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prettyboykatsuki · 1 year

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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 x reader #jjk x reader #manipulation cw #writing tag #dark content cw #yandere cw #noncon cw #murder cw #yandere!gojo #stalking cw #i tried to add the most major tags #lmk if you need more #ok. gn #part two will be out whenever ame has read lol

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cinnamonest · 4 months

Text

Genshin x Reader - Silent Treatment

Okay so this was for an anon a while back that requested Childe + silent treatment, so 1) I got carried away and wrote the same prompt for several others, and 2) I lost the original screenshot of the ask I was going to post this with, sorry anon, but I have the content for it at least :’)

(includes: Childe, Xiao, Albedo, Heizou, Cyno, Kaveh, Kazuha, Xingqiu)

//this is mostly very lighthearted but there's still implications of yandere content. Some mild pain, Childe’s contains very mild nsfw, there might be indicators of fem reader somewhere in here, Kazuha’s and Xingqiu's are a little darker so both of those are at the bottom

Childe

“Hey.”

The second time he said it, he waved his arm to catch your attention, as if under the impression you somehow didn't hear him, despite being trapped to the confines of the same small room.

One little bedroom, far too small at that, a temporary lodging whilst on the ship’s return voyage home. Four days, which you were about halfway through at this point.

You were thoroughly convinced it was some sort of trial imposed upon you by a higher power. The sort of grueling test of perseverance so common in tales of legendary heroes, through which they'd become stronger, or reach some well-earned reward for their virtue.

Unfortunately, you had a feeling no such reward awaited you.

“Hey…”

The third time, it was more like a whine, he slouched over in the chair on the other side of the room before, after another moment of pause, setting aside whatever oh-so-important paper he was reading (those identically-masked soldiers were always handing off important things he was supposed to sign, but he never looked over them for more than a few minutes), and walked over to where you sat, needle in hand, mending his clothes after he got them torn for the umpteenth time, no doubt doing something completely unnecessary, after very specifically requesting he be more careful, and— well, it was one of many reasons why you were so very irritated.

He waved his hand directly in front of your face. “You spaced out or something?”

You clenched your jaw, exhaling a huff of frustration through your nostrils before jerking your head away, returning to your work.

He bent his knees slightly, crouching down to get at eye level with you, but you kept your gaze fixed, refusing to make eye contact.

Even though you kept your gaze to the task in your hands, he was still directly in front of you, and thus you could still see his face go through the stages of reaction. First a slack-jawed confusion, then eyes widening with realization, and then — much to your dismay — you saw the corners of his mouth turn upward into a sly, eager grin.

“Are you ignoring me?”

You gritted your teeth, eyebrows furrowed, poking the needle through one side of the cloth before reaching around to pull it through, making sure the action was harshly done and thus conveyed your frustration.

Which was, predictably, taken as a confirmation.

“Awww. That's so mean.”

His tone was obnoxiously gleeful, playful even — you were hoping for a negative response, not whatever this was. You tried to conceal any reaction yourself, knowing he'd only be satisfied if your irritation showed on your face.

“But, you picked a really bad person to try that with, you know. I'm pretty good at being annoying if I want to.”

The immediate retort that came to mind — that he could be very annoying even when he wasn't trying — took all your willpower to refrain from speaking aloud. You grinded your teeth.

“Hmm…”

You didn't like that sound. He was contemplating something, that couldn't be good for you.

His hand latched onto your wrist, forcing your work to a halt — at least he had the decency and forethought to specifically grasp the needle before yanking the whole thing away from you, setting it on the bedside table. Likely messing up your handiwork, you thought with ever increasing frustration.

Before you could move away, the mattress shifted and bounced with the sudden added weight as he moved onto it behind you, grabbing you by your arms, pulling you back against him. His arms wrapped around your body, firmly pinning your own arms to your sides. He then rested his chin on your shoulder — you could feel the smile on his face as the side of his face brushed against your neck.

Ah. So that was the tactic. The message, unspoken as it was, was clear — he had no intention of letting you move until you spoke to him.

You clenched your jaw and closed your eyes, refusing to give in.

A minute or so passed that way, likely testing your reaction, waiting to see if you'd give in so easily. The unfortunate thought occurred to you that he would probably be disappointed if that alone worked, that he probably wanted you to make it more difficult, and was likely enjoying the challenge. Perhaps you should have put a bit more thought into the plan, but it was too late now.

Your body stiffened as his hands met your bare skin — one reaching up your shirt, the other maneuvering underneath the waistband around your hips, groping at the sensitive flesh beneath. Your jaw clenched, and your hands balled into fists, the discomfort no doubt evident on your face, but you maintained your silence.

“Oh, wow. You're pretty dedicated to this, huh.”

You hated the fact that he sounded amused, more or less a confirmation that he was in fact enjoying this. Dammit.

You bit your lip, trying to focus on looking around the room — not that there was anything to really look at — and not the sensation, nor your increasing desire to give it up for the sake of strangling him. He continued the discomforting motions for another few moments, but soon gave up, slouching forward against you and returning to holding you still in his arms.

…And then, nothing. At least, for a moment. Only his arms wrapped around you, and the quiet, only dispelled by the low sounds of the ocean outside.

And then—

You squealed, lurching forward as a sharp pain shot through your shoulder. Your back arched and you jolted as you tried to squirm, only held back from doing so by the iron grip holding you in place.

You tried to turn your torso around, struggling against the grip, sputtering in near disbelief as you attempted to speak, voice quickly going shrill.

“You—you just— did you just bite me?!”

Rather than give any response, he merely pulled you to lean to your other side, bringing his mouth up to your opposite jugular, taking a dramatically deep breath, no doubt just to elicit a reaction.

And admittedly, it worked. “No no no, don’t you dare—eek!”

You squealed again as his teeth sank into your flesh once more, keeping a firm biting grip for just a second before releasing you again.

You began to squirm, trying to pull yourself away. “That— the hell? I was already talking to you, you little…!”

“Mhm. I know.” He pulled you back effortlessly despite your efforts to pull away, resting his head on your shoulder, nuzzling the side of his face to yours. “I just wanted you to make that noise again.”

A low, grumbling noise of irritation came out of your throat. You finally went limp, resigning yourself to your defeat.

“Fine!” You sighed. “What is it?”

He paused.

“…Eh?”

You could hear the confusion in his voice. You sighed.

“You were trying to get my attention, remember? What were you going to tell me?”

“Oh. Uh…”

There was another pause. A few seconds of quiet passed before he finished—

“I actually don’t remember now.”

You closed your eyes and let your head fall forward, saying a small prayer to the gods that this ship sank and took you with it.

Xiao

“I'm going to get food for you. Do you have anything particular you want?”

With those words breaking the silence, you now had your chance to carry out the intended act of spite you’d spent the last hour planning in your head. It had been quiet for some time, making it a bit difficult to exercise said plan. Your captor was perfectly content with silence itself, which meant that this was, perhaps, not the best tactical approach, but you didn’t exactly have many tools of conflict at your disposal, so this expression of resentment would have to do.

Clenching your jaw, you exhaled in a frustrated huff, turning onto your side to face away from him. After a few moments of pause, he spoke again, seeming to not understand your lack of response.

“…I was asking you a question. I need to know what to bring back.”

Still, you didn’t reply.

You heard him shuffle over to you, feet brushing against the cold stone floor, before you felt his hand grasp your shoulder through the blanket, giving you a light shake.

“What do you want? You need to tell me.”

“…”

A few more seconds of silence passed. You couldn’t see his face, but you could feel the staring on your back as he seemed to slowly piece together the significance of your current behavior.

“…You are doing this on purpose.”

He gave his conclusion as if it needed to be said aloud, apparently less immediately obvious to him than it was to you. After a few more seconds, in a similar tone, he drew another conclusion.

“You’re upset.”

If not for your current effort of silence, you would have made some snarky comment about his brilliant deduction skills.

But you said nothing. Your eyebrows furrowed. Part of you did want to lash out, to express your irritation verbally, but you forced yourself to stay silent. More seconds of silence passed by.

Taking your lack of reply itself as confirmation, his next words took on a tone of increasing frustration.

“This is pointless. What do you accomplish by ignoring me?”

“…”

“You will die without food.”

“…”

“…Stop that.”

“…”

A minute of silence passed. The adeptus was seemingly uncertain of how to proceed, perhaps confused to your whole purpose with the effort of silence.

And then, you jolted at a sudden sharp pain as the cartilage of your ear was grasped and subsequently twisted.

“Ow ow ow!!” You bolted upright, jerking your head out of his grasp, clasping a hand over the now-sore ear as the momentary pain began to ebb away.

You glared, narrowing your eyes. “Was that necessary?”

He folded his arms, an equal look of displeasure on his features, and with a deadpan voice, replied—

“Yes.”

You waited for anything further he had to say, but it seemed that was all he had to say. You sighed, slouching over.

“…I dunno. Just get me whatever’s easiest for them to make.”

He folded his arms.

“Why didn't you just say that then?”

You merely shrugged, not having the energy nor the desire to explain any concepts of human social phenomena — a process that was always frustrating and time-consuming — on this day in particular.

After a few moments of pause as he looked to the ground, he looked up at you again, eyebrows furrowing.

“…Don't do that again.”

You nodded, exasperated, and closed your eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I won't.”

You opened your eyes, turning your head to look at him, only to be met with an empty room, only the faintest trace of color, like a flickering light before it faded.

And thus, you sighed, laying back down in bed, resolving to try and conjure up a new tactic.

Albedo

“Hey, do you mind turning that light off?”

It was the first time he had spoken to you since your earlier fight. Well, perhaps ‘fight’ was not the best descriptor — it was more like you getting upset over something trivial and whining, only to get increasingly upset when he gave only his typical dry, snarky replies, ultimately ending with you turning your back to him — but nonetheless. It seemed he thought that enough time had passed that you would be over your petty anger.

He would find that assumption to be incorrect, and as childish as it was, you felt some satisfaction by remaining silent from where you sat upright in bed. You rested your head against your hand, turning your gaze out the window.

“Hey, ___,” he said your name again, trying to gain your attention. “The light, next to you.”

Still, you didn’t reply, this time closing your eyes as if to block him out, this time turning your body away from him and towards the window instead.

“…Ah. I see.”

You waited for him to continue, to press you about why you were upset so you could resume your earlier ranting.

But then, there was only silence.

You waited another moment. And another. And another.

But he didn't say anything further.

After a minute or so had passed, you slowly turned your head, confused by the lack of the reaction you had desired.

Seeing you turn in his peripheral vision, his motions of whatever he was working with paused as he turned his gaze towards you, tilting his head. “Mm?”

The bastard had the audacity to smirk at you. You glared, jerking back to turn away from him again.

…And more time passed. You waited. Minutes turned into an hour. And then another. You picked up a provided book to read after the boredom became unbearable, deciding that as long as you still gave him a cold shoulder, he'd still get the message.

…And even more time passed. A third hour. The sun fell and set and it grew dark, moonlight — and the light you'd still neglected to turn off — illuminating the room.

And then, finally, around three and a half hours after your initial interaction, after you were already lying down for the night, you heard the distinct sound you'd come to recognize as him putting the various tools away into a drawer. Then footsteps that pattered around the room, putting a few other things back into their proper places, the rustling of clothes being removed, and finally, the footsteps came close.

The mattress shifted and creaked as he climbed into bed next to you — finally turning off the lamp as he'd requested. He leaned over you, turning the blinds shut, and then, laid down in bed.

…And then there was only quiet.

The irritation swelling in your chest finally boiled over. You bolted upright.

“…Ugh! You— you…!”

“Oh, and here I was worried you were developing a throat cold.”

The dry-humored reply only served to infuriate you further.

“Why didn't you say anything?”

He didn't bother sitting upright himself. You could make out his form, but perhaps it was a good thing you couldn't see his face, as it was certain either a smug or unbothered expression that would only anger you further.

“My patience exceeds yours. It was just a matter of waiting.”

Your fists clenched so hard your hands trembled. You opened your mouth, but before you could give a spiteful reply, the sheets shifted as he sat up alongside you. His arm reached out, wrapping around your waist, and firmly pulled you back down to lie side-by-side.

He took a deep breath in, a heavy sigh out. “I'm pretty tired now, though. I understand you have some complaint to make, but I’d prefer you save it until tomorrow. Is that alright?”

Your eye twitched. You crossed your arms, turning your back to him.

“Jerk.”

“Mhm.” His arm reached over and pulled you close, your back pressed to his chest. “Goodnight.”

You huffed, pouting, but nonetheless—

“…Goodnight.”

Heizou

“Hey, so, I noticed there’s no food made or anything… it’s fine if you’re tired,” he raised his voice just enough as was appropriate for speaking to someone from the next room over. “I can go pick something up.”

The ever-upbeat tone to his voice only irked you further. Normally, you would have had food made yourself by the time he’d been home — now he’d been back for half an hour, and had finally walked into the kitchen to grab something, seeming to notice your act of protest. You’d been hoping he would immediately suspect something was wrong, but of course, he was too optimistic for that.

“But, if I’m going to do that, I need to go now,” he continued, as he made his way back into the living room, “before all the stalls close for the day.” He came to stand directly in front of where you sat on the couch, huddled with your blankets.

You said nothing, keeping your gaze turned to the floor. He tilted his head at your silence.

“…That good with you, or…?”

Several more seconds passed. You huffed, turning to the side.

Thus, it finally seemed to click with him.

“Oh dear. Cold shoulder.” Much to your irritation, though, he only sounded amused, not genuinely upset. “What might that be for?”

You gritted your teeth, pulling the blanket over your head, just leaving enough space for you to see. You could still see him from your side as he sauntered over a few steps, leaning over against the wall as he continued.

“I’m being serious, you know. I don’t know why you’re upset… although I suppose forcing me to figure it out is the intent, of course.”

Every word that came out of his mouth only made you angrier. The audacity to sound so smug, a playful sort of dramatism he always seemed to carry in his voice. It irritated you to no end, especially in moments like these.

And to make matters worse, you could see him smile in your peripheral vision.

“I know you probably intended this to make me upset or something, buuuut, you’re really just giving me a challenge to figure out.” You didn’t miss the cocky expression on his face. “And that’s kind of my thing, you know?”

…You supposed he was right about that. Dammit. You probably should have thought about that before deciding to go through with this… but it was too late now. You merely shifted around, pulling your knees up to your chest, hoping your frustration showed on your face.

“Will you talk to me if I get it right?” He only waited for a single second before seeming to realize the futility of the question. “Ah, well, I guess asking that is pointless. Hmm…” He put his hand up to his chin in a pensive pose, speaking aloud as much to himself as to you. “If you just wanted me to get you something, simply telling me would be the more logical course of action.”

Your mouth pulled into a taut line with your irritation. You waited, listening as he continued his deductions.

“You don’t have any complaints that have gone ignored or anything… and even then, you’d probably just remind me if there was something I’d forgotten to fix.” He stood back upright, beginning to pace around on the floor. “Besides, this sort of behavior generally indicates that the other party has committed a specific transgression. If you just wanted something, this would be an impractical way of going about your goal.” He nodded, as if confirming the thought to himself. “The whole silent treatment thing is generally just a means of communicating displeasure, so that the offending party is forced to acknowledge their transgression.”

You pulled the blanket fully over your head, flopping down onto your side in exasperation and frustration, listening to him go on. At this point, his analysis was starting to feel humiliating, the description of it more or less a reminder of just how petty and childish it was. You felt a burning sense of embarrassment in your chest as you curled up into a ball, hugging your knees.

“There are two major factors to narrow it down — an active or passive transgression,” he continued, “and if the former, was it something I said, or something I did? Hm…”

You heard his footsteps make their way around the room as he spoke.

“You were talking with me normally this morning, and I didn’t notice any hostility then, so it would have to be something occurring just within the half hour or so since I came home, or—”

And then, he stopped mid-sentence.

“Ah.”

The tone of voice of that single syllable was immediately recognizable as realization. You felt a surge of bitterness come up in your chest again, and although it was embarrassing, you were still determined to get your point across.

“You forgot,” you finally muttered. Your voice came out incredibly whiny and petulant, but at this point, you just dealt with the nagging sense of shame.

“I know, I know. I said we’d go take a walk and get some food when I got back, right?” You heard his footsteps draw closer, coming over to you, and the couch cushions shifted with his weight as he sat down. “Hey, I’m sorry, okay? It was just a busy day, is all.” He reached over and rested his hand on your head through the layer of blanket. “I’m not going back on what I said, I just forgot. We can still go, we have time.”

You slowly sat up, pulling the blanket back down and uncovering your face. Your face felt hot, you looked down to the ground, unable to bring yourself to look him in the eye.

“…Sorry,” you murmured. Now that it was over, you felt horribly embarrassed by the whole stunt you’d pulled. You buried your face in your hands.

“Aw, don’t be upset. It’s fine.” He stood up, smiling, extending his hand out for you to take. “Come on, the lines will get long in just a few minutes.”

Now, you were actually quite grateful for his cheeriness. Still flustered, but humbled, you grasped his hand, letting him help pull you up. “Okay.”

“Mm.” He took a few steps over to the door, turning the knob, before coming to a halt. You saw the expression on his face waver, the smile twitch. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but stopped short, closing his mouth again and taking a deep breath—

“I won’t talk to anyone.”

You gave him the assurance before he could ask, your voice quiet, as if by speaking softly, the matter itself could be more easily swept away once you were done addressing it.

He let go of the breath he’d taken, exhaling as his shoulders relaxed. For just a second, there was some discomfort in his expression, but it was gone within a moment, replaced with another playful smile.

“Ah, thanks.”

And thus, he turned the handle, pulling you out into the fresh air, and the many faces of strangers you’d learned to pretend didn’t exist.

Cyno

“I'm going to head out in just a minute. You can come with me, if you promise to behave well.”

You grinded your teeth. The choice of words was irritating enough, but you were primarily angered by the mere notion that being able to go outside — such a simple, basic right — was somehow an earned privilege.

No matter. You were already determined to ignore him anyway. You chose not to respond, returning to the book in your lap as you sat on the bed, refusing to turn to face him where he stood a short length away.

Sure enough, after a moment, you heard his footsteps on the stone floor, gradually coming around to your side, leaning over to try and look at your face.

“…Did you hear me? I was saying—”

You huffed, turning yourself away from him.

There was a pause.

“Oh.”

It didn't sound particularly bothered, only mildly surprised — perhaps that itself irritated you even more.

You saw him tilt his head out of the corner of you eye, white strands of hair brushing against his shoulder. “Isn’t this rather pointless? Communicating your emotions would be faster and easier if you just verbalize it.” After a pause, he added, “You can't keep this up forever.”

He crossed his arms, waiting for a response, but after several moments, received none.

He sighed. “Well, suit yourself, I suppose.”

You were not expecting, however, what came next — the book you were focused on was suddenly torn from your hands. You almost verbalized the ‘hey!’ that ran through your mind, only catching yourself just in time to stifle any noise, but the irritation and surprise surely still showed on your face as you looked up at him in bewilderment.

“What?” He tilted his head. “The obvious course of action here is to do things to upset you into speaking. You have to give it up at some point.” He shrugged. “I might as well expedite that process.”

You inhaled, automatically preparing to retort, but snapped your jaw shut as you caught yourself before you spoke once again. Your hands curled into fists.

He held the book under one arm, quickly reaching over and grabbing the two others sitting on the table beside the bed. “Alright… hm.” He turned his head, scanning the room. “I'll take all your reading material, and leave you alone with nothing to do while I'm gone. That's… maybe eight hours. You’ll have a good deal of time to reflect on your choice, at least.”

Your mouth pulled taut in an expression of displeasure. You didn't like the thought of such boredom.

He made his way over to the nearby desk, scooping up the remaining books into his arms before turning towards the hallway door. He turned his head back towards you.

“Unless you change your mind.”

He then began taking steps towards the door — slowly, deliberately so. It was infuriating that he responded with such calmness, and far more so that he was so easily able to completely overturn your attempt with barely any effort, without even being affected by it at all, and above all, most infuriating that he knew you'd give the exact response he anticipated.

And you did.

“Wait, wait—”

He came to a halt, but didn’t bother turning his head back to look at you. “Yes?”

Your hands balled up into fists, you were so irked by his words and demeanor, but nonetheless, you told yourself, you had no choice. You weren’t about to endure the alternative.

“…Fine…” You stood up, looking to the ground in embarrassment and frustration as you stomped over to where he stood. “I’ll go.”

He gave you a nod. “There, see, that was a much easier way of going about this.” He then took a few steps back towards the desk, depositing the books that had been used as leverage in your bartering as he added, “don’t you think?”

You rolled your eyes, displeasure scrawled on your face. “…I guess.”

You stepped out of the room before he did, waiting for him to exit before following behind him, since you didn’t know exactly where you were going. For a few moments, you merely walked in silence. You didn’t know if he intended to address the matter again — hell, you never knew what he was thinking — but after a minute or so of silence, you got your answer.

“You know, if I were as spiteful as you were being, I might have rescinded the offer entirely,” he said, voice ever so blunt and monotonous. “And forced you to stay in there with nothing to do.”

You grinded your teeth, narrowing your eyes as you looked over at him.

“…Are you trying to get me to thank you?”

He didn’t miss a beat in his reply.

“It would be appreciated.”

You crossed your arms, puffing your cheeks out in a petulant pout, which seemed to get your refusal across well enough. He shrugged.

“Well, it was worth a try.”

Another minute passed. You took a turn down a dark hall, which seemed to prompt another thought to his mind.

“And in the future, you should probably be aware that such a strategy is rather weak. It’s very easy to turn around on the one using it, as you just observed.”

You huffed in irritation. “Yeah, yeah.”

“It’s actually very similar to a common flawed strategy used by beginner card players. You see…”

You sighed in exasperation, pressing your palm to your face as you prepared to tune out the following hour.

Kaveh

After the second time calling your name with no response, you finally heard him get up, walking over to where you lay in bed. You clenched your teeth, irritation exuding off your form in waves, so you hoped, at least.

As soon as he got closer, you huffed, closing your eyes, waiting for him to speak, and he did.

“Hey…”

Which you used as your cue to turn over, rolling onto your other side so that your back faced him.

There was a few seconds of pause before he pieced your actions together.

“…Are you mad at me?”

His voice was soft and pitiful-sounding, so much so you couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt.

That momentary guilt was, however, almost immediately replaced with another surge of irritation. No. You knew exactly was he was doing, it was intentional, and you weren't going to fall for it.

He walked around to the foot of the bed, leaning over to look you in the eye.

“Hey—”

But you averted your gaze, pulling the blankets up over your face, turning over onto your stomach.

There was a moment of pause. His tone shifted.

“…Hmph. Fine.”

With that, he turned on his heel, stomping back to the desk at the other side of the room, and sat down, huffing as he resumed his work. You could hear the bitter irritation in his pencil scribbling, much heavier-handed and harsher than moments prior.

You waited for him to say something more, thinking his resolve to walk away from being ignored wouldn’t last long, but to your surprise, after some time passed, he still managed to stay quiet.

And more time passed, and then some more. You’d initially begun ignoring him around ten-thirty or so, and now, you confirmed as you peeked out from under the blankets — having almost fallen asleep — it was well past midnight.

Finally, your attention turned back to him as you heard him put the pencil down. He stood up (you did not miss the harshness with which the chair was pushed back), walked (with heavy footsteps) over to the floor lamp at the side of the room, and turned it off, leaving only the moonlight to cast light through the room.

But rather than coming over to bed, he only made his way back to the desk, dramatically slumping back down into the chair, putting his forearms on the desk before slouching forward and burying his face against them.

And then, there was only silence. You waited, but nothing happened.

It wasn't exactly difficult to figure out the intention. On one hand, your immediate thought was that it was petulant, but then again, you felt a twinge of guilt realizing you were more or less the instigator here (even if it was only in reaction to him annoying you earlier), and that your course of action wasn't exactly mature either.

Well, you supposed the right thing to do now would be to at least try and reconcile. You sighed.

“Kaveh.”

That time, you were the one who only got silence as a response. Turning your own act against you, you guessed.

You closed your eyes, took a deep breath, and, having been a bit hesitant the first time, fully committed to resolving the situation. You tried again.

“…Kaveh.”

….

After a few more moments, your voice took on a tone of frustration, which you tried to suppress for the sake of your goal of conflict resolution.

“Kaveh. I know you can hear me. Come on.”

He didn't lift his head, so his response — thankfully giving one, at least — was not only in a bitter, pitiful-sounding voice, but also muffled by fabric.

“What.”

You sighed. “Look, I… I'm sorry, just… come to bed, okay? Let's just forget this.”

Ugh. Although you still figured it was the right thing to do, you realized with disappointment that you were giving in yet again, as you tended to be the one to do. You resolved to be a little stronger-willed next time… then again, you always did that too.

“…No.” Even in the dark, you could see him — albeit only in the form of a vaguely red-white-blonde lump — shift around as he spoke, bitterness in his voice. “You obviously don't want me over there. I'll sleep here.”

You reached up to pinch the bridge of your nose in exasperation as the defeat settled in. “No, I… I do. Please?”

Once more, you only got silence, even after waiting for half a minute or so. Finally, you took a deep breath, in and out, and — after a moment of hesitation to ask yourself if you were really going to do this, to which you determined it was for the best, regardless of what it did to your pride — swung your legs over the side of the bed, feet brushing against the cold floor.

Your footsteps shuffled against the hardwood with each of the very few steps it took to get from the bed to the desk. You could see him fidget as you approached.

In what you hoped would be perceived as affectionate, you bent your knees just enough to be at the same level as where he sat, an awkward positioning, but just enough to reach out and wrap your arms around him in an embrace.

“Come on. I’m sorry, okay?”

There was a few moments of quiet, and for a second, you thought maybe you would have no success, maybe he really was that upset. But then, he lifted his head, still speaking in a blatantly upset tone of voice.

“…Only if you tell me why you were doing that in the first place,” he muttered.

You sighed. “I dunno… I was just upset about everything from yesterday, and… look, it doesn’t matter.” You smiled, although you weren’t sure if he could see it. “Let’s just go to sleep… come on, please?”

There was a moment of pause, but finally, he stood up, huffing in residual stubbornness as he walked over to bed, falling flat on his back. “…Fine.”

You were too tired to be annoyed at that point, instead walking over, taking your place next to him. You decided to try and take the high road, so to speak. “…Sorry for ignoring you.”

You reached out and put your hand on his head. He turned, pulling you close, burying his face against your chest.

“…No, I’m sorry,” he mumbled, muffled by your clothing and flesh. “You’re right… let’s just forget it.”

You hummed in agreement. You were going to leave it at that, but after a moment, you felt him shift. He propped himself up on his elbow to speak.

“Hey, wait, what time is it? I was gonna show you the thing I was working on when you wouldn’t talk to me… I can still—”

“It’s one in the morning. PLEASE go to sleep.”

You both stiffened as the muffled voice came through the wall. Several awkward seconds passed.

Ah… you forgot how little privacy this place gave you. You raised your voice just enough to ensure you were heard.

“Sorry, Alhaitham…”

You heard him sigh and turn over on his side of the wall.

“Yeah, yeah.”

More silence as the seconds ticked by.

“I’ll, uh, show you tomorrow.”

“…Yeah.”

And with that, he finally laid back down to sleep.

Kazuha

“Ah, look at how bright it is. I didn't realize it would be a full moon tonight.”

He had a soft, blissful expression. He was one of those people that always seemed to find a great deal of joy in simple pleasures of life… depending on the circumstances, it could be either endearing or annoying.

At the moment, it was very much the latter. If you weren't so mad, you'd feel bad about what you were about to do.

It would certainly work, seeing as he was talkative by nature, always making little comments as you went about your day. You'd already tried to make your displeasure very clear — ever since you'd begun setting up camp for the night (in the middle of nowhere, where you now spent the majority of your time), you'd given him curt, cold, one-word replies, and the irritation was certainly audible in your voice.

He turned his head towards where you sat cross-legged on the ground, a wide smile on his face. “We should go for a walk, since it's so bright.”

The very last thing you wanted to do was more walking after having spent the entire day doing just that. You clenched your jaw, slouching over and resting your head against your hand.

A few seconds of quiet passed. After realizing you weren't responding, he leaned over to better look at your face, eyebrows raised.

“Hey, is something wrong?”

You huffed a heavy breath, jerking your head away from him.

“…Oh.” You could see him smile in your peripheral vision, albeit now an awkward, uncomfortable sort of smile. “You’re, ah, still upset about earlier, I take it?”

You didn't respond, maintaining your silence.

“…I'll take that as a yes… haha…”

The laugh was as forced and awkward as his expression. He stood silently for a moment, as if hoping it would be a very short effort and that you'd break your silence, but you did not.

“...It seems you really know how to find my weaknesses.” He gave you an awkward, sheepish smile, rubbing the back of his head. “This is bothering me more than I would have thought it would… but that's your intention, I imagine.”

You didn't really have any particular direction to take this effort — you didn't have anything you wanted to accomplish with it or anything, it just seemed the only way you could think of to express your frustration. Now, you weren't certain what to do — your only real course of action, you supposed, was to keep it up. You kept your silence. He moved to sit beside you, just a short distance away.

Silence followed, only disrupted by the crackling of the small fire beside you and the wind weaving between the tall grass. He kept up the same cheerful-but-mellow voice as always, the one that so very much got on your nerves whenever you tried your best to exude negativity, which he always seemed to shrug off effortlessly, perpetually unbothered.

Yes, your snide, sometimes even mean comments, your cold tone, your disgusted expressions, those never seemed to bother him at all. He just laughed and smiled and carried on as he always did.

With this, on the other hand, it seemed you’d finally found a weak point. You resisted the urge to grin, quite pleased with having found a greater success than you’d even expected.

Meanwhile, his own smile continued to falter, twitching right alongside his arms.

“If there's anything I can do that will make you… not do this, I'll gladly do it. You just… you know, have to tell me.”

You saw his fingers curl, straining the fabric as they dug into his thighs with such force and strain that they began to tremble.

But for a few minutes, he did nothing. Perhaps he was just waiting, giving you time to see if you'd change you mind, or maybe he just couldn't decide how to proceed. You kept your gaze focused on the scenery, the blades of grass as they waved back and forth in the breeze, the reflection of the moon wavering in the pond off in the distance. As irritated as you were, the landscape was admittedly quite serene.

You were brought out of your focus by the rustling sound as he stood. You remained still, but your heart began to accelerate as he took a few steps towards you, his ever light-footed way of walking barely making a sound, maneuvering behind you before slowly sitting down.

He shuffled forward, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you back. Once your shoulder blades touched his chest, he tilted his head forward, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck.

You fought the urge to squirm. You didn't like the quiet. Something about it, in that moment, was ominous, suffocating, as if some innate instinct was telling you something was wrong.

When he finally lifted his head, he spoke directly into your ear, breath warm against the flesh.

“I don't want to hurt you.”

The sudden quiet, low voice sent a chill down your spine. You found yourself going stiff, eyes widening.

His grip tightened, squeezing your waist firmly enough that it began to hurt.

“…I don't like doing that… it makes me feel really weird, you know…?”

It grew tighter. His fingers began to dig into your sides, ten small points pressing with painful force. You stiffened, body reflexively arching forward to get away from the pain, but they only dug in harder, pulling you back.

“But,” he continued, voice low and quiet, so soft yet somehow so chilling, “I really don't like you doing this.”

Your heart felt as if it were pounding out of your chest. Your breathing grew quicker.

He tilted his head downward, resting his forehead against the back of your neck. The final words came out wavering, almost a whisper.

“So… you’ll stop this, won’t you?”

You swallowed. Your response came out instinctively, the dread you felt having easily defeated your stubbornness.

“O-okay,” you stuttered as you spoke, “I'm sorry, I didn't… I didn't mean to make you…”

The pain came to an abrupt stop, his entire body relaxed with a heavy sigh of relief.

“Ah, haha,” this time, he squeezed you in his arms only enough to convey affection. “I was worried for a moment there.” His voice immediately shifted back to its usual timbre, soft and soothing. “I’m glad you weren’t too upset.”

You shook your head, eyes still wide with fear, needless to say struggling with the psychological whiplash of the rapid shift in the atmosphere.

If he noticed your stiffness, he didn’t say anything, instead opting to affectionately rest his head on your shoulder, leaning his face against yours. “Well, it’s probably too late to walk anyway… and you’re probably tired, too. Hm…” he paused for a moment, then lifted his head, tilting it up to the sky. “We can appreciate the beauty of the night while being sedentary, though. Say, are you familiar with the constellations?”

You struggled to give a verbal answer. “A-ah, well, I…” You swallowed.

“Ah, that’s alright. I know them very well. Right now, hmm… see that one directly above us?”

He started to point up, you let your gaze follow his direction as he began to ramble on about this and that star. Most of the time, you found that soft-spoken but avid enthusiasm rather endearing — although in that moment, you found it a bit difficult to appreciate.

“And a little to the right, those four that form a bit of a square shape, that’s—hey, are you cold?”

“Mm?” You gave your best attempt to smile, knowing he could at least see the side of your face. “I, uh, I guess… why…?”

“You’re just shivering pretty badly,” he replied. “You should have said something. Here…”

He leaned backwards, grabbing the blanket atop your shared makeshift sleeping bag, pulling it over and wrapping it around the both of you, covering you from the night wind that, in reality, barely even did anything to alleviate the sweltering summer heat.

“That better?”

You nodded. “…Yeah.”

“Mm, good. Let me know if you need anything else, okay?”

Once you nodded, he wrapped his arms around you again, pointing back up at the sky and resuming his lesson.

Xingqiu

“There’s a yearly festival going on tonight.”

You were already irritated, but the cheerfulness in Xingqiu’s voice when he came bounding into the room certainly did not help.

He quickly made his way over to where you sat, leaning over to the side to better look at your face.

“It’s one of the most exciting ones the harbor holds, in my opinion. We should go!”

Silence. You said nothing in reply, only curling your fingers into fists, clenching your jaw and looking down at the floor.

A few seconds passed as he processed your response, or rather, lack thereof. Given the dispute that had taken place a few hours ago, you were certain it wasn’t difficult for him to figure out.

“Ah… aha… surely you’re not still upset about earlier, are you?” He tilted his head, the smile on his face unwavering. “Come on, this will be fun. It’s only for a few days, so we should really make the most of it.”

More silence. Even though you didn’t speak, you didn’t try to hide the spite and irritation on your face.

He then crouched down to get face-to-face with you. His smile was still there, but his eyebrows shifted to an expression of displeasure, the top and bottom halves of his face seemingly misaligned.

“You’re not going to let some silly little disagreement ruin your whole day, are you?” He reached out, patting the top of your head. “Come on, now, you’re more mature than that.”

You almost snapped at him, but you held your tongue. You had become increasingly aware of the subtle ways he seemed to manipulate your thoughts and feelings, slipping in little choices of words to have very specific effects, like with the last thing he’d just said. It irritated you to no end — much more so how often it worked, only for you to realize it later on.

But not today. You were going to be firm, resolute, not let him influence you, so you told yourself. You huffed a heavy breath, crossing your arms and jerking your head out from under his hand.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw his expression shift — his eyes narrowed, his smile fell, and you heard the soft -tch of disapproval as he stood upright — only for his face to shift back to a pleasant expression as quickly as it had fallen to an unpleasant one, a degree of composure worthy of being called a honed and trained skill.

He sighed, overdramatically so, holding his hands out palm-up at each side and shaking his head. “And here I was trying to do something to make you happy. Oh well.”

He turned on his heel away from you, facing the door.

“How unfortunate. I suppose I'll just have to go by myself.”

He began to walk towards the exit, each step deliberately slow, an unmistakable smugness to his eloquent, dramatic way of speech.

“Of course, I'm sure my father will ask where you are...” he sighed again, shrugging his shoulders. “I'll just have to tell him that the spouse he found for me is so very disagreeable.”

You clenched your teeth. You could feel it coming, knew exactly what the next words out of his mouth would be. You nearly trembled with how hard your muscles tensed.

He paused his steps right at the edge of the door, and without bothering to look over at you, in a voice just so perfectly quiet, he added—

“I'm sure that will have a positive effect on your family’s standing with mine.”

You clenched your jaw. There it was. The one card he always held, an instant defeat.

“Wait…”

The word came out of your mouth on impulse. You winced at your own failure, but it wasn’t as if you had much of a choice.

Then he decided to turn around.

“Oh?” He tilted his head, cheerfulness returned to his voice and expression. “You’ve changed your mind?”

You shuffled over to where he stood, keeping your gaze to the ground. “…Yes. I’ll go.”

“…”

There was a pause. His eyes were half-lidded, the look on his face and the heavy tension in the air making it obvious what was expected of you.

But again, choice was not a luxury you had. You swallowed your pride.

“…Sorry for… being like that.”

He waved his hand dismissively. “Oh, that? It’s no big deal, really. I’m not upset at all.” Then, he extended the same hand out to you. “You’re ready, then?” He smiled, this time seemingly back to a genuine cheer. “I already have a route planned out to get us to all the best spots in one night.”

You nodded, taking his hand in yours.

“Sounds great.”

#kaveh w the uno reverse card #genshin impact x reader #these were really fun to write #id like to eventually go back and do other chrs as well #also I need to make more xq content...#i feel like ive said that before but i need go actually do it aaaaaaaaaa #hes my baby boy

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