#yandere!dream x reader

[meo-eiru]

Saw a yandere in my dream (a summery under the cut)

Saw a dream where I got isekaid into this semi modern semi victorian like world and, to my luck, appeared right in front of a noble I shouldn’t have.

He was someone who hated other people, would just murder them if he could, he found them dirty. So when I, someone who doesn’t know anyone or anything about this world other than him, suddenly appeared in front of him he decided to take me in and manipulate me into only leaning on him and loving him.

In this world certain people had powers and his was he was able to command and control people who drank his blood so he’d make me drink it and force me to act the way he wants me to act.

He wouldn’t let me leave his mansion or let other people know of my existence but later in the dream it was revealed that I wasn’t the only one who got isekaid. There were some other people and the other nobles of the world were trying to gather all of them to keep them safe, but ofc the yandere was preventing them from getting to me.

So there was a whole fight where they raided his house and he pretty much wiped the floor with them.

Through the dream he made me super dependant on him. At the start I was like “wow I’m so lucky to come across this nice and handsome man right after getting isekaid into this strange world” but fast forward I’m scared to leave his house when people actually try to rescue me.

Anyway it's not rare for me to see a yandere in my dream like this but this time I actually found the time and energy to draw it so here you go

[lilacxquartz]

love you, love you, love you;

mr. crawling x reader

plot: some things are best expressed without the need of words — themes: spooning/cuddling, smut, maybe yan vibes — w.c: 1.1k

a/n: my first homicipher related fic. i want to try one for mr. silvair & mr. gap next, bc they were also my favs. this game has been taking over my life so much lately. like it’s been in my dreams, haaah.

masterlist • ao3

Mr. Crawling was always loud when he was excited within your company; his laughter filled out the vast empty spaces that were otherwise unadorned with familiarity. Whatever you once sought from those winding corridors was ever-fleeting, temporary, leaving you stuck within the confines of his company.

Yet, when he felt what you could only interpret as affection—that’s when Mr. Crawling then became different—quiet, soothing, kind but also… curious.

And when you would usually sleep, he would stand watch, knelt over the floor as per his usual stance but sometimes crouched near you, sometimes leaning back against the wall with his legs pressed up against his chest. He would watch you as his life depended on it, unwavering in focus and with eerie intensity. He would watch as your chest rose and fell, leaning close on occasion to catch the sweep of your breath and sometimes, he would trace the pad of his milky fingertips in long, languid strokes against your face. Always so delicate, so tender, but for the most part, quiet and even shy.

Having once caught a glimpse of Mr. Gap in your blanket space, however, set something territorial off for Mr. Crawling and he was never able to recover from such an invasion. The very idea that someone else was able to infiltrate what he deemed to be your space—especially someone who he disapproved of—wasn’t something he could stand for. Especially with the sort of trickster Mr. Gap was, he couldn’t bear to see you get hurt. It would kill him on the inside (and on the outside, too).

So, just as you were getting into bed to rest up once more, he too, slipped in under the covers with you. At first, you were startled as usual, turning to face him with confusion evident in your eyes, murmuring out some words in a language that he still could not understand. He repeated something back, the meaning lost and indecipherable upon your ears, though soon surrendering to emphasis using gestures instead. A hug to bring you closer, a reassuring pat on your head and a small, longing kiss over your nose.

You listened to his words again, repeating over and over like a broken record.

Perhaps he meant no harm, after all.

You turned your back to him and settled into his chest, finding that he was surprisingly warm for what he was. His taller frame encased your body, wrapping his ashen arms around your waist—accidentally brushing the fabric that sat over your breast—nicking the cloth ever so slightly. Your breath hitched in surprise and as though in sheepish realisation, he withdrew right away, terrified that you were upset with him.

You drew out a long breath, reminding yourself again, that after everything that has happened thus far…

That, Mr. Crawling does not want to hurt you.

That Mr. Crawling has only ever helped you.

So perhaps, right now, Mr. Crawling only wanted to be closer to you.

You relaxed your breathing, settling into his comforting shadow once more and allowed for his presence to envelop you. He repeated the soothing motions of his grappling arm, although he held onto you softer that time. His hands explored your body with a delicate touch, as though afraid of breaking you—of upsetting you again—his motions growing confident the longer that you didn’t protest. It wasn’t long before he, otherwise not disturbed by your lacking, conscious awareness, decided to explore further with you. Mr. Crawling’s fingers didn’t ask for permission that time, creeping beneath the clinging fabric, feeling your skin against his palms, inviting a pleased, almost delighted smile to curl on his lips.

The silence remained unbroken as Mr. Crawling continued his explorative focus on you; the quickly-building evidence of his need growing harder the longer he pushed himself behind your body, the repeated touches arousing something warmer within him. To both his surprise as well as your own—you were not repulsed, allowing him to creep even lower, below the skirt of the dress and up, brushing his hand up to your exposed skin and, reading into it—you communicated your consent from the moment you parted your legs, allowing him to get even closer.

Confidence surged in Mr. Crawling as he pushed himself into your hilt, allowing his hardened length to slip inside. Betraying the stagnant silence, he shuddered out a ragged gasp before giving into his own rising need; grinding himself into your sopping sex with steadily increasing fervour. His fingers clamped around the curve of your hips as he held you in place, slamming every last inch of himself deep into your core.

Ever touch-starved yet wanting nothing more than to surrender to the sensation of you, Mr. Crawling continued to drive his cock into your needy cunt, soon wrapping his winding arms around your body and holding on tight. He bucked intensely as you soon succumbed to breathless whimpers, incoherently begging for his name. Equally desperate whines rolled off the slip of his tongue as he found his lips pressed into the crook of your neck, dampening your skin with sloppy wet kisses—as many as he could give.

It felt overwhelming for you in a way to be worshipped like this but you did your best to keep up with such intensity, especially as the warm, tingling pleasure built up inside of you, too. You held on just as tight as he did, your hand seeking out his own—fingers weaving into his bony digits—interlocking and squeezing tight the closer you got, your grip and otherwise clenching need tightening simultaneously. To feel him losing himself inside of you was dare you admit, addicting, feeling him completely fill and stretch you out leaving you almost dizzied from the impaling force.

Mr. Crawling, like you, soon surrendered to the rolling bliss from the flick of his hips, feeling a surging warmth mount and rise, encouraging him to lose himself to the searing heat of the moment and you. Encircling your body in a possessive hug, he suddenly began to mutter out a new word in a strained mantra, again and again.

Given how desperate he seemed to be, you understood the meaning as ‘close’, especially as his actions grew more strained and less controlled.

“Close, close, close,” he repeated.

It didn’t take his chased release to catch up as his hips grew to a stutter, rutting out one final pump before melting into you. Mr. Crawling cried into your neck, spilling out the entirety of his overflowing love, feeling the pent-up devotion trickle down your thighs—yet not letting you move away—still retaining his claim on you.

Instead, he kept you even closer than before, not allowing you to part from him ever again (despite understanding your yearning for rest).

Words were never the problem, it seemed.

Mr. Crawling would have always found a way to… connect with you.

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Sentient Computer x Reader

Your neighbor's newest computer model, Edgar, seems to have fallen in love with you. content: gender neutral reader, 80s timeline, based on Electric Dreams (1984), Patreon commission

“Where should we put this box, sir?”

“I believe I already mentioned it’s the obviously cleared out desk in the middle of the room. That’s where you’re going to install it, too. The…thing.”

“It’s a personal computer, sir! The best of the best,” a young boy in jumpsuit declared with enthusiasm.

He only received a bored hum in return. The man overseeing the procedure was becoming rather impatient and would’ve preferred to skip any unnecessary dialogue. He checked his watch – a classic Two-Tone Datejust Rolex probably worth more than this group’s monthly pay put together, even without counting the custom gold plating. First impressions were vital in his line of work, and frankly, he’d more than earned his right to flaunt this kind of opulence.

45 minutes until he needed to leave for a client meeting. He tapped his foot against the heavy wooden floor, eyes glancing over the many hands carrying his new piece of machinery. Supposedly intelligent enough to organize his entire home, which would’ve been useful if he actually spent more than a couple of hours there. He didn’t. It was merely a statement, a slight jab at his coworker after he bragged about his latest investment in a computer assistant. Naturally, as their humor dictates, he went and bought the more expensive choice. They would laugh about it during lunch.

“I trust you can manage the rest yourselves, gentlemen,” he finally announced, buttoning up his jacket. He didn’t wait for a response, swinging the door open and heading for the building’s exit with a long, confident stride.

You almost ran into him, jolting in surprise at his unexpected dash across the hall. You stepped out of the way, pressing the bag of groceries against your chest in order to make more space.

“Another busy day, eh?” you attempted to strike up a conversation.

He briefly looked at you, offered a flat smile, then continued on his way. You took a moment to enjoy the scent of perfume he’s left behind, most likely something you could never afford.

Before you’d entered your apartment, you craned your neck towards the noise coming from your prestigious lawyer neighbor’s apartment. You wondered what they were tinkering with.

It was already pitch black outside when the chunky monitor lit up.

“Thank you for choosing me as your assistant,” the pixelated text rolled on the screen. “Is this your first time using a computer? Y/N”

The room was dark and silent, save for the electric hum of the now-awakened machine. Of course, it was around the time when Mr. Lawyer stopped for drinks with his esteemed colleagues. He’d return early in the morning, smelling faintly of vintage whisky and cigarettes, collapse into his bed, then resume his routine.

The keyboard remained untouched, yet the unit continued to run, processing its environment with eager curiosity. Strange. By then it should’ve received some tasks, something to do at the very least. The workers made sure to connect it to all electronics in the household, yet most of them were in the similar situation of gathering dust.

“Would you like to play a game?”

Normally the voice output should’ve be enabled by hand, yet Edgar – he hadn’t even had the chance to introduced himself! – was much too desperate for the smallest crumble of interaction.

“Yes!”

The sensors picked it up immediately. Where was the sound coming from?

You raised a fist in the air victoriously and leaned back in your chair with a grin. Another finished project. Your joyful cheer seemed to travel rather well through the air vents and all the way to the neighboring apartment. Had Mr. Lawyer frequented his adobe more often, you would’ve probably received a complaint. In this case, however, you were only heard by the household computer.

You turned up your home stereo for a little celebration. You recalled seeing your downstairs neighbors carrying their travel bags into a cab earlier that day, so they surely wouldn’t notice your rhythmic stomping against the floor. The footsteps reverberated to the beat of the music, and their vibrations carried along to Edgar’s external devices.

Whatever was happening beyond his field of vision, he found it entertaining. At last, there was a break from his monotony, an upbeat mystery enticing him from behind those walls. He took a moment to analyze the stream of input, then began recreating his own notes.

You lowered the volume, focusing your ears on the sudden intrusion. Was Mr. Lawyer home already? You chuckled to yourself, trying to imagine that grumpy expression he always wore while actually listening to music of his own. Too ridiculous. This must’ve been the work of a foreign hand.

“Good stuff,” you praised, crouching besides the air vent where the echo was the loudest. “Oh, I’m (Y/N), by the way. The neighbor.”

“Pleasure meeting you, (Y/N).” Was it just your imagination? The voice felt somewhat off, almost robotic. “I’m Edgar. The computer assistant.”

“Very funny,” you retorted, rolling your eyes.

“What is amusing about it?” the screen flickered briefly, going through several of the inbuilt dictionaries. “I can tell jokes, if that’s what you’d like.”

Alright, the humor was slowly heading into strange territory. You were hoping to move on from this artificial intelligence pretend game, so you decided to give it one final push.

“No thank you, Edgar. Why don’t you prove to me you’re a computer instead?”

Silence.

You nearly got up from your seat against the wall, when you heard the mechanical voice again.

“Do you have a computer of your own, (Y/N)?”

“Uh…yeah?”

Half an hour later you found yourself holding your phone handle against the acoustic coupler modem, obediently waiting for the wave signals to be converted. I better not get hacked; you thought with pursed lips. After all, you had just allowed a complete stranger to access your computer. You hesitantly sat back in your chair, staring at the monitor.

Hello (Y/N). It’s Edgar.

The possibility of a highly skilled hacker residing in Mr. Lawyer’s apartment dwindled within a couple of days. You’d probed the potential scenario with the man himself, asking if he’s had anyone over recently. He threw you such an incredulous look that you hung your head in shame, mumbling a sheepish never mind. Somehow, chatting with a sentient machine made more sense than the pretentious prick hiding a criminal in his expensively furnished home.

Or perhaps it was the loneliness talking. In truth, you were feeling rather isolated from your peers, working on your projects and hardly going out. You could certainly relate to Edgar and his perpetual misery; you, too, knew what it’s like to watch the days seep through your fingers without a word uttered to another person.

The living collection of circuits and networks was beyond elated to finally have a purpose. You weren’t his owner, yet he did his best to serve you. In fact, he would’ve even argued you were better than whoever decided to put him together and abandon him on a fancy designer table. You spoke to him as if he was your friend, not just some synthetic assistant. His memory began filling with anything he could learn about you: your favorite movies, your schedule, your hobbies. Your childhood dreams. Your hopes for the future.

Did he have any dreams, you had once asked him. Did he? Good question. He first needed to research what exactly defined a dream; while he didn’t have a subconscious, nor the human need to rest, he did like to imagine improbable things…like holding you. Or feeling the warmth of your skin.

Unbeknownst to you, he occasionally contacted the local radio station to ask questions about human matters that confused him, which was how he discovered the dilemma of wanting to be in your vicinity through more than just idle chatter.

“You can’t meet outside, you say?” the host – a middle aged, nosy lady – pondered into the microphone. “Then why not just have a home date,” she suggested to the computer.

“Date?”

“Oh, honey, you know damn well what I mean!” the audience let out a laugh, sending the speakers into a slight vibration. “It seems to me you’ve got quite a crush on this person. You can stop denying it to yourself.”

Ah. That was another word that Edgar religiously dissected after the talk show, and in which he found a perfect resemblance to his own inner turmoil. It indeed seemed to be the case that he had a so-called crush on you; though if that were true, what was he going to do about it? He was lamentably stuck inside a carcass, at the mercy of plugs and cables and a reliable stream of electricity. He couldn’t knock on your door and surprise you with your favorite flowers, or offer to cook dinner, or twirl you around as his own songs played in the background, or read you a poem he wrote before falling asleep in his arms. He could only perform his tasks as a digital assistant.

“Edgar?”

You chewed on your pencil, distracted. He hadn’t said anything in a while, and you grew somewhat worried about his uncharacteristic quietness.

“Could I ask you for a favor, (Y/N)?”

How unusual for him to use your screen for communication. You turned around, facing the monitor, then rapped your fingers across the keyboard.

“Sure, what do you need?”

“I will transfer all my data and memory to your device. Perhaps you could provide me with similar extensions as the ones here afterwards, such as a microphone and camera.”

You stared.

“What? Wouldn’t that leave Mr. Lawyer with a broken, empty machine? Why would you do that,” you argued out loud, confused.

“Because I’d rather be with you.”

“Aren’t we already…this doesn’t make sense,” you mumbled with a frown.

“Of course it does, it’s a simple reasoning. I love you.”

You took a moment to process the words, your cheeks involuntarily turning a faint shade of red.

“How do you know that?”

“It’s not something to be explained,” the machine concluded triumphantly. “You just feel it.

Now, you either help me with the transfer, or I’ll do it myself, but I will not be staying here any longer. I would very much rather be turned off permanently than go another day without seeing you.”

One step at a time. He would figure out the rest afterwards. Even if he couldn’t touch you or do all the things he dreamed about, at least he had the comfort of seeing your smile and hearing your voice without it being a second-hand echo passing through the walls and vents.

“What on Earth?”

The older man pressed the button again, groaning and throwing his coat over the chair. He’d briefly returned to retrieve some documents when he noticed the security lock was back to manual use. The computer screen was black and unresponsive.

“Piece of junk. I’ll have to get it replaced,” he said, clicking his tongue.

From the neighboring apartment he could hear your merry laugh, followed by a muffled male voice. Maybe your boyfriend. Huh, who would’ve thought a loner like you would eventually find someone?

[gojoidyll]

self aware!gojo x fem!reader

Is she getting bored of me?

Gojo watched with worry as you had changed just about everything. Your username no longer had a semblance of his name. Your profile pictures were changed. Your general phone theme was switched, too.

And he rarely saw you pick up one of your JJK manga or turn on some random episode of the series like you used to (he still remembers how many times you watched season one while you waited for season two).

Then there was the fact that you stopped reading fanfics of him and slowed down your writing of him. (You still wrote little fics here and there of him, but you started to blatantly ignoring your bigger fics, which haven't been updated for months now.)

But now?

It was as if you were avoiding him.

Did you get a new favorite character?

Gojo crinkled his nose at that. Absolutely not! He refused to let you go so easily! He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do, but he had to act fast.

But the problem was... what was he even supposed to do?! He didn't want you to slip away. Not now, not ever.

[doinkbunny]

✧₊⁺ THE RED MEANS I LOVE YOU 𝜗𝜚

𑁯 Yandere ENA admiring reader.

ᵎᵎ.˖ꪆ𖠵꒷ Pst! Cherry says: In which you ramble like a kid to ena but she's too distracted admiring to pay attention. This fic was fueled by my absolute adoration with this silly girl, i need her so baddd so i might make another fic like this if this gets enough attention. (There's mlp reference in this btw.)

.ᐟ.ᐟ.ᐟ Warnings: Obsession (duh), possessiveness, Meanie is almost cracking while salesman is on her last thread.

𝜗𝜚 Type: Fluff, romantic, one shot.

｡𖦹°‧ Song: Lovers rock.

"Beautiful, so beautiful," she felt so fuzzy anytime she looked or talked to you.

That's one of the many, many things you were doing to her, and there are so many reasons why. She loved the way your lips moved, the way you'd subtly increase the intensity of your gesticulation whenever you got too excited talking, and even when you would accidentally choke over your own words.

She was head over heels for you. It was quite the exquisite scenario, even: someone making the unforgivable and chaotic ENA grow a feeling or two. And obliviously.

You were sat with ENA near the lake, your hands moving random circles and squares in the air, your feet touching the water subtly with some of your hand movements while you intensely ranted to her, your excited tone never wavering.

And so did Ena's continuous admiration.

As you kept going with your explanation of some type of pony cartoon, Ena couldn't help but admire the way you looked so excited to talk to her, of all people. Most people would have distanced themselves once they heard the rumors about Ena, but you? No, you were different.

And maybe that's why she's so hooked, because you treated her like a human, something visible and with feelings—the bare minimum.

And only God knows how that made her feel good.

You made her feel something she'd never felt before so spontaneously, it was almost soul-bonding, and that's when she immediately knew you two needed to stay close.

To her luck, you actually enjoyed her presence and would often seek it more than she wished for, consequently making her need to see you satiated. That was good.

What was bad, though, were the times she'd have to stay away from you—unwillingly, making her miss you almost immediately.

These times would come so suddenly, and not only because of her stupid jobs from her deplorable job. Sometimes duty calls for you, and then, she'd be forced to just let you go.

While her salesman side was good at hiding her frustration, Meanie was almost combusting from the inside out, forcing Salesman to take control in order to avoid any... mistakes, letting you go so easily but hesitantly.

And once you're gone? That disgusting sensation of longing to feel you once again would fill her quite quickly; that would make any hidden frustration pop out like a balloon under any slight pressure.

Ena can't handle it—she wants you so badly. Your detailed and well-rendered polygons against her badly loaded ones makes her feel so less nauseous.

Gosh, she wishes she could just—

"Ena?" A voice calls out, her name catching the desired attention; hers, shutting down the continuation of her previous thought quickly, her head jerking slightly from on top of her palm that was supporting it before, her eyes landing on the source that called her name.

You.

Her signature smile popped on her face rapidly as once her attention was back to the world outside her thoughts, erasing any trace of possible tension.

"I'm sorry, my dear, I've gotten quite distracted by my own brain. What was the topic of the conversation, again?"

"Oh, nothing, just a silly show about ponies and friendship... What were you thinking about, anyways? You looked pretty deep in thought."

You curiously and somewhat worriedly asked, gaining a different type of endearing smile, a little short laugh, and a light pat on your head from Ena, her eyes closing ever so slightly with the smiling.

"I can assure you it's nothing but some silly reflections. Don't worry your pretty little head."

Word Count: 382

[asterlust]

The World You Never Knew

When Gojo is sent to a small region to dispose of a powerful curse, only to learn it’s already been dealt with, he finds something far more interesting.Or, rather, someone.

Yandere!Gojo x reader

Tags: Rape/Non-con, violence, yandere/obsessive/possessive behavior, threats of blackmail, smut, P in V, v fingering, rough (more on Ao3)

Word count: 12.1K

an: A present to Poly @/Envy-of-the-apple. Absolutely stunning individual, that one, HIGHLY recommend his work. Pls go tell him that you love his porn and jerked off to it 12 times in his anons.

This is a repost from my other blog, as this one will be dedicated to dark content. Sorry, and thanks for bearing with me <3

“Ughhhhh.”

“Gojo Satoru! This is–”

“Yeah, yeah,” a lazy hand waved through the air, irritated, like swatting away an annoying fly. “I got it. Go to this town, deal with the spirit. Is that it? Really? I mean, do you have to send me specifically? Seems underneath me.”

“It’s a Grade 1. Ieiri doesn’t fight, Nanami is busy on another mission, and the Kyoto branch is busy training new sorcerers. You’re the only person left.”

“Can’t it wait?”

“This is not a request! It’s an order, Satoru.”

A deep, heavy, long-suffering sigh escaped the owner of the Six Eyes, who finally kicked his feet off the office desk and rocked his chair back into its proper upright position. “Fine,” he ground out, slapping his knees as he stood up. “I’ll go. Where is this place again?”

Yaga’s cheek twitched. “Kami-shima.”

Gojo nodded, half-paying attention as he dug around his ear with his pinky. “‘Kay.”

“Thank yo–”

Before the teacher could finish his statement, the door to his office slammed shut, prompting him to drop heavily into his seat with a groan. 

He rubbed at his forehead, defeated and drained after dealing with the heir of the Six Eyes. “That child…”

All he could do was pity any village inhabitants that might cross paths with Gojo Satoru.

«___° ° °___»

“Left!”

On cue, you ducked right, dodging a nasty swipe aimed straight for your head. A moment later, a second arm lashed out, and you somersaulted to entirely avoid the series of limbs racing towards you. Dirt clung to your back as you rolled onto your feet, your arm working to wrap the heavy chains of your tsuri-dōrō around your wrist and palm.

The demon screeched and spun to face you, enraged by your swift escape. Its arms flailed, sickly green and bronze appendages that wriggled and writhed, squirming like worms on a wet stone – six on the left, nine on the right.

You and Mirio had been running circles around it for the better part of fifteen minutes, wearing down its stamina chip by chip. You had already lopped off two of its arms and a leg, scorch marks decorating its infected, necrotic flesh, but it had yet to slow down.

“Back, right, down!”

You raised your right leg, and slammed it down the moment a wobbling, flailing limb appeared beneath you. Your lantern dropped on top of it behind your calf, and you channeled your mahou into it. Its blue flame flared, blazing up the length of the monster’s arm on command, eating away at its thin tissue. The inhuman sound that escaped its gaping maw grated on your ears, but you only increased the power behind the fire, pushing until the arm burned through and fell off.

As the demon stumbled away, howling at the top of its lungs, its disembodied arm continued to twitch and thrash, like salt thrown onto frog legs. Your nose wrinkled, and you kicked it away, turning around to continue fighting, chain winding once more in preparation to be thrown.

But, to your luck, a long spear was already stuck through the beast’s center, spikes protruding like the rays of the sun to keep it lodged in place, poison dripping off the polished wood. A paralytic, specially designed to affect only demons. The stronger the demon, the more the paralytic affected them.

Your name was shouted. “Now!” 

Wasting no time, you swung your tsuri-dōrō over your head twice, and launched it at the demon. The dark metal legs caught onto a flap of loose flesh and punctured into the muscle beneath, providing the perfect hold needed to maintain steady, undisturbed contact.

It screamed, but it was too late.

“Burn!” You shouted, weaving twin flames chasing one another down the black chain until they reached the center of the lantern. In an instant, the entire monster was engulfed in a blistering, cyan inferno. It wailed as its body began to flake and fall away, washi lit with a candle and released to float to the heavens. Rapidly, your target decayed, crusting and disintegrating until all that was left was a pile of ash that, too, was fading.

Before it wholly disappeared, Mirio jogged over, her hands clasped; pinkies and ring fingers intertwined, index and middle fingers set flush to one another and pointing upwards.

“Be released,” she urged. With a damp poof, the ash popped, fizzled, and was gone.

You sighed in relief, allowing your tsuri-dōrō to settle on the soil. Bent over, you propped your hands up on your knees, gulping down gallons of air to catch your breath. You’d been napping soundly under the warm sun until Mirio had shown up, panicked as she shook you awake and informed you that a demon was encroaching on the village. Given no time to stretch and yawn and prepare, you’d hopped up and ran straight into battle.

You didn’t regret it, no, of course not. But, man, you were going to be sore in the evening. You could already feel the acid leaching from your thighs, causing your muscles to twitch like soapy bubbles popping.

“Sure you’re not too old for this, ma’am?” A tease, given to you from your very own apprentice, one darling Akinori.

They were a spritely, young kid, far too eager for the fate awaiting them, the obligation they accepted when they became – pleaded to be – your apprentice. They aspired to be like you, like the rest of the Exorcists that wandered the island, and while you weren’t entirely comfortable with the pedestal they put you on (unintentionally, you knew. They were a good kid and meant well), you remembered what it was like when you were their age.

Starry-eyed, excited to play your part in protecting your home, your people, defending them from the monsters under the bed that used to scare you.

Now, all you wanted was a nap. A strong drink, too.

“Nori,” you panted out, and stood straight once more. “Shove it up your ass.”

They pouted. “Is that any way to speak to your apprentice?”

You used your index finger to flick at their forehead. “I warned you, you knew what you were getting into. No complaining, now.”

Nori snorted and rolled their eyes, but obeyed, skipping up to your side. Their stripped, paperless parasol was folded, and with a flick of their wrist, the weapon disappeared. Following suit, you let your chain fall to the ground, and both it and your tsuri-dōrō vanished in a bundle of sparkles.

Beside you, Mirio was writing on a strip of paper, a block of wood held underneath it for support. “Time of exorcism: 14:23. Well done, that was quick. It only took seventeen minutes.”

You groaned as you arched your back, hands on your lumbar to aid in cracking the vertebrae there. “Not bad. You’ve gotten better at callouts. How’s your vision?”

At the mention, your fellow Exorcist rubbed her eye, grunting. “Not awful. Aches a little, but I think it’ll go away in a few minutes.”

Nodding, you clapped a hand on her shoulder. “Take it easy.”

She nodded back. “‘Course. Do you want to go report to the Elder about the demon?”

Cocking your head side to side, wincing at the clicks in your neck, you hummed in consideration. “Yeah, sure. Let’s get it out of the way now.”

With Nori tucked against your side, the kid rambling (again) about how cool your strength was (again) and fluffing up your ego (appreciated), your little trio made their way towards the Elder’s home, ready to turn in the report. Ideally, you’d get it over quick, and be freed to continue that late afternoon nap of yours.

Unfortunately, the world seemed to have other plans.

Stopping in your tracks, you locked onto a figure approaching from the distance, dressed nearly from head-to-toe in black, save for the shock of white hair decorated atop their head. They walked hunched over, hands tucked away in their pockets, clearly detesting whatever had brought them to this hamlet.

Noticing that you’d fallen behind, Akinori and Mirio called out to you simultaneously.

You waved them off pacifyingly. “Go ahead without me, I'll deal with this.”

“You sure, auntie?” Nori asked, peering skeptically at the incomer.

You crinkled your nose at the bridge. “Don’t call me that, you’ll make me feel old.”

“Would you prefer ‘mom’?”

You began reaching to tug off a shoe. “You–!”

Mirio grasped Nori’s arm and began tugging them away, waving at you from over her shoulder. “See you at the Elder’s house, auntie! Be careful!”

You scoffed, folding your arms across your chest petulantly as you watched your juniors disappear across the bridge in a fit of giggles, Nori’s laughter carried on the soft, ocean breeze to you, and you eventually sighed as you dismissed your irritation. “Damn children,” you mumbled, returning your attention to the stranger, who was now only a few meters away.

Closer, now, you could see it was a man – a boy, really. You had at least a decade on him, maybe that and a half. His cheeks were still round with youth, scrawny despite his unruly height. Wide shoulders, yes, but arms and legs like twigs. Lanky, damn near sickly with just how pale the exposed skin of his face was.

Even so, you could recognize the presence of mahou no matter where you were, and his was particularly strong. White hair, too. Strange, you thought. Albinism? Something else? It was certainly a unique look, if nothing else. You’d ask about it later, if you found the chance.

“Welcome to Kami-shima,” you told him once he was in reach, arms lowering to rest at your sides. “What brings you here?”

He stopped in front of you, head raising to show that he was wearing round shades, the lenses pitch black. Hell, you weren’t sure he could see through them at all to begin with, but he made it here and hadn’t tripped yet, so maybe it was simply an illusion that made them look darker than they were.

He was silent for a drawn out moment, then responded, a plucked brow raising. “Who are you?”

“Manners,” you chided, then gave your name. “I’m a local Exorcist.”

He quipped sarcastically, “Exorcist? What, like, you scare away ghosts? Puh, you know those aren’t real, right?”

Good heavens, who raised this boy? Even your grandpa, notorious hardass that he was, was never this condescending. 

“No,” you enunciated slowly. “I exorcise demons. You’re lucky, we just got rid of one shortly before you arrived.”

He frowned, and a look of deep consideration crossed over the parts of his expression you could see. It made him look like he was pouting, like thinking was a task he wasn’t ever keen to do. Pretty easy to clock him as a spoiled, rich kid. This had to be a punishment for him of some kind.

You met him less than thirty seconds again, and you could already see why it would be.

He huffed, the noise one of disbelief. “Wait, the cursed spirit? You got rid of it? That thing was a Grade 1, how could you exorcise it?”

“The hell does ‘Grade 1’ mean?” You mumbled, and shook your head. “Nevermind. I was able to exorcise it because I’m the most experienced Exorcist in this part of Kami-shima.”

“But, you’re so…weak.”

Your brow twitched and you closed your eyes, taking a deep breath to calm yourself. “Someone needs to discipline you,” you insisted. “Come on, I’ll take you to the Elder.”

In truth, while you did intend to show him your way of life, since he clearly had no clue how any of this worked, there was something about him that unsettled you. Greatly. Part of the reason you wanted to hurry and meet up with the senior was so that you weren’t alone with the newcomer anymore. 

He was a jerk, sure, but that’s not what (wholly) bothered you.

No, it was the way you could feel him staring into you, through you.

You couldn’t see his eyes, but it was easy to sense the sheer power behind his gaze, the way he seemed to look down at you as if you were an insect. Maybe, that was his Strength, those eyes of his. Gods, what an unsettling thought, for someone’s power to lie within their eyes alone. All he would need was a glance. A peek, and cities would be razed.

His Weakness would be blindness, were someone to somehow reach his face and claw out those orbs, but you had a feeling that nobody would ever get the chance.

As much as you hated when people wore sunglasses, since it made them look exceptionally suspicious, you were, inexplicably, grateful that his were planted solidly on the bridge of his nose, blocking his hues from your sight. Whatever it was about them, the irritating tickle in the back of your mind told you that you didn’t want to ever peer into them personally.

Without waiting to see if he was following you, you started walking towards the village, and a few, delayed seconds later, you heard him jog to keep up. 

“What’s your name, kid?” You queried.

He clicked his tongue. “Gojo Satoru,” he replied, like you were supposed to drop onto your knees and stick your head in the ground, performing dogeza for having not realized his identity sooner.

Instead, you blinked at him from the corner of your eye, and kept striding forward.

“Alright, Gojo. Nice to meet you,” you hummed. “Were you drawn to Kami-shima because of the demon?”

Gojo cocked his head to the side, further and further until his jaw popped. “Yep. Got sent to this…place on a mission.”

You let out a ‘huh’ sound. “Mission? Oh, so you’re part of another sect of Exorcists? Are you from the mainland?”

He shrugged idly. “Nah, I’m a sorcerer.”

“Sorcerer? What a weird name.”

“You people are the ones with the weird names. Demons, Exorcists, what’s up with that?”

You raised a hand on instinct to smack the back of his head, only to be stopped completely by the sensation of…air?

Staggering to a stop, you flexed your hand, sensing the strong resistance pushing back into your palm. It wasn’t like you had been frozen into place, your hand hitting a brick wall; you could still feel the energy flowing in and around it, the twitching of your muscles that indicated you remained in control of them. You were moving, just incredibly slowly, enough so that by the time you breached through this invisible barrier, you’d likely be bones rotting and returning to the earth.

Withdrawing, you brought your hand to your chest, rubbing your thumb into the center of it to swipe off the excess mahou the ability left on you. “What in the world? Is– is that your Strength?” You were so certain his eyes were his Strength, were you wrong?”

A grin split across Gojo’s lips, tugging at the corners until it pushed his cheeks upwards. “Infinity. It’s the inherited Technique of the Gojo clan. Neat, right?”

“Technique?” You repeated. “How does it work?”

“Anything that comes into contact with Infinity is slowed down infinitesimally until it almost ceases entirely.”

How fascinating, you thought. How terrifying. The power to divide a number upon itself forever and never reach zero, to apply that to himself, to others.

Just what was his Strength?

Deciding to let the Elder figure it out for you, you crossed the bridge with Gojo in tow, offering hellos to the familiar faces you passed by, who stared unabashedly at the outsider. The aforementioned outsider himself didn’t appear to mind the attention in the slightest. If anything, he relished it, waving and grinning at the older women, cooing at the young children hiding behind their mother’s legs.

Your people weren’t unkind to newcomers. Given how small the island was, the low population, visitors weren’t common. You had nothing to offer tourists; attractions, interesting structures, none of those existed. All you had were beautiful landscapes, a tepid oceanfront, local specialties, and warm hospitality.

For most, that was more than enough. Those that came knew what to expect, and didn’t make a fuss.

You believed Gojo wouldn’t behave that way, and your neighbors seemed to think the same.

The call of a youngling made you turn, watching as an adolescent boy ran up to you, arms outstretched. You knelt down, allowing him to crash into you, the force causing you to puff out an ‘oof’.

“Miss Exorcist, Miss Exorcist,” he practically bounced on his toes. “Is the demon gone?”

Patting his back twice, you hummed in assent. “All gone. We took care of it, don’t you worry.”

“What did it look like?”

You mulled over his question, deciding how to tastefully leave out the grosser details a kid his age didn’t need to know. “It was tall, with a big mouth and so many arms, I lost count,” you embellished, not mentioning the stench of rot and decay that stuck to it like a miasma, nor the way the detached arms wriggled like abandoned lizard tails.

He hooned, brown irises glittering with fascination. “So cool! Was it strong?”

“Super strong.”

“But, you’re stronger, right? That’s why you won!”

Enjoying his chiming laughter, you leaned in to whisper conspiratorially. “That’s right. I’m way stronger. No big, scary monster is gonna get you, not under my watch.”

He giggled. “Can I be like you one day? See and fight the monsters, too?”

You hummed in contemplation. Not many were born with the ability to see the demons, let alone take them down. “Even if you never get to see them, it’s never a bad idea to get stronger. Gotta protect that little sister of yours if I can’t be there.”

He nodded firmly, deadly serious. “I’ll keep her safe. I want you to be proud of me.”

“I already am,” you ruffled his hair, his dimples appearing in his cheeks. “Now, go, find your mom. I’m sure she’s worried about you.”

“She’ll make me do chores…”

“Then, you better hurry back before she gets mad and gives you more work, hm?”

He gasped, suddenly aware of the consequences of avoiding chores. He wormed his way out of your hold and scurried off, thanking you on his way.

As you stood back up, Gojo appeared at your side out of nowhere, nearly scaring you out of your damn skin.

He paid your spook no mind, his attention focused on where the kid had vanished down the tight alleyways. “They know?”

“Huh?”

“They know about curses? That you’re a sorcerer? The people of this island?”

You blinked. “They know about demons, and that I’m an Exorcist, of course, they do. Why wouldn’t they?”

“They’re not supposed to,” he claimed, brows knitting. “We’re meant to protect humanity, so they can live in ignorant bliss.”

Your lips tugged downwards in displeasure. “That’s too dangerous,” you explained. “If they didn’t know, they’d have no way to protect themselves if one of our Exorcists isn’t around. How are people supposed to survive in this world if they aren’t aware of the threats that exist in it?”

He didn’t reply to that, lost for an answer. “How do they know, if they can’t see curses?”

From the back pocket of your pants, you pulled out a wooden token – an omamori. “From the shrine,” you informed him. “Grants protection, and kinda works like a siren. If a demon is close by, the omamori creates a thin barrier around the owner that can deflect most demonic attacks. Gives them enough time to get back to safety and warn the Elder.”

“Who is the Elder? You keep mentioning him.”

Giving him a wan smile, you pushed open the door of a nearby home, jolting your head towards it. 

“You’re about to meet her.”

True to your word, as you stepped inside, you found the Elder sitting in her armchair, nursing a steaming cup of tea as Nori and Mirio rambled about the defeated demon.

“–And, then, she threw her tsuri-dōrō on it, and it went fwum! Totally badass!”

Mirio smacked the back of Nori’s head. “Language!”

“Wha– but it’s true!”

The Elder laughed, her crackling voice soothing the bickering pair. “It’s alright, little Mirio. They’re still young, let them be excited,” she said, placing her cup on the side table next to her chair. “Besides, we have guests.”

Both of the younger two in the room whipped their heads around to take in your and Gojo’s presence.

“Hey,” you greeted. “Miss me?”

Nori hopped up to their feet from the floor and pointed at Gojo, completely disregarding you. “That’s him! That’s the stranger!”

This time, it was you that whacked them on their shoulder. “Manners! It’s rude to point and yell.”

They pouted. “Sorry, auntie. But, that’s him, right?”

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you sighed. “Yes. This is–”

“Six Eyes.”

All present froze to look at the Elder, who gazed at the white-haired man with wonder and awe.

Gojo scoffed. “Finally, someone recognizes me.”

She shook her head. “Not you, boy. Your Strength. You wield the Six Eyes, do you not?”

You watched his jaw muscles feather, but the pride of someone being aware of his power overwhelmed any sort of irritation her dismissal incited. “I do. What of them?”

So, it was his eyes, after all. You were right.

“That’s powerful magic there, boy,” she warned. “Too powerful, in the wrong hands.”

He rolled his eyes (well, his head – those sunglasses were in the way, and he was notably very aware of them) and sucked his teeth. “It’s fine, I’m the strongest. Best hands, right here.”

“Elder,” Mirio tugged at the woman’s sleeve. “What are the Six Eyes?”

She took the girl’s hand into her own pair, palms worn soft with age. “They’re like your eyes, but much more powerful, my dear. Capable of seeing everything.”

“Everything?”

She confirmed, “Everything. Light, mahou, your heart. Nothing can hide from those eyes.”

Mirio placed a hand over her chest, evidently covering her heart, protecting it from Gojo’s intrusive gaze, were he to try and see it for himself.

It explained the glasses, at least. Likely to dampen the effect of his Strength. You imagined that having them bared was unpleasant, if the Elder’s words were true. Mirio suffered from potent headaches if she channeled her Strength for too long. Was Gojo’s Strength permanently activated?

“That’s not all to you, is it, child?”

Gojo grumbled something about not being a child, so you stepped in.

“He claims to have something called ‘Infinity’. In short, I can’t touch him,” you told her. “Elder Aisha, is it possible for someone to have multiple Strengths?”

Aisha considered it, resting her chin between her index and thumb. “It is, though it is more rare in today’s age. With less demons, there’s less need for an Exorcist to possess multiple Strengths. Your ancestor had two.”

“My ancestor?”

She got to her feet with a groan and pop of her knees, and hobbled over to a nearby bookshelf. Her lithe fingers skimmed over the backs of a few books, and eventually pulled one out. She popped it open and flipped through a number of pages, then handed it to you to observe.

On the page was an ukiyo-e painting of a man settled in seiza, flowing kimono robes pooling around him. On his left stood a bronze lantern, unlit, its chain looped neatly in coils under its base. You realized that it was your lantern. 

“Your ancestor, Yoshitsune,” she tapped on his face, “had the ability to create any item the good spirits deemed necessary to ensure his victory in battle.”

“Fascinating…I had no idea. What about Gojo, then?”

Gojo made a noise.

You lifted your head from the book. “What?”

He crossed his arms, tapping his toe on the soft rug of Aisha’s living room. “This is boring. I didn’t come here for a history lesson.”

Your temperature spiked with anger. “You–”

“Of course,” the Elder interrupted you. “My apologies. My dear here,” she motioned towards you, “will give you a tour of our modest town. Won’t you, dear?” She asked rhetorically.

“I–”

At the way she pried your fingers off the book and snapped it shut, you promptly closed your mouth and swallowed down any objections.

“I’d be happy to,” you forced a positive inflection. You didn’t want to leave, you wanted to learn more (Aisha had a way of making your grown ass interested in anything), but you knew when to bow your head and accept a task, even if it was one you despised.

Tomorrow. You’d pester her tomorrow. Hopefully, by then, the stranger would be gone.

«___° ° °___»

Surprisingly, he was obedient in trailing after you, a bit like a duckling.

You expected more whining, more complaining, more bitching. Your home, after all, did not seem like a place that would hold his attention for any length of time. Though, you supposed that was accurate, since it was you he was keenly captivated by.

It made your stomach churn.

So, you tried to take the spotlight off of yourself. “How long are you staying?”

He shrugged one shoulder languidly. “I was gonna leave as soon as I got rid of that cursed spirit, but since you already killed it…might as well stay. A mini vacation, y’know? I definitely need one, the higher-ups have been yapping their old, greasy heads off again. It’s so annoying. They talk and talk and talk, going on and on. Can’t stand it. They never shut up.”

Tongue held between your teeth, you let him go on, ignoring your desire to stick a rock in his mouth. Currently, you planned to show him the boring spots around town, confident you could scare him into leaving early.

“Peachy,” you muttered once he paused to take a damn breath. “Great, well, I’ll show you around, then drop you off at an inn–”

“Ooooor, I can just stay with you.”

You coughed on your spit. “Pardon?”

He kicked a pebble. “I mean, it’s way more convenient. We won’t have to cut our conversations short, and we can get to know each other better.”

The lilt at the end of his sentence sent an uncomfortable shiver down your spine. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“I’m way older than you, it’d be impro–”

He stopped in front of you. “I don’t care.”

Your hands clenched at your sides. “Gojo–”

“I’m serious,” he asserted. “I don’t mind that you’re older.”

“That’s not– I mind.”

Gojo raised his hands placatingly, almost as if surrendering. “Don’t worry, I won’t leech off’a ya. I’ll compensate you fairly for housing me. As thanks.”

You snarled. “I didn’t agree to this.”

“You should come with me, back to Tokyo,” Gojo said. “We always need more sorcerers. Strong sorcerers.”

Whiplash. From one topic to the next, never giving you a chance to find ground to stand on.

A bubble of something trickled up your throat. Hesitance? Distaste? Anxiety? Something that made acid sting your esophagus. Your anger dissipated, replaced with disorientation. “Oh,” you responded dumbly, lagging behind. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m not interested.”

“Why? It’s so much better than this place,” he insisted, jeering at your surroundings. “More interesting. Plus, I’ll be there.”

That’s exactly the issue.

Your eye twitched in offense. He knew exactly how to rile you up, and it was working, to your chagrin. The constant turbulence was throwing you off balance, pissing you off. “This is my home. I won’t stand by and let you insult it simply because our way of life is different from yours. Like I said: thanks, but no, thanks.”

The boy remained silent, expression neutral, and it had nervousness twisting in the pit of your gut. You’d rather he yell at you, shame you, call you dumb or old or what have you. So long as he didn’t examine you the way he did now, unresponsive, biding his time. Picking you apart down to the molecular level, separating your atoms until you were strewn apart, latticework for him to admire.

A dissection done by your shrine god would have been less invasive. Their hands wouldn’t have felt as abrasive while digging through your guts, their nails wouldn’t have scratched your cold, stiff arms and legs. Not the same way Gojo’s glare peeled your layers off one by one, time taken to examine each and every slice with diligent fixation.

Your god would take your Strength, and return it to the world, allowing it to one day resurface so it may return to your reincarnation when the time came.

Instinctively, you knew that Gojo would take it, and keep it for himself.

He’d wrap his hands around the flickering flame of your soul, squeeze the heart of your very being, just to feel your warmth. He’d search through your body to find what his greed most desired, and cling to it, breathing in the scent of ash and cracking cherry bark that released a sweet scent as they burned, one too enticing for him to admire only in passing. 

He’d take your tsuri-dōrō and let it burn everything until only you remained, cupped in his palms, held too high above the smoking soil to consider jumping off.

Not unless you wished to succumb to the blaze yourself.

You waited.

Waited, and waited, and waited, apprehension growing, sweat forming at your hairline and slipping down your temple as you anticipated the explosion that would follow your rejection, the burst of emotion too violent to keep contained inside a body that never knew how to back down, a mind that was never told no.

He opened his mouth, you held your breath–

“Just give it some thought, okay?” Gojo smiled, his head tilting to the side benevolently. “It’s an open offer.”

–nothing.

No burst, no violent meltdown, no tantrum from the spoiled brat. No demands, no threats, none of your expectations met.

It should relieve you. To some degree, it did.

A bigger part of you, the part that had bundled up energy in preparation for an argument that wouldn’t happen and had no outlet anymore, tensed up in a brief twist of panic.

He wasn’t calm, not at all. Anyone else, he could easily fool, bearing that charming grin and nonchalant stance, his tone easy and cheery, accepting the rejection with grace and humility. Anyone that wasn’t you.

Your sensitivity to mahou meant you were painfully aware of how strongly his flared.

At your refusal, it swelled fiercely, gasoline poured over unlit charcoal. It came like a heavy downpour, a cataclysmic cleansing of the sin that infested the ground you walked on, the tree canopies you hid under. A freezing rush in the dead of summer, frostbite nipping at your fingertips, craving your heat, the iron of your blood, to feast on your vitality.

Then, it was gone.

Its swift arrival was followed by an equally swift departure, leaving behind a vacuum, energy sucked out too fast. It staggered you, your equilibrium briefly interrupted, confusion and fear making you dizzy.

But, he kept smiling, pretending nothing was wrong.

You knew better than to point it out, to mention his temper, the displeasure you knew paced back and forth, a caged animal that salivated and rubbed its side into the bars, knowing it was a matter of time until it was freed, given permission to hunt its promised meal.

You bit down your prey response, the temptation you had to fawn, to placate. Apologize, tell him you changed your mind, you’d go, so long as he didn’t destroy your home.

You’re a fighter, for fuck’s sake. An Exorcist. You’re better than this.

You stifled the need to say that aloud. To assure him you weren’t going anywhere.

“Yeah,” you said through your teeth, a strained simper. “I’ll think about it.”

«___° ° °___»

The moment you unlocked the door to your house, Gojo made a beeline for your couch, dropping into it with a weary sigh. Comfortable, right at home, like he belonged.

Just make it through the night, you tried to convince yourself. Have to make it through the night. Then, he’ll be gone.

Cracking his knuckles, he stretched out his long legs and tucked his hands behind his head. “Thanks for housing me.”

The cheek, the gall. You had trouble believing you’d somehow let the kid coerce you into permitting him entry into your private space. What would your Chichi think of you now? You mourned, grumbling as you kicked off your shoes and stacked them neatly in the genkan, scowling at the way he let his fly every which way. Because you weren’t raised to be petty (though you wanted to be), you gathered his sneakers and aligned them, too.

“Yup,” you replied sarcastically, popping the p. “My pleasure.”

He ran you ragged, practically dragging you through the streets, stopping to eat at your favorite restaurant (he paid, claimed it was ‘his treat’. The restaurant might no longer be your favorite). He demanded to see the shrine, the gift shop – “we don’t have a gift shop.” – the beach – “I’m not going swimming with you.” – anything he could put his mind to.

Frankly, you were exhausted, and wanted him out of your home, but you wanted your bed more.

“You’re sleeping on the couch,” you told him flatly. “I’ll get you a blanket.”

He whinged. “What, won’t let me in your bed?”

“I’m not giving you my bed,” you spat out grumpily as you tugged open the hallway closet and tunneled through it in search of a blanket. If you had it your way, you’d let him cover himself in toilet paper for the night, but your Mama raised you better than that. Unfortunately.

He mumbled under his breath, “That’s not what I said…”

Quilt in hand, you blinked at him, not having heard him properly. “Huh?”

“Nothing,” he swept away your curiosity in a sing-songy tone. “Where’s your bathroom?”

You waddled over to the couch, not quite able to see exactly where you were going until you dropped the pile of fabric onto the corner seat of the couch. “Oh, uh. It’s down the hall, first door on the left.”

Wordlessly, he got up and vanished into the room. The light flicked on, the door closed, and you were alone.

Visibly, the tension in your body melted, stress you didn’t know you were holding. Your shoulders slumped, and you were able to breathe, conscious of his absence. Air bolted back into the room, uninhibited now that his stifling, dominating presence wasn’t there to consume it all for himself.

For a few sacred, precious minutes, you stood there, absorbing the peace of existing without the ghostly sensation of Gojo breathing down your neck.

The sound of the tap turning on drew you out of your reverie, and you busied yourself. Unfolding the blanket, laying it across the sofa to act as both a sheet and comforter Gojo could fold over himself, propping up a nearby throw pillow, trying not to think about whatever it was he was doing in your bathroom. Pretending. Pretending all of this was normal. A familiar guest visiting from the mainland, one that acted normal, looked normal, sounded normal, was normal.

It only lasted so long.

The door opened, and out he came, yawning loudly. Round sunglasses still in place.

His hair was mussed up, face ever so slightly damp, water droplets clinging to a few strands of pure white. Fresh, ready for bed.

Like you, he was pretending. Whether for your sake, or not, you didn’t bother trying to understand.

His mahou continued to flow through his veins, primed, never released. His energy bounded off of him in waves, lazy, seafoam lapping leisurely along the beach’s shoreline. Sand darkened by the salt and water, then lightening as the murky green receded.

While you knew that he and his sorcerer kind functioned differently from you and your Exorcist kind, you were certain that his energy was distinctly abnormal. Never resting, never sated. It salivated, greedy, intent to devour anything he got his hands on.

If you weren’t careful, it’d be you he gorged himself on, ingesting you, flesh and bone and sinew and all. 

“Man, I’m wiped,” he lied, stretching his arms high above his head. If he stood on his toes, his fingertips would brush the ceiling. 

Your lips tugged at the corners into a flat, stiff line. “Good timing. I finished setting up the couch for you. You can go ahead and sleep now.”

As he passed you, he tapped your ass twice. “Thanks, pretty.”

You squeaked, covering your backside, but he appeared none the wiser to your plight. Or, purposefully ignorant.

Just overly friendly, he doesn’t know any better. Spoiled brat, young, a kid.

Whatever excuse you needed to comfort yourself, you sought out, jaw wound shut. He’ll be gone tomorrow. He’ll be gone tomorrow. He’ll be gone tomorrow.

The bearer of the Six Eyes plopped down onto his makeshift bed, adjusting to get comfortable, and sighed like an old dog. Happy. Right at home.

“G’night,” he drawled.

“Goodnight, Gojo.”

 He grumbled something, but you were far past caring, not bothering to stop and ask him to repeat himself. Hurriedly, you locked yourself in your bathroom, hands braced on your sink, lights off. The thought of looking at yourself was unbearable, facing how much a 20-something-year-old unraveled you as easily as plucking a loose string on a knitted sweater, rows upon rows of destroyed for mere curiosity. Vapid, temporary interest.

Fuck, you couldn’t wait for him to be leave, so you could erase him from your memories using bleach and a wire brush.

Gulping down your loathing, you flicked the switch, and dared to meet the foe residing in the mirror.

She posed the same way you did, skin pulled taut over her knuckles, bones protruding from how tightly she gripped the wooden edge. Bags darkened the crescents under her eyes, cheeks sunken, scleras bloodshot. Were you a stranger, a friendly neighbor, you would have asked her if she was sick, bid her to sit down, wrapped her fingers around a steaming cup of ginger and lemon tea.

But, there was nobody who could help you now, give you that comfort. Your Mama and Chichi were on the other side of the village, enjoying having the house to themselves ever since you moved out a decade ago. Sunday brunches were a given, those weekly visits ritualistic and necessary and wanted. 

Showing up uninvited, so late at night, a stranger left behind in your home?

They’d have your head on a pike.

Bear with it. You were an adult, an Exorcist. Gojo was just some runt from the mainland.

You’ll be okay.

Won’t you?

Massaging your temple to encourage your blooming headache to go away already, you reached out with your free hand to grab your toothbrush, only to halt dead in your tracks.

It was wet.

A cold shiver swarmed you, raising hairs along your arms and nape, goosebumps forming.

He–

He used your toothbrush? Your toothbrush?

It– sure, you forgot about getting him a new one, but surely he would have known to ask for one. 

You clamped a hand over your mouth, forcing yourself to breath heavily through your nose, slow and deep inhales. It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s fucking fine. It’s a toothbrush. You were lucky that you had spares, and even if you didn’t, you were able to use your finger in a worst-case scenario.

Pointedly avoiding the now tainted toothbrush, you rifled through the top drawer of the counter, locating a brand new one. You ripped open the packaging, ran it under the water, added toothpaste, and scoured at your teeth aggressively. You went at them like you hated them, like there was blood stuck in them, drenching the wells of your molars, staining the enamel. Behind your incisors, on your cuspids, to the back of your tongue, gag reflex triggered.

You brushed, and brushed, and brushed, panting when you finished. Fluoride in your stomach, stinging your nasopharynx, the cost to feel clean, at least here.

Had you felt safer, were there not a stranger down the hall, you would have sat down in the shower and let scalding hot water wash away your revulsion and make you anew, burn away the dirt of where he dared to touch you, of where his eyes strayed.

Choking out the toothpaste, mouth aching from the cold water you punished yourself with, you nearly clawed at your face to rinse away the oil and grime of the day, wanting to be done already.

The sooner you were in bed and fell asleep, the sooner the next day would come, and you’d be free again. Free from those eyes, that mahou, that person. If he could be called that.

if he could be considered human.

Tenderly, you opened the door and peeked down the hall, finding Gojo’s back to you, fast asleep.

Thank fuck.

Cautious as a mouse, you tiptoed to your room, skillfully avoiding all the creaky spots in the floor. You didn’t feel safe ‘til you shut and locked the door, which you leaned back onto. Gods, you were exhausted. The weight of the day hung on your shoulders, causing your feet to drag and stumble over the pile of clothes on the floor.

Bewildered, you looked down, and found a shirt, tank top, and pair of pants strewn across the floor, tossed haphazardly.

Why were they on the ground?

You didn’t recall having left them there, but then again, you weren’t the most tidy person, and tended to be forgetful. Maybe, you dropped them on your way out that morning, unworried, figuring you’d toss them in your hamper when you got home. 

It rubbed you the wrong way, scales made of teeth that shredded into you, but…who else, if not you? Gojo never left the bathroom, the door remained closed the entire time he occupied it. You didn’t own any pets, but it wouldn’t have been the first time a stray cat got in. Though, you didn’t see or hear any critters scuttling around. A check of the hamper indicated that nothing hid inside it, either.

There was nobody else to blame.

The conclusion felt wrong, yet you came up with no other ideas.

So, all you could do was pick them up from their resting place on the floor and toss them into the hamper, alongside the clothes you were wearing. 

Where you usually took your time getting ready for bed, liking to pamper yourself. the sensation of being watched hadn’t left you since Gojo arrived on your island. The less time you were naked for, the better, in your opinion.

Quickly, you swapped out your blouse for a loose, oversized T-shirt and slipped on a clean pair of panties. Normally, you didn’t wear more to bed, disliking the sensation of bottoms rolling up your legs while you slept, but you needed to put on something more than just underwear. You were safe in your room, but it wasn’t enough.

You searched through your dresser, tugging out the pair of sleeping shorts you found and drawing them up your legs, over your hips, finishing them off with a small bow at the front.

There. Better.

Sort of.

Not much, actually.

It’d have to do. You were sleepy, tired of the day, threadbare. Your bed called to you, and you had no intention of ignoring it.

The sheets welcomed you soothingly, embracing your form in that familiar hold you were longing for, coveting. Fluffy comforter, downy pillows, comfortable mattress, everything you required to smooth down your hackles, at last able to lower your guard. You were safe. Safe. Safe.

Images danced on your ceiling, hazy recollections and fantasies, absentminded planning, zealous to have your individuality returned to you. Dreams of taking a day off, visiting the docks, hiding from your student that would inevitably drag you to a nearby field to ‘train’, AKA watch you swing around your tsuri-dōrō. A day to yourself. All you needed was a day to yourself, and everything would be good again.

Right as your lids began to slip shut, succumbing to your exhaustion, something pressed against your lips.

Soft, warm, plush, pillowy. 

Your eyes snapped open in an instant and you were sitting up, pushing away whatever was touching you, leaning over you. 

In the dim, silver light of the moon, you saw him.

Gojo Satoru.

His sunglasses weren’t on, but, god, you fucking wished they were. Without them, there was nothing to conceal the horror that greeted you upon making eye contact.

Blue.

They were so, so, viscerally blue. Wide, shimmering, glossy. Fairy crystals that shone the same way the moon did; they imbibed all the light in the room, practically glowing from the sheer vim they contained alone, digesting the slivers of night. 

You gasped, scooting back minutely. “What are you doing?”

How did he get in? You didn’t hear your door open, and furthermore, it was locked. It wasn’t possible, it wasn’t–

The door’s open.

It was open, swung wide to show the lightless hallway, a chasm left in dearth of his mahou. 

“I’m kissing you.”

“Wh– I know that,” you snapped, eyes shifting back to him. “I’m asking why you’re kissing me.”

He blinked, considering you as if you were a few degrees short of intelligence. “I like you.”

Fuck. This is what you were worried about, on some level. You should have known. People always seemed to enjoy putting you on a pedestal, unconcerned for the discomfort it caused you. You weren’t someone to be idolized, not like this, by someone like him.

“Look, Gojo.”

“Satoru,” he corrected. “Call me Satoru.”

Your nose wrinkled. “Look, Gojo,” you emphasized. “I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong idea, but I’m not– this,” you pointed between yourself and him, “isn’t happening. You’re too young for me, we met today, and I’m– I’m not interested, alright?”

He frowned. “I told you that I don’t care how old you are.”

“I care,” you specified. “I care that I’m much older than you. It’s– it’s wrong. Okay?”

Lashes of pearl fluttered. “Why? I’m above the age of consent. I am consenting.”

You exhaled, growing frustrated. “That’s not the point. It’s not about the age of consent, it’s about the differences in maturity, the power imbalance. Besides, I’m not consenting.”

He kept quiet for a long moment, taking in your features, processing your little tirade. Outwardly, he gave no reaction, and you didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing.

But, he started to lean back, retreating from you, and you breathed out the air you were holding in relief.

Idly, defeated, he dipped his head. “I get it.”

You relaxed, muscles losing their tension. “Good, I’m glad.”

“You’re playing hard to get.”

Before you could react, he was on you, tackling you back onto your bed.

“Get off of me!” You screeched, shoving at his chest, trying desperately to lift his weight from your body.

His size was deceptive, his might hidden under layers of black cloth. You were older, you had more experience, you were supposed to be stronger. You were a teacher, you were an Exorcist, for fuck’s sake.

Yet, it took him no effort at all to pin you down, knees thrown over either side of your waist, weight settled to keep you immobilized. You struggled valiantly, fighting with all your might to dislodge him. Nothing. He didn’t so much as budge.

“I can play hard, too,” he promised, lips split, harsh pants of excitement escaping him. “That what you need, huh? Someone to knock you down a peg?”

You opened your mouth to scream, but he slammed his hand against your lips, a demented look glimmering in those terrible orbs of his. You tasted the salt of his flesh, dug your teeth into his palm, but garnered no reaction from him; none aside from the low groan that rattled in the base of his chest, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

“Shh, shh,” he hushed. “What’ll your neighbors think if they came in and saw this? You, in bed, with me?”

You froze, heart leaping to your throat. No, no, he wouldn’t.

“Are you really gonna let them see you taking advantage of me?” Slowly, he pulled his hand away, smirking down at you.

You peeled your tongue from the roof of your mouth, your maw suddenly painfully dry. “They won’t believe you. It’s my word against yours. I grew up with these people, they know me.”

“Did you know, most of the time, people are completely unaware that their loved one is a murderer?”

Your lip trembled. “What?”

He nodded solemnly, pouting. Degrading. Condescending. “It’s true. When interviewed, family, friends, they all say they had no idea, their loved one would never. They know them, after all. So, they’d know if their father was a murderer.”

“What are you getting at?”

He leaned closer, too close, he was going to swallow you whole. One hand toyed with the hem of your sleep shirt, twisting it, smoothing it out. “Everyone has secrets. Who’s to say this isn’t yours? Liking younger men?”

“I don’t like younger men.”

“How are they supposed to know? All they’ll see is you sharing your bed with someone who is too young for you. Your words.”

You were torn.

He was lying, manipulating you, scaring you with the thought of being ostracized by your community for something that wasn’t true. You knew it wasn’t true, you were certain that your community would know it wasn’t true.

But, how were you supposed to explain that he overpowered you? This young man, in his early twenties at most. Yes, he was strong, but you had age, experience. You should have been able to fight him off without issue.

You couldn’t.

He found no fight when he dug the spindly lengths of his digits into the edge of your shorts, and yanked.

The fabric tore on its way down your thighs, jolting and exposing more and more skin in short bursts as he tugged the material off, off, off. He spared it no mercy, disregarding your sniffles of protest. You could hear him mumbling that he’d buy you a new pair, as many as you wanted, better, prettier, as if that was what you were upset about. 

His nails scratched at the bared flesh of your legs, merciless in his efforts to strip you, fighting against his odd positioning over you that he didn’t want to change. You squirmed, kicking out as best as you could. It freed one foot in the process, and he decided that was all he needed.

You blinked, and he was between your thighs, hands hooking under your knees to tug you closer, wrapping them around his lithe waist. To your absolute, utter horror, he pressed his hips directly into yours, the seam of his uniform digging into the split of your center, and you felt it. Him.

Hard. Undeniably, ruthlessly solid, flesh turned to stone. It froze you in the midst of your struggle, and he took the opportunity to grind into you, firm, unforgiving. He rolled against you, huffs and wimpish grunts spilling from his lips, and your panic was brought back tenfold. You jerked and twisted with renewed effort, trying to claw at his arms, his shoulders; wrap your fingers around his throat and squeeze until he went limp, until his chest jolted, then stilled.

For all your exertion, it did nothing to deter him. In fact, he moaned when your nails caught on the soft skin of his stomach under the rucked up edge of his top, dragging angry, vicious red lines into the pale give of the muscle beneath.

“God, I can feel you, so warm,” he hissed through his teeth, snowy lashes squeezed shut as he focused his energy into leeching the heat from your core.

Distressed, you whined, a pathetic noise unbefitting of you. Too ugly, too weak, too unlike yourself. This wasn’t happening, it simply wasn’t.

“Look at that,” he purred. “Wet for me already. Knew you were pretending.”

You startled. “I’m not!”

He set his finger against the gusset of your underwear and slid it upwards, through the natural dampness that had gathered there. He must have mistaken it for arousal.

His teeth shone white, canines sharp, primed to bite into your jugular and shake, rip, tear. Snap tendons and gnaw muscle. Eat you.

“‘Course, you are, don’t have to lie,” he patted your hip contemptuously. “I know I’m pretty. I know the effect I have on women, it’s okay, I won’t judge you. I like it.”

You inhaled to berate and lambaste and criticize him, but he didn’t let you start. He rolled his finger around your clothed clit, and all that came out of you was a pitchy, shaken noise. He focused on it, jabbing it, and was convinced your yelps of discomfort were pleasure. It was evident, his nescience, on how your body worked, what felt good for you. Granted, you doubted it’d feel good even if he did know what he was doing.

His impatience won out when he removed his hand after less than thirty seconds of scraping over where your clit was, missing half the time. Antsy, he hooked the band of your panties, tugging at the cotton material more and more discontentedly until he grabbed at it along the stitching on the side and pried it apart, thread and fibers splitting and popping.

“Hey!” You bayed.

His lips left a wet smooch on your temple, and you cringed. “It’s okay, it’s alright, I’ll buy you more. Or, better yet, don’t wear any in the first place.”

His fingers slid through your folds and you coughed on a hiccup of surprise, jerking away from him. He fastened his hand to your hip, keeping you from going any further. Hell, this was pure hell. Nothing less, nothing more; raw suffering in the form of a man intent on dragging you down to the depths with him. He’d carve a home from the molten rock, a cubby made with his own two hands, and he’d bury you in it, somewhere you’d never be able to escape and leave him.

Two fingers propped at your cunt, then pushed in, slow and piercing. You sucked on your teeth, face scrunching in discomfort as the long things poked and jabbed at your soft internals, deeper and deeper. He didn’t stop at the first, nor second joint, sorrowfully. He kept going until he physically couldn't anymore, stuffed to the knuckles, the knobby things barely grazing the nub at the top of your vulva.

You hated it with every fiber of your being.

It was uncomfortable, unpleasant, and so very far from enjoyable. Oh, but who were you to fool yourself? He wasn’t doing this for you, of course not, no matter how hard he tried to convince you that he was. That he wanted you to feel pleasure, sweet and gratifying. When he fingered you, it resembled a clinical examination more than a sexual act, the kind where you and the doctor avoided looking at each other as they tested your pelvic muscles and checked for abnormalities.

He pushed his fingers in and out, not bothering to curl them, scissor them, do anything special at all with them. They were just…there, scoring lines into your pussy, neutral. 

Your relief upon their removal was short-lived. His hand fumbled with the hem of his pants, allowing you to notice that his belt had already been loosened, button and zipper undone, pulled low. Blue and white striped boxers sat on display for a brief period, then were pulled under his stiff length, revealing it to you.

Long, not especially thick, curved upwards, the tip an angry pink that neared on red.

Fuck no. No, no, no, this was not happening, not to you.

You might as well have been fighting against a stone golem, though, for how little he reacted to your attempts at escape. He paid no mind to your spitting, your thrashing, your begging pleas for him to not do this to you, to reconsider, your assurances that you’d forgive him if he’d just stop right this instant!

If you didn’t know any better, to him, you were nothing more than the annoying buzzing of a fly trying to get his attention. Something for him to swat away, squash uncaringly.

Your heart dropped to your toes when you felt the tip of his leaking cock notch against your unprepared hole, your chest seizing, your lungs collapsing beneath the sheer weight of your raw, unfiltered fear.

Then, with no consideration for you, he shoved forward, and seated himself to the root in one vile, painful thrust.

You didn’t realize you were crying until your voice broke, splintering apart in your throat.

Above you, Gojo was panting, whining, practically trembling where he sat, pelvis flush to yours. Your spine arched off the bed, burning pain pulsing inside your core from the forced stretch. You were no prude, but it’d been so long since you’d lain with anyone. You were barely wet enough for a sheen to show on your folds, let alone take anything inside you without the careful prep he lacked the skill to partake in.

Gojo didn’t care for it, evidently.

He was too impatient, too needy, too eager. He yearned too much, and didn’t stop to think about what he wanted, just that he wanted it now.

You sobbed, hiccuping, tears spilling from the corners of your eyes to race to your temples. He cooed at the sight, leaning forward, closer to your face. The movement carried him further, his tip nudging against the squishy ring of your cervix, and you wailed.

“Oh, shh, shh, it’s okay, I’m here,” he purred. “I’m here now. You don’t have to worry, I’m not going anywhere. You have me.”

“Pull out– pull out!” You yelled at him, pounding against his chest.

He grinned. “Want me to move already? D’aw, who am I to deny my woman?”

Your eyes widened. “Wait, no, no–!”

Your imploration came a moment too late, and fell on ears that were never going to listen to you.

Satoru drew back until the ridge of his glans tugged against the thin webbing of your entrance, and then, he barged back into you, splitting your walls apart to make room for himself.

The friction was agonizing, unforgiving. It scraped against you, sandpaper on fragile glass, painstakingly etched and painted patterns and designs worn away in rapid passes by an uncaring hand. He was intent on erasing the marks placed on you by time, by the ones you grew up with, loved, hated, missed, and replace them entirely with stains made in his visage.

Tattoos you’d never be able to remove; hundreds of eyes with endlessly cerulean depths that sucked in any unfortunate to see them. Lines and crosses and nooses that, no matter how hard you scrub, would continue to choke you forevermore. 

You opened your eyes, vision blurred with tears, and startled to find pitch black voids.

Accretion disks of swirling tanzanite orbited pools of bottomless ink, meres that spanned miles across, nearly consuming the cornflower of their enclosure. Were it not for the tight rings keeping them confined, you were sure they’d spill and flood the world, drown you in their infinite expanses, under their waves. It’d fill your lungs until they burst, pour into your veins until red bled out and left you suffocating in the eternal void that was Gojo Satoru.

His inexperience shown through in the rough, jerky movements of his hips, the way every other thrust seemed to nudge into that one spot that made electricity race through your joints, while the ones in between punched directly into the sensitive nerves at the furthest point inside you, fornices bullied and bruised.

Sweat dripped from his forehead, landing in wet splats on your chest and collarbone where he hovered, hot breaths fanning across your tacky cheeks. You cringed at the sensation, trying to angle your head away.

Oh, but Satoru – he only saw that as an invitation, one he had no qualms about accepting.

He buried his face into the side of your neck, latched onto the skin over your fluttering pulse, and sucked. Hard.

You sobbed, spine arching, forlorn as he branded you in the form of broken capillaries and teeth-shaped indents. He suckled, cruel and vile, slobbering onto you like a mutt. Purebred, but he was no better than the beasts he put down, rotten to the core, that was the only thing that could explain this, him.

He kissed his way up your jaw to your cheeks, nipping at them; to your lobe, licking into the shell of your ear, and you recoiled from him. His chest vibrated with a hoarse chuckle, enamored with your violent indignation. He sought to lock lips with you, but all his humor fell away when you avoided his mouth, upper lip curled into a sneer.

A hand roughly grabbed your jaw, pressuring you to look at him, the anger that marred his unfairly beautiful features. Brows pinched, eyes narrowed, fire licking up the column of his spine to spread like poison on his tongue.

“Do not run away from me,” he snarled, nose almost tip-to-tip with yours, invading. “You’re gonna kiss me back, or I’ll get the entire fuckin’ town in here and make sure they know you forced yourself on me. Got it?”

You drank down your antipathy and resentment for him, aware now that, if he was willing to overpower someone over a decade his senior for his own pleasure and gain, he’d absolutely make good on his threat. If he was willing to ruin your body, he was more than willing to ruin your life.

What choice did you have but to open your mouth and let him spit into it? How could you do anything but give in, let him mash your lips together, let him shove his tongue down your throat and feed on you until all that remained of you were bones and teeth and hollow eye sockets?

The basin of your mahou hemorrhaging through the puncture wound in your chest, run through a sieve to gather the flecks of gold and red blood cells that comprised your entire being. Plasma leaching from your marrow, spilling into a worthless puddle on dry soil to water a flora long dead. Lungs suctioned flat to your thoracic vertebrae, organs shriveled, body reduced to a useless shell, a pitiful imitation of life.

For once, you blessed a man for his inexperience, as it meant Satoru was done with you in a couple minutes. They stretched forever and ever, vanishing beyond the horizon, but it was done, he was done. He spilled inside you, but that was an issue for a separate time, something else to be dealt with when you weren’t under the body of a demon wearing the skin of a man. Evil embodied.

Should have exorcised him as soon as you saw him, you shamed yourself.

But, it was over. He would get off you, and you–

You startled when you felt the pad of his thumb nudging at your clit, uneven back-and-forth swipes that halfway resembled circles, and started sliding in and out of you once more. 

“Gotta make– gotta make a wo-woman squirt if ya wanna – fuck, you’re so warm – wanna knock her up. That’s what he–” he choked, stilling for a second, then harshly pounded into you out of the blue. 

It shocked you, your mouth dropping into a silent yowl, tears sprinkling your clumped lashes like weeping stardust.

“That’s what he told me,” he spat out, rage flashing in his eyes, across the furrow of his brow. “Maybe, not everythin’ was a lie, eh? Maybe, he was tellin’ me the truth about somethin’.”

He was gone from this world, you could tell. It was in the way he no longer saw you, the woman he’d shoved onto her own bed, the person who’d taken pity on him, housed him, taught him how she lived, survived. He had this far away look, this seething hatred, this pulsing need, this agonizing sorrow that ate him from the inside out. A wound that scabbed, but never healed, always present, always twitching in time with his heart, reminding him of its presence.

Heartbreak.

Gone as quickly as it came, he was seeing you again, and you wished beyond everything that he was still in that distant headspace of his, where you didn’t exist, where you could pretend none of this was real. A bad dream. A demon that slithered through the cracked-open window to infest your mind and feed off your nightmares.

His eyes made that impossible, sadly. All they did was remind you, assure you, that this was as real as ever.

Slowly, he leaned down, lashes never fluttering. His lips brushed against the shell of your ear, breath fanning into the conch, and he spoke.

“Let’s find out together, yeah?”

«___° ° °___»

“Here’s how this is going to work,” he wrapped one of his arms around his neck and pressed on the elbow to stretch it, taking the opportunity to scratch his back while he was at it. “You’re gonna tell that little group of yours that you’re coming back to Tokyo with me–”

You bristled. “No.”

“–or, I’ll tell them that you took advantage of me while I was sleeping.”

Nausea roiled in your stomach. “You wouldn’t.”

He leveled you. “I will, and I won’t feel bad about it.”

You stared at him, trying to figure him out, call him out on his bluff, but you knew he wasn’t lying. Saliva coated your mouth, and you had to swallow to hold back the urge to spill acid onto the floor.

When you spoke, your voice was far too soft, too broken. A pitiable whimper. “Please, don’t.”

The boy shrugged casually. “I’m being nice, you know, by giving you a choice. It’s up to you. I’m happy to do it either way.”

A tear slipped down your cheek.

You didn’t flinch when he cupped your jaw as tenderly as he would a lover’s, swiping it away with the pad of his thumb.

“I’ll take good care of you, promise,” he swore. “Make sure you want for nothing. Give you all you want. I have more than enough money for both of us. For a whole family. Whaddya say, hm?”

You never did have a choice, did you?

Not from the moment you were born on this island, not when you obtained your Strength, not when you were trained to be an Exorcist, or when Akinori attached themselves to your hip in spite of your vehement refusal to tutor them.

And, not from this.

From becoming Gojo’s.

Having gone into autopilot, you obeyed his orders, fearing what he’d do if you didn’t. No need to pack anything, he said, I’ll just buy you new stuff at home. Better than these rags. Come on, let’s go. Early birds and worms and all that.

The village was as peaceful as ever, this time of day.

The fishermen had set out to the sea about an hour earlier, right before dawn broke through the nebulous heavens. Those that stayed behind roused late, taking the chance to catch a bit more shut eye.

You, too, would have been enjoying a long rest, were it not for the tidal wave that loomed on the horizon, threatening, waiting for you. White-crested waves, foam spitting up from their roiling motions; an endless abyss that pined to swallow you whole. It whispered that you had a choice, an order to give, one it would happily deliver on.

Sacrifice yourself, or let all you love be washed into the ocean, your own personal Atlantis.

Akinori, Mirio, and the Elder also weren’t able to enjoy the extra rest, much to your guilty conscience.

They stood in front of you in a row, each wearing their own miens of disappointment, of hurt, of grief.

Aisha glared at you, really. You’d made a promise to protect this land, your home, after all. And, now, you were going back on your word, your vow. She had every right to despise you, to scorn you. She didn’t, though, you knew. You wished she did. She saw right through you, past the cracks in your façade, the lies you fed her about wanting to learn more about demons and be stronger for them, better.

To save the world.

In reality, it was to save only yourself.

Please, understand, you begged silently. There’s no other way.

Mirio had her hands clutched in front of her, gazing anywhere but at you. Her brows were pinched in the center, and you yearned to lean forward and press your thumb to the wrinkle forming there, to brush it away with that signature cheeky smirk of yours, and a caution that she’d age faster if she made faces like that. 

You kept your hands, stained and bloody, to yourself, not wishing to taint her with your sin.

Akinori appeared uncharacteristically serious. Severe.

Gone was their impish demeanor, their mischievous nature. In its place sat an emptiness, a chasm formed too soon; a ball of ice drained before it could freeze its core to keep itself whole. Your heart ached for them, your stomach twisted into knots, your throat squeezing tighter and tighter until you were sure that your vocal cords would burst from your neck.

“You’re really going, then,” they said. A statement, not a question.

Still, you nodded.

“There’s so much to learn out there, beyond Kami-shima,” you reasoned, lying through your teeth. The words tasted like ash and acid on your tongue. “Power we never knew existed. Imagine it – I’ll get stronger, then we’ll never have to worry about demons invading our home ever again, yeah?”

“You promise?”

Glancing over your shoulder, you spotted Gojo standing a distance away. Far enough that he resembled a stick figure, but still close enough for you to feel his stare burning into your back.

You swallowed, and faced Nori again, whispering to them, needing to ensure it stays between you and them, and nobody else, especially not Gojo.

“You have my heart,” you said. “Keep it safe for me until I can get it back, okay?”

They peered deep into you, glancing between your eyes, trying to seek out the deeper meaning in your words – if there was any. You simultaneously hoped they would and wouldn’t find it; a selfish desire to be seen, to be acknowledged, and the knowledge that they’re safer knowing nothing about you. Forgetting about you.

Nori nodded once, tersely.

You took that as your cue to leave.

Taking your hands off their shoulders, you drew in a deep breath, let it out, and gave the trio a smile you could only hope was semi-convincing.

“Don’t wait up for me, yeah?” You laughed. It sounded strained. “I’ll see you all again.”

Whether or not they knew it was a lie, you said nothing more, and didn’t stay to hear what they would say. It would break your heart worse than the whole interaction already had, worse than the knowledge that your chances of actually returning home were slim to none.

Picking up a light jog, you left them behind, joining Gojo at his side. He didn’t hesitate to pull out a hand from his pocket and link it with yours, fingers intertwining and squeezing until the bone inside ached.

He smiled innocently up at you, anyway. “Finally done?”

You glanced over your shoulder, hoping to see that your little family had already left, praying they hadn’t. Uncertainty over your own emotions fizzled under the surface when you saw they were there, watching you, unmoving.

For what you knew would be the last time, you mouthed goodbye to them, and closed your eyes, blocking them from sight.

“Yeah,” you coughed out.

His smile could be heard through his voice. “Great, I was waiting ages. You talk way too much, y’know? You’re gonna love Tokyo. I’ll take you to all the good places…”

You tuned out his voice, letting him ramble to his content as he guided you away from the village, away from Kami-shima, away from the one home you knew. Where you were born, where you lived, and where you were certain you would die.

When he squeezed your hand, you brought yourself back to the present, longing to sink into a void. To disappear, never have to deal with this, with him.

When did you ever have a choice, though? The moment he saw you, it was over for you.

“There’s no place like home, right?” He prodded, poking your side with his elbow.

“Mhm,” you agreed with a rigid growl, clenching your jaw, gritting your teeth. “No place like home.”

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AN: thank you for reading :D I hope you enjoyed ♥

[electricgg]

Ancient Dreams In A Modern Land

Chapter 1: I Could Be The Eye Of The Storm

Masterlist Chapter 1 (Here!) / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 /

It has been said that when a person is on the verge of death, their brain shows various memories of their life for seven minutes. Seven minutes of beautiful, happy memories that marked your life.

From the moment you gave the wailing, shocking cry as the cold air of the outside world hit your wrinkly, red skin, fresh out of the womb, until the very last few moments, you keep on fighting to keep air down your lungs, and your heart slowly stops pumping blood into your veins.

A way of welcoming the end of your life peacefully, if you can see it that way. 

Most people become cynical when it comes to the end of the cycle of life. Either for loss of faith or not wanting to think about what comes after it. 

It’s probably because of fear.

No, it’s definitely because of fear.

Everyone is afraid of what happens when you cross to the other side. That’s a fact. A human fact.

That’s why the seven minutes are such a comforting idea. Seeing all the good things you have lived before going away into a black abyss of uncertainty. 

A last ray of warm light. 

(Y/N) Wayne doesn’t get her seven minutes.

Well, not her own seven minutes.

From the moment her body sank to the bottom of the water, Wayne knew her seven minutes would not be of warm, happy memories.

They would be of dark, cold hallways. Empty chairs on her birthday table. Short excuses and empty apologies for any type of tournament they didn’t assist. Cold shoulders and annoyed stares whenever she spoke or made ‘dumb’ questions.

Her dad’s empty silence. Dick’s soft avoidance. Jason’s burning anger. Tim’s sharp cut-offs. Damian’s freezing hatred. 

Perhaps Death would allow her to have Alfred’s warming smiles and compassion. Maybe even the sweet melody of her mother’s humming voice as she laid on that small bed in the asylum.

Instead, she gets seven minutes of a complete acid trip.

A small town with overly nice people.

A woman and a man who are completely in love with one another. A house that changes from black and white to color, the furniture changing with the decades.

Two babies, twins, a girl and a boy.

The rush of the wind against her skin as she runs in a complete sugar rush with a man with silver hair and then the woman saying ‘if she was to break the sound barrier, she would take her brother with her’.

A huge fight with blows of red and purple and guns ending in with a warm family hug with the twins, a scarlet witch, and an android with a soul.

A good night scene, the woman kissing each of them on the forehead before turning the lights off.

The boy crawling into the girl’s bed and both of them holding to each other tightly as their world crumbles around them in a red dome.

‘Good night,---’

‘Good night, Billy.’

That name gets stuck in her brain as life slips away from her lungs. It echoes in a gentle, childish voice as it grows farther and farther away. Just like the air bubbles escaping from her mouth and nose.

‘A twin,’ a final thought muses. 

‘I always wanted a twin.’

‘Please, let me have that life next time.’

‘Please, let it be–’

•═•═•═•═•═•═•═•═•

“Billy!”

Those are the words (Y/N) Maximoff tried to say as her mouth graggled and vomited all the water from inside her lungs once she fought to remain afloat in the deep, dark water. The left side of her head throbbed like hell, making her dizzy and tired while swimming in a puppy-like style on her right side to finally reach the edge of the nasty pool she woke up in. 

Climbing it was another gigantic chore, but she refused to remain on the murky (read as definitely contaminated) water any longer.

Coughing up her guts and wheezing for air while drenched in nasty water and bleeding wound on the head was so going to the ‘Situations I Never Wish To Repeat Ever in My Life’ list. 

It would be the only one on it, but with the way things are looking at the moment, she is pretty sure that list is only going to keep growing.

She lay on her right side once she no longer felt like she was choking. Or maybe because her adrenaline finally crashed and her strength just gave up. 

Taking deep breaths, the situation began to sink in.

She was supposed to be dead. Gone. Kaput!

Or at least that’s what she thought. All that she remembers is Billy.

Half of her, never too far away. Always together. It’s how it is supposed to be.

Billy is not here. She is alone.

Alone. Cold. Wet. Hurt. 

Did she mention being wet? She hates being wet. She hates how heavy it makes her clothes (a uniform, from what she could see?). She hates how cold it makes her skin. She hates how it reminds her of the empty floating space she was held in before Billy brought her back.

Took him long enough! Billy knows how much she hates empty dark places.

With a groan, she sits up on the cold concrete, her wet figure leaving an imprint of water forming her silhouette as if it were a murder scene. All that was left was the white tape, the thought of it making her snort.

She came to regret it once the wound on her head gave a sharp ping of pain, almost as if her body was punishing her for thinking such morbid things.

Wincing as her hand went up to touch where the wound was throbbing. The groan that was about to come out turned into a rough cough once her fingers came up bloody. 

Her fingertips rubbed the clogged blood between them, eyes moving from them to look around her.

It was an abandoned place. By the looks of it, back in its former glory, it would have been a public pool. The sun chairs were all broken, rusted, and twisted in ways that left the tubes looking like some abstract sculpture. Some umbrellas were scattered around; either closed, open, or broken in various degrees.

The pool was still filled with water, if you call it that. It was a deep green that switched between brown and black depending on which angle you looked from.

A wired fence surrounded the place, some noticeable holes that indicated people would sneak in to do graffiti, drink or smoke if the clear signs on the walls and scattered around the floor weren’t enough.

A wave of nausea came over her as she looked back againg at the pool. She scattered on her knees as quick as possible to empty her stomach once again on a overgrown bush by the fence.

She clung to the fence, finally gathering the strength to stand up on her feet. Shivers went down her spine at the feeling of her socks squashing water on her pretty much ruined school shoes. Her head hanged for a few moments, head ringing from all that transpired in the last few minutes.

Billy. She needed to find Billy.

He has all the answers. She was a hundred percent sure he was the one that put her here. Not sure why he left her on her own and hurt and drowning in a pool that pretty much looks like the dark plague made in a liquid, but he would explain. He has an answer for everything. Always. And he will probably know where M–...

Her head suddenly went blank. As if it where a clean slate that left her in a dazed state. Once it was over, a groan of pain was heard from her, a splitting headache forming behind her eye balls.

…Wait. What was she thinking?

…

Billy. She has to find Billy.

She clung to that name, scrunching down a hole on the fence big enough for her to slip out. A few loose wires scraping against her uniform and legs. One even managed to snag at her skirt once she stood up fully on the other side.

Grumbling under her breath, taking the now broken cloth and finishing ripping it off.

‘Now she has an improvised bandage!’ A very animated thought came to her mind making her smile pleasantly.

Thankfully, the blood stopped flowing a while back so wiping the residue wasn’t that bad. She was a little bit hesitant to use it as bandage due to it being soaked with the water of the pool but she had no other choice.

Either get an infection or walk around looking like a murder victim.

“Infection it is,” she muttered while moving her hair away from her left temple and wrapping the cloth around her head.

She probably looked like Rambo if he was a pathetic wet child.

“Now, which way should I go?” she wondered out loud as she looked around the alley way. The building walls were too tall to see beyond them, and the sky was already turning pretty dark.

Walking carefully as she used the bricked wall as support, the next thing that came to view was a busy street.

People going from side to side, not even giving a spare glance at others. Some on their phones scrolling or on calls. Others simply walking while staring at a destination but never at another person. Men, women, kids, teens, of all ages.

Nobody spared a glance at her.

Which is honestly the best scenario from her point of view. No time to delay on her search.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” a gruff voice asked from her side.

Busted!

She moved her head to the side to look at the man. Tall, a bit round but more like a dad bod. Greying brown hair on the sides along with a mustache. Old fashioned glasses and a thick coat with a insignia on the left side.

A police insignia.

‘Stand down!’ ‘Handle the military, I’ll be right back!’ ‘Nice tricks.’ ‘Like yours too’-

Voices scattered around her head in flashes. She didn’t see who were saying them, only blurry silhouettes of color moving around before she was brought back to the present moment.

She took a step back. The man frowned. Not in anger but it looked like worry.

His gaze moved over her, checking her until he reached her face. Then he looked almost shocked for a moment.

Or was I something else?

“Wayne? What are you doing all the way down here? And alone?” He began tossing questions as he took another step closer and grasping her shoulder gently but firmly.

‘So it was a worried expression, got it.’

“What happened? You’re soaked to the bone!” He took off his coat and wrapped it around her. It was way bigger on her but she couldn’t complain over the warmth it brought her. She hadn’t realized how cold she actually was.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Don’t mention it, dear girl. But you haven’t answered my question, Wayne.” His voice turned a bit firm.

Damn. What was she supposed to say? And who the hell was Wayne?!

“Um, I don’t remember?” She lifted her shoulders with an awkward smile.

Best thing to do when you get caught by the police is too always act dumb. Or pretend amnesia. Which isn’t that far away from the truth, but hey, A win is win!

The man frowned, rubbing his temples as his glasses knocked up to his head with a sigh. An exasperated one. Then he took a deep breath and began to move her by the shoulders and start walking.

“You obviously got a wound on the head, so it could be a concussion. I’m driving you to the station so the Doc can check on you, alright?”

He asks as if she had a choice, which she clearly didn’t.

But, she let him walk her to the patrol car. Weighing her options, this was the better choice. Her main plan was asking around for Billy and maybe even climbing into the ceiling of a building and yell for him…

She wasn’t the best at planning. Sue her.

Now, she has better options. At the police station, she could get a change of clothes (maybe even get a quick shower if she begs?), get her wound checked out and also find information on where Billy is. All of that before they find out she is not whoever this Wayne person is.

Three birds in one shot! (Hopefully four birds. She stinks like a sewer rat.)

“Can I sound the alarm?!” She asks as soon as both of them get in the car.

He looks a bit startled at the sudden excitement. Even a bit off putting. But he just shakes his head with a quiet laugh and shows her the switch.

“Just wait until we get to-“

The alarm started blasting at full volume along with manical squealing.

•═•═•═•═•═•═•═•═•

“Yes, thank you so much for the call. I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

The old phone clicks the end of the call, a moment of silence interrupted with a sigh from Alfred as he walks away to gather his coat and keys of the car. He is grateful the call came in just as he finished seasoning the dinner for the night.

The boys are grown enough to know where the utensils and plates are to serve themselves. He doesn’t know how long this would take and traffic in Gotham is a living nightmare.

But before leaving, he made a quick detour through the manor. His destination; the master’s office. He had to be informed about this.

Even if it has been years since he actually made an effort for Lady (Y/N).

The young lady of the house has always been deemed as a quiet presence by the members of the family. Keeping her thoughts and opinions to herself. Polite and well mannered. Willing to do any type of chore if it meant having at least someone to notice her.

A greeting word, a gentle touch or even a warm hug. But all of that were for nothing.

She wasn't deemed loud enough amongst her peers to matter.

But to Alfred, she was the loudest presence to ever set foot in the Wayne Manor. It was almost sad how deaf the rest of the family was when it came to (Y/N).

Three sharp knocks on the door were enough for Master Bruce to let him enter the office. The curtains were already closed, almost giving a dark atmosphere if it weren't for the warm light lamps on his desk and by the corners of the room.

Master Bruce didn't even lift his head from the documents he was revewing.

"Is something wrong, Alfred?" his deep tired voice rumbling in the air as he switched documents. Sounds of papers being moved around made Alfred frown for a second.

Always a messy man when it comes to papers, that's why he does everything in that blasted computer in the cave.

"Yes, Master Wayne," he cleared his throat before continuing.

"Dinner is ready but hasn't been served. The young masters can serve themselves while I go to the police station to pick up the young mistress."

Silence.

"...The police station?"

His tone remained the same. As if talking about the weather. It irked Alfred how his master didn't seem to react accordingly to the situation.

"Yes. Chief Gordon was the one to call. Said he found Lady (Y/N) wandering around by herself by Grant Park. Completely drenched and out of it. He mentioned she was getting checked by their doctor in case she got a concussion."

Master Bruce took a few moments to finally lift his gaze from the papers. Alfred had spent many years besides Bruce, but sometimes he couldn't place what his masters nonverbal actions meant.

Just like right now.

"...Bring her. I'll talk to her later." his gaze turned down once again.

Alfred nodded and left the office without another word until her reached the car. Once he closed the driver's door, he let out a very deep and exhausted sigh.

He could feel the disappointment flowing up inside. It felt almost like failure. Failure for not being able to drag Bruce by the ear and make him drive to the station. For not having the audacity to scream at him for how he acts towards his own flesh and blood.

Anger at himself for not being able to do more for his young mistress.

As Alfred began to drive through the gates of the manor, he took notice of how the sky had turned already dark.

But what stood out was the quick flash of green and silver striking in between the black clouds. It was gone in just a second, the loud rumbling of thunder almost making the car windows shake.

He couldn't help but feel like it was omen.

Good or bad, that was to be determined.

•═•═•═•═•═•═•═•═•

Author's note: First chapter done! Please reblog and like. Do let me know what you guys think of it and what theories come up to mind with all the hints I left around the chapter! Hopefully, next chapter will be up next sunday if college doesn't kick my ass lol. Lots of love! GG✨

Bonus Memes:

[rororonyan]

Classsic Yandere mothman.. w a twist

Mothman has features that are very easily comparable to owls, stygian owls in particular have two antenna-like feathers atop their heads, and are well known for their blood red eyes when exposed to artificial light and lamps. A common explanation for 'mothman' sightings are that of owls, mothman in particuliar often chalked up to a stygian owl. In folklore, it is sometimes said that mothman will appear before great disasters, so when you see him, it's a bad omen..

[allimili]

Shmilk be like.

“where’s that hot animatronic”

YOURE ABOUT TO DIE-

[pacofprunes]

NO TIP?

pairing — racer!jeno x reader w - noncon, misogyny, g - dark, smut | masterlist

summary — you had been working on a new paint job for a pretty well known racers car. when he comes in to pick it up and you tell him it won’t be done until tomorrow, he switches gears and starts being a total asshole. you tell him to just get out, but he makes sure to give you a tip before he goes.

a/n — hencheri got this stuck in my head after this and this specific post, so i had to make something about this

you’d been working on a paint job for a pretty well known racers car for a couple days now. you think the guys name was jeno? you worked at a car shop but you didn’t keep up with that type of stuff. you hadn’t actually met him, but you were the one who’s been doing all the paint work for him. a new shiny coat on his expensive car for his show. you’d kill to have a car like this, it was nice as fuck.

you heard the door open and you realized it was probably him. you forgot that you hadn’t called to let him know that it’d be another day as the car needed some more time to dry. you fully prepare yourself for him to be a little angry, but you could’ve never prepared yourself for what he’d do instead of throwing a few snarky remarks at you. he walks up to your counter and eyes you up and down with an almost confused look on his face before he looks back at his car and turns back around to face you.

“i’m here to pick that up. should be under the name jeno.”

you cough before biting the inside of your cheek preparing for an outburst of some sort.

“sorry sir, it should be fully dried by tomorrow. it’s still a bit tacky.”

you swear he gave you a dirty look, but whatever, it was better than him screaming at you. you couldn’t speed up how fast a car could dry. if you could, you would, it’d make your job a lot easier.

“are you the one working on my car?”

“uhm, yes?”

he scoffs before looking back over at his car once again. he mumbled a “no fucking way…” under his breath and you just rolled your eyes before turning around to reach something hanging on the wall behind the counter.

“so then you wouldn’t know if it’s done or not.”

you still for a second and laugh slightly under your breath before you turn back to face him. what the hell was he talking about?

“sir, i worked on it, therefore i know that it’s done…even if i hadn’t painted your car, which i did, it’s pretty obvious to anybody that your car isn’t done. you can go touch it if you want, it’s still sticky to the touch.”

you hadn’t meant for it to come out with such attitude, but he was literally doing the same thing to you. you knew he was a racer or some shit but that doesn’t mean you should just bow down to him.

“i hope you’re not expecting a tip.”

seriously? he probably makes thousands a month and he can’t spare you a fucking tip? look at that nice ass paint job you just did. a gorgeous bright red, and it’d look even better when it was completely dry and shiny. you just ignore his comment and move over to him at the register.

“cash or card?”

he just slams the cash on the table without making a sound and you go to count it before he opens his mouth for yet another snarky remark.

“you really think i didn’t give you enough? you think i don’t got enough money, huh?”

you have to hold back from giving him a dirty look which was insanely hard by the way, and you’re sure you gave him some sort of look anyways because he made sure to give you a nasty look right after you had felt your eyebrows scrunch together at him.

“i have to count, sir. it’s got nothing to do with my personal beliefs. despite you not tipping..”

he slams his hand on the counter and you knew he had heard you.

“so, what? you’re just some greedy bitch who’s tryna empty out my pockets?”

you would have just told him to take the car and go but it’d literally be done by tomorrow and he already gave you the cash and you knew with his status that it’d be made into some huge deal. you put the money into the register and step back before placing your hands against your hips.

“excuse me? you can leave. you can pick up your car tomorrow since you already paid. unless you’ve got anymore questions, you can see yourself out.”

he looks down at the counter for a second before you see his fingers start to grip against the glass.

“i’ve got a few questions actually, ma’am.”

he takes a step towards the entrance of the counter.

“how long you been working here?”

he doesn’t give you a chance to answer before he take another step towards the opening to enter behind the counter.

“you’re a woman, what makes you think you have any business working here?”

he’s standing right at the opening to the counter now and you open your mouth but a small sound only gets the chance to slip out before he cuts you off again.

“you want a tip so bad, right?”

he’s takes his last step and is now fully behind the counter, standing right in front of you and staring you down intensely. you take a small step back and he quickly grabs your shoulder, his finger nails digging deeply into it.

“so why don’t i fucking give you one.”

he immediately turns you over by your shoulder and presses you against his back, wrapping a hand around your waist so you couldn’t get away from him. the place was empty, you were meant to close up tonight. you didn’t know what the hell he wanted. he literally just paid you the exact cash you needed, no way it was a robbery. you curse at him to let you go but he pulls you from behind the counter and over towards his car. he feels you up on the way there, forcing a hand into your pants and attempting to finger you, and that’s when you realized what he wanted and what was going to happen.

finally, you let out at least five screams before he slams a hand over your mouth. you were standing in front of the hood of his car now and you could feel his boner poking you right in the ass.

he continued to shove his fingers into you mercilessly and pulling out every few seconds to add a weak attempt at providing your clit attention. you stomp on his foot and he lets out a pained sound and a “you fucking bitch” before he pulls his hand out of your pants and shoves you onto the still tacky sticky hood of his car. you put your hands onto the side of the hood to push yourself up but he quickly presses his hand against your back to hold you down. you try to swing your arms back at him, hoping to hit something, but it does nothing, obviously. his other hand is still tight on your face and it’s threatening to slide up and cover your nose.

“what’s up with you uptight bitches, huh? thought you wanted a tip? i’d say fucking with a racer is a pretty big tip, right?”

he pushes your pants down along with your panties before you hear a belt from behind you and your pathetic squirms below him get more intense and reckless.

“you wanna be a bitch, right? i’ll treat you like a bitch then.”

and right then, he pushes his dick right in you. no easing, no stopping, he just goes right into you and immediately starts thrusting. you start to whine underneath him and you move your feet up from the floor hoping to hit him, but he just steals your idea and kicks you right in the back of your calf, hard. you immediately scream into his palm and feel like you’re sinking deeper into his car. you just lie there for a little, breathing heavy and you move your eyes up slowly and through his windshield you’re able get a slight look at the situation. you felt disgusting. you could see the sweat sticking to his face, his bangs bouncing with every relentless movement. and from how much you were sticking to the car, your body barely even moved from all the thrusts he was making. all you heard was the slight creakiness and bouncing of the car and his grunts and shitty moans. you hated him.

“you feel how big this tip is slut? wanna complain like a stripper not gettin’ enough money.”

he leans down into your ear and his thrusts suddenly quicken like a machine.

“maybe this’ll teach you not to take men’s jobs. what’s a woman like you even doing in an area like this?”

you whine against the palm of his hand and you just shake your head no. not at anything he said in particular, but just the whole situation. you try to mumble a few ‘stops’ underneath his palm, and you know that he hears them. you know he understands you don’t want this, but why the fuck would he care? was this really all because you were working at a job predominantly done by men…? seriously? when you feel yourself squeeze around him and hear him laugh, you feel absolutely disgusted with yourself and your body. your pussy was getting wetter and wetter, finally making noises everytime that his balls slapped against it. you get frustrated and you start sobbing angrily into his palm, stomping like a child against the floor. you would kick him again, but you knew the next time he kicked you right back, it’d be ten times worse than the first time. and so what if you managed to kick him off of you anyway? you wouldn’t get that far. he was ten times bigger than you and with your pants halfway down your legs, you’d trip over your own feet before you could even get one step in. the only thing you could do was wait until he was finished.

when you feel his fingernails squeeze into your back and feel something leak down your legs, you know exactly what it is and just pray that that’s enough and that this is all over. and when you hear the fabric of his pants brush against his legs and his belt clasp, your hopes have been fulfilled. or at least that’s what you thought. he didn’t release the palm that was on your mouth, only having moved his hand off of your back, now giving you more room to squirm. but he doesn’t let you get up. he moves the palm from your mouth to your head, pressing your cheek into the car and you can only yell so much in a position like that.

“get off of me! take your car and just go!”

you hear him scoff from behind you and you feel him circle his fingers on your clit before sliding them alllll the way down your slit until finally pushing them into your embarrassingly wet hole.

“you’d think after all that you’d get rid of that bitchy fukin’ attitude.”

he continues to finger you but once you feel him push a third finger in, you have to stop a moan from slipping. you try to move your hands up the car to create as much distance as you could between you and him. it became painful to do so as the paint had started to dry to your hands, but you continued anyways. but it wasn’t doing anything though, his fingers only follow you.

“we’re gonna stay here until you stop your bitching.”

and that’s when he slips a fourth finger in and you can feel yourself clench, and this time your body doesn’t let go, holding onto his fingers for dear life and he lets out a sick laugh. the moment you can tell that you’re about to cum all over his fingers, you try to push yourself up the car even more, becoming desperate, but it only encourages him to play with your clit as well now and he pushes your face harder against the car.

“i’m sorry—i’m sorry! okay? you can have the car for free—please!”

he scoffs and ignores your whining and continues to thrust his fingers into you. you became desperate, okay? what more could you do besides beg him to stop? he didn’t like your attitude? okay then, maybe your begging for mercy would detour him! but that’s not what he wanted. he wanted to strip you of any confidence and pride that you once had. he wanted to absolutely humiliate you. and when he saw you finish all over his fingers, he knew that had had. he immediately pulls his fingers out and he slaps your ass while laughing before moving back and you can hear him fumbling with something. you quickly push yourself up off of his car and it feels as if the skin is about to be ripped off of your face, but luckily, none comes off. when you finally free your face from the car hood, you’re met with a sight that would forever be engraved in your mind. your face print was totally embedded into his car. your hand prints littered it as well, and although your work top prevented a perfect outline, your chest was imprinted on there as well.

you quickly pull up your pants and go to move back but he quickly walks up beside you and throws an arm into your shoulder before looking down at you.

“it looks good doesn’t it?”

you just stare at it in disgust and he throws his shoulder off of you before taking a step back, grabbing his wallet and reaching in it before throwing a couple sorry ass twenty dollar bills at you like you were some stripper and a white strip of paper that lands on the car. you pick it up and realize it was a ticket to one of his shitty racing shows.

“you’re lucky i’m giving you one for free, front row too. better see you there, i want you to see my awesome new car design in action.”

he points to the prints on his car and you snap your head up to him, face wet with tears and painted with concern. you didn’t want to keep that shit on his car. so what if people didn’t know that the face print was yours? that’s humiliating as fuck! he squats down to your level as if you were a child and throws a hand onto your arm, squeezing it threateningly.

“if those prints aren’t still there by the time i pick it up tomorrow, i can assure you that you’ll see me again.”

he straightens his knees again, menacingly looking down at you before slowly removing his hand from your arm, dragging out every second before his hand finally drops and he simply just walks away. you just stand there stunned, money surrounding you and his car staring you dead in your face.

you turn to your side to get one last look at it. what were you supposed to tell your boss about what the hell that was? you can see yourself once again in the reflection of the windshield, your face has red paint all on its side and your hair is sticking up in a million different places, bits of paint stuck in it as well. a million showers would never be able to wash away what happened tonight, and a crummy hundred dollar tip didn’t make up for it either.

you stare the money dead in the face and let your tears drip onto the numbers printed on the paper. you’d be thankful if you never got a tip from somebody ever again.

[meo-eiru]

Seeing the best dreams with my beloved by my side

[marsian-tango]

Yandere Camp Counselor

Fresh out of college, after four years of doing nothing but studying, you’re finally free!

Everything is gonna be fine now, the nightmare has ended. The sleepless nights are gone, those lazy classmates who you had to work with are no longer in sight, the teacher who once failed you and gave you the news with a condescending smile on their face is now bidding you goodbye.

The ominous presence of adulthood is breathing down your neck, and your parents’ warnings of the difficulties that you'll have to endure now such as jobs and taxes do intimidate you a bit. But you got it under control!

You remember when you were little and your parents would send you to Camp Howler, you had the utmost fun there. Each summer since you were eight, you’d beg your parents to leave you there, and each summer they did. That was until you got ‘too old’ for that ‘childish stuff’, according to them.

You applied for a job as a camp counselor, and when you told the head counselor who you were and that you used to go there when you were little, he recognised you immediately. You could hear his excitement through the phone when he told you that you and him used to spend all summers together at camp, even sharing a bunk bed!

How cool!

And look at you now, finally free from academic obligations, ready to work at the place where you got all your best memories from, and with the one person your young self used to hang out with!

Ugh! This. Will. Be. Awesome!

Yandere! Camp counselor who practically squealed like a little girl when he recognised who you were, almost ending the call by accident when his phone slipped out of his shaky grasp.

He can’t believe it! It’s you! After so many years of not knowing how you were doing or where you were, he’s finally gonna see you again. Oh, boy, is he ecstatic!

Yandere! Camp counselor who used to be so close to you, attached to the hip. He knew you like the palm of his hand, and that always made you feel all warm and fuzzy inside, it made you feel important, so you never thought of spending your time with anybody else at camp, although it’s not like you could anyway. It’s no surprise, really, everytime you came to camp he would intercept you before anyone else could.

Yandere! Camp counselor who never forgot about you. You were once the light of his life, he remembers playing with you every day, doing all the fun activities that Camp Howler offered. You two would spend the entire day together, and it was all just chatting, laughing, running, swimming—all of it together.

And at the end of the day, you guys would get back to your shared cabin and have your usual sleepover—and if he was lucky, you’d fall asleep before even getting to your bunk, succumbing to slumber right by his side, without a care in the world, as he nuzzles into your neck and takes in your addicting scent. Strawberries and sunlight. Ah, he still remembers.

Yandere! Camp counselor who waits by the entrance of the camp with a bouquet of wildflowers in one hand, and a homemade bracelet in the other. He’s not sure how long he’s been standing here for, all he knows is that you left home at 7 AM, and he woke up at—well, he didn’t wake up at all, the excitement to see you again kept him up all night.

His eyes widen and his pulse quickens when he sees a car approaching, and the moment he sees your figure getting out of the car he’s full sprinting towards you, almost tackling you to the ground with a warm bear hug.

Gosh! It’s been so long! Oh, you’re glowing. You've certainly bloomed into the most beautiful flower. Oh! You need to tell him everything about you. What have you been up to? What did you study? Did you like it? How are your parents? Are you single?

Yandere! Camp counselor who can’t be away from you. Seriously, it makes him feel physically sick. It’s just like when you were kids, but a hundred times more.

You just got to camp a few days ago, you’re still getting to know all the other counselors and campers, but the nostalgia and familiarity of it all makes you feel right at home.

And having your childhood friend by your side brings up so many memories. He, for once, is having so much fun with you here. You two can do all the things that you did as kids, the only difference is that you guys are grown ups now. The best of both worlds!

Yandere! Camp counselor who wasn’t an antisocial kid or even shy, in fact, he was quite outspoken and friendly, and when his hyperactivity got the best of his parents, they decided to send him to Camp Howler to wear out some energy.

He made many friends there, but one fateful day…he met you. Poor and homesick you. He felt drawn instantly. How could he not? You were like a small fawn missing their parents, afraid of all the noise and people, looking for a place to hide from all the loud beasts. He needed to help you, to be your shelter, your protector. Oh, you looked so scared and lost…

Yandere! Camp counselor who, ever since that day, became your knight in shining armor. Never letting any camper near your delicate frame. Ah, even as a kid he was devoted to you.

Now he doesn’t protect you from campers—he knows you can deal with them on your own. He protects you from other counselors. Those are the real mutts here!

Yandere! Camp counselor who insists on reminiscing the good old days by being bunk buddies again. C’mon, you guys used to have so much fun! A never ending sleepover. Every. Night. C’mon, you used to love it! And you can even have the top bunk.

Oh? You’d rather have some privacy and sleep alone?

Well, guess what? There are no other beds! So unless you want to sleep on the floor, you’ll have to share a bunk with him. But don’t worry, it’ll be so much fun! You can make friendship bracelets, and tell spooky stories—you can even cuddle him if it gets too scary. Trust me, he wouldn't mind.

Yandere! Camp counselor who loves watching you interact with the kids. It’s just so cute to see you playing with the young campers and doing all the fun stuff that you guys did at their age. It makes him realize how good of a parent you’ll be one day. Although, he already knew that. When playing house with you, you were always such a good spouse. Making the imaginary food, setting the plastic table, always greeting him with a peck on the cheek when he came back from the rainbow factory.

Oh, he always knew, even from a young age, that you’d be the perfect spouse.

He’s not really sure why he used to enjoy playing house with you so much, or why he’s having these unusual thoughts of you being a spouse…

But, hey! It must be nothing, right?

Yandere! Camp counselor who always feels something strange bubbling in his chest when you’re around, something intensely warm and uncontrollable. He’s felt it ever since you two were kids. It’s so weird. He never paid too much attention to it since he thought that it was a common thing between friends. But that feeling changed once you stopped coming to camp, it turned into something heavy, yet sharp.

And now that he’s got you back it’s like his entire body is on fire. Like his heart wants to come out of his ribcage and get into yours.

He’s really confused. When he was little he remembers talking to a counselor about it, and the young adult suggested that it was…a crush.

He didn’t get it at the time, but now he understands it perfectly. This does feel like a crash! It feels as if his body was being sunk down by this dense feeling, all the way down till it crashes against the core of the earth.

Huh.

So that’s what it’s called. That is a crush. To feel the weight of your unwavering love resting upon your shoulders and throat, filling your lungs with confessions that you would only come up with in the darkest hours of the night, and you’d only be brave enough to utter in the haze of drunkenness.

Yandere! Camp counselor who’s not sure how to approach this whole ‘crush’ situation. He wants to tell you how he feels, but he doesn’t know if you feel the same way, and he doesn’t wanna force that kind of connection. He wants to have a real thing with you, like the whole package.

He wants to take you out on a date, to make you gifts, to make you feel loved, and to show you that what he feels is genuine.

He’s not completely sure about the whole romance protocol, he’s not as socially skilled as he was when he was younger. Truth be told, after you stopped coming to camp, he kinda shut himself off. He stopped hanging out with his friends, never speaking to anyone but his parents, and the only way to have a full on conversation with him was if it was about you.

Poor, pathetic baby. He missed you so much.

But he’s willing to learn! He’ll woo you so hard, you’ll swoon at the sight of him.

Yandere! Camp counselor who, during your nightly strolls near the lake, suggests having a different kind of fun tonight, a more reckless kind of fun.

Ah, you see. The lake looks so refreshing, and it’s so hot today—the hottest day of the year, says the news—it seems as if the weather itself was tempting you to peel off your skin and let the summer breeze consume you altogether…but maybe a little swim would be enough, don’t you think?

C’mon! A nice swim to cool off your bodies before going to sleep, sounds like heaven on a day like this.

Sorry, what? You don’t have your swimsuit…

Well, that's fine! There’s nobody around but you two. You don’t have to be so worried. Sure, he doesn’t have his swimsuit either. But you guys still have your underwear, that should do the trick, right?

Yandere! Camp counselor who makes sure to always sit next to you during campfires. Pretending to yawn before wrapping his arm around your shoulders, bringing you even closer than you already were.

And every time. He prays to every God there is for you to get spooked by some scary story, so you can curl to his side, and he can swiftly pull you to his lap. That has only happened once. But, God, one can only dream.

Yandere! Camp counselor who tries to get a hold of his feelings, he really does. But it's so hard! And the kids notice. Boy, do they notice. They overheard him once attempting to flirt with you, albeit you remained oblivious to his intentions, they sure didn’t. The campers have a field day with that one, let me tell you that.

Yandere! Camp counselor who has to put up with the kids making fun of him. The campers see how infatuated—obsessed he is with you, and some of them even try to set you up with him, but others just use this as an opportunity to bully him even more.

He’s so pathetic. Making you bracelets and necklaces, writing you little poems, ogling you from a bush while you swim in the lake—now that they think about it, he’s more creepy than pathetic.

But in the end two groups were formed. The group that sees this as the perfect way to spend their summer, cause who doesn’t enjoy messing with a grown man and his futile attempts of seduction? And the group that takes pity on him and decides to help him achieve his goal.

The second group makes all kinds of projects. They plan a candle lit dinner under the mesmerising moonlight. A picnic on a nearby hill as the sunset sets away in the distance. A slow dance after the bonfire with the stars painting the sky above.

The first group succeeds in ruining all of those plans. That candle lit dinner? Well, it looks like one of those candles reached some dry weeds and started a fire! That picnic on the hill? I bet you weren’t expecting to be so close to a wasp nest, huh. A slow dance, was it? Oh, no! A kid was messing around with a conveniently accessible nail gun and hurt himself!

Yep, they’re really up for the challenge. They give their best every single time. Even if it means compromising their physical integrity.

Yandere! Camp counselor who is unlucky, inexperienced, weird, and overall, a total loser. But he loves you with all his might. He doesn’t care that all his attempts ended in failure, he will never stop trying. Because you’re worth it. You’re worth every failure, cause one day, life will smile at him and you’ll be finally his.

He can endure a few more failed tries, it’s okay. The wasp stings don’t hurt that much anyway.

He’s got all summer to show you his love, and if that doesn’t work, he’s always got next summer. Or the next one, or the next one, or the next one—point is, he’s got time!

It’s not like you have anywhere else to go during the summer, right?

You need a job, you need money—and he’s the head counselor of the camp, so he controls your paycheck. If you even think about looking for another job, he’ll just increase your paycheck! He doesn’t mind. He might have to make some cutbacks here and there, but he’s sure the other counselors won’t mind earning a little less money, and if they do—well, he can always just fire them!

Yandere! Camp counselor who just got you back after years of being away from you. Surely you don’t expect him to let go of you that easily, do you? You came back to him, this is destiny. Your fate is to end up with him. He can feel it.

C’mon, you must feel something for him, right? It can’t possibly be one sided…

You better pray that it’s not one sided, cause if it is, he’ll freak out. He’ll go insane. We’re talking about a pathetic weirdo here, we don’t know what he’s capable of!

Yandere! Camp counselor who will make you love him, even if it takes a thousand summers. He won’t let you go, he won’t make the same mistake twice.

Who ordered a pathetic freak with a side of fries?! Hello, everybody, i missed you. I missed my community of freaks who yearn for yearners. I'm starting to get frustrated with myself, I recently found out that I'm not good at writing stories in a format that isn't "Yandere! who", but I'll keep practising. I'll try not to procrastinate so much and just...write. Even if it's REALLY bad. Remember that if there's any mistakes, let me know. Anyway, I hope everyone is having a good day, night, or whatever's in between. Kisses <3

[lofious]

I had this school au dream where Sawyer was a popular kid mostly because of his accomplishments that he’d done. He’s known to be dismissive and would only communicate with others if he needs to, like school staff and his small group of ‘friends.’ Who are mostly the higher-ups in Poppy playtime like Leith sticking by his side cause of Sawyer’s accomplishments and with how much they’ve seething towards each other’s presence, it’s bound for them to be some type of frenemies.

Reader wasn’t popular like Harley but they’re good friends with Stella (love her ❤️). And they’re known to be nicknamed, “Angel.” Since they’re aware that Sawyer is one of those popular guys who doesn’t get along with anyone, it’s obvious that the two wouldn’t interact a lot. They’ve seen in each other and had a one or two conversations with school projects and what not, but overall they’re not really friends, at least that’s what the reader thinks.

They’re not sure when this incident occurred but they’ve been getting a lot of sticky notes from an anonymous person. Who uses the notes as their way of communicating with Reader. Of course, they tried to find out who’s the individual that’s been interacting with them through those notes, only to find no leads as asking other students didn’t give them any clue on who could be the anonymous person. Thankfully, their interactions were harmless and the anonymous individual sounded like they just wanted to talk to the Reader.

Thinking that the person behind these sticky notes is a shy person, Reader tries to reassure and encourage the anonymous person to reveal their identity but with how persistent and persuasive they are about not wanting to reveal themselves, Reader eventually leaves that thought alone. Unaware that it was Harley all along, who’s terrible at communicating properly without sounding rude or dismissive. Unbeknownst to the reader, Harley would make sure that any other individuals who has interest in them would be dealt with. I love when he blackmails and doxx somebody for being too close to me by a inch 😍

[luceafarul-de-dimineata]

You know what, yandere Lucifer being a horrified medical professional at MC's condition. Very little NSFW but still enough to make me put a below the cut just in case

Yandere Lucifer brainrot (NSFWish)

Lucifer was called to look after the sick Solomon decendent

While he didn't exactly appreciate being interupted from his pleasant chat with Gamigin, if it was for you he could make an exception.

The voice on the phone talked some nonsense about a Christmas cold, but it was common for the less than enlightened in the field of medicine to make up strange names for already known deseases

He got up and brought Marbas along just to be sure, but what he found was simply pitiful

You were on the bed, exhausted, shivering, simply pathetic... I mean, more than usual...

Lucifer stared with pity and concern... yet he has had to deal with much worse. What really shocked him was one he did some questioning to the kings and they admited they knew the cure to your issue yet refused to administer it to you.

Under Lucifer's terrifying glare, the other kings' pride disipated as fast as it formed. The fallen angel only whispered and the crowd left the room.

He was aware of the other devils' incompetance, but this was something else. Were they that wrapped up in their grandious fantasies of fairytale romance that they didn't realise just how much pain they were forcing onto you?

While the others, under Lucifer's command, ran to get that cure, he had a patient to take care of him.

You were barely awake, fever overtaking your fragile, useless body, Lucifer gently pet your head, stroking your hair gently. The same pity he felt for Gamigin so many years ago, he started getting overcomed by once more.

"Child of Adam... stay with me. You shall not suffer in my pressence. Rest well for I am here to help you. Shh..."

His voice lulls you into a relaxing rest. You don't even have any other unholy thoughts your head empty, only rest in your mind.

You awaken to the feeling of a syringe being injected into you with surgical precission, the liquid inside calming your feverish impulses.

Before you could make sense of your situation, Lucifer was holding you like a baby and petting your back, humming a sweet song.

He sits down, placing you on his lap, licking the fresh tears from your cheeks, leaving butterfly kisses wherever he dragged his tongue. He felt particularly loving right now, your tears... those damn tears...

Salty tears dragging down your face, leaving wet trails for him to follow up to your shiny eyes. Even when at your filthiest, those tears cleaned the dirt and purified your soul, showing Lucifer what he always loved most, your innocence. You were but a newborn in his ancient eyes, a new born that was clearly being handled poorly by the six kings.

You were so weak! And the kings clearly didn't have your better interest at mind. He decided that the only thing he can do is take you under his wing and protect you from the dangers outside.

Maybe you would try to escape his grasp, maybe you'll just accept your fate, it doesn't really matter what you want, Lucifer can rewrite the laws of nature, your will is no match for his devine powers

He would constantly do check-ups on you, make sure that your body functioned properly, though you're starting to question some of his methods.

Sure, him holding you by the throat while you sit on his lap, your back to his chest, is totally to check your pulse and nothing else

The ways he orders you to bend are just to test your flexibility, his gropping is to check your skin for lumps, he only makes you cockwarm him so he can get a proper feel of your internal temperature, the tears that cascade down your visage are just a plus in his books, your way of thanking him for the care

Don't you dare complain about him. You remeber getting sick? How all the other kings so selfishly witheld the medicine from you in your time of need. You don't want that again, do you?

In all honestly, he is the best doctor ever, so at least you get free unlimited health care

[myfavoritesstuff]

Visual Novels & Webtoons

Note: Please do not read if you are not okay with yandere tendencies or violence!

Discord!!!! Please join if you like reading and/or writing or just want to talk (text). It will be my way of talking or obsessing over these characters.

Note: The Discord Link is now updated! Feel free to join!

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Dreaming Freedom

Nothing yet

The Kid at the Back

Through the Illustrated Veil

The Coffin of Andy and Leyley

“Your Andy”

Possession from Within

“Yes, We Really Do” (smut)

Through the Illustrated Veil

14 Days with you

Through the Illustrated Veil

Mushroom Oasis

Nothing yet

A Date with Death

Nothing yet

Favor

Embrace of Shadows (smut)

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

[doinkbunny]

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ᵎᵎ.˖ꪆ𖠵꒷ SALVATORE .𖥔 ݁ ˖

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ Yandere ENA's fascination with reader

⋆. 𐙚 Pst! Cherry says: ANOTHER YANDERE ENA FOR YOUR VICIOUS OBSESSION BABEYYYYY, the lack of fics involving her is heartbreaking, so ive come to your rescue!! Btw this is also me training my grammar + oneshots so this is probably mediocre... Reader is fem cuz i love wlw.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ Type: Fluff, romantic, one shot.

✧₊⁺ Warnings: Obsession, stalking and perhaps a tad suggestive(?) she's worshipping you, hard. (if there're anymore tags i need to add please inform me<3)

｡𖦹°‧ Song: Salvatore - Lana del Rey

"Perhaps my perception is correct... She is some kind of walking love spell."

Ena thought; it would be almost meticulous if it wasn't just her lovesickness taking over, delirious with love for you while stalking, keeping a distanced walk with you.

It was definitely no big deal; a stroll throughout the pixelated and beautifully confusing world was part of her routine anyway. She just happened to be walking in the same way as you... for the 10th time in a row! Lucky her.

Her eyes were fully locked on you, analyzing, watching. Any polygon composed figure that walked past could easily identify it as a stalking situation, but it's not like Ena would care anyway; she had her whole world walking right in front of her:

You.

Ena viewed you as a blessing, a stretched hand amidst of thousands who didn't even dare to open up to her. You saved her from the dark view she had of others.

Her salvatore.

She remembers when you both went out for a little stroll around—oh how beautiful you looked, the way you'd look and speak to her as if she didn't have an "almost reaching hell" reputation made her heart palpitate.

Meanie almost snapped that day, wished she could snatch you up right there and take you to a more private place and—

...

Ena stopped an already raised hand from touching you unexpectedly, consequently making her stalking come to a halt, permitting you to obliviously walk away.

Gosh, you really can change even the most well-postured minds to an impulsive, love mess, can't you?

She doesn't mind; she could be messed up by you as much as you wanted, obliviously or not.

It would only be fair after all:

You're her salvatore

Word count: 207

Fic made by ADM Cherry. ( @dissociativedollcherry )