#idk if it comes across but im kinda going for some corruption arc vibes with the reader here

[pluviophile-imagines]

Hello I have just a tiny idea for usurper Gojo,,, he has taken over my mind, thank you for the wonderful drabbles hehe >.<

So after he takes the throne, I imagine that not everyone supports him and there are many instances of attempted uprisings, assassinations, and/or plots to remove him. I think they’d all be crushed pretty quickly, especially with Gojo’s wits and power. But what if there’s one attempt that was too close for comfort? Either aiming for Reader (because even though he tries to hide his affections in public, the fact that he claimed you when he first took over is motive enough), or aiming for Gojo directly. I think it would be especially unpleasant for the perpetrators once they are caught; Gojo makes an especially severe example of them, and after that no one dares to try anything ever again.

OOP— yeah,,,,, yeah heres the masterlist (usurper!gojo tag, once again the concept’s from @saintshigaraki i am simply insane and cant stop)

warnings: talk of violence/murder, attempted poisoning, lil bit suggestive

he tries to keep it from you, as if your reach in the court isn’t threaded more firmly even than his own. as if the royal guards do not prefer your company to his, as if you’re such a fool you wouldn’t notice how he’s come to bed long after you’ve gone to sleep every day for the past week—he tells you it’s dull financial advising, you know it’s because he’s been busy torturing a man. an assassin, you’ve been told; a poisoner who hadn’t even made it out of the kitchen before being caught.

you also know he’s back earlier tonight because he’s executed another man—the one who hired the hit, one of his own cousins. ordinarily such a thing would be dealt with swiftly, except that the food found dosed had been not your husband’s but yours, and your king does not take kindly to threats against you. the maids had told you all of that days ago; it’s the guards that tell you he assembled the court without you, hours past sunset, and made a display of cutting down his own kin for your sake. ruthless, they tell you, savage, lest there be any doubt in his affections for you.

he comes back to your shared bedchamber without a drop of crimson on his clothes, but the satisfied air about him and the heavy drum of bloodlust you can see in his eye tell you that your information is correct. still, you greet him casually and don’t bring up your discontent as he removes his blindfold and makes himself comfortable on the bed, unabashedly peering at you while you sit at your vanity pretending to ready yourself for sleep. he’s silent with his staring, and you are silent as well, busy ruminating on how you’re feeling until you come to the conclusion that the only action of his which has sparked your ire is that he has chosen not to share them with you—no, you’re not bothered by his barbaric display, but rather that he did it without informing you. with your opinion found, you are ready to initiate the conversation.

“so?” you begin casually, gaze flitting up to meet his eye through the mirror. “are the conspirators dead, then?”

at first he gives no response, but when you turn in your seat to face him he rises to stand and strides over to you. lacing his fingers with yours, he pulls you to your feet—holds you close, leans down to press his forehead to yours.

“can’t get anything past you, hm? not with your brain.”

“well, are they?”

“yes. of course. they’ve hardly earned the title of conspirators frankly, not with that pitiful display.”

“mm.” you purse your lips and pull away, turning your back on him. “lovely to know that you’d accept my death if it were at the hands of a competent man.”

he follows you swiftly, eases his arms around your waist and rests his chin in the crook of your neck. his tone is easy, light—amused, perhaps. “i don’t believe i said anything of the sort.”

“i do not find this amusing, my king.” despite your tone, you reach up to thread your fingers through his hair, drawing a contented noise from him which he buries into your nape. “i’m displeased by you.”

“are you, now?” his lips quirk against your skin, and he shifts, his whole body moving so that he can trace kisses along your jaw. “i’ll just have to please you, my queen.”

“satoru.” the name makes him pause. you tighten your hold on his hair, pull him to rest against your shoulder again in an attempt to halt him. “you killed your kin for me and attempted to hide it. did you truly think i wouldn’t find out?”

“not this quickly,” he grumbles, petulant, entirely unsuitable for a king who had just slit the throat of his own cousin before an audience.

“people chatter, especially when you require the attendance of the entire court. but since we are being honest, i knew of the whole ordeal the moment it happened—i do believe i was made aware of the poisoning before you were, my husband. so tell me, why did you torture a man for a week and choose not to inform your wife? why did you so courteously invite my companions to witness this execution but neglect to extend that invitation to me?”

he doesn’t speak for a moment. his breath comes hot against your neck, not quite a sigh but certainly a deep breath—then he turns his face into your hand, leaves a fleeting kiss against your palm, and lifts his head.

“they need to learn, hm? how would they have learned if i’d let this go?” his eyes are manic, the closest you’ve seen to what they’d been that night—yet the moment they meet yours they soften, reverence seeping in. he stands to his full height behind you, hand coming beneath your chin to tilt your face upward so that he can loom over you and press a kiss to your brow; he’s gentle with you, but the steel at the core of his tone is more than palpable. “i won’t show mercy, certainly not when it comes to those who wish to harm you. you cannot ask me to be forgiving with such things.”

you realize with those words that he believes you’re balking at the brutality, that he thinks you timid and soft. he thinks you don’t know what he does to maintain his power, as if you’re not intimately aware of the monster he’s had to become—as if you hadn’t come face-to-face with it, with his blade.

you think you probably shouldn’t be as endeared as you are. you certainly shouldn’t turn around, wrap your arms around his neck, and tug him down into a real kiss to reward his actions, yet you still do. it’s addicting how quickly he melts to your affections; you know how intimidating his size must be to so many but it’s impossible for you to fear it when he’d drop to his knees for you at a single word.

when you pull away he doesn’t let go—he whines at you, a wordless protest, and buries his head into your shoulder to nip at your skin.

“i’m not angry with you for refusing mercy,” you mutter to him, “i’m angry with you for lying to me. i am your queen, your partner. you will not do this again, you will tell me the next time you intend to cut down a man in my name.”

he pulls back and opens his mouth, eyes wide, but you cut him off by lunging upward to peck at the corner of his lips.

“it’s in your best interest to comply, husband. you cannot hide things from me.”

“i know, wife.” his sigh is love-struck. “i’m a fool to have tried.”