Gojo Satoru

Satoru never thought he'd lose control of himself like this.

But now that he had, Satoru didn't think he could go back to how he was.

Satoru had had enough--he hated feeling powerless. His students killed by curses. His mentor killed by the higher ups. The lingering pain of Suguru's death never faded, and everything on top of that had been his breaking point.

Satoru lost control and he fell into a craze that he just couldn't escape.

Satoru murdered them all--every single higher up torn apart by his vicious power. His once pristine black jacket now painted with deep red. The stench of blood lingered on him, on his clothes.

Surrounded by the dead bodies of the people he had fantasised killing for years, Satoru felt a thrill run through him. It was revenge for all the sorcerers and students that died because of the apathy of the jujutsu higher ups.

Satoru wasn't finished though. Releasing a breath he didn't even know he was holding, Satoru disappeared from the bloody scene. He appeared at your front door.

He had knocked on your door, and wasn't standing there for longer than a minute when it opened, revealing your beautiful face. It should have made his heart swell, collapsing against you in emotion. But Satoru was a man on a mission.

He wouldn't fail. He'd succeed in protecting you, even if he couldn't protect the others.

He watched your face morph as you took in his appearance--blindfold discarded, bangs sticking to his sweaty forehead, blood coating his cheek and his hands, clothes disheveled.

Satoru didn't give you time to move. He burst forward, pulling you to his chest, his bloody fingers pressing into your neck, his power pulling you into unconsciousness. His breath was hot and heavy against your temple. Closing his eyes, Satoru disappeared once more, with you this time.

Hours later. In Nigata, Japan. Satoru's safe house.

By the time you woke up, you were elsewhere--in a kominka, furnished traditionally. You were lying on a futon. Satoru was sitting on the tatami mat beside you, his back leaning against the wall, head tilted back and his eyes closed. His bloody clothes had been stripped and replaced with a comforting yukata. The blood was washed over, apart from the streak of blood still prominent on his cheek.

He was oddly beautiful, in that moment.

You tried moving, but you were quickly stopped--around your wrist was a cuff connected to a chain that kept you tied to the leg of a low table on your other side.

Satoru sensed the moment you woke up. Without moving, without opening his eyes, Satoru's low voice--devoid of his usual humour and cheeriness--broke the quiet. "Be careful. Those cuffs will tighten the more you move."

Satoru exhaled a breath, almost as if he was resting from the murderous craze he had went through hours earlier. "You'll stay here. For a long, long time."