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glossdebut · 2 months ago

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PRICE OF FAME | MYG ★ 02

✧ PAIRING: yoongi x fem!reader

✧ SERIES SUMMARY: You were about ready to give up, your career nowhere near what you dreamed it’d be when you started at eighteen, bright-eyed and naive. Reality for you these past few years has consisted of pouting at a camera, ignoring whispers of your name at company events, and ensuring that the stupid, tiny designer purses they keep forcing on you can at least carry a flask. But now, you’re helping a friend in need. For the first time in a long time, it feels like you’re doing something worthwhile with your life. Too bad Min Yoongi, the newest thorn in your side, seems insistent on stopping you.

✧ SERIES TAGS: enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst, smut, fake/pretend relationship (not main couple), rockstar!yoongi, model!reader, guitarist yoongi, singer jungkook, bassist taehyung, drummer jimin, manager namjoon, yoongi & maknae line are in a rock band, reader & seokjin are best friends, yoongi & hoseok are best friends (sope duo ftw), yoongi has a tongue piercing, reader is a brat

✧ CHAPTER WARNINGS: aqua uses her journalism degree to write a fake article, lots of yoongi pov, MC lore drop, extremely brief descriptions of sexual acts, some questions are answered but not many, sope cameo! also seokjin cameo! do you detect a hint of hyyh yoonkook-ism? because you should! EVENTS TRANSPIRE! (see series masterlist for series warnings)

✧ CHAPTER WORDCOUNT: 5.2k words

✧ AUTHOR’S NOTE: damn i always drop early don't i? here's a pre-holiday gift for those of you who celebrate thanksgiving. thank you to tanni @yooniivrse for beta reading SO FUCKING FAST LOL <3

p.s. from here on out updates are going to be much slower. we’re getting to the Real Plot now and i have to use my brain a little bit more. plus i want to make time to write other, shorter things! so be sure to check out my other fics if waiting for this becomes unbearable lol

CH. 02: A HIT IS HARD TO RESIST

Love in the Spotlight: Is "Burn The Stage" Singer Falling for a Scandal Magnet?

It’s the love story that’s rocking Seoul—and leaving fans divided. Jeon Jeongguk, the smooth-talking, chart-topping frontman of “Burn The Stage,” has been the subject of intense speculation after rumors surfaced that he’s been secretly seeing one of South Korea’s most talked about models, YLN YN. And while Jeongguk’s millions of fans would do anything to claim him as their own, it’s YN’s wild reputation that’s making this relationship one to watch.

The dating rumors of the two surfaced online when YN was seen on the balcony at Wasteland during the final show of the Burn The Stage’s world tour. Eyewitnesses claim that after the show, the two were spotted backstage together, sharing a private moment.

While Jeongguk’s image has been polished and pristine despite his rock star persona, YN’s name is frequently linked with controversy. From a string of public feuds with fellow influencers to rumors of reckless behavior, she has garnered a reputation for attracting scandal wherever she goes—a trait at odds with what fans have seen from Jeongguk. So what could possibly draw the two together?

Some fans are already sounding the alarm, warning Jeongguk that dating someone like YN could tarnish his squeaky-clean image.

“I don’t know why Jeongguk would choose her,” one concerned fan commented on Instagram. “She’s trouble, and he’s too good for her. His image will be ruined if this is true.”

Despite the criticism, others are rallying behind the couple, suggesting that Jeongguk may be the one to help YN change her ways. “Everyone has a past,” one fan posted on X (formerly known as Twitter). “Maybe Jeongguk sees something in her that no one else does. People can grow and evolve.”

While neither Jeongguk or YN’s companies have released an official statement on the matter, YN hasn’t been shy about fueling the rumors. In a recent post on her Instagram, she shared a photo of herself wearing a Burn The Stage hoodie, captioning it, “i guess i’ve got good taste 👀” which has sent fans into overdrive speculating that she’s sending a not-so-subtle message about her relationship with Jeongguk.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” Yoongi groans to himself. He can’t read any more of this drivel. The wooden table in front of him suddenly looks all too inviting, perfect for him to bash his skull into.

You’re everywhere, completely inescapable for the past week. Apparently, Yoongi’s bi-weekly breakfast with Hoseok is no exception. The first one they’ve been able to have since the tour, too. God forbid he wants to mindlessly scroll on his phone for a second while he waits for his friend to return, because there you are, taunting him.

After the concert, Yoongi had been so annoyed by seeing you again. Pissed off at the circumstances. Ready to do anything in his power to extricate you from Jeongguk as fast as possible.

The past week has dulled his rage considerably. The endorphins of playing live have died, as have the potent emotions that come with them. Yoongi’s logical adult brain has set in, leaving him with only a headache.

“Woah,” Hoseok says, snorting as he slides a coffee into Yoongi’s field of vision. He slips into the booth across from him, taking a sip from his own cup with an amused look on his face. “You look much more homicidal than I left you. What could’ve possibly pissed you off in the last five minutes?”

Wordlessly, Yoongi hands Hoseok his phone, the article still displayed on the screen. Hoseok silently reads the first few paragraphs, and when he scrolls back up to look at the photo attached, his eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

“Oh?” he says, zooming in on your face. On Yoongi’s phone. The audacity. “This is the Innisfree girl, right? She’s dating Jeongguk?”

“Allegedly.”

“Is her skin really that nice in person?”

“Not the point,” Yoongi hisses, snatching his phone back from Hoseok’s grip and hastily closing the article to get your dumb face off of his phone. Dumb, poreless face.

“Okay, touchy,” Hoseok says, raising his hands in surrender. “Please explain the point.”

“I don’t trust her,” Yoongi says, tapping his foot under the table. “The relationship is bogus. She’s after something, I just can’t figure out what it is.”

“And you’re basing this on…?”

“Intuition,” Yoongi says flatly.

“Right. Because your intuition is never wrong,” Hoseok says, tone laden with sarcasm. “Need I remind you that you weren’t the biggest fan of me when we met?”

“I thought you were annoying,” Yoongi agrees. He takes a sip of his coffee to mask a smirk. “Who says I was wrong about that?”

“I’d probably be hurt if you hadn’t essentially bought us couple rings last year,” Hoseok says, waggling his eyebrows. “You want to fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid.”

“Aish, they weren’t couple rings,” Yoongi complains. “Stop saying that. The wrong person is going to hear you and think it’s true.”

“Your ears are pink!” Hoseok exclaims triumphantly, pointing at the evidence. “Your mouth says one thing, but your ears always give you away.”

“I’m going to kill you,” Yoongi grumbles, pulling his beanie down. “Stop changing the subject.”

“Right, right. Sorry, hyung, you’re just so easy to tease,” Hoseok says, not even bothering to stifle his snickering. The bastard. “Jeonggukie’s new lady love. Go. Wait, do you want to fuck her?”

“What?” Yoongi sputters, eyes widening because what the fuck? “No—what? Look, it’s not just intuition, okay? I’m right about her. And you saw what the article said—drama follows her wherever she goes. Maybe she thinks dating Jeongguk will rehabilitate her image, or something like that.”

Yoongi had been so confident that wasn’t the case, since you’ve maintained all of your brand deals even in the midst of your many scandals, but maybe he was wrong. He still doesn’t know why you’re doing this, and it’s like the closer he gets, the less he can see.

“I don’t know,” Yoongi groans, rubbing his hands over his face. “She’s also just a bitch.”

“Okay,” Hoseok concedes, crossing his arms. “If you say so. She’s a bitch who you don’t want to fuck. What are you going to do about it?”

Yoongi shrugs. “I have that dinner tomorrow night. I was thinking of talking to Jeongguk after or something.”

“And telling him that his girlfriend is the devil? I’m sure that’ll go over well.”

“I’ll figure it out,” Yoongi sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “Jeongguk is a stubborn kid, but he knows I wouldn’t ruin something good for him. If I word it right, maybe he’ll listen.”

“You’re not wrong. For whatever reason, Jeongguk trusts your judgement.”

Yoongi glares at him. “Go fuck yourself, Hob-ah.”

“Whatever, hyung,” Hoseok says, rolling his eyes. “Let’s talk about something else, please. I haven’t seen you in months.”

Yoongi relents easily. He doesn’t really want to be talking about you either, not when it feels like an ice pick is being jammed into his temple.

He’ll just have to figure out what to say to Jeongguk later.

★ ★ ★

“Wow,” Seokjin says around a mouthful of jjapaguri. “He really hates you, huh?”

He’s fresh out of a long shift at the hospital, but he still headed straight to your apartment at the promise of food and celebrity gossip—his two biggest weaknesses, especially when the food doesn’t have to be made by him and the celebrity is you.

“Seems like it,” you sigh, using your chopsticks to push your noodles around aimlessly. “Normally I wouldn’t care, you know? Like, get in line, asshole.”

“But you care.”

“But I care.”

“Because of Jeongguk,” Seokjin says knowingly.

You drop your chopsticks and groan, stifling the sound by covering your face with your hands.

“Yes,” you concede. “But not because of that. I just want to help him, you know? He got me through a really rough spot last year. I’d feel like shit if I agreed to do this for him and then it ended up blowing up in our faces because of me.”

“Mmm,” Seokjin hums, chewing thoughtfully. “I’m sure the fact that you’re in love with him is a big motivator, though.”

You pick up your head, glaring at him. “Love is a big word, Jin.”

A very big word, you think, picking up your glass of wine to take a long gulp. God help you.

“A fitting one, too!” he says gleefully. “Come oooon. No judgement here. He’s hot. Not as hot as me, of course, but I have to give credit where credit is due.”

“Yes, you’re a god among men,” you mumble, rolling your eyes. “I don’t love Jeongguk. Not like that, at least. Do I need to remind you of the whole reason I’m doing this in the first place?”

“Yeah, yeah, the secret girlfriend,” Seokjin says, waving a hand dismissively. “Whatever. You’re spending a lot of time with him, is all I’m saying. The tides may turn in your favor.”

Wow, and you thought you were delusional.

“Fat chance,” you deadpan, polishing off your wine. “Especially if Yoongi is as persistent as he’s making himself out to be.”

“What’s his beef with you, anyway?” Seokjin asks, snorting to himself as he picks up a piece of steak with his chopsticks. Hilarious. “I feel like he’s going a little far for it to just be protectiveness, you know?”

Right. When you’d given Seokjin the rundown via text, you’d left one pretty substantial piece of information out.

“He said, um,” you start, picking at one of your nails nervously—a habit that Hyerin would smack you on the back of the head for, if she were here. “He said that he knows… more than I think.”

Just like that, all of the humor drains from Seokjin’s expression. “Meaning…?”

“I don’t know,” you say, your voice wobbling just a bit. “I don’t know, but if it does mean that… It makes the idea of rolling over and doing what he says pretty enticing, not gonna lie.”

“Fuck that,” Seokjin says firmly, your eyes widening in response. “If he’s the type of guy to use something like that as blackmail, then he’s a piece of shit. I don’t care if he is trying to protect Jeongguk.”

“He can’t know, though,” you groan, fully resting your head on the cool marble of your kitchen countertop now.

You’ve been wracking your brain for days now, trying to figure out if it’s even possible for Yoongi to know anything. You’re pretty confident the answer is no, but there’s no way to be one-hundred percent sure without confirmation from the man himself. And you’d honestly rather die.

“Nobody knows except the people involved and you. You’re the only one who didn’t sign an NDA, and I’m pretty confident you’ve never met Min Yoongi. Not to mention you just wouldn’t—”

“Share that information? Hell no, I wouldn’t,” Seokjin interrupts, scoffing. “Okay, well… Regardless of whether he knows anything, he honestly just sounds like a dick and I think you should kill him.”

You snort, lifting your eyes to look at him from where your head rests on the counter. “Maybe that can be plan B,” you offer.

“Fine, then what’s the plan A?” Seokjin counters, crossing his arms and raising a conspiratorial eyebrow at you.

Fantastic question, one you’ve been thinking about the answer to since you abruptly left the afterparty that night. It’s not like you can tell Jeongguk what’s going on and risk having to tell him the whole truth. You trust Jeongguk, but…

No, it’s not an option. You don’t want anyone else to know. So, if Yoongi’s going to insist on being a problem for you, you might as well return the favor. It’s only fair.

You grin, lifting your head and leaning closer to Seokjin.

“I’m going to make his life a living hell.”

★ ★ ★

Yoongi hasn’t touched a cigarette since he was twenty one years old.

He picked up the nasty habit at sixteen, when one of his friends doled out African Ice Jacks amongst the group, bragging that his hyung had bought the pack for him. As soon as the lighter was flicked on and the bittersweet taste of bubblegum and tobacco filled Yoongi’s lungs, he was hooked.

It was stupidly easy to get his hands on cigarettes before he was of legal age, even when his friend’s hyung couldn’t supply them for whatever reason. All of the adults around him smoked, including his parents.

It felt as though cigarettes were an extension of his hand, felt wrong when he didn’t have the option to light one up. During school hours, Yoongi’s fingers would twitch on his desk as he waited for his last class to end.

He was a fucking anxious, wound-up kid. Smoking was the only thing that helped, sometimes. If he had a shit day, at least he could have a cigarette.

When the band got signed, though, things changed. Despite the fact that the majority of the population in Korea smoked, celebrities were vilified for it in the media. For whatever fucking reason. Yoongi didn’t care much what the media had to say about him, but he reasoned that it would be pretty stupid to let his dream die over Ice Jacks. So he quit.

It was hard at first, but it’s been five years now. After so much time, it’s rare that cigarettes even cross his mind, even when others smoke around him.

Sitting across the table from you now, though, Yoongi’s fingers twitch just like they had when he was in grade school staring at a clock.

He and the band started frequenting Yoojung Sikdang long before there was any real hope for fame. It was their chosen spot after every practice. The ajumma who owns it knows their names, remembers their orders by heart. Over the years, the only part of the restaurant that’s changed is their autographed photos on the wall. They’ve celebrated every single milestone here, big or small, just the five of them. Alone.

Wrapping up their first world tour should be no different. It’s their biggest milestone yet, and all Yoongi wanted was to eat ssambap with his best friends. Remind himself that none of the fame matters as long as they still have this.

But here you are. Of course. Encroaching on everything Yoongi’s built, everything he holds dear to his heart.

The only time it’s ever been more than the five of them here was the night they signed their contract, accompanied by two label executives. Even if you’re allegedly riding Jeongguk’s dick, no way are you that fucking important.

Yoongi would laugh if he wasn’t so pissed off. You are such a fucking pest. He just can’t shake you off.

“You don’t like what you ordered?” Jimin asks you, snapping Yoongi out of his thoughts.

Yoongi’s made an effort to keep to himself for the majority of the dinner. No use in ruining everyone else’s night—it’s still a special one, after all. Besides, he’s still trying to be an adult about things. You may have ruined his plan to talk to Jeongguk tonight, but it’s not like he’s going to cause a scene in front of a restaurant full of people—

“Oh, I’m just not very hungry,” you say. Yoongi’s eyes narrow.

All you’ve been doing all night is burrowing into Jeongguk’s side, barely touching your food. Lipgloss still perfectly in place. Normally, Yoongi wouldn’t care—he’s not paying for it. He wastes food on the label’s dime all the time. At Yoojung Sikdang, though?

“Why did you come, then?”

The words come out of Yoongi’s mouth before he can stop them, sharp and pointed. He’d fully intended to keep his mouth shut, eat his food, and then go home. Maybe buy a pack on the way. But now they’re out there, and Yoongi can’t bring himself to care. Certainly not to feel bad.

For the first time since you’d walked in on Jeongguk’s arm, you make eye contact with him. On purpose this time—challenging. Yoongi’s not a little bitch, so he stares back.

“Because Jeonggukie invited me,” you say, faux sweetness dripping from your words as you lean your head on Jeongguk’s shoulder. Eyes still fixed on Yoongi. “I figured it would be okay, since you all gave me such a warm welcome last time.”

Yeah. Yoongi’s buying that pack of cigarettes.

“You’re always welcome to come out with us,” Taehyung coos, like he thinks you’re the cutest thing in the world. Knowing Taehyung, he probably does.

Everyone seems to be in agreement on that front, too, except Yoongi who rolls his eyes as he shoves a ssam into his mouth. Whatever.

“It’s gonna be hell getting you out of here, though,” Namjoon adds from Yoongi’s left. He leans over to glance at the crowd of people peering through the front of the restaurant, cameras at the ready, desperate to get a glimpse of you and Jeongguk. Not that you’re making it particularly hard.

“We’ve never had a crowd like that out there,” Jimin says, in awe. “I’m not surprised, though. Those articles about you two have been getting tons of clicks.”

“Ah,” you say. If Yoongi didn’t know better, he’d think you sound almost sheepish. “That, um. That might be my fault. I told my manager I was coming here. She must’ve tipped someone off.”

Of course.

“Anything for a photo-op, right?” Yoongi sneers, unable to help himself. It’s such an easy shot, after all. You’re being so transparent.

“Hyung,” Taehyung says, eyes wide as if he’s appalled.

“I’m sorry, Yoongi-ssi,” you say, tilting your head at him. That little flash of a challenge is still in your eyes, and Yoongi doesn’t like it one bit. “Do you have a problem with me being here?”

Yoongi scoffs, sitting up. When he speaks, it’s laced with bitterness. “We just don’t normally come here with guests, that’s all. I guess I didn’t get the memo that that’d suddenly changed.”

“I invited her, hyung,” Jeongguk says. “She’s my girlfriend.” He wraps his arm around you protectively and, fuck, you’re good. You’re so good at making Yoongi look like the asshole.

“I get that, Guk-ah,” Yoongi tries, his voice considerably softer now. “But, come on… Here? And the mob outside, I mean… Do you really think that was just a harmless mistake?”

“What are you implying?” Jeongguk grits out. He’s angry now, that much is clear, and it’s Yoongi’s fault.

You have him trapped. He’s surrounded by landmines, unable to come up with a single response that could possibly defuse them.

“Come on, guys,” Namjoon says, glancing at Yoongi pointedly. “We’re here to celebrate.”

“If Yoongi-ssi is uncomfortable that I’m here, maybe I should go,” you say, making to get up.

Jeongguk reaches for your arm, stopping you. “No,” he says. “Yoongi-hyung, you can either get over it and stay with us, or you can leave. You’re the only one who doesn’t want her here.”

Un-fucking-believable.

“Are you serious?” Yoongi scoffs, looking around at everyone. Is this really happening to him right now? This is his band!

The table is deadly silent. Everyone refuses to meet Yoongi’s eyes except you and Jeongguk, who raises a challenging eyebrow at him. It’s immediately apparent to Yoongi that he’s not winning this one. That somehow, he’s ruined the night meant to celebrate him and his friends.

Bitterly, Yoongi laughs. “Fine.”

No one protests when he pushes his chair away from the table and stands up, and that stings much more than Yoongi would like to admit.

He catches your eye as he grabs his jacket off the back of his chair, anger flaring at how pleased you look.

“Have a nice fucking dinner,” Yoongi mutters, before turning on his heel and walking towards the door. Leaving his friends to face a crowd of photographers and fans that you called.

As he walks out into the cold, dodging the phones being shoved in his face, all he can think about is the way Jeongguk had looked at him.

★ ★ ★

You met Jeon Jeongguk a year ago, give or take a few months. You just remember it was cold.

Less than twenty-four hours after a particularly nasty breakup with a guy you didn’t love but liked enough, you were back on the clock. Zipped into something tight and expensive, wearing the best waterproof mascara money could buy.

You hated those events to begin with—the galas, end of year ceremonies for awards you were no longer viable to win. They were torture for you. But the sting of being freshly single only made things worse, so you had decided to make the most of it.

You may not have been able to win a KMA, but you were well within your rights to treat the KMAs themselves like your own personal dating pool. No better way to rid yourself of your ex like getting with someone new, you thought.

Which is where Jeongguk came in, devastatingly hot in his tailored suit. You’d ran into him on your way from the bathroom—much like you had with Yoongi, now that you think about it—and you instantly found yourself wondering what it would be like to kiss a guy with a lip ring. Jeongguk, as it turned out, was very interested in showing you.

You were both a little drunk, but the attraction was real. Instant.

One very handsy cab ride later, and you were in his apartment, grinding on his lap as you experienced first-hand just how little of an obstacle a lip ring can be if the man who has it knows what he’s doing.

Things were going so well—Jeongguk’s tongue exploring your mouth as you felt his cock stiffening beneath you. But it all came crashing down as soon as his hand slid under your dress.

The fact of the matter was, you’d just been dumped. Regardless of how strongly you did or didn’t feel about your ex, you’d still been dumped and it still hurt. As soon as Jeongguk really touched you, it became all too apparent that you wouldn’t be able to go through with it. Luckily, at the slightest bit of hesitance from you, Jeongguk’s hand immediately retreated from under your dress.

He was sweet about it. Really, really sweet. Valiantly ignored his erection and offered to listen instead, which made you laugh. Comforted you even though you hadn’t thought you needed it. Let you sleep in his bed anyway. When you left the next morning, kindly offered to be your friend, because you clearly needed one.

You’ve been friends ever since.

Not in the same way that Seokjin is your friend, of course. Seokjin is your best friend, has been since you were both kids. But Jeongguk just… He gets the industry, in a way that Seokjin never will.

Which brings you to last month.

Last month, when Jeongguk called you nervously in the middle of his tour schedule. Asked you to be his fake girlfriend in guilty, hushed whispers.

You didn’t need to know why. You were always going to say yes.

But Jeongguk explained anyway. He explained that he has a girlfriend, a real girlfriend, who isn’t from your world. That he hasn’t been able to see her nearly as much as he’d like to because he’s terrified of the backlash she could receive from being connected to him romantically.

You read between the lines—you have nothing to lose, at this point. There isn’t a day that goes by where someone online doesn’t have something to say about you, reputable or not.

He explained that in order to maintain the lie, no one in the industry could know the truth, not even Jeongguk’s bandmates. According to him, they wouldn’t understand why he felt the need to go to such lengths. You didn’t completely agree then, but having met Yoongi now, you get it.

His girlfriend knows about you, he’d told you. She knows who you are, knows about that night last year, and that she still agreed to let him ask you this. She doesn’t see you as a threat.

It stung, a little. Of course it did. You and Jeongguk may be friends, but you’ve always felt a hint of something else there. Maybe it was the kindness he’d shown you when you met. Maybe it’s just him. But you never said anything, convinced it was one-sided.

Clearly you were right.

Still, you want to do this for him. You care about him, and just because you can’t maintain a stable relationship doesn’t mean Jeongguk doesn’t deserve a chance at one.

You think, if Yoongi knew, he’d feel the same.

★ ★ ★

Five years down the drain, Yoongi thinks. Ashes his cigarette. Oh well.

Honestly, it’s not even really about you, although Yoongi would love to pretend otherwise. If he pins it all on you, it makes his mission to get rid of you all the more noble. The label breathing down his neck. The impending deadline of an album he doesn’t know if he can write. Dongsaengs that don’t know how to stay out of trouble. If it’s all your fault, it can’t be his.

This—the smoking—was bound to happen, with or without you. You just helped the process along.

He’s perched on his windowsill, puffing his way through cigarette number two, when his phone buzzes next to him.

Namjoon doesn’t call him nearly ever. Yoongi has a way that he likes things done, and Namjoon is probably his only friend that actually respects it. Emails for work. In-person or texts for personal shit. Video calls never. Phone calls only if Yoongi needs to hear it now and there’s no other way.

Yoongi picks up.

“Joon-ah?” Cautious. He likes phone calls the least because phone calls mean trouble, like someone is in the hospital. He’s gotten that call before, more than once.

“Hyung,” Namjoon says. “Do you have a minute?”

Namjoon wouldn’t be asking that if someone was in the hospital, so Yoongi allows himself to unclench. Just a little. “Yeah, I have a minute.”

He hears rustling on the line, like Namjoon is fidgeting. But Namjoon is always fidgeting, so that could mean nothing.

“I figured, given the events of tonight, that it would be a good call to warn you ahead of time. I would’ve come by your apartment, but I’ve got meetings all morning tomorrow and it’s late. I didn’t want to wait until next time I see you though, so…” Namjoon starts, trailing off.

Yoongi works his jaw. “Spit it out, Joon-ah,” he says, because Namjoon is shit at delivering bad news. He’s always beating around the bush, trying to soften the blow. It’s great for the kids, but it makes Yoongi feel like he’s about to have to bury his first-born or some shit. Yoongi likes clear, direct.

Namjoon knows this, so he always gets it right on the second try.

“YN is going to the Jeju house with you guys,” Namjoon says. Clear and direct, but the absolute last thing Yoongi wants to hear right now.

“You’re fucking with me.”

“I’m not.”

“She has literally no fucking reason to be there, Joon-ah,” Yoongi grits out. The cigarette secured between his index and middle knuckles has burned down to nothing, singes his fingers. He hisses and flicks it out the window. “Is she going to help us write an album? Is that it?”

“Hyung—“

“No, she isn’t. She’s going to distract my lead singer the whole time and make the whole point of the trip fucking impossible,” he interrupts, because once he gets started he can’t stop. “Who signed off on this? Doesn’t she have a job? Isn’t there a goddamn camera that needs to be smoldered at?”

“Yoongi-hyung,” Namjoon says. He’s using his manager voice, and Yoongi shuts up instantly.

Namjoon uses this voice on the kids all the time. Realistically, it’s not a big deal. It’s his job. But he’s never had to use it on Yoongi before.

He deserves it, though. Yoongi knows that. He knows that he’s been insufferable ever since you showed up, and he doesn’t like it either. He’d wanted to talk to Jeongguk, to have a heart-to-heart with him about it, but that’s proven impossible given that you’re always around. And Namjoon is their voice of reason.

Yoongi tries again.

“I don’t like her,” he explains, keeping his voice level. “I don’t think she has Jeongguk’s best interests at heart. I’m just trying to look out for him.”

The line stays quiet for a long moment, like Namjoon is taking special care in choosing his next words. It would make Yoongi nervous, but that’s just what Namjoon does.

“Hyung, you need to leave it alone,” he finally says.

What the fuck.

Yoongi could have foreseen plenty of responses from Namjoon. He’s been on the receiving end of Namjoon’s sage advice more than he’s proud of. Yoongi worries a lot, and Namjoon is particularly good at quieting those worries, particularly when they pertain to the kids. And they usually do. But he sure as shit wasn’t expecting to be blown off like that.

“Joon-ah, Jeongguk is gonna—“

“Jeongguk is a grown man. He’s fully entitled to make his own decisions, and you need to respect that if you don’t want to lose him.”

Lose him? Is Yoongi going insane? Is he fucking missing some integral piece of this puzzle that everyone else seems to have?

The notion of losing Jeongguk is completely absurd. How could he lose Jeongguk over something like this? Jeongguk, the college freshman with the huge eyes who followed Yoongi around like a puppy. Jeongguk who sang so softly when Yoongi asked, who beamed with pride when Yoongi told him he had something special. Jeongguk who dropped out alongside Yoongi, took a risk because he trusted his hyung to take care of him.

It was Yoongi and Jeongguk before it was anyone else, and Yoongi has never let Jeongguk down once, won’t allow himself to. This is the thing that’s going to change that?

“What are you even talking about?”

“Just… leave this one alone, Yoongi,” Namjoon sighs. “She’s coming whether you like it or not, and you need to at least pretend to play nice.”

Yoongi doesn’t appreciate being treated like a child who’s the cause of his parent’s headache, not by Kim Namjoon. The label dickheads are one thing, but the one person Yoongi has entrusted with everything for the past five years? Before that, even? Fuck that. Namjoon doesn’t talk to him this way, and that’s not about to change because of you.

“Namjoon-ah, if you’re going to blow me off, at least put my cock in your mouth and do it right,” Yoongi spits, hanging up before he can think better of his words.

Fuck.

Yoongi hasn’t bitten Namjoon’s head off like that in a long time. It doesn’t feel good to be back in old patterns like this. Yoongi knows why he doesn’t trust you, but he doesn’t know what it is about you that makes it so—urgent. Like he’s a wild animal primed to bite. To hurt. Yoongi isn’t that guy.

If what Namjoon said is true, if Jeongguk really is at risk of slipping through Yoongi’s fingers, he has to get his fucking act together. He has to try harder to handle this like an adult.

So, you’re coming to Jeju. Fine. Yoongi can be civil.

Even if the only way for him to be civil is not to speak to you at all.

✧ shoot me a reply or an ask if you enjoyed this chapter! feedback is always appreciated <3 join my taglist if you want to be tagged in future fics!

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troublesh00terfaery · 7 months ago

Text

BELOW 18 PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT. THIS WORK IS NSFW! KEEP OUT! [THIS WORK IS PURELY FICTION]

[Alhaitham x AFAB! Reader]

Words: 3,003 Synopsis: In the heart of Sumeru, thrives the peaceful and unique kingdom to which governed by the monarchy. A young prince experiences a strange succession of dreams to which a mysterious woman comforts him. Wouldn't it be delightful to make this dreams into a reality? Tags: AFAB! Reader, slight teasing, Prince! Alhaitham x Goddess Reader. Pronouns for AFAB reader are she/her. Alhaitham slightly obsessed with you. So far, this will be main tags, more will be added on the following chapters. A/N: after a year of not posting, I AM BACK! AND YES, WITH MORE WORKS. I PROMISE I PROMISE! This idea has been in my head for quite sometime and I personally think you guys will be enjoying this. Should I make a series for the Sumeru men? Prolly. ALSO I DID NOT PROOFREAD THIS SO APOLOGIES, ENGLISH ISN'T MY FIRST LANGUAGE. -Circe,xoxo. <3

FOLLOWING, REBLOGGING, INTERACTIONS, AND FEEDBACKS ARE APPRECIATED

"My Lord, the scrolls have arrived." One of the scribes of the King arrived, offer him a handful of nicely kept scrolls.

For the past three months, Alhaitham has kept himself confined by the study. The setting filled with scrolls of knowledges, as if he tried to absorb every detail he was trying to comprehend. He only replied with a nod and took the scrolls and placed it by the table.

Alhaitham was the only son in line to the throne and he was no ordinary prince. With his knowledge and skill, the other neighbouring nations spoke of him warmly, although setting aside his stoic and rather cold demeanour upon interacting.

The past three months, a mysterious woman had appeared in his dreams in successions. Seemingly telling an ode to him but he couldn't remember what it was, only her beautiful face could he remember. Drapped in white linen and surrounded by padisarah flowers, she would comfort him in his serene dreams to only wake up with scrolls beside him and a cold cup of tea.

It haunted him, every move he made and every thought he had, it followed and haunted him. At times he could not sleep and tried his best to decipher what was it about. He would find himself drawing pictures of this mysterious woman to only ruin it, frustrated and convinced himself that it didn't look like her nor it was not her. Questioning his ability for artistic work he had learned.

At first, he was rather indifferent. It didn't bother him about this mysterious yet ethereal looking woman to appear in his dreams once in a while but as it went on oftenly, this somehow awakened something in him. His curiousity has took over him, trying to look for answers. He was not a man of spirituality but as the dreams went on, he had to summon a spiritual leader to interpret his dreams which he rather finds ridiculous. He was afterall, programmed with knowledge, rational, and logical thinking and approach.

But it did not help him at all, his curiosity grew and grew for this woman in his dreams. At some point, he would forcefully make himself fall asleep to see her again and promised to ever probe her, but her could not dream of her. Thus, he concluded that she would only appear in his dreams when it's: 1) it's night, and 2) when he doesn't force himself to fall asleep.

He wasn't a believer of such. In fact, as the dreams came in successions, he was concluding that he was either sick in the head or he lacked sleep. Given in his work focused nature, he deduct the idea that we was just lacking sleep but somehow, it made him rather stuck in a same routine where he longed for this mysterious woman in his dreams. Who was this woman? What did she mean? Was she real? What is she even?

Of course you were real, in fact, appearing in his dreams was not coincidence. You were indeed a living being, but not an ordinary one. Hindered from the advancement of Sumeru, lies your monastery filled with padisarahs and gold entombed monuments you refuse to leave for it is a sanctuary you have cultivated. It is true to what they say, the Sumeru has still secrets to be revealed, and you were one of the secrets yet to be come upon.

The dreams the prince set genesis when he stumbled upon an old scroll he found during the expedition a month prior his dreams. It was a shabby ancient scroll he found in a mausoleum to expand their territories in the vast lands of the sands. This way, they could keep a hold of the expanding group of eremites and their illegal trading and activities, as per the orders of the king himself to his only successor to the throne.

At first, he didn't pay much attention to the scroll as according to Alhaitham, it wasn't something he nor scribes comprehend. Although a shaman suggested this could be an ancient text telling a story of a goddess who secluded herself from the world. To his prior knowledge, Alhaitham considered the idea rather off. He digressed the notion of a goddess secluding herself from the world. Why would this goddess even seclude herself?

"Are you certain of this?" he asked the shaman, as if questioning the capabilities of the elder.

"That is for you to find out, your highness." the shaman replied.

Ridiculous. Alhaitham thought. He has never heard the tales of this mysterious divine being, nor was taught to him.

Unbeknownst to him, this would eventually trigger a response from you. You could hear his curiosity from a radius away and found it rather amusing. It didn't bother you that nobody prayed for you nor called out for refuge in your arms but this man has had you delighted. Is this an acknowledgment from a being the gods were referring to?

His growing curiosity was getting louder that you had to appear in his dreams. It was mere simple dreams, you appearing and observing him from a far, to showing him your small abode, to entertaining him by playing an instrument as he watched from a close distant.

And it got to the point that you teased the poor scribe by planting a small kiss on his lips. Upon breaking the kiss, he could only stare at you with feverish desire. His colorful eyes looking answers as you cupped his cheeks and feel his strong jaws clenching, urging himself to stop. He returned the favor by brushing his thumb to your luscious and plump lips, grazing his nose bridge by your supple cheeks and leaving kisses and hushed breaths. His palms making its way to your waist, as if trying to remember every detail he could remember. You let him, of course. Everything was new to you, the feeling of intimacy and the warmth of his touch would surge an unexplainable excitement to you. Something you lacked for years and something you, unexpectedly, found a need.

"Please, tell me who you really are and I would search for you in every nation." he begged, his head resting by your shoulder, seeking for both solace and answers as he left kisses over your exposed collar and neck.

You could only reply with a soft chuckle and cup his cheek and pecked a kiss on his cheek. It's a never ending question left unanswered. It was a cue to stop the dream and awaken him from his slumber. A kiss that would blur his vision and awaken him from his dream.

Even if it was only a dream in his point of view, he was still in your domain. Everything was real and it was beyond scientific explanation to prove that every time he was dreaming, everything was happening was happening in your domain. But could he really comprehend and figure out it was the goddess he denied of existence?

"Your grace, your father has called for you." a scribe entered his study, to find Alhaitham lazily looking by the painted ceiling. Seemingly awoken by the morning breeze of the open space of his chambers. The smell of incense from last night was freshly burnt out and the hues of the sunlight passing through the long curtains.

He tilted his head and responded with a nod. Few moments has passed, the prince presented himself to the king. Surprisingly, the king thought it would have been another day to nag the prince to get out of his chambers but there he was, walking towards the king in his seat.

"Father," he greeted.

"Ah yes, son." he spoke, delighted with the presence. Alongside the king was their pet, a Rishbolan tiger, Jihan, to which Alhaitham smiled as the big feline nudged its head to his legs before positioning itself beside Alhaitham.

"How was your night?"

Alhaitham could only remember your face and your soft chuckle. It took a moment before he could respond in his usual laidback demeanor.

"Nothing special." he replied. "You called?"

The king wasn't new to his straightforwardness and thus explained to him. A mysterious woman was spotted near the Vissudha expansion. The king explained to him that the guards spotted the woman just a few meters away from the construction the king has started two years ago. The woman was reported to be rather composed, explaining as to why she freely roamed the ungoing site. The site itself was dangerous, filled with wild beasts and noxious florals thus the only personnel allowed within the Vissudha expansion were architects and members of the royal committee.

"Oh." Alhaitham nodded to his father's story.

"The guards and the look outs commented on her knowledge with the terrains around Sumeru." the king replied. "So they brought her here."

"She's rather adventurous for exploring the area." Alhaitham circled the study table of his father before he comfortably sat by the sofa.

"Dare I must say, but her extensive knowledge with the sands is quite admirable."

"Oh?"

"Yes, in fact, I had spoken a few words with the young woman." The king chuckled, amused. "She's quite brilliant, suggesting a further expansion by the sands. Especially the mausoleums!"

Alhaitham could only respond with a hum. Seems like the women in Sumeru are rather peculiar for roaming carelessly, he thought.

"If I can guess, she's at your age or probably younger. Must have come from a noble family, and archons, her beauty is otherwordly!"

At his age, Alhaitham isn't new to his father's suggestion of him marrying. He was at the age, it is just that his son didn't pay attention and put the importance of it at this moment. He knows it so well that his father would insist upon meeting this woman and thus readied himself by rejecting his father's notion.

"You should meet her."

"No," he replied. "I have scrolls to keep and manage, father." he stood up, Jihad yawned from his action, causing for the feline to stand up and flex its body before nudging and circled the prince. "Jihad…"

The feline responded with succession of chuffs.

"No, no, guards please escort the young lady." the king hurriedly instructed, halting the young prince from walking away. The young prince heaved a sigh, and sat back by the wide sofa once again. This time, Jihad had placed himself by his lap and offed himself to his usual sleep.

The king himself was delighted to see the prince not walking away thus, became slowly impatient to introduce this lady and a few moments has passed, the guards themselves arrived by the king's chambers. Accompanying this said lady to meet the prince.

Each tick of the time, Alhaitham grew impatient with the little meet and greet. He angled his face to towards the curtains, he rubbed his forehead using his middle finger and his index finger whilst his thumb rested on the temple of his forehead. His other hand rested by the felines body to which Jihad appreciated by chuffing.

This was a waste of time, according to Alhaitham. He wasn't aware his father was a matchmaker, so eager to get his only son to be wed. The thought of being married has Alhaitham furrowing his brows.

"Ah, Alhaitham, come meet the young lady." The king softly spoke. Alhaitham could hear his positive remarks to this young lady to which she replied in small and shy chuckles. If he was to judge her, he would find her peculiar and mindless for roaming the area alone. Who on earth would walk alone confidently in an area yet to be finished with construction and still to be tamed?

"Father, I do not have time for this discussion you are initiating--"

"It is an honor, to finally meet the prince." the young lady spoke.

He took a peek from his fingers to have a view of the lady just a few meters away from him. And there she stood, wearing a simple white clothing and a scarf that was loosely wrapped around her hair, a few loose strands of her hair swayed by the wind.

Eyes matching the gaze of the royal prince, a small smile forming in your lips. Upon having a clear view of you, Alhaitham realized what was in front of him. Dumbfounded and speechless, he slowly stood up and awoken the tiger that comfortably laid himself by his lap. Jihad yawned and chuffed, excusing himself by jumping just below the luxurious sofa.

All he could do was to stand there and thought to himself this must be an illusion, or one of his dreams. Silence enveloped the study of the king as he observed you gaze at him with those beautiful yet studious eyes. It's like he couldn't decipher if it was truly you in his dreams or a different person.

There you were, standing in your corporeal form but nothing changed, only the clothing of choice. Ever so radiant, ever so ethereal. The prince couldn't utter any words as he was dumbfounded by the person in front of him. Was his head playing tricks with him? Probably the light? With every inhale an exhale you did, it was proof of life that you were indeed real. After nights of longing for you, you were finally here. In his reality.

Truth be told, this wasn't a scheme you would normally do. Why would a goddess, who voluntarily secluded herself from the world to live in her curated domain, leave her sanctuary? But oh, maybe it was his effect on you? Something finally ignited your curiosity from the outside world. A prince, a brilliant and handsome one.

The king was rather amused with the reaction of his son as he slowly approached you but then halted, as if doubting your existence again.

"Ah, seems like the prince is astonished by your beauty, my dear lady."

The warmth of the king only made you smile as you gazed at Alhaitham. He on the other hand somehow doubted every inch of life in you thus his brows furrowed. The king was indeed right, Alhaitham couldn't deny the beauty in you. You radiated of something out of this world, a beauty that could make a man lose his mind. Lethal, he would call it.

"They were right, your highness." you spoke. "He was indeed a beautiful prince."

Alhaitham stood there, ready to speak.

"Where did you come from?"

That was rather an unexpected question, you thought.

"I was just roaming around the area because I heard there was a constructio--"

"I am asking where are you from." His tone was stern but calm, probing the situation more.

You wouldn't tell him of your sanctuary. It would be ridiculous and of course, it was a secret.

"I came from the desert."

"Which part of the desert exactly?"

"Hadramaveth."

"Ridiculous, that area is out of the reach of the palace nor the council."

"Well I suppose you should widen your expansion within the desert." you replied with a monotone. "After all, the king mentioned you have an ongoing expedition, why not discover it yourself."

He could only stare at your answers, his hawk-like gaze observing you as if he was to judge you of your being. You actually forgot to distinguish whether this was his usual attitude compared to his demeanor during his dreams.

"That area of the desert is out of reach because of its harsh desert." he crossed his arms. "It is an untamed land filled with sandworms and consecrated beasts."

The probing session awakened Jihad whom approached his prince, slowly circling him.

"Well indeed, your grace." you replied. "But there is an area where humans can live, just the passage between Hadramaveth and the Tanit camps."

"To which the eremites occupy." he rebuked. "So, you are an eremite then?"

"No, of course not." the question made you furrow your brows.

"Then answer my question, where are you from?"

The king felt the tension between the two of you. You initially thought that he was going to be delighted to see you in your human form instead of his dreams. But here he is, questioning you. A human, questioning you.

"Now, now, Alhaitham." the king awkwardly chuckled, stepping in. "I think you are scaring the young lady. She offered help to navigate the sands."

"I already sent my men, no need for navigation." Alhaitham looked at his father.

"Your men are headed the wrong direction," you replied. "They're still at the mausoleums."

"And how do you know this? Are you certain they're my men? What mausoleum are you referring to?"

Well, shoot. Of course you couldn't tell him that you can just see everything in a snap. That would ruin your plan. Think. Think. Think.

Now you were certain this was a bad idea, you should've just shut yourself inside that sanctuary of your comfort instead of feeding this man of his wants. What is he up to anyway? You scolded yourself.

"Your highness--"

"That's enough. Guards, please escort this young lady to her quarters." the king sighed.

"No, father. She will be accompanying me in my study." Alhaitham turned his back, walking away and his tiger following along. "She'll have to map the desert out."

You stood there, dumbfounded. This was different man, a different man in his dreams. Where was the man who would look at you with those longing eyes despite being close together? Where was that man who would listen to you play the harp and smile as your grazed your fingers through the strings? Where was the man who would ask for your touch and comfort? Where was he?

You couldn't move from the unexpected reaction from him. Was he not content of seeing you? The silence enveloped and only the heave of the king snapped you back from the heavy thought. Alhaitham stopped as he noticed you were not tagging along.

"Come," he looked back with those stoic eyes.

What an unexpected turn of events.

A/N: FOLLOWING, REBLOGGING, INTERACTIONS, AND FEEDBACKS ARE APPRECIATED! Make sure to follow the first hashtag #Circeworks୨୧ to be updated with my future works! Happy reading faes!

588 notes · View notes

love-belle · 1 year ago

Text

today and tomorrow and every day after that !!!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ in which their fall-in-love-again era is them pretending as if they haven't already made it till forever.

for when it'll be them today, tomorrow and then a day after that. ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

social media au // max verstappen x fem!reader

prequel - i should hate you ⋆·˚ ༘ *

warnings - language

author's note - it's 3am and im tired. thank u and i hope u like it <3

≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by maxverstappen1, danielricciardo, carmenmmundt and 789,416 others

yourusername his big wet eyes and loser personality have captivated me

tagged maxverstappen1

7,628 comments

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≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by yourusername, landonorris, danielricciardo and 895,315 others

maxverstappen1 something about how i'd marry you with paper rings and in this case, a string (or $1 rings from vending machine)

tagged yourusername

9,628 comments

maxverstappen1 i did not write the caption

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≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

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yourusername babygirl u are a very freak and strange. i am deeply in love with u. all jokes aside, we made it. i know we got married like weeks ago but marrying u like FOR REAL has been the most beautiful moment of my life. i wanna spend everyday with u, in this life and all the others. vegas was a trip but even then, it was perfect with u, the one i was marrying and as taylor swift said "i like shiny things but i'd marry u with paper rings" or in our case, $1 rings from the vending machine. i wanna go to museums with u and point to pictures with weird guys and say "that's u". i wanna dance in the kitchen with u. i wanna look back after decades at all these memories and laugh, knowing that my now-self made the best decision. i love u even if u have me saved as "DO NOT ANSWER ❌" in ur phone. i think forever would be nice with u or till death do us apart (or someone in a suit if this escalates to a divorce).

tagged maxverstappen1

11,628 comments

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maxverstappen1 never really did sappy posts but this means the world to me and i guess there's a first (???) time for everything. all i can say is that i truly cannot wait to spend all my days with you and go to sleep thinking that i can't wait to do it again tomorrow. and i think, there's nothing more lovelier than that. you once told me that i deserved the world, i hope we get to see it together. i wanna hear how your day was, today and tomorrow and every day after that. but before getting to all those tomorrows, here's to our forever that's summed up for me in a small moment.

tagged yourusername

13,628 comments

username shut up and think about what u did

username i can't cry im in class WHY WOULD U DO THIS TO ME

username no bc this is literally my last straw ENOUGH

username "here's to our forever that's summed up for me in a small moment" THIS DOESN'T EVEN MAKE SENSE AND IT MADE ME SOB

username no bc he had no RIGHT to post this

username girlypop im still recovering from y/n's post give me 4-5 business years

username not cool max verstappen not COOL.

username tears are streaming down my face what the actual fuck

landonorris okay i shed a few tears

-> maxverstappen1 mate you were sobbing while giving your speech

-> landonorris I SUFFERED THE MOST OKAY

-> username no bc lando is their ACTUAL child of divorce

username this is ASTRONOMICAL like this is INSANE

username the bar is so high it js looks like a dash at this point

username everyone go home. max js won

-> maxverstappen1 winning on and off track

-> yourusername u cried when i beat u in mario kart

-> maxverstappen1 I CAN'T DRIVE

-> yourusername UR A PROFESSIONAL DRIVER

username further proof of if he wanted to he would

username "i truly cannot wait to spend all my days with you and go to sleep thinking that i can't wait to do it again tomorrow" js take me swiftly and now

username IN LOVE WITH THEIR WEDDING AESTHETIC LIKE IT EATS SO HARD

username i've prayed for times like these ❤️

charles_leclerc can't believe you would cheat on me

-> maxverstappen1 might just leave her for you

-> yourusername is this a bad time to tell u both that im already seeing someone???? alexandrasaintmleux

-> alexandrasaintmleux my angel ❤️

-> charles_leclerc wait a minute

-> maxverstappen1 now hold on

username live for men are unapologetically in love with their partners like there's nothing more sexy than that

username liar every single post abt y/n has been a sappy post

-> maxverstappen1 she holds me hostage every time

-> yourusername divorce papers look so sexy rn

username IT'S BEEN SUCH A LONG JOURNEY Y'ALL WE MADE IT

username my babies ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

danielricciardo tell lando i'm the godfather

-> landonorris he WON'T because you're NOT

-> maxverstappen1 guys we don't even have a baby

-> danielricciardo obviously we're talking about the future. your swimmers ain't THAT competitive unlike you

-> yourusername BAHAHAHAHA PLEASE UR SO WRONG FOR THAT

-> maxverstappen1 and you're officially out of the godfather contestants

username need a documentary on this like my life depends on this bc it DOES

username i never will be moving on from this post

yourusername i love u i love u i love u i love u i love u i love u

-> maxverstappen1 likewise

-> yourusername yeah i'll just

*yourusername deleted this comment*

yourusername ty

-> maxverstappen1 have a sense of humour

-> yourusername i married u what's funnier than THAT

-> username CLEARED HIM

-> username LFMSOAOAOAO

yourusername nice caption, wonder who edited it 🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔

-> maxverstappen1 i don't know, this girl who follows me everywhere and calls me maximus

-> yourusername she sounds cute

-> maxverstappen1 yeah, she really is

yourusername nvm idgaf I LOVEEEEEE YOU

-> maxverstappen1 i love you more

yourusername husband

-> maxverstappen1 wife

username giggling rn im sooooo happy

username i will show this to my kids

#f1 x reader #f1 x female reader #f1 imagines #social media au #fake instagram imagines #max verstappen fluff #fake social media #max verstappen x you #max verstappen imagines #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x y/n #max verstappen x fem!reader #max verstappen instagram au

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getosbigballsack · 9 months ago

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Random thought! Rebellious boyfriend Gojo Satoru X shy nerdy reader anymore cause now reader Chan is

"I'm pregnant!"

You're eighteen years of age, and you are still a senior in high school. You only had a few more months until college entrance exams and graduation, but the choice you made to sleep with your boyfriend on the night of his birthday is how you ended up in this situation.

But how? He was wearing a condom that night and when he finally pulled out of you a few long hours of passionate sex, the condom he used still held his cum. So how and why? You probably know the answer; it must have been ripped somewhere, but you didn't want to admit that.

You're devastated, to say the least. You couldn't stop crying as you stared at the pregnancy test in your hand. What were you going to do now, keep the baby? What if your boyfriend hates you for this? How is he even going to react? How are you even going to tell him?

Well, there's only one way to find out. He was already on his way to Shoko's house after receiving a message asking him to come over as quickly as possible.

So, in a matter of minutes, he was at her house in her room sitting on the bed with you and the pregnancy test in his hand. You couldn't look at him, too afraid of what his face might look like. Too afraid of what he might say. You were just preparing for the worst-case scenario.

"Take another one, just to be sure."

That is what he said to you, shocking you, Shoko, and his best friend Geto that somehow tagged along to be a part of whatever that was about to happen.

That was the last thing that you're expecting. And honestly you were about to ask him why you need to take another pregnancy test when he already had one in his hand that clearly reads positive, but then he rested his hand open your cheek and whispered, “Please, take another just to be sure.”

So you did, and after five minutes of waiting, the second test came back positive.

“You really are pregnant,” he said in disbelief. He tossed the test on the bed and rested his face in the palm of his hands. Reality finally hit him all at once. “Shoko, Sugu, can you leave us here for a moment? I want to talk to Y/N alone.” And they left, not without looking back at the both of you, though.

Soon, the door closed, leaving a weeping and almost drained looking Gojo Satoru. There is a moment of silence, an uncomfortable silence that had you assuming the worst. Is he going to break up with you? Is it over? You couldn't help the thoughts that were running through your mind all at once, the anxiety you felt sitting next to him as you waited for him to say something to you. Then, finally, he spoke.

“Y/N I…”

“Are you going to break up with me?” You said to him, bursting into fits of tears. Gojo’s eyes grew wide, and his hand quickly slung itself around your shoulder to pull you closer. “Please don't break up with me… I didn't… I-I.”

“Y/N, baby, calm down. Who said anything about breaking up,” Gojo said, quickly pulling you onto his lap and wrapping his other hand around your waist. You laid your head on his shoulders, tears still running down your face and soaking his shirt.

“I… I just thought that. I mean, we aren't ready for… you didn't - I'm sorry. I'm just scared.”

“And I'm scared too,” he admitted. “But I’m not going to break up with you. I told you haven't I that you and I are going to spend the rest of our lives together."”

“But I messed up. I… I caused such a huge mess that is going to ruin your life and, and I- I…”

Unable to finish your sentence, Gojo gently fisted his hand in your hair and pulled your head back a bit just to kiss your lips in hopes that it'll calm you down. It broke his heart to see you in tears over something that wasn't your fault. If anything, he should be blamed.

He should have checked the condom for leakage when he pulled out. He should have been more prepared. After all, he has a bit more experience than you, so he knew that it only takes one time, one slip up for you to get pregnant.

“Y/N,” he whispered your name against your lips. He gave you one last reassuring kiss then he said, “If you are looking for someone to blame, then put it all on me.”

“But… but I can't do that to you,” you cried.

“Yes you can, because I knew better. I should've been careful knowing that anything can happen during sexual intercourse. So if you want someone to blame…”

“No I won't, I can't,” you quickly spoke.

He sighed, “Alright then,” before pulling you into a warm hug. You both sat there in silence for a while, Gojo was raking through his mind, thinking about what he possibly could say next. Well, he knew what he wanted to say to you, but he didn't want his opinion to sway you away from yours.

“What do you want to do?”

#gojo smut #jujutsu kaisen gojo #jjk gojo #gojo satoru #toniranthoughts

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viaphni · 10 months ago

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YES YES YE SYES YES YES

I WAS LITERALLY JUST LISTENING TO THIS SONG I ADORE IT SO CLOSELY

and to associate it with RR is just perfect. I see your vision i see it clearly if you make it i will bawl it would be BEAUTIFYL

fighting every voice to not make an animatic of rr, mainly light centric, of end of the beginning by djo. SPECIFICALLY THIS PART

LIKE GUYS GUYS ITS SO FITTING ANG GOOD GUYS

#ruined reality #RAAAAGGH #THIS SONG IS SO GOOD #this song has gotten me though So much I cant wait to apply it to a small clump of pixels that i see on amother screen of pixels in a comp #letely fictional story that is not real and should not have this much impact on ohr souls #anyway....#UOU SHOULD 100% DO IT #and #im not ignoring that tag dude #Watch The Show.

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cynicjovial · 7 months ago

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Schizophrenia, DID and delusion jokes became popular because it became less socially acceptable to joke about ocd, autism etc. and people still wanted to be ableist. I see you making jokes about being delusional and thinking people with actual delusions need to be locked away. I see you making schizo jokes. you would say the r slur if you could get away with it.

It's easy to pick on the most misunderstood mental illnesses because you know the people you are hurting are way less that the people who don't care.

you don't get to pick and choose which mental illness to respect. And if you ever try to advocate for disabled or neurodivergent people rights I know your words are actually empty and performative.

Sorry if tagging your post as unreality ruins the joke. It must be so hard to live in a world where there are such insane people that can't tell reality apart. They should just get locked away from your eyes, right? I hope you don't ever put trigger warnings just to stay coherent, unless you think there's a certain level a neurodivergent person can be weird until it's acceptable. Well, they can't be too ridiculous right? they should be a little normal at least. They don't reserve respect because something that's out of their control is too far right? Respect is only given if you don't have to think too hard or do a little work right?

I see you.

#personali posti #i am about to fall asleep so i cant vouch for coherence in this post. goodnight

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pynkgothicka · 1 year ago

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ＧａｎｇｓｔａＪＪＫ

Ask/Req-Should do one where OC basically gets taught all her life skills from Jungkook(maybe) and he can mold her anyway he wants- wether it’s cute and innocent, or just oblivious. Maybe OCs parents were never hands on in the slightest and that left her to group up with only Jungkook there for her

Synopsis- Jungkook’s soft spot is you. The love of his life, someone who was given to him and will love him forever and through all his days.

Pairing - Yandere! Dark! Mobster! Jungkook x AFAB! Reader

Featuring - No one!

Tags and Warnings - Murdered Parents, hints towards a dark relationship, some smut

Authors Note - This took me so long! I’m sorry guys!!

A friendly reminder that all my works are dark fanfiction! Please if you do not like that do not read them! These depictions don't pertain to reality. This is your final warning before hitting the keep reading button!!

Jungkook was the kindest guy you had ever met. He was easily the love of your life. Even if you were in college with no one else, there was nobody in comparison to him. How he shielded you from the world he preached about being so evil, the man who saved you from your family. Jungkook would go leaps and bounds for you.

You stood in deep thought, awaiting his arrival to get you from the university grounds, the icy winter air swirling around you. At last, you perked up to only hear the rumble of Jungkook's loud motorcycle engine.

You smile as you see him whip his motorcycle into the parking lot. His leather jacket and ripped denim only make the man you adore even more attractive. His bike slows down in front of you; he takes off his helmet, revealing his black hair.

His shirt was covered in sweat as he gave you a signature smile. “Hey baby, I'm sorry I was late."Hey baby, sorry I'm late," he said, shifting to let you on. You wrapped your arms around his waist, resting your head against his back.

You mumble softly, "It's okay, I know you won't forget about me." You take a deep breath of his jacket, the scent a mixture of weed and spearmint. The odor would make others nauseous, but you find it comforting and familiar. “I just can’t wait to make it back to your place.”

🏍️

Jungkook fed you cotton candy grapes as you lounged in his apartment, making sure to cater to his one and only. With one hand scrolling mindlessly through his phone, his other hand brought the grapes to your lips, the tips of his tattooed fingers brushing over them each time, eliciting giggles from you with the sweet gesture.

Jungkook's loving gaze met yours, and he smiled. "Are you staying the night again?" he asked, putting his phone down to give you his full attention - something he had done for most of his life.

"I'm not sure if my parents are home right now," you say quietly to your boyfriend. “Besides I don't want to go home, my dad's being well himself again.” His gaze turns soft with understanding, and he feeds you another grape to sweeten the sorrowful moment. As the sweetness spreads across your tongue, you feel the sadness fading away. Jungkook wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you into his lap. His hands trace the curve of your body tenderly.

He understood how your parents mistreated you, ignoring you to indulge themselves as if you didn't belong to them. Yelling at you and shoving you aside to satisfy their desires - that was typical of mafia parents, and he would know. But now he led his gang, and he vowed he'd never treat you as cruelly as others had. He always made sure to distract you when your mind wandered to such thoughts.

While kissing your neck, he slid his hands over your backside, eliciting a blissful yet pleading whine from you. "Koo, remember no hickeys," you said softly. With a sigh, he detached himself from you.

“Fine no hickies, but I want to ruin you, baby.” He says snickering and pulling off your shirt. his mouth attaches to your breast as he moans around it. His lips suck on your areola, tongue lapping at the exposed breast. You let out languid moans as your hands go to his shirt, pulling it over his head as he pulls away. His eyes stared at you as you looked back panting.

You go to unhook your bra, revealing yourself to Jungkook. “I'm so needy for you.” You mutter into his neck littering the skin with kisses and hickies. He lets out a groan, his hands moving to dig into your ass. Small crescents form and you let out a lewd groan. “Don’t ever leave me Koo…”

"You know I could never replace you, for no one could ever be good enough to take your place," he said poetically, connecting your lips once again.

🏍️

After fulfilling his promise to ruin you, Jungkook put you to bed as he had urgent business to attend to. Not wanting you anywhere near his work, he made sure to leave you be. With a kiss on your forehead and lending you his jacket for comfort, he left.

Jungkook sat in a chair, glaring at your parents, whom he had kidnapped and brought to the base of his operations. As your mother stirred awake, his eyes narrowed. "Welcome back to reality," Jungkook sneered as he approached her chair.

"Jungkook? What the fuck is this?" Your mother hissed angrily. She tettered in her chair. He smiles as he places his finger on her lips. He then pulled out a gun and shot her dead in the head. He never had a problem with her, nothing too serious to be upset about. The quicker she was gone, the easier things could be.

But him.

He was the one who neglected the person to whom he had devoted all of his life. So, with his wife gone, everything would be much more satisfactory when he made him pay.

Speaking of, he watched as your dad stirred awake. His eyes went to the side of him seeing his wife was dead, a bullet going straight through her head. “God no. Please no… not her.” He mumbled before struggling in his seat.

“It hurts doesn’t it?” Jungkook mumbled going behind him. His hand went to the back of your father's neck, the grip hurting before he started to squeeze. “Seems kind of unfair doesn’t it?”

Your dad started to rage internally. “Y-You killed her? Why we gave you everything you could've ever wanted, shit you practically own my daughter what more could you want?” He said as soon as Jungkook's grip let up. He watched in horror as the man just laughed, all Jungkook could do was laugh in his face.

“You still hurt her though. How could you just leave your daughter like that… just having to settle with being around me? You are actually kind of lucky that she loves me. But I mean it's not like she spent any time with anyone else.” Jungkook started to walk around your father, taunting him with nothing but his thoughts. “She loves me, practically worships the ground I walk on. I mean thats a benefit for me, but pretty shitty for you. I get to finally kill you for all the pain you caused her.”

Your father started to scream and Jungkook allowed him. But finally, he had enough before stuffing the man's mouth with a towel filled with gasoline. “Scream and you’ll choke. I mean no one heard you but it got annoying pretty quickly. Now Shh, and let me do what I have to do.”

🏍️

“Koo? Where did you go?” You mumbled feeling strong arms wrap around you. You leaned into his touch groaning at the comforting feeling of his skin on yours.

“Had to take care of something, sorry for leaving.”

“It's fine, just tell me beforehand.”

“Of course, I love you.”

Let me know through a dm or ask to be included in my official Taglist- @darkuni63 @captainengineer-trixie @chimmisbae @iloverubberduckiez-blog @mageprincess7 @looneybleus @whipwhoops

#dark writing #tw dark content #tw yandere #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere blog #yandere bts #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts #bts smut #jeon jeongguk #jungkook #jjk #yandere jk #yandere jeon jungkook #yandere jungkook #Spotify

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nanamineedstherapy · 25 days ago

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Third Wheeling Your Own Marriage

F!Non-Sorceres Reader X Gojo Satoru X Nanami Kento

Summary: You should be overjoyed that Gojo Satoru & Nanami Kento are your husbands. But you feel your skin crawl as you become the third wheel in your own marriage.

Trigger Warnings: Workplace harassment, pregnancy complications, verbal abuse, grief, and loss. Tags: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Redemption Arc, Workplace Dynamics, Gamer Culture, Mystery Identity, Mild Violence, Pregnancy Complications, Emotional Hurt, Disassociation, Depression.

A/N: Before you start reading— 1. Man, after finalizing this chapter, I was the Ben Affleck meme outside, chain-smoking my sanity away. 2. Minors, DNI. It’s not spicy, but seriously, don’t ruin your innocence here. 3. Our reader is tough as nails, but damn, even I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy. 4. I’ve sprinkled some links, a playlist, and a meme to lighten the vibe, but customize the vibe however you need. 5. Fair warning: the ending’s gonna hurt. If you’re not in the headspace for that, skip the parts marked with { }. Take care of yourself, okay? Let’s get wrecked together.

Previous Chapter 5 - Something Soft, Something Sharp (Tumblr/Ao3)

Chapter 6 (alt ending 1.2) - Veiled Realities

The gaming convention hall pulsed with energy—screens flashing with gameplay demos from various companies, creative souls showcasing their cosplays, excited chatter bouncing off the high ceilings, and the occasional triumphant shout from someone winning a round. You kept your barely see-through-only for you-hood low, blending seamlessly with the crowd as you moved toward your company’s booth. The email from your employee still sat in your inbox, her words playing on a loop in your mind:

“I wanted to bring to your attention a concerning issue that has been occurring within our team. Certain male employees have been engaging in inappropriate behavior towards their female colleagues, making comments that suggest women do not belong in the gaming industry.

Despite providing multiple rounds of workplace etiquette training, these individuals continue to make such remarks, often doing so after the training sessions have concluded. While we have attempted to address the situation discreetly, the behavior has persisted and is becoming increasingly problematic.

I felt it was important to make you aware of this issue, even if no immediate action is taken, as you are committed to fostering an inclusive and respectful work environment.”

You weren’t about to let it slide.

Your gaze landed on your company’s booth, where a small group had gathered. Two men—mid-forties, loud with unwarranted confidence—were smirking as they leaned toward a younger woman who stood stiffly, her arms crossed.

“Come on,” one of them said, his voice dripping with condescension. “You can’t even finish a round without dying. How are you going to tell us what to do?”

“Yeah,” the other chimed in, his laugh grating. “We're not sexist or anything, but gaming’s just not your thing. Stick to HR or something.”

You gritted your teeth, the instinct to step in bubbling beneath the surface. But you held back, watching as the woman squared her shoulders and prepared to fire back. Before she could, you pulled out your phone. With a few quick taps, an email was swiftly dispatched to the CHRO, with the COO, CSO, CMO, and the event coordinator all included in the loop for informational purposes.

The response from the CHRO came immediately: "We’ll start the off-boarding right away."

Within minutes, the two men’s phones buzzed simultaneously. They frowned, pulling them out, only for their faces to pale.

“What the—”

“Fucking hell!”

They stared at their screens, then at each other, and finally back at the woman they’d been harassing. “It’s you—”

Before they could finish, your voice cut through, calm. “You have five minutes to vacate the premises, or security will escort you if needed.”

The woman blinked at you, her surprise quickly replaced by a smirk as the men stammered and shuffled off grumbling to gather their things. You turned away before she could say anything, your hood still obscuring your face.

Then a loud voice rang out. “No, no, NO! Game broken! Is not me! Me loyal fan!”

Heads turned, including yours, to a really tall man with bright white hair and pale skin standing at the demo station, gesturing wildly at the screen. His coat hung loosely around his shoulders, and he wore dark sunglasses indoors. With his striking appearance, he could easily model for Giorgio Armani.

“Mechanics! Broken! No strong! Me? Strongest!” he declared, his English so fractured and accented that it took you a moment to piece together what he was trying to say.

One of your employees—a nervous-looking junior—stammered, “Uh… sir, maybe you just need more practice?”

The man looked personally offended. “Me beat curse! Me GOAT!” He paused, frowned, and then switched to rapid Japanese, clearly too frustrated to stick with English.

The junior blinked, helplessly lost. “Uh… what?”

The woman who had been dealing with the earlier bullying snorted. “Looks like you’ve got competition, Steve,” she muttered, glaring at her now ex-coworker as they left before turning to the man. “Sir, maybe try again? Second round’s free.”

“Free?” His face lit up like a Christmas town. “Yay! Free! Strongest WIN!”

“Stop embarrassing yourself,” came a calm, deep voice from behind him.

You tilted your neck to see another man—a tall figure, though not quite as towering as his counterpart—impeccably dressed in black. Neatly styled blond hair framed his face. With his striking looks, he would make a perfect brand ambassador for Tom Ford or Bironi; he resembled a male Victoria's Secret model. Beneath his green-tinted glasses, his eyes flicked to the white-haired chaos generator with the resigned air of a pet parent.

The white-haired man turned to glare at him. “No embarrassing! Winning!”

“Winning,” the blond deadpanned, glancing at the screen where the white-haired one’s character had just been obliterated.

He pouted, muttering something in Japanese that sounded suspiciously like an insult, and you had to bite your lip to keep from laughing.

The blond man sighed heavily and said something in Japanese. “Sore wa gēmudesu. Kojin-tekina fukushūde wa arimasen.” (“It’s a game. Not a personal vendetta.”)

The white-haired one said something that the blond pointedly ignored. “Sō, fukushūda! Noroi o uchiyabutta. Subete o uchiyabutta, daga kono bakageta... Mekanikku dake wa!” (“Yes, it is vendetta! I beat curses; I beat everything, but this stupid... mechanics!”)

Despite yourself, you couldn’t help but find the men’s voices incredibly attractive, even though they were completely different from each other—or was it the fact that they were speaking Japanese? Anyone with half a brain cell knew how undeniably masculine the language sounded.

“Anata to issho ni kurubekide wa nakatta to wakatte imashita.” The blond said, his tone clipped as he hovered by a different station, playing an older game in your company’s lineup—one that hadn’t done well financially but had won multiple awards and had a loyal following. (“I knew I shouldn’t have come with you.”)

You weren’t usually one to ogle men, but damn, the blond one’s biceps looked very chewable. Underneath his overcoat, you could imagine them flexing as he moved his fingers on the keyboard.

You immediately cringed at your own thoughts and made a mental note to stop spending so much time with your unhinged employees.

The white-haired one ignored him. “More round!” he yelled at the junior, who sighed and let him.

The man launched into another round, biting his lower lip in concentration like a child. Was that lip gloss?!

He was really close to perfecting the strike when the in-game AI learned his moves and took him down. He looked like he was about to cry, and you couldn’t help but chuckle at how adorable he was.

The blond’s gaze shifted to you, his eyes narrowing slightly in recognition—or perhaps suspicion. “You’re enjoying yourself?” he asked, his English perfect, despite the accent.

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

The white-haired one suddenly perked up, finally noticing you. His eyes widened, and he jabbed a finger in your direction. “You! Pretty hoodie lady! Play?”

Caught off guard, you blinked, face still obscured by the hood. “Play what?”

“Game!” He gestured wildly at the screen. “Strongest win! You lose!”

The blond groaned softly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Gojo, stop harassing strangers.”

“Me no harass! Me... invite!” The Gojo declared, beaming at you.

Against your better judgment, you stepped closer, curiosity outweighing caution.

The woman from earlier smirked, stepping up to the console. “Oh, this is going to be good.”

“Think you better?” He grinned, clearly convinced he was about to crush you, then pointed at the blond. “Nanamin, see me!”

“Don’t call me that!” The blond spat at him, making you think—was ‘Nanamin’ a derogatory word in their language?

The blond furrowed his brow, his gaze flicking over you. Something about the way you carried yourself seemed… off. Not in a bad way, but something didn’t fit in his mind.

You slid into the seat across from Gojo, the monitors facing the opposite way. “Alright, fine. Let’s see what the ‘strongest’ has got.”

The first round was a blur of offensive movements and insults—Gojo threw out broken English mixed with Japanese, your focus entirely on the screen.

To your dismay, he was… good. Annoyingly good. You’d come up with the idea and then tested this game for over 5,000 hours. You were basically omniscient in it—knew every trick and exploit, but Gojo’s reflexes and instincts were ridiculous.

So you cheated.

Subtly, of course.

A quick input enabled God Mode, giving you just enough of an edge to win the round.

Within minutes, Gojo’s smug grin crumbled as you utterly demolished him in-game, your hands moving with muscle memory.

The blond, who had been watching silently, let out a low chuckle. “Looks like you’ve met your match, Gojo.”

Gojo froze, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the screen. “You cheat!”

You grinned, leaning back. “No, I’m just better,” you said smoothly, your voice calm. Inside, you panicked a little; he couldn’t have possibly known; your screen wasn’t facing him.

“Yes! CHEAT! Me see!” He tapped his temple. “Muttsu no me! Me see!” Then he made a gesture that encompassed the whole planet with his long, troll-like arms. (“Six eyes.”)

You smirked, but before you could respond, the blond interjected. “Gojo, you’re imagining things.”

“Sōzō janai yo! Kanojo wa hontōni zuru o shita nda! Anata mo mitadesho. Eigo de itte!” Gojo gestured wildly at Nanami, who barely glanced at him. (“I’m NOT imagining! She literally just cheated! You saw it too. Say it in English!”)

“You’re hallucinating,” the blond said flatly.

“I am NOT!”

“Yes, you are. You’re tired. No more video games; go sit down over there.” The blond had seen you cheat, but he wasn’t letting the opportunity to embarrass Gojo pass.

Gojo sputtered, clearly betrayed, while you fought to keep a straight face.

“Impossible!” Gojo huffed at you, but there was no malice in his tone, only a kind of begrudging admiration. “You… strong.”

You shrugged, pulling your hood up just enough to smile. “Told you.”

Gojo’s throat made a strangled sound that suspiciously resembled a mewl; he seemed like a nerd. “Me ahh Gojo Satoru. He Nanami Kento.” He pointed at the blond without looking away from you.

Nanami’s eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary, his expression unreadable.

“So, Gojo and Nanami are your names? I believe Japan has a different naming convention, right?” You asked, steering the conversation away to avoid revealing your own name. Surrounded by a crowd, you felt uneasy about receiving random CVs and taking selfies with men whose hands seemed to wander a bit too freely.

Nanami was caught off guard by your knowledge. “You are correct. No, those are our surnames. He doesn’t know much English.”

He continued eyeing you with a poker face. “I don’t suppose you’d tell us your name?”

You scrambled to respond, giving them your gamer tag, which sounded surprisingly like a real name.

Gojo laughed, while Nanami’s gaze remained fixed on you. “Pardon my English, but I meant your real name.” He looked a bit smug as if saying, I-didn’t-stutter.

Damn! They were too perceptive. “Maybe next time,” you said, already rising to your feet, turning on your heel, and slipping into the crowd before they could press further.

You could feel their eyes on you, with Nanami’s gaze lingering the longest, as if he were piecing together a puzzle.

Later, after you walked out of the convention hall and made your way toward the food stalls, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself. You’d come to check on your team and ended up with a story you’d never forget.

Unbeknownst to you, Gojo was still at the booth, raving about the “mysterious hoodie lady” who was, in his words, “gaming goddess.” Nanami simply shook his head, filing away the memory of your smile for reasons he didn’t fully understand.

Nanami commented, “We never got her name.”

Gojo, beaming, muttered, “Me find her. Strongest reserves rematch.”

Nanami rubbed his temple. “It’s ‘deserves.’”

Gojo waved him off. “Ya ya that!”

Hours later, you stepped outside to go home.

The alley was dimly lit, the faint glow of a flickering streetlamp casting long shadows against the brick walls. You tugged your hood tighter, the weight of the day settling heavily on your shoulders as you made your way through. Just as you reached the halfway point, angry voices broke the quiet, followed by the unmistakable sound of heavy footsteps closing in.

“You think you can fire us just like that?” One of the men sneered, his face twisted with rage as he stepped into view. His friend loomed beside him, cracking his knuckles with an air of smugness.

You stopped, turning slowly to face them. Your pulse quickened, but you kept your tone cold. “I don’t think,” you replied, as you shifted into a defensive stance. “I know.”

The first man lunged, and you dodged, pivoting on your heel to avoid his clumsy attack. Your brain kicked into overdrive, calculating angles and weaknesses as you landed a solid kick to his shin, your heels digging in. He stumbled, cursing, but his friend was already charging at you.

You ducked, your fists up, but you weren’t trained for this. They were bigger, stronger, and clearly fueled by rage. Damn it, you thought bitterly, wishing you’d waited for Megumi—or at least brought your security detail in regular clothes.

“HEY!”

The voice boomed down the alley, startling everyone. You froze mid-dodge, turning toward the source of the voice.

Gojo stood at the entrance, his white hair glowing faintly under the streetlamp. His grin feral, hands shoved casually into his pockets. “What this? Fight? Without me?” His English was awful, the words garbled but unmistakably confident.

Behind him, Nanami appeared with the air of someone ready to ruin someone’s day. His eyes locked on the men, his expression grim. “Let’s divide and conquer.”

What followed was a masterclass in contrasts, a scene you’d replay in your mind for days.

Gojo’s opponent barely had time to process the incoming whirlwind before Gojo sidestepped his first punch with an exaggerated lean, one hand cupping his chin as if bored. “Loser shit,” he said.

The man swung again, and Gojo ducked low, popping up behind him like a magician revealing his latest trick. “Try harder! Or you go home?” His English faltered, and he switched to Japanese mid-sentence, gesturing at the alley’s exit.

Frustrated, the man lunged, but Gojo pivoted effortlessly, his movements mocking. “Ah-ah!” he teased, flicking the man’s forehead with enough force to send him faltering back. He could have actually flicked him through the wall, but he was trying to impress you, not terrify you. Then, with a theatrical spin, he delivered a sharp kick to the back of the man’s knees, sending him crashing to the ground.

“Strongest wins!” Gojo declared triumphantly as the man groaned in pain.

Meanwhile, Nanami was a study in calm brutality. His opponent came at him swinging, fists wild and uncoordinated. Nanami stepped to the side, his movements smooth, allowing the man’s momentum to carry him forward.

The attacker stumbled, and Nanami seized the opportunity. A precise jab to the spine sent the man gasping, doubling over in pain. Without missing a beat, Nanami delivered a swift knee to the stomach, his face utterly impassive as his opponent crumpled to the ground.

“Pathetic,” he muttered, adjusting his collar with indifference.

Within moments, both men were on the ground, groaning and defeated as the security—who’d arrived mid-fight—dragged them away.

Gojo glanced over at Nanami. “Why so serious, Nanamin?!”

Nanami shot him a flat look. That was the only phrase Gojo knew properly.

Gojo turned to you, his grin impossibly wide. “Hoodie lady! You okay?”

You adjusted your hood, making sure your face stayed hidden, though a faint smile tugged at your lips. “I’m fine. Thanks.”

Nanami stepped closer, his gaze lingering on you with quiet intensity. “You shouldn’t be out here alone,” he said, his tone edged with concern.

“I can handle myself,” you replied, though your voice softened.

“Clearly,” Nanami said, his lips twitching into the faintest hint of a smile.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, and you pulled it out to see a notification from your ride. “Well, thanks again for saving me.”

You turned to leave, but Gojo moved faster than you could anticipate, stepping into your space with a speed that made your heart skip. He leaned in, his face far too close as he tilted his head, his eyes still obscured by the ridiculous sunglasses. “Name,” he demanded, his tone expectant.

“Gojo,” Nanami barked, grabbing a fistful of his hair and yanking him back. “Control yourself.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle softly, still obscured by your barely see-through hood.

Well, they did save you, and no one was around right now, but they could be stalkers. So you only told them your nickname, essentially half your first name.

Gojo repeated it, his accent thick as he rolled the syllables around in his mouth like a taste he wanted to savor. Nanami echoed it under his breath, committing it to memory with far more subtlety. You had never loved your name more.

Gojo clapped his hands together, his grin as bright as the streetlamp above. “Okaaay, now us food! You come us!”

You blinked at him, bewildered.

Nanami immediately choked, “My apologies, my colleague means, would you like to join us for dinner?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Maybe next time. My grumpy ride is here.”

Before they could argue, you slipped past them as the soft hum of a sleek black Maserati cut through the alley’s quiet. The car glided to a stop, the sharp lines of its body catching the faint light from the streetlamp. The door opened smoothly, revealing a young Japanese man with sea urchin spiky black hair and a scowl sharp enough to rival Nanami’s deadliest glare.

He stepped out, his tailored suit pristine despite the late hour. His deep blue eyes swept over the scene, narrowing slightly as they landed on Gojo and Nanami. There was no mistaking the barely contained irritation in his expression as he glared daggers at the two men.

You smiled faintly as you approached and side-hugged him; his gaze softened, though the crease in his brow remained.

“You’re late,” he muttered, holding the door open for you. His English and accent perfectly matched yours, so Gojo deduced he definitely hadn’t lived in Japan much.

“You’re crabby,” you replied, sliding into the passenger seat.

“I wouldn’t be if you didn’t insist on wandering into alleys like this,” he said, his tone exasperated but tinged with familiarity. He cast one last glance at Gojo and Nanami, his lips curling slightly in what could only be described as a warning.

“Wait... you sent the security?” You asked, tone surprised.

“Yes.” He clipped, tone not revealing much. You’d later learn that the men who’d tried to hit you disappeared under mysterious circumstances after tonight. When you asked Megumi, he’d just glare at you and mutter about not having time to look into freeloaders.

Gojo tilted his head, his six eyes narrowing as he watched the interaction with growing curiosity. Nanami too had his gaze locked on the Maserati as the young man slipped back into the driver’s seat. The way his hand lingered on the steering wheel, his face scanning you for injuries. His head tilted slightly toward you as you spoke, suggesting something closer than casual acquaintance.

Nanami thought of looking you or the young man up on LinkedIn only to realize he never actually saw your face or knew the man’s name.

As the car pulled away, the faint glow of the interior lights illuminated your face behind the dark-tinted windows for just a moment. Gojo’s grin widened as he caught a glimpse of your smile, and Nanami’s eyes narrowed as he committed the fleeting image to memory for some reason he still didn’t understand.

Gojo’s eyes remained fixed on you as the guy driving whisked you away, scolding you for not waiting for him.

Nanami was also watching your retreating car in the distance. His thoughts lingered on the brief glimpse of your smile—the only part of you they’d truly seen. “Boyfriend?” He asked.

Gojo smirked, “You are awfully curious today, Nanamin.” Switching back to Japanese.

“Just answer the question.”

“I’m actually not sure. But the boy is a Zen'in; interestingly enough, the one’s father I killed before Suguru ran away.”

Gojo’s smile widened as you removed the hood from your face a few meters away. He had never been more grateful for his six eyes.

Good. He had a face now.

He clapped Nanami on the back. “Hoodie lady is full of surprises.”

Nanami’s expression remained unreadable. “You don’t even know her full name.”

Gojo’s grin only widened. “I’ll find her.”

Little did you know you had just met your future husbands.

After ensuring a safe distance between you and the men he’d encountered, your best friend turned to you, his expression serious. “Stay away from those two; they are sorcerers.”

"But aren't you?"

He immediately cut you off, "I only share the bloodline nothing else. You know what sorcerers did to my father. Besides, I think it was one of them."

You understood the weight of Megumi’s words, but you also knew why his father had been killed. It wasn’t because sorcerers were inherently dangerous, but because he had been too much of a thrill-seeker. “You do realize I’m not your child, right? I’m older than you.”

“Well, that’s too damn bad, Grandma.”

“Heyy!”

He chuckled to himself, but the laughter quickly faded as he asked, “What did they want with you anyway?” He was trying hard not to let you know he was probing.

“Nothing. They just wanted to know my name, and I kept dodging it with pseudonyms. Then they asked me to dinner, and I told them next time. But you don’t have to worry about it. I don’t think I’d ever see them again.” You said this absentmindedly, focused on ordering takeout on your phone before you arrived home.

“Good. Keep it that way. Don’t entertain them again.”

“Italian?” you asked, trying to shift the conversation.

“Get that Spinach and Broccoli Alfredo from that small place. Put it on my card.” He liked the dish, but it wasn’t his go-to for special occasions; it was yours.

“Aww, what’s the occasion?”

“You almost getting beaten up.”

You scowled at him.

“Relax. I’m just making sure you’re okay, or my father will resurrect himself and beat my ass.” He laughed, but there was an edge to his humor.

You thought of the men for a few days, their faces lingering in your mind, but you quickly moved on with your hectic life. You were determined not to let Megumi down. He didn’t have many friends besides you that he’d hang out with, let alone have around with his mom, and with his dad gone, he’d never recover from the betrayal if something happened to you.

But when had you ever listened to Megumi?

Today, you wished you had.

After they’d left you alone, the days bled together in a haze of exhaustion and dread. You busied yourself with the mundane tasks of preparing for the twins, folding impossibly tiny clothes, and arranging bottles on the counter like talismans against the pain threatening to consume you. Sukuna had been true to his word, filling the gaps with his presence and resources, but even his towering strength couldn’t shield you from the memories.

Each kick, each flutter, was a visceral reminder of the life growing inside you—a life you were determined to protect. Yet, every movement felt like a betrayal, a reminder of the faces you couldn’t erase. Gojo’s sharp grin, dulled now by sorrow. Nanami’s stoicism, cracking under the weight of his regret. They haunted you, their voices whispering in the silence of your nights, their hands ghosting over your skin in dreams that turned to nightmares.

One evening, Sukuna returned, his silhouette framed by the doorway. He carried bags of groceries, the muscles in his arms flexing as he set them down with more care than you thought him capable of. His usual smirk was absent, replaced by something foreign: concern.

“You’re wearing yourself thin,” he said, his voice rough but quiet. His crimson eyes swept over you, lingering on the trembling in your hands as you folded a onesie.

“I’m fine,” you muttered, though the lie sat heavy in your chest.

“Princess,” he said again, softer now, and the nickname cracked something inside you. “You’re not fine.”

Your hands froze mid-fold, the fabric slipping from your fingers. The room seemed to tilt, the walls closing in. “I don’t know how to do this,” you whispered, your voice breaking.

Sukuna crossed the room in three strides, his arms encircling you. His touch was firm, grounding, and you let yourself lean into him. “You’re doing it,” he murmured against your hair. “And you’re not alone.”

But the words couldn’t reach the hollow ache inside you.

The next day, the soft knock at the door was more polite than usual, almost hesitant. Sukuna didn’t wait for you to answer—he never did; he never even knocked—but this time, he lingered in the doorway, his hulking frame lit by the warm glow of the sunlight filtering in through the window. His expression was unreadable, though the faintest flicker of something nervous passed through his crimson eyes.

In his hands, he held a large box, haphazardly wrapped in crinkled newspaper and secured with what looked like electrical tape.

“What is that?” You asked, narrowing your eyes.

He grunted, stepping inside and setting the box down on the coffee table with a thud. “It’s for them,” he said, jerking his chin toward your stomach.

You blinked, thrown off by the unexpected gesture. “You got them… a gift?”

He shot you a glare, defensive already. “Don’t make it weird. It’s not a big deal.”

Your curiosity got the better of you, and you shuffled over to the box, careful to lower yourself onto the couch. Sukuna watched, his arms crossed over his chest, as you peeled back the layers of tape and newspaper.

Inside was chaos.

A mishmash of items tumbled out—two tiny leather jackets, complete with spikes on the shoulders; a set of Blobfish plushies; and what could only be described as baby-sized combat boots, polished to a mirror shine.

Your jaw dropped. “Sukuna… what the hell is this?”

He shrugged, his smirk returning, though it was softer than usual. “Gear. For when they’re old enough to not embarrass me.”

You couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up, loud and uncontrollable. It startled even you, breaking through the thick fog of grief and exhaustion that had clung to you for days. “Spiked leather jackets? Combat boots? What are they, tiny bikers?”

“They’re going to be strong,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact as he dropped onto the armchair across from you. “Might as well dress the part.”

You shook your head, still laughing as you held up one of the jackets. It was absurdly small, the spikes dulled for safety. “This is so extra.”

“You’re welcome,” he shot back, though the faint twitch of his lips betrayed his satisfaction at your reaction.

You set the jacket down, your laughter fading into a softer smile. “You didn’t have to do this.”

Sukuna leaned back, his gaze locking onto yours with a rare intensity. “I know,” he said simply.

For a moment, the room was quiet, the air between you charged with something unspoken. He broke the silence first, waving a hand toward the mess of items on the table. “I’m not saying they’ll ever use this crap. Just… figured it might make you laugh.”

Your chest tightened, the ache of loss mingling with something warmer, something unfamiliar. “It did,” you admitted, your voice softer now.

“Good.” He stood abruptly, brushing imaginary dust off his pants. “I’ll pick up something more normal next time. Maybe. Only if you drink enough water.”

You laughed again, shaking your head. “Please don’t. This is perfect.”

Sukuna’s smirk widened as he swaggered toward the door. Just before he left, he paused, glancing back over his shoulder, and said, “I’m not going anywhere, Princess.”

In a moment that could only be described as peak Sukuna, he turned to make his grand exit, only for his nose to collide with the door frame with a resounding thud.

“Stupid... who put this here?” He grumbled, rubbing his nose furiously as if it were the door’s fault for existing. You couldn’t help but burst into laughter, the sound echoing in the room like a cackling hyena.

“Maybe it’s a sign you should start ducking!” You teased, and he shot you a look that was half annoyed, half amused, like a cat that had just been splashed with water, but it was warm.

“I’ll just buy a bigger door!” He retorted, throwing his hands up in exaggerated exasperation.

With that, he turned to leave again, but not before bumping his head against the door frame once more, muttering, “This door is clearly out to get me.” You couldn’t help but laugh even harder.

And then he was gone, leaving you surrounded by the absurdity he’d brought with him. You looked down at the tiny jackets and boots, your hand resting on your stomach as the twins stirred softly. Maybe your laughing did calm them.

Same night, your bedroom was cold, the soft glow of a nightlight casting shadows that seemed to shift with your every movement. You slept in the center of the room, one hand resting on your swollen belly. The twins kicked softly, their presence grounding and tormenting you in equal measure.

The guilt was a living thing, coiled tight around your chest. Sukuna had done everything—more than you could have asked for—but the lie you’d spun had fangs. Each day, it bit deeper, carving wounds you couldn’t heal.

You woke screaming, clutching your stomach as panic clawed at your throat. Sukuna was there in an instant, his hands steady on your shoulders, his voice sharp and commanding. “What is it?”

“They’re going to take them,” your voice raw and broken. “They’ll find a way.”

“No one’s taking anything,” his crimson eyes blazing with an intensity that should have comforted you. But the storm inside you raged on.

“You don’t know them,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “They’ll stop at nothing.”

Sukuna cupped your face, his touch surprisingly gentle in his large hands. “They won’t get near you. Not while I’m here.”

But his words were like whispers against a hurricane. You turned away, your gaze falling to the crib, its bars a reminder of the prison you’d built around your heart.

“I’ll protect you,” you murmured to the twins, your hands trembling as you traced the curve of your stomach. “Even if it kills me.”

The room seemed to hold its breath, the silence heavy and oppressive.

“I won’t let you die.” Sukuna whispered. You turned to look at him only to be kissed by him on your temple. It wasn’t anything passionate; it was as if he was sealing a promise.

The next morning, you shuffled into the living room, your back aching from another restless night. The twins had been unusually active, their cursed energy—or at least what you deduced was cursed energy—pressing against your insides like waves crashing against fragile glass. You’d woken up drenched in sweat, the faint outline of one of their hands or feet briefly visible under your skin before retreating into the shadows of your body. It was horrifying and beautiful, and you hated that you didn’t know how to feel about it.

Sukuna was already in the living room, sitting on the floor, a cup of coffee in his hand. He glanced up as you entered, his crimson eyes scanning you like he could read every thought you were trying to suppress.

“You look worse than usual,” he said, his voice cutting but not cruel.

“Thanks,” you muttered, dropping onto the couch with a wince.

He didn’t respond right away, just set his cup down, straightened and stretched, his maroon hoodie riding up, revealing markings on his stomach. He watched you with an expression you couldn’t quite place. Despite being on the floor, he was somehow on eye level with you.

After a moment, he stood and disappeared into the kitchen. You didn’t have the energy to ask what he was doing.

When he returned, he was holding a glass of water and a small bowl filled with neatly peeled and cut fruit. He handed them to you without a word, his hand lingering for a moment as you took the bowl.

“Eat,” he said simply, sitting back down on the floor in front of you.

You stared at the fruit. “You didn’t have to—”

“Stop,” he interrupted, his tone firm. “Just eat.”

You did, the sweet and sourness of the fruits grounding you. Sukuna watched, his gaze flicking between your face and your stomach.

After a while, he spoke again, his voice softer. “You hate looking at yourself, don’t you?”

Your breath caught; you definitely had a type. Type that kept seeing through your lies!

You didn’t answer, but the way you looked away was answer enough.

Sukuna shifted closer, resting his forearms on his knees. “Can I?”

You frowned, unsure. “Why?”

“Just trust me, Princess,” he said, his smirk faint but not unkind.

Reluctantly, you let him. His hands moved to your baby balloon, his touch firm but careful, soothing you as he pressed his palms against the curve.

“Feel that?” he murmured as one of the twins shifted beneath his hand, the movement almost shy.

You nodded, your throat tight.

“They’re strong,” he said, his voice steady. “They know you’re protecting them.”

Another flutter beneath your skin, this one softer, more deliberate. Sukuna’s hands didn’t move, his warmth radiating through you like a shield against the chill that had settled in your bones.

“You’re not broken,” he said after a moment, his tone uncharacteristically gentle. “And you’re not alone in this.”

“You sure are comfortable touching them now.” You teased.

He snorted. “And here I thought I was helping you feel better.”

You laughed and closed your eyes as the twins settled, their energy calming under the weight of his words. The war inside you felt a little less unbearable.

A few days later, the apartment was warm, sunlight streaming through the half-open blinds and landing in soft streaks across the living room floor. You sat on the couch, one hand absently resting on your stomach while the other scrolled through your phone. You weren’t looking at anything in particular, just trying to distract yourself from the relentless ache in your lower back and the twins’ ongoing UFC match in your uterus.

Sukuna walked in, carrying a bag of groceries like it was filled with feathers as usual. His broad shoulders filled the doorway as he kicked it shut behind him. He looked at you, then at the untouched snack bowl on the coffee table, then back at you.

“You didn’t eat the strawberries I cut,” he said flatly, setting the bag down.

“I wasn’t hungry,” you replied without looking up.

“You’re always hungry,” he shot back, folding his arms.

You finally glanced up at him, raising a brow. “Maybe I’m evolving.”

He snorted, dropping onto the armchair across from you. “Yeah, into a cranky gargoyle. What’s up with you today?”

“Nothing,” you said quickly, your tone too breezy.

His eyes narrowed, sharp and calculating. “Bullshit.”

You sighed, setting your phone down. “I’m fine, Sukuna. Can’t a woman just sit in peace without being interrogated?”

“Not when that woman’s got two cursed powerhouses doing cartwheels inside her,” he replied, his smirk faint but pointed.

You rolled your eyes, leaning back against the couch. “I’m just tired, okay?”

He stared at you for a long moment, his crimson eyes flicking to your stomach, then back to your face.

“You’re not tired,” he said finally, his voice quieter. “You feel weird. About your body.”

Your head snapped up, your mouth opening to protest, but he cut you off with a raised hand.

“Don’t even try to deny it,” he said, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “You’re confident, sure. You’re also human. You’re carrying their demon spawns, and it’s messing with your head. I’d feel weird too.”

You blinked, thrown off by the bluntness of his words. “That’s… not exactly how I’d put it.”

“Whatever,” he said, waving a hand dismissively. “Point is, you’re not as slick as you think you are, Princess.”

You stared at him, unsure whether to laugh or be offended. “And what, you’re here to be my body image coach now?”

“Very perceptive of you,” he said, standing abruptly. He grabbed the bag of groceries and pulled out a tub of chocolate ice cream and a loaf of bread. Even your cravings weren’t original from your husbands.

“What are you doing?” you asked, watching in bemusement as he started slathering jam on a slice of bread.

“Making you a snack,” he replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Pickle and peanut butter sandwich. Ice cream chaser. Don’t knock it till you try it.”

“That’s disgusting,” you said, wrinkling your nose.

“Yeah, well, so’s the idea of that white-haired one being someone’s dad, but here we are,” he quipped, tossing the sandwich onto a plate and handing it to you.

You stared at the monstrosity, then at him. “This is your solution to my body issues? Weird snacks?”

“No,” he said, sitting back down and gesturing at you with a flourish. “My solution is this: you’re hot, you’re badass, and if anyone says otherwise, I’ll break their spine. But you’re also you, which means you’re allowed to feel weird about turning into a walking incubator for two special-grade cursed-energy gremlins. Doesn’t mean you’re less of anything.”

You blinked. “That’s… oddly sweet.”

“I aim to please,” he grumbled, grabbing the remote and turning on the TV. “Now eat the sandwich before I change my mind.”

You laughed, taking a tentative bite of the pickle-peanut butter monstrosity. It was terrible, but for some reason, it made you feel a little better.

The next day, the air was crisp, the kind of weather that made the leaves crunch underfoot and the sunlight feel softer. Sukuna strolled beside you, a reusable shopping bag slung over his shoulder like a fashion statement, his other hand steadying you as you waddled along the cobblestone path of the farmer’s market, your face obscured by a large mask. The twins had been kicking non-stop since breakfast, and your back felt like it was holding the weight of the world.

“I don’t know why you dragged me here,” you muttered, squinting at a stall of overpriced honey jars.

“Because you’ve been sulking for days,” Sukuna replied, smirking. “And I’m tired of watching you fold tiny clothes and cry about it.”

Before you could retort, he veered off toward a stall selling baby onesies, grabbing one with a print of a cartoon goat that read Mommy’s Little Terror. He held it up, raising a brow. “This fits their vibe.”

You snorted despite yourself. “They’re not even born yet, and you’re assigning them a vibe?”

“Yeah,” he said, tossing it into the bag. “And this.” He grabbed another onesie, this one pink and emblazoned with Future World Domination Leader.

You laughed, leaning on his arm for support as the twins shifted again. Sukuna noticed immediately, crouching slightly to meet your eyes. “Tired?”

“A little,” you admitted, though your body screamed a lot.

Without a word, he scooped you up effortlessly, one arm under your knees and the other supporting your back. “What are you—put me down!”

“Shut up, Princess,” he said, grinning as heads turned to stare at the giant man carrying a visibly and heavily—maybe too heavily—pregnant woman like she weighed nothing. “You’ll thank me later.”

An older woman at a nearby stall clasped her hands together, her face lighting up. “Oh, isn’t he just wonderful? So attentive!”

Sukuna didn’t miss a beat. “Yeah, I’m pretty great,” he said, flashing her a cocky grin. “My wife’s a champ, though. Carrying our twins and still managing to look this bewitching.”

You groaned, burying your face in his shoulder. “Stoppp.”

He ignored you, turning his attention to the woman. “I’m so proud of her. She’s going to be an amazing birthgiver.”

The woman beamed, clearly swooning. “You’re both so lucky!”

“Yeah,” Sukuna said, his voice softening just enough for only you to hear. “I am.”

Later that week, Sukuna insisted on taking you grocery shopping. You protested, but he ignored you as usual, guiding you through the aisles with a hand on your lower back.

“Pickles?” he asked, holding up a jar with a raised brow.

You nodded, reaching for it, but he pulled it back. “What’s the magic word?”

“Are you serious?”

“Deadly.”

“Fine,” you huffed. “Please.”

He handed it over with a smug grin. “See? Was that so hard?”

At the checkout, the cashier—a young woman with doe eyes—couldn’t stop glancing at Sukuna, her cheeks pink as she scanned the items.

“These pickles,” she started, clearly searching for a conversation starter. “A craving?”

Sukuna nodded solemnly. “Yeah. She’s eating for three, and I’m eating for stress.”

You choked on a laugh, swatting his arm. “Don’t listen to him.”

The cashier giggled nervously, her eyes lingering on Sukuna a moment too long. He didn’t even notice, too busy helping you into your coat and carrying all the bags in one hand like they weighed air.

Outside, you leaned against him, your feet aching. “You didn’t have to do all of that.”

He smirked, draping an arm around your shoulders. “Sure I did. It’s my job to keep you entertained.”

A couple of days later, at the park, Sukuna insisted on renting a swan paddle boat “for the twins.” The boat was comically small for his frame, his knees practically up to his chest as he paddled with exaggerated effort and heavy breaths.

“Why are we doing this?” you asked, trying not to laugh.

“Because I like suffering,” he said, glaring at the water like it had personally offended him.

He was doing it for you, to make you laugh as much as possible.

Then when you finally broke into giggles, he grinned, satisfied.

That night, when you struggled to sleep, Sukuna sat by your bed, massaging pain-relieving oils into your swollen ankles with surprising care. His hands were rough but gentle, his expression focused.

“You don’t have to do this,” you murmured, your voice thick with exhaustion.

He glanced up, his crimson eyes softer than you’d ever seen. “I know,” he said simply, his hands never faltering.

You fell asleep to the sound of his low, rumbling voice, humming an off-key lullaby he’d probably made up on the spot. His humming seemed to soothe the twins into no-cartwheeling sleep, which helped you relax for the night.

Sukuna never thought he could be perfect, but in those moments, he was everything you needed.

The next day, the yoga studio smelled faintly of lavender and freshly cleaned mats. Sukuna walked in beside you, his presence as imposing as ever. His crimson eyes swept over the room, narrowing slightly at the women who turned to gawk. He helped you settle onto your mat with the kind of careful attention that seemed absurd coming from someone like him, crouching to adjust the pillow beneath your knees before straightening to his full, towering height.

The murmurs started immediately. Low at first, barely audible, but growing louder with every second. You could feel the weight of their stares pressing against your skin, even through the mask you wore to keep a low profile.

Sukuna noticed too. His gaze darkened, his smirk vanishing as his eyes darted across the room. “What’s their problem?” he muttered under his breath.

You tried to ignore it, focusing on your breathing as the instructor began leading the class through stretches. But the whispers didn’t stop.

“She’s the one,” someone hissed, loud enough to reach your ears.

“Carrying twins,” another added, voice dripping with disdain.

You clenched your fists, your nails biting into your palms. Sukuna’s head snapped toward the source of the voices, his expression hardening.

And then, of course, Karen appeared.

She strode across the room, her leggings pulled so high they might as well have been a second ribcage. Her smirk was cruel as she stopped in front of you.

The room went quiet. She loomed over you—as you were sitting on the floor—her arms crossed, her expression smug. “What’s it like being the talk of the internet? The woman who couldn’t keep her men in line?”

You felt Sukuna tense beside you, his hand twitching at his side. You placed a hand on his arm, silently telling him to hold back. “I’m here to practice yoga, not entertain you.”

Karen’s smirk widened, her gaze flicking over you like you were something stuck to the bottom of her shoe. “Practice yoga? That’s rich. You mean parading around with your ‘fake husband’ after your other two clowns beat people up? Gave people permanent injuries?”

Then she turned to Sukuna and continued, “Oh, I knew for a fact you were a chum who got stuck with her. I was right, and you lied.”

You kept your grip on Sukuna’s arm firm. You spoke calmly but firm. “Watch your mouth! First of all, don’t bring Sukuna into this. Second, I was the one holding them back. I didn’t incite it. I kept my employees alive that day.”

Karen’s gaze swept over you, landing on your stomach, clearly not ready to back off. “Honestly, it’s impressive,” she continued, her tone dripping with mockery. “First, you marry two men, and then you end up with him?”

Sukuna’s growl was low and guttural, his towering frame eclipsing hers. “Watch it.”

“Karen,” you yelled, “you don’t know anything about my life. You don’t know what I’ve been through, what I’ve survived.”

“Survived?” Karen scoffed. “You mean you survived your ‘unnatural ways’ coming out in front of the entire world? Or is it surviving the fact that no one takes you seriously anymore?”

“Sukuna,” you said, your voice lowering. “Let’s just go.”

Your stomach was churning, the weight of her words sinking in like lead. Sukuna’s hand rested lightly on you, grounding you, but even his presence couldn’t shield you from the growing stares around the room.

Karen stepped closer, looming over you, invading your personal space. It felt as though she might resort to physical violence with you at any moment. Her voice dropped, but the venom in her tone remained unmistakable. “People are calling you a sex addict, you know. Can’t say I blame them. Married to two men, pregnant with God knows who’s kids, and now cozying up to him?” She sneered. “You’re not just a scandal—you’re a disgrace. You can’t live without dick can you! What now? You’ll add him to your harem too, you whore! If I were in your place, I would have killed myself!”

The words hit like daggers, each one twisting deeper. Your breath caught, but before you could respond, Sukuna moved.

It happened in an instant.

You gasped, “Ryo!”

The slap cracked through the studio like a thunderclap, silencing the room. Karen stumbled, clutching her cheek, her eyes wide with shock and disbelief.

Sukuna loomed over her, his towering frame casting a shadow that swallowed her whole. His voice was low, a growl that rumbled through the silence. “Say one more word, and I’ll make sure you never speak again.”

Karen’s confidence crumbled instantly, her wide-eyed shock betraying the venom she’d spewed moments ago. She glanced around the room, searching for someone—anyone—to come to her defense, but the silence was deafening. The other mothers avoided her gaze, their expressions a mix of discomfort and quiet satisfaction.

Her husband wasn’t there, of course. He’d finally had enough of her tirades, her endless need to dominate every room she walked into. The divorce papers had already been filed, and his absence spoke louder than any words ever could. Karen, with her toxic cocktail of insecurity and unchecked cruelty, had been left with nothing but her bitterness.

She didn’t belong here. She wasn’t pregnant and had no intention of ever being so. For years, she’d come to these classes not to bond or prepare for motherhood but to belittle and bully anyone she deemed weaker. She was a relic of high school, clinging to the power she once wielded over others, desperate to make someone else feel smaller to distract from her own failures.

Today, you had been her target. Her divorce had clearly left her hellbent on tearing someone else down, and she might’ve succeeded—she might’ve even turned to violence—if Sukuna hadn’t intervened. You were glad Sukuna didn’t see gender while serving people their karma.

Your heart pounded, but you forced yourself to stand—or try to. A sharp cramp shot through your side, stealing your breath. You stumbled, clutching your stomach as the twins shifted violently.

Sukuna caught you before you could fall, his hands steadying you as he glared at Karen.

His growl cut through the silence. “We’re leaving,” he said, his voice cold and final.

He didn’t move at first, his glare fixed on Karen like a wolf deciding whether the hunt was worth it, like debating whether she deserved another hit.

Finally, he relented, his muscles relaxing as he focused on you. “I’ll get you a private instructor,” he added, his tone softening as he looked at you.

The twins stirred. Pain shot through your abdomen, and you gasped, clutching at Sukuna’s shirt.

“Hang on,” he muttered, his voice softening as he carried you out of the studio.

Behind you, Karen stood frozen, her face pale and her cheek still burning red. No one moved to comfort her. No one even looked at her. The only sound in the room was the quiet creak of the door as it closed behind you.

Once in the car, you buried your face in his chest, your breathing erratic. He held you close, his large hand stroking your hair awkwardly but gently.

“Don’t listen to them,” he said, his voice firm but uncharacteristically tender. “Only you know the truth. Only you know what you went through and how you survived.”

The ride home was quiet. Sukuna carried you inside, settling you on the couch with the kind of gentleness that made your chest ache.

But the silence stretched on, and the weight of Karen’s words pressed down on you like a vice. The twins shifted again, their energy erratic, feeding off your turmoil.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Sukuna crouched in front of you, his large hands resting on your knees. “Don’t,” he said firmly. “Don’t apologize for insecure humans.”

You nodded, but the hollow ache in your chest didn’t ease.

As the hours passed, you found yourself staring out the window, the city lights blurring as tears filled your eyes.

Sukuna stayed close, his presence steady but silent. When the tears finally came, hot and unrelenting, he pulled you into his arms, holding you as you cried.

And though he didn’t say it, his arms were a fortress around you as the world outside kept spinning, cruel and unforgiving. He silently vowed that no one would ever hurt you again.

Days after that, the silence that pressed down on your chest and made it hard to breathe. You sat curled up on the couch, an old photo clutched tightly in your hands. It was worn at the edges, the glossy finish dulled from countless times you’d held it. In it, Gojo was grinning, his arm slung lazily over Nanami’s shoulders. You were in the middle, laughing at something you couldn’t remember now, your face lit with a happiness that felt like it belonged to someone else. The pain it brought was sharp, raw, an open wound that refused to heal no matter how much time passed.

Maybe you didn’t love them anymore—not in the way you once had. That love had been replaced by something darker, heavier. But the ache of what they’d done to you, the way they’d left you to drown in your own loneliness while they found comfort in each other… it consumed you.

You didn’t hear Sukuna until he was standing in the doorway, his broad frame silhouetted against the dim light of the hallway.

“Why do you keep doing this to yourself?” he asked, his voice softer than usual but still carrying that edge of exasperation.

You startled, quickly tucking the photo under your thigh. “I’m not doing anything.”

His crimson eyes narrowed, and he crossed the room in two strides, crouching down in front of you. “Don’t lie to me, Princess. You’re terrible at it.”

You looked away, unable to meet his gaze. “I just… I don’t know. Maybe I shouldn’t have left.”

The words tasted bitter on your tongue, but they were out before you could stop them. Sukuna’s expression shifted to something unreadable.

“You’re joking,” he said, his voice flat.

“I’m not,” you whispered, your hands trembling in your lap. “I mean, they didn’t care about me, not really, but… I still left, and so much happened. People got hurt.”

“You kept the people alive!” Sukuna said, his tone sharper now. He leaned closer, his crimson eyes boring into yours. “You walked away because they didn’t deserve you.”

You shook your head, the tears falling faster now. “What if I made a mistake? What if I should’ve tried harder? Maybe none of this would have happened.”

“Stop,” Sukuna snapped, his voice cutting through your spiral. He grabbed your chin gently but firmly, forcing you to look at him. “Do you really think that despite one of them having the gift of six eyes, if he still couldn’t see the life growing inside you, they wouldn’t have taken you for granted through the pregnancy as well?! They’re the ones who fucked up. Not you. They had you—you—and they chose to ignore you. That’s on them, not you.”

The conviction in his voice made your chest tighten, but the doubt still lingered. “But—”

“No,” he interrupted, his thumb brushing against your jaw in a soft gesture. “No ‘but.’ You didn’t leave because you stopped loving them. You left because they stopped showing you they loved you.”

His words cracked something in you, like an old vase you never saw but always sensed the presence of in your heart’s home.

You let out a shaky breath, the photo slipping from your lap and landing face-up on the couch. Sukuna glanced at it, his jaw tightening for a moment before he reached for it. He studied it silently, his thumb brushing over your smiling face.

“They didn’t deserve this version of you,” he said, his voice low. “And they sure as hell don’t deserve the you now.”

The warmth in his words, the unguarded softness, made your heart ache in a different way. He handed the photo back to you, his hand lingering over yours for a moment.

“I’m not saying it’ll stop hurting,” he admitted, his crimson eyes meeting yours. “But don’t waste your time wondering if you should’ve stayed. You didn’t leave for no reason. Remember the past version of yourself in that exact moment when everything was crumbling around you. What you felt. Don’t put yourself through that.”

You nodded, the weight in your chest easing just slightly. Sukuna stood, offering you his hand. “Come on,” he said, his smirk returning faintly. “You’ve been crying for hours. Let me make you something to eat before you wither away. Besides, you deserve better. Better than them. Better than what they gave you.”

Then smugly added, “Someone as amazing as me.”

Despite yourself, you laughed softly, taking his hand.

The first signs came like whispers in the dark—a sharp, fleeting twinge low in your abdomen, a dull ache spreading like ripples in water. You brushed it off as stress, convincing yourself it was nothing.

But Sukuna noticed. He always noticed.

His crimson eyes tracked your every move, narrowing at the way you shifted uncomfortably in your seat, your hand lingering on your belly a beat too long.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing,” you lied, forcing a smile.

His gaze hardened, the muscle in his jaw ticking. “You’re a terrible liar, Princess.”

That evening, as you struggled to stand after dinner, a sharp gasp escaped your lips. Sukuna was at your side in an instant, his large hand steadying you.

“That’s it,” he said, his voice brooking no argument. “We’re going to the hospital.”

You tried to protest, but the look in his eyes silenced you.

// Music

{The hospital was cold, sterile as usual. The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly, casting harsh shadows on the linoleum floors. The smell of antiseptic clung to everything, making your stomach churn.

You sat on the examination table, the thin paper gown sticking uncomfortably to your skin. The room felt too bright, too exposed. Sukuna sat beside you, his broad frame dwarfing the small plastic chair. His expression was unreadable, but his hand rested on his knee, the tension in his fingers betraying his calm façade. The fake husband playing the role perfectly.

The doctor entered, her face carefully neutral, but you caught the hesitation in her movements.

“Let’s take a look,” she said, her tone professional but soft.

The ultrasound gel was cold against your skin, and the room silent except for the faint hum of the machine. You stared at the monitor, waiting for the familiar sound of their heartbeats.

But the silence stretched on.

The doctor’s brow furrowed, her hand pausing over the probe.

“What is it?” Sukuna’s voice was tense.

The doctor hesitated, her hand hovering over the ultrasound machine as though the pause could soften the blow. Her eyes flicked to you, then back to the screen, her expression unreadable.

“I’m… not detecting a heartbeat.”

The words knocked the air from your lungs.

“No,” the denial spilling out before you could think. Your voice trembled, barely audible. “No, that’s not right. They were moving. Just yesterday. I felt them. I was craving pickles, and I had really bad back pain too; they were moving so much.”

The doctor’s face was heavy with sympathy as she set the probe down. “I’m so sorry.”

You shook your head, the room tilting around you. Your hand flew to your stomach, pressing against the curve as if your touch could summon them back, as if you could will them to respond. “They can’t be gone,” you choked out, your voice breaking.

The doctor took a breath, her voice steady but clinical, as if detachment could lessen the cruelty of what she had to say. “It’s an extraordinarily rare case—heteropaternal superfecundation combined with double fertilization. Their development was… incompatible with life.”

The medical jargon felt cruel, meaningless. Just noise.

Sukuna’s hand found yours, his grip firm, grounding, but it only highlighted how far away you felt. It made it real. His jaw was clenched, his crimson eyes darker than you’d ever seen, but he said nothing. He couldn’t.

Your head spun, the walls closing in, the fluorescent lights glaring like they were trying to expose every raw nerve. The doctor’s voice faded, a dull hum drowned out by the pounding of your own heartbeat.

“They were mine,” you whispered.

Sukuna leaned closer, his hand steady against your back.

The doctor excused herself quietly, the door clicking shut behind her. The silence that followed pressed against your chest like a weight you couldn’t lift.

You sat frozen, your hand still pressed to your stomach, waiting for something—anything. A kick, a flutter, some proof that they were still there.

But there was nothing.

You curled into yourself, clutching your stomach as though you could shield what was already gone.

“They were mine,” you repeated, the words a broken mantra. “They were mine.”

Sukuna’s grip was almost bruising. His other arm wrapped around you, pulling you against his chest.

He didn’t speak, didn’t try to fill the silence with empty reassurances. He just held you, his breath steady against your hair as your world fell apart.

After months of crying, your tears had finally run out. You couldn’t will them now, not that you wanted to.

You were done.

The dissociation came slowly, creeping in like a shadow. You faded into hollow silence, your body still in his arms. You stared at the floor, your eyes unfocused, your mind retreating into a void where the suffering couldn’t reach you.

Sukuna’s voice broke through the fog, low and firm. “Stay with me, Princess.”

But you couldn’t. Not anymore.

The hollowness swallowed you whole, leaving nothing but the ghost of what could have been.

But Sukuna stayed, his presence a steady anchor in the storm, an anchor you couldn’t see.

The procedure to remove them was a nightmare. The machines beeped; the cold metal of the instruments glinted, their sharp edges catching your eye and filling your chest with dread.

Sukuna stood by your side. His hand wrapped around yours like a hazy lifeline, anchoring you to a reality you didn’t care about.

His crimson eyes never left your face, his expression unreadable but tense, his jaw set as though he could will the universe to reverse itself by sheer force.

The procedure began, the doctor’s voice a muted hum in the background. Pressure built in your abdomen, the sensation alien and invasive, like something being torn away from the core of your existence. You bit your lip hard enough to draw blood, the metallic taste grounding you.

But you didn’t scream no matter how much it hurt. You couldn’t bring yourself to care whether you made it or if the universe would be kind enough to end it all through a freak incident of medical malpractice.

Sukuna didn’t flinch, didn’t move, his grip tightening as if to remind you he was there. The machines continued their cold, unfeeling symphony, and the minutes stretched into an eternity.

When it was over, there was only silence. The absence of their presence, a void that swallowed everything else.

The doctor murmured something to Sukuna, her words slipping past you like water over stone. You sat up shakily, the hospital gown sticking to your damp skin, your breath coming in short, shallow bursts. But mind wasn’t there.

“I want to see them,” you whispered. “Please.”

Sukuna was in front of you in an instant, his broad chest blocking your view as he pulled you into his arms. His grip was firm but careful, cradling you as though you might shatter as the doctors moved discreetly behind him.

“No,” he said, his voice low but resolute. “You don’t want to see them, Princess. Trust me.”

You clutched at his shirt with trembling hands. “They were mine,” you choked out, your words muffled against him.

“They still are,” he murmured, his tone softer than you’d ever heard. His hand stroked your back in slow, grounding motions, his presence steady even as his own turmoil blared beneath.

The sight of them would haunt him forever.

He’d seen them as the doctors worked quickly, their small, fragile forms laid out in a shallow steel tray. The boy’s limbs were long, spindly, his jawline so sharp it was almost serrated. His translucent skin revealed a web of delicate veins, branching like cracks in glass. The girl’s features were softer, her tiny hands fused into curling nubs, her face serene despite the unnatural bulge beneath her closed eyelids. Their hair split down the middle—one half blond, the other stark white—a cruel mirror of their fathers.

They were chimeric, a grotesque fusion of too much DNA, as the doctors explained to him later, alone. “Incompatible with life,” they had said clinically, as though that phrase could encompass the enormity of the loss.

They told him there was no recorded case of such a thing ever happening.

Sukuna stayed silent through it all, his hand flexing at his side as if he wanted to destroy the room, the machines, the universe itself. But when he returned to you, he was calm again, his rage buried beneath layers of quiet resolve.

The hospital was a blur after that, like you were seeing through water. Sukuna dealt with the hospital staff in his usual manner—efficient, cold, terrifying. He had the remains cremated, sparing you the finality of their lifeless forms. You barely noticed when he disappeared to speak with the staff, his voice low and clipped, or when he returned, his presence looming beside you like a shield you didn’t ask for.

When you asked about the remains, your voice hollow and detached, he didn’t sugarcoat it. “It’s already done,” he said simply, his tone leaving no room for questions.

You nodded, not because you agreed, but because you didn’t care enough to argue.

“Let’s go home,” he said, his voice steady as he helped you to your feet.

You clung to him as he carried you out of the hospital, but your expressions remained unreadable. The hollow ache in your chest felt endless, but Sukuna didn’t let go, his presence a fragile shield against the unbearable weight of what you’d lost.

The days after were an endless cycle of nothingness. Sukuna filled the void with his relentless presence, taking over everything he already used to manage. He cooked meals you barely touched, cleaned the apartment with medical precision, scheduled your appointments, and arranged therapy without asking.

“You need this,” he said when you stared blankly at the brochure he placed in front of you. His tone firm, final.

You went because it was easier than refusing. The therapist spoke gently, her words carefully chosen, but they washed over you like white noise. You answered her questions in monotone, offering just enough to keep the sessions moving. He drove you to and back from your appointments and waited for you in between.

“It’ll take time,” she said once after your session, her voice warm with reassurance. Sukuna nodded. You didn’t respond.}

At home, you spent hours by the window, staring at the sea. The waves rolled in and out, unchanging, as if mocking the chaos that had become your life. Sukuna hovered in the background, his movements quiet. He never pushed, never demanded anything from you.

Sometimes he’d sit nearby, reading or scrolling through his phone, his presence grounding in its consistency. Other times, he’d leave you entirely alone, his heavy footsteps echoing down the hallway as he gave you space you didn’t know how to fill.

When nightmares came, they weren’t violent anymore. They strangled you silently. You’d wake in a cold sweat, your chest heavy with an ache that felt like it would never leave. Sukuna was always there, sitting at the edge of your bed, his hand resting on your shoulder or his voice a low murmur in the dark. Had he stopped sleeping? You were too dissociated to argue.

“It’s okay,” he’d say, though you didn’t believe him.

One night, you woke to find him standing in the doorway, his silhouette stark against the faint light from the hall. He didn’t notice you watching as he muttered under his breath, his voice low and dangerous.

“If they ever come near you again, I’ll kill them.”

You didn’t ask who he meant. You didn’t want to know.

No matter what Sukuna did—his soft gestures, his quiet presence, his unwavering care—you remained numb.

He brought you flowers once, bright and vibrant, placing them on the table with a small, awkward shrug. You glanced at them briefly before returning to your spot by the window.

He cooked your favorite meal, setting the plate in front of you with a forced smirk. “Eat, Princess,” he said, but when you pushed the food around with your fork and left the table without a word, he didn’t stop you.

Even when he tried to make you laugh—muttering sarcastic comments about the people outside, rolling his eyes dramatically when the news played something ridiculous—it barely registered.

The world felt distant, like you were watching it through frosted glass.

Sukuna’s presence was the only constant, but even that felt like something happening to someone else.

And though you didn’t react, didn’t acknowledge the weight of his efforts, he stayed. Silent, steady, unyielding.

One night when the pain got too much, you walked to his room and cried in his chest. After months.

He held you the way he always did, but it was stronger this time, as if trying to anchor you in a storm that wouldn’t pass. He didn’t fill the void with empty reassurances, nor did he push you to speak.

The next day, things went back to you staring at nothing.

Japan

Gojo sat slouched, manspreading on the couch, his T-shirt messy like his hair, eyes uncovered, hands dangling between his knees, a photo clutched so tightly the edges were crumpled. The room was dim, lit only by the gray haze of a city that never quite slept. His six eyes scanned the image for the hundredth time, even though he knew every detail by heart—the grainy black-and-white outline of two unmistakable shapes, curled together like yin and yang. He’d gotten it from the hospital you visited before leaving.

He let out a hollow laugh, the sound breaking the oppressive silence. “Twins. Our twins.” His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard.

Nanami stood by the window, staring out at the endless city lights. His sweater covered with alcohol stains, his sleeves rolled up to reveal veins that looked ready to burst.

Gojo tilted his head back, his eyes burning as he stared at the ceiling. “Do you think she—” He stopped, his voice failing him. He tried again. “Do you think she hates us?”

Nanami’s face was as if it had been carved from stone, but his eyes betrayed the storm beneath. “She doesn’t hate us,” he spoke lowly. “She… doesn’t trust us. There’s a difference.” It sounded more like he was trying to convince himself.

Gojo’s laugh was sharper this time, almost cruel. “Trust? Trust died the night we left her alone in this goddamn drawing room. Remember that? Her silently crying, begging us to tell her we cared, and we…” His voice faltered, and he shook his head. “We crawled into bed together like cowards.”

Nanami’s jaw tightened, his hands clenching, shattering the glass he’d forgotten he was holding. But before Gojo could look up, his own RCT healed him. He stared at the disappeared wound like he wanted it back. “I remember, but I don’t think that was the final straw. I think it was the same weekend.”

Gojo stayed silent for a long time at that and then asked, “do you think they’ll look like her?” His voice softened, and he stared down at the photo, his thumb brushing over the image. “Her smile…”

Nanami’s gaze dropped to the floor. “I hope they don’t look like us.”

Gojo’s head snapped up, his six eyes narrowing. “Why the hell would you say that?”

Nanami’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Because we ruin everything we touch.”

Gojo leaned back, letting the photo fall to the coffee table. His hands ran through his hair, tugging hard enough to sting. “They’re better off without us.”

Nanami walked over and sat across from him, the weight of the moment pressing down on both of them. “Everything hurts.”

Gojo’s lips twitched, almost forming a smile before falling flat. “Hurt? Nanami, this… this is beyond hurt. This is…” He gestured vaguely, words failing him. “I’m empty. She’s gone, and I…”

Nanami reached for the photo, his fingers brushing against the image. “At least we have this,” he said, his voice steady but tinged with something raw. “Something to know it was real.”

He paused for what felt like an eternity and then added, “She’ll protect them.”

Gojo’s six eyes dimmed, their usual brilliance dulled by exhaustion. “Yeah. She’ll protect them. From us.”

Nanami’s grip on the photo tightened. “From the world we brought her into.”

The two men sat in silence, the photo lying between them like a ghost of what could have been. The air was thick with grief, regret, and a despair so deep it felt like drowning. Neither spoke again that night.

A/N: Okay, y’all, save the rage essays for after the next chapter—then hit me with your 14-page death threats. This pain was necessary for the redemption arc, but I promise groveling starts in the new year. Pain first, comfort later—like a good skincare routine. Drop your theories, death threats (creative ones pls), or tell me if Gojo should be banned from gaming conventions forever. Your comments = my serotonin boost, so don’t hold back. Did this chapter ruin your day, your week, or your will to exist? Let me know. 😘"

Chapter 7 (alt ending 1.3) - Sapphire Echoes (Tumblr/Ao3)

All Works Masterlist

Tag-list = @lady-of-blossoms @stargirl-mayaa @dark-agate @tqd4455 @roscpctals99 @sxlfcxst @se-phi-roth @austisticfreak @helloxkittylo @itoshi-r @kodzukensworld @revolvinggeto @luringfantasy

If I missed to tag anyone, please remind me.

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roo-bastmoon · 6 months ago

Text

De-platform, Co-opt, En-joy

Roo's Guide to Handling Haters

Disclaimer: Not telling you guys how to run your blogs. Just sharing some tips on how to deprive narcissists of supply and live your best life online.

You're gonna see a LOT of hate, lies, and bullshit over Are You Sure? It's already started.

And everyone has their own way of dealing with that--whether it's to take a step back from the internet, or get into a dog fight in the comments, or compose thoughtful essays deconstructing ideas. I'm not here to pressure you into any one particular strategy--your blog, your rules.

But I've been in various online fandoms for 25 years now, on tumblr for 14, in ARMY for three, and I do have some wisdom I can share, if you want it.

Here are my three tips:

De-platform

It's well past time Jikookers de-center Taekookers and antis from our spaces, our narratives--and our minds. They live in a separate reality, they do not debate in good faith, and they get vicious when they don't get their way.

Consider carefully if you want to repost, or reblog, or reply to anyone casting doubt, slinging insults, or spouting conspiracy theories, especially over the next few months.

Would you buy them ad space? No? Then don't give them an inch in your space. Quietly report and block.

Mocking them often feeds into their victim complex. Don't feed them anything. Don't bring trash in this house.

They get nothing. Nothing.

Co-opt

If you just can't completely ignore or remove them, then don't waste precious energy arguing every little point with them. Their goal is to sap your energy.

Take a page out of an aikido self-defense handbook and use their own momentum against them.

Attacks are now an opportunity to spam the shit out of that hateful post with loving hashtags and links to playlists and fundraisers.

They just gave us free promo; go full-tilt Wunseidel on their asses.

En-joy

The best revenge is to live well.

Deeply, deeply enjoy and savor the content you do want to see. Leave no crumbs. Smack your lips and hum in satisfaction with every delicious bite.

The Jikook tag should be one big non-stop party-party-yeah extravaganza from now until well past September 19th.

Antis should be just sick to death of trying to come online for fear of seeing people ecstatically celebrating everything we get, and totally ignoring the ruiners.

Our boys are happy. They want us to be happy for them. So be happy.

Do. NOT. let the ruiners. RUIN it.

Above all, don't become the kind of fan that Jimin or Jungkook would be ashamed of.

You don't have to defend or resist a damned thing.

They shared all these amazing moments with us, and that is the best testament to the truth there is. So sit back, relax, enjoy.

Be sure.

Love, Roo <3

#jimin #jungkook #jikook

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runninriot · 2 months ago

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Backstage Romance (I Want It Bad)

written for @steddiesongfics

song: Backstage Romance (Moulin Rouge! The Musical) | rated: E | wc: 7.018 | tags: Rockstar Eddie Munson, Manager Steve Harrington, Famous Corroded Coffin, secret hookups, dom/sub undertones, angst, smut, ambiguous/open ending | complete fic on ao3

-----

Eddie is buzzing, high on adrenaline like always when they’re playing a show. He’s still not used to this, it’s still something he can’t quite wrap his head around – to watch people dance and sing along to their songs, to hear their roaring applause and deafening whistles, to know they’re here for them.

It’s electrifying.

A fucking dream.

They’re still considered newcomers but Corroded Coffin are finally climbing their way out of the gutter; they’re making it, step by step, and one day not too far in the future, they’ll be on top.

It’s all Eddie ever wanted, all he and his best friends have always fantasized about back when they were still a bunch of loser kids dreaming of becoming rockstars while terrorising Gareth’s poor parents (and the whole neighbourhood, really) with the horrible noise coming from their garage.

The dream is reality now, success not only a possibility but a fact. It would be poison for Eddie's already too big ego but thankfully, there's always someone bringing him back down to earth when he gets carried away.

They’ve got a label now, signed record deal and all and-

“Great show, guys! The people seemed to really love the new song.”

Yeah, and that. They’ve got a manager now, too.

Steve Harrington.

The guy whose appearance makes him stick out like a sore thumb from the sea of blacks and greys and dark reds around him. The guy who doesn’t look the part but actually likes what they do. The guy who doesn’t give two fucks about what others think of him because he’s not here to make friends, he’s here to do his job. And he’s pretty good at that.

Good at a lot of things.

At first, Eddie hated the idea of having a fucking babysitter on tour with them. Someone to watch their every move, someone to keep them out of trouble (where’s the fun in that?), to make sure they don’t fuck up their reputation. Someone to handle all their business affairs for them, as if they couldn’t take care of it themselves.

Now, Eddie’s actually glad they have someone to deal with everything – from interview requests and setting up their tour schedule to negotiating their contracts and booking their gigs. Steve handles it all, allowing the band to enjoy the fruits of their labour without having to deal with the annoying parts of being in the music business.

And that should be all there is to it. Just a business relation based on what’s in the band’s best interest.

But it’s not.

Not behind the curtains, backstage, when no one is looking. Where, hidden in dark corners, Steve and Eddie share a secret.

A secret that could ruin it all.

Because it’s unprofessional, could get them both in trouble. Could get Steve fired, possibly. Maybe even put Eddie’s – if not the whole band’s – career on the line if the public ever found out about it.

But that just makes it even more thrilling.

Eddie has always been drawn to that, the forbidden, things that could cause irreparable damage. And throughout his life, he’s come to ask himself more than once if this is really worth it. If it’s worth risking it all just for giving in to his reckless impulses.

But the answer has always been the same. Now even more so than ever.

He knows it’s wrong, dangerous, a game he shouldn’t be playing because playing with fire will get him burned.

The problem is that he’s a sucker for the pain.

And being ruined by Steve Harrington is worth everything.

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continue reading here

#eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie #steddie fic #steddiesongfics

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luvsupa · 8 months ago

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YOURE IN LOVE WITH PRINCE GOJO?

tags: fem!reader x prince! gojo satoru, childhood enemies to almost lovers to enemies (☹️), bully!gojo, love (ish)-hate relationship, gojos so confusing, ANGST, royalty, lots of tension, smut-ish (intense kissing), family dinner ruined, ayana is a bully, reader cries, soft gojo at the end. mdni.

w.c: 3.5k (woa)

a/n: thank you all so much for almost hitting 100 followers! tytyty for all the support too ! 🩵

read part 1 here! + likes and reblogs are very appreciative 🩵

part 3 here!

for the rest of the night, gojo zoned out of every conversation as you occupied his mind. he couldn’t find the will to enjoy the event, your words haunting him relentlessly. i'll see you inside, prince gojo.

he had dreaded this feeling since childhood, after overhearing that fateful conversation between your families. gojo had always masked his emotions, distracting himself from the pain by giving you the cold shoulder. but in reality, he was desperate to be near you.

“ruru? are you unwell? you don’t look so good,” ayana asked, her voice tinged with concern, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“i am well, just nervous about the big crowd,” gojo lied, his voice strained as he fiddled with the cuff of his sleeve. “enough of worrying,” he added, scanning the room, only to find his mother and yours conspicuously absent. shit, he thought, his anxiety mounting.

“baby, i’ll be right back. i think i’m missing a family discussion,” gojo said, pecking her on the lips before rushing out of the ballroom, his heart pounding in his chest.

gojo's heavy footsteps echoed ominously down the long hallway, his urgency concerning, causing guards and servants to glance at him. he burst through the double doors of the drawing room, startling his and your mother, who were sitting opposite each other on blue velvet couches.

“'toru! you should be with the others,” his mother said, her eyes scanning him for any signs of distress.

“what were you just discussing?” he demanded, his voice barely controlled, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. the two women exchanged uneasy glances, sensing his agitation.

“dearest, this conversation is really between me and your mother,” your mother said, trying to calm gojo as his glare grew more intense, his jaw tightening.

“then include me,” he said, stepping closer, his presence menacing. “you are in my estate, a guest in my home. you will include me in this conversation, or you will leave immediately,” he commanded, his voice dripping with authority, as if speaking to a mere commoner.

“satoru!” the queen exclaimed, standing abruptly, shocked by his audacity.

“very well. we have found a nobleman worthy enough to marry my daughter. we were discussing when they should meet,” your mother revealed, her voice steady but cautious.

his heart sank at her words. “that's why you all came as a family? to marry her off? all the times you visited were simply to find her someone to wed?” his voice rose, trembling with barely suppressed rage as he pieced together the painful puzzle. his mother scolded him for his behavior, but he continued, “I do not approve.”

“satoru, no disrespect, but you have no say in this! she has already reached adulthood; being married is a priority!” your mother said calmly, her words striking him like a physical blow. gojo stormed out of the room, the same despair from his youth crashing over him. the memory of overhearing your parents arranging your marriage had tormented him for years, but now, knowing the deal was sealed, the helplessness was unbearable.

he stormed off in the opposite direction from the ballroom, his steps quickening as he ascended the stairs to where the bedrooms were located. breathless, he found himself standing at your door, hand mid-air about to knock. his heart ached, praying you would open the door and tell him you weren’t going through with the marriage.

gojo clenched his fist, lowering it to his side, his fingers twitching with frustration, a deep sense of powerlessness washing over him.

⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . *

“good morning, dear. did you sleep well?” gojo’s mother asked as he entered the breakfast room, ignoring her greeting. your mother and the queen were seated at the end of the table, with you sitting across from ayana. the empty chair beside her was likely where gojo would sit.

his breakfast was already plated, and he made his way to the chair beside ayana, who looked excited to see him. the room was filled with an almost unbearable silence, broken only by the scraping of forks and knives against plates.

“the ball was very beautiful, mrs. gojo,” you said, attempting to break the tension. “I had forgotten how much I enjoy attending your events.” you smiled warmly at the queen, feeling gojo’s eyes on you.

“ah, thank you, dear. It’s nice to know someone enjoyed it more than others,” she replied, her words carrying an edge you couldn’t quite grasp.

“I also enjoyed it, mrs. gojo!” ayana chimed in, trying to outdo you. “I especially loved the orchestra and ruru’s welcome speech,” she continued, wrapping her arm possessively around gojo’s. the queen thanked ayana for her kind words, but the tension in the room still remained.

“I have to ask, where have father and the king gone? I’ve barely seen them around the estate,” you said, trying to sound casual but failing miserably. the queen immediately made eye contact with your mother, and gojo seemed to catch on.

“they are discussing an important upcoming event with other parties,” your mother said, her voice tight.

“what event?” gojo quickly intervened, his tone demanding, drawing all eyes to him.

“a royal event,” the queen said through gritted teeth, clearly trying to keep her composure.

“hmm, a royal event for whom? If her father is part of the discussion, she should also be aware, right, mother?” gojo challenged, taking a bite of his food. the room felt like it was shrinking, the awkwardness growing. You felt completely out of place. what is his problem?

“satoru, you are asking too many questions for your own good! It’s too early to be this curious,” the queen snapped, her voice unusually harsh. you were shocked; she hadn’t addressed gojo with the usual nickname ‘toru. had they gotten into an argument?

you glanced around the room, noticing ayana poking at her food, clearly uncomfortable. the silence that followed was excruciating, the tension so thick you could cut it with a knife.

with that, gojo stood up abruptly and left the room, his shoes clacking loudly against the hardwood floor, leaving all the women in stunned silence to finish their breakfast.

⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . *

time has passed since the awkward breakfast you had in the morning, and you wish you hadn’t brought up your concerns about your father’s whereabouts. you had no intention of causing any arguments, and rethinking what had happened makes you cringe. sitting in the drawing room, writing in your journal is the only thing that gives you peace.

just as you start to enjoy your silence, you hear laughter and footsteps approaching the doors to your quiet space. damnit. the double doors open, revealing gojo and ayana giggling together, her arm wrapped around his.

“oh! we didn’t think anyone was in here..” ayana says in a fake tone. you stare at them in utter annoyance, feeling like you can’t find any time alone. “you wouldn’t mind if we joined you! you look pretty lonely here,” she says, walking closer to the royal blue couches. you close your journal as they make themselves comfortable.

“what are you writing in there? ways you can seduce me?” gojo says, walking closer to you. you stare at him in shock from the wild accusation, made worse by ayana’s obnoxious laugh as if it were the funniest joke. catching you off guard, ayana snatches your journal from your hand, your reflexes too late to stop her. she hands it to gojo for him to read.

“ruru, maybe you can find another confession of her undying love for you,” she says. you attempt to grab your journal back, but gojo holds it above your head. fuck!

you’re practically chasing the two of them around the room as he flips through pages, looking for something to embarrass you. you repeatedly ask for it back. “ooo, this is interesting, titled, ‘forbidden love,’” gojo says as they both burst out in laughter. he begins to read your personal words. you quickly reach up, grabbing one end of the book as he grips the other.

“let go, prince gojo,” you warn. he fake pouts, “we’re not on a first-name basis? alright, my lady,” he taunts, your blood boiling in anger.

without thinking, you raise your hand and slap him hard across the face. ouch!

the laughter comes to a complete stop as he stares at you in shock, releasing his grip on your book, causing you to grab it back- hold it tightly against your chest. “you bitch! how dare you slap the prince!” ayana exclaims, attempting to claw at you, but gojo holds her back, his cheek turning red from the slap.

“I don’t know what sick and evil games you like to play, but I will not be the one you two toy with,” you declare, your voice steady despite the anger coursing through you. with a firm grip on your belongings, you turn on your heel and stride towards the door, making your way to another quiet place.

—-

your entire stay at the gojo estate feels like a horror house. day by day, you are taunted by both gojo and ayana, their relentless torment threatening to break you.

just after your altercation in the drawing room, you receive a letter informing you there will be a family dinner, with the king and your father in attendance. as you prepare, making sure your gown is perfect in the mirror, you hear a quiet knock at your door. expecting your mother, you open it to find gojo standing there.

“look who decided to finally show some effort,” he drawls, eyes scanning your attire. “trying to impress someone?”

your irritation flares, cheeks flushing with annoyance. “what do you want, gojo? here to read more of my journal?” he straightens up, entering your room without invitation.

“mmh, as much as i would love to, your mother sent me. apparently, you need some jewelry your father gave you,” he remarks, amusement dancing in his eyes. “or maybe she thought you’d need help with getting dressed.”

you cross your arms, defiant. “i don’t need your help with anything.” he smirks, stepping closer. “such a shame, but i’m here. why not make use of me?” your heart races as you snatch the jewelry box from his hands. before you can open it, his grip tightens on your wrist, sending a jolt of electricity through you. “now, now,” he murmurs, “let me.”

you attempt to pull away, but he holds firm. “i can manage on my own,” you grit out. ignoring your protest, he takes the box from you entirely.

“turn around,” he commands softly. you comply, facing the mirror. he steps closer, his breath ghosting over your neck, sending shivers down your spine. you’re watching his every move as he delicately removes the necklace from its case, the glint of jewels catching the light.

“hold still,” he murmurs, his voice low and intimate. you obey, your breath catching in your throat as his presence is overwhelming. he drapes the necklace around your neck, his touch gentle yet electrifying.

as he fastens the clasp, his fingers linger on your skin, sending a rush of heat through your veins. you feel him staring at you through the mirror, intense and probing, as if daring you to resist him. through the reflection in the mirror, you meet his eyes, a silent battle of wills passing between you.

“there,” he murmurs, his voice sending a shiver down your spine. “perfect.”

the air crackles with tension as neither of you moves, locked in a silent dance of desire and defiance. you can feel the heat of his breath against your skin, his presence engulfing you entirely. every nerve in your body is on edge, anticipation coursing through your veins as you struggle to maintain your composure.

“you know,” he whispers, his voice a seductive murmur in your ear, “seeing you like this… so obedient for once. I wonder what else I can make you do.” his words send a jolt of heat straight to your core, igniting a fire within you that you struggle to contain.

before you can respond, you feel his lips press softly on the sensitive base of your neck, a soft caress that sends a wave of desire crashing over you. a gasp escapes your lips as you crave his touch.

you tilted your neck instinctively, inviting more of his attention, despite your attempts to maintain composure. a soft whimper escaped you, as he smirked against your skin. the room seemed to shrink around you, the tension between you and gojo intensified. every nerve of your body was on edge as you struggled to control your emotions.

in a bold move, your hand reaches back, fingers tangling in the soft strands of his hair. and at that, he whines at the grip you had on his hair. as your intense gaze continues through the mirror and him kissing you, everything hits you. what are you doing? this is gojo- the man you hate, the one who invaded your privacy, the one who made your life miserable. with a sudden clarity, you pulled away, turning around and moving back to create a distance between you two as you look at his flushed cheeks.

“mm- you looked like you enjoyed yourself sweetheart, especially for someone who claims they hate me,” he teased. you scoff, trying to regain your composure. “this can never happen again.” you sternly say. he chuckled softly as he looks down at you, “you don’t seem too sure,” he taunts.

“you’re unbelievable,” you confront, making his brows rise in curiosity. “one day you torment me and make me feel like shit, and the next you want to kiss me!” you nearly shout. he stares into your eyes as you’re so desperately trying to find some answers for the way he acts.

“I’ll see you downstairs,” he says, ignoring your distress as he walks out of your room, making you even more mad and confused. what the hell is wrong with him today?

⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . *

as you make your way towards the dining room, your eyes catch sight of your father in the hallway, and quickly to catch up with him, giving him in a warm hug. “I've missed you, father! thank you for this beautiful necklace,” you express, gesturing towards the shimmering diamond pendant.

"dearest, while the necklace looks stunning on you, I'm afraid I did not gift it to you," your father gently remarks, his words sending a pang of confusion through you. If my father didn’t gift me the necklace, then does that mean—

“the food is being served,” gojo's interruption jolts you out of your thoughts as you slowly turn towards him. your father strides towards the doors leading into the dining room, leaving you standing there, trying to piece together the puzzle before you.

did gojo gift me the necklace and then falsely claim my father gave it to me? Is this part of some twisted game to kiss me? suddenly, a hand on your back startles you, and you jump, your mind racing with unanswered questions.

"apologies, honey, I didn’t mean to startle you. are you not joining us inside?" your mother's voice soothes your confusion.

"mother... did you send gojo to my room earlier with this necklace?" you slowly question, fingers grazing the shimmering diamond adorning your neck.

"no, dear. I was busy with my own preparations. but let's not keep everyone waiting. we should head inside; we might be running late," she responds, gently guiding you into the grand dining room. he gifted me the necklace.

you and your mother both enter the shiny dining hall, the sparkling ambiance surrounding everyone. your father and the king occupy seats at opposite ends, with their wives seated adjacent to them. you find yourself directly in front of the queen, with gojo and ayana beside, as always.

as the food is served to each of us individually, the room fills with the lively chatter of the adults. amidst the chatter, the queen’s voice breaks through as she calls your name, capturing the attention of everyone present.

“have you considered marriage now that you've reached adulthood?” she inquires, putting you in a delicate position as all eyes turn to you, much like last time.

“not recently. I find comfort in the fact that my friends aren't married either, so I see no rush,” you respond, hearing an awkward chuckle from your mother and seeing concerned glances from the king and queen. It's another awkward moment, just great.

“are you lonely because your fantasies with satoru were crushed when you were rejected?” ayana’s words slice through the air like a knife, her smirk dripping with venom. you choke on your food, the room falling into a stunned silence as all eyes fixate on you, hungry for answers.

“Is this true?” your mother’s voice cuts through the tension, her tone heavy with disappointment. mentally cursing ayana for thrusting you into this predicament over a mere childhood crush, you struggle to find your voice amidst the mounting pressure.

“mother, I-it was simply a childhood crush-“

“then what are these sinful fantasies you’ve written in your journal?” she interjects, her words igniting the already heated atmosphere. your throat tightens as you meet the shocked gazes of those around you, a lump forming as you grapple for an explanation.

“that’s— that’s not true, ayana,” you manage to utter. but just as the situation couldn’t worsen, Ayana brings up a fake torn page. from my journal? no. my pages do not look worn out.

In the midst of the chaos, gojo’s expression mirrors your shock, his eyes widening in concern as he looks at you, his usual confidence momentarily faltering.

"just look at the disgusting things she wrote about satoru, my partner... shame on her," ayana spits out with a mock pout, giving the forged paper into your mother's hands. why is she setting me up?

tears run down your cheeks, your heart pounding in your chest as your mother's eyes bore into you with utter disgust and disappointment.

"enough, ayana," gojo's deep voice says, his eyes flashing with a mixture of anger and concern as he watches the scene unravel. but ayana ignores his warning.

you're paralyzed by a whirlwind of emotions, fear and frustration gripping you as you struggle to defend yourself against the false accusations.

"honestly, it's disgraceful. a whore, if you ask me, but who am I to—"

"I said enough, ayana!" gojo's voice booms through the room, the force of his words sending shockwaves through your family dinner. with a clenched jaw, he slams his fist down on the table, the sound echoing in the silence as he rises abruptly, his chair crashing to the ground behind him.

"r-ruru? I was just—" ayana's voice trembles, but gojo's fury cuts through her excuse.

"get the fuck out!" He angrily yells, as tears are forming in her eyes as she ignores him, remaining seated.

with a frustrated tsk, gojo strides across the room, his steps purposeful as he harshly grabs your arm, pulling you away from the torment. shock courses through you, your humiliation fresh and raw in front of your family.

gojo's grip on your hand is tight as you numbly follow him, your mind clouded with pain and disbelief. silent sobs leave your body as he leads you away, his own heart heavy with guilt at seeing you broken, especially because of him.

eventually, you arrive at a grand double doors with gold initials, “G.S,” engraved into the white-painted wood. as the doors swing open, you step into his ginormous chamber.

he strides across the room, his steps echoing against the polished marble floors, before crouching down to scoop you up in his arms. with effortless strength, he carries you in a bridal embrace, placing you gently onto the comfort of his king-sized bed.

as you sink into the softness, drained and defeated, he lowers himself to meet your gaze, his hand tenderly caressing your tear-stained face.

“my baby,” he softly coos, his voice laced with concern as he gazes upon you in your current state, hating to see you so broken.

“‘toru,” you whisper the nickname he despises, not to make him upset, but he just smiles.

“I hate you,” you choke out between sobs, tears streaming down your face. yet, he wipes them away gently, nodding in silent understanding.

“why do you do this to me? why do you despise me so much?” your words are muffled as you struggle to formulate words.

he takes a deep breath, wanting to tell you everything, how he’s feeling- how The very idea of you being with another man feels like a dagger piercing his heart.

“I cannot tell you yet. but one day, I promise,” he whispers, cradling your face tenderly in his hands before pressing a gentle kiss to your trembling pout.

“sleep here tonight. I’ll resolve everything,” he reassures you, his voice filled with determination and love.

you nod in understanding as he leaves you alone in his dimly lit room as your slowly doze off into slumber, hearing the chaos erupting downstairs.

part 3 here!

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen angst #gojo angst #gojo x reader #gojou satoru x reader #jjk smut #gojo satoru #gojo smut #jjk x y/n #jjk fanfic #jjk gojo #satoru gojo #jjk fluff #gojo fluff

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storiesfromafan · 24 days ago

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Mini Dress (18+) - Benny x Plus!Size Reader

A/N: my last one-shot for the year! And I am really happy with this one 😊

Warning/s: 18+, oral (female recieving), possible spelling/grammer mistakes, briefly revised

Tag list: @hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog 😊

Being with Benny, he had you pushing your boundaries with your body image and what you can do, opposed to what you think you can’t do. First it was wearing jeans and a shirt/sweater more, he loves putting his hand in your back pocket or grabbing your waist. Benny loved wrapping an arm around your waist or shoulders, or just having his hands on you in general, which was something you weren’t use to but have been slowly learning to be comfortable with. Not to mention him picking you up, after that first time in your kitchen, before the most amazing sex, Benny likes to pick you up every now and then, just to make you squeak. And then there was riding on the back of his bike, that was something you were against. But, in true Benny fashion, he was pushy and made you ride with him so much that you finally have started to relax and feel comfortable with it.

But the newest boundary that you are being pushed to cross: a mini dress. It started on midday Saturday, Kathy and you had gone out to do some window shopping before getting the groceries. You hadn’t even thought you’d find anything, let alone be in love with a two-tone (colour) mini dress. It had a round collar and was sleeveless, straight cut with a little flare out, very California fashion forward. And it was a little daunting. Even scary when you saw your size. With Kathy in your ear, egging you on to try it on. Which you wanted too. Just unwanting to see how it would show all the lumps and bumps, and be unflattering for your figure.

So you put it back on the rack and headed for the door, mini dress pushed to the back of your mind. Where it couldn’t be ruined by the harshness of reality and your body. The whole walk from the clothing shop to the grocery store you had Kathy in your ear, telling you how you should have tried it on, seen how it looked. And how she knew it would be perfect for you. But it went in one ear and out the other for you. You didn’t want to stress or be remorseful for not trying it on, yet it was still there though.

It was after getting the groceries, did a familiar bike come riding past, only to pull up a head of you both. Benny of course greeted you with a deep kiss, which had you blushing due to those passing by. While Kathy gave him a quick hug. Small talk was thrown around, until the mini dress was brought up. And you did everything in you to squash it, not wanting Benny to hear the silliness of it all. Or that he would want to talk about a silly dress.

But dear old Benny wasn’t having it. He questioned Kathy the ins and outs of it all. Listening as she described the dress, and your reaction to the garment. (Y/N) looked at that dress like it was her everythin’! Kathy laughed, not in a mean way but one of jest. But it only made your face redder, and you more embarrassed. Benny didn’t waste a breath, saying to take him to the shop and it would be yours. You protested – with a stutter and a flourish – just wanting him to forget it. It took some time but eventually he dropped it. Or so you thought.

Later in the evening, Benny showed up at your place. You and Kathy weren’t doing much, slowly getting yourselves together to go to Grand and Division, like usual. But when he arrived, entering your room as you were fixing your hair, you were surprised to see a white shopping bag in hand. You didn’t say a word or ask what was in the bag, knowing he’d tell you in due time. And when he did tell you, you were beyond surprised. Your man had gotten the damn mini dress.

You remained silent, face displaying your shock. Benny pulled out the two-tone (colour) dress, holding it with care before looking to you with a soft smile. He was trying to be cute. As he knew you had shut down the conversation over the garment, as well as stopped him earlier from having you take him to the shop. Which meant he had gotten all the information from Kathy to get the dress in those strong hands of his.

You didn’t know if you should be mad or happy. To yell or kiss him. You were a mix of emotions over a damn dress. When he held it up at the shoulder seams, it becoming fully on display to you did those insecurities come back. The negative thoughts telling you everything that could show with that fabric on your body, no where to hide from the world.

“Try it on, baby" Benny said in a soft tone.

At first you stayed where you were, eyes darting between both the dress and your man. Your tongue feeling like led, which made it hard to voice your concerns. Soon Benny moved over to you, holding out the dress. Once more encouraging you to try it on. Slowly you lowered your hands from your hair – how you managed to keep them up for so long was a surprise – and took the offered clothing item.

Not bothering to leave you, Benny took a seat on the edge of your bed, his baby blues watching you like nothing else interested him, and it didn’t. You shuffled over and closed your bedroom door, taking a moment to stare at the white paint of the door. When you turned around you moved to place the dress on the bed next to Benny, who was still watching your every move. With shaky hands you unbuttoned your shirt, slipping it off your shoulders. Next was the fastenings of your jeans, before slipping them over your hips and down your legs, finally letting them pool at your feet on the floor.

A soft groan left Benny as he looked upon your supple body, standing before him in just your bra and panties. A temptation that he was considering indulging in. But part of him reminded him of the dress, and how he wanted you to see how perfect it would fit you. To not let your insecurities win. Picking it up, he handed you the dress. Hoping the quicker you get it on, the less likely he was of having his way with you on your bed.

With a shaky breath, your gaze darting to your man – who looked so tempting sitting before you. You unzipped the zipped on the back, before moving to slip the garment over your head. With a little wiggle as you pulled the fabric over your body, the material smoothed out and became less bulky. In fact, there seemed to be some room to spare.

Swiftly you moved to the full mirror in the room, wide eyes taking in the reflection before you. You were wearing your dream dress – a mini dress – and it fit nicely. You couldn’t see the lumps and the bumps, nor the stomach of yours. The cut of the dress flowed over your wide hips and flaring out. You couldn’t see much of your waist, but that was the style after all. Turning you noted that neither your small stomach or behind stuck out. Was this dress magic?

“I knew you'd look perfect in it" Benny’s voice and words cutting through the silence that had filled the room.

You remained silent though. Letting his words, and the vision before you, sink in. You heard movement before seeing Benny in the mirror behind you. His large hands resting on your hips in a firm grasp, before slipping up to your waist, the fabric pulled in by his hold. You could feel the heat through the material of the dress. Warm and yet comforting, it helped to relax you.

Leaning in Benny whispered how beautiful you looked. How the mini dress was perfect on you. Speaking of everything right about the garment on your body. The way his hands held you tighter as he praised the dress. With every word you saw it in a new light, from Benny's point of view. And damn was it building your confidence.

Somehow, he convinced you to wear the mini dress tonight. So you had changed your shoes to match the dress, before finish getting ready. All under Benny's heated gaze. Seeing the slightest change in you, the confidence that had grown in you, was a turn on for him. He wanted his girl to feel special, and to take care of her. That was when he began to think and plan.

And what a plan it was. Because here you were, at Grand and Division, in the back office. You were leaning against the desk, hands clutching at the edge and head tilted back biting your tongue. Before you, kneeling on the ground was Benny. Whose face was currently buried between your legs. One of his hands was holding the thigh, which belonged to the leg currently over his shoulder. His other hand was thrusting into your core, two long digits filling you.

You looked down. Unable to believe the man before you, worshipping you while anyone could walk in at any minute. It was like Benny didn’t care who saw you both, his mission was to please you, be devoted to you. And boy was he doing a great job at it. He might not be much of a talker, but that tongue of his was skilled. The way he would lick your clit, some long and others small. Or how he would suck and nibble it. Pair it all with those beautiful fingers of his, and Benny had you a quivering mess.

“B-Benny" you softly moaned, after a particularly deep thrust of those fingers and a long suck of your clit.

He groaned at hearing you, which just added to what you were feeling. With every movement, every minute you were getting closer to your release. Oh how this beautiful man knew how to play your body. The way Benny watched you as he feasted and fingered you, the sight was better than he imagined. The only thing missing was the gorgeous sounds you make. But he knew you both had to be quiet. He didn’t want an audience, or to embarrass you because the club knowing what you’d both been up too. Your man didn’t want you to be embarrassed or ashamed of this perfect moment.

“You’re doin' so good for me" Benny’s raspy voice spoke, as he pulled away from you momentarily. “Fuck, you look and taste so good".

He moved back in, and with a new vigour, resumed his pleasurable torture to your bundle of nerves. The motions and pressure to your clit were precise and confident. And Benny had all the right to be. Curling his fingers, just that little change, sparked something in you. That coil with in the pit of your stomach grew tighter. Benny felt your walls flutter around his fingers, telling him you were getting close. So he picked up the pace, thrusting his fingers faster.

Yet again you tipped your head back, holding in the moan that wanted to leave your lips. How could this man be so damn good with his hands and mouth? You felt yourself getting closer to your release, that coil tightening. And with one final suck of your clit, paired with a deep thrust of Benny's fingers, that coil snapped. You clenched around his fingers, while you bit your lip, yet a small whine left you as your release washed over you.

Benny gradually brought down the speed in which his fingers moved. Thrusting them in a few more times while you rode out your orgasm. Gently he licked your clit a few times also. He stopped, fingers buried in you and face away from you, his heated gaze studying you. You were a mess, face a little pink and chest heaving as you recovered from his actions.

You shuddered when Benny finally withdrew his fingers. But the sight of him putting them in his mouth. Watching as he licked them clean, along with the small sound he made from the taste, should have had you embarrassed. But it had the opposite, it was a turn on. Your man, who had just gone down on you, enjoying the slick left on his fingers. He enjoyed you.

“Mmm, you taste do damn good" Benny commented once removing his fingers from his mouth. “The best meal...”

Did this man not know how good his voice was? How it did a number on you? Jesus, he would be the death of you one of these days. And yet, you’d welcome it, wholeheartedly. You didn’t know how to respond to his words. So you remained silent, brain still processing and rebooting from what had happened.

Benny on the other hand, removed your leg from over his shoulder, before moving to put your underwear back on you. His hands running down your legs once they were back in place. His blue eyes looking over your dress and then down your legs, watching his hands.

He hummed in approval. “Yes, the mini dress is perfect for you" he stated, eyes lifting back to your own. “The prefect piece for your gorgeous body. But also practical for when I want you". He finished it with a wink.

A deep blush covered your cheeks. And yet you agreed with him. The mini dress looked good on you, and it meant easier access for Benny. It really was a win, win situation. From now on, you plan to give new fashions a go, and not rule them out right away.

#benny cross x reader #benny cross x y/n #benny cross x you #the bikeriders x reader #austin butler x reader #benny the bikeriders

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brynn-lear · 8 months ago

Text

LOCKED AND LOADED [Yandere!Wanderer x Reader]

Prompt: The world is about to end. How will you grieve when you're forced to be with a miserable man until the last second? [Dedicated To: @mixed-kester for the Alone Together Event]

Content Tags: yandere!scaramouche "fluff" oneshot (yes, there are no other parts:]), major persona 3 spoilers but you DON’T need to know the game before reading this since everything is explained, improper use of a S.E.E.S evoker /j, Scaramouche is so normal about you, UNRELIABLE NARRATOR, major character death/s–

V. Acceptance.

"Where the hell are you, (Y/n)?"

Standing near what should have been the front doors of his university was a short man with dark purple hair. He leaned precariously against them, his head tilted upward as if the sickly green moon's ominous pull was nothing to be afraid of. Gekkoukan University's nearby dorms– fraternity and sorority houses included– are not usually this silent. Instead of people, coffins were aligned perpendicular to the ground.

The wanderer glanced at his watch with mild interest. He had been waiting for a while now. Your guest hoisted himself up, circling the ground with the tip of his shoe. The baseline of his attitude had always defaulted to irritability and passive-aggressiveness. The vertically aligned hour-and-minute hands do not placate it. The timing itself makes it worse.

It's December 31st, 2009, 12 AM– the Dark Hour.

With a harsh sneer, he pocketed his hands. You usually have the door to the Velvet Room open to him whenever. What's the big deal? Were you seriously THAT mad at him? Really? He didn't do anything to warrant this "pettiness". He had never known silence as much as this moment.

You should've accounted for the hostility that proceeds on the "off-chance" he did arrive early.

His tone darkened, his bloodied hands gripping his S.E.E.S evoker tightly.

"If you don’t show up, I will cleanse the world of human emotion all by myself"

You shook from afar, afraid of how he wouldn't hesitate to make his threat a reality. He had already taken so much– you were beyond mad at him. You were terrified. Wronged. Abused. You didn't want to step into the light. Much worse, step into his shadow.

The worst thing evil can do is to turn you into one of them.

He clutched the bloodied yellow scarf in his hands tightly.

Why did this happen?

How did things END up like this?

IV. Depression.

You took a deep breath and charged forward.

You don't trust [Wanderer] ever since Ryoji told him about the impending apocalypse.

Seldom do you leave the Velvet Room. You weren't hiding in the Velvet room months before the end of the world was imminent. When April had only reached its fourth day, there was nothing you wanted more than to spend time outside. So ignominiously innocent. You did not know who [Wanderer] was and how much effect he would have on your life at the time. You were just tired of the ongoing stream of uneventfulness.

And now here you are, berating the protagonist in full.

"[Wanderer], why is Ryoji missing?! US ATTENDANTS CAN'T FIND TRACK HIM ANYWHERE!!!"

With a fistful of his university uniform, you yanked him by the collar. Your eyes were livid as you reeled your composure. This wasn't what you had in mind when you were "isekai"d into a video game. Out of any game, why did it have to be Persona 3? And out of anyone that could be a protagonist, why did it have to be HIM?!

You thought this would be a grand affair... Whatever they spun in anime back when your reality existed were pure lies. Where are the scenic views? The mountains? The grasslands? This plane of existence you're forced to sit through for eternity was far from the RPG fantasy people would hope for. No closer you could ever be to paradise.

In fact, this man is threatening to ruin said paradise.

[Wanderer] pulled your hands away forcefully. His glare was not that different from yours. "Why do you care about him so much?"

"Oh, I don't know! Maybe it's because his death means forgetting everything?!" You clenched your empty fists. "You know damn well what happens if he dies! You'll lose all the help you can get to stopping the Fall!"

Such a heavy weight on your shoulders but the protagonist doesn't care. This may be a turn-based game– but it wasn't based on you. If it was, you wouldn't be screaming your heart out at him! You wouldn't be an NPC. Hell, you'd probably be a better protagonist than him.

You closed your eyes, took a deep breath, and sighed every stress out of your system.

"Listen—" You rubbed your temple. "You need to start forming bonds. Social links. Support system. Confidants. Whatever you want to call it. You were supposed to have the answer by now as to what life is for."

[Wanderer] remained silent throughout your spiels. His facial expression alone was enough to infer immense disinterest. You were mindlessly doing your job. There will be no tirade or physical aggression that can convince him that you believe in your assertions with full conviction.

"Do you want to see him?"

"Yes! Of course. Knowing you, you're—"

"Tempted to kill him because you think I want the world to end?"

"Obviously."

That's where you're wrong.

A nihilistic man can have other reasons to commit murder.

"But if he's missing, you can forget about him, right?"

"What on earth are you talking about?!"

[Wanderer] turned around. "Meet me later, you know the time."

"I'll show you where Ryoji is."

III. Bargaining.

XX/09/2009

He doesn't recall the time he was brought into this world like you had.

Puppets are malleable. Memories are easy to overwrite when your body is held together by white wood and "khemia". His past evades him.

Maybe it's better this way.

He took you to Chagall Café. Although it was your first time out in a long while, he had no qualms about ignoring your questions. He feigned deafness as you asked about the news, his college life, friends, or anything related to what was happening in 2009. And he even ignored your humble request to buy the cheapest coffee for you. Instead, he bought you a chocolate frappe.

"For Elizabeth's cutest little sibling." He said, sarcastically copying Elizabeth's tone as he sharply handed the drink. "Wouldn't want everyone's darling to get a caffeine addiction."

Thanks, asshat.

Of all his offensive behavior— he really spent more money just to insult you. You shook your head and accepted it. It's the most expensive one on the menu too. What dedication to being a hater. But before you could open your wallet, he shot your payment down.

"Just take it." He smirked. "Look at you, paying me back for treating you poorly. Are you a masochist?"

You immediately shoved your money back in. "You still bought me a free drink, so really, who's the loser here? Prick."

[Wanderer] laughed heartily before he pulled out his battered codal, which had underlined texts for provisions he deemed important. There was a momentary softness in his gaze that disappeared in an instant.

But that's the only conversation he planned on having that evening. He did mention he'll drag you out in his study session so you weren't too shocked by it. Instead, you sat and awkwardly people-watched. The world you came from and this one were identical. You got through your old 2009 just fine— it's just that Tatsumi Port Island was not a real location from your original Japan.

Your memories about the video game Persona aren't very clear since you reincarnated in the game, but the red band [Wanderer] wore on his sleeve affirmed that he is the leader of S.E.E.S. It's nice to know that someone like him has the potential to become a leader.

[Wanderer] appeared wholly immersed in his studies.

…

Maybe he wouldn't notice if you looked around—

…?!

He immediately grabbed your hand. You yelped slightly as you noticed the iron grip he had.

"Where are you going?"

Don't leave him.

He squeezed just a bit more tightly.

"W-What the— I'm just going to the bathroom." You felt a shiver down your spine as you shared his gaze. There's a dull coldness to it you couldn't quite place, as if he had been a witness to injustice, sevenfold.

You quietly sat back down. He still hasn't let go of your hand.

"Good riddance." He muttered.

"If it isn't [Wanderer]!"

You turned around, yanking your hand away.

It's Ryoji.

You stood up, gawking.

"W-Woah, are you okay?" Ryoji asked, hurriedly approaching you. While you were frozen in place, [Wanderer] looked at his empty hand, feeling your warmth escape his fingertips.

G-Good… he's still alive.

You thought [Wanderer] killed him.

[Wanderer] is the wildcard, and that's a terrifying factor to consider. He hasn't shown any interest in humanity. Knowing his past has not increased any hope on your end. Everyone else in his eyes are insignificant insects.

He has the power to end Ryoji.

He has the power to end this world.

Locked and loaded.

Ryoji's eyes softened. "Wait, I think I know a beautiful face like yours from somewhere… You must be [Wanderer]'s attendant, (Y/n), right?"

You blinked.

"Wait, how did you…"

He chuckled, taking and placing a soft kiss on your gloved hands.

"I have my ways." Ryoji winked.

"Don't touch them." [Wanderer] sneered.

Ryoji stood up straight, unfazed by his threatening tone. You took a moment to examine his appearance. He had a lot of white clothing and a big yellow scarf around his neck. Just below his left eye is a mole. On the surface, he appeared quite human, but everyone seated at this table was aware of his true nature.

He is the 13th arcana. The appraiser.

You and [Wanderer] have every right to be wary.

"I'm Ryoji Mochizuki. It's nice to be officially introduced to you, Mx. (Y/n)."

"Ryoji Mochizuki…" You tasted the syllables.

"Oh? Who knew hearing my name from your lips makes it sound so wonderful."

"C-Cut it out, you don't mean that." You said, a little flustered.

[Wanderer]'s gaze fixated on you, stewing in his concoction of envy and misery. His fists were clenched beneath the table, knuckles turning white. With narrowed eyes, he watched as you continued engaging in conversation with Ryoji. His laughter was grating his ears. He couldn't bear the sight of you engaging with another man, especially someone as flirtatious as him.

Ryoji, sensing [Wanderer]'s distress, shot him a casual glance. To top the look, he paired it with a knowing smirk. He made mental notes of the man's clenched jaw and tensed shoulders.

"You seem a little on edge, [Wanderer]. Finals coming up?" He feigned innocence.

"It's December, and I'm not on edge." He scoffed, trying not to make his gritted teeth evident. "Don't you own a calendar? Finals are in March. To think a pea-brain like you managed to transfer to Gekkan…"

"Right, right." Ryoji smiled, closing his eyes. "Then it must be my proposal you're thinking of."

You stiffened; [Wanderer] did not.

"Ryoji—"

"I know, Mx. (Y/n)." He started. "I know you're not too keen on the idea of killing me. My existence is the affirmation of the Fall. None of you— sorry, I forgot (Y/n) is from the Velvet room— I meant none of them will live till Spring… Or perhaps it's more accurate to say they'll forfeit the will to live."

…

"… I-I'm sorry." Ryoji buried his face in his yellow scarf. There's a certain tremble in his voice that truly emphasizes his sorrow. "Just as all living things die, the flow of time cannot be hindered. But there's comfort in killing me. If you do… you won't have to suffer for the coming days."

If [Wanderer] kills Ryoji, Tartarus, the Dark Hour— the burden of everyone's memories will all disappear.

But [Wanderer] can retain his.

He's not originally from this world after all…

However, should he let him live, the rest of S.E.E.S's life will continue until everyone's inevitable demise.

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever."

[Wanderer] rolled his eyes, diverting his eyes back to his notes. "Everyone will die soon, who cares? I've heard your spiel several times already. You need to get more entertaining material."

"[Wanderer]!" You scolded him.

Your eyes widened in disbelief at [Wanderer]'s unwittingly casual jabs at the apocalypse. You wanted to ask him if he was even listening, but the truth will disappoint you. A cold sweat formed on your brow.

Ryoji's smile crooked into a hopeless one.

"You depend on (Y/n) too much."

[Wanderer] froze. "What did you say…?"

"You have a group of people around you, eager to establish a bond— eager to be friends with you. You have met Junpei, Yukari, Mitsuru, Akihiko, Fuuka, and many others– but you don't consider any of them as your friends." Ryoji shook his head. "Instead, you spend your time with just (Y/n). Never anyone else. Just them. To the point that I think it's unhealthy."

"I don't care for humans." He replied immediately.

"You're human too, [Wanderer]." Ryoji shot back. "You're made of blood, bones, and flesh."

[Wanderer] fell silent. What Ryoji said was true, and yet…

"Am I?" He laughed.

The sound was hollow and mechanical. Deprived of genuine mirth. It did not sound forced, yet his eyes were dull.

…

Perhaps he lived as a puppet for so long that the idea of being human has yet to reach him.

Ryoji shifted, uncomfortably glancing between you two. The tension was palpable despite the cafe's peaceful ambiance. Ryoji cleared his throat softly.

"I should leave…" He trailed off, voice slightly wavering. His eyes darted around, scrambling for words to say. "But, um, before I leave, I just want to say again that you need to give it some more thought, [Wanderer]... It's a big deal… Just…"

Ryoji sighed. "Remember to make your choice to spare or kill me by December 31st. I'm glad you're having fun but don't get too distracted with (Y/n). I'll be waiting."

That being said, his footsteps reverberated loudly in the otherwise still room as he turned and headed for the door. He dared to turn back as he grabbed for the doorknob and saw you two sharing a look that he couldn't determine if it was one of contemplation or displeasure. He hurried out and the cafe door shut behind him.

"Happy?" [Wanderer] bitterly asked.

You paused for a moment… then grinned.

"Tsk, what are you laughing at, worm?"

"Nothing, nothing!" You shrugged. "I just thought that for a guy with a stick up his ass, you're cute when you're jealous."

That riled [Wanderer] up in an instant.

You do not know the full extent of his envy's filth.

"I am NOT—" He stopped, realizing how counterproductive it would be. "Whatever. I don't care."

"Uhuh?"

"Shut up and finish your damn chocolate!"

II. Anger.

Before you know it, it's April.

"Seriously, you three, I'm bored as fuck! Can't I just take a stroll outside?" You yelled, waving the heavy persona compendium in the air as your sisters ignored you.

It hasn't been long since you reincarnated, so your right to go outside isn't as liberal. Given the impending threat of an apocalypse, the Velvet Room attendants are especially overprotective.

"(Y/n), dear sibling, watch your mouth! You mustn't let Igor or Nameless hear you speak so vulgarly."

Taking a good look at your new "siblings", you've noticed how almost everyone was present. Margaret sat elegantly on the sofa while Theodore & Elizabeth were doing their best to calm you down. It's almost rare to have all three in one place. The three oldest were busy-bodies who had more eccentric matters they devoted their attention to. Including rapping and dancing, though neither performances are good for your senses.

"If boredom plagues you, then you should try teasing Theodore." Elizabeth yawned. "He's easy pickings."

"Sister!" Theodore pouted. "Shouldn't (Y/n) focus on studying how fusing works? It would be a better use of their time…"

"The day (Y/n)'s new wildcard learns the value of social links might just be the day miserly politicians become generous." Elizabeth shrugged.

You paled, tugging her sleeve. "Oh fuck… Am I screwed?"

She gave you a lopsided smile. "I may be your new sibling but that does not mean I am obliged to resolve your problems, (Y/n). Learn to solve this on your own."

Theodore coughed.

"Please, stop scaring them, sister Elizabeth. It's not their fault this new guest is a cruel arbiter. I fear there will not be a second of groundless joy in store for them…"

"You're not helping me relax either! Motherfucker. Can't you two speak normally?"

"Settle down, all of you."

The four of you stood straight as Igor tilted his chin up. Though you've gotten used to his bloodshot gaze, it had a way of prickling your skin this time around. With his signature smile, he closed his eyes and snapped his fingers.

"Our guest is about to enter."

"W-Wait, RIGHT NOW?!?"

Before you could react, the room transformed into what appeared to be a large elevator. The walls were barred and creaking noises began to subtly make their presence. A floating door materialized, and soon, opened.

Dark purple hair and eyes, short frame, soft face.

"…Hmm?"

You blinked.

"Wait, no way…"

You know him.

Of course, you know him.

"Everyone, meet [Wanderer]."

You decided that you two should reintroduce yourselves and forget that the past ever happened.

For now, you had been gifted with a vital role: being the protagonist's attendant.

According to your Igor, your role is to assist your guest in fusing personas. He had chosen you specifically in advance as you are his "anima/animus figure". Initially, that job was for Elizabeth. However, your beliefs, your intuition, your emotions— they're in perfect tune with [Wanderer]. Igor expects you to facilitate their spiritual and psychological growth and implore them to interact more with others.

Which, based on that alone, sounds like this puppet just hired an unpaid therapist.

"What do you want?"

"Well…"

Since you became [Wanderer]'s attendant, you've started to have thicker skin. He will always make his crankiness known each visit. You're slightly grateful for it, for how else would you know patience otherwise? Though his personality rubs you the wrong way, his strength does have merits you cannot ignore. Even Belladona, the Velvet Room's devout singer, had sung praises for his mettle. There was one line that struck you about her song, something about him being like a puppet with a beating heart unbeknownst to himself…

Which is why you thought you might as well try to see if you could convince him to take you out sometimes.

"What, like a date?" [Wanderer] scoffed then smirked, a light blush on his face. "Are you really that desperate?"

"No, eww—" You rolled your eyes. "I meant it literally. Igor and the others wouldn't let me go outside unless I'm with someone they trust."

He looked away and covered his mouth, his shoulders trembling slightly.

"Like a child?"

"Yeah, yeah, shut the fuck up." You deadpanned, your pride slightly chipped. "Like a child or whatever you want to see it, as long as it gets me out of here. I just want to see the world before it all…"

You paused.

Better not to bring it up. You're not sure if Igor told him yet.

[Wanderer] raised an eyebrow. "What's in it for me?"

You shrugged. "Is money not enough?"

He paused.

…

"You've got to be kidding me— Fine, what else do you want?"

His eyelids lowered, hissing slightly. "Evil expects evil from others, huh? I wasn't trying to think of anything more, but now that I think about it…"

"Oh, great."

"… I can take your request," he pointed at you. "But only if you join me in the library. Anywhere else, especially loud places like clubs, I'll send your ass back."

That's a no-brainer.

"Deal!"

Though you've missed the peculiar sight, [Wanderer] had a small smile on his face as you shook hands. The two of you had become nearly inseparable since then.

Worryingly, he's closer to you than other humans.

The only relationship he needed was with you.

And with what little time this world has left, you hope you could have a last cup of coffee with him…

I. Denial.

Your reality crumbled. What a START.

Your family, friends... all gone. No one was left. You convince yourself you "deserved" this punishment for smoking a life away with dreadful workloads, no matter how untrue it was. When the world burnt down, you were sent into a darkness you had not known before.

The person in charge of your reincarnation process told you that for the next few minutes, you and a selected companion will see your lives flash before your eyes in a void— and it will not necessarily be a comforting sight.

But you woke up relaxed. In an abyss filled with broken mirrors meant to depict your character to pieces, you donned a plain expression. There was not an inch of you that grieved for what was lost. Similarly, you had no care for how you were being transmigrated to another realm. Though you had grown accustomed to this isolation, humanity always struggled with silence. There was ringing on your fingers. When you unclasped your hands, you saw a pointed shard. Curiously, you clenched it. But no matter the tightness of your grip, no blood came out.

Your breath fogged up the glass. You wondered why that Memokeeper told you that you deserve to live on. You thought your life was rather unremarkable.

Makes sense. You thought to yourself. I'd rather pride myself on a boring life with integrity than an ambitious yet fraudulent one.

「Assignments. Commute. Study. Review. Assignments. Commute. Study. Review. Was that all your life was...? Then tell me, little (Y/n), why does the mirror in front of you appear distorted?」

And so, you gazed forward. Your reflection stood tall, larger than your life, and it beckoned you to come closer. This "(Y/n) (L/n)" had the opposite of a Cheshire grin- perhaps a caricature- perhaps an accurate depiction. Wearied of yourself and wearied of the sycophantic students around you. How unhappy are you to see yourself as someone like this? Are these the emotions you wish to be preserved? Is this the memory you want your world to be remembered by?

「These memories must be corrupted. Someone must be tampering with them. I do not think you lived a miserable life.」

I can't answer your questions either. But I think that reflection is who I am, because sometimes...

"I wish I had never been born at all."

Your lips were parted, but no sound came out. You resonated with those words, but they did not come from you. The voice was dark, hopeless, and alone.

When you were being sent off, you thought no one was around to greet you. There was another man. He had short hair and purple eyes- an incredibly rare sight in your world. This man seemed to be gazing at his reflection as well. You needn't know how he saw himself. The emptiness in his eyes did not differ from yours. He, too, was masking isolation as independence with an intense fragility. The dread he inflicted upon you was the closest you've ever gotten to facing your own perceived "weakness".

His memories were a mixbag. Some were filled with domestic bliss, but the anger in his heart triumphed more. He had friends but thought himself betrayed. His heart was constructed through a system of evasions, and he was a specialist in self-deception. This man knew little of emotions but had an abundance of it. It's no wonder he refused to sacrifice the artistry of his vengeance against humanity. You can sympathize with how he could not attach himself to those around him. He was burdened with malicious knowledge. Fakes. Lies. Insincerities. A class of his own.

However, he had a sin you cannot empathize with. A trait you can read that you're certain he had never noticed about himself.

He was a sickeningly beautiful man with a peculiar innocence.

He looked like a man who truly did not live in the real world.

This man did not feel real to you. He felt made-up. Fictional. His aura of flawlessness appalled you. Though you shared the same sentiments, you thought him dimensionless.

Yet this is supposedly your first meeting.

「Is it? Where have you seen him before? Can't you remember, dear (Y/n)?」

No. No, I can't.

「... What a shame. Worry no more, little (Y/n). Close your eyes. When you wake up, you will meet your new reality— new realm— new family.」

You nodded and agreed to a higher existence you did not believe in. Unlike others, you were a little bit more incapable of trusting a living soul. But there's no other choice.

Life is ordinarily far from anyone's control in the first place. Why bother fighting? If following can make her fuck off, it doesn't matter.

Nothing matters.

Wait…

Is that…

Scaramouche?

Before you closed your eyes and accepted your fate, you could've sworn...

He looked at you with a crooked grin.

「Thou art I... And I am thou...

Thou hast established a new bond...

Thou shalt be blessed when creating

Personas of the Universe Arcana..."」

"Hmm. Strange… Is that truly the order of the story?"

A woman stared at you.

Not (Y/n) (L/n).

YOU.

BEHIND.

THE.

SCREEN.

She smiled wryly.

Hate might empower you for a short while, but it comes at the cost of consuming you whole. Should a shard or any surface reflect [Wanderer]'s face, he would understand what he had become. However, it's too late. He had made his choice and stomped away any remorse he could have. When all is said and done, he alone will spread the ashes. He alone will stand. A blank slate.

[Wanderer] spent his life looking for scapegoats and ended up removing his responsibility.

Betrayals?

What a sad, sad puppet.

What a poor excuse to justify an entire apocalypse.

A poor excuse of a man.

"THE ARCANA IS THE MEANS BY WHICH ALL IS REVEALED." She muttered softly. "And you have been reading your story in REVERSE. Perhaps this is the only way this world can attain SALVATION. The chronological order is not a slice of life. You did not have a disagreement and decided to start your relationship over again. Life is far more WICKED."

"Read it again, but from DENIAL to ACCEPTANCE. The proper way to GRIEVE DEATH."

With great reluctance, she took the five cards laid on the table and placed them in an upright position.

"Let's see if you'd rather ACCEPT the truth or live in DENIAL."

Mixed-Kester can now message Wanderer [prior to 12/31/2009]

192 notes · View notes

prettyboykatsuki · 2 years ago

Text

HOW TO BE A DOG. | S. GOJO | PART 2

⊹ general tags ; fem + afab!reader, reader presents femininely and has some specific character traits (i.e. personality traits, nothing physical), reader is shorter / smaller than gojo but nothing specified, reader is a teacher, gojo carries reader at some point (but he is canonly able to do very insane things physically so)

⊹ content warnings ; dead dove. do not eat, yandere gojo satoru, manipulation, stalking, obsessive behavior, delusional behavior, workplace harassment (not from gojo), victim blaming, canon typical violence, graphic depictions of murder, minor character death, excessive religious imagery, coercion, gaslighting, abuse of power, something akin to stockholm syndrome, graphic depiction of noncon / sexual content, forced intimacy, fingering, hickies / bruises, begging, edging, loss of virginity, size kink, 18+.

all sexual content present in this part.

MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING FOR GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF NONCON, COERCION, AND SEXUAL VIOLENCE.

⊹ wc ; 18.4k / 36.1k

link to extended authors note | ao3 | how to be a dog, by andrew kane.

LINK TO PART ONE.

⊹ a/n ; here's part two!! miss ame has read it so im all good to post. i will upload to ao3 as soon as im awake i promise lol. hope you enjoy the fic and please heed the tags. likes and rbs always appreciated. also the last part is, relatively tame. the crazy gets amped up to ten so be careful.

⊹ synopsis ; with six eyes to see it becomes clear, you are being watched.

"You must learn, once you have sampled the freedom of a life without a chain, that it is better to return and be chained again. Or you may learn that it is not—a fugitive is also a kind of dog." - andrew kane, how to be a dog.

⊹ PART TWO : SOMETHING TAKEN IS BORROWED. SOMETHING RUINED IS YOURS.

Snow is falling outside. The world is covered in white.

Gojo Satoru sits on his hands and watches the blizzard outside from his window. His apartment is dark and there’s frost on his window. He can hear the wind from inside, and can feel the cold chill of glass as he stands close to it.

Snow is falling outside. The world is covered in white. Spring feels like an innocent century ago.

Nothing’s changed, but everything is different. It’s starting to feel comedic. It’s so cyclical. He has two states of being. Being with you, and not. It dictates his internal world. He functions the same as usual. Repetition. Working, coming home, and waiting.

Gojo feels like he’s waiting. Perpetually waiting for time to set again so he can see you. There’s something in him only you can fulfill - an itch only you can scratch. Gojo is drawn to irreplaceable people, so perhaps it’s no surprise that he’s latched onto you this way.

There’s nothing to call it other than greed. Sometimes love, but mostly greed. A habit he can’t break free from. Gojo wants to see you. He doesn’t know why either. There’s not any particular reason. Or if there is, he hasn’t examined it too deeply. Gojo has always known in some innate way that he’s lonely. That his loneliness makes him untouchable - but not in the same way it might make a God.

The thought of doing anything without you makes paranoia creep up in his throat like bile. Gojo is that sort of lonely. Is it too much to ask to be next to someone, who never goes anywhere he can’t see? Monopolizing your time and all the ways to do it best take up most of his energy.

When was the last time anyone made him feel warm, in the cold white of winter? He thinks maybe he realized it too late, that he cares about you this much.

The reality is that Jujutsu Sorcerers are better off learning how to cut their losses. You love people and they die. You like people and they die. Gojo doesn’t think he can accept that from you so easily. He doesn’t think he should have too.

Does he need a good reason to want to keep you?

Gojo doesn’t want to make you hate him. He just wants to make sure you’re alive even if it means you might hate him. You might never understand either. Because you are still foolish, naive and human. Is that really asking for so much?

It makes him hesitate from the call to action. That instinct in his bones. He sees having met you as a blessing from the Heavens who’ve banished him. Gojo Satoru is not god. He understands God, but he’s not God.

No matter how much Gojo reaches for omnipotence, his long fingers can’t stretch towards it. Godliness is uninhabitable, an abandoned house. If Gojo casts his eyes on you for more than one second, he can do nothing but long. How can God long? Perhaps if he were more godlike, he could treat your inevitable death like a sacrifice. A martyrdom, or proof of your undying love for him.

Despite that, he understands how God's love can reach. Inciting violence to bring you closer to him is merciful. It’s only then you’ll come to understand it to the highest extent. That Gojo loves you after all, more than anything mortal in his world. He can hold all of you in his hands, keep you safe for the rest of your life. It’s what he wants so badly. If you just give him the chance to protect you - he could do it so easily.

Religion can be so much like a dog and its master. Maybe, you could understand Gojo’s feelings if you saw it as an animal instinct to protect you. Even if it’s a falsity, a fictitious tale, detached from what's true.

He doesn’t want you to hate him. He’s your watch dog, your keeper, your divine love. He needs you all to himself and he needs you to understand that you’re his reprieve. That in a universe decided by fate, the two of you are also red strings knotted together perversely.

He needs you. He needs you. He needs you.

Snow is falling.

Come Saturday, Gojo receives a knock on his door.

He’s usually sleeping in on the weekends, so he’s startled by it. School doesn’t start till later and if it was an emergency relating to sorcery - Yagi would’ve dialed him personally. He answers the door with sleep still in his, rubbing his eyelids as he yawns. He’s dressed in his P.J.’s with his hair messy and mind jumbled.

He’s not unhappy though, when he opens the door up to see you. You’ve got something in your arms, a bag it looks like and a look on your face that Gojo can’t decipher.

“Oh,” He says after registering who he’s talking to you “What’re you doing here so early?”

You sigh, deeply, rubbing your arm. That anxious little habit again, your eyes darting every which way.

“A pipe broke in my apartment. Like, flooded the whole thing. Spent the whole morning scrounging my stuff together a-and I called maintenance but they won’t be here for a while and.” You stutter as you explain yourself and Gojo stares at you in confusion “I need a place to stay but going back to my parents right now is gonna be so hard and plus there’s work,”

Gojo soothes you silently, putting a hand up.

“Hey, calm down,” He says first, smiling up at you. He reaches out to pat your head “I’m here. It’s okay. Slow down and tell me what's wrong?”

You sigh, closing your eyes and bracing yourself.

“Would it be alright if I stayed with you? Just for a few days, until I figure this all out?”

If God exists, maybe this is his way of giving Gojo grace. Gojo takes a minute to pretend, leans against his door frame and watches you fidget anxiously. He blinks at you, the way your teeth are pressing into your lip. You fold underneath the pressure of his gaze easily. He hums and haws.

“Hm,” He says, leaving you uncertain for as long as he can before you try to react. He’s memorized all your tells by heart “Well, there’s no reason not to, right? You’ll have to sleep in my bed though.”

He half-jokes, but not really. He waits on your reaction.

“Oh, uhm, then,”

He interrupts just then, raising his voice. You jump back.

“Just kidding! Of course you can stay with me. I’ll take the couch for a few days so don’t worry your pretty little head about it, okay? Stay as long as you like.”

You look relieved. It makes Gojo smile a bit watching you take a deep breath, leaning on the door frame as he stares.

“What?” You ask when you notice. He shakes his head.

“It’s cute when you get nervous,” He says, inhibitions lowered. You pout at him and Gojo has to stop himself from reaching forward to grab your face in his hands.

“You’re so mean,” You say with a sigh, arms crossed over your chest “I was really freaking out just now,”

“I know, I know - but it’s kinda fun watching you fuss. Dunno. Maybe it’s cause I’m sleepy,”

“You're wide awake right now!” You point out. He snorts.

“Noo, what? I’m half-asleep right now,”

“Gojo,” You whine, and he has to stop the blood rushing through his body “Let me in? Please?”

“Try Satoru. Sa-to-ru,” He says. You frown at him, sighing as you rub your face.

“Satoru,” You say, hardly getting the syllables out “L-let me in,”

He pats your head one more time as your frown deepens.

“Good girl,” He purrs, before switching his tone to a more lax one as he welcomes you “Come on in!”

Another sigh of relief. Gojo finds it fascinating that you can find relief in his presence. It speaks to how well he’s been doing to make sure he’s acting in accordance to expectations. Despite how easy the opportunity has fallen into him, he doesn’t think it’s time yet. You’re still skittish.

Still, he should get something out of your stay here. And he will, but he should let you settle in first. He gives you a hum as you shuffle inside, standing awkwardly in his living room. He shuts the door behind you and locks it up.

“Don’t be so stiff,” He says, waving a hand in the air before yawning “My home is your home. Be comfortable. Is there anything you need or wanna do?”

“Could I borrow your shower?”

Gojo feels something pressing into his ribs at the idea of you using his things - sharp and sinful.

“I was gonna shower this morning but, y’know.” You gesture vaguely. He’s quick to agree of course, nodding his head as he points in the general direction of the bathroom.

“Pretty sure our places are built the same so you should know where it is. The towels on the rack are all clean. Feel free to use anything in there and uhhh,” He scratches his head unsure of what else he needs to add. Though he’s certain he’s missing something “Oh, and I’ll give you some clothes,”

You flush at the sentiment. So maybe you do know what this seems like, at least on the surface. Gojo peers at you as you turn his words over, interjecting before you have a chance to refuse.

“Don’t say no,” He says, voice sing-songy. watching your expression morph into something nervous again. Maybe you caught it, because you certainly jump in your skin, but he switches into himself with ease. Over and over and over - startling you never gets less fun “Let me play out my domestic fantasies a bit as compensation,”

“That’s a bad joke,” You say, throat thick.

You want to trust him don’t you? He wants to praise you for that.

“Aw, c’mon. It’s lonely. Let me indulge a little,” He begs with enough lightheartedness that you don’t run away.

“Geez. I thought you were popular with the ladies,” You try and joke back, though it’s stilted and awkward. He can tell you’re getting prepared to squeeze to the bathroom before the conversation is too much.

“Old ladies do love me,” He says contemplative. You elbow him lightly.

“Stupid.”

He gives you a soft smile as you pass by him.

“Is there anything else that you need while you’re in there?”

“I don’t think so,” You reply back. Gojo watches you disappear into the hall, trailing after you silently. He waits, listening carefully for the sound of the shower to turn on.

When the water rushes, he follows you.

He almost has a conscious standing in front of the closed door. The water pressure in his apartment is a little higher than it’s supposed to be. The closed walls keep all the noise inside them, making it almost impossible to hear what’s going on outside. Even with heightened senses like him.

For someone like you, it’s probably impossible.

It’s knowing that he follows behind you, lying in wait. He counts up to 5 minutes as he waits, letting you settle into it before he puts his hand on the door knob. He finds it unlocked. He’s pleased with that.

You trust him, or you try too.

When he feels certain you’re relaxed, he opens the door. He could teleport in but it’s noisy. Steam plumes outward as the door opens. He looks around the bathroom. Your clothes are folded neatly, with your pants hanging on the rack next to you.

He stares at the fabric for a long time, contemplating what he has time for.

Ultimately, he suppresses whatever urges come up to do what he came for. Too many to count and even more that are risky to act on. Instead, he checks the tags of each piece, committing it to memory. After, he stares at the shower curtain until he’s sure he overstayed his welcome.

He leaves right after though, shutting the door just as quietly as he opened it.

The less you know the better. Gojo makes his way back into the living room.

He sits on his couch when he’s back. The sun hasn’t come up yet and he’s only turned on a single lamp for light. It’s hard for him to describe how he’s feeling. Things have been different for weeks now, but proceeding normally hasn’t caused him too many issues. Strangely the sense of routine has been grounding.

He’s been dealing with it better than he expected. For all of that restraint to unravel so quickly is funny.

But, Gojo thinks, that everything leading up to now must’ve been a sign. There are so many instances that befall him that feel aligned with fate. He’s naive in thinking you're different. He’s the only heir of the Gojo clan, the only one with the Six Eyes for nearly 400 years. He hears the water rush faintly through the walls of his apartment, picturing you trapped in those four walls. He thinks of how you met. Your proximity to each other.

It’s only now and in such circumstances does he think that you’re the due that the universe is paying back to him. Robbed of everything, of every joy he’s ever had - it’s both righteous and fair to take you. Gojo doesn’t want you to hate him. Not necessarily.

But they always say in sickness and in health. Through the best of times and the worst. If you were made for him like he suspects (like he knows, believes deep down) then he thinks it’ll be fine. As long as it's you. As long as it’s yours. Even if you cry or scream, what matters to Gojo is that it’s yours. That he’s yours.

Holding back is starting to be too much. Gojo’s never been the type to sit on his hands and wait. Being scared is so much like starving. Deprivation like that always threatens to turn Gojo to ruin.

But like anything he does though, he can’t take the easy way out. There’s a method to the madness. An order even among his most disorderly actions, there’s things that need to be done the right way for the best possible outcome. On less of a whim than it seems, Gojo decides that he’ll do his best to make that reality happen.

The thought settles in his body and suddenly he’s present again. He feels a pang of hunger in his stomach, causing him to stand to his feet. He feels lighter as he waltzes into the kitchen, whistling to himself on what he should make. Maybe crepes? He’s not a skilled cook but he’s pretty good at making those.

At the very least, he thinks you’ll like them too. He proceeds into a normal-ish routine. He follows the motions of making breakfast as he hums to himself silently. Grabs a bowl from the cupboard, eggs and milk from the fridge, and flour from the pantry.

He thinks to himself, immersing himself in the practical ritual. His comment from earlier about domestic fantasies was a half-joke at best. Gojo really does want to do this kind of thing with you, and he doesn’t want to miss the opportunity to play the part either. Even if it’s temporary. He’s giddy at the thought of doing this with you everyday, a warm fluttery feeling spreading through his body.

He grabs a whisk off of the wall as he dumps everything into an empty bowl, turning the heat of a non-stick low. He whistles a song he can’t remember the name of, cracking an egg on the metal edge.

Despite living in a nicer part of Tokyo, Gojo has yet to have an induction stove top. It’s not uncommon to have gas for smaller, cheaper apartments. Most of the stovetops in the Jujutsu Tech dorms are gas and Gojo has no issue using them. He doesn’t cook for himself often in the first place, so he’s never thought to complain about it or get it changed.

Maybe he should. Once you live here, it might get inconvenient. The thing about gas stoves is that they never heat evenly. It’s not impossible to work with, and the heat is easier to control - but induction lets every inch of the pan get hot the same way.

( He often thinks of the analogy for boiling a frog. If you put anything living in heat too directly, it’ll jump to save itself. But if you keep the heat tepid, gently raising the heat till it boils - it’ll let itself stay in the treacherous waters until the very end. It’s best to keep the heat even. It’s best to fix it sometime soon. )

The whisk makes a pleasant sound as it hits the bowl, metallic scratch softened by the presence of batter. He picks the whisk up and watches the yellow liquid drip off the edge, a hand over the pan. Still too cool to the touch, he clicks his teeth.

He waits, idly. The shower turns off, he hears, and feels his breath hitch. He has to steel himself, curb his enthusiasm.

Too much heat, and you’ll jump to save yourself.

Once the pan is hot enough, Gojo busies himself with cooking. It helps him distract himself, the monotony of pouring and flipping and waiting. He gets through almost 6 before he hears your feet pad gently across his hardwood floor, slipping into the kitchen with a towel wrapped around your neck.

You’re wearing what seems like the only clothes you managed to bring. Gojo wonders how long it’ll last you. Despite it, he notices the way you smell. How you smell like all of his fancy bath products and soaps. There’s a twitch in his sweats that he barely gets under control. He lowers the heat and turns to you.

“Morning,” He says. You giggle a little.

“Morning. Are you making breakfast?”

“Yes ma'am. The only thing I know how to make but,” He puffs his chest up “Pretty good, I’m told.”

You roll your eyes at him, but smile anyway

“Guess I’ll be the judge of that,”

“The audacity,” He says, full of theatrics “I’ll knock your socks off,”

“Oh, I’m sure you will,” You say, flippant and giggly. Gojo decides then, maybe, in its entirety. That he’ll have all of you and soon “Can I help with anything?”

“Get started on some coffee maybe,”

You nod your head and yawn.

“Sounds good to me,”

You decide to stay for a week.

More precisely, Gojo convinces you to stay for a week. That’s how long it will take for your apartment to get fixed completely. Concerned about inconveniencing him, you initially suggested 3 days - insisted you could find somewhere else or pay for a hotel for the rest of the time.

But Gojo insisted too. A week is more than fine (even longer would be better) and there’s no reason for you to go out of your way. Hotels are expensive, your parents live out in the countryside, and it’s not like you can’t board with a friend for a few days right?

But won’t that trouble you? Of course not. Gojo doesn’t mind at all. It’s like having a week-long sleep-over.

I don’t have the stuff I need. That’s fine. Gojo can take care of it. He already bought some clothes for you, an act of kindness. He can get the rest too. You can consider it a favor, if you really want to be sure.

Are you sure? Of course he’s sure. More than sure. You’re doing him a big favor, he assures with nothing but affection. Being alone at home is pretty boring, anyways. What’s sleeping in the same room when we’re neighbors?

Even with your unease, you agree to stay the whole week. You’re weak to being convinced, and hard-pressed on not fighting about things Gojo is adamant on.

(He’d be stupid not to notice how your earnesty makes you easy to exploit. It’s a good thing it’s only Gojo who knows.)

The first day passes quietly. You and Gojo go to your respective jobs and greet each other when you get home. At home, things are simple. Domestic. There’s no other way to view it. You graded papers and looked over lesson plans in the living room while Gojo got in his daily sets - TV playing in the background with neither of you particularly tuned in. Gojo sleeps on the couch.

(He doesn’t make it a day without touching himself. The proximity is too much, too stimulating, and even with all of the restraint in the universe - it’s hard for him to stave it off. What you don’t know can’t hurt you. Alone under the moon, he thinks of what you look like when you’re embarrassed and spills into his hand.

Eventually, he’ll graduate to watching over you. You leave the door unlocked because you’re naive and Gojo stands with his cock in his fist, watching intently. You squirm in your sleep but you sleep deeply - because despite all the noise, you don’t stir one even once. He stops it from touching you, so close to your mouth, to your skin. )

On the second day of living together, the clothes Gojo bought you come to his door. You’re not home when it arrives, so he waits until you are home to open it with you. You come home a little later than usual (parent-teacher conferences, apparently).

(“I have a surprise for you!” Gojo says, as finally comes back into the living room. You’ve returned from your shower, on your last pair of PJ’s. You blink at him softly, tilting your head to one side as he hands you a package.

“For me?” You ask. Gojo nods, grinning.

“For you,” He confirms. He walks with you as you set the box onto the coffee table. You stare at it for a minute, glancing up at Gojo. Your eyes search for your keys. Once you find them, you take the sharpest key and rip through the tape on the top of its sides. An unceremonious krrk sounds through the room, echoing in the dimly lit living room.

The clothes are wrapped in white, plastic packaging. You pick them individually, examining them closely. You look at Gojo again, more uncertain than before.

But Gojo shakes his head, nudging you towards opening the packages themselves. A promise to explain afterwards, silent in the air. You nod, confused, but do as he suggests. You rip the top open, dropping the thin plastic onto the table. More bags, this time clear. You repeat the action until the material flounces in your hands. You undo the careful folding for a minute, then stare at it.

“...Clothes?” You repeat.

“Surprise!” He says with his usual silly cadence “For you, free of charge.”

A lot of things pass over your expression. Gojo watches each of them carefully, amused. He wonders what you’ll do. What you’re thinking, it’s a shame Gojo can’t read your mind.

“How’d you know my size?” You say first, inquisitive but not accusatory. Gojo shrugs.

“Guessed. We’ve spent enough time together,” He says noncommittally. Your face changes, like you don’t quite believe him. But there’s not enough there for you to question him either. He can almost hear you narrate it in your head. The heart you wear on your sleeve, tender red and bleeding, thumps anxiously as you try to get a read on him. It’s not a sound he dislikes.

He’s been good to you. He’s just being nice. You shake your head, regretful of your own doubt for a minute. You force a smile, and Gojo doesn’t hate it even though he knows where it comes from.

The power of love, he thinks almost whimsically.

“This is a big box. How much stuff did you even get?” You repeat, noticing the contents are up to the top. He feigns indifference. Pretends not to know that he spent countless hours looking over it.

“Mm, dunno. Just whatever I thought you’d need.”

“I’m only here for a week, Gojo.” You mutter, hands grazing over the cardboard edge.

“So? Maybe you need a lot of stuff. I don’t know what women go through.” He says with a pout, lips together. Joking with you to lighten the mood, which makes you huff through your nose.

“You’re so dumb. It’s too much stuff,”

“I already bought it and I don’t feel like returning it,” He tells you, making it clear he’s not going to negotiate “Just think of it as a gift from Santa Claus.”

You snort.

“You even have the hair,” You reply. Trying to make yourself feel better in the process, Gojo gives you a half smile “Still. I feel like I’m really indebted to you, lately.”

“Yeah? You can count this week as one big favor, if that makes it easier.”

“I don’t remember Santa doing favors for people,” You quip. Gojo laughs.

“Change in management,”

You laugh a real laugh at that, and Gojo watches you turn the situation over again and again.

“Well. Thank you. Might as well look through the rest of it, huh?”

“Take your time,” Gojo says, before checking the digital clock on his wall “I need to go get something from the store. Just leave the empty stuff next to the trash and I’ll take it out tomorrow morning.”

“Oh, okay. Yeah. I’ll start on dinner. See you, Gojo.”

“Yeah. See you” )

If you notice all the clothes come in shades of blue, you’re smart enough not to say anything.

The third day passes in a blur. Nothing notable, but he’s content. You wear the clothes Gojo bought you and he’s careful not to stare while you know. He takes it upon himself only to do it when he knows you’re asleep, his nightly routine staring over the bare inches of your body in a dark room being a reprieve of his other desires.

On the fourth day, he doesn’t have the restraint not to touch you. Too many days in the same room and he wants access to everything already. He hates being patient more than he thought, but there’s a method to this - he has to remind himself.

Like taking out his aggression, he decides he needs more relief. Something to scratch the itch. With his infinity, you can’t feel his fingers ghosting over your legs. He checks if you’re wearing the other stuff he bought, settled at the bottom of the box. Not lingerie, but panties. Plain and cottony - white over your cunt as you sleep with your leg hiked up. Gojo knows you can’t feel him now, but part of him wants you too. He wants to know why you’re wearing them despite yourself. Gojo realizes too late that he’s interested in your misery just as much as he is everything else, and so far - that discovery has made everything all the more difficult.

On the fifth day, things proceed the same. There’s a routine you’ve settled into together despite the time limit on it. That night over dinner, you and Gojo spend time together. There’s not really much to do - it’s a Friday. It’s the first time neither of you are completely occupied with any one task.

You get to talking like that. On the fifth day, Gojo gets as close to opening up as he’s ever gotten in his life. Part of him isn’t sure why he does it. He thinks he’s seeking confirmation for something, but what that could be is lost on him.

(“So, you’re the only person left in your clan?” You ask, half-way through a glass of tea he’s sure has gone cold by now. The T.V. is on but muted. Gojo looks at you in the low lights, fighting his own sleep.

“Mhm. Technically, I’m the sole heir.” He replies.

“...Is it okay to ask what happened?”

Gojo laughs at you. You really can’t help your curiosity, but he still finds it amusing.

“It’s not a pretty story,” Gojo says honestly.

“That’s okay,” You say, voice filled with an air of innocence that Gojo has a hard time wrapping his head around.

“Most of them were wiped out. We had a lot of enemies, me included. A lot of them are dead, the remaining are somewhere far-away and have no combat abilities.”

“You included?” You pick up on, naturally. Gojo nods and smiles a little.

“Once I inherited my technique it was pretty commonplace. I went through a lot of assassination attempts,” He yawns in between, because this is an old, boring story “It took a lot of time for me to get strong enough to where I am now. But I got there eventually.”

“You say that so easily,”

Gojo peers at the frown on your face and laughs quietly to himself.

“It was a long time ago, now. I never really had a lot to mourn, except for when I was a teenager. I’m used to it.”

For a long time, you remain completely silent. Gojo almost thinks you’re going to cry. He doesn’t know how to feel about that. It’s proof of something. Of his ambivalence towards the idea of sympathy. Sure, it’s meaningless now for someone to feel bad for him. It’s a pointless endeavor, because Gojo is a selfish dick and the strongest - and he knows both of those things intimately. He accepts them as part of himself in the same way, he doesn’t know what he’s like without being frivolous. Without being the strongest. The line between misery and character is paper thin and Gojo hasn’t known it since he was born.

It’s especially pointless for you to feel bad for him, because he’s going to ruin that very innocence you hold in your heart before the week is over. He’s going to do it with purpose and conviction. He won’t feel remorseful about it at all.

There’s an irony to it. A dramatic irony that brings him closer to Godliness than he’s ever really been. Because Gojo knows that this conversation is confirmation that he needs you, just as much as he knows he’ll do anything to have you even if it means you can no longer look at him like this.

He wonders how long you’ll hold sympathy for him. He decides for now, there’s no reason to not lean into it. It makes him happy that you care enough to feel sad. Even if it’s pointless. He doesn’t remember the last time someone did.

Maybe when he was 17.

“You look like you’re gonna cry.” He says lightheartedly. Sincere in a way he hasn’t been in very well over 10 years. You sniffle.

“How are you not crying?”

“I never cry.” Gojo says smoothly, not blinking “I’m a heartless bastard.”

“That’s not true.” You say, almost exclaim, turning yourself to look at him so seriously. It’s cute, he must admit, that you’re so sure on his character “You’re not heartless,”

“But I am a bastard,” He clarifies, mischievous. And you pout, less eager to correct him on that

“...You’re not heartless. Clearly.” You say again. Gojo laughs, a real laugh. He can feel it preemptively, how much he’ll cherish every minute of this conversation. He hums.

“Oho, you almost sound like you’re defending me.”

“From yourself, I guess. I know you’re not heartless,” You say, with some kind of clarity that you have him figured out. Maybe you do. It’s a little shocking. It’s not usually how this goes “You’re…weird. But you care”

“That’s true,” Because it is, and Gojo has no reason to lie to you right now. “More than that, I’m hung up on the idea of the future.”

“Isn’t it usually being hung-up on the past?”

“Right? Usually, that’d be the case,” Gojo says, unsure of what to express “But the past is the past. I can’t go back to it. My technique is infinity. It means I can see infinite realities.”

You sound like the winds been knocked out of you “That’s terrifying,”

“It is. But you know, even in those realities, the past is the past. There are places where the past hasn’t happened. But it can’t be changed. It becomes part of infinity, when events occur. The only thing that can be changed is the future,” Gojo explains, though he leaves out so many intricacies “There’s a future I want to see. I’d like if my students could see it too,”

“Because of your friend, right?”

Gojo smiles.

“Because of my friend. And for less selfless reasons.”

“Like?” You ask, curious.

“I like being able to do whatever I want, without consequences. Being strong lets me do that. For now it’s up to me, but eventually, I can raise strong comrades.”

You’re silent for a while, again.

“Seems lonely,” You say, simply. Easily. It’s true, and he knows that. It’s the most obvious thing in the world, and you’ve said it with little regard for anything. Almost mindlessly, a natural response to such a sad story.

Gojo feels it again. Those stifling, pesky emotions that linger in the cavity of his ribs. He can’t bring himself to be honest, because when does he ever? But he does smile again, a little more melancholy than usual. You notice, certainly, but you have the courtesy not to say a word.

“You think so?” Gojo says, passive and wilfully ignorant “Does it make you wanna hug and console me?”

He offers it sarcastically, but you don’t tear your eyes away from him. It’s almost enough to shake him. Almost.

“...A little? You feel like a sad dog in the rain.” You say, too honestly.

“Jeez. Maybe you just miss Pokupan. Thinking about another man right in front of me. I can’t believe I’m the other woman,” He says, with a faux pout.

You laugh, though it’s laced with sympathy. Gojo can tell you want to fuss. That you want to admonish him for being the way he is, and he’s almost willing to let you. That’s just the thing.

You see Gojo as human, still.

Gojo Satoru isn’t God. But he isn’t human either. If you want to know how God lives, asking Gojo is always viable. But you shouldn’t mistake false omnipotence for forgiveness, like you are now. You see Gojo for all of his humanity, but you're blind to his divinely violent tendencies. You will be until it’s too late.

So, Gojo doesn’t think you need to comfort him how you’re thinking you should. Gojo wants you to depend on him. Because coveting you is an affair distinctly inhuman and crueler than even the heavens could be and he believes that you’re owed to him.

Gojo wants to protect this version of you, even at the sake of corrupting it. He doesn’t want to let you go ever, for any reason. And he wont.

He turns the heat up gently. You’re none-the-wiser. The night swallows you both, but Gojo will remain untouched. He’ll hold you when it inevitably spits you back out. When reality washes into you, you should’ve trusted your gut after all.

For now, he smiles at you.

“If it’s any consolation, I’d be very sad if you disappeared.” Which Gojo hopes you can interpret without his interference. It seems like you do, because you smile to yourself.

“Me too,” You reply. Gojo knows he’s going to ruin you. “I’d be really sad if you disappeared, Gojo. So, don’t, okay?”

And if Gojo were an honest person, or a good one - he’d tell you you’re the last person who should worry about missing him. That you’ll be seeing him for a long time.

But he’s neither, just like he’s not god or man. He lightens his tone and holds out his pinky, which you link with his.

“Scouts honor,”

When he’s ready to look away, you pull a bare thread from Gojo’s clothes. Frowning at him, as you dust away the fabric with your hand. He stares at you.

“What was that?”

“You had a thread loose,” You say simply, unconcerned with anything “I just pulled it off.”

Gojo stares.

“Yeah. Thanks.”)

The sixth day passes quickly. Gojo doesn’t think there’s anything worthy of saying. By then the routine is so practiced and so constant. The sixth day passes like a shadow in the night, disappearing through the woods before morning comes. A stepping stone.

Today is the 7th day.

On the 7th day, things are different. The same but different as they so often are. You don’t have work today, so you do what you’ve been doing. You and Gojo work in proximity to each other, share meals, and idly watch T.V.

Night falls on the 7th day.

Gojo wants to take part in the act of creation, as the sun dips below the horizon. He’d set this in motion when the week started and now that it’s here - the anticipation is too much to bear. When Gojo Satoru sets himself out to be conqueror, the universe trembles at the sight of him. There’s no sound at all. The night reeks of death, in Gojo’s presence it trembles. Too fearsome to speak.

Night falls today. Gojo starts his usual routine with less caution than he’s had the previous six. Where he usually bides his time and enters the room carefully - today he merely enters. He places his hand on the silver handle and pushes it open. A breath rushes from his lungs, adrenaline entering his system as he steps inside. His room has felt so unfamiliar to him lately, but like this - a sense of serenity washes over him.

He stares at you. With his Six Eyes, with vision clear as ever, Gojo looks onto you as you are now. You can never reconstruct a flower crushed under steel boots. You’re not mud or earth, not adaptable like the sea. From the moment he’s met you - Gojo has known you to be so much like a flower. Gojo has never wanted to take the petals off of something so much in his life.

And Gojo is in this instance, a natural disaster ready to pluck the root of you up from the ground. He’ll pick you up in a storm but return you to his feet. There’s a method to this. Gojo stares at your silhouette wrapped and tangled in his sheets, body so loosely dressed. Your visible figure rests easy.

The night is glorious and silent. Gojo watches on in some cross of indifference and utter starvation. He blinks, leans on the wall.

Like a call from fate, you start to stir awake.

Gojo moves towards you. He decides it might be easier just to join you in bed, so he gently works himself into the sheets.. He creeps towards you slowly, and re-familiarizes himself with the feeling of his bed. It’d be lost on him for a week, but your presence in it makes it feel especially brand new. The bed dips under his weight, creaking. You shift lethargically, turning your head to look at Gojo.

You look startled once you realize. For the first time in your entire relationship, it seems to dawn on you that something is wrong. Just a minute too late. He gives you a second to wake up. Your breath hitches, a stifled gasp as you greet Gojo’s expression.

The hunger in his stomach is gnawing. Gojo feels like he’s starving. He thinks doing this will only half-way relieve the urge. This part of Gojo is inhuman as the rest of him.

Gojo’s presence suffocates you so much in the moment, you can only barely open your lips to say your next words.

“What are you doing here?” You sound still innocent. Gojo smiles briefly, under the glow of the moon. He can see your expression clearly. Sleep in your vision. A sheerness to your skin that comes with rest. Your bags are packed, and your things are cleared from his bathroom. You’re still wearing the clothes he bought.

He knows he shouldn’t think it, but some part of him is vindicated. You’re leaving him today and Gojo finds abandonment to be the highest betrayal of them all. So, he’s vindicated. He licks his teeth, usual mirth coming back to him.

Then he talks, his voice tender.

“Getting my debts repaid,” And he means it, more than he’s ever meant anything he’s said “You owe me one, remember?”

It dawns on you. Realization flickers in your eyes before it twists into fear. Gojo wants to encourage it. A curse starts to form, like tendrils around you. You’ll leave it here when you’re gone in the morning and Gojo will have a piece of you left with him.

“W-what are you…? What do you mean?”

He’s shrill, almost, leaning close to you. His sudden proximity makes you freeze. You know better, know so clearly it stops you from running. Gojo is tempted to see if you’ll do it. If you’ll run or if you’ll thrash or if you’ll fight. He’s not particularly sadistic, but he likes you - and he’s curious to know what your reaction will be to something like this.

He eases you into it, He brushes his knuckles over your cheek as your heart sky-rockets like you’re being hunted. Gojo thinks he ought to be gentle with you. Regardless of how this is happening, it’s your first time together. Your fingers tremble as you reach up to grab his wrist. It seems like you’re trying hard to pull him off, and wiggle away from his grip. You ready yourself to give him push back and Gojo times it so that it seems like you’ll be able to break free.

But Gojo is strong. Stronger than you by a lot, and you know that by now. When he finds that you’re trying to escape him, he’s quick to grab your wrists with his hands. They both fit perfectly in his palms. He pulls them up over your head and your eyes widen as you feel his grip - near bruising (though he is trying so hard to be gentle) on your body. He stares down at you.

You look so frightened.

“Wh-what are you..?”

“You owe me one for letting you stay here, right?” He asks enthusiastically, licking his teeth. Your eyes widen “I’ll take this as compensation, okay? It’s a good deal for us both I think,”

“I don’t,” You squirm underneath him “I don’t—I,”

“Shh,” He quiets you, humming softly “Don’t overcomplicate it. Just wanna see you,”

Gojo watches you turn it over in your head. He was wondering about this. What’d you do in these circumstances. If you’d act like you always do, pleasant and pliable trying to do what's best. Damage control for what's coming.

Gojo pulls his hands away to undress you and yours fly to his shoulder blades. You heave as you push, mumbling something about how he doesn’t need to do this. Your expression is grief-stricken. Gojo soothes you.

“You can bite, scratch, kick, scream - whatever works,” Gojo says, communicating his affection as best he can. He drives his hands under your shirt, laying his palm flat over the skin of your stomach. He runs his thumbs over your sides, committing every inch of you to memory. Without his infinity, Gojo feels every part of you “It’s not gonna hurt me,”

You look like you’re at a loss for words. He gives you a warm grin.

“Maybe we’re going about this all wrong,” Gojo says after some thought “Is this your first time?”

You whimper, nodding meekly. Gojo groans against your skin. You flinch.

“Fuck, course it is. Shoulda known. Such a sheltered girl like you,” He adds the last part with a hint of condescension, watching your face curl up into a frown.

“Didn’t say it was a bad thing you know,” Gojo is careful as he pulls your shirt higher and higher. Your breath is being held, afraid of what’ll happen if you let g.o “We’re tied together like this. Isn’t that nice?”

“Gojo,” You say, swallowing something. Words that threaten to bubble up that you can’t find the strength to say. You’re not wearing anything underneath and Gojo feels a chill in his spine “Please,”

“Not wearing a thing even though you’ve been sleeping at a man's house all week,” He reprimands. He lets the material sit over the swell of your chest, just under your neck where it stays. He can see the outline of your tits clearly now, just enough light from the open window to illuminate your skin. Your nipples are hard, heaving. Gojo can hear your little heartbeat thump against your ribs “I’m not telling you off you know? I’m glad you trust me. Great job, on that really. But you really should be more careful.”

“Gojo,” You plead again, throaty. The sound goes through his system, sends blood rushing to his cock.

“Satoru,” He insists on, knowing it will take more than that to convince him “I’ll try and listen to your requests if you say Satoru,”

He doesn’t promise to stop, because he doesn’t think he’d be able to follow up on it. Still, with the level of desperation you show - Gojo thinks it’s worth it to gain something out of. You follow up his request almost instantly, lips wrapping around the syllables with a weak breath.

“S-Satoru,”

He gestures to take your shirt off. You’ve become more pliable, if only a little, letting Gojo see all of you completely bare as he tosses his clothes somewhere onto the floor. Shameless in viewing you, your instincts kick in to cover your chest. He clicks his teeth, pushing your wrists together again over your head.

“That won’t do,” He coos at you softly “I wanna see you. All of you,”

You hiccup, sobbing, Gojo reaches his palms towards your breasts, cupping them gently. Your nipples rub against his palms and he groans feeling how soft you are.

“So pretty,” He admires you. Means it. Gojo lets his gaze catch on the edges and curves of you with enthusiasm. Your chest is sensitive to his touch, thumb and forefinger tweaking and teasing your nipples as you remain underneath him obediently. Your eyes look so watery, soft like lilies in freshwater “So cute,”

“Satoru, please, I don’t—don’t want—”

“So ungrateful,” He tsks. He smacks your chest lightly, enough to make you squeal “That’s the only request I can’t listen to,”

You hiccup, looking away. Gojo hums as he hovers over you, seated over your figure. He pulls his mask off from his eyes, material falling into his fingers. Grabbing your wrists with his palms, he wraps the material around them - tight enough to keep you but with enough room so it doesn’t hurt. He places your hands over your head gently, kissing your covered wrists.

“Don’t squirm too much, ‘kay? Stay like that. I’ll make you feel good.”

“I don’t,”

“Hey,” This time he’s stern, and you slink back into yourself. It’s the first time he’s had to use this tone on you and hopefully the last “What’d I say? You owe me this much, don’t you think? After everything I’ve done for you, the least you can do is not turn me away. It’s not like I wanna do anything bad with you, y’know”

A pang of guilt passes through you. You stop squirming. Gojo keens, baring his teeth as he smiles.

“Good girl.” He dips his head to kiss the place under your ear, where your neck meets your jaw. He scrapes his teeth on the skin so you can feel his teeth over your pulse “You learn quick.”

You keep your arms over your head like he’s asked, hesitant and stiff. Gojo can work with that at least. He leans towards you, tipping your jaw so you’re forced to look at him. Tear-eyed and whimpering, a shudder passes through him.

“So pretty,” He mumbles. He leans forward, presses his lips to yours - hand resting on the base of your neck. You make a noise of indignance but Gojo keeps you there. He eases you into obedience, forcing his tongue in your mouth, grazing the inside of your mouth.

He swallows every sound you make. Distress and frustration and reluctance lend themselves to giving in easily. Your body is sensitive to touch, a trail of goosebumps where his hands touch you. On your waist, trying to ease you into it.

He pulls away from you, a string of saliva connecting you.

“First kiss?” He asks. You shy away, clamping your mouth shut. Gojo chuckles, teeth nipping at you “Didn’t say it was a bad thing.”

You remain silent, so Gojo fills the space.

“Mm,” Gojo presses kisses down the curve of your jaw, all the way down your neck where he stops and bites - hard enough for something to be there tomorrow. He undresses the rest of you. You try to resist this time too, but Gojo doesn’t bother putting up a show. It’s easy to overpower you. He tugs your shorts off with your panties and tosses them somewhere. Unceremonious and uncharacteristically impatient.

He takes his time now that you’re all naked. It’s thrilling to watch distress fill your lungs, a ballooned breath and muffled protest. Gojo sucks hickies into your bare skin. It’s only fair to give you something to look at while you’re departed. Your blood rushes, capillaries breaking under the hardness of his incisors - ridges pushed against your delicate skin. He licks the bruises afterwards, kisses them tenderly.

“Gonna be a little sore for a while,” He says warmly. You’ve hit the stage of grief where you’re angry and resilient again but one look from Gojo is enough to make you slink back “Might as well enjoy yourself.”

Despair flashes in your expression.

“I mean it, you know.” He offers, stating it like he’s trying to appease you “You should relax a little, let it roll off your shoulders.”

It seems like you register that Gojo is teasing you. He does mean it, about thinking you should enjoy it. Everything else is deliberate and you know as much. It’s good you’re starting to understand him a little better.

“Why are you doing this to me?” You ask hoarsely. Gojo is surprised by your question.

“Ah, it’s a secret, so you can’t tell,” He starts. He squeezes the fat of your chest in his palms, silver tongued and playful “I like things that I can keep.”

A flash of true horror washes over you and you almost go ragged in realization. Weakened in your resolve once glimmering so brightly, Gojo takes the opportunity to please. He kisses down your sternum, runs his hands across the sides of your chest. He presses this thumb against your hardened nipples, rubbing lightly. Gojo takes them into his mouth. He bites then licks like he licks a wound

It pleases him immensely when you respond. When you gasp in a helpless sort of way and go to cover your mouth in shame. A sense of delight washes over his body and he does it again and again. He teases, changes from sucking harshly to lapping oh-so gently on the skin. Over and over until your voice can longer be contained no matter how hard you try - sharp gasps and cries of desire filling the air.

When he thinks you’re worked up enough, he slots himself against you and nudges your legs apart. He can feel the heat from your bare skin against his body, clothed. How you tremble underneath him. He eases his hand down gently, fingers trailing down to your pussy.

You hiccup. A sob of defiance stifled with obvious arousal, forced from you so easily. Gojo laughs.

“You don’t wanna?” He pricks, intentionally. Gojo lets his middle finger ease along your slit, dragging his digits up and through - catching on your achy clit “Are you sure?”

It’s torture for you. Of course it is. A pretty, sheltered little thing. It’s your first time with something like this and he’s sure all this is too much for you. Even if you tell yourself you don’t want it, your body can’t refuse him. You can’t either, try as you might. That’s why your legs are spread and why you’re practically dripping for him. Gojo thinks of it as admission. Your clit is hard underneath the pad of his middle finger, as he rubs too light and too gently.

You cry out, pitchy and broken. Gojo laughs.

“You need it here,” He punctuates, adding enough pressure that you gasp “Need me to touch you here, hm?”

You shake your head at first. Gojo tucks himself against your chest, sucking the skin gently.

“Be more honest.” He encourages a mockery as he so barely presses his finger inside of you - threatening to touch but never doing it “What do you want?”

“Don’t, I don’t.” You say, or you try.

“Liar,” He snips playfully against your clavicle “Your pretty little pussy is dripping wet and you want me to believe that?”

Gojo smacks your cunt softly. Once, then twice, then three times for good measure as you cry.

“C’mon,” He encourages meanly “Tell me what you really want.”

It’s a sick little mind game that Gojo is having too much fun playing with you.

“P-please,” You stutter, so unbelievably broken with so little done to you at all. Gojo will take all of you at a later time. When you’re thoroughly pliable and broken and so beautiful all for him “Please.”

So dependent like Gojo always thinks you should be.

“Please what, hm? What are you asking for?”

You swallow thickly. All your dread and doubt and disbelief gone as a sense of real and true need ignites within you. Of course this is too much for you. Gojo overwhelmed you like this on purpose. The resentment of wanting despite it all, despite how miserable you are makes for something so tragically Gojo’s. Whatever you have in your heart will always be for him. Good or bad, ugly or beautiful - like this you are all his and so perfectly too. It’s titillating, the sensation of control that wisps around him. It strikes him like a hammer on hot iron.

Gojo wants you to say it. Wants your selfless little heart to beg for his mercy this once. You’ll understand some time later, that this is how Gojo loves. Selfish and twisted. Cruel. Intimate beyond mortal comprehension. All of him just for you, just like this.

Strangely, it's perfect. Gojo teases you some more. Toys with your clit and feels a pool of arousal rush and drip from your sore cunt. He hits it with the palm of his hands as you try to form the words. You tremble in his arms, a vestige of your will to resist.

You want to resist so badly, he can tell. But it hurts now to leave it alone and you want it despite yourself. It makes you so frustrated you cry. Limp, crystal tears down your face that Gojo licks up nearly immediately. Salty and bitter. Gojo kisses the apples of your cheek, nose nudging your skin.

“So cute when you give up.” Gojo praises sincerely. You sob somewhere deep inside of your “Be good and be honest. I’ll reward you, hm? How’s that?”

Gojo can feel the moment you give in completely. When acceptance settles over your hazy and contorted mind. You let the tides take you, curling into yourself. A sound like you’re in pain even though you’re not hurt.

“Please touch me.” You whisper, hoarse and defeated. Gojo laughs airy, peppering your face with kisses. You wince.

“Good girl.” He coos, dipping his fingers down lower and lower. Heel of his palms pressed into your swollen, needy clit “That’s all you had to do. Easy, right?”

You scowl at him (you try too).

“Open your legs, baby,”

You listen this time, opening your legs wide enough for him to touch. Your pussy is so wet for him. Sticky and soft like you’ll fall apart, Gojo thinks it feels divine, wants to squeeze and grope and touch until you’re disintegrated. He likes feeling you like this. Vocal chords strung tight, all the noises throaty and gone. You throb against him like you’re begging. Gojo doesn’t stand to let you acclimate, flipping between three fingers in a gentle rub to a soft and well-practiced spank.

Only when your words start to come out t0gether, like you’re spitting them out because they fill your mouth too quick - does Gojo bless you with any mercy. He lets his hands sink lower, deeper - until his middle finger brushes your twitching hole. Your breath hitches, and the hands once stuck to your side, reach for Gojo’s hard to hold.

He licks his teeth, some unspoken feeling sending an bullet through him as he feels your body resist. Needy thing you are and so untouched that even the point of your middle finger makes your breath slower. You’re wet enough he doesn’t need anything else to aid him. He pushes in slow, slow, slow - painstakingly carefully as your wetness envelops you.

Because he intends to cherish you in his own way, he resists the urge he feels to flip you right over and take you. He’s being kind, and you’ll realize it later - when you’ve adjusted to him a bit more and know when to pick your fights. If he didn’t think it’d ruin the set-up, he’d have flipped you on your back just feeling. Fucked you without any consideration, just to feel your pussy around him in a vice grip.

It’s all he can picture, but he shows restraint. He’ll fuck himself off on you when you’re sleeping maybe, just to scratch the urge. You might pass out before then.

He comes back to you like that, a promise to himself to give the relief he needs with the body he finds oh-so tempting. He pushes his perversion aside to touch you. You let out a little sound every time he fucks himself deeper, gets his middle finger down to the first bend the all the way to the knuckle.

When he thinks you’re adjusted - ready for more, he gives it to you without making you plead. He uses his ring finger this time - his longest ones and feels you stretch around. He groans, deep and appreciative, as he feels how tight you are. You preen, squeeze your thighs together and call his name

“Oh, Satoru, its.”

He shushes you before busying himself with tasting your skin. Closes his mouth around one of your tits as he repeats the process. In, in, in until he’s all the way to his knuckles. Fucks you till it’s easy, till you’re wanting more.

If he were more merciful, a good man or a better one - he’d stop here. He doesn’t though. A third finger has your eyes widening. You gasp. Gojo kisses your face again and again.

“Easy, easy,” He coos, voice coarse but encouraging “It’s a good exercise for the future.”

You don’t register the words and Gojo doesn’t expect you to. Even still, he thinks giving you the heads up is quite nice.

Three fingers proves to be more than enough. It pushes you to an edge he has seen before. He fucks you with three. Your mouth falls open, slack jawed. Gojo curls his fingers. He rubs up like he’s motioning for you to come here, deep enough until he feels it. That spongy spot inside of you, apparent through the sounds you start to make as he touches it.

He hits something of a stride like that, finger fucking you with pressure on your clit and his mouth on your skin. Gojo takes to watching you once he knows he’s getting you to that edge. Your body stiffens underneath him, breathing going noticeably shallow. Mouth wobbly, lower lip trembling. He can tell you’re feeling it, just as much as you’re resisting it. Gojo coaxes you by whispering against your skin.

“C’mon,” He hums, nudging his nose to your neck “You wanna cum don’t you? I can tell you. You too scared? Need me to help you.”

You whimper “Aah, aah,” Gojo can feel you pulse. Can feel your insides tighten. He’s doing it on purpose, tipping you just over the edge. He wants to hear you beg. Wants to know what it sounds like when you beg for him. He fucks into you slowly, until you’re no longer able to put on a show of being composed.

“S-sato—oh, please, oh—please m-make me,”

“Want me to making you cum? Say it. Say, ‘Satoru, please make me cum,’ can you do that?”

A bitter sob leaves your lips and Gojo can’t think straight. It strains you.

“S-satoru, pleasemakemecum—please.”

Gojo grins. “Of course I can,” He quickens his pace enough to make you feel it. Your eyes shoot open before screwing closed again “All you had to do was ask me.”

He watches you intently. How you fall apart under his fingers, delirious whimpers of no, no, no - even though you begged so sweetly a minute ago. He hums as he feels the walls of your pussy start to tremble, a soft squelching sound hastened now. You say something he can’t decipher, words too jumbled for him to make sense. Gojo stares hard. Lets the infinity bleed away so he can feel you just like this, feel you cum on his fingers despite everything.

He feels giddy to the point he’s sick with it, moaning as your hands grip at the roots of his hair. He kisses your breast tenderly, just over the latest lovemark.

“Don’t hate me too much, kay,” Gojo says, whispering, means it so you carry it with you because he can feel the resentment nudged so deep into your heart by now “Come on. Cum for me, sweet girl. Want you to feel so good.”

And so you do. You cry, scream - but the noise amounts to nothing. A cosmic thing, like you’ve been struck by a comet. Gojo fingers you through it, absolutely delighted at the hot rush of liquid that comes pouring out of you. Your first orgasm from him and you’re squirting all over his fucking wrists, soaking his sheets and his arms and his PJ’s with your back curved in a beautiful arch. You break apart in an almost violent way, like the pleasure’s vicious. It tears into you and you succumb with a whimper.

Gojo shushes you as you break down finally into a teeny, tiny sob. You must be exhausted because you don’t pull away when he comforts you, despite the little angry why, why, why that you whisper. You hit his chest softly. He kisses your forehead and listens as your breathing goes still and you fall asleep in a heart-beart, still curled up into his bed and too tired to run away or go anywhere.

He stays with you like that, relishing in the warmth of your body until you’re deep asleep. He flips you onto the side of the bed that isn’t wet, and presses a kiss to your forehead before moving out of the sheets. .

When he stands to his feet, it’s to collect the curse that’s gathered itself on the foot of the bed. It manifests as a white snake with blue-eyes. Gojo finds himself amused. Of course the curse you’ve made is pretty. Gojo grabs it by the neck, watching it as it pries its mouth open and bares his fangs at him. He grins, pricking himself on the teeth to see if it makes him bleed.

It hisses loudly before wrapping itself around Gojo’s arm. It doesn’t take any effort to subjugate it, sensing his power it stills with some effort. Gojo tilts his head as he walks out of the room, glancing at you before turning his head back at the snake.

“Better warm up to me,” He whispers in the dark, a contentment to his words “You won’t be seeing your mama for a while,”

—

Communication stills.

Radio silence, more like - a busy bunch of messages deftly still. Suddenly, a raging storm of grief and anger disappears. The morning after Gojo assaults you, he wakes up to see you off like nothings happened.

He mostly does this because he wants to see what you’ll do.

You spend the morning perplexed and confused. You eat breakfast with him. You sit at the table, contemplative and silent and Gojo chats away at you idly. About the news and the weather and the classes he has today. You chew your food but don’t taste. You listen but your replies are short and stilted - out of touch.

Gojo learns that when something bad happens to you, you respond to it by detaching yourself. Though yesterday you were hot and fiery, the day after you seem to be mourning. Your grieving process starts early, and Gojo thinks rather amused—that you remind him a lot of himself.

He thinks you’re a little closer now that you understand the apathy of losing something that can never come back. And once this whole thing is over, once you find yourself back here - he’ll tell you all about it. You get it now right? It’s painful to feel like you can never be the same.

They say that mankind was fashioned from their Lord. Gojo supposes he’s made you in his image. You look a little empty, and though you’re both so different - you can become close by having the same wound. You can understand him a little more this way, all while retaining your sense of resilience.

What is mankind not known for if not perseverance? Of course he knows, once you recover from your grief, you’ll return to your usual spitfire. He’s counting on it, counting on you to fight and run. Escape from him and never come back.

But that cat and mouse game is more than okay. Gojo isn’t looking for your obedience, really. You’re too defiant of a character. Gojo thinks it’d be pointless if you’d just stayed the same.

You need to have hope to stay the way you are. Thus, Gojo doesn’t plan to rob you of it. He figures it’s best to give you breathing room. After all, he has full confidence in his ability to find you. He could hear the rhythm of your heart a continent away and chase it down without thinking twice. But it’s better if you’re able to show him some resistance. He thinks of it like a compromise. That sort of thing is typical for married folks, he thinks. He gives and you take.

Eventually, you might realize that the endeavor of running away is fruitless. Maybe you’ll be clever enough to recognize that it’s not that you’re succeeding, but that Gojo is letting you. You’re definitely smart enough to do so early, but just stubborn enough to believe that there’s hope in spite of that. If you try hard enough, persevere a little more, etc.

Gojo likes this part of you. Always will. You always put your best in everything and this is his own way of nurturing it.

It’d be a shame to take that from you. Gojo has remained out of your sight for the time being to try and reinstate it. While he raises the curse up in his apartment, he watches you through windows and flitters into your bedroom to peer at you before disappearing again. He makes sure that you can’t sense him or that he’s gone before you can. The more ease you feel, the easier everything else will go.

Feeding the curse you’ve left behind in his house has been taking most of its time. It’s obedient to him since he’s strong, and it’s big now. Longer and wider and more sinister looking (he feels a weird affection for it, maybe just because it’s from you), more hostile. He’s been careful to maintain it. Too much feeding will make it overgrown.

It’s currently on Gojo’s floor, on a dog bed like a disobedient pet - all in a single coil. He has to be careful not to endanger you by making it too strong or giving it too much range. It’s just meant to be a showpiece - a prop at best and a scraped knee at worst.

He’s been building it up for a long time. Then, though, it wasn’t such a clear desire. He figured sewing seeds of fear in you would benefit you in a different way. But that’s fine. The means don’t matter as much as the ends and in doing so - he’s made this all sort of seamless.

It’s not a complicated plan, ultimately. He’ll tell the curse to let loose, freak you out a little, and eventually - you’ll call the only person you know who knows how to handle it. Gojo will save you, and when you’re finally caught in his arms, you’ll have a little reunion amongst yourselves. He’ll reprimand you (but only lightly) and you’ll thrash (but only for a little while) and then he’ll keep you by his side again.

Except this time he won’t be so quick to let go. He’s sure you’ll protest (and be all gung-ho about it). He’ll feign cruelty and push you to the edge. Whatever response you do have, he’s thought of a way to reply.

A way to tend to it.

Like any relationship, things take time. He’s not expecting this to settle right away - but he’s confident eventually it’ll work out how he wants too. Gojo can make that happen as long as you’re within view.

He watches you through the window as you come in from your classes. You’re dressed up today despite the chilly weather - a blouse and nice pants with bangles on your wrist. He wonders what the occasion is given the time of year. Your bag is hanging loosely off of your shoulder - having only just returned.

A sense of warmth spreads through him as he peers at you, a smile on his face. He really does like looking at you quite a bit.

The curse hisses at the sense of your presence and Gojo waves a hand at it to keep it quiet.

“Calm down or I’ll exercise you right away,” Gojo says coldly. It retracts itself. “I’m getting impatient, too, you know? It’s been a long time.” He says wistfully.

He keeps looking until you’ve effectively disappeared from his sight. He listens for you outside of his door. The sound of the building buzzer, soft footsteps, and the slight jiggle and turn of keys before you’ve gone in - sound by a dull thump.

He leans against the wall near his door where he was listening, eyes up at the ceiling as he turns over his options. He should wait it out a little longer. Giving everything enough room to mellow out before it picks up again is an important part of the process.

But he doesn’t know how much longer he can wait. Plus, keeping this curse around is starting to be troublesome. He’d much prefer you back in his arms, in his bed - all back to that kind domestic fantasy that he’d been thinking about again for weeks.

He supposes there’s no right decision, in this case. Just what he wants to do, versus what he should do, and some kind of middle ground he’s been spending too long looking for.

He stands to his feet, no longer leaning on the wall before glancing at the curse from the corner of his eyes.

“Today seems like it’s too soon yet too far,” Gojo pauses between sentences, scratching his head woefully “But it should be okay, right?”

At 7pm, the curse slips underneath the door of his apartment into the hallway. Gojo sits comfortably in his living room, one leg crossed over the other with his phone in hand, a warm mug of tea cooling on his coffee table.

The news is playing. A general and loose sense of anticipation fills him as he pays attention to the newscaster. Another storm is going to hit and the temperatures are dropping to an impossible low. Officials recommend buying bottled water and keeping warm as it continues to blow out.

There’s a soft hiss as the muscled curse squeezes itself underneath the tight crack of his door. It’s unfortunate he can’t monitor it directly. Though the instructions ( and subsequently the consequences of disobedience) were made clear - curses are greedy as they are stupid. This one in particular seems to be self-aware enough not to try to go against Gojo’s word.

So, when the time comes he sits patiently and waits. Watches the news. His ears itch and his skin pricks as he listens for the first whisper of your voice. He wonders if you’ll scream. You didn’t when he thought you should’ve but maybe there's a reason for you to do so now.

The clock ticks away. It’s unceremonious. Gojo thinks to himself that maybe this entire thing is esoteric. Capturing you is a tragedy that he writes to himself and he’ll re-tell it to you all the time in different ways.

The clock ticks. Again and again, the monotony is starting to settle in. Time moves slower than you could imagine. Like trying to pipe honey into straw, thick and impossible.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

At 7:02, a dog barks outside. It sounds cagey, and it’s not Pokupan because Gojo knows what that mutt sounds like. Nor is it cosmic. It does sound desperate, though - like asking someone to be let in. And if Gojo didn’t have such a pressing matter to attend to, he’d go outside and do it himself. After all the wind is frosty and the air is unforgiving and winter devours things so slowly it's painful.

Gojo can’t abandon his task. It’s too important for him to stick his neck out for a being he doesn’t even know. He hopes briefly that it survives. That someone lets it in before it gets anymore violent (or desperate or willing)

At 7:03, he reaches for the tea on his coffee table to drink it. It’s still piping hot, but Gojo can swallow it with his infinity. He does for a reason he can’t name. It’s just a compulsion, inspired by the fact it will probably be too cold when he comes back for it. He thinks, instinctively, that he should cherish the warmth in the glass despite the barrier that prevents him from feeling it. Ultimately it’s still milk tea. It will still fill his stomach and taste vaguely sweet where he permits. He ought to drink it when it’s warm even if it’s just an illusion.

The clock ticks again, this time to 7:04 and Gojo regains a sense of bravado that’s riveting. There’s a commercial airing now for a new type of kitchen gadget, an airfryer with more settings than any one person knows what to do with. The advertiser is enthusiastic and loud. He wonders what happens when it switches to the next one. Do actors on set feel awkward when the cameras turn off? He knows a thing or two about performing, which is why he finds himself so curious.

At 7:05, the first whisper of your pleading filters through the hallways. Though Gojo figures he’s not meant to be able to hear it - because however vague it is, the sense of shame that it holds is hard to ignore. Despite his urge to run to you, Gojo is reminded of the fact he is teaching you a lesson and this is all a show for you and in a way for him too. There’s timings and cues and calls, so Gojo lets your first prayer get passed through the winter winds. He’s sure it gets dropped off somewhere in the snow.

The dog outside bares its teeth and barks louder than before.

At 7:06, the feelings of fear and negativity start to weasel their way into his apartment. Through cracks in the floorboards and the aeration in the spackle - he can feel it come through his door and penetrate his being like waves of wind. With no barrier and no filter, your fear is a familiar presence in his life. It comes to a crescendo as he leans his head back on the couch and blinks up at the ceiling. He’s pleased with it so far. It’s proving to be just right. All the months of delicate orchestration have culminated into such a lovely overture. A symphony of sobs. It enchants him like a bird song, or maybe the whistle of a blizzard.

He waits for it to die down. He waits for it to start back up again. He waits for the sniffling to become sobs and for the sobs to become demands and for the demands to go back to sniffles. He waits for the dog outside to be let in because he can hear the buzz of the gates all the way from his apartment.

When Gojo has had enough of waiting, it’s 7:15 sharp.

He stands to his feet and walks through his door with not so much as a look back. The T.V. is still playing where he fazes out and he leaves it because this will be quick and easy.

You’re right across the hall. The walk is short. The building moans like it’s dead.

He stands in front of your door and presses his ears to it and there’s some semblance of an altercation. Mostly the sounds of shattered glass.

If you were any more familiar with this world, you’d know the thing is stalling. It has harmful intent but Gojo’s presence is too risky. If you knew anything about anything, then you’d know you were never in any real danger and even calling Gojo’s name when you hate it so much now would be pointless.

But Gojo has done his due diligence in keeping you in the fateful dark.

So this part is easy. He reaches for the door but it’s locked, so he teleports.

When he enters, your apartment is in terrible shape. The curse itself notices his presence but does not stop to act. He stops to take a look around. He figures you’re cornered and holed up in your bedroom. A trembling figure in the corner praying for God to save you.

Your house is effectively thrashed like there’s been a robbery. He’ll have to make up something in the report. Officials will come, but they won’t question his word. All the glass is broken and scattered and everything is torn up. Papers ripped and fabric shredded.

(The stuff Gojo demanded not to be touched has remained that way. Even he’s not so much of a monster to ruin your students' keepsakes. He’s sure you’ll look relieved when he returns them to you later. How kind he is.)

He prepares himself like an actor might for a role. He thinks of the lines he’s practiced and the way things will play out. This simple, choreographed tragedy. A manifestation of your fears. Gojo thinks that he is probably good at becoming the thing people love yet resent.

He’s sure you and Suguru would have a lot to talk about in another life.

He checks the time on your digital clock, left unscatched in all the destruction.

At 7:18, Gojo phases himself into your bedroom like he’s only just arrived. He hears you gasp in a sharp fear that quickly breaks into a sob of relief. He glances at you where he stands. He’s never been in your room. Kind of a waste it’s happening like this.

The first thing he does is check if the door is locked. When he finds that it is, he laughs to himself but covers his face before he turns to you. You are exactly how he predicts. Something curled tightly into your fists, fearful and backed into a corner. He coos internally. At what he's done to you. How this has played out.

It wasn’t enough to break you a little. This part is necessary.

Like he starts most interrogations off, he asks you question.

“Are you okay?”

“Oh, Satoru.” Your voice sounds shattered in such a way he finds it almost hard to stomach “Oh, it’s—Oh it’s you.”

“Happy to see me, huh?” He says, tilting his head. You close your eyes instead of replying.

“H-how’d you…?”

“I can feel cursed energy,” He says, and it’s not untrue “I felt something very strange in your apartment. It’s been a while.”

You still can’t find it in yourself to say anything. Maybe desperate, maybe afraid, maybe exhausted by your own paranoia - you relent.

“Yeah.” You say. Gojo can feel the curse grow impatient. It lets out a loud hiss and you gasp in fear.

“Hey, you didn’t answer. Are you okay?”

You stare at Gojo for a long time.

“I’m not hurt but,” You swallow thickly. Upon looking at you closely, you look exhausted. He feels a little sorry for you. He’ll let you rest for a while when you’re home “I’m s-scared.”

“You’re right to be scared,” Gojo says, and he means it a little. Not about the curse, but in general “It’s a pretty powerful class. A special grade, probably. You share cursed energy.”

You look agape as he relays this to you.

“Share…?”

Gojo gives you a look. He can feel the creature coming towards you door down, slinking across the wood slowly. A coy, soft smile appears on his expression as he reaches down for you. You flinch from his hands but Gojo doesn’t falter. He strokes his thumb across your cheeks, peering at your eyes and how they reflect light from the outside.

“It was made with your cursed energy,” Gojo explains very gently to you. You look at him in disbelief “Curses are negative emotions. So something like this isn’t uncommon. No idea how it got so strong, though. But that’s all your.”

He watches you closely as a wave of horror settles over you. A nauseous feeling that has you cupping your hand over your mouth like you’re ready to throw-up. He masks a smile, but he doesn’t condescend you. Not openly, at least. Not to the extent he would like too. He reprimands you like a teacher - a sensei and his beloved mentee.

“I told you didn’t I,” Gojo says nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders as you quell your own disgust at the thought “You have to be careful. And you can’t fight all by yourself, so you’re kind of helpless. What were you gonna do if I wasn’t around?”

You look like you’re going to cry. Gojo keeps going.

“You can’t call the police, you know. They can’t help you at all. Good for nothing bunch, really.” Gojo states, gesturing vaguely. He tugs his masks off of his eyes so you can get a better look at him “But you can rely on me if you need to. I’ll always protect you. Next time just give me a call, okay?”

It must dawn on you, just then, what exactly Gojo is doing. Or some extent of this is hitting you for the very first time. The look on your face is picture perfect. It’s exactly what he wanted. An understanding he’d be hoping for for so long it’s unbelievable.

“I’m the only one who can keep you safe, understand?” But he’s not really asking. You know that too “Can you nod your head and agree?” He pricks. You don’t hold back your tears but you don’t cry them either. You break down silently nd you nod.

Gojo reaches down and wipes them off for you.

“Don’t be so sad,” He says to you, and he means it because what a shame it would be to wallow too much on such a nice day. Winter is for warming up next to your loved ones, isn’t it? “I’ll protect you now.”

Left with no choice, you nod again slowly and clutch your pillow. Gojo kisses the crown of your head and leaves you to untangle your feelings.

Then, almost on cue, the curse itself bursts through the door. The wood breaks off with the hinges.

It’s really a weak thing. If Gojo was trying to keep his powers contained, he might’ve put up more of a fight as it lunges at him in your bedroom. It knocks over your things left and right but he’s mostly busy trying to muffle the noises so he doesn’t disturb the neighbors.

It’s as fast as a gust of wind as he strikes out, neck elongated and jaw as unhinged as far as it can go. This time, Gojo can feel the weight of its desire to kill. A rampant sense of bloodlust in it’s every action, Gojo dodges each attempt and swipe at him. He leaves a barrier over you temporarily so that it can do you no harm.

It doesn’t go for you either. He figures maybe it has some understanding of its own predicament. Desperate animals can be clever too. Perhaps those things have always been linked together.

But he figures a fair-ish fight is as much as Gojo can do to stave the thing off before he sends it off officially. Plus, he can feel you watching his back - like you’re trying to measure how strong he is. It’s a smart thing to do. You’re learning. It’s probably better to show you now, since there’s not much left to hide.

So this time, when the snake comes flying towards him - Gojo reaches his hands out. He uses his infinity to stop it in its place. A noise of anger leaves its mouth, a low hiss as it hits the wall in front of him. Wide blue eyes stare at Gojo, a predator with its fangs bared.

Gojo stares back, a predator with its fangs bared.

He uses a reversal of his Limitless, the infinite blue. The creature is pulled into him closely, crashing first into the space he’s created before disappearing into nothing but smoke and ash. It’s gone just as quickly as it happened. A curse so inferior, it can’t have been more than ten minutes to fight even with all the purposeful delays Gojo set in place to finish it off.

It’s gone now, the product of you and him. A weird part of him is sad. But now he has you, so he cuts his losses. Now there is only you and Gojo, and a ruined bedroom and broken apartment.

Gojo, who has no intention of enlightening you, turns his back to look at you.

“Don’t know how long it’ll be gone but,” He shrugs, rolling his shoulder and cracking his spine “But it’s gone for now. Some officials will be here in the morning but with the way this place is, you might wanna come back to stay with me for a while.”

This is all a formality. He’s sure you know too, but instead of turning away - you’re shivering figure wavers in the dark. You’re terrified enough to reach for his hand and hold it. You know what’s coming, but that knowing does nothing to save you. You were a victim to fate from the moment you met. Yet, you still look to him for comfort in safety because even knowing better, there isn’t anything you can do.

And it’s just like you, to want to trust and forgive him. To reach your hand out hesitantly and try. Everything is tangled up and you are terrified and Gojo Satoru loves you.

“Come on,” He says, encouraging you to get closer. He reaches over your bed to scoop you into his arms and you don’t do so much as protest “Let’s go home.”

Gojo brings you home quietly.

When he enters, the T.V. is still on. You are curled up in his arms. He has no idea how long you’ve been crying and about what in particular - but that’s okay. Tonight, to him, is something like an anniversary. Like any time before, he has no intentions to treat you roughly.

It’s a good night, he thinks. Even in the state you’re in, Gojo can only think of making it even more memorable. You’re an injured thing in his arms. A delicate bird with clipped wings, or a butterfly with a missing antenna. Without Gojo there to pick you up in all your broken pieces, you might’ve really fallen apart.

It’s reasonable enough. For someone like you, he’s sure tonight has been so scary. It makes him feel a little sorry for you. It makes him want to make it all worse before he makes it all better.

He can’t describe it, but there is something so right about seeing you like this.

All angry and resentful and volatile. All lonely and scared and saddened and somber. All Gojo’s forever, permanently through everything. He’s made you so completely in his image, something he’s always wanted to do. Maybe you’re a trial run, in its own right, of all the things Gojo will be able to do in the future. What he’s capable of creating with enough effort.

Gojo is gentle to you. Tender, as he carries you into the apartment. You help him turn off the T.V. and put the mug into the sink. He carries you too afterwards, rewarding you with a kiss to your temple, before pulling through the threshold of his bedroom.

Just like that, you find yourself again in Gojo’s bedroom like you were so many weeks prior. You’re weakened and exhausted, so willing that he is endeared. Like this, he hovers over you. Looks at your tearstained face and smiles so lovingly.

Regardless of everything that’s transpired, above all - this is a reunion of two lovers to Gojo Satoru. So in the midst of it, he wipes your tears and kisses your cheek and you don’t pull away. Now you’re so ruined you relish his comfort if only a little, and this time it’s perfect. It’s everything he’s always imagined.

He’ll give you hope and freedom and let you be. Eventually, you’ll come to realize you’ll always need him a little. And it doesn’t matter, does it? That he’s made it that way on his own. Because it’s true. It’s righteous and religious and godly. Gojo Satoru is not god, but he does understand the urge to make something that listens.

He kisses your soft cheeks and hums at you, nose nudging your skin.

“Still feel like crying?” He asks you. You blink up at him like you’re only just now realizing where you are. Some emotion overwhelms you, but ultimately you shake your head no. Gojo grins impishly.

“That’s good,” He says tenderly. He kisses your lips this time, and you kiss back. It catches him off guard but he doesn’t dislike it “You didn’t get hurt did you? And now we’re together again.”

This does seem to incite waterworks in you but you don’t look like you have the energy to cry. He doesn’t push you too much. Though it is fun seeing you like this, Gojo is grateful he has some time to cherish you.

“Scary world out there, y’know?” Gojo says between kisses. He adjusts you, your arms around his shoulders loosely “Hold onto me okay? I’ll make it all better.”

You whimper under your voice but don’t go to thrash. There’s something about you that feels limp. A spirit softened and dampened, like wet soil. Gojo is okay with anything as long as it’s you, and there is some part of this he likes too. How pliant you become under the weight of your fear, so tantalizing to Gojo he can’t help himself but kiss you. Riper than the fruit of Eden. Just as sweet.

He kisses you for longer than necessary. It’s intimate and hopeful. All tangled hands and pulling different parts of you up to his lips.The occasional press of his teeth in your skin, with his senses so high he can practically feel the blood rush through them. Your mouth is soft and warm, the breadth of mint on your tongue. He pushes his tongue past your lips but this time around, you don’t do anything to refuse it.

So accepting like this. Gojo thinks life with you will prove to be exciting.

He rests his hands on your waist and you don’t pull away from him. Such soft skin covered in a sheer layer of sweat. It’s making him dizzy to have you like this, to kiss you in his bed. Again, again, again. You belong here with him and nothing has ever been so true. The euphoria of everything is overwhelming. He can’t get enough of you. Even if in the moment he carved a spot into you forever and buried himself there, he cannot help but want to be spoiled by your lenience and affection. He can’t help himself but to possess all of you so even time cannot spoil iit.

Despite yourself, you touch Gojo back gently. Knowing you, it is a way to deal with the pain. You want to forgive him as much as you want him to save you. You hate him as much as you love him.

From the beginning, everything has been exactly like this. This was the end of all ends.

This is a lesson in divine truth.

You’ve made Gojo this way as much as he’s made you. If Gojo Satoru is to play as God, then he supposes you are much like an owner. Some part of you has made him love you unconditionally. A dog and his master. An animal with a love so violent it shakes windows. Gojo Satoru makes you love him through violent means, and like a dog left abandoned in the snow - your own empathy for his unconditional but broken love makes you protect him. It’s cyclical. It can never change because the universe has ordained it. Because everything Gojo touches is a divination from the heavens.

Where Suguru proves to be a lesson, you are the dues he is owed.

This is a lesson in divine truth.

More simply, Gojo Satoru loves you in his own way. Any loyal dog will chase its owner no matter how far they run. He lives for you, after all. He’s made you in his image. The difference between god and dog is nothing more than a matter of positioning.

You love him back in your own way. Because his character and his tragedy makes it so difficult to abandon him and your disposition will never allow you. You’ll hate and resent him. You’ll grieve and you’ll cry. You will want to turn your back but he will always come to save you. And who can love you so loyally as a dog undisciplined? Who can keep your sheltered being protected like a wild hound?

Spring was an innocent century ago. Winter is here. Gojo loves you.

“My birthday passed recently,” He tells you. You blink at him.

“Oh?”

“Can you guess what I want?”

You don’t do much more than nod. It’s not permissive. You just know better by now, and that too is not something Gojo finds himself pleased with.

“You don’t have to do any work,” He offers you as a reprieve, busying himself once again with undressing you. You’re still wearing the clothes he bought you all those weeks ago “Just don’t run away from me.”

If you notice how heavy the words are, you’re smart enough not to do anything. Even still, Gojo can’t tell if there's a purpose behind it. Perhaps you just know it instinctively not to.

He takes you apart carefully. Careful, thick fingers unbuttoning the front of your shirt. You’re wearing nothing underneath, and the sight of your bare skin is almost too much for him. The hickies have yet to heal, though now they’re yellow and softened by time. Gojo will have to leave more to bring back all the color to you.

He starts at your jaw this time, teeth against your earlobe. Heart in your hands, he knows your body a little better now.

And he takes his time with it this time too. Even slower than before. Even more consuming, even more adoring.

He laps his tongue against your soft skin and eats. Your skin is salty and sweet and Gojo can’t contain himself. He gropes you lightly, planing his palms over your shoulders and squeezing your breasts tight. He’s missed touching you more than he knows what to do with.

Even in being gentle, there’s little he can stop himself from trying to devour. You lay about him squirming as he undoes each and every part of you. He can’t pick which place to go and what thing to do first because he wants so wholly. It’s making his head spin to listen to your sweet and short whimpers. You spread yourself as you lay under him, hands pinned to your sides - demure and needy.

How different it is but the same. Something about how you’re clinging to him so desperately is making him feel sick with lust.

Instead of going any further, he pulls away from you momentarily. He puts his arms on your sides and flips you over till you’re on top of him

The sudden change in position leaves you gasping for air. Gojo gives you an amused grin as you fall forward - as he props himself up on pillows while you try and steady himself. He holds you close to him once you’re all set, face to face like this.

“Don’t run away from me,” He says, more seriously. You swallow. Gojo lets you up until you’re half-way over him. You’re so much weaker than him, moved and manhandled so easily. There’s a target on your back so often and Gojo loves being an arrow.

He kisses the side of your body as you stand on your knees beside him. His fingers hook into your shorts and panties, sliding them off of your body all in a fell swoop. He squeezes your ass slightly, spreading you apart.

“Look at you all bent over for me,” He coos, hands reaching underneath you to toy with your pussy. You whine, shuddering, clinging to his shoulders. “So pretty, baby. Prettiest girl.”

A hiccup bobs in your throat. Gojo moves his fingers lower and lower, familiar now with the feel of you. Your cunt is just as welcoming as he remembers. The idea of making love sends a shiver through his whole body. Blood rushes to his cock like a bolt of lightning in his veins. He pushes his middle finger into your twitching, needy hole.

Another sound, cut off by a garbled word of surprise, falls out of your mouth. You’re soaking. Ripe for taking. Gojo wants to fuck you more than anything.

He takes a deep breath, whispering to your skin.

“Fuck,” He laughs, giggling at the thought of it “I’m gonna break you, huh? Gotta be—shit, need to be extra careful with you, right my love?”

“Please be gentle.” You say at his request.

“Of course, of course but—” He squeezes your hip as he feels his middle finger go into you down to the knuckle. You roll your hips against him involuntarily “You just—you’d look so good so full of my cock, y’know? Been thinkin’ about it for weeks.”

And he has, means every word. You shudder at the confession. He quirks his lips as he fucks into you, relishing in those pretty little sounds that fall out of your lips.

“You like that?” He grunts, another finger to stretch you out a little more for him “You like when I tell you about all the dirty things you make me think about?”

Shame fills you, like Gojo’s lit a match under you. He can feel your heartbeat pick up. Is it the being so wanted or is it the crassness and humiliation? Maybe both. Sometime later he’ll pick it apart more closely. He lets himself talk you through it, so close to your skin as he whispers all the filth to you that he can. Confesses it to you.

“Weeks and weeks, baby. Couldn’t stop thinking about how perfect and wet you would feel when I finally took you like this. Gonna make it so good for you, you won’t have to think about anything else again.”

The promise sends you limp. When Gojo finally feels both of his fingers slide in and out of you with no resistance at all, he sighs lightly and pulls away. The loss of contact makes you whine, but he brings you back to his lap now, sitting with your legs on either side of his.

His cock, clothed and restrained in his sweats, swells against your wet cunt. He watches your eyes widen as you stare at it, lucid enough this time to realize what it looks like. He looks up at you, kissing the corner of your mouth.

“C’mon. You can look.”

He guides you to the waistband of his sweatpants. You pull his pants down slowly, looking up for permission (which Gojo gives in a loving nod) before taking his boxers off too. His cock is so hard it’s almost painful. The tip is a flush red, white hairs trimmed neat at the base and feeling so fucking heavy Gojo can’t stand it. He hisses as your hands reach for him instinctively, and you try to pull away before he stops you.

“Touch it, sweetheart” He encourages, wrapping your hand around it for you “Feel it? That’s all you.”

A flush graces your features. For a minute, it’s all love and nothing more. Nothing less. Too briefly for it to mean anything, but enough for Gojo to know it. You wrap your hands around his shaft and stroke tentatively and Gojo groans shamelessly into you, rutting his hips into the round part of your palms.

“Fuck that’s it,”

He looks at your expression, examining the concentration before chuckling. Your lip is poked out, eyes dazed. He pulls away from you, securing you close to him.

With the new proximity, he holds his cock close to you. Measure it up against your skin, against your tummy. He feels you against him, Around him, folds nudging apart for him, The skin on skin alone has him so breathless. A dizzy sort of feeling as he presses the tip of his cock hard against your clit. You feel like silk around him.

Looking at you like this, all helpless and needy, he can’t help but think about how easily he can overpower you. He’s stronger and bigger. His cock would be enough to split you in half. How he’s gonna make himself fit inside of you spins in his mind over and over. Maybe like always, your pretty little pussy will yield just for him. You’ll open and endure and take him so deep.

He can’t help appreciating it. Can’t keep his thoughts quiet from telling you.

“See that? How deep I’m gonna go?” He measures up to you. A hand on the bottom of your stomach, stroking his thumb “Gonna feel me right in here. You ready?”

You close your eyes and look away. Gojo grabs your chin and tuts at you.

“Nuh-uh. Want you to see. Don’t close your eyes.”

It’s not a question or a request.

So, you watch. Gojo lifts you up just enough to line up with your entrance and sinks you down so, so slowly on his cock. It’s agonizing how slow. It’s incredible how fucking good you feel. How perfect one sensation could possibly fucking be - Gojo could die here in complete bliss. He can feel the stretch of your pussy trying to accommodate. That sensation of resistance that sends him reeling, spine tingling and skin prickling with a heat so intense he feels like he’s going to pass out just sitting there.

And then there’s looking at you, which proves to be an entirely new animal. You have this pinched expression, a shocked little gasp as Gojo pushes through. A whimper leaves your lips. Gojo rubs his thumb on your lower lip as he eases you down.

“Hurt too much?”

“N-no. Just… feels weird.”

He laughs a little at your honesty, before fucking himself into you even deeper. Another inch and he really starts to feel you. Your walls feel like they’re sucking him and Gojo wouldn’t leave if it killed him. He groans, deep in his chest as you shake. Your grip on his shoulders gets tighter and tighter.

With one more smooth thrust, Gojo sits you down on his cock completely. He feels so complete like this. Everything in him is at ease feeling your insides spasm and melt around him. He sighs contentedly.

“Still okay?”

You nod weakly.

“Can I move?”

Your reply is nothing more than a whimper.

So he does, but he does so slowly. Just to get into the rhythm. He thrusts up slowly.

‘O-oh. Oh, oh it’s,”

He chuckles against the crook of your neck, hugging you close to him. He loves the way you feel against his body, the way your frame fits so perfectly into him. He rolls his hips up into you so there’s no effort on you to move. You whine that time, and he does again and again until your voice is a mess.

“Starting to feel good?”

“S-satoru.”

He swears.

“Fuck, stop that,” He swears “Gonna—shit, gonna cum right away. Moving so hold onto me tight, baby.”

You take his words for it. Gojo feels your soft tits pressed into his chest as he pulls your hips up and starts fucking up into you. Each time he does, he feels like he can feel all the way to the back of you. None of his fantasies could compare to the feeling of being this deep inside, cock nudging against that sweet spot that keeps making you fucking mewl into his ear. He can hardly take it as it is now, focusing hard on not cumming until you do.

Making it good for you is his priority. Always has been, but you make it hard for him like you do most things.

“Touch yourself for me, okay?”

You look at him surprised but listen to his request regardless. Gojo takes to fucking you steadily. He builds an even rhythm as he keeps you up, hands firm on your hips as he pistons you from underneath. The pleasure comes in waves, undulates as blood continues to rush to his cock. He’s so hard he can’t think straight but he keeps each of his thrusts consistent, lines them with the pace you play with your clit so he can encourage you to cum for him.

He can tell you’re starting to feel good when your mouth falls agape. He drags on your walls with each punctuated movement and your thighs shake and tense. Everything comes together so slowly but the pleasure comes at once. It’s a force that’s nearly earth shattering. All the planets aligned, everything in the same plane. Everything for him and for you. For the togetherness he’s created and chased after so long.

Now this part of you is all his too.

“Sa—Satoru,” You warn, your hands trembling and fingers cramped up with need. He grunts as he stares up at you through thrusts “G-gonna…”

“Gonna cum for me? Gonna cum on my cock? Go on. Know you can do it, baby. So good for me. Perfect for me.”

It’s all babbling for him now, the sensation hitting him in waves. Your mouth falls agape and you cum so hard Gojo can feel every fucking pulse. Squeezing his cock hard enough he wants to grit his teeth. He presses his mouth to yours instead as you moan out, unable to hold it in. He swallows every noise like he’s trying to embed them into himself.

You cum hard and fast and Gojo is so quick to follow you. Only seconds after you fall limp into his arms does he feel it - no longer able to stave off the urge to cum so deep in you it stays forever. To mark you deeply you never think of anything. It’s almost animalistic for him. Every nerve on his body is on fire as he shoots his cum deep into you, sitting you on his dick with nowhere for you to go.

Panting, he pulls back to gaze on you. He’s still hard as he’s twitching. He can’t hold off tonight, he doesn’t think. But he’ll give you a minute to collect yourself. He presses a kiss to your hairline.

He whispers softly as the night comes to a quiet, quiet still.

“I’m yours and you’re mine baby. Forever and always.”

You shake. And Gojo knows you well enough to know that it’s the resentment coming back in waves. But that’s okay, because Gojo loves you.

And with this, he’s taken everything.

EPILOGUE / OVERTURE :

Your senses are accustomed to Gojo by now.

You never thought such a day would come. You spent the first year of this relationship (if you can call it that, to begin with) in trenches so deep you couldn’t really tell left from right. So many things persisted as normal, but nothing was ever the same.

In that, though, Gojo stayed by your side till the bitter end. He nursed you back into health and sometimes treated you so kindly that you could almost forget who you were dealing with. Sometimes the weight of everything became too heavy. You think you love Gojo almost as much as you hate him.

But it doesn’t particularly matter what your feelings are. Has it ever, in any of this? You always knew that something was strange but you didn’t think you were so clueless. Blindly following wherever his voice took you.

The first time you try to escape Gojo feels like so long ago. That time, he let you go quite far. You made it out of the house and even went out of the country during summer. But you were sloppy and inexperienced. When he found you and brought you back home, you figured it had been a fluke. You’d learn from it. You’d do it again and that time you would succeed.

That’s what you told yourself anyway. It’s how this all started. Where you would run, and Gojo would let you before he started to miss you. He’d come and he’d discipline but it was never too cruel.

(You wished it were. You wished it were sickly and sadistic and tortuous. You think it’s so much worse to beg for mercy when you are sobbing from pleasure. For Gojo to coddle and sedate you and never yield. You think you’d prefer if he were just out of it. Just cruel instead of what he is. Which is knowing but certain. Justified.)

This has been the farthest you’ve ever gotten. You don’t think you’ve ever been this far away from home. A cabin in the woods where you lived peacefully for days. You don’t know how Gojo found you.

You had been so sure. This was it. It had to be it.

Your heart shatters as you hear him. Feel him in your bones so much it frightens you. The world is covered in a sheet of white, and your ankles are bruised and bleeding from where you’ve fallen. You’re cold and your heart is beating so loud - but no matter how much you run you can’t find any heartbeat to motivate you.

Gojo pulls through the thickets with a frown on his face. Blue eyes and black coat, his feet crunch the snow as he comes towards you. You crawl away. You try too, anyways.

Gojo leans down to your level, looking at you closely. He reaches out to brush snow away from your skin.

“My birthdays soon, you know?” He hums, not angry today. Not even wanting to discipline you “It’s not a bad place, y’know? The cabin. We can spend some time there before we go home. Might be nice. But we should get going so we can check on your foot.”

He reaches his hand out to you this time. Too injured to run, you take it and he smiles before offering to carry you on his back. You hop on, arms around his neck and don’t even cry. A numbness settles.

It is not the cold.

“Oh, look,” Gojo says, reaching his hands out “Snow’s falling.”

You suppose it is. Another Winter will pass just like this.

A dog howls somewhere far off in the distance.

#writing tag #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #gojo smut #jjk smut #noncon cw #yandere cw #manipulation cw #coercion cw

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