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buttercupblu · 6 months ago

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Satoru's Psyche|Surfacing

"Power dynamics, they're fluid."

Session 1 of 10|Next Session

🗂️Patient Chart Update: Routine patient visit and care performed. Patient is stable, mostly corporative, and only mildly rowdy today. Vitals are clear, appetite is normal, nothing of interest to report other than slightly abnormal behavior resulting in the [REDACTED] incident, pending Nurse deliberation on how to proceed with patient disciplinary action. 📋 Length of Session (w.c): 5.2k out of "we will cross that bridge when we get to it 🤠" 💊Intake Chart (tags): this is a full-blown AU with a slowww build-up, yandere-ish behavior, pet names, angst, compulsive flirter Gojo (he literally cannot help it), mentally unstable Gojo, Nurse!Reader ✏️doctor's angel’s note: there’s something very, very special about how this story was born. extended author’s note at the end of this chapter if you’re curious|kk I'm done talking - enjoy Satoru’s Psyche. 🎼 Waiting room music: Child's Play|SZA

They all worshipped the strongest.

But no one saw the man; no one noticed the cracks until it was too late.

The first appeared after the Star Plasma Vessel mission—Gojo's near-death experience and first awakening.

Then, it was his best friend, Suguru Geto. His betrayal, death. Murder.

The blood on Gojo's hands left such a deep mark.

Devastation. Irreparable damage.

No matter what Gojo did after that, death followed him like a loyal dog.

And when the final crack happened in the Prison Realm, with no distraction from his own thoughts and burdens and painstakingly harsh reality, Satoru Gojo bent..then snapped.

He can't remember what happened after being unsealed.

All he knew was the blood that came afterward.

Apparently, he went on a rampage, but in his psyche, it didn't matter.

Nothing mattered.

And he didn't feel guilt—not in the slightest.

They must have gotten what they deserved, right?

The thoughts were deafening.

But Gojo’s natural tendency to play the hero was even louder and got the best of him. The realization of what he’d done was haunting—plaguing and persuading him like a Devil in his ear until he turned himself in to shut the voices the fuck up.

Once again, good ruled over evil and the world was safe.

In Gojo's own sick and twisted way, he had once more saved the day.

And as a thank you? He's here, in a fucking straitjacket, seals all around to make his cursed energy dormant. At least, that's what those old fools believe…

Gojo can't help but scoff, recalling all their nonsense.

“You're unstable. The mind needs to be healed.”

Blah fucking blah. What a load of bullshit.

However, society never took too kindly to a little mass murder, so fine.

Gojo will play nice... for now.

And for the most unexpected reason why.

His grin only deepens, a borderline predatory look as he hears those familiar footsteps.

Ah...how wonderful.

“There you are.”

The man waits by the door, shoulder framing your entrance and leaning on the wall. Welcoming, warm and expectantly, before the locks can disengage.

Like many times before, your eyes meet through the window pane. A dull blue under snowy white lashes, heavy and following yours, but barely piercing the plastic—small and artificial—only a thin layer of careful separation, but you both see right through it. Neutrality on your face but wavering sharpness in your eyes. And a glint in his as the familiar buzz! ushers you into his world.

“How’s my favorite nurse?” he asks like a broken record. All casual-like, as if his arms aren’t meticulously tucked into tight restraints that work hard against his muscled frame. “Missed your favorite psychopath?”

He couldn’t sound more arrogant, but still has to smirk watching you brush past him—expecting nothing less—but feels a different air.

There’s a pep in your step, carrying you into the stark white room and making it impossible to miss the subtle sway of your hips and dangling supply bag on your arm. Naturally fluid as if you’re oblivious to its sensual nature.

Gojo rarely saw you wear any emotion on your sleeve, let alone what he thought was hints of joy, but something was slipping through the cracks.

And what’s that? A slight grin on your face?

What exactly do we have here?

This attitude is foreign. Better than the blank slate or frequent exhaustion you usually walk in with, but this was a side of you that was unfamiliar.

What’s got you in such a mood, he wonders? And what else could it be, if not him?

It’s all because today is an “okay day”. And in places like your ward, “okay” is as good as gold.

Rounds have been fairly simple in the usually chaotic hospital—a small win if you put things in perspective, but it’s enough for you to feel good about it.

Hell, with the way things usually go around here, it feels like Christmas came early and you got just what you wanted.

A big, whopping present called “all of your co-workers showing up to work”. The standard for most workplaces but here, such miracles only exist in your daydreams to get through your usually fucked schedule.

But not today. Today, the angels personally visited your ward to carry your burdens and lighten your load. For the first time in months, you didn’t groan the second you saw your patient roster for the day and instead had to do a doubletake because the list was surprisingly short. Only your regulars sat on it and that could only happen if the ward was fully-staffed.

You thought it was a mistake when you checked the schedule this morning, but no, everyone’s name sat prettily on the sign-in sheet at the front desk—a sight you hadn’t seen since orientation and was confirmed with every familiar and slightly foreign face you passed in the halls.

There were no call-outs, no extra work, and the best part, no unexpected shift changes.

Overtime would not get its hands on you today and the thought alone made you feel lighter because enough time is spent in these melancholy walls as is.

With thoughts on the week’s end, you found yourself drifting through the day on autopilot. Wondering if you should make plans—doubtful you’ll see them through—and time seemed to be flying by with your thoughts. Following the rarely-seen routine you know like the back of your hand helped you blaze through the morning and grow closer to sweet rest for your already aching feet.

Miracles were coming in left and right, proof that today just might be your day. It’s still early, but no one had broken out of their room or flung any property around yet. Guards sit comfy and reclined at their posts, lounging around more than they’re being called, and you haven’t even had to run off to the lockers to change your scrubs that are usually ruined by now. Luck is keeping you high and dry—free from accidents or patient tantrums, both of which are all too common. And always seem to have your name on them.

But the cherry on top, second to none, pièce de résistance.

Is a possibility.

Just the teeniest, tiniest, sliver of a chance…to walk out of these doors early.

Be still your beating heart.

Early release?? Unheard of. You almost skipped through the halls thinking about it. Dreaming of the reclaimed time—the deliciously healthy heap of rest.

With no signs of trouble, aside from forcing yourself to chug a wildly unhealthy energy drink to fight off tendrils of sleep, you just may be in the clear.

Things seem steady in the sleepy ward today. So sure, you’re in a relatively good mood.

But is it good enough to deal with Gojo?

It puzzles you, how he always knows you’re coming before he sees you. How he sort of announces your presence before you get the chance. Like the honor belongs to him.

The psychopath.

Your head tilts at the diagnosis, hearing it come from his lips for the first time. Even if unseriously.

He’s self-aware, at least. Not that the confession makes your visits any easier.

Over time, after working so closely with a personality like Gojo’s, you’ve learned to take everything he says with a grain of salt. Especially when it comes from such shameless lips.

Answering his question with an eye-roll, you set your supplies down to pull out your clipboard and check his vitals. Something that once upon a time made your palms sweat and throat dry, but never showed on your face. You knew what the role required, what it would need for you to survive—intimidation and cowardice were not a part of it—and eventually, after you banged that into your head enough, even if you had to fake it til you made it, you became used to the routine.

As has Gojo, complying with each step on the checklist like it was second nature. Walking over to his favorite spot to be taken care of, the bed. Lifting his tongue to take his temperature. Offering his arm to check his blood pressure. Noting that his eyes aren’t bad today—not needing to wear his blindfold due to the security system. Doing it all without needing you to say a word. All within his control.

But the one thing he can’t get a grip on is how his heart begins to beat. Every time like clockwork the moment you lay a hand on his back to listen to it. Racing in his chest—thumping through your stethoscope—while he wears the calmest face.

Curiosity called you after noticing it a few times once you determined it wasn’t a condition. Guaranteed to start up with the gentlest touch that he was surely used to.

So, what exactly goes on in his mind in these moments? Despite hiding it so well?

What could possibly be making Tokyo’s most unhinged, mass-murderer, so flustered?

You never have much time to think about it because it won’t matter in the next few seconds anyway. Sitting still enough to get through vitals was as serious as Gojo gets, making the quickest part of your visits with him the easiest.

Everything that follows the second you put your kit away is pure…surprise.

“So…are you gonna undo the straps this time, sweet nurse? My arms are sore.”

He pouts. Sweetly. So devilishly charming. As he did so often with a flash of those cerulean, blue eyes that could make and break hearts.

You sigh. One could almost forget that by society’s standards, he’s a “dangerously unstable individual.”

Something you’re acutely aware of. And trained for. Which is why you don’t mind the coquettish jabs he throws your way—and why he keeps on throwing them.

You aren’t aware but these hourly visits, along with his agreement to stay put, are the only reasons why he’s still here despite being Satoru fucking Gojo and simply walking out. It’s not like anyone could stop him if they really wanted to, and he knew that.

Truth is—it pissed Gojo off, being stuck here. Cooperative. It was fucking irritating, to say the least.

He’d rather be tortured than bored and might’ve second-guessed his decision to surrender if he knew the punishment would be…this.

But lo and behold, here you are. Relief in the flesh while he bides his time. One that he wasn’t expecting.

“You sure are possessive today.” You hide a smirk, draping the stethoscope around your neck, his heartbeat returning to normal after losing your touch. “Am I really your favorite?” The leather straps hug his pale skin a bit tightly, but his mobility is good enough to ignore his request to loosen them. That would be suicide.

He tsks, eyes sparkling at your words—a warning glimmer hidden beneath the icy gaze.

Chilling. But the least bit surprising.

Gojo and cattiness go together like love and war—and he wears it with his whole chest.

Even when unprovoked, he’s known for being….testy. Trying his hand again and again until he gets some kind of reaction. Waiting to see what makes someone bite.

But there was something disingenuous about this petty quirk. The repetition and how it seemed to lack a goal. How he seemed almost…desperate for interaction—attention—any attention.

Eventually, once you sat in his face long enough to learn how to disassociate with a straight face, you figured out that he just loves to hear himself talk. Like that one kid in class who’s always inserted themselves into every conversation and made it about them.

He rarely gives you a hard time though—less than most of your other patients in fact—and usually sends more kisses than cuts. Occasionally, when you find them…okay, or tolerable enough, you indulge him and this charade between you two—like the high school crush it resembled. Strict. But harmless.

And you’re only entertaining him now because he’s one of your last patients for the day. A fact not lost on him, but disregarded nonetheless. Even if you were just playing along, he knew there had to be more depth. All the masks in the world couldn’t hide that smile on your face.

His laugh breaks the tension. “I'm a yapper, not a liar...Am I yours?” He raises a brow. “You didn’t answer me earlier.”

His low tone carries an unspoken weight. Cryptic. Eerie. Needy. Almost calling you like a possession more frequently than ever.

It isn’t lost on you that his affections have blossomed as you’ve spent more time together. Visits are supposed to be 10, 15 minutes tops—collect vitals, serve meals, give meds, and avoid accidents. But Gojo? He drinks up your time. Going on 30, sometimes 45 minutes of routine maintenance and “extra care”. This wasn’t standard practice, but they didn’t tell you that, among other things when you accepted the position.

Every time you cross Gojo’s threshold, you’re reminded that you’re not actually supposed to be here. You’re just a nurse after all, not a therapist, and lacked the credentials to even begin to handle a patient like Gojo. But in the end, qualifications don’t matter when his staff has a famous history of running away.

A fate shared by his previous nurse and therapist. Both fell victim to Gojo’s whimsical and relentless personality and suffered a mental breakdown from hell before quitting the ward. Capacity for hospitality completely shot, they nailed the coffin shut by ditching the healthcare industry altogether.

And that was after only a few hours.

In the beginning, you had absolutely no faith in yourself. Swore it was a sick joke as you couldn’t begin to fathom why they would even consider you for the job.

You??

Gojo the Psycho’s nurse? It would’ve been easier to turn in your resignation right then to avoid living in hell.

You wondered how your life would change as you got to know the world’s most hated man.

How long you would last—if he would let you.

Anxiety and nausea gnawed at the back of your throat as time grew closer to meeting him. But eventually, after running the scenario in your head a million times over and trying to come up with some sort of plan or plea for your life, the day came, and you stood before the unpredictable man who looked like he saw right through you.

Just the idea of being in Gojo’s presence is enough to let you know it’ll be unnerving.

But the moment was…odd.

Naturally, you wanted rely on book smarts and previous patient experiences to get you through what you knew would be a short and traumatic failed attempt at connection. But then you took a second to really look at Gojo, not study, but a kind of look that catches something…a conflict in his eyes—and instantly knew he was no ordinary patient.

He was something you’d never met before, and any attempts to use a cookie-cutter facade would quickly be chewed up and spat out.

So, you went with your gut—hoping to escape with some remnants of your sanity at least.

Who knew you’d end up surprising not only yourself but also the Director and all the other staff in the ward who watched with held breaths?

Gojo practically welcomed you with open arms. Flashing his pearly whites and dimples in a closed-eyed smile. You could hear a pin drop.

He didn’t bark, he didn’t bite. Only teased, feeding you sultry words with cunning lips until your face visibly flushed with blush. They didn’t warn you about charm. Debatibly the “worst” part about working with the blue-eyed lady-killer. Or that his devilishly handsome face would make you second-guess his sanity and guilt.

But you knew what this was. Or at least what it wasn’t and quickly put on blinders to every distraction he threw. Holding your breath the whole way through and surprising yourself every time you walked out his room. After your trial period had run for a few days with no mishaps—the opposite, really— you were promoted. And given a big, fat new check (certainly not for collateral).

You didn’t know whether to breathe a sigh of relief or concern.

Congratulations! You were now in charge of Gojo’s physical AND mental health.

Which meant longer, more thorough visits.

The idea was nerve-racking for weeks, to say the least. And because he has the nerve to be a karate-chopping ‘sorcerer’ or whatever it is that makes the man so dangerous, he needs careful safeguarding. Which means having his very own wing and accommodations in the ward. The only barriers between Gojo and doing whatever the hell he wants is one guard stationed near the entrance and some type of security system they can’t disclose to you. It’s supposed to suppress his abilities or something, you don’t quite understand itself yourself, but most importantly, it keeps him tame.

Still, choosing to grace his space almost daily always feels like tempting a snake.

But somebody has to do it.

And in a way, by his own means, offering a satisfied grin and all, Gojo had chosen you.

Even in the confines of a cell, with seemingly nothing left to live for and no room for emotions, you, this wonder, have managed to catch his eye. In a way that made him want to sink his teeth in and soak up your attention. For reasons you couldn’t be more unsure of.

“It would break my heart if it weren’t true,” he continues, sitting in the only chair in the room, “You’re my entertainment, you know? My doll to play with.”

You scoff, arms folding. The word doll echos in your ear like a chamber. That was a new one.

“You sure talk a lot of game for someone in your situation.”

“I love games.” He leans, eyes drinking in his favorite powdery blue scrubs that hug your frame in an all too professional manner. “Play with me, Nurse.”

Time belonged to Gojo, and he chooses to bide it with a little fun until release—or escape. His ever-changing mind hasn’t decided yet but it was far from a concern. Because the truth of this truce was painfully obvious. He knew he wouldn’t be here forever. And is quick to mention that he’d love to take you with him.

“If you can handle me.” He licks his lip. “Unless I’m too much for you.”

And there it is. That cool smile that sends shivers down spines. Irresistibly stirring your core every time he parts his lips.

You hated it—no one could deny his charm or his intimidating presence. Even in chains, shackled and restrained, he maintains some kind of control: crumbling walls with his charisma, waving around his amorous, overassertive reputation like a big red flag.

But you’ve already proven to not be like the rest, easily swayed or reduced to puddles. Your wall is firm. Solid. He baits you time and time again—a smile here, a sinful gaze there—only to be met with dismissive yawns. Rousing something inside of him that deemed you a challenge. Something worth exploring. You were…difficult.

You’re the one who laughed this time, shaking your head and tucking a hair behind your ear. He oozes confidence from every fiber of his being—and bores you.

“Are you going to tell me what you’d like to lunch today or just keep bothering me?”

And goddammit he has the audacity to grin. To tuck his lip under his teeth slow enough to make you catch it.

Your insolence is adorable, yet maddening; a cocktail he drinks with delight before realizing how much he loves the taste.

You were becoming really good at it, beating up his ego and turning a blind eye to his silly little flirts, but interest never faded from his gaze no matter how careless you seemed. Or were trying to.

He tsks. “C’mon, Nurse. If I can’t have fun here, where can I? Besides,” Sunlight streams in from his barred window as if on cue. “You’re the only thing here worth talking about.”

Butterflies? Knots? Maybe both fill your stomach.

Neither can be good for you in a situation like this.

The dreamy words whisper sweet nothings into your ear, and stroke your ego with a delicate thumb. Soft and gentle—and from a shell of a man.

A good turned evil.

And you don’t have to look too far to remember how he got here—to remember why the enchanting man before you is dressed in heavy white restraints and public enemy number one.

Guilt tugs at you for even joking around with him sometimes. You picture his victims. The lives forever changed. And how he didn’t seem sorry for it.

Besides, even if Gojo wasn’t a basket-case, it’s hard to look past how childish he is anyway—something you heard has always been a part of him. Something you couldn’t imagine dealing with for too long, even casually. It certainly wasn’t your taste, and under different circumstances, you’d no sooner fall for him outside of these walls than you would now.

But above all of the boundaries, restrictions, and pep-talks you give yourself, is the simple fact that you aren’t the day-one nurse he once knew. Now, you have a backbone and don’t hesitate to remind him.

“You’re such a flirt, Patient Gojo.” You make sure to catch his eye when you say it, “But compliments only get you so far.”

Patient.

It hangs in the air. Brisk and stale. A bit sour on the tip of your tongue. And acid in his ears.

With that, Gojo sits back, resting his cheek on a propped-up arm, gaze long and longing. Breathing slow as he thinks and nerves buzz between you two. Then his request comes, simple and direct.

“How about sushi? Raw and fresh.” And a psych ward delicacy.

He’s the only patient in the entire facility with such privilege—envy-worthy and used to his heart’s content. With full-scale unlimited access to all the gourmet treats and fine dining he could ever want, his meals are often better than the ones you bring to work. Gojo is above common hospital dishes, of course, and his indulgent appetite would accept nothing less.

But it wasn’t just about the food, no, negotiating that was too easy and barely worth mentioning.

This is a conveniently constant reminder that he is still capable of influencing things and making decisions with ease, from those he’s allowed to have access to him, down to his choice of meal.

It intrigues you. How he subdues himself to the masses but finds meaning in smaller wins. What he finds significant.

But none of that mattered right now, you’d finally been given an order and another win, even if it felt like pulling teeth. For now, it’s time to feed him and let him believe whatever he wants.

You pick up his tray from this morning, scanning the room to make sure no cutlery or dishes are missing. “Sushi it is,” you wink and call to be let out.

None of his staff are allowed the room key as a preventative measure to keep his chances of escaping to a minimum. As if a door would stop him but a key does exist and you’ve only seen it on the day the Director introduced you two, and it looked nothing like the keys used for other rooms.

When you come back with lunch, Gojo grows curious. Noticing how your body has relaxed over time, getting used to his presence every time you come in. Little nuisances like how you breathe a little easier in his space and sometimes smile with your eyes when he tells a stupid joke. The air is…changing. He wonders just how comfortable have you gotten?

“Finally back? I started to miss you.” It’s light but he can’t possibly resist testing the waters. “Would you like to eat with me, pet?” And it takes everything in you to suppress a visceral reaction.

He’s on a roll with the names today and you wonder what his affections might have been like in his life before. Sure, he’s a talker and a flirt, that much is obvious, but you wonder what his actual love was like? How did he show it if he ever got to? And if so, if he ever left anybody behind?

“You know the procedure, Gojo.” You wait with the tray in hand, brushing the thoughts away. Though the temptation savor what you knew would be premium cuisine begs you to do it, you know better than to start breaking boundaries now.

He deflates, brows furrowing. “Is it…really so necessary?” He knows the answer, of course.

You gesture for him to turn around but he holds your gaze, having a little stare down like he enjoys the silent confrontation. You raise an annoyed brow. “The food’s getting cold,” and tap the tray.

“It’s sushi.”

You huff.

He smirks before finally facing the wall, stilling his body in the tight jacket. When you’re sure he won't move, you set his food to the side and slowly approach to attach him to the latch on the wall.

Skilled fingers reach across his waist and you have to crouch a little to glide the heavy chain towards the loop at his hip. His skin flushes at your warmth, your proximity, as he can’t help but enjoy the intimacy of the routine power shift. Even if it was a sham, it was still one he reluctantly agreed to. To play nice. To be weak.

But this exchange, giving himself over to your authority, was oddly invigorating—like placing himself in his victim’s shoes to get a minuscule taste of his own medicine.

“Well, don’t look so happy about it,” he chuckles. Relief finds your face as you gently tug on the chain to make sure it’s secure, amusing the man towering over you.

The thoroughness is cute, all a part of a job well done and strict boundaries that drive a heavy wedge between you two. But it doesn’t bother Gojo. Because he’s certain, he knows, that your guarded walls will crumble sooner than later. All it takes is patience.

“Remember, Nurse,” he doesn’t turn around, “Power dynamics….they’re fluid.”

And you can almost hear the wink—the implied warning living on his slick tongue that pokes and prods with every interaction and sends heat to your rosy cheeks.

“You have a way with words, Gojo.” Again your eyes roll as you reach for the key to his restraints. The shackles fall to the ground, shrilling in the mostly empty room to allow him to feed himself.

A mix of groans and relief escapes his lips as he relishes the freedom from the stiff leather. He sighs, “Thank you, Nurse.” and rubs his tender wrists before abruptly filling your space. Nearly knocking you off your feet, but stopping just shy of your face. The monstrous chains strain against the wall, playing tug of war with the beast of a man and the florescent lights cast a spotlight on the sudden distance between you two.

You had never been this close.

“But don’t forget, I can turn these roles around. Anytime.”

Twinkles play in his eyes, dazzling you with a shine so bright you can see your reflection. But you also see the unhinged nature behind them just as easily as he sees the quiver of your lip feeling his breath graze the curve of your neck and raise goosebumps on your skin.

This isn’t just idle banter. It’s a stark reminder of Gojo’s capabilities that you had grown comfortable enough to forget. That you thought maybe you had become the exception to.

As he steps back and leans against the wall he could’ve torn down, there’s an unmistakable silence filling with tension. Hot and sharp like pins and needles. But instead of pushing you to run for the hills, to quit while you’re ahead and savor what’s left of the life you know, for once, your unrelenting mind dares to wonder where this twisted ballet will go.

It kills you to admit that their is something interesting about cat-and-mouse game he thinks you’re playing. Just as his affections have grown, your thoughts push you to imagine what could happen if you were actually…caught..

It’s idiotic, you know. You don’t need a sign telling you not to play with your life.

This is Satoru fucking Gojo, for Godsake. The murderer. The villain. A literal stain on the face of humanity.

Forget about what he may have been before. You never saw that Gojo, and he’ll never be seen again.

Your motto has always been that everyone is redeemable—but these types, Gojo’s type, are so beyond saving that it feels more like babysitting than redeeming a mentally unstable murderous toddler who could destroy a city in seconds.

Even for a man who speaks so carelessly, but teases a sugary-sweet tongue, it’s easy to see how and why he ended up here. Life had made him an example.

Proving that too much of a good thing will always spoil.

And as you watch him turn a wink and begin to casually snack on his meal, completely unconcerned with you or your reaction or response, it’s plain to see that his “affections” spare no one. Not even you.

You clear your throat and steady a breath. With the lightest voice you can muster, you remind him, “Empty threats are the best you can do, patient.” And turn to leave.

“I’ll be back later for your bath. Or maybe send someone else. Since you’re so excitable today.”

He pauses. “Oh?”

Is that a challenge?

His laugh echoes around the room like something out of a cartoon, fading away just as quickly as it came. He leans back, hair blending into the wall as he licks bits of rice off his thumbs—gaze sharp despite the jest.

Because the stakes are clear and you’re both aware.

But in case you don’t know the consequences he asks, “Do I seem threatened to you?”

You shift your weight. If Gojo is anything, he’s always playful. The man does not have a serious bone in his body, which makes him damn near intolerable sometimes, but it’s something you’re used to it. But not this tone. This tone has rocks in it, hard and heavy as he calls your bluff.

“Because my threats—,” he continues eating, “—are never empty.” He pops the last roll into his mouth. “You sure you wanna do this?”

There’s no denying the chill running up your spine at those words—playing out like casual banter over lunch instead of the battle royale it was.

As if the question were rhetorical, he adds, “Okay but like,” and coughs up another laugh, as if finding the entire idea ridiculous. “Who’d be dumb enough to replace you?”

To feed or not to feed? Now was a chance to bail out.

“Don’t worry about that.” And you don’t as you call to the guard, hoping to catch your break on time. “Just behave yourself.” Gojo would keep you here playing 20 questions all day if he could.

A bemused smile settles on his face and he shakes his head at your antics.

You were becoming increasingly enjoyable to interact with. And steadily digging yourself into a hole. You’ve been sitting front-row to the darkness within him enough times to be sure it is, in fact, very real, but still it’s impossible to ignore that there’s something driving you to pick up the shovel.

It isn’t just his pretty face and boyish charm. No.

It’s like he wants to get under your skin. In the best way.

Yeahhhh, this death wish is turning you every way but loose.

It’s silly, so stupid to even think about. Giving Gojo a smidge of an inch just because you feel there may be something more. Like there’s depth to his pretty words and clashing ways. Who's to say any of it is “real” anyway? He is insane after all.

Your mind and the door shut behind you, and you turn to peer at him through the small window. A mischievous yet bored look rests on his face.

You think you actually will send someone else. Just to show him what happens when he crosses the line. To reinforce business and boundaries.

You could also use a break yourself—Gojo is starting to feel… claustrophobic these days and if you aren’t careful who knows what could happen.

“Choose wisely,” came his voice from within the room,. “Every move you make counts. And cheating has consequences.” Footsteps approach the door. “You may think tagging out is all it takes to avoid our game, but let me tell you something…” He stops. “...you underestimate how quickly I can escape confinement before I’m noticed.”

And suddenly, this isn’t just a game anymore. And Gojo isn’t just some harmless tease.

Your throat is too tight to swallow and you fidget with your lanyard as if responding to his words.

Of course, he’s capable of breaking free. That’s not what’s worrying. But if it was because of you poking the bear, you trying to get on even ground with him and have the upper hand, would you be responsible if he did?

“No matter where they send you or who they send instead—” And Gojo’s comment makes it crystal clear.

“—I promise you, you’ll end up right back here.”

extended angel's note: first and foremost, just to give credit where credit is due, this is a chatbot i turned into a short story🧍🏾‍♀️. it was actually my first time dicking around with janitor a.i. back in like...april? and i came across this gojo bot with a suuuuper interesting prompt. [all of the prompt idea and calibration credit goes to the original creator.] i didn’t decide to actually get serious and start creating a story until around the end of part 2 - i realized i was having too much fun and was in too deep 🙇🏾‍♀️. SO after my decision to indulge madness, i didn't want to run up 10000 messages on janitor a.i. and decided to create the rest of the story on my own from there. everything after the prompt are my own words and i've had to weave every last bit of part 1 and 2 into a coherent story but everything afterwards is all me.

you can find the chatbot and play around with it yourself here but i strongly recomment doing so after finishing this short - think of it as a choose your own adventure afterwards in case you want my head on a stick after the ending 🤠.

tags list p.1: @reddiamondjazz @blkkizzat @kiwismoother @rune1920 @suguwife

@xerroe @enthyn @gloomuri671 @startatdawn @heijihatsutori

@inluvkai @ixqiix @strawnanamilk @rosso-seta @05-simply-06-simping

@sims-4lifers @bratidol @hyunsuks-beanie @luna-v-roiya @neteyamsluvr111

@supsiii @natadecoco30 @chiyokoemilia @ririoutspoken @kyoxko

@strawberrymilkshakes-posts @nen-nyy @cinnamorochiroll @kazeniya @maybe7tommorow

#bluuharem #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk imagines #jjk smut #jjk x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #gojou satoru x reader #gojo smut #jjk gojo #satoru x reader #satoru x you #satoru x y/n #Satoru Psyche

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