#noncon cw

[tsams-confessions]

Tw mention of non-con, fetishizing gay men. Putting this out there first that this is coming from a non-aspec adult gay man. Many people have said this before in many fandoms, both in the past and present, that there really is something weird about people who consume media and IMMEDIATELY shipping or making something out as sexual between two characters. Even two characters that have only interacted one time. These two characters are usually AMAB or male-presenting. I wasn't uncomfortable with this type of people before but when they became more and more obsessive about their ship/s to the point you wonder if they're watching the same show as you, I began avoiding them like the plague. By obsessive I mean in the earlier plot of the show, some EclipsexSun shippers have messaged me and my boyfriend (for context, we like cosplaying as human versions of the tsams characters), asking us if we could cosplay Eclipse and Sun doing sexual things, including non-con, for them to "enjoy" or to "inspire" them with their art and fanfics. I threw the block button like a chancla to their faces so fast. Because why in the absolute hell would you ask that? To literally strangers on the internet? They were adults, mind you. They know what's right and wrong. And I am sad to say that it is STILL happening to this day. Honestly, it made both me and my boyfriend scared anytime we see an EclipsexSun shipper following/liking our posts because we couldn't tell anymore. We couldn't tell if they're just harmless shippers or very porn-brained, fetishizing gay men shippers.

.

#sun and moon show #the sun and moon show #tsams #sams #tsams confession #< block this if you dont want to see these #mod 1blood #noncon cw #ask to tag

[theres-a-body-here]

Scumtober- Day 13 (Somnophilia)

Reinhardt x Reader

In the middle of the night, Reinhardt couldn't sleep. His mind kept wandering to thoughts of you, the newest recruit. There was something about you that made him infatuated...maybe even obsessed. He sated his desire with passing looks and touches, but Reinhardt wanted more. It wasn't long before he started to pay more attention to the things you like or do.

You like to spar with Cassidy and go get a coffee afterward. You like the color (f/c) on your gear and like to go onto the roof at night to relax. He knew all this and made sure to figure out more. He followed you around and made note of your every action.

He figured out you took sleeping pills to deal with your insomnia.

Reinhardt couldn't take it anymore. He slipped out of his quarters and made his way silently down the hallway to where he knew you slept.

As he approached your door, he paused for a moment to gather his courage. This would definitely be crossing a line. The others wouldn't understand, but he knew you would. There's no going back after this if anyone finds out. But he didn't care. Reinhardt wanted nothing more than to feel you, love you, cherish you. And he knew you loved him back.

You just didn't know it yet.

Steeling his mind against any rational, sane thought, Reinhardt quietly slid the lock open and stepped inside. The dim light from the corridor barely reached across the room, casting most of it into darkness save for a small pool of moonlight filtering through your window onto your sleeping form. He glanced at your nightstand and saw an empty glass and a prescription pill bottle. He closed the door behind him.

Reinhardt slowly walked over to your bedside, his gaze tracing every contour of your relaxed features. He couldn't resist reaching out a tentative hand to brush a strand of hair away from your cheek. The contact sent shivers down his spine as he watched you breathe peacefully beneath the sheets. You looked so peaceful and relaxed.

You must have known he was coming. You must want this as much as he does.

With a shaky hand, Reinhardt reaches over and pulls your blanket down slowly. He slightly frowns when he sees you're clothes. Maybe you didn't.... No. You simply wanted to make him put some work into it. Yes, Reinhardt thought, that had to be it.

Slowly, carefully, Reinhardt began to undress you, starting with removing your shirt first. As each article of clothing fell away, he reveled in the feeling of being able to see you completely exposed under the pale moonlight. His hands trembled slightly as they moved lower, tracing along your toned abdominal muscles, lingering just above the waistband of your boxer briefs. He could feel his heart racing in his chest – both from excitement and fear of discovery.

Eventually, everything was removed except for your underwear since he wanted to leave the best for last. Reinhardt hesitated for a moment before reaching out once again, this time grabbing hold of the elastic band and pulling it down over your hips.

You shifted slightly in response, mumbling something incoherent in your sleep, but did not wake. With bated breath, Reinhardt finally allowed himself to admire your naked form fully illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the window.

His finger gently traced your soft lips. You look so...vulnerable. Reinhardt was concerned. Anyone could have come in here and hurt you. He was glad he was here to protect you.

As Reinhardt's fingers danced along your supple skin, he felt a surge of heat rise within him. His breath quickened as he explored further, running his fingertip along the curve of your hipbone, then trailing it up towards your neck. His touch seemed to stir some dormant part of you awake, causing you to stretch lazily under his touch.

Reinhardt couldn't help but let out a low groan as his desire threatened to consume him whole. He needed more; he craved closeness, connection… intimacy.

He slowly took hold of your jaw with his callused hand, and with a bit of pressure, pried your mouth open as gently as he could. You made no effort to resist as your body was limp and relaxed. Reinhardt shuddered when he took a look into your mouth. It looked soft, wet, and inviting. His other hand worked quickly, pulling down his zipper and freeing his throbbing erection from its confines.

With shaking hands, Reinhardt positioned himself at your mouth, pressing the head of his engorged member against your plump lips. They parted ever so slightly, allowing him access to explore your tongue and teeth with the tip of his cock. Each brush against your wet warmth sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through his body, driving him closer and closer to the edge.

He leaned forward, resting his weight partially on the bed as he thrust deeper into your mouth.

Each shallow thrust drew forth a whimper of submission from you, amplifying the intensity of Reinhardt's arousal tenfold. The sound of your breathy gasps, coupled with the sensation of your hot tongue wrapped around his length, drove him wild with desire. He picked up speed just ever so slightly.

The sight of you lying there, naked and vulnerable beneath him, served only to heighten his fervor. He watched transfixed as his thick cock disappeared between your swollen lips, emerging coated in a sheen of saliva.

Every time he pulled out to stroke himself and keep himself hard, it left a trail of drool connecting your mouth to his aching need. Reinhardt knew he couldn't cum with such a slow pace.

Without warning, he pushed himself balls deep into your mouth, cutting off your air supply completely. You shifted weakly against the bedding, but your unconscious attempts at resistance only fueled Reinhardt's determination. He held you there, watching the flush spread across your face as you struggled for oxygen

He started to feel a stir of guilt as you continued to struggle, so Reinhardt slid his cock out from your throat. You sucked in great ragged gasps of air, coughing and spluttering as your body fought to recover from the sudden deprivation. Eventually, your body went back to its calm and normal rhythm of breathing.

Still hard and hungry for more, Reinhardt watched with a mixture of satisfaction and shame as you regained your composure, oblivious to the violation that had just taken place.

Feeling emboldened by his success thus far, Reinhardt pressed his cockhead once again to your swollen lips, demanding entrance without preamble. This time, however, he didn't stop when you instinctively resisted, instead choosing to simply overpower you with his strength.

Your sleeping form whined in protest as Reinhardt forced himself inside your mouth, but he ignored your pleas, focusing solely on the sweet torture of your warm mouth enveloping him. He sped up his thrusts, each powerful stroke sending waves of pleasure crashing through him like a tidal wave.

Watching his cock disappear and reappear between your lips was almost too much for Reinhardt to bear. The sight of his enormous girth stretching your tiny mouth to its limits sent shivers of anticipation down his spine. He could feel himself nearing the edge, the pressure building in his balls like a volcano threatening to erupt.

Growing impatient for release, Reinhardt took matters into his own hands – literally. Grabbing hold of your head, he roughly shoved your face onto his cock, using your skull as leverage to drive himself deeper than ever before. His hips bucked wildly, slamming his entire length into your waiting mouth with every brutal thrust. You squirmed beneath him, no doubt aware that something wasn't quite right, but unable to break free from the haze of sleep. At this moment, he needed nothing more than to cum – to mark you irrevocably as his.

"Ahh, mein Liebling," Reinhardt whispered tenderly, unable to contain the words that had been building up inside him for weeks. "Ich liebe dich so sehr." He continued to thrust, his voice growing more urgent with each thrust. "Du bist die Sonne meiner Welt, ohne dich bin ich verloren im Dunkel."

His pace increased, driven by a primal instinct that bordered on feral. "Willst du es haben? Willst du mich? Ich bitte um Vergebung, aber ich kann nicht aufhören." He held you there at the hilt of his cock, suspended between ecstasy and agony.

As the familiar sensation of impending orgasm began to build within him, Reinhardt pulled out of your mouth, deciding that he wanted to watch every second of his release unfold. He roughly grabbed your chin, angling your face towards him as he stroked himself furiously, his movements growing increasingly erratic as he neared completion.

Finally, unable to hold back any longer, Reinhardt cried out in ecstasy as he came, painting streaks of cum across your cheeks and nose. Panting heavily, he stood there for several seconds, savoring the aftermath.

After catching his breath, Reinhardt grabbed a pair of your boxers from nearby, using them to clean your cute face. What kind of lover would he be if he left you like this? He stuffs the boxers into his pocket and puts his dick away.

Once satisfied that the mess was gone, Reinhardt redressed you, tucking you in snuggly beneath the covers. As he gazed down at your peaceful expression, Reinhardt caressed your cheek. He leans down to kiss your cheek. You look so peaceful as you sleep despite what happened. Reinhardt's breath hitched in his throat as you unconsciously moved your face into his warm hand.

All guilt and doubts left his mind. You loved him back. Your body knew you two were made for each other. Reinhardt slipped quietly out of the room, wondering if he should love you again tomorrow night.

Scumtober 2023 Masterlist

#overwatch 2 x reader #overwatch x reader #reinhardt #reinhardt wilhelm #reinhardt x reader #somnophilia #sleeping #gn!reader #gn reader #noncon cw #yandere #reinhardt wilhelm x reader #overwatch #overwatch 2 #kinktober 2023 #kinktober #scumtober #scumtober 2023

[xxdark-obsessionxx]

Could you write something with Tord maybe fingering the reader while forcing them to look in the mirror as he does it?

Tord’s trying to prove how good they look together and that they belong together.

Dub/noncon

Thanks for the request!!

CW: Noncon, Implied kidnapping, Tord fingers reader.

Reader is fem in this one.

This is a work of fiction and I do not condone or support scenarios like this in real life.

_________________________________________________________

You hate how good his fingers feel inside you. Shame bubbles in your stomach alongside the arousal. Logically you knew the lube was why he was able to slip a finger in so easily, but your traitorous body didn’t get the memo. All it took was two fingers curling inside you, hitting a button, and the floodgates opened. 

“Good girl,” Tord crooned. “See how good this feels?” 

You can’t help but dart your eyes away. You didn’t want to look at how wet you were in the mirror. How your slick was dripping off his hand. 

A sharp slap to your thigh makes you remember why you had to keep seeing the sight anyway. 

“Eyes up front,” Tord snaps, using his free hand to grasp your throat. It’s barely any pressure but it still has your heart racing. You don’t want to find out if he’ll actually strangle you so you stare at the mirror. 

Heat crawls up your spine as you watch his hand sink back between your spread legs. Shame, embarrassment, and arousal go round and round your brain. A vicious cycle. 

You can’t help but curl into yourself, into Tord’s hand, as his fingers curl back into that horrible spot and his thumb circles your clit. Drool drips from the ball gag but he doesn’t care. His eyes are solely focused on the mirror, between your legs. His fingers move faster, jabbing and rubbing. 

“No,” you try to protest. It sounds like a moan. Or maybe it was one. You just can’t help it. Your pussy walls flutter and pulse around Tord’s fingers. You shake your head, drool dripping onto your stomach. 

Tord chuckles. His pace doesn’t waiver. Instead, he turns his gaze from the mirror and kisses your cheek. You keep your eyes on your stomach, low enough to where it looks like you're seeing what he wants you to. 

But his free hand returns to your neck. It crawls up to your jaw, lifting your head up. He meets your eyes in the mirror. You don’t dare look away. 

“Cum for me.” 

His voice is rough and you feel his own arousal against your lower back. 

You have no choice. You buck against his hand, whining and moaning as he speeds up. Your pussy squeezes his fingers tight as white-hot pleasure floods through your stomach, down. His fingers squelched as he slowed down. 

You felt disgusting. You’re still looking at him. 

“Good girl. Oh you were such a good girl. Look how pretty your mess is.” 

Tord’s fingers slip out of you and he raises his hand to show you the mess you made on his fingers. 

“We’re perfect for each other. It’s like your little pussy was made just for me.” 

You don’t dare move an inch. It’s not like you can talk, but you don’t want to nod either. As much as you want to, disagreeing with your captor is what got you into this damn mess in the first place. You merely stare wide-eyed at his hand. 

Please be done, you think desperately. Your arms and legs ache from the bounds. Now that you don’t have a hand thoroughly distracting you, your body protests. Having your legs tied to your thighs and your arms tight behind your back was beyond unpleasant. You just wanted Tord to start your nightly routine. Bath. Brush your teeth. Pretend to watch a movie with him cuddled up next to you. And sleep. 

His hand snakes back downwards and you start to weep.

#noncon tw #tw noncon #tw yandere #yandere #yandere tord x reader #yandere lemon #yandere noncon #yandere tw #yandere tord #yandere smut #sinsworld #yandere sinsworld #cw noncon #noncon cw #cw yandere #yandere cw #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere x female reader #yandere drabble

[surrealistghostboy]

I’m on vacation in a big city right now, and I’ve got this fantasy I can’t get over. Me and my friend are out and we get invited to a party by some locals. We don’t know them well but we can’t say no to a genuine local city experience. Starting off the night with some pregame, my friend takes a few shots and I’m limited to two. I’m such a lightweight, really. It’s bad. Even after two shots I’m extra giggly and excited to see everyone. So pliable.

Mixed drinks in my hands and my location on, my friend and I make our way to the appartment address we were given. It’s dingy and the walls are tagged. If I wasn’t tipsy I’d turn around right away. But I want to see our hosts again! They were so nice. My friend knocks on the door and we giggle at how loud they were being. The door is opened by a shorter guy in a beanie, maybe Mexican descent. There is music pounding and a few other people there…strangely not enough for you to call it a party. The guy at the door invites us in, offering us drinks and urging us to let loose. Women in skimpy shorts and bralette tops walk around, boys and girls finding each other to make out. The ceiling is hazy with a thick layer of smoke from all the blunts being smoked.

I’m drinking and the smoke in the air makes my head feel cloudy. I’m giggling and stumbling as I dance along to the music. Eventually I stumble my way into a guy. He’s tall with long hair, nice stubble of a beard too. He coos at me and cups my chin, telling me how I should sit down. A pretty little thing like me could get hurt with the way I was dancing. He plops down on a filthy couch in the corner, pulling me to straddle his lap. I want him to light up a joint and offer it to me. I don’t smoke much but I want to seem cool. Not that he gives me much of a choice. The man presses the joint between my lips and I inhale out of shock. We pass the joint back and forth and at some point he stops taking hits. But I’m too high to notice.

I want him to take my drink and set it aside, bouncing his knee and making me whine. He’s just moving to the music, he tells me. But his knee is way too fast to be moving to the music. I want him to turn me around to face the dingy room we’re in and spread my legs. I’m so pliant and high I can’t even fight back. My skin feels like it’s on fire everywhere he touches me. I lay my head back on his shoulder as his hands begin to travel my body. All my clothes are kinda prudish, sweaters and long pants covering my body. So he pushes my sweater up over my binder in one swoop and begins to squish and knead my hips and stomach.

“Wait, that’s embarrassing-“ I’d whine.

“Oh honey it’s about to get a lot more embarrassing…” the guy mumbles into my ear. His hands move down from my hips and to my pants, shimmying them down so I’m just in my boxers. He places a large hand in between my legs and presses down into my tdick, making me rut into his hand unintentionally. “God, you’re a whore…” he’d laugh, “I ain’t even done nothing to you yet and look at you! Grinding into some strangers hand…”

Id whine and shake my head, I’m not a whore!! It’s just all the smoke and the alcohol and just the…the atmosphere and everything. It’s making me stupid. And it feels like everyone is watching me. Watching me half naked, rubbing myself into this guy’s hand. I don’t know where my friend is anymore. I have an audience now. The guy just chuckles and slips his hands down my boxers and runs a finger up my slit. “Jesus, you’re soaked…” he takes two fingers and clamps them down on my tdick. Rubbing it between his thumb and fore finger, pinching and pulling occasionally. It’s making me yelp and jerk my body around. But the guys just pulls me back down into his lap cooing at me like I’m stupid.

“Hey, hey, it’s ok baby. Just feel it, c’Mon.” His fingers are big and rough, so much different than my own. And they don’t stop. My fingers can never keep up with my need. I always give up and use a toy. But he just doesn’t stop!! Heat pools in my stomach and shoots up my spine whenever he pinches my dick. Little gasps exit my mouth in whines and “nngh”.

“Oh, fuck fuck fuck fuuuck!!” My voice cracks in a shrill way and I feel the pad of his finger move up and down, up and down. It’s so fast but I can feel each movement is a hyper intense way. It might have been the t shot I’d taken the week before. I’m so wet too, it would be so easy to just- “ah-!” I’d squeal as he’d slip two fingers inside me. “Sorry sweetheart, those just popped in. Not my fault. You’re so wet.” He’d thrust his fingers in and tap my insides quickly. “Slutty hole just sucked my fingers right in.” His fingers don’t seem sorry. They’re pumping in and out of me, my juices occasionally squirting out into his jeans. I’m mewling and shaking and my hands are tipping anything I can find purchase on. I’ve only ever fingered myself. Even then my fingers are too small to reach anything inside me. But the stranger’s fingers are so big and they reach so deep inside- fingering feels amazing! Fuck I’d never thought I could come without someone touching my dick but this could change my mind!

“Another! Please!” I wailed out reaching down to grab his hand. My own hand fails about, I can’t decide between shoving my own fingers in as well or making him force more of his thick fingers into my boy cunt. He chuckles darkly and shoves in the rest of his fingers at once.

“Careful what you wish for, baby…”

Should I continue this?

#this has been rotting in my drafts for awhile. #ftm nsft #cnc k!nk #subspace #forced intox #suck my fingers #dom/sub #noncon cw #nsft concept #trans ns/fw #trans nsft #weed intox #fuck my face #tdick #submisive faggot #cnc free use #free use slvt #free use kink #free use toy

[pupyr0arz]

Ghost: I have nightmares about assaulting you :(

soap, about to suggest they have poorly communicated CNC:

#.bark #ghostsoap #notsafeforworkers #soap #ghost #cod #imagepost #I #ghost: I have nightmares about raping and killing you #Soap who is so hard he can barely breathe: do you #Noncon cw

[prettyboykatsuki]

HOW TO BE A DOG. | S. GOJO

⊹ general tags ; fem + afab!reader, reader presents femininely and has some specific character traits (i.e. personality traits, nothing physical), reader is shorter / smaller than gojo but nothing specified, reader is a teacher, gojo carries reader at some point (but he is canonly able to do very insane things physically so)

⊹ content warnings ; dead dove. do not eat, yandere gojo satoru, manipulation, stalking, obsessive behavior, delusional behavior, workplace harassment (not from gojo), victim blaming, canon typical violence, graphic depictions of murder, minor character death, excessive religious imagery, coercion, gaslighting, abuse of power, something akin to stockholm syndrome, graphic depiction of noncon / sexual content, forced intimacy, fingering, hickies / bruises, begging, edging, loss of virginity, size kink, 18+.

all sexual content present in part two.

⊹ wc ; 17.3k / 36.1k

link to extended authors note | ao3 | how to be a dog, by andrew kane.

LINK TO PART TWO

⊹ a/n ; well. its here. i wont ramble too much but i hope you enjoy and if you dont...well don't tell me. thank you to ame for your endless patience. likes and reblogs mean the world. the title is inspired by the poem linked.

⊹ synopsis ; with six eyes to see it becomes clear, you are being watched.

“Of course you must learn to love, to love always and love entirely and to be wounded by nothing so much as the violence of your own love.” - andrew kane, how to be a dog.

⊹ PART ONE : A CHILD BORN IN WINTER MUST NOT LONG FOR SPRING.

There’s a dog living outside of Gojo’s apartment. It’s a collarless, lonely thing. Clever, too. 

Though, Gojo doesn’t know much about its life before it started hanging around the area, he gets glances on occasion. It’s not emaciated and it doesn’t look hungry, but it’s roughened up with matted fur and a healed tear in one ear. 

More importantly, it doesn’t bother anybody in the neighborhood. Despite its outward appearance and hostility when approached, its aggression won’t go farther than a warning bark or growl. Most of the adults living in the building know better than to try, but some of the kids living upstairs desperately attempt to befriend it. Of course they fail, and Gojo thinks that that poor thing is growing apathetic to the touches of sticky hands. 

The whole building is pretty fond of it, surprisingly. Gojo lives in a upend complex in a metropolitan part of Tokyo and the people here can be snobbish. So it comes as a shock that this dog wasn’t shooed away months ago. 

Everyones sort of agreed to take care of it. There’s a food and water bowl outside of the security office - and just last week a sign was implemented of Do’s and Don’ts for what food scraps can be left. There’s a donation box to get some proper shots and paperwork - since it looks like the building's doorman has agreed to take it in if everyone chips in for the expenses.

(Gojo suspects this has something to do with those very kids, devastated by the thought of it being gone.)

Warm welcomes from the residents aside, Gojo hasn’t seen it act friendly before. He wonders about that.  It seems hesitant to trust anyone and he’s sure there's a good reason. It’s just that it's clever. To be a stray in this area of Tokyo and be so calm is an impressive feat, so he thinks it probably has some grasp of his own situation. If it acted cuter, it could get a warm house and family too. Though the whole aloof and distant thing does the job just fine, Gojo can’t help but wonder what such a clever creature is doing, turning away from living lavishly. 

Much like everyone else, Gojo’s contributions have come in the form of food scraps and some donation money to work towards the 5,000 yen goal. On the occasion their paths cross, Gojo sits near it. Sometimes, they share a moment of silence and Gojo talks just to see if it’ll ignore him. It seems like it’s listening. It always makes a grunt of dismissal when Gojo turns to leave and he’s started to count that as a little victory. 

Gojo isn’t intrigued by anything as much as that dog. At least not lately. It’s damn near impossible to seriously pique his interest and yet that clever fellow is one of the few things he stops to ponder at. 

Today, Gojo is intrigued by the dog that lives on the street of his apartment and the strange woman who’s petting it like some sort of domesticated baby.

He’s very, very intrigued by that. 

The rain comes down in heavy sheets. It’s a Wednesday, and he has no classes to teach so he’s home and preparing to run errands. He’s going about his day as usual, basically. When Gojo isn’t swamped with a mission or the reformation of Jujutsu Society - he likes to play the part of the average man. 

The plan for today was to take his unused car out of the lot so he could get some dry-cleaning done, go buy a new pair of sunglasses because his old ones are scratched, and go do some shopping. He needs to buy groceries again ( an uncommon occurrence) so that one's on the list too. 

He’s dressed down. A black windbreaker is hanging over his shoulders, tight gray shirt and some comfortable jeans. He’s got on his errand shoes, a nice pair of sneakers and his keys are hanging from a loop in his belt. His hair is styled down and he’s got on his glasses instead of his typical mask.

He has a gameplan, a fully fleshed out expectation of how today will go, and it’s derailed by a woman he’s never seen before. He’s drawn to you so naturally it’s baffling. 

You’re crouched just in front of the security office. Dressed in a loose skirt and long sleeves, looking down by the local neighborhood stray. For the first few seconds, he just lingers on in utter awe. You’re carrying a comically cute umbrella, clear with flowers and a pink edge. He kind of thinks you look like a peony. 

He approaches slowly, quietly. 

When he finally gets close enough to really see, he can hardly believe his eyes. That old, menacing mutt is happily getting his chin scratched by you. 

“Oh, uhm. Hello?” 

The sound of your voice startles him out of his trance. Snapping back to reality, he glances down to where you are and realizes he’s towering over you. In an effort to be polite, he steps back and gives you his most disarming smile. 

“Hi. Sorry for the intrusion, I was just,” He glances at the dog who almost looks offended at the interruption “I noticed you were… petting this dog. Guess I was a little surprised.” 

“Surprised?” 

And your surprise surprises him even more. He blinks slowly. 

“Yeah. He’s not aggressive or anything but uh,” Gojo chuckles, concluding you must be a little new “Well, he’s not exactly friendly. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone succeed in well…petting him.” 

You’re taken aback by this information. Yeah, definitely new. 

“Really?” You glance at Gojo before looking back down at it “I just gave him some treats and waited a bit. He’s such a sweetie. Sure you mean this dog?” 

Gojo gets a good laugh out of that. Partially at your cluelessness and partially at your disbelief. He nods, smiling a little. 

“I’m very sure, actually. He must really like you,” He says, hands in his pockets. He bends down to join you, but he’s still a little bigger than you at that height “I guess I can see why. You’re pretty friendly.” 

You peek over at him. You seem a little shy at the compliment. Gojo feels his interest pique a second time today alone. New record. 

“Oh, uh. Thank you. I teach kindergarteners so I sort of have to be.” 

He hums. Reaching his hand towards the dog, who sniffs and cuddles his palm (something it’s never done before) in order to win your favor more. It really is a clever little thing, just like he’d always suspected.

“I’m a teacher too. A highschool teacher, though. No need for me to be friendly, I guess.” 

You laugh at his joke, smile reaching your eyes as you hug your knees to look at him.

“You seem plenty friendly to me.” 

He pretends to think about it. 

“Maybe you have a gift for making people come out of their shell,” He says with sincerity, relishing in the fact he’s finally getting to pet the dog in any capacity “I think this little guy could probably attest to that.”

“And you have a knack for flattery.” You quip. 

The natural chemistry is noticeable enough for it to catch Gojo off-guard. He grins. 

“Hey. I’m not all bad. And what's flattery if I’m being honest right?” 

“Sounds like something a flirt would say,” You tease, airy. He laughs a little. 

“You seem like you’re having fun giving me a hard-time.” He pouts. You giggle. 

“A little,” 

“Jeez. How rude of you…” He waits, prompting your name. You smile. 

You give him your name. You say it soft and easy. He makes sure to return to the favor. 

“And yours?” 

“Gojo Satoru.” 

__

You live up to your first impression in the time that Gojo gets to know you as his neighbor. 

Friendly. The word he’s looking for is friendly. 

There’s other words though. Sometimes meek, typically cheery, oftentimes quiet. You’re quite unassuming, and possibly too gentle when compared to everyone else in the general area. You fit in fine, no worries there. And Gojo knows that for certain because he can’t stop himself from watching over you like a hawk. 

He doesn’t really understand it himself. Gojo gets along with everyone. He’s always been a people person who likes to talk and likes to get to know strangers. There’s nothing that special about your connection in that way. You live next to him, directly across the hall.  You often knock on his door to give him something that you’ve made too much of or ask to borrow some sugar 

And it’s not done with any romantic intent. Gojo is good at reading people. He’s never seen someone so blatantly  romantically uninterested in him. You’re not even conscious of him as a man, cemented to him  by the one time you came to the door dressed in paper-thin PJ’s. He hasn’t recovered from the shock. One of the many times in his life where he was grateful no one could see where he was looking. 

He’s had a few months since your first meeting to get an idea of your personality and what things about you he should keep in mind. You noticed that he’s often not in his house, so you’re relatively aware of your surroundings. You’re often up late because your lights are always on well into the evening. 

(He finds out later you’re usually making lesson plans or little gift bags or planning birthdays. You really love your job, something he can commend while simultaneously  feeling quite jealous about.) 

You favor the lovely spring colors like pink and purple because you have so much of it always on you. You dress brightly in general. And you smile, often, and stumble over yourself trying to be nice to the other tenants. The kids in the building adore you. The sheer amount of propositions you’ve received to be someone's full-time nanny could probably keep you employed for another two decades. 

And you always put your best into everything, no matter what. 

This is probably the aspect Gojo is most fascinated by. It’s not exactly a novel trait. He’s encountered something like it before. One of his most prized students is Maki Zenin. Her whole thing is kicking ass through sheer spite. 

But unlike his students or anyone else he knows - you don’t seem to be motivated by spite or anger or frustration. Even when you are angry or upset - you always force yourself into being more understanding. Into being nice, kind, and still giving it your best if you’ve been shorted somehow. He’s tempted to call you a try-hard. It draws on the line of people pleasing sometimes but it doesn’t matter either way. This is a quality in you Gojo likes all the same. 

He's always been drawn to people who are earnest. His company favors such things. He cherishes Yuuji for such a reason, and can say something similar for Nanami. It’s a refreshing perspective. He’s not a bitter person, but he’s not an earnest one either. So Gojo likes that you’re so properly, gently sincere. 

For the last few months he’s made a real effort to talk to you. So he’s not just the guy next door, but at least an acquaintance and at best a distant friend. On the mornings you both have classes to teach, he walks you to your car and if he wakes up before you - he’ll bring you a cup of coffee or a pastry he knows you enjoy.  

You’ll often do Gojo little favors and he’ll return them - joking to each other about being a good neighbor. An inside joke with each other that Gojo is growing increasingly fond of, all together with leftover cups of coffee and glances that linger too long. Some mornings, he takes out your trash when you’re feeling too tired and you’ll do him the favor of getting the stuff out of his clothes that he doesn’t want to dry-clean. 

It’s these little exchanges that make up the bulk of your interactions. 

He’s even been to your apartment (another reason he’s sure you’re not attracted to him). He went last week to help you cut out little autumn leaves to put on your classroom walls, and you rewarded him with some lemonade. 

He’s still thinking about it days later, how you sit on your legs and the way your cardigan hangs off your shoulder. When you’re focused, you leave your mouth open a bit and poke your tongue through your lips. He’s endeared by it. 

 By you in general.

It’s all boring and mundane, but that’s what makes it. It’s a luxury he rarely affords. Craves, really, which is why he’s starting to go straight home more often than not.

It’s nice that you’re always there. That you’re usually home and when you’re not - Gojo doesn’t have to guess too hard about where you are. It’s so constant. He basks in the feeling of constancy like an expensive silk. 

It’s little luxuries like that, he thinks, that make you so special to Gojo without much effort on your behalf. Being up at the top means he is always fascinated by the place closest to the ground. 

What’s heaven to a man born there?

__ 

In your fourth official month of residence, the neighborhood dog finally gets adopted. 

He’s not there for the big reveal. He hears it from you while he’s on a mission, through a text message and a photo. He acquired your number early on, but you’ve only started doing these text exchanges recently. Reason being Gojo’s had an unusual amount of cases that need his attention and you’ve been very aware of his absence.  

(The first time you texted Gojo after 3 days on the other side of the country, he was scarily happy. After all, most times when he leaves - people are expecting his return.  There’s an assurance that he will return alive, that he has to. It’s not often people worry.

It was another thing he learns about himself through you. Being fussed about is refreshing.) 

Currently, he’s all the way down in Nagasaki. He’s been investigating what the local government has described as an “infestation in the water,” leading to poison and all sorts of hallucination. It’s been causing all of the local hospitals to fill up and the news is advising people to distill their water if possible when at home. Make sure to buy bottled, and double check on your children. 

In other words, there’s an unidentified curse wreaking havoc in small towns and rural areas at an unusually fast rate and Gojo has been sent to figure out its origin. What’s really weird is the location. He’s in Nagasaki prefecture, specifically in Hasami - a town in the Higashisonogo district. He really didn’t have much time to do research on the area, save for a few quick google searches and probing questions to his student, the well traveled Yuta Okkutsu who is a hair more familiar with the region than he is. 

But there wasn’t much for him to find. Hasami is known for the porcelain it produces. The population is a little under 15,000 and the weather is nicer in spring than it is in summer where it gets too humid. It’s considered a small town, though that number is relative in consideration, and currently the local officials are sending off reports about the water supply. 

Even when doing deep research using official means, there was nothing that unusual about the place. No major criminal incidents or occult presence or some other thing that would make this occur naturally. Gojo is no stranger to small town violence or bullying and they can often produce the most volatile curses.

But he’s currently on his 3rd day here, where he’s taken up talking with the locals and he can’t find any specific attitude that would foster a special grade. 

It had led him to a conclusion,  but one he was deliberately avoiding. That someone planted the curse here in Nagasaki, or maybe somewhere else. Which really complicates the whole affair, because then this is an investigation and not just a situation of fate. It also means that this curse was likely harvested somewhere and that Gojo can’t be sure it’ll be easy to get rid of. 

Most importantly, all that fanfare means he’ll be home late. 

Given how much he’s longing to see you, it’s the thing he’s been dreading most. 

It’s weird. He’s never dying to see anyone, with the exception of an old friend long gone. But Gojo has been desperate to see you for the few weeks he’s been away from home. 

(He can’t tell if it’s normal to long this much for a person he truthfully doesn’t know that well.) 

But, while he’s away from home, the thoughts of you play on loop in his head. Like white noise, static yet constant -  there, all the same.  As he walks the rainy streets of Hasami, hands in his pockets - he can’t help but wonder when the next time he gets to see you will be

It’s like some sort of miracle (aren’t you always one?) when Gojo hears his phone ring, buzzing against his abdomen. 

He’s drawn back into reality when he feels it. In front of a store that sells handmade plates and glasses, he lets it go for a while. Feels it buzz against his pocket while he settles his thoughts. He examines his surroundings,  notices the cars, and the mother with her daughter across the street and the gray sky - all before he picks it up. Your name flashes him on screen, and something itches deep in his chest.

The clouds open up. And it’s still raining, but there’s a ray of sunlight cutting through them. For a minute Gojo feels worldly, grinning with damp skin before he slides his thumb across the phone. 

You’ve never called him before. 

“Hello?” He greets, wondering if it was an accident. Then you come through the other side of the line.

“Hi ~,” You say, clearly doing something in the midst of talking “How’ve you been?” 

“I’ve been alright. Very shocked you called me, yanno?”

You laugh quietly. 

“Sorry about that. I just wanted to check in. And I wanted to say thank you.” 

“I mean… I’ll accept but I feel like I should know what for.” He jokes. Your tone goes sincere, marshmallow soft and twice as sweet. 

“You paid the rest of the fees for the dog out of pocket, didn’t you?” 

He smiles to himself.

“Ah. Busted. That was supposed to be a secret between me and Mr. Security-Man,” 

“He didn’t tell me. I just…guessed. Seems like something you’d do.” 

His first instinct is to disagree.

“It’s not like I did it out of the goodness of my heart, okay? It was looking a little sad sleeping during the cold seasons. It was very pitiful. So bad, so sad.” 

“Why’d you do it?” You ask, probing but not too deeply “Like… really. It was really nice of you, but it was a couple thousand and that can’t be cheap.”

He relents, head leaning back on the wall behind him. 

“The kids, remember?” He murmurs, eyes staring up at the gray clouds “You said they’d be sad if the dog didn’t get adopted soon.” 

“The way you’re talking about it makes it seem like you’re doing this for me.” 

“And if I was? Would that bother you, hm?” 

You wait a minute, hesitating with your words. 

“Well…no. I guess not, I just—thank you. I guess I’m just a little… embarrassed about it or whatever.” 

“Shy, huh? Cute.”

“Jeez,” You huff. Gojo can practically hear your grinning from the other side; it makes his heart flutter. He wants to go home, to wherever you are “And you always say you’re no flirt.” 

“I’m not a flirt. I’m just telling it how it is.” 

“Yeah? Well, thanks anyway then. It made them really happy. You should’ve been there to see it. Maybe you can tell them when you get back?” 

“Don’t wanna.” He states outright. 

“You didn’t even think about it!” You exclaim.

“Mm, because I don’t have to. I definitely don’t want them to know.” 

“Why not, though? You’d be their hero, y’know? 

Maybe it’s something in the air. The damp weather out closer to the ocean, or the distance between you. There’s a tiny echo in your words, mechanical through the speakers. The word hero leaves a melancholy in his mouth, floating in the back of his throat like liquor refusing to go down. He chuckles. 

“Ooo, are you into that kinda thing? Like, super charming knights in shining armor? Or superheroes, maybe?” 

You giggle on the other side of the line. If you notice him avoiding answering you, you have the courtesy not to say anything.

“Isn’t everyone? I don’t know. I think if a really good-looking guy saved my life, it’d probably make my heart race a little, yeah. I’d catch feelings over that for sure.” 

He takes a deep breath. Everything smells like rain. 

“Is that so?” He says, chest blooming with warmth “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

__

Gojo returns from his mission empty-handed. 

He was out there for a long time, at least longer than usual when he’s traveling for a mission. He’s not used to hitting so many dead ends. The problem kept growing, but every trail he’d uncovered went cold in about a day. Just before he gave up hope, he was called in by Yagi. Since the issue has spread into other parts of the city, it’s no longer his solo jurisdiction. 

More hands on meant more time for Gojo to be teaching. It also meant that he would finally see you after so long. You waited for him outside the day he returned to Tokyo - wearing a cream colored sweater and the prettiest smile Gojo had ever laid eyes on. 

Gojo returns from his mission empty-handed but it’s not entirely pointless. Upon returning - he had a somewhat shallow epiphany about the way you make him feel. About the way he’s affected by you, which is arguably more valuable than some lead.

Being away from you for so long is something that makes him so irritable. He’s had some time between then and now to come into terms with it. 

Falling back into his routine, it was obvious. Suddenly there was a gap he’d never noticed before that blew wide enough for him to fall through. He actively avoids not seeing you if he can, and ever since your permissive conversation a few weeks ago - it’s harder to notice the way his desires fester. 

There’s not much he wants out of his life. So when anything noteworthy pops up, Gojo is always eager to get a hold of it before it’s too late. 

He usually soothes that by reminding himself of your position as a civilian, a kindergarten teacher at that. The responsible thing to do is make sure you’re safe. To play the hero from the sidelines and ensure you don’t encounter anything from his line of work. That’s his whole life's work. To create a life like that, and it helps to stay on that path when he believes you’re sheltered from that reality. 

That’s why, when you tell Gojo you can see curses, he feels the entire floor collapse from underneath his feet. 

He receives such devastating news over a cup of coffee at that.

It’s closing in to Fall slowly and Gojo has decided to take you out to eat as an apology for his disappearance. He intended to give you another half-truth about his job so you wouldn’t lose any sleep over him. 

When it happens, it’s less that you tell him, and more that you keep glancing. Just over his shoulder, with this terrified expression that Gojo couldn’t not notice, even if he tried. 

You’ve got your hands around a warm drink, in a white, ceramic mug but your gaze keeps diverting to the place behind him. When he looks over to that same place, a curse is there. Small. More insignificant than a bug, but there. 

It’s risky to mention it. Because if Gojo is wrong, it’s not something he can brush off. He’d have to come up with something to excuse himself, and he isn’t sure how to lie out of that (even with his natural disposition of being a trickster.) But when you keep looking, his instinct kicks in. There’s no way you aren’t seeing it. 

He doesn’t ask you directly. That’d be too incriminating, so he lowers his tone. Watches you briefly as you tremble in fear. 

(A small, small  part of him is only asking because he doesn’t like how distracted you are from him. Killing the curse seems like it’d relieve that annoyance too.)

“Can you see it…?” 

The question makes you jump out of your skin. You reel back, eyes widened before the realization really sets in. 

“....It?” 

Gojo looks around the cafe for a minute, to make sure no one is listening before he turns around and points to the cursed spirit behind him. 

“It,” He says, thumb pointed at the deformed curse moaning in one of the booths. 

When it dawns on you that Gojo sees what you see, you cup a hand over your mouth in shock. He can’t describe the way getting that confirmation feels. It raises so many questions about who you are. More than he had before, at least. 

No longer are you the innocent, clueless civilian and that changes every interaction he’s had with you since the start. Though it’s not uncommon for people who can see curses to fall through the cracks, he can feel his own curiosity dig into his skin like seeds taking root. He doesn’t think he should be excited, but he is. 

He’s excited watching your fearful tremble. He’s never seen you like that.

“Yes,” You say, voice a little shaky this time “I can see… it.” 

He takes the spoon out of his latte and cleans it with his mouth. Studying your expression momentarily, he takes a deep breath before standing to his feet. The terror is so subtle, the kind he can only catch because he’s so familiar.. He knows those emotions better than he knows most. 

Curses aren’t phobias. Not illusions or ghosts, but tangible madness. Impactful to those who can see it, but nothing to those who can’t. Fear like that, which can’t be shared with anyone, has a specific look when it shows up in someone. Gojo hasn’t felt that fear since he was very, very little. He watches curses with the same bland expression he might watch a horror movie, but he can understand your reaction at least.  He knows it like the back of his hand. All the people he’s saved, who could see them too, always wore the same one. 

Still, he’s caught off guard. He feels bad that you’re scared. But the proximity between you and him which was once oceans wide has decreased significantly in no time at all. That feels good. Even better than he would’ve imagined. 

“Are you scared?” He questions intently, maintaining a sense of neutrality.

You swallow a lump in your throat, eyes glued to the table in front of you.

“Yes,” 

Your voice is a hoarse whisper. The corners of his lips twitch upward. 

When he’s sure no one is looking, he stands up and walks over to the table behind him. Pretending to look for something so he doesn’t look out of place. It doesn’t take more than a second to destroy it. It’s tiny, something he’d never think of fighting since it’s so harmless. The curse equivalent to a fly. 

He gives it a violent death and sees you look on with horror in your expression. He finds himself pleased with that, wiping his hands on his pants before returning. Maybe you recognize his strength when he sits back down. Still, instead of pulling away again, you fold your hands in your lap. 

“T-Thank you,”

He grins at you. 

“Of course,” He says  “Can I ask you something?” 

You nod your head and sip your tea. 

“Do you know who I am?” 

You look confused.

“...Are you a celebrity?” 

He laughs hard at that. Hearing that makes him not want to tell you. 

“I’m Gojo Satoru,” He reintroduces. You nod slowly “I’m a sorcerer.” 

Another lie of omission. The strongest, he should say. He takes a sip of his latte, frowning at the bitterness. Through his mask, he watches as you fiddle with your hands. He stacks the empty creamer cups together before opening two more sugar packets and stirring them. 

“A sorcerer…” You look perplexed. Confusion settles into the lines of your face. Sheltered, Gojo concludes. Only parents, who shelter you wouldn’t tell you what a sorcerer was despite your ability to see them “What does that… mean exactly?” 

“It means I kill curses for a living” He replies simply. 

“I thought you were a high school teacher.” 

He smiles. 

“Smart cookie. I am, but the school I teach at specializes in cursed technique and sorcery.”

“Oh.” 

You look befuddled. 

Gojo thinks he might be an opportunist. 

“Do you really not know anything about them? It’s rare for people to be able to see them and not know anything about them.”

You shake your head, eyes peering into your drink. He watches how the image reflects in your eyes.

“Uhm. Not really. My parents told me to do my best to stay away from it. We lived in the countryside but I had to move out into the city for work so I kept… running into them. I can’t like… kill them. And I don't always see them.” 

“You can’t use cursed techniques?” 

“I guess that’s what that is. I don’t think I can, no.” 

Vulnerable. 

“Hmm. What circumstances,” He says, purposeful in weaving concern in his words. 

“Is it that bad…?” 

Not really. His job and the job of his peers is to make sure civilians make as little contact with curses as possible. There are more people like you, and because curses feed off of negative emotions - many dangers can be shafted by just not reacting. Even so, it’s customary for people to have some semblance of protection. A weapon if nothing else, for anyone who can see them.

“Do you carry anything with you?” 

“Like a weapon? I have mace for when I take the train late at night.” 

“Not that kind of weapon,” He says gracefully. He can tell you’re out of your element, and some small and twisted part of him would like to keep you in the fateful dark.

“What other kind would there be?” 

“There’s a lot you don’t know,” He half answers. Your frown deepens. He puts his palm over the top of his coffee cup but doesn’t feel any warmth “Aw, don’t be like that. I’m just teasing. You’re always so calm and collected, I was surprised to see how scared you got, you know?” 

“Everybody gets scared sometimes.” 

“Mm,”

His non-committal response leaves you nervous again. Fidgeting with the edge of your cup or the loose threads in the sleeves of your clothes. What a bundle of nerves you are. Gojo puts all the comfort he can in his voice, dredging up some sense of sincerity.

“Well, since it scares you and I’m such a nice guy, I’ll protect you if you get into any trouble.” He says, snapping his fingers and pointing at you.

That makes you relax. Makes your shoulders droop, a smile gracing your pretty face. Gojo can feel the floor underneath him sinking as you tease him. His eyes trace the curve of your neck. He’s glad you can’t see him or where they look. 

“Oh, what? Are you gonna come running every time I need help?” 

He smiles. 

“I’ll be your personal Superman.” He promises, making a silly expression trying to make you laugh. It feels good when he succeeds, the weight of his words softened by it. If you feel how heavy the comment is, it doesn’t show up on your face. 

You snort, taking a sip of your drink and there’s something so kind in your expression that Gojo aches over. 

“That right?” You hum, smiling over the edge of your ceramic mug “You’re my hero.”

__ 

Since then, Gojo’s kept quite busy.

The last time he saw you at all was at the diner a few weeks prior and little has been different since then. You send more nervous messages than before, but aside from that things are the same.

He’s done a good job, he thinks. Partly of ensuring you, partly of instilling healthy fear. Your eyes always widen like you’re caught off guard by his comments - sometimes washed away with a laugh but other times genuine. Gojo likes to keep you on your toes. A  bit of harmless fun and endlessly amusing. 

Gojo would be there to protect you just like he promised before, so even scaring you isn’t something he thinks of as bad. It’s not untrue that you should be a little more vigilant, but just telling you to do so is no easy feat. 

He would like to be spending time with you today just the same as he has before, but he’s home alone instead. There’s been a brief reprieve between cases so he’s on his own to unwind. There’s nothing he wants to do, so he decides on a movie. 

Gojo is the only one of his friends who still has cable TV. According to Shoko it’s a luxury purchase but for him it’s one less choice he has to make when coming home to relax.

It’s an American film on now, some psycho-killer classic that he’s already seen a handful of times with Japanese subtitles. 

None of the lights are turned on, so the TV illuminates the room in flashes of color. He grabs a soda from his steel-gray fridge and cracks it open, listening to the soft fizz that comes to a slow halt. Pulling it to his mouth, he travels slowly back to his couch. The leather squeaks under the weight of his body. The weight of his back creates a divet that he can be comfortable in. He rests his head, glancing back again at the screen. 

A scream rips through the house, agitating his every nerve. He picks up his remote and turns it down just a tad before watching the movie with a sort of disinterest. Horror movies aren’t his favorite, admittedly. He pretends he scares easily, but the opposite is true. Gojo has seen too much for it to be entertaining, no less scary. 

He likes movies based on their creative merit. He’ll watch one on its creative merit. 

But to be scared? For frights? Not really. Very little gets his heart pumping hard like that. Sometimes the storytelling is good. Other times there’s something cathartic about the formulaic death. The final girl, the call from inside the house. The dependable and clean ending of tropes. Even if it’s messy or sinister, it’s fantastical. Fictitious and detached. 

Gojo enjoys that. For anyone else, it’s probably a twisted way to think about it but to Gojo it only feels natural. He doesn’t examine that detachment very deeply. He’s just aware of it, lingering in the back of his head. 

He takes a long sip of his drink. The sickly sweet taste slowly coats his mouth. Fizzy and smooth, it goes down easily. He sits up in his seat, making himself comfortable as he tries to pay attention to the movie. The main girl is hiding in the bathroom, and the killers' steps are echoing through the house. The broken, somber string instruments in the background, fill the white noise with apprehension and terror. 

Gojo doesn’t feel a chill down his spine. His eyes are still fixed on the screen though, with slight anticipation of what's next even though he already knows. It’s nearing the end and he’s seen this movie before. She’s not going to make it, and Gojo knows that. 

He watches intently in spite of that. The door bursts open and there’s a knife in her chest - and screams. It’s horrific and ugly, blood-spattered and graphic. 

He doesn’t flinch until the whole way through.

It’s brief, but the thought passes his mind. Lately, the only thing that Gojo seems to react to is you.

But he doesn’t think about it too deeply. There’s no need to. 

The TV goes to commercial and Gojo realizes he’s finished his soda. He stands back up, onto his feet to toss the can and grab another. This time, he grabs some snacks too. Piles them onto a plate, dried meats, and something mildly sweet for after before he returns to his living room. Sitting back down on his couch, he scrolls through his phone for anything interesting but comes up short of any results. 

He sits up a little straighter as the next movie plays. 

__

Spending time around curses is a necessary part of the learning experience.

Things you can’t learn in all the lessons and tutoring in the entire world. Even though Jujutsu Tech exists, and even given Gojo’s lineage - when he started working officially, he didn’t know everything. You can’t. No matter to what extent you study, there’s some things that you can only gauge through experience. Going through something over and over, like muscle memory.

Gojo spent a lot of his life wanting it to make sense. Wanting curses and the way they showed up to make sense. This is a lesson in truth, divine truth you can only take up in experience. Curses are human emotions, which means that they are finicky and everywhere. And the dangers of them will always look like the aftermath of destruction. 

Sometimes, there’s nothing you can do to prepare for why things happen. It’s why Gojo is always grasping for light where he can find it. 

Gojo Satoru stands in an empty parking lot all the way in Osaka. He examines the sight in front of him and can’t find anything he’s learned to prepare for what's next. 

Fog has rolled in thick clouds over every inch, limiting his vision. The air tastes of smoke, and the earth underneath him is damp. The wet concrete squeaks under the weight of his shoes as he takes in the surroundings. The parking lot of an animal hospital, in particular - where all the staff were reported to have fallen unconscious. After being rolled out by the proper authorities and after all the animals were moved into a different location - Gojo was left to examine the remnants of the incident. 

The reports are similar all across the country. Not the location. but the symptoms. People falling sick and ill. The initial reports of a water-borne illness didn’t progress far past the first city. It’s evolved since then. People get sick, pass out and hallucinate and animals lose all control. 

The aftermath isn’t very messy so luckily it doesn’t attract too much attention. There’s no bodies, or blood - nothing  heinous thereafter. The effects appear later in the people affected, taken over by an unnamed madness that appears to turn their internal experience to ruins. Gojo would’ve preferred the first situation. Violence like that becomes easy to digest with enough exposure. 

These kinds of symptoms are always hard to stomach. Civilians get answers that placate them. The truth is that there's something bigger out there at play and they were just so unlucky to bear witness to the terror. With altered memories and the badge of trauma, what they don’t know can’t hurt them. 

Gojo knows though, and sometimes he envies their ignorance.

He makes his way into the building. A set of glass doors greets him when he turns the sidewalk, with a blinking sign. Osaka Animal Hospital is written at the top in neon, accompanied by the words 24hr service. Gojo only glances at it briefly before sighing, hands on the bar to push himself through the heavy glass doors. He has to lean some of his weight to get through, and there’s just another set beyond those where he has to do the same. 

Then, he’s inside. 

The presence of the curse and of cursed energy ignites familiar caution within him. It’s here, in some capacity - or it was recently. The perpetrator is here too. Why that is, Gojo can’t quite understand. It seems a little backwards to linger here after everyones been evacuated and there’s no doubt someone would come to investigate. 

All Gojo can think is that maybe they weren’t expecting him. But by now, they must know he’s there too. Gojo’s presence is intentionally oppressive - by nature it must be. Now it’s a waiting game, a quiet one at that. 

Hospitals are always echoey and this one is no different. The squeak of his boots bounces off the walls as he takes steps towards the receptionist desk just to see if he’ll find anything. 

He leans over it, to stare at the left over records - untouched by the authorities. Everything looks like it was left in a hurry. Strew pens and a corded phone just barely back in place - with computers on a blue idle screen. All the daily documents are still out sitting on the desk with no organization to indicate they’ve been filtered through. No paper clips or post-its telling the next person working about what to do. 

Instead of walking behind the counter, he climbs over it with relative ease. Once he’s behind it, he takes better note of his surroundings. He doesn’t find anything completely relevant. There’s painting of animals, and some certifications for bills of health as well - but nothing that warrants his attention. He redirects through the papers in front of him, coming across a stack unexamined. Those answer sheets they give you to fill out so they can assess the situation before meeting you. 

They’re split into two piles it looks like, though that could just be some coincidence. Still, he flips through them. Directing his attention to the little comment box with the prompt what are you being seen for? 

It’s nothing serious. Normal things an animal owner would be upset or worried about like bowel movements and eating something that shouldn’t have been consumed. A minor injury or a worrisome behavior - but nothing that sticks out. For pages and pages, Gojo flips through the little packets trying to find anything. 

It’s not what he sees, but what he doesn’t. A blank packet of papers, with no name for the owner or the pet. Only a description in the prompt box, neat handwriting in a single line. 

“Showing signs of anxiety.” 

Gojo smiles to himself. Interesting. 

He jumps back over onto the other side once he’s seen it. It’s strange. Why would they go to the lengths of premeditating it like that? Whether it’s the curse itself or some third party, it’s an unreasonable thing to do. 

“Not like people like this are usually reasonable, but,” 

He saves the rest of the thought, sighing. The room has two hallways to go down. Both directions have some lingering cursed energy,  but the hallway leading to the overnight area is much stronger. It’s separated by a big metal door, so Gojo braces himself to go through it.

He walks towards it slowly and through the doors even slower. It’s a long, empty hall. The ceilings are low, white fluorescent lights over his head like a falsified halo. They flicker on and off, with the ones at the very end of the hall having fizzled out completely. Gojo can hear, feel, and see everything. He can hear his own breathing and the artificial crackling  of electricity. Feel the lingering presence of sickness, the sediments of a curse preparing itself to emerge like a butterfly from a cocoon. 

He peeks into the different rooms of the hallway. One half of the hall is kennels, once again empty and left in the same messy state as the front desk. The other half of the rooms look like surgery rooms, with a storage closet tucked into one corner. The hall comes to an abrupt stop at the end, a painted gray wall with nothing to offer at the end.

But when Gojo is half-way through, he hears it. A heart-beat. A human one, slow and steady like it’s not worried at all. Not moving or running, just there. Thump, thump, thump. 

Gojo perks his head up as he walks, leaning over to get a look at every room. Empty, empty, empty. 

Then, in the very last one is a shadowy figure. The sound of the heartbeat is louder and the feeling of cursed energy is so strong it’s nauseating. Gojo pauses when he peers in, waits for there to be any response to his presence. There’s no way whoevers lurking doesn’t know he’s there, but there’s nothing that makes him react. He frowns. 

His hand reaches for the handle of the door with a sigh, the mechanism inside clicking to let Gojo know it’s open. He takes a deep breath before opening it, stepping inside and shutting it behind him. 

Even with the room as dark as it, the person inside is clear to his vision. A young girl. Probably no older than 17 with… 

He furrows his brow. With a dog, from what it looks like. No ordinary dog, obviously. A curse in the form of a dog, with teeth too sharp for its mouth and fur that looks like a smear of charcoal and nothing like hair at all. It’s on a long leash, the chain wrapped around the young woman's palms. 

The dog seems to tense up at the sight of Gojo. The eyes are empty and white - almost transparent. It’s a snarling thing, muzzle over the mouth and clearly on edge. Gojo looks at its owner, the perpetrator in this instance. Who looks calm, black mask tucked over face and long dark hair with bangs cut sharp.

Gojo doesn’t know what to say here. He wasn’t expecting to make contact this easily with a curse and its master. It’s been months now, the authorities chasing after this special grade from city to city. She’s obviously strong, and so is that curse that’s strained against its collar like it’s ready to rip him in half if he moves. Not stronger than him, because no such thing ever happens - but strong enough for him to be cautious. 

He doesn’t step forward. He stops by the door and tilts his head. He’s sure she can’t see his eyes, but they make eye contact all the same. None of it makes any sense, but making sense of it isn’t Gojo’s job. 

Instead of introducing himself, he opens the conversation with a question. 

“Why’re you still here?” 

“I knew I was going to get caught soon.” 

An answer he couldn’t predict even if he tried. Gojo huffs. 

“There was some time between the authorities coming and this investigation. You could have left before then, no?” 

“Doesn’t matter. Something would’ve stopped me.” 

“What a weird kid. What led you to that?” 

There’s a minute where the dog (?) starts barking,  but the noise is nothing like a bark. It’s cosmic and strained, and sounds more like a distorted radio than an animal noise. It’s in the shape of an animal but it isn’t one, like it couldn’t complete itself to be one. Gojo winces at the sound, intensified in the closed walls of the room. It’s piercing, and a little annoying. 

When she soothes it, it calms down quickly. It’s obedient. 

“Uh. A vision. Closer to a premonition. Fate.”

“Fate said you were going to get caught today. Right.” 

“Aren’t you a shaman? Shouldn’t be that hard to believe.” 

“Point taken. How did you know I was a shaman and not some murderer?” 

She gives Gojo a pointed look. 

“Look at you. Plus, I can feel that you’re a shaman.” 

“Another premonition?” He asks, this time sincerely. She shakes her head. 

“No. Your aura.” 

Gojo stares ahead. 

“...Right, yeah. It doesn’t look like you’re planning on attacking me.” 

“I don’t think I’d win. I’ve never met anyone stronger than me.” 

“I’m the strongest there is, so I guess not. How did you wanna go about this, then? Famous last words?” 

“You go first. I’d rather talk to you than the other officials.” 

“Hm. Don’t know if I have any questions, kiddo. My job is catching you, not interrogation. I guess I am a little interested in why.” 

This makes her deflate a little. It’s hardly noticeable, but Gojo sees it anyway. The dog seems to react, snarling at her discomfort. He’s starting to understand the connection between them.

She thinks for a minute longer before sighing. 

“Well. I guess I should start about why, right? It’s an old story. I came from a small village. I used to walk miles to school everyday and I’d get bullied a lot since my granny was a shaman. It was just us growing up. A nice old house with not a lot of modern anything,”

Gojo crosses his arms, leaning back on the wall and nodding his head. He figures she’ll tell him top to bottom, so he doesn’t give any input. 

“My granny died a few years ago. I didn’t have any family so I moved on my own. Even back then, the only other thing I cared about were animals. I started working at a shelter and then I met Senbei.” 

The more she talks, the worse he feels. Gojo already knows how this story will end, but he doesn’t interrupt her as she pauses between her sentences. Being 17 and bearing the burdens of loss is something he regards as a nightmare. 

“Senbei was my best friend. Most loyal dog ever. And you know, I started my job with high hopes and kept him by my side. I wasn’t always angry. Working in that shelter and watching animals come in trembling every time I fed ‘em made me angry. How cruel and sick people could be.” 

Her explanations are jumbled and clumsy. She sounds angry but it’s not that simple, curling in on herself the more she talks. Noticeably, she doesn’t try to justify it. She says it easily, with acceptance that it happened.  He thinks that acceptance is harder to bear than delusion. Gojo can’t help but commend her silently. 

“I’m sorry you went through that.”  Gojo replies. 

He’s being sincere. 

“Should you be sympathizing with me?” 

“Doesn’t matter. I just do.”

Her expression softens. She looks sad, and it’s not like Gojo doesn’t understand.  She keeps going though, hands shaking in her lap. Gojo thinks she might’ve been waiting to tell someone. 

“I don’t know when I stopped seeing the good in people….I always thought about—about my granny and how no one—no one came to see her. She was always taking care of everyone and no-one—“

“I know, kid,” Gojo says with a sigh “I get it.” 

“Then you know,” She pauses, taking a deep breath. There’s frustrated tears pouring down her cheek this time. What a strange, sad thing she is:  “That you can’t go back. Even if you forget. It just—it changes you.” 

Yeah. Gojo knows something about that, too. 

“I was already pretty desperate when Senbei was alive. Just trying to hold on. When he was killed, I lost it. I just fucking— I lost it. I’m sure you understand. You get it right?”

Gojo looks at her confused. She shakes her head, looking down in her lap at the curse in her hands.

“I can tell you're like me.  That's why your aura is so tainted and… fucked up and  malicious. It should be crystalline blue kinda like spring water—but it’s muddy. Rigid.” 

“What are you talking about?”

“The fact you’re hanging on by a thread. You can feel it too, right?“ 

Gojo remains quiet at her observation. He doesn’t know how to react. 

“When you want something so bad, it just— does something to you. Either because it won’t happen or because it needs to take your life to exist. Happened to granny, to me. It’ll happen to you, too.”

“I doubt that,” Gojo says, your face flashing in his mind. He shakes his thoughts away. 

“You’re thinking about it too literally. You want something, so you chase it and lose yourself in the process. You’re dead. No longer you, all tangled and in ruins. It’s not too late, but if you keep going—that thread is gonna snap.” 

“A premonition?” He says, partially sarcastic. She shakes her head. 

“No, a prediction. You don’t have to consider it if you don’t want to. I just thought I’d tell you since you gave me some last minutes with this Senbei.” 

Gojo shakes his head. 

“I don’t have any reason to be forceful if you comply. Take your time. I don’t have anything better to do.” 

Gojo glances at her as she pets it, having resigned herself to silently gazing upon it. He can’t stop himself from thinking about everything she’s said, so he averts his gaze to the ceiling and pretends otherwise.

The silent stretches, a pregnant pause before she speaks one more time. She has a look on her face Gojo can’t read.

“You know, it’s funny. Everyone thinks dogs are loyal to their masters, but that’s because we made them that way. We can’t stand being alone or unloved so we made something that can do both without ever seeing any less of us.” 

“You’ve had a lot of time to think about it.”  Gojo says, unsure of how to reply. She isn’t expecting anything, but remaining silent fills him with a sense of dread. 

“Guess so. You should take some time to think about it too,”

She says to him, petting the curse that whines like it’s been hit in her small hands. Gojo takes a deep breath. 

“…Yeah. I’ll do that.” 

__

The case ends anti-climatically. 

Gojo finds it funny. The officials came and the young girl was promptly arrested. He never even got a chance to ask her name. He learned through some probing that she only made two asks before being taken. 

The first, to keep her curse dog with her, and to send her thanks to the sorcerer who had apprehended her in the first place.

On the news, much later in the week - a news report surfaces. “Danger in the Deep,” giving reasonable and logical explanations for the events that occurred in cities across Japan not even a few weeks ago. New studies show, experts say, here’s a word from your local—a barrage of fancy language to pad the publishing, add depth and realism. The public is none the wiser. 

Gojo has to admire the commitment to keeping the peace. The case ends, and the girl gets arrested and put on trial. He doesn’t know if he’ll be seeing her again any time soon, though he’s sure he has the power to intervene. 

He’s hesitating to do so. Why stick his neck out for her in a situation like this one? Over other situations, more dire ones at that. She’d make a good ally.

Their last conversation hasn’t left the back of Gojo’s mind. He’s conscious of it, albeit it hasn’t slowed him down. He’s not looking for another assessment of who or what ghosts are haunting him. He’d prefer to put it all behind him now

So life, in some capacity, has returned to its baseline. It’s normal. He has cases but they don’t take him more than three days. He’s able to do his usual chores without anything impeding them. He’s been teaching, no longer forced to make his students fend for themselves. 

He’s been seeing you again regularly, too. 

He’s getting ready now to do just that. Scheduled to get another coffee together (something of a tradition now) and pick up some conversations. You’ve been busy, though Gojo doesn’t know the details of what.

He wants to know. He’s even tried asking but as soon as he gets close to the subject, you slink into yourself like you’re trying to disappear. Besides, he doesn’t want to intimidate you into telling him. 

(Though, it would be so easy to do. You’ve got a record for being a scaredy cat, and as much as it endears him - he is entirely too hung up on the potential for exploitation to admire it kindly. It’d be easy to turn the notches up, pressure you. With how easy going you are, you’d let him do it. Gojo bets you’d cave. He thinks the face you’d make would be entertaining too. 

Above all, the offer is tempting.) 

In spite of your refusal to discuss the specifics, Gojo does want to cheer you up in whatever capacity he can. So, he’s taking you out for a while and hoping a comfortable environment and the presence of other people will soothe your nerves a little. 

He’s getting dressed for it now, rifling through his closet for decent casual attire. 

He’s got his hair styled down, a pair of new sunglasses on the table and his clothes folded on his bed before he tries them on. Most of his closet is uniforms, plain black and boring. For now, he’s settled on a black crew neck and blue jeans - ripped at the knees. 

He looks over his appearance in the mirror, posing in it. Arms flexed and stretched over his head before putting them out in front of his body. 

He takes his time to take part in the ritual. He slips his boxers up over his legs, waist band tight around his torso and clinging to the curves of his thighs. He pulls his jeans up, low at his hips with a belt buckled through the front. Then comes his sweater over his abdomen. 

He wants to look nice. Though, he could be deluding himself - lately you seem a little more aware of his appearance. It makes him happy that his good looks haven’t failed him in the instance they matter most. 

As he puts on his accessories (in this case a watch and a ring) his phone buzzes atop his dresser. He stops to pick it up, a message from you on the screen. He peers over so his face can be read, then smiles. 

(sent 11:15am) Ready ~ 

He laughs to himself. 

(sent 11:16am) Almost ready. Need to look my best for such a tremendous occasion. 

(sent 11:16am) For coffee? 

(sent 11;17) For coffee with my favorite kindergarten teacher ofc ♡

You send back a simple reply telling him to hurry and come out. Gojo chooses to interpret your embarrassment as a sign. It puts some pep in his step, and he hurries to finish dressing up. 

He steps out of his house, locking his door from the outside before shuffling down a single flight of stairs and out into the front entrance of his complex. He notices you waiting at the front gate from where he’s standing. 

The neighborhood dog (officially named Pokupan) is asleep by the security office. You’re the same as always. Today's outfit is a dress with long sleeves and colored tights. It suits you. A splash of warmth in an otherwise dreary world, Gojo stands in place as he watches you for an unidentified amount of time. Minutes feel like seconds as you pace back and forth. Your phone must be in your purse because he can’t find it anywhere on you. 

He’s delighted when you finally turn your head to look at him. You cup your hand and give him a kind wave which he laughs at and returns enthusiastically. His stride is long, walking towards the gate. 

You have to tilt your neck up to look at him (making his chest squeeze unhelpfully) but you smile when you do so. 

“Hey,” 

“Hello there Miss. Waiting for a special someone?” He jokes. You flush. 

“They’re an important friend,” 

He tries not to let his smile falter. Friend. 

“Then, is it a bother if I ask to take you out?” 

This time you falter. Gojo notices it out of the corner of his eye, the briefest brush of nerves that makes it seem like you’re warming up to him after all. It’s gone as quickly as it came but it’s there and Gojo etches it into the back of his eyelids for memory. He smiles at you as you look away, flush

“Not at all,” 

He grins, again, even brighter. Then he sticks his arm out for you to loop in. You hesitate again. This time Gojo can’t be sure why.

“I’m just being a gentleman, you know?” He pouts. His frown takes effect as you loop your arms together. He keeps it friendly. Too much pushing and you’ll skitter away right before his eyes. Still, even this much progress feels good. It feels whole and light and good. 

It’s a pleasant sort of day. 

Not that it’s warm, or even sunny. It’s cold, on the edge of Autumn that dances into Winter. Freezing but bright out, the kind of sky where everything is clear. During the day the sky has no clouds and no stars when it comes to night time. 

Nonetheless it’s nice. The cold is the kind that makes you want to cozy into someone for warmth, so Gojo doesn’t mind walking in. The walk itself isn’t very long either. The cafe is near your complex, just about 15 minutes worth of walking. There’s no snow or ice to trip on, and because it’s freezing - you shiver every time you stray too far from the heat of his body so the walking is done exceptionally close together

There are kids and parents walking together on the street alongside you, dogs and their owners, street vendors with hot tea. It’s that kind of day where the cold doesn’t keep anyone indoors, in fact everyone seems to relish in the fact they can run and run and run without overheating. It feels like everything is in sync with each other, comfortable and harmonious in spite of everything else.

After 15 minutes, you’ve arrived at the store front. Not long enough for Gojo, but that’s okay. There’s next time he has to look forward too. 

(He tells himself this every time. It’s never enough for him. He can never get enough of listening to you talk. He could probably mimic your cadence without having to try. It’s a sound he doesn’t get sick of―a miracle, another one, because Gojo hates so many sounds―yet there’s one he always looks out for. 

There has to be a next time. If he forgets to tell himself as much, he gets so restless he can hardly stand.

The cafe is nice. It’s one of those places that you see on Instagram often with plenty of sweets for Gojo’s taste and plenty of fancy teas for yours. The outside has beige-colored brick and a brown sign decorated with cutesy drawings. You spend a good amount of time crouched beside it, taking a picture or two to later post on your story. 

“You have to tag me, okay? It’s your payment for wasting our precious time together,” He jokes. 

You stand to your feet and brush off your pants, the material of your coat rustling as you do. 

“Yes, yes ― I promise. I’ll have to ask who drew them when we get in there.” 

Gojo smiles at your enthusiasm before opening the door for you.  Another one of those glass ones with a logo printed on the top half and the metal tinted brown. A little bell chimes above your head as you head in first, and Gojo heads in after you. He has to duck not to his his head on the top of it.

It’s not too crowded at this hour. A handful of people sit among the many tables and booths. Your head is turned to the menu and Gojo trails behind you like a shadow. One to compliment all your light. 

It smells delightful inside. Like warm cookies and vanilla and tea. Gojo feels his sweet tooth kick in the minute you two stand in line. The barista is a doe-eyed blonde college student. There’s another employee with long dark hair and thin, narrow eyes. It reminds Gojo a lot of that girl he met a few weeks ago but he tries to put that thought out of his mind.

He sticks his hands in his pockets and eyes the menu. The special item is a yuzu cream cake, the picture of it hanging on the wall like employee of the month. There’s a glass display of all the other items and the menu matches the rest of the decor.

“This was a good choice,” Gojo says, entranced by all the desserts around him. You laugh, turning your head slightly to look at him. 

“Are you complimenting yourself right now?” 

“Am I wrong?” 

“Your sweet tooth is so bad,” You say through giggles “Your poor dentist,” 

He gasps in offense.

“I will have you know I keep my pearly whites pristine. Not a single cavity for the record.” He says back, placing emphasis on the last words. You snort a laugh. 

“I’ve never had one either,” You repeat back, perhaps mindlessly before saying “There’s a lot we don’t know about each other yet.” 

Yet. Yet. Gojo’s subconscious will hold onto that word for too long. It makes his heart beat too loud. He’s relieved that you’re nothing like him. If you were in this very moment, you would hear the thunder raging inside of his ribs. 

Instead of saying anything, he scoffs playfully. 

“I bet you were such a goody two-shoes that you never ate sweets before bed-time.” 

Your eyes widen in surprise followed by embarrassment, where you tuck your chin into your sweater. 

“Ugh,” You say, so weakly Gojo can’t stop himself from laughing “What’s wrong with being a goody two shoes, huh?” 

Gojo feels almost feline in his self-satistication. “I didn’t say anything was wrong with it, just that you were one.” 

Your frown deepens. 

“I don’t care for your tone, mister.” 

“Are you gonna scold me like one of your students?” 

“If it gets you to be nice,” You say firmly, in that Teacher voice that Gojo has caught glimpses of over the last few months. He does a fake salute. 

“Yes, ma’am!,” He proclaims,  soft enough so only you hear it. You break out into another set of his giggles, melting his cold heart. It’s not the smile so much as it is yours.  The line moves up just a little bit. Gojo steps in front of you before you have a chance, his figure shadowing you. 

“What do you want?” 

“I think I’m gonna get one of those fruit teas and some cake.” You say absentmindedly. He smiles at you playfully. 

“Heard,” 

Gojo turns to order for you both, laughing through your obvious protests about his paying for you. He’s able to block you from getting in the way as the cashier looks on the both of you bemusedly. When the order is placed, Gojo taps his phone against the reader before moving aside where you stomp your feet and follow him. 

“I told you I would get it this time,” You whine. He hums. 

“Mm, there’s always next time?” 

“You say that every time!” 

“So you never know? Maybe it’s next time for sure.” 

You seem to realize that this is a fruitless conversation and that he’s not going to relent. With a flush on your face, you cross your arms and pout. 

“I’ll get you back one of these times, I swear….Anyway, thank you.” You add the last part quietly. He hums. 

“It’s only fair, you know. After all, who else would come here to eat sweets with me?” 

You look taken aback but Gojo doesn’t retract his statement. He’s sure there’s someone he could ask. But there’s no one who would agree to it as easily as you have. The environment wouldn’t be so welcoming, either. Someone who would do something like this with Gojo is long lost. It almost feels foreign to him now. 

In order to ease the tension, you look up at him warmly. 

“Then, I’m glad you asked me.” 

There it is again. That warm, sort of fluttery feeling he gets in his chest being around you. He wonders if he’s allowed to be so happy. 

The food arrives at the counter, the young woman calling out for Gojo. You and Gojo split the task of carrying the plates, picking a nice booth in the corner with the top covered, You slide in across from him, situating your bag. 

You and Gojo go back and forth, setting up everything so it looks nice under the lights. Gojo takes on taking the photos this time, clicking from a few different angles and stopping to show you after each photo. 

“I’ll send you the picture later, okay?” 

“Don’t forget.” 

“I won’t, I won’t. Let’s eat, okay?” 

You nod enthusiastically.

__ 

You and Gojo eat and chat comfortably for a while. 

He’s not sure how much time passes. He wasn’t checking because why would he? He’d like to be with you a bit longer, so he refrains from thinking about it and hopes you do the same. Just a bit more, he tells himself. Until you really, really have to go. 

There’s nothing major to catch up on. You tell Gojo about your job, mostly and how you saw some friends from out of town the week before. Winter is coming and you want to do something nice for the holidays. You’re getting along well with your fellow teachers which is good. He was worried about that, but he can’t keep eyes on you at school. 

(Not for not having tried. He’s thought about it, but his presence would be too noticeable and he doesn’t trust anyone else to the task) 

So it’s relieving. Your only complaint has been that some of the students have the sort of parents you can’t handle. Pushy and involved in a way you can’t ignore but can’t tolerate either. Gojo jokes to take care of them, gesturing to his arm like he’s ready to knock someone's lights out. 

That makes you laugh, and following it you have this melancholy look that sends alarms blaring in Gojo’s head. You don’t broach the subject at all afterwards. You talk about everything else you can. The sale on radishes at the market, thinking about getting a car just to have it, maybe visiting your parents sometime soon. 

Gojo listens. He doesn’t have much to add. His work is strictly classified to people who aren’t in the field and it’s nothing fun to begin with. He does tell you what he can - usually about some antics his students have gotten into during training. He can at least talk about that. 

He tells you about the movies he’s watched, how he went drinking with his co-workers last week, and how he thinks Pokupan is starting to act friendlier to him. 

It’s fun because it’s you. Gojo likes feeling like he’s involved with you intimately. He likes hearing you talk. The sound of your voice is such a pleasant contrast to his own. You talk with a kind of joy Gojo could never hope to carry, all gestures and smiles and interjections - trying to make sure your point comes across. How you don’t think the kid sitting in the front is a bad kid, just needs guidance. How the material of your sweater isn’t really cashmere but more of a blend. 

Time passes  comfortably that way. The drinks and food have been reduced to crumbs and cold drops of tea, glasses emptied and phones abandoned. 

But neither of you have made any move to leave, and Gojo is still listening to you talk with a pleased smile on his face. It was a pleasant sort of day, remember? 

“So it was fine in the end, but the classroom was such a mess seriously―” 

So, it throws Gojo off when you stop speaking so abruptly. How easily the atmosphere melts, and what an unpleasant film it leaves behind. 

It feels like an axe hammering on a stop, a sharp and near violent thud that cuts off the end of your sentence. The air becomes tense in the blink of an eye. Gojo can feel it, the sensation of cursed energy. It’s stagnated, little like pebbles at the bottom of a creek. But it’s there, and Gojo can feel it creep over your shoulders like a sixth sense. Like someone skipped a stone over that same water. He senses it in the air like dust in the light.

He sits up straight, focusing his attention on you. 

“Hey,” He calls out, softening his voice as much as he can. Trying hard to identify what's wrong exactly “You okay?” 

Your hands shake as you lay them flat on the table. You’re almost completely spaced out by now. It all happens in the blink of an eye. 

Gojo stares at you, calling to you a second time. 

“Hey. Hey, look at me?” 

When you finally hear him, you jump in your skin. Your shoulders relax when you realize it’s only Gojo. Normally that would make him happy, but not like this. Your hands are shaking. A nervous fidget in all of your movements that he’s never seen before, like you’ve been shocked with electric wire. He hates it. The taste of your fear (this fear) is different and unfamiliar. 

He doesn’t like it. 

You turn your head to look at him then avert your eyes again. He can’t follow your gaze as it shifts. It’s too erratic.

“No, uhm. It’s just, uhm.” 

“Woah! Hey, Miss. I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” 

Everything feels like it slows down as Gojo watches your eyes snap up. Your expression drops again, even lower, and if he listens close enough he can hear the sound of your heart. Your discomfort is tangible. It leaves a metallic taste in Gojo’s mouth as you suddenly curl in yourself, shoulders hunched and peeling skin off your nails. 

You don’t even look to Gojo for help. Instead, your words go soft.  You become helpless in front of his eyes. 

“Oh. Yes, hello.” You bow your head trying to say as little as possible. Gojo stares as you shake like a leaf in the wind. Something ugly curls up inside of him, a knife twisting in his chest. 

“Aw, c’mon? What’s with the unfriendly act? Is it ‘cause you’re here with your boyfriend?”

You look up at him panicked. Not because of the comment, but because of his tone. Gojo hears it too. How sinister it is. Like he’s blaming you for it somehow, like you’ve wronged him. The feeling inside of him is so ugly, it’s so wretched. His knuckles turn nearly white from how hard he’s closing his fist. You put your hands up and go to explain yourself anxiously. 

It makes Gojo sick. He smiles, turning his head just a little so he can see. He opens his eyes and stares, focusing his vision on remembering every detail of the bastard's face.

“I’m not her boyfriend. We’re neighbors,” He explains, tone as cold as ice but smiling. 

Gojo puts pressure in the atmosphere. His natural and suffocating aura returns to him easily. He smiles and remains unnervingly still, waits in quiet for the man to respond. He scratches the back of his head, still indignant. 

“Uh. Okay. I guess that’s good. Wouldn’t be appropriate for a teacher to be out on a date like this huh?” 

Again. This guy, whoever he is, turns his head like he’s trying to talk down to you. Diverts his perversion and sadism towards you that leaves Gojo wondering what his head would look like against concrete. A bitter, heinous feeling waits inside of him, nesting into his ribs as the sound of every voice in the room comes to be muffled. All Gojo can hear is his heart. How long it's been since he’s heard it. 

It’s loud. A cacophony, or a hymn. Divine rage in the sound of his soul leaves has him unsure of how to proceed. 

Gojo glances at you. Your eyes are rounded, full of desperation. Pleading. 

Gojo hates whoever this is. Gojo wants to save you. He thinks you deserve to be saved. 

He stands up. He has enough height on the guy to be intimidating, the guy just barely coming up to his shoulder. Gojo stares down wildly, pulling his glasses to the bridge of his nose to peek briefly over the edge. The bastard stops talking immediately, words coming to a stutter, It’s satisfying. 

“Who are you?” He asks. 

“Wh-why is that any of your concern? Can’t you see I’m talking to―” 

“I didn’t ask about who you were talking to. I asked who you were,” 

He hears you from behind him “He’s a parent from my school,”

“Ah, okay. Interesting. Since you’re a parent, we wouldn’t want to make this a confrontation right?” Gojo says, bemused “It’d be a real issue for everyone if it turned out that way,” 

Gojo puts a hand on his shoulder, tightening his grip hard enough to hear him gasp. He’s weak, but that’s to be expected.

“So, I suggest you turn around and head home, hm? Since we wouldn’t want it to be a big fuss.” 

Gojo can see it now. With a little pressure, he could turn the blade of his shoulder in sawdust and watch him fall to his knees. He’d let out a cry, a sharp pathetic wail like a hit dog. Gojo would make him say sorry to you before he lets up his hand from his skin. He’d do it infront of everyone in the store so they could hold a little fear in their hearts. 

He won’t do it. Just for now. If it complicates your work then you wouldn’t be able to support yourself. What would he do if you ended up somewhere far away? Out of his sight, something like this could happen again and Gojo wouldn’t be able to take care of you. 

So he doesn’t crush it. He pushes his palms into his shoulder blades and whispers quietly, just so the two of them hear. He pulls away and watches as his face goes pale, a simple stutter leaving his lips. Something about how he’ll see you later and that somethings come up before he turns around and leaves.

Gojo watches as he does. The door chimes again, and the man disappears. The patrons who might’ve glanced turn away again like it was just a simple altercation, which is good. Then finally, Gojo looks at you where you are. Your hands are trembling so hard, a shake of relief in your shoulders as you cover your face. You look like you’re getting ready to cry, so Gojo takes it into his own hands. He cleans up all the food, wipes the table, and even grabs your jacket and bag as you take a minute to collect yourself. 

He taps your shoulder lightly afterwards, waiting for you to look up. Once you do he smiles, reaches a hand out to you so you don’t have to think twice. 

“About time to get out of here, huh?” 

You nod, so slowly. You look so relieved, even as you sniffle. Your hand is so small compared to his. He squeezes it protectively as you slide it into his own, and helps you walk out of the store together. 

The air is cold, the same as before, the temperature having warmed just a bit. The bell above the door rings as the two of you finally leave, standing in the street. Unlike before though, there’s something bitter in the air. The sun has hidden itself completely in the clouds and the streets feel emptier, lifeless. 

Gojo turns to you with a somber expression, trying to smile. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“Do you want to go somewhere to talk about it, maybe?” 

You chew your lower lip then sigh “...Yeah. Probably should, huh?” 

You and Gojo decide on a place not too far from where you are. It’s a small park, a good place to end off an otherwise good day. 

You have to take the bus to get there, but there’s not many people. Gojo eventually gives you back your things, lets you slide your jacket on and fix your face - but ultimately takes your hand and holds it on the ride there. He brings it to his lap and you don’t pull away even though you seem to fidget the whole time. 

The bus finally stops in front of the park. It takes hardly any time, but Gojo finds he’s unable to let go of your hand so he doesn’t. Instead, he holds tight and lets you trail behind. You let him lead you quietly out back in the street. You give your thanks to the driver as the doors close. 

He can’t let go of your hand, though he knows now would’ve been a good time to do it. His grip only grows tighter. 

“Let's go find somewhere to sit,” He offers. You squeeze his hand this time and don’t look away. 

“Okay,” 

He tries to keep pace with you this time, instead of walking ahead. Your strides are shorter than his so he’s careful that you don’t fall behind. Your eyes still have that watery look to them but you’re no longer trembling from fear. Just the cold, if anything. 

And your heartbeat no longer sounds so hazardous. Gojo is still restless, still fidgety. His thumb is rubbing circles into your skin but it’s not really for you. 

You find a bench, eventually - in the middle of the long walk-way just a distance away from a playground. Gojo juts his chin out towards it, before turning over to look at you.

“Let’s go sit,” 

You nod as you walk together towards it. You sit first, and Gojo finally lets go of you. He sits besides you. There’s a minute where the whole world is deathly quiet. There should be something calm about it, but it isn’t. You’re no longer terrified, and a distance away. There’s no danger lurking in the dark and there’s no cars passing or children crying. 

Everything is calm and silent, but Gojo couldn’t feel more unease if he tried. He thinks he hides it well. But there’s that itch again, in a place behind his ribs he can’t reach into and he finds it hard to breathe. 

“So,” He starts, breaking the tension “I’m guessing it’s not a friend,” 

The stupid joke makes a smile appear on your lips. It’s small, but Gojo takes some comfort in it anyway. You wipe away your lower lash gently, a wet laugh leaving your mouth. 

“No, not a friend. He’s uhm… a parent from my school.” 

“The one who’s been bothering you for all these weeks?” Gojo supplies. You turn your head, eyes widened in surprise. Gojo lets out a breathy laugh. 

“You….knew?” 

“Not about him specifically, but I could tell something was bothering you,” He admits, and then adds “I always pay attention to my favorite person, you know?” 

The addition has you looking away, but Gojo doesn’t mind. You sigh, rubbing your face with your palms before leaning back against the bench with your head hanging off the edge. 

“He’s the parent of one of my students. Akio, he’s a good kid. A really well-behaved one but… too well-behaved. Never raises his hand, never complains or says he won’t do something.” 

“I’m guessing that sent off an alarm bell, huh?” 

You nod softly. 

“Yeah. I figure it was something at home, but I’d met his mom prior and she was a real angel. Then, his dad came to visit. The man we met at the store, and I knew right away.” 

Gojo feels his jaw clench listening to you talk. 

“But still, you know, my job as a teacher is to be as respectful as I can. I always politely declined him when he would make comments and remained professional. Eventually, his mom stopped coming altogether and—I tried, I really—but he…” You trail off, a lump in your throat. He watches as tears form in your eyes, his anger getting more and more tangible. He tries not to express it, putting a hand on your knee “He just… kept pushing. A-and once, he looked like he was gonna get violent. I made a report, you know, to the school. But you know how they are,” 

“They never even bothered investigating huh,” Gojo sneers. You laugh a tired sort of laugh. 

“Of course not. After that, I just tried to endure it. And I know he hasn’t done anything technically, but it doesn’t really feel like a matter of if but when,” You explain haphazardly.  Gojo squeezes where his hand rests. 

“I believe you. It’s okay,” He says as soothingly as he possibly can “It’s okay. I’m here,” 

There’s a sense of relief that washes over your whole body and before he knows it, you’re breaking down. He feels a lot of emotions all at the same time, watching your little frame as you lose it so easily in front of him. A part of him is so furious he wants to make it everyone's problem. Another part of him is so deeply sad knowing you’ve suffered all on your own. 

And the most notable part of him is the sense of protectiveness, burrowing inside of him. A sense of possession. It sinks into him like teeth, seeps into his blood like the venom of an animal so that he bleeds and breathes it. Gojo can’t shake that deep sense of urgency, a nameless and faceless desire that consumes him. He shudders.. He holds it in, all of it. Cups his hands so desperately so that it doesn’t spill over and touch you, the ink of ruining the soft white of your clothes. 

In a world that you have made beautiful, desire is ugly. Hideous and infectious, it tears Gojo limb from limb. It makes Gojo feel on edge. Gojo should not desire for any more than what he was. People always die when he does. 

But maybe they don’t have to. Maybe, he can protect you. He can keep you safe. He wants to keep you safe. He wants to keep you all to himself.

It’s in an effort to soothe those feelings that his arms find themselves around your form. It’s the first time you’ve hugged in such an intimate way. Where expects you to turn away - you don’t. 

Instead you cling, your arms around his jacket and your face in his chest. You cry and weep and sob and you look so small like that. You look like you’ll collapse and Gojo holds you. Says it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay as you let it all out. It must feel good to finally let it all out, after everything and he doesn’t intend to stop you. 

“I promise I’ll always protect you from now on,” And he says it, and means it. If you feel the weight of his statement, you don’t let it show “It’s okay. You can cry if you need too,” 

You cry and cry and cry. 

And Gojo thinks the call of heaven is nothing in comparison to the sound. 

__

In the end, Gojo can’t forgive him. 

It’s not without effort. He tries to do it at your request, because after all the tears he wants to help. He says he can maybe pull some strings. But that gentle heart you have declines. You don’t want it to become a big deal. You feel a little better knowing he knows. In the end, you don’t want it to affect that brats reputation. 

“You know how kids can be,” You say, voice full of concern for everyone but yourself “I don’t want to make school life anymore difficult than his life at home must be,” 

So, Gojo tries to listen to you. But days pass, and days turn into weeks. In the end, a month goes by and Gojo is full of terrible and divine anger. 

In the end, Gojo won’t forgive him. Gojo can’t let it go. He feels so righteous in it, he starts avoiding his own eyes in the mirror. There’s something inside of them he has no desire to look at. Eyes that tell all, Gojo turns away from their gaze. Gojo is angry for you, and it’s not in his character to do nothing about it. 

He decides on less of a whim that it looks. He wonders about alternatives, if there’s anything that can stop this feeling from imploding inside of him but nothing comes.

When he decides that nothing can be done, Gojo goes out of his way to start watching him. 

Like any mission, he needs enough background information to map out a plan.  He wants to make sure that it has virtually no pushback for you. There’s always a possibility you’ll get caught in the crossfire and that’d be the worst possible outcome. Gojo can protect you from a lot of things, but he’s not as confident about the law. 

(Not that he can’t. Just not in the good, right way he’s sure you want him to protect you in. Gojo’s love is divine, not right. There’s nothing in this world Gojo can’t shield you from, because he’s the strongest.)

 He also can’t make anything obvious or leave any room for interpretation. If there’s anything that feels off when the reports go live - you’ll stick your nose where it doesn’t belong. He thinks in the instance you find out (about all of it, the premeditation  especially) you’d probably tuck your tail and run. 

(Gojo would find you. But the chase means there’s some time you’re apart. The thought is almost nauseating.) 

He likes that you’re curious about everything. In most instances anyways. But he thinks it’s better to leave you in the dark sometimes. Having you worry about it would ruin the point of this. And sometimes, it’s better not knowing every detail. Honeytraps are more ethical than nets. 

He’s doing it for you in the end, like he does most things. And the kid will benefit, maybe even get some sympathy from his classmates for a while about the tragedy that befell his father. Gojo thinks it’s a good plan because no one loses.  It’s a lot like killing a curse. 

It only takes two weeks to learn virtually everything there is to know. A guy like that doesn’t have much he can hide. 

The name of his target, he learns, is Nobu Watanabe. Father to Akio Watanbe and ex-husband to Akiko Watanbe. He’s a recently released felon (let off on good behavior) with a battery and assault with a deadly weapon charge. He’s a college drop-out, and has been working a lot of odd-jobs since he was 16.

His personality is bad, worse is his drinking and smoking habits. He’s often found drunk in the street, and has a track record for single nights spent in a cell. His ex-wife is usually the one bailing him out. Gojo can’t help but feel sorry for her. Somehow, he doubts that he’s good to her. He’s a deadbeat father through and through. He only offers to pick up his kid to harass you. At least from what he can tell. 

He isn’t as awful to his kid as everyone else. Gojo doubts that was always the case. Akio isn’t a bad kid, but it’s hard not to notice the way the light in his eyes disappears when his father comes around to pick him up. A head always looking towards the floor, hands tucked in his pockets. 

It’s difficult for Gojo to feel any guilt about what he’s doing. After everything, he can’t find it in himself to feel any regret. 

His target is currently working at a dock, not too far from the city. He seems to work there most days, working at a bar on the weekends. It’s a big company that handles foreign goods that he does physical labor for. Lifting and moving boxings, checking inventory - it’s not a complicated affair. 

If there’s not a major shipment, he still seems to clock in so he’s definitely paid some kind of hourly wage. He smokes often on the job, but works diligently when there is something to do. An easy but physical job, he’s strong. Gojo can understand what intimidates you about him. 

Gojo, though, isn’t intimidated by him at all. 

He waits a week before he takes action. To shake off anyone or anything that might be trailing him, and to make sure that everything is the same as he observed. That his schedule wasn’t going to change. A week passes, and when Gojo has confirmation - he decides to do what he does best. 

Gojo Satoru decides to play God on a Sunday.

Sunday is a day shipments come in and a day he often works alone. The pay is better on Sunday and Nobu is the only one on his shift who takes it. He’s not expected to finish the strenuous work because he’s alone for such a long stretch of time - just to make a dent in it. The people at the next shift are the ones who finish the job. 

He starts his day as early as 6am. It’s near winter, so the world is painted in a miraculously melancholy blue. Gojo follows him that morning. He knows the route well enough to trail behind him and not attract any attention. They pass together, turning corners and taking bus rides until Nobu’s finally in at his job. 

There, they part briefly. His target goes into the big white building and he goes on top. Gojo has to teleport to the roof because everything is gated with security cameras covering every inch of the property. Following him puts Gojo at risk. So he waits on top of the building, hands in his pocket and pacing until Nobu comes out the otherside to the docks. His jumpsuit put on haphazardly, only half-pulled up to his waist, with a clipboard and pen as a bunch of boxes waiting for him to check them. 

After Gojo confirms that he’s alone, he lies in wait. He sits and waits - watching as the clouds pass. Watching the open sea, how it remains unchanging no matter what boats pass through to shore. He looks at his phone every now and again to check the time. 

It shouldn’t be too difficult to actually do it. 

You know, if Gojo turns his infinity on, there’s nothing in the world that can touch him. He can touch it, but it can’t touch him. There will always be a barrier between his hands and the world. Between him and the known universe, a bridge that started burning the minute Gojo was born into it. If Gojo turns on his infinity, there’s no way to leave traces of him behind. 

Did you know? If Gojo turns on his infinity, his fingerprints don’t show up. There’s no DNA to find. Not a trace of him in the world that he hasn’t left purposefully. Even if Gojo chokes him with his hands bare hands - he wouldn’t be touching him. But Gojo can feel it. Feel his pulse, feel his breathing come down slowly.

If there’s such a thing as heaven or hell, Gojo wants to ask God about being homicidal. If it was a flaw of human design or their Lord reflected inside of them. 

He lies in wait on top of the roof until 7. 

When 7 hits, the world around him is still so dark. No one kills in broad daylight. The heavens are murky, sky full of black clouds like puffs of smoke. It’s freezing cold, a spine-tingling chill making its way up Gojo’s skin and hardening his hands. . Gojo waits for the doors of the garage to creak open. When the sound echoes into the air, a metal screech in the void, Gojo stands to his feet. 

He jumps to the ground, landing with a dull thud. He comes out unscathed, a cat on his feet. He dusts off the front of his pants. Nobu hasn’t taken notice of him. Gojo takes a look around them. There’s no cameras in the warehouse. Gojo waits alone in the dark. 

Five minutes. It’s five minutes when all of the lights go out. 

“What the fuck?” Nobu mumbles, dropping his clipboard on top of a bunch of boxes, running a hand through his hair. Gojo waits in silence, watches as he turns around. 

When he finally does, he jumps back in shock. Gojo feels a cold chill run through his body. 

“What the fuck? Who the hell are you?” Nobu asks. Gojo grins. 

“Ah, you don’t remember? We met a few weeks ago! We had a nice little exchange and everything.” He says, voice going higher by an octave. The man in front of him stares, off put by Gojos’ presence. He stumbles in his thinking, his body tensing up. 

“Who the…what the fuck is going on?” 

“Hey, don’t be so scared,” Gojo says, then uses his teleport to phase himself closer. Nobu’s eyes widen, shocked. Scared out of his wits, with the story of heartbeat like he’s being hunted. “Tough guy like you has nothing to be scared of, does he?” 

“W-w-what…how did you…” 

Gojo shakes his head. 

“Don’t worry about it, man.” He says, voice calm and smooth and even. He’s surprised by how his emotions feel in his body. Like he’s so angry that he’s not. There’s something inside of him, the white waters that wade, that Gojo can feel. It’s strange “We’ve got about 5 minutes till the lights come back on.” 

For a while, they stand at a draw. No one moves. Not him, or Nobu, or the open oceans. It’s quiet for a dock. Even quieter for a dock in Tokyo, and Gojo’s not even using his abilities. He probably won’t need too, other than infinity - there’s not any good reason for him to exert himself any more than he must. 

Weeks of planning, weeks of watching, weeks of waiting. Nothing feels like it matters at the moment. He wants it to be over soon-ish. 

It’s not that Gojo is particularly sadistic. 

It’s just that, everything feels like it’s teetering over this very moment. He thinks it to himself quietly like someone trying to remember where they last left their keys. 

Briefly, Gojo thinks “I can’t go back,” after this. In the back of his head he just knows.

He envies this aggravating strangers' ignorance, too. 

“What do you want from me?” He says, stuttering - a gasping breath of fear in his lungs that snaps Gojo out of his thoughts. Gojo shrugs. 

“Nothing, really. I’m not short on money, you know? I make a good living,” He says, spouting off about nothing as he closes the gap between them. Stepping closer infinitely until Gojo backs him into the garage, into the tall tower of boxers where there’s no cameras and no witnesses “Hm…is there anything you can do to fix this?” 

No, Gojo answers mostly to himself, But wouldn’t that be nice? 

“P-please, I have—” 

“A son right? And an ex-wife, and a dead mom in Saitama. You didn’t think I came here without doing any research, did you? We’re the same in that way you know, I might be a frivolous - but hell if I’m not diligent,” 

He looks like he’s going to throw up. Gojo remains indifferent. 

“Who are you?” He asks, this time really wondering. With that hoarse voice of curiosity, of defeat.

Gojo hums.

“Good question. Who do you think I am?” Gojo poses and lifts his hands up. He puts them around his neck, pushing hard until his back is against the stack of boxes. It’s dark but Gojo can see everything. He keeps his open, tightening the grip of his hands slowly. 

Nobu tries to spit something out but the words get sputtered, muffled by lack of oxygen. 

“Do you think I’m a devil? An angel? God? I wonder,” Gojo says, staring. With his mask on, but his eyes opened wide. “Guess I’m kind of like a boogeyman,” 

Gojo can feel it. His body underneath his palms, gasping and struggling for air. He can feel his hands try to pry his hands off. He can feel his body slowly start to lose its air, how he deflates like a balloon. Gojo is unmoving, unfazed, unworried. He’s near motionless except the hard grip of his hand on his neck and the pulse that slows gently under his palms. 

It takes 5 minutes, maybe less, with all the strength in both his hands. Gojo isn’t counting. He holds on for maybe 2 minutes after that, just to make sure it’s not a fluke. He waits till the heart stops sounding in his ears and until the body is completely limp except for where Gojo is holding him away. He goes out sad. Useless, even. 

When Gojo stops, Nobu’s body drops to the floor with a dull thud. He stares at it for a while, then sighs. It’d be nice if he could just leave it there, but he does his due diligence. Picks it up from the ground with relative ease, over his shoulders. 

He walks it out towards the dock - the very edge, before tossing it in water and watching it sink. When it disappears from his sight, Gojo is left with his reflection in the deep blue. He meets his eyes for the first time in weeks, and knows he’s seeing exactly what he thought he would. 

His anger has settled, just barely. Just enough to be able to see the change in his own vision. With his Six Eyes, Gojo can see that there’s no turning back.

 With his mask on, he looks at himself, warped in the vision of the sea. The vision of him—crystalline and white and blue—murky and moving. 

Gojo jumps to the roof and turns the light on again. The power comes back. 

A dog barks distantly, over and over and over. Gojo watches the sun rise alone. 

__

The following weeks pass without a hitch. Gojo feels like nothing has changed. 

(But that’s not true. Everything is different. The same but different)

At the two week mark, winter has set in and Gojo is spending time with you in your apartment together. Currently, you’re cooking dinner (after carefully instructing Gojo to stay put in the living room.) Gojo is sitting watching T.V. He’s helping you grade papers at the coffee table, humming to himself. 

It’s about 7 when the news starts to play. A local news channel and a familiar face on the T.V. Gojo is surprised when the breaking news report airs. 

“Two weeks ago, a missing persons report was filed for ex-convict Nobu Watanbe. Sources say he was last seen working at a Dock in Tokyo - which experienced a power outage. It’s reported that Nobu seemed to have gone missing at the time, and hasn’t made contact with anyone since then. Could this be the work of a…” 

The rest of the report  Gojo tunes out. He turns his head slightly to see if you’ve noticed. Your eyes are glued to it., standing and staring silently. You place your spatula on a towel on the counter.

“We got word about a week prior to this,” You say, breaking the silence after some time without Gojo prompting. He looks at you “Akio started coming with his mom again and she gave me the story. It wasn’t unusual for him to up and disappear, but he hadn’t done so since Akio was born,” 

“That so?” Gojo says, nonplussed. You nod. 

“I feel guilty but,” You trail off, rubbing your arm anxiously “I can’t help but be… relieved. Just a little. I don’t want the guy to be dead or anything, but it,” 

Gojo stops you in the middle of your sentence. 

“You don’t have anything you need to feel guilty about,” He corrects, voice stern. You give him a sad look but he remains firm in his stance “He was harassing you for weeks. It’s only natural that you feel relieved, you know?” 

You’re not entirely content with the response, but you seem to know well enough this isn’t something Gojo will compromise on. You sigh, looking down at the floor. 

“Yeah. That’s true I guess, but still. I wonder what happened to him, or if he just decided to run away,” 

Gojo pretends to think about it. 

“Maybe. Otherwise…guess it was God’s divine punishment,” He says, continuing to grade papers. He doesn’t even look up as he says it. You let out a puff of air through your nose in amusement . 

“Yeah,” You say, “Maybe. I should thank him some time,”

Gojo hums.

“I don’t think that’s a bad idea,” 

#gojo x reader #jjk x reader #manipulation cw #writing tag #dark content cw #yandere cw #noncon cw #murder cw #yandere!gojo #stalking cw #i tried to add the most major tags #lmk if you need more #ok. gn #part two will be out whenever ame has read lol

[tsams-confessions]

Tw nsfw languages, non-con mention

I need to shout in the void because I just came back from twitter. I feel like there's some people who lie about being repulsed aroace. For context, someone a day ago asked if I ship solarmoon. I said no, it's not my cup of tea, and I'm happy feeling represented by moon being aroace. Plain and respectful, right? Then today, I got tagged on a comment replying to a solarmoon nsfw artist. The comment said, "As a romance and sex repulsed aroace, it doesn't mean I can't have sex" and then they encouraged the artist to portray moon however they want, quoting their words, "make him sex-hungry after fucking solar for the first time. Make him non-con solar even", etc. etc. Now first of all, I'm so confused why that commenter tagged me. Like what was the purpose of that? Second of all, I was like ????? What? Huh? We called ourselves "repulsed" for a reason. We are repulsed by romantic love and sexual activities. If you're repulsed by sex, why would you want to have one??? Do they not know what repulsed means? I don't know if they're just confused or actually lying about being a repulsed aroace to talk over actual repulsed aroaces. If it's the latter, then what the actual fuck

.

#sun and moon show #the sun and moon show #tsams #sams #tsams confession #< block this if you dont want to see these #mod 1blood #suggestive cw #noncon cw #ask to tag

[fatalism-and-villainy]

I was on the phone with Hannibal Watch Buddy and was talking about how my goal with this noncon fantasy fic is to draw a continuity between sexual violence and the ostensibly non-sexual forms of violence and violation present on the show, and especially the gendered lines along which that split is conceived - the ways that violence-against-women and violence-against-men instinctively register as qualitatively different to Will, but with the pull of them ultimately implied to come from a similar place - using the homoerotic elements of the violence on the show to contextualize Will's sexuality crisis, probe at the epistemic confusion surrounding desiring other men, and connecting that to what already feels familiar -

Which is all to say that I'm really hoping this fic will prompt a "critically jacking off to this problematic fic in a scholarly manner" response.

#hannibal talk #fic talk #noncon cw #kink blogging

[theres-a-body-here]

Can I request Bob Velseb x Reader with some biting and blood? If you don’t mind ofc.

And yes I’m being completely Fr and yes he’s from Spooky Month. Give the crazy cannibal some love 🥺

-Pillow Prince anon (If I’m sending too many requests btw don’t feel bad to say so! And btw make this a top priority (Of my requests, not all of them obviously.))

Bob Velseb x Male!reader

Letting your friends dare you into entering the abandoned house on Halloween was probably the worst mistake you made tonight

TW: Non-con, bondage, blood, biting

"Now now, sweetheart, don't make any sudden moves," Bob whispered softly into your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine as you lie on the old couch. Your hands were tied behind your back, making it impossible for you to defend yourself against him. As his fingers traced the curve of your jawline, you couldn't help but tremble.

He leaned closer, his mask brushing against your face as he spoke. "You smell so good… just like candy."

As you squirmed beneath him, struggling against your restraints, Bob tightened his grip around your arms. The knife's tip scraped across your skin, leaving a thin line of blood on your cheek.

He shook his head disapprovingly and muttered under his breath, "Tsk, tsk… You should really learn to behave better than that."

Without warning, he suddenly yanked off his devil mask, revealing eyes that sent shivers down your spine. His gaze seemed to pierce right through you as he studied every inch of your face. "I love seeing fear in people's eyes," he said almost tenderly before bringing the knife even closer to your throat.

You could feel his breath on your neck as he leaned closer to examine the shallow cut on your cheek. His eyes gleamed with hunger as he lowered his mouth towards the wound.

You feel as his tongue slowly licks a stripe across your cheek, savoring the taste of your fresh blood. Inhaling deeply, he closed his eyes in satisfaction.

"Mmmm… such delicious flavor," he whispered seductively while taking another lick. His breath tickled your neck, causing goosebumps to rise all over your body. His tongue traced the line of blood along your cheek, teasingly running circles around the wound.

Without warning, Bob abruptly raised the knife above your head, its glinting edge reflecting the dim light of the room. Time seemed to slow down as you held your breath, terrified of what was coming next. Your life flashed before your eyes as a cold grip tightened around your heart.

But instead of feeling pain, you watched helplessly as he drove the knife into the cushion beside your head, laughing maniacally.

"Don't worry, sweetheart," he chuckled, "I wouldn't dare hurt you – not yet anyway!" He leaned close enough for you to feel his warm breath on your neck again, sending chills down your spine. "I bet you thought that was it for you, didn't you?"

You refuse to answer him as you look away from his gaze, hands still trying to loosen the bindings behind your back.

Ignoring your silence, Bob grabbed your face firmly with both hands and pressed his lips against your wounded cheek, greedily drinking in every drop of blood flowing from the wound.

Your cries echoed throughout the room as he continued to suckle, his fingers digging deeper into your flesh. He pulled away slightly after a few moments, inspecting the damage he caused.

"You taste yummy," he murmured, his tone dripping with desire. His tongue darted out to lap up the remaining traces of blood seeping from your cheek. He then grabs at the knife and yanks it out of the couch.

With a twisted grin, Bob placed the blade against your neck once more, enjoying the way you froze in terror. Slowly, he began to slice open your shirt, revealing your vulnerable skin beneath. As the fabric fell away, he ran his finger down the length of the newly exposed skin, causing you to shiver involuntarily.

Despite your attempts to push him away using your legs, Bob managed to hold you down effortlessly. Leaning forward, he brought his mouth closer to your chest, his teeth grazing your skin playfully.

"I could just devour you whole," he teased, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "You taste so delicious already," he whispered huskily

Unable to resist his urges anymore, Bob clamped down on the soft skin on your side, eliciting a loud yelp from you. The sound of your protests only seemed to fuel his desires further, prompting him to bite harder.

Struggling against his strength, you cried out for him to stop, but his grip only tightened in response. "Stop that!" you cried, trying to buck him off of you.

"Aww, come on now…it's just a little nibble," he crooned in response to your pleas, clearly amused by your discomfort.

Bob continued to leave a trail of teeth marks along your chest, each one accompanied by a whimper from you. As he moved further down your torso, his hands traveled lower, leaving bruising fingerprints on your waist.

He suddenly bites down on a particularly sensitive spot on the side of your lower stomach. You mentally curse not being able to clamp your hands over your mouth as a loud moan slips out of you.

Hearing your unexpected reaction, Bob chuckled darkly. "Oh? Are you starting to enjoy this?" he asked mockingly, taunting you with a wicked smile. He then proceeded to sink his teeth into the same spot once more, drawing another moan from you.

"You're one sick fuck if you're into this," he mocked, his eyes filled with amusement as he saw the flush rising on your face.

Moving downward, Bob found another enticing spot near your navel and sunk his teeth into it without mercy. You let out a surprised gasp as the sensation shot through your entire body.

"Not bad, huh?" he asked with a lecherous grin, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. "Maybe I should continue this somewhere else…" His hands started reaching for your waistband suggestively.

Despite your kicking and thrashing, Bob managed to pull down your pants to reveal black boxers adorned with bright orange jack-o'-lanterns, much to his delight.

"Awww, these are adorable!" he cooed appreciatively, eyeing your bulge growing beneath them.

Seeing your annoyed expression, he teased you further by running his fingers along the hem of your underwear, threatening to rip them apart completely.

To your absolute relief, your ears pick up on the faint sound of police sirens in the distance.

As distant sirens grew louder outside, Bob swore under his breath and quickly grabbed his mask lying nearby. "Looks like our fun time is over for tonight," he snapped before hastily putting on his mask.

Before leaving, he teased, "I'll be keeping an eye on you. You'll remember our fun time together, won't you?"

With that, he exited the house swiftly through the backdoor, leaving you to be rescued by the police.

#spooky month #bob velseb #bob velseb x reader #male!reader #male reader #noncon cw #devil guy #marking #blood play #blood kink #spooky month x reader

[xxdark-obsessionxx]

I completely forgot I did this on ao3. Here’s a male!reader version of this fic.

CW: Non-con, overstimulation, mentions of Stalking, Tord ties up Reader and it's implied he kidnapped him.

_______________________________________________

“I love you so much,” Tord muttered, leaning down next to your ear. “You’re perfect for me, you know? And I’m perfect for you. ” He moved his hand from your hip and strokes your cock. A soft smile formed on his face as your face flushed and muffled moans slipped through your gag. A few of his own moans left his mouth as your ass clamped down on his cock.

“It’s like you were made for me. With the ways your tight walls are squeezing me, it’s like you're begging me to never leave. Don’t you agree? I’ll always be here to take care of you.”

Of course, you couldn’t answer, but he still liked talking to you. It was such a shame that he had to keep you gagged. Overwise you just spewed vile, mean comments at him until he fucked you into an incoherent mess.

He peppered your neck with kisses as he thrust his hips faster. You were close, he knows you are. Tord moved his hand away from your dick and raised your legs to his shoulders. With the angle change, he easily found your sweet spot and pounded into you, once again stroking and rubbing your dick.. The bed shook from his harsh pace, but he paid no mind to it. His gaze was solely focused on you.

You squealed and thrashed, but the restraints holding your arms to the headboard didn’t budge and he didn’t let either of your legs slide off his shoulders.

Soon your body shook as you clamped down on Tord’s cock, moans falling from your mouth uncontrollably.

Tord grinned, removing his hand to lick your release off it.

“Good boy, you taste wonderful, ” Tord cooed, brushing strands of your hair out of your face. He continued to thrust into you but instead of pounding into you like he was before, his pace was slow and deep. “Can you cum for me again? Please, sweetheart?”

You frantically shook your head. Tears welled up in your eyes, threatening to fall.

“None of that,” he chided. He kissed the corners of your eyes and made sure every thrust hit your sweet spot. “I know you can do it. You like cumming for me over and over, don’t you?” His face flushed as his eyes clouded, a few specific memories popping up in his mind. “Remember how you’d touch yourself, those late nights after work? Oh, how you’d slip your hands into your pretty underwear and coax orgasm after orgasm from yourself. Jack yourself off until you couldn’t get hard anymore.”

Your face turned red and Tord laughed. “It’s alright! There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Those nights helped me figure out how to take care of you properly. I wouldn’t have known that you liked to go more than once if otherwise.” He kissed you over the gag, not minding that he couldn’t have a real kiss yet. “Or, when you bought yourself that nice dildo.”

Your eyes widened and you shook your head. “Nmpf!”

Tord laughed, knowing what you meant. “Yes! I did see that. Although it wasn’t quite as large as mine, it was very lovely to watch you finally try and take care of yourself properly. You deserve better pleasure than what your hands can bring you.”

Breathing heavily through your nose, you shut your eyes and scrunched your nose. You knew exactly what he was talking about and you heavily regretted ever using the dildo you bought. Actually, you really regretted never making sure your blinds were closed. That was never on your mind since you lived in a mostly empty neighborhood. Leave it to Tord to stalk you from the empty house next door.

A grin formed on his face.

“How about we recreate that? But,” he switched from his slow pace to sharply jab your sweet spot a few times, causing your eyes to snap open, “with my own cock instead of that fake?”

He didn’t wait for any kind of response. Tord pulled his cock out of your ass and carefully slid your legs off his shoulders. Being mindful of your restraints, he gently hoisted you up and set you back down onto his cock.

You bucked your hips, causing you to slide down onto his cock fully. His hands held your hips steady and he slowly lifted you to bounce on his cock.

“Oh! You really like this, huh? Maybe I should do this more often. I hate to think I’m not taking care of your every need,” he cooed.

Your walls tighten again and your breathing becomes shallow. He groaned, gripping your hips tighter and slammed you down.

“That’s number 2!” He beamed as he fucked you through your release. “How about we stay like this for a few more?”

He made it sound like you had a choice. You really didn’t. And as he bucked up into you, causing orgasm number three to build, you leaned onto his chest to rest. He wasn’t going to stop until you were a crying mess, wringing as many orgasms out of you as he could.

#yandere tord x reader #noncon tw #tw noncon #tw yandere #yandere #yandere lemon #yandere noncon #yandere tw #cw noncon #noncon cw #yandere tord #yandere smut #yandere overstimulation #yandere x reader

[standfucker]

Absolute Zero

Characters: Charlotte Perospero

Reader: AFAB (referred to as a girl by Perospero, but can be read as NB or untransitioned)

Word Count: 6.1k

CW: *dark content*, explicit NS.FW content, noncon, suffocation, throatfucking, nipple licking, oral (receiving)

Summary: Perospero held the reins to your worst fears coming true, and he had pulled until you could do nothing but break.

Ao3 Link

-Thanks to @quinloki for the beta! It really helped polish this up.-

Taking on an Emperor was never a decision to be made lightly, but it was the driving force that pushed you and your brother since you were young. You didn’t have the numbers, but you would amass the necessary strength over the years, rising to power as fearsome pirates in your own right. Between your Colors of Arms and your brother’s Colors of Observation, you co-captained a small but mighty crew, and when the time was right, you began your attacks on Totto Land.

Your personal war with the Charlotte Family started out one-sided–the Emperor barely saw you as a threat back then. But that was all part of the plan. Not taking you seriously meant you could make mistakes and survive, all the while gaining valuable information on their battle tactics. It was your brother’s idea to hold back, not revealing your true strength until you had the right opening.  Illness hospitalized him, and left you to lead the crew on your own

“I can’t protect you anymore,” he had lamented, pushing a devil fruit into your hands. “But now you can protect yourself.”

Utilizing your brother’s strategy, you waited for your moment to strike. A few more years of patience, and finally, an opening presented itself in the form of your devil fruit awakening. That event, plus one vital fact, turned your crusade against Big Mom from a slight nuisance into a genuine threat: You learned that transponder snails–and their cousins, territorial sea slugs–went into torpor at subzero temperatures.

With the newly awakened power of your Cool-Cool Fruit, you could act on that information, plunging the seas around Totto Land down to freezing temperatures and neutralizing the sea slugs. Without their warning system, your crew was in the perfect position for quick, explosive guerilla attacks against their forces, testing their defenses and probing for weak spots, then retreating while they were still scrambling in the chaos.

You couldn’t have pulled it off without a man on the inside feeding you intel. Every incursion hinged on his success, as his job was to let you know the movements of the only two pirates you couldn’t handle–Big Mom herself, and the second son, Katakuri. As long as you tracked and avoided them, there was little the rest of the brood could do. You’d tangled with the others with minimal issues. Oven was originally their counter of choice, since your abilities canceled each other out, but he could no longer keep up once yours awakened. Daifuku was easy to manage once you learned you could freeze his genie solid. Cracker’s biscuit soldiers were similarly rendered immobile. A riskier move was when you froze the oils on the surface of your skin so Smoothie was unable to wring you out. 

And then there was Perospero…

To you, Perospero was different from his siblings. He was the only one of the Charlotte family you had met in the past. You were a child when you first ran into him, no older than seven. He was in his twenties at the time, newly appointed to Candy Island. 

You had been fleeing from some bullies when you turned a corner and ran smack into him. You fell, your pursuers skidding to a halt behind you, frozen at the sight of the new minister towering over you.

Perospero had taken one look at you; the dirt on your clothes and the bruise on your cheek, and raised his voice. “What is the meaning of this? Totto Land is where people live in harmony!” He pointed a finger at your bullies, who all turned tail and fled. Perospero clicked his tongue, then offered you a hand.

"Poor little girl. You picked a fight with someone stronger than you…" He pulled you to your feet, long fingers wrapped around your wrist.

You thought you were in trouble. Perospero’s gaze settled on the tears forming in the corners of your eyes, and a slow smile crept up his face.

You remembered that smile more than anything else. You used to think it was a smile of good humor–oh, children and their antics, and all that. Now you knew him better, recognized that smile for what it really was. 

Perospero had formed a piece of candy in his palm, holding it out to you. “Have a candy, perorin! You’ll find it to be the sweetest you’ve ever tasted.”

“For me?” you asked, wiping your face.

“For you.”

You took the candy from his hand and started to leave, but then paused and ran back up to him.

“I want one for my brother, too! He’s sick!” you said. “Please, mister?”

And Perospero, saying how thoughtful you were, gave you another.

That memory made you sick, knowing him as you did now. He didn’t smile because you were a bumbling child. He smiled because he had liked seeing you cry.

It was the same smile when his candy axe cleaved into one of your crewmates, the same smile when he twisted one of the candy arrows embedded into your shoulder, the same smile when he licked your blood from his weapons and remarked on how sweet it was. All his candy was a sugar coating, a saccharine facade hiding a monster. His siblings you only saw as obstructions in the way of your goal, but your enmity toward Perospero was personal.

This time, you thought as your ship accelerated toward his, this time you’d kill him.

“Candy Wall!” Perospero shouted, raising a menacing, spiked wall out of the water. His constructs, while made of candy, looked every bit as solid as you knew they were from experience. The wall that he formed was stronger than steel, meant to cut off your path to his ship.

It wouldn’t be a problem.

Surfing on the back of your first mate, an orca Fish-man, was a strategy you'd devised to overcome your devil fruit weakness. Risky if you were hit, but you had years of practice at that point. You had him bring you within a safe distance from the wall, then leap off his back, landing carefully on one of the spikes.

“Absolute Zero!”

A single touch, and the temperature of every molecule in that wall plummeted, freezing through. With your other hand, you swung your warhammer, and the wall shattered like glass on impact. Right as the frozen candy’s splintering reached your perch, you jumped again, landing boldly on the deck of Perospero’s ship.

He couldn’t defeat you. Not with your devil fruit awakened. Your repeated bouts had proven that, and your confidence was at an all-time high. This was your opening: any more attacks on Totto Land, and Big Mom would be forced to come into play. You had to break through the defenses now if you wanted to make landfall on Candy Island and complete your goal. Everything that you’d worked for, the lifetime of conflict, it all came down to today.

You smirked at Perospero, waiting for his shitty grin to fall. Instead, it widened. Immediately, you realized something was wrong, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up. He knew he wasn’t a match for you. Then why was he acting like he wanted you to board his ship?

The wall was a trick, you realized. He was luring you there all along. The reason quickly became apparent when Charlotte Katakuri stepped out from around the corner.

Oh, no.

He wasn’t supposed to be in this section of Totto Land! Your intel was wrong–or maybe someone had fed you false information. If you made it out of this alive, that someone was going to eat a bullet. But that was a pretty big fucking “if.”

The fight was brief, and all of it was spent barely dodging lethal blows that would shatter you like candy. He moved far too fast for someone so huge. You could hardly get an opening, and when you did, his body warped around your strikes. It was impossible not to grow frustrated as he predicted your moves before you could make them, and that led to you slipping up, making more mistakes, almost dying with every near-miss.

Finally, you failed in your panic to dodge, scrambling backward from another sledgehammer blow. Katakuri paused, looking down at you.

“Y/n of the Raging Winter,” he rumbled. “Against me…thirty seconds is admirable. But it ends now.”

His leg stretched out as it swung into your head. The last thing you remembered before impact was your brother’s voice, calling out for you.

Then darkness.

You woke up in a bed lined in plastic.

Your head was throbbing with dull pain, and it took a while for you to grasp at your thoughts. You turned your head. The rest of the room was lined in plastic, too.

Right then, you knew you would die in that room. Plastic lining like that was only used for butcher jobs–you knew that much from your underworld connections. Though this plastic was thin and clear, almost like candy wrapping.

The plastic creaked as you tried to get up, but you couldn’t lift your torso very far, finding your wrists bound above your head in shackles, sturdy and attached to chains going to the floor. Your ankles were bound the same way. There wasn’t much extra length in the chains, only letting you move your limbs a few inches in any direction. The shackles were rock-solid and slightly transparent, like molten glass. You frowned, leaning as close as you could to one of your wrist chains to sniff them. Hard candy–Perospero’s work. A thin band of seastone around one of your arms ensured you couldn’t use your devil fruit to escape.

You let your head fall back onto the pillow and wondered. Would Big Mom drain the rest of your life force, and that would be it? A quick, painless death? Unlikely, given the room you were in. They would torture you here, reveal your motives for attacking them, and then chop you up into little pieces to dispose. This was your end: utter failure of your mission.

As a pirate, you’ve had many close calls in the past, but you never expected to fail. You were too invested in your mission, too certain of its just cause. You could only hope your crew was able to get away in time, at least. You had forced them to honor an agreement to abandon the mission if you were captured. After all, your mission was only for your benefit. There would have been no riches awaiting you had you succeeded.

A slow hour passed, anxiety building in your gut all the while. The Charlottes were known for their unforgiving nature with their enemies. You were sure their tortures would get creative. Perospero had threatened multiple times to solidify you into candy, after all, and lick you away until nothing remained.

The sound of footsteps made you tense, every sense focused on them getting closer.

Speak of the devil. Perospero moved into the room as if floating, looming above you like a technicolor reaper. He was impossibly tall and seemed even taller up close, towering above you, his bright colors and patterns doing nothing to offset the wickedness of his delighted expression.

“Y/n of the Raging Winter,” he said, “user of the Cool-Cool Fruit and recurring thorn in Mama’s side.” He savors the moment, nearly leering at you. “How delightful to see you finally brought down. Having regrets, perorin?”

“Something like that,” you said flatly. Regrets that you had been defeated, anyway–you would never regret fighting back against Big Mom. Making that elaboration didn’t matter, though. He knew.

“Kuh kuh kuh…”

“Where’s my crew?” you demanded.

A flash of tension crossed his face. “Captured, like you.”

You didn’t believe him, not with that little change in expression. They had escaped–you could always read him.

But Perospero could read you, too and the relief evident on your face.

“Didn’t miss that, hm?” he mused. “No matter. We have you. Once we kill you, your brother won’t be much longer for this world with his illness, and your crew will disband. Just like that, another problem dealt with.”

“How do you know he’s sick?” you said, stomach knotting. Your brother was far away from Totto Land–there was no way they could have known that. Unless… Unless they knew who you really were.

Perospero grinned slowly. “He’s been sick for a long time, hasn’t he?’

“How do you know?!” you raised your voice.

“Now, now, perorin. Don’t get so worked up. We have a long night ahead of us, after all.”

“Damn you, Perospero! You already have me caught! Just tell me before you kill me!”

“What are you so concerned about?” he cackled. “That we know his location? He’s not worth hunting down, not when he has so little time left anyway.” If the Charlottes knew that information, it could only mean one thing. Perospero’s grin widened as the truth dawned on you. “That’s right, perorin. We know about your family. Once we realized you were a former Totto Land resident, finding the rat in our midst was easy.”

“Leave them out of this,” you said icily. “They didn’t know anything about this.”

“Oh, don’t worry. They were very cooperative with questioning,” Perospero said, laughing when you snarled and pulled against your chains. “They didn’t know anything about you and your brother’s decision to attack us…but they did smuggle you out of Totto Land when you were kids, didn’t they? They still went behind our back and broke the law. Why is that, I wonder?”

“I’ll kill you!” you shouted. “I’ll freeze you solid and shatter you to pieces, Perospero!”

He ignored your outburst, continuing. “Perhaps…it was your brother’s terminal diagnosis?”He clicked his tongue pityingly. “Poor thing. Just a kid when he was only given ten years left to live. That’s why you parents had him smuggled out, isn’t it? So he didn’t have to give up any of his lifespan as tax, and could live out the rest of his short life. They had you go with him so you’d be together. How sweet.”

Bringing his hands together, Perospero formed a knife out of candy. It was proportionate to his size, over a foot long and gleaming in the bright light of the room, more like a short sword compared to you. The first pangs of fear slithered through your gut and settled. 

“You and your brother decided to become pirates in order to ‘rescue’ your family from Candy Island, didn’t you? I’m impressed you made it as far as you did.” He cocked his head at you. “I had always wondered what I had done to make those eyes of yours so angry...”

Agonizingly slowly, he approached the bed, each step ramping up your nerves until your fear grew into terror. You did what you could to keep it from reaching your expression. You wouldn’t show weakness, wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

"I guess a quick death is asking for too much?" you said casually, but he noticed the way you didn’t take your eyes off the knife.

“Kuh kuh kuh! Trying to be brave, are we?” He bent over you, grinning ear to ear. “How cute.” 

He brought the knife to your cheek. You turned your head away as much as possible, but he followed your movement, pressing the sharp tip into your skin until it shallowly pierced through, making you wince. He angled the blade flat against your skin and slid it down, smearing warm blood down your cheek and neck. 

“Such a pretty color, perorin! A beautiful raspberry red,” he crooned, raising the knife to his tongue and taking a lick, “and just as sweet.”

Then he lined up the razor edge of the blade with your throat. You froze, heart pounding in your ears as you got tunnel vision. This was it. Every pirate was ready for death. You had faced it before. But this time was different, because this time, you were helpless. It’s okay. It’s okay, you told yourself. Be brave. It would be over soon.

The seconds ticked by, seemingly turning into minutes and keeping you on edge the entire time. 

Perospero pulled the knife away. Your eyes flicked to him, seeing him studying your reaction.

“Don’t toy with me, Perospero!” you snapped, enraged and terrified. “Get it over with.”

“Where’s the fun in that, perorin?” He pressed the knife lightly into your skin, making your neck sting. You closed your eyes, waiting for the sudden slitting of your throat, the deep pain that would surely follow.

It never came.

Your eyes flew open when Perospero grabbed the collar of your shirt, lifting it from your skin, and started to slice through the fabric. His candy knife slid through the clothes like butter, threads severed and falling away from your torso. The chill of the air was sobering, a dim realization that of course it wouldn’t be over so soon–why did you think you were chained to the bed like this?

Still, you couldn’t fully bring yourself to believe it, not even when he cut through your bra, some part of your terrified mind trying to protect you with blatant denial. Only when he’d cut your pants and was at your underwear did you find the nerve to speak.

"Hey… Hey! Perospero, you're…you're not gonna…" You couldn’t bring yourself to say it out loud, but your quivering voice filled in the blanks well enough.

"What? Rape you?" Perospero said nonchalantly as he cut through your underwear. He pulled at the torn remains of your clothes, sliding them off your body one piece at a time and savoring your reaction. “What did you think would happen when you lost to us? Did you think there would be no consequences?"

Panic immediately began to set in. "Okay, h-hold on,” you stammered as he pulled your pants free, “maybe we can work something out. I have a stash hidden on–"

"You mean the 'secret' cellar on Mint island? We already looted it."

Your heart pounded as the gravity of what was about to happen fully came down. You scrambled to think of something else. “I can–I can call in a favor, there’s a guy that owes my crew literally millions of berries–”

Perospero’s laugh cut you off. "Kuh kuh kuh! Bargaining already? You must be desperate, perorin." He pulled off your shirt.

You began to feel dizzy, nausea twisting up your gut. “Come on, Perospero. Don’t do this.”

“Maybe if you beg me, I won’t,” he said, pulling off your bra next and dropping it on the floor. “Go on. Beg. Say, please don’t do it, Peros.’”

Don't cry.

You didn’t really think he’d stop. But you’d take the humiliation if the chance was so much as there.

“P-Please don’t do it, Peros.”

“You need to say it with more meaning, Y/n.”

“Please!” You could no longer keep the panic out of your voice. “This is beneath you!”

“I don’t think you really believe that.” He pulled off your underwear last, and you were completely bare before his hungry, roaming eyes. There was no room to be embarrassed, you were far too scared.

Tears stung at the corners of your eyes, your throat getting tight. “Think of your sisters!”

Perospero’s hand settled on your thigh, squeezing. He didn’t respond, merely watched you go out of your mind in panic as you tried to think of something else. He watched not just the exposed parts of your body, but your face, committing every waver of your expression to memory, the glistening of your eyes and the trembling of your lower lip.

“I met you as a kid!” you practically screamed. “You saved me from some bullies! You gave me candy!”

“Are you trying to appeal to my humanity?” he said, and laughed cruelly. “Poor little girl…You picked a fight with someone stronger than you.”

The tears broke free once  you knew you couldn’t talk him out of this. His eyes narrowed in sick glee.

“There it is,” he said. “All the times we’ve fought, Y/n, I’ve never once seen you afraid, no matter what our forces threw at you. How gratifying it is to finally see it now.”

He bent over you, his tongue stretching out of his mouth like a separate creature, touching your stomach before sliding a wet, warm trail up your body, between your breasts and up your neck. You pressed your head back as it lapped up your throat. If he hadn’t made his intent obvious, you’d have wondered if he was going to eat you.

“Please, stop! I won’t attack your family ever again! I’ll give up on my mission for good. I’ll… I’ll quit being a pirate!”

“I’m sure you would.”

“Don’t stoop to this!” you shriek, wincing as he licked up your body again, cleaning the blood from your face.

“I’m not stooping to anything, perorin. I’m a pirate enjoying my spoils.”

“Just kill me!"

“Oh, you’re still going to be killed, my sweet. Just not tonight.”

“Don’t,” you pleaded, his tongue coiling around your breast and squeezing to make your nipple stick out, the tip of his tongue poised over it like a snake. “Don’t!”

He lowered his tongue to brush against your nipple in one long sweep, wet and bumpy. Your entire body jerked as if electrocuted, the stimulation jolting through you. “Ah!”

“You’re the sensitive type, hm?” he said, delighted in his newfound discovery.

“No, I–!”

His tongue brushed over your nipple again, cutting you off. You bit your lip as it licked you again and again, his eyes on you as you fought and failed to keep still, twitching with every pass.

“All that fear, all that adrenaline…it just heightens the senses, doesn’t it?”

“Stop!”

Perospero was right–being on edge like that just made you more aware of your body. Your nipple quickly grew stiff under his persistent licking, and the sensation traveled straight through your body and right down to your cunt. Right when you thought you could at least get used to it, he switched to your other nipple, licking and prodding it until you thrashed to try to get away from the feeling.

“Peros! Please, please stop!” you cried.

“But we’ve only just started, my dear!” he trailed his hands down your sides, squeezing at your hips and thighs lecherously. “You’re quite the morsel…I’m going to enjoy taking my time with you.”

He started batting your nipples back and forth with his tongue, quickly and steadily, one at a time. No matter how much you jerked or angled your body away, he followed you. The stimulation was inescapable, and you’d always been particularly sensitive in your chest. Despite everything, despite how much you just wanted to die right then, you felt yourself growing wet.

“It–It’s too much!”

“Just this? Kuh kuh kuh! I thought you’d be a little more resilient, to be honest. Making so much noise already… Has it really been that long for you? You didn’t give your crew a taste?”

Perospero curved his tongue so it rubbed over both your nipples at the same time, making you gasp and arch your back.

“Not both…” you moaned.

“You like that, do you?” he mused, slowing the movements of his tongue, tantalizing and drawing it out.

“Perospero, please,” you whimpered. “No more. You–nngh–you don’t have to go any further.”

“Ah, but then you wouldn’t learn your lesson, perorin.” He massaged your thighs in false comfort. “Besides, I’m well aware of my tongue’s effect on people. I wonder…perhaps you’re afraid because I’ll find out how you really feel?” One of his hands trailed over the curve of your thigh and toward your center.

You immediately started thrashing again, trying to get away from him, but it was no use. He gripped your hip with his other hand and held you down, and with the other, he slid a long, thin finger through your folds. A thin rope of slick connected the tip of his finger to your cunt, and Perospero grinned at the sight.

“Kuh kuh kuh! You’re not being very honest with me, little morsel,” he crowed, then slipped his finger inside you. You gasped at the intrusion; it was far longer than any of yours and reached deep inside you and there was nothing you could do to stop it. Perospero curled his finger, pulling a startled moan out of you. “How does it feel?”

“Please, s-stop!”

“Wrong answer.”

Suddenly his tongue left your breasts and slithered into your mouth. He snaked it deep down your windpipe, cutting off your air. You gagged and choked, twisting and writhing to get away as he shoved it even deeper. The panic from the lack of air gripped you, cutting off all other sensation and making you thrash, your eyes watering and lungs burning.

Perospero removed his tongue from your throat, and you coughed and gasped, sucking in air desperately.

“Are you ready to be honest?” he asked.

You hesitated, you didn’t want to play along, even if you knew you should.

Hesitation was a mistake you would never make again. Perospero gleefully shoved his tongue back in your throat, choking you once more. This time he stayed there even longer, probing it even deeper, forcing it down until it physically could go no further. With his tongue practically in your lungs, he started thrusting it back and forth, fucking your windpipe while you thrashed for air.

The minute that passed felt like an eternity, and when he finally withdrew from your body and you finally caught your breath, you sobbed.

“Tell me how it feels,” Perospero repeated.

“It feels good,” you sobbed.

“Was that so difficult, perorin?” he said, going back to licking your breasts. You were too fresh from the torture for it to feel good anymore, so you only layed there, sniffling. Perospero’s grin faltered–breaking you was no fun if you were growing used to it. He uncurled his tongue from your nipples, drawing it back and forth across your front as it went lower. You noticed, your voice small when it spoke up.

“W-Wait–”

But he didn’t stop, grabbing your knees and spreading them further apart, then pulling his tongue back to lick a long stripe up your cunt, his wide tongue spreading out your folds as it went.

This time, your legs twitched, and you made a small, helpless noise of protest.

“There we go,” Perospero crooned, “that’s better, isn’t it?” 

You turned your head away, ashamed. How he adored that look on your face, feeling his pants strain at the sight.

He dove back in, lapping at your center and reveling in your taste. He always knew your slick would be as intoxicating as your blood, and had long fantasized about this moment. Your little whimpers made it all the more sweet. The wet, squelching noises of his licking filled the air as he molested you with his tongue.

Perospero drew his tongue back, then licked your cunt starting from the base of his tongue and going to the very tip in one long, drawn-out pass, until you had no choice but to moan, hips bucking off the bed.

“You love this, don’t you, perorin?” Perospero taunted, holding a hand up to his ear to better hear your response.

You didn’t dare refuse him this time. “I love it,” you whimpered. “Please stop, Perospero…”

“You should be grateful, you know. I could be torturing you right now. Cutting you up as slowly as I’m licking you…” He flicked his tongue across your clit, pulling another moan from you. “The final chapter of your life will be pleasure–isn’t that lucky? Come to think of it, I like the sound of that.” Perospero grabbed your cheek harshly, forcing you to look at him. “I’m not just going to rape you. I’m going to make you cum. Your final memories before you die will be of how good it felt when I forced myself upon you! Say ‘thank you, Perospero.’’”

“T-Thank you, Perospero.” You turned your head away as soon as he let go, though your gaze snapped right back to him when he started undoing the buttons to his clothes. “Wait. Wait!”

He shrugged off his cloak before unzipping his pants and pulling them down with his boxers. His cock sprung free, rock solid and already leaking, and you started to fight your restraints again. Perospero’s size was proportionate to his height–that was, to say, he was huge compared to you, far bigger than anything you were meant to take. He pumped himself with a pleased sigh, coating himself in his precum, then pulled you down as far as your restraints would allow, your hips at the edge of the bed and your core presented to him. He rubbed his cock between your folds, slowly and tauntingly, lubing himself up further.

“No way. You’re way too big!” you protested, squirming from the sensation. “Please, Perospero, it’s not gonna work–please, don’t!”

"You sound so cute when you beg, Y/n. I can't get enough."

"Please, please, I'm sorry!"

But he didn’t stop, only lined himself up with one hand, the other holding tight onto your thigh to keep you from moving away. There was immediate resistance as he started pressing in, but he kept going anyway, forcing your body to accommodate. You cried out in pain, eyes squeezed shut.

“It hurts–!” you cried.

“Shh…” Perospero shushed you, “you’re doing so well, sweetheart. Just a little more.”

He forced himself the rest of the way in, pulling you down by the thigh until he was entirely sheathed in your heat, relishing in the sound of your cry and the snug tightness of your cunt.

“Ahh… You’re such a little thing, aren’t you, perorin?” he said, rubbing up and down your hip. “This tightness is just divine…”

“Hurts,” you breathed again, your delicate flesh stretched out impossibly wide around him. Perospero held the reins to your worst fears coming true, and he had pulled until you could do nothing but break. Your breathing was shaky and labored as you tried to keep yourself from crying out again.

“These are your consequences, Raging Winter,” he said. “But if it hurts so much, I’d better help you adjust, no?”

With that, he started to move his hips, pulling out a few inches before pushing back in. Despite what he said, there was no gentleness to his movements; he started up a brisk, harsh pace, splitting you open on his thickness. He grabbed your hips and squeezed harshly, pulling you to meet his heavy thrusts, a grin etched his face as yours twisted up in pain.

“So good,” he panted, digging his nails into your flesh, “I’ve dreamed of this day for a long time, and it’s better than I ever imagined! Kuh kuh kuh!”

Closing your eyes only brought the pain into focus, so you turned your head away, quiet tears slipping down your cheeks as he ruthlessly violated you.

“Ah, but you don’t seem to be enjoying yourself. How thoughtless of me.”

Perospero bent over you, grabbing your face with both hands and forcing you to look at him. His eyes narrowed as he slowed his thrusts considerably, rocking his hips against yours with a gentleness you didn’t know he was capable of. In any other context, it would have been a lovemaking pace, and his tongue swept over your lips as he looked into your eyes.

Cruel. That’s what it was. Somehow even worse than just hurting you, this was a perversion of everything good and right. His deep, languid strokes eased you open, and the pain that used to be there started to tip over into something worse: You started to adjust.

Just when you thought you were at rock bottom, Perospero had figured out a way to bring you even lower, and when you felt the first stirrings of pleasure, your eyes widening in horrified realization, he knew he finally had you. After all the times you’d fought him, all the times you’d frozen his candy constructs and shattered them, all the times you’d overpowered him–he finally had his vengeance. If your wrath was frigid, his would be absolute zero, and you would suffer in your ecstasy.

“Y/n,” Perospero crooned, grinding his cock against your g-spot..

“D-Don’t,” you whimpered. “Please don’t make me say it, Peros.”

“Now, don’t be like that. You sing so beautifully, perorin.” He squeezed your breasts, sliding his tongue down to lick at your nipples, and the combined stimulation had you tighten up and moan. “Just like that, sweet thing. Let it out.”

“Ahh… n-no…”

But he had found your weak spot, fucking you rhythmically while licking at your nipples, and you couldn’t stop yourself from growing even wetter, making it easier for him to take you, nor could you stop the gasps and whimpers from spilling past your lips.

Perospero started to groan and gasp too, especially as his new attentions had you tightening around him so wonderfully. Laid out beneath him, against everything you believe in, you felt something start to build, a tension winding itself tighter, and it seemed like he was feeling it too. He slowed his pace even more, if only to draw out your torment and his pleasure, and then, reaching some breaking point, he started to go faster and faster, moans rising in pitch.

“Ah! Look at you, formerly such a nuisance and now treating me so well,” Perospero said. “How does it feel, perorin?”

“Feels good,” you moaned, the terror at your coming peak evident on your face, a mixture of revulsion and pleasure that made him throb.

“That’s a good look on you. Now, relax… It’s almost over. I’m gonna cum in that sweet little cunt of yours.”

“Not inside,” you protested weakly.

“Don’t fret, my sweet. You won’t be alive long enough for my seed to take.”

“Please–”

He grabbed your face again, his eyes wild and dark. “Not only am I going to fill you up, perorin–I’m going to make you cum with me.”

Perospero adjusted his hips to tap even deeper, if possible, continuing his assault on your nipples. You could feel the impending orgasm approach and tried everything you could to stop it, pictured every disgusting thing you could, tried to imagine anything but your body succumbed. But you were already in the worst situation you could ever picture yourself in, and it still didn’t stop.

If your orgasm was inevitable, then you wouldn’t cum with him. You absolutely refused to experience that with him, because of him, to give him that satisfaction was unacceptable. If you were gonna cum, you would cum right then instead. Switching strategies, you lifted your hips to meet his thrusts and instead focused on the pleasure, focused on how full you felt, how his tip nudged your g-spot every time he hilted inside you, and a few moments later, you tipped over the edge, your orgasm rippling through your lower half with a shuddering cry.

Perospero didn’t falter, didn’t seem upset that you spoiled his fun. Just like back on the boat when he trapped you, his grin only seemed to widen. “Kuh kuh kuh! Oh, my. You came too soon. No matter…”

He increased the strength behind his hips, picking up his pace just slightly. You weren’t worried until he stretched his tongue down to lick at your clit. A startled cry erupted from your throat; suddenly his relentless thrusts pushed past overstimulation and started to build a second time. He never waned in his licking, nudging and circling and rubbing your swollen bud until you were veering on the edge a second time.

Perospero groaned deeply and you cried out, the both of you cresting your peaks close to the same time, and he spilled inside you, one final act of complete and total assertion. Euphoria and despair tore through your body all at once, pulsing and horrible. He collapsed on top of you, his torso pressing your face down, and he stayed there as you both caught your breath.

You closed your eyes, wallowing in the aftermath of it all and beginning to feel nauseous. Perospero’s shifting made you open your eyes, and he curled over to whisper into your ear.

“Maybe I’ll convince Mama not to kill you, perorin. Then I can keep you as my toy. You’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes,” you lie, the thought bringing fresh tears to your eyes. Perospero licked them from your face before pulling out and climbing off of you to get dressed. Before he left, he looked over his shoulder, watching his cum drip from your abused center with a smile.

“Sweet dreams, my dear.”

Then he left you there, battered and exposed. For the first time in many years, you felt a sensation you’d thought you’d forgotten. The stagnant, sex-tainted air of the room clung to your clammy, sweaty skin.

For the first time since you’d eaten your devil fruit, you felt cold.

#x reader #dark content #noncon cw #perospero x reader #charlotte perospero x reader

[r0-boat]

Minecraft Warden Submas 2 nsfw

Cw:

noncon, monster fucking, kidnapping, Submas alittle ooc??, yandere,

Their bodies are made of a solid mass your sword doing hardly anything to their carapaces.

One of them grabs your grip like iron it felt as though they were crushing your bone as they forced you to the ground. grabbing the blade of your sword with ease and throwing it into the darkness. The Silver Eyes beam down at you, their hearts in the middle beating faster, still keeping you restrained, crouching to your level. Pressing their full bodies against you. The two beings reek of blood and death. grimly reminding you that their last meals weren't too long ago.

Cold, ice cold.

"warm..."

"Verrry warm"

You're warm soft fleshy body against theirs felt so nice but what they really wanted.

"sing more for us."

" More of your beautiful screams dear?"

Everything about you just made them feel things they have never felt before you're beautiful voice made them feel good and your warm body against them was something new entirely. they needed more.

The darker Warden was especially attracted to your scent. his Stone Cold face nuzzling against your tummy. His glowing claws scratched against the stone as he lowers his face down down down so he reached what felt like two plush pillars in his way of the sweet scent. you could only whimper shaking in fear feeling the other one's claws poke and prod at your soft skin making sure he feels every curve and every inch of your body memorizing every little thing until he has you burned into his mind, cooing at your soft noises every time his claws would dig in your skin a little too rough. He doesn't want to break you. Emmet hasn't yet decided if he wanted to keep you or not

You jump when the warden in front of you rap says Clawed hands around your legs pushing them open, only took growl in frustration when something else blocked. he forgot the useless Rags humans wear. he kept your legs spread with one hand has his claws dig into the leather tearing them with one tug.

But nothing else in his way all he felt was more heat but that's sweet smell was Stronger now beckoning him... To taste.

You heard sickening cracks coming from the monster in front of you his face splitting as his frown seem to get bigger his jaw unhinging revealing multiple long appendages slithering from his mouth. your whimpers turn into panic sobs which made the warden behind you purr in delight.

Your moans was a completely new song to your captors. the melody coming from your mouth was sort of hypnotic in a way, addicing made them want to listen more and more, made them want to give you more and more. your melodies seems similar in some way.

It wasn't before long when you moaned again this time arching your back you're cum flooding the warden's mouth.

Your scent, your taste, your noises, hitting him all that once. that's when he realized why you in particular caught their interest, the reason why your sweet scent and Angelic voice attracts them.

Mate

The word in his mind is so clear the realization so sudden it accidentally falls from his "lips"

"mate" the one between your legs snarled. A sound of rattling bones or an echoing cave a sound that will surely haunt you nightmares. The Smiling one widen his eyes in shock.

Human as a mate? sounds absurd but now that his brother mentioned it they did smell like one maybe that's why they are so attracted attracted to their voice.

Immediately their tone changed. The Smiling one immediately stopped poking and prodding at you instead he moved you closer. you hear a hollow rumbling noise behind you.

P-purring?!

"m-mm Mate t-tastes soo good, soo soft." the one between your legs quivers.

The other one behind you quickly chiming in "wanna mate with them is my turn! Want to make them feel good,"

What.

Not too long ago they were trying to kill you they seemed pretty adamant on killing you after they poked and prodded you a little.

Smiling one suddenly treating you gently and carefully laid your head against the stone as he eagerly took his place between your legs his brother moving away probably taking his place beside you. as the 10 ft tall warden tries to move you within his lap you shake your head your hands pushing against his chest. The Smiling warden exchanged a look with his brother.

The frowning warden immediately responses

" well killing them was on the schedule..."

" our apologies mate, we did not know "

"we are verrrry sorry. I promise we'll be very good to you from now on"

" will protect you, and you'll never leave our sides ever."

You only shake your head trying to squirm away but again there's so much stronger than you that you could barely move an inch.

The Smiling Warden the frowning one go quiet for a second before the smiling Warden speaking.

" we'll show you that we could be good mates."

They'll just be like humans and maybe you'll be more comfortable, human actually uses their names human actually use their names right do maybe... the Sideburn tentacle things light up transferring his idea to his brothers which begin to light up as well.

"I'm Ingo" the frowning warden sayes before nudging to his brother " this is emmet"

Wardens don't have names they don't need them but for you, these names will be just fine.

"Im Emmet!" The Smiling one says

"Now that you know everything about us, we still want to know everything about you~” ingo purrs"

" as you have noticed we cannot see verrrry well,but we can be verrry sensitive to touch, and scent, and taste," emmet states his sharp claws brushing through your hair.

" my brother has already tasted you and I want to feel you"

Your eyes catch something glowing looking in horror as you see something begin to grow between his legs. apart in his carapace that seemed softer than the rest. and something seem to have started to protrude from a slit in that part of his body. it's soft skin twinkling like stars, the appendages yes two of them looked big thick, hard, also flexible like tentacles.

Looking at them scared you. you yelped when Emmet dragged you closer feeling the cold slimy appendages grind against your entrance.

" we want to know everything about you, inside and out, you'll make plenty of nice noses for us won't you dear?"

#smut #pokemon submas smut #submas smut #submas #pokemon ingo smut #Imma fake fan the train speak scares me #subway boss emmet #subway bosses #subway boss ingo #warden ingo #ingo x reader x emmet #warden ingo x reader #pokemon emmet x reader #noncon cw #Yandere #emmet x reader #ingo x reader