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neutron-stars-collision · 1 year

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Deadlines & Commitments

Neil x F!Reader

Chapter 2 - West Ham Underground Station

Masterlist; Chapter 1 Summary: What happens when a chance meeting happens again (and again)? Warnings: Swearing, E-rated language and outrageous flirting 🤷🏻‍♀️ Author's Notes: It took me over a month to write (blame the capitalism and full-time work) and it's twice as long (over 8k), but it's here, eh? These two did not seem keen on shutting up and the result is chaotic, but then that's London for you. It also features a cheeky POV change because there's no rules and everything is a simulation :) Also, if anyone's interested, the dance she mentions in scene no 1 and shows Neil is 'Cupid's Variation' from Don Quixote ballet. As seen for example here. Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think? 💕 Taglist: @hollandorks, @kristevstewart, @stargirl25 (let me know if you want to be added)

To say you have not thought about Neil every day since that encounter would be a lie. As it turned out, he was wrong. It was not difficult to remember him, tormented daily by the memories of that exact shade of blue or the way the strands of his hair fell over his forehead. Rarely the one to lie to yourself, you did not even try to get rid of those thoughts. After all, it was harmless. Hopefully.

A week later, on another dreary Wednesday morning, when the only reason for excitement was this autumn’s production of Don Quixote and the roll-call announcement in your inbox, you made it to the St. John’s Wood station with a slight shortness of breath. The morning walk was always an opportunity to admire how ordinary neighbourhoods of West Kilburn transformed into the poshness of Maida Vale and St. John’s. Alternatively, it was a way to check whether your fitness levels were still up to par. That morning, it was the second option.

Happy to blame the annoyingly engaging 5 minutes crafts video that popped up on your timeline just as you were supposed to be getting dressed, you shouldered your way past lingering tourists and through the ticketing gates. That was the only issue you had with the station. Its proximity to the most famous crossing in all of England (if not all of Europe) meant that day in and day out, hundreds of clueless individuals stood in your path. The best you could do was not trample them as you rushed to the platform, all too aware of the passing minutes.

Luckily, the gods of TfL were merciful. As soon as you stepped onto the platform, that familiar rush of warm air from the tunnels made the hair sweep into your face. You breezed through the rehearsed choreography – locating the door, letting the disembarking crowd through, stepping into the cart. It was easy, almost done with your eyes closed.

That Wednesday morning, you were glad you did not test the theory and kept your eyes open. The cursory glance around the cart got cut short when your gaze landed on the familiar dirty-blonde head, bowed over a book. You froze, eyes already doing their job by following the outline of the man to make sure it was not just your wishful thinking. Once you did it twice over, you knew it was no mistake. It was Neil. Sat by the window, blissfully unaware of your staring.

And you did stare. At the sharpness of his profile, the broad shoulders clad in a perfectly fitting shirt and the strong forearms, again bared by the rolled-up sleeves. Although it had only been a week, you drank the sight of him like a woman parched. Without letting yourself think too long of the consequences, you crossed the aisle and sat down next to him:

“I haven’t forgotten you. Are you proud?” with the breath still hitched in your throat, you watched Neil react.

He froze, the book almost slipping out of his loose hold. As if controlled by strings, his head swivelled towards your voice at an alarming speed. You watched as he scanned your face, clearly going through the same crisis as you did. Only once you saw Neil relax and not eager to bolt, you sagged into the plastic chair and offered him your most innocent look. Neil’s responding smile felt like sunshine hitting your face on a cold winter afternoon. You were happy to let the warmth seep into your bones.

“I’m mostly flattered, but you’re bad for my ego,” he gave you another once-over, this time lingering on your body.

It was more than welcome. You shot Neil a smirk, already ecstatic with the turn of the conversation. Although, there were evident falsities within his words. There was no big ego to conquer. You could see as much in that persisting disbelief in his eyes, the margin of distrust Neil kept throughout the last conversation. All because he did not seem to see himself the way he was. The way everyone else saw him.

“Nah, you’re fine,” using the observation as an inspiration, you reached out to pat his knee and lowered your voice to a faux-seductive timbre, “Actually more than fine,” admittedly, it was another corny line.

But if it worked.

When he blushed, you barely resisted the urge to pump your fist. Neil knew that was the intent anyway if his narrowing stare was anything to go by. He stayed silent for a beat, giving you a chance to stare. To trace his features with your gaze, substituting for a careful touch of your fingertips. It was too early to do that. Yet. But it did seem like the magnetism of last week’s meeting did not disappear, leaving you both arrested in each other’s orbit by the sheer force of gravity. A force you did not want to resist.

“Do you want to make me blush?” Neil’s question made you blink back the thoughts and admire your success.

That rosy-cheeked glow only added to the overall striking looks. And did not stop you from getting in too deep. That had already happened.

“Very much so,” shooting him your best innocent smile, you carefully lowered the tote bag onto the floor between your knees and looked around the cart, ending it on Neil again, “Fancy seeing you here,” the resulting smile was enough of a reward for the pain of another weak pickup line.

On the edge of your consciousness, you registered that the train was still moving as it should. The tourists were still starting to crowd the space. But it was hardly noticeable.

“Likewise,” Neil seemed to consider something for a beat, then he extended his hand towards you in a greeting. An echo of that first handshake, “Hi,”

Not hesitating to join him halfway, you wrapped his palm in a tight hold, letting your thumb draw invisible lines along the back of his hand.

“Hi,” like then, the handshake lasted too long, but none of you cared to cut it short. Neil loosened the hold first, his long fingers trailing over the back of your hand and the length of your digits before dropping away. The slight catch in your voice was masked easily by the next question, “Soo, is this like… Are you going to work?” you eyed his outfit again, taking note of the leather laptop bag on the floor.

It seemed clear, but if the years of commuting by the London Tube taught you anything, it was that almost nothing was what it seemed.

“Yeah, I am,” Neil breezed through your doubts with a decisive nod.

The unspoken was easily detected. A better woman would have probably let it be, ignoring the omission with the hopes that the conversation partner was too shy to disclose the information. Like a normal almost-stranger. But you were never the better woman.

“Where do you work?” you leaned in closer, the waft of his cologne overwhelming the senses.

The masking conspiratorial grin must have appeared manic. It was hard to tell whether that alone was the reason for Neil’s passing discomfort.

“I’d rather not say,” he shifted in the seat, averting your gaze, “It’s… complicated,” the apologetic tone only added fuel to the curiosity.

Now you had to know. One way or another.

“Can I guess?” your mind was already buzzing with possibilities.

Not only was he stunning, but mysterious. To not let that get into your head you reached into the tote and dug out a water bottle. One greedy sip hardly did what it needed to do. And you nearly choked during it. A heavenly omen? You did consider that, in between Neil’s intense stare and his hesitant nod.

“Good luck with that,” the scepticism in his gaze felt like a challenge.

One that you were happy to take up. You leaned back as far as the seat confines allowed and measured him critically. The elegant clothes suggested it was unlikely Neil was working at a shopfloor level. As did the “put together” appearance, with the only flaw being the unkempt hair falling into his eyes. Still, the possibilities were endless.

You decided to start with something safe. Probable.

“Are you a stockbroker?” on its own accord, the look of distaste passed through your face, twisting the features into something almost comical.

It was hardly your fault. It was the years of frustrating men reacting to the news about your job with a bemused smirk, eager to spend the next 10-20 minutes proving the Arts were dead and the ballet was a farce. A hobby, they said. Most of those men were passionate about the stock exchange. Oh, so eager to spend their days screaming at the screens displaying rates and figures you did not care to decipher. Somehow, it was you who was in the wrong. You were the naïve one.

It was impossible to say whether Neil could read all of that from the fleeting look on your face, but the amusement in his eyes suggested it was likely.

“Christ, no,” he shook his head vehemently, revealing his feelings towards the occupation.

Somehow, it felt like a relief. That tiny dose of joy was enough to embolden you further. To let go of the remaining apprehensiveness and let your mouth do what it did best. It happened often enough to be an issue. Because once you stopped caring what you said or how the other person reacted, nothing stopped your mouth from speaking whatever it wanted.

Most of the time, that meant utter bullshit.

“Alright… A priest?” as soon as the question gained voice and sound, you knew it was one of those times.

That, however, did not make you want to take it back. How could you, after seeing the bewilderment on Neil’s face, which beat any expression you had ever seen him make?

“… What is going on in that head of yours?” he stared at you with concern, only making that laughter bubbling in your chest become a fact.

Admittedly, the image was hilarious. Neil, as a member of the clergy, was a concept that emoted thoughts you did not dare dwell on. At least not now. Not when you were right next to him. Later? Maybe.

“Nobody knows,” you shook it off with a mysterious look thrown his way and rested your chin in your fist, positioned perfectly to fix your unwavering gaze on him, “So, I guess it’s a no, then?”

Just in case that it was a yes.

“No,” Neil spoke faster than you deemed possible, quickly keying into the breathless laugh breaking on your face, “I mean, yes, it’s a no,” the decisive shake of the head was enough for you to drop it. If he let you, “Is that a kink thing, or…?”

The inquisitive look was turned onto you. There was no chance of escaping the blue eyes that stared you down. Yet again, you felt like he could see the depths of your soul. And judging from the smile hiding in the corner of his lips, he liked what he saw.

But that did not mean you were happy to give him quite that much.

“I wouldn’t tell you if it was. Not yet, anyway,” you hoped the promise within that sentence was clear.

Neil’s widening grin confirmed it. You winked at him, sealing the pledge for future use.

“Are you also going to work?” Neil’s question acted like a needed change of scene.

A naturally occurring shift in the atmosphere. You took it with both hands open wide:

“To the dance studio. I got a part in autumn’s production of Don Quixote. The Cupid, to be exact. That means the next few months, I might as well live in there,” the heavy sigh was only half of an act.

But it was nice to share the news. To boast to someone who listened and seemed to care. Because the thrill of that first look at the cast list and seeing your name there was still burning.

“Congrats. That sounds like a big deal,” Neil’s proud smile confirmed the hopes and dreams.

“It is. It’s difficult, even though the variation is like a minute long,” unafraid to delve into the deposit of fun facts and trivia available at hand, you rambled on until you remembered about the videos you could use as a demonstration “I could show you what it looks like, if you want?” fully prepared, you took out the phone from your pocket and waited.

Neil gestured towards it like there was no dilemma at all. Like he wanted to understand.

“Obviously,” he nodded, welcoming you into his space and leaning his back against the carriage side.

You did not squander that chance, typing the necessary phrase onto the YouTube search and getting closer to him. Once the video was ready, you offered Neil one of your earphones. It was not long, with the clip’s duration barely breaching the one-minute timestamp, but the shiver of excitement was still there. It caught fire when you pressed play and heard the familiar score fill your ears, the eyes tracing the steps by the ballerina on the recording with the mind making plans for your version. For what you could do to make it different. Memorable. It was thrilling and terrifying at the same time.

But what soon became more fun was watching Neil instead of looking at the screen. He was focused on the performance, staring at the dancer with curiosity and interest. As if like he cared. You were not sure what to do about that realisation.

As the ballerina finished the performance with a smile and the video ended, you moved the phone away and snatched the headphones to deposit both in the tote. The rare hesitancy replaced the previous bravery, taking all the words out of your mouth and leaving you silent. And unable to look at him until Neil was the first to speak:

“I’m sure you’ll do great,” the encouragement in his voice did half the job of coaxing you out of the stupor.

The act was complete when he placed his palm on your knee and squeezed it lightly. That alone made you turn your head to look at him, all at once letting go of the shyness. Although he just as quickly took his hand back, the burning mark on your skin remained like the phantom touch. The slightly manic grin you turned on him was the only way you could hide the darkening blush.

“What did I do to deserve trust like that?” the question was genuine, eating at your brain with small yet persistent bites, impossible to ignore.

Neil had no obligation to humour you. No need to support you – a near stranger by all accounts. But he did. It was increasingly difficult to keep a distance. To remind yourself that you did not really know him. That trust should not be given this easily.

Neil’s searching gaze did not make it easier.

“I just like to believe in people, especially if I consider them friends,” he met your gaze and offered a timid smile.

You grasped onto the chance with a tight hold.

“Are we friends?” it was an opportunity for him to back off, to leave before you got in deeper.

Before what was once a chance meeting and a cute story to share with friends after a glass of wine became something real. Something frequent. Something to care for.

You did not have to stop to know what you wanted to happen.

“Something along those lines,” Neil shrugged, reading what you meant without difficulty. You saw the friendship take shape in the tiniest of nods you exchanged before he changed the topic with a cheeky smirk, “Especially considering I know about your annoying hook-up,” the involuntary shudder was an automatic reaction on your part, earning a pleased laugh from him “Talking about which, any new conquests?” he measured you up with that same searching look.

One that told you it was not only you that wanted to know more. That Neil, too, was curious. Although, that assumption was a tad bit insulting.

“No, come on. It’s been a week,” the frustration in your tone was a choice, a way of showing how the presumption made you feel, “I’m not that much of a player,” while it was from an insult, Neil needed to know he was wrong.

For some reason. A reason you were not willing to pick apart or scrutinise. Whether he noticed your ongoing crisis, it was hard to tell, for the moment Neil turned a mischievous grin on you, all rational thoughts had disappeared.

“And yet here you are, flirting with me,” checkmate.

The look you gave him confirmed his suspicions, if nothing did before. Only the fact was that your raging flirting with Neil hardly had anything to do with the desire to score another hook-up. There was no aim here, only that he was willing and too beautiful to be ignored.

At least, that was the hill you would die on.

“You’re making it easy,” you shrugged, half hoping to shift the attention away from your sex life and its many failings. But the opportunity was right there, too good to be wasted. Too perfect for the humour glimmering in his eyes and the expectant twitch in his lips, “Plus, you never know what may happen,” admittedly, the lower timbre and the seductive tone were all taken from the book on flirting you had used many times before.

But it worked, so… As if looking to distract you, Neil dragged a hand through his hair, making the blonde strands stick up and then fall in even greater disarray over his forehead. (That worked, too). All the while, he never let his gaze stray away from yours, seemingly confident that there was no need to keep note of the upcoming stops or anyone else around you. That, too, was a dangerous observation to make. All things considered.

“You have something in mind?” Neil’s question forced you to maintain some composure, but even that was short-lived.

As if inspired by your antics from that first meeting, his gaze travelled to your lips. The action alone kicked off a chain of events. Your eyes took the cue to glance down, to trace the shape of his mouth with a pang of hunger tugging at your stomach. Neil noticed it, watching you like a hawk that has just set the hook for its prey. Sinker? His tongue darted out to lick the expanse of his bottom lip. The hot flash of want sizzled underneath your eyelids as you forced yourself to look away.

Even if only to pretend you had not been struck by the same bullet you had fired at him the week before. The amusement you noticed in the corner of your eye told you it was futile.

“Oh, certainly,” your gaze stayed fixed on the darkness of the tunnels outside, as you mused out loud, “Especially if we keep on meeting like this,” there was nothing to add.

No chance of hiding the hopeful tint in your voice or the desire voiced with it. The part of you that had always rebelled against vulnerability and telling people truths, that were too close to reality, was ablaze with rage. You worried that, soon, it might start chucking rocks at you to stop. Goddamn.

“I hope we will. You’re, without a doubt, the most fascinating person I’ve met in a while,” only Neil’s matter-of-fact tone could make you turn back to face him.

If only to check whether it was not some meaningless jest. But there was no joke shining in his blue eyes. Only certainty. On the outskirts of your perception, you noted the station you had just left. That catchy ABBA song sharing its name reverberated in your head as if queued up by the gremlins occupying your brain.

Or something.

In any way, there was hardly time to idle.

“Likewise,” you shared a meaningful nod, not brave enough to express even half of what was running in your head. Instead, you decided to do what you did best and took the jump, “It’s my stop next, so I have to… Would you like to give me your number?” the line delivery was perfected over time.

So much so that by now, you did it without a hitch. Without cracking a smile so long as the recipient was processing the line with silence. The poker face stayed on until you saw that first glimmer of a smile or bursting bout of laughter. Only then did you let yourself crack, too. Just a flash of a smile to let them in on a secret.

Neil’s responding laugh and an amused grin shot straight up your veins like adrenaline. Like a drug you could feel yourself getting addicted to. He seemed to debate his reply for a beat before speaking:

“Maybe. But only if you still remember who I am in two weeks,” the challenge in the statement was clear.

Conveniently for both of you – you were never the one to pass on proving a point. Especially since this one was not going to be difficult. At all.

With all the confidence, you were sure you would think about those blue eyes and blonde mess of a hairstyle for many days to come. During many different times of the day.

Extending the hand to “shake on it”, you clasped his palm firmly. The “game on” look in your eyes completed the picture. The train began to slow down as the PA system crackled to life overhead. There was no time to waste.

“Deal. Do I get bonus points if I think about you during the off hours, too?” with his hand still clasped in yours, you stroked the back of it with your thumb.

A glance at the revealed forearm showed the goosebumps rising in the wake of your touch. Or maybe it was due to the implication? You would never know for sure.

The adorable blush spread over Neil’s cheekbones, suggesting he knew what you meant. He bowed his head as if overwhelmed with bashfulness and whispered the question over your joined hands.

“Do you?” there were two meanings to that question, and both had the same answer.

Do you think about me in those moments? Do you mean that?

Yes. You spelt out the confirmation with your fingertips over his knee. Like it was a secret. Out loud, you said:

“Maybe” the lights of Southwark were like a harsh wake-up, throwing you out of the daydream and into reality. You got up before anything could convince you to be sillier than acceptable. One glance down at the man who had somehow turned your world on its head was enough to soften your gaze, “Bye, Neil. Hope you have a nice day, giving communion or whatever it is priests do,” the joke landed spectacularly, with loud laughter from Neil and a burst of pride in your chest.

He grinned at you, something like happiness shining in the eyes that always seemed to contain melancholy. The desire to know what that was did not want to get any smaller. The doors slid open, forcing you to take that decisive step, fiercely hoping fate would be as generous in a week.

“See you around, Cupid,” Neil’s farewell rang out as you stepped out from the train.

You smiled like a lunatic as you walked down the platform. It was too easy to hope the Jubilee line would bring him to you again.

***

By the next Wednesday, you were prepared. You had timed your morning routine down to the last second to be sure you would get on that same train. And hoped Neil would do the same. Although, for a bystander, the action on your part could come off as desperate, you would never use that word yourself. No, this was pure curiosity. Way to spice up the morning commute and maybe get a friendship out of it. Just that. Only that.

When you descended onto the St. John’s Wood platform at precisely 7:19, your crossed fingers were hidden in your pocket. With bated breath (and an air of nonchalance), you stepped aboard the 7:21 Jubilee line train heading towards Stratford. Just like you planned.

You only let the breath out when your gaze fell upon the familiar dark blonde head. The accompanying hiccup in your heartbeat was to be ignored. Until further notice. Or forever. Aware of the crazed grin on your face, you crossed the space to the places occupied by Neil and asked:

“Is this seat taken?” this time, you were ready for his responding smile, dazzling you close to unconsciousness.

Only the hand tightly grasping the railing was necessary to keep you upright. But Neil need not know that. With your free hand, you motioned towards the seat occupied by his laptop bag.

“Now it is, yes,” Neil grabbed it instantly, putting the bag on the floor and turning toward you with a smile, “I was hoping I’d see you today,” the simple sentence was enough to spark the blooming warmth in your chest.

You did not even realise the cold had settled there throughout the week. In favour of ignoring the thought, you took the plastic seat with an accompanying creak of the material and turned the cheeky smile on Neil:

“Yeah? Were you holding your breath for it?” no matter the teasing, you were glad he had been waiting for you.

That it was not just you who had hoped the meeting no. three would happen. Allowing yourself the pleasure of staring at Neil, you let your eyes roam over his face. You noted the darker circles under his eyes and the tiredness hiding in the blue of his irises.

“From Swiss Cottage,” Neil’s reply made you store the observations in the drawer at the back of your head and stare at him with eyes open wide.

Now, that was interesting.

“That’s where you live?” you could not hide how you perked up hearing the information.

Neil saw through all the tricks you tried to pull up, immediately flashing a knowing smile. That was no mistake, not a case of him saying too much by accident. He wanted you to know. Or, alternately, he did not care too much about keeping it a secret.

“It is. Which makes me think we’re kinda sorta neighbours,” his lips twisted into a pleased smile as he confirmed your assumptions and added his layer of ridicule to the conversation “In the quirky Londony way” as if following internal logic you were not privy to, Neil shimmied in the seat, clearly highlighting the quirkiness of that statement.

There was no controlling the burst of laughter that escaped your lips and rang out in the carriage with embarrassing volume. Clamping your mouth shut, you slid down in the chair and glared at Neil, shaking with barely contained giggles. It was perfect.

Once you felt like you could control yourself, you broke the silence with a reply and a nod:

“That we are,” then, if only because the giddiness was still making your body shake with joy, you added, “It’s good to know,” you met Neil’s gaze, looking for a pointer.

A sign that it was alright to follow the instinct again. You quickly found what you had been looking for as Neil inclined his head towards yours with glimmering eyes full of curiosity.

“Why?” you might have imagined the deeper timbre in his voice.

It might have just been your wishful thinking that Neil was eager to go along with your flirtations. But it also could have been a fact. Another one of those moments of courage when he seemed to forget what shyness is.

Aware of the danger divagations like those could bring, you shook them off with a shrug, easily deflecting the topic and leaving the assumptions as just that. Luckily, the perfect distraction was waiting on the tip of your tongue.

“Actually- Are you a farmer?” turning the unblinking stare on him, you awaited the responding smile like an early riser waiting for the sunrise.

As soon as you left the carriage a week before, you knew the silly guessing game would have to go on. Even if only for the sake of your amusement. Judging by Neil’s resigned sigh, he was willing to comply.

“So, this continues, huh?” the question was a mere formality, and he did not wait for an answer, dismissing your guess with a sleigh of hand, “Nope, try again,” you certainly did not imagine the pleased nonchalance as Neil settled against the side of the carriage and measured you coolly.

Never afraid to be seen, you felt a shiver run up your spine when you were the sole focus of his attention. The particular way he caressed every inch of your body with curiosity made you wonder what his touch would be like. What kind of lover would he be?

“That’s a shame. Would love to meet a sheep herder,” slamming the metaphorical door shut at the yearnings of your heart, you let your mouth run wild.

And again, it delivered. It was not a lie, but it was bullshit. Yet Neil did not seem too bothered, staring at you for approximately 30 seconds before shooting you a wink worth another minuscule heart attack:

“I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you,” yet again, he patted your knee good-naturedly and just as quickly retracted his hand, distracting you with a question, “Can I ask you something?” you could not miss the sudden change of tone.

It sobered you up, forcing you to strengthen your spine and give Neil full attention. After the minutes of whimsical conversations, you considered taking that one step further. It was only a blessing that he did it first.

“Anything,” hoping your smile was just as welcoming as you wanted it to be, you trained your eyes on that unruly strand of hair that always seemed to fall into Neil’s eyes.

Your hands were itching with the want to brush it away.

Neil sighed as if bracing himself for something. Then he started to speak:

“When we met, you said that you’re not even sure you believe love exists, let alone feel it for that guy… Did you mean that?” the question reverberated in the carriage, which suddenly was too quiet.

You glanced at Neil, not knowing what to expect, only to find nothing but curiosity in his face. The question was one that you were asked before. Many times before. But it was the first instance that you wanted to answer it. There was no judgment hiding behind the question mark, only the desire to understand. To figure out what you were all about.

That was a reason enough for honesty. Keeping your eyes locked with Neil, you took a deep breath and replied:

“Yeah… It’s like, I know it’s a thing people feel, and I guess that must mean it’s real, but I’ve never… I don’t think it’s as much a big deal as everyone makes it seem to be” that familiar frustration bled into your words as you felt the years of misunderstandings inspire the speech and spur on the sincerity, “I like sex and all that, just not the… swoony, tender bullshit that fixes absolutely nothing and only seems to make people miserable” you finished the reply on a groan and measured Neil with a sceptical look “Satisfied?” that was the dreaded moment.

When part of the curtain has risen to reveal the truth underneath. The silence felt almost stifling, and you did not know why. It was all true. Every word has been spoken with honesty and came from your soul. From the soul that was tired of glorification always bestowed on love, feelings, and all things pink and fizzy, that complicated what could be simple. Even if love existed, you were sure you would rather never feel it. It was better that way. Simpler.

You doubted there was anything in the world that could convince you otherwise.

But still, that beat of silence before Neil reacted to your impassioned speech was torturous. You forced yourself to keep looking at him, awaiting that curt nod. Once it came, you let out a long sigh, feeling your body cave in on itself as if manifesting that sudden energy drop.

“Yeah, and also concerned,” Neil’s voice was the thread that kept you anchored to the moment, although it was impossible to tune out the underlining worry you had detected in his tone.

It was inconceivable. You could deal with disgust and ignorance, but concern was not something you understood. It made you helpless. You shook it off the best way you could – with a flirty smirk and a question:

“Are you a romantic, sweetheart?” the pet name rolled off your tongue with ease, meeting no resistance from Neil save for an uncertain smile and a dusting of pink along his cheekbones.

You could work with that.

The question, too, came from a place of curiosity. Sure, you could have left the topic where it was and rushed off into another silly conversation. But why should you? One look at the upcoming station showed you that the time was still running out, and you did not have much to lose. You met Neil’s bashful look head-on, patiently waiting for him to find the words.

“As much as one can be a romantic when they’re utterly untethered,” once he spoke, you could hear the sadness defining his confession and the constant weight of it dragging him down.

The choice of the word made you search his gaze for an explanation. It was impossible to believe someone this gorgeous could be lonely, let alone without a line of admirers waiting at their every beck and call. Yet the melancholy tinting his words suggested otherwise. Knowing the situation called for something more subtle than your usual repertoire of blatant flirting, you dropped your voice to a soothing tone and lowered your head to keep holding Neil’s gaze:

“Like ever or…?” trailing off, you watched as he seemed to wage an internal battle for close to a minute.

Even without knowing him that well, you could guess what it was about. It took a certain level of courage to be vulnerable in front of a stranger, to reveal one’s deepest regrets to someone not that familiar. Although you did not want to speak, you hoped the impassive yet open look on your face showed him that you would not pass judgment, no matter what it would be.

On its own accord, your gaze followed the sharp lines of his face, drawn closed with thought and up over the halo of his hair, shining in the fake yellow light of the carriage. If there was one word to describe Neil, it would be golden. You could only imagine the comparison would get more apt in the proper, warm light of those rare autumnal days in London that seemed to approach fast.

Before you had the chance to analyse that thought and place it under necessary scrutiny, Neil broke the silence:

“No, just for the past few years. No matter how hard I may fall, it’s never enough, so…” the blue eyes that rose to meet yours were burdened with resignation that, for a second, felt like it could crack your heart into two.

But you shook it off, reaching for the layers of frustration that always seemed present. For the annoyance at the society that had fooled people into believing that love was some holy grail of existence, the point of your miserable lives to live up to. When it was everything but. The familiar fire burned in your eyes as you clasped a hand over Neil’s shoulder and squeezed it reassuringly:

“See? Love’s overrated,” swallowing past the bitterness coating your tongue, you shot him a manic grin.

And ignored the alarms blaring in your head.

***

Before, those twenty minutes of commute between home and Canary Wharf were spent zoning out. Only sometimes, he could shake up the routine with a book or a particularly interesting podcast episode. After, it became an affair of watch-checking and foot-tapping until the train arrived at St. John’s Wood, and she would either be there or not.

Despite the impressions, Neil much preferred the after. Even if for the past two Wednesday mornings, he awoke with a strangely knotted stomach and a dumb smile of anticipation forming on his lips. That aside, it was nice to have something to look forward to.

Apart from the complexities of inverted physics, that is.

Timing the arrival on the Swiss Cottage platform for the right train was not an issue. It was something Neil had always done, unable to shake off the shackles of routine that seemed like second nature by now. When he boarded the Jubilee line heading towards Stratford, the anxiety set in like an old friend. It did not help that the carriage was packed this time, offering no available seats. With a tired sigh, Neil grabbed the nearest handrailing and stared out the window.

Without effort on his side, she soon enough came to mind. That happened a lot since that fateful afternoon. He had yet to decide whether it was a good or bad thing. For now, it was simply a fact. Like the anticipation of seeing her in two minutes, for the fourth time since the meeting. That also made Neil feel some way, but he was not brave (or willing) to understand it yet.

Perhaps the most crucial fact was that she, the newly appointed Cupid and the most baffling person he had met, was impossible to forget. And now, after three conversations that only expanded the mystery and made his curiosity insatiable, Neil did not try to forget. No, today (if she showed up), he would give her his number and let that determine the course. It was easy enough to think, harder still to execute.

By the time he had convinced himself that it was achievable and that it was alright to let go of the control this once, the train slowed to a crawling speed, and the lights of St. John’s Wood shone into the carriage. Before Neil could descend into another sort of anxious spiral, the doors slid open, and he had no choice but to expectantly stare at the commuters streaming in. He did not have to wait long, for right after the first row of impatient tourists and gravelly serious businessmen forced their way onto the Tube, she daintily stepped inside and flashed him another of those brilliant smiles.

It was nearly impossible to prevent his gaze from scanning her from head to toe like an uncontrollable Neanderthal that had caught the first sight of a woman. It was a reflex, a reaction Neil tried to stifle by forcefully dragging his eyes towards her face.

He was, without a doubt, an idiot.

The internal crisis had to be put on hold when she crossed that bit of space and leaned on the railing, curious eyes roaming over his face like they always did. Neil did not try to convince himself she was doing anything but checking him out.

“Ready to claim your reward?” the question helped him get the hang of the situation instead of losing his cool any minute.

That was highly probable with the way Cupid was staring at his face, seemingly unbothered by the movements of the carriage and the cramped space. It was also a good way of reminding her, though Neil did not doubt she would have forgotten. For reasons utterly inconceivable, the woman was driven to get his number.

The only excuse he had for waiting so long to let her have it was the constant disbelief that made it virtually impossible for Neil to trust she wanted it for real. As in not because of some elaborate joke that he was not privy to. And yes, that did happen. Once.

“Ecstatic,” her reply delivered in a perfectly monotone voice did make him focus. He watched as she glanced around the carriage, only now taking in the surroundings, “Looks like we’re standing today,” the observation seemed like a safe opener, and Neil immediately felt grateful.

It was that necessary push to make him relax a little and get out of his head. Even if only for the next quarter of an hour he would have with her.

“Do you have anything against that?” copying her pose, he leaned in closer, testing the luck that did not seem to have run out just yet.

If anything, she closed the space by another fraction, offering him a generous whiff of her perfume (Neil’s head did not feel ridiculously fuzzy because of it) and looked up at him through her eyelashes. Her lips curled into a tell-tale smirk that should have been the first clue of what was coming.

“Nope. I’m not too fussy about positions,” as soon as Cupid dropped her voice to a seductive timbre and grazed his shoulder with her fingers, Neil was done for.

He blinked twice, hoping to unfreeze the brain that continued to display the error404.exe. Because what the fuck was that? Who acted like this with near strangers?

Cupid, that’s who. Judging by her self-satisfied smile, she was pleased with the reaction. She brushed the lint he had not noticed before from his cuff and observed him silently. Despite the heart attack, Neil had to give her kudos for the attempt. He did so by slightly bowing his head in her direction and a wry smile:

“I walked right into this one, didn’t I?” once he looked up, the amusement still warming up his chest, even if tinted with bafflement, Cupid was waiting for him, expectantly meeting his gaze as if there was nothing in the world that could make her look away.

She was truly something else.

“Yeah, you did,” her knowing eyes cut through all the posturing Neil could ever hope to attempt as she took a deep breath and went in straight with the agenda, “Soo… Can I have your number?” that cheeky grin was still in place, adding to her charm.

Although Neil would be the first to admit she did not need additional charisma points or anything of the sort. She was already lethal. That realisation did not make him any keener to pull back or put a stop to the dance she had drawn him into.

Neil eyed her closely, feeling the weight of his phone in the pocket. The answer was yes, of course, but she did not need to know that… yet.

“Are you going to sign me up for the Tories news updates?” having noticed how she reacted to his smirks, he presented her with one when posing the question.

To anyone, it might have seemed worryingly specific. Cupid just measured him up with her piercing gaze and asked:

“… Did that happen before?” the deadly serious tone added to the ridicule, making Neil crack a smile.

“No, but it might,” he shrugged, hoping the joke had landed well enough to mask the awkwardness threatening to make a scene.

It was not that he did not feel comfortable around her or that there were some strong-founded beliefs she was not to be trusted. Instead, it was what it had always been. What Neil had hinted at during their previous conversation. It was that it had never worked out before. And it was hardly possible that it would now.

Especially considering what she had revealed that last time, too. It was best to be cautious. But that, in the face of those beautiful eyes and fascinating personality, was a challenge.

He did not even know yet just how true that statement would be.

“No, the worst you can expect is lame pickup lines and dumb memes,” unaware of Neil’s slow descent into madness, she replied to the previous question, intertwining a sardonic grin in between the statements “I’d also suggest nudes, but we’re not there yet, I think” it took him an embarrassingly long time to process her words with the mind foolishly lured into the safety of a normal conversation. Well, no more. Shit. „Unless-” before she could say another disastrous word and push him down the staircase towards the pit of insanity, Neil closed her mouth with his palm.

Anything was better than talking to her about prospective nudes. Even touching her face and getting shocked when the warmth of her breath hit his skin, forcing Neil to pull it back almost as fast as he had done it in the first place. She just stared back, relentlessly curious and unmoved.

“We’re definitely not there yet,” aware of the deep blush that had bloomed on his face like a sign of contagion, Neil dropped his gaze onto the floor and murmured the command, “Give me your phone,” the conversation was already a disaster, so might as well. Right?

She laughed and the sound was enough to draw him out of the hiding and look up. Neil already knew he would do whatever he could to make her laugh like that again. And then once more still.

Her warm hand slipped into his palm, passing the phone like a beacon of trust he did not know he could deserve. It was accompanied by a simple quip that still somehow made him feel lightheaded:

“Here, kind sir,” on retreat, her fingers brushed down the length of his digits, stopping for a split second at the tips of his fingers. The resulting sparks were certainly a figment of his imagination, “Any texting rules? Is there anyone that might intercept your messages?” her voice broke through another brief blue screen issue in Neil’s brain and forced him to focus.

Focus on opening the phone app on her phone and typing in his number correctly. The last thing he would have wanted was to fuck up and make a mistake, immediately losing any chances he would have had at a friendship with her. Yes, friendship. Even as an idiot, Neil knew that was all it would be. Which was fine. It really was.

Once he double-checked that the right digits were typed in, there came a second dilemma of the evening. The contact name. Neil stole a glance at her, still patiently waiting for an answer to her questions that he seemed inept to give. It offered a perfect stalling opportunity:

“Rogue mate, maybe, but it’s okay. I can live with his teasing,” it was something to worry about later, considering that no one knew about her yet. If asked, Neil was not sure he could explain why. The betraying part of his brain that always wanted to blurt out some incriminating thoughts admitted it was because he wanted those interactions only for himself, as a secret to cherish in the quiet of his mind. He slammed the door on that pathetic voice and looked up at her with tentative hope sparking in his chest. It was just another risk to take, right? “Should we… keep this time and day as a standing arrangement thing?” not willing to bet even half a dime on her positive answer, Neil put his attention back on the topic at hand.

Literally. He was still holding her phone. The contact’s name was still empty. He had to think of something.

Then, right when his stomach clenched with that first tell-tale sign of anxiety, the right thing came to mind. The perfect thing.Neil fought the desire to grin like an English cousin of the Joker and saved his number, handing the locked phone back to Cupid. She did not check it, pocketing the device and turning her thoughtful gaze on him:

“Sure thing. I need time to warm you up for those nude pics,” she offered Neil a criminal wink and glanced at the display to check the approaching station.

The nonchalance had the chance of killing him before an inverted bullet would. He was willing to bet on it.

“Can’t wait,” he swallowed hard against the mess of thoughts and emotions in his head and glared at her.

He really could not wait. Maybe. Possibly.

It was both a curse and a blessing that her station was approaching fast, offering maybe three or four minutes more. The strange disappointment coated the back of his throat as Neil allowed himself to stare. To observe her, with her lively eyes and almost permanent cheeky smile. Even now, he did not dare ogle her body, already too aware of the heat of her presence so close to his orbit. The danger was too grave to consider what this would not become.

“I’ve got one more question,” her voice acted like the thread of Ariadne, leading him to the exit from the labyrinth of his own making. Neil met her gaze just in time to notice the playful sparks dancing there, “Are you a cook?” she leaned a little closer again as if testing his waning control and steadied herself against the sudden movement of the train with her hand resting on his shoulder.

Even through the cotton shirt, he could feel the heat of the contact.

It was almost enough to distract him from the ridicule of her question. Almost, because as soon as he had sobered up, Neil did not try to fight the smile pulling at his lips. She was ridiculous.

“No, unless we consider the Risotto Milanese, I can make from scratch,” giving her as good as he got, Neil offered her a wink and reached for the dwindling depositories of courage to cover her hand holding onto the railing.

Admittedly, he was enjoying the guessing game she had decided to make out of the situation. It was a better alternative to Neil telling her the truth, and 1) putting her in potential danger, and 2) making her believe something that did not sound real.

Cupid did not seem bothered by his actions and kept her hand where it was. Her eyes met his as she stated a simple wish:

“Count me in,” then, as if Neil was not yet aware of what a kind of woman she was, she licked her lips thoroughly.

He did not try to imagine what they would taste like.

“When?” as if possessing a mind of its own, his thumb rubbed invisible circles onto the skin between her knuckles.

Neil did not want to be responsible for the actions of his own body. Or for the thoughts that sprang into his mind whenever she gave him that sure smile and bated her lashes.

“You’ll see,” it was her turn to wink, and the confidence in her gaze almost made him believe she knew something he did not.

Like whatever was waiting in their future.

It was a blessing in disguise that the train was now approaching the Southwark station. Neil did not think he could be trusted with more time to spend next to her. Instead, he levelled her with what he hoped was a critical glare and asked:

“Has anyone told you that you’re a nightmare?” he knew there was no chance of losing that affectionate undertone in his voice or making ‘nightmare’ not sound like the most tender of pet names.

Apart from being an idiot, Neil was also a lost cause. It would seem.

The train yet again slowed to a crawling pace as the platform lights etched mirage-like constellations on her face. It was impossible to look away. So, Neil stared as she, the incomparable Cupid, slid her hand down the railing, away from his palm and tapped his wrist. Twice. As if he could have missed the first time.

Just as he was beginning to hope she would leave without giving him another heart attack, she leaned in, closing the space, and pressed a quick peck to his cheek. As soon as he had registered it was happening, it was already over, and Cupid was standing in the carriage doorway with that unchanging smirk on her face:

“More than once,” without waiting for a reply (not that Neil would have had one), she stepped out of the train and disappeared in the crowds of commuters.

Neil was an idiot, a lost cause, and undoubtedly screwed. One way or another.

***

/Unknown number, 5:15 pm/ Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.

/✝️, 5:20 pm/ Already?

/✝️, 5:20 pm/ God, you’re fast.

/ 🏹, 5:22 pm/ That’s the effect you have on me 😘

/ 🏹, 5:22 pm/ Clever emoji choice, I gotta admit. Took me a little to find you. What did I get?

/✝️, 5:25 pm/ You’ll see.

/ 🏹, 5:26 pm/ When?

/✝️, 5:30 pm/ Soon 😘

/ 🏹, 5:35 pm/ Ah, delayed gratification. Just wait till I get impatient.

/✝️, 5:45 pm/ And then what?

/ 🏹, 5:47 pm/ I’ll punish you. Something tells me you’d like that.

/✝️, 5:49 pm/ You’re a menace.

/✝️, 5:49 pm/ On second thought, I think I’ll have the nude pics you’ve mentioned.

/ 🏹, 5:50 pm/ Not yet, sweetheart. Practice what you preach first.

/✝️, 5:55 pm/ I’ll see you?

/ 🏹, 5:57 pm/ You’ll see me. You’ll get sick of me even.

/✝️, 5:59 pm/ Challenge accepted, Cupid.

#neil tenet #tenet movie #tenet 2020 #neil tenet x reader #neil tenet fanfic #neil x reader #neil tenet imagine #tenet fanfic #robert pattinson #robert pattinson x reader #robert pattinson x y/n #robert pattinson imagine #deadlines & commitments

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samsexualdeancurious · 5 years

Text

Thanks For Listening | Chapter Two

Square: Free Space

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Words: 1,576

Warnings: hurt!Reader, pining, eventual smut, dirty talk, voice!kink, unprotected sex.

Summary: Sam hosts two podcasts - a secret one for hunters called the War Room and a public one with fellow hunter Y/N called Criminal History. Y/N and Sam have never seen each other, let alone met, but that doesn’t stop Sam from worrying when Y/N suddenly goes missing.

Betaed by @manawhaat

Written for @spnkinkbingo

Header by me and Mana

Masterlist - AO3

---

"The manager said she never checked out of her hotel room. Her bags and stuff are still here but her car is gone."

Sam leans his elbows on his desk. "Fuck."

Charlie keeps talking. "That Allen guy checked out, though. Think you can track him down through your network while I keep asking around here?"

Thank Chuck, something to do. "Yeah, I'll start making some calls."

"I'm going to head over to the police station. She used her FBI cover, right?"

"Yeah. Agent Warren," Sam says, recalling one of her texts from her arrival in the town. "And her partner Agent Sanders."

"Good to know. Go make those phone calls. I'll update you on what the cops tell me."

After hanging up with Charlie, Sam begins making calls to a variety of hunters. He starts with ones he knows fairly well, specifically those who tend to hunt in the western states, and works his way out from there until finally - finally - he finds someone who can give him the number he needs.

"Hello."

The voice is gruff but Sam gets the feeling that man is young - probably mid-twenties.

"Is this Allen Burton?"

"Who's asking?" The man is clearly cautious, a common trait among hunters no matter how young they may be.

"This is Sam Winchester."

He can practically hear Allen straightening up, snapping to attention. "Shit. Sorry. Hi. I, um. I didn't know it was you, sir."

Sam can't stop himself from rolling his eyes. Great. Another fanboy

"What can I do for you?" Allen asks.

Sam gets straight to the point. "Where is Y/N?"

There's an audible gulp. "She, uh - she's in the hospital."

---

Charlie finds her in the ICU of St. Mary's Medical Center in Colorado.

"She's going to be fine," Charlie assures him. Sam has collapsed into a chair in the library, overwhelmed with relief. "She's in a medical coma right now but the doctor says she should be ready to wake up in a few days. I'm going to stick around until she does."

Sam's glad he's alone in the library right now - no one can see the way he frantically scrubs at his eyes, relief flooding through him. "Did the doctor say what happened?"

"He doesn't know for sure - top secret FBI stuff, ya know - but he said she lost a lot of blood and had a pretty nasty head injury. They actually transferred her here about a day after she was admitted to that hospital in Utah. That's why I didn't find her when I looked there. St. Mary's has a better trauma center and ICU, and the doctors in Utah wanted to make sure she was getting the best care possible. Ya know, with her being FBI and all,” Charlie smirks. “So they had her sent here."

That fact makes Sam feel better. He's still itching to grab the Impala keys and drive out there, even though he knows Dean would kill him for taking the car without asking, and Y/N probably wouldn't want him there anyway. After all, they haven't even met in person yet.

At least she'll have someone familiar around when she wakes up.

"I'll have her call when she's ready to," Charlie offers, oblivious to Sam's inner turmoil.

"Thanks, Charlie. I really appreciate you doing this."

"It's not a big deal. She's my friend, too. Plus, it's easier to keep her cover if I stick around. I can't believe Allen just left her."

At her mention of the young hunter, Sam grits his teeth. Allen had dropped Y/N off at the hospital, spouted off some story about her being injured on the job, and then left town without a backward glance or letting anyone know what happened. Apparently, Allen wasn't even there when Y/N was injured. They were separated once inside the nest and he found her unconscious in a pool of blood.

"I've been letting people know that Allen isn't a reliable hunting partner," Sam tells Charlie. "It's not that I want him to hunt alone or anything. I just want people to be aware."

"Smart. I'll let my own network know. I'm gonna go grab some food and find a room for the night. I'll text you an update in the morning."

---

Charlie keeps Sam informed on Y/N's condition over the next few days, including that the doctor has decided to take her off the medication keeping her unconscious. He has to fight to keep himself from pacing a hole in his bedroom floor, deciding to focus on editing a few bonus episodes of Criminal History to stay busy.

On day four, his phone rings in the middle of lunch. He snatches it up when he sees Charlie's name on the screen, ignoring Dean's curious glances.

"Hello?"

"Hiya, Chief."

The relief that washes over him at the sound of her voice is like a physical weight being lifted from his chest. "Y/N," he says, abandoning his sandwich and instead hurrying to lock himself in his office. "You're awake. I was so worried."

"I'm sorry for worrying you." Her voice is soft, a little embarrassed.

"It's not your fault. You're only human. What happened? Allen couldn't tell me."

Y/N sighs. "Allen and I were separated and a couple of vamps got the jump on me. I guess I hit my head pretty hard 'cause I don't remember anything after that. I'm sorry, Sam. I should've been more careful."

"Hey." Sam keeps his tone low and soothing. "It's okay. You're okay. Just promise me something?"

"Okay?"

"If you're ever facing a case like this solo again, please call me."

Sam doesn't try to hide the desperation in his voice and she clearly picks up on it. When she speaks, her tone is soft and genuine.

"I promise."

Sam nods, practically falling into his office chair. He finds himself staring down at the planner he left open last time he was in here - the one where he uses to organize and schedule everything that deals with Criminal History.

"How long does the doctor want you to stick around?" he asks.

Y/N huffs. "A few more days for tests and stuff so he can make sure I'm definitely okay. Then he wants me to take it easy for at least another week. I'm gonna die of boredom."

Sam smirks. "Not if Charlie brings you your laptop. We've still got a show to run, partner. That means research."

Y/N groans. Sam rolls his eyes. She would be perfectly content if Sam did all the research and prep and she just had to read his notes and record.

"That head injury didn't change too much," he teases.

"Shouldn't being in the hospital excuse me from research?" Her pout is audible.

Sam chuckles. "Have Charlie pick you up a new phone so you don't end up stealing hers. I'll talk to you later."

---

You hate to admit it but Sam is right. You definitely would have died of boredom without being able to do research for the podcast.

The emails full of article and video links that Sam sends end up being a welcome break in the monotony, especially since he’s decided to do most of the research for you (this time). It's not the most exciting existence but it's definitely better than having nothing to do. Sam’s regular phone calls certainly don’t hurt.

Charlie heads back to Utah to make sure the vamp nest has definitely been taken care of but returns to the hospital once you're discharged and drive you to a nearby motel where she’s rented you a room. She hangs around a few more days after that - no one says anything but Sam probably asked her to. He can be a bit of a worrywart sometimes. You don't mind the company, though.

After Charlie leaves and you're given to okay to resume everyday activities, life pretty much goes back to normal. You take on minor cases, working solo or with hunters you're familiar with until you're feeling back to normal. You still talk to Sam on an almost daily basis - if not over the phone, via text - and ignore the happy butterflies in your stomach every time you see his name on your phone.

When you stumble upon a hunt that sounds an awful lot like a wendigo in Colorado, Sam's words from the hospital flutter across the back of your mind and you find yourself calling him before you even realize you're doing it.

He waves away all your insistence that he doesn't have to come help you, the sounds of a duffel being hastily packed clear in the background of his voice.

"Dean and I will be there in about 9 hours," Sam says. "Maybe sooner, with the way Dean drives."

Dean. Of course Sam would bring his brother. You've heard good things about Dean - especially about his hunting abilities - but a part of you really wanted this to be just you and Sam, and that part of you can't help feeling disappointed.

“I don't really want to bring Dean," Sam continues. "But wendigos are a pain in the ass, especially this time of year. The more hands on deck, the better."

Okay. Good point.

"I'll meet you in Aspen," you decide, ignoring that part of yourself that still wants to ask him to leave Dean behind. "We can head up to the campsite from there. Let me know when you're getting close?"

"Of course."

Like this fic? Support me longterm on Patreon HERE or make a one-time donation on Ko-Fi HERE

--Team Forever: @mrswhozeewhatsis @books-and-icecream @laughing-at-the-darkness @tumbler-tidbits @imsuperawkward

Team Sam: @saxxxology

Team TFL: @wonderfulworldofwinchester @kickingitwithkirk @muchamusedaboutnothing @ellen-reincarnated1967 @linki-locks11

#spnkinkbingo #sam x reader #my writing #thanks for listening #supernatural

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rainbowgroups · 8 years

Photo

🏁🏁 !𝔹𝕚𝕖𝕟𝕧𝕖𝕟𝕚𝕕𝕠𝕤 𝕒 𝕄𝕚𝕒𝕞𝕚 𝕞𝕚𝕤 𝕒𝕞𝕚𝕘𝕠𝕤¡ Man if the streets in southern Florida could talk, the stories would be infinite. Especially recently, with street racing on the rise again. Highest it’s been since the mid-90′s and twice as criminal, since crews have been popping up around the city pulling off massive thefts. Most of these crews have fallen apart, or have started to lay low since the increase in law enforcement presence. Amidst all the chaos of the growing underground of street racing, the quiet presence of criminal racing crews that have garnered an increasing interest by not only police but F.B.I, there is one group that seems to be solidifying by the day. A crew filled with drivers of unparalleled skill, who are fearless in the face of any challenge, thrive on pure adrenaline and survive through loyalty and trust. They do have some weaknesses though, ones that law enforcement intend to exploit. They’ve only really formed about a month ago, so they’re still growing and recruiting.With someone on their ass around every curve, it’s time for them to put the petal to the metal in, the fast lane.

RULES

18+ IS PREFERRED but it’s not required for this verse, just keep in mind that if you ARE under 18 you need to be forthcoming with that information for legal reasons regarding smut, seriously, don’t be a dick

TRY TO TAG TRIGGERS i understand that you’re human and sometimes you forget or you didn’t think it needed to be tagged, but if you’re asked to tag something, please just be considerate and tag it, and if you’re asking someone to tag a trigger don’t be a dick about it

OOC CONFLICT IS BAD while ic conflict is super encouraged, please for the love of all things great and beautiful don’t start drama. if you find yourself having an issue with someone please handle it with maturity, compassion, and patience. once again don’t be a dick if you start some shit you WILL BE REMOVED from the verse

THIS VERSE IS BASED ON FAST AND FURIOUS however, if you’ve never seen the films don’t fret my friend, it is not even remotely necessary! there will, undoubtly, be a decent number of people in this group that have seen the movies so if you have any questions, just ask!

NO DUPLICATE FC’S unless it has been discussed and worked out between the muns before hand

PLEASE TRY AND INTERACT WITH EVERYONE this is the perfect group for every single character to forge connections to every other character because this is intended to be a group that will grow and evolve into something of a family, so making connections will help with the overall dynamic of the verse and the crew!

HUMAN FC’S ONLY no supernatural beings/creatures and no animated fc’s, sorry

BE AS ACTIVE AS YOU CAN try your best but don’t stress over it, honestly rp is a hobby and therefore it is understandable if it isn’t/can’t be your top priority

PLEASE TRACK v. the fast lane for all ic things and v. tfl for all ooc things including starter/plot/relationship calls

TAG BIOS WITH the tags v. tflbios and rainbowgroups

SUBMIT YOUR APPS TO RAINBOWGROUPS [ xx ]

APPLICATION

MUN NAME & AGE: what would you like to be called and how old are you NAME: character’s name FACE CLAIM: character’s fc AGE: how old are they TYPE OF CAR: include as many details as possible, including but not limited to, make, model, modifications and paintjob, feel free to provide pictures if you can! POSITION: what is your character’s role within the crew, checkout the masterlist here [ xx ] keep in mind there can and should be more than one position that your character can fill but just put their MAIN position here! SHORT BIO: be as detailed as you’d like but don’t feel the need to really hardcore flesh this bit out yet, you’re more than welcome to wait to do that until you officially post their bio in the tag!

CREW MEMBERS

CAPTAIN open

LIEUTENANT open

CHAMELEON @cleptxs LUDIVINE BACCAY hailee steinfeld BIO | written by hannah

CHAMELEON open

FAST TALKER @magnvss MAGNUS BANE harry shum jr BIO | written by jana

FAST TALKER open

TECH SUPPORT @heartguided ALEC LIGHTWOOD matt daddario BIO | written by clary

TECH SUPPORT open

DEMOLITION @orcnge REESE ‘ALANI jason momoa BIO | written by Jana

DEMOLITION open

UTILITIES&WEAPONS open

PRECISION DRIVER

PRECISION DRIVER open

SURVEILLANCE open

DISTRACTION @deadgcrl KATHERINE PIERCE nina dobrev BIO | written by cheese

DISTRACTION open

MECHANIC @pulledfromhell DEAN WINCHESTER jensen ackles BIO | written by clary

MECHANIC @brandedskin TODD RAVENSDALE andy biersack BIO | written by grayson

AFFILIATES

ORGANIZER open

HUNTER open

INDIE RACER @frankthxtank FRANK DOMINGUEZ** zoe saldana BIO | written by jana

INDIE RACER open

**undercover cop

#ii. ━━━ INFORMATION : [ the fast lane ]#i. ━━━ VERSE : [ the fast lane ]

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kamiversee · 4 months

Text

➶-͙˚ ༘✶ F*CK THE LIST

✧.* CHAPTER 2 || Fuck The Foolish Mistakes

[ { SYPNOSIS } ] ➤ A continued tale after Gojo Satoru's blackmailing seemed to have much more to it than meets the eye.

[ { CHAPTER CONTENT } ] ➤ language, masturbation, pervy!gojo, tw; mentions/hints of stalking & obsession, some heinous activities, dark themes, disturbing actions, etc.

[ { WORD COUNT } ] ➤ 5.2k

[ { PAIRINGS } ] ➤ jjk men x f!reader. gojo x f!reader. choso x f!reader. sukuna x f!reader.

[ [ chapters mlist } ]

——THE SUMMER BEFORE everything went to shit for you was the same summer in which you and Shoko decided to move in together. For two months of break, it felt so much longer than that. It was a time in which you spent getting closer and closer to Shoko, so much so that it was only natural that you would call her one of your closest friends.

Although, said friendship seemed rather one-sided. Sure, you both got along pretty well but from what it seemed— Shoko had plenty of other friends to run to whenever she wished. So, after you realized that, you got a bit more real with yourself and dubbed her as simply your roommate. Closest friend, but roommate nonetheless.

This summer was also spent single after you’d gotten dumped a few weeks before the last semester ended. You were sad about it for a while but Shoko was there to cheer you up. Meanwhile, the other people you thought were your friends steadily started to showcase their truer colors, revealing how they never really cared too much about you to begin with and dropped you just like your boyfriend had.

Ah, whatever, that’s all old stuff anyway. It took you maybe a week to get over all that foolishness. So by the time summertime came around, you thought things would get better for you. Instead, you lost your job and that’s where your struggle began. You may have picked up one or two during your summer break but ultimately, none of them stuck long enough to trickle over to your final two semesters of school.

And as you went through such things, a certain someone was keeping track of it all like some fucking stalker. This person in question being none other than Gojo Satoru himself. Unlike you, his summer was rather pleasant. He started babysitting due to his not-so-hidden love for children, he went out a decent number of times, and he heard things about you without even asking.

Why? Because he had a wonderful friend who talked about you to no end— Gojo became very thankful for Shoko because it’s due to her that the pages of his notebook began to fill with endless entries about you. Perhaps journaling you became some kind of hobby for him.

Or maybe it was the fact that he couldn’t see you as much since it was summertime so he treasured every bit of information he got on you. Why was he so hooked on noting it all down though? Was it really curiosity at this point or, was it something so much more? He’d long since labeled it as a crush but that doesn’t excuse his journaling.

Hell, at one point Gojo found himself mindlessly writing down vivid details of the way your laugh sounds— from any pitch that’s ever grazed his ears, to the number of breaths taken before and after. It was then that Gojo dropped his pencil and read over what the hell he’d written down.

His hand shot up to his forehead and his fingers went to soothe his temples, brows tensing, and eyes narrowing at his own words. Did he… Did he really just sit here and describe a woman, who he’s never spoken to, and how her laugh sounds? At the realization, Gojo had to close his journal and push it away from himself.

Sometimes, he may try to pretend like he doesn’t see any harm behind this journaling thing of his but at moments like this… He nearly creeps himself out. Imagine if you were to ever stumble upon such a thing. Gojo’s almost disgusted with himself. Not even a hi or hello has ever been spoken to you and yet here he was printing the details of that joyful sound you make when you find something humorous.

Gojo was very self-aware by that point, mentally telling himself that he needed to stop this madness and just talk to you like he craved. Maybe Suguru was right, maybe your having a boyfriend didn’t matter.

On that day, Gojo should’ve listened to his own warnings. He should’ve taken care of his own red flags right then and there.

But instead, he only got worse.

—--

Depicting the details of your laughter was one thing. But going out of his way to print out photos of you he’d found on Instagram was an entirely different level of crazy.

Okay, so perhaps this was no longer just some cute lil’ crush… Gojo doesn’t know how his… curiosity got so dark. He doesn’t know where or when it really started but at some point, he thinks he became aware that this wasn’t exactly normal. Eventually, Gojo realized this was more of an obsession— you were an obsession.

A scary one too. Even scary to himself. The mere mention of your name would make Gojo’s heart race, whenever Shoko came around smelling like you in the slightest bit, Gojo could feel his mind blur and his thoughts instantly run to you.

One time Shoko, who was just as oblivious to this as everyone else at the time, showed the man a video of you and her trying some challenge together. Gojo doesn’t remember the challenge at all or even what either of you was doing in that video but he does remember having his eyes all over you.

He remembers seeing you hug Shoko by the end of the video and the feeling that burned in his heart. Such a deep form of jealousy swirled inside him and he couldn’t understand it. He never cared about Shoko being close to you before but now, it had pained him to watch his friend have the opportunity to feel you– to talk to you.

Something that Gojo told himself he no longer deserved to do. Yeah, he knows it was even more foolish but he felt as though he should be self-punished for his strange actions in regards to you.

Those photos that he printed of you went right into his journal, along with an entry about how he wonders what it’s like to feel your touch. He wonders what holding a full conversation with you would be like. Would you laugh at the things he says? Would you playfully hit him if he utters something ridiculous? Are your hands soft? Would they feel soft wrapped around his cock-

Yet again did Gojo find himself dropping his pencil. Though, he doesn’t know which reason was worse. The fact that he really wrote that question down or the throb he felt in his cock at the mere thought of said question. Gulping, he told himself for the millionth time that he was losing his damn mind.

So much so that he had to push his journal away and really think about what the hell he just asked. He tipped his head back and stared up at the ceiling, letting out a long sigh at himself. He’d lost it, hadn’t he? Thinking about you in such a vulgar way without even knowing what talking to you is like is the very definition of insanity, yes?

No, this is just his obsession. He’s not insane. But hey, maybe the two go hand and hand— maybe there’s no difference between being batshit crazy and obsessing over someone…

Either way, Gojo tries to collect himself, moving to look down at his current state only to find that his cock didn’t just throb, instead the damn thing got hard. The sight was disappointing, to say the least. Gojo stared at the outline of his dick, wondering what the hell is wrong with his body and how the fuck he got hard so damn fast. All he did was think about you…

He moves to part his legs a bit more, trying to comfort himself and deciding he was going to ignore his boner and just return to writing. Though, as he leans up and pulls his journal back toward himself, his cock aches yet again. Gojo lets out a little groan, somewhat scolding himself for being like this.

And then he manages to ignore himself for a bit longer. At least, up until he does nothing more than read your name on his page. His focus narrowed in on the letters of your name, the sound of it echoing throughout his brain before his lips parted and he let out a sound.

His hand shoots up to his face and he covers his mouth, completely confused as to what the hell he’d just done. There was absolutely no way he’d nearly moaned at your name alone. Oh this was… No, he was losing it-, not even, he’d lost it already.

Gojo steadily wiped his mouth, fingers rubbing over his jawline for a moment before he looked down to his crotch. He could now feel how stupidly wet his tip was. Was he in heat or something? How the hell did he get so horny from… reading your name? Thinking about you? Hell, he doesn’t even know where to pinpoint the cause of all this anymore.

Shaking his head, his first thought was that he was in no way going to touch himself to the thought of you. Absolutely not. Fuck no. He may be obsessed but he’s not a… actually, there’s really no word he could use to describe what he’s not right now because he pretty much checks every box for an obsessive pervert.

“Shit,” Gojo huffed, glancing over to his wide-open room door. A second passes, then two, then three before he’s standing to his feet and walking over to the door.

The man glanced out into the hall, finding no signs of Geto anywhere before he shuts his door. Then, he pauses and stares at the lock. He’s not really about to do this, is he?

…

He locks the door and rushes right back over to his seat. Gojo slouches back a little this time and his legs part, his eyes low on his hard cock resting against his thigh and how painfully it was bulging against the fabric of his clothes.

“Fuckin’ hell,” He whispers. There’s no way you’d gotten him this hard…

You and your… everything. The very idea of you made Gojo roll his hips upward, causing faint friction against his clothed cock. Then he shook his head and looked away from himself.

“Nope, I’m not doin’ this shit,” He whispered. He can’t jerk off to some girl he doesn’t even know. He shouldn’t.

It’d be different if you were some pornstar he was infatuated with, then he could jerk off to you and there’d be no issue. But when you’re his friend’s friend… it’d be so weird of him to do so.

Even if you have the prettiest face he’s ever seen. Despite your laugh leaving him in some kind of trance. Ignoring the way your voice sounds. Disregarding how kind you seem from afar. Nevermind the way you walk, the things you wear— and how the first time he saw you, you were in a skin-tight blue dress-

Gojo’s jaw drops a little, “Oh fuck,” His voice is already breathy and his hand has found its way to his aching cock, groping himself through his clothing.

He looks down at himself all over again, body hot and breath unsteady already. He swallows thickly and finally lets out a groan before moving to tug his cock out, watching how it slaps against his abdomen and letting out another heavy breath of air.

Gojo moves his hands to his thighs and just gazes at his cock for a moment, seeing how it twitches so desperately-, desperately for you, and how his tip is leaking with precum already. Hell, it look like he came already, cum leaking down along his dick so lewdly.

What would anyone think if they found him like this…

One of his hands moves to grab his journal and he flips to the page with your pictures on it. He shouldn’t do this. This is wrong-

A whine slips past his lips the second his eyes are met with your face. Then his fingers are wrapping around his shaft and he’s jerking himself off without second thought. “Fuuck,” He moans, tossing his head back with his lower lip beginning to tremble already.

His hand was working the length of his dripping cock furiously, back arching ever so slightly in pure desperation and utter need. Oh how he wished it was your hand here instead of his. Fuck, what would your mouth feel like? Hell, how are you during sex? Are you the submissive type? Would you let him have his way with you? Fuck that pretty mouth of yours like he wishes to?

Or are you the more dominant type? Would you have his legs shaking from sucking him off? You probably would. He can only imagine what your lips would look like wrapped around his cock— already wet with spit and dribbles of his cum. Your face would probably be all messy but you might like that kinda thing, right?

Gojo whines, his eyes flickering and hand not slowing for even so much as a second. Shit, your mouth is probably heavenly but what would your pussy feel like? How wet would you get for him? Would you take him all in one go? Beg him to fuck you faster?

Fuck, would you get on top of him? Take control? Ride him til’ he’s the one begging you to stop? Again, Gojo moans into the air, a few times actually. His wrist rotates as he fists his needy cock, veiny length aching for anything from you.

He wonders if you’d want him to talk you through it. Or if you’d talk him through it. Would you be mean? Nice? Fuck, his thoughts are driving him crazy. In all honesty, he’d consider himself a complete slut for you. He’d do whatever you wanted him to.

Gojo ends up shifting, moving to hunch forward as he grows a bit overwhelmed. “Fuck, fuck-,” He gasps and chokes out a whimper of your name. Would you let him be some little slut for you? Because he would be, with zero hesitation. “Fuck me,” Gojo mumbles, watching as his cock twitches in his hands.

You’d probably praise him, wouldn’t you? Tell him how good he’s doing for you, encourage him to keep going-, or maybe you’d do the exact opposite. Perhaps you would degrade him.

Gojo’s eyes roll back at the mere imagination of you ever degrading him, calling him pathetic for being like this, a slut for shamefully jerking off to you, or even a bitch-

He’s cumming before he even realizes he is, moaning and moaning after the thought of you ever calling him such a thing. He doesn’t even know why that turned him on so much, he’s never been into that kinda thing before but when it’s you, shit… he can’t even control himself.

Messing up his hand, groaning out your name, moving to stand up with shaky legs, and continuing as his cock doesn’t go down. Then Gojo looks at the picture of you again, aligning his cock with the image and stroking himself angrily. He cannot believe himself right now but it’s much too late to care.

The damage is beyond done as he starts moaning again, small whines of fuck leaving his wet lips over and over the more he stares at your picture. Then he’s thrusting his hips into his hand, moving his free hand to grab ahold of the desk in front of him as if to brace himself.

Gojo heaves as he gets himself off. Tears well up in his eyes and he just knows he sounds so stupidly desperate right now, moaning, groaning, whining, and even whimpering for you whilst he fucks his fist. Eventually closing his eyes, he imagines you there with him, mentally illustrating the way your face would twist up every time he thrusts his cock deep inside you.

He could make you feel so fucking good if you ever let him. He’d treat you so well, give you anything and everything under the sun, make sure there’s always a smile on your face, and prioritize your needs over his own at all times.

By that point, he’s chanting your name in mindless little whispers, feeling his balls ache before the tip of his cock spurts out thick and hot ropes of cum— all over that same picture he’d been staring at.

Left panting, Gojo had to deal with the aftermath of his high. His eyes were slow to open and when he realized he came all over one of his pictures of you, he was even more disgusted with himself.

It took him a moment to gather himself after his actions but when he finally does, he cleans the filthy mess he’d made of himself and that damn photo before closing his journal and putting it away— telling himself he’d never do that again.

—---

Although, his little declaration didn’t last very long. A week later and he was jerking off with you in mind yet again. The same guilt and disgust follow afterward and Gojo tells himself he needs something else to put his focus on that’s not you.

Like his job for example; babysitting. What better to put his mind on to distract him from the way his mind, body, and soul crave you so desperately?

With that in mind, Gojo started with his scheduling. As time stood, he had roughly three different kids he babysat on a regular basis, all of which were looked after separately but looked after nonetheless. The first was a girl, whose name was Nobora. She was rather bratty in Gojo’s opinion but he didn’t mind, he liked how having her around reminded him of having that of a little sister.

Then there was Megumi, a child who so clearly hates him but is forced to be around him anyway. That hatred got even worse when the kid broke his leg while on Gojo’s watch— an event in which Gojo will forever find strange because the two were at a park and he swears he looked away for two seconds only to hear screaming moments later by nearby children.

By the time he made it to Megumi, his leg was broken and Gojo was to blame.

Aside from that, the last kid that Gojo found himself watching over sometimes was Itadori Yuji. Now this, this is where things got interesting.

For starters, Gojo never understood why he was hired to watch over Yuji when the kid had a perfectly capable older brother to do so. Then again, he didn’t question it once he saw he got paid quite handsomely for it.

Sometimes Gojo went over to the Itadori residence and others he picked Yuji up. Either way, the number of times Gojo encountered Sukuna was rather slim. They only ever interacted when it was time for payments to be made. Outside of that, Gojo knew little of Sukuna (his school reputation for being a major partier aside).

Any other information he got from the man came from Yuji, who Gojo would randomly question every now and then. Though, Yuji never spoke much about his older brother— only that he’s a bit short-tempered. Given that, Gojo had no reason to think twice about their family or relations at all.

Even when Yuji would appear with a bruise or two, Gojo didn’t put two and two together until it was much too late. The first few bruises, Yuji said he got them from playing around too much and falling, to which Gojo believed since he’d seen how clumsy Yuji could be firsthand.

As such, this went on for weeks and weeks but the day Gojo finally started realizing something was up, was the same day in which he’d finally meet the consequences for his previous actions.

On that day, before Yuji was dropped off to be babysat, Gojo was busy making vows to himself. The first being that he’d finally man up and fucking talk to you. He doesn’t really know what finally came over him but he felt as though it was time. Something, perhaps the universe, told him that after today— he’d grow some balls and hold a genuine conversation with you.

Only a few days ago had he learned from Shoko that you now resided with her so things were going to be rather easy. There was about a week and a half of summer left, giving Gojo some time to not only talk to you but also get to know you firsthand.

His self-revelation came about after he reread every journal entry he had of you, jotting down one final entry of how he planned to talk to you. It was supposed to be casual, he would ask for your number, become friends with you, and go from there based on whether or not you showed any attraction toward him.

With such plans in mind, Gojo thinks it is safe to say that his obsession is finally being tamed. He was getting in control of it after having had such lewd thoughts of you multiple times within the past month and making entries of how he was left feeling in his journal.

That may have been what his last straw was— the whole pervertedness of it all. He was getting weirded out by it himself. Maybe once he started talking to you, his obsession would completely die down. Perhaps the reality of you would help ground him from this fictional high he’s had himself on ever since his obsession was born.

Though, it seems the world finds humor in the suffering of people and Gojo was forced to learn this the hard way.

Of course, as soon as he tells himself he’s gonna clean up his act and do what’s right, his punishment shows up in the form of a person who finds joy in watching others struggle. This person is none other than Sukuna himself, who shows up at the worst time imaginable.

Amid pure stupidity and thoughtlessness, Gojo quickly found himself in a situation in which could not be undone.

—-

After babysitting Yuji for maybe two hours, there was a knock on Gojo’s front door. Yuji sat on the living room couch, watching some cartoons as he swung his feet back and forth. Gojo was in the nearby kitchen, journal in hand before he went to answer the door.

That wonderful journal of his was left sitting on the kitchen counter, right in the open for anyone to see.

That aside, when Gojo opened his front door, he was met with Sukuna. The two barely even greeted one another before the tatted man reminded Gojo it was payment day. The transaction was meant to be done inside so, Gojo allowed Sukuna to enter the apartment.

Yuji hardly glanced over to the two men before Sukuna nodded his head back, silently telling the kid to go ahead and make his way to the car. With no argument, Yuji sighed and grabbed what little of his things before he walked over to the two, briefly said bye to Gojo, and then made his way outside.

Gojo was going to question why Sukuna let the kid go out by himself like that but, he’s made his mistakes of asking too many questions in the past and has suffered the consequences. Not wanting to deal with a mouthy Sukuna, Gojo remained quiet until Yuji was gone.

Phones were pulled out and the two men moved to make that transaction of theirs. Sukuna had strange tendencies and rules, one of them being that Yuji wasn’t allowed to be present for what Sukuna considered adult business. It was something Gojo didn’t understand but, nothing crazy to really bat an eye at.

Just before Sukuna gets ready to send the money to Gojo— something in which he requires Gojo to be present to make sure nothing goes askew, Gojo starts noticeably squirming all over the place.

Sukuna raises a brow, “Fucks wrong with you?”

“Gotta use the bathroom,” Gojo huffs out without moving from where he stands.

The pink-haired man tilts his head, “Then go use the bathroom? I’m not gonna leave without paying you so relax.”

Gojo stands there a mere moment longer, contemplating a few things. The transaction could’ve been done by now but he felt like he was two seconds away from embarrassing himself so he just let out a long sigh before running off to the nearby bathroom. Thus leaving Sukuna standing there alone.

Now, Sukuna doesn’t consider himself to be a nosy person— he could usually care less about what others had going on in their lives unless it affected or entertained him. And where Gojo’s concerned, he honestly did neither at the time. He was just Yuji’s babysitter so Sukuna didn’t see much interesting about the guy.

That was, until he took his time alone to glance around Gojo’s apartment. Sukuna’s eyes wandered, studying the plain attempts at decoration and how utterly unstructured Gojo’s apartment appeared to be. Well, aside from some spots, it was rather clear that two people were living here, one more cleanly than the other.

Even so, Sukuna remained uninterested until he spotted a single book on the nearby kitchen counter. His eyes narrowed and he found himself surprised someone like Gojo would ever pick up a book. Again, the two knew little of one another aside from whatever school reputations they had— Gojo being known as some praying fuckboy and Sukuna being known as some hotheaded party-thrower. One could’ve assumed that the two would get along considering how their interests seem to align.

With that being said, Sukuna found himself walking toward this book without a second thought. The cover was completely blank and he realized it wasn’t a book at all. It was a journal.

Intrigued, Sukuna picks it up and does nothing more than pick a page at random to see if he’d find anything amusing, perhaps something to taunt Gojo with. Y’know, something to get a laugh out of.

The very last thing Sukuna expected to see was a page with a picture of some girl on it in the middle, surrounded by rather… creepy depictions of the woman. Details on the clothing in the picture, how much it cost, where to find it, depictions of where the woman went on that day, whether or not she seemed happy or sad, how many times Gojo heard her laugh-

Sukuna found himself disturbed instantly as he skimmed over the page. Though, not enough to stop him from turning the page. It seemed that such a creepy entry was one of many. Although, the first page he saw was definitely the creepiest. What ended up becoming the cherry on top was when Sukuna read over the fact that Gojo’s never spoken to you.

At that point, Sukuna scoffed, finding Gojo nothing but a fool for writing about a woman in such a way without ever talking to her. With dates, times, etcetera, Gojo had a ridiculous number of entries on this woman, so much so that it actually left Sukuna both curious and… entertained.

So when the sound of Gojo coming out of the bathroom hits Sukuna’s ears, he doesn’t even flinch or attempt to act like he wasn’t looking through the journal. Instead, Gojo walks out of the bathroom and finds Sukuna with the item in his hands.

It was at that very second that Gojo felt his heart sink to his goddamn toes. His eyes went wide and he froze in his steps, Sukuna not even so much as glancing away from the journal in his hands.

Gojo swallowed the overwhelming lump in his throat and attempted to say something-, anything, “What-”

“My my, what a fucking pervert you are,” Sukuna hummed enthusiastically, finally flicking his maroon gaze up to a dumbfounded Gojo. “This is disgusting, really. I mean,” Sukuna glances back down and smiles, “You love this woman and you’ve never even spoken to her?”

All wide-eyed and practically speechless, Gojo fumbles for a way to explain himself, “I-”

“And you fantasize about fucking her quite often,” Sukuna scoffs, tongue seeping out to lick his lips for a moment, “I can see why but shit… You’re a fuckin’ weirdo.”

“You-,” Gojo cocks his head back and blinks, the slightest mention of Sukuna taking interest in your appearance causing him to go right back to that not-so-rational state of his. Blinded by a deep obsession toward you, Gojo is slow with his words, “...You can see why? The hell does that mean-”

“She’s sexy, I get it. I see the lil’ pictures of her you’ve put in here,” Sukuna comments nonchalantly, “And yet, what I don’t get is this uh,” He clicks his tongue and smirks, “Obsession you have with her. Especially without talking to her? That’s…” He trails off for a second, his expression fading into something Gojo can’t quite read.

Gojo gulps and again attempts to defend himself, “I know it’s weird, I… I told myself I’m going to stop-”

“When?” Sukuna interrupts, voice rough, “When you’ve already got her wrapped around your finger and refuse to let her go because of the attachment you’ve created?” He questions the man almost as if he’s speaking from… experience.

“W-What?” Gojo’s brows push together. He never had any intentions of manipulating you in any shape or form, “No, I-”

“Would you tell her how you’ve been stalking her for months-, shit maybe even years based on some of these entries?” The way Sukuna takes a step toward Gojo lets him know that something about this seems to bother the pink-haired man.

“I haven’t been stalking her, I just-”

Sukuna looks down at the open page, “‘I especially liked how happy she looked today, when she smiles, she blinks about five times and when she laughs, it doubles.’ What sane man writes this shit about a woman he’s never spoken to, huh?”

“Sukuna just…” Gojo sucks in a crisp breath of air and attempts to plead with the male in front of him, reaching his hand out for his journal, “Just pretend like you never read that a-and give me the-”

“Aht aht,” Sukuna’s quick to swat his hand away and he nearly laughs at the way Gojo frowns frustratedly, “Did you really think I wouldn’t keep this little gem? Hm? See, you must be a bit confused about how this is about to go.”

For a moment, Gojo just stares. He never imagined this would happen. Hell, he wasn’t exactly careful with his journal but the last thing he expected was for Sukuna to pick the damn thing up. Fuck, he should’ve never left it on the counter.

He lets out a sigh and his voice is small, laced with fear, “...Are you gonna tell her?”

“Am I gonna tell her?” Sukuna simply bursts out laughing, “Ha! What do I look like to you? Some simple-minded fool? No, I’m not gonna tell her.”

Gojo lets out the most thankful sigh of relief, “Thank fuck-”

“You are,” Sukuna states.

And at those words, the room goes silent. So silent that one could hear a pin drop. Gojo felt as though his blood ran cold and Sukuna had this overly smug look on his face.

It was from there on out that Gojo was set to face the consequences of his actions.

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kamiversee · 4 months

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➶-͙˚ ༘✶ F*CK THE LIST

✧.* CHAPTER 1 || Fuck How it Started

[ { SYPNOSIS } ] ➤ A continued tale after Gojo Satoru's blackmailing seemed to have much more to it than meets the eye.

[ { CHAPTER CONTENT } ] ➤ prequel, backstory, suggestiveness, language, mentions of alcohol, implications of dark themes, etc.

[ { WORD COUNT } ] ➤ 4.8k

[ { PAIRINGS } ] ➤ jjk men x f!reader. gojo x f!reader. choso x f!reader. sukuna x f!reader.

[ [ chapters mlist } ]

——DRUNK, DAZED, AND STUPID, was Gojo’s first impression of you. While you may not remember it in the slightest, his first time laying eyes on you was at a party during both of your freshman years of college.

You were with a group of friends— friends you no longer have today but, a big group of them nonetheless. The party was jumping with music and people were dancing all packed together like sardines. Above the loud music, there was a particular sound of laughter that made Gojo’s ears twitch.

Looking back on it, he doesn’t remember too much who he was with at the time but he does remember the very second his eyes met the source of such giggles. Everything was noisy and dizzying, vibrant and almost burry, and then… and then there was you.

It’s a bit cliche but, Gojo did pause his dancing when he found that you were the source of the single laugh that caught his ears outside of people talking and music baring. Again, you likely don’t remember it in the slightest but— your eyes met him and his eyes met yours moments after he’d turned to you.

There were maybe two or three people dancing in between you and him but he was tall and everything about you seemed to lull him in. You had the prettiest smile on your face and although your eyes were locked onto his, it was clear your attention was on your friends surrounding you.

Six seconds. For six seconds exactly did you and Gojo hold eye contact with one another in the middle of some random party.

Nothing eventful happened between you and him that night.

You hadn’t attracted him or anything. Honestly, the only thing Gojo felt spark within his chest was pure and profound curiosity. Call him a moth and you the flame with the way you turned your head back toward your friends had him wanting to reach out to you. It was like his heart took a step forward before his brain or body— curiosity blooming at the most purest level.

Captivating, you were. And that’s at the very least of words that could be used to describe you. But, perhaps it was the few drinks he had in his system that night because Gojo only had that one little moment before his mind was drifting to other things.

—

Nameless, you remained nothing more than a distant light in the back of Gojo’s busy mind. After partying, he didn’t see you again.

Not later that night outside the venue, not anywhere in that crowd, absolutely nowhere. It was like you vanished. Not that he was going to try and approach you anyway… he had his eyes on other women at the time. Simply put, you were nothing more than a pretty face to him.

Maybe you’d blended in with the crowd that night because even when Gojo tries to recall that day now, all he can remember is the six seconds his eyes lingered on yours and how for six seconds it was like he saw a world in which everything made sense— all in the beautiful hazy gaze of some random drunk chick.

Which is, again, why you were titled as nothing more than a pretty face… at first.

Maybe a week or so later, he saw you again. This time around he’d walked past you on campus. Gojo didn’t even know you went to his damn school. After all, it’s not like that party he was at was anywhere nearby. It was damn there outside the city and yet, here you were walking right past him at his university.

He did a double take to confirm that you were, in fact, the woman he’d seen at that party a week ago. Gojo doesn’t think he’s always the best at remembering faces, especially when he’s drunk but, he’ll never forget that smile of yours. Considering how you were talking with a friend as you walked, there it was yet again, a pretty smile plastered across your face.

He batted his lashes a few times to see if you’d vanish again but this time you didn’t. Instead, you just got further and further away from him since you both were heading in opposite directions. Then, just as he shook his head and turned away, he missed the way your eyes glanced back in his direction— wondering why the hell he was staring at you.

To you, he was just another guy on campus just as you were just another pretty face. Neither of you had any reasons to ever cross paths. In your mind, that moment was the first time you ever saw Gojo.

And it’s bizarre too. The way he saw you at a party, has this fuzzy image of you imprinted in his brain despite labeling you as just another pretty girl, to the way you walked past him wondering if there was something on your face with how hard he’d been looking at you.

At the time, you didn’t even get a clear look at his face so all you saw was white hair and blue eyes, nothing more. So while Gojo knew of your beauty, you only knew of his hair and eye color.

For no reason should your life have been entangled in his and the same vice versa. You had your friends, Gojo had his. The most you knew of one another was that you went to the same university.

As such, fewer times did Gojo see you after that. During that first year, he may have spotted you once every month, and even then, he was always walking past you, or you were walking past him. Just some girl on campus— that’s all you were, nothing more.

Same thing applied the following two semesters. After that summer when he returned to campus, he spotted you on the first day. This time you were walking into one of the buildings, presumably on your way to class.

He didn’t know if you were living on campus or not, or what your major was, or why you’re the first girl he mentally acknowledged on that first day back in school, or even what your name was but— he knew it was you. That signature smile of yours wasn’t present but he was able to recognize you by your face by this point.

Although, you hadn’t reached his level of interest yet. You were still just some pretty face. And yeah, maybe he didn’t mind spotting said face on campus every now and then but that didn’t mean he was searching for you or had any desire to know who you are.

You were like a work of art in some museum for him to admire from afar. Never to be touched or spoken about, simply to be gazed upon and feel grateful to have seen.

The rest of that year went by almost the same as the one prior, still no connection or anything between you and Gojo. You and him remained strangers.

Up until that fated third year of college. Ah, looking back on it now, Gojo sometimes wonders if the entire thing was scripted or something. Because that set of two semesters went intriguingly different than the two prior.

For starters, you had finally started to do more than bring surges of curiosity to Gojo. It had nothing to do with you changing any sort of your appearance or bumping into you at any point in time but instead, it was because, within those two semesters, you met Shoko.

Now, Gojo doesn’t meet you officially until a year later but, that doesn’t mean you and Shoko meeting wasn’t a crucial point to how events played out going forward.

Right before you met Shoko, and this may be just a coincidence, Gojo had started to get himself together. His first two years of university were spent worrying about women and parties for the most part. But it was during his third year that he decided to structure himself a bit more.

Amid such structuring, the next time he saw you, he’d learned your name moments after. How? Because he saw you walking beside Shoko one day, smiling and giggling at whatever she was saying to you. It was similar to the party that he first saw you with the way his heart did that thing again— like a pull of gravity, yearning toward you to ground him somehow.

He didn’t know why, and maybe it was that laugh of yours, but either way— for the first time, Gojo wasn’t just curious, he was interested. But he didn’t quite understand his level of interest.

Before you or Shoko got close to him, he watched you give Shoko a hug and then wave bye to her before heading in a different direction. After this, Shoko approached Gojo and playfully punched him on the arm to catch his attention.

Looking down at her with an immediate pout, “The hell was that for?” Gojo whined.

Shoko was chuckling, raking a hand through her hair before shrugging, “Acted on an intrusive thought, sorry not sorry.”

“I think you just like hurting me..” Gojo huffed before turning away and seeing as Shoko takes his side to accompany him.

“Sometimes, yeah-“

“Who was that girl you were with just now?” Ah, Gojo Satoru’s first direct question about you. From here on out it was basically a rollercoaster.

Shoko scoffed a little at his question but she never really thought much of it, giving Gojo your name, telling him how the two of you had a class together, and a bit of backstory on your friendship with her, “She’s such a cutie too, I think you’d like her.”

A sound of a snort was heard, “Like her? I was just curious,” Gojo shrugged off her comment entirely.

“I meant like her as… a friend? Don’t get ahead of yourself now, she has a boyfriend,” When Shoko told him that he tried to ignore how weird he felt obtaining that information but, it may have done a little something to his ego.

And he’s not even sure why either. Of course you have a boyfriend, why wouldn’t you? Why’d he expect you to be single? Is it because he’s single? Was he self-projecting somehow…?

He had to shake his thoughts away seconds later because it was almost starting to consume him. He’d never even spoken to you before and yet his brain was already popping out questions like there was no tomorrow.

An understanding smile slipped onto Gojo’s face, “Right. Sorry, I just thought you were trying to say I should go out with her or somethin’.”

Shoko rolled her eyes at him, “Satoru, just because most women grovel for you, doesn’t mean I’m gonna encourage them to do so— especially not her. “

At that moment, Gojo couldn’t imagine his follow-up question would one day be answered in so many more ways than one, “What’s so special about her?”

“I like having her around thus far and based on the last ten friends I’ve brought to meet you,” Shoko took a little pause before laughing to herself, “You always end up fucking them or they end up having some big one-sided crush-“

“Hey hey, I’ve been working on myself, alright?” Gojo cut off, trying to show his shorter brown-haired friend that he’s not the same as he may have been a few months ago, “I’m not like that anymore.”

Shoko started nodding, “Ohhhh, so you’re ready to settle down with someone, huh?”

Gojo choked out a cough and masked it with a laugh, “I-I didn’t say that but, y’know… having a girlfriend would be nice. M’tired of just being seen as some fuck boy…”

“Then stop being a fuck boy-“

“I’m not! They approach me most times, not the other way around,” Gojo huffed before rolling his eyes. It seems his reputation had really taken place, “I just… happen to be good at acting like I know what I’m doing. And I’ve learned enough through trial and error. P-Plus I haven’t been with as many women as you think-“

“What about men then?” Shoko teased, turning to Gojo with a big shit-eating grin on her face, “Hmmm? Maybe Suguru-“

Gojo moved a hand to her forehead and started to push her away, “Go to class.”

She giggles, “I’m joking!” Shoko said, smacking his hand off of her, “But hey, if she wasn’t in a relationship and you’re serious about getting yourself together, then maybe I’d help the two of you.”

The image of your face popped right back into Gojo’s head and he swears he can hear your laugh all over again. Blurting out his thoughts, “Y’think we’d be a good couple?” Gojo hummed casually, eyes going wide seconds later at his own thoughts, “Hypothetically, of course.”

“Mmmmh… yeah, actually,” Shoko nodded, “She’s the kinda woman that leaves men fixed when she’s done with ‘em.”

Gojo’s lashes bat as his curiosity only surges, “What does that mean?”

Shoko snorts, her voice sounding like she was in awe, “Like, she’ll get with a shitty guy but by the time their relationship ends, he’s tolerable and maybe even likable.”

“So she fixes men?”

“I mean, based on what she told me about her last four exes, I don’t think she realizes it but, yes,” Why would this information be of any importance to Gojo? He’s not too sure himself at the time but no one could’ve known that such an observation on you would come back around later.

“Hm,” Gojo hummed in response, “...And you’ve only been friends with this chick for how long again?”

Shoko lit up at the opportunity to boast about how the two of you met, “Ouuu, funny story! So, this past summer I actually met her at this party. We hung out for no longer than five minutes but when the semester started and I walked into class and saw her… We were basically besties already.”

“Cute,” Gojo commented simply. It was another thing he told himself he wouldn’t pay much attention to.

And as such, their conversation about you basically ended there.

—

While that was enough of talking about you, it was merely the begging of Gojo’s thoughts on you. The first trickle of rain before a storm, the initial rumble in the sky prior to overwhelming thunder, the warning wave before a tsunami— call it what you wish, this was only the beginning.

It had to be a coincidence how often Gojo began to see you around campus after that. After two years of only seeing you like once a month, of course it’s weird that he spots you on campus at least three times a week now. And it’s even weirder how he spots you, something a bit more different in comparison to merely seeing you.

Before it was like your face would just pop out amid a crowd and he’d take that as his monthly sighting of you but then it became more so of Gojo almost searching for you as he wandered through campus.

It was like how once someone develops a crush on someone they start to see them literally everywhere despite only seeing them a few times before developing feelings. Except, Gojo didn’t have a crush on you, he was just interested in you.

So interested that he eventually started writing things down about you in this journal he kept. Now, he’d had this little journal since he was in high school. Stories about him, Shoko, and Geto are all written down in this personal little journal of his. It’s his item of comfort whenever the thoughts in his head become too much.

And in regards to you, the thought of you had gotten to that point. The first few entries were rather innocent— notes of the first time he saw you, his thoughts of you during that time to notes of what Shoko told him about you. This wasn’t an unusual entry into his journal either, he had stuff about other people in there too just so he didn’t forget some things.

Even for his past relationships, he still had poorly scribbled out notes on things his partners had told him so that he could keep up with it. The entire thing was really innocent, just notes Gojo liked to keep on events and people for fun. Journaling was almost a hobby for him. It wasn’t like he was writing full-page stories on his life, he’d just go through a day and come home and find comfort in summarizing his day a bit, especially if something eventful happened.

Said journal was separated by chapters, almost like a little book that he could go back through and read if he wanted to, each chapter was characterized by person or specific era of his life. He had a very lengthy section about Geto, which makes perfect sense since that’s his best friend. Then there were sections for different school years and some other important things in his life.

Either way, he kept everything in this journal. And the moment your name was written into it, he should’ve known things would be different after that. Because then you became someone he was thinking about more than he cared to admit. Gojo had curated this entire personality and idea of you in his head simply based on whenever he saw you or whenever Shoko talked about you.

Until eventually, Gojo realized he had a bit of a crush on you. Now, it may sound a bit bizarre for him to develop such an infatuation with someone he’d never formally spoken to but, what can he say? The heart wanted what the heart wanted and his brain sure as hell had no will to protest against such feelings.

The first time Gojo mentions you to Geto, it was after he’d seen you walking toward the dining hall with some friend of yours. Call Gojo crazy but he’d even started to notice how your friend group got significantly smaller in comparison to the first time he ever saw you.

That aside, “There’s this girl,” Was the first thing Gojo told his best friend, and roommate, “She’s like… really… intriguing,” He managed out slowly. He could never put the right words to what it was about you but he tried his best.

“Intriguing? Did you talk to her?” Geto was quick to quiz his white-haired bestie on the mention of a woman. Before you, the most Gojo would tell him about the women he encountered was how he ‘fucked them stupid’ or how he had to ‘reject another one’.

Geto hadn’t heard Gojo bring up a woman in this manner since highschool so he knew from then that you were different. “Uh, not exactly,” Gojo replied to his friend, “I mean, I’ve talked about her.”

“To who?” Geto quizzed. Again, this was his first time hearing of such a woman so who did Gojo talk to you about? “This is my first time hearing about her…” He moved to scratch the back of his neck slightly, voice a bit low in a hum as it was apparent he preferred to know things before anyone else.

“Shoko,” Gojo says, and Geto’s face lights back up again as if he never had anything to worry about, “She’s one of her friends.”

Geto lets out a sigh and nods, “Ohhh, I see. Okay, so…” His eyes narrow on his friend before he tilts his head, “What’s so intriguing about her?”

“She has a really pretty laugh,” The words leave Gojo immediately, every time he’s heard the sound he swore he was being sent into another field of feelings. Your laugh made him happy and he’d never experienced that before. It was new and he liked it.

“She has a really-,” Geto cut himself off with a chuckle, “Satoru, you’re interested in a woman because of her laugh?”

Gojo nodded like it was no big deal, “Yeah?”

His best friend shrugs it off at first before pausing, recalling something similarly odd that Gojo’s told him before, “Wait, is this that same girl you talked about a few years back?” Geto asked.

“Huh?”

Running a hand through his raven locks of hair, Geto blinked at his friend’s confusion, “The one you said whose laugh you heard over music that one time.”

Damn, Gojo didn’t even remember telling him that— he must’ve been drunk out of his mind after that party…

“Uh, yeah, actually,” Gojo starts smiling a little as he recalls the moment, “Yes she is.”

Geto stares, “She goes here?”

“No shit.”

“So, what,” He scoffs, “You like her or something?”

And here was where the denial began. Right when Gojo sheepishly looks off to the side and shakes his head, “No.”

Geto leans a bit closer to his friend, searching for answers through a skeptical look, “Thennn why’re you telling me about her-”

“I don’t know man,” Gojo blurts out, “She’s just in my head.”

“You like her,” Geto says flatly.

Gojo couldn’t understand such a thing at first, “I can’t like someone I’ve never spoken to before.”

“You can,” His friend argues, “Just go talk to her if that’s the case.”

“I can’t.”

“And why not?”

The recollection of the following fact had Gojo frowning a little, “She has a boyfriend.”

Geto chuckles and his voice gets playful, “So? Who c-“

“Suguru,” Gojo grumbled, sending his bestie a look of disapproval.

“I’m joking, I’m joking…” He sighed, “But that doesn’t mean you can’t be friends with her.”

Gojo rolled his eyes, “I’d have ulterior motives.”

“She doesn’t have to know about those motives, it’s called playing the long game.”

“Yeah no, I’m not gonna go get involved with a woman I like and can never have,” Gojo said, seeming to stand firm on such a statement, “What do I look like to you?”

“Hey, ‘never’ is a bit of a stretch,” Geto points out, “How long have she and her boyfriend been dating? Do you know?”

“Uh, I think Shoko said a few months.”

Geto deadpans, “And you think they’ll stay together forever?”

Gojo shrugged, “Well, no but-”

“So go be friends with her and wait,” Wonderful advice was given at that moment but, no one knew how things would play out later on.

It was at that very moment that Gojo should’ve listened to his best friend. Maybe things would’ve been entirely different now. But alas, Gojo refused to do that. He couldn’t imagine himself going as far as getting to know you and only developing his feelings for you further just to wait for you to break up with your boyfriend.

Why would he ever do such a thing? Call him selfish for it, he didn’t care, if he was going to talk to you, he was going to do so with the intention of making you his girlfriend.

Although now, it’s humorous, really. The way Gojo told himself he’d never get involved with you if he knew he couldn’t have you in the end— how hilarious considering the way things work out further down along the timeline…

But during that time, Gojo never thought to think that far ahead. He didn’t think you’d ever break up with your boyfriend, he assumed he’d move on and crush on some other woman, and he didn’t expect for his heart to drive him to lengths that may not be considered morally correct…

Maybe he should’ve never asked Shoko about you. Or maybe he should’ve silenced the blooming thoughts in his head about you. How did you go from just a pretty face to the only pretty face he could think about?

It was like after talking to Shoko and Geto about you, you were everywhere. On campus, off campus, it didn’t matter— Gojo would spot you so often that he wondered if you had something to do with all the coincidental appearances. But, seeing as you hardly noticed he was in the same area as you, that couldn’t have been the case.

Perhaps it was fate. Fate that willed the two of you to be in the same area nearly every other day. The only place Gojo started to see you less at was parties. To which he found odd, you used to go to them all the time…

It’s thoughts and realizations like that as to why Gojo starts to go down this semi-dark path. It was like you plagued his mind, even in class all he could think about was the next time he was going to see you. When he’d get home, the first thing he started writing in his journal was entries about you— things you wore that day, whether or not you were smiling, how he wished he could talk to you and see how easy or difficult it is to make you laugh.

God, thinking about you was torture. Gojo couldn’t understand it one bit. Sure, you were 100% his type and he’d always found you attractive but it should’ve stopped there. Yet with Shoko telling him how kind you are, how you took over on most projects they had together, how great of a person you were, his situation wasn’t getting any better.

Imagine liking someone just based on their appearance and laugh only to later find out that they’re an amazing person on top of that. That’s what it was like for Gojo. It wasn’t enough that you were physically stunning in his eyes, of course you turned out to have such a pure heart.

A heart in which he never wanted to corrupt. And as if fate was watching over his life— it was only pitiful how his wishes fired back on him. Instead of you with the corrupted heart, it became himself. Gojo spent the school year falling and falling for you while never speaking a single word to you.

By the end of the second semester, he thought he was going crazy. And hell, maybe he was…

Because the upcoming summer was his punishment for his craziness. Though, it wasn’t fate this time. Instead, punishment came in the form of a person-, a monster, really. Showing up and discovering shit when least expected, curating such elaborate schemes that no regular being would.

And for what exactly? Gojo never finds out. But you, with you being the focal point of this entire plotline, you soon learn how unaware you’ve been of things and people throughout college. How many guys were interested in you, watched you, knew you before you knew them. Hell, Gojo is the first and most prime example.

After all, despite shit hitting the fan during the summer for him, you’d only met Gojo at the start of your senior year of college. And the list took place a while after that. But as for all that took place before the list…

You were completely clueless.

mlist || next

tags 1/4; @lavnederr @stopmila @chelsea14 @hillmiaxoxo @choso-enthusiast

@chososdisciple @suguruologist @mitzkooni @annananamin @jakeywon

@thvema @uranometrias @gigiipeaches @isawrd @bored--boring

@soonyoung-park @oidloid @you-make-skz-stay @haesify @paintedcans

@deljojeisbackagain @heeheeswifey @s-kateboardcat @kaalyomi @rilxigh

@win2xsgf @diana4l @angelsleepinggurl @aselvaticotaku @livvyluvsyouu

@tadabzzzbee @buglikeangell @sukunadckrider @todod0kii @mua-for-now

@dazaiswaifuartisan @bee3l0v3r @blkpotionss @cranberrycosmos @cawwotta

@chosomi @gentle-roxyboo @teonawrites @interludered @wannabeotaku

@earthytreeswithc @tapinz @attackonjacksons @hovogliadisogni @hoebuns

581 notes · View notes

kamiversee · 3 months

Text

➶-͙˚ ༘✶ F*CK THE LIST

✧.* CHAPTER 4 || Fuck The Prequel

[ { SYPNOSIS } ] ➤ A continued tale after Gojo Satoru's blackmailing seemed to have much more to it than meets the eye.

[ { CHAPTER CONTENT } ] ➤ language, backstory, angst, & a tinge of fluff.

[ { WORD COUNT } ] ➤ 2k (this is the shortest chapter I've ever written, help)

[ { PAIRINGS } ] ➤ jjk men x f!reader. gojo x f!reader. choso x f!reader. sukuna x f!reader.

[ [ chapters mlist } ]

——IT WAS ALMOST AS THOUGH meeting you was an official game changer for him. The day you met will never not cross Gojo’s mind at least once every twenty-four hours. He remembers every detail of the encounter, despite how simple it was.

It was your new roommate, at the time, Shoko who’d introduced the two of you to one another and it felt like a goddamn fever dream to Gojo. There you were standing just a few feet away from him after he’d spent weeks getting himself together just to be able to hold a conversation with you without stumbling over his words or saying something weird.

Shoko had Gojo and Geto over at the time and you were in the kitchen when the trio walked in, brief greetings made before she took them to the living room to hang out. Gojo remembers you and Geto saying hi to one another but when you looked at him, both of you just awkwardly acknowledged one another with a wave. Of course, Gojo would learn months later that you found that little wave of yours embarrassing but to him, he always found it cute and just assumed you were shy.

After all, so was he. Or maybe nervous is the better word to put to it because his heart was pounding in his chest the entire time he was at your apartment. Even when he was taken to the living room with Shoko, he was sweating and worried that you’d magically see right through him and figure out all that he’d done in the past.

Guilt was eating away at him so much that he couldn’t even focus on Shoko and Geto’s laughter about some show playing on the television ahead. He needed a moment to clear his air and even considered leaving for a second.

With a sigh, Gojo eventually excused himself to get water from the kitchen, hoping a cool drink would help calm him down. By that time, it’d been an hour since he’s entered your home and he figured there was no chance he’d run into you again since Shoko mentioned you usually hole yourself up in your room.

As such, when Gojo got into the kitchen, he found himself searching for a bottle of water– nervously opening a few cabinets as he didn’t want to seem like he was snooping through you and Shoko’s place. He was so nervous that his fingers were trembling ever so slightly.

His heartbeat felt like it was thrumming throughout his eardrums and Gojo wasn’t sure what to do with himself. He just knew everything would blow up in his face the very second he ever spoke to you-

“Gojo, right?” The sound of your voice somewhere behind him made him flinch so hard that he almost yelped.

With yet another gulp, Gojo was slow to turn his head back over his shoulder to glance in your direction. The second he made eye contact with you it was like all his fear just melted away. Whatever nerves he had building up inside him simply disappeared and he found himself centered by your gaze alone.

He takes a second to nod at your question, “Yeah.”

You gave him the smallest little smile and he was just frozen in front of you. Though, you couldn’t really tell from your perspective, “Let me know if you need anything.”

Gojo swallows thickly and nods again, saving himself with a smile, “Yeah, actually. I uh, I can’t find any water. I didn’t wanna rummage through all your things but-”

“Did you try looking in the fridge?” Your voice was almost teasing and that small smile of yours was growing as you stepped fully into the kitchen and made your way to the refrigerator.

He blinked, “Well-, no, actually. I did not look in the fridge…” He responds with just the same amount of teasing in his voice.

The sound of your chuckling could be heard as the door to the fridge swung open and you bent down to grab a bottle of water for him. Then, you stood up and held it out to him, “Here.”

Gojo stares at you, a billion and one thoughts running through his head. Most of your body was hidden behind the still-open fridge door and you were slightly leaning on it, holding out a bottle of water for him with a kind grin on your face. Shit, you were real. It’s not like he didn’t know that already but-, hell, here you were interacting with him.

You’re real. This is real. You’re not just some girl he was watching from afar or found himself infatuated with. You are a real human standing right in front of him and talking to him. The realization hits him so suddenly that Gojo’s left staring at you for far longer than he means to, leaving you to raise a brow at his lost little gaze.

Your hand starts to retract a bit, “Did you uh, not want cold water? I think we have some room temp in the-”

“Nono,” Gojo rushes out, taking a deep breath, “Cold waters fine, sorry.” He hums as he finally takes that step forward and grabs the offered drink from your hand.

Fuck, he could only imagine how he came off just now. He probably looked so weird staring at you. You probably hate him alread-

“Right, well, let me know if you need anything else,” Your talking cuts his thoughts off again as you casually step away from the fridge and shut it.

Gojo nods in acknowledgment and with that, you’re heading back to your room within the next minute. Left alone in the kitchen with his thoughts, Gojo begins to realize a number of things all at once. The main thought being that you’re a real person. With such an understanding of that fact alone, all the guilt he’s felt practically triplets.

His head is pounding with thought after thought of how the hell he’s going to execute this whole plan with you. He regrets everything he’s done in private while thinking about you, every time he’s placed himself in areas where he could catch a glimpse of you, and that disgusting journal of his that creepily depicts his thoughts of you over the years.

Gojo wishes he could restart everything and go all the way back to the day he saw you at that party and talk to you. He knew he was interested in you from the moment he laid eyes on you so why didn’t he just talk to you? Why didn’t he talk to you after that? Why did he grow so obsessed with a woman he doesn’t even know-

Holy fuck. It all hits him at once. Gojo’s never been obsessed with you or in love with you but rather the mere idea of you and what you’re like. He doesn’t know anything personal about you outside of what Shoko’s told him or what he’s witnessed from a distance.

Moving a palm over his face, Gojo lets out a long sigh before scoffing at himself. Okay, maybe this whole blackmail plan wasn’t going to be that hard after all. He’s not in love with you, just the you he has in his head. So, essentially, unless you turn out to be just as he sees you mentally, this should be rather easy to pull off. All he has to do is pretend to be some asshole to some stranger, in a sense.

But, as we know, these kinds of thoughts are much better said than done because you turn out to be a thousand times better than the version of you in his head he grew infatuated with. But hey, he doesn’t realize that until months later when the list actually starts.

Gojo doesn’t know what moment it was specifically that he started to realize you were much better than he thought you were– perhaps it was the first time he kissed you or the first time he had sex with you, or even every time he kissed you and that face you make when you gaze at him like he’s the most beautifully devastating thing you’ve ever laid your eyes on. The way your breathing is all soft after a kiss as if your breath was stolen, how you stare right into his eyes and so clearly get lost in them-, wrapped up in everything that’s him, it all makes his heart swell to new degrees.

Whenever you speak it’s like he can’t hear anything else but every syllable leaving your lips. Is it possible to be addicted to someone’s sound alone? When you laugh, his skin feels tingly and his heart turns to pure mush. Even when you were angry at him, Gojo found himself oh so curious. He couldn’t help but study anything and everything that was you once he got the chance to do so.

Getting entangled with you was both the best and worst thing to ever have happened to him. It was the worst because hurting you and bringing you pain was inevitable but it was blissful because in the process he found himself realizing that his obsession and level of love for you had died and come back to life within months.

That one morning after the first time you slept with Geto lingers inside Gojo’s head. The entire thing from start to finish is the perfect way to describe how you feel inside his mind. From something so soft, gentle, and loving to a raging storm that makes him so unbearably angry at himself– you, were something indescribable for Gojo.

You’re his peace, his heartache, his pain, his joy, his literal everything, even if you shouldn’t be. The obsession he had for you was dead by the time the list started but once it was over, he felt like he was right back where he started. Hell, it was as if that longing desire to be in your presence had tripled.

His last official conversation with you will never fail to ring throughout his head, even if it were years later when he finally learned to move on.

You were the highlighting factor of Gojo’s life. The idea of you destroyed him and yet the real you healed him. All things that you were clueless about. In one of your last few conversations with him before the two of you really parted ways, Gojo answered an important question you’d asked him by telling you he fell in love with you through his blackmailing but had also been in love with you from the start…

In reality, he finds that it was more of him trying to protect and fix himself from the start only to genuinely fall in love with you, and not just the idea, later on. Gojo thinks it was the way that even you found yourself feeling hints of such a strong emotion toward him despite the shit he was putting you through.

You fell for the simple act of him kissing you over anyone else you experienced– even Choso. Would that still have been possible if you’d known the truth from the beginning? Gojo barely even wants to think about it but it is a good question. You did tell him at one point that you would’ve liked knowing he was obsessed with you earlier on since you were lonely but, you and him both know that’s not true.

And even if by chance it is true, he didn’t want that for you; it’s not healthy.

Above the obsession, the love, the lust, the confusion, hate, anger, regret, and any other emotions experienced throughout the torment that was enduring that damn list… Gojo ever only truly wished one thing for you and that was happiness. Aside from anything else, joy was the first emotion he ever saw you display.

It was the emotion that attracted him to you. Your laughter, your smiles, your happiness, if he could in any way protect that, even from himself, then he’d do anything necessary.

…

Which is why when he receives a random call from Choso one day during the summer after the list is over, he realizes that his story with you hasn’t quite come to its end yet.

From The F*ck List to F*ck The List… It seems as though Gojo Satoru’s blackmailing really did have much more to it than meets the eye.

[ { A/N } ] ➤ In case it's not clear, this is the end of the prequel and the following events from here on out occur after the alternate ending of The F*ck List.

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tags 1/4; @lavnederr @stopmila @chelsea14 @hillmiaxoxo @choso-enthusiast

@chososdisciple @suguruologist @mitzkooni @annananamin @jakeywon

@thvema @uranometrias @gigiipeaches @isawrd @bored--boring

@soonyoung-park @oidloid @you-make-skz-stay @haesify @paintedcans

@deljojeisbackagain @heeheeswifey @s-kateboardcat @kaalyomi @rilxigh

@win2xsgf @diana4l @angelsleepinggurl @aselvaticotaku @livvyluvsyouu

@tadabzzzbee @buglikeangell @sukunadckrider @todod0kii @mua-for-now

@dazaiswaifuartisan @bee3l0v3r @blkpotionss @cranberrycosmos @cawwotta

@chosomi @gentle-roxyboo @teonawrites @interludered @wannabeotaku

@earthytreeswithc @tapinz @attackonjacksons @hovogliadisogni @hoebuns

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kamiversee · 4 months

Text

➶-͙˚ ༘✶ F*CK THE LIST

✧.* CHAPTER 3 || Fuck The Plan

[ { SYPNOSIS } ] ➤ A continued tale after Gojo Satoru's blackmailing seemed to have much more to it than meets the eye.

[ { CHAPTER CONTENT } ] ➤ language, mentions/depictions of stalking & obsession, blackmail & a teeny tiny tinge of angst.

[ { WORD COUNT } ] ➤ 4.9k

[ { PAIRINGS } ] ➤ jjk men x f!reader. gojo x f!reader. choso x f!reader. sukuna x f!reader.

[ [ chapters mlist } ]

——GOJO CHOKES, “WHAT?” Simply stunned by what was just said to him, he stands there completely confused.

“I didn’t stutter. You’ll tell this woman yourself that you’re obsessed with her,” Sukuna explains casually.

“I-,” Gojo bats his eyelashes at the man, “I mean I plan to eventually but-”

“Do you?” He scoffs, his face twisting into a scowl, “You’ll tell her how you’ve had your eye on her for…” Sukuna glances at the journal and flips back some pages, “What, three years? Tell her how you’ve been stalking her?”

“I didn’t stalk her!” Gojo shouts.

Sukuna looks at him plainly, “So what do you call it then?”

“I… I was just… I paid close attention to her,” Gojo attempts to explain, as if that’ll negate what’s written in those pages, “I never followed her around or did anything like that-“

“Where’d the pictures come from?” Sukuna cuts off.

Gojo gulps, “Instagram…”

“You…” The man scoffs, “You printed them out?”

There’s a long pause from Gojo before he replies to that. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes before uttering a slow, “…Look I know how that sounds but-“

“You do realize you can stalk someone online right?” Sukuna points out, “Which is exactly what you did.”

Gojo’s frantic, desperate to find some way out of this, any way to excuse himself for his actions, “N-No, I just-“

Sukuna lets out a groan, already frustrated with what he’s dealing with at the moment. It reminds him of a vast many things and he hates every second of this conversation, “Stop it with the lousy excuses because you’ve yet to tell me anything that could possibly help this situation.”

Gojo blinks, “But you make it seem like I’m some creep and I’m not-“

“What the fuck else are you then?! Huh?” Sukuna shouts so suddenly that Gojo’s flinching. “What do you call this? Love? An infatuation? Enough with the bullshit and just admit it, you are obsessed with this damn woman and you’ve been stalking her-“

“Okay! Fuck, fine, yes!” Gojo simply throws his hands up. There was really nothing more he could say for himself here. He never wanted to admit it but the more he thinks about his actions, the more he’s left to face the reality of his crimes, “I have been… stalking her,” Gojo finally admits, seeming as though the words struggled to leave his lips, “I’ve been keeping track of her for the past few months. I learned her first name years ago but recently took to the internet. I then found her last name, her middle name, the home in which she grew up, her parent's names, I-,” He cuts himself off. Shit, the more he lists what he knows the crazier he sounds.

“I know everything about her. And I… I…” God, he’s struggling with this. He really was some creepy stalker all this time, wasn’t he? Finding any and all forms of media that included you, making sure he was in certain places at certain times just to see you, paying way too much attention to you… “I know it’s fucked up, I am well aware that there’s no excusing that. I know I can’t-“

“You disgust me,” Sukuna’s voice weighs heavily into the air. The man could no longer stomach the shit Gojo was telling him right now.

Gojo’s voice got caught in his throat again, “What?”

Sukuna, whose face is twisted up in more ways than one and looking as though he were seconds away from snapping, “I hope you understand that those three words would be the first thing she ever utters to you should she ever find out about anything you just told me.”

Another pause flies by, both men simply staring at one another. Gojo is overwhelmed by his own guilt, ashamed of his actions, regretful, and even disgusted with himself. Meanwhile, Sukuna feels repulsed by what he’s just learned.

Eventually, Gojo responds, “…I can accept that.”

Sukuna’s lips pull into a thin line, “Right… Of course you can…” He murmurs, taking a moment to think. Then, after a deep breath, he nods as a solution comes to mind. The journal in his hands snaps shut, “So, y’know what, I shall return in a week.”

Baffled, Gojo is at a loss for where this is going, “W-What?”

“I’m taking this,” Sukuna gestures with the book in his hands, “And I’ll return with the details of what I want you to do in a week.”

“What you want me to do?” Gojo echoes, brows furrowing, “What? What are you talking abou-“

“People like you deserve the cruelest forms of punishment. Divine punishment, even,” The man tells him before turning away, and heading toward the apartment door, “You are sick. Filth. Undeserving to ever have the opportunity to appeal to this woman.”

Gojo remains unmoving at first, still trying to wrap his head around whatever the hell is going on at this point, “I don’t understand…”

“You will in seven days,” Sukuna tells him.

“Sukuna wait-“

“Silence.” The command makes Gojo halt where he stands, a chill running down his spine. “Until I return, you will do nothing,” Sukuna glances back to the now fearful Gojo, “Do not try speaking to that woman until I permit you to do so or I will have every page of this journal plastered on every inch of her bedroom walls by the end of the night.”

“Y-You-“

“And I implore you to see if I’m joking,” He continues, “You’ve dug a hole for yourself that will now act as your grave.”

This wasn't really happening was it? Just like that, his moments of blissful yet darkened deeds were coming to an end. Gojo’s fantasy was crumbling right then and there. Did he truly think he could move on from his horrid acts just like that? Did he seriously have the nerve to tell himself that he was going to talk to you after all he’d done? That he was going to befriend you? One day try to get with you?

He supposes he deserves whatever it was Sukuna had planned but at this very moment Gojo couldn’t fathom that. He couldn’t handle the fact that reality was slapping him in the face and punishment had shown up at his doorstep so soon.

“Please, you can’t just…” Gojo doesn’t know what to say, “I… Please-“

“If she is of any importance to you,” Sukuna says slowly, hand going for the doorknob, “You will do nothing until you’re told to.”

“Sukuna-“

Looking back at the visibly devastated man, “You are now but a mere pawn in my game of punishment,” Sukuna explains, “Am I clear?”

Gojo’s mouth opens and then closes. His heart is shattering. It was as though his life was falling apart. The cluelessness of what was to come next of him after this exposure was what was killing him, “I-, you can’t do this. I c-can change,” Gojo claims, stepping forward, “I am changing, I can fix this-“

Sukuna scoffs and sizes him up and down, “The damage is already done,” He says clearly, “Do you understand me?”

He doesn’t. He doesn’t want to understand this. He doesn’t want to face this— the reality, the weight of what he’s done. This is cruel. Gojo cannot bear this, being caught, having to be punished for it, he’s done no harm really… Everything he did was in private, no one else was affected. Is it so wrong to-

“Do you,” Sukuna is steady to repeat himself, “Understand me?”

Gojo gulps. It was written all over his face that he didn't, but he answered anyway, “...Yeah.”

With that, Sukuna was moving to leave, “Good.”

The front door was slamming moments later and Gojo Satoru was left staring at a loss of thoughts, words, peace, everything. What was to come of him now? What would happen in seven days? What was Sukuna going to do?? Would he tell you?

Fuck, he was so fucked. Gojo was ruined. His life was ruined. He was going to change, he swears he was. He doesn’t know if he’d ever have told you this truth but he knows he was going to change. For you, Gojo was going to change to become someone deserving of you.

He wanted to be someone you could love, someone you could trust. He wanted to become your everything just as you had unknowingly become his.

Yet, there he stood, left to wallow in self-pity as he’s forced to face the unknown repercussions of his actions.

———

Within those seven days, Gojo felt like he’d entered hell on earth. Things that he once found simple in life no longer felt the same. It was like the innocent idea of you had been stripped from him and thus resulting in a world that no longer spun on its axis in the mind of Gojo Satoru.

He found it hard to breathe every time he replayed Sukuna’s words, thinking about how disgusted you would be if you ever found out, how scared, how terrified. Gojo doesn’t wish that for you, he could never handle such a thing. Fear, disgust, and pure hatred coming from you whom he loves? Oh it’d pain his entire being if you were to ever hate him.

Although he may deserve such a thing… He didn’t really want to accept that fate.

Alas, that was no longer in his hands and he could not control what was to come. Every day, Gojo was anxious as hell, awaiting a call or text from Sukuna with some kind of explanation of why he’d taken the journal and what he planned to have him do. And every day Gojo was left with no answers up until that full week had passed.

Sukuna did nothing more than send Gojo a text telling him to be at his estate within the next thirty minutes. It was late at night, Gojo was worried for whatever was about to occur next, and yet he went anyway. Not that he really had a choice not to…

Arriving at Sukuna’s place, he was let in by someone with white and red hair who led him further into the house. Gojo was directed into this office-like room and quickly met with a seated Sukuna who was busy writing something down before he raised his gaze to the recently entered Gojo.

The man gestured for Gojo to come into the room fully and after he did so, the room door was shut behind him.

“What exactly is it you want me to do?” Gojo was straight to the point. There was no need for greetings or easing his way into this conversation, he needed answers and direction now.

Sukuna put down the pen he’d been writing with and clasped his hands together, lifting his shoulders to a slight shrug, “Suffer.” Is all he uttered to Gojo, leaving him gulping at the seriousness in both Sukuna’s eyes and tone. “I want you to suffer,” Sukuna continued, “So much so that I spent a week planning this. I took the time out of my days to ensure that what I’ll have you do is both fool-proof and nothing more than pure torture for you.”

Gojo itched to ask why but he already knew the answer to that. This was his punishment and he needed to face the consequences of his actions, even if he didn’t sign up for them. “Alright, so what’s this big plan of yours? Get it out already,” Gojo huffed.

A hand shifted across Sukuna’s desk as he reached for a folded-up piece of paper, the item soon picked up and tossed to Gojo’s feet. “Read that,” Sukuna instructed.

Gojo glares at Sukuna from across the room before letting out a sigh and looking down to the paper that’d been tossed to his feet. After a moment, he bends down and picks it up, quickly unfolding it to reveal what precious words Sukuna had written on it.

What he was met with was nothing more than a list of seven names, including his own, “I don’t understand… What am I looking at?”

“Those names look familiar?” Sukuna quizzed with a calculated tilt of his head.

“Yeah, I know all these people,” Gojo replied, eyes narrowing at the paper in his hands, “What’s this list for?” He scoffs softly as he lifts his gaze.

Sukuna takes a deep breath, “The list is for you.”

“For me to…” His head tips to the side and his blue eyes narrow at the man across the room, “What?”

“For you to convince that lover of yours to have sex with,” Sukuna explains all too casually.

Eyes widening and air getting caught in his throat, Gojo choked, “I’m sorry, what?”

“I’ve uttered no stuttered words,” Everything was so clear, so direct, it was difficult for Gojo to digest. Things were almost moving too fast at this point. “You will have that woman you love fuck every name on that list.”

“W-Why?”

Sukuna rolls his eyes, “You know the answer to that-”

“But I don’t,” Gojo cuts off, taking a single step forward, “I’m confused, is this some kinda joke?”

“It’s not.”

“How am I supposed to convince her to fuck all these people and I’ve never even spoken to her-”

“Blackmail her,” And thus Sukuna’s recent words were proving themselves— he really had this whole thing planned out.

Gojo bats his eyelashes at the man in pure confusion, raising a brow, “With what?”

Sukuna’s shoulders lift into a sly shrug, his lips curling into a grin, “That’s for you to figure out, not me.”

“I-, okay but…” Gojo trails, eyes flicking down to the paper still in his hands, “Why… Why am I on this list?”

The man at the desk moves to rest his cheek against his knuckles, finding boredom in Gojo’s constant confusion yet still entertaining it anyway, “Is it not obvious?” Sukuna mutters plainly.

Gojo’s eyes stare searchingly at the sheet pinched between his fingers, as if the answers to all his questions would magically appear, “No?”

“So you can experience her,” Sukuna finally explains.

“Why would you allow me to do that when you said-”

“Confusion, betrayal, lies, deception, manipulation— all of which you will bring to that woman,” At random, Sukuna begins to go on and give the details of his plans, having grown tired of the constant questioning.

Gojo shifts awkwardly where he stands before looking at Sukuna with such lost eyes, “I am so confused right now.”

“You are to have sex with her and also blackmail her into having sex with those other men there,” He nods his chin at the list of names, “You having sex with her will act as a representation of what you could’ve had all to yourself had you not been such a fucking creep. And the sex with the others… well, each person has their own significance…”

“You…” Finally processing what he’s being told, Gojo cocks his head back, “You want me to blackmail her into fucking strangers?”

“No no, I don’t want you to do anything, Gojo. You will blackmail her into fucking strangers,” Sukuna makes his threat crystal clear, “Otherwise, I can give you one other option you may not be so fond of.”

“...Like?”

“Well, I could always get involved with her myself– figure out what it is about this woman that’s driven you to such lengths of insanity, swoon her, make her crave me, give her what she wants for a bit, before I… Well, before I ruin her fuckin’ life,” A smirk slips onto his face and he nearly chuckles at the thought.

Gojo feels this burn in his chest at the mere implication of such a thing happening to you, “What?”

“I will show that woman what it feels like to be in love just to take it away from her. I will give her the world as you so desperately wish to, simply to burn it to the ground. In doing so, I will also take down those around her,” Sukuna’s gaze wanders off to his ceiling above and his smirk widens more and more as he voices out his well-thought-out plan, “Any friends or family she has will come to hate her, thus resulting in her only having me to confide in and at the peak of such a plot… I will leave her with nothing and she will grovel for me.”

Gojo nearly lets out a laugh, assuming there was a single error in such a plan in which he could slip his way in, “But… If you did that, couldn’t I just-”

“Swoop in and be some kind of hero for her?” Sukuna sees right through him, bursting out into a laugh seconds later at the way Gojo’s face sours, “Ha! Fuck no, the first thing I’d approach her with is the fact that I found out she has a fucking stalker. I’ll tell her everything I know about you and show her this journal of yours for proof,” Again, the thoroughness of this plan was revealing itself. Sukuna’s giddy expression simmers and he has this look in his eyes that Gojo can’t quite read, “…I would be her savior.”

The room grows a bit quiet after that— Sukuna relishing in his master plan and Gojo struggling to wrap his head around the entire thing.

After such a pause, Gojo straightens up and takes a deep breath, “So… You’re saying-“

Sukuna cuts him off, “You have two options; fuck up her life yourself and live with her hating you, or I’ll ruin her life myself and have her hate you,” Both options were shitty in the eyes of Gojo but there really wasn’t any other way out of this, “And if I had to make a suggestion, I’d choose the first. A lot less people will get hurt.”

“Right… So then, if I don’t do this, you’ll still tell her everything I’ve done and then go on to ruin her life? Why? What good does ruining her do you?”

“It’s a part of your suffering. Take another good look at that list and think about each person and why I’d want her to sleep with them.”

“Well, you’ve explained me already I guess but…” Gojo looks down at the list yet again, ready to go name by name, “…Suguru?”

“He’s your best friend, of course knowing the two fuck is going to hurt you.”

He takes a second to swallow that down, “Toji Fushiguro?”

“She’ll hate you for forcing her to fuck a professor,” Sukuna hums.

Gojo’s eyes narrow at the following name, “...Choso? Isn’t that your-”

“She’ll fall for him,” He interrupts, looking off to the side.

“I-,” Gojo thinks he felt a pulse in his head at such a statement, gaze snapping up to Sukuna, “She’ll what?”

Sukuna is steady to meet his eyes, “She will fall in love with him. I know him and I’ve learned more about her from this journal of yours than I cared to so, when you put two and two together— the two are practically made for one another.”

“...But, I thought you hated your brother? Why give him that-”

“I have my reasons,” The subject is clearly dismissed and so obviously something Sukuna wanted to avoid discussing further.

As such, Gojo shrugs it off, “Okay, fine, whatever. Why are you on the list then?”

And that’s when Sukuna’s smiling again, ear to ear this time, “Did you really think I wouldn’t want to partake in this?”

“I don't get it, why curate this list and get yourself involved?”

“That part's simple. I want to fuck her.”

Once more, Gojo finds it paining to accept such a terrible future, “You-”

“Stings doesn’t it?” Sukuna chastises, “Just the thought? Knowing that one day she’ll be moaning my name, in my bed, taking my-”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” Gojo huffs, “What about Naoya? Why’s that guy here?”

Laughing at Gojo’s clear looks of disapproval, Sukuna shrugs, “He’s an ass. Gives her another reason to hate you.”

“Okay, and Nanami?”

“Well, if Choso doesn’t work out, he’s plan B. Plus,” Sukuna hums, “The woman deserves some sort of happiness after all that.”

“So…” It feels like there’s still much more to this missing but at the same time, that seemed to be it, “So this is your big plan? It’s either I fuck her life up and she hates me or you fuck her life up and she hates me??”

“If I fuck up her life she’ll be disgusted by you too, might I add,” Sukuna cheerfully reminds him.

“So why give me an option?” Gojo blinks.

“It’s less of an option and more of what will happen if you don’t blackmail her.”

“I’m still confused. What made you come up with this list?”

“Because what makes for greater suffering than to corrupt that of whom you love?” Sukuna sighs, “You shall force her to become a whore. She’ll go from this sweetheart to a dirty whore-”

“Don’t fucking call her that,” Gojo snaps. You should never be called such a thing. A whore, you? No, you’re an angel, perfection if it were personified-

“Why? Does it make you angry, hm?” Sukuna interrupts Gojo’s thoughts, “Your perfect girl turned into a slut just makes your blood boil, doesn't it?” Seeing the way the man has this angry pout on his face makes Sukuna snicker, “Oh don’t worry, it’s not like you have to get started on this tomorrow or anything.”

“So when-”

“I just want the list completed by the end of this school year. That, and you will tell me every step you make toward blackmailing her, show me whatever it is you use to do so, tell me any details of value and…” Sukuna looks around before settling his eyes on Gojo, “Well, you’ll be my entertainment for the year. You and your whore.”

Balling his fists together, Gojo grits his teeth, “Sukuna I swear to-”

“Oh, and one last thing,” Completely ignoring Gojo’s attitude, Sukuna narrows his eyes at the man, “Tell her anything about my curation or knowledge of the list and I’ll tell her about this journal of yours.”

“I-”

“And then I’ll even continue to force her to finish the list. So if you tell her the truth about me, I’ll tell her the truth about you. As such, you can kiss your only chance at… openly loving her goodbye.”

Okay, Gojo’s finally catching on to the theme here. Blackmail you and you don’t find out about the journal but you still hate him or, don’t blackmail you and you’ll both hate him and be disgusted by him…

Yet, one thing still has his thoughts adjured, “Openly loving her?” Gojo repeats in question.

“I’m giving you that opportunity,” Sukuna states, “Simply because I’m curious. I want to see how this plays out… Will this be a classic tale of enemies to lovers? Or will she forever hate you for putting her through hell? I truly wonder if a woman is capable of accepting you and all your flaws. You may be able to hide your perverted actions but… trust me when I say, you cannot hide nor control an obsession. Not forever at least.”

Gojo arches a brow, “What are you saying…?”

“I’m saying that I know how this story will end. I know what you’ll do and I have a feeling about what she will do. I have planned every second of this down to the finest details. You, Gojo Satoru, will never know what it means to be loved by this woman.”

“Why do you get to be the one who decides that?”

“Because I’m the one who found the journal,” Sukuna scoffs.

Gojo scowls, “But you chose to punish me this way as if you’re some kind of saint.”

“I never said I was. Hell, I can tell you straight up– I am no saint, nor do I wish to be one. This is all just… pity.”

“Pity?” Gojo echoes.

“For the girl,” Sukuna clarifies, “I pity her situation. She reminds me of… Actually, this entire situation reminds me of my own experience and let me tell you, when you’re on the receiving end of being stalked and obsessed over, you feel disgusted. You go nights without rest, always wondering if someone is watching you… You never feel truly comfortable in your own skin. Life becomes a constant walk on eggshells and it grows so unbearable until you simply cannot take it anymore and you-“ Sukuna stops himself with a sharp inhale, quickly collecting his thoughts.

Gojo is concerned, to say the least, “You what?”

With his breath picked up ever so slightly, Sukuna’s eyes seem almost frantic to anyone who squints and he swallows thickly, “…You break.”

“Did someone-”

“Enough of this sappy shit,” Sukuna suddenly shoots up to his feet, “You have your instructions, take your time to actually talk to her… or don’t, I don’t care. Just get the blackmail done or face the brasher consequences. It’s up to you.”

Gojo’s mouth opens and closes almost like a fish out of water as he struggles to find a reason to stay longer or get a clearer understanding, “Sukuna-”

“Keep me informed,” He cuts off, “Though, even if you don’t, I will find out one way or another. Now get out.”

“…What makes you think I can even pull this off?”

“Oh, you’re a damn good actor,” Sukuna chuckles, “You’ve had me, and everyone else around you, fooled into thinking you were just like the rest of us. Turns out, you’re fucking crazy.”

“And what if this plan of yours just doesn’t work? What if she goes to the police-“

“You need not worry about that. I’ve dealt with the authorities more times than I cared to. And plus, as long as you get something good on her, she’ll be too scared to go to the police.”

“This makes no sense, any logically thinking woman would-“

“She’s lonely too,” Sukuna interprets, making Gojo’s ear perk up. He didn’t know that. Don’t you have a boyfriend? “At least it seems so. Based on your journal entries I can tell she is, despite her having a boyfriend. Heh, and good luck with that shit too.”

Gojo shakes his head in disbelief, “You’re fucking evil.”

“Am I? I’m not sure I understand how,” An almost crazed smile sparks across Sukuna’s tattooed features, “If anything, I’m helping this woman. I’m saving her from… Well,” He scoffs, “From you.”

“You’re not though,” Gojo argues, “Because if that was your goal you would’ve gone with your second plan instead of this blackmail shit so what is it you really want out of this? Why are you really doing this??”

“I told you. I pity her, I’m curious, and… I guess I’ll admit,” Sukuna shrugs casually, “I am just really fucking bored. You and your whore act as such perfect entertainment.”

“She’s not a whore.”

“She’ll act as one.”

“No she won’t. Whores get paid to…” Gojo pauses, you would really be suffering in all this, wouldn’t you? He knows you’ve been struggling with jobs. What if he paid you? Without Sukuna’s knowledge of course. What if this scheme became less of blackmail and more of a deal between you and him, the blackmail acting as a backup plan-

“Paid to have sex? I’m aware. I wasn’t talking about the literal definition of it you fool,” Sukuna spews out, unaware of the secondary plan Gojo was cooking up within that brain of his, “Your sweetheart will have to spread her legs like some common slut-“

“Alright,” Gojo breathes out.

Sukuna raises a brow, “Alright, what?”

“I’ll do it, I’ll blackmail her.”

“Obviously you’ll do it, you didn’t have much of a choice,” He laughs, “If you’re still confused by now, I’m blackmailing you.”

Gojo just nods. With his second plan in mind, he may be able to appeal to you throughout all this, “I understand.”

“Good, now go on, have some fun.” Is the last thing Sukuna tells the man before he’s dismissed, and the two quickly part ways.

And that, that is roughly what led to what you now know of as; The F*ck List. Although, there are a few things missing…

Such as the change Gojo went through before he spoke to you. After receiving his instructions from Sukuna, Gojo knew that if he wanted to appeal to you, even in the slightest, he’d have to get his obsession under wraps.

Sukuna was right about one thing, Gojo is a damn good actor. Knowing such a thing, he spent weeks working on himself in order to become the person he needed to be to have you complete that list. There was really no way out of this. He was going to have to stomach you hating him. In his mind, that’s better than you knowing how sick he was before being caught…

Yeah, he could do this. He had to do this. Living with your hate was one thing but disgust would be-

God, Gojo felt as though he could die just imagining such an emotion exuding off of you. You’d probably want him thousands of feet away from you and he’d hate that more than he would you hating him.

Or at least that’s what he thought anyway. Based on how things actually went, it’s safe to say that most of Gojo’s expectations for himself went down the drain after he finally met you…

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