GojosBoyWife

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It was a very… concerning “job” posting.

But desperate times, and all that. 

It had shown up about a week ago, and it wasn’t hard to see why no one had taken the poster up on it as of yet. 

Bedmate Needed

● 11 pm to 6 am

● $25/hour up front

● Riverside Motel

● Room 44

● Not a sex thing

The last note seemed tacked on in a later edit, but it was still… not great.

You’d have to be either a gullible idiot or a desperate one to go for a job like this. Unfortunately, you were the latter. Very much so.

You couldn’t take another night on the street. It was getting so cold out. The promise of a warm bed was almost enough to lure you in on its own. But the money… 175 bucks just to sleep in the same bed as some internet creep?

Despite the clarification in the post, this had to be a sex thing, right?

You hadn’t gone that far, despite everything. It’s not like you hadn’t considered it… but the thought was too terrifying. Making yourself completely vulnerable to a stranger that could just decide you were less than a person and do whatever they wanted to you? You had to draw the line somewhere.

But at this point, you weren’t sure that there was a line you weren’t willing to cross anymore. 

. . .

The Motel wasn’t the seediest you’d ever seen around town but it wasn’t a place you would’ve voluntarily stayed at even two months ago. Back when you had options. 

Creepy post guy opened the door after a couple of knocks, with an awkward, pregnant pause between them. He wasn’t quite what you expected for an internet creep, but he was still a sight to see.

Really bad posture and dark, greasy-looking hair, with the darkest circles under his eyes you’d ever seen. He looked like he was about to pass out at any second, but he held it together long enough to gesture you into the room. 

“Hey…” His voice was low but he sounded nervous. And so, so tired. “You’re… You’re a little early. That’s…that’s fine. Uh, come in.”

You felt his eyes on you as you passed him, and it didn’t help your anxiousness. Not one bit. 

“Hey so, I-I really…I uh, need a shower.” He stumbled over his words with a breathy, nervous laugh. “Unless you wanna sleep next to a… fuckin’ sweaty mess all night. Do you wanna go first or…?”

You must’ve looked nervous because his eyes went wider, digging into his pocket.

“I wasn’t tryin’ to… Oh, uh…here.” He nodded, pressing the money into your hand. “Up front, just… just like I said. You just…just seemed like you maybe sorta needed one too.”

Some part of you must’ve still had an ounce of pride left because your whole body felt on fire with shame, embarrassment so consuming that you froze up. It had been a couple of days…

He just looked away, seeming like he was embarrassed himself. 

“I w-wasn’t gonna like… try to join you or peep on you or nothin’!” He tried to assure you, eyes darting in a panic and talking a bit too fast. “If I, like, go first? I won’t get mad if you change your mind and leave… I get it. I’m not gonna like… go after you or call the cops or nothin’ like that. I just…”

He stared at the floor, nails digging into his arm as he seemed like he was having trouble breathing.

“I really… I really need this.” He was so quiet, but his voice was so desperate.

You couldn’t really be considering this, could you?

He seemed more like a weird, awkward, sad guy than a real danger or some kind of pervert.

And you really did need a hot shower. 

It seemed like a safer bet to have him go first, if you were really going through with this. And it would give you a chance to look around the room for a spot to tuck away your pocket knife, just in case.

When he was in the shower, you did just that. The spot between the mattress and bed frame would be easy to grab at if things got hinky.

If things got all touchy-feely, as you suspected they would, him finding that on you or leaving it in your pocket when your clothes got tossed wherever would be really inconvenient. 

Steam rolled out of the bathroom when he stepped out, shirtless but with sweatpants and a towel around his neck. He was thin, almost alarmingly so, but you could still see muscle, enough to pose a problem should he decide to overpower you.

This was your last chance to back out, before you’d be vulnerable to this odd stranger.

But even if you left, the money wouldn’t last long, and it’s not like you had any other options. 

You were so grateful that the motel tub wasn’t disgusting, but you would’ve gotten clean regardless. Two days worth of sweat and funk was washed away and it felt so heavenly… But it was hard to relax when you were trying to stay hyper alert of any noise that could be that man trying to get in or even eavesdrop.

But…

Nothing. 

You finished your shower and brushed your teeth, doing everything you could to feel clean that a motel bathroom could provide. And there was no sign of the guy. 

But you had to go back out there eventually. You supposed you could lock yourself in here and get a full night’s sleep indoors, even if it was on the floor of a motel bathroom with your back against the door, but part of you just said “fuck it” and warily peeked around the doorway into the bedroom.

The lights in the room were dim, but warm. He was sitting on the end of the bed, one knee tucked into his chest, staring at the tv as the bright colors of a nightly talk show reflected in his eyes, but something told you he wasn’t really watching. His eyes met yours and you froze.

“It’s almost eleven…” He mumbled, his head resting awkwardly on his shoulder. His hand ghosted over the spot on the bed next to him. “… Will... will you stay?”

So many thoughts raced through your head. What would happen if you laid down beside him? You could probably deal with sex… even if it felt a bit wrong. But if he wanted to hurt you?

Your brain reminded you:

What do you really have to lose?

When you told him you would stay, sitting next to him, you could see him relax. Just a bit.

“If you still want to leave-”

But you cut him off, almost afraid he would talk you out of it after you’d made up your mind.

Avoiding his stare, you told him you had nowhere to go.

The bed was cold, it might take a bit to warm up with the two of you in it, but it was the least of your concerns at that moment. 

“So it’s...” He’d spoken up so suddenly, you hoped he didn’t see you flinch. He was staring at the ceiling, seeming just a tiny bit calmer. “... it’s fine if you just… lay there or h-hold onto me, or play on your phone or whatever, anything is fine. Just… just don’t leave ‘til mornin’. Okay?”

A worrying pause, but you told him you understood.

And that was that. He laid next to you unmoving for almost an hour before you had the nerve to move at all, shifting slowly to your side to face him.

His eyes were shut, his breathing even, but somehow you knew he was still awake. It was like he was trying to sleep but it just wasn’t coming to him. He looked so worn down, like he could just keel over any second. It definitely made him less intimidating, but you weren’t letting your guard down, no matter how much your body was screaming at you to just let go.

Despite your better judgement, you wondered if he really was being genuine about this not being a sex thing. It was a relief, sure, but it just raised more questions.

Why were you here?

. . .

You’d stopped looking at the bedside clock a while ago. It had to have been hours by then.

Your anxiety and dread somehow felt quieter under the lull of impending sleep. Despite everything, your body was at least grateful for a warm bed and hot shower, and if you didn’t sleep there now, you didn’t know when you’d be able to sleep somewhere warm any time soon. 

Every moment that ticked by, you felt your resolve slipping. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, just to let go… This whole situation was weird, but you just wanted to sleep.

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He hoped against everything that he would just fall asleep.

Just this once, he didn’t want to have to follow through with it. But he was so damn tired. There was this ache behind his eyes that he could feel in his bones, his mind never stopped racing… 

He could feel your body heat in the bed next to him. You had either been very scared or very considerate, you’d only moved once since you laid down with him. 

He hated that he had to do this. He felt sorry for you, he really did. But it was drowned out by the buzzing in the back of his brain. The constant whispers in his ear. 

There had been so many before now, it was a miracle he hadn’t gotten caught. But this was a huge, dangerous city. Everyone in it was just a blip to anyone paying attention. 

He could feel their skin under his palms buzzing at the back of his brain. How their eyes stared into his, burning with betrayal, fear, helplessness. How he saw them fade away.

How it was the only thing that worked to let him finally sleep. The only thing that quieted the whispers, at least for a little bit. 

Some booked it after getting the money. Some just showed up and straight-up robbed him. Some tried to leave in the middle of the night, thinking he was asleep. But if they stayed and fell asleep, that was that.

He told himself that he gave them all a chance. 

If you managed to stay up all night, you’d be safe. But he really needed this… It was already day three, and he’d never made it past day five without completely losing it. Trying to fight this, it was too hard. The longer he stayed awake, trying to avoid what had to happen, the worse he felt. The louder the voice got. The deeper the ache in his bones. But the more often he did it, the easier it got. And that was worse in a different way. 

It was wrong. He wasn’t so deep in it that he couldn’t see that. The morning after, he always hated himself and what he did. 

But as the days went on, it would all creep back in. And doing it again felt less and less horrifying to him. 

You were scared. He could tell. And you had every reason to be, he told himself. But it just meant it would take you longer to fall asleep. 

He could wait all night. And if you made it the full seven hours, you weren’t what he needed. You’d be free from him, from this. Hopefully you wouldn’t come back, no matter how badly you needed the money.

He wondered what you meant by having nowhere to go.

But he tried not to wonder too much. It would make this harder. 

He could hear your breathing getting slower, your body relaxing into the bed. You wouldn’t last much longer. 

His eyes shot open when he felt you suddenly touch him, tucking your forehead into his shoulder. You weren’t quite asleep, a cuddler? He almost laughed to himself when half-asleep you looked a bit frustrated, like it wasn’t enough.

You muttered something about being cold, lazily scooting your body closer to him up the bed. He felt his breath catch when suddenly, his head was pulled to you, tucked into your chest as your arm circled him. He was suddenly the little spoon, but facing you. He could hear your heartbeat. 

He wanted to say something, wake you up or wriggle free to make what he had to do easier on you when you fell asleep. He felt a hand in his hair, playing with it and idle gentle nails on his scalp. 

It was… nice. Everything felt calm, the buzzing and horrible thoughts were still there but they were being drowned out by the warmth of your skin, the thump of your heart in his ear.

You were mumbling something. He held his breath, trying to hear.

You told him, or whoever you were dreaming about, maybe even no one at all, that he was okay. That he was safe. 

He couldn’t keep his eyes open. Something was different this time. He felt all his control slipping away, and for once, he wasn’t scared. 

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You woke to a sunbeam across your face, and the strange man in your arms, sound asleep. According to your phone, it was 10 am. You were grateful for the extra hours in a warm bed, but would he be mad? Did he have somewhere to be?

You couldn’t remember anything past drifting off next to him, but the two of you were tangled together, he seemed so comfortable.

Now that it was over, and your anxieties were much quieter, you really got a good look at the guy. He wasn’t… unattractive, you supposed. He was all elbows and ribs but laying against your chest made him look so soft and harmless. 

Wasn’t the worst way you’d ever made 175 bucks.

You wondered if he’d shell out the extra 100, or if that would be pushing your luck. 

Either way, it would be best to wake him up.

Gently scratching at his scalp, you told him it was getting late.

You watched as his eyes struggled to open, and for a few calm moments, he just laid against you. After a beat, he gasped and jolted up, head swiveling around the room in a panic.

“I…” He seemed really out of it, almost scared. “I actually…”

He stared at you, eyes wide. You told him it was ten in the morning, hoping everything was okay and if it wasn’t, that he wouldn’t take it out on you.

He grabbed you by the shoulders, and for a moment you were sure something bad was going to happen, but somehow, it was even worse.

He was crying.

Breaking down, sobbing hard as he just kept staring at you. Even with the odd night you’d just had, this was somehow the weirdest part. 

Despite yourself, you asked him if he was okay. He pulled himself together and you were startled again when he touched your face, his thumb gently grazing your cheek. It was tender and sweet, and it was freaking you out a little. Just a tad. 

“You… It was you…”

All you could think to ask was if you should get going, maybe trying to make it seem like you had someplace to be, or were at least trying to be considerate of his time. But it didn’t seem like he was taking the hint. 

He grabbed your hands in his, the sudden contact made you jump. He pulled them to his chest, he was too close. The way he was looking at you…

“Can we… Can we do this again? Like tonight? Please?” He was practically begging, the look in his eyes changing. That nervous, achingly tired gaze was hopeful. And so warm.

“You can have the room, if that’s what you need!” he offered, maybe somehow having picked up on your current situation. “I can pay more too. Just p-please…”

He held your palm to his cheek, staring up at you.

“I need you.”

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a bit of a different one from me, but i kind of liked how it turned out

that feeling when your new yandere was totally gonna off you but you were just too comfy

he's never gonna let you go. you're the only thing keepin him from killing again, ya know?

i don't have a ton of yanderes that actually kill, as odd as that seems. but this guy is one of them

he's not supposed to be a huge commentary on any particular mental health conditions, i did a bit of "research" into psychosis induced insomnia (using that term VERY loosely), but like does he hear voices because he can't sleep, or can he not sleep because he hears voices? who can say? certainly not I, the dummy who made him

i wrote this one pretty much right after my last big deadline ended, but it got reworked a bit cause it just needed some tweaks:

the yandere started out as tired but crass, kind of a dick, and when he switched after that good night's sleep it felt off. It felt more interesting if he was a bit pathetic and creepy, it felt like less of a red flag for the reader to stick around

the reader was originally going to be a straight up s*x worker that got hired by the yandere for him to kill, but it didn't really feel like my place to make that commentary on violence against s*x workers or to more or less soften it with a yandere love interest. it just didn't feel right for something so unserious

In the suffocating stillness of the prison realm, Satoru Gojo floated, locked in a cold, dark silence that seemed to stretch on forever. Each second without sound, without sensation, stretched into eternity, pressing down on him like a weightless but unyielding force, tightening around his chest. It was an emptiness that gnawed at him, leaving him hollow and aching in ways he’d never known before. Alone, with no sense of the world beyond, he felt himself unraveling, piece by piece.

But then—like a spark flaring in the dark—images burst through his vision. He wasn’t sure if it was a blessing or a curse when he saw his classroom first, every detail sharpened in painful clarity. And there, in the middle of the room, was his little sister.

Sixteen years old, with that familiar spark of determination he’d always teased her for, she stood alone, shoulders hunched under a weight too heavy for her small frame. She was tearing through the room, tossing papers, shoving books aside, fingers trembling as she ran them over every surface. Her movements were frantic, desperate, as if the answer she was looking for was hidden somewhere just out of reach.

Gojo’s chest tightened, a cold ache spreading through him as he watched her. He could almost feel her heart racing, her hands growing sore as she rifled through stack after stack of his things. She lifted a framed photo of the two of them, hands shaking as she ran a thumb over his grinning face, as though she could pull him back into her world with just a touch.

He tried to reach for her, tried to speak, to let her know he was here, that he would come back to her no matter what. But he was paralyzed, trapped in this prison, his voice swallowed by the void. All he could do was watch as her fingers lingered on the photo, her expression so tight it seemed to press against her skin, like her very bones bore the weight of her sorrow.

“Where are you?” she whispered into the empty room, her voice thin and hoarse, her tone teetering between hope and despair. Her words pierced through him, sharp and unyielding. He wanted to scream, to break free of these chains and pull her into his arms, to tell her he was fighting with everything he had. But he could do nothing but watch her shoulders slump, her jaw clenching as she forced herself to keep searching, her fingers growing raw from the frantic pace.

Room after room she went, her movements growing wilder, sloppier, as desperation overtook her. She brushed dust off old notebooks, tore through drawers, her hands now smudged and reddened. She didn’t pause to brush her hair out of her face, strands sticking to her cheeks, slick with sweat and tears. She moved with an intensity that seemed to burn her from the inside out, her breath coming in short, painful bursts, her hands shaking as if they’d forgotten how to hold still.

Finally, she reached the far wall, her eyes wild with grief and fury and the fierce need to make sense of his absence. Gojo’s heart ached, feeling like it was being torn apart in his chest, a physical pain that throbbed with every breath he couldn’t take. He knew what was coming, saw the way her body tensed, her shoulders tightening as if the frustration had built up to an unbearable pressure. She raised her fist and drove it into the wall, the sound of impact shattering the silence, the plaster crumbling under her blow.

Pain flashed across her face as her hand dropped back, knuckles raw and bleeding, but she didn’t even flinch. She only stared at the hole, her chest heaving as she struggled to contain the flood of emotion surging within her. She pressed her bruised hand to her chest, fingers curling inward as though to hold herself together, to keep herself from breaking apart entirely.

The tears she’d fought so hard to hold back finally slipped free, trailing down her cheeks and carving paths through the dust on her skin. Her lips trembled as she took a shuddering breath, and a sound escaped her—a strangled, broken sob that seemed to pull at something deep inside Gojo, a wound that tore wider with every heartbeat.

She collapsed to her knees, clutching her injured hand, shoulders quaking as she buried her face in her arm, her quiet sobs muffled but unmistakable. She was breaking, right before his eyes, and there was nothing he could do. The helplessness was a tangible weight pressing against him, like iron wrapped around his ribs, squeezing tighter with each silent second that passed.

The vision shifted, and he saw a shadow cross the doorway. Megumi. His face was unreadable, eyes dark and concerned as he watched her. For a moment, he just stood there, taking in her small, hunched form, her hand bloodied from the impact. And then, with a gentleness that Gojo hadn’t seen in years, Megumi knelt beside her, a comforting presence in the midst of her storm.

Without a word, he rested a hand on her shoulder, steadying her, grounding her, offering a lifeline in the swirling chaos. She turned to him, her face crumpling as she met his gaze, and in that moment, all the walls she had built shattered. A soft, broken sob escaped her, and she leaned into him, clutching at his shirt as though he were the last solid thing in a world that was falling apart.

Megumi wrapped his arms around her, his grip firm but gentle, his hand moving in slow circles over her back. “It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice low and steady, like an anchor in a raging storm. “You don’t have to do this alone. We’re going to get him back. I promise.”

“But what if… what if we can’t?” she choked out, her voice so small, so full of fear. Her fingers twisted in his shirt, her knuckles white, as if she could hold on to hope through sheer force of will. “I don’t know if I can keep… if I can hold on without him.”

Megumi’s grip tightened, his own face lined with quiet determination. He exhaled a shaky breath, letting her words sink in, then pressed his forehead against hers. “We’ll find a way. He’s still out there. And he’s Satoru Gojo… nothing can keep him down for long.”

She nodded, swallowing her tears, clinging to his words as though they were a lifeline. The two of them huddled there, their forms blurred by her tears, their shared pain a tangible, suffocating weight in the air. Gojo watched, feeling every heartbeat as if it were a knife twisting in his chest. She was so young, too young to bear this burden. They both were. Yet they held on, clinging to each other, refusing to let the world break them.

The vision faded, and he was left in the silent darkness once more, the ache in his chest a constant reminder of everything he’d lost. But beneath the pain, there was a spark—a fierce, unrelenting determination that blazed through the cold. He would come back. He would find a way. And when he did, those who had put them through this, who had left his sister and his student to shoulder the weight of his absence, would pay dearly for their suffering.

TAGLIST

Satoru and Suguru who keep you around because it's nice to just have someone to be emotionally intimate without any romance.

Sometimes, it's nice to just have someone who they can lounge around lazily without any romantic/sexual tension.

Having someone to warm their bed whenever they pleased was nice, but they'd usually lose interest by the third week. They didn't really connect with anyone further than they needed to. That's what you're for!

Their loser friend, who they inadvertently share their deepest, darkest secrets to. Their loser friend who rolls their eyes when they're both hungover in the morning after a party (that you refused to go to) but already has coffee and advil on the ready.

Their loser friend, who they unknowingly seek out for comfort whenever they're in a bad mood, laying their head on your shoulder while you play with their hair as they rant about literally anything and everything.

It's nice. It's purely platonic, surely. Totally.

That was until the second the second year of uni rolls around, and you start putting in more effort into how you look.

At first, they're absolutely baffled when they first see you actually dressed up. You had your hair done, your clothes are form fitting, and you're even wearing a bit of makeup.

Did their friend get abducted and get replaced by an alien? Who are you?

The changes weren't immediate, but they noticed it all the same. You got your hair cut. You got better at makeup. Your clothes changed from baggy to more form-fitting, more flattering clothes over time as you grew into your style.

Clearly, they weren't the only ones who noticed the change because suddenly it's not so odd that you're there with them when they walk the halls anymore.

You're dolling up to impress someone, clearly, but that someone isn't them. And that idea doesn't sit well in their stomachs.

It's when you start dating and have less time for them that the two eventually realise that they took the fact that they had you all to themselves for granted.

It's only then that they realise that maybe, just maybe, they liked you more than just as a childhood friend.