🪼Imagination is one hell of a drug🪼

"Anything that your mind tricks you into thinking is fake," Satoru's firm voice comes, tone mellow, serious. He gets this way any time he shares things with you about his profession, any time he attempts to bridge that gap between you and the sorcerer-world. You purse your lips and glare hard, at the dark windows reflecting moonlight, around the blue double doors signifying an entrance and exit. "Any shadows. Any feelings of dread, or sadness. Just an unknown presence."

"An unknown presence," you repeat slowly, (e/c) eyes skittering across the area. "So it'll look like a shadow?"

"No. It'll look more like some kind of monster. You'll know it when you see it. When you feel it."

Something unsettling sits in the pit of your stomach as you furrow your brows. "Okay," you murmur uncertainly. Satoru notes the subtle shift in you, the displacement and unease, and his hands hold you tighter.

"I got you. Don't worry," he assures. You nod, swallow hard, and focus.

Despite how firmly Satoru stands his ground for you, and the confidence he very clearly withholds regarding the foreign things he introduces to you, the ivory haired man shields his anxieties regarding your wellbeing deep within, locking them away to be uncovered in the privacy of his loneliness, when he's separated from you, far off in a territory that you can not fathom. That you do not know.

Months of puppy love have passed, of Satoru sneaking off to see you every second he can, of him juggling his students and responsibilities with the love that is blooming in his soul, and that has been from the very moment his eyes first lay on you. Months of carefully feeding you information in increments, of him unveiling truths and secrets to your virgin eyes and ears that have your head reeling at the insanity. And he hasn't even told you who he is yet. Not really. Not fully.

Satoru tries his very best not to overwhelm you. He started with little tricks, like his teleportation and his infinity when it takes the form of a shield around his body. Gradually, notions of cursed energy, cursed techniques, and weapons floated into conversation. And even that was a lot for you to grasp. And hell, the sapphire eyed man does not blame you.

Life with you has been refreshing, yet so odd. He has never spent such a prolonged amount of time with someone who does not know who he is off the bat, with someone who has never heard of the horror that he is, that he deals with day in and day out. You're completely ordinary in that aspect. No cursed energy. No untapped technique. You're just you, just a human being. And yet, that is one of the most extraordinary things that Satoru has come to find about you.

Because you are just a human. You're independent. You're kind. You're emotional, you're passionate. You're motivated. You're strong, like very physically strong - one time you kneed Satoru in the gut accidentally while he straddled over you and attacked you in a fit of tickles. The very action knocked the wind out of him and sent him toppling onto the other side of the bed from the shock, his hands clutching his gut. He at least knows that he does not have to protect you from human dangers, though he absolutely still plans to.

You're everything that Gojo never knew he wanted in a partner. Loyal, opinionated, outspoken, gentle, nurturing, sweet, and you are one of the greatest beings he has ever known. But you aren't a sorcerer. And while he finds that he loves that about you, that he can breathe and let himself simply be in your presence without the burden of having to keep appearances or adhere to the name that nations beg sanctity from, you have absolutely no way of confronting the supernatural evil that lurks if it ever faces you.

It terrifies Satoru more than anything else in this world, and Satoru Gojo has never experienced such fear before in his life. He's never really had reason to be afraid of anything before meeting you.

And if basic concepts and principles of sorcery overwhelm you, then how could he ever begin to tell you who he is? The weight of his presence in any room? What it really means for you to be with him, and how he frets every day for your safety solely because he cares so deeply for you?

You don't know that you're dating the strongest sorcerer of the modern age. You don't know that you have the honored one, feared and esteemed by the whole of Jujutsu Sorcery, wrapped around your perfectly manicured finger, as you go to work every day to fulfill your duty while Satoru fulfills his. Your ignorance to the weight of the situation is one of the only ways Satoru really knows how to keep you and himself sane, for if you knew what he could do. If you saw what he could see. If you heard the things that monsters and demons say about him... you'd certainly go running for the hills. He swears you would, and you'd have every right.

He wants to tell you enough to keep you safe, to bring your guard up in case a threat imposes itself on you, but he wants to hide you away from enough to maintain the peace of your own stressful life. Because even if Satoru did tell you that he is the greatest sorcerer of all time, the infinite layers that come with such a title would be too much to throw at you, too much for you to bear. It already is for him, for his students, for his coworkers, so he couldn't imagine what it would do to you... how your opinions would change, the light you would begin to see him in.

It's all so tricky. A very slippery slope. But Satoru's very life has been constructed around the protection of the weak and vulnerable, therefore to prioritize you feels like something of his birthright. The whole of humanity is one thing, but what would he be if he could not protect the one human being who actually, truly, deeply means something to him?

Satoru thinks of Suguru more and more each day as he falls deeper and deeper into your entrancement. He thinks of what he would say. How he would respond. The disgust with which those hazel eyes would look upon him. The pity he'd hear in that voice.

You just couldn't help it, could you?

And he would have been right. Satoru couldn't help it. He couldn't help but to fall for you, and perhaps his love for humanity will be the very thing to end him one day, but the ivory haired sorcerer doesn't care. Suguru chose hatred and bigotry. Satoru chooses love. In every single universe. Every single time.

And it's aching all over his body. It's making his mind spin, his stomach churn, his fears rise and rise and rise. The thoughts of someone discovering you, someone stealing you away, someone using your weakness to their advantage to get a rise out of him haunt the blue eyed twenty eight year old to no end.

He can't sleep when he's not around you. When he can't see you. When he can't physically feel you breathing against him.

He pops into your life without warning every day, teleporting mid mission to your office or your room, swooping in to dot kisses on your stunned lips and to check in and make sure you're still breathing. That your doors are locked and your blinds are closed. That no curses have clung to your body in his absence. That no unwarranted eyes are surveying you outside of his.

Like he told Shoko that one day a few months back, he's in too deep. And now that he's unveiled his truth to you, he's in much, much deeper. So deep, that he feels he couldn't exist if something were to happen to you, that he must be near you at least twice a day or else panic will settle in, and the fears concerning your safety will wreck his erratic brain.

So, he's decided to try to further push you, to test just exactly how estranged you are from curses and jujutsu. What you can sense and what you can't, to get a better grasp on how imperative it is for you to be mindful of your surroundings.

And you are, but what you look for aren't curses. You look for strange men, weapons, robbers, the typical ailments of everyday life for everyday people. But you need to look beyond those, to look for the entities inspiring such behavior, to seek safety beyond human reason.

Hence, why he's dragged you out of the coziness of your bed in the middle of the night to an elementary school he frequents, one where he knows a number of curses linger about the space. To see how much protection you need. To measure the circumstances.

He waits as patiently as he can, rising back to stand upright, keeping you safe within his hold where no vermin could even think about inching toward you. He admits, his presence alone is likely enough to send all the lingering curses running into the opposite direction, but he senses the presence of a few. They aren't very strong, but they are strong enough for you to pick up on. For you to be mildly impacted.

But can you see them? Can you sense them?

"Uh," your voice finally speaks up after a prolonged period of silence, and Satoru looks down at you, alert, eager to know if there is something there that he has to work with.

"What is it?" he asks lowly. "What do you see?"

Your lips twist, your head angling slightly. Satoru feels your shoulders tense up a bit. "I don't... I don't see anything," you admit. "But I feel really, like, sad all of a sudden. Like heavy."

Satoru surveys you, releasing your shoulders to angle your body slightly toward him, his hand clasping gently around your arm. Your eyes snap up to him as you let him look over you, then you look back over your shoulder at the school, visibly troubled.

"I see," he says. "And... that's all you feel? You sure you didn't look over anything?"

"I'm pretty sure, Toru. We've been standing and staring at this place for fifteen minutes. If something were there, I would've seen it by now," you rub your forearm awkwardly.

Satoru fights the way his heart plummets. He fights the disappointment and further fear that grips him. He fights anxiety that wages behind a wall of feigned calmness.

He releases you gradually, placing a hand on his hip and one scratching the back of his neck. He turns to look back up at the array of curses that wiggle around the school's entrance, peaking out from cracks and crevices and bushes, and he exhales. "Alright..." he mumbles.

Your lips purse as you look between him and the school with sudden shame. "Sorry," you apologize.

This snaps Satoru out of his thoughts as he looks at you. "Hm? For what?"

You shrug, looking down. "It seems like I was supposed to see something that I just can't," you frown. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to stress you out."

"You're not stressing me out, baby," Satoru says, his tone shifting from that steady seriousness to something comforting and sweet. "It's not you. You don't have to apologize for something that isn't your fault. You didn't ask for the world to be like this."

"Yeah, I know, but..." you hesitate as Satoru's arms fall and he turns back to you completely. "it's bad that I can't see those things, isn't it? Doesn't that just make everything harder for you?"

"There's only one thing that's hard for me, (Y/n), and that's being away from you." His arm slips around your waist, bringing you closer to him. In his attempt to make you crack a smile, you stare up at him with lips curved downward and doubt creeping over your pretty face.

"I'm being serious. You always downplay everything you have going on."

"And you worry about me too much."

"You try having a sorcerer for a boyfriend and see how you feel," you roll your eyes. Satoru chuckles away the layers that could be lying within your words and tucks you against his side, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. "And you worry about me way more. Clearly. So I'm asking you, does this make things harder?"

Satoru sighs, resting his head against yours. "It adds extra steps to my plan," he elects to say instead.

"What plan?"

"My plan to keep you safe," he says. "But it doesn't make anything harder. Nothing with you is harder."

You lean back to look at him, and he lifts his head. "I feel like you're lying."

He smiles. "How many times do I have to tell you? I'm not a liar."

"I know, but -" you stop yourself and shake your head, leaning back into his side. "Nevermind."

Your boyfriend leans his head forward slightly to get a better look at you. "Hey. Don't beat yourself up about it, pretty girl. It's not a big deal. I promise."

"I don't know. It seems that way, though."

"Maybe it would be if there weren't other ways for you to see curses, but there are."

You perk up, meeting his gaze hopefully. "Yeah?"

He hums, a smile growing at the sight of your hope. He starts to turn the two of you around, guiding you away from the haunted school so that you won't have to be within the vicinity of such negativity anymore. "Remember those cursed tools I told you about?" he asks, and you nod, your own arm raising to wrap around his long torso as the two of you walk together. "Well, they come in all shapes and sizes. And there's glasses you can wear if you can't detect curses or cursed energy on your own that can help you see everything."

Your brows raise, your other hand coming to press against his chest. "You mean I could see everything that you see?"

Satoru grins. "That's right."

You gasp. "How do I get them?"

"I'm ten steps ahead of you. Let's call it a night, and I'll run out to bring you some tomorrow morning, okay?"

"Okay. Okay, cool," you nod, solidified in a newfound relief that you wouldn't be a complete basket case after all. "That's good. Thank you."

"Anything for you,” he beams. “But when you get them, you're gonna have to sit with me so I can go over a few things, okay? I'll need you to listen carefully."

You click your tongue. "I always do."

"Yeah. You do," he pecks the side of your head again. "We can make it like roleplay. Professor Gojo and his really hot, over qualified college student. What will she do for extra credit if she can't understand how cursed tools work?" he purrs suggestively, and you roll your eyes with a laugh. Satoru swells with pride, happy to make you smile again.

"Stop being such a freak."

"Baby, how can I when I've got you?"

The next morning, Satoru makes good on his promise. After some private conversations with Shoko and Maki and a few errands, he's able to get his hands on a pair of frames for you. He is purposely discreet, as the only people who know about you in depth are Yaga and Shoko. Back when the two of you started dating, he bragged, but after he unveiled the Jujutsu World to you, he decided to tell everyone that you dumped him. And that Shoko saw it with her own eyes - and, technically, she did. She was at least able to vouch for him.

He can't risk news of you getting back to the Higher Ups, especially now that they've been on his case more and more lately. He knows they suspect something is afoot, but he'd like to keep those thoughts as speculations and nothing more.

Though it is currently the slot that Satoru is meant to be teaching, he teleports back to your room for what he thinks will be a quick drop off until his time is freed up.

But the second his feet land on the carpet of your floor, the stench of an intruder reeks throughout your space, and pools of cursed energy drag across the floors and walls. When he looks, there's remnants across your bed as well.

Something cold washes over Satoru's bones as your glasses drop from his grasp and onto the ground with little commotion. He freezes, taking in the space, six eyes capturing every single detail out of place. Your window is broken, shards of glass littering the floor. Your sheets are rumpled as if you picked yourself up from them in a hurry. Your phone is left open on your nightstand, and facing the ceiling is the text thread between you and him. You were about to text him.

He doesn't feel you anywhere. He can't sense you within this space, nor within five miles of your apartment.

Your room is still as the breeze wafts into it, like it was frozen in time the moment you left. There's clutter that dropped from your stand beside your bedside, and god, that smell. It smells nothing like you. It smells like a fucking plague.

Satoru's blood runs icy. His pupils are small behind his blindfold, his voice stolen from his throat.

At first glance, things are off. Your broken window, your messy bed. He knows. He fucking knows someone was here, that some curse user was rummaging through your things, breathing your air, existing within your well kept environment.

He does not need to search the house to know that you aren't here, to feed the denial that is attempting to combat what he knows and sees and feels in his gut, with all six of his senses. But he instinctively does anyway.

He teleports downstairs, to your living space, and finds the same remnants of cursed energy tracked across your floors. When he turns to look, the forced entry is evident by your front door thrown ajar. He moves to the kitchen, to your bathroom, to the small patch of green out back that you always try to swear up and down is a backyard. This fucker was everywhere. 

And when he turns and looks out front, your car is still parked next to the sidewalk.

No. No way.

Satoru's hands twitch at his side, and his entire body begins to tremble. His nose flares, his breathing escalates, and Suguru's voice pops up in his head again, yammering away.

You knew this would happen. She's a human after all.

There are no words for the feeling that overcomes Satoru's body and mind, that completely encapsulates him as he teleports back to your room and picks up your phone with gracious, wobbling fingers. In the text box he reads an interrupted sentence. “I think someone- “

Then nothing.

There's nothing. You've left nothing behind but your scent dominated by someone else's, and the strongest sorcerer of the modern age sees red. Crimson drips into his vision, seeps the world in its tint, and an anger like no other births itself in his core and makes every nerve in his system vibrate.

His head wails with all the things he can't verbalize, as anger chokes the words in his throat. He knew it. He knew something would happen to you. How could he let something happen to you? Why wasn't he there? He always promised to be there. Where did you go? Who took you? Why? Why didn't you-

Satoru rips his wild eyes back over to your new glasses on the ground, and a lump builds in his throat. There was nothing you could have done. Nothing you could have fought with to protect yourself. You probably didn't even know something or someone was pursuing or stalking you.

You're a human who can’t see curses. How could you have known anything?

Someone knew this. Someone stole you away because you're weak. Because Satoru wasn't around. His worst fear, the very thing that keeps him awake at night, that makes him lose increments of his sanity every day, has come to life.

You're gone. Someone has you.

When Satoru's blurry gaze turns back to your nightstand, to the space where your phone that he clutches in his hand once lay, he sees it. Specks of blood freckled on the wooden surface.

Gone is the savior. Gone is the providor. Gone is the friend, the humor, the happiness, and what remains in the vessel of Satoru Gojo is not mortal. It isn't merciful, or accepting, or understanding. It’s vengeance.

The white hot urge to kill takes over, to smush whoever did this to you between the concrete and the bottom of his foot. To stomp upon the fucking idiot who mustered up the courage and stupidity to take you away, to make you bleed, to use your human-ness - your unapologetic, beautiful humanity - to their advantage.

What your abductor wants and who they could possibly be to Satoru, he doesn't know. And he doesn't care.

What he cares about is finding you. Bringing you home. And giving your abuser hell to pay.

A weapon remains, rigid and unfeeling. That is what Satoru is. That is what he becomes in your absence.

Satoru tucks your phone into his pocket and rips down his blindfold, strays of snowy hair fluttering about the frame of his face, and crystal eyes pierce the air like a nocturnal beast seeking prey through the darkness of the night.

Where the hell are you?

You feel weak.

Your head rolls to the side, the room spinning on an axis through a blurry haze. You see three visions before you before your sight eventually focuses, and the pain comes quickly, shooting up through your back and into your head. Your legs, bound to the legs of the chair that you sit upon, ache from thrashing and kicking for survival. Your arms are strung behind you, wrists bound tightly, and all you can hear is a piercing ring through your ears.

You don't know what happened. One second, you were waking up from your sleep, then the next, the sound of your front door slamming open startled you up and out of bed. Something unseen barged in with the whip of your head upward. Hands gripped, something smacked across your face, and you could hardly see, but you thrashed, kicked, clawed. There was a struggle, the glass of your window shattering with the collision of your bodies. You were slammed onto the bed, then your head was knocked against the corner of your nightstand, and everything went black.

The course of events makes no sense when you mull over them. It was as though a ghost had appeared and ripped you away. As if a magical force had seized you.

You thought it was a man. The grunts that transpired behind your ear when you kicked were a man’s. The hands that groped and pulled at you felt like a man’s. But you couldn’t sense anything. It was as though he was invisible, as though the very thing that took you didn’t even exist.

You breathe in shakily, a dribble of blood spilling from your nose and onto the floor.

You can not register where you are. Only that you are not alone. That beady eyes are watching from a distance as you come to beneath harsh lights and amidst the scent of something nauseatingly sterile. After a few seconds, you hear footsteps wander, echoing about the vacant space, circling toward you like sharks in water.

Your head is pounding, and you blink, trying to see properly ahead of you. That is when the throbbing in the right side of your face settles in, and you whimper, squinting with a wince.

The alarm starts to sink in when you look down and find that your clothes have been changed while you were unconscious. You're sported in an unfamiliar grey shirt and shorts that leave very little to the imagination, and that little pool of blood from your nose settles between your bare, tied feet.

Your heart pounds, and your eyes roll around in panic. You go to scream, but cloth is taut around your mouth, knotted at the back of your head.

Oh fuck. You're so fucked. What do you do? Where are you? Who are the people you hear approaching you? Why are your senses so muddled?

Then it dawns on you.

"What d'ya think?" one grimy voice startles from behind you as three men step out of the shadows and into the harsh light that beams down on you overhead.

You tense, looking frantically about you. You immediately start to jerk and thrash against your restraints, your body jumping back into survival mode as the rope holding you back burns your skin. You feel something incredibly wrong, more wrong than the circumstance you are in. It's the atmosphere, something in the air that is sinking down on you and flooding you with an overwhelming sense of dread. Similar to the brief dread you felt at the elementary school.

It clicks. These aren't ordinary abductors. Your senses are blurred and your mind is playing odd tricks on you. Sorcery must be involved. These people must be sorcerers... or curses... you aren't sure. You just know, suddenly, that this is beyond you.

Within seconds, you feel pale as Satoru pops into your mind. This is exactly what he was talking about. This is exactly why he wanted you to be able to sense this energy, to see the curses.

There are things out there beyond your comprehension, and he always feared over whether they would collide with you outside of his influence. Now they have, all because you can't see.

You're just a regular person. Weak. Fragile. A target.

And here you are, subject to things you can't understand.

You've never been more afraid for your life.

"Where'd you find her?" a woman's voice rings out much to your surprise, stepping closer with a wicked smile. Two other men linger with mirrored smirks, and a hand reaches around from behind to grip your jaw and raise your head. You whimper through squished cheeks, brows angling as the light stings your eyes.

"On patrol this morning," the owner of the hand gripping you says proudly. "In one of those houses on the east side. Thought I’d break in, and happened to find her. She’s perfect, huh?"

The woman bends over before you and tilts her head, raising a brow. "You weren't supposed to bruise her," she says with a grimace, as if you are too unpleasant to her eye.

"The bitch put up a fight. What was I supposed to do?"

"You let a human give you a hard time?" one of the other men cackles. "Pathetic."

"She didn’t give me a hard time," the voice behind you hisses, the voice of the very man who stole you away from your home. His nails dig into your skin as his grip on your jaw goes taut, and he jerks you again. You release a muffled yelp, a wildness in your frightened hues. "Whatever. Where is it?"

The other strange man halts before you, stopping right beside the woman as she lifts herself back up to peer down at you as if annoyed, dark lips curled in distaste. The second man fishes something out from his pocket wrapped in dirty cloth, and slowly unwinds it.

You don't know what the fuck is going on. Your hasty, pitched breaths are audible with each second that passes as you watch, as voices murmur about nothing that is of value to you. You are out of your depths, overpowered, bound.

And when the cloth drops from that object, your eyes process the vision of what looks to be a severed, decayed human ear.

You scream, thrashing about, your cries ringing out hoarse and sustained behind that cloth. Dark chuckles rise over the sounds you emit as if you are a form of entertainment, as if this torture is funny to them. Watching you wiggle and squirm and fight against the inevitable. And what the inevitable is still remains a mystery to you.

The one with the ear steps further toward you, hovering just inches away. The piece of flesh is presented before you as if he wants you to take it, but when you look up in his eyes, you can't read his sadistic intentions. You can't read anything.

"She's gonna keep screaming when we take the tie off," the other man standing behind the woman says.

"Who cares? The result will be the same regardless."

"How are we gonna make her eat it?"

Eat it?

"If you don't just fucking force her mouth open," the woman snaps, eying the figure gripping you. "She's a human. She's tied up. Are you seriously scared?" she teases.

"I ain't scared," your abductor growls. You feel his other hand moving to untie the cloth around your mouth. You feel the fabric slip and loosen, your hefty breaths ragged when it finally falls around your neck with a stretch of your saliva connecting it to your lips. You cough and sputter, and before you can think, the same hands curl into the inside of your mouth.

You act quickly, chomping down as hard as you can the second you feel an invasion. Metallic blood filters into your taste buds, followed by the curse of the man behind you as he rips his bleeding fingers away.

"Fuck!" he curses. You hear footsteps shuffle as he clutches his hand. "She fucking bit me! I oughtta -"

His words collide with the fist that knocks your skull into the opposite direction with a force you can't quite name. Blood splatters from your lips onto the floor, and that ringing circles back in your ears, intensifying, as you filter between consciousness and unconsciousness from such a blow.

Voices overlap in a haze. Figures surround you. Everything is spinning, and you no longer have the strength to move about as new fingers pry into your mouth, hooking behind your top and bottom rows of teeth to force your jaw open wide as he hovers over you.

Someone grips around your neck, and before you, the ear is lifted from its cloth and inched toward your mouth. Through the dizziness, through the searing pain, alert strikes your body once more as you tense every muscle you have. You can't move away, can't do anything but stare in wide horror as it is drawn closer and closer to your open mouth.

Your body coats itself in goose bumps, the hairs on the back of your neck standing upright as you shake and choke from the discomfort. What do you do? You can't kick, you can't yell, you can't punch. You're alone. You can't understand. Sweat drips down your body, mixing into the blood dripping down your chin, and tears of sheer anguish, terror, and humiliation rise.

Satoru left you for one second. One second, and that was all it took for you to be stolen by sorcerers - no, by curse users. That's what these people are, aren't they? Monsters. Villains. Sadists with techniques. You remember your boyfriend told you that very briefly once. That not all sorcerers are good.

Your poor boyfriend. He's probably worried half to death trying to find you. Guilt wracks you in the seconds before your forced consumption of this severed body part, a tear streaking down your aching, stretched cheeks.

Satoru. He doesn't say it, but you know how deeply he worries. You know how anxious he gets about you. You know that there are still things he withholds from you in order to protect you, in order to give you as much normalcy as you can with someone like him by your side.

You wish you could have eased his mind more. You wish you didn't need stupid glasses to sense cursed energy. You wish you weren't so... helpless.

"Look at that. She's crying," someone coos viciously. "Don't you just love when they cry?"

And just as the ear hovers centimeters away from your tongue, the harsh light clicks off, and the sound of a generator dies with a sinking whir.

A chorus of confused grunts and huhs lift, and the ear is frozen before you. You hyperventilate, now unable to see what is happening around you.

"The hell happened to the lights?" one of the four speaks up.

"Fuck if I know. Go check," the woman orders.

A hand slips away from your neck, but someone keeps your mouth pried open.

The man holding the ear grumbles, using his free hand to fish into his back pocket for his phone. The screen lights up his face momentarily, his occupied hand pulling the ear away from you subconsciously as it hovers by his side.

Suddenly, you feel the curse users behind you hold their breaths. The man in front of you tenses as well, a paling look crossing over his face as he stiffens.

There's silence for a moment as everyone stills. "Do you feel that?" your abductor speaks.

"It's so..." the woman starts, before freezing with the realization.

"Is that...?"

"Can't be. No way."

"There's only one being whose... cursed energy is that strong!"

The room thickens with sudden understanding which, once more, fails you. Then panic rises.

"Hurry up! Feed her the fucking ear and let's get out of here!"

"We won't have time! If we feel him now, then he's already -"

"Already here?"

A new, disembodied voice echoes lowly, menacingly throughout the space. A voice familiar to you. A voice that makes your heart pound with disbelief, with hope that the owner is actually present. Are you dreaming? Are you still alive?

The hands gripping you immediately rip away, and you sputter, leaning over with heaving coughs. The phone screen waves about in a panic, your abductors’ abruptly stricken by fear. You hear feet shuffle in a hurry and curses fly. The ear drops to the ground before you, and the phone flashlight is hastily turned on to sweep the area to locate whatever or whoever they are suddenly so afraid of.

You lift your head, and through a searing squint, the flashlight turns and freezes on a pair of glowing celeste hues. Hues that gaze upon you with gentle love each day, now bold and almost alien.

And utterly blood curdling.

The man yelps, dropping his phone to the ground with a clatter. Your other abductors attempt to flee. Feet pound against the ground and scatter into different directions. The flashlight faces the ceiling from the floor, giving you a view of the man stepping away slowly in fear as Satoru approaches him slowly, methodically. 

Bright eyes cut through darkness, and you stare. He doesn't look at you. His eyes are locked on the curse user ahead, like some kind of beast pursuing a meal. His expression is neutral, lips pressed in a firm line, but the chaos roams in those eyes, wide, focused, thirsty for blood.

You've never seen your boyfriend in such a light, and by the reactions of those around you, he is just as terrifying to them as he appears to you.

They recognized his presence before he even physically appeared. Satoru is... known.

"Please," the man begs as they step into darkness again. "Please, Gojo. No, please - please don't!"

A sweep of air cuts through your earshot. Satoru thrusts a hand forward, sending the guy flying back into the concrete wall with a loud commotion. A terror stricken scream rings out, followed by the horrid squelch of flesh, the sound of blood dripping, then nothing more.

The sorcerer's head rips back into the direction of the scattering curse users, and his focus lands next on the woman. Cutting through darkness with lightning speed, he gives chase, breathing harshly through flared nostrils. Attempts at the expulsion of cursed energy are made, but they fall through, as Satoru's technique cancels them out.

They don't stand a chance.

If you weren't in this building, he'd use his domain. He'd hollow purple the whole fucking establishment, but the sight of you there, tied up, battered with bruises blooming over your skin and those dirty fingers prying into your mouth drives him to use his own bare hands, his own strength to rip these fuckers apart without so much as touching another hair on your perfect head.

How dare they.

His hands reach out and grasp the head of the woman mid flee. She cries with anger and fear, reaching back to try to pull away. But Satoru expels energy through his hand and squeezes, just a bit, just enough for her skull to crack under the pressure. Blood seeps from the sockets of her eyes as she wails, and then gargled silence as the head capsizes and explodes, chunks of brain and blood and skull fragments flying across the room, bouncing off of his infinity.

How dare they do this to you. 

How dare they soil your innocence, how dare they so much as lay a finger on your skin, how dare they pierce it, how dare they bruise it, how dare they attempt to steal you away forever to turn you into a curse no one even remembers.

Your poor face. The way you must have suffered without him there.

Oh, he'll fucking kill every last one of them.

His head snaps up. Speaking of... who's next?

Satoru locates him in an instant, teleporting across the base to cut off his path. He skids to a stop far too late before Satoru plunges a fist forward to pierce his chest, then pry him apart from the inside. The honored one is insensitive to his cries, to the tedious way flesh tears through his infinity, the way it burns, bubbles, and flops to the ground in two heaps.

Satoru stares down at the mangled corpse harshly, breaths weighted.

Then he smells it again. That scent that invaded your home, that was plastered over the walls, that was blooming over the injuries on your body when he found you.

Slowly, his head lifts and turns to locate the one who took you away. The one who started all of this.

He sees past the pitch black. Past the technique that likely allowed him to sliver into your home undetected, past that veil of transparency - the way his technique toys with light and shadows to fade into background as though invisible. Then cancels out.

Oh, Satoru sees him plain as day, the way he inches toward the back wall in search of the door. He sees how he tries to escape the pit of hell that narrowly awaits him.

With a flash of speed, he arrives, hovering behind the perpetrator who once appeared invisible to the naked eye. He trembles with the imminent presence of the honored one too close for comfort, knowing that he's been spotted, knowing that his life is over. He'd end his own life right there if he could, to prevent himself from experiencing the agony of Satoru Gojo's wrath.

The snowy haired sorcerer glances down at the guy’s fingers, noting how he clutches them as they bleed red down his wrist. A flicker of pride swells in his heart, as it seems you did your best. You fought back the only way you knew how.

That's his girl. His precious girl. He's so proud of you. Proud of you for staying alive long enough for him to get there. Proud of you for using the tools you do have in this likely horrifying, confusing situation.

He hopes you feel relief. He hopes your nervous system is resting now as he finishes what you started.

Satoru's firm hand rockets forward to grasp your abuser's neck. He chokes, reaching up to claw at Satoru's veined hand for air fruitlessly, as he can't even touch him. He can hardly even move.

Gojo keeps his eyes peeled wide as they bore into the curse user's, watching as life leaves him in seconds, as air sucks itself from his lungs and stops at Satoru's relentless hold. Satoru's eye twitches, his breathing growing louder. 

Then SNAP!

The man's body goes limp, his neck snapping back. Satoru releases a coarse breath and drops him to the floor, raising his foot high above to stamp down hard on his head. Then again. And again. Each blow, each crack for every second you spent in torment, for every scar that decorates your skin, and for every moment this will haunt your mind going forward.

He stomps and stomps, animalistic grunts flying through gritted teeth. There's nothing left beneath him but a pile of mush and blood at the end of the corpse's neck. But Satoru doesn't care. Not one bit.

And when he's finally done, he lifts his foot, steps back, and leans his head back with an exhale. His adam's apple bobs as he swallows thickly, eyes lashes fluttering against his skin as he allows himself to blink.

Then, he turns to you.

In your perception of time and space, what just transpired only happened within a few seconds, at best. You listened as death rang out from every corner of the space, and flashes of harsh air and the stench of blood wafted about you. Your breaths ring out as you twist and turn to look around, still bound.

"Satoru?" you call out in the emptiness, uneased by the sudden lack of activity. Your throat is sore, your voice torn when you call out. Where did he go? Is he okay? "Toru? Toru!" you shout again.

"I'm here, pretty."

And suddenly, he is standing right before you. The lights slowly flicker back to life, revealing him in all of his glory as he looks down at you with devastation in those eyes, sweet and lidded on you, a sheer contrast to what you saw and heard not even a few seconds ago. You gaze up at him in awe with curled brows before looking about and registering the dead bodies around you. You suck in a sharp breath, but he moves to untie you quickly, freeing from your restraints.

He drops to his knees before you, the greatness fading from him at your feet. He can breathe now, he can think now that he's got you. Now that he's protected you. Now that he sees you're okay.

He slips his arms under your weak ones to pull you down against him, embracing you tight. He holds your frame tight to his, breathing you in. A hand raises to clutch the back of your head, and you slip your arms around his neck clinging tight, afraid to let go.

"My baby," he huffs, tucking his nose into the crook of your neck. He dots kisses to your skin, adjusting his hold, pressing you in safely. "I'm so sorry."

“Satoru,” you whimper, finally safe. “You - you found me.”

He pulls back to look at you. You're curled up against him, your knees sprawled on the ground, your hands tucked over his undercut. His hands reach to cup your cheeks carefully, bringing your attention to him and only him.

His thumb grazes the purple and red swelling over your cheek, the blood trailing from your nose and down your chin. He looks into those big (e/c) eyes tinged in red, the tears collected on your lashes, and he feels the chill of your flesh when he touches it. You're shaking uncontrollably as he looks at you, and his lips tremble.

"Of course I found you. I always will. I'm here," he says again softly. "Just look at me. Don't look anywhere else. Keep your eyes on me, baby. I'm here."

"But how? How did - what did - " you can't find the words. Satoru shakes his head, wiping tears and sweat and blood away. Your nose flares and tears well in your vision as security and warmth swarms you, despite the monstrosity you saw in his gaze, despite the corpses that surround you. You're safe. "I thought I was gonna die before I got to see you again."

Satoru's heart shatters. "No. Don’t say that," he asserts sternly. "I would never let that happen. I'd give myself up before I let anything happen to you."

You don’t know just how heavy his words are.

Your chin wrinkles as your lips wobble. Satoru's hands smooth over your hair, helping to tame it, to bring you some sense of consolation and comfort as he kneels before you. He brings your head in to press his lips to your forehead, letting his kiss linger as long as he can as he savors you, savors the fact that you survived, that you didn't die on him.

Satoru expects questions. He expects your fear. He expects you to look at him like he's some anomaly, like he's a wild monster that you just happened to be stuck with. He expects you to interrogate him, to ask why those curse users reacted the way they did when they saw him, why killing comes so easily to him - as easily as breathing, why his speed is practically inconceivable, why the blood dotting his cheek does not faze him in the slightest.

Why he exhibits such power.

But instead, he feels your shoulders jerk and hears your soft cries. He pulls back from his kiss to look you in the eye again, and he feels his heart twisting. He feels his chest tightening at the sight.

You're in pain. He knows. You're traumatized. He knows. He should've found you sooner. He shouldn't have even left. But instead of expressions of your own pain, you whisper: "I'm sorry for making your fears come true."

“What?” He falls apart. "(Y/n). You listen to me," he ducks to hover mere inches away from your face as you fight the tears and humiliation and pain. "You didn't ask for any of this. This isn't your fault. You couldn't have known -"

"But that's the problem," you tremble, eyes glossing over. "I never know anything. And it's too much on you to have to be responsible for me like this."

Satoru has been used as a weapon all of his life. Ordered around, tossed about, spoken to like an object of orchestration rather than a human being with thoughts and feelings. All of his life, he's been othered, treated as some glorified, inhumane, aggravating thing. He lost his childhood. He lost his best friend. And yet, the world pushed and pushed and pushed until Satoru lost any hope of being taken seriously. Of truly being seen.

But then, you.

As he holds you in his arms, as you bleed and shake and suffer, as you reel from the events you just witnessed, from the carnage that Satoru just lay, all you can think about is the toll that being human takes on him. The extra burden you pose.

And Satoru is floored. How can you think that the most beautiful thing about you is a burden to him? How can you sit there in your own dread, blaming yourself instead of him?

How can you continue to think of him when no one else on this planet does?

"Too much?" he repeats incredulously. "(Y/n), there are a lot of things in this world that could be too much. That I do everyday. That everyone expects from me. Things come to me because of... because of who I am, and it’s hard to explain any of that, but you?" he gazes at you with such sincerity and sorrow. "You are the very last thing that could be too much for me. Looking after you and taking care of you is my priority above everything else. Everything. That's not because you're a burden. It's because if something were to happen to you like it just did, I wouldn't be able to forgive myself. I can't forgive myself."

"You didn't ask for this either," you sniff.

"It doesn't matter," he breathes. "You're what matters. I couldn't breathe until I found you. I couldn't think of anything but getting to you because you mean more to me than anything else in this world. You're everything, and I have been trained to be ready for every possible obstacle on this earth except losing you. It's not an option. It will never be an option. I worry because i care. So much. Your humanity is not a burden. It's perfect. You're perfect," he confesses as though the words have been jumbled inside his soul for months. Tears slip down your face as you listen to him, as his fingers swipe over your face tenderly, as he keeps you near. "I'm so sorry I didn't get here sooner. I'm so sorry you got hurt."

"It's not your fault," you echo his words through tears. "You found me. You saved me."

"I was late," he argues, tormenting himself. "Look what they did to you."

"You're here," you emphasize. "I'm alive because of you," you shudder. "Thank you."

Such gratitude like this has been foreign to Satoru, because this is intimate. It's real. It's laced with love and truth, and the sapphire eyed sorcerer feels his heart swell.

He knows he loves you right then and there. He can't deny it. It smacks him clean in the face.

He pulls you back in, scrunching his eyes tight as he hugs you. You cry into his uniform, your fingers gripping the fabric tight as your cheek settles against his broad shoulder.

"I won't let anyone touch you ever again," he promises you. "I swear on my life."

Satoru eventually teleports the two of you back to his home, secluded in a jungle of bamboo trees, quiet and sterile with the scent of his cologne staining the air.

You sit on his bathroom counter as he stands between your legs, holding your chin cautiously, dabbing your wounds with antiseptic soaked cotton. You're fresh out of the shower, clean of the dirt and grime and blood that ailed you, and draped in an old shirt of his. He was sure to light the clothes he found you in on fire.

The two of you don't talk about curses or sorcerers. You don't talk about the display of power you witnessed. You don't talk about the weight that his very name carries in the world of sorcery. You don't talk about the fists that collided with you, the attempted reincarnation that you were almost utilized for, the weakness in your knees, the rope burns on your wrists and ankles.

Instead, Satoru spends a human afternoon caring for you. Fixing you a bowl of cheap ramen the way you like. Turning on a movie you always watch. Lifting you into his arms as you straddle his torso, and carrying you from room to room until you make it to the soft sheets of his bed.

Satoru lays you down on his pillows softly, handling you like pristine glass, and helps you under the covers. Exhaustion swirls in your eyes as you look up and reach for him weakly, wordlessly begging him to join you. And how could he not?

He slips in beside you and melts into your arms. The two of you mold together like malleable clay, sinking into sweetness and safety, expelling breaths that were caught in your throats.

You nestle your unbruised cheek against his chest, breathing him in, securing your arms around his middle as he does yours. There is nothing to say, as your hearts and limbs speak for themselves. And you both feel it. The shift. The tenderness.

You feel lips peck your head, trailing down to your forehead, then your nose as you tilt your head up to meet his eye. Fingers caress the small of your back as you hold one another's gaze, a silent exchange transpiring.

You see one another clearly. For your weakness, and his strength. Exposed, bare, vulnerable before one another, and yet, safer than either of you have ever felt in your entire life.

Satoru cranes down to kiss your lips. Softly. Appreciatively. Relieved. Your entire body vibrates down to your toes, your skin warm, your soul secure. He pulls away slowly, nose brushing against yours, sharing gentle breaths. And his eyes convey his truth, just as they always have.

That no matter your weakness, no matter your humanity, Satoru will love you until the day you both part from this earth.

That he will protect you with every ounce of infinite power coursing through his bones. And anyone who gets in his way will pay.

Of course, Suguru's distant voice sighs out in his head, though Satoru's too enraptured in you to quite hear it this time.

10h edit: GUYS THIS IS NOT MY VIDEO IT'S BY VAVR