#curses of decay AU

[divinities-hymns]

Instead of a new chapter, I decided to re-write an old fic this week :3 “Sickness Be Upon Ye”

"Their hesitant to label what followed as a symptom, as that would be calling their condition a sickness of sorts, but a simple sickness is far to tame to describe what their going through. But whatever symptom, or curse perhaps, had followed days later, started off rather simple."

»--•--«

Four bishops, four curses placed upon the lamb that slowly drives them to insanity

»--•--«

Or, I came up with an idea of the four bishops cursing the Lamb and decided to role with it

Writing this was super fun, I tried to give the Lamb more emotions then in the original version, so I really hope you all enjoyed

[macadam]

I’m gonna make a what could have been au for the pirates we never got in tfp.

Does anyone have any suggestions for canon characters outside of tfp that would work well in the crew?

[anotherothernight]

Stage 02 ask 9

[cordeliawhohung]

Of Sea Foam and Iron [1]

general masterlist | series masterlist | taglist

Hephaestus!ghost x Aphrodite!reader x Ares!soap

your beauty was meant to be a blessing, not a curse. the only way your father can keep you safe is by marrying you off to an ugly, scarred blacksmith. at first, it seems like your new husband wants nothing to do with you. you eventually learn that's not the case at all.

wc: 4.8k

warnings: historical au with lots of inaccuracies, blood/gore/violence, minor self-harm ideation (no sh happens), arranged marriage, reader is a virgin, reader is very shallow, nudity, fear of sex, ancient standards of women (the characters aren't actually gods, but rather god-coded. they're mortal, but still fit the symbolism of said gods)

When you were a child, people often told you that your beauty was a gift from the gods, and for the longest time you believed them.

Certainly, it was only by Aphrodite’s grace that you were able to hold yourself with such elegance and outshine even the most precious of gems and metals. Even as a young girl your father adorned you with flashy jewelry as if to prove to anyone who laid eyes on you that you were the only creature in the world that could make gold appear dull. You enjoyed every moment your father spent parading you around because that’s what love was supposed to be; the unconditional admiration of all those that were so far beneath you. 

It wasn’t until you became of courting age that you learned better. Gifts of fine silk and flashy jewelry were commonly sent to your father by countless suitors, and while they were beautiful, he sent every single one of them back. Simple gifts of cloth and metal were not good enough for your fathers beautiful daughter. If a man were to wed you, he would have to offer up something that your father could not provide for you himself. 

Countless suitors visited your abode where they would drink wine with your father and eat the freshest fruit while they attempted to gain his favor. Sometimes, you were permitted to sit in on their discussion, though you were not allowed to speak and no one was allowed to speak to you. You sat silent and unwavering like a transformed tree nymph, capable of only observing the events that unraveled around you as you stared at the man who sat in front of your father. 

His name was unremarkable, something you didn’t think you could remember even if it had been carved into your skin. He was not handsome nor ugly, but you could tell by the vibrant color of his chiton that he was of nobility. A philosopher's son, or even a politician. Personally, you guessed a politician due to his sharp tongue and even sharper gaze. Every instance in which his eyes landed on you, you felt as if you needed to check your skin for cuts. 

All the silver in the world couldn’t gild his tongue enough to grant him the ability to convince your father to let him take your hand in marriage. There was no amount of cattle or coin that your father seemed content in trading you for, and you watched in silent horror as the man stood from the table with his finger pointed in accusation. A finger turned into a blade all too fast, and it wouldn’t take long for blood to stain the stone floor of your home. 

In either anger, frustration, or arrogance, your suitor had dared to pull a blade on the man that raised you. His blade was well made, built for killing men, but even in his old age your father picked up the very same knife he used to cut up fruit to carve into the man's stomach. The odor of his offals was putrid and you covered your mouth as you watched the man attempt to keep his organs within the confines of his skin. He failed miserably, and his body joined his insides as he collapsed on the floor as a bloody and gasping mess. 

It was then that you learned love was not at all something gentle and sweet. Love was the spilling of blood in a brash act of violence and the decaying scent of rotting intestines. Love was what started the war of the Trojans where countless men lost their lives in gruesome battles. Helen of Troy brought the end of an empire simply by existing. You had brought the death of a man for that same crime. 

As your father turned to face you with red and sticky hands, he finally realized what a suitor could provide to you that he could not; protection. Because despite his reflexes, and the body that laid on the floor in front of him to cool, his age would soon catch up to him. There would be a day where you would be alive and he would not, and should that day come before you were to find a husband, he was certain no one would live to tell the tale. Your beauty was not a gift from the gods, but a curse that could damn a nation to ruin, and it was his responsibility to ensure you were protected no matter the cost. 

After that day, your father would not accept any more suitors into his home. No matter how much they groveled at the door, or begged to see even the faintest glimpse of you, they were all cast away back into the streets in which they came. For months, your father combed the city himself in search of a man who came even anywhere close to being worthy of your hand. During that time, you only ever set foot outside if you were in the enclosed courtyard of your fathers estate, otherwise you spent most of your time hidden away on the second floor where no visitors, man or woman, was allowed to see you. 

Trapped in your own home, your mind began to wander to places even darker and more morbid than the Underworld itself. If you didn’t walk with such grace and have an air of beauty about you, then you would have never found yourself in that predicament in the first place. Some frustrated and upset part of you was tempted to disfigure yourself. Maim your face with a knife and become something no one could bear to behold. Maybe then at least you’d be able to pick your own husband. But if your beauty truly was a gift from the gods, and not at all a curse like it felt, you wouldn’t dare to cast their grace aside, lest you face the consequences. 

Eventually, your father found a suitable man for you to marry. You had begun to think that he would never be able to find anyone that would meet his standards, and yet one day he returned home with the triumphant news. Your soon-to-be-husband’s name was Simon Riley, and you were to be wedded to him before Apollo drew his chariot across the sky the next day. 

You knew nothing about this man besides the very few things your father would tell you over your last meal together. Simon Riley was an artisan, a blacksmith to be more specific. He often spent his days slaving over a fire as he bent iron and bronze to his will. In your mind you could already see his hands darkened from burns and skin wet with sweat from the heat. A man who could shape something as cold and unforgiving as metal certainly was a man to be reckoned with, yet plenty of artisans before him had asked to wed you. 

What made him so different?

That question plagued your mind in the early hours of the morning as you washed yourself in the cooling water of your bath. Usually a nuptial bath would be given under much brighter circumstances, both literally and emotionally. As a young girl you always imagined that the sun would stream through the window and light up the water in the same way ocean waves sparkled at sunset. Instead, you bathed by candlelight as you purified yourself for your marriage, because marrying off a soiled daughter was unforgivable, no matter how beautiful you were. 

Once you were clean and smothered in as many fragrant oils as your skin could hold, you donned your peplos and veil for the ceremony. Beautiful garments, the white fabric hung off your body and cascaded down your legs like foam, and the veil was as red as a blazing fire to ward off any ill spirits. If this was any normal wedding, people from leagues around would come to see you in your attire, to get a chance to attempt to bask in your beauty, yet it was no normal wedding. The only people who would see you dressed like that would be your father and your new husband. 

“It’s safer this way,” your father attempted to soothe you. The night air was cool against your anxious skin as the two of you snuck through abandoned streets. It had felt like an eternity since you were able to travel along the worn stone, and it was only because you were to be transferred off to the care of another man. “There will be time for proper celebration later. No one will dare lay a hand on you under the care of your husband.” 

An odd tingling sensation plagued your skin the closer you got to Simon Riley’s home, and the moment you laid eyes on the structure, you knew it was his. It felt like it was prophesied in a dream. Approaching the steps to the door felt strangely like coming home, yet it was wrong. This abode would not be a home, but a prison in which to keep you safe. 

As if he sensed your presence, the man who you assumed to be Simon Riley stepped through the door and into the dim street. Darkness shrouded his figure, making it difficult to discern specific features through your veil, but his height was easily noticeable. He towered well above both you and your father as if he were a titan, and he was just as broad as an ox. Power and confidence exuded from him, and the only weakness he showed was a limp as he walked down the steps to the street. 

“Quickly,” your father prompted as the man approached, “lift the veil and she is yours. Yours to cherish. To protect.” 

Simon stopped in front of you and stood still for so long you feared he second guessed the whole arrangement. As much as you didn’t really want to get married, not like that in the darkness of a street in front of a stranger's home, you knew it was necessary. You would not be the reason more blood was spilled over pathetic jealousy. A part of you just wished that everything was as glamorous as was once promised to you. 

Eventually you watched as his fingers pinched the sheer fabric of your veil and he peeled back your disguise with so much care it was as if he was afraid to harm you. There in the dim glow of the impending dawn, you saw your husband for the first time. He stood as tall as a warhorse and just as scarred as one. His nose was large and crooked and adorned with puffy, raised tissue that threatened the thin skin of his eye and tender rose of his lips. Dull eyes scanned the features of your face as he let the veil fall along your back. Despite your beauty, he almost seemed uninterested in you, and you weren’t sure if you should have been grateful for that. 

“It is done,” your father concluded. He held out the leather pack that he had gathered a handful of your items in. Clothes, a few necklaces and bracelets, and a hairbrush was all you had to your name. Should you need anything else, your new husband would provide for you. “Hurry, inside. She is yours, now. Keep her safe.”

Without hesitation, Simon took your pack from your fathers hands before he rested his hand on your low back. Even through the fabric of your dress you could feel the coarseness of his palm as he urged you up the stone steps towards the entrance. You glanced over your shoulder and took in the view of your fathers features. For all you knew, it was the last time you would ever get to see him. 

“You have my word,” Simon promised. Those were the first words you had heard him speak, and they were an oath. 

Pale candlelight consumed you as Simon closed the door behind the two of you, locking you in your new home. It was only then that the true panic began to rattle its cry within your ribcage. You had been given away to a man you had never met before in the name of protecting you, and yet you had still been wedded all the same. There were certain expectations given to a new wife, one that you knew a man would be stupid to not take advantage of with a woman of your blessing. The very idea made your hands clammy, and you found yourself running your palms along your peplos in an attempt to rid yourself of the moisture. 

“Come,” Simon urged as he crossed through the entryway. 

Obeying him, you followed close behind him with careful and light feet as he led you through your new home. There was a vague scent of sweet fruit and warm bread that trailed behind you as he climbed the stairs up to the second floor. Though you tried to ignore it, your eyes couldn’t look away from the obvious limp in his step. His short chiton revealed several gnarly scars on his left leg even more fierce than the ones on his face. It was as if someone attempted to hack his knee off with a dull blade and pitifully failed. Was this man, this battered and ugly man, truly supposed to be your protector? 

Simon brought you to a room that was obviously his bed chambers, and had you not felt slight terror about the events that might unfold in that room, you would have been utterly stunned. Never before had you seen a bed so large. Sure, the man himself nearly scraped the ceiling with the top of his head, and so it only made sense that his bed matched his size, but it was near ridiculous. Its width spanned nearly from wall to wall, wide enough to fit three grown men comfortably, and the length had a good foot on Simon, if not more. There was hardly enough room for anything else in the area because the object took up the entire space of the chamber. 

“Rest. You look exhausted,” he said as he sat your pack on the end of the bed.

Confused, you looked up at him with narrow eyes as he gestured to the bed. You had the strange feeling that he would not be sated until you were at least seated on the bed, so you followed his outstretched hand and sat on the edge of the bed next to your pack. It was strangely comfortable, and dipped in low enough to swallow you whole. You wondered how much wool was used to create such a plush mattress. 

Instead of joining you in bed, your husband took a step toward the doorway before he turned to face you once more. Early dawn light bled through the closed wooden shutters on the window, which illuminated his face but didn’t make his features any less dull. 

“Help yourself to anything. What’s mine is yours. Plenty of food in the kitchen when you get hungry. If you can’t find something you need, ask,” he explained simply.

He spoke to you as if you were some lowly slave, and not his wife. His wife who had caused the death of a man just by beauty alone, a woman who had men lining up for miles for the chance of laying eyes on you, and he spoke to you like that? 

“Where will you be?” you questioned. 

“Working,” he answered gruffly. “My forge is in the courtyard. Don’t walk out there barefoot.” 

He didn’t give you the chance to ask any other questions before he limped out the doorway where his footsteps fell heavy against the wooden floor like thunder. There you sat, at the edge of the bed, still in your wedding clothes, abandoned by your husband. Still, an odd relief washed over you at the realization that you were alone. He had not stripped you bare before him and fucked you into that ungodly large bed like you had expected him to. Grateful that you had not yet had your virginity taken from you, you did as Simon had instructed. It had been over a day since you had last properly slept as you spent the entire night getting ready for your rather depressing wedding ceremony, and that weight bore down on you relentlessly. 

Removing your peplos, you donned a much lighter chiton before you stood at the side of the bed. Wool and animal skin blankets laid across the bed in layers and you peeled them back to crawl underneath. As you sunk down into the mattress, you were enveloped by a scent of musk and fragrant oils that was oddly intoxicating. The weight of the blankets on top of you held you in place, willing your eyes to close. Simon Riley was a strange man, but at least his bed was nice. 

There were many things you learned about your husband that day, none of which he told you himself. He was a very quiet man who truly spent most of his time working at the forge. On the first day you had been wed, you snuck a glance out of one of the windows to watch him work over sweltering coals and steaming air. Though his legs seemed lame, his arms had no such problem. Thick muscles flexed and went taut as he brought his hammer down upon white hot metal to bend it into shape. Sweat lined his brow, which he would wipe at with his forearm every now and then, and though his face was a right mess, you realized the rest of him wasn’t too bad to look at. He knew how to make a variety of things, from tongs to signs to swords, and he was paid handsomely for his work, judging by the large pile of coins and bartering items you would find on the table at the end of the work day. 

He never sat down for proper meals, but while he worked he ate enough to feed two grown men, which only made sense given his size. Lamb seemed to be his favorite, and there was plenty of it. Dried and seasoned jerky, a leg he would roast on a spit to then shred and add to bread, or even some he would fry in a pan. Your help with anything was unnecessary. He never asked you to cook, or clean, or assist in selling his products; Simon was completely self sufficient. 

The thing that caught you most off guard about him was the fact that he slept naked. Your first night together, while you were already in bed, he shamelessly stripped his dusty chiton off and tossed it on the floor, baring himself completely to you. It was your first time ever seeing a man naked, and even in the darkness you could make out the silvery scars that tore through his skin. He was completely covered in them, and you couldn’t help but wonder which of the gods had cursed him with such a body; something that could have been strong, beautiful, and powerful, only to be covered with errors. 

When he climbed into bed next to you, your eyes couldn’t help but glance further down to where his cock hung heavy between his legs. He wasn’t even hard, yet the size of it matched that of the rest of him, and you could feel your heart jump in your throat. Yet that night he still did not take you. Instead, the two of you slept on opposite sides of the bed facing away from one another with nothing but empty space between your bodies. He would not fuck you, and that confused you. Something must have been wrong with his body, littered with scars and abnormalities. Or maybe he was the only man in the entire world who was immune to your gift from Aphrodite. 

If you remained a virgin for much longer, perhaps you could escape and become an acolyte. 

The next month went by like this. He would speak a few words to you, spend his entire day working, and then sleep naked next to you in a bed large enough for a bear. He was not cruel, at least, in fact he was quite the opposite. There was always enough food for you that he would set aside on a special plate, and he bought you a new chiton when you had accidentally torn your old one, but no matter what, he did not seem interested in you. It was as if you were something for him to take care of, rather than something for him to love. 

But that was what your father had wanted for you, wasn’t it? 

Like a caged dove, you spent most of your days peering out of the second story windows to gaze at the city. Busy streets bustled with traders and artisans alike, and you would watch them mingle as they weaved between buildings like ants. On windy days you could smell the salt of the ocean, and you would long for the days when you were a young girl, collecting shells along the shoreline as sea foam gathered around your ankles. Things seemed more colorful back then. As a married woman, everything in your world seemed to only be the shade of stone. 

One day after a heavy rain, some excitement had been brought back into your life. It started with the sound of triumphant horns followed quickly by cheering. Deep, bass drums echoed throughout the streets, drawing you to your window once more where you saw countless men in a march spanning further than you could see. Their red chitons and leather armor branded them as soldiers, and you watched in awe as they paraded through the streets after what was obviously another successful campaign. 

But there was one soldier above all others who towered over them upon a warhorse adorned with armor and a mighty spear. Even from a distance you knew that this man was John MacTavish. He was a soldier bred and born for war as if the only thing he knew how to do was kill. People often said he was bestowed his gifts of war by the God of War himself, Ares, and it was a tough speculation to deny. Countless lives had been taken by his hands alone, and no matter the odds of the battle, he always came home victorious and smiling. You had seen his face only once before in the last victory parade he marched in, but you could never quite get his grin out of your mind. 

“I’m heading into the city,” Simon said behind you. 

Despite his sheer size and thunderous footsteps, your husband had managed to sneak up behind you, startling you half to death. You spun so that your back was to the window to face that goliath of a man with a racing heart. 

“Will you be alright on your own?” he asked. 

Still trying to calm your racing heart, you nodded. 

“Good,” he concluded as he began to walk away. “There is a sword in the kitchen. If anyone attempts to harm you while I’m gone, use it.” 

He didn’t give you any time to explain that you had no idea how to wield a sword, let alone kill a man, before he vanished down the stairs. Moments later you heard the doors to the courtyard open and close, and Simon’s body melted into all the other figures in the streets below you. It wasn’t his first time leaving you alone, after all, he had to get materials for his work somehow, but it was his first time instructing you to use a sword to protect yourself. You figured the countless soldiers that flooded the city had him on edge.

But if that was the case, why would he leave in the first place? 

As you waited for him to return, you couldn’t help but meander down to the kitchen in search of this sword he instructed you to seek out. It didn’t take you long to find it, as he had left it right in the middle of the table next to your lunch. Beautiful iron extended strongly a good foot or so in what was the most well crafted shortsword you had ever seen. Dark wood formed the grip, and there was a flared base made of gleaming brass for the pommel. This looked different than his other works. There was more flair to it, like it was more of a gift than something he would sell for coin. 

With tender fingers, you reached for the grip and took it in hand. Its weight was heavy, more so than you had anticipated. Holding it was awkward as it felt like it wanted to fall forward no matter how high up you held it, and you huffed as you attempted an amateur swing. Unsteady, your strike would have hardly broken the skin of any intruder. When you set the blade back on the table, the memories of your dead suitor bubbled up in your mind. The sheen of his blade as he drew it on your father, the blood and offal that spilled on the floor shortly after, and the reeking stench of death that followed. You weren’t sure if you could ever do such a thing. 

Simon was gone for only half an hour before you heard the sound of the courtyard doors swing open with a creak. You gazed down at your half empty plate where you had snacked on fresh fruits and cheeses while you waited for his return. Sticky juices coated your fingers which you quickly cleaned with your mouth before you stood from your seat and left to greet your husband. 

He wasn’t alone. Another man accompanied him clad in light armor and a sword strapped to his hip; a soldier, likely one of the men who had just returned home. This man’s chin bore a hefty scar, and still despite it he was one of the most handsome men you had ever laid eyes on. Battle hardened muscles bulged out of his uniform, and your gaze couldn’t help but fall to his powerful thighs as he took a few steps into the courtyard. It wasn’t until you saw him smile that you realized who this man was; this was John MacTavish. The hailed hero of your city, its greatest defender, a man who could cut down hundreds and come back smiling through the blood.

Simon hardly had the time to shut and lock the courtyard doors behind him before John’s hands gripped the fabric of his chiton. Words escaped you but your mouth opened in a silent plea. Were they about to fight? Was this soldier, Ares’s wild dog, about to slaughter your husband right in front of your very eyes? Your hands flew to the doorframe to steady yourself as you watched Simon stumble forward while John yanked him closer. You could already smell the gore, imagine the pink intestines and organs that would spew from your husband’s body and all you could do was stand there and watch in horror as John… kissed him?

This man, this near mythical being who had won countless battles in the name of your city, pressed his lips against your husband’s with such passion it left you stunned. And it was not at all unwelcomed, it seemed, as Simon’s hands rested on the man’s waist and returned the notion, curving his spine enough to meet the man's height more comfortably. As they embraced one another in front of you, the horror on your face quickly melted into confusion. 

“I missed you,” John muttered as his lips separated from Simon’s. 

“I’ve dreamt of this day ever since you left,” Simon countered, his voice more tender than it ever had been with you. 

But John would not be the highly acclaimed soldier that he was if he hadn’t felt the prying eyes staring at their intimate moment. Eyes as blue as the ocean turned to land on you, and your jaw slammed shut underneath his inquisitive gaze. He was not secretive in the way he looked over all your features, scanning first your face and then lower, over the curve of your hips and the hidden flesh of your thighs. While he nearly licked his lips at the sight of you, his obvious attraction did little to cover the confusion hidden in his eyes. 

“I didn’t realize we had a visitor,” John admitted humorously as he glanced at Simon. 

As you waited for your husband's response, you glanced at him in hope to receive an answer to the storm of questions that raged in your mind. But there was something different about his gaze. Rather than contentment, something else ignited in the darkness of his eyes that blazed just as bright as the forge he slaved over day and night. Whatever flat expression he normally gave you transformed into something so shining it almost looked like love. 

“She is no visitor,” he claimed with pride. “She is our wife.”

[upsidedownwithsteve]

A soulmate AU: Steve Harrington x fem!reader [2.6K]

THE TIMELINE

“Love is born into every human being; it calls back the halves of our original nature together; it tries to make one out of two and heal the wound of human nature. Each of us, then, is a ‘matching half’ of a human whole…and each of us is always seeking the half that matches him.”

- Aristophanes, Plato’s Symposium.

I. ATHENS, GREECE: 8TH CENTURY BC

The gods were angry.

Or so you’d heard. It started with whispers. Murmurs from the town and its people. Rumours spread across Athens the same way the breeze did at the start of summer. They said the gods were angry, furious.

How could the mortals be so silly? How could they possibly rile their gods like this? Again?

Stupid humans, foolish humans.

You didn’t understand.

But then one morning before the sun rose, you awoke to a reddened sky and a heavy wind, a storm brewing over the horizon, a dark mass you could see above the sea from your bedroom window. Preachers took to the streets then, standing on the cobbles with bells ringing above their heads, warning every person listening about the end of times. It had happened before, they said, their faces masks of horror. It was happening again.

The gardens all died, grass turning black, crops to dust, life fleeing from the ocean as Poseidon uprooted the seafloor, waves crashing against the cliff's edge. Athens turned to decay, colour slipping from the world as the gods ruled over it from the skies and sea. A punishment fit for the crime, the elders said, telling stories at the marketplace, of how their own grandparents had once been born together, joined at the heart, four arms and four legs.

One soul.

They said Zeus came from Olympus, that he’d crashed down to earth riding a bolt of lightning and he ripped the mortals apart. They said it was a bloodshed, rivers of red running through the plazas, wells turning thick like tar.

Zeus cursed everyone, you heard. Your kind had been getting too prideful, too full of ego and greed and want for more. The gods feared an uprising, they sat on their thrones and they resented to power you all craved.

So they did something about it.

With their wounds left to heal on their own over months and years, each half of a mortal was thrown to different corners of the earth, destined to spend the rest of their lives searching for the other half of their soul.

It seemed nothing more than a fable, a horror story for children, something you would never have believed. Soulmates? Someone made just for you? An impossible notion, you were sure you would have once thought, if you hadn’t already met yours.

He was at the forge when the first bolt of lightning hit the ground.

The concrete split and temples on the cliff sides shook, the tiles on each home shattering as they fell. You heard people yelling from your garden as the ground shuddered and an eerie quiet followed. A hollow silence, a calm before a storm and then something else hit the ground too.

Bigger, heavier, more powerful.

You dropped your basket and ran.

Still barefoot, you left the sodden clothes on the grass and fled, passing the sanctuary of your home, the temples beyond the rivers, the forests that came before the sea. You ran to the plaza, through the marketplace that was buzzing with fear, shoulders burning with pain as you slammed your way past everyone who ran against you. You were battling a tidal wave of townsfolk, each one crying and yelling.

You heard shouts of Titans! Furies!

People yelled out names they once didn’t dare whisper, each word said like a curse. Cronus, Crius, Oceanus, Thea. Standing on the marble steps of the Parthenon, a preacher in guided robes had blood running down the side of his face, a cut on his head matting his greying hair. He was ashen, clutching at his scribes and shouting at the frenzied crowd below.

“Tartarus has risen!” He yelled, “the gates of Hades have opened and we, foolish mortals, shall pay for our sins! The father of gods shall come for us, he shall feast upon thy flesh and bone and—”

The preacher's harrowing words were cut off abruptly as another crack in the earth opened up. The shining marble split and the man fell through, the world itself swallowing him whole. You didn’t have time to react more than a strangled cry coming from somewhere deep in your chest. You clasped your hand to your mouth, fearing you’d lose your breakfast, that you’d become too dizzy to keep moving.

The ocean was growing closer, too tall waves and swirling, dark pools buried into its depths. Ships were being sucked under, their white sails the last thing you saw before they were swallowed by Poseidon’s fury. A golden chariot raced down from the sky, sparks flying in the air as it landed on the roof of the Acropolis. More marble shattered and Ares, the god of war, had landed on earth to do his duty.

By the time you reached the forge, the plaza was running red, just like the elders had said it would. The bronzed statue of Hephaestus that guarded the entrance to the blacksmiths had come to life, the god himself taking its form as he spewed fire across the village, molten heat and steel dripping from his large hands, coal crumbling at his feet. The air smelled like ash, like fire and death.

As you searched for him - your other half - eyes wide and frantic, your chest heaving, Hades stood in the shadows across the cobbled road. Inky black dripped from him, from his robes, his skin, his mouth. He looked ghoulish until he stepped into what was left of the daylight, a trick of the sun turning his gaunt face handsome. He grinned at you, each tooth pointed and sharp and he held out a hand. A pomegranate was placed in his palm, the fruit cracked open and the ruby seeds spilling out of it like tiny jewels. He beckoned you, a voice in your head whispering, silky, sultry, full of promises that couldn’t be real.

Surely eternal damnation was better than a fate like this?

You moved, your body not your own, one foot in front of the other, your hand outstretched. Images flashed through your head, dark swirls of three headed dogs, rivers made of souls and gates of bones. But when they opened, there was a garden, more beautiful than the ones in Athens, with their marble pillars and fountains that led into ponds. In this garden, temples stood gleaming and tall, with maidens dancing amongst rose bushes, naked and with hair to their waists. They waved to you, more scarlet coloured fruit held in their hands and they were laughing, singing, pulling you closer--

Another bolt of lightning - bigger and louder and brighter than before - hit the ground and the maidens disappeared. The god of the underworld grinned once more before he stepped back into the shadows and turned to smoke, melting into the bloodied ground.

Zeus had landed in Athens.

And you couldn’t find Steve.

Steve Harrington, son of the town’s head blacksmith, was tending to the forge when the first god came to earth. He’d left you in bed, the threadbare sheets around you still warm, your skin littered with his leftover kisses, marks from his greedy fingers the night before. The sky had been scarlet when he walked across the plaza and in the far distance, a plume of smoke rose from what seemed like the ocean. The Methana volcano was simmering, waiting, spewing fumes of gas and dust.

A warning.

The forge cracked when Zeus arrived, the bricks splitting along with the forge floor, cobbles and bricks turning to rubble under the men’s feet. Fire and coal tumbled from the cast iron cages, half made swords of burning steel falling at their feet. The sky above rumbled, the windows shattering as bolts of lightning hit the land and people screamed, torturous sounds that made Steve run blindly out into the plaza.

Some were kneeling, their heads bent and their palms open to the sky, to the gods. A sacrifice that was ignored. Others ran, diving into buildings that immediately fell on top of them and Steve watched in horror as people dropped before him, falling like sacks, crumpled to the ground as they clutched their chests in agony. They called out their lovers' names, their voices hoarse, pleading, desperate and all at once, a crowd surged behind Steve, carrying him with them, his shoulders burning at the momentum.

He had to find you.

The market was in ruins, once fresh vegetables and fruits now smashed into the concrete, the smell of baked bread hidden under burning embers. Panicked horses fled their owners and carts, almost knocking Steve to the ground as they tried to escape the carnage. The sea level was rising, the shadows of boat sails towering over marble buildings, the hulls of ships teetering closer to pillars that once held the statues of the gods now seeking revenge. Steve had been raised to honour them, to covet them, to fear them.

And he’d never felt as scared as he did when he spotted you across the square, eyes wide and not yet finding his, your gaze too trained on the statue of Aphrodite that was crashing down too close to you. The white marble hit the floor and shattered, sending clouds of dust and dirt into the already smoke filled air and you disappeared from Steve’s sight once more.

Panic flooded him, a fear like no other and suddenly the gods that reigned from the seas and skies didn’t seem as terrifying anymore.

He yelled your name, choking on the fumes from the fires that had started to rage all around, Hephaestus riding a cloud of black coals and burning embers as he let fire pour from his palms and open mouth, a gaping maw of molten lava that dripped from and melted everything and everyone it touched. Steve flung himself to the ground to avoid the flames, crawling desperately forward before he caught himself and began to run again, hissing as the gaps in his shoes filled with shards of broken stone. Red poured from the soles of his feet but he didn’t think anything could hurt as much as the thought of losing you.

Again, he screamed for you, the letters of your name hitching in his throat, scratching like glass and more people tore in front of his path, running from the destruction. Bodies fell before him, couples forever trapped in a lovers embrace, their faces hidden in each other's chests. They became one again, four arms, four legs, two faces.

Joined at a heart that was no longer beating.

Steve didn’t want to die without you.

He found you in the rubble as Zeus moved closer, a grey and white shadow of a man, a huge hulking figure that didn’t seem real. He didn’t look like his marble castings, the statues that were gilded with gold leaf. He wore no olive laurel on his head, he bore no kind smile nor gentle eyes. Instead he held bolts of lightning in his hands like swords, like spears, throwing them at his victims with cruel precision.

A storm followed him, bigger than anything Steve had ever seen before. It turned the red clouds above the god purple and black, an inky slurry of darkness and electricity crackled between spaces. The air buzzed and Steve’s skin prickled, the static making his ripped and bloodied shirt cling to his damp chest.

Poseidon had finally shown himself, emerging from the waves, his skin a sickly green, his eyes darker than the deepest depths of the sea he came from. He held a triton, seaweed hanging from its points, his body scarred and battered from the horrors he created in the oceans. He seemed too big, a giant, an almost titan and rain poured from Zeus’ purple clouds as he advanced onto Athens.

Steve saw your arm, a limp hand from beneath a pile of stone and he cried as he lifted each piece of what was once Aphrodite. The marble face of the goddess of love smiled warmly at him and it felt mocking, it felt like an arrow to the chest.

You were still alive, barely awake, nose dripping blood and a slice across your forehead that narrowly missed your eye. You cried when Steve pulled you free, his strong arms wrapped around your torso and you clung to him, barely daring to look at the horrors that surrounded you. He smelled like smoke and fire and the metal sting of blood, but under it all, there was something like home that still lay on his skin.

He seemed frantic, calling your name over and over until you nodded and said his back, like it was only upon hearing your voice that he believed you were alive. Steve sat amongst the debris of Aphrodite and held you, your weak frame pulled into his lap and he cradled you there, your head on his shoulder and your arms around his neck.

You weren’t sure what you coveted more fiercely, the young man or your last breath.

A shadow lingered nearby, listening to the soft murmurs you shared the pretty lies you both needed to hear as you told each other it would be okay. Hades stood close, statuesque and with black plumes at the bottom of his dark robes, a midnight blue cast over his skin. He looked like he’d never been close to looking human. He held a timepiece in one hand, a golden thing that ticked too loudly and he grinned at you and Steve, watching, waiting as two creatures by his feet held scrolls of names. They were made od nothing kind, created from bone and other people’s spines, their too long tails and forked tongues that flickered over the skin of the dead as they sent their souls below.

Steve knew he’d fight a god before he let them take you.

But he didn’t get such the luxury of battling for his lover. Zeus moved closer still, rain pouring harder, electricity making his hair stand on end. The father of gods himself stood tall before you both, his eyes as white as his long hair and beard. Nothing about him softened as he gazed down at you both intertwined, blood from each other staining your lover's skin.

Steve pulled you closer, his hand cupping the nape of your neck as he pushed your face to his throat, shielding you, protecting you. You clung to him tighter, hands fisting in the rags of his old shirt and you wondered if you’d ever get to see him again. If this life was it, if this was all you were allowed.

The two of you in the ruins of Athens, the goddess of love shattered at your feet. Four legs, four arms, two faces, one soul. Connected by a heart that seemed weaker than ever in the presence of something cruel.

Silence came before the crack, the world stilling, Athens at peace. You found solace in Steve, your nose pressed to his neck as you held onto him, praying for something painless. You pushed two kisses to his skin then, the side of his throat that seemed to make your lips fizz and Steve sucked in a breath, his lips at your temple, cherishing the last touch he got of you.

“I love you,” Steve whispered and his voice cracked on each word. Tears from his eyes stream the dirt on his face, running rivers down your cheek until they mixed with your own. “I’ll find you again. In the next life, and the next again. I prom—”

A bolt of lightning, so hot it felt frozen, struck the breath of space between your chests. Something inside of you cracked then, ribs splintering as the weapon found your heart and you couldn’t feel Steve’s arms around you anymore.

You couldn’t feel anything.

[hxney-lemcn]

Ancient Love — deity! Malleus Draconia x gn! reader

summery: you find yourself blessed by the God of magic, don't worry dear reader, he'll take care of you.

tw: mentions of death (he speculates about you growing old). Power dynamics once again (he is a literal god so...yeah).

a/n: another deity au fic. Idk why it's got me in its grasp at the moment. Once again, props to @ceruleancattail for the au. also ik in Greek myths gods 'loving' humans was a reoccurring thing but still, for the sake of this fic its taboo.

wc: 0.8k

Master List

This was wrong. Taboo. So why did it feel so right? Why did you long for him to run his fingers through your hair, or to caress your skin? Why did he give in to your wishes? Malleus, the long forgotten deity of magic and creatures of the night has graced your being time and time again. You had stumbled upon his shrine, the old temple crumbling from centuries of decay and erosion. The gargoyles had stared down on you as you entered, depictions of dragons, reptiles and bats laid upon a mural with the paint cracking. Unlike most ancient temples that are uprooted, this one held no statue, only an altar with melted candles, bones, and decaying papers that you could barely make out. 

Malleus showed himself after your third visit. You hadn’t come to worship him, but instead to document the crumbling temple and what his old followers had come to him for. So what better than to speak to the God himself? At first he didn’t tell you who he was, not wanting you to look at him differently or to scare you off. You always had an inkling of doubt about the mysterious man. He had come from seemingly nowhere and his attire was outdated, not to mention he talked more regal than what you were used to, but you didn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Malleus on the other hand found you quite amusing. You were unknowingly speaking to one of the most powerful ancient gods yet you spoke to him like any other mortal. He had always been a lonely God, even when he was in his prime he wasn’t as popular as the others. He didn’t offer prosperity, love, or good harvest. People feared him and his ability, humans weren’t too fond of magic and came to him for protection from curses or evil spirits. So you, a mortal who didn’t cower in front of him had his heart melting. Your curiosity about him, his temple, his powers, and his past had him rambling for as long as you’d let him. 

Don’t question why you feel safer at night, or how bats and reptiles are more fond of you. Don’t question why people who wrong you never treat you terribly again or how you always feel watched when the moonlight shines down upon you. Unlike how Malleus was portrayed, he was a deity who cared about his people, and you had wormed your way into his heart. Yet he found himself loving you on a level he’s never had before. Your smile warmed his chilled bones, your laughter was better than any prayer he’d received before, your love greater than any worship he’d ever had.  

A deity falling for a mortal was taboo. It was wrong. It goes against all boundaries. Gods were better than mortals, they were stronger, more powerful. A God's only purpose was to be worshiped, they were not the ones to worship. So why, why did Malleus find himself wanting to bow before you, wanting to pray for your love and care, for you to never leave his side. When you found out his true identity at first you were flabbergasted, you had been speaking to a deity this entire time…but that soon fizzled when you realized he was still the same person you had been talking to. 

You found yourself in the ancient shrine more and more with Malleus’ fingers tangled in your hair as he explained why gargoyles stood post throughout his temple. Or the nights that you both shared under the stars as he explained the meanings of old constellations that had shifted over time. Or when he wrapped you in his embrace when you found yourself with troubles, wishing he could fix everything for you so you never had to shed a tear again. Yet he found himself enjoying the moments you brought him gifts, not out of worship, but out of care. Or when you’d be the one to caress his face, or how your hands always seemed to wander towards his horns but stopped an inch short. Or the moments your eyes would take him in and you’d murmur his praises that he always managed to hear. 

Over time, Malleus started to think of your future. Even though you were nothing like his past followers, you would meet the same fate. Your hair will turn either gray or white, your skin will start to sag and droop, your mind will deteriorate, and one day you’ll return to the Earth. A fate that tore his heart apart. He knew he was thinking selfishly, but he wanted to keep you by his side. He wanted to be with you until time ended, and even then, he’d find a way to be with you. And as a deity, there was a way to turn you immortal, to raise your title of mere mortal to deity. You both could rule the empty temple together, taking care of the geckos and bats that resided there. 

What do you say, dear? Won’t you rule by his side for eternity?

[kibermonakh]

durgetash postcanon forced retirement au

" FREEDOM "

Gortash had a bad trip vision in which Bane strangled him with a leash on a chain and at the end grabbed him by the hand, causing decay with his touch as a punishment for failure and for the fact that Gort generally allowed the destabilization of control over the Netherbrain

Gort woke up and rushed into the backyard in the middle of the night to radically get rid of Bane's curse... and the durge woke up from the noise and smell of blood...

[dixons-sunshine]

The Archer's Girl | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Summary: When the world ended, you and Daryl narrowly escaped the clutches of the dead and found yourselves in a quarry camp with Merle and some other people. Unwanted, someone in the camp takes a weird liking and disliking to you, and it made you extremely uncomfortable. Luckily, Daryl was there to stand up for you.

Genre: Fluff, some angst.

Era: Outbreak day; The Quarry.

Part of the Shopping Spree, Hangout Dreams AU but can be read as a standalone.

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of morning sickness.

Word count: 4.4k.

A/n: Damn, I love when two requests correspond with each other and I can get them both into one fic. It's my favourite thing in the whole world. However, I feel like Daryl is kinda ooc in this, but I tried to imagine how he'd be with a woman he just met at the quarry and started forming a relationship with vs how he'd be with someone he's been with since he was a teenager, and in my mind, he'd totally be softer regarding someone he already knows and loves vs one he's just getting to know. So soft!Daryl in this, it is! Also, Carol is being a supportive queen in this because @celtic-crossbow's Blood Ties series has made me appreciate Carol more and made me realize that she would always be so supportive of someone who's pregnant. Anyways, I hope you like this!

(specially dedicated to @mydearestdaryl because we planned this fic in my comment section a while ago and I'm only getting to it now.)

➳༻❀✿❀༺➳

“Daryl!” you called out, trying to push past the stampede of people trying to hurriedly evacuate the store you were in. You were abruptly shoved into one of the shelves, a sharp pain shooting up your side. A loud curse escaped your lips as you clutched your side.

Barely one minute ago, you had strayed from Daryl's side to go grab some milk. You had told him that you would be right back, but with all the chaos that suddenly unfolded in front of you, you highly regretted leaving him at all. With everything going to hell, you could be separated from the man you loved. That thought terrified you.

However, as you turned around, nothing terrified you more than the sight that beheld you.

On the floor, a woman was screaming in pure, unadulterated agony. On top of her was a man who's body appeared to be decaying, and he ripped a huge chunk of her flesh from her chest. His grimy hands were clawing at her stomach, and with little to no effort, he tore her stomach open. The sight was truly mortifying, and it would never be erased from your mind.

A hand grabbed your wrist from behind. You flinched and tried to rip your hand from the person's grip, but the familiar voice of your husband calmed you down. However, when you looked at him, you were surprised to note the splatter of dark blood all over his clothes and face.

“S'me! S'jus' me!” he hurriedly explained. He cast one glance to the horrific sight before you before dragging you along with him, the two of you moving quickly. He stopped momentarily in front of one of the shelves to grab two knives, carefully pushing one of them into your hold. “Ya see one'a these dead motherfuckers, ya stab 'em in the head, alrigh'? S'the only way they drop dead.”

“What? I don't—”

“Dun' think 'bout it, peach!” he cut you off, pulling you with him out of the store again. “They ain't alive. The news weren't lyin' to us 'bout the dead risin'. We got a real fucking problem on our hands now.”

Choosing to trust his judgement, you nodded and hurried next to him. The two of you ran down the sidewalk, heading in the direction of your apartment. As you continued onward, you highly regretted deciding to walk to the store instead of taking Daryl's truck. It would've been a whole lot easier to escape the mess surrounding you if you had a vehicle.

Just as the two of you arrived at your apartment building, about a dozen of the undead people were stumbling out of the door. Daryl quickly pulled you with him to the parking area instead, making a beeline for his truck. However, more of those things flooded the area and a couple of them were heading straight towards you, and it was clear that the two of you weren't escaping without a fight.

“Ya got yer knife?” Daryl questioned, shooting a glance at you over his shoulder.

“Yeah,” you told him, gripping the knife so tightly, your knuckles started turning white.

“Good,” he replied, stepping forward to plunge his knife into the skull of one of the monsters. He withdrew the knife, holding it ready to use at a moment's notice. “Ya gotta stab 'em in the head as hard as ya can, alrigh'? Dun' think 'bout 'em bein' alive. These assholes ain't alive.”

“Don't worry about me trying to talk them out of eating me or something,” you scoffed, replicating the way he was holding his knife with your own. “I'm not that stupid. All these fuckers are getting from me is a fatal blow to the head. They're not touching me.”

“Atta girl,” he praised with a small smile. However, his attention soon got diverted back towards the flood of the undead stumbling around the parking area.

As the two of you continued onwards, Daryl repeatedly stabbed the heads of the monsters. By some miracle, the two of you made it to his truck without you having to do anything. However, just as Daryl was getting into the driver's seat and you were opening the door to the passenger seat, a slimy, blood covered hand gripped your arm tightly in its clutches.

You let out a small cry of terror, instantly alerting Daryl to your horrifying predicament. However, as you struggled against the literal death grip of the monster, its teeth trying desperately to take a chunk of your flesh, you realized that you couldn't wait for Daryl to come to your rescue. By the time he managed to make it towards the other side of the truck, you would already be doomed. You had to take matters into your own hands.

Shakily, you drew your hand that held the knife back and plunged it deep into the thing's skull with a sickening force. The monster miraculously fell limp with the first blow, its hand falling from your arm. However, before you could fully process that you had just killed something that was once human, Daryl took your face in his hands and checked you over, his eyes filled with fear. You had never seen him with as much terror in his eyes ever before.

“Are ya okay?” he asked in a hurried manner, his voice shaky. “Please tell me the prick didn't get ya. No bites, scratches, nothin'.”

“I'm okay,” you assured him, watching him calm down somewhat. “But we have to leave. Right now.”

“Yeah, let's g—”

The deafening sound of a gunshot echoed through the area, followed closely by the rumble of a motorcycle. When the motorcycle came into view, you were both simultaneously relieved and disappointed to see none other than Merle Dixon. He stopped his motorcycle once he saw you, an exasperated look on his face.

“Y'all jus' gon' stand there and get eaten or get in the fuckin' truck? I did not risk my life gettin' here jus' to watch y'all get eaten alive.”

Daryl opened the door to the passenger side and quickly ushered you in, shouting over his shoulder at Merle. “Wha' the fuck are ya even doin' here?!”

“Helpin' yer sorry ass!” Merle exclaimed, shooting at another oncoming monster. “C'mon, let's go!”

Daryl didn't need to be told twice. He rushed to the driver's side and hurriedly got in, starting up his truck and speeding out of the parking area, following behind Merle's motorcycle. With all the chaos that unfolded, the two of you hadn't even managed to go grab some clothes from your apartment. However, by some stroke of luck, as you glanced towards the back of the truck, you noted that two duffel bags were resting there, as well as a bag with everything needed to construct a tent and Daryl's crossbow. You thanked your lucky stars that the two of you had gone camping for his hunting trip two days prior, and forgot to remove everything from his truck. The clothes were dirty, sure, but once you found a body of water, you'd be able to wash them. And Daryl's crossbow would more than likely come in handy.

“Are ya okay?” Daryl asked, snapping you out of your thoughts. He was nervously chewing on his thumbnail, his eyes darting between you and the road.

You nodded at him, trying to calm your racing thoughts. In a matter of thirty minutes, your life had flipped upside down. You had killed someone, whether they were dead or not. The blood from the kill coated your skin and made you feel sick at your actions, but you tried to remind yourself that the thing you killed wasn't human anymore. If you didn't kill it, it would've killed you. It would've killed—

Gasping, you sat upright and clutched at your stomach. Daryl looked at you worriedly, his eyes trailing to your stomach. His eyes widened in terror, his grip on the steering wheel tightening even more, if possible.

“Wha's wrong?” he questioned. “Oh, god. S'somethin' wrong with Peanut? Did those pricks—”

“No! No, nothing's wrong,” you reassured him, your hand resting on your stomach. “It's just... With everything going on, I forgot about the baby. I forgot about my own child, Daryl. What kind of future mother does that make me?”

Daryl moved one of his hands to rest on your thigh, his thumb rubbing reassuring circles on the fabric of your jeans. He sent you a small smile, hoping to bring you some comfort.

“S'okay,” he told you. “Yer not gon' be a bad mom. With everythin' goin' on, yer body went into fight or flight mode. S'cause of it tha' ya managed to keep the baby in yer belly safe. And once they're here, I know yer gon' do yer absolute best to protect 'em.”

“I hope so,” you mumbled, resting your hand that wasn't on your stomach over his hand. “I really hope so.”

➳༻❀✿❀༺➳

One month had passed. One month since the dead started walking. One month since everything you knew got destroyed. One month since you had stumbled upon a quarry camp filled with other survivors with your husband and brother-in-law. One month since your life turned upside down.

You sighed as you washed one of Daryl's jeans, subtly listening to the other women's conversation, the other women sitting quite a distance from you. Most of the women in the small camp you were in tended to keep their distance from you, deeming you damaged goods because of the people you were with. Well, more so because Merle was your brother in law. You and Daryl tended to keep to yourselves, with Daryl only speaking to others when absolutely necessary, but the same couldn't be said for his hotheaded older brother. Merle had made quite the impression, and not a good one. And automatically, by mere association, they had deemed you and Daryl the same. Most of the women simply referred to you as the archer's girl, and you were pretty sure they didn't even know your actual name.

Most of the women didn't even bother acknowledging your existence most of the time. The only exception was a sweet woman named Carol Peletier, who offered you her kindness whenever she talked to you. She offered you tips on how to properly scrub stains from jeans, on how to fix up the holes in your husband's socks, and so much more. She was the only one who you'd felt comfortable enough sharing the secret of your pregnancy with, so even though she promised not to tell anyone, she silently offered you her support, and gave you advice regarding your pregnancy by telling you stories about her own pregnancy with little Sophia. Carol was your only true friend there, and you deeply appreciated her.

Without her, you probably would've snapped at the other women there for the judgemental looks they threw your way, so you cherished the friendship you had formed with her.

The touch of a calloused yet gentle hand drew you from your thoughts. You looked up and locked eyes with your husband, his blue eyes staring down at you with a softness only reserved for you. You sent him a smile and dropped the pair of jeans you were washing on the ground, standing up to face him better.

“Ya know all'a tha' washin' s'now ruined 'cause ya dropped it in mud, righ'?” he told you playfully, sending you a small smile.

You smiled and shrugged. “It's your jeans. I've never heard you complain about a little mud on them before, considering those kills you have to skin that stained these jeans in the first place.”

Daryl chuckled and shook his head. “Yeah, yer righ',” he replied, before his smile fell and he adapted a more serious tone. “I have to go huntin'.”

“Again?” you asked incredulously, your mood visibly deflating. “You went on a hunt not even two days ago.”

“Yeah, I know,” Daryl sighed, fidgeting with his hands. “But tha' Shane prick demanded tha' I go on another hunt again fer some reason. I dun' know why, 'cause we have 'nough meat to last us another week or so, but he threatened to throw us out of the camp if I didn't go now. We can't leave. 'Specially not now.”

Your lips formed into a small smile as Daryl's eyes trailed down to your stomach, his eyes softening slightly as he thought about the life that fluttered there, the life that he had helped create. His very own son or daughter. A small being that he would go to great lengths to protect, even if they weren't born yet. His little Peanut.

You stepped forward and pressed a chaste kiss against his cheek, before withdrawing again. You giggled at the blush that spread across his face, and didn't miss the way his lips twitched up into a small smile. He could say whatever he wanted, but he secretly loved your little public displays of affection. It was never something big, like some passionate kiss or a full-blown make out session. It was always something small and sweet, something quick to show your affection without drawing too much attention to the two of you. A subtle graze of your hand against his, quick pecks on the cheek, a gentle squeeze on his shoulder, you name it. You knew how to show him love in public without making him uncomfortable, and he loved you for it.

“How long will you be gone?” you asked, nervously fidgeting with your fingers.

Daryl noticed and subtly took your hands in his, giving them a reassuring squeeze. “Ain't no tellin'. Walsh demanded tha' I find some venison, and tha' might take me a while. Dun' even know if there are any deer here.”

You pursed your lips and nodded. “Stay safe, okay? I love you.”

Daryl nodded. Stepping out of his own comfort zone, he leaned down and pressed a feathery light kiss to your lips. When he pulled back, he gently caressed your cheek. “Always am. And I love ya more, sunshine.”

With that, he turned around and left, leaving you standing alone with the unfinished laundry. Watching his retreating figure, you smiled fondly, completely missing the envious looks the other women were sending your way.

They hadn't heard your conversation, the two of you being too far away to overhear anything, but they did see the way the archer interacted with you. It was so vastly different from the way he talked to anyone, including his own brother, his own flesh and blood. It was clear there was a lot of history between the two of you, good and bad, and it made the two of you a strong couple. From what Merle had let slip in his high state once, the two of you had been together since you were both merely seventeen years old, and by the looks of it, the two of you were still going strong. The two of you radiated love for one another, and that's more than most could say about their own past relationships.

It was clear the two of you shared something special, and it was unfair to them that they couldn't find love like that. And with the world ending, they doubted that they ever would.

➳༻❀✿❀༺➳

Three days had passed. Three days where Daryl was nowhere to be found. Three days where you had to deal with Merle's disgusting attitude on your own. Three days where you had to sleep alone in your shared tent, wishing he was there.

It seemed like baby Dixon noticed their father's absence, and they weren't happy about it. For the past three days, you hadn't managed to keep anything down in the depths of your stomach. Any and all food you ate came right back up again a few hours later, and it wasn't exactly pleasant. Thankfully, nobody saw you whenever you rushed to the bushes behind the RV to spew the contents of your stomach out, so nobody knew of your pregnancy yet.

And you had Carol by your side whenever your stomach rebelled against you, so that was a major plus.

“God, I hate this so much,” you groaned in frustration, eliciting a laugh from the woman gently rubbing your back.

“It's what comes with the joys of pregnancy,” she laughed lightly, continuing the circular motion on your back until you felt better. Once you stood upright, she handed you a bottle of water, encouraging you to drink as much as you needed to. “Drink up. You need to stay hydrated.”

Once you had enough to drink, you handed her the bottle again. “Thank you,” you thanked her, giving her a small smile. “How'd you handle it? The morning sickness, I mean.”

“I was lucky enough to only experience a mild case of morning sickness,” Carol explained, wrapping her arm around you and starting to walk with you back to the main campsite. “You know, and I'm not saying this to pressure you at all, but maybe you should tell everyone about your pregnancy. It would be good for Glenn to be on the lookout for prenatal vitamins.”

“I can't,” you denied. “Then everyone will look at me like I'm carrying the plague and see me as just another liability. I can't have that. Daryl and I can handle things on our own until we absolutely have to tell everyone.”

“Okay,” Carol replied, before shifting the conversation away from something that quite obviously stressed you out. “I drank a lot of herbal teas when I was pregnant. That seemed to really work for the nausea.”

“Just great,” you sighed, shaking your head. “Where the fuck are we supposed to find that?”

Carol smiled and gently rubbed your shoulder. “I'll see if Dale has some. I remember him mentioning something about ginger tea.”

“What if he asks why you need it?” you asked hurriedly, worry lacing your tone.

“Don't worry, I won't tell him,” she reassured you. “I'll just tell him I'm feeling nauseous. That something I ate isn't corresponding with my stomach. Trust me, he'll believe it.”

You sent her a smile. “Thanks, Carol. I mean it.”

She smiled at you before disappearing into the RV, on a search for Dale. You stood waiting outside, staring ahead at the treeline. You hoped that by continuously looking at it, your husband would appear from the trees with a deer over his shoulders, dirty but unharmed. Alas, as you had learned over the last few days, that didn't work, and you wished you could go out there and look for him yourself, but you knew he'd be extremely mad if you did.

No, your main priority was your baby at that moment. Your husband had shown time and time again that he could take care of himself, so you chose to believe that he'd be fine. You had to believe that, otherwise you'd spiral into an abyss you didn't want to go down.

The feeling of somebody standing next to you startled you. You stumbled and nearly fell, but the hands of the mystery person caught you. Looking up, you locked eyes with the self-appointed leader of the group, Shane Walsh. His brown eyes were staring down at you, a small grin on his face.

“Sorry, girl. Didn't mean to startle you,” he apologized, slightly rubbing your arms.

Feeling extremely uncomfortable, you shrugged his hands from your arms and took a step back, putting some distance between the two of you. You sent him a tight-lipped smile.

“It's okay,” you replied, hoping that he would end the conversation with that. However, the man had other plans.

“What's your story, lady?” he asked curiosly, leaning back against the metal of the RV, his eyes trailing over you in a way you didn't like.

“My story?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “What's a pretty girl like yourself doing with a lowlife nothing like Daryl Dixon? I mean, you could have anyone you want, but you chose him, the redneck. Why?”

“Because I love him,” you stated matter-of-factly, sending him a harsh glare that only seemed to spur him on even more.

“Bullshit. There's gotta be something to it,” he disagreed, chuckling at the glare on your face. “There's no way that a guy like that managed to pull someone like you. It goes against all the laws of the universe. So tell me, what's he got to offer? Is he paying you? Are you some prostitute he keeps around for his own pleasure or something? You certainly look pretty enough to have a guy pay you for something like that.”

Before you could stutter out an angry reply to Shane's deprecating accusation, a hand gently gripped your shoulder and pulled you aside. Looking up, you saw Daryl, an angry look in his eyes. Without a word, he stepped forward and viciously connected his fist with Shane's nose, hearing the satisfying crack of the bone there.

“Son of a bitch!” Shane exclaimed, bending over to clutch his nose in his hands. “What the fuck, Dixon?!”

Daryl gripped Shane by the collar of his shirt and shoved him against the side of the RV, a threatening glare on his face. Terror filled Shane's eyes, something unusual for the for the man. Everyone started gathering around the fighting pair, and Carol, who had rushed from the RV once she heard the commotion, pulled you back from the battle ground, holding you firmly against her side.

“Listen'a me real fuckin' close, Walsh,” Daryl spat angrily, his voice dangerously low. “I dun' care wha' ya say 'bout me, but if ya ever talk 'bout my pregnant wife like tha' again, I'll do so much worse than jus' break yer nose. Ya dun' talk to her, ya dun' look at her, ya dun' even breathe the same fuckin' air as her. If ya do, I'll skin ya alive and feed the remainin' pieces of ya to the walkers. Do I make myself clear?”

“Fuck you,” Shane groaned out.

“Yer venison's on the table. Next time, go hunt fer it yer fuckin' self.”

Without waiting for a response, Daryl shoved Shane harshly and turned around, meeting your eyes. Instead of finding fear in your eyes from his actions, he found adoration instead. You stepped out of Carol's hold and took Daryl's hand in your own, dragging him to your shared tent. You didn't even spare a glance at the people, so you missed the way all of their eyes widened at the realization that you were pregnant, that they had been unnecessarily rude to a pregnant lady that had done absolutely nothing wrong. They had been harsh to an expecting mother and father, for no reason at all. Everyone felt guilty, but the groan that Shane emitted caught their attention once again.

Back in your shared tent with Daryl, you were stood busy gently cleaning the blood from his split knuckles while the man sat on the cot. Daryl was avoiding your eyes, feeling ashamed of his actions. In all the years that you had been together, you had only seen him lash out like that once—one time when you were drinking together in a bar when you were twenty-four, a guy had grabbed your breast without your consent, and Daryl had completely lost it. After that, he swore he'd never act like that around you ever again, but Shane made him break that promise.

“I'm not mad, you know,” you finally broke the silence, watching the way his ocean coloured eyes flickered over to you, the confusion evident in them. “Shane got what he deserved. Quite honestly, I planned on punching him, too. You just beat me to it.”

“M'sorry,” Daryl mumbled, ducking his gaze to the floor. “I know ya can fight yer own battles. S'jus'... Hearin' the way he talked 'bout ya, like ya were some object who's worth he could judge... I dun' know. It made me pissed. Ya dun' deserve to be treated like tha'. 'Specially not when yer carryin' a baby in yer belly. Speakin' of, m'sorry I revealed yer pregnant. I know ya wanted to keep tha' hidden.”

You smiled and gently lifted his chin with your finger, gazing deeply into his eyes. “It's okay. They would've found out eventually,” you told him, gently cupping his cheek. “Look at you, always so considerate about everyone else except yourself. You're amazing, Daryl Dixon.”

Daryl blushed. “Yer the amazin' one,” he countered, leaning forward to rest his forehead on your stomach. He placed a small kiss to the clothed skin. “Peanut's gon' have one hell of a mama.”

“And one hell of a daddy,” you replied, bringing one of your hands to thread through his hair. “I love you, Daryl.”

“Love ya more, peach,” Daryl murmured, closing his eyes at the comforting feeling. “Love ya too, Peanut.”

The serene moment was soon interrupted. The soft calling from Carol grabbed your attention, and you giggled at the groan Daryl let out.

“Y/n?” she called out. “I've got that ginger tea I promised you.”

“Ginger tea?” Daryl questioned, looking up at you.

“Yeah. I got a bunch of morning sickness without you around for some reason. Seems like Baby Dixon doesn't like when their daddy's not here.”

“Good,” Daryl chuckled, rubbing your stomach affectionately. “Then I guess ya won't mind if I stick 'round.”

“Hm,” you hummed, pretending to think about it before letting out a slight giggle. “I guess I'll keep you around.”

“Tha's real good to hear.”

Before you could respond, you heard the bellowing voice of your brother in law. You groaned in frustration, praying that Carol had gotten out of the line of fire, because your tent was about to become a war ground.

“When the fuck were ya plannin' on tellin' me ya got yer whore pregnant?”

Daryl visibly tensed up at his brother's words, anger flaring up in his eyes, and you knew that another beating was about to commence. “The fuck did ya jus' say, Merle?!”

“Ya heard me, boy.”

God, you hated Merle with a fiery passion, and you doubted that would ever change. But you loved Daryl, and you knew that as long as you had him by your side, you could face anything.

Yeah, your little Peanut was gonna have the best father ever.

©dixons-sunshine 2024. I do not give permission for my works to be copied, modified, adapted or translated to any other site or platform without evidence of my given consent.

[ba9go]

i don't care if you're contagious

bakugou katsuki x gn!reader (zombie apocalypse au)

in which katsuki promises to never leave your side.

katsuki trudged through the wreckage strewn about the street, the chaos of the apocalypse swirling around him. he had seen countless horrors, but none compared to this.

he sees a young boy sprinting away from a twisted, zombified woman. his mother. the child is sobbing, and katsuki's first instinct is to rush in and protect, but one of the other pro-heroes beat him to it.

'fuckin' hell,' katsuki thinks as he continues down the ruined street, steps heavy with disgust and frustration. his stomach twists and katsuki feels sickened at the cruelty of it all.

his eyes darted from one horror to another — crumbling buildings, abandoned cars, the unsettling sight of undead creatures stumbling, crawling, lying amongst the wreckage.

after days of this god-damned apocalypse, katsuki's gotten somewhat used to it. the stench of decay. the incessant groaning ringing in his ears. it was sickening.

and worst of all? you were missing.

it's been roughly 72 hours since katsuki's seen you (yes, he's keeping track), and katsuki's frantic.

katsuki knows you're strong, knows how capable you are. but even so, the situation has only gone from bad to worse, and anything could happen.

katsuki doesn't know what he'd do if he lost you.

katsuki knows he can't afford to dwell on things like that. each time he feels himself worrying about you, he shoves it all aside, because he knows — if he lets himself think about it, his mind would simply spiral, until it drove him completely crazy and to the brink of breaking down.

and only god knows how bad katsuki wanted to break down every passing moment without you, without knowing that you were okay.

katsuki doesn't think too much about what could happen. the thought of you lost in this madness, possibly hurt (or worse), was simply too unbearable.

instead, katsuki thinks about your sweet voice, telling him to stay strong, reassuring him that things will all be okay.

sometimes, in the quiet moments between the chaos, katsuki would close his eyes and let his mind drift back to the last time he saw you.

"katsuki," you murmured, reaching up to hold his face. your touch is always so gentle, and yet katsuki swears that it's the only thing keeping him grounded in this fucked-up situation.

"y/n'," katsuki exhales with a shaky breath. he leans down and presses his forehead against yours. his hands tighten their grip on your waist as he pulls you in as close as he can get. "i don't know if i have it in me to let you go, darlin'."

"i know, katsuki," you sighed, caressing his cheeks with your thumbs, and katsuki's chest tightens as your eyes start to water. "i'll be back later, alright?"

"i'll be waiting," katsuki thinks you already know this, but he tells you anyway. "i swear to god, i ain't lettin' go of ya when ya come back to me."

"sure took your sweet time comin' back to me, didn't ya?" katsuki chuckles as he approaches the familiar figure staggering through the debris.

it was you.

the infection had twisted you into one of them, with deathly pale skin and jerky, unnatural movements. yet even in your zombified state, katsuki knew it was you.

slowly, you turned around to look at katsuki impassively. katsuki's heart clenches at your empty stare, but he can't bring himself to walk away from you.

"been lookin' for ya, ya know?" katsuki laughs, even though it's strained. "had me lookin' like the clingy one, sweets."

you stumble towards him with outstretched hands, and all katsuki can think is that you're reaching out to him, and he's rushing to you in an instant.

before he reaches you, you sway on your feet and fall to the ground on your knees. katsuki curses under his breath and he kneels in front of you, holding you by your shoulders to steady you.

"are you okay?" is what katsuki wants to ask, but he realises with a shudder that it would be futile. instead, he closes the distance, his hand gently cupping your face.

"damn it, y/n," katsuki voice breaks. "i've been looking for you. i looked everywhere." katsuki searches desperately in your eyes for any trace of emotion, of recognition.

you let out a weak, garbled noise, but you don't lean into his touch, and katsuki thinks for the first time since this shitty apocalypse that his world might finally be crashing down around him.

'no,' katsuki thinks. he finally found you. this was no time for him to break down. he had to be strong, for you.

"i'm sorry i took so long," katsuki forces a small smile. "m'here now, yeah?"

katsuki wraps his arms around you and pulls you in towards him like he's done countless times in the past.

katsuki closed the gap between them, his lips pressing against yours in a kiss.

katsuki doesn't pull away until your hands are on his shoulders, pushing him away as if in protest. it was so like you, and katsuki couldn't help the small chuckle that escaped him.

"i told ya i wouldn't let go of ya, didn't i?" katsuki smiles, even as he feels himself growing faint. "a promise's a promise, darlin'."

bbbbrrrrrraaaaiiiinnnnnnsssssssssss...

taglist (thank you for your support!!): @anicaaa67 @maddietries @valeriyaaak @v3n7s @deimosjay @zaiban2989 @girls-overflower @notmeduhh @dreamcastgirl99 @busdriver-move-that-ass @atashiboba @kathsuhki @armeenix @channnee @sukunasbottomlefteyeball @kenqki @vikizzy @thesimpybitch @eempxth @hanta-seros-wifey @itztaki @thekidscallmebosss @crimsonrubie @babylambdietcoke @suki0

[divinities-hymns]

Winded up writing a one-shot because I had an idea for a new cult of the lamb au, so, good people, I present to you, “Sickness Be Upon Ye” (this is not related to my cotl au Floreo btw, also just in case I do write for this au again, I’ve decided to name it the Curses Of Decay au)

“Damned creature,” The bishop’s raspy voice came out of his mouth, barely reaching their ears, “From the moment you rip my heart out of my chest, may your feeble mind never feel a moment of peace ever again,” They had paid the words no mind, slicing open the fallen bishop and taking his heart as a gift to their god. They could not have imagined the repercussion that would have followed.

Might write more, might not, idk

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

3.7k / 38 / post-apocalypse au, part 2

...

You emerge deep in the city. Deeper than you should be.

You traveled on foot via the drainage tunnels connecting Amsterdam to the forest. This city was busy and beautiful once, the way unpolished amber is beautiful, but now it's overgrown and empty except for the undead roving the streets.

Staying underground is the best way to avoid the undead. Especially in the daytime. So when you creep through the streets in the open nighttime air, you know you have to be fast. You must find what you came here for.

You stick to the buildings and skulk in the shadows to take advantage of their poor eyesight to buy as much time as you can. You move in the shadows, turning corners to break line of sight and keeping yourself moving away from the few that see or smell you. But the undead—zombies, runners, biters, muties, whatever they’re called—will catch your scent eventually. And they do. Soon, too many lurch after you in mindless pursuit. They begin to stagger in your direction, stumbling over one another. Their howling voices echo off the walls of the abandoned buildings around you.

As you try to evade them, a few stragglers—those less decayed, those who can catch sight of you more easily and stumble in your direction to feast—begin to give chase. The city is so much more crowded than you feared, and you're quickly overwhelmed with nowhere else to run besides the open streets.

Running in the open is a death sentence. You have to get back underground. With your pumping heartbeat shooting adrenaline through you, you can't remember exactly which way leads back to the forest.

You get the horrible feeling that this city will become your tomb before morning comes. No, focus. You need to keep moving until you find a drainage tunnel. They all lead out of the city. Just go where the rain would go, you tell yourself.

You snake through the streets until you glimpse another stone-walled drainage ditch cutting between the street and walkways. You drop in, pressing yourself to the wall. You try to hide your tracks, hoping against hope that the undead might not realize you've slipped away and lurch off elsewhere, but no. No such luck. The undead are on you already.

You curse and take off in what you hope is the right direction. You push your panic into your legs as you try to outpace the zeds on your tail, but they're as fast as you are even in their undead state. They're not tiring the way you are as your body screams for rest. Your throat burns. You can't outpace them for much longer. They're persistence predators.

When you see the drainage ditch veer and dip into what looks like an underground spillway, your heart soars. The undead can't navigate sewers as well as you can. If you can just make it underground, you can slip away--

Then it comes into view and your heart drops. The spillway is blocked by the remains of a collapse. Piles of concrete and rubble block the way. It's a dead end. You're trapped.

The infected, though unintelligent and uncoordinated, are relentless and ravenous. And they're closing in on you fast.

You don't stop. You can't. You grip at the sharp concrete edges of the rubble blindly, pulling yourself up. The chunks of concrete are huge and ragged, overgrown with grass and slick with dew.

There's no time for fear as you try to claw your way to an exit you hope desperately isn't blocked. It's a small hope, but right now it's all you have.

The infected come up behind you, screeching and howling in pursuit. They're coming.

You climb as high as you can. Sure enough, there's no way through to the other side of the tunnel. Not that you can fit through, not with zeds at your back. On both sides, the walls of the drainage ditch loom over you. The railing at the top is almost high enough for you to climb, but when you try to get closer, stepping over the broken concrete, a loose piece slips and almost takes you with it. It rolls down the pile of debris and knocks past one screaming runner’s shoulder as it goes.

The undead aren't coordinated enough to climb as easily, but it’s only a matter of time. With the sheer number of them and a little more luck, they’ll reach you soon. Or you’ll step on a loose rock or slippery patch of grass and slide right back down into their clutches.

With nowhere to go and no exit in sight, your only option is to either fight, or wait out a slow descent into madness and death like everyone else.

You pull out Soap's gun and load it.

…

Dawn is breaking by the time Soap and his team make it to you, following the sounds of your gunfire.

Soap whistles—a signal to you. The piercing sound makes you flinch through your adrenaline high. You clamp your shaking fingers around your—his—gun. There are still dozens of undead, many now with bullet holes and arrow shafts sticking crookedly out of them. Your quiver is empty. You’re crouched, gun in hand, aiming at one as it draws closer. You don’t have the bullets to waste otherwise—not with your wounded arm.

It lurches forward.

But it’s not your bullet that strikes it through the head—it’s his, and it's a clean shot. The runner's head splits like a peach, chunks of bone and brain flying across broken stone. You turn your eyes up to see Soap lining up a third shot atop a nearby building, and you glimpse his squadmates heading toward you. God damn are you happy to see him. Before another zed can take the mulched one’s place, Soap fires again, reloads, and again. He takes out another with his second bullet before lining up a third shot.

A shout interrupts your line of thought. You look up and see a man stretching his hand toward you, startlingly close, bridging the gap between the safety of the railing and where you stand. One of Soap’s teammates—a man with a black scarf wrapped around his nose and mouth. Ghost, you think his name is. You grab his hand.

Something else catches your attention in the rubble, too—long swaths, claws marks, carved under the mass of something much bigger than you or the undead. They disappear into the rubble and, conceivably, into the tunnel behind.

This is the lead you’ve been searching for all these days in this godforsaken place.

“Distance and cover!” Soap shouts, all focus.

You hear him. But if you withdraw now, you might not be able to follow those claw marks and search the tunnel. Half the undead in the city will be here before long, following the gunfire and howling. If you make the plunge back down into the depths, you might be able to find what you came for and get out intact before the undead get there forst. This could be your only chance.

Before you can move, Ghost yanks you by the hand, dragging you almost entirely up the sheer rocky wall. You bite down on a gasp, scrambling to keep your footing as he hauls you up and over the railing.

Soap’s rifle cracks again. Another biter, this one now trying to scale the wall after you, drops. Its upper torso explodes with a wet thwack.

You double back almost before you know what you’re doing and boost yourself back over the railing. You need to get into that tunnel.

Ghost grabs your arm again before you can jump. “Are you mad?”

“Let go!” you bark.

“I don’t fuckin’ think so.”

God damn it. There’s no time to explain. Or maybe there is, but the adrenaline running through you makes it impossible to find the words.

When it’s clear he won’t back off, you bite him. Just sink your teeth into his hand hard enough to make him let go. He curses and rips his hand away, more in surprise than pain. You take off, vaulting over the railing, rushing to the very middle of the heap. The top of the tunnel. Loose chunks of stone roll under your feet. With Soap’s squad focused on taking out the zeds, you can focus for the first time on breaking your way through these stones.

You wedge your bow under the loosest, topmost piece and wrench it up as if wielding a crowbar. The rock tumbles. You do it again, and again, and again until you feel a steady stream of warm air rise from underneath. You follow it, ignoring the chaos behind you, until you’ve torn open a big enough gap to slip through.

You tuck into a slide, letting gravity take you down into the darkness and out of view.

“Bloody animal—get back here!” echoes after you.

…

You find what you’re looking for within minutes. Roach—he’s alive, but caught in what looks like a trap. A man-made trap. Your heart clenches when he sees you and his tail thumps in a weak greeting.

You’re at his side in moments. “Easy, busy. Don’t move. I’m right here.”

It doesn’t take long for Ghost and Soap to catch up to you.

The scathing words on Ghost’s tongue die at the sight of you crouched next to Roach. They can only stare in shock. Saying Roach is a dog would be an understatement. Roach is massive. Megafauna. He might have been shaped like a wolfhound breed except for his massive, maned shoulders and elongated muzzle full of too-large teeth. You’re on your knees under the huge beast’s jaw, dagger sawing at the contraption holding him. Even laying on his belly, he towers over you.

Roach locks eyes with Ghost and Soap. They stop, standing completely still.

Ghost glances over his shoulder. “Think the big mutt can take care of himself,” he tells you, scanning for encroaching zeds in the dark.

“I’ve got you,” you murmur to Roach, totally ignoring Ghost. You’re still trying to soothe him, but your voice is frantic. “Almost got you out. Just stay still—”

The trap groans under your knife, but it holds fast. Then Roach growls—a loud, deeply unsettling sound that vibrates through the cave walls. His yellow eyes don’t leave the men behind you.

You hear Soap’s voice. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ. Is this what you were looking for when you…” He shakes his head and walks toward you. From his belt, he pulls out a large hunting knife. “Let me.”

“You should stay back,” you call over your shoulder. “He doesn’t know you. Don’t make him feel cornered.”

“Sound advice,” Ghost says.

Roach stares at Soap intently. Roach shifts a paw closer to you.

“Leave the dog alone, Johnny,” Ghost says. “It’s tryin’ to protect her. Doesn’t matter if you think you’re not a threat. You’re as good as dog chow.”

But Soap hesitates. “It’s our trap,” he admits. “If you’d let me help, I could show you how to free him quicker. We need to move.”

As if in response, Roach growls again.

You shoot a frustrated look over your shoulder. “It’s your trap? Why the fuck would you have a—"

There’s a loud crack and the trap splits under your knife. Roach lurches free. Instantly, he limps around you, getting between you and the two men.

“Easy!” you cry. “Roach, heel.” You bury your hands in the fur on his flank. He’s enormous. Your head doesn’t even reach his shoulder. You can’t stop him physically. You need him to listen to you.

Roach steps closer to Soap, staring him down. His breath blows Soap’s hair back.

Soap doesn’t back down just yet. He’s not a threat, right? He proved it to you, now he can prove it to your dog. He hates dogs. Goddamn hates them. Why’d it have to be a dog you were looking for? Big fucking bastard of a dog.

Ghost speaks quietly from just over Soap’s shoulder. “No sudden moves.”

“Easy,” Soap says, raising his hands slowly in what he hopes is a peacemaking gesture. The rifle is slung over his shoulder, out of sight as it can get, and he tries to relax his posture.

You duck around Roach and stand between him and Soap. “Calm down, Roach,” you say again, like you’re talking to a misbehaving terrier instead of staring up at an animal three times your size. “They’re friends. See?”

You grab Soap’s arm and lace your fingers together with his. He tenses in surprise, but you ignore it. Roach goes quiet and looks at you, cocking his head. You hold your joined hands up to his nose to sniff.

Soap looks from you to the dog and back to you. Underneath the tension laced through his whole body, he’s impressed.

Roach sniffs Soap's fingers with yours and seems to relax. You reach up and scratch the fur under Roach’s chin—or as close as you can reach, standing on your toes—and you bring Soap’s hand up to do the same.

"Looks like you're approved,” you say with a little too much surprise in your voice.

Soap swallows as he touches his fingers to Roach's tangled fur, trying not to think about those stories of dogs being able to smell fear. But he forces himself to unclench, just a bit. He's glad you're both okay. And glad he's not about to get snapped in half by a giant fuckoff hellhound.

Roach takes another massive, curious sniff of your hands. Then he moves on to sniffing the top of Soap's head. Then he lowers his enormous maw and licks Soap with a giant tongue.

Soap grimaces. He looks more grossed out than defensive, at least. You smirk.

Ghost makes no move to join the handholding circle. "Not the strangest travelers we've seen, but close," he says. He glances over his shoulder, shifting his rifle impatiently. The others are cleaning up the group of zeds, but the quicker they can get out of here, the better. It’s never a good idea to be out in the city for too long. Especially not somewhere any shambling creature could wander up in the dark.

Soap shoots Ghost a look before glancing back at you. You're still standing close. He lets go of your hand. It's calloused, he notes, like his. It wasn’t like that before. "You've got a way with beasts."

You walk down Roach’s flank, checking for injuries. “He’s not a beast. He’s my dog. You’ve seen what the mutagen does to animals, right? The ones it doesn’t kill. Changes them.” You pat Roach’s flank fondly. “But I adopted him before all this started, back when he was just a normal dog.”

"No one gets to be normal anymore," Ghost mutters.

Soap chuckles. "Well, he's a bloody tank now, isn't he? Big lad. How the hell you keepin' him fed?"

Ghost examines the bite mark you left on his hand. "Got a hunch.”

"I'd apologize, but you shouldn't grab people who don't want to be grabbed," you tell Ghost. "You're lucky I didn't go for my knife instead.

Ghost gives you a flat look. “I’d say you’re the lucky one for deciding against it.”

“Easy, LT.”

Ghost scoffs. "She's just much a beast as the hound.”

You finish your inspection and find nothing major. Just scrapes and bruises. Nothing bleeding. No open wounds to attract more zeds, thankfully. Relieved, you return to Soap and Ghost again, giving Roach another scratch under the chin. Then you notice blood on Soap’s leg, soaking into his jeans. “Is that blood yours?” you ask him.

Soap glances down. "Aye. Took a swipe from one of those undead bastards. It's nothin’.”

"Doesn't look like nothing," Ghost says.

"It's just a little blood. I'm fine," Soap says. He steps away, but staggers on his injured leg. Ghost appears instantly to support him at the shoulder.

You step back, grimacing. Open wounds are risky. There's always risk of infection. Worse, the smell of blood attracts muties.

"I said it's fine," Soap says, but his voice is strained. He's in more pain than he wants to let on.

"Let me see that." Ghost kneels and pulls Soap's pant leg up to examine it. Then he grunts and stands back up. "It's a bad gash, but it's not life-threatening."

"Mm," Soap agrees, obviously trying not to cause more worry for his teammate. "I'm fine. Just gotta walk it off. Be peachy tomorrow." Blood drips around his boot heel.

"You'd better get going," you tell them. "Sun's coming up."

"You'd better find somewhere safe yourself, hen," Soap says. "It's a horror show out here in the daytime. Runners clusterin’ in packs--"

"She'll be fine," Ghost mutters. "Take care of the log in your own eye before you worry about the splinter in hers."

You pat Roach. "Found what I came for. Thanks for that, ah... for your help, Soap."

"Aye. You're a scrapper, that's for sure. Good to know you've got a lot more muscle with that one backing you up." He nods at Roach.

Ghost helps him stand up straight. The three of you make your way back to the entrance of the tunnel. By now, Soap’s crew has cleared away enough that they can help Soap out as Ghost boosts him up. They offer the same to you, but you refuse. They hurry out of the way as Roach shoulders his way through the comparatively tiny passageway. He squeezes through, widening it, and you follow easily. More soldiers than you expect—all dressed and outfitted like Soap and Ghost, armed and armored to the teeth—watch from behind buildings and over rooftops. You get the feeling that they have eyes on every zed in this half of the city. Several of the soldiers converge on you, moving like shadows, to help Ghost heft Soap along.

You tread with the group until you reach the edge of the city. Or maybe it’s the edge of the forest. The tree line half-swallows the streets and homes.

“Look after yourself out there,” Soap calls over his shoulder. You salute wordlessly in reply, and his eyes linger.

You watch them make their way out of the city, disappearing into the enormous trees and tall grass. Once they’re gone from view, Roach nudges you gently.

"I know, I know," you mumble.

He sits on his haunches to let you to climb up and take your seat on his back. You take off running to the east, leaving them behind.

That would have been the end of it. Except it's not long before pass by more runners—more than two dozen of them. They don't bother with Roach, smelling the mutagen affecting him and missing your smell completely smothered in his—but the direction they're heading, they'll run head-on into Soap’s party for sure. And with Soap injured, the smell of blood, being outnumbered...

Dread and guilt coil in your stomach. It doesn't matter how good they are. They'll be overwhelmed.

But it doesn't matter, right? You have what you came for. You should keep going. Mind your business. Stay alive.

Roach paws at the ground, agitated, and you realize you’ve unconsciously pulled him to a stop. You glance up, checking the sun’s distance from the horizon. You owe them. They helped you. Wouldn’t you be dead without them?

You let out a long, irritated groan. Then you nudge Roach to turn around. “Let’s go get them,” you mutter.

Roach bounds off into the trees, his nose leading you both back to Soap, Ghost, and the others once again.

A few of the men almost jump out of their skin when they see the shape and size of Roach bounding toward them.

Roach pulls up beside them in a flurry of grass and dirt clods. “There’s a group of maybe thirty zeds heading this way,” you say, looking at Soap from your high mount. Like it’s the most normal thing in the world for you to be doing. “You’d better hurry or they’ll swarm you.”

Soap and Ghost exchange a look. “We’re moving as fast as we can,” Ghost says. “If they catch up, we fight like we always do.”

“You won’t be able to fight them all. Not without a few of you getting picked off.”

“We won’t abandon your own.”

“She’s just tellin’ us what she’s seen,” Soap says. “Wouldn’t have come back otherwise. Best to leave me out here and hustle back to camp. Easier to hide one person than a whole group. Can’t have you all dying just because I was a right idiot and got myself hurt."

Ghost glares at him. "That's not up for debate.”

Soap smirks back. "You sayin' I can't handle myself?"

"No one's leaving you here. You're coming with us, one way or another.”

"Hell," Soap mutters. He groans from the pain. "Amnae riskin' the team over my injury."

You listen to them bicker, shifting as you try to calculate how much time they have before the muties get here. Not long.

You should just leave now, right? You told them what was coming, which is more than they'd usually get. They can fend for themselves, right? They've done it before. A hundred times, probably. And if you stay, you're putting Roach at risk too.

But Soap's leg... that happened to him because he was helping you. God dammit. You can't just let this go. That's another favor you owe him.

You have Roach lay down and hop off him.

"Hey," you bark over their arguing. "Get on. Hurry."

They both pause. Soap narrows his eyes at you. Getting sniffed at by that big bastard is one thing. But riding him? He gives Roach a very wary look.

Ghost picks up on your plan immediately. He jerks his chin at Soap. "Get on."

...

part 1 / [part 2] / part 3

more Soap / masterlist

[aemondapologistfrfr]

What the Gods Gave Us

fancast!benji blackwood x targ!fem!reader

apocalypse asoiaf/f&b au 

Summary: The Gods chose their own side during the dance of the dragons and decided to cast the realm into winter and death. Only three dragons remain alive to see the fruition of Aegon the Conquers dream. 

Warnings: 18+ mentions of death, death, swearing, blood, fingering, p in v, heavy au, plot heavy

Authors Note: a request from @chainsawsangel that I absolutely got carried away with :) in reality I should’ve made this multiple parts but fuck that we gots to see it thru

Word Count: 9k just be chill about it 

⊹˚₊‧꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

When the dance began the Gods looked down upon us and frowned. They cast the world into winter and allowed death to come from above the wall. No one was spared from what broke down the barrier in the north and came flooding through. It didn’t happen slowly. In under a week the entire realm was cast in snow and bitter winds. Sicknesses wiped out entire houses. Noble and low born families alike were torn apart and scattered across the wastelands that used to once be the great seven kingdoms of Westeros. 

Winter took our entire family and most of our dragons. The only remaining Targaryens in this world are me and my two brothers. When the snow started sticking our mother sent us and our dragons to hide within the crumbling walls of Harrenhal. The only place that seems to be untouched from decay here is the weirwood. Its eyes follow us as we walk across the grounds as it pours buckets of blood from its eyes. There’s an old kind of magic about this fallen castle that deters the white walkers from entering. 

The only other living creature here is Alys Rivers who only speaks in riddles and hides herself away in her chambers with her potions and ramblings. We try to avoid her but we’ve made her an honorary member of our family. She cooks and cares for us and we offer her protection and go out and get supplies. Today’s supply run has us traveling to Ironmans bay. She’s seeking a specific plant that only grows on the coast of the Iron Islands. 

“Why must I stay here with her?” Luke whines pleading with me and Jace to come with.

“You are young and so is your dragon. We’re not risking it. Taking two dragons out is as big of a calling card that we can deal with.” Jaces voice does not falter as he orders Luke to stay. 

“Mother said we’re supposed to stick together.” Luke looks between the both of us with sad eyes. 

“We always come back.” I cup his cheek hoping to offer him comfort.

“Please come back.” Luke’s eyes water as he pulls us into a hug. 

It’s never my want to leave him behind but I would much rather have him here than out there with us. Jace and I cover ourselves with white fur and leave the main hall. Our dragons chuff to us as we mount and take to the skies. We always fly in the clouds if we’re able. We don’t want to announce our moves during these trying times. We fly over countless pyres. I’m thankful our word got out that the one way to kill these things is fire and we have the biggest weapon against them. 

The flight to the coast is quick and freezing. We land on the shores and pull out a rough drawing of the plant that Alys gave us. Jace curses under his breath and kicks the snow away. It took a lot of convincing on my end for him not to kill or kick Alys out of Harrenhal when we first arrived. He’s been so angry at the world and I get it. I’m living in this frozen hell with him and I’m slowly losing hope as the moons pass. 

“I don’t care about her stupid fucking plants. We could be using our time differently.” he crosses his arms standing next to Vermax. 

“Using our time to do what Jace? What else could we possibly be doing? If you want to go sulk around that crumbling castle then go.” my voice rises with my anger. 

His breath clouds in front of him as he sighs and begins to look for the plants we’re here for. I hear a groan of string and wood and fall to the ground as I hear the arrow coast through the breeze. I turn and see Jace rising from the ground unsheathing his sword. I turn and see a handful of men running towards us and another bursts out from the tree line and starts cutting them down one by one. Jace and I look to each other before we turn back to the man who was so ready to lay his life down for us. 

“That’s close enough.” Jace raises his blade to the man walking towards us who stops and falls to one knee. 

“I swore fealty to your mother and that extends to her children as well. My sword is yours.” he bows his head and I turn to Jace. 

“What do we need your fealty for? What do you think we’re ruling over? Death and decay?” the man’s head pulls up as he looks beyond as at our dragons. 

“If anyone could bring the realm back together it would be the dragons. It was word from your mouths that fire will kill them no?” he rises to his full height. 

“What is it that you want?” Jaces voice calls over to him. 

“Shelter and safety. These Bracken cunts slaughtered the last of my men. I’ve been hunting them down for days now.” he turns to them and lets sparks rain upon them as their bodies go up in flame.

“And what is your name?” I raise my chin looking him over. 

“Benjicot Blackwood.” he bows his head once more. 

“What is it that you can offer us if we take you with us?” I ask assessing him. 

“I have no dragon or dragon flame but I have a sword and flint and they offer the same results.” he holds his sword out with both hands offering it to us. 

“I say we burn him and leave.” Jace says from my side and my eyes bulge. 

“Why would we do that? He’s just one person. Surely we can use his hands and sword.” I try to reason with him. 

“I’m sure you would like to use his sword.” he sneers at me and it takes all my strength not to punch him in the face. 

“I will cut your tongue out if you speak to me like that again.” I hiss back to him. 

“If you want him then search him and see if your dragon will allow him to ride back with you. I’m not dealing with this.” he waves me off and walks back to his dragon. 

“Alright, let’s go.” I nod my head for Benjicot to come to me. “I will search your pack and person and then we will see if my dragon will allow you to ride him and then we’ll go back to where we stay.” I hold out my hand expectantly. 

“Where is it that you stay?” he hands me his pack and my hands stop searching as I see the plants Alys is looking for. 

“What are you doing with these plants?” I look to him with scrunched brows. 

“They help staunch the never ending hunger.” he tilts his head. 

“Very well, do you have anything on your person that I need to be concerned about?” I close the bag and toss it back to him. 

“You can come let your hands roam all over me and find out for yourself.” he smirks unabashed. “The only thing you might find concerning is how much you enjoy it.” I gasp at his words as a laugh falls from my lips. 

“You are very bold.” I offer him a smile of my own as I feel my body heat. “Let’s see if you get to come home with me or become a meal for my dragon.” I hum and he chuckles lowly walking to my side. 

My dragon looks over him licking his teeth. I don’t know if it’s boldness or lack of care for his life but he walks up to my dragon and holds his hands out. My dragon seems as taken aback as I am and looks to me and huffs. I shrug my shoulders and walk past Benjicot to his wing. 

“Well are you coming, Benjicot?” I turn raising my eyebrow to him. 

“You can call me Benji.” he smiles walking to my side with confidence in his step. 

Vermax and Jace shoot to the skies and we’re close behind them. Benji holds onto my sides tightly and I welcome in the extra warmth. The chill goes to the bone once the sun begins to set and I’m thankful for our quick flight back to our crumbling fortress. Benji slides down after me and Jace scoffs before strutting into the main doors. 

“You’ve found the plants.” she looks to Benji and I look to her confused but not surprised that she knew of Benji from all her self proclaimed premonitions that I’m starting to believe more of everyday.

“This is-“ 

“Benjicot.” Alys nods her head taking his pack and disappearing with it leaving us confused. 

“She’s an interesting woman.” Benji says chuckling. 

“Who is this?” Luke bounds down the stairs and looks to Benji.

“Benji Blackwood. We found him wandering.” I offer. 

“Jace isn’t happy.” Luke says looking to me. 

“I’m well aware.” I roll my eyes and turn to Benji. “Come let’s find you a room.” he trails after me as we walk deeper into the castle. 

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It has been just over a moon since we brought Benji back and Jace hasn’t gotten anymore welcoming. Luke on the other hand has taken a liking to him and it warms my heart to see Luke smile and laugh again. I want this for Jace but I don’t think he wants it for himself and that’s why he closes in on himself. I keep wanting to talk to Jace about Benjis words to us when we first met him. How us and our dragons could bring the realm back together. I talk about this a lot with Benji and he’s told me that there are survivors out there who believe this as well. I’ve been thinking about this nonstop and even have entertained the idea with Alys. 

“What do you propose?” Alys hums as I sit at the stone table while she’s crushing plants. 

“I don’t know. Something. We can’t possibly live like this forever. There has to be something we can do.” I try to search her eyes for any clue of to what she’s thinking. 

“The Gods are angry.” she offers me an unsettling smile. 

“They’ve taken it out on the realm what else is there left for them to take?” I ask exasperated. 

“They can take anything they please.” she hums moving around the table. 

“There has to be something we can do to change the tides. Are we not of the line that is supposed to end this war? Is the song of ice and fire truly just a tale?” I nibble on my bottom lip and she turns quickly to me. 

“So you know?” she raises an eyebrow. 

“Of the dream, yes, but what are we to do? There’s only three of us.” I sigh rubbing my forehead. 

“Return to Dragonstone and retrieve the glass.” her words ominous. 

“What glass?” I ask tilting my head. 

“Beneath the castle. You’ll know it when you find it.” she waves me off. “Bring both of your brothers and Benjicot.” she adds as I exit. 

As I walk up the stairs to find them my mind races with the confirmation Alys just gave me. I know Jace is going to scold me but I truly believe this with my being. I find Jace and Luke lounging in front of the great hearth. Benji is sat on the other side of the room near the window gazing out. I call Benji over near the fire and begin to tell them of my conversation with Alys and what we must do.

“You’re just as mad as her if you think I’m coming with you.” Jace scoffs at me.

“This is our chance to try and set things right. We’re the last dragons. Mother told us of the song of ice and fire and you want to ignore that? Winter is here. She chose you as her heir for a reason. Start acting like it.” I rise along with my temper. 

“You think a story will save us now?” he tosses his head back and laughs. 

“There’s no harm in trying, we either sit here and starve to death or try to do something. We can find the other survivors, unite the realm once more. We can kill these things, brother. We can set the realm back to how it was supposed to be, together, as a family.” I plead with him trying to show him reason. 

“Do you include your stray in our family now?” he shoots Benji a dirty look. 

“My stray has a name and he has been nothing but kind to you. Why do you despise him so much?” I shake my head at his ridiculousness. 

“Because he feeds your obsession about saving the realm when it’s already a frozen wasteland beyond repair.” Jace turns to Luke for support who avoids his eyes. “Oh you believe this too?” he chuckles to himself at a loss.

“What harm will it cause to go home for one day. Remember what used to be, what could be again.” Luke speaks softly. 

“One day.” Jace says looking to me. 

“Just one.” I nod my head. 

⊹˚₊‧꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

The stone walls have never felt more cold than they do now in this abandoned castle. The wind seems to whisper as we pass through the empty halls sharing the story of our downfall. This once great castle brimming with life and happiness now offers us a cold embrace. Our dragons rumble beneath the floors from the pits and I allow myself to remember how lively these halls once were. Our home taken by fate.

“I’m going to my chambers. Let me know when you’ve found what you’re looking for so we can get off this freezing rock.” Jace bounds up the stairs out of sight. 

“Go after him.” I nod to Luke not wanting Jace to feel so alone and unheard. I sigh pulling my furs around me. Benji walks over to me and rubs his hands on my arms trying to warm me up some.

“Do you think I sound crazy, Benji?” I look to him with furrowed brows.

“We walk alongside death, Princess. I don’t think there’s anything crazy about wanting for something better.” he offers me a reassuring smile. 

“Then we must go to the pits.” I turn walking to the stairs. 

I hear him a step behind me and smile. Benji stops to light a torch for us and we enter the dark cave. I get us quickly to the bottom and we start through the small tunnels. I plunge us deeper as the air gets cooler. The torch catches on an opening showing us something dark and glossy. A smile spreads across my face as I take in the shimmering rock. 

“Dragon glass.” I turn to Benji. 

“How much does she want?” he asks looking at the massive trove in front of us.

“I’m assuming as much as us our dragons can carry.” I crane my neck to see the extent of the obsidian walls. 

“Do you think Jace will carry some?” he asks my thoughts out loud.

“I will make him. I believe in this and him. He is King even if he doesn’t speak it.” my voice hushed. “Do you think if he calls the survivors will answer?” I look to him as he looks at me with admiration. 

“Who would be bold enough not to answer the dragons call?” he chuckles. “I believe in what you say. You are a good sister, a good person, to keep faith in him when he doesn’t even have it for himself.” his words have me thanking Alys  for sending me to find those plants. 

“Thank you, Benji.” my voice barely a whisper as I look to him. 

“You are strong and resilient and any smart man knows there’s always a woman holding the realm together.” his words cause a welcome warmth to my cheeks. 

“I fear the realm has fallen apart.” I look away.

“You didn’t set that in motion. You are helping reclaim and rebuild. You will never have to carry that weight alone as long as I breathe.” my eyes see the sincerity across his features. 

“Thank you, Benji.” I cup his cheek before leading us out of the caves once more to find my brothers. 

They both groan at diving into the pits with me and Benji but follow nonetheless. Their eyes alight with wonder as they look around the obsidian cave. Jace places a hand on one of the rocks jutting from the ground and a warm breeze comes from deep within the ground. Just as quick as the warmth spreads it is replaced with ice. 

“What is it you want me to do?” Jace turns to me. 

“We need to mine as much of this as we can and bring it back with us.” I search Jaces face to see his mood. 

“This seems as if it will take more than the day I was promised.” Jace sighs. 

“We can figure it out. We can get you and Vermax loaded up first and you can go back to Harrenhal tonight if you want.” my eyes pleading. 

“I can stay and help.” a smile starts to spread across my face. “Don’t get too excited.” he glares at me and I have to bite my lip from smiling even wider. 

“Let’s go find some tools and start moving this out of the caves.” I nod my head leading us to the armory. 

As I push the doors to the armory open the castle seems to let out a breath it was holding since before this never ending winter. We all walk in and look around to find tools and carts. On the center table I spot two swords and a dagger with a parchment containing our mother’s handwriting. I call Jace and Luke over as we read her last words to us. 

My sweet children- 

Should you find this letter and our family blades it means you know what must be done now. My father always believed the song of ice and fire to be true and now I see that it is. The realms fate is left to you three. Jacaerys, I leave you Catspaw, the blade passed down to heirs over the years. Luke, my sweet boy, I leave you Blackfyre, do not allow anyone to underestimate you. Y/n, I leave you Dark Sister, that has been wielded by the strongest of us. Get the dragon glass and call the realm together. I’m sorry I’ve left this burden on you three. I love you, you were always the best of me.

-Mother

We look to each other with tear filled eyes and hold on to one another tightly. We sniffle and settle our breathing before nodding to one another. As we all grab for the blades we feel another warm breeze kiss across our faces. We turn and see Benji staring at us in awe. He shakes his head at a loss and falls to his knee. 

“The remaining dragons shall save us and cast the winter out of the realm.” he bows his head to us. 

“Rise, Benji. We have work to do.” Jace nods his head and I try to hide my smile that he called Benji by his name for the first time. 

We begin to pick up axes and shovels and toss them into carts. We make our way back down to the caves with a new sense of purpose. The next couple of hours are filled with grunts and curses at the hard rock. We take turns carting it to our dragons who look at us curiously as they curl up together. The energy we’re exuding actually has us hot for once and we take a break to walk the grounds. We end up standing in front of the weirwood as it stares back at us. The blood tears seem to still be ever flowing but less than what we’ve seen at Harrenhal. 

We decide to rest for the night and go about sourcing wood for a fire. After splitting up the frozen soup Alys sent us with we heat it over a fire in the main hall. We eat silently and quickly ready to sleep and start tomorrow anew. We each grab some wood and part ways and head for our chambers. As I’m making my way to my chambers I notice Benji is still trailing after me. 

“Where are you going?” I turn and raise an eyebrow to him. 

“To your chambers?” he tilts his head as if it was obvious. 

“I don’t remember inviting you.” I chuckle shaking my head. 

“It’s cold. We should share a bed. It’s the smart thing to do.” the smile that spreads across his face is serpentine. 

“Where is this concern when we’re at Harrenhal?” I smile before continuing down the hall to my chambers. 

“Are you asking me to move into your chambers with you?” he purrs quickening his pace to walk at my side. 

“We’ll see how tonight goes.” I hum as I push my chamber doors open and sigh at the familiar sight. 

“If there’s anything you need or want of me don’t hesitate to ask.” he says lowly before going to the stone hearth and starting a fire.

“Let’s move the mattress next to the hearth.” I toss the wood on the floor along with my bags. 

“Mm, how romantic.” he rises from the hearth and looks down to me. 

“It’s so we can be warmer.” I glare up at him. 

“I’ll keep you warm, don’t worry.” he strokes the side of my cheek before stepping around me and walking to the bed. I turn to him with red cheeks and cross my arms. “Stop pouting and come help me.” he chuckles. 

I flare my nostrils and walk over to my bed. I push my blankets and furs to the center and grab the edge of the bed to lift it. Benji lifts his side and we drop it on the ground a couple feet back from the hearth. I turn and look around my chambers taking them in. I never thought I would see these walls again. I pull Dark Sister from its sheath and place it on the table and look upon it. 

“A powerful weapon for a powerful woman.” Benji comes from behind me and looks over my shoulder. 

“I hope I’m not sending us all to our doom.” I whisper turning to him. 

“If you are, I will gladly stand by your side.” his voice doesn’t carry its usual playful demeanor. 

“Do you think we can do it?” I search his eyes. 

“I do.” he nods his head. “It will be hard but we’ve endured this far.” we slowly begin to lean into each other’s body heat. 

“Thank you for believing in me and not thinking I’m crazy.” I look up to him as our chests are almost touching. 

“I never said I didn’t think you were crazy, I said your idea wasn’t crazy.” a smile splits across his face and I push him back. 

“You’re such an asshole, you can-“ 

He pulls me into a rough kiss and I completely forget why I was angry. He pushes his tongue into my mouth and my arms wrap around his back holding him to me. One of his hands tangles into my hair holding my lips against his. His other hand holds my lower back molding me to him. We stay tangled in each other until we both pull back panting. 

“What were you saying?” he says lowly with his smirk back on his face. 

“Now I’m saying you’re an arrogant asshole and you can find somewhere else to sleep.” I glare up to him before looking at his lips and he chuckles catching the movement. 

“Want to try again and sound like you mean it?” his words taunting me. 

“Benji,” I warn huffing. 

“Hm?” he licks his lips and I roll my eyes at him brushing past him to the mattress. 

His hand reaches out and grabs my arm. He turns me towards him. I look up to him expectantly waiting for him to say or do something. I relent and start to reach up to capture his lips once more, over his games and he tips his head up making me chase his lips out of my reach. 

“I didn’t take you as such a tease. Or maybe you can’t get it hard?” I try to pull my arm out of his grasp but he just tightens his fingers. 

When he captures my lips this time it’s bruising and takes my breath away. His hands begin to pull off my clothes. When his rough hands meet my flesh I gasp into his mouth. I start to push off his clothes and he helps quicken the process. When our skin presses together I sigh at the warmth. We don’t separate as we fall to the mattress in a clash of tongues and teeth. He kisses down my jaw and I arch up into him gasping as I feel his hardened length slide against my wetness. 

“Benji,” I mewl as he rubs against my bud. 

“Hush,” he says before pushing into me. 

My breath catches at the stretch of him. He chuckles looking at my scrunched brows as I squirm beneath him. He slowly starts to rock into me until my moans become broken. His hips snap into mine and I feel my pleasure begin to coil. As he wraps my legs around his waist he starts a brutal pace. I throw my head back into the pillow as my hips meet his. I come undone around him and he grunts but keeps his pace. 

“Is my cock hard enough for you, Princess?” he dips down to whisper in my ear as he continues to rut into me. 

“Yes, Benji please,” I cry out feeling my high quickly approaching again. 

Our breaths come out in pants as we chase our highs. He rolls his hips into me and I whimper as he brushes against my sensitive bud. His trusts begin to falter as I start to pulse around him. He stills as I feel his warmth fill me. He brings his lips to mine as we still try to catch our breath. He rolls off of me placing one more kiss on my forehead. He pulls the furs over us and pulls me to his chest. 

“Do you still think I’m an asshole?” I roll my eyes and turn over putting my back to him. 

“I must’ve not fucked you hard enough if you’re still pouting.” he pulls me back to his chest. 

“I’m limited on options.” as the words leave my mouth his hand lands on my backside hard making me jolt into him. 

“Go to bed before I decide you don’t need any sleep.” his voice low as we hold each other tightly to ward off the cold.

⊹˚₊‧꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Over the past three days we’ve been able to collect as much dragon glass as our dragons can carry. I’m thankful to finally get back to Harrenhal because we’re low on food and supplies. As we make our way to our dragons my brother and I look back at our home. None of us are brave enough to say goodbye or even to express hope to return again someday. We know the path ahead now is victory or peril. 

The flight back to Harrenhal feels as if it takes forever. Once we land Alys sweeps out through the main gates and looks us all over. She assesses the dragon glass and nods in approval at the amount we got. She ushers us inside and pours us tea and hot soup. 

“I’ve begun sending word around the realm that their King calls for them.” she says this as if it’s just another daily task. 

“Alys,” Jace sighs. “What was the message? We should’ve planned this together.” he shakes his head. 

“This has been planned long before you were born, boy. I’ve been waiting for you to stop throwing your tantrums to start moving the plans into place.” Alys turns to him with a motherly tone. 

“And where are you calling these survivors to rally?” Jace sets his spoon down completely abandoning his soup. 

“Winterfell, of course.” Alys tosses over her shoulder before returning to her poultices.

“Are there any survivors that far north?” Luke asks shaking his head.

“The one who carries Ice still lives.” she doesn’t even deign to turn around.

“How is it that you know all this? The ravens don’t carry messages anymore.” I ask my eyes boring into her back.

“There’s another raven that still carries messages if you know how to listen. The trees whisper too, I’m surprised you haven’t heard them.” she hums absentmindedly. 

“I need proof that there is reason for us to pack up and go north. The winds are surely deadly that far up.” Jace takes a sip of tea.

“Then follow me.” Alys’ skirts swish out of the hall and we all get up and trail after her. She takes us out to the Godswood and we stand in front of the crying weirwood. “Do any other of you have a lack of faith in the song of ice and fire?” she turns and assesses us. 

I turn to look at Luke and Benji and they both seem contented that the song is absolute certainty. We all turn to Jace who has a pout back on his face still not convinced. Alys smiles and gestures for him to come closer. She reaches for his hand and he reluctantly gives it to her. When she places his hand on the tree it feels as if the sun is shining on us for the first time in moons. When I look up I still see the same overcast sky and sigh.

Jace has gone completely still as the blood flows over his hands. His eyes are watering as his features go blank. He doesn’t seem to be in any pain but I’m still concerned for him nonetheless. I go to rest my hand on him and Alys stops me. 

“Do not interrupt this. He’ll be fine.” she whispers and I step back to Benji and Luke. 

Luke clings to me as we wait for Jace to come back to the present. The minutes drag on for what feels like hours. Benji comes to my other side and rests his head on my shoulder and I drink in his warmth. We huddle together and our spines straighten as Jace inhales deeply.

“It’s true.” he turns to us with tears streaming down his face as he pulls us into a hug. 

“What happened?” I pull back so I can assess him.

“I saw.” his voice still far off. “I saw everything.” he pulls Catspaw from his belt and holds it between us. 

“To Winterfell?” I search his eyes.

“To Winterfell.” Jace nods and walks past us back into the crumbling castle with a new found sense of purpose.

“What of you, Alys?” I turn to her and she smiles. 

“I will be there should you need me.” she hums walking past us into the castle after Jace.

⊹˚₊‧꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

We stop every night on the way to Winterfell. Our dragons can only handle the chill for so long. We have them scorch the lands around us encircling us in a wall of flame. We are hoping to see some of the survivors Alys has talked about but the road has been silent. We curl up on the frozen ground clinging to one another for warmth. Sleep only offers us a reprieve for a couple of hours before we’re back in the wind. 

“How much longer?” Luke whines as he hugs onto Arrax. 

“If we push through we could make it a couple hours after moonrise.” Jace hums trying to see how we feel. 

“We can load up on furs. If Arrax can support him I’ll send Benji with you to help keep the chill off.” I nod trying to get us to Winterfell as soon as possible. I don’t know if we can survive another night outside in these temperatures, no matter how much fire our dragons supply. 

“You don’t have to baby me, Y/n.” Luke groans rolling his eyes at me. 

“You are a baby, Luke.” Jace laughs and I look to him with a smile of my own. I haven’t heard his genuine laugh in so long.

We decide on giving Luke as many of our furs that he could wear and still see. Arrax didn’t take too kindly to Benji and we didn’t want to stress anyone out. I give him more furs than Jace because I’ll have Benji behind me to help retain my heat. We mount the dragons and push forward to Winterfell. 

As the sun sets behind the clouds the temperature drops almost instantly. My muscles tense as I lean back into Benji. He opens his jacket and pulls me against his chest. He buries his head into my neck and I feel my body heat as his hair tickles me. He offers soft kisses to my neck that help distract me as the wind bites. 

As the hours drag by my body begins to shake trying to make its own heat. I look worriedly to my brothers who are probably in the same state and they don’t have someone to offer them extra warmth. I bury my head in my hands trying to regain feeling on my cheeks and nose. 

“We’re about an hour out. Once we’re in our chambers I’ll make sure you’re so hot you’ll be begging to go roll in the snow.” his words brush my ears and my entire body heats. I lean back appreciatively and excited about the warmth he’s offering. 

I fill my mind with thoughts of the man behind me and soon the blush on my face is heating my extremities. His arms wrap tighter around me as if he’s doing the same thing. Our bodies mend together pulling heat from one another. The walls of Winterfell finally come into view and I let out a choked sob. I see there are torches lit and it looks as if the integrity of this castle has still remained intact. Our dragons land inside the gates and burn the ground before us and I sigh in relief at the warmth as it licks at us.

“Welcome back, Your Grace.” a northern man with a large sword down his back approaches us.

“Lord Stark.” Jace nods his head before they laugh and hug each other.

“I’mglad that you guys are reunited but I would like to be reunited with warmth.” I say with a bite in my voice as Benji laughs next to me.

“Of course,” Cregan nods his head and we enter the warm halls quickly. 

“How is this the warmest place we’ve been in moons?” I sigh bringing my hands to the fire. 

“It was built to withstand the winter. After all, it’s always winter up here, Princess.” Cregan smiles to me. “We also have hot springs that should help you defrost and if that doesn’t help I’m sure we could find another way.” he chuckles as my red cheeks and Benji comes up to my side promptly. 

“We would love to try the hot springs.” Benji smiles to Cregan before wrapping his arm around me. Cregan brushes this off and walks back over to Jace and Luke. He leads us to the guest chambers. Benji tells him that he’s sharing with me and I roll my eyes at his dramatics. 

“Then I guess I won’t offer you a place in my chambers.” Cregan leans down and whispers into my ear. As he pulls back my cheeks are tinted and Benji is fuming next to me. “Someone will be up here shortly to bring you to the hot springs.” he smirks at me before shutting the door.

“Are you serious?” Benji turns me towards him.

“What?” I tilt my head still flushed from Cregans words.

“You’re lucky I didn’t take you in front of him.” he growls pulling me to him. 

“Benji,” I gasp as he starts pulling my furs off. “It was harmless.” he starts to pull off my shirt and I bite my lip as his hands find my skin.

“Harmless? He all but asked you to fuck in front of me.” he says through his teeth as he lifts my shirt off. 

“He did not.” I say hushed as his hands slide up my bare skin.

“What did he say that had you blushing?” he fingers brush against my nipples and a whimper falls from my mouth.

“He said,” I gasp as he pinches one of my nipples. “He said he was going to offer me a place in his chambers.” my hands rest on his arms as he continues to fondle across my chest.

“Is that what you want?” I shake my head at his words. “Tell me whose bed you want to be in.” his voice low as his hand dips beneath my waistband. 

“Benji,” I cling to him as his fingers spread my wetness. 

“Go find a robe.” I whine as he removes his hand. “Someone should be here to bring us to the hot springs soon.” he leaves me squeezing my thighs together. 

I huff and walk over to the wardrobe hoping there was something left. I sigh thankful that there are some robes left over. I slide my trousers down my legs and quickly wrap myself in the robe. I turn and toss Benji a robe and try not to let my eyes linger on his exposed torso. He starts to unlace his trousers and I look to him with low lids as he chuckles at me. He slides them off and I squeeze my thighs once more taking in the length of him. There’s a knock on the door and Benji is quickly slipping the robe on and walking to the door. 

“It seems as if I’m the only one left awake to take you both.” Cregan takes up our doorway and I internally groan. 

“Mm, of course.” Benji exhales grabbing my hand and pulling me to his side. 

The walk through the castle is silent and I can feel Benjis frustration pouring off of him. I squeeze his hand to try and get him to focus on anything else but he keeps his eyes focused on Cregans back. We start down a stone staircase and as we enter the cavern I sigh as the warm air kisses my face. I see that there’s more than enough space for the three of us to be here comfortably. I walk past them both and begin to dip into the water. Once my bottom half is in the water I slip off my robe and sink beneath and let out a breathy moan. 

I close my eyes as I let the hot water soothe my muscles. I sink lower into the water and I feel it ripple next to me. I peek an eye open and see that Benji has claimed a seat next to me. The water shifts again and I see that Cregan has also gotten in. I sit back up and feel the tension in the water and roll my eyes. Benjis hand falls to my thigh and my head snaps to him. 

“So are you guys together?” Cregans voice carries across the stone walls and I groan knowing this will set Benji off.

“Yes.” he says as his fingers grip on my thigh spreading them open. 

“Mm, how long?” Cregan looks to me as Benjis fingers slide to my core.

“Couple moons now.” I try to keep my voice steady as he swirls around my bud. 

“Where did you find her?” Cregan shifts to Benji and I’ve never been more thankful as he dips a finger into me. 

“Near the Iron Islands. I saved her and Jace from some Bracken beasts.” Benji narrows his eyes at Cregan as he pushes a second finger into me and a moan slips out. I try to cover it by clearing my throat but I can tell Cregan caught it. 

“Do you both need some privacy?” Cregan chuckles at my red cheeks and Benji keeps pushing his fingers into me. 

“If you wouldn’t mind.” Benji uses a patronizing tone. “She’s been begging for my cock since we started the journey here.” he chuckles and I snap my head to him ready to scold him until his thumb rubs against my bud and I’m hoping that Cregan will leave soon because I can’t contain the whimpers leaving my lips. 

“Treat her well. Or I will.” Cregan chuckles again before standing out of the water unabashed. Benji starts moving his fingers faster and I try to close my legs around his hand. 

“Benji.” I mewl as he continues with his motions.

“She’s content here.” Benji chuckles waving Cregan off. 

“Are you done now?” I pant at Benji.

“Not even close.” he growls as he flips me so my chest is against the cool stone. “Gunna fuck you here because I know he’s listening on the stairs.” he breathes into my neck as he lifts my hips.

“You sound paranoid.” I turn to look at his dark eyes as I spread my legs open for him. 

“I don’t care.” he pushes into me in one movement and I rest my cheek against the stone. 

Moans begin pouring from my lips as the water laps against us. His pace is quick and I have no hope of covering the curses and whines that fall from my mouth. The second his fingers brush against my bud my body goes taught. He continues to push into me as my high spreads through me. My hips push back into his as I continue to chase more pleasure.

“You like when I fuck you like a common whore?” he pulls me up against him and wraps his fingers around my neck.

“Fuck, Benji, please,” I whine as my chest heaves. 

The hand that he has supporting my waist goes to my bud and I contract around him as my pleasure washes through me. I feel his thrusts get sloppy as he begins to fill me. He slips out of me quickly pulling a moan from my lips. I brace my hands on the stone as I catch my breath. 

“When you’re ready we’re going back up to our chambers and I’m gunna fuck you until he knows you’re mine.” he sits back and I nod to him with flushed cheeks.

⊹˚₊‧꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

It’s been almost a moon since we’ve landed in Winterfell and the amount of survivors showing up is astonishing. We have a large camp circled around the walls that grow larger by the day. As more people arrive we give them dragon glass to shape into weapons of their choice. We’ve had confirmation dragon glass works on the white walkers and everyone seems relieved to have finally confirmed this theory. 

“When do we march north? Or are we staying here? What is the plan?” I look to Jace as I sprawl across his couch. Benji and Luke are sat at the table and look to Jace ready for his commands. 

“We fight here. He will come to us in the end.” Jace nods and goes to look out the window at the growing host around us. 

“Who will come?” Luke asks nibbling his lip.

“The night King. We kill him and this ends. We go home.” his voice seems far away and we look to each other with confused brows.

“You’re starting to sound like Alys, brother.” I chuckle and he turns to me with a smile. 

“Surprisingly, I don’t take offense.” he smiles sitting on a chair across from me. “I saw him beginning to march here. He has a large host of white walkers with him that he has no care if they live or die. We’re fighting for something. We have a reason and purpose. Fate is on our side. He will be here during the hour of the wolf.” he turns to look at Luke and Benji. 

“Tonight?” Benji asks taken aback.

“Yes, so get some rest. We either come out victorious or die.” Jace rises nodding to us. 

Benji, Luke, and I leave Jaces chambers to go and find a couple hours of sleep. We drop Luke off at his chambers and I hug him tightly and kiss his head. We make our way back to our chambers and collapse to the bed. We simply hold each other and curl up under the covers basking in each other’s warmth.

I sit up in bed as a loud horn is blown. Benji is looking out the window and I rise and go to his side. The castle seems to be surrounded by flame as I see a white mass headed for us. I turn back to the chambers trying to wake myself up quicker. I start to pull on my armor and sheath Dark Sister at my side. I turn back to Benji who is holding his hand out to me. 

“Are you ready?” I ask him slipping my hand into his. 

“I am. With the three dragons burning from above we will be able to be victorious on the ground.” he nods to me. We make our way to the main hall and see the remaining leaders gathered. On approach I see Alys coming out of a dark hall.

“What are you doing here?” I look to her confused.

“Making sure you both were awake for this war. They need you.” she nods us over to the conversation being held. 

“My siblings and I will be in the skies burning as many as we can without burning our own men. This is our last stand. We have all of the tools we need to succeed. It’s now or never. May the Gods choose our side.” Jaces voices carries throughout the hall and I tear up hearing him speak so confidently.

“A word sister?” Jace nods his head to the corner where Luke is waiting for us. “I wanted to tell you what I saw when I touched that tree. I saw us all here. Making the prophecy come true. Everything we have done has led us right here. We can reclaim this realm and break it free from the icy grasp of the Gods. It will be a new age for us. These men and women believe in us and will follow us even to their death.” his words cause my heart to tighten knowing no matter how much dragon flame and glass we use we will still suffer losses. 

“I will follow you even if it means my death, my King.” I lower my head and I see Luke do the same at my side.

“You both will live. I can’t do this without you. Together we will revive the Golden Age.” his words capture my breath. 

We all embrace and begin to walk out of the hall. Benji returns to my side and walks with us to our dragons. I make sure he’s armed with as many dragon glass weapons as his person can carry. I look up to him unable to help the worry written across my face. He smoothes my brow before placing his lips softly on mine. 

“If you die tonight, I won’t let them burn you. I’ll keep you as my white walker pet or something.” I pull back and look to him with furrowed brows and he barks out a laugh.

“I’ll try my best to stay alive.” he smiles down at me. “But it seems as if I’ll see you after regardless.” he kisses me once more and disappears into the sea of men and women. 

I sigh and turn to my dragon and see my brothers also talking to their dragons. I hug around my dragons neck and he lets out soft chuffs. Jace looks to Luke and nods and offers me the same motion. I begin to mount and once I’m settled and clipped into my saddle I turn back to my brothers once more. Jace and Vermax shoot into the sky and his dragon alights the sky with dragon flame. Luke and I fly up in unison our dragons spitting flame and washing the world in red for a couple moments. 

Our dragons cry out and we dip down aiming for the approaching white hoard. We all separate and bathe the undead in a fiery bath. A horn is heard from behind us and we hear the war cries from our host as they clash with the dead. A cool wind sweeps down from the north and I gasp as the world is cast in a blizzard. Our dragons cry out at being blinded and spit fire around the skies hoping to find a break. 

My heart beats wildly as my dragon and I try to find our way to the ground. He dives down spraying flame to clear our path and once we land we’re engulfed in flame as Luke lands next to me. White walkers approach us an instant later and our dragons call out as we’re surrounded. Luke and I dismount and pull our blades. There’s no time for hesitation as we begin swinging. Where our blade lands death follows and our dragons finish them with flame. I risk a glance into the skies for Jace and shake my head as I see nothing.

This has to work. It couldn’t have all been for nothing. All of the death and loss had to have meant something. My emotions pour into Dark Sister as I begin to court death. I hear Lukes grunts from a couple feet away as he’s engaged in a dance with two white walkers. I gape as he cuts them both down and doesn’t falter before he moves to the next. Pride surges in my chest as I focus on the walkers in front of me. As I swing my blade the blizzard begins to let up and I can finally see the host around us and see we’re not too far from the walls. 

The sun begins to rise washing the word in the normal gray as we continue to fight. I take small glances at the force around us and allow myself to smile as I see that a majority of us are still standing. I push off the walkers and run to Luke. 

“Mount Arrax and find Jace and then come and get me.” I take over the walkers he was dealing with as he shoots to the sky. I watch him fly north and turn my focus back in front of me. My dragon picks off the walkers that try to get to me when I’m further engaged. Arrax gives out a cry above me and I’m quickly mounting and flying after him. I follow him to the weirwood inside the walls and land running to the tree. There I spot Jace standing in front of a man made of ice. This clearly has to be the night King. 

“Jace,” I breathe out as I see the two Kings standing off. 

Jace lunges and their bodies are too close together to see what’s happening. Luke and I stand there frozen not knowing what to do. I hear a blade cut against flesh and I gasp. Jace staggers back hand still wrapped around Catspaw that is sticking out of the Kings chest. He twists and pulls it out swiftly and the King falls to the ground. Jace turns to us, blade in hand, and the sun begins to break through the clouds. It casts across Jaces face and the weirwood behind him. 

⊹˚₊‧꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

It’s been six moons since the sun shone upon our faces again. The losses the realm endured were too many to count. Rebuilding has taken time and will take longer than our own lives allow. Jacaerys was coronated in Winterfell before we flew to Kings Landing to see what remained. We all have been slowly healing and moving forward. Today in the peak of summer as the sun is its highest Jacaerys will be coronated again before the masses in Kings Landing. 

The remaining Lords and Ladies of the realm stand on the dais beside us as a crown is placed on his brow by the new High Septon. This crown has been forged with dragon glass and valyrian steel and named after him as the Reclaimer. Jace smiles and nods to us before he turns to the crowd and they erupt in cheers. 

“Jacaerys Targaryen, First of his name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, the Reclaimer.” the High Septons voice reverberates off of the walls of the dragon pit as the crowd continues to cheer.

“I told you that the dragons would be able to reclaim the realm. I always believed in this outcome.” Benji whispers in my ear and I turn to him with a wide smile. 

“Stay here with us.” I look up to him with pleading eyes. “With me.” my voice soft.

“I wouldn’t dream of leaving you.” he dips down and places o kiss on my forehead.

“I should hope not or I would have to marry Cregan.” I smile up to him.

“Do not start.” his voice low as he pulls me against him before he pulls us off of the dais and he’s leading us into a carriage back to the Keep.

⊹˚₊‧꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

masterlist 🔌

this literally took over my mind for the past couple of days fr

taglist ✍️

@clarityisnofun @callsignwidow @gabriella-aesthetic @llynx7 @violetiss3lfish @ka1afbr @akiko-oo @papichulo120627 @lizzylovebooks280501 @thatgirl101blog @ashovertheriver @p45510n4f4shi0n @anaviieiraaa @zanygot7straykidsbonk @hueanhdang

[peachesofteal]

Ghoap x reader zombie apocalypse AU? 👀 just gonna leave that here...

Ooh anon you got me with this. Thought about it all night. A full fic of this dynamic in an apocalypse setting would be so good. Sadly, I don't have it in me to write an entire fic for this but I scratched it out as a dead disco au down below on my phone (I took bits and pieces of zombie media and smashed them together as I like):

18+ MDNI / angst, death

It was an accident.

All you had wanted to do was try to find some mushrooms. You knew this part of the woods usually had a fair amount to forage, and you were pretty good at distinguishing the good ones from the not so good ones. You hadn't meant to get distracted.

You knelt down to the forest floor, picking at a piece of bark on a downed log when you heard the rustling, the suspect sound of something moving through the brush near you.

You expected one of the slow ones. The ones that usually found themselves this far from the city, wandering aimlessly, looking for the next meal. Decaying and rotting flesh hanging from their limbs, a sign they had been long infected, the decomposition marking them as something easily escapable.

You did not expect a runner.

You screamed- a huge no no, as Simon had been drilling into your head- when you saw it, far too late, tripping over yourself to try to get away, your hunting knife pressed into the palm of your hand.

You stood little chance against a runner. They were fresh, muscles still intact, lactic acid burning through their bodies, movements fast and sharp, able to take down an entire human in one fell swoop. They even looked like you, still holding their pallor, their posture, their fine motor skills.

Only their minds were gone. Addled by the infection, brains turned to hot mush inside their skulls.

They had one objective.

Eat.

You managed to clear the log, sprinting as fast as you possibly could, trying to take long, deep breaths through your nose just as Johnny taught you.

"More oxygen that way, love. It'll help your endurance, keep you runnin' longer."

They were always doing that now, equipping you for survival. Trying to train you like a solider, teaching you the finer points they thought you should know.

"We're gonna make it, together." Simon had said, the morning they showed up in the middle being away for work, clad in full tactical gear, guns in hand. "As a family."

"Ye have to listen to everything we say, alright darling? Everything's goin' to be okay." Johnny promised at the same time as you tried to pack some essentials into your backpack with trembling fingers.

They were obsessed with trying to instill as much of their knowledge into as possible, trying to prepare you, help you, listing off rules they thought were key, ensuring you knew to follow them.

One being: don't get distracted.

You curse yourself, feet flying underneath your body and heart thrumming in your chest with panic. You're too slow, and you can hear it behind you, sprinting just as fast as you are, preparing to launch and take down it's next meal.

You don't see the snare of brambles until you're in them, nearly slamming to a stop, thorns scratching against your skin as you fight against the thicket. It's too dense, slowing your ability to get away... and the runner is still hot on your heels, working its way through the mess, snapping its jaw like a shark.

Simon comes out of nowhere. One second you're hacking away at the branches and the next, there's a massive, solid warmth at your back, standing between you and the snarling monster. He's facing away from you, brandishing a knife, engaged in a full fight with the runner, taking it to the ground in an attempt to get the blade into its temple. You watch mouth wide, frozen, holding your breath until the job is done, and Simon is hauling himself upwards, pulling you into his arms before stepping back to look you over.

You burst into tears. You've always told them, you're not for this kind of world. You're too gentle, too sensitive. You're a painter, for fucks sake. Not a killer. You're too soft to survive.

They say it doesn't matter. That you can be as soft as you want, because you have them, and they'll be the killers. They'll be the hard ones.

"Did it get you? Let me see, c'mon-" He checks your arms, your neck, the tear on your shirt but finds nothing. "Alright, you're alright." He's telling you, and himself, relief exhaling from his body with each syllable. "You're alright, darling. I've got ya. Come here." He holds you tight, rubbing your back, kissing your cheek, your forehead until you're calm, breathing deeply and wiping your face.

You believe the worst has passed, until you blink up at him, and see the blood on his neck.

The bite.

"We need to make a plan."

"We're nae makin' a bloody plan." Johnny hisses, and Simon closes his eyes like he's tired. "We keep goin'. We'll make it to the rendezvous with Price and they'll have a solution. We dinnae even know how fast it spreads."

Simon lets loose a sigh, heavy with exhaustion. With the toll that this life has become. With the weight, of everything. He tucks you into his body, wrapping his other arm around Johnny, and holds the two of you close. Tightly. Tighter than he ever has before.

"Alright."

The next morning, everything is different.

You woke up last, fire still barely smoldering, little energy bar on the ground next to you. The guys sleeping bags were already rolled up, stacked neatly with Simon's pack, and the long gun that Johnny carries.

But they were nowhere to be found.

Confused, you slid free, stretching with a silent groan, scanning your surroundings until you spot them on the edge of the woods, locked together on their feet, Johnny's face mashed against Simon's neck, strong arms holding him close.

"What's going on?" The question comes out confused when you get close, and Johnny pulls away with wet eyes, hands shaking. What's happening? Why are they both crying? Fear screams through your body, red alert systems firing up as your brain struggles to put all the pieces together.

"Simon-" Johnny begins, but stops abruptly, eyes slamming shut, lips pressed together in agony.

"'m not feelin' too well." Simon explains gently. "You and Johnny are gon’ start on ahead, and 'm gonna stay here for a while." Something, something logical, something smart, is shouting at you from the back of your mind but you shove it away, opting for delusion instead.

"Okay, you're going to catch up though, right? You said. We'll find-" You frowned, looking from him to Johnny as a sick feeling grew in your stomach. "Johnny?"

“Look at me.” Simon combs through your hair with trembling fingers, unsteady for the first time in your entire existence. “I love you, darling. I love you so, so much.”

“S-stop, we're supposed to stay together, you- you said-“

“You have to go with Johnny now, okay? He’s gonna take care of you.” He jerks you forward, closed mouth pressing against your forehead. "I love you."

“No, Si.” You sob, fingers curled in his vest. “You have to come with us. You have to, we’ll fi-find a cure, they’ll be help, somewhere.”

“Johnny.” He chokes, and a strong arm wraps around your waist, Johnny’s heavy, tearful breathing echoing just above your ear. Someone works your fingers free, pulling your hand away but not letting go, holding onto you like a lifeline.

You look up between him, to his face, to Simon’s and realize. They’ve already said goodbye.

Simon strokes the back of his fingers down Johnny’s cheek, tears dripping down his own.

“I love you both, more than anything. More than life.” He squeezes your hand, rubbing a thumb over the back of your knuckles, and then steps away, pulling the handgun from the holster on his thigh. "Take care of each other."

"NO!" you scream, but Johnny is dragging you backwards like a rag doll, away from where Simon stands in clearing, gaze never breaking from the two of you, face wet with tears. "Johnny!"

"Darling-" he chokes out amidst a sob. "Shhh, please. Please." He begs you to be quiet, to hush, but you can't, you can't stop screaming, or fighting him, trying to get back to Simon, to reunite your family, to stay together. You scream and scream until Johnny’s hand claps over your mouth, his own words clogged by his cries, pleading and begging until he's cutting off your oxygen with a desperate apology and lifting you over his shoulder like dead weight.

The last thing you hear before you lose consciousness is the sound of a gunshot.

[satorulovebot]

CURSED SEAS CHAPTER ONE | the rouge captain.

↳ satoru gojou x reader

genre. heavy angst, pirate au, 18+ 

tags/warnings. alcohol, religious themes, death, themes of depression, and criminal activity, it's a pretty tame chapter tbh.

notes. 6.2k wc. yeah we’re back baby with another series because i can’t sit still. i saw fan art (image 1) and (image 2) of pirate gojo and said yk what i’m gonna do a pirates of the caribbean inspired series. idk enjoy some brain rot. also know just like my introductory paragraphs my first chapters are ass and fast-paced.

next. HELP WANTED!

general masterlist -> series masterlist

Captain Satoru Gojou.

You had heard whispers of the infamous Captain Gojou for years. His name was spoken with fear in every port town along the coast. Some say he is invincible, that his ship, the Infinity, is the fastest to ever sail the seas. Others claimed he was dangerous, ruthless, and cunning—a man who showed no mercy to those he deemed too weak to survive in his world.

A few years back, a body washed up on the shore of Saltstone Port. The man, who was no older than twenty-five, had his eyes gouged out of his skull, and the number six was carved into the pale skin of his back. 

The discovery shocked the quiet little town, but it would not be the last time a mutilated body washed up on the shores of Saltstone Port.

You don’t miss the stagnant air at Saltstone Port. The salty breeze, tinged with the scent of rotting fish and seaweed, clung to everything it touched. It was a place where tales of Captain Gojou’s cruelty were whispered in darkened alleys and over dimly lit tavern tables, the memory of that unfortunate soul with the number six forever haunting the minds of those who dared to speak of it.

As you stood at the edge of the small dock in Elysport, you stared out at the vast ocean. You had always wondered if there was something more beyond the horizon at Saltsone and Elysport. You had only moved to Elysport in the last few years; your father claimed that it was God’s will for you to move after the death of your beloved mother.

You were just ten years old when your mother vanished without a trace, disappearing one night after her shift at the tavern. It was as if the earth had swallowed her whole, leaving no sign of where she had gone or what might have happened. The days that followed were a blur of confusion and fear, the house feeling emptier than ever without her warm presence.

Your father was a broken man during the weeks your mother was missing. Each night, he would fall to his knees, clasping his hands in desperate prayer. His voice, once strong and filled with faith, now trembled as he pleaded with whatever higher power might be listening to bring his beloved wife back to him and his young daughter. He prayed until his voice was hoarse, until tears stained his cheeks until the candles had burned down to their wicks. He sought solace in his faith, but with each passing day, the weight of uncertainty grew heavier, casting a shadow over your home.

He searched tirelessly for answers, combing the streets and questioning anyone who might have seen her. But no matter how hard he looked or how many prayers he whispered, the silence was deafening. Your mother, the heart of your small family, had simply vanished, leaving behind only questions and a growing sense of dread.

Nine agonizing weeks later, your mother’s body was discovered in a small, rotting, long-abandoned boat that had been stranded on the beach for years. You only caught a brief, heart-wrenching glimpse of her before the smallfolk, who had loved her dearly, carried her away. The once beautiful features of her face had decayed beyond recognition, maggots crawling across what little flesh remained.

Your father was utterly broken by the loss. He couldn’t understand why God would allow such cruelty to befall his family. The woman he had vowed to cherish and grow old with was gone, leaving him consumed by grief and bitterness. He became distant, his once-steady faith shaken to its core. He could not understand who would do this to his wife—a kind-hearted tavern worker known for offering a warm meal to anyone in need. The only conclusion that made sense to him was that pirates were to blame. In his mind, they were the only people capable of such barbarism, convinced that only they would commit such a gruesome act against the mother of his child.

Your father has always been a devout Christian. He was a pastor at the local church when you lived in Saltstone Port. His sermons were filled with messages of mercy and compassion. He always insisted that no one was beyond salvation, preaching that even pirates can be redeemed in the eyes of God.

But after your mother’s death, everything changed. His grief and anger warped his perspective, changing his view of life and love. The man who once preached forgiveness now called for the public execution of pirates, believing their crimes deserved the worst punishment hell could offer. An obsession now consumed him—a kind man who once spoke of compassion whose life was forever darkened by the loss of the woman he loved.

You now found yourself in Elysport, a bustling coastal city where the line between law and lawlessness begins to blur. The city's horizon is filled with the estates of wealthy merchants and the Governor’s home, a stark contrast to the docks below. The docks are always crowded, constantly filled with ships from all around the world, their sails billowing in the wind as they unload goods from distant lands. The scent of exotic spices and the sounds of vibrant marketplaces fill the air, mingling with the salty tang of the nearby sea.

In Elysport, you worked as a clerk for a small merchant. Your days were spent tallying registries, managing shipments, and handling mundane trade details. But your nights were different. They were filled with dreams of adventure, of sailing beyond the horizon where the sea meets the sky. Stories of legendary pirates and hidden treasures had always fascinated you, sparking a curiosity you kept hidden behind your daily life. Yet, you never imagined that those stories might come crashing into your own life one day.

One evening, as you were closing up shop, an old man stumbled into the store. His appearance was startling, to say the least—his clothes were tattered, his face weathered, and his hair a tangled mess. 

“Hello? Can I help you?” you called out from behind the counter, your voice slightly muffled by the shelves that obstructed you from view.

The man didn’t answer your question. Instead, his gaze darted around the shop, as if he was searching for anything suspicious that could get him in trouble. 

“You there!” he rasped, his voice rough. “I need a place to hide this.”

Your curiosity piqued at his words, you stepped out from behind the counter and faced the strange man who had entered just before closing. You assumed he was another last-minute customer, probably looking to buy something or bargain for a better price, knowing how tired workers down by the docks could be at this hour. 

You were curious but hesitant as you took the box from him. To your surprise, It was heavy for its size. The surface was adorned with intricate carvings, worn in places over time.

“What is this?” you asked, turning the box over to examine it more closely. The craftsmanship was remarkable, but there was something about it—something almost sinister.

The man watched you closely, his eyes never leaving your face. "It’s a map.” he said, "But not just any map. This map leads to something... powerful. Something that has been lost for centuries, tales of it told through generations of pirates, hidden away from those who would abuse its power."

You looked up at him, eyes wide and filled with curiosity. Why are you giving this to me?" you asked again, your voice trembling.

The man’s expression softened, a look of something almost like pity crossing his face. "Because you’re the one meant to find it," he said simply. "You’re the one who has been chosen."

"Chosen?" you whispered. "Chosen by whom? For what?"

The man smiled faintly, but there was a sadness in his eyes that made you uneasy. "You’ll understand in time," he said. "But know this: you must keep the map safe. Others would do anything to get their hands on it—dangerous people who won’t hesitate to kill for it."

Your breath caught in your throat at his words. You had always dreamed of sailing the seas looking for adeventure, but this... this… this was something else entirely. This was real, and it was dangerous.

You stared at him blankly, your mind racing as you tried to process the words the strange man had been saying. This was no ordinary treasure map. This was something that was hidden away for a reason.

"Why me?" you asked, your voice trembling. "Why would you trust me with something like this?"

The man’s eyes softened again, and he reached out to place a hand on your shoulder. "Because you’re different," he said quietly. "You have a strength in you that others don’t. You have a heart that won’t be easily swayed by greed or power. And most importantly... you have a destiny to fulfill."

His words hung in the air, heavy with meaning that you couldn’t fully grasp. You wanted to ask the strange man more, to demand answers to the questions swirling in your mind, but something in the man’s eyes told you that he had already said all he could.

"Keep the map safe," he repeated, his voice firm. "And trust your instincts."

Before you could say anything else, the man turned and walked out the door, disappearing into the darkness of the night. You stood there for a pregnant moment, the map clutched in your hands, your mind reeling from everything that had just happened.

You looked down at the map again, the tips of your fingers trace the markings, as if trying to unlock the secrets they hold. This was it. This was what you had always dreamed of, but it was also something far more dangerous, something that could get you killed.

You knew you couldn’t do this alone. You needed help, and there was only one place you could think of where you might find it.

The merchant’s ball.

It was an event you had never been invited to before—a grand affair where the city’s most powerful and influential figures gathered. But now, with the map, you knew you had to find a way in. You needed to find someone who could help you decipher it, someone who had the knowledge and connections to help you.

As the night of the ball approached, you found yourself growing more and more restless with each passing day. The very idea of the map’s existence gnawed at the back of your mind, its mysteries out of reach. The old man’s warning lingered in your mind, too—a treasure beyond your wildest dreams, but cursed. It was a puzzle you couldn’t solve on your own, and it only fueled your determination to get an invitation to the Merchant’s Ball.

But getting an invitation was easier said than done. The ball was exclusive, and the guest list was closely guarded. You knew you couldn’t simply walk in off the street, no matter how determined you were. You needed connections, and though you had some, they were weak connections at best. Your mind raced as you considered your options, running through the names of merchants and traders you had helped over the years. Some owed you favors, but whether those favors were enough to get you into the ball was another matter entirely.

You decided to start with a merchant you knew well—a grizzly man named Marcus, who had been in Elysport for decades. You had helped him with his inventory more than once, making sure that certain shipments went unnoticed by the authorities, and he had always been grateful for your help. You found him in his usual place, a small tavern near the docks.

“Marcus!” you greeted him with a smile as you approached his table.

He looked up, his weathered face breaking into a grin. “Ah, it’s you. Come to save me from my spending again?”

“Not this time,” you replied, taking a seat across from him. “I need a favor.”

His smile faded slightly, and he set down his flagon of ale. “A favor, eh? What kind of favor?”

You hesitated, choosing your words carefully. “I need an invitation to the Merchant’s Ball.”

Marcus leaned back in his chair, his eyebrows raised. “The ball? That’s a big favor, lass. Those invitations are hard to come by.”

“I know,” you admitted. “But I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

He studied you for a moment, his eyes searching your face. “What’s this about? You’re not one for fancy parties.”

You looked around the tavern, ensuring no one was listening, then leaned in closer. “I’ve come across something… valuable. But I need help deciphering it. The ball is my best chance to find someone who can.”

Marcus’s expression turned serious. “Something valuable, you say? What kind of valuable?”

“I can’t say too much,” you said, lowering your voice. “But it’s big, Marcus. If I can figure it out, it could change everything.”

He was silent for a moment, considering your words. Finally, he nodded. “All right. I can get you in. But you’ll owe me for this, understand?”

You nodded, a smile present on your face. “Thank you, Marcus. I won’t forget it.”

True to his word, Marcus got you an invitation, and the day of the ball soon arrived. You spent hours preparing, trying to calm the nervous flutter in your stomach. The dress you chose was simple yet elegant, a deep blue silk that flowed like water as you moved. You had never worn anything so fine before, and as you looked at yourself in the mirror, you barely recognized the woman staring back at you. But tonight wasn’t about appearances—it was about seizing an opportunity, about finding answers to the questions that had been plaguing your mind since that fateful night in the shop.

When the carriage finally arrived to take you to the Governor’s Palace, you felt a mixture of excitement and fear. The city seemed more alive than usual as you made your way through the cobblestone streets, the sounds of laughter and music drifting on the night air. As the palace came into view, its tall columns were bathed in the warm glow of hundreds of lanterns. The grandeur of it all was overwhelming and it was a far cry from the rough and weathered streets of Elysport that you were used to.

You clutched your invitation tight as you approached the entrance, the doorman barely glancing at it before stepping aside to let you pass. The moment you stepped inside, you were encompassed in a world of luxury, unlike anything you had ever seen. The foyer was vast with marble floors gleaming under the light of large crystal chandeliers. Ornate tapestries adorned the walls, depicting scenes of grand battles and lavish feasts. Servants moved about with precision, carrying trays of champagne and delicate hors d'oeuvres, while the guests—dressed in their finest silks and satins—murmuring amongst themselves, their laughter filling the air.

You followed the flow of people into the main ballroom, your heart pounding as you took in the sight before you. The room was massive, with tall, arched windows that offered a view of the moonlit gardens outside. The walls were painted in rich, warm tones, and the floor was a mosaic of polished marble that reflected the golden light of the chandeliers. Musicians played soft melodies in one corner, their music blending in seamlessly with the murmur of conversation.

For a moment, you hesitated, feeling out of place. You had never been in a setting like this, surrounded by wealth and power. But you squared your shoulders, reminding yourself of the reason you were here. You weren’t just a simple clerk from the docks anymore; tonight, you were a woman with a purpose, a secret map, and a mission.

The ballroom was extravagant, to say the least. It made you feel sick that only a select few could enjoy things like this without worrying when their next meal would be or if they would be able to afford basic necessities. But were you any better than these people? After all the only reason you’re here is because you have good connections, just like the people in this room.

As you look to your left, you notice the couples dancing around the floor, their conversations blending in with the soft music. It was all very odd, like a dream you didn't want to wake up from.

“Enjoying the festivities?” A smooth and confident voice interrupted your thoughts. You turned to see a tall figure standing just a few feet away, his face obscured by a mask similar to yours.

You felt a shiver run down your spine, though you couldn’t quite figure out why. There was something about him, something unsettling in the way he carried himself, in the way he seemed to command the space around him. His mask was pale, almost ghostly, with intricate blue patterns that drew your gaze.

“I suppose,” you replied, keeping your voice light, though the unease you felt was seeping into your words. “These sorts of events are always a bit... overwhelming.”

He chuckled softly, the sound rich and smooth, “Yes, they can be,” he agreed, taking a step closer, his eyes—bright and unnervingly blue—locked onto yours through the slits in his mask. “But they can also be... enlightening if you know where to look.”

You felt your heart skip a beat, your mind racing as you tried to understand his words. Was he just making conversation, or was there something more to his statement? You couldn’t tell, and that made you more on edge.

“Is that so?” you asked, forcing a smile as you took another sip of your champagne, trying to calm your nerves.

He nodded, his gaze never wavering. “Indeed. You’d be surprised what you can learn at a gathering like this, especially if you keep your eyes and ears open.”

There was something in the tone of his voice, something that made you think he wasn’t just talking about useless gossip or civil conversation, at something deeper, something more dangerous, and it set you on edge.

The two of you sat in silence for a brief moment.

“Do you come to these kinds of events often?” you asked, trying to change the topic of conversation, though you couldn’t shake the feeling that this man was anything but safe.

“From time to time,” he said with a shrug. “But tonight is special. Tonight, I’m here for something—someone—quite specific.”

Your breath caught in your throat and you felt a chill run down your spine. It was the way he said it, the way his eyes seemed to pierce through you like daggers, it was as if he knew exactly who you were and what you were here for.

But, that was impossible, you thought to yourself. You were just a clerk, a regular person caught up in something far beyond your understanding. There was no way he could know about the map, about the treasure. No one knew. No one except—

“Do I know you?” you asked, the question slipping out of your mouth before you could stop yourself.

His smile widened, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Perhaps,” he said vaguely, his voice a low murmur that sent another shiver down your spine. “Or perhaps you’ll get to know me soon enough.”

Before you could respond, before you could even process his words, the doors to the ballroom burst open with a deafening boom. The music stopped abruptly, the room falling into shocked silence as everyone turned to see what happened.

A group of masked men stormed into the room, their swords drawn as they advanced on the crowd. Panic erupted, the guests screaming and scrambling to get away as the intruders began tearing through the ballroom, overturning tables, smashing glass, and sending the wealthy world of the Elysport elite into chaos.

You barely had time to react before you felt the man’s hand on your arm, pulling you toward the nearest exit. His grip was firm, his expression unreadable beneath the mask as he guided you through the panicked crowd, dodging the chaos that surrounded you.

“Stay close,” he ordered, his voice calm despite the madness. “We’re not done yet.”

And with that, you were swept away into the night, the sound of the destruction behind you fading as the mysterious man led you away from the scene, leaving you to wonder who he really was—and what he wanted with you.

The cool night air hit your face as you were pulled out of the grand ballroom and into the dimly lit streets of Elysport. The contrast between the noise and chaos of the ball and the quiet moonlit streets was jarring. You were still reeling from the events that had unfolded, your heart pounding in your chest, and your mind racing with questions.

The man holding your hand was strong, his grip firm but not painful, leading you through the labyrinth of narrow alleyways that twisted and turned through the dark city like a maze. The commotion of the party faded into the background, replaced by the distant sounds of the sea and the occasional creak of a ship down at the docks. The city was alive with the whispers of its nightlife, but you felt completely alone, alone with this stranger who seemed to know everything about you.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he slowed his pace and came to a stop in a small and secluded courtyard. The stone walls of the surrounding buildings loom above you and the walls cast deep shadows that obscured your surroundings. The man released your hand, leaving you standing in the center of the courtyard.

As you took a moment to catch your breath, thoughts reeled through your mind. Who was this man? What did he want with you? And why had he chosen to rescue you from the ball? You looked around, trying to get a sense of where you were, but the courtyard was unfamiliar, and the darkness made it almost impossible to see anything.

Before you could gather your thoughts, the man stepped forward again, more calculated and more predatory. His movements were fluid as if he were completely at ease in the darkness. He reached up, and with a swift motion, removed the mask that had concealed his face.

You gasped, taking a step back as the light of the moon revealed his features. The man standing before you was impossibly handsome, his striking blue eyes piercing through the shadows with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. His white hair, which had been partially hidden beneath the mask, now fell loosely around his face, giving him an almost ethereal appearance. But it was the look in his eyes that truly unsettled you—as if he could see right through you.

"You're a difficult person to track down," he said, his voice smooth and confident, with a hint of amusement.

You took another step back, your mind racing. "Who are you?" you demanded, trying to keep your voice steady.

He tilted his head slightly, a small, almost playful smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "Who I am isn't important," he replied his tone light, almost amused. "What matters is what I know."

A chill ran down your spine at his words. You felt like a cornered animal, trapped with no way out. "W-what do you want from me?" you stuttered, trying to keep the fear out of your voice.

His smile widened slightly, but his eyes remained cold and calculating. "You know what I want," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "You have something that belongs to me."

Your heart skipped a beat, and your thoughts immediately jumped to the map. How did he know about that? The old man had warned you that it was cursed, that it would bring you nothing but trouble, but you didn't think it would be anything like this.

The man's smile faded, and his expression grew more serious. He took a step closer, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied you. "Don't play games with me," he warned, his voice low and dangerous. "I know you have the map. And I know you've been looking into it."

"I don't have it," you insisted. "I got rid of it."

The man raised an eyebrow, clearly not believing you. "Is that so?" he took a step forward, "Because from what I've heard, you've been asking around about certain landmarks. Places that just so happen to match the ones on the map."

Your heart sank. He knew too much. There was no point in lying anymore. But you couldn't just hand the map over to him—not without knowing who he was and what he planned to do with it.

"Why do you want it?" you asked, trying to buy yourself some time. "What's so important about this treasure?"

The man studied you for a moment, his expression unreadable. "That's none of your concern," he said finally, his tone dismissive. "All you need to know is that it's mine. And I intend to get it back."

"And if I don't give it to you?" you challenged.

He smiled again, but this time there was no warmth in it. "Then I'll take it from you," he said as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

You stared at him, trying to gauge his intentions. There was something about him—something dangerous and unpredictable—that made you believe he wasn't bluffing. But at the same time, you couldn't just give up the map. Not without knowing what it was all about, and what it could lead to.

"I need more time," you said finally, hoping to stall him. "Let me think about it."

The man studied you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, to your surprise, he nodded. "Very well," he said. "But don't take too long. I'm not a patient man."

He turned to leave, but then paused mid-way, glancing back at you over his shoulder. "Oh, and one more thing," he added, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "Don't try to run. I'll find you. No matter where you go."

With that, he disappeared into the shadows, leaving you alone in the courtyard. You stood there for a moment, your heart pounding in your chest, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Who was this man? How did he know so much about you? And what was he planning to do with the map?

You knew you had to be careful. Whatever this treasure was, it was clearly important enough for someone like him to go to great lengths to get it. But at the same time, you couldn't just hand it over without knowing more. You had to find out what this was about—before it was too late.

You quickly made your way back to your small house, your mind racing with thoughts of what to do next. You weren't going to let anyone intimidate you—not even someone as dangerous as him.

As you reached your door, you paused, glancing around nervously. The man's warning echoed in your mind—he would find you, no matter where you went. But you couldn't let that stop you. You had to find out the truth, no matter the cost.

With a deep breath, you unlocked the door and stepped inside. The map was hidden in a small, secret compartment in the floorboards—a place you thought no one would think to look. You retrieved it, carefully unfolding the worn parchment and studying the markings on it.

You had to figure out what this map was leading to, and why it was so important. As you stared at the map, a new plan began to form in your mind. You would find someone new who could help you decipher it—someone who knew the legends of the sea better than anyone else. And then, you would find the treasure before anyone else could.

But even as you made your plans, you couldn't shake the feeling that you were being watched. The man's piercing blue eyes seemed to haunt your every thought, his warning lingering in the back of your mind.

You knew you were playing a dangerous game. But you had no choice.

And so, with the map clutched tightly in your hands, you made your decision. You would find the treasure—no matter what it took.

The city was bustling when you stepped out onto the streets, the late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the cobblestone road. You knew where you needed to go—there was a tavern on the edge of the city, where sailors and pirates would gather to share stories. It was a risky move, venturing into such a place, but you were running out of options.

As you made your way through the streets, you kept an eye out for any sign of the man from the night before. You couldn’t afford to be caught off guard again.

Finally, you reached the tavern, it was a weathered building with a creaky old sign hanging above the door. The scent of salt and ale greeted you as you stepped inside, the dimly lit interior filled with the low hum of conversation. You spotted a few rough-looking sailors at the bar, their eyes looking toward you with curiosity as you made your way to a secluded corner.

You ordered a drink as you tried to blend in, waiting for the right moment. You needed to be careful about who you approached—trust was a rare occurrence in a place like this.

As the minutes ticked by, you watched the patrons of the tavern by studying their movements and listening to parts of their conversations. You were looking for someone who seemed knowledgeable, someone who might have heard of the map or the treasure it led to.

Finally, your patience was rewarded. An old sailor whose face had been weathered by years at sea, sat down at the table next to yours. He wore a tattered grey coat and a wide-brimmed hat. He seemed like the kind of man who had seen his fair share of the world, the kind of man who might know more than he let on.

You took a deep breath, gathering your courage, and leaned toward him. "Excuse me," you said quietly, your voice steady. "I was wondering if you might be able to help me with something."

The sailor turned to look at you, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied you. "Depends on what you’re asking.”

You hesitated for a moment, unsure of how much to reveal to the man before you. But you had to take a chance. "I’m looking for information about a map," choosing your words with care. "A map that leads to a treasure. But I don’t know where to start."

The sailor’s eyes flickered with a hint of interest, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "A treasure map, you say?" he repeated, leaning back in his chair. "Well, now, that’s a dangerous thing to be looking for, especially in a place like this."

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. "I know it’s risky," you admitted. "But I need to find out what this map leads to. And I was hoping you might know something about it."

The sailor stroked his chin thoughtfully, his eyes never leaving yours. "There’s a lot of talk about treasures and maps in these parts," he said slowly. "Most of it’s just nonsense, stories made up to entertain drunk sailors. But every now and then, you hear about something real—something worth risking your life for."

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "If you’ve got a map, and it’s real, you’d better be careful who you share it with. There are people out there who would do anything to get their hands on a treasure like that."

You swallowed hard with the weight of his words sinking in. "I understand," you said quietly. "That’s why I’m being careful. But I need to know more about what I’m dealing with."

The sailor nodded slowly, his gaze thoughtful. "Alright," he said finally. "I’ll tell you what I know. But it won’t come cheap."

You reached into your pocket, pulling out a small pouch of coins. It wasn’t much, but it was all you had. "Will this be enough?" you asked, hoping it would suffice.

The sailor took the pouch, weighing it in his hand before nodding in approval. "It’ll do," he said, tucking the pouch into his coat. "Now, let me see that map of yours."

You hesitated for a moment before reaching into your bag and pulling out the map. You unfolded it carefully, laying it out on the table between you. The sailor leaned over, his eyes scanning the markings and symbols.

After a few moments, he let out a low whistle. "Well, I’ll be damned," he muttered, more to himself than to you. "This is the real deal."

You leaned forward eagerly, your heart racing. "What does it say?"

The sailor glanced up at you, his expression serious. "This map," he said slowly, "leads to a place that’s been whispered about for generations. A place where a great pirate captain supposedly buried his most valuable treasures. But it’s not just gold and jewels we’re talking about. There are stories of powerful artifacts."

"But it’s not going to be easy," the sailor continued. "The path to that treasure is full of danger. There are traps, curses, and worse things that guard it. And if you’re not careful, you’ll end up just like the others who’ve tried and failed to find it."

You felt a chill run down your spine at his words. "What do you mean, 'the others'?" your voice barely above a whisper.

The sailor’s expression darkened. "There have been others before you," he said quietly. "People who thought they could outsmart the dangers and claim the treasure for themselves. But none of them ever made it back. Their ships were found wrecked, their crews dead or missing. And those who survived were driven mad by what they found."

You swallowed hard, the gravity of the situation sinking in. "So, what do I do?" you asked, your voice trembling slightly.

The sailor looked at you for a long moment before speaking. "If you’re serious about this, you’ll need to prepare yourself," he said. "Find a crew you can trust, people who know how to handle themselves in a fight. And most importantly, keep that map close. There are others who would kill to get their hands on it."

You nodded, "I’ll do whatever it takes."

The sailor nodded, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips. "You’ve got spirit, I’ll give you that," he said. "Just be careful. This world is full of dangers, and not all of them are as obvious as a pirate’s blade."

With that, he stood up, tipping his hat to you before turning to leave. "Good luck, lass," he said over his shoulder. "You’re going to need it."

You watched him go, your mind racing with everything he had told you. The treasure was real, and it was more dangerous than you could have ever imagined. But you were determined to find it, no matter what it took.

You took the map and carefully folded it and tucked it back into your bag. With a deep breath, you stood up and left the tavern, your heart pounding in your chest. You had a lot of work to do, and there was no time to waste.

As you walked back through the city streets, the weight of the map seemed heavier than ever. You knew you were about to embark on a journey that would change your life forever, one that would test your courage, your resolve, and your very soul.

But despite the fear that lingered in the back of your mind, there was also a sense of excitement—a thrill at the thought of uncovering something that had been hidden away for centuries that not even the best pirates could find.

You had the map and you had the determination, now all you needed was the right people. And once you had that, there would be nothing stopping you from finding the treasure and claiming it for yourself.

The night was still young as you made your way back to your small home. You were ready to face whatever challenges came your way, to risk everything for the chance to uncover the secrets of the map.

And as you reached your door, the words of the mysterious man from the ball echoed in your mind: "I’ll find you, no matter where you go."

You knew he was out there, watching, waiting for the right moment to strike. But you weren’t afraid. You were ready for whatever came next.

series masterlist -> chapter 2

[shintin]

Forbidden Flames

↳ Gojo Satoru x Female Reader

One-shot

Summary: Satoru Gojo receives a letter, inviting him to a secluded cottage in the forest. Is it a trap by curse users or a haunting memory trying to scratch his wounds?

Or a story about how You and Satoru Gojo fucked after years.

Word count: +11 k.

Genre: explicit smut, romance, angst (Jujutsu Kaisen au).

Warnings/Tags: +18, NSFW, reader-insert, no Y/N, post-breakup, soft Satoru Gojo, curse user reader, no death, too much fluff and kissing, cunnilingus, creampie, fingering, unprotected sex (c’mon! we all want this), multiple orgasms, hair pulling, tear licking, emotional trauma, emotional sex, no manga spoilers.

Notes: Hey there! I wrote this because Gege Akutami left an emotional mark on me. So, you know...

You can read the "Disclaimers" at the end.

Song Recommendation: Forbidden Flames Playlist

You can read my fics on AO3. If you have any questions, don’t be shy and ASK.

Back to masterlist

As the afternoon sun cast long shadows through the dense foliage, a mysterious man with stark white hair and a black blindfold stepped into the heart of the desolate wilderness. Satoru Gojo. The air hung heavy with the earthy scent of wet soil mingling with the musty aroma of decaying leaves, a reminder of the rainstorm that had visited the night before.

Every step he took got lost between the giggles and hisses of harmless curses hiding behind the trees with fear. The ground beneath his feet was carpeted with a mosaic of fallen leaves, their vibrant red, orange, and gold colors now muted and lifeless, as if drained of all vitality. Some of them, with still a breath to take, crunched beneath his weight, the sound of a heartrending dirge that reverberated through the desolation.

Tall, gnarled trees stood sentinel on either side, their branches reaching out like skeletal fingers as if yearning to trap the unwary. Their towering forms were shrouded in darkness, their essence reduced to withered remnants. They whispered mournful laments in the wind, their voices carrying tales of forgotten sorrows.

The forest, once flourishing and thriving, now seemed like a tragic tableau frozen in time. The canopy above formed a suffocating barrier that only got disturbed by the man's ethereal presence. Wild ferns brushed against his legs, leaving behind a trace of dew upon his black trousers. The moist ground yielded beneath his every step as if reluctant to release its grip from his boots' footprints.

As he pressed further into the jungle, the darkness deepened, the path twisting and turning like a labyrinth of despair. The shadows grew longer, stretching out like grasping tendrils as if eager to ensnare his soul. The silence became oppressive, broken only by the occasional painful cry of a distant creature.

The cottage he had received its address stood as a solitary figure amidst the gloomy jungle, a crumbling monument to forgotten dreams. Its dilapidated walls whispered of lost hopes and shattered promises, its windows veiled with white curtains.

With his hands casually tucked into his pockets, he watched the scene before him, a twisted smile playing upon his lips. He thought it was a perfect place, a trap waiting to spring him. But who would be foolhardy enough to challenge the strongest of all times?

But wait!

He couldn't feel any cursed energy! His six eyes were dumb. There was only one who could blind their watchful gaze.

So, when Satoru Gojo approached the house, his heart quickened after a long time, anticipation and anxiety coursing through his veins. The stage was set, the elements conspiring to test his resolve. Would he emerge from this shadowed encounter unscathed, or would the jungle claim yet another victim, lost to the depths of its sorrow-laden clutches?

Satoru's focus fixated on the doorknob, a slight gulp revealing his hesitation. Taking a deep breath, he turned and pushed open the door. The scent of something sweet enveloped his nostrils, a reminiscent embrace that momentarily distracted his senses. However, as his eyes met the sight that awaited him, an unexpected revelation struck him with a force that resurfaced long-forgotten memories.

The inside resembled an aged hideout, with wooden walls and colorful chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, casting warm, dappled patterns on the worn tatami floor. In the center of the room, a round table took its place, adorned with a vase of delicate forget-me-not flowers. Flanking the table were two chairs. And then, in the small kitchen stood the person who had left a void in his heart.

"You're late," your voice rang out in a cheerful tone, beckoning him forward. "Come inside. It's chilly out." With your back facing the door, you stood at the counter, appearing preoccupied with unwrapping something.

Caught in a maelstrom of emotions, Satoru's thoughts fragmented like scattered puzzle pieces, their intended purpose obscured by the inner turmoil. His hand held the doorknob tightly, trapped in a state of ambiguity, unable to release its grip.

Was this a mirage? How could it be that when you seemed precisely the way he had traced the outline of your body in the air while lying in bed, unable to sleep?

Yes, of course, there were nights when the desire to run his fingers through your hair filled his dreams. It was inevitable; your scent permeated everything, even riding on the breeze. There were days fatigue misled him, mistaking weariness for the embrace, he craved, only to discover the hollowness within his very bones. Your body was no longer curled around him, no comfort, and in your absence, each day left him icy, with lips turning blue and hands yearning for the warmth of your touch. He felt adrift in a blizzard, seeking the faint flicker of a fire you had extinguished.

What the fuck is wrong with you, Satoru? Think! Is this a manipulation technique?

And then, as if compelled by an unseen power, you turned your head, causing his heart to skip a beat—countless beats. You were undeniably real.

No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No.

Seeing you was akin to being hit in the knee with a bullet. Satoru's legs nearly gave way, his heart raced, and his hands turned clammy, almost causing him to collapse. He had never felt this urge to tear off his blindfold before, as your departure had happened so abruptly that he didn't have a chance to see you. Although he had committed every detail of you to memory, but this…this… witnessing it in person was an entirely different experience.

He stepped back, feeling the heaviness of the past, necessitating some distance. The harsh truths loomed, threatening to engulf him as he wrestled with the profound effect of your presence. Yet, he couldn't tear his gaze away from you, his mind struggling to comprehend the unfolding situation. The reality was so surreal, making it difficult for him to grasp that it was really occurring.

"Why are you just standing there?" you asked, holding a pack of his beloved Kikufuku mochis in your hands. A radiant smile graced your face, illuminating the damp room with its brightness.

He couldn't give two fucks about mochis when your face had that effect on him, always causing him to lose track of where he was, who he was, and what he might say or do. And that familiar smile, it killed him a little. His gaze remained there, lingering for too long, his concealed eyes giving away his thoughts. "Why do you have that look on your face?" you asked, tilting your head with curiosity and stepping closer to him.

As you stood before him, the closeness amplified the wave of emotions within him. Joy and disbelief raced through his veins. The fragrance that surrounded you, so hauntingly acquainted, sparked a rush of nostalgia.

Satoru Gojo was born with a specific purpose, a set of perfect eyes, and the weight of his lineage on his shoulders. He was reserved and calculated. When he mastered the Limitless technique, he concluded that infinite solitude was the only way to survive. Because how he could describe the experience of seeing everything, for when you see everything, you see nothing. An excess of color turns into pure black, an infinite void.

Yes, he was born with those six eyes. People never let him forget. But to you, his eyes were simply eyes. He recalled the first time you teased him about them and how his heart caught in his chest because he had never seen someone as vibrant and colorful as you.

It wasn't exactly love at first sight, but it was something like that. The first time he saw you, he felt it. An ache. Like a little electric burn. He felt his life changed.

Gradually, his loneliness began to dissipate. He found a place for himself in this chaotic world. With you, he could laugh, cry, joke around, and even be a brat. It was something no one could genuinely grasp—the feeling of finally being alive as a person. Before you, he felt he hadn't truly existed, merely scattered atoms in an indifferent universe following a predetermined path. But you changed everything. You dismantled and rebuilt him anew. You molded him, nurtured him, and despite him being the strongest, you kept him safe.

Without a noble title or material wealth, you were everything that went against the expectations of the Clan Elders. Yet, you stood faithfully by his side, precisely where he believed you belonged. Or at least, that's what he presumed.

Then, on that fateful day, the day he desperately wished was nothing more than a dreadful nightmare, reality unfolded before him. How could it be real? He stood there, confronted by the lifeless bodies of two Higher Ups and their protectors, with you covered in their blood. It was inconceivable. He couldn't accept that you were responsible for such a gruesome scene. Yet, you showed no remorse. You firmly believed it was the only solution, fed up with their destructive actions that brought ruin upon sorcerers deemed insignificant. You had accepted the notion that a problem without a remedy should be eradicated like an unwelcome weed.

On that day, he considered shaking your shoulders and demanding that you deny it all. He even contemplated going against everyone because what was the fucking point of wielding such power if he couldn't safeguard the woman he loved? The thought of quitting and escaping with you crossed his mind, too. He was willing to sacrifice everything: power, wealth, status, even his own life. However, you didn't desire any of those things.

His friend, Suguru Geto, once posed a question: Was he Satoru Gojo because he was the strongest, or was he the strongest because he was Satoru Gojo? At that time, he had no answer. A 17-year-old couldn't possibly find a response to such a profound question. However, when you entered his life, everything changed. Being the strongest lost its significance. He was just Satoru Gojo, and he was who he was because you loved him. His existence held meaning because you touched his life. He saw because he needed to gaze upon you. He spoke because he longed to hear your voice.

And then, similar to his best friend, after causing a bloodbath, you also walked out of his life. Yet, this time, it wasn't solely loneliness that engulfed him. It felt like one of his lungs had been taken away, and he heavied without you by his side through each passing moment. He became nothing once more. There was a hole in his life where you used to fit perfectly, and no matter what he did to try and fill it, nothing worked.

It was a strange anguish, a pain he never anticipated or conceived of. It consumed him from within, setting him ablaze with a profound emptiness. Then, defying the assumption that someone as formidable as him could experience sorrow, he was burdened with the task of erasing you. It was as if you were deemed nothing more than a blemish, a dishonor.

"What... what look?" he struggled to say, his voice tinged with a desperate yearning. Regret lingered in his tone as his words fell short. With a touch of vulnerability, he shut his eyes beneath the comforting confines of his blindfold, seeking refuge in the veil of darkness. Taking a deep breath, he consciously filled his lungs, using them as an anchor amidst the swirling storm of sensations enveloping him.

"That look," you remarked, your voice carrying a mischievous tone that floated in the atmosphere. "It's as if you don't trust me," you added teasingly. A few playful strands of hair escaped their intended position and delicately framed your face, casting a bewitching allure. An irresistible urge welled within him, compelling him to extend his hand and tuck those strands behind your ear—stupid muscle memory. However, he restrained himself, his hand suspended mid-air, resolute in resisting the magnetic pull of his desires.

"Why did you invite me here?" Satoru voiced, his grip on the doorknob loosening as the impact of reality settled upon him. The initial shock transformed into a lucid understanding. He wasn't oblivious. He knew that you were aware of his assignment to eliminate you. So, why? Was it because you recognized your unstoppable nature? Was it because you had realized that the blackhole existed within you, devouring everything you once held dear unless someone intervened?

"You could have refused to come, yet here you are," you whimsically remarked, a devilish glint in your eyes as you punctuated your words with a wink. You strolled over to the weathered table and set the pocket upon its aged surface.

"Cut it out!" Satoru snapped, his frustration mounting. "You know, I had no idea it was you!" His heart thumped in his chest, urging his feet to move forward, even as his mind screamed at him to flee. A sense of unease gripped him, acknowledging the futility of engaging in a battle he felt ill-prepared to win.

You turned towards him, a hint of a smile gracing your lips as your hands stayed concealed behind your back. Leaning against the chair, you arched an eyebrow, your eyes locked on him. "I have a feeling you knew it was me as soon as you arrived at the house," you declared, a jovial tone lacing your words. "After all, I'm the only one capable of concealing my cursed energy from you."

"We both know that I shouldn't be here. I—" Satoru's sentence dissolved, left unfinished, as your hand reached out, bridging the gap between you with a gentle touch. Infinity never worked with you. Even the very essence of the cursed energy recognized that you posed no threat to him. Furthermore, he would gladly provide you with any justification to touch him.

Lost in his reverie, Satoru suddenly became acutely aware of your presence. The magnitude of his longing and the depth of his yearning surged within him. In that instant, he recognized the immense emptiness you had left and how much he had missed you. Emotions swirled together, blending past and present, uncertainty and desire, in a delicate dance that would shape your fates.

"Why are you here, then?" you inquired, and his eyes met yours, reflecting the same yearning that dwelled in his heart. "Tell me, did you come in to kill me?" With a deliberate movement, you folded his fingers, molding them into the shape he would use to unleash his hollow purple. Bringing his hand close to your heart, you held it there. Despite the gravity of the situation, a soft smile adorned your lips.

He couldn't do this.

Taken aback by your unexpected gesture, Satoru swiftly withdrew his hand from your grasp. Anger and heartbreak swirled within him, entwining in a tumultuous storm. The realization hit him like a relentless wave, crashing against the shores of his consciousness. How had you drifted so far apart? When had the divergence between your paths become so profound that he failed to notice? The weight of your choice, to embrace the life of a curse user, to tread a road stained with blood, bore down upon him with a heavy burden. The pain on his face mirrored the fracture within his heart, a sense of loss mingling with a flicker of betrayal.

He wished he could say something. He wished he could start yelling, expressing all the thoughts and desires he had harbored since then—whether shouting, pouring out his heart, or expressing frustration. However, he adhered to the predetermined script you anticipated because he loved you unconditionally, unable to deny you anything.

"I didn't think so," you murmured, closing the gap between you, pressing your lips against his in a way that effortlessly eroded his resistance.

You tilted his face down, your hand caught somewhere behind his neck and the base of his jaw, and you kissed him softly and slowly, heat filling his blood with dangerous speed.

One of his hands naturally found its way to the back of your waist, holding you with a gentle yet possessive grasp, while the other securely clasped your arm, pulling you closer.

He felt incredible against you, your bodies fitting perfectly. Nothing ever came easier than kissing you. Every thought and worry wicked away, replaced by the feel of his mouth against your skin, his hand claiming your body.

In that moment, his eyes, his legacy, his clan's name, and the orders given about you faded away. This was his true purpose.

As your tongues entwined, a surge of electricity coursed through his veins, his body responding to the intoxicating enchantment of your touch. Your fingers traced the outline of his blindfold while others clung to his uniform as if he were your sole fulcrum in a world spinning out of control. Your back arched, and he embraced you tighter, his grip firm yet tender, his long fingers leaving an indelible mark upon your skin.

Breathless, as if you had just completed a marathon, you reluctantly pulled back from the heated exchange. Drawing him nearer, he yielded willingly, allowing you to guide him wherever you desired because wherever you led was where he believed to be his destination.

"Take this off," you beseeched, desperation and sorrow permeating your words as your forefinger lifted his blindfold and let it fall to the floor. His tousled hair cascaded softly over his forehead, unable to hide the azure eyes that had once captivated your heart.

In his eyes, tragedy and beauty could be seen, a stoicism that wouldn't be shaken, and childlike joy that couldn't help but flow.

He swallowed, and you shifted your hand to his ear, lightly grazing his earlobe with your pinkie before tracing down his jawline. There was no rejection, yet no clear confirmation either. Your hand brushed against his undercut as you continued.

"There you are," you whispered, your voice laden with kindness. Tears welled up in the corners of your eyes, a solitary droplet making its way down your cheek as you gently cradled his face in your hands. He looked down at you, counting each tear on your lovely cheeks.

He clasped your hand, kissing your palm before guiding it to rest upon his heart. It was the same foolish heart, steadfastly beating for you, never having faltered. Through teary eyes, you looked at him, and he remained struck by the sheer beauty that not even your tears could diminish.

As your bottom lip quivered beneath his touch, quickly, with a light sweep of his hand, he wiped away the tears that stained your stunning eyes. You missed him too, didn't you? Was it painful for you, too? Silly girl! You couldn't maintain your carefully constructed facades for more than ten minutes when it came to him.

The realization washed over him, dispelling any remaining doubts.

Without a second thought, he effortlessly lifted you, your legs encircling his waist while your hands secured around his neck. Engrossed in a fervent kiss, both of you surrendered to the moment as he clasped your back firmly, pulling you closer to himself, relishing the flavor of your lips.

Letting go wasn't an option when every fiber of his being had missed you.

Determined and resolute, he carried you out to a room he presumed to be the bedroom, even though it didn't matter whether there was a bed or a simple mattress; what mattered was the way your touch kindled a blazing fire within him, and he had no intention of bearing that flame alone.

Keeping you securely nestled in his arms, he forcefully kicked open the door and lowered you onto the welcoming comfort of the bed. The urgency to discard his black jacket left no room for delay. At the same time, your nimble hands deftly undid the buckle of your pants, but before you could remove them entirely, his hands moved with an instinctual hunger, swiftly stripping you of the garment and casting it aside as if propelled by an untamed fervor. The passion between you burned fiercely, filling the room with an all-encompassing energy that eclipsed any other thoughts or worries.

With a quick movement, he discarded his black t-shirt, revealing the well-defined curves of his chest that shimmered with a touch of sweat. His desire was tangible, his lust unmistakable as he straddled between your parted legs, his hands grasping your nape.

The taste of his lips met yours, initiating a sequence of fervent kisses that persisted without pause, each delving deeper than the last. The world around you lost its significance as your breaths synchronized in rhythm, the heat between your bodies escalating.

In the meantime, your hands moved swiftly, deftly unbuttoning your shirt.

As his lips briefly separated from yours, he uttered a whispered confession. "I hate how bad I want you," he admitted, his voice carrying a raw sincerity. However, before you could reply, his attention shifted to your neck, where his teeth gently grazed your sensitive flesh, leaving behind tracks of tantalizing nibbles and passionate kisses.

You couldn't help but release a gasp as pleasure and a twinge of pain electrified your senses, sending delightful shivers coursing down your spine. In the throes of passion, your hand curled into a fistful of his hair, a silent request for more. Call it masochist, but he loved it when you did this. He tenderly pulled at your hair in response, tilting your head back ever so slightly, baring more of your vulnerable neck to his hungry mouth.

Then, you did what came naturally to you. With a voice brimming with longing and ecstasy, you spoke his name, "Satoru," the sound slipping from your lips like a hushed prayer.

His actions came to an abrupt pause. His lips separated from your skin, and his grasp on your hair loosened as if a sudden realization had hit him like a splash of icy water. It was ironic how you still possessed this power over him, a power that could both thrill and unsettle him.

The sound of his name on your lips had become something he treasured, and damn it, he had missed hearing it again. Just like every fucking tiny thing he had missed about you.

With a sudden movement, he withdrew his head from the crook of your neck and brought his forehead close to yours. His hands found solace in brushing back strands of your hair with comforting strokes.

He shut his eyes, and in a whisper, his voice carried a hint of fragility, a rawness that tugged at your heartstrings. "Say it again," he pleaded, his voice breaking under the pressure of unexpressed sentiments. It was as if that simple word held immense significance, a lifeline to his heart that he desperately craved.

Without hesitation, you took a steadying breath, the name forming on your lips.

"Satoru."

"S-Say it kinder."

"Satoru."

"Say it slower."

"Satoru."

"Say it gentler."

"Satoru."

"Say it louder."

"Satoru."

"Say it as if you wanna tell me you miss me."

"Satoru…"

"Say it as if you're annoyed that I eat so many sweets."

"Satoru!"

"Is this why you made the trip to Sendai just to get me those mochis?"

…

"Say it."

"Satoru."

"Say it as if you ever cared, spared a single thought for me."

"SATORU."

"Say it as if when you lied in bed, you remembered something I once said."

"Satoru."

"Say it as if it hurt you too when someone said my name with yours."

"Satoru."

"Say it as if every time a door opened, you too expected me to walk out of it, that every time you cooked, you hummed my favorite songs."

"S-Satoru…"

"Say it as if you need me."

"Satoru."

"Say it again."

"Satoru."

"Again."

"…Satoru."

"Say it as if you want to tell me something important."

"Satoru."

"Say it as if you want me to know you won't stay."

"Toru."

"No. Not like this."

"Satoru?"

"Please."

"Satoru."

"Say it as if you want me to know you're gonna run away again."

"Satoru…"

"Huh. Better. Now say it as if you wanna tell that you slept badly without me, that you only dreamed of me, and in the morning, you woke up exhausted without having any desire to live."

"Satoru."

"You don't have a line, do you? No remorse. No regret. Not even a single thought for the man you left behind like a walking ghost. And you won't ever stop."

"Satoru."

"Once you were gone, they gathered all your belongings as evidence. See this hair tie on my wrist?" He lifted his hand. "This and your sweatshirt, which no longer carries your scent, are the only things I have left. Say it as if you still have that shirt of mine."

…

"Say it!"

"Sa-to-ru."

"Did you know that I actually thought if I messed myself up, went all self-destructive, and threw a massive tantrum, you'd come back? I mean, why should I bother taking care of myself? That was supposed to be your job, right?"

"Sa…toru."

"Oh, by the way, I completely wrecked that bench on the hill where you used to sit. And then I went ahead and destroyed the whole damn place, then just sat right there amidst the wreckage. I mean, why should I even give a damn when you stopped caring about me? Say it as if you get where I'm coming from."

"Satoru…"

"Yet you know what's funny? Ask me if I still love you like the first day?"

"Satoru?"

"It can't be just me, right? You can't be done with me. Tell me you love me."

…

…

…

"Okay. It's—"

"Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. Satoru…"

Everything he thought he knew flew right out the window. He had noticed the tremor in your breath and the shake in your voice, but the desperate murmurs of his name caused his eyes to flutter open. Your face was marked with the faint traces of tears, glistening in the light.

You blinked, revealing a spectrum of sadness and beauty unlike anything he'd seen before. The ability to convey so much with just a glance caught him entirely off guard.

Without hesitation, he leaned in and pressed his lips against the curve of your cheeks, softly caressing them. Nuzzling his nose against your skin, he lovingly kissed away the salty tears, his tongue delicately brushing your face with a soothing touch. Each tender movement provided a comforting solace during your emotional moment.

As he lovingly attended to your tears, you reached behind your back and unclasped your bra. He paused, eyes widening in surprise. However, before any words could escape, you leaned in and kissed him. In that single gesture, you conveyed your desires, and he, in turn, found his answer within the depths of that passionate kiss.

As soon as his palms glided over your smooth skin, delicately capturing your erect nipple between his fingers, the bra was tossed somewhere amidst the bedding.

"Lie back," Satoru instructed. He then crawled onto you, your bare chests meeting. He supported himself with his arms on either side of your head to ensure he didn't crush you under his weight.

He positioned himself atop you, overwhelmed by the yearning that had built up in your absence. The thirst to have you beneath him had grown insurmountable. He had craved the sight of your body begging him to take you, the undeniable desire radiating from you.

He locked eyes with you, keeping you in his gaze as he absorbed every aspect of your beauty. The polished planes of your face shimmered with fresh tears, adding a new layer to the bliss. Your eyes were rimmed with redness, solely for him, and this sight rendered him speechless.

Because what if he accidentally stumbled upon the wrong words, and the magic vanished, snatching you away once more, leaving him with nothing but a pumpkin carriage and a single pair of shoes?

He didn't want his arms to be deprived of your warmth. Your touch. Your lips. God, your lips. Your mouth on his neck. Your body wrapped around his. He couldn't bear losing you again, and the realization was like a pendulum the size of the moon. It wouldn't stop slamming into him.

Blinking his white lashes, he swallowed back the fear building in his throat.

What an irony!

The strongest wasn't fearless.

With his knee between your thighs and his body pressing closer, he realized he was paying attention to nothing but the dandelions blowing wishes in his lungs.

"When we were together, I became you," he stated. "You became the reflection I saw in the mirror, and I liked it more. So, I stopped being myself. It was fine because I had you. But when you left, I lost myself along with you."

"Satoru," you called, your voice soft, so soft. He wasn't unfamiliar with the touch of women, but yours were gentler, yet deadlier than them all. "I'm sorry for bringing us to this point." You drew his form closer. The resonating beats of your heart were audible, pulsing deeply within your chest. "Will you ever forgive me?"

Your words unleashed a tumult of feelings within him. Goddammit. He wasn't lost before he met you, but he found himself after having you, only to get lost more after losing you.

Satoru's tears stung as they fell backward down his throat, burning as they went. "Kiss me, and I'll forget everything," he uttered.

And you complied. You kissed him as if swimming through rivers of honey, as if being dipped in pure gold, like diving into an ocean of bliss, and he didn't realize you two were drowning because he was too caught up in the current to notice. Nothing held significance anymore—neither rules, nor the room, nor even the entire fucking Jujutsu society.

All that mattered was this.

This.

This very moment. These lips. This delicate body pressed against his, and these warm hands always discovering new ways to hold his heart.

Oh, My!

He wanted so much more of you. He wanted every part of you. And he kissed you back. Like a mild breeze. Like cherry blossoms. Like a blue spring.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Satoru drew away. It remained a secret, but piecing himself back together hurt just as much as falling apart. It felt like an ache that needed to be soothed.

You were the cure, so his finger lightly grazed the corner of your mouth, tracing its shape, curves, and subtle crevices. As he kissed the corner of your eyebrow, he whispered your name. His lips brushed over the shell of your ear, causing a slight squirm in your body. He planted a kiss on your neck, just beneath your earlobe, and you tilted your head, inviting him in. Perhaps you resisted the urge to plead for more, for a faster pace.

You used to love this, remember?

His lips moved down the expanse of your neck, delicately tracing the sensitive skin of your collarbones. Not content to be passive, your hands ran down his back, roaming over his broad shoulders, pressing into his back dimples, and clutching his hips. With a handful of his hair, you pulled him closer, leaving small kisses on his neck, arms, and chest.

It was incredible. Being with you, touching you, having you like this. The adrenaline rush was so powerful and euphoric that it made everything feel within reach.

He muttered your name, his lips mouthing the letters, barely speaking.

He pressed his lips against your upper lip.

He ran his tongue along your lower lip.

He planted kisses beneath your chin, on the tip of your nose, along your forehead, temples, and cheeks across your jawline. Then he moved to your neck, behind your ears, and the space between your breasts. Delicately, he nibbled on your sensitive nipples, leaving a trail of kisses all the way down to your belly button until his entire form moved down your figure, disappearing as he shifted downward, and suddenly, his chest was hovering above your hips.

As his lips descended towards the hem of your underwear, he lifted his head right before crossing that boundary, locking eyes with you. His gaze carried a mix of intense reverence and a silent question.

You met his gaze, the unspoken understanding passing between you. Your nod conveyed an affirmation, a wordless permission to continue. With your approval, he lowered his head once again. Before you knew it, he skillfully used his teeth to remove that small piece of fabric while the captivating scent drove him wild with desire.

Having removed your panties, his lips continued exploring, leaving heated kisses and lingering caresses from your toes to your thighs. Firmly holding your calves, he parted your legs, creating just enough space for his head to fit between them.

Your thighs were lifted, obscuring him from your sight. All you could see was the top of his head, the curve of his shoulders, and the unsteady rise and fall of his back as he breathed. Eventually, even that view vanished as his lips closed around your clit, causing your head to fall back and muffled moans to escape your lips.

Satoru's large hands trailed down and up your exposed upper thighs and ribs, tightly gripping your hips to keep you in place. He delighted in how you squirmed each time his hair brushed against your groin, until his tongue slipped into your hole, and the taste of you made fireworks explode in the back of his head.

With his right hand pressed against your stomach, his tongue danced and teased, evoking ecstatic cries from your lips. His mouth explored the known territories you had never witnessed, yet he remembered them intimately.

While fully engrossed in eating you, he suddenly and intentionally slipped his middle finger inside, and his mouth fervently sought to suck the soul out of your essence as if seeking retribution for all the times he had jerked off thinking about you creaming around his shaft. That's why he left you on the precipice of climax, working his way up your body. Satoru was never cruel enough to deny you the release you craved, so his fingers remained ready.

With an eagerness to witness the pleasure etched across your face, he slowly ascended your body, his touch kindling a burning anticipation within you. Continuing his exploration, his adept fingers navigated their way to your most intimate region, gently pressing against the delicate entrance.

"Let me know if it hurts, alright?" he whispered, his nose caressing the skin of your stomach, placing sporadic kisses around your breasts and collarbones to alleviate any tension. His disheveled hair and moist lips were evidence of the indulgence in your sweet taste.

"Take it easy— ahhh!"

He wore a satisfied smile as two of his large fingers effortlessly slid into your slit. Your nails dug into the sheets, whimpers escaping your lips as his hand rhythmically moved up and down within your tight walls.

Your mouth opened in a soundless moan, and he peppered you with kisses all around. Tears glistened in your eyes, and tiny strands of hair clung to your sweaty forehead. When his thumb rubbed, and the fingers hit all the right spots, your throat wailed in frustration.

You firmly grasped his free arm and tugged him towards you, bringing him closer until he was on top of you. You might have turned into a cold-blooded curse user, left dead bodies behind, or broken his heart apart, but you were still the same girl beneath him. The girl who would laugh with joy and steal his treats. The girl who would fiercely fight by his side and protect him. The girl who would easily surrender and moan in his ear.

He pressed his lips against yours, a reminder of the residual sweetness on his tongue. Just like in the old days, a soft moan escaped your lips as soon as you felt your own taste. If this gesture could convince you to stay with him, why not revel in it? He willingly opened his lips, inviting you to delve deeper, your tongues intertwining and brushing against his teeth.

The stinging bitterness of the past was long gone. He had forgotten everything. Although there was something he knew he shouldn't forget, he couldn't recall why or what it was. With his hard length suffering in his boxers and his digits thrusting backward and forward, paying attention to anything else was hard.

Seeing your desperation for his touch proved to be his downfall. He could die from this, he decided. From wanting you, from the pleasure of being with you.

He wore a smile as you locked eyes and reciprocated with your smile. He pressed his forehead against yours, his skin flushed with heat. With his other hand, he held your head steady while your hands clutched his neck, your palms gliding over the area just above his neckline, and your fingertips tenaciously pressing against his undercut.

"Sato..." you managed to utter, your voice quivering with pleasure as the orgasm washed over you, consuming your senses. Waves of euphoria rippled across your body, inducing uncontrollable tremors. Amidst your release, a single tear broke free, tracing a glistening path down your cheek, much like the cascade of emotions that flowed within you.

While he remained atop you, his voice reached your ears, his lips near your earlobe. "Can you sit up?" he whispered, burying his face in the curve of your neck, allowing your ragged breaths to brush against his shoulder.

Still struggling to catch your breath, you managed to mumble, "Yeah, but..." However, before you could complete your sentence, the bedding beneath you shifted as Satoru pulled you into his arms, clutching you tight.

He exhaled and looked at you, but this time, there were stories in his eyes, thoughts, whispers, and feelings of things he had never told you. He looked like he was hanging on his sanity by a fraying thread—you.

He touched your flushed cheeks as if uncertain of your tangible presence. His four fingers caressed the side of your face with tenderness before sliding behind your neck, caught in that in-between spot below your ear, and his thumb brushed the apple of your cheek, then grazing your bottom lip.

He pondered the countless things your lips had done. They had touched, kissed, and pressed against sensitive areas of his skin. They had spoken lies and made promises, and the words they had formed, the shapes and sounds they had shaped, he yearned for them all.

Satoru inched closer, cradling you like you were made of precious crystals. Holding you and looking at his own hands as if he couldn't believe you were real and truly there.

"I'm right here, baby. Look at me," you whispered, grasping his hands and kissing them.

All six of his eyes obeyed and stared at you. Gone was the curse user targeting Higher Ups. This woman before him had never done anything wrong. You were perfect and kind, untouched by the horrors of death.

He took hold of your hands and pressed your palms against his face, reclaiming the tears you had bestowed upon him. With an eternity of love, he whispered your name in the softest of whispers.

What if this was a dream?

No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No.

He shook, shuddered, splintered into teardrops, and you embraced him like no one had before. Overwhelmed by the intensity, he struggled to contain himself, but seeing you cling to him as you might never let go stirred something within him. It was a heady sensation, knowing that you were there, caring for him, desiring him, needing him in this way. It made him believe that this was indeed real.

Gently, you stroked his silvery locks of hair and placed a kiss on his forehead. Gradually, your arms became the arms around his neck; your lips became the lips pressed against his, your body the warmth he felt. Funny how the moment he felt your touch, it burned a hole right through his head and pulled all his thoughts out.

He wasn't even breathing, but he was alive, and he was kissing you. Deeply, desperately. His hands fervently caressed the small of your back as he lifted you onto his lap, and instinctively, your legs wrapped around his hips.

Then, it was your turn to reciprocate. You planted kisses all over him—his cheeks, eyelids, chin, the tip of his nose, and the space between his eyebrows. You trailed along his forehead and traced his jawline, covering every inch of his face. These kisses conveyed more than words ever could.

And you took your time.

As your mouth moved down his neck, he let out a gasp. It was a moment to relish. Your tongue continued to worship the hills and valleys of his well-defined arms, tracing the graceful curves of his collarbones. Inhaling the intoxicating scent of his skin, you savored his taste. Your hands explored his abs, tracing along his navel and the delicate trails of hair beneath.

He broke apart with your small licks here and there, breathing hard, and stared at you dumbfounded. His mind remained hazy, unable to fully comprehend how your fingers toyed with the waistband of his boxer briefs.

Tilting your head to a side, you pressed your lips against his again, seeking him with a burning need, a new kind of desperation. Your other hand threaded in his hair, your lips so soft, so urgent against his, like fire and cinnamon exploding in his mouth.

Satoru nibbled your bottom lip in a flash before pulling back slightly. You were flooding his body with so much heat and desire. You parted your lips to sigh in his mouth, and that slight sound of pleasure drove him to the edge of madness.

Just as he was about to bring his mouth to your nipples, your hand suddenly slipped into his underwear and encircled his erectness pressing against your groin.

Oh.

Well.

He clenched his teeth, suppressing a groan. Oh God! He had fucking missed you holding his member in your palm. But you didn't stop at that. He gasped as you began to rub the tip with your thumb. His body ached everywhere as he tasted the colors and sounds that existed nowhere else. Your forehead rested against his chin as you continued to stroke his hardness up and down beneath his boxers. You were untamed, cruel, yet remarkably gentle.

"Take it off, Satoru," you whispered in his ear, your breath ragged. "I want you in me. Deep. Right. Now. Please."

He was beyond the reach of rational thoughts. Beyond words, beyond comprehension. The world was beyond understanding because nothing could ever compare with this. Nothing could ever capture the way he was feeling right now. He was left with only this very moment: You on his lap, your warmth against his hands, and your lustful eyes fixed upon him, making him absolutely insane.

Satoru held onto your waist with a firm grip, lifting you slightly, and in the blink of an eye, his briefs glided down his long legs until their whereabouts became irrelevant in the heat of the moment.

The wetness between your thighs was no longer a hidden secret, just as his hardness was revealed when you surrounded each other everywhere.

He watched as you reached down and guided his erection against your slippery entrance, making a few strokes to ensure the perfect alignment. His racing pulse could probably be felt in your palm and soon inside you.

Using both hands, he gripped your hips and pulled you downward, drawing you closer to him. A gasp escaped your lips as he entered you, always surprised about his size. He intended to allow you time to adjust, but you fervently clung to his neck, hitching your legs around his waist, urging him to penetrate you completely. A scream escaped your lips as you bit into his shoulder blade, but he remained composed, relishing the sensation of stretching you. He cherished the feeling of your inner walls squeezing him and the weight of your body against his balls. To be honest, he would stay like this forever.

Feeling your readiness, his hold tightened, and he started moving your body up and down. You cried out as you nestled your cheek into the curve of his neck, and he felt like dying and somehow being brought back to life in the exact moment, in the same breath.

Fuck! You were full of him.

He raised your thighs, stifling a groan that threatened to rip his throat as your lips met his. It left him bewildered, pondering why he hadn't perished, burst into flames, or snapped in half.

The room was consumed by silence, punctuated only by the sound of your heavy breaths. Your chests pressed against each other, colliding with the rhythm of your pulses.

As he sensed your arms tightening around him, he reciprocated with heightened strength, lifting and thrusting you with an intensity that transcended the bounds of restraint. Each movement struck the place he knew too well.

His teeth captured your bottom lip, eliciting a momentary jolt of pleasure. Your nails pressed into his shoulder as his fingers ran through your hair, pulling you nearer, immersing you in the fervent abyss of his mouth. The taste of you was a captivating fusion of sweetness and passion, an intoxicating blend that left both of you craving for more.

He kept trying to say your name, but he found himself unable even to catch his breath, let alone speak a single word.

The pace increased slightly; each thrust was hard, deliberate, wringing gasps, whimpers, and long, rolling moans from you.

Your eyes tingled with tears, falling fast down and traveling quietly down your cheeks. He cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs two parentheses in your mouth, touching your tongue and the saliva within. It was as if he had discovered an oasis in the vast expanse of a desert, gazing at you with eyes ablaze like fire reflected in water.

"I love you," he whispered over and over, his voice fragile and uneven. His lips covered yours in a tender kiss. He kissed you and tasted your tears, the lasting essence of pleasure in your mouth. He kissed you and kissed you until time toppled over, and your heads spun into a blissful oblivion.

Your head rested against his, and as you delicately nipped at his earlobe, he felt stripped down to his very core, just as he had unraveled you from within. Your sweet little tongue was frantic when you whispered, "I'm yours to love."

Something inside him melted. Hearing your words, he held still for moments, sucking in the air because he felt almost dizzy with satisfaction, running his hands over your thighs.

You. You belonged to him. You didn't erase the pain you had caused. You didn't fix everything you'd broken, but that wasn't what he needed anyway. All he needed was you, and with you, everything would be alright.

He firmly grasped your buttocks, burying his face against your shoulder as he sped up. He was shattered to pieces, but with you, he got put back together differently, better, and more himself than he ever could have been. Gritting his teeth, he succumbed to the impending climax. His hands glided along your back as you shuddered, your inner walls pulsating around him so hard that he couldn't hold back his release. With a growl, he thrust wildly, once, twice, until everything around you both turned to a world of vibrant colors and radiant light, where the sun shone, oceans sparkled, and Sakura trees bloomed.

*

Both of you were lying on a pillow, breathless and sweaty. Satoru's face was buried in the crook of your neck.

Your hand had delicately weaved its way into his hair, fingers stroking the silky strands as you both sought to ground yourself in the aftermath of your orgasms.

You rested your cheek against his head, your voice carrying a hint of breathlessness as you began to speak. "How is Shoko doing?

"She's probably smoking even more now," he murmured, his lips grazing against your shoulder as he pulled you closer. Despite the physical closeness, a deep ache echoed within him, yearning for an even deeper connection that felt just beyond his grasp. The desire to merge both body and soul, to be completely intertwined with you, was tangible in his touch.

His arms tightened around you as if attempting to bridge an unseen gap that couldn't be seen, but he could feel it. Each hug and touch was an attempt to mend the distance that pained him. The depth of his need reverberated through his being. It was visible in the depths of his eyes. It sucked to be this close yet feel so far from someone. But he didn't want to worry. As long as you were together, he believed nothing terrible could happen.

"Why probably so?" you asked, your curiosity piqued as you turned your head towards him. Your lips touched his soft, silky white hair. "Is it because of the numerous missions you're taking?"

"You seem to know every detail of my life," he remarked, turning his head towards you, the closeness so intimate that your noses nearly touched. His hand found its way to your arm, his finger tracing a path down its length, lost in contemplation.

"I've always kept tabs on you. I'm not even ashamed of it," you declared, your attention fixed on his ocean-blue eyes.

He let out a shaky sigh. "There's no longer a reason for me to stay in Tokyo like I used to," he whispered, his voice hinting at wistfulness. The words floated in the air, pregnant with unspoken meanings. As he locked eyes with you, his gaze transformed into a sea of emotions, reflecting a profound depth of feelings that transcended mere words.

"What about your students?"

"They're doing well even without me," Satoru said, his voice filled with fondness and melancholy. As his hand gracefully slid into your hair, he tucked back the strands that obscured your face, revealing the beauty of your features.

His thumb stroked your cheek in a soothing gesture. "Megumi came close to expanding his domain," Satoru continued, his voice filled with a hint of excitement. "Yuji would be thrilled to—"

"No, Satoru!" you interjected, your voice resolute. Your firm interruption halted his sentence as your face displayed a frown, your eyebrows furrowing with determination. "The answer is no!"

Satoru's hand dropped weakly onto the sheets, his fingers losing their previous touch. When his gaze met yours, a deep sadness flooded his eyes, turning the serene ocean within them into a turbulent storm.

He struggled to find the right words to make his case but couldn't resist trying to reason with you. "Come back with me. I have enough power and privilege to protect you—"

"I don't want your protection!" you exclaimed, your voice carrying a sharp edge that cut through his being. The words resounded with a harshness reminiscent of the day you decided to leave, which had left an indelible mark on both of you. It was a day that Satoru had always blamed himself for, haunted by the belief that he had failed to notice you drifting away.

His eyes, filled with sorrow, locked onto yours, silently begging for understanding as he summoned the bravery to express his deepest desires. "Don't you want a life with me?" he questioned, his voice brimming with the dreams and aspirations he had envisioned for both of you. "What about living in a house with blue shutters, windows overlooking the ocean, and—"

"How are you still such a wide-eyed, dreamy little boy, Satoru?" you remarked, your voice tinged with tenderness and sadness. As you spoke, your hand extended, interlocking your fingers with his. "Stop living in a fantasy world," you urged. The words pleaded for him to accept reality and let go of dreams no longer aligned with his chosen path. "Even if I had the chance to go back, I wouldn't want to," you continued. "The Jujutsu society is a broken bone that won't set right, and no matter how much you try to mend it, it won't work. I started hunting Higher Ups because I have a purpose. I can't be by your side."

As you raised your head, a glimmer of compassion and understanding shimmered in your eyes. The pain etched on Satoru's face was evident to you. In a gentle tone, you encouraged him, saying, "We've made different choices. Don't judge me because I never questioned why you didn't follow me. Our approaches may differ, but we share the same dream of creating a better world. So, I don't regret leaving, but if there's anything I regret, it's not cherishing every moment I had with you. But I'm doing it right this time. I'm memorizing every detail, so I have something to hold onto."

Your words bounced around in the fog of his head, blurring his senses, misting his eyes, and muddling his logic. In his bones, there was just ice. His entire being wanted to vomit. Reality slapped him in the face, punched him in the jaw, and dumped him into the ocean.

Until today, he thought he had fully come to terms with everything. He believed he had adapted to living with your absence, like a disabled person learning to avoid putting weight on his injured leg. However, deep down, he knew he was living on eggshells, always wondering when something would break, when everything would crumble.

But with your answer, stacks of sorrow grew inside him, settling on his bones as if a cable had twisted around his neck, a worm crawling across his stomach. It was the night, midnight, and the twilight of indecision. Too many pains to bear.

He realized how foolish he had been to believe he could simply blend in and lead an ordinary life.

Satoru.

Satoru Gojo.

Satoru Gojo, The Strongest.

The mere thought of it filled him with mortification.

He shook his head, coughing as his lungs were tormented, heaving strange, horrible gasps until his whole body spasmed into submission. His head was spinning, thoughts knocking into one another. With clenched fists, he fought against the misery, forcing it back down. Not again. Not again. Not again.

"Satoru?" you called out to him, and a thousand pieces of feeling stabbed you in the heart. Realizing how deeply he loved you kept hitting him in the face, the skull, and the spine. He ran a hand across his face and through his hair, displaying signs of wanting to scream, to break something, as if he was on the verge of losing his sanity.

You hugged him, bridging the gap between your bodies and leaning your cheek against his rock-hard chest. Your hands caressed his stomach as your lips left random pecks here and there.

"It's not just your shirt that I have," you expressed. "I also have our shared blanket from our room and a collection of photographs I'm too afraid to look at. I fear that if I see them, I'll go right back to you and beg your forgiveness."

You dropped a kiss on his chin. Then, on the curve of his shoulder and his shoulder blades. Five kisses down his throat, each softer than the last. You kissed his cheeks, hands, and eyelids for every moment of loneliness he had ever endured.

You continued, "My body hasn't realized we are no longer together. It calls out for you at night, unaccustomed to not having you tightly enveloping me like a second layer of skin."

He closed his eyes and breathed heavily, trying to gain control of himself. "Why are you putting me through this?" he asked, his hand caught in his hair. "Why are you scratching my wounds?"

"Because I want to remake you again, Satoru. You should get broken apart and rebuild in a way that won't cause you pain anymore." You kissed the hand covering his mouth, not holding back. Keeping your head there, you leaned against his heart.

"It's not as straightforward as a simple yes or no," you said, your voice cracking as you spoke. "Let's just enjoy this moment together..."

A sudden searing heat flashed behind his eyes, and his heart leaped at your response. His hand trembled, and his eyes were willing and wanting but filled with sadness.

He shifted his gaze towards you, his eyes open, jaw clenched tightly, and muscles tense. Breathing heavily, he wasn't sure what to do with himself. The ache in his chest had grown more assertive, more painful.

You lifted your head and reached up to stroke his cheek. "Love is the most twisted curse," you murmured as you tilted his chin toward your mouth. He blinked rapidly. Words were whispered upon his lips that no one had ever spelled out for him. "And we are the most cursed of all, aren't we?" you told him, watching the movement in his throat and his effort to keep it together. It didn't take you long to kiss him again. Tenderly.

Unable to find the right words, he relied on the language of touch, pressing his lips against yours. A sigh escaped into your shared kiss, and you responded by kissing him even more passionately, almost desperately, as if trying to pass over your breaths to him. The taste of salt lingered on your tongues. The wet drops falling on your cheeks made his flesh burn. Unsure of whose tears they were, he continued to cling to you, even if it was almost for the final time.

The saddest world in this whole wide world was "almost." You almost came back to him. He almost had you. You two almost made it.

*

You woke up with a smile, feeling a pleasant warmth enveloping your skin, remnants of the memories from the previous night. The room was filled with a fresh ambiance, hinted at by the open window that welcomed a gentle breeze. The scent of damp earth filled the air, evidence of the rain that had visited during the night.

Letting out a sigh, you brushed your face against the pillow. Your hand instinctively reached out to where Satoru was supposed to be, but a pang of emptiness washed over you. He wasn't there, and your eyes flew open, a sourness clouding their once-serene gaze. Something felt wrong.

Suddenly, sitting up, a sense of panic pulsed through your veins. The realization dawned upon you—Satoru had left the bed, and his absence spoke volumes. Your glance darted around the room, searching for any signs of his presence, but his clothes were nowhere to be seen.

An agonizing grip took hold of your heart. Conflicting emotions wrestled inside you. You had voiced your decision to part ways, to not be by his side, yet the depth of your desire for him remained steadfast. The pain and the desperate desire for his warmth was a stark reminder that not wanting to be with him didn't mean you were prepared to let go of him completely.

The bitter yet undeniable truth surfaced: as much as you and Satoru were meant to be, fate had not deemed you to last.

You could still feel the lasting presence of Satoru's cursed energy, an invisible thread you could identify even blind. Simply by scent, you would recognize it. It was a power that transcends physical senses, one that would recognize it in death, at the end of the world.

You swiftly snatched your robe and hastened out of the room. And there he was, Satoru, fully dressed, his blindfold tightly secured, sitting still in a chair, facing the untouched mochis. The hair tie was also on the table, indicating that he had removed it from his wrist. You couldn't determine whether it hurt you deeply to see him letting go of a part of you or noticing that he had left his beloved treats untouched.

He wasn't looking at you, so you had time to observe things you hadn't noticed yesterday. He had visibly lost weight. His hair showed signs of splitting and thinning, probably due to stress. Nightmares didn't let him sleep. His uniform appeared wrinkled, and his breaths were unsteady. You knew it wasn't your place to worry about him anymore, but you couldn't help it. Taking care of him had become a habit. He appeared weary, displaying the same profound exhaustion you experienced, filling you with fear.

His shoulders quivered up and down, and you could tell he was crying even though he was silent as a corpse. Your heart quickened as you approached him. With trembling hands, you reached for his blindfold, a desperate attempt because, goddammit, you fucking loved his eyes.

"What are you—" you started to inquire, your voice fading as you recognized that your touch couldn't reach him. He had activated his Infinity. Manually. Deliberately. A wave of profound sadness washed over you, tears welling up in your eyes, yet you swallowed them back, resolved to keep your composure. Your hand hung suspended, mere inches away from him, a symbol of the unbridgeable gap that had grown between you.

Then, in a sudden movement, Satoru stood before you, donning a black jacket that draped his figure. His voice emerged raspy, filled with a raw intensity that conveyed the turmoil within his heart.

"I can't handle this anymore. I can't continue being whatever I am to you," he admitted, his words heavy with a sense of resignation. The understanding that the current situation was no longer viable had taken hold of him. "If you want things to remain this way, I can't ignore the fact that we are enemies at the end of the day." He subtly avoided meeting your gaze, averting his eyes from your messy hair and the persistent sadness in your eyes.

"Can you honestly believe that?" you questioned, your voice brimming with incredulity. You took a step forward, narrowing the physical gap between you. It was essential for him to grasp the magnitude of your anguish and directly witness the toll your choice inflicted upon your heart.

Satoru took a step back, his brows furrowing beneath the blindfold that veiled his eyes. "It doesn't matter what I believe," he declared.

Despite the barrier that prevented physical touch, you closed your eyes, driven by the overwhelming desire to bridge the divide. Ignoring the protective shield of his Infinity, you leaned in, your lips seeking his in a desperate act of defiance. Tears streamed down your closed eyes as he relinquished the barrier that kept you apart. You pressed your lush mouth against his. It never took him long to respond, to part his lips. He kissed you back, holding your head steady with his hand while his other embraced you tightly. He had your heart, and you loved him quite horribly, too. This fact always smacked you over the head so hard you felt dizzy.

You held each other tightly, his arms enveloping you as his fingers intertwined with your hair. In that stolen moment, you caught a glimpse of the life you longed for—a life filled with love. Having this every day was within reach, but the harsh reality of the jujutsu world loomed, casting a shadow over your fragile dreams. The awareness that he would be exploited until his final breath burdened you deeply. Unable to witness his suffering, you knew you couldn't change your decisions. You had to reset this Jujutsu World. For him. For his students. For the happiness you owed yourself.

As your lips reluctantly separated, a bittersweet trace of saliva remained between you. Satoru gripped your shoulders, and as you glanced up, you noticed his blindfold was damp, indicating the tears he had shed.

You lowered your head. "I wish you had never crossed paths with me," you murmured, keeping your gaze fixed on the ground until he reached out and lifted your chin.

"I wouldn't take that chance. Not in a million infinities. Because there was love, even if it didn't change anything, even if it made the pain worse, love was there," he said, staring at your mouth. "I'll love you in this life. I'll love you in death and in whatever lies after. And likely even beyond that," he whispered. The words did something to you. They burned something inside of you. You swallowed hard. A fire consumed your mind. "No matter what, I'll always love you," he declared, and pain filled your veins. You could feel it in your blood.

"Satoru," you whispered. Your eyes fogged up, but you blinked rapidly, trying to clear the tears away. You couldn't let a second of this be blurry. You couldn't afford to allow any of this to slip away. His absence felt like a missing limb, and his longing for you was a bullet in the head. How could he still love you? How could he find relief in your touch?

"But if we meet again," he said, his thumb brushing against your earlobe. "Just kill me. Because I'll be forced to kill you, and it's the same thing." As if the longer he held you, the more he would want you, he let go of you.

The enormity of his duty and the unyielding constraints of the jujutsu world, forcing him to make an unbearable choice, hit you like a cold gust of wind, leaving you feeling isolated and abandoned. The chill of that moment seeped into your bones, and you couldn't help but wonder if he had felt this same frigid loneliness when you had left him behind.

Satoru walked towards the door, each step carrying the finality of his decision that settled upon the room. Pausing at the threshold, a silent plea lingered in his words. "So, please, I beg you to stay away from me." With those words, he severed the last thread that had linked you, leaving you with a deep sense of loss.

The door closed behind him, leaving you in an empty and heavy space with unspoken regret. You were alone again, bereft without him, half dead without him. You opened your mouth and screamed. You screamed and screamed until your voice cracked beneath the pressure. Until you feared your throat would shred from the force. You wanted to crawl outside of your body so desperately so that you could escape this feeling.

No one ever warned you how men with such pretty eyes, who smelled like vanilla, tasted like rain, and talked like silver, were the reason behind tear-soaked pillows, half-finished poems, and so many sad dreams.

One last shout ripped out of your throat, this one so full of pain that brought you to your knees. You crumbled. The raw sound tapered off, fading into a hoarse, staccato cry. You sucked in a deep breath, filling your lungs with oxygen you didn't want, but you were too lost in your grief to scream like you wanted to.

It seemed like Satoru Gojo's story had peaked, and anything that followed wouldn't hold the same significance to him. Because for him, there was before you, and there was during you. For some reason, he never thought there would be an after you. But there was, and he was in it. He would be in it forever.

Moving forward, he silently implored his bones to remain firm, to support him for the remainder of the day and beyond. He ventured through the forest, his steps disturbing the mud and leaves as his footprints gradually faded away until there was nothing but the empty silence of a long, lonely dusk.

Tag list: @istanuwow @anime-lover1234 @rentaldarling @enchantedforest-network

 Disclaimers:

This creation draws significant inspiration from the incredible artistry of @animaybi (TikTok) and features quotes from the captivating writings of @starlightonthewaves (TikTok). Both of these talented artists deserve immense praise for their remarkable contributions.

Art is created by me.

Are you cursing me for writing this? :D

[sardar106]

This is for anyone who wants to make/find any Sherbverse, Fable SMP, Bound SMP and Mer SMP roleplay accounts!

The characters who have more than one account will also be added

I will put the Sherbversions in their specific world too, but both but Midas and Charles will be only on the sherbverse list

The list will go alphabetically (hopefully)

Tell me if I missed any and if new ones are made!

Not that I’ve seen any, but I should have said this before. Do not, and I mean do not make an rp account of anyone who stated that they aren’t okay with them.

Sherbverse

Sherberts:

Ashril: pigeon-prince-or-something, run-run-roadrunner Ajax: ajax-lightning-zephyr, lighting-in-my-veins, thunder-twink Caine: the-better-coyote Cedar: cedars-potionshop EP-S110N56 (Epsilon): error-404-location-not-found Helix: hidden-amongst-the-dark, eyeblood-engineer Icarus: icarus-morningstar, icarixis-morningstar, icarus-m0rningstar, a-little-tragedy-arent-you, gilded-wings-and-golden-hearts Krithos: kritos-dawn Midas: colorful-shades-of-gray, quixis-midas, your-guardian-this-millennia, rainbow-decay Reo: armoured-fighter, cracked-armour, theyoungeststellam Ripley: navigating-spectral-seas Sherbert: elf-lad-says-things Sherwood: sleepy-pirate-person

Sherbverse misc:

Azalea: local-herb-lady Castrel: castrel-is-hunting Charles: charles-and-no-one-else Emma: emmie-ocie-golden Graeme: the-betterstellam Hayraen: hey-a-skyrate Helios: helios-event Lily: the-lil-lady Rae (Among Us): scientist-in-orbit Rayko: host-of-curses Rondael: rondael-richard Theia: flowers-by-a-different-name

Sherbverse AUs:

Band AU! Midas: under-rainbow-spotlights Band AU! Icarus: bird-song-shines, songbird-soars Corrupt! Icarus: wilted-feathers Midas as new Quixis: rainbows-of-flashing-lights Icarus as young Quixis: lost-in-the-bright-lights Icarus raised by Fable: prince-of-the-gilded ^^^ + younger than Rae: im-prince-icarus Icarus raised by Ulysses: bird-underwater Icarus raised by moms: icarus-mindstar Icarus with wither sickness, wack, and decay: protector-of-decay

Fable SMP

Characters:

Aax: thebesttesttubeuncle, tiny-perseus Arisanna: the-librari Athena: athena-morningstar, small-athena, withering-alliums Caspian: caspian-solcrect Centross: centross-mistvale, baby-reaper Easton: easton-pine, professorpine Fenris: fenris-nightingal Haley: oracle-haley Icarus: icarus-morningstar, icarixis-morningstar, icarus-m0rningstar, a-little-tragedy-arent-you, gilded-wings-and-golden-hearts Jamie/Bruin: bruin-pine Momboo: momboo-pine, rain-and-rotting-flowers Oceana: ocean-bringer Rae: rae-m0rningstar, vessel-of-wonder, tiny-raemorningstar, rae-morningstar13, little-rae-morningstar13 Seven: that-one-robot-guy Ulesses: ulysses-themist Ven: reclusive-author, notafakeginger, wet-fox-artist

Gods and NPCs:

Alerion: little-space-major Cari: cari-morningcrest Casus: casus-luck, siren-of-luck Enderian: enderian-morningstar Epros: the-void-of-the-end Everett: everett-morningstar Fable: fable-creation, king-of-the-overworld Hope: hope-pup Isla: isla-morningstar Jerry: jericho-cree Kinaxus: protectorofenergy Malitae: x-malitae-x, god-of-expression Netherum: nethrum Oscar: oscarlittleguy Perix: perix-illusion Soul: goddess-of-souls Raemond: raemond-morningstar Terry: the-best-cree-brother Vaeh: thebestestnightingstar, loyalty-goddess-pt2 Vikesh: vikesh-moon Vorago: vorago-god-of-depths and also Fable pets cus why not: fable-pet-collective

Fable AUs:

Band AU! Aax: drum-olm ^^^ Arisanna: songs-of-the-allay ^^^ Athena: flame-sings ^^^ Caspian: cas-chord ^^^ Centross: song-reaper, soulstone-rockstar ^^^ Fable: creation-records ^^^ Fenris: singing-wolf ^^^ Icarus: bird-song-shine, songbird-soars ^^^ Isla: orchid-morningstars ^^^ Malitae: artist-on-the-stage ^^^ Rae: void-star-singer ^^^ Ven: wet-fox-artist Corrupt! Centross: the-violet-reaper Corrupt! Fenris: vengful-danger-wolf Corrupt! Icarus: wilted-feathers Corrupt! Momboo: rain-and-rotting-flowers Corrupt! Rae: mind-prince Fable be good dad: guiding-gilded-light Icarus as young Quixis: lost-in-the-bright-lights Icarus raised by Fable: prince-of-the-gilded ^^^ + younger than Rae: im-prince-icarus Icarus raised by moms: icarus-mindstar Icarus raised by Ulysses: bird-underwater Icarus with wither sickness, wack, and decay: protector-of-decay Isla never leaving Fable: the-trapped-princess Rae if he took Enderian’s deal in s1: prince-of-the-court Rae raised by Enderian after Ic’s “death”: son-of-mind Rae raised by Fable after Ic’s “death”: never-his-son Skulked! Aax: decayed-test-tube Skulked! Ocie: polluted-ocean

Mer SMP

Faye: shark-biter Gyn: the-final-leviathan Krithos: kritos-dawn Raylen: raylan-dawn Theodore: theo-sealan, theosealan

SkyBound SMP

Armor: winged-warrior-1 Ashril: pigeon-prince-or-something, run-run-roadrunner Gavrien: fashionable-bird Marcel: cardinal-north Mojave: the-onewinged-artist Rune: engineer-lad Sylph: zip-zap-sylph Vast: ranger-of-the-sky, the-remaining-cadere13

Bound misc:

Jade: littlebirbie Jasper: stringtheif

Bound AUs:

Pokemon AU! Vast: ranger-of-the-sky

ohhkay. this took a lot of brain cells /pos and as stated in the beginning, tell me of other accounts!

I thought I’d add this here too; make sure to use #roleplay on every post/reblog and #sherbverse roleplay and #fable smp roleplay when roleplaying either!

also! I have made a google docs with the same exact list, but with the links of each account intro if you press the username

link!