#yandere gojo x reader
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Hysteria
Sum: Divorced, betrayed, and end up in a mental hospital? Definitely not on your 2025 bingo card.
Haze the epilogue
Yan!SatoSugu x Reader
WC: 9.7k (I sincerely apologize)
TW: Yandere Behaviors, SatoSugu smoochies, Medical AU, Masturbation, Noncon touching, Piss (nonsexual), Infantalization, Mental Hospital, False Medical Accusation, Medical malpractice, Electroshock therapy, Humilation, Reader is...really going through it. MDNI. ANGST. Dead dove do not eat
A/n: đ anon, thank you for giving the yummy idea. Dw there will be another medical au with the fears, but somehow satosugu and psych wards just...fueled me....
Grippy socks and a whole lot of rage.
You thundered through the cold hallways, those stupid grips on the bottom of your pale pink socks slapping against the soulless tile as you stormed toward the front deskânavigating the corridors with ease, with practice.
"Missus Geto!"
The nurseâs voice cut through the air, concern etched into every syllable. You barely heard her over the pounding in your ears, over the sound of your ragged breath. The two nurses in sterile white uniforms flanking you moved in closer.
"What the hell is the meaning of this?"
You tried to sound calm. Like you werenât unhinged. Because you arenât.
So why the hell are they treating you like you are?
Your fingers dug into the white desk, nails pressing so hard against the surface that it felt like your nails might leave a mark.
Your gaze flickered to the back wall, where pristine frames displayed crisp, professional lettering.
Geto Suguru.
Gojo Satoru.
The two main doctors.
One of them your ex-husband.
The other, someone you once considered a friend.
Letâs backtrack, shall we?
Suguru had always been gentle. Not in the way that people could be when they tried to be, not in the way that was practiced. No, he was gentle in the way that flowers turned toward the sun, effortlessly, instinctively.
His hands always ran warm, fingertips tracing absentminded circles against your skin whenever he held you. He kissed you like it was second nature like the act itself was woven into his being. Slow, lingering, like he had all the time in the world to savor you.
"You always rush," he would murmur against your lips, hands cupping your face, thumbs stroking the apples of your cheeks. "Take a breath, angel."
And you would.
Because in his arms, the world didnât just slowâit stilled. It curled around the two of you, safe, untouched, like a sanctuary built for no one else. He memorized you with the precision of a surgeon and the devotion of a poet, every habit, every breath, every fleeting hesitation. Your friends envied it. Your parents bragged about it.
"A doctor in the family!" theyâd say, pride swelling in their voices.
Suguru would only chuckle, his arm draped securely around your waist, grounding you, anchoring you. Then, in the quiet of an evening, when the world faded away, heâd murmur little truths about you, the ones only he had noticed.
"She chews her lip when sheâs thinking too hard," heâd tease, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth. "She likes her tea sweet, but not too sweet. And she counts her steps when sheâs anxiousâ"
"Suguru!" youâd huff, pushing at his chest, but the warmth in your cheeks betrayed you.
And heâd only smile, soft and knowing, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "What? I like knowing you."
He was perfect. Too perfect.
Every fight ended the same wayâhim, impossibly composed, those stormy violet eyes locked onto you with patience that never cracked.
"Angel, sit with me."
"Suguru, I donâtâ"
"Please."
And you would.
Because he had a way of making the world go silent, of smothering your fire with the weight of his gentleness. He never yelled, never lashed out, never met your frustration with his own. Instead, heâd gather you in his arms, press his lips to your temple, and whisperâ
"Tell me whatâs wrong."
You hated that. Hated the way he never let the fight breathe, never let it burn. Hated that he never raised his voice, never let you see the cracks, never showed you anything but unwavering, unshakable devotion.
You wanted him to break. Just once.
Instead, he ran his fingers through your hair, pressed featherlight kisses against your hairline, held you until your breathing slowed, until your words lost their edges and softened into something he could soothe, something he could fix.
"See?" heâd murmur. "We can figure this out. Together."
And maybe that was love.
Or maybe it was something else entirely.
Maybe it was why, one morning before your shift at the ER, you left the divorce papers on his desk, your hands trembling as you placed the pen beside them.
Maybe it was why, as you stepped over the threshold of the home you built together, your heart felt like it was tearing itself apart.
Because love shouldnât feel like suffocation.
Even if the arms around you were warm. Even if the kisses were soft.
Even if walking away made you wonder if, maybeâjust maybeâyou had just made the biggest mistake of your life.
âYou donât find a man like that in every lifetime, Y/N.â
Your motherâs voice crackled through the phone, sharp and impatient, as you yanked your scrubs over your head, the fabric stiff from too many late-night washes.
âSeriously, how many overnight shifts have you been working? You married a doctor! You should settle down, have some babiesânot stay up all night playing nurse.â
You clenched your jaw.
Yes. You - a nurse married a doctor.
And somehow, everyone always forgot that nurses saved lives, too.
You huffed, shoving your hands into your pockets, double-checking for the essentials, pen light, trauma shears, and your stash of caffeine for the night.
"Iâm not playing nurse, Mother," you muttered, stuffing your phone between your shoulder and ear.
"Then what is it, sweetheart?" she pried, and you could already hear the sigh she was holding back.
Something just feels⌠wrong.
But you didnât say that.
Because it didnât matter.
And just like you expected, she brushed your worries aside, swept them under the rug the way mothers always did. A moment later, your phone pinged, and there it wasâher latest unsolicited solution, wrapped in a clickbait headline.
"How to Save Your Marriage!" straight from some old Cosmopolitan article.
You rolled your eyes.
At least it wasnât like the one she sent last week.
"How to Spice Up the Bedroom."
Where sheârepeatedlyâasked if your sex life was still healthy.
You stopped replying after that.
Not because your sex life was bad.
It wasnât.
Suguru was⌠well.
He was a man built for worshipâhis, yours, it didnât matter.
Everything about him had been crafted to please, down to the way he touched youâdeliberate, devout, like it was a privilege, like he had all the time in the world to learn what made you tremble, what made you fall apart beneath him.
He made you feel cherished.
Until you started pulling away.
At first, it was small. His arms encircled your waist as you washed dishes, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, the warm inhale before his teeth grazed your skin-
And then the series of kisses, slow and soft, trailing down the column of your neck, down, down, downâ
Until you were stepping away.
Another meek smile.
Another Iâm just tired.
Because you were.
Three back-to-back night shifts in the ER, too many patients flatlining on the table, your body running on caffeine fumes and pure adrenaline.
And Suguru?
He never got angry. Never snapped, never accused, never let frustration seep into his voice.
"Donât worry, angel," heâd murmur instead, pressing a final kiss to your temple. "Thatâs okay."
So patient. So perfectly understanding.
And yet, it wasnât like you stopped thinking about him.
You didnât need porn, never did. Not when you had him burned into your mind.
Those pretty violet eyes, the way they darkened when he was between your thighs. The slow, reverent way he kissed up your inner thighs before spreading you open with those thick fingers, working you apart with precise precision.
Every orgasm coaxed from your body with intent, with devotionâlike he had some kind of personal investment in unraveling you.
And now, alone in bed, aching, needing, your fingers werenât enough.
They werenât his.
They werenât thick enough, long enough, couldnât reach that soft, plushy spot deep inside, couldnât curl just right.
And yet, even back then, you never went to him for it.
Never let yourself ask for what you needed.
And maybe that was the problem.
Maybe it wasnât about sex at all.
But stillâ
You refused to tell your mother about the lack of intimacy.
That night, you ended up at Satoruâs place.
Because of course you did.
Satoru had always been a close friendâyours and Suguruâs. And it had never been weird.
Not really.
With Satoru, it was always the little things. The things that didnât carry weight. The casual venting about insufferable patients, the late-night hospital gossip, the stolen moments of laughter between shifts when you needed them most. He was the kind of person who could pull you out of your own head without even trying, the kind who would let you curl up on his couch without asking questions, shove a glass of expensive sake into your hands when your fingers wouldnât stop shaking.
He always listened.
He always let you in.
Always took care of you in that easy way only he could.
And it was never weird.
Wellâ
Except for that one time.
Too many margaritas.
Too much sun.
The three of you sprawled across warm sand in Mexico, waves licking the shore, salt clinging to your skin. Satoru, grinning around the rim of his cocktail, his cheeks tinged pink from the alcohol. "Dare you to kiss me," heâd said, nudging Suguruâs knee with his own, teasing.
And, to your utter shock.
Suguru did.
And not just a peck. It was firm. Rough.
Suguruâs fingers twisted into Satoruâs shirt, yanking him closer. Satoru melted into it, like he had been waiting. Like they had done this before.
Your stomach flipped.
Suguru had never kissed you like that.
Never held you like that.
And maybe it was the tequila, maybe it was the heat, maybe it was the way Satoruâs smug little smirk lingered a little too long after they finally pulled away, but you couldnât stop thinking about it.
Couldnât stop wanting it.
Later that night, back in your hotel room, the thoughts had gnawed at you, restless, relentless. You had stepped into the shower beside Suguru, letting the warm water cascade over both of you, watching the way his hands moved over your skin, slow, methodical, worshipful.
"Why donât you ever kiss me like that?"
Suguru had blinked, his fingers pausing against your ribs. "Like what?"
"Rough." You had half-teased, half-tested.
Suguruâs hands resumed their path, gliding over your hips with the same gentle touch he always had.
"I canât be like that with you," he murmured, pressing a featherlight kiss to your cheek, then another, then another. "I canât hurt the love of my life."
Your cheeks burned under the steam, but still -
"What if I want you to?"
A slow inhale, his lips barely grazing your jawline.
"I have patients who need that," he whispered, that same soft patience laced into his voice. His fingertips traced slow, intricate designs into your skin, like he was carving the words into you.
"Those needs are built by people who havenât been loved properly like you have," he continued, his lips barely touching your temple. "I would rather you remain pure and loved."
Pure.
Loved.
And that was the end of it.
Suguru never brought it up again.
And if you did, he would smooth it over, remind you of his devotion. That he loved you. That he was afraid of going too far. That he couldnât be rough with you, not in the way he had been with Satoru, not in the way that made your breath hitch and your stomach twist with something you couldnât name.
Because you were his angel.
His soft thing.
His exception.
And so, when Satoru had opened the door for you, when he pulled you inside with that easy grin, when he draped a blanket over your lap and shoved takeout into your hands.
It was almost enough to forget.
"Itâs what Suguru would want," he had said with a wink.
No questions. No judgment.
The couchâhis couch, the one he never actually usedâwas yours for the night.
The hospital had a reputation for running its doctors into the ground anyway. Neither of you were strangers to sleepless nights.
"Stay as long as youâd like," Satoru hummed as he unwrapped his container, the scent of soy sauce and fried rice filling the space.
"Butâ"
He dragged the word out, his smirk sharpening. "I am gonna have to tell Suguru youâre here. You do know that, right?"
Your shoulders tensed, but you only sighed, sinking deeper into the chair.
"I figured."
Satoru grinned. "We could invite -"
"Nope."
You cut him off before he could even finish, shoving a spoonful of rice into your mouth, eyes locked pointedly on the little red takeout box in your hands, letting the oil seep into the edges of the conversation.
Satoru pouted dramatically, flopping into the chair across from you.
And thisâthis was what you liked about him.
The moment you told him no, he backed off.
Maybe it was because he was terrible with emotions. Maybe it was because he turned everything into a joke.
But he never pushed.
Satoru was a good friend. Someone who always had your back.
Until he didnât.
It happened later that night.
The bathroom was dim, the overhead light buzzing softly, casting a sterile glow over the sink. The quiet felt too heavy, pressing in around you, making your own breath sound too loud. Your fingers fumbled with the cap of a prescription bottle, muscles sluggish, exhaustion weighing on you like a physical thing. Just Tylenol. Nothing dangerous. Just something to dull the relentless pounding behind your eyes, to take the edge off, to help you sleep - not forever, just enough.
"Stupid child-proof caps," you muttered, twisting, shaking, trying to pry it open. Your grip slipped, frustration bubbling up as you tried again, more forceful this time.
Then the door swung open.
At the worst possible moment.
The cap finally popped free, and before you could stop it, small, white pills spilled into your palm just as Satoru stepped inside.
For a moment, neither of you moved. The air in the room shifted, thickening with suffocatuon. His usual lazy smirk was nowhere to be seen, replaced by something eerily still. His gaze dropped - to the bottle in your grip, to the pills in your hand, to the exhaustion carved into the planes of your face. You watched the realization flicker across his features, slow, deliberate, something you couldnât quite place.
Then, before you could react, before you could explain, his hand was already in his pocket.
Your stomach dropped.
"Satoru - " Your voice cracked, uneven, clawing its way out of your throat. "No. No, this isnât - this isnât what it looks like."
You stepped forward, reaching for his wrist, but he stepped back. Just out of reach. Watching. Assessing. Already deciding.
"Yeah, itâs Gojo Satoru," he said smoothly, effortlessly - like he was ordering fucking takeout. "I need an emergency psych evaluation."
The words hit you like a physical blow, knocking the breath from your lungs.
Your fingers trembled, cold washing over you as you took another step toward him. "Satoru - stop! Listen to me!"
But that was the problem.
He was listening. Too closely. Watching the way your shoulders stiffened, the way your breath hitched, the way your hands curled into fists like you were trying to hold yourself together. You had seen that look before, in the ER, when he assessed patients when he made decisions for them. Decisions they never got to take back.
"I didnât realize it was this bad," he sighed, almost soft, his lips curling into a pitying smile.
The walls felt like they were closing in. The room tilted.
Then came the hands on your armsâfirm, practiced, final. Voices murmuring in the background. You tried to fight, but the moment was already slipping away.
You were escorted out of his apartment.
Stuffed into the back of a black-tinted vehicle. Flagged by two men in sterile white coats.
Driven past empty streets and dimly lit signs, past any chance of turning back.
Led through cold, sterile hallways, past locked doors and hushed voices.
Which led you here.
Standing at the front desk of a place you didnât belong.
Wearing stupid pink grippy socks.
Surrounded by people who didnât believe you.
Your hands shook at your sides, your pulse hammering in your ears, a deep, aching numbness settling into your bones. You hadnât expected Satoru to betray you. Hadnât expected him to smile so softly as he handed you over, hadnât expected the way his hand lingered on your back, firm, reassuring, as if he thought he was helping.
And you sure as hell hadnât expected to be locked away in the so-called presidential suite of the mental hospital - reserved for the rich and famous.
Or, in your case, the pitifully well-connected.
The walls were a soft pastel pink, littered with bunny and flower decals, the kind that practically screamed, "Everything is sunshine and rainbows!"Â
Except it wasnât.
It didnât help that fresh flowers sat on your nightstand, always roses. Suguruâs favorite gesture. Romantic, thoughtful. Except heâd gone the extra stepâmeticulously removing every thorn. So you couldnât even shove them down Satoruâs throat if you wanted to for dragging you to this place.Â
Instead, you were stuck with a locked door. No bathroom. A sad excuse for a sippy cup of water. And a plush, inviting bed you were now restrained to after your roster status conveniently changed from stable to unstable.
You nearly jumped at the sound of the door unlocking.
In walked him.
Suguru. Your beloved ex-husband.Â
He stepped inside with that same effortless grace, his lab coat crisp, sleeves pushed just slightly to his elbows, revealing the same steady hands that once traced every inch of your skin. The scent of clean linen and something faintly muskyâhis scentâlingered as he moved. His dark hair was neatly tied back, a few stray strands framing his face in a way that made your stomach lurch.
"Miss Geto," he greeted, voice smoothâvelvety, like he was speaking to a lover rather than a patient.
Something inside you cracked.Â
"Don't," you snapped, harsher than intended like the word had torn its way through your throat baring your teeth. "Let me go."
Then, without hesitation, he pulled up a chair and settled across from you, as if this was just another late-night conversation over tea at the kitchen table. The same easy grace, the same quiet patience. Clipboard in hand, pen scratching against the paper in slow, measured strokes, like he was making note of the way your chest rose and fell just a little too fast, the way your fingers twitched against the thin hospital blanket.
Like he still knew you better than anyone.
"Youâre my patient," he mused, his voice dangerously calm. "Who attempted suicide."
"I did nothing of the sort," you spat, the words flowing out too fast, too sharp.Â
Suguru barely lifted his gaze, still focused on his notes. Reading out loud what you had told the nursing staff when you were admitted.Â
"The bottle spilled. An innocent mistake anyone can make. Even a professional like yourself."
That finally got him to look up. He smiled.
Suguruâs smile was infuriatingly soft like he was humoring a particularly stubborn child. He set the clipboard down, fingers interlacing as he leaned forward slightly, as if trying to make you feel heard, as if he actually believed this was some kind of productive conversation.
"An innocent mistake," he repeated, tilting his head. "Is that what youâd like to call it?"
You clenched your jaw. "Itâs the truth."
Suguru exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly, a slow, measured disappointment. "Y/N, you know I canât just take your word for it."
"Why not?" you snapped, your voice sharp, desperate, cracking at the edges despite your best efforts. "I am telling you what happened."
His gaze softened - not in pity, not in understanding, but in something far worse.
"Because I know you," he said simply, like that was supposed to mean something, like that was supposed to be enough. "I know how you get when something is wrong. And I know you wouldnât be here if there wasnât something wrong."
Your nails dug into the soft fabric of the restraints wrapped around your wrists.
"Something is wrong," you hissed, venom laced in every syllable. "My so-called best friend had me committed based on a bullshit assumption, and my ex-husbandâwho should be the last person with a say in my well-beingâis now sitting here acting like he gets to play God with my life."
Suguru didnât flinch.
Didnât waver.
If anything, his patience deepened.
"Satoru was worried about you," he murmured, his voice smooth, steady, controlled. "We both are. How do you think I felt hearing that my wife attempted suicide?"
You barked out a laugh - sharp, bitter, ugly.
"Worried?" The word burned as it left your throat. "No. Satoru was being his usual overdramatic self, and you -"
Your breath hitched. The words sat on your tongue, heavy, rancid, tasting worse than bile.
"Youâre just enjoying this, arenât you?"
Suguru blinked. His expression didnât shift, didnât flicker.
Unreadable.
Untouchable.
"You get to keep me here." The rage trembled beneath your skin, a wildfire barely contained. "Control me. Make me talk to you. Because you hated that I left."
Your pulse pounded in your ears, drowning out the sterile hum of the hospital.
"Hated that I didnât need you."
And then, you gestured - jerked against the restraints just enough for them to bite into your skin, to make a point, creating angry markings against your skin.
"And now, look! Here I am. All wrapped up and delivered straight to you."
A long silence stretched between you.
The weight of his gaze settled over you, suffocating, crushing.
Thenâ
Suguru reached for his clipboard, flipping through a few pages, slow, cautious.
"You think I want to control you?" he mused, barely glancing up, attempting to avoid your gaze. "Think I wasnât worried when I got the call?"
There was something almost amused in the way he said it.
You bared your teeth, chest rising and falling too fast, anger crackling under your skin like a live fire.
"Donât you?"
Suguru sighed, rubbing at his temple, slow and methodical, before finally looking at you.
You stared at him, waiting.
Waiting for the punchline.
Waiting for him to drop the actâfor his mask of careful patience to crack and show something real, something human.
You inhaled sharply, exhaled in small, uneven breaths, the air in the room too thick, too sterile.
Suguru just watched you.
He let a few beats pass, like he was waiting for you to finish, like he was giving you timeâas if this was just another tantrum that needed to run its course.
And thenâ
He smiled.
"I need a urine sample," he murmured, voice smooth, as if the past few minutes hadnât happened, as if your rage, your desperation, was nothing more than an inconvenience.
You scoffed, shifting against the restraints. "Fine. Take me to the bathroom." You turned your head away, expecting the click of the buckles being undone any second now.
It never came.
"Thatâs not how things work here, angel," Suguru mused, his voice a slow, deliberate testâpoking, prodding, waiting for your reaction.
Your hands curled into fists. "Angel." That pet name he used to say with love. That pet name that now sounded like a leash tightening around your throat.
You inhaled sharply, forcing yourself to stay calm. "Suguru," you started, voice level, "hospital protocol states that urine samples are to be taken in the restroom. In private. At most, a guard may be present. You know this."
Suguru simply shook his head, looking almost gladden at your attempt to argue. "This isnât your ER," he reminded you smoothly, tilting his head. "This is my hospital. And here, we take precautions. We have to ensure you donât harm yourself⌠or tamper with the sample."
Your breath hitched, another furrow of the brows. "Tamper -"
"Donât worry," Suguru cut you off, still unbearably calm, like this was just another mundane part of his day. "Iâll be completely professional."
You stared at him, anger burning so hot in your chest it felt suffocating.
Dick.
"Youâre enjoying this, arenât you?" you hissed.
Suguru didnât react. Just leaned back in his chair, the cup still held between his fingers, watching you with that same unreadable patience.
"Come on, angel," he murmured, almost teasing now. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way."Â
You hated him.
Not in the way you hated Satoru for his dramatics, or your mother for her unsolicited marriage advice.
No.
You hated Suguru in the kind of way that made your skin itch, that made your blood run cold with fury. The kind of hatred reserved for someone who knew you inside and outâwho knew exactly what would break you, and took his sweet time doing it.
âI want Shoko present then,â you huffed, chin tilted up, clinging onto whatever scraps of control you had left. âA different doctor.â
Suguru barely reacted. Just tilted his head, twirling the specimen container lazily between his fingers. "She just finished her shift. She cannot legally return for 72 hours."
Bullshit.
"Mei Mei," you shot back immediately.
"Busy handling more special cases," Suguru countered smoothly, not missing a beat. "More aggressive ones."
Of course. Of course.
You knew exactly what he was doing. Boxing you in, narrowing your choices, giving you just enough illusion of control to make you feel like you werenât completely powerless.
And then, he dropped the final option. The only option.
"If you want a different doctor," he sighed, so patronizing, so patient, "then you may request Satoru."
Your lips parted, rage curling on your tongue, ready to tell him exactly where to shove that offerâ
But then something cold and spiteful took over.
"Fine," you bit out, keeping your glare locked onto his. "Call him."
You werenât expecting much - maybe a slight twitch of his jaw, a roll of his eyes, anything that would prove youâd gotten to him, even just a little.
But no.
Suguru only smiled. Soft. Unbothered. Always one step ahead.
"Alright, angel," he murmured, standing with a slow, practiced ease. "Iâll go grab him. Whatever makes you feel more comfortable."
Like he was indulging you.
Like he was being the bigger person.
Like he was waiting for you to realize how ridiculous you were being and apologize.
You squeezed the specimen cup so tightly in your hands you thought it might crack. Your nails dug into the plastic, jaw clenched so hard your teeth ached. Satoru just stood there, completely at ease, watching you like he had all the time in the world.
His grin was unbearable. The casual way he leaned against the door, arms crossed, like this was fun for him. Like he wasnât standing in front of someone who was actively fighting off the urge to snap.
"Need me to hold the cup?" he teased, tilting his head, voice all sugar and mockery.
You blinked at him, your mind blank for a momentâso full of rage that it looped back into emptiness. A white-hot static filled your ears. Your hands itched, ached to throw the cup at his face, to shatter the glass of the observation mirror behind him, to break somethingâanythingâ
But you just swallowed, holding your ground.
"Youâre not going to turn around?" you asked, voice deceptively calm, but you could hear the crack in it.
Satoru shook his head, all easy amusement, that soft white hair swaying with the motion. "What if youâre using someone elseâsâ"
The pressure in your chest reached a peak, and before you could stop yourself, you snapped.
"How the hell would I get someone elseâs urine, Satoru?"
It came out sharper than you intended, more raw, more exhausted. You saw the moment he caught onto it - saw the way his smirk deepened, how his fingers twitched at the thrill of getting under your skin.
You hated that.
You hated him.
"So snappy," he murmured, like he was pleased. Like this was all some game or prank that you were just waiting for the camera crew to come in and tell you "get pranked!"
Except it wasn't. You were still hovering over a drain embedded in the pale blue floor trying to pee.
You gripped the cup harder. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears, arms shook with the effort of keeping yourself together. The room was too small. The air was too thick. Everything felt wrong.
Throw it at him. The thought came unbidden, cold and quiet. Just throw it. Wipe that smirk off his face. Give him something real to laugh about.
Your fingers twitched.
No.
No, because thatâs exactly what he wanted. Thatâs exactly what Suguru wanted. To watch you spiral. To document it. To mark it down in that damn file.
Satoru pushed off the wall, stretching, rolling his neck. "Relax, princess," he said, ever the smug bastard. "Just following protocol. Who knows? Maybe you planned this."
Your vision blurred at the edges.
You wanted to scream.
Maybe you planned this. Slow and mocking rang through your ears.Â
You wanted to hit him.
You wanted to rip your way out of this room, out of this fucking hospital, out of your own skin -
But you didnât.
You stood there, chest rising and falling too fast, your hands gripping the specimen cup like it was the only thing keeping you tethered to yourself. To your sanity.Â
Because if you gave inâif you screamed, if you threw something, if you lost controlâ
Then theyâd win.
So instead, you swallowed the fire in your throat, stuffed the rage down where it burned deep in your gut, and forced your lips into a sickly sweet smile.
"Then I guess youâll just have to watch me pee," you whispered, voice deceptively soft.
You wanted to see his smirk falter, just for a second.
It didnât.
Satoru crouched down to your level, resting his chin on his hand like this was the most interesting thing in the world. His bright blue eyes shimmered with amusement, waiting, watching.
"You knowâŚ" he started, tone light, teasing as if he werenât watching you at your most humiliated. "I was really worried about you."
You refused to look at him, your grip on the cup tightening, your focus locked on the pristine blue of his scrubs.
"Yeah?" you muttered, voice flat.
"Mhmm." His hum vibrated with something smug. "The nurses - " he dragged the word out playfully like he was gossiping at brunch, " - think you planned this. That you missed Suguru so much, you just had to get yourself locked up in his hospitalâŚ"
Your hands trembled slightly, the sheer rage threatening to make the cup slip.
Satoru noticed. Of course he did.
Then you noticed it.
The tent in his pants.
Your stomach twisted, nausea curling in your throat, but before you could process it, his gloved fingers brushed your cheek, guiding your face toward him. His blue eyes dazzled- a trap disguised as something beautiful.
"But I know better," he murmured, his breath tickling your skin. "Youâre a good girl, arenât you?"
"Donât worry," he went on, casual, sweet, like you were just two friends catching up over coffee. "Itâll only be a couple more days until you get to leave. MaybeâŚ" he trailed off for dramatic effect, grinning as if he was pitching you something fun, "we can go home all together."
What the hell was he playing at? And before you could stop him, before your brain could even process itâ
His lips pressed against your forehead. Soft. Chaste.
Mocking.
The cup slipped from your hands.
It hit the tile with a sharp clatter, the urine spilling onto the floor, and swirling down the small drain.
Satoru stayed close, close enough to feel his smile against your skin.
Then he pulled back, taking in the mess with a soft whistle.
"Oops," he cooed, lips twitching in amusement. "Butterfingers."
You stared at him, nails digging into your palm, pressing hard enough that you should have drawn bloodâwould have, if Suguru hadnât meticulously trimmed and filed them down.
To the point where they couldnât even leave a mark. Couldnât harm anyone. Something about it being protocol.Â
Satoruâs grin widened, his teeth practically sparkling. Bright blue eyes brightening. "Guess weâll have to try again! The second timeâs the charm, right?"
The sound of the slap cracked through the sterile air like a gunshot.
Your palm stung, the heat of the impact lingering on your skin, but it was nothing compared to the way Satoruâs head had barely turned with the force of it.
That grin.
It didnât falter.
Didnât waver.
His face remained tilted to the side for just a second, the red mark of your palm blooming on his cheek. But when he slowly turned back to you - his lips stretched into something wicked.
You couldâve sworn the red on his face wasnât just from your slap.
But a blush.
"Ohhh," Satoru exhaled, his grin widening. His tongue swiped over the inside of his cheek like he was tasting the sting. "Now thatâs the fire I missed. Though you didnât wash your hands, princess."
Your stomach dropped.
The heat in his eyes wasnât just amusement.
He liked that.
"That felt good, didnât it?" he mused, tilting his head, gaze never leaving yours. "You wanna do it again?"
Your whole body locked up, muscles coiled so tightly they ached. The rational part of you screamed donât reactâdonât give him what he wants. But the rest of youâthe part that was sick with rage, humiliation, helplessnessâwanted to slap him again. Wanted to make him hurt.
Satoru saw it. Felt it.
And he loved it.
He leaned in ever so slightly, voice dropping lower, playful yet taunting. "Come on, sugar. Let it out."
You curled your fingers into fists, so close to giving inâ
And then the door clicked open.
Suguru stepped in, clipboard in hand, dark eyes flicking between the two of you, taking in the charged atmosphere with a knowing hum.
Satoru, still grinning, straightened up, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Well," he drawled, stretching lazily, "unfortunately, we still need that sample."
Suguru raised an eyebrow. "Trouble?"
"Nah." Satoru waved a hand dismissively, glancing down at you once more, his smirk never once faltering. "We were just bonding."
"I see," Suguru murmured, not even looking at you as he jotted something down on the clipboard. His eyes flicked to the urine spill on the floor, and then back to Satoru, as if this was nothing more than a mild inconvenience. "Iâll call someone to clean up your mess, angel. We can just wait until you have to go again, wonât we? Need you hydrated for your blood test anyway."
You werenât sure what you were feeling.
Fury?
Dread?
Humiliation?
Some horrible concoction of all three, swirling in your chest, making it impossible to breathe.
Satoru let out a soft, amused hum beside you, still rubbing at his cheek as if savoring the sting.
Suguruâs pen paused. "Did she slap you, Satoru?"
The words were deceptively gentle. His gaze drifted to his best friendâs pale skin, now tinged pink, his expression unreadable.
Satoru, ever the little shit, grinned. "She sure did!" He shot you a wink. "Sheâs still got that fight in her, huh?"
Suguru exhaled slowly, tapping the clipboard with the end of his pen before leveling you with the most patronizing look you had ever seen. There was no cruelty in his expression, no outright malice. As if he had already decided what you were before, you even opened your mouth.
"Suppose we have to add aggression to your chart, thenâŚ"
Your stomach twisted again, you were about to speak out, defend yourself -
"Have to keep you away from the other patients and nurses," he continued, his voice calm, like he was making a note about the weather instead of your freedom. His pen moved smoothly over the page, unbothered, effortless. "Donât want any more staff getting hurt."
Your pulse pounded against your ribs, the sharp pressure of your heartbeat making your vision blur for a moment. "I am not aggressive." The words came out too fast, too desperate, as if sheer force could make them true in his mind.
Suguru didnât even glance up from his notes. "Of course not, angel." His voice carried the same devoted softness it always had, the same infuriating patience.
The sound of his pen moving against the clipboard might as well have been the click of a lock.
They were rewriting you right in front of your eyes, shaping you into something elseâsomeone else. Piece by piece, erasing what didnât fit, twisting reality into something they could control.
A violent patient.
An unstable patient.
A liability.
Your hands trembled against your lap, fingers curling into fists so tightly that your nails pressed into your skin. You could feel the warmth of Suguruâs gaze on you, watching, waiting. You wanted to fight back, to rip the clipboard from his hands, to make him listen. But you already knew how that would end. Another note in the file. Another checkmark on their list. Another reason for them to keep you here.
Days passed, though they bled together, time warping under the weight of routine. You spent most of it trapped in the common room, though there was nothing common about it. There were no other patients. No quiet conversations or hushed laughter in the corners. No sounds of therapy sessions or shuffling feet down the halls. Just you. Just him.
Satoru sat across from you, long legs stretched out beneath the too-small plastic table, posture relaxed as if this was just another lazy afternoon. His hand moved methodically over a coloring page, crayons scattered across the table in a mess of childish hues.
"Donât you have other patients?" you asked, your voice tight, the question slipping out before you could stop it. Your fingers curled around a yellow crayon, grip stiff, too firm.
Satoru didnât look up. Instead, he kept humming to himself, dragging slow strokes of purple wax over the page, his movements too steady, too deliberate. "I'm going to color my flowers purple." He flipped the page toward you with a smug little grin. "What color are you going to do yours?"
Your paper sat untouched. Blank. Couldnât bring yourself to play along.
Satoru noticed. His grin grew, slow and satisfied, as if your irritation was more entertaining than the coloring itself. "Need me to help you out there, princess?" he teased, leaning forward slightly. "See, you have toâ"
"Satoru."
The crayon in your hand snapped before you even realized you were gripping it too hard. A jagged, broken edge crumbled onto the table, wax flecks scattering across the surface.
The hum of casual amusement in the room vanished.
Satoru stilled. His lips parted slightly, and for the first time, his sharp, blue eyes locked onto you with something heavier than teasing amusement.
"I asked you a question," you said, your voice shaking - not from fear, but from the sheer, unbearable restraint it took not to hurl the broken crayon at his smug, unbothered face.
Satoru chuckled. It was quiet at first, low, controlled, but then it spilled out in full, bright and infuriating, his lips stretching into something too wide, too pleased.
"You really donât like playing house with me, huh?" he mused, tapping the broken crayon piece with his finger as if it fascinated him. "Come on, princess, lighten up. Youâre making it seem like you donât enjoy my company. We used to be so close before all of this."
Your jaw tightened, frustration grinding in your chest. This was a game to him. A performance. You were the only one who hadnât seen the script.
"Answer the damn question."
Satoru tilted his head as if weighing his answer, as if he was letting you believe you had any say in how this conversation would go. Then, with a lazy stretch, he sighed, tone dramatically put-upon, like he was humoring you.
"Not really," he admitted. "No one else here really needs me the way you do."
The words crawled under your skin like something sick and wrong, twisting deep in your gut before you could shove them away.
"The way you do."
Like you were needy.
Like you wanted this.
Like this was all for you.
The slow, creeping horror curled through your veins, tightening around your ribs, but you forced it down, pushed past it. You gritted your teeth, fingers digging into your palms. "I donât need you."
Satoruâs smirk widened, stretching just a little too far, as if he could see the fraying edges of your composure and was thrilled by it. You were going to snap. You wanted to slap him again, wanted to claw at his stupid, smug, self-satisfied face, wanted to do somethingâanythingâto wipe that look off of him.
But you didnât.
Instead, you forced yourself to move slowly, deliberately, picking up the ridiculous sippy cup they had given you, the plastic cool and smooth against your trembling fingers. You took a sip, the artificial sweetness coating your tongue, the taste almost childish in its simplicity. The act of swallowing felt too thick, like your throat didnât quite want to obey. Just as carefully, you set the cup back down on the tiny plastic table, making sure not to let it shake in your grip.
You had to be calm.
You werenât insane.
You werenât crazy.
You werenât violent.
But the air was too thick, the walls pressing in, the stupid, unfinished coloring page in front of you mocking in its blankness. The pressure inside your chest swelled, wrapping around your ribs like a tightening coil. Your vision blurred at the edges, hot and unwelcome, and you clenched your fists in your lap, willing it away, forcing it down.
Satoru noticed. Of course, he noticed.
"Aww, princess," he murmured, his voice honey-sweet, mocking in its gentleness, and before you could react, before you could pull away, he was pulling you in. Strong arms wrapped around you, warm, suffocating. The scent of himâclean linen, faint cologne, something unmistakably Satoruâinvaded your senses, pressing in on all sides.
"Hey, itâs okay to cry," he cooed, his lips ghosting over your forehead before pressing a kiss there, his voice a soothing lullâdeceptively soft. "This is a safe space."
Safe.
Safe.
Safe.
The word reverberated in your skull, clashing violently with the truth. This wasnât safe. This was a cage. A well-kept, carefully controlled cage, but a cage nonetheless. And yetâyour body betrayed you.
Because wasnât this what you were supposed to do? Accept comfort? Let yourself be held? Be good?
You nodded weakly against his chest, your body folding into his hold, and the tears finally spilled over - silent, hot, humiliating. His arms tightened around you in response, as if he had been waiting for this, as if he had known you would break.
It was just a matter of when.
"See?" he murmured, fingers stroking through your hair with slow, measured precision. "Thatâs my good girl."
The words sent a violent shudder through you, something deep and instinctive recoiling at the way he said it. Like you belonged to him.
Satoru pulled back slightly, just enough to brush a stray tear from your cheek with his thumb, still smiling, still so unshaken, so pleased.
"Iâll bring you some better clothes," he promised, as if he was doing you a favor, like he was some benevolent god. "Something warm, something comfortable."
You swallowed down the thick lump in your throat, nodding again. Maybeâmaybe if you played along, maybe if you did what they wanted, they would let you go.
"I donât think coloring is your strong suit," Satoru mused, his tone light, teasing, trying to smother the moment before had never happened. "We can make paper stars instead! Iâll keep them in my office. Maybe we can make some for Suguru too! Oh, heâd love that! Still has your wedding photo hung up."
Words that landed like a slap, sharp and visceral. Your wedding photo. Still up. Still there. Like nothing had changed. As if those papers you left had no meaning.
The weight of it all bore down on you, and you almost didnât notice the way Satoruâs hand moved lower.
A slow, trailing touch.
Fingers ghosting beneath the hem of your hospital gown.
Warm against your bare skin.
Your body froze. Every muscle locked up in an instant, but your mind felt numb, sluggish, as if refusing to acknowledge what was happening.
"I just want to make sure youâre okay, princess," Satoru whispered, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his breath warm against your skin. "Can you show me that youâre okay?"
His fingers pressed just a little firmer, a test, waiting for you to comply. A slight spread of your thighs as his fingers continued their quest.
You werenât sure what scared you more. The way your body stopped resisting or the way this felt inevitable.
Was it fear?
Resignation?
Were you just enduring, waiting for the moment this would finally be over, so you could go home?
The door clicked open.
Suguru, thankfully, walked in, his dark eyes sweeping over the scene like he already knew what had transpired.
Satoru removed his hand, but the touch lingered, seared into your skin like a brand.
"Ready?" Suguru smiled, that soft, practiced kind, like this was just another routine check-in, like he wasnât about to upend your entire world again. Wasn't going to drug you back into compliance, wasn't going to hush and calm you when he drew blood for testing.
"Youâve been doing so well the past couple of daysâtaking your meds, following the scheduleâthat after this one little test, the head of operations agreed we can move to home treatmentâŚ"
He let the words settle, let them sink in before delivering the final blowâ
"Since itâs already convenient that we live together."
Your fingers clenched against the table, a cold weight dropping in your stomach.
"Weâre divorced," you said slowly, carefully, as if daring him to acknowledge it.
Suguruâs warm, easy smile didnât falter.
"Mmm, not what your file says," he hummed, stepping closer, his gaze flicking to Satoruâs drawing.
"You didnât make me one, angel?" His voice was light, almost teasing, but the undercurrent of expectation was there.
"I wouldâve hung it up."
Something snapped inside you.
You werenât sure what.
But you had never wanted to flip a stupid kiddy table more in your entire life.
"Where the hell is Shoko?" The words tore from your throat, sharp and raw. "I want her as my doctor - that is my right."
Suguru blinked at you, his expression shiftingâjust slightly. Not quite hurt. Not quite anything.
Almost like he had expected this.
"Or the nurses?" you continued, voice rising, trembling with fury. "I want Nanami to be my watch instead of this blue-eyed freak."
You saw it.
The way Satoru flinched. The brief flicker of hurt that crossed his face - so quick, so momentary, but you caught it.
And your heart twisted and cracked.
Because you knew.
Youâd always known what that word meant to him.
But you couldnât stop.
Couldnât let yourself care.
Because they werenât listening.
Suguru turned to Satoru, his voice dipping into something colder.
"I think we need to up the dosage."
Then, back to you - his expression unreadable, his tone soft, patronizing.
"I didnât know you had so much anger in you, angel."
He reached for your face, fingers moving to cup your cheekâ
And you smacked his hand away.
The sharp sound echoed in the small room.
Suguru stilled.
He could file down your nails.
He could restrain your hands.
He could drug you into compliance.
But he could notâwould notâcontrol your fire.
For a moment, Suguru was still.
Processing.
His expression remained unreadable, but something flickered beneath the surfaceâsomething dark, something off. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but you could feel it, like the quiet shifting of tectonic plates before a catastrophic quake.
Then, under his breath, barely more than a whisper, he uttered a single word.
"Tainted."
It landed like an irreversible diagnosis, a label seared into your skin, a fact that had always been true, whether you knew it or not.
"I have to fix it."
The words were hollow. Void of real emotion. Spoken like an afterthought. A duty.
If anyone here was crazy, it wasnât you.
"Letâs go."
His voice was measured, slow, as if testing the words, as if feeling them out himself, ensuring they fit within whatever logic governed his mind.
"We can deal with this later."
And just like that, it was decided. He turned away, moving with the same unshakable certainty as before.
You should have felt relief.
Instead, dread curled in your stomach like sickness, spreading through your limbs in slow, creeping waves. Your pulse stuttered as Satoru took your hand, his fingers lacing through yours. The warmth of his palm was comfortable in a sense.
He didnât look at you.
Didnât flash that smug grin. Didnât tease you. Didnât say a damn thing.
Just walked.
Silent.
Head bowed, guiding you forward like a silent accomplice.
The hallway stretched before you, sterile and pale blue, the kind of color that was meant to be calming but only made your skin feel dirty, wrong. You knew these halls nowâthe group therapy rooms, the medication table, the office staff area, the standard rooms where the normal patients were kept.
But this wasnât that.
This was deeper.
The air shifted. The temperature felt colder.
Your fingers tightened around Satoruâs. "Whatâs the last test?" you murmured, trying to keep your voice steady.
His skin was clammy.
Cold sweat.
A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, something softer than usual. Something wrong. His thumb traced slow, deliberate circles against the back of your handâsoothing, intimate.
Like an apology.
Suguru didnât look back.
Didnât seem to care that Satoru was holding onto you, didnât seem to mind that the hands he used to hold were now intertwined with someone elseâs.
He just walked.
Unbothered.
And thenâ
The door.
Suguru reached into his pocket, pulling out a key. Not one from his usual keychain.
Something different.
Something meant only for this room.
A cold prickle ran down your spine as the small hairs on the back of your neck stood on end. The air felt heavier, charged, the silence pressing in. Something wasn't quite right.
Where were the nurses?
The ones who usually hovered, who handed out little paper cups of sedatives, who whispered among themselves when they thought you werenât listening?
The ones Satoru always gossiped with?
Gone.
The hallway was silent.
The key turned in the lock.
A slow, deliberate click.
The door creaked open, revealing a room stark and clinical, stripped of anything human.
Centered in the middle, like an altar, stood a medical table.
Satoru squeezed your hand. Tighter. Like he was preparing you.
Your pulse thundered in your ears, the walls pressing in, your breath coming too fast, too shallow. The air felt thick, suffocating, as if the room itself was shrinking. And thenâyour gaze fell to the cart beside the table.
The electrodes. The wires. The leather restraints.
Noâ
The word stuck in your throat, thick and suffocating, choking you before you could even say it aloud. A wave of nausea rolled through you, cold and sharp. Your knees buckled, your body reacting before your mind could fully catch up. Every nerve screamed at you to run.
But Satoru didnât let go.
"No," you gasped, collapsing to the floor, forcing yourself into dead weight. You pushed back, twisted, resistedâanything to keep from being dragged inside.
Satoruâs grip only tightened.
He was stronger.
"No - no, please!" The words broke from you, frantic, raw, barely holding shape. You kicked out, your body writhing in desperation, fighting against the inevitable. But Satoru just kept pulling, his hands steady, his strength sustained.
Your nails dug into his arm, clawing, desperate to hurt, to leave a mark, to stop thisâ
But there were no scratches.
Suguru had trimmed your nails.
"Protocol," he had said.
A sob wrenched itself from your throat, broken and shattered.
"Angel."
Suguruâs voice was soft. Warm. Loving. Like he was about to kiss you goodnight.
But he wasnât.
Because this wasnât a goodnight kiss.
This was electroshock therapy.
Something traditional.
Something brutal.
Something meant to fix you.
And the worst part? Satoru still wouldnât let go.
You screamed. Raw, gutturalâdesperate. It wasnât just fear. It was betrayal.
Satoru flinched. Just for a second.
The long fingers of his intertwined with yours twitched ever so slightly, like he wanted to let go, like he wanted to change his mindâ
But he didnât.
His grip remained firm, unyielding. A tether holding you down, delivering you to the inevitable.
"Shhh, princess," he murmured, his voice unbearably gentle, a cruel mockery of comfort. His free hand rose, brushing a damp strand of hair from your face with a touch too tender, too familiar.
Like he wasnât dragging you to the table.
Like he wasnât helping Suguru break you.
"Donât make this harder on yourself," he whispered, his thumb stroking slow, deliberate circles against your temple, his expression unreadable.
But his eyesâ
His eyes were glassy.
Like he was trying not to cry.
Your stomach turned violently. Your body twisted, fought, bucked wildly against their hold, legs kicking at the linoleum, heels scraping, fingers grasping at anythingâ
"Pleaseâplease, Satoru, Iâll take the meds, Iâll do whatever you want, justâjust donât let himâ"
The words cracked, fractured, shattered in your throat, weak and pleading in a way that made you sick.
The weight of Suguruâs hands came next.
Steady. Unyielding. Final.
Like iron shackles pressing into your shoulders, pinning you in place.
"Angel," he sighed, exhaustion bleeding into his voice, like you were being difficult. Like this wasnât the most terrifying moment of your life.
"You know this is for your own good."
Something inside you snapped.
"You donât get to decide that!" you sobbed, thrashing so violently that, for just a second, you nearly knocked him off balance.
Nearly.
But Suguru had always been stronger.
They both had.
Your knees buckled, their hands dragging you across the floor, inching you closerâcloserâ
To the altar.
To your undoing.
Your screams felt smaller in the sterile, hollow air.
"NOâPLEASE!"
Suguru tilted his head, his violet eyes still so soft.
"Why do you always have to fight us, angel?"
His voice waveredâjust barely.
Not an insult.
Not an accusation.
A plea.
Like he was asking why you wouldnât just let him love you.
Why you wouldnât just let him keep you safe.
A sob ripped through you as you felt itâthe cool, sterile touch of metal against your back.
The restraints came next.
"No, noâSuguru, pleaseâ"
Your voice broke on his name.
For just a fraction of a second, his hands paused.
His expression flickered.
His fingers twitched.
Like he remembered something.
Something important.
Something about you.
The way you used to lay beside him on quiet Sunday mornings, tracing absentminded circles into his chest. The way youâd whisper I love you against his shoulder before rolling out of bed, before rushing to work, before leaving him behind.
The way you used to trust him.
And nowâ
Now you were afraid of him.
His lips parted, just barely.
For a second, you thought he might stop.
That maybeâjust maybeâyou had gotten through to him.
That maybe he would undo the straps. Take you home. Hold you the way he used to. Tell you he didnât mean it.
That this wasnât necessary.
That he loved you.
But then his jaw set.
And his hands kept going.
"This is necessary to keep you pure," he whispered, like he was reassuring himself, not you.
The restraints tightened around your wrists.
"Suguru, donât do this," you whispered, voice pleading, voice breaking.
No response.
Just the final, deafening click of the straps locking into place.
Satoru let go of your hand.
The absence of his touch felt colder than the room itself.
"Youâre scaring her," he muttered, voice tight, like this was hurting him, too.
Suguru didnât respond.
His expression had smoothed into something distant.
His hand shookâjust slightlyâas he reached for the electrodes.
"NOâDONâTâPLEASEâ"
Satoru sighed, rubbing at his temple, shaking his head like this was all just so exhausting.
Then he leaned down, brushing his fingers over your forehead in something almost affectionate.
"Shhh, princess," he whispered.
"Itâs just a little reset." As he placed the clothed gag in your mouth.
Suguruâs hands were steady as he placed the electrodes against your temple, securing them into place with slow, deliberate precision.
His fingers lingered.
For just a second.
Like this was the last time heâd hold you.
Like he didnât want to let go.
"Youâll feel so much better after this," he murmured, voice softer than before. Like he was convincing himself. Like he was telling himself this was right. That this was love.
Like he was hoping it was.
"This is mercy, angel."
"This is love."
Satoru pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead.
And Suguru flipped the switch.
Pain detonated behind your eyes, blinding, white-hot, like lightning through your skull, like static in your veins - erasing, ripping, rewiring.
Your body jerked, your spine arching off the table, muscles seizing, breath vanishing.
Through the haze of agony, you thought you heard something.
A voice. Maybe Suguruâs. Maybe Satoruâs.
Maybe both.
"Shhh, angel."
"Itâs okay."
"We love you."
Everything went black.
Thank you for reading! <3
#yandere jujutsu kaisen#dead dove do not eat#yandere satosugu#yandere satosugu x reader#yandere geto suguru#yandere gojo satoru#yandere x reader#yandere gojo#yandere geto#yandere gojo x reader#yandere geto x reader#yandere geto suguru x reader#yandere gojo satoru x reader
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Gojo Satoru
⥠TW: yandere, noncon, incest, twincest, blind!reader, twin brother!satoru
⥠FEM reader
Overprotective twin brother SatoruâŚ
He was born with an abundance of cursed energy, while you got none and no heavenly pact or anything at all to show for being a Gojo.
You canât even see curses. In fact, you canât see at all.
Itâs as if in the womb, Satoru harvested everything for himself so that you would always depend on him.
He sees it differently, though. Heâs the older twinâand that means everything to him. Youâre his. His good half. You were born with the heart, and he was born with the rest, all in order to spare and protect you.
âThe royal guard walks at the front to keep the princess safeâ is something he started saying when you were younger. âThatâs why I was born first. To keep my princess safe.âÂ
He always holds your trembling face in his hands while saying it. And although you canât see, you still feel it, how heâs sticky and warm, soaked with the blood heâs spilledâall in the name of protecting you.
You donât think you were scared of your twin brother when you were toddlers, but youâre not sure. You were still young when he learned how to use his techniques. Heâd never had any tolerance to speak of and no mercy to spare when that non-existent tolerance was tested. Still, of course, heâd never ever think of harming you.
Thatâs not what worried youâŚ
No, rather, it was the staff and any other unsuspecting visitor you feared for and how they might have the misfortune of crossing the hair-thin tripwire that triggered your brotherâs cold-hearted rage.
Maids were fired every other dayâoften after having suffered at his hands, sometimes with limbs missing, sometimes with senses lost. None of them could ever measure up to his standards, especially when it came to you. You were to be treated like a goddess, not a child, despite that being what you both were. His sister deserved only the finest and was to be dressed to new perfection every day, hand-fed only your favorites, and never ever allowed to lift even a single finger yourself. Thatâs how Satoru saw it.
And if anyone were to fail to understand that, theyâd meet with his swift judgment. Even being blind, youâd still see the awful glowing blue of his eyes before the screams and the sudden smell of rust all around.
You remember the first time it had happened. Your nurserymaid had insisted it was time the two of you no longer shared the same bedâsaid it wasnât proper. You must have been about six years old. One second, she was there. Next, you were covered in her.
The two of you had slept in it.Â
No. Satoru had slept, tucked snugly against you as if nothing was amiss.Â
You had barely slept since.
You never stopped sharing a bed. Youâd tried at a point to tell him how it wasnât right, how it wasnât something siblings should do. Heâd only asked you whoâd put those silly ideas in your head. And youâd been wiser not to raise the thought again, fearing for the lives he might decide were responsible.
Still, despite his lack of moral restraint, youâre older before he decides sleeping in the same bed just isnât enough anymore.
Youâd always known of the way he looked at you. Youâve felt it. Always there as a silent voyeur during your dress fittings and baths, studying you in a way a brother shouldnât. Youâd done your best to ignore that ever-present feeling of yearning coming from him in those moments heâd touch you, feeling his long slender fingers run cold over your bare skin, always insisting on giving you a helping hand, to dress and to undress, to eat, to walk.Â
Youâve always known what heâs wanted.
Still, youâd thought some type of decency would hold him back from ever acting on it.Â
You realize now how foolish youâd beenâŚ
As head of the Gojo clan, he makes decisions as he sees fit and announces your engagement before the entirety of its ranks and members as if it were only obvious. And under the pressure of his six eyes, no one dares even utter a gasp at the outrageous prospect. No, all they do is smile and clap while giving their blessings.
In the end, youâre the only one who objects.
âSatoru?â you ask after the assembly. Walking, or rather wandering, unsteadily on your plank shoes in the direction of his voice, hearing him talk about clan matters heâs never bothered to include you inâitâs not for you to worry about, is all heâll ever say. Always treating you like a child despite being the same age.
âPrincess!â he exclaims, rushing over to you, holding you up as if you were in danger of getting knocked over by a sudden draft. âWhat are you doing up? How many times have I told you, just tell the carriers where you want to go and theyâll take you there.â
You purse your lips and bite your tongue from sounding too chagrinned. Embarrassed enough already to want to cause more of a scene. Only muttering, âI can walk fine on my ownââ
But Satoru isnât convinced, nor concerned with the same matters as you, much too busy with protecting you from the terrors of standing on your own two feet.Â
âYouâll exhaust yourself. Come,â he decides, dismissing the elders he'd been talking to.
You listen to them leave, lifting a hand to call them back, âNo wait, butââ
But nothing. As always, Satoru doesnât listen. Picking you up without further bickering. He lifts you off your feet and carries you away like an infant, back to the cozy den of pillows and blankets he insists you sit on during assemblies, calling it your throne despite it not being much different from your bed.
He doesnât set you down. No, instead, he sits down with you, holding you in his lap as he gets comfortable in the plush nest.
âSo, princess? Did you like my announcement?â he asks cheerfully. Already picturing you in wedding attireâso hopelessly incapacitated in the heavy layers, how youâd need his help every step of the way, even with walking down the aisle.Â
âWe canât marry, SatoruâŚâ You break his line of thought with a mumble. âYouâre my brother.â
You're unable to say it with your chestârather, you only muster enough courage to whisper it. Feeling anxious about his reaction. All he ever seems to care about is dolling you up so you can sit pretty next to him. And for so long, he hasnât allowed anything else. You have no idea what to expect now that youâve finally asked.Â
Of course, you hope heâll respect your words and see reason, but somehow, you doubt heâs ever really thought or cared about what you think you wantâintent on making all those decisions for you.
âSilly princess,â he starts, closing the distance between the two of you by cupping your face as he so often likes doing, stroking his thumb over your bottom lip. âWho else would we marry if not each other?âÂ
Itâs as you thought. He doesnât understand, nor does he care to. And still, there arenât many options other than you trying to reason with him. Despite only being brave enough to do so by mumbling, âItâsâitâs⌠not right...â
To that, he just hums, nose-kissing you despite how you try to duck your head awayâhis voice dumbifying your worry, saying âDonât you love me, princess?â
Itâs an unfair question⌠beside the point, and yet to him, it makes the point. Still, thereâs nothing else to say but âOf course, I love you, Satoru.â
It comes out as a croak, somewhat choked in the feeling of hopelessness, all of which he just finds so endearing. Rubbing your cheek with his thumb as he watches those milky eyes of yours grow teary.
âThen whoâs to say itâs wrong?â he croons, kissing your forehead as if youâre a silly child crying over silly things, and further explaining it to you just so, âWeâve belonged to each other since birth. Marriage is just to appease society's structures. It means nothing compared to what we already have and have always had.â
His other hand kneads your midriff, keeping you snug against him as if sensing how you wanted to leave. But you donât try it. No, you barely manage to shake your head.
âI love you,â he says, but it isnât the same way you say it. No, itâs something far more disturbing. âSometimes, I wish we were the only two people on earth, like it was when we shared the womb together.â
You shudder, feeling his breath hit your face with your heart causing a ruckus in your chest, telling you to do something to stop whatâs coming.
âI want to be close like that again. Just you and me and nothing else.â
You accept it for a momentâhis lips against yours. Thinking you had no choice. But as you sit there, willing yourself to stay still, a sickness starts climbing up from the pit of your stomach, until you suddenly canât stand it anymore.Â
And with both hands pushing him away, you shriek, âDonât!â
Prying yourself out of his embrace, you throw yourself back so fast you end up falling out of the elevated throne bed. Still, the pain in your rear barely registers as you wipe your mouth free of the spit your brother had left behind. Cringing at the stickiness, feeling nothing short of abhorred, as if it were the last thing that should ever touch your tongue.
âItâs disgusting. I wonât. Iââ Youâve raised your voice now, for the first time in your life. Your brows furrow as you put all your might into the next words. âI refuse.â
And then, as if almost regretting it, you swallow thickly. Ears burning for any sign of his reaction, everything remains silent, deadly so, only disturbed by the heavy ups and downs of your own labored breath.Â
UntilâŚ
âDisgusting?â he repeats.
And you donât know why, but something about the edge in his tone makes you whimper and shuffle back. It was as if something about the very air changed, feeling heavy, crushing, all of a sudden.
âNo⌠You donât mean that, princess.â
You hear his steps come after you, soft first, stepping through the pillows, then light against the marble tiles, unhurried, knowing youâre not able to go anywhere.Â
âYouâre just reciting whispers youâve heard,â he hisses under his breath. Then, darker, growling, âI ought to cut out everyone's tongue. Thatâll teach them.â
âNoââ you object, but heâs done now with listening to you.Â
Shutting you up instantly with a dismissive, âDonât you worry your pretty little head, princess. Iâll teach you too. This is how itâs meant to be.â
You kick off your plank shoes at that, struggling in your heavy dress as you twist around onto your hands and knees before getting up, holding the many fabrics in your arms as you runâonly⌠you have no idea where.Â
Anytime youâd snuck out of your room to explore the grounds, trying to map out a route youâd never dared admit was for an escape attempt, your brother had always come and collected you before youâd made it down the first hallway. And so, blinder than blind, youâre completely lost even in your own home. And the panic makes you slip on your skirt before youâve even made it halfway down the assembly chamber, accompanied by the awful sounds of your own fumbling being echoed back as if mocking you.
You hear him sigh heavily behind you. And then his hand grips your upper arm, harshlyâin a way youâve never felt.Â
Itâs enough to make you yelp, starting to thrashâpanic in your chest, youâre shaking your head, trying to pull yourself free by pushing him away. âPlease, Satoruâplease, let goââ
Before you know it, youâre pushed flat against the floor. Cushioned by your weighty dress, itâs like a soft bed, but with the way Satoru holds a hand over your mouth and forces you down, you feel as if youâre drowning.
âKeep this up, princess, and eyes wonât be the only thing youâll be missing,â he barks. Not even giving you enough time for the freight in your chest to settle before worsening it. âRun away, and I'll take your legs. Fight me, and Iâll take your hands. Keep talking back, and Iâll take your tongue too.â
Balanced between your legs in the mess of your skirtâs many layers, bearing over you with his back hunched, he keeps you pinned as your whole body starts to quiver.Â
âIs that what you want?â he questions. âIs that what itâll take for you to behave?â
More tears flow then, in nothing short of a storm. Flooding down your cheeks, wetting the hand heâd locked over your mouth.
It brings a pang to his chest, and he realizes what heâd just said.
He peels his fingers off your lips, then cups your cheeks instead, shaking his head.Â
âNo, princess, I didnât mean thatâyou know I didnât. I would never hurt youâyou know thatââ
He kisses your forehead again, then your nose, then your lips, then your neck, where he nuzzles himself as he continues to coo at you, âSh-shh, princess. Listen to me. Listen to your big brother. I just want to love you. Wonât you let me love you?â
You sob, shaking your head, trying to crawl out from beneath him and the tongue he has against your neck, sucking and biting at your collar with a mouthful of heated words, âTrust me, princess. Iâll take care of you. Youâll see. Just like always. And thereâs never been anything wrong with that.â
⥠GOJO SATORU masterlist ⥠JUJUTSU KAISEN masterlist
#yandere jjk#yandere jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen smut#jujutsu gojo#jujutsu kaisen#gojo smut#satoru gojo smut#gojo satoru smut#gojou satoru x reader#satoru gojo#gojo satoru#gojo x reader#gojo saturo#jjk gojo#yandere gojo x reader#yandere gojo satoru#yandere gojo#yandere satoru gojo#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen headcanons#gojo headcanons
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â youâre an angel, iâm a dog.
â
contents. satoru gojo x gn!reader. yandere!satoru. unhealthy relationships. angst. conflicting feelings. mentions of blood. satoru. . kills someone (?). jiah being one MENACE of a narrator (sorry not sorry, HAH). grotesque imagery (as always).
â
jiahâs notes. bringing this back while iâm at it. iâm. iâm normal about yantoru i swear. yaaaaaay
you donât get it, do you? yandere!satoruâs such a dog.
i mean, look at the guy. already a strayatinator prime 3000. best model in town, wonât get another stray like him anywhere elseâ you have my word for it. and when he loves something? boy, itâs over.
see, when i say that satoruâs a stray, i donât mean the good olâ fuzzy ones you find on your daily nightly walks that wag their tails and accept your empty lilâ pats or something. no, none of thatâ satoru was born with a muzzle in his hands and a rusty blade right where his heart shouldâve been.
(. . he never learnt how to use the muzzle, though. but thatâs fine. he doesnât bite unless you ask, anyway.)
itâs hard, you say? câmon. the guyâs basically putty when it comes to you.
. . . oh. youâre talking about the impulsiveness. right. wellâ
heâsâ trying. heâs trying so hard for you, canât you see that? heâs trying to be so good for you.
like now. when heâs got you pressed against himselfâ i suppose youâve gotten used to the tremble in his fingertips by now, yeah?â hands somehow, just somehow pulling you even closer as the seconds scream their life away.
(should you scream, too?)
but somewhere at the back of your mind, a part of yourself doesnât really know what to say about that. donât do that, it chides you, ever so gently, his head hurts so much already. donât do that to your satoru.
you wouldnât hurt your satoru now, would you?
(clammy hands tighten âround your ribs.)
a scream bubbles at the base of your guts, and satoruâs forehead kisses your sternum. you shove it back down.
âtalk to me,â he murmurs. quiet. sounding so painfully small.
(a pause.)
âthereâs. . .â your hands stitch his snowy locks onto your skin, but satoru barely flinchesâ heâs got to be good for you, right?â the frightened little rabbit you have for a heart skidding against your chest and colliding with his own, âthereâs nothing left to talk about, satoru.â
oh, satoru looks so pretty like this.
he almost looks innocentâ eyes holding broken shards of glass; some of it bleeding into a saccharine smear right beneath his right one. unfocused, like heâs not really there â but you know better.
(satoru is all there is.)
âwhatâs wrong?â he mumbles, holding onto your hipsâ the muzzleâ just a fraction tighter. nothing more. âtalk. . talk to me.â
lost little strayâ i know, i know. you see, itâs just so hard for him to fit anywhere. weaved in too deep with the wild for sleepy little coos and born with claws that are too much of a coward to look at bloody teeth in the eye.
but iâll tell you something.
satoru yearns.
(oh, how he yearns.)
heâd bleed his entire life away if you said you liked red. heâd cough out lilies if you said you liked white. heâd burn all his blindfolds to a crisp if you said you liked the blue of his eyes. see? satoru justâ ripsâ himself apart for you till thereâs nothing left but hollow love thatâs too full for your jittery hands to hold.
so donât be too surprised if some pieces of you get a little singed, too. itâs your fault for standing too close to a forestfire.
(although, you donât need to worry. satoruâs always there to kiss the burns away.)
âdid i do something wrong?â he rasps, poor thing, you should help him outâ âthey tried to hurt you. was i not. . . supposed toâ talk, please. talk. . talk to me.â
(look what youâve done.)
âiââ but the words donât make it out of your throat âcept for a crackâ just a teensy little crack on the edges of your voice, and thatâs what makes the blade between his ribs scream.
âyouâre mad,â satoruâs chest heaves, and you can practically hear his soul shatter, âyouâreâ. . . youâre mad.â
âiââ
âiâm sorry,â a gasp against your skin and all the tiny little breaths bubbling in your lungs get pushed away when he merges his body into your own, âiâm sorry, iâm sorry, iâm sorry, iâmââ
(hurting, are you? itâs only fair, you hurt him first.)
âsaâ. . . satoru,â you rasp out, and satoruâs bloody breaths devour them whole without a second thought, such cold cradling your face so tenderly that it feels wrong, âyouâreââ
âiâm sorry,â silly, silly thing. âiâm sorry. iâll beâ iâll be good, okay? iâm sorry. iâmââ
. . . yeah. thatâs pretty much what happens when you try to tame a lost child with eyes thatâve seen too much. and satoru? heâs still learning.
@d3cay1ngst4tic on tumblr. do not copy or post any of my works.
#jujutsu kaisen x reader#satoru gojo x reader#satoru gojo x y/n#satoru gojo x you#gojo x reader#jujutsu kaisen x gender neutral reader#gojo x gender neutral reader#gojou satoru x reader#gojo satoru x you#gojo satoru x reader#yandere jujutsu kaisen#yandere gojo#yandere jjk#yandere au#yandere gojo x reader#gojo angst#yandere gojo angst#gojo x reader angst#gojou x reader#yandere satoru x reader#yandere!gojo x reader#yandere!gojo angst#satoru x reader#yandere jjk angst#jjk x reader#jjk x you#void.jiahâ#jujutsu kaisen
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for me?
summary - Satoru Gojo really loves making you feel better on your period, massages, your favorite chocolates - but maybe it's a little selfish, since he loves fucking you during it so much.
warnings PWP, this is super filthy aha, oral (f receiving - yes I'm crazy) fingering, period sex, TW - mentions of blood, Satoru is basically obsessed with fucking you during it, feral Satoru (he's kinda yandere tbh) kissing and licking your blood off his lips etc, messy ass sex. I'm pmsing mmkay aha </3

Satoru Gojo is the perfect boyfriend, especially when it is that time of the month, and you're cramping. He makes sure he has chocolate for you, the wine you enjoy, and your favorite movie so you two can cuddle after work. But he does all this for honestly the most selfish reasons!!!
He loves fucking you on your period.
It's all lowkey his sneaky little tactics, to get you to plead so sweetly for him to fill you up, to really get rid of those cramps. But he doesn't start off so obvious, in fact you don't even realize it is his end game, not when he makes sure your tampons and pads are stocked, not when he's running you a bubble bath and playing your favorite music.
You love your blue eyed freaky ass man, who's currently massaging your tummy as you both lay on the large soft suede couch in his living room. His big warm hand is pressing soothing circles against your lower tummy, making you whine out at how good it feels.
"More, Toru, please," you ask sweetly, and look back at him, pouting so pretty, as he smiles sweetly with his plump pink lips.
"More what, sweets?" Satoru's voice is literally a purr, he is pressing the heel of his hand against your sore tummy now, you feel the warmth spread lower, biting your lower lip as he moves, hard body against your back.
"lower, please?" He hums then, pressing lower, below your belly button, making you moan, the sound causing him to just leak sticky precum against his boxers.
"There, sweetheart?" You nod eagerly, sighing at the sensation, eyes fluttering shut. Your nipples press against your top, hurting then.
"Toru, will you massage them too?" He chuckles then, reaching around to grip your breast with the other hand, the arm that is under you, wrapping you in those lanky arms.
He begins caressing your nipples, one by one, squishing your breasts in his huge hands, and it feels so perfect, how sore they are and his teasing. His lips brush your neck, dying to slip inside you, but he always makes sure to have you writhing, begging for it first, since it was just too cute to make you beg for it. Especially the first few times when you were so shy and cute about it, but he knows your period has you even more turned on, and he loves to tease you.
"You're so spoiled, aren't you," he teases, silky white locks brushing your cheek as his teeth nip into your delicate skin, dragging across the side of your neck then. "Didn't answer me, use your words."
"Y-yes, you spoil me - mnh!" You're aching for him again, grinding your ass back against him, feeling his thick heavy length.
He's smiling now, pressing his hand harder, tugging you back more so you feel him. At first a little shy and embarrassed, you can't help but want him during your period now, but the way he loses his mind is indeed just a little bit concerning. "Need something else? Don't be shy baby," he says softly, playing with your nipple as his other hand presses even lower on your tummy. "Just tell me."
You whine out and he chuckles at that. "Lower," Satoru moans at that, his fingers brushing even lower over your pelvis, the warmth feeling so fucking good.
"Why don't you go get naked on that bed for me? I'll massage you everywhere," he whispers, plump lips against your ear. You bite back a moan, nodding, and when he finds you laying right over a black towel in a few moments he chuckles again.
"You wanted this the whole time, hmm?: He tugs your thighs apart, kissing up your tummy to your pretty tits, sucking a sore nipple in his hot mouth, making you whine out.
"Toru!" He moans at that, big hand slipping low until he's rolling the pad of his thumb on your clit, wetness pours out along with blood trickling, he moans at the sight of it, his eyes so dilated they're black now.
"Wanna cum, hmm sweetheart? That what my baby needs for her to feel better?" You nod weakly, and he smirks then. "Then say please, be a good girl."
You're arching your hips up for more, while he looks down with his lidded gaze, at the blood slipping from your puffy lips, trickling and making him groan at how fucking delectable it is. 'Mnh-' you can't manage a word, instead you're leaning up, trying to kiss him as his thumb gets slicker and slicker.
"Say please, sweetheart," he urges again, pulling his fingers back as he leans up. "You can use your words, can't you?"
"Please, Toru, ngh!" You're gushing now, he slips his fingers down your slit, now his fingers are just coated in your blood, you used to freak out at it, but now you're throbbing in need for more, his plump lips a breath away, tempting you as they part, and he stares hungrily at you, nostrils flaring. "Toru, in me please!"
"Hmm, not yet baby," you're whining at his teasing but then he's got his snowy head between your thighs, breath tickling your cunt, kissing up your inner thigh. "Fuck, look how messy you are."
"What are- ah!" Satoru hasn't done that yet, he's a munch but usually during your period he just teases your clit and fucks you. When he laps up the blood and arousal from your slit with a long stripe of his tongue, your heart pounds in your chest. "You can't!? Ah!"
He grins, white teeth blinding with red dripping from his pouty lips now. "Why can't I?"
You can't think of the right answer, that it's a deliciously filthy thing and feels way too good. The sight of him with blood on his mouth simply makes you gush more, he notices it too, spreading those puffy lips and watching your clear arousal mix with the bright crimson, making a mess. Satoru laps at it again, and instead of arguing, you're tugging his face against your cunt now, crying out. It feels so fucking good, you're so sensitive and his tongue is flicking inside your gummy walls, more blood pouring now, he devours it, groaning as it coats his face.
Satoru always thinks you're sexy on your period, something about your tits so swollen, the nipples all puffy and sensitive, and your scent makes him fucking feral. Now that he's coveted in your blood and you're convulsing, fucking his face, he can't help but rut his cock into the mattress, coating himself in you and whining at how badly he wants that mess everywhere, until you're both covered in it. He sucks your clit into his mouth, looking up at you, your breasts heaving, mouth wide and drooling.
"Toru, I'm c-close!" You're not fighting it now he notices, grinning against your cunt as he looks up at you under snowy lashes, his huge hands pressing into your ribcage.
You're so close to shattering for him, an embarrassing amount of blood is all over his face as he pulls back, slipping two long fingers in your soppy, bloody cunt, while you eye his pretty face, he's leaning over you, blood dripping from his mouth and chin.
"Cum again, make me such a fucking mess," he whispers in that husky voice, his pale white skin such a stark contrast to all the mess he's got from you on his skin. Shivers go down your body then, and how can you not cum for him, the echoing squelching mixing with your moans. "That's it, such a good girl, gonna help you feel better huh? can't talk baby, that just won't do."
How could you talk, he's so filthy with it, with his long fucking fingers scissoring in and out as you make a bigger mess. When he's licking blood off his lips like some psycho, stark white teeth flashing as he grins so psychotically at you. He's chuckling as he watches you teetering on the edge, huffing, fingers pressing into his biceps, your eyes rolled back, lashes fluttering.
"Ask me the right way, sweetheart, and I'll give you anything," he says, devotion and insanity both in eyes almost black they're so dilated, feral grin on that face while you try to form a word.
"P-please, Toru please - lemme cum I - ah!" Satoru's watching you as he lets you find that release then, cramps subsiding blissfully as the orgasm rocks all over you, pure fucking ecstacy that has you drooling.
Satoru's cock hurts with how bad he wants to be inside the ruby red mess between your thighs, but he needs you begging even more. He slips his crimson coated fingers across your hips, decorating your smooth skin in it in stripes across your hip bones, just fueling his cock to leak more pre. You whine out, cunt pulsing now around nothing, biting your lower lip as your hand slip up his chest.\
"Need more, sweetheart?" You nod weakly, he takes one of your little hands then, gripping your wrist in his long fingers. "Then take more, hmm? such a good girl, there you go," he's encouraging you as you use shaky fingers to undo his pants, and soon his cock springs out, hot and heavy as it smacks your inner thigh. "Tell me what you need."
"Your cock inside me, please, ngh!" Satoru cups your face with one hand, the one somewhat not coated in blood and arousal, using the other to align his thick, mushroomed tip, the squishing and clicking loud and obscene in his room. He leans down low, blood dripping onto your plump, bitten lips, your heart pounds under your breasts then.
"Go ahead, don't be shy sweets," he teases, and you lean up, kissing the blood smeared on his lips, and when he sees it all over your mouth, he loses it, shoving his cock in and groaning, slamming his lips all over yours. You're gasping under him as he stuffs you so full, so wet from your arousal and blood it just slips in even though he's so fucking big. "Love this, don't you?"
"Y-yes," you're licking the coppery taste off your mouth as your boyfriend collectively loses it, biting your lips until they're bleeding too, while his cock fucks a mess out of you and back into you, the smacking of his skin and the soppy messy sounds echoing in your pounding ears. "Satoru!"
"That's it, you are so messy, aren't you? I make you feel better, don't I?" Satoru is huffing those words, blood splattering all up his cock and his flat, toned abdomen, while it spills down your thighs. "Answer me, baby."
"C-can't... talk..." he chuckles then, spreading your thighs even further as he pounds that thick, veiny cock, making you a mess for him, under him, your skin decorated in your own blood like pretty patterns from his artists fingers as he fucks into you. "Ah!" You're drooling, cumming all over his cock, the mess more and more, only urging Satoru further on, his whines against your ear as he grips your hair, slamming his cock so deep.
"I always take care of you, hmm? You love it, being so spoiled?" you're desperately nodding, still unable to do more than gasp and cling to him with messy fingers, nails pressing into his blood covered skin as he fucks you harder, deeper, slamming your cervix with that tip as he throbs in you. "Want me to fill you up, huh? Don't you baby?"
"Please," your weak little whisper is all he needs, cum hot and thick inside your cunt, filling you impossibly as he slows, eliciting one more orgasm with a roll of his hips and his teeth sinking into a sore nipple. Your hands entangle in his white locks, tinging them pinkish red as you cry out, and he's groaning. "Toru..."
"Fuck, you're a wreck, look at you," he's grinning, you are a fucking mess, he's got blood all over you, your trembling thighs, when he pulls out, cum mixing and tinging it pink, he squirts more and more cum out of that messy cock too, decorating your tummy with more and moaning. "God, look at you."
"Satoru..." You're taking several breaths, it looks like a whole fucking murder scene with your psycho, feral boyfriend who's spreading more of his cum and your blood all over. "Can we... shower?"
"Can I get some pictures?"
"Huh!?"
"Huh?"

Y'know I'm not even sorry LMAO not at all lmao
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#satoru gojo smut#gojo smut#satoru gojo x reader#satoru gojo#satoru gojo x you#gojo satoru smut#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru x you#yandere x you#yandere gojo x reader#yandere gojo#divider by @uzmacchiato#yandere gojo satoru#satoru smut#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen smut#jjk x reader smut#jjk x reader
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Tw. insecure/introvert reader, angst(?), dark content, noncon kissing, implied noncon/dubcon at the end, jealousy, tension, mutual pinning, misunderstanding, hidden feelings, slow burn(?), stalking, toxic, sabotage, possessiveness, red flag, manipulation, dependency, no actual smut
***
Imagine being the childhood friend of the popular playboy in school.
He wasnât just a typical playboyâhe was popular for a good amount of reasons. He was, of course, hot, tall, with a pretty face, but he also had that effortless charisma. Easy-going, charming, funny when he wanted to be, and somehow still managed to keep decent grades. A good reputation wrapped in the kind of smile that made girls melt.
The only problem? His ongoing roster of girls. You honestly couldnât pinpoint when or how he turned into such a flirt, it sort of just... happened. Maybe when high school hit, and puberty did him more favors than most. Whatever the case, he became that guy. The one youâd usually only see in dramas.
But itâs not like you had any business with that part of him. At least, thatâs what you told yourself.
You two had always been close. Childhood friends. Neighbors. Playmates since you were practically in diapers. Your parents knew each other well, your families comfortable enough to arrange sleepovers that turned into routine. You grew up in each otherâs houses, like siblings. Always âthe duo.â
But while he bloomed into the guy everyone wanted to be around, you... didnât exactly shine the same way. You were a little plain. A bit on the bland side compared to others, especially compared to him. While he stood tall, you were shorter than average, often overlooked in group photos. You didnât have much of a figure either, which made changing in the locker room a quiet kind of dread. Flat and forgettable. Youâd never say it out loud, but you noticed the difference.
He lit up every room he walked into. You were just... there. Next to him. Always next to him. Just not quite enough.
But it was fine.
You never made a big deal about any of it. Itâs not like you wanted the spotlight anyway. You were comfortable being in the background, comfortable not having all eyes on you. Sure, sometimes you got a few questionable looks when you were with Mr. Charming, but you learned not to care. Let them wonder. You were used to being the quiet one beside the star of the show.
Though, truth be told, you sometimes wondered too. Why did he always stick around? Even when the popular kids were constantly egging him on to ditch you and join them, he never really did. Heâd flirt and play around, sure, but he always came back to you. As if none of the sparkle out there was worth trading for late-night game sessions and instant noodles in your room.
"Geez, whyâre you in my bedroom...? I thought you were about to go to the concert with them," you asked one evening, raising a brow as he sprawled across your bed like it was his.
âNuh-uh. Donât wanna,â he replied, eyes already glued to the game controller in his hand. âPlus, I wanna spend time playing games with you.â
You rolled your eyes at the time, but deep down, your chest tightened just a little. Warm and confused all at once.
It was things like that, small, innocent moments that led to the never-ending question you kept hearing from people.
âAre you guys dating?â
You always shut it down quickly, automatically, almost on instinct now.
âNo. Definitely not. Iâm not his type, weâre just friends.â
Because that was the truth, right?
Right?
***
He heard you say it all the time.
âWeâre just friends.â
You said it so naturally, like breathing. Like it was a fact. Like it didnât chip away at something in him every time those words slipped from your lips.
But damn, you didnât make it easy to believe.
Not when you smiled at him like that. Not when you laughed at his dumb jokes, even the ones no one else caught. Not when you looked at him like he was just him, not the guy with a line of girls and a reputation he didnât even care for anymore.
He told himself he was just being a good friend. That walking you homeâeven when it meant doubling backâwas normal. That flicking some guyâs forehead for looking at you too long was harmless. Just a joke. Even if something in his chest burned every time.
And maybe he leaned in too close sometimes. Maybe he hovered near your space a little more than necessary. But he didnât do it on purpose. Not at first.
Itâs just... you never pulled away.
You made it feel like he belonged there.
And then there were the little things.
The way you always insisted you werenât picky, but he still remembered how you liked your noodles with less broth. The way he always brought an extra hoodie because yeah, you always forgot yours, and he didnât want you getting cold. The way he chose the seat next to you, even if the room was empty. Always you. Always your side.
You never questioned it.
Except that one time.
"Whyâre you always hanging out with me? I'm not exactly a party."
He remembered how you asked it with a smile, trying to play it off.
But it hit him harder than he expected. So he gave you the truth. Or at least⌠part of it.
"Yeah, but youâre my favorite kind of quiet."
You laughed, of course. Brushed it off like it was nothing.
But he saw the way you looked down after. The way your cheeks went warm. And he carried that moment with him, filed it away with all the other things he never said out loud.
And when people asked if you two were dating and you laughed and said âNo, Iâm definitely not his typeââhe never corrected you.
He shouldâve. God, he wanted to.
But instead, he just smiled. That same tight, hollow smile.
Because you were wrong.
You were so wrong.
You werenât loud, or bold, or flashy like the girls who chased him, sure. But none of them ever made him feel the way you did.
And you never saw it.
You looked at yourself and only saw âplain.â But he looked at you and saw home.
And he stayed.
He always stayed.
That part? You never really understood.
But maybe⌠he was just too much of a coward to make you.
***
It happened one weekend night.
Your parents were out of town for a wedding (you didn't want to go along), leaving you with the house to yourself. Youâd planned to spend the evening curled up with snacks and a cheesy drama, nothing unusual. The house was quiet, comfortably so.
Until a knock came at the front door. Loud. Repetitive.
You opened it, and there he was, him. Tall, flushed, and very, very drunk.
âHeeeyyy,â he drawled, grinning lopsidedly as he leaned against the doorframe. âYouuuuuu. I missed you.â
You blinked, completely stunned. âWaitâwhat the hell? Are you drunk? Where were you?â
He didnât answer. Instead, he stumbled forward, and your reflexes kicked in just in time to stop him from falling face-first into your entryway.
âOh my God,â you muttered, arms flailing as you tried to support him. âJeez, youâre heavy, what did you drink?â
He giggled. Actually giggled.
âDunno,â he mumbled, dropping most of his weight onto you like a sleepy sloth. âThey gave me... stuff. Tasted like cough syrup. Missed your face thoughâŚâ
You groaned, knees nearly buckling under him as you fumbled to drag his dead weight toward the living room. âYou missed my face? Seriously?â
He made a noise that was suspiciously close to a whine. âYeah⌠You didnât come to the party. I waited. Got bored. Left.â
âYou shouldâve just stayed and sobered up instead of dragging your drunk ass here.â
But he didnât respond. Instead, he slurred something completely incoherent and nuzzled into your shoulder.
You finally managed to guide him to the couch, huffing and trying to keep your balance. But as you bent to lower him onto the cushions, he suddenly shifted his weight and with zero warning, pulled you down with him.
âW-Waitâ!â
You fell right on top of him with a muffled oof, and before you could scramble away, his arms lazily wrapped around you, holding you there like a living body pillow.
âComfy,â he mumbled against your hair. âYou smell nice.â
Your brain short-circuited. âWhaâ Iâ Get off!â
But he didnât budge. In fact, he snuggled closer, warmth radiating off him as he held you like it was the most natural thing in the world.
âYâknow,â he whispered, voice thick with sleep and alcohol, âI donât like it when you say youâre not my type.â
You froze.
âI hate it,â he added, softer now. âSo dumb. You donât even see how much I like being around youâŚâ
Then silence. Deep, slow breaths. He was already half-asleep, completely unaware of the way your heart was trying to beat out of your chest.
You didnât know what to say.
So you said nothing.
And stayed there, quietly listening to the sound of his breathing, with your face burning and your thoughts racing, wondering if heâd remember any of it in the morning.
Your heart was pounding like it wanted to escape your chest.
You could feel the heat of his breath against your collarbone, his arms still wrapped around you in a lazy hold. Everything about the moment was too muchâthe closeness, the weight of his words, the way he mumbled "I donât like it when you say youâre not my type.â
It shouldâve meant something. Shouldâve stirred something deeper. And for a moment, it did.
But then, reality hit.
This was himâthe same guy whoâd flirted with three girls just last week, the same guy whose phone buzzed with messages from different names at ungodly hours. The guy who could have anyone he wanted with just a glance and a half-hearted smile.
Your brows furrowed, the haze of warmth in your chest beginning to cool.
Of course he was saying stuff like that. He was drunk. Sloppy. Blurry-eyed. Probably mistaking you for someone else, or worse, just saying the first sweet thing that came to mind because it was easy. Because that's what he does.
The warmth in your cheeks faded. Your eyes narrowed slightly as you stared.
You sighed.
âStupid drunk,â you muttered, voice flat and unimpressed.
He didnât react, already halfway to sleep, breathing soft and slow like a knocked-out puppy.
You stayed like that for a moment longer, caught between the ghost of his words and the bitter edge of your thoughts. Part of you wanted to believe what he said. But the other part? The part that had watched girl after girl fall for him and get tossed aside like it was nothing?
That part just wanted to roll its eyes.
Still, you didnât move.
Because even if you didnât believe himâŚ
His arms around you still felt kind of nice.
***
You two acted normal after the morning of that. He probably didn't remember what he said, which was a good thing for you. Moved on, like nothing happened.
It's been a few days after that and you were talking about someone newâa guy from your class, apparently. You had that little spark in your voice, the one he usually only heard when you were talking about food or finding a cute dog online.
He didnât like it. Not one bit.
âSo yeah,â you said casually, biting into a snack as you scrolled on your phone, âhe offered to walk me home the other day. I didnât let him, obviously. But he was really nice about it. Kinda surprising.â
He sat beside you on your bed, leaning back on one hand, pretending not to care. âOh? He did?â
âYeah. I think heâs cool,â you said, voice light, unaware of how that single word stabbed into him harder than he wanted to admit.
He tilted his head, a smile pulling at his lips, one of those closed-eyed smiles he wore when he was being âharmless.â
âYou do?â
You nodded, totally unfazed. âMhm. Heâs funny, smart. Kinda cute.â
There it was.
The trigger.
He sat up a little straighter, the smile never quite reaching his eyes now. âFunny, smart, cute?â he repeated, still with that casual tone. âWow. Sounds like a real catch.â
You blinked at him. âYeah, I guess. Heâs easy to talk to.â
He snorted. âRight, right. Tall guy? Bit of a clean-cut look?â
You nodded again, chewing absently on your snack.
âMust be nice,â he muttered, crossing his arms. âBet heâs the type to open doors and call you maâam too.â
You laughed. âI mean, manners arenât exactly a red flag.â
âOh yeah, totally,â he said, voice picking up heat now, even as he smiled. âSo polite. Bet he irons his shirts and rehearses compliments in the mirror.â
You gave him a look, amused. âWhat is with you?â
âNothing. Just sayinââguyâs probably all talk. Bet he folds under pressure. Canât even kill a spider without screaming.â
You raised a brow, âThatâs a bold assumption.â
He scoffed, throwing his hands up, still smiling but not meaning it. âIâm taller, better looking, and I donât have to try so hard to impress people.â
Your jaw dropped a little. âWhat?â
âIâm just saying,â he said, raising his bottle in mock-toast. âIf youâre gonna go for someone âcool,â maybe aim higher. You know. Someone whoâs taller, funnier, better-looking, less try-hard. Maybe someone whoâs known you since you were five. Just throwing that out there.â
âHuh?â
âAnd I bet my dickâs bigger than his."
You choked on your drink, âWhat?!â
He blinked. âWhat?â
You stared at him, stunned, and he just gave a tiny shrug like oops, did I say that out loud?
You laughed, shaking your head, brushing it all off like it was just another one of his weird ego trips. âOkay, weirdo.â
He didnât respond right away.
He just watched you, jaw tightening slightly as you turned your attention back to your phone, entirely missing the storm he was trying to hide behind casual smirks and crude jokes.
You didnât get it, because you didnât think he looked at you that way.
***
After that conversation, things didnât exactly changeâbut they didnât quite go back to normal either.
He still walked you home. Still flopped onto your bed like it was his own. Still stole your snacks and your charger and your last bit of patience on most days.
But sometimes, youâd catch him watching you a little too long.
Not in the obvious way. Not like the way other guys did, staring with boldness and intentions written all over their faces.
Noâhe did it quietly. Like he was trying to memorize the way you smiled when you thought no one was looking. Like he was trying to figure something out about you⌠or maybe about himself.
Then there were the little shifts.
He started texting back slower when you told him you were talking to that guy again. Didnât say anything harsh, but his replies were short. Blunt.
And when that same guy approached you one afternoon in the hallway, he just so happened to slide in between you two, throwing an arm around your shoulder.
âDidnât know you liked hanging out with traffic cones,â he muttered with a lopsided grin, nodding at the guyâs neon hoodie.
You laughed nervously, brushing it off. âYouâre so dumb.â
But the guy left after that. Didnât even try to keep the conversation going.
And when you asked him what that was about, he just shrugged.
âDidnât like his face.â
You rolled your eyes. âYou donât like anyoneâs face lately.â
He smiled. âYours is okay, I guess.â
And then there were those times when you were on your phone, texting, and heâd lean over your shoulder too quickly.
âWhoâs that?â
âNo one.â
âHmm. No one has a name?â
You sighed, brushing him away. âWhy are you so nosy lately?â
But heâd never answer. Heâd just flop backward onto the couch or your bed and throw an arm over his eyes like he was bored. Or tired. Or both.
But you felt it.
Something had shifted.
He was getting quieter about the things he didnât say. Quieter about how he stayed so close but kept himself just far enough that you wouldnât really notice.
***
You didnât say anything about it to him.
Not when you got the number. Not when you exchanged a few late-night texts with the guy from class. And definitely not when he asked who kept lighting up your phone and you liedâsaid it was your cousin, or some stupid group chat.
Because⌠if he wanted to keep treating you like you were just his best friend, then fine. Maybe youâd stop waiting. You were plain ol Jane anyway, at this rate you'd end up alone. Not like anyone would like you if you don't even try or put any effort to yourself. Maybe it was time to try something different.
Someone different.
So you said yes to a date.
It wasnât a big deal. Just a small place near the station, casual, low-pressure. You wore a little lip tint. Changed your shirt twice. Checked your phone four times on the way there.
You even left the house without telling him.
Which was rare.
Because somehow, despite how frustrated you were, you still felt a little guilty doing something like this without him knowing. Scrap that! You shouldn't feel guilty at all, it's not like you're his girlfriend or something. Plus, this was your first date, you shouldn't even think of him.
You got there early. Sat at the little table. Smoothed your skirt out. Sipped water slowly.
And waited.
Then waited some more.
Minutes passed. Then a half-hour. Then an hour.
No messages. No call. Just⌠silence.
At some point, you stopped pretending to check your phone like there was something new. You just sat there, hands folded, eyes distant. Trying not to let it sink in too hard, but it did anyway.
He didnât show.
No explanation.
No reason.
Just a reminder that maybe you really werenât the type to be chosen after all.
By the time you got home, it was dark. You kicked your shoes off a little harder than usual, holding back the pressure behind your eyes. The house was quiet. Your parents werenât home. Just you. And the lingering ache of rejection sitting heavy in your chest.
Maybe you shouldn't gotten your hopes up.
And then you heard the knock on your door. You already knew who it was.
He walked in like he always did, with a lazy grin and a snack in hand. You stared at him like you hadnât just spent an hour trying to convince yourself you were worth showing up for.
âYo. You were gone,â he said, tossing a drink on your desk like usual. âDidnât text me back. Something happened?â
You looked up from where you sat on your bed, your voice dull. âNo. I just⌠needed some air.â
He paused. The grin faltered, but only for a split second.
ââŚDid you go somewhere?â
You forced a laugh, shaking your head. âJust errands. Nothing interesting.â
He didnât question it. He trusted you too easily. Or maybe he didnât want to push. Instead, he stretched out beside you, letting out a sigh. âPeople are exhausting. I donât get how you deal with them.â
You shrugged, keeping your voice light. âGuess I just have more patience.â
He turned his head to look at you thenâreally looked. Eyes soft, searching.
âYou okay?â
You smiled, quick and small. âYeah. Just tired.â
And that was the thing with him. Heâd always pull back just when he was about to see something too real. Like he was afraid of what he might find if he looked too closely.
So, he let it go.
He reached for the controller on your desk, tossing it in your lap. âWanna game âtil we pass out?â
You nodded.
Because what else could you do?
You couldnât tell him your date never showed up. You couldnât tell him that for a brief moment, you thought maybeâjust maybeâyou could be wanted by someone else. That someone else could make you forget the way he made you feel without ever touching you.
***
Of course, he knew.
He always knew.
He noticed the shift before you even realized it yourselfâhow you started texting a little less when he was around, how you smiled down at your phone and quickly locked it when he leaned over. How youâd hum that soft little tune you always did when you were nervous or excited.
It didnât take much.
One glance at your screen while you left it unattended. One name. One stupid string of texts about Friday and coffee and maybe Iâll see you there? :)
And it pissed him off more than he wanted to admit.
Not because he thought you werenât allowed to date. Not even because he thought the guy was anything special.
No.
It was because you thought someone else could understand you better than he did. That someone else could earn what heâd spent years protecting.
You didnât know it, but he was the reason most guys never got near you in the first place.
He wasnât exactly subtleâespecially in high school. Any guy who so much as looked at you too long got âthe talk.â A casual hand around your shoulders. A stare that went a little too cold. A whispered âSheâs not interestedâ even if you hadnât said it yourself.
He made it hard for anyone to approach. On purpose.
Because you were his.
Not in the possessive, boyfriend kind of way. At least, thatâs what he told himself. But in the I know every part of you, and no one else ever will kind of way.
So when this new guy started sniffing around, he didnât wait.
He caught the guy behind the gym after class, right where the hallway cameras didnât reach.
The guy flinched when he turned the corner and saw him standing thereâarms crossed, calm smile on his face like this was just another casual run-in. But his eyes⌠his eyes were cold.
âHey,â he said smoothly, stepping into his path.
The guy hesitated, confused. âUh. Hey?â
âYouâve been texting her.â
The guy blinked, caught off guard. âIâwhat?â
He took another step closer. âDonât play dumb. Youâve been trying to take her out. Planning something for Friday, right? CafĂŠ date?â
The guy laughed nervously, confused. âYeah? I mean⌠she said yes.â
That smile widened, but it didnât reach his eyes.
âYeah. Sheâs nice like that.â
Then the smile dropped.
âBut letâs get one thing straight.â
The guyâs brows pulled together. âWhat are youâ?â
He grabbed the front of his collar, shoving him hard against the wall, voice dropping low and sharp.
âYouâre not gonna show up.â
The guy froze. âWhat the hell is your problem?!â
âI donât like repeating myself.â He leaned in close, breath calm and voice terrifyingly even. âYouâre going to leave her alone. Youâre going to block her. And youâre never going to speak to her again.â
âYouâre insaneâ!â
He smiled again, twisting the guyâs shirt tighter. âNo. Youâre stupid. See, hereâs the thing. Iâm the popular guy. Good grades. Everyone loves me.â He tilted his head, voice dropping even further. âYou? Youâre a background character. No oneâs gonna believe some awkward little shit over me. You tell anyone I threatened you, and all I have to do is smile and say, âWho, me?â And everyone will laugh and move on.â
He let go with a shove, stepping back as the guy gasped, fixing his shirt.
âYou can call it jealousy. Obsession. Whatever makes you feel better,â he said, brushing invisible dust off his sleeve. âBut hereâs what it really is, Iâm not letting someone like you anywhere near her.â
The guy stared at him, chest heaving.
He walked away with a casual wave. âDonât forget. Friday? Youâre busy~â
The guy didnât show up.
And that night, when he dropped by your room and found you curled up and quiet, wearing his hoodie like a safety blanket, something in his chest twisted.
You didnât say a word about it.
But he knew.
He could see the flicker of hurt behind your eyes. The soft smile you gave himâfake, practiced. The way you brushed him off like it didnât matter. He wanted to feel satisfied. Victorious.
But it just made him feel worse.
Because no matter how much he tried to control things⌠he couldnât stop that sadness in your eyes.
You didnât even know it was him. Didnât even know that all this time, the reason you felt so overlooked, so invisible was because heâd made sure of it.
Not because he wanted to hurt you. But because he couldnât stand the idea of someone else seeing what he saw.
You were his quiet. His warmth. His constant.
And if someone else took that away from him?
He didnât know who heâd be.
***
It started small.
You noticed it when you caught him glaring at someone youâd only spoken to once. When your texts started mysteriously going unanswered. When people who used to be friendly now looked at you like they didnât want to get involved.
At first, you thought you were just overthinking it. Paranoia, maybe. You were introverted, bad at reading people. You kept to yourself more often than not, maybe that just meant people naturally faded away.
But then there were moments.
Moments where you caught the sharpness behind his smile when someone mentioned another guyâs name. Moments where his âjokesâ about being possessive didnât feel so funny anymore. Moments where he looked at you too long, too quietly, like he was thinking something he couldnât say out loud.
And then that nightâeverything shifted.
He was in your room again. Like always. Sprawled out on your bed, head resting against your pillow like it belonged to him. You were on your floor, flipping through old game cases, trying to ignore the heavy beat of your heart.
âYouâve been quiet lately,â he said, tone light but eyes tracking every move you made.
You shrugged. âJust thinking.â
âAbout?â
You didnât answer right away. You didnât really know how to. Your mind had been a mess lately, spinning with everything you didnât understand. Everything you were starting to understand.
âDo youâŚâ you hesitated, eyes on the case in your hand. âDo you ever think people avoid me because of you?â
He sat up. Slowly.
âWhereâs that coming from?â
âI donât know,â you muttered. âIt just feels like⌠people donât even try anymore.â
There was a beat of silence.
Then he stood. Walked over. Sat beside you on the floor, shoulder brushing yours. You didnât look at him. You felt like you couldnât.
You looked up at him, finally and your breath caught.
He was quiet for a second. Then he said, voice low, âMaybe I like it that way.â
And then he kissed you.
Because his eyes werenât teasing. They were serious. Dark. Familiar in a way that suddenly felt foreign.
Just like that.
No warning. No permission.
His lips were on yoursâsoft, warm, dangerous. It wasnât rushed, but it wasnât gentle either. It was sure. Like heâd been waiting. Like heâd done it a thousand times in his head already.
You froze.
For a second, your brain short-circuited. Everything blanked. Your body didnât know whether to lean in or pull away. Because youâd thought about this before. God, had you thought about it. Wondered, dreamed, ached over it. But now that it was realâŚ
You remembered the girls. The rumors. The way he never looked twice at them after he got bored.
You pulled back, breath catching. âDonât.â
He blinked at you, surprised, maybe even a little hurt.
You stood, fast. Hands shaking. âYou should go.â
He didnât move.
Instead, he gave you a small, crooked smile. The kind you used to find charming. The kind that now made your stomach twist.
âWhy?â he said softly. âI wanna stay the night.â
You stared at him.
He tilted his head, like this was all just a game, âWe can play boyfriend and girlfriend again,â he said, voice low, teasing. âLike we used to when we were kids. Remember that?â
You took a step back. âThat was pretend.â
âSo~?â He stood too now, closing the space between you. âLetâs pretend again. This time I wonât leave.â
Your chest tightened.
You want to push him away, your mind reeling with the memories of him being a playboy.
âI said you should go,â you repeated, trying to keep your voice firm.
And you hated that your heart skipped. That your body remembered the kiss more than your mind could process it. But your gut? Your gut screamed something was wrong. You took another step back, putting space between you.
He didnât move. His eyes tracked you like prey, something unreadable flickering beneath the surface.
"You used to let me sleep over all the time," he said softly, like he was reminding you of a rule you were suddenly breaking. âWhat changed?â
Everything, you wanted to say.
But instead, your voice came out smaller than you intended. âThat was when we were kids.â
A slow grin tugged at his lipsâbut it wasnât his usual smile. It was something darker. Almost sad.
âYouâre acting like Iâm a stranger.â
You clenched your fists, unsure why your throat felt tight. âYou are. Lately... I donât know what you are.â
Something in his jaw twitched. The grin dropped.
And then, suddenly he stepped forward.
You barely had time to flinch before you felt his hands on your shoulders, gently but firmly guiding you backward. Your knees hit the edge of your bed. You stumbled. Sat down.
His body was close. Too close.
Your breath hitched.
âI donât want you to be scared of me,â he murmured, crouching slightly so he could look you in the eyes. âIâd never hurt you. You know that, right?â
You nodded slowly, heart hammering. But the unease wouldnât leave.
He placed a hand beside your thigh on the bed, leaning in.
âThen why are you shaking?â
You didn't answer.
Because part of you didnât know if it was fear⌠or something else. Something even more dangerousâdoubt.
You tried to stand again, but he didnât move back. He was watching you too closely. Like he was trying to read your mind. Like he already knew what was in it.
"I know you're confused," he said. "But deep down, you've always felt something too. I just had the guts to do something about it."
You opened your mouth, to argue, to tell him to leave again but nothing came out. Instead, you whispered, "I don't know what you're doing anymore."
His expression cracked for a momentâsomething bitter bleeding through.
âIâm doing what I shouldâve done a long time ago.â
And for the first time, he didnât try to mask it.
#lovesick#dark content#yandere x y/n#yandere x reader#yandere genshin#yandere genshin impact#yandere honkai star rail#yandere hsr#yandere jjk#yandere jujutsu kaisen#yandere x darling#yandere x female reader#yandere suguru geto#yandere childe#yandere gojo#love and deepspace#yandere caleb#l&ds caleb#yandere childhood friend#yandere gojo x reader
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even softer than expected
yandere senpai satoru x kouhai reader, dubcon, yandere themes, obsessive behavior, manipulation, power imbalance, fingering, making out, dirty talk, orgasm denial, praise kink, bodily fluids, semi-public setting. 2.5k wc. 18+ only, MDNI.
a/n : i let him weaponize tenderness and gave him full custody of her dazed little heart. i write this with no intention of touching grass.
it starts with you clinging.
satoru thinks itâs adorable, of course. noâhe thinks itâs perfect.
senpai and kouhai. thatâs what everyone sees. he likes that word on your lips when you say it, likes the way you trail after him with that polite, reluctant look like you arenât entirely sure why he bothers with you. he bothers because youâre his. you just donât know it yet.
itâs the soft little inhale you make when the first jump scare goes off near the props closet, followed by your fingers instinctively curling into the back of his uniform jacket like heâs some kind of shield. and in a way, he is. a self-appointed one. a role heâs studied, perfected.
"what, scared already?" he drawls, but heâs not teasing you like he does the others. thereâs a smile in his voice, yes, but itâs quieter. smug. almost fond. a shade softer than usual.
he doesnât miss the way you flinch when the speaker hisses static again, your shoulders tensing beneath his palm. your eyes flicker nervously toward every new shadow. youâre cute when youâre scared. cute in the kind of way that makes his jaw tense. makes his fingers twitch with the urge to pull you closer, tuck you under his arm, let the whole world know youâre off-limits.
not that heâd let you notice that.
not yet.
he made sure you were assigned together, of course. loitered around the haunted house committee like it was a casual whim. a flash of teeth, a tilt of his sunglasses, and the upperclassmen agreed before they knew what hit them. you, on the other hand, were blissfully unaware. just grateful heâd offered to go with you. just flustered enough to say thank you with your eyes slightly downcast.
he nudges you a little deeper into the dark hallway, hand warm and deliberate on the small of your back. another jump scareâa skeleton rig this timeâclatters down, and you make a soft noise, half-gasp, half-laugh. you press yourself a little closer. he leans down, lips almost grazing your ear.
âdonât worry, baby,â he murmurs, breath warm. âiâm the scariest thing here anyway.â
you stiffen in his hold. he feels it. not from fear of the decorations. something deeper. something that starts low in your gut and coils tightly. and god, it makes his heart race. his fingers flex slightly at your hip.
his white hair looks almost silver under the dim lights, falling in soft disarray over his forehead. his eyes, uncovered for once, glint pale and bright behind the gloomâfocused solely on you. there's something wolfish about the way he watches you. head tilted. gaze sharp. patient. a predator who already knows his prey will come willingly.
you donât know it yet, but he memorizes every little twitch of your expression. the way your brows pinch when youâre unsure. the way your lips part slightly when youâre startled. how your grip tightens on his sleeve each time something rattles. heâs attuned to every breath you take like itâs a song written for him.
he drapes an arm around your shoulders casually, fingers brushing your neck. you let him. maybe you think itâs harmless. senpai being playful again. maybe you think itâs all part of the act. a little fun, a little flirting.
but itâs not an act. not to him. not even close.
another clang. a metal bucket this time. you jolt, and he pulls you into him by the waist. your body fits against his so neatly, too neatly. the scent of youâshampoo, warm cotton, something faintly sweetârushes up and makes his chest tighten. he wonders, briefly, how soft your hair would feel tangled around his fingers.
âyou okay?â he murmurs, close enough that his lips graze your temple. you nod shakily, and he smiles. not a soft smile. something sharper. something that doesnât quite reach his eyes. something that says he knows exactly what heâs doing.
his hand trails slowly up your spine, fingers warm and certain. âyou know,â he says lightly, âif youâre this jumpy, we should hide in one of the back rooms until the crowd clears. iâll keep you safe. promise.â
your eyes meet his, hesitant. wary. something in your gaze flitsâtrust, maybe. or the early seeds of it. you nod once, barely. he gives you that familiar grinâthe one he knows works. the one that masks everything else simmering underneath.
and he doesnât wait for permission.
he tugs you through a side door, down a narrow hallway the others wonât check. itâs quieter here, colder. the flickering lights are weaker, their hum drowned by distant screams and the occasional thud of footsteps in the main hall. the walls are paper-thin, barely holding together with peeling black paint and old festival flyers. satoruâs steps echo soft and certain. yours trail behindâhesitant.
he picks the door at the very end. tiny, half-rotted, marked âstaff only.â inside, the room is even darker. cobwebs stretch across the corners like veins. an old box television hisses static in the far corner, its glow barely illuminating the room. it smells like paint, dust, something older tooâmildew maybe. the door creaks closed behind you, and the lock clicks before you can speak.
âsee?â he murmurs, voice low and warm like syrup. âmuch better.â
he doesnât wait for your reaction. your back hits the wall a moment laterânot harsh, but sudden, enough to draw a startled breath. his arms come up, caging you in. close. too close. the static paints shadows on his face, making his smirk seem carved. strands of his hair catch the flickering light, messy and white like winter snow, and his blindfold is pushed up like a crown of silk, revealing eyes too bright, too knowing.
he watches you like he always doesâlike itâs easy. like youâre something soft, small, and entirely his. youâre flushed already, fingers twitching at your sides. your eyes dart between his face and the door.
âyouâre still shaking,â he says, tilting his head. âi thought i said iâd protect you.â
he thinks itâs adorable. how shy you still are, even now. how you pretend to resist him, even though your breath hitches when he gets close. he loves the way your mouth opens like you might objectâbut nothing comes out.
âsenpai, we shouldnâtâsomeone might comeââ
âthey wonât,â he says, voice soft but decisive. âitâs dark. itâs loud. no oneâs gonna hear you. not unless you want them to.â
he leans in, his breath a warm, teasing gust, carrying the faint tang of cherry candy clinging to his lips. his fingers trail up your throat, slow, feeling the frantic pulse jumping under your skin, each beat a little gift just for him. they cradle your jaw, possessive, his thumb stroking your bottom lip, tugging it down until it quivers. âbesides,â he murmurs, voice a low, velvet taunt, âdonât you trust me?â
you nod, just barely, a shaky little jerk that makes his eyes flash with something hungry.
he kisses you, slow but fucking feral, a claiming kind of kiss that screams youâre his, like heâs carving his name into your soul with his mouth. his lips crash against yours, slick and bruising, not gentle but deliberate, a sloppy, greedy mess that makes your head spin. itâs your first kiss, and he knows itâfuck, he loves itâyour inexperience is like blood in the water to him.
his tongue shoves in, no hesitation, thick and hot, prying your lips apart until youâre gasping into his mouth. he tastes youâwarm, soft, the faint salt of your nervous sweat, the cherry chapstick you didnât know heâd noticedâand itâs better than any wet dream heâs jerked off to.
his teeth graze your bottom lip, a sharp nip that makes you whimper, and he sucks on the sting, drawing a bead of spit that smears across your chin. his breath is heavy, ragged, mixing with yours, the air between you thick with heat and the sour-sweet tang of his candy-laced saliva.
your tongue fumbles, clumsy, unsure, and he groans, low and filthy, loving how youâre floundering, drowning in him. spit drips, slick and warm, pooling at the corner of your mouth, and he licks it up, sloppy, his tongue dragging across your jaw like heâs marking you. your hands grab his shirt, knuckles white, clutching like youâre clinging to a lifeline, and he feels like a fucking god, your desperation pumping his ego until itâs bursting.
when he pulls back, youâre breathless, dazed, lips puffy and glistening. he tilts his head, smirking, eyes raking over your flushed face. âyouâre not scared anymore, huh?â he drawls, voice thick with smug amusement. âor is this just a different kind of scared?â
his thigh wedges between yours, hard muscle forcing your legs apart, his hips grinding in slow, deliberate, the bulge in his pants pressing just right to make you squirm.
you let out a gasp that dies into a moan, raw and shaky, and he drinks it in, watching your face twist, eyes fluttering shut then snapping open like youâre fighting to stay grounded. heâs obsessed with itâevery fucking second of your struggle is his.
âyou look so pretty like this,â he murmurs, voice soft but cutting, like a compliment laced with venom. âcaught.â
his fingers tap your chin once, a playful little pat, before two of themâlong, deft, warmâpress against your lips. âopen up,â he says, a command wrapped in a smile.
you do, lips parting, trembling, and he slides them in, slow, letting you feel the weight. your tongue brushes his skin, slick and hesitant, and he groans softly, low in his throat, loving the wet heat of your mouth. his knuckles graze your lips, teasing, and he watches you struggleâwatches the drool spill, slicking your chin, your eyes watering as you try not to choke.
itâs fucking gorgeous, the way youâre falling apart already.
âthere you go,â he coos, voice dripping with condescension, sweet and patronizing. âgood girl.â
he pulls them out, slow, spit clinging to his fingers, a glossy thread snapping against your lip. his cock twitches, aching, but heâs too caught up in thisâyour flushed cheeks, your shaky breaths, the way youâre already his without a fight. his hand dives under your skirt, yanking your underwear aside with a rough tug. the fabric rips, a sharp sound that makes you flinch, and he smirks, loving that little jolt of fear.
his fingers press into you, two at first, thick and unyielding, sliding in slow, savoring the way your cunt clenches, so wet itâs almost obscene. the heat of you is unreal, slick and tight, and he bites his lip, eyes locked on your face.
âgoddamn, look at you,â he purrs, voice low and syrupy, full of praise. âtaking my fingers so nice, like you were born for this. my perfect pretty girl, huh?â
your gasp is high, broken, and he feels you shudder, your thighs trembling against his. he curls his fingers, slow, dragging them against your walls, feeling every pulse, every flutter. the wet squelch is loud, filthy, echoing in the cramped, mildewed room, and he loves itâloves how itâs proof of your body begging for him.
âlisten to that,â he murmurs, almost reverent, his lips grazing your ear. âyour pussyâs singing for me, baby. so fucking eager.â
he pushes deeper, knuckles brushing your entrance, and your hips jerk, instinctive, a whimper spilling from your lips. he adds a third finger, stretching you, the burn making you whineâa sharp, desperate sound that makes his chest tighten.
âshh, youâre doing so good,â he praises, voice soft but edged with that condescending lilt. âlook at you, opening up for me like a sweet little thing. bet you didnât know you could take this much, did you?â
his thumb finds your clit, circling slow, deliberate, each swipe sparking shocks through your shaking body. your nails claw at his arms, leaving red scratches, and he fucking loves itâloves the proof youâre losing it for him.
his fingers pump, curling, twisting, hitting that spot that makes your eyes roll back. he slows, teasing, dragging them out, slick and shining, before slamming them back in, deep and hard. the rhythmâs relentless, the wet slap of his hand against your cunt filling the air, mixing with your gasps and moans.
âyouâre so fucking perfect,â he breathes, voice thick with awe, his eyes never leaving your face. âevery little twitch, every soundâfuck, youâre my masterpiece.â
heâs not imagining anything else; this is it, the real deal, your body trembling under his hands, your cunt dripping for him, your face twisting in ways he wants burned into his brain.
he presses harder, fingers curling tighter, thumb grinding your clit faster, and youâre sobbing now, soft, broken sounds that make his cock throb and twitch in his pants.
âthatâs it, cry for me,â he murmurs, voice dripping with praise, a touch of mockery. âsuch a pretty mess, all for your senpai. youâre making me so fucking proud, baby.â
your hips grind against his hand, chasing the friction, and he grins, holding you still with his free arm, pinning you to the wall like he owns you. âno running, sweetheart. youâre gonna take it all, just like you were meant to.â
heâs relentless, fingers plunging, curling, stretching, his thumb circling your clit with brutal precision. the squelch of your slick is deafening, dripping down his wrist, pooling on the floor, and heâs drunk on itâon the heat, the wetness, the way your bodyâs screaming his name without words.
âfuck, youâre soaking me,â he purrs, voice low and adoring. âmaking such a filthy little puddle. my good girl, giving me everything.â
he leans in, lips brushing your temple, tasting the salt of your sweat, and he groans, low and filthy, because youâre better than any fantasy heâs ever had.
youâre close, he feels itâyour walls clenching, your breath hitching, your legs shaking like theyâre about to give out. âgonna fall apart for me?â he whispers, voice soft but taunting, lips grazing your ear. âgonna cream all over my fingers like my perfect little angel? go on, show me how good you can be.â
heâs relentless, fingers pumping, thumb pressing, every motion pushing you higher, your moans turning into desperate, keening cries.
but then he stops, fingers buried deep, still as stone. you choke on a sob, hips bucking, chasing a release heâs ripped away. your cunt flutters, greedy, aching, and he smirks, loving how youâre practically fucking yourself on his hand.
âmm-mm,â he hums, sweet and cruel, like honey over a razor. ânot yet, baby. you donât get to cum until i say.â
he holds you there, suspended in agony, your body trembling, slick coating his hand, dripping down his arm. he leans in, breath hot against your ear, voice a soft, devastating whisper. âbesides, we shouldnât go any further,â he says, careful, calculated, a perfect trap. ânot unless weâre, yâknow, actually dating or something.â
you freeze, eyes wide, lips trembling, spit-slick and swollen. heâs still inside you, fingers heavy, a constant, torturous pressure.
he grins, lazy, smug, lips brushing your cheek. âso, what do you think, sweetheart?â he murmurs, fingers twitching just enough to make you whimper. âwanna be mine?â
#๨ৠâ filed reports#gojo satoru#satoru gojo#jjk gojo#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#yandere gojo#yandere jjk#gojo smut#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen smut#yandere gojo x reader#gojo x reader smut#yandere jjk x reader#jjk x reader smut#gojo x reader#gojo x female reader#satoru gojo x reader#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru x you#satoru gojo x you#gojo satoru x y/n#satoru gojo x y/n#jjk x reader#reader insert#tw dubcon#tw yandere
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Title: Unchaperoned.
Pairing: Yandere!Gojo x Reader (JJK).
Word Count: 5.2k.
TW: Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Prolonged Captivity, Semi-Public Sex, Mentions of Physical/Psychological Abuse, Mentions of Kidnapping, Reader's Just Going Through It In This One Okay, and Dissociative Behavior. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.
You shouldâve known something was wrong as soon as you realized Satoru wasnât in bed.
Most mornings, heâd already be gone by the time you woke up, with the only signs that heâd ever laid down next to you at all being the phantom weight of his chest pressed into your back and a sickly sweet note left on the bedside table (usually something to the tune of âbe home late tonight, canât wait to see you againâ or âif you keep trying to pick the lock on the kitchen window, Iâll knowâ), but today was supposed to be one of his prized days-off, and when he wasnât pried away from you by obligation, he preferred to spend as much time as he could sprawled out across the mattress, your body tucked against his, waiting for the haze of a slow morning to dip and ebb until his mouth founds its way to your neck and his hands to your waist. Sometimes, he was called away by an emergency mission, a sudden problem with one of his students, but you werenât often that lucky, and he never left without waking you up, first.
Failing that, you shouldâve known something was wrong when you did finally open your eyes, and immediately found Satoru looming above you, perched on the edge of the mattress, already dressed and wearing the wide, toothy grin that made your stomach drop and something embedded deep within your chest curl up and pray for death.
You tried to shut your eyes, to roll over, to pretend you were still asleep, but Satoru mustâve been watching you for a while. His hand was on your shoulder before you could so much as settle into place, his mouth crashing into yours before you could brace yourself for his rough affection. Heâd never been a very good kisser, even when youâd been a willing victim, but there seemed to be no moment sweet enough and no occasion soft enough to stop him from forcing his tongue down your throat, from keeping his mouth slotted against yours until your lungs ached, from nipping at your bottom lip with enough force to sting. Too resigned to be genuinely annoyed, you remained limp and pliable underneath him until he finally pulled back, his smile just a little brighter as he beamed down at you.
âI picked out something nice for you,â he muttered, his voice low, sentimental. If it wasnât for the cold bolt of dread that accompanied the sound of his voice, you mightâve called it playful. âGet dressed. Weâre going on a field trip.â
You swallowed, thickly. âWhere are we going?â
Impossibly, his smile seemed to grow wider. âItâs a surprise. Youâll like it, I promise.â
You blinked up at him, too used to suppressing your reaction for the effort to be conscious. Satoru was possessive, but he was also childish, impulsive â too self-indulgent to keep his favorite toy locked away for very long. Usually, though, your little trips were planned meticulously and limited to five-star restaurants with private backrooms, rented-out theaters, picnics in the countryside where he could ensure you wouldnât have anyone to pay attention to other than him. Heâd never been so vague, before. You didnât like having to guess what he was going to do to you.
But, his grip on your shoulder tightened, and you were abruptly reminded that you didnât have much of a choice. It was either go along with his whims, play into his domestic fantasies, or risk disobeying him andâ
And disobedience wasnât an option. Not anymore. Not after so long.
A little more than an hour later, you were in the backseat of a black sedan, hands clasped together in your lap and Satoruâs arm draped over your shoulders. Every so often, your eyes flitted from the floor to the window, lingering on the passing landscape for no longer than a few seconds before falling back to something less direct, less contentious. Still, from what you could tell, you were miles outside of the city and deep into the backwoods that surrounded it. Anxiety alternated between tying knots in the pit of your stomach and stabbing into the tender flesh at the back of your throat. Youâd never been very prone to motion sickness, but maybe, if you told Satoru, youâd look pale enough for him to buy it, tell his driver to turn around, and let you go back to the kind of misery you were used to.
You straightened, sucking in a deep breath and doing your best to choke down the worst of your paranoia. If Satoru noticed the extent of your distress, the most the offered by way of reassurance was an airy laugh, a gentle tug that left you pressed that much deeper into his side. Fighting not to draw back, you broke the silence, more eager for a distraction than a genuine answer. âAre you really not going to tell me where weâre going?â
âI canât, baby.â He was still playing coy, playing cute. It mightâve been charming three years ago, when you were just having fun with a mysterious man with endless funding and eyes brighter than cloudless sky, but it was hard to find someone charming after youâd known them longer as a captor than you ever had as a friend, as a partner. âIf I did, it wouldnât be a surprise, now, would it?â
Your gaze fell into your lap. Youâd been allowed to do your make-up and style your hair to your preferences, but heâd chosen your outfit â an ankle-length sundress the color of snow and daisy petals and pale skin bled dry. The color of his hair, although you tried not to let the automatic association needle its way into your conscious mind. âI donât like surprises.â
âYouâll like this one.â Another laugh, another tug. Your skin was crawling. Maybe you wouldnât have to play sick after all. âItâs real special to me. Thought I should finally get around to sharing it with you.â
You could remember complaining about that kind of thing, once â just how little you knew about Satoru in comparison to just how much he knew about you. You shared your life openly with him, and even if you hadnât, he always seemed to be just around the corner, always where he needed to be to walk you home after a dull workday or invite himself to drink at a downtown bar with you and your friends. Heâd been more secretive, more discreet. Itâd taken you three months to find out he was a teacher, and another six so much as hear the word âsorcererâ. In retrospect, it was probably more of a deliberate effort than youâd been willing to give him credit for, at the time. Heâd assumed that, the moment you found out anything more than his name, youâd try to run, and heâd been right. Heâd wanted to delay the inevitable, and heâd succeeded.
It was stupid to be so worried. It was stupid to be so⌠so upset. Most days, you wouldâve traded anything to be able to leave Satoruâs suffocating penthouse apartment, wouldâve sold your left kidney for just an hour of freedom, but this wasnât freedom, and it was hard to enjoy the illusion of it when you didnât know what price youâd have to pay after it was pried away from you. You didnât like not knowing what to expect. You didnât like not knowing what youâd done to deserve this. You didnât like that, even after years of learning to deal with Satoruâs bullshit, he could still make you feel just as scared and just as helpless as the day you first woke up in that dark room, your hands tied behind your back andâ
The car jolted to an abrupt stop. Reflexively, you snapped up, going rigid, but Satoru seemed unaffected. He started to reach for the door, then stopped himself â fishing something out of his pocket. âShow me your hand, princess.â Satoru didnât give you time to obey before taking you by the wrist and slipping a thick, silver ring onto your finger. You glanced from it to Satoru, who winked. âJust in case.â
You didnât have a chance to ask what he meant before he was threading his fingers through yours and dragging you out of the backseat, into the open air. You tried to be thankful to have room to breathe â tried, and failed.
The driver didnât follow you out. You stood, alone and unprepared, next to Satoru at the foot of massive, winding, temple-style staircase. Weather-beaten torii separated the pathway from crowded foliage, and with your hand still trapped in his, Satoru guided you through the steep ascent, each step accompanied by another drop of tell-tale dread, a fresh wave of anxiety. For one long, terrible minute, you managed to convince yourself that there was a sacrificial altar waiting at the top, or a guillotine â something ornamental and damning that heâd use to cut your life that much shorter, to tie you that much closer to him. Your eyes were clenched shut by the time you crested the peak, your breathing rapid and shallow, any panic you mightâve been able to stave off during the trip now returning in full force. It was all you could do to keep yourself from breaking down entirely when he finally, finally came to a stop, squeezing your hand with enough force to leave it aching.
 You wanted to stay like that, blind and deaf and only on the verge of sobbing, but it wasnât possible â your body couldnât take much more, and even if you had been more durable, Satoru wouldnât wait much longer. Tentatively, you forced yourself to open your eyes and took inâ
A schoolyard. A bog-standard, borderline uninteresting, utterly devoid of life schoolyard. The architecture was a little pre-modern, sure, and it was strange not to see any students or teachers milling through the open space, but it was far from the ceremonial execution site youâd primed yourself to step into. As far as you could see, at least.
âPretty, right? In a rustic kind of way, I mean.â Satoru was still grinning from ear-to-ear. You doubted heâd stop any time soon. âI promised Iâd get around to showing you where I work eventually. Câmon, Iâll give you the tour.â
Right. Youâd known he was a teacher, but somehow, youâd managed to go your entire captivity without ever so much as attempting to picture the school where he mustâve taught. Then again, to be fair, you may have had more important things on your mind.
The tour wasnât optional. When Satoru wasnât dragging you from building to building, he was rambling on about his students, his own education, telling you decade-old stories with more energy than a man closer to thirty-one than eighteen shouldâve had. You listened to very little of it and retained even less, but Satoru seemed satisfied with your occasional nod muted noises of acknowledgment. You never passed anyone else, but he kept a vice-grip on your hand, as if he was scared youâd make a run for it as soon as he turned away. A few months ago, you mightâve considered it, but you werenât that hopeful, anymore.
âOne more stop,â he said, as he pulled you towards the last building â or, buildings, rather. It was a row of ornamental classrooms, all divided into separate schoolhouses. Against your better judgment, you edged forward, willing him to move a little faster, too. This was the last stop. He just wanted to show you his classroom, then you could leave. This was the last thing youâd have to endure, and then, you could go back to the kind of misery you were used to.
Or, at least, thatâs what you mightâve told yourself if a blur of pink and black hadnât emerged from the nearest corner, sprinting across the small courtyard, and running directly into Satoruâs chest.
You flinched back, but if Satoru was fazed, you couldnât tell. You couldnât see his eyes, not through the tint of his glasses, but he wore a crooked smile as he looked down at the teenage boy now standing in front of you. He mustâve been in high school â a first-year, if you had to guess, his black uniform coated in dust and debris. Rubbing the back of his neck, he blinked a few times before seeming to notice Satoru and straightening, bowing his head shallowly. âGojo-sensei,â he barked, speaking quickly enough for the name and the honorific to blend together. âI was looking for Nanamin, butâ So, Kugisaki found this ultra-cool cursed weapon, and we thought Fushiguro could figure outââ
He was cut off abruptly by a sneaker hitting the back of his head. A second later, another teenager â a girl, this time â seemed to appear behind the boy. Notably, she was missing a shoe. âHeâs lying,â she said, her tone nearly venomous enough to be believable. âWhatever he says, it isnât true. Heâs a liar, and sexist, and I heard Sukuna sayââ Abruptly, she cut herself off, her attention snapping towards you. She was quiet for a second, then another, before going on with a polite smile. âHello, maâam.â
For the first time, the boy turned to you, his eyes immediately widening. âFuck,â And then, his gaze falling to where his hand was still wrapped around yours, âFuck.â
You couldnât stop yourself â bringing up your free hand to stifle your laugh. You almost introduced yourself, but Satoru was quick to cut you off. âThese,â he explained, with a broad gesture to both teenagers. âare my beloved students, Kugisaki and Itadori, who value my mentorship and look up to me as their teacher.â
âI know,â the girl, Kugisaki, whispered to her companion, Itadori, only half-heartedly trying to hide her voice. âI really didnât think men or women could stand to be around him.â
âAnd, adoring students, this,â His grip tightened as he forced your hand into the air, your new ring facing the students. âis my beautiful fiancĂŠ.â
âFiancĂŠ,â Itadori repeated. âWas it, like, arranged?â
And then, from Kugisaki to you, âDid he pay you up front?â
Reflexively, you moved to respond, used to having to provide an answer as soon as you were asked a question lest Satoru resort to more drastic means of getting your attention, but something else caught your attention. A mop of black hair rounding the schoolhouseâs corner, the collar of a white t-shirt pulled over a bloody nose obscuring, but not completely hiding, a familiar face. You didnât want to, but you recognized him immediately.
Megumi.
Huh.
Youâd never seen him without his sister, before.
He made a point not to look at you, dark eyes trained on the ground as he positioned himself a few feet behind his more energetic classmates. You opened your mouth, then closed it, then opened it again just as quickly. You mightâve actually found the courage to say something, if Kugisaki hadnât lurched forward, shoving Itadori out of the way and tearing your hand out of Satoruâs. She clasped both your hands between hers, staring up at you with a frantic kind of urgency. âListen,â she started, her tone just as dire as her expression. âIf he bribed, kidnapped, or threatened you to make you go along with this, say so. Thereâs another sorcerer on campus â weâll make sure youâre safe while heâs brought to the proper authorities.â
You hesitated, for a second.
Then, you opened your mouth, and distantly, heard your own voice spilling out. âWe used to be in a relationship.â You stopped, swallowed, then went on. âBut, he kidnapped me three years ago, and heâs kept me trapped in his home ever since. If I ever leave him, he says heâll break my legs and kill everyone I know. He hasnât really proposed, yet, either. He just shoved a ring onto my hand and started calling me his fiancĂŠ a few hours ago.â
There was a beat of silence, then another.
And then, Satoru laughed. It was a cheery, juvenile sort of laugh. A âforget everything you just heard and look at meâ sort of laugh.
Soon enough, his students joined him â Itadori first, then Kagisuki. Megumi never made a sound.
âI think what you meant to say,â Megumi didnât even look at you. You wished you could ask how his sister was doing. You wished you could say anything at all. âis that it was love at first sight. I was on a mission, fighting my way through a group of a hundred curses. Thatâs when I heard someone crying out from the heart of the swarm, and Iââ
You made no attempt to listen. As Satoruâs story drowned on, Megumiâs eyes flitted upward â first to Satoru, then to you, widening slightly. You made the same realization a second later.
Satoru wasnât holding your hand, anymore.
Satoru wasnât paying attention to you at all.
Finally, Megumi met your gaze. He held your stare for a second, before shifting â looking towards something behind you. His message was glaringly apparent, albeit unspoken.
 You took half a step back, then another. Satoru was still caught up in his story, and if his students noticed you moving, they didnât feel the need to comment. It wouldnât work, something vile and fearful whispered into the back of your mind. Heâd notice, and heâd drag you to somewhere isolated and claustrophobic, and heâd break every finger on your right hand, or dislocate both your ankles, or lock you in a room so dark and so tiny that you would be able to convince yourself heâd buried you alive. It wouldnât work, but you were already three feet away from him, then ten, then twenty. At some point, Megumi shifted, taking your place just outside of Satoruâs peripheral, replacing your presence at his side. When you reached the corner of the nearest schoolhouse, you turned on your heels and ran.
Your mind raced as you made your way back to the main schoolyard, back to the front gates. You were in the backwoods, but you couldnât be that far from the city â not if youâd been able to drive here. There was bound to be a public road nearby, or better yet, a highway, something with drivers you could flag down and beg to take you as far from here as possible. Youâd pawn the ring, dye your hair, call yourself by a different name until you found someone willing to get you out of Tokyo, to get you out of Japan. Maybe, if you made it to a port city, you couldâ
You stopped abruptly about twenty feet away from the main gates. A blonde man in a suit leaned against one of the wooden beams, his face familiar but not immediately placeable. Someone working for Satoru, you thought, irrationally. Someone who wanted to stop you from getting away.
He was already looking at you. He nodded, the gesture slow and measured, and you continued to stare blankly in the direction of the gates. â(Y/n).â
His identity came to you immediately. Not Satoruâs employee, but one of his coworkers, only barely remembered from a few nights spent drinking, a handful of conversations you only barely remembered. âKento.â
Youâd taken a few beats to respond, but Kento wasnât as hesitant. âGojo said you left the city.â
âI didnât.â
âYouâre here with him?â
You swallowed. âHeâs talking to his students, right now.â
He took a moment to evaluate you â your disheveled dress, your wide eyes, the way you couldnât seem to stop breathing in shallow, panicked huffs. Should you have tried to look more sympathetic, more like a captive? Should you be talking to him at all?
 He didnât smile, didnât soften his tone into something overly sweet, overly dizzying. It was good that he didnât â or, actually, it mightâve been bad. If he had, you wouldâve forced your way past him without ever stopping to hear what he had to say. âHe was never the type to think further than he could reach,â Kento said, straightening. âIâd like to talk to you, sometime. Somewhere private.â
âI⌠Satoru doesnât really like it when Iââ
âGojo doesnât have to know.â He paused, straightened. âHonestly, Iâd prefer if he didnât.â
Something thick and acidic rose into the back of your throat. It was your turn to straighten, now, to ball your fists at your side, to let your mouth fall open andâ
And shut it again as you felt an arm wrap around your waist, pulling you against a broad chest. You didnât have to check to know it was Satoru. You felt his fingertips dig into your side, his chin settle onto your shoulder. âJust canât stand not to havinâ me all to yourself, huh?â His voice was low, playful. If youâd been able to think over the deafening static in your head, you wouldâve called yourself an idiot for ever thinking it was cute.
âThanks for looking after her for me.â He was talking to Nanami, now. You mightâve been grateful, if not for the ever-present pressure of his hand on your waist. âMy fiancĂŠ tends to wander off.â
Kentoâs expression, as always, was near-unreadable. He seemed to catch on the word âfiancĂŠâ, but whether that was because of the implication or the way Satoru seemed to bask in it, you couldnât tell.
His response was curt, polite. âCongratulations.â
You could feel Satoruâs grin against your throat. Heâd been glad to show you off in front of his students, but it almost seemed compulsory for him to flaunt you in front of Kento. âOne wrong step, and suddenly Iâm a taken man. Not that Iâd have it any other way.â His arm fell away from your waist. Rather than reaching for your hand, he took you by the wrist, his grip tight enough to bruise. âIâve gotta show the little lady a couple more things. Youâll keep an eye on the first years for me, right?â
Kento mightâve tried to answer, but you were around long enough to hear it. Satoru was already dragging you back in the direction of the schoolhouses, and willingly, you followed, keeping your head bowed and your teeth grit. It was almost a relief to know he was going to do something terrible to you. At least, while you were injured, or bound, or so heavily sedated that you couldnât remember your own name, you wouldnât be able to try to run away again. You wouldnât be able to get your hopes up, and have to bear the hollow, gnawing agony that came when they were, yet again, dragged back down and crushed under Satoruâs heel.
There were no flustered students to intercept you before you reached his classroom, this time, no stoic teachers to pretend to care that you looked so miserable. Satoru only let go of your hand once youâd crossed the threshold, once heâd shut and locked the door behind you. Idly, you wandered into the empty space at the front of the classroom, only sparing a quick glance towards the empty chalkboard, the vacant teacherâs desk, the barren walls before letting your eyes fall back to your feet. âIâm sorry,â you mumbled. âI didnât mean to do anything, butââ You almost brought up Megumi, but stopped yourself. âI⌠Iâm just sorry.â
Satoru hummed. You felt a hand on your hip first, then your side, nudging you towards the desk. When you failed to move, he chuckled and abandoned the idea of your cooperation entirely â lifting you off of your feet without a hint of strain and placing you on edge of the empty desk, positioning himself between your legs. His hands fell to either side of you, caging you between his arms. âI know, pretty girl, I know.â
âAndâAnd, your students seemed so nice, orâuh, energetic, at least. I havenât talked to anyone other than you in so long, I just didnât know what to do.â
âI get it, princess. You were always shy like that.â
Shy. Youâd never really been shy. Not before he kidnapped you, at least. Not before he took all the things youâd always told yourself that people just didnât do to each other and done them to you.
Still, you didnât correct him. âCan weâŚâ You trailed off, shrunk into yourself. âCan we go home, then? I donât want toââ
His mouth was crashing into yours before you could finish. You jerked back, but one of his hands was already on the back of your neck, keeping you in place while his tongue racked over yours and he moaned shamelessly into your mouth. Just as suddenly as heâd lounged, he drew back, his mouth falling to your throat as his free hand slipped under the skirt of your sundress.
There were a few minor differences between building dread and cold, pointed fear that youâd never noticed, before your time with Satoru â that you still managed to sometimes forget, during the brief calm patches spread throughout the course of your captivity. What youâd felt in the back of his car, that aching pressure that can only ever stand on the precipice of crushing â that was dread, all anticipation and no catharsis, your own mind doing worse things to you than Satoru ever could.
What you felt as the pad of his thumb traced over the length of your slit â that was fear.
âNo,â as your hands found his shoulders, nails burrowing down, and then, a second, later, as your eyes found the door youâd come through. âNot here, âtoru, itâsâYour students, theyâre stillââ
âYou donât have to worry, pretty girl. Iâve still got an eye on them.â His voice was airy, distant, his words only just audible in the gaps between open-mouthed kisses pressed into the curve of your throat. You could feel his saliva on your skin, the heat of his breath fanning across your jugular. Disgusting. He was disgusting. Disgusting and messy and vulgar and perverted. You were ashamed that youâd ever so much as considered loving him willingly. âIâll be quick â all youâve gotta do is sit still and look pretty.â
âBut, someone mightââ Your voice cut off as he found your clit and pressed down, immediately using too much force and too little care. You jerked forward, burying your face in the dip of his shoulder, but Satoru had only ever taken your aversion as a sign to go further, to do more. You could feel him drawing little, quick patterns into the sensitive bud through the thin fabric of your panties, and even worse, you could feel liquid heat beginning to pool in the pit of your stomach, dripping out from the space between your thighs â your own body betraying you when faced with Satoruâs coercion. âSatoru,â you whined, your pleading tone the closest thing to actual anger that he would allow. âPlease, I donât want to do this herââ
He hushed you, the noise soft and definite, and just like that, you gave up on speaking entirely.
Satoruâs impatience was unparalleled, but heâd had time to train your body to keep up with his impulsivity. By the time he pulled your panties to the side, slipping two fingers into your tight entrance, you were already wet, already waiting for something new, something more. âThatâs my girl,â Satoru muttered as he slid his ring and middle digits into your dripping cunt, only stopping once he was knuckle-deep. âAlways so bratty until you get something inside of you. It was a good thing I found you when I did, before someone else realized just how easy it was to get you all soft nâ pouty.â
His fingers curled upward, scissored apart, and you let out the smallest, weakest possible whimper â quickly cut off by a bubbling, half-choked moan. Your eyes darted to the second door; heâd been decent enough to lock the one youâd come through, but there was another, leading into a hallway that mustâve connected the disparate classrooms. It didnât have a window, meaning you wouldnât be able to see if someone walked by, wouldnât be able to know youâd been caught until it was too late to tell Satoru to stop â not that heâd listen, even if you did. Rather than drown out the feeling of Satoruâs pumping into you, it only seemed to make the sensation of his fingers battering against the walls of your cunt more acute, only seemed to heighten the awful pressure starting to mount in your core. You buried your teeth in your bottom lip, shut your eyes and buried your face that much deeper in his shoulder, but no amount of self-suppression could stifle the slick, lewd noise of his fingers thrusting into you. No amount of self-loathing could convince Satoru to shut up, no matter how strongly you willed him to choke on his own tongue and die.
âI donât think you were taking me seriously â about the whole engagement thing, I mean.â His voice was airy, almost distant. It was the same way heâd talk to you over breakfast, or when he insisted on resting his head in your lap as he told you about his day and you half-heartedly pretended to listen. âI meant it, yâknow. Iâll have to do something more romantic for the actual proposal, butââ He paused, laughed. You felt his lips ghost over your cheek, then the corner of your jaw. âI meant it. Couldnât stand the idea of putting it off any longer, âspecially not when I already knew that you were going to say yes.â
Whether he was speaking out of narcissism, cruelness, or genuine delusion, you couldnât tell. You didnât want to know. All you could seem to focus on was the terrible heat of his affection, all you could seem to do was whimper through grit teeth as he forced another finger into your hyper-sensitive cunt. âWeâll have to get married, too. I wanna do it as soon as possible â fuck, I wouldnât mind being able to call you my wife today.â You stiffened, shook your head, and Satoru huffed, amused. âRight, right â gotta pace the good stuff out. Thatâs why I love you so much, babe. If it wasnât for you, I probably wouldnât have time to breathe.â
A ragged sob escaped your pursed lips as you came undone around his fingers. He nursed you through your climax, only drawing back after youâd gone limp against him. There was another kiss, this one to the corner of your mouth, before his lips found yours â his touch suddenly gentle, featherlight. Your head fell to his collarbone as he straightened his back, but you were beyond the point of caring. You let your eyes fall entirely closed, sinking into him. At least, if someone walked in now, youâd be able to write it off as Satoru comforting you after a sudden bout of heat exhaustion, or a purely romantic (albeit, uncomfortably intimate) moment between a man and hisâ
His captive.
You could last a few more days before you fully submitted to the role of his fiancĂŠ.
You opened your mouth, unsure as to what you wanted to say but aware that you couldnât stand to sit in silence for any longer, but anything you mightâve said was swiftly and callously drowned out by the sound of rustling fabric, the weight of a hand on your hip while another positioned Satoruâs now-free cock against your entrance. For a moment, you thought about attempting to shove him away. For a moment, you thought about screaming and hoping someone was close enough to hear you.
Then, he thrust into you, and you couldnât do anything at all.
#yandere#yandere imagines#yandere x reader#yandere x you#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen imagines#jujutsu kaisen x reader#yandere jujutsu kaisen#yandere jjk#jjk imagines#jjk x reader#yandere gojo satoru#gojo x reader#gojo satoru x reader#yandere gojo x reader
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intertwined. | preview

pairing: gojo satoru x f!reader
setting: omegaverse!au, university!au
genre: angst, smut, some fluff
contains: yandere, estranged childhood friends to enemies to lovers, mentions of self-identity issues, dubious consent, obsessive behavior, loss of virginity, mutual(ish) pining, gojo is bad at expressing his feelings so heâs kinda a jerk, lovesick!gojo
summary: you just want to lose your virginity, no strings attached. how could you have known that gojo satoru is in love with you?
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
release date: tbd | ask for taglist if interested
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âI want you to take my virginity.â
Satoruâs cocky grin wipes clean off his face. His stare goes blank and his jaw drops open comically wide. For the first time in the twenty-one years youâve known him, Gojo Satoru is at a loss for words.
âWe never have to talk again afterwards,â you add quickly, your cheeks starting to heat up in embarrassment. âThis is just gonna be a one-time thing.â
Satoru is silent, expression tense as he observes you carefully. His crystal blue eyes seem to darken a few shades as he takes your hand in his. His thumb strokes once, slowly over the back of your knuckles.
âJust a one-time thing,â he repeats languidly, lips stretching into a smile that doesnât quite reach his eyes.
Perhaps if you werenât so focused on the rapid, frantic beating of your own heart, you wouldâve noticed Satoruâs gaze wanderâonly to lock right on the clear patch stubbornly covering your neckâs scent gland. You wouldâve seen the way his pupils dilate and his tongue swipes over his lips, with hunger written all over his face.
âWell then,â he all but rasps out, voice thick with desire. Without warning, he pulls your body against his with ease, trapping you in the warmth of his arms. Satoru rests his forehead against yours, letting out a groan that is too soft, too vulnerable, too intimate.
Heâs so big, you realize. You can hardly believe that you once stood a whole head taller than him. Satoru towers over you, his lean frame completely dwarfing you. His large hands squeeze at your waist as he presses a barely-there, tender peck to your forehead.
You feel like you canât breathe.
âI hope you know what youâve gotten yourself into, sweetheart.â
Youâve heard stories about what heâs like in bed; itâs inevitable that as the most desired alpha on campus, heâs gotten around. You donât expect tenderness or care; if you did, Gojo Satoru is the dead last person to approach. Youâre waiting for him to start man-handling you, tearing your clothes off, chasing after the carnal pleasure that only sex can bring. Youâve prepared yourself for that.
Instead, Satoru cups your pretty face between his large hands, running his thumb along your cheekbone. His blue eyes are a swirling pool of emotions, burning with not only lust but something deeper. âBeen waitinâ so long for this.â His hushed whisper falls on deaf ears as he leans in to kiss you.
You let out a surprised squeak as his lips press against yours; this isnât how things are supposed to go. Youâre not here to play romance with Satoruâyet, the slow gentle kisses heâs giving you and the gentleness with which heâs holding you are cutting it too close.
âW-Wait,â you gasp out, pulling away to catch your breath. Satoru is panting too, cheeks flushed pink as he stares at you like a man dying of thirst discovering an oasis. His hand trails down your side to rest on your waist, pulling himself forward so he can drop his head against your shoulder. âWhat are yââ your words die in your throat as you feel his nose nudge against the most vulnerable part of you.
âYou smell so fuckinâ goodâŚâ His groan against your neck reverberates through your entire body, shaking you to your very core. Your internal alarm flares to life, blaring loudly in warning. You canât even pay much attention to that, though, not whenâ
âY-You do, tooâŚâ The words leave you before you can even process them. You knees feel like jelly as his scent washes over you, deep, musky and addicting. Satoru stiffens against you, huffing out a short breath of frustration.
âYouâre gonna kill me.â You feel it. You feel his teeth scrape against the spot your mating bond would be. Satoru knows just as well as you do that you donât have one, and that if you had things your way, that would never change. He teases the edge of the bandage covering your scent gland, rolling it between his teeth. Your fingers curl into his shirt, tugging nervously.
âN-Not there,â you protest, stumbling over your words in panic. Satoru pauses, and for three very long seconds, neither of you move. The only thing you can hear the is the pounding of your own heartbeat, his shallow pants against your neck, and the hum of the air conditioning.
Heâs close, too closeâyouâre terrified of what heâs capable of, only because you donât know if you can count on your own willpower to stop him. Youâre slowly going limp in his arms, becoming nothing but putty in between his fingersâyouâve never felt so weak.
You hate how he makes you feel. Youâve always hated how he makes you feel. Weak. The world has always told you that you are. Youâre nothing but a little omega whose only fate is to be a strong alphaâs obedient mate. Youâve fought back, resisted, protestedâyet, Gojo Satoru has always managed to put you right back in your place.
This time is no different. Once again, you find yourself at his mercy. Your stomach boils with bitterness, with anger, with hatred⌠with longing.
Too slowly, he pulls away from your neck, only to lock eyes with you. âRight.â Satoruâs lips quirk into a crooked grin. âThis is just a one-time thing, huh?â
You recognize that smile.
Itâs the one that Satoru gave when he broke his mamaâs favorite vase and blamed the cat. Itâs the one that Satoru gave when he stole a candy bar from the store and got caught by the cashier. Itâs the one that Satoru gave when he claimed you were no more than a stranger and left you to fend for yourself through high school.
Heâs lying.
Far too late, you realize youâd made a big mistake.
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authorâs note: i canât even lie this little word vomit was just a way to get some gojo thirst off my chest. iâm not even sure if iâll ever get around to writing a full fic because iâve been planning this in my head for weeks and thereâs so much i want to include. yet i have too little time because of uni :(
if you are interested in being part of a taglist just in case i ever actually get around to writing the full fic, just let me know in the replies.
thank you for reading this far :)
#gojo x reader#gojo satoru#gojo satoru x reader#satoru gojo x reader#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen x reader#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere gojo#yandere gojo x reader#gojo x you#gojo x y/n#gojo smut#jjk x reader#yandere jjk
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đđđđđ đđđ đ
đđđđ! â˘Â°. *ŕż
Summary: In which the JJK Characters exhibit their yandere tendencies over text!
Including: Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto, Kento Nanami, Toji Fushiguro, Sukuna Ryomen, Shoko Ieiri
Tags: Established relationship, yandere, stalking, mentions of murder, toxic behavior, manipulation, lowkey crack in gojos, gn!reader MINOR AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI. smau masterlist










Taglist đ: @mikorinstan
A.N. This one was a bittt boring, something more fun tomorrow since I'm free from most of my exams <3 I have an idea and it isnt angst !! lie
#Jujutsu kaisen#Jujutsu Kaisen x reader#jjk x reader#Jujutsu Kaisen SMAU#yandere jjk x reader#jjk smau#jjk texts#jjk angst#jjk scenarios#gojo x reader#satoru gojo x reader#geto x reader#suguru geto x reader#nanami x reader#kento nanami x reader#Toji x reader#toji fushiguro x reader#sukuna x reader#shoko x reader#yandere gojo x reader#yandere geto x reader#yandere nanami x reader#yandere toji x reader#yandere sukuna x reader#yandere shoko x reader#angels smaus â˘Â°. *ŕż
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Explaining your First Love to the Yandere's






A/N: "The Yandere's", meaning as many yandere's i think I can characterize as yandere's as perfectly as possible without burning myself out. Also, are the pictures too much?????? Also, I couldn't find a good pic for Sugu without picking the one where he's literally going insane LMAOOO. Love how my semi-debut for my yandere characterization for him is shown w a not so pleasant picture of him(they're all perfect). Anyways, this is probably gonna be my most chaotic, yet organized, post about jjk ever. I have a solid plan and will go through with it. It's friday and this is me "letting loose" before the weekend. Also, the first love story will be pulled from my own experience. With multiple twists to it to make it sound as interesting as possible.
SCENARIO:
"Mmmm. I remember my first love." You hum in a pleasant tone as you start to reminisce events of who you first gave your heart to. "I loved him so much, it was insane. Because....we grew up with each other. We used to be like this." You twist your fingers together, smiling at him as you explain. "He was an embodiment of me, as I was of him. I don't remember a time we weren't friends. I think it helps to mention that our mom's were friends and they were neighbors. So....we've always known each other. He's a year older than me."
You two were out in the park on the grass. He suggested a little picnic together, hoping to bring you two closer so he could possibly make more moves to be more than a friend. But you were so oblivious to it, even going as far as talking of your first love as if you still missed this stupid asshole.
"I still miss him." You go silent for a few seconds and stare down at the checkered blanket, smiling. He gapes a little and resists the urge to scoff. "We both loved playing video games, we watched the same tv shows, went to the same elementary school....a lot of things happened between us. He didn't like me back, though. I confessed to him when I was 9 and he said no." You laugh. "But even then, I still loved him. I still feel it, too. For some reason, my love for others doesn't really go away. Just sits at the bottom of my heart to make more room for others."
You sigh and continue talking about the guy. "He just grew more and more....attractive as I grew up. I am pretty sure he's why I have my type that I have in men currently. He's very tall....a deep voice." You sigh, closing your eyes to remember. "Relaxed, closed off.....I heard him on the phone when our moms were talking a month ago. He sounds....so different. I don't even know what I'd do with myself if I saw him again." In real time, he watched you unravel slowly to show how.....inf*tuated you were with this guy. You were so focused on naming his qualities. As if you could picture him perfectly in your mind.
"I'm so glad we don't talk to each other anymore. I ruined our relationship. Said a few inappropriate things I shouldn't have said at the wrong time. I haven't spoken to him in....6 years. And I'd rather it stay that way, honestly. Because he's a rather boring person outside of his physical attributes. But I have attachment issues." You pick up one of the snacks laid out between the two of you. "Yeah. I'm done talking about him. I would rather not think of him anymore."
YANDERE REACTIONS:
Sukuna:
Sukuna was baffled. Anger, frustration, fear, and even jealousy kept his tongue from moving. He thought this moment wouldn't ever happen in his life. He thought this wasn't a possibility. Your extreme disloyalty to him was what made him clench his hands in anger. But if he rationally thought about this, you don't know. You don't know how much he loves you. How much the Ryomen Sukuna loves you. You were supposed to be his in all lifetimes. He felt like he absolutely knew you were pure. You smelled pure and your energy felt pure when he first met you. So why were you fixing your mouth to say such disgusting and unfaithful words to him as if he wasn't right there?
He wanted to ask you if you've been trying to give yourself to him like a whore, but he knew that was just him overreacting. He wouldn't ever say such things to you, anyways. He wanted to change for you and was trying, starting with these stupid little date settings he knew you loved. A fucking park. And here he was being stabbed in the chest multiple times without your knowledge of it. It was all your doing.
He might be human in this lifetime. He might be nothing but a mere human for you to toy with freely, and he would let you do it to him. But he would never allow a puny roach get in the way of getting what he deserves. He deserves you and he will have you, one way or another. And if that means cutting a small piece of your heart out just to keep the rest, then so be it. He can't have any piece of you in him. Just thinking about him makes another vessel pop in his body somewhere. He will kill this thing.
Kento:
Maybe he was overbearing. He really just couldn't help but feel insecure. There should be no real reason for you to bring up a man from the past. Someone that should clearly be out of your mind. Was he boring? What did that fool have that he didn't? And why did you mention it while you two were on this date??(It wasn't a date, but it felt like it to him) Maybe he was too plain. Men like him were just smokers and loners, of course you'd bring up someone else that can satiate your desire for real love. It's all because he couldn't. Not in the way you want to be loved.
But he knew, he knew that he was enough. He knew he was your type as well, so, what did you mean by he was the type you have in men?? What does that mean for him? Will you use him and throw him away? He doesn't want to be used and tossed out like trash. He wanted to be yours forever. He wanted to be your man. Your man. He wanted to be your lover, your obsesser and the one you obsess over, not that imbecile. He wanted to be skin to skin, he wanted to be under your skin, he wanted to make his mark on you and for you to do the same to him. He deserves your love. But here you are expressing it for another man you haven't even spoken to in over 6 years. He deserves that type of commitment, there's nothing he's done to deserve it this late.
"I love you." The words slip out like oil on water. And it makes his heart oh, so much lighter.
Suguru:
"Heavens. I'm glad you aren't talking with him now." Suguru chuckles and shakes his head, peeling off more strawberry leaves for you. "This is why." He points with the strawberry at the people walking past and then gives you the strawberry. "This is why I don't want you talking with them. They do this to hold you in their clutches, I've seen it." Suguru sighs as he recalls your story in his mind. Jesus, was it trying to hypnotize you? If so, it was working. No worries, it won't be around to mess with your mind much longer.
"They actively lie, they laze around, let their emotions control them, and then try to manipulate you to stay with them to be their stepping stool." He brushes your hair back neatly, and you scrunch your eyebrows at his words. "But I know you're better than him. Better than all of them." He calls out your name and stares into your eyes with a look that makes you flustered. What is his problem?
"You are the light. You are one of the most strongest and intelligent sorcerers I have seen of this time. You hold up your potential and continue to blow my mind with how beautiful your soul is. I am constantly drawn to you and your energy, I never get enough of it. I don't ever want to hinder you and I don't want anyone else to hinder your energy. That's why I will kill that filthy animal that tried to touch you." It's scary, the way he maintains eye contact with you and spits the nastiest insult about the man you once loved with your whole heart.
"I can't wait to get to know you better. You've been teaching me so much. Maybe you can tell me about your favorite nature spots and we can relax there whenever you're free. And sometime later, I could also take you to meet my family. You'll love my two daughters." He laughs lightly, knowing Nanako and Mimiko would adore finally having a real mother worth of raising them. Together, you and him would be unstoppable.
Choso:
Choso was finished with peeling the mandarin for you. You kind of were confused about how he went about doing this, though. Because all over his lap were the smallest bits of mandarin peels you've ever seen. But the mandarin looked perfect. He obviously took his time. He handed it to you softly, smiling. You accept it happily and begin peeling.
He was surprised he didn't rip the thing apart then and there. Maybe be should peel things more often. The way you so freely spoke about your love for another man when your soulmate was sitting right next to you, peeling fruit open for you was preposterous. He needed a hug. A lemonade, had to kill someone, something. But he stopped killing people for you(secretly), so he has to resort to acting like he's peeling off that devil's skin. Starting from where the shiny skin first shows. The first piece is always the hardest to pick off and it's hard to choose where to begin. But soon enough, the color underneath began to show. He slowly picked off every. Little. Piece. He heard a yelp of pain and cries of "sorry's" in his head for every piece.
Every single little piece made the air smell more and more sweet and tangy. The more you spoke, the faster he picked. The stronger the smell was. So citrus-y and delicious. It made him smile. He loved peeling this mandarin. Then picking off white strips connected to the mandarin itself, so that it was smoother and you had no access peel. Like veins, they came off one by one. He simply stared at it when he was done. Smooth, perfect. Scattered remains laying everywhere on his lap.
He's never felt this way before. What were you doing to him? What is this twisting feeling in his gut that makes him want to puke? Why can't he breathe? Why does he want to kill the kids and mothers at the playground not too far away? He needs you to calm him down.
He hates this park.
"Here you go, angel." He hands it to you, smiling. You looked a little confused at first, but then took it from him, opening it to take a slice. "Oh, this looks real nice, Cho. ......Why are you smiling like that?" He shrugs, picking up one of the strawberries you brought from your place. "Like what...?"
Toji:
Toji was silent. The awkward silence he was creating between the two of you made you nervous. He was sitting close to you, leaning over to you, his arm supporting his weight behind your back with your shoulder touching his chest. He was just staring down at the bowl of strawberries. ".....Toji?" Your soft voice made him sigh.
No, he couldn't do it. Killing you won't kill the pain and anger in his chest. This was probably the angriest he's ever been. He wanted to shout at you to apologize for how you were making him feel. But what he really wanted was to feel your lips on his and for you to shut the fuck up. For some reason, every time you open your mouth, it always ends with him degrading further and further off the side of sanity and just going completely ballistic.
You saw his hand on his hip. The hip that wasn't actually his hip, but was his gun he was resting his hand on. He would feel so much better if those shrieking rats would shut up. Fucking rodents running around you two freely like he wasn't about to ruin everyone's day.
He wouldn't say he was often traumatized, but he could've went his whole life without hearing that story. Now he has to find a random man and kill him for stealing your heart. I mean, the least the bastard could've done was reciprocate his feelings and not leave you feeling helpless. "I could treat you better than that dick." You flinch at his words before smiling, averting your gaze as well. "Oh....." He leans in closer to your face. "Where does he live, huh? Is it the prick with the glasses?" "No?" "The one you work with?" "I-I told you I haven't-" "Eh, whatever. I'll find him and kill him." He smiles at your bashfulness and grabs a few strawberries from the patch.
Sometimes he forgets you don't care much for how he says things. If the right message gets across, you usually don't mind how he says it. But he just blatantly threatened to kill him. You grab the leafless strawberries from his hands and begin eating. Nah. You were his, for sure. He sighs and lays down on the blanket, staring up at the blue sky.
Satoru:
Satoru nodded along with your words, his hands trembling. When you smiled, he did. When you sighed, he would, too. And when you finished your story, he had to swallow the thick bile in his throat. You were just....recalling old memories, that's all. Nothing else. He tried to focus on the grass blades he felt through the blanket. He tried to focus on the sounds of the kids running around squealing.
He watched you eat some of the cold grapes he brought you. They were big, and you praised him lightly for finding such a great batch. He nods quietly and stares down at his lap. Everything was fine. You were fine, and so was he. "Satoru...?" Honey dripping naturally in your voice makes his head turn automatically. The worry etched on your face made the strings holding his mind together break one by one. "Are you alright..? You're sweating."
Nothing was fine. He can't believe you just said that to him. Why would you..? Why did...? Why?.....wait, why?? Why??? Why why why why why why WHY would you do that? Why would you say that to him? He sacrificed so much for you. He killed all of the assassins that went after you when the higher ups found out about you and him getting closer. He paid off your parent's debt secretly. He paid your rent. He woke up early in the mornings to talk to you because he knows you like to wake up to see the sunset. He memorized all of your schedules when you have special weeks, special breaks, he memorized all days that you memorized, he knows what mattress you like to sleep on, he knows how you like certain foods to be seasoned, he knows your favorite weather and season, he didn't fucking learn all of this about you for nothing!! WHY don't you ever appreciate everything he's ever done for you? Why don't you notice him? Why don't you love him? He stalks you every day to understand the type of man you would want to live under your roof and be under your covers and that wasn't enough.
He's been so alone all of his fucking life. No one understood him like you do. He couldn't help but open his ribcage, breaking them off of his body to one by one to let you touch his hot beating heart with your cold fingers. He wants you inside of his heart forever and never let you go, can't you understand that? He hasn't slept in three days, predetermining what he was going to say to you during this picnic, and you tell him that?? Just fucking kill him. Kill him, kick his face, spit on him, ruin him like you're doing now. He clearly doesn't matter.
"Satoru??"
He's supposed to be the one you compare playing video games with, he is supposed to be the one you watch the same tv shows with, he was supposed to go to the same school as you!! His skin is on fire, he can't breathe, his mind hurts, the grass blades are irritating his skin and the children are making his migraine worse. Are you saying something? He can't hear you. His ears are ringing.
He wants to be him. He wants to rip open the skin and spine of the man who lived in your soul since the dawn of time and crawl into his body to experience what he experienced. He wants to do all of those things with you as kids and live with you, grow with you, let him be your infatuation. He wants to rewind time. He wants to die. He wants both of you to die and be reborn to be given a second chance he can never ever have.
"Satoru!"
Your face is twisted into heavy concern and slight fear. Satoru sat in front of you, staring at you. He hasn't moved in three entire minutes. His face was covered in bucket loads of sweat, his lips twisted into a tight smile that threatened to break into a million pieces. The corners of his lips wobbled as if he was going to cry, but his eyes were wide open and dry. His legs, arms, and back stiff as he sits in such an uncomfortable position, it had to hurt. You were scared for him.
Can he hear you? You slowly raise on of your hands to touch his cheek and he flinches under your touch, finally blinking. "Yes?" You purse your lips and bring out a cold water bottle from your basket. "Here, maybe you should drink some water." He takes the water bottle you dropped into his hand. "Thank you." He whispers and sighs, twisting open the cap. You watch him guzzle the whole thing in 5 seconds. "......maybe we should go indoors." He nods, closing the now empty water bottle. "Yeah. The sun is hurting my eyes."
No part 2's. Because I don't like continuing old plot and I love seeing people go crazy for me not continuing good content.
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My crazy husbandđ¤đ¤
Happy Island Getaway
TW: Yandere Behaviors, Dubcon/intentions of noncon, Violence, Forced Captivity, Gun Violence, Gojo is a bit more on the feral/unhinged side. MDNI
Yandere! Gojo x Reader
a/n: This was supposed to be a cozy Animal Crossing thought... and then @raspberrietreats said âbillionaire Gojoâ and my brain spiraled. Thank you for your crimes 𫶠Now here we are: one sugar daddy, a fake plane crash, and a very reluctant bride.
Yandere! Gojo, who lounges lazily across the private island he bought just for you - so sweet, right? So romantic. A whole paradise with your name on it. Just the two of you. Isnât he thoughtful?
So why, baby, why do you keep writing those little SOS messages in the nice warm sand?
He canât help but smile behind his designer sunglasses, sipping from a chilled coconut as he watches you crouch near the shore, carefully arranging smooth white stones into a shaky, desperate H E L P M E. Itâs adorable, really. He even chuckles a bit, brushing his snow-white hair back with one hand, his long legs stretched out on a ridiculously luxurious sun chair.
âYou know I own the air rights to this place, right?â he calls lazily, voice teasing and light, like heâs talking about a parking ticket and not your failed rescue attempt. âNo oneâs even allowed to fly over without my permission. But points for creativity, princess.â
You donât answer, at least not with words. Just hurling the coconut he gave you into the waves, salty tears brimming in your eyes, fingernails caked with blood and sand from trying to build a fire that wouldnât light.
âAw, câmon now,â Satoru pouts, finally getting up and sauntering over. He squats beside you in the sand, the scent of salt and sunscreen clinging to his skin, long fingers idly brushing a stick out of your shaking hands. âYou didnât have to throw that,â he adds, a little sing-song, a little scolding. âThe poor guy who carved it really didnât deserve that. I mean, I did rip his tongue out afterwards, but still. Itâs the principle, baby.â
You glare at him. He coos.
âI know youâre mad. I get it. Sure, maybe faking a plane crash wasnât... super ethical. And yeah, flying my jet into the damn ocean mightâve been a little harmful to the environment, but how else was I supposed to make you stay with me?â His grin spreads slowly, sharklike. âForever and ever. Just us. Isnât that romantic?â
You donât respond. You canât. Not with your throat tight, hands trembling, sobs building thick in your chest.
He pulls out a sealed bottle of water, unscrews the cap with one hand, and presses it to your lips with the other.
âThirsty, baby?â he murmurs, watching your expression with glittering eyes. âYouâve been working so hard today.â
And when you turn your head away, refusing even that, he just sighs, tilting your chin back gently with two fingers.
âBe good for me,â he whispers, pressing a kiss to your salt-streaked cheek. âYouâll feel better once you stop fighting it.â
You take the smallest sip, the glare never leaving your face. Tears drip freely now, hot trails down skin already raw from sun and salt.
âGood girl,â he beams, voice bright like heâs praising a puppy. âSee? If you keep that up - well! Maybe, just maybe, Iâll call someone to come pick us up.â His grin widens, dazzling and full of mockery. âBut Iâm having such a good time here, baby. Would be a real shame if you didnât indulge with me.â
He takes your hand, lacing his fingers with yours like he hasnât just destroyed your life, like youâre lovers on vacation. His thumb rubs slow circles against your wrist, almost tender. That crooked, boyish grin spreads across his face again - pretty, if you didnât know better. If you didnât see the rot behind it.
âWe could be really good together,â he hums, tilting his head. âNot like you have any other options.â
And just like that, he pushes you gently back into the sand, the fine grains clinging to your skin and the tattered remains of your dress - god, your poor dress. Itâs barely more than fabric now, after all the gifts you refused. The silks. The swimsuits. The sundresses. You stopped taking anything from him after you saw what he did - what he made of the staff. Tongueless. Broken. Just so youâd only ever speak to him.
âGod, youâre so pretty,â he mutters, breath warm against your cheek. Then, quieter, almost under his breath: âBesides the grime. You could really use a shower, baby.â
Your stomach sinks. Heavy. Cold. Sinking like the plane he crashed, just a day ago, now rusting on the seafloor.
He leans in to kiss you, palm brushing over your chest with sickening familiarity. âCâmon, sugar. You always said you wanted a sugar daddy, and now that Iâm playing the part⌠what? You donât want me?â
He pouts, then grins again - baby blue eyes crinkling like he just cracked a joke only he understands. His lips find yours before you can twist away, tongue hot and invasive, tasting of coconut and cruelty. One hand creeps beneath your dress, fondling with your breas, the other pins your wrists above your head.
You bite down.
Hard.
Blood floods your mouth, metallic and hot. He jerks back, lips split, a crimson smear curling at the edge of his grin.
âOw,â he whines, but his eyes are alight, wide and so terribly pleased. âOh, baby. I had a plane coming.â
He sighs theatrically, licking the blood off his lip. âGuess you just lost your chance.â
Your breath stutters. Your eyes flick to his side - where the gun holster rests, sleek and silent.
He follows your gaze and laughs, loud and bright like waves crashing on coral.
âThatâs okay,â he chirps. âI could use the longer vacation anyway.â
He leans down again, lips brushing your ear, breath warm and syrupy.
âRun if you want to, baby. I always catch whatâs mine.â
You feel it. His hand loosening.
An invitation.
A test.
You scramble. The sand burns under your palms, jagged shells biting into your skin as you push yourself up and take off, stumbling and zigzagging toward the trees. Behind you, he lets out a low whistle and starts counting.
âOne⌠two⌠threeâŚâ
Heâs grinning. Wide. Wild. Like this is the best game heâs ever played. Youâre fast - God, youâre fast - but heâs not worried. No, never that. Because when he hits ten, he raises his arm with surgical calm and -
Bang.
The bullet slices clean through the back of your leg, barely missing bone. Your scream splits the air as you hit the sand, limbs twisting, blood soaking into the shoreline.
âDonât you know Iâm a straight shot?â he sings, sauntering toward you, carefree as a boy in love. The gun is tossed aside like trash, clattering onto the beach behind him.
He crouches low beside you, knees digging into the sand, and brushes your tears away with those soft, unworked hands - fingers that have never lifted anything heavier than a silver spoon.
âShhh, baby,â he coos, voice thick with mock concern. His grin stretches almost too wide. âI know it hurts. I know.â
He presses a kiss to your forehead, the blood from your leg staining the hem of his linen pants.
âBut hey, bright side?â he chirps, voice lilting, eyes sparkling like youâre the guest of honor at some romantic dinner and not bleeding out in front of him. âNow we get to spend so much more time together. You canât run anymore. Isnât that sweet?â
You try to crawl - anything - but he just tilts his head and grabs your chin, thumb brushing your bottom lip.
âI mean, baby, think about it,â he murmurs, so close now. âYou always said you wanted a sugar daddy. Someone rich. Someone handsome.â He kisses you again, sickeningly soft. âI am playing the part, right?â
âAnd nowâŚâ His voice lowers. Darkens. âNow weâre just gonna get married.â
You flinch when he leans in for another peck, right on your cheek, thumb still resting on your lower lip, dragging across the soft flesh.
He laughs, a soft and bright sound.
âBut hey. Just a warning.â His thumb taps against your lips, thoughtful. âIf you want to keep that pretty little tongue of yours, I suggest you say yes when I propose.â
He smiles so sweetly it makes your stomach twist.
âWouldnât want a mute wife, now would I?â
#gojo as a yandere is the most terrifying and interesting concept ever#yandere#there's something about men with too much money that they use everyone else around them like playthings#yandere jujutsu kaisen#yandere jjk#yandere gojo satoru#yandere satoru gojo#yandere gojo#yandere gojo satoru x reader#yandere satoru x reader#yandere gojo x reader
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Gojo Satoru
⥠TW: yandere, noncon, drugs, somnophilia
⥠FEM reader
There are few constants in Gojoâs life. Suguru is one of them. Shoko is another. Theyâre his friendsâhis comradesâextensions of himself in many ways. Similar. He isn't around many othersâfewer who arenât sorcerors, and otherwise, no girls.Â
None but you, that is.
Suguruâs girlfriend.
And oh, are you sweet. The sweetest. The kindest. The cutest. Youâre so normal, itâs really a wonderâhow you talk at great length about the most mundane things. Youâre problem-freeâstressless. Talking to you is like taking an antidepressant.
He can see why Suguru keeps you around even when itâs so irresponsible. Either of them can die at any momentâitâs almost cruel to have a significant other.
But he canât exactly blame him.
He wants you, too.
At first, itâs innocent. Weird, totally, but innocent. When they go out, heâll ask Suguru if youâre joining themâhoping you willâfeeling giddy to meet you. Blushing when you start greeting him with a hug, calling him by his given name.
Youâre becoming so closeâitâs almost like you feel the same way.
He knows itâs wrong. But his body doesnât follow. And that moral feeling of needing to do right is only skin deep and so easily shed. And when he has you there, so drunk and so high and so ready to be taken advantage of, with Geto fast asleep and none the wiserâwho can blame him?
You wonât remember anyway. And what you donât know canât hurt. Even though deep down he wishes youâll never forget. His touch, his tongue, his cock, and how good it feels inside you when he fills you up raw.
⥠GOJO SATORU masterlist ⥠JUJUTSU KAISEN masterlist
#yandere jjk#yandere jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen smut#jujutsu gojo#jujutsu kaisen#gojo smut#satoru gojo smut#gojo satoru smut#gojou satoru x reader#satoru gojo#gojo satoru#gojo x reader#gojo saturo#jjk gojo#yandere gojo x reader#yandere gojo satoru#yandere gojo#yandere satoru gojo#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen headcanons#gojo headcanons
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Love me, love me, love me, love me more!

Pairing: Yandere! Gojo Satoru x Fem!Reader
Warnings and Content: MDNI (I'll haunt you, seriously), yandere themes, implied consent, stalking, obsession, murder, gore, sex, delusional satoru, he's unhinged and does not care about consequences as usual, creampies (lots), gojo has a breeding kink, masturbation, perv gojo, sex, fingering. Dead dove.
Plot : Megumi has a new nanny and Satoru is so so..lovesick.
Yandere!Satoru knew he fumbled the moment he fell in love with Megumi's nanny. He had hired you because he couldn't provide for the time and sufficient emotional care that a second grader needed to be a normal person. After all that the boy went through and then being under care of someone like him, Satoru didn't think that his Gumi-chan would ever be normal.
But then he met you, you were everything he was not. Gojo Satoru was impulsive, eccentric, the strongest, he shone so brightly that the sun was put to shame. And you were so normal, so mundane, you simply seemed to blend in with everyone like a lovely, plain chrysanthemum that could mix in with every bouquet.
there was truly nothing special about you in comparison to him.
Perhaps that was why he found you so beautiful. You weren't complicated, you were too simple and perhaps this absence of simplicity was what made his fast paced, glorious life so lack luster.
He knew he had to have you.
One thing you realised about Yandere!Satoru is that, he is a child in a grown man's body. You had seen him being much more petulant than Megumi, but with time your surmises around him had reduced and your edges had softened. You would see the flash of tiredness in his eyes sometimes, something about those azures in those moments would tell you a piece of his story. You didn't ask a lot but you knew. He was tired.
Being a full-time nanny to Megumi also meant, keeping meal preps ready. It had become a habit to put together a few extras after noticing that Gojo would often make it a point to eat them. He probably ate it, dead in the night when he was back from his daily missions. No one witnessed his joy of eating a homecooked meal at 3AM.
Yandere!Satoru who would take the advantage of your softened demeanor towards him and flirt with you shamelessly even after seeing the ring adorned on your pretty little finger. He kept affirming to himself that it wasn't real and whatever he would imagine, would materialize to be true.
"You do a terrific job, looking after Megumi you know?" He'd muse, in the usual teasing tone of his as his hand trails to your chin, gently tipping your head up so you'd look into his eyes and his eyes only, his gaze intense and unwavering.
"I can't help but wonder if there is room in your heart for me too~"
But then his playful demeanor would drop away when his eyes would fall onto that pathetic, miserly looking gold band after you'd tell him to stop flirting with you with finality in your tone. That ring wasn't even high in carats, it was an alloy and yet you would it wear it such pride. It would tug at his heartstrings, his darling deserved so much better.
"I see, didn't realize that, miss.." He lied through his teeth with such insouciance and a smirk, masking his disappointment as if even a petite speck on your arm would be amiss with his six eyes
Yandere!Satoru, who was never religious but started obsessively manifesting you after learning about your husband. What a hassle. Why couldn't he just have you, like everything else in his life?
Yandere!Satoru who would think of you riding him to tears, closing his eyes to conjure the lewd image of your tits bouncing as he fucked you upward, anchoring his large hands on your waist. All while zestfully fisting his cock, wrapped like a gift with your cute pink panties that he quite subtly stole when you were staying over to care for Megumi for a few days because he had to fly somewhere else to tackle off a special grade curse, substituted for the warmth of your velvety walls. For now.
Yandere!Satoru who knew you had no clue that he teleported from the location far away just to steal your panties.
Yandere!Satoru who also knew that you had no idea that he had tapped in your phone, having his hawking watch over who you texted and talked to.
Yandere!Satoru who couldn't be nonchalant anymore the minute he saw you texting your husband as you watched over Megumi, on how badly you wanted a baby after being a nanny to the young boy. That was his job, you were his, afterall.
Yandere!Satoru who felt angry and stupid because manifesting you didn't work. He knew he could never trust the higher powers with the people he loved so he took the matter in his own hands.
Yandere!Satoru who stood over your husband's dead body, ripped to shreds when you returned home. The worries of your husband not texting you back for hours now washed with horror and pain.
His handsome, angelic face was unnervingly calm and composed, his blue eyes amalgamated with mania and hollowness while he held her husband's filthy heart in his bloodied hands, a scowl of disgust washing over his face as he looked at the organ, darting his eyes at you almost pitifully, crushing it in a glimpse before walking to you.
"What a shame..your husband was quite bothersome, wouldn't you say? I had to take out the trash, y'know..got sick of him getting in the way" He'd speak in a smooth, saccharinely affectionate tone that you knew was empty. He ignored the shock laced on your face, the paleness of your skin, the fear in your eyes and your flinch which he found oh so..adorable, as he caressed your cheek with the strong metallic scent of crimson lingering.
"Let's play a game!" He brightly smiled, clapping his hands together which made you furrow your brows, a dry gulp going down your throat. The room only filled with the momentary sounds of his footsteps and your shaky, palpable breathing.
"The game is...name things you love about Gojo Satoru!!" He chimed, so happily that it sent a shiver down your spine, insinuating nausea.
"S-stay away..."
He frowned, titling his head as his empty eyes bored into yours.
"Wrong answer darling..the answer is Satoru, isn't it..?" He leaned in, cupping your face and tenderly kissing your lips.
Yandere!Satoru who teleported you two immediately to his estate as he pulled away from the kiss, your back hitting the silk sheets that screamed luxury.
Yandere!Satoru who would see you giving in to his gentle kisses all over your body, who'd feel your pulsating guilt and shame in your eyes while your pussy pulsated with pleasure having his fingers in your gushing cunt knuckles deep.
"Why did you say no to me, hm..? You're milking my fingers baby..fuuuck...I love you so much.." He whispered while his face nuzzled into your cheek. His hot breath mingled with phrases of love felt so gross, so filthy, so sinful but you saw yourself liking it, even after seeing your husband in such a state.
Yandere!Satoru, who'd dump his cum again in your oozing pussy even when his cock felt raw after kissing your cervix so many times, painting it white. Now finally pulling out with a squelch, he immediately replaced his two thick fingers to push his load back in.
"You're gonna be such a pretty mama baby..I will make your wish come true.."
Šđ˘đđđđĄđ˘đ˘đ°đŤđ˘đđđŹ
Plagiarism not authorised. Please consider reblogging and liking if you enjoyed the content :)
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#jjk x reader#jjk gojo#gojo x reader#gojou satoru x reader#gojo satoru x female reader#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru x y/n#yandere jjk#yandere gojo x reader#yandere gojo#gojo satoru smut#gojo satoru fanfic#jjk smut#satoru gojo x reader#satoru gojo smut
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WHENEVER GOJO SATORU CUDDLES WITH YOUâ
âit feels... constricting. Like you can't breathe.
He lays his head on your chest, fluffy white hair tickling your jaw, and wraps his arms around your waist; squeezing and squeezing and squeezingâuntil your guts start to merge, and your lungs fail to expand.
He pushes his whole weight right onto your breasts, cool ear pressed flat against your shirtâlisteningâas his fingers crawl underneath it, once again, pushing.
Whenever Gojo Satoru cuddles with youâit feels... engrossing. Like he wants to consume you.
He leaves no gaps between you, covering you whole, the clam shell to your pearlâhiding your beauty as he selfishly gobbles you up so he can keep you to himself; keep you away from others.
He melts against you, as if trying to make your two bodies one; trying to cocoon you. He always holds your shirt in his hand, scrunching it up harsh enough that it tears, and when it does, when his fingers finally make contact with your bare skin, he lets out a deep breath, and closes his eyes in bliss.
Whenever Gojo Satoru cuddles with youâit feels... threatening. Like you can't leave.
His grip on you is tighter than a bow-string, and yet somehowâsomewayâit grows even tighter when you shift. And just like that, you can't breathe all over again, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as he coos and gently wipes them away, grip still so tight.
"Oh no baby, don't cry. I only wanna hold you for a little longer. Can I?"
Whenever Gojo Satoru cuddles with youâit feels like a warning.
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Priceless ( yan! roommate satoru x reader ) đŞŹ
TW: minors dni, dark content, brief mentions of choking, noncon, implied kidnapping, brief mention of murder, mentions of female anatomy, creampie, satoru being mean and obnoxious per usual.
synopsis: when naivety meets obsession, you find yourself in the jaws of your overbearing roommate. The rent is cheap, but your freedom is priceless.
đŞĽ
Roommate! Satoru whoâs been plotting on you for months. Who ditches his luxurious high rise for a classy little apartment close to your new job. Who makes sure that his online ad for a roommate is perfect; too good for you to pass up. Moving to Tokyo brings promising prospects for a cute, fresh, college graduate like yourself, but finding an apartment close to work proves to be nearly impossible until Satoru replies to your inquiry about the spare bedroom heâs ârentingâ out.
Roommate! Satoruâs apartment is spacious, well decorated and surprisingly within your budget. âNot to be rude,â You start, awkwardly, â-but Iâm surprised youâre renting this space out for so low. Is it haunted? Got a secret infestation or somethinâ?â You squint as you curiously glance around-waiting for a rodent to scurry across your feet. You didnât have room to be picky, but itâd be nice to know beforehand.
Satoru clicks his tongue, ââŚgets pretty lonely out here in the city.â He lies smoothly, fists clenched deep within his pockets, âAnd no, itâs not haunted or infestedâŚnot that I know of anyway.â You hum. It was cheap, he was cool, maybe a little weird, but you could deal with it, and you didnât know when youâd get a chance like this again. âSoâŚwhen can I move in?â You ask after awhile, and Satoru has to bite his cheek to stop himself from grinning as he stares down at you from behind black shades. âyouâre too cute.â he thinks as he throws a heavy arm over your shoulders. âThe sooner the better, doll.â
___
Living with Satoru is easy, and despite your initial reservations, heâs not that weird. Yes, heâd occasionally leave his stuff out, or walk around in nothing but a towelâbut having him in the apartment made you feel safe. especially when your things begin to go missing. It starts small, your brush or your favorite chapstick; items you could blame yourself for easily misplacing on a routine basis.
Panties, pictures and your laptop? Well, that was a little harder to explain.
Roommate! Satoru is soooo kind though! Helping you look for your things and ruffling your hair when you come to him pleading to make sure the front doorsâ locked extra tight. âWanna sleep in my bed? I donât bite, promise.â Heâd joke, but youâd laugh with warm cheeks and gently shoulder past him. âYouâre funny! Iâll see you in the morning, let me know if you see my toothbrush laying aroundâŚâ And then youâd slink back into your room without ever suspecting the man across the hallâŚ
Roommate! Satoru who regularly puts sleeping pills into your drinks, cooing softly when you slump over on the couch with a soft snore. The expression you make when he slips his hands into your shorts is so precious. especially when your mouth falls open, and he gets the chance to cum on your pretty face. Itâs warm as it drips down to your lips, and you wake up the next day wondering why you canât get rid of the salty taste on your tongue.
Roommate! Satoru a total creep who covers his mouth and nose with your used underwear while he jacks off to nudes that you definitely deleted wayyy before you knew him- who leaves you with hardly any panties to wear and coyly takes you to the mall to get more. âThis is a pretty shade,â He says while holding up a tiny light pink pair of lace, âMaybe we can find some in your size.â You grin, completely missing the way his eyes darken at your teasing.
Roommate! Satoru who takes off of work when youâre sick, who coddles you and orders your favorite foods, even though you never specifically told him what they were. You try to ask him to give you space so that he doesnât also get sick, but he doesnât care, preferring to stay right beside you as you sniffle, cough and rely on him for everything.
Roommate! Satoru who tries and fails to fuck the thought of you out of his head, youâre driving him absolutely mad. Though, without much remorse, he continues to cum in random women with your name softly falling from his lips like a prayer. Safe to say that he has many one night stands, and you constantly find yourself banging on the wall telling him to quiet down.
He rarely listens.
Roommate! Satoru who never specified if he was comfortable with you bringing people home, I mean, he didnât much care for your opinion when he was practically fucking the soul out of some rando heâd met at the bar, so what would it matter if you had a little fun for once?
Roommate! Satoru who watches you slink through the door in that slutty dress, tipsy and covered in hickies. he practically pounces on you then, and you swear youâve never seen anyone so rabid. âHow dare you, y/n.â He snarls in your ear, his hand on the back of your neck, shoving your face into the couch cushions as he spanks your ass hard, surely leaving bruises.
You hardly remember being carried to his room after that, and your date seems to have vanished into the nightâŚbut the faint specks of blood on satoruâs face tells you that he had something to do with it. Despite your resistance, he manages to rip your bra off completely and as the rest of the alcohol you drank kicks in, your fighting grows weak.
âI didnât want it to b-be like this, ungh, yâknow.â He moans into your mouth, fingers pinching your nipple while his other hand rests heavily against your throat, grip so tight that you can barely breathe. Tears run down your cheeks, but heâs too caught up in grinding into your clothed cunt to notice. âI shouldâve just showed you who you belonged to in the very beginning...â
Roommate! Satoru who rips your panties down your legs and stretches you open, practically drooling as you clench and gush around his thick fingers. You canât stop the moans from tumbling past your lips, the assault on your hot sex is relentless, and as he coaxes an orgasm out of you, you canât help but sob at the back arching sensation. âSweet girl,â He coos against your clit, âYou look so pretty when you cum for me.â He stares up at you from between your legs, fingers leaving bruises on your thighs as he pries you open.
You shake your head, the room spinning as you slowly come down from your high. A quick slap to your thigh grounds you, and you whine as Satoru slowly begins to grind his fingers into your g-spot again. âYou hear how wet you are, baby?â He chuckles at the squelching noises, grinning madly as he watches you struggle against him.
Roommate! Satoru who fucks you so hard youâre seeing stars, eyes rolling into the back of your skull as he painfully drags another orgasm out of you. Heâs too much to handle, and your pussy desperately tries to accommodate to his thrusts. âThis is mine.â while one hand pinches your clit, the other grips your wrists and rests them on your stomach, creating leverage as he ruts into you. âYouâre mine.â He growls, âSay it.â You whine and nod your head-but a slap that sends your world spinning has you stuttering out the words quickly.
âI-Iâm yours.â Your lip wobbles as you cry, his eyes are so dark now that you can practically see your reflection in them. âAgain.â And it continues on like this until youâre nearly screaming that your pussy belongs to him, that everything you are belongs to him. You blackout soon after he cums, the hot gooey liquid seeping out of your abused hole and onto satin sheets. Satoru admires you for awhile before cleaning you up. Naturally, he puts you in a clean t-shirt of his, but decides to slip your panties back on with his seed still dripping out of you as a reminder.
You awaken that morning, groggy and sore all over. Last night was a blur, but as you look around the unfamiliar room, it doesnât take long for the memories to come rushing back. You blanch. Your date is probably dead, your clothes are in tatters on the floor, and as you look between your sticky thighs in horror, the bedroom door slides open. Your roommate leans against the threshold with a grin thats unnaturally wide.
âMorning princess. Missing this?â In his hand is your old, missing toothbrush.
#minors dni#gojo smut#satoru x reader#yandere gojo#yandere satoru x reader#jjk#smut#gojo satoru#dark content#yandere#yandere gojo x reader#jjk x you#stalker yandere
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Trying to break up with Yandere Satoru Gojo
Ahhaahaaaa yeah fuck no this wouldn't happen.
Satoru would definitely never let you break up with him.
However, you could try and fail.
It would be a normal day when you pulled Satoru aside and told him you didn't want to continue the relationship.
Satoru hadn't expected that at all.
A change in Satoru's behavior would be kinda creepy.
As a man who jokes about everything, he would take this death seriously.
Probably would just stare at you at first until saying "No <3"
That's it...
Satoru isn't interested in hearing the reasons why you're not going to leave him.
However, if you still insist, it is time to take more serious measures.
If you were a Jujutsu Scorer, he would arrange the marriage as quickly as possible.
If you weren't a Jujutsu Scorer it would be kidnapping time.
Satoru doesn't feel like he can trust you not to try to leave him.
He is now in full Yandere mode and unfortunately it cannot be turned off.
Longer version is here
#jjk#jjk x reader#jjk x you#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen x you#jujutsu kaisen#Yandere jjk#yandere jjk x reader#Yandere jujutsu kaisen#Yandere jujutsu kaisen x reader#yandere satoru gojo#satoru gojo x reader#gojo satoru x reader#yandere gojo x reader#yandere gojo satoru#Yandere gojo satoru x reader#yandere satoru x reader#Yandere gojo#satoru x reader#satoru gojo
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