papersoilder

[papersoilder]

(Yandere Oc) Ian x Male Reader

ˑ 𖥔 ּ ִ 𖦹 WARNINGS: none

̽𖧧 word count: 2000– more Ian content because why not can be viewed as a part 2 of this

You heard the cigarette before you smelled it. That flick of a cheap lighter, the hiss of the flame catching. Then the smoke bitter and clinging, the smell crept into your lungs as you stepped out of your apartment building.

Ian was leaning against the rusted railing like he always did. One hand in his pocket. The other bringing the cigarette to his lips.

“You’re late,” he said, not looking at you.

You didn’t ask how he knew your schedule. He always knew.

“I didn’t say we were meeting,” you replied, adjusting your backpack.

He tilted his head like a dog hearing something only he could. “Didn’t need to.”

You started walking. He fell in step beside you without asking, like he always did. You didn’t ask him to leave either. That never worked. You’d tried before.

“You’re quiet today,” he said after a block. “Something happen?”

“Nope.” You replied calmly popping the p.

“You sure?” His voice was light, but his stare cut sideways those sleepless eyes scanning your face like it was a confession waiting to be read. “You didn’t text me back last night.”

“I was busy.”

“With him?”

There it was. That drop in his voice. The shift from casual to possessive in half a breath. You stopped walking and turned to face him.

“Ian.”

His stare didn’t waver. He held his cigarette between his fingers like it was keeping him from grabbing something else. Maybe you. Maybe his self-control.

“If I find out you followed him again,” you said, low and flat, “we’re done. No more talking. You won’t see me again.”

He didn’t blink. But his mouth twitched. “Did something happen to him?”

“No. But if you keep pushing, something will.”

Ian took a long drag from his cigarette. Then he tossed it to the curb and stepped on it. “Fine.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Just like that?”

“I said fine, didn’t I?” His hands went back in his hoodie pocket. He turned and started walking again. “Come on. You’ll be late for class.”

You stood there for a second longer, watching the back of his head. The way he slouched when he walked, like he carried too much weight in his shoulders. Then you sighed and followed him.

The first time Ian showed up at your window was a year ago. Second story, middle of the night, rain hitting the glass. You should’ve screamed. Called the cops. Instead, you opened the latch.

“What are you doing here?” you whispered.

He was soaked. Hoodie clinging to him like a second skin. “Saw you get into that guy’s car earlier.”

You stared at him. “So you climbed two stories.”

“He put his hand on your leg,” Ian said, like it was a crime. Like that alone justified trespassing.

You didn’t say anything. You just stepped aside and let him in.

Since then, he never really stopped. He didn’t ask. He didn’t knock. Sometimes he waited outside your class. Sometimes you woke up and he was asleep on your couch like he belonged there. You stopped being surprised around the third or fourth time. Maybe that was the mistake.

But it wasn’t that you didn’t care. You just… got used to it.

That afternoon, you were alone in your apartment when Ian texted.

Ian [4:31 PM]: can i come up?

You [4:32 PM]: door’s open

Five minutes later, he was at your table, picking at your leftover takeout without asking. You sat across from him, scrolling on your phone.

“Why do you let me do this?” he asked, breaking the silence.

You looked up. “Do what?”

“This.” He gestured around vaguely. “Be here. Be close.”

You set your phone down. “Because if I said no, you’d show up anyway. You’ve never cared about boundaries.”

His jaw flexed. “You hate me?”

“No.” You leaned back in your chair, arms crossed. “If I hated you, you’d know.”

He stared at you again unblinking, unnerving. You’d gotten used to that, too. There was something sad buried in it, like he didn’t know what to do with his own intensity. Like no one had ever taught him how to want something without ruining it.

“I don’t want to scare you,” he said quietly.

“You don’t scare me,” you said. “But you do piss me off.”

He blinked. That startled him more than anything else.

You stood, walked around the table, and stopped in front of him. “You want me to be okay with you being like this? Fine. I’ve accepted it. But that means you follow my rules now.”

Ian looked up at you. “What rules?”

“No hurting people. No following people. No threats. No sabotage. No ‘accidents.’ You want to be close to me? Don’t make me regret it.”

His mouth opened, then closed again. You watched the storm roll behind his eyes—violent, needy, desperate. But he nodded.

“Okay.”

You nodded back and sat on the couch. “Now get over here.”

He didn’t even hesitate.

Later, you were half-asleep on the couch. Ian was beside you, arms folded, eyes glued to the ceiling like sleep was a language he couldn’t speak. You shifted, your shoulder brushing his.

“You ever gonna stop looking at me like I’ll disappear?”

He didn’t answer for a long time.

“You ever gonna stop pretending you don’t want me to look at you like that?” he said eventually.

You chuckled. “Maybe not.”

There was quiet again, but it wasn’t awkward. You could feel his breath slow beside you. Like proximity calmed something in him. You didn’t need to ask what. You knew.

“You’re not a monster, Ian,” you said, eyes closed.

“Sometimes I think I am.”

You opened your eyes and turned to him. He was already watching you.

“You do anything like last time again like hurting someone for being too close and I’ll walk. For real.”

He nodded, solemn.

“But,” you added, “if you want to be here, and you can hold that shit back, I won’t go anywhere.”

His hand twitched like he wanted to touch you, but didn’t know how. “I can try.”

You stared at him for a second, then reached over and put your hand over his. “Try harder. Because I do like you, Ian. I just need you to act like you’re worth being liked.”

His fingers closed around yours.

And for once, he didn’t say anything. Just held your hand like it was proof you were real. Like if he let go, he’d wake up back in that hollow place he came from.

You didn’t pull away.

Not that night.

Not yet.

[papersoilder]

(Yandere Oc) Ian x Male Reader

ˑ 𖥔 ּ ִ 𖦹 WARNINGS: Obssesive behaviour, stalking, mentions of dead animals

̽𖧧 word count: 700– any other warnings to add let me know also not proof read its late

No one really knows where Ian came from. One day he was just... around. At school. In your apartment complex. Hanging outside the coffee shop where you go every morning. He’s the kind of guy people learn to ignore because he’s quiet and doesn’t cause problems at least not ones anyone can trace to him.

He keeps his distance, until he doesn’t.

Ian falls fast, but it doesn’t look like love. It looks like obsession hiding behind lazy half-smirks and too much eye contact. He memorizes your routines before he even says hello. He learns what brand of shampoo you use by “accidentally” brushing against your hair. He knows which playlists you have on repeat. He knows who you text the most and he hates them. All of them.

He thinks of himself as someone who's protective, not controlling. That’s what he tells himself when he deletes numbers from your phone while you're asleep. Or when he slashes the tires on your coworker’s car so you won’t make it to that “after-hours meeting.” He’s just looking out for you. Because no one else sees you the way he does. No one else deserves you.

When you finally talk to him because he's always there, always in the background, and it's easier to acknowledge him than ignore him he plays it cool. He’s charming in a lazy, unnerving way. Always says something just a little off, like he knows more than he should.

“You were wearing that same jacket last Tuesday,” he might say. “It looked good then, too.”

You laugh it off, but something in your gut twists.

Ian doesn’t get jealous. He gets possessive. Jealousy implies insecurity. Ian doesn’t think anyone else even comes close to touching what you two are. Even if you don’t know it yet. So when you start seeing someone, he takes it personal. He won’t confront you not right away. He’ll smile, light a cigarette, and tell you he’s happy if you’re happy. But then your new partner starts getting strange phone calls at night. Dead animals show up on their porch. Their brakes fail. Nothing that can be traced back to Ian. Just bad luck.

He keeps a notebook. It’s not filled with poetry. It’s a log. Every time you smiled. Every time you cried. What you were wearing. Who you talked to. A record of you, so when things go wrong, he can figure out what happened and fix it.

He doesn’t want to hurt you. He’d never hurt you. But if you ever scream at him, tell him to leave you alone, say you hate him? He’ll break. Not all at once he doesn’t shout or throw things. He gets quiet. And then the people around you start disappearing. Or ending up in the hospital. He tells himself it’s for your own good. He’s not the villain. He’s the one who stayed. The one who watched. The one who loved you enough to burn down your whole life and rebuild it from the ashes with him at the center.

You’re everything to him. His anchor. His reason. The only thing that keeps him from slipping completely. So he’ll smile that slow, eerie smile and whisper, “I’d never let anything happen to you.”

And he means it.

Even if he’s the thing that happens to you.

[papersoilder]

In in this world, Satoru Gojo was a legend. There was no one who could challenge him, no one who could match his strength. Yet, despite this, there was always one thing he could not control, one thing he could not protect, the people who mattered to him.

And then there was you.

You were ordinary. No curses, no special abilities, no unique talents. You were simply a person caught up in the tangled web of the sorcerers and curses. You never asked for this, never wanted to be involved in their battles, but somehow, fate had other plans. And now, as the blood soaked into your clothes and your vision blurred, you regretted it.

You had never wanted to get close to Gojo. You were just a civilian, living a quiet life, far from the dangerous world of Jujutsu sorcerers. But somehow, he had come into your life you had met him by chance an accidental collision with one of his students at a café, he had stepped in and apologized, his easy smile and carefree attitude making you feel something strange in your chest. Over time, the two of you had become friends. Nothing more thats what you told yourself, yet you had grown to care for him in ways you couldn't explain and you could tell he cared too.

But Gojo was not a man who could remain in one place for long. His duty, his responsibility, as a sorcerer dealing with the curses always pulled him away. He told you stories about the missions he went on, the many curses he faced, the fights, even about his students. You listened, intrigued, but always with the feeling that you were far removed from this world. A world you would never truly belong to.

And yet, on that fateful day, you found yourself in the middle of it all.

It had been a regular afternoon. You were out for a walk, you both had agreed to meet there to hang out nothing unusual you just felt like being there earlier to enjoying the quietness of the park, when you heard a distant rumble. The ground shook, the air around you had almost changed it was static. You had no idea what was happening it wasn’t until the ground split open before you that you realized what was going on. A curse, you had never seen one before, he had told told you normal people were unable to see them. as it rose from the earth it’s form was terrifying, but the real horror was that it was heading straight for you.

Fear gripped your heart. You didn’t know what to do, how to fight back. You were just a regular person. But before you could even react, the air shifted. A sudden flash of white and blue, and standing before you was Satoru Gojo, his usual carefree smile present your heart slowed a bit looking at him you smiled back.

You watched, still somewhat in a state of shock as he effortlessly went at it with the curse. His movements were like a dance graceful, calculated, and terrifyingly powerful. It had you enthralled like a kid watching a superhero fight. But in the chaos, the sounds of explosions and static you once felt you didn't see the other curse rising from the same split in the ground. You didn’t see it until it was too late.

As Gojo unleashed a devastating attack on the first curse, the second curse with an alarming speed, slammed into you with a force that sent you sprawling to the ground as it ran away afterwards exiting park. Disoriented you laid there blinking before you slowly started feel a sharp pain in your chest as tried to get up you gasped for air before violently coughing. You’re breathing was labored any sound you tried making caused you more pain.

Gojo had turned just as he finished the first curse in time to see the second curse strike you. His eyes widened in horror. He moved so fast that he himself barley registered it, his hand reaching out to you, but it was too late. You were already on the ground, your body limp, your vision dimming.

"Hey, stay with me!" Gojo shouted, his voice cracking with desperation. He knelt beside you, his hands roughly grabbing your shoulders as he held you up. He didn’t see any blood no bruises, but your breathing was so still he would’ve already thought you were dead. He watched as you gasped before coughing, He could feel how you struggled to take in air the pained look on your face.

"I’m sorry, shit" he whispered, his voice breaking. "I should’ve seen him. I should’ve never—"

You could barley make out the rest of his words as you tried to focus your eyes on him. His gaze met yours those blue eyes, so mesmerizing as you looked you saw the guilt in his eyes. He blamed himself after all meeting here was his idea.

"It’s… not your fault," you croaked, your voice barely audible. As another painful gasped followed. Barely able to keep you eyes open.

Tears welled in Gojo’s eyes, but he blinked them away quickly. He didn’t want you to see him like this, vulnerable, powerless in the face of something he couldn’t control. You had never been part of this world. You didn’t belong in the battles he fought. If only you were different, if only you were strong like him…

"If I were different," you murmured, a faint smile tugging at your lips despite the pain, “Maybe I could’ve… been with you longer."

Gojo’s heart shattered. He couldn’t even bring himself to speak as the weight of your words sank in. You had always been ordinary, a quiet soul who lived on the sidelines of his dangerous life, but now you were slipping away, and there was nothing he could do to save you.

"I’m sorry," he repeated, his voice a broken whisper. "I should’ve protected you better. I—"

You shook your head weakly, cutting him off. "You were protecting everyone… you always do. I… I was just lucky to know you."

His chest tightened at your words, his hands gripping yours as if he could hold onto you, stop time, prevent this from happening. But the truth was, he couldn’t. He wasn’t invincible, no matter how powerful he was. He could never protect you from the things that had always been beyond his control.

The world around you was fading, and with it, your consciousness. The pain was dulling now, and you found yourself feeling… peaceful. At least, you thought, at least you had been able to say goodbye.

And as your breathing slowed to a stop, Gojo whispered one final promise to you, the tears he had been holding back finally spilling over. "I’ll never forget you. I’ll make sure no one forgets you."

And then, everything went quiet.

Gojo sat there for a long time after you were gone, his eyes staring at the place where you had once been. His heart ached with an intensity he could hardly bear. He could have saved you. He should have.

But no matter how many times he asked himself "what if," he knew the truth. If you had been different if you had the strength to fight by his side maybe things would have turned out differently. But you weren’t, and that was part of the painful beauty of it all. You were his, just as you were.

And now, he was left alone, the weight of your absence heavier than anything the curses could ever bring.