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gojoed · 7 months

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your eyes didn't need to be open to know that he was looking at you. deft and lean fingers carded and twirled with the strands of your hair that were splayed over his lap. the soft wind that blew through the gojo estate drove the smell of summer to you.

satoru's fingers would sometimes wander to your face, tracing your features, following your jawline where at times his lips replaced his fingers. his lap was comfortable, sleep worthy even. not to mention the extra plush the traditional clothing he had on that helped guide your head to its place.

you also didn't need your eyes to be open to know that any minute now he would say something stupid.

"hey babe?"

"mm?" your eyes still closed.

"did you hear about the italian chef who died?"

you furrowed your brows, you haven't heard that one before.

"what italian chef are you talking about satoru."

"cmon just answer the question." you could practically hear the pout in his voice. which if you didn't listen, would turn to a tantrum. in turn it would turn into satoru proclaiming that you didn't love him anymore, that if you really did you would have just answered. you decided to save yourself the hassle.

"no satoru, i haven't heard about the italian chef who died."

"really? cause he pasta-way."

"..."

finally opening your eyes, you could see small wide pools of blue staring down at you. observing you as if he were a cat watching someone from across the room. except you were lying your head on his lap, and he picked up a strand of your hair and started tickling your face with it.

when he reached your mouth, you blew at your own hair. earning yourself a 'so mean' from your boyfriend. but that didn't stop him from continuing to draw unknown shapes on your face.

he looked handsome, you thought. although he was a teenager he still held his baby face within his features. but you could tell within a few short years the subtle baby fat still residing in his cheeks would soon fade to be replaced with a sharp jawline, maybe a more striking smile. the pink however, that always seemed to dust his face whenever he was with you, you hoped it never went away. and you hoped that the look he gave you with his eyes, you hoped that that stayed as long as you lived.

"why're you lookin' at me like that, pretty? you in love with me or something?"

satoru was such a tease.

"mm, with your money maybe."

satoru knew you were joking, but that didn't stop him from dropping that strand of hair he was playing with and releasing a sharp gasp from his pink and smooth lips (you suspect he was using your chapstick, satoru respectfully disagrees). he laid a hand over his chest, as if he was in pain.

"i knew it! you're just like the rest of them! maybe i should've listened to the old geezers when they told me you were bad news."

that made you laugh, a sound coming from deep within your abdomen, making your body slightly quake. that sound never failed to make a smile appear on satoru's face, so much so that he even smiled with his eyes. his skin crinkled at the edges.

lifting your arms, you placed you hands on his cheeks, pulling him in a little.

"baby, you're the one who's bad news. not me."

satoru hummed, enjoying the way you were slightly squishing his lips together and stroking his face. "the baddest, they just can't get enough of me." that put a smile on your face, satoru was so stupid.

"why did they even summon you here anyway, satoru?"

the question made satoru scoff slightly and roll his eyes. stupid, he could have made that look less hot than it was.

"stupid old farts wanna know how i'm doing at jujutsu high. i'm their dear 'satoru-kun' who's the face of the clan and that i need to act like it. i swear most of them probably have something stuck up their ass so deep they'll probably die with whatever's in there."

he huffed, nuzzling the side of his face with one of your palms. you always calmed him; your presence, your smell. everything about you made his mind calm but at the same time you made his heart race so much that he feared it would jump out of his chest — leaving him to chase after it only to give it to you on the palm of his hand. satoru gojo was the strongest, ever since birth. but he swears you made him the weakest man alive.

satoru pouted when he felt you lift yourself from his lap, ready to whine before he felt you guide his head to yours.

"you don't look so young yourself satoru, you might as well be an old fart."

"hey! i am young and beautiful, thank you very much! the white hair just adds to my charm, it's all natural. guys wish they could be me."

you smiled, leaning down to softly peck his lips.

"that's all they'll ever do then. you're one of a kind. my satoru."

satoru grinned, grabbing onto your forearms as you stared down at him while he stared at you. "all yours."

#no i am not avoiding an essay outline that's due tonight and studying for a test for tomorrow #this is set like the summer after their first year #:3 #satoru gojo #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #satoru x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #satoru <33 #jjk <33 #gojo fluff

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after-witch · 7 months

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The Touch of the Velvet Hand [Platonic Yandere L x Sibling Reader]

Title: The Touch of the Velvet Hand [Platonic Yandere L x Sibling Reader]

Synopsis: You sneak out at night with Matt. How long can that last, really?

Word count: 2700ish

notes: yandere, platonic yandere, abusive sibling dynamic, reader is L's younger adult sibling, brief tickling, captivity (reader can't leave Whammy's)

Happiness is a fragile thing. It can slip through your fingers if you aren’t careful. Or it can be wrenched away violently by someone else out of pettiness or jealousy or sheer resentment. Or it might just crumble on its own, incapable of bearing the load you put upon it.

The point being--happiness just doesn’t last.

You know this for a fact, and you’ve known it since you can remember. Since you and your brother L would spend nights in makeshift shelters, huddled together for warmth, sharing what scraps of food you were able to find.

Since you were whisked into the world of Whammy’s, where you’re still stuck, even as an adult, kept safe and very, very fucking bored behind its walls.

So yes, happiness, fleeting thing, had to be carved out wherever you could get it.

You’re not sure what will take away your current bout of happiness. You’re only sure that it’s temporary, which is why you’re indulging in it full-throttle, not holding back for a moment, because God only knows when you might feel like this again.

The first night that Matt showed up in your doorway, you eyed him warily.

It was not the first time that one of your brother’s would-be successors came knocking at your door.

Although that was only a figure of speech, as it was more common to find them snooping or spying or for one of them to simply waltz into your bedroom like you weren’t your own person at all. That type of presumption was fine for your real brother, but for the rest? It made you curl up your lip and ignore them.

Matt is (maybe) different. Matt has never (that you’ve seen, at least) taken notes on you. He’s never leaned snarkily against your door frame and asked you questions punctuated by pops of bubblegum or left a doll that vaguely resembles you in your doorway as either a threat or an offering and you’re not sure which would be creepier.

And so, when he showed up in your doorway, you were wary, sure. But not ready to shut him out entirely. Unless he started prying into your life or revealed some sort of ulterior motive or asked you about (God forbid) your brother.

But all he did was gruffly say, “Heads up!” before tossing something at you. You caught it, barely, hands stinging from the slap of it.

It was a helmet.

“Huh?” You had asked, immediately feeling stupid, not for the first time within the confines of Whammy’s.

Matt had just smiled and shrugged.

“Got a new ride. You want to check it out with me?”

Maybe it was foolish to accept. Maybe he was trying to butter you up and find out some of L’s secrets. Maybe he was just bored and you were the perfect solution.

But you said yes, anyway, because you were absolutely bored and this was entirely new. You let him grab your wrist and pull you through the hallways, let him sneak you out--suppressing breathy giggles, your heart-rate raising--and onto the street where he guided you onto the back of his motorcycle and told you to hold on as tight as you could.

You’d never gone so fast in your life. You’d never smiled so much in your life, either.

Could anyone blame you for saying yes without question when he showed up soon after, too? For primping a little before he arrived, for wearing an outfit you thought might look cool? For feeling your heart flutter when he gave you a quick little wink and said you looked nice?

No, they couldn’t. And if they did, well. Fuck them. They weren’t stuck at an orphanage for geniuses with an internationally renowned brother that was always busy, gone, or both.

But most people couldn’t blame you, you were sure. Most people had common sense.

They couldn’t blame you for the breathless way you fell against your bed when he returned you home each night, cheeks ruddy from the wind, grin plastered on your face, either. Or the way that you dreamt about the nights to come, wondering if rides in the darkness, blurry lights passing you by, might turn into something more.

He’s taking you out tonight, too. He said so.

And it’s going to be a turning point, you just know it. Last night, Matt mentioned something about a diner--imagine that, going into a diner--he liked, and would you like to try it? Maybe you tripped a little too quickly over your yes but that’s to be expected. You hardly talk to anyone but your brother and he’s barely around, so where does that leave poor little you and your social skills?

It doesn’t matter, because your thoughts have turned to tonight and the diner. Will it be a greasy spoon, the kind you’ve seen in movies? Will the floor be checkered and will there be milkshakes and fries and burgers dripping ketchup? If there’s a jukebox, will Matt have coins to plunk inside? Will he let you pick the music? Will you dance? Will he press himself against you, this time chest to chest instead of your chest pressed against his back, and will you lean in and kiss you? Will he be warm, will you be warmer, will things go from there?

There’s so much to consider, thoughts racing, mind connecting the potential pathways of tonight.

You think about them all morning, all afternoon, and into the evening. You think about them while you’re taking a shower, taking extra care to rub on a scented lotion that you’ve rarely used before.

The thoughts race even as you’re flipping through your closet to find something that doesn’t look like a pair of comfortable pajamas. You settle for some tighter jeans and a close-cut gray sweater. The effect is cool, casual--interested but not desperate. Or so you hope.

The sky gets dark and that’s when you force yourself into bed, grabbing a book that you open but don’t actually read. When Matt comes, you can set it down slowly; it’ll keep you from leaping out of bed as soon as he leans against your door frame. Your eyes dart back and forth on the page, not reading the words but letting them rush over your brain like a waterfall while you wait, and wait.

And ah, there’s the sound of someone’s knuckles gently knocking and pushing open your door--you don’t even look up, you just set the book down sweetly as you please and stand, smoothing out a wrinkle in your sweater before you look up and…

It’s not Matt in the doorway at all.

It’s L. Standing there, arms folded, resting against the door frame like his sudden appearance didn’t make your stomach drop through the floor.

“Oh.” The word forms slowly. It feels like there’s peanut butter in your mouth and the words don’t want to get out. “Um. Hey. Is… something wrong? I thought you were working on a case.”

L blinks.

“I am.” He looks you up and down; or rather, he looks at your distinct lack of pajamas and your carefully styled appearance. “Where were you going?”

You shift on your feet. The look that you were coolly proud of ten minutes ago suddenly feels like it’s a traitor.

“Just uh, you know. To bed.”

He smiles, and your nerves tingle.

“In boots?” Your toes flex inside your brown boots, carefully chosen to go with your jeans. L shuts your bedroom door behind him. “Who took you out?”

Your stomach squirms and you press your lips together. The silence is heavy and droning.

“I can check the cameras,” he says easily, “but I’d rather you just tell me.”

You’re a little kid again, caught stealing L’s notebooks and shoving them under your pillow so he had to pay attention to you. And even if he knew exactly where you stashed them, he’d rather make you tell him and admit your guilt than do it himself.

“Matt,” you whisper. The heat in your cheeks builds. “It’s not a big deal. We were just riding around.” But it is a big deal, you think. And you wanted more from it.

L hums. “What a strange thing to do, since you’re not allowed to leave at night. Especially if I don’t know about it.”

A scoff forces its way through your throat. “I’m not allowed to leave during the day, either.” Your lips quirk. “I’m not a child. You can’t keep me in here all the time.”

Your brother only stares at you and he doesn’t even need to say “Yes, I can” because you know he’s thinking it. And you know it’s true, too.

It’s not fair, the way he makes you feel like you’re having a tantrum when you’re simply asserting your right to some basic freedoms.

The injustice of it all slithers down your arms, building in your fists as you clench them tightly at your sides. “I’m sick of being here all the time. It’s like I’m in a fucking… ant farm! Or a doll house!”

Without an invitation, L pulls out your desk chair and takes a seat. He leans forward and you find yourself standing up straighter, refusing the implicit invitation to get on his level.

“So. What would you like to do?” He asks. The softness in his voice is a contrast against your own rising anger, the unbearable tightness of your throat.

“I don’t know,” you say, half-spitting. “Go outside.” Thoughts of a vague future rush through you like the wind past Matt’s motorcycle. “Get an apartment, live on my own.”

L nods. “How would you pay your rent?”

Your lip quirks. “I’d get a job.”

He nods again, and his eyes half-close, like he’s genuinely thinking about your responses.

“I see. What kind of job?”

You swallow, throat tight, and shift your legs. The boots aren’t terribly comfortable, are they? “I-I don’t know.” You cross your arms. “A waitress or something--something like that.”

L leans back and rests his elbow on your desk, watching you with his chin in his hand.

“You couldn’t afford rent on a waitress’s wages.” He glances down at your legs and feet, already tired from standing for a little while. “And you know that you can’t be on your feet all day.” Something in your chest stings and you back up, unwittingly resting your backside against the bed and sitting down.

“I’ll go to college and be something else, then,” you whisper. “I’ll get paid more money.”

L only looks at you and tilts his head a little. “You can get a college education here, if that’s what you want.”

“No!” Your fists clench against your blanket. “It’s not the same. You know it’s not. I’d be able to make friends. And meet new people and do things and not be stuck in the same place every fucking day.”

You’ve never made concrete plans for such a future, but the vague notions of it, the idea of meeting people in a coffee shop and having inside jokes and making plans to get drinks after work, all picked up from movies and books, have stuck like taffy in your head.

L waits a few moments before he speaks up. It makes you hate how sensible he seems. “You’re kept in the same place because it’s safer. It’s my job to take care of you, isn’t it?”

That’s when your voice cracks, and when the tears finally threaten to make an appearance. “But you’re not the one taking care of me, are you? You’re barely here.” Hot tears prick at your eyes and fall too easily, and you hate them and hate yourself for being so pent-up, so emotional. So weak.

And just like that, the stand-off, pitiful as it was, is finished and L is up and over, sitting down on your bed and pulling you close to him. Familiar scent, familiar softness. Familiar hands. How many years has he held you like this? When you had nightmares. When you wanted mom and dad and they were dead. When you were scared of being at Whammy’s, scared of the people there, scared of the fact that you were only there because of who your brother was. And everyone knew it, too.

“I take care of you even when I’m not here,” he says softly.

You scoff, tears choking your throat.

His grip on you tightens.

“I mean it. I can’t protect you if there are too many unknown factors at play. Staying here is the best way to reduce them. I can’t be with you as often as you like, but that can’t be helped.” He relents enough for you to pull away, to show him the tears on your face, that he dutifully wipes with his knuckles, even as he adds a bit of mirth to his voice. “You were stuck with a genius brother, I’m afraid.”

When your lips tremble, he sighs.

“I don’t want you to get hurt. And this is the safest option.”

It’s too hard to hate him and hate your life for too long. Resentment and bitterness aren’t fleeting, but they’re awful companions.

You smile, just a little, through your sniffles. “Oh, like you haven’t hurt me before, L.”

He pulls one of his arms from around your back just so he can flick you on the forehead. “Beating you at wrestling is vastly different than putting your life at risk.”

You wipe at your nose, brushing away a hint of snot and some of the heaviness in your chest. “You only beat me because I was little.” You sniff. “I could take you now.”

His eyebrows quirk up, and your chest flutters a little--this was a feeling you remembered from when you were younger, a feeling that became harder to come by as the years went on. Sibling silliness. Joking. Fun. “Could you?” He asks, tone rising in a way that eased the tightness in your throat.

You meet his raised eyebrows with a determined look. And there is that moment between you, a moment when you are anticipating each other’s moves. But before you can wrap your arms around his shoulder and attempt a tackle, he moves--much faster than most would give him credit for, given his general lackadaisical vibe--and there are two thumbs digging into your sides.

It’s a horribly ticklish sensation, just bordering on painful, as he digs his thumbs underneath your ribs.

“You’re a fucking--cheater!” You manage between short laughs as he begins to twist his thumbs. Thankfully, your arms are free, and you grab one of your pillows and whack him in the head until he stops and gets off your bed.

You’re catching your breath as he kneels down. You don’t know what he’s doing at first until he’s got your leg in his grip, and begins to slide off your boots. You bite the inside of your cheek, but stay limp as he pulls them off, one at a time, and sets them on the side of the bed.

You half-expect him to go into your dresser and pull out pajamas, but instead he eyes the pillow you set next to you and straightens up.

“Give up on your pillow assault so soon?” He asks, a smile on his lips. He raises his hands and moves his fingers. “Or should I keep going?”

You pout, and cling to one of your pillows. “Fine.” Your grip tightens and your feet feel lighter without your boots on. “I give up. Cheater.”

He snorts, and walks back to lean against the wall next to your door. There’s that heavy silence again, but now you know exactly how the rest of the night will go and it hurts more.

“You’re not going out with Matt again.” It’s not a question. Not a bargain. Just a simple fact.

Your chest hurts and hugging the pillow doesn’t help, but you do it anyway. You should have known this was coming--happiness never stays, and all that. Nothing you said or did was going to change L’s mind on this or make your nights with Matt last longer than they did.

“Will you tell him?” You sound like a mouse. You feel like one, too, under your brother’s stare, on this bed, in this room, in this house.

He smiles.

“Sure.”

It’s a small mercy. If L didn’t love you, you’re sure he wouldn’t give it.

#yandere l lawliet #yandere death note #yandere l #yandere #platonic yandere #afterwitch writes #I meant to finish a vampire fic but I'm stressed about a medical test tomorrow #so vaguely comforting fucked up sibling platonic yandere it is!

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