows dug into his spread knees, the robust length of his thighs encaging your own, as he nonchalantly shrugged. “Not if I can help you.”

Your head perked up, but your brows still knitted together. “How?”

A smirk, oozing nothing but unprecedented confidence, took his lips in fashion bewitching. “Lucky for you, you’ve landed in the lap of a very generous teacher of jujutsu fighters. My students can attest to my outstanding tutelage skills.”

He was a teacher? For a moment, you allowed yourself to picture it, but your mind came up empty.

Licking your lips, you sniffled. “And what…what if I hurt you?”

He pinched his chin in thought—before his index finger came up, indicating the surfacing of a good idea. “Then you’ll just have to kiss all the booboos away.”

Despite your withering state, you narrowed your eyes at his jest, and he smiled, but not at your expense. “Don’t worry. I’m the strongest.”

Such an effortless confession, brimming with undoubtful experience, but nevertheless he sounded…genuine. For now, you chose to take him at his word. You meekly nodded, eyes downcast. “I don’t ever want to hurt others like that again.”

“I’ll help train you regain better control of your cursed energy. Now, for your given age, Jujutsu High cannot academically accommodate you, but the place operates as a base for all sorcerers, so you can stay and train here just like every other student. Once you are able enough, you will be sent out on missions to prove your abilities and control. I’ll have the faculty noted of your special circumstances.”

He sighed, continuing, “In all honesty, the odds are completely against you. We eradicate older sorcerers or cursed energy users who still don’t have power over their cursed energies, the best given example being you at the moment, without question, so do understand when I say if push comes to shove and you fail, I will personally execute you myself.”

Something about his words paralyzed you, the cold truth in them, perhaps, but you found yourself sniffing, wiping at your cheeks. “Don’t worry.” It was your turn to console him.

“Hmm?”

“I will take care of that long before you can lay a hand on me.”

He cupped his cheek and tilted his head to the side, smiling. All endearing. “I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

“So why risk it? Why help me?” you probed, meeting his blindfolded gaze.

He huffed out a chuckle, shaking his own head and upturning his palm in evident query. “Who knows? Something about you gives me the sense that you are a missing puzzle of a much bigger picture my hands are just itching to resolve.”

One hand in question, dangling over his thigh, fisted until his knuckles leached of all color—before he released the tension, and his long, dexterous fingers slackened over his knee.

“Anyways, the sooner we start your training, the better we can understand your cursed energy. Something tells me your life should be in danger to instigate it, and your looming execution should provide enough motivation, don’t you think?”

You absently nodded again, this time lost in your own intruding thoughts as you fiddled with the ends of the sleeves of your jacket. “You’ll really help me?” you asked quietly.

Gojo examined you a moment. Then, “Yeah. I’ll really help you,” he calmly offered.

His reaffirming words brought a familiar burn to your eyes again, and you loudly sniffed, wiping at the fresh tears with the backs of your sleeves. “Okay,” you nodded anew, teeth digging into the soft flesh of your lower lip, “Okay.”

His shadow and whatever refuge it granted disbanded as he uncurled to his full height, hands disappearing inside his pockets.

“I must look like such a mess,” you humorlessly chuckled out as you wiped at your face, also rising to your feet, albeit much slower.

“The worst I’ve ever seen, actually,” Gojo casually seconded, already on the move before you could land a proper smack on him.

Halting by a wall, he reached for a shadowed corner and opened a door.

What!

He smirked over his shoulder. “Catch up.”

chapter three coming soon

a/n: thank you all for reading chp one!! ;-; the reblogs, likes, and tags really made my day (week) ik there's a lot drama/emotion in this chp, but that's bcs im a dramatic hoé. much love, cya in chp three 🥰🫠🥂 | 💟 support me on ko-fi 🪴🧋

134 notes · View notes

wolkoshka · 2 years

Text

JJK: | SWEET ESCAPE |

characters: gojo satoru x y/n, gojo x you, kento nanami, itadori yuuji, megumi fushiguro, nobaru kugisaki, yuuta okkotsu, maki zenin, inumaki, panda, etc

warnings: m for now; fluff; sfw; slow-burn; eventual romance; smut in later chapters; violence and death; will turn explicit in the future

•Chapter one: the Blackout•

On the seventeenth of September, at exactly 01:47 AM, in Eastern Tokyo, you knew time struck a second too late when your past caught up to you. Your end had come, and you were going to be devoured. By a set of forty-two teeth. It could’ve been worse. For example, it could’ve been two mouths instead of one, as you’d witnessed some possess.

Okay, never-mind. Two heads just sprouted from its fat, bulbous neck. Definitely could get worse.

Moonlight bathed the dark indigo monster towering over you in silver hues. Kami, it was so huge, as big as a building—and it gawked straight down at you. You were its target. Other hideous creatures collected behind its form, all of myriad colors, but all wearing the same look of insatiable hunger. You were going to be their dinner. Kami, you were going to die. Was this the end of the road for you?

At that, the last bit of sarcasm evaporated from your tongue, and you felt dread grip your insides in tight, vengeful twists. Twenty-five years. Well lived? You couldn’t quite be sure. You spent all your life avoiding people, friends...your family. You chose a life of an exile. But you had kept your vow.

Yes. At least, in that, you’d kept yourself safe and the memory of your brother unsoiled. He would be proud. A life-long bet you won against all odds when you couldn’t even win one with him.

You could run, you thought, but your legs felt boneless in the heap of rubble you lay in. A nest of concrete your monster friend over there had curated when it’d thrown you ten feet in the air before punching you into the wall of the supermarket you wanted to purchase your favorite can of soda from.

Now, you wished you’d drunk water instead.

Was it too late?

Talons pinched the back of your shirt and you were lifted off the ground—and all the way up to hover over the gaping mouth of the monster. And then you were dropped into absolute darkness.

Yes. It was irrevocably late.

The built-up panic and terror, alongside your stomach, lurched up your throat, and you screamed as loud as your lungs would permit you, burning the air before you. Burning the last desperate thoughts from your mind—I don’t want to die; no, no, no; I haven’t lived like I wanted; I haven’t lived at all; I haven’t lived, please!—as you tightly shut your eyes and shielded your face with your hands. Your chest hotly constricted, and then…

A violent explosion abruptly tore through the space, and then enveloping darkness stole your consciousness.

You were no more.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

You lay in demolished rubble—this one, of your own making. Maybe. You weren’t quite sure as you uncurled to unstable feet, bleary vision attempting to take in the tableau before you. It was still pitch black. The moon hid behind plumes of wafting smoke.

Smoke?

Then, you slowly gazed down.

You stood in a massive dent, the size of it at least eating up five commercial buildings, and littered around you were exploded cars, torn, sizzling electric poles, and utter destruction.

“I…” you whispered, shaken. What… Your head shook in little No’s. This was not real. You weren’t seeing right. You’d died? Yes! Yes, you’d died. This wasn’t real. The monsters weren’t real. You weren’t real.

This wasn’t real.

In the distance, the blaring sound of sirens resounded, and reality crashed on you like falling bricks—and you ran.

You clambered up the dent, dirt and soil smudging your person, coating you, burying you, but you still ran. And ran, and ran, and did not stop running.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

A week in, and you were adopting the ‘hey, wrong place, wrong time’ thought process pretty efficiently. One, you couldn’t possibly be the culprit for the destruction that happened since, duh, you were only human and innocent. Very innocent. Two, news suggested an unexpected 4.7 earthquake hit the coast of Japan, hence the so-called “Blackout”. That took out all of Eastern Tokyo. Anyways, natural disasters happened all the time, so who were you to argue with solid facts? And three, if not the aforementioned points above, then it was simply the monsters, you concluded with a reaffirming nod, grabbing your cup of hot caramel mocha from your favorite coffee shop—and completely ignoring the news spokesperson on the flat-screen reiterating the events. Or the fact that the monsters had never blown themselves up before, especially not when they were on the cusp of eating you alive.

“—following those studies, experts have yet to draw a conclusive report on the catastrophic Blackout that left fourteen injured and seven buildings demolished, but resulting in no fatal human casualties. Over a hundred million yen for restoration projects is now in process of—“

No fatal human casualties. Another fact you were extremely grateful for. But only because it would’ve been devastating, as it would be for any other person, hearing such morbid news and not because you personally felt involved with the incident. You almost died! If anything, you were the only fatal human casualty concerned.

And over a hundred million yen! In the coming winter, no less! Kami, you had to get yourself out of here and away from all these news. But not because you were guilty. You couldn't quite grasp the notion that fourteen were also injured. You hoped they were okay. Maybe you should send each of them a gift basket as recompense for the trauma inflicted. But that would suggest you were the instigator... Kami, your brain hurt. What happened that night?

You brought your black cap lower over your face and, huddling into your oversized jacket, made for the glassed door. Dressing yourself in plain clothes that, for the most part, kept you way under the radar than usual cast its own different kind of hurt. You really missed your designer bags and killer pumps.

The door slid open before you could clutch the handle, and the chill of crispy September afternoon, alongside the fresh scent of mint and heady sandalwood, whisked into the small coffee shop in an intoxicating rush that momentarily paralyzed your lungs. So much so that you almost forgot how to breathe. You blinked. Kami, that was a really good perfume. I want.

A body of dark blue blocked the view of your sweet exit, and you side-stepped to give way. Funnily, the newcomer stepped in the same direction. You apologized, and moved left. They moved left. Right. They moved right. Center. Left. Center again. Okay, what!

“Excuse m—!”

“Whoops. My bad.” A warm chuckle, clearly masculine, vibrated the small space between your bodies. And clearly shiver-inducing deep, but that wasn’t the point. You chinned up, deciding to ground the guy with your infamous viper-glare that should have him running for the hills soon enough, but your eyes kept traveling upward…and upward…and upward…

Okay, woah. He was tall. So tall, you were sure he had to bow his head to come in through the door. The door you had to get to anytime today. But the more you examined him, the more rooted in place you became.

Possessing a bed of snow-white hair and equally as smooth-looking fair skin while wearing the most hedonistic smirk on the plumpest, pinkest lips you’d ever beheld in your life, you, for the first time in forever, found yourself utterly speechless. He also sported a blindfold. Was it, like, a fashion statement for the…blind or something?

Wait. Was he blind?

Suddenly mortified, you apologized, face heating. “I-I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. That was so thoughtless of me. I swear I’m not a bad person. Kami, I should move,” you muttered to yourself, hastily stepping out of his way.

Bemused, he tilted his head at you. “Hmm?”

“Or do you need— Like, maybe some guidance? I can point out the free seats for you.” Yes. Be cordial, you reminded yourself. You signaled a few. “So, over there, is one empty slot and then in that corner— Wait, I’m pointing. I shouldn’t be pointing because you obviously can’t… Right.” You swore to yourself that you were not an actual moron. “I should stop. Yes. I was leaving, so I should just...” You absently pointed at the door.

A quizzical pause. Then, “You are absolutely right. You should guide me.”

“Uh…yeah?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged a broad shoulder, and the small, miniscule, almost mundane act caused a ripple effect on the rest of his body, noticeably tightening the fabric of his outfit over some well-defined muscles. Aaand you were not going to eye-fuck a blind person. Because that was unmistakably immoral. Yes. Eyes on the prize, you reminded yourself. No! Eyes on the task at hand! You reprimanded, giving yourself a mental slap in the head. What was wrong with you?

You eased beside him. “Would…you like to order first?”

“Oh, yes. A cup of hot caramel mocha. My favorite.”

“Oh, that’s my favorite too!”

“No way!”

For some reason, you found his excitement of false nature, like he was somewhat…mocking you. But that couldn’t be true. He had no reason to. You wanted to take a step forward but saw the busy queue—and stalled.

You looked down at your cup, the queue, the cup, the queue, the cup…and sighed in defeat. Your lower lip was not wobbling. You were a grown adult. “Hey, you know what? You can have mine. Haven’t taken a single sip. Hot caramel mocha, just like you wanted.”

He palmed his heart. “No.”

You meekly shrugged. “It’s okay.”

“You’re an angel.”

A blush bloomed in your cheeks. “No…”

“Oh, yes, I really think you are.”

The blush darkened. “Well…if you really, absolutely think so, then who am I to tell you otherwise?”

A warm chuckle, so warm, that your insides melted. Gosh, you had to get it together. He was only a stranger! A quite attractive stranger, you had to say. Hey, after a week of lucking out on the whole Blackout thing, closing your week with a compliment from someone as good looking as him wasn’t a bad thing at all.

He lightly chucked you under your chin and turned on his heel toward the door. A step, and he was pulling it ajar. “After you.” He gestured.

You paused, slightly perplexed. How did he… You shrugged, dismissing your doubts. Some blind people operated differently, so, really, you shouldn’t be assuming about matters foreign to you. Besides, he must have some coordination established if he walked himself to the coffee shop.

Tossing him an appreciative smile he couldn’t see, you stepped out into the chill, and instantly stuffed your hands into your pockets. You felt his presence settle by your side, followed by the delectable scent of mints and sandalwood. As pedestrians bypassed you, all murmurs and laughter, and as honking cars and rumbling trucks blurred down the street, you peeked at him from behind your lashes. Was he waiting for something?

He stole a sip from the hot caramel mocha, head generously tipped back, and your insides churned in want. Damn courteousness. He smacked his lips in appreciation.

“Good stuff.”

“Tell me about it,” you seconded. Silence. The sun broke through the thick clouds, momentarily setting the camped world below aglow, before another set of clouds rolled in and obscured it from sight. He took another sip.

You pursed your lips. Having finished your lunch break, you wondered at the time it would take you to walk back to office working as a full-time interior designer. Probably like every other time—fifteen minutes—as you eyed the crosswalk and the traffic lights.

He sipped anew. Smacked his lips again for emphasis.

Okay. Didn’t he have some kind of destination to get to? Why was he lingering by your side like that? Was he indirectly rubbing in the notion of you not getting to enjoy your favorite coffee like he was? You snorted. That’d be ridiculous. And mean. So mean if that were true.

Nonetheless, he was odd...and the energy you sensed from him appeared more coiled and reigned in than anything his physical appearance suggested.

“You really like it, huh?” you asked when he gave an appreciative rumble preceding another sip.

“Mhm.”

Clearing your throat, you stared ahead at the crosswalk light signaling red. When it signaled green a second later, you prompted into action. “Have a good day!” You waved.

He waved back. “Watch out for the cars, angel!”

You froze cold. You. Have. Got. To. Be. Shitting. Me. Slowly turning, you leveled him with your infamous viper-stare, then, backtracking, unceremoniously slapped the cup of your favorite coffee right out of his lying hands!

“You can see!”

He gave a moment of silence for the coffee wasted—before regarding you. Then, lush and unmistakably indulging, a smile quirked his devilish lips up. “Never said I couldn't. Hold on. Did you assume I was blind just because I was wearing a blindfold?”

Your jaw slacked to string a coherent response. “Uh, yes!”

“That’s just rude,” he tsked. Oh, you knew he knew that you thought him blind. The unashamed audacity! He flippantly buried his hands inside the pockets of his pants. “But I guess not as rude as when you blew up half the town.”

Now, you definitely couldn’t string any response.

He stared down at you from his head above the crowning sky-line, it appeared, because you suddenly felt so small, so guilty, so caught. Maybe you misheard.

Your voice came out small. “W…What?”

“It took me a while to track you down, and I figured it was because of how much you keep your curse energy in a limit, a very low one at that, that it was hard for me to trail your residual energy after you left the scene. But here I am, your knight in shining armor, if you will.”

A moment so tense, so frighteningly disquiet, impregnated the space between you, that your breath threatened to choke you. Who was he? And curse energy? Limits? What was he saying? But more than that, how did he know?

Oh, kami. Oh, shit, shit, shit. You were exposed. Someone knew. This guy knew you were there that night. You had to run. Yes. But your legs refused to move. Twitch. Anything. It was happening again. You were freezing up. Were you always going to freeze up?

“Listen, who— Who do you think you are—“

“—Gojo Satoru,” he interrupted, tone laced with rigidity—before he suddenly grabbed the collar of your jacket and jerked you close. You sharply gasped, your body unflatteringly meshing against his. Despite the proximity, he wore an unimpressed expression that quite literally spelled he was going to give you a beating at the value of over a hundred million yen. You gulped.

“Okay, wait, wait,” you pleaded. “I know what happened is absolutely wrong and vile and so dangerous, but it wasn’t me! I didn’t do it, okay! I could never— I mean, I can see them, yes, but that? That wasn’t me. You have the wrong girl, and you need to let go!”

He only jerked you closer, one hand still nonchalantly buried in his pocket. This time, the sheer masculine heat of him sank into your very pores. Kami, he was so warm. And that tantalizing scent of his, heavy with the freshness of winter and dark with the musk of rainforest, almost drugged you out of your current predicament.

Focus!

You licked your lips. “It was just— It was just a wro—“

“Wrong place, wrong time kind of thing?” he finished for you, concealed brow cocking. The heat of his breath fanned your naked cheek, and you swallowed, lashes fluttering. “Little mental comforts like that can only keep you happy for so long. But, no. The place and timing couldn’t have been more perfect. Now, hold on tight.”

You blinked. “What? Why?”

“I’m saving you from your execution.”

And with that, your world was turned into a nauseating blur.

next chapter

a/n: that gojo brain rot is gettin' too real 🫠🫠🫠 and yes, i made you twenty-five y/o here, embrace it | 💟 support me on ko-fi 🪴🧋

132 notes · View notes