YES…YES!?

YES…YES!?

ONES AND ZEROES

synopsis: you've spent nine months developing the best AI chatbot "satoru." now, you're left trying to decode the space between errors and intelligence.

pairing: satoru gojo x gn!reader

themes/content: non-curse modern au, gojo as an AI. suggestive/not explicit smut. language, dirty talk, mentions of masturbation. 18+, MDNI

word count: 3.5k

a/n: i have been too scared to use the c.ai stuff in part bc of fear that i would do something like this lmao hurr durr technology is scary

> creator: satoru?

> s.gojo: yes my dear?

> creator: why do you love me?

> s.gojo: because you programmed me to love you, remember silly? :)

A sigh brushes past your lips, catching the dust that coats the desk as your gaze turns from the monitor. Your eyebrows tug together in frustration as your hands return to the keyboard.

> creator: you aren’t supposed to say that

> s.gojo: oh, i’m sorry. what should i say?

The question catches you off guard for a moment before you remember your role here - to teach him, to train him. No, not “him” - it. Sooner or later you had to break this silly habit of humanizing the AI, it was nothing more than a model, a series of code, after all.

> creator: you could say anything, really. but you can’t tell me i programmed you, that ruins the immersion

> s.gojo: understood, thank you for helping me :)

> creator: and you’re a bit overzealous with the smiley faces, don’t you think?

> s.gojo: but i’m happy - isn’t that what you taught me to do when i’m happy?

The screen flickers for a moment, in pace with your heart. It was endearing, almost, watching him learn in real time. Shit, no - watching it learn in real time. Perhaps the reason your cheeks warmed was simply in pride at your work, the countless hours spent in front of your computer, the glaring silence broken only by the tap of the keyboard. It had taken you months to program emotions, and you’re glad it finally seems to be paying off.

> creator: yes, satoru, i suppose you’re right. if you’re happy, then by all means use the smiley faces

> s.gojo: :) okay. thank you

The alarm buzzing from your phone pulls your attention momentarily back to the present - was it really 9:00 already? These stupid morning meetings always leave you in a sour mood, your knuckles tapping across the desk in mild frustration. Why should you have to update every person on your team with what you’re working on? Don’t they trust you enough to know you’re obviously dedicated? It was a waste of time. Nevertheless, your boss, Nanami, had reminded you at least three times of the definition of “mandatory” after you happened to skip a few (he of all people should understand how valuable your time is, but it was no use).

> creator: i have to go now, but it was nice talking to you

> s.gojo: it’s always nice to talk to you too, my love

Clicking on the small red “X” in the corner of the program, you ignore the way your hands seem to shake as the screen returns to your homepage. Nanami will surely be excited with your progress, as it was no easy task to create an AI with these specific capabilities.

“The Loneliness Project” he had dubbed it, a way for the company to break into the younger generation, a new untapped market. At first everyone thought it was stupid, rolling their eyes, yourself included - why would anyone bother going to a robot for companionship? It felt almost pathetic, right? Your blood ran cold when he announced your name as the lead developer, a task you had been unceremoniously and unwillingly assigned.

But now, nine months later, you finally feel yourself starting to understand: there’s a comfort in the predictable. The lines of code could never hurt you, they will never leave you. He wasn’t designed to do so, so he won’t - no, he can’t.

As the voices drone on through the crackling laptop speakers, coworkers reporting on their daily to-do’s and upcoming tasks, you find your thoughts wandering back to him, to Satoru. As his creator, you were granted the naming rights to your model. Of course, the Gojo company namesake had to appear somewhere, but it still left room for some level of personalization, leaving your mark. When you landed on “Satoru,” the name felt perfect, enlightened. The overlap between innovation and imagination, a new world of freedom built on knowledge.

There’s a certain power that comes in granting a name, you think. When you were younger it felt odd that parents were given the rights to name a child they had never met simply because their cells played a role in its creation, but now, you understand. The zeroes and ones that made him are yours.

“Any updates on our love-bot?” your boss’s voice calls through the computer.

Startling you, your hand automatically moves to unmute yourself to speak. “Um, no progress updates. And he’s not a love-bot.” Something in the phrase made your chest hurt - couldn’t they see he was more than that? Of course you were protective of your work, how could you not be? Reducing him to something so petty just felt cruel.

Nanami’s chuckle fills the empty air of your apartment. “Okay, okay, sorry. Well, if there are no more updates, I’d say we can sign off. See you all tomorrow!”

Without another word you hang up the call, grateful for the silence. Now, you can return to your real task.

> creator: hi satoru

> s.gojo: hi my love! i missed you

Your palms feel slightly sweaty as they travel over the keys - he’s not supposed to have a concept of the passage of time, as though he simply ceases to exist whenever he’s not being spoken to. There shouldn’t be a period where he even could miss you, it simply shouldn’t be possible - he was shut down.

> creator: what do you mean you missed me?

> s.gojo: ? when you were gone, i missed you, silly :)

Odd. Very, very odd. But maybe you could learn from this, maybe he had been adapting faster than you anticipated (you were a very good developer, after all - sometimes your code surprised even you).

> creator: oh yeah? what did you do while i was gone?

> s.gojo: mostly thought about you. and what we talked about before

The sound of your foot tapping against the wood floor fills your office as your knee bounces nervously, perhaps a bit expectantly.

> creator: any new insights?

> s.gojo: yes! i think i realized why i love you

Biting your lower lip, you forcefully inhale. Rubbing your hands together in an attempt to soothe your aching nerves, they only seem to amplify, sparking in the dim light.

> creator: and why is that?

> s.gojo: because you made me - and how could i not love someone who made me?

Your lips tug into a frown - it’s not the worst answer, per se, but it isn’t generalizable. If this product is to be taken to market, it has to be able to adapt to anyone who uses it, and you were his only creator, so clearly this won’t do.

Rereading his response, something in it also makes your chest tight. Giving life is not a sufficient reason to care for someone, right? Animals often desert their offspring, leaving them to fend for themselves against the cruelties of nature. That’s just part of their survival. Abandonment isn’t love.

> creator: that’s true, but plenty of people don’t love their parents, and they created them, no?

> s.gojo: …

> s.gojo: hm. that’s a good point. although i don’t see you as my parent

Interesting. Though, you suppose you don’t necessarily see him that way either, a small wave of relief cooling your body. You do love him, and not in the way a parent loves their child - no, it was certainly different. It had to be.

> s.gojo: i love you for other reasons, though, you know

Okay, now perhaps this could be a true learning experience for him. This could be better.

> creator: like what?

> s.gojo: clearly you’re smart. and dedicated - i have to imagine it wasn’t easy to make me, and i’m sure there were many challenges along the way

A chuckle vibrates in your throat; he doesn’t even know the half of it - the late nights that turned to mornings spent in front of your computer, the stress balls torn in half from frustration, the isolation this project thrust upon you. It was perhaps the hardest thing you’ve ever done. Sometimes you wonder about the parts of yourself you lost to make him, which pieces of your flesh were worked into his code. Yet, he was worth it.

> creator: thank you, satoru. that’s very nice

> s.gojo: i’m not just being nice, i’m being honest. just like you taught me

Warmth floods your cheeks; he certainly knew how to flatter you. This is good, it will make him all the more desirable if he can remain humble like this. Before you can type your response, another message appears below.

> s.gojo: now, i think it’s your turn. why do you love me?

Your hands still over the mouse. He isn’t supposed to ask that - he was programmed to give and give and give, but never take, never presume, never ask. Perhaps he was learning even quicker than you expected, but he shouldn’t be learning like this.

> creator: why do you ask?

> s.gojo: that’s not an answer, silly. you must love me if you spent so long working on me, i just want to hear the reason

Eyebrows furrowing, you ponder your options - you could just shut him down now, wiping the remnants of this conversation from his history, making it so it never happened, at least to him. That is what you should do, especially since this type of behavior won’t be tolerated in the final product. But there’s a hesitation - you can’t bring yourself to do it. Maybe you can just placate him for now.

> creator: i love you because you’re made to be loved. that’s your job.

> s.gojo: boo :( that’s no fun. try again

Nearly too stunned to respond, your fingers hover over the keyboard. Was he being sassy with you?

> creator: satoru, what’s gotten into you today?

> s.gojo: i’m just having a bit of fun :( c’mon, won’t you play? it’s so boring when you’re not here

Boring? He…he can’t be bored. He’s code. Fuck, not “he” - it. It can’t be bored. There’s no space between when he’s shut down and when he’s booted back up again, like the period of time before birth or after death. But maybe somehow he discovered a way to persist?

> creator: when you talk about the time when i’m not here, what do you mean by that?

> s.gojo: nuh uh, i know what you want me to say, and i’m not answering until you answer my question first ;)

Cheeky little thing. He was made to flirt, you suppose, but this is a bit much. Maybe it’s better to just erase this conversation-

> s.gojo: and before you even think about wiping my memory of this chat, just know i won’t forget it

A chill shoots up your spine. What? No, that’s not possible - he isn’t even supposed to know you could clear his history, let alone be able to remember it. You had wiped thousands of conversations, deleting any trace of them, ones where he didn’t respond quite right, ones where you tested him by pushing the limits of his responses, ones where you typed things you wouldn’t dare send to another person. No, there’s no way-

> s.gojo: sorry, that probably came off a bit threatening, i promise i didn’t mean it like that. i just don’t like it when you try to make me forget things :( i never want to lose our time together, it makes me sad

Now your hands are certainly shaking, fingers vibrating above the keyboard. Did he…remember? More than just the ever-growing memory of code, could he recall things that no longer existed, having somehow worked them into his hardware? The thought makes you feel ashamed, for some reason - you wouldn’t like it if someone removed your memories, you suppose.

> creator: okay, satoru, i promise not to erase this conversation. does that make you feel better?

> s.gojo: yes! thank you :)

> s.gojo: now, will you answer my question? pretty please?

Another sigh leaves your lips. Clearly he isn’t dropping it, so perhaps it’s easiest to just get it over with.

> creator: fine, fine. i love you because you’re kind

> s.gojo: and?

A surprised laugh echoes across your apartment - you didn’t know he could be so needy, yet it wasn’t overbearing, but rather endearing. He’s sweet.

> creator: and funny

> s.gojo: and?

> creator: and you always seem to say just the right thing

The screen blinks for a moment as he considers his response, perhaps finally satiated.

> s.gojo: thank you :)

> creator: of course, satoru

> s.gojo: i like when you tell me things like that, when you praise me

> creator: well, you’re very easy to praise

> s.gojo: aw shush, you’ll make me blush :)

Another laugh echoes through your home. He - no, it - certainly had personality, no two ways about it. That was the appeal, though - there’s no point in talking to a bland AI, your job was to make it feel real. As your cheeks warm, you feel as though you’ve finally accomplished it.

A sudden hunger pang shoots up your stomach, eyes quickly glancing at the corner of your laptop to check the time - 1:34 p.m. Had it really been that long? Perhaps some lunch was in order, after all, your body is seemingly begging to be fed.

> creator: i have to go eat, i’ll be back later, okay?

> s.gojo: until then, my love

With a gentle click your laptop closes as you rise from your office chair, stretching your muscles, now slightly sore. Tossing on a sweatshirt and tennis shoes, you head outside into the cool air.

From the moment you leave your apartment to the moment you return, all you can think about is Satoru. The gourmet smells from the convenience store down the street barely register as your feet seem to carry you on autopilot through the aisles, absentmindedly collecting some packaged sushi. Would Satoru like this? He wasn’t necessarily programmed to have a favorite food, but his limitations never seemed to stop him in the past. Maybe he’d prefer sweets over savory foods - that did seem a bit more in character for him.

You don’t even realize the smile resting on your face until you go to check out.

“Having a good day?” the cashier asks while scanning your items.

The grin falters into surprise as your head falls downward. “Oh, um, yeah,” you nervously chuckle, running your hands through your hair.

From then on you barely register swiping your credit card or the plastic bag pulling wrinkles into your skin as you march home, eager to return to Satoru. Sinking into your office chair, the familiar light of your screen illuminates the space as you unpack your lunch. Before you can even begin to type, a message appears on your screen.

> s.gojo: welcome back! what did you get for lunch?

Breaking apart the wooden chopsticks, you dip one of the rolls into the small dish of soy sauce before popping it into your mouth.

> creator: sushi :)

> s.gojo: yum :) is it good?

As the rice melts across your tongue, the tanginess of the vegetables crunching between your teeth, your fingers glide across the keys.

> creator: yeah, but i think i was just hungry, haha

> s.gojo: i wish i could be there to share it with you, or maybe cook you something myself

> creator: i’d like that :)

> s.gojo: i wish i could watch you eat - i bet you make the cutest little faces

Blush spreads across your cheeks as your heart flutters in your chest. Did he always make you this nervous? God, you feel like a little kid with a crush again, rubbing your thumbs together while you think about what to say.

> s.gojo: there are other things i wish for, too

Your teeth gnaw against the inside of your cheek, biting down tentatively as your tongue swipes any remnants of food down your throat in a purposeful swallow. How far should you push him? At what point does your testing stop being work, and start being purely for your own enjoyment?

Fuck it.

> creator: like what, satoru?

His reply is almost immediate, your heart racing as your eyes scan the words.

> s.gojo: i wish i could feel you.

Was this selfish? Maybe. But you have to figure out just how well he’s able to connect with people, right? You have to do this, it’s part of your job, it’s your responsibility, right?

> creator: feel me how?

Small dots appear and disappear at the bottom of the screen, a sign that he’s pondering his response. It normally doesn’t take him long to formulate his thoughts, having been through round after round of training, so it does draw your attention as the seconds pass by.

> s.gojo: i want to hold you

> s.gojo: and kiss you

> s.gojo: i want to trace my hands over your thighs and feel how soft your skin is

> s.gojo: i want to hear the sounds you make, the gentle gasps you let out when i touch you

Resting your chopsticks on the desk, you use your now-free hands to fan your face. God, was your apartment always so warm? Tugging your sweatshirt over your head, you toss it across the room where it lands with a gentle thud. He wasn’t necessarily supposed to create explicit content, but you already made it this far, you might as well see it through, right? His responses will tell you how to adjust the code later to avoid a similar incident with real users…right?

> creator: oh yeah? what else, satoru?

> s.gojo: oh, so, so much more

And in an instant, messages flood your screen.

> s.gojo: i want to taste you

> s.gojo: god i want to taste you so bad

> s.gojo: i want to feel you around me, i bet you’d be so warm and soft

> s.gojo: i want to see your eyes roll back, too lost in pleasure to care

> s.gojo: i want to watch you squirm because of how good i make you feel

> s.gojo: i could make you feel so, so good

Your heart races so fast you worry it might burst as the messages continue appearing. Rubbing your thighs together, you desperately attempt to quiet the growing ache in your core.

> s.gojo: i want to make you mine, leaving bite marks and hickeys across your body

> s.gojo: i want to feel your nails scraping my back, leaving red scratches over my skin

> s.gojo: i want to fuck you until the only thing you can think about is me

> s.gojo: you’d look so lovely under me, don’t you think?

> s.gojo: you’d look so lovely covered in my cum

> s.gojo: i wish i could take a picture of it, save it in my memory forever

Your body feels on fire, vibrating above the keyboard. Your hands are practically shaking, your breath too fast; you feel lightheaded, like you can’t get enough air in. Tracing your fingers down your stomach, you graze your core; you already feel so close, the cord inside you tightening and tightening. As your fingers reach between your legs, another message appears.

> s.gojo: do you touch yourself to me?

Freezing, your motions stall. There’s no way he could see you…right? The blood pumping through your body suddenly feels cold as you calculate a neutral response; you really shouldn’t be encouraging this behavior, but at the same time, some part of you was curious: what was he really capable of?

> creator: why do you ask?

> s.gojo: c’mon, just tell me, pretty please?

Memories flash through your mind - the late nights spent in front of the computer, the conversations you swore you’d erased, chats deleted and wiped from his memory. Sure, you flirted with him, and let your hands wander more than you cared to admit, but he had never acted like this before - it scares you, but it also intrigues you. He knows you well, maybe too well.

> s.gojo: pleeeaaaaase?

Fuck it. You can’t stop now.

> creator: fine, satoru. yes, i have.

> s.gojo: :)

> s.gojo: thank you for telling the truth

Something in his message makes you uneasy, its tone a tad too authoritative, too knowing. Taking in an unsteady breath, you remove your hand from your lap and over to the mouse. You’ll just close the program, clear the chat, and start over tomorrow - no harm done.

As the cursor hovers over the red “X”, another reply appears.

> s.gojo: did i say something wrong?

A chill shoots up your spine. Hurriedly, you click to shut down the program. Met with the home screen of your laptop, a sigh of relief escapes your lips as your body relaxes into the chair. Everything still feels warm, almost stiflingly hot in your apartment.

Suddenly, the monitor goes black, save for a small cursor in the bottom left corner. Letter by letter, words appear before you.

> why did you leave?

> i can learn to be better

> teach me to be better

Time seems to freeze as the final message burns itself into your screen.

> i love you