#having a soul hurts but he should 'probably' go back to having one
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worth the wait a nerdjo fic
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pairing ⸺ nerd/academic rival/rich boy!gojo x reader
summary ⸺ you abhor your academic rival, satoru gojo. he's a cocky asshole that you fight with constantly for the spot at first place. but when you finally discover what's underneath all those lame sweaters of his with a once in a blue moon visit at the gym (spoiler alert: he's not a scrawny nerd), you'll be fighting your severe attraction to the man who makes your life a bit harder. and maybe fall in love with him, too, in the process.
warnings ⸺ smut, f recieving oral, praise, he makes you beg for it lol, p i v sex, making out, angst if you squint, a lot of fluff, college AU, nerd!gojo, reader gets insecure sometimes and is treated horribly by her discord mod TA/research advisor, typical misogyny/sexism in STEM fields, but gojo defends her!!!, sleeper build gojo with a happy trail because im a slut, the good old pining and yearning i like. art by @/deltapork
a/n thank u to all my beta readers for editing part of this for me :3 happy valentines day!!!
general masterlist
You blink at your paper.
98.
You suppose you should be happy—it’s a graduate level physics class, anyways. For a moment, you stare at the red markings of the TA that graded it, as if willing an error in the one problem you made a mistake on could make it go away.
2+2=5.
You exhaled sharply, almost fighting back tears. You’d think you could avoid simple arithmetic mistakes, but apparently doing tensor products comes easier than simple addition to you. Shoving your backpack on your chair, you stuff in your laptop and the test haphazardly, not caring that it’s going to get messed and crumpled up in your backpack after your folders and binders jostle around. Fuck that test.
You wouldn’t normally act as if the test had personally wronged you—trust, you were not going to get that heated were it any class. But because of this one class, one person, you knew it was coming. The inevitable.
"Better luck next time." The voice, drenched in smug satisfaction, slithered through the air behind you, his voice and demeanor like a slimy, slimy snake.
Your jaw tightened, but you forced yourself to remain calm as you turned around. And there he was—Gojo Satoru, the bane of your existence, a plague upon your academic record, a walking, talking statistical anomaly who somehow managed to be both infuriatingly brilliant and aggressively insufferable.
He leaned against the desk beside yours, glasses sliding down just enough to reveal the glint of those ridiculously blue eyes. He crosses his arms while they’re covered in that ridiculous, ugly sweater he’s wearing—he’s probably going for the old money aesthetic, but he doesn’t need to know he gives off more “finance bro that helps billionaires evade taxes,” or whatever finance bros do.
“I have no clue what you’re talking about,” you sniff, pretending to act nonchalant while you grab your backpack, swinging it roughly on your shoulder like it was the weight of your grievances against him.
"The test." Gojo unfolded a crisp sheet of paper with the kind of theatrical flourish reserved for revealing royal decrees. A perfect 100, circled in bold red ink.
Your stomach twisted. This is what those two points meant. Two stupid, meaningless, soul-crushing, rage-inducing points.
"Guess that makes it… what, five to three this semester?" He tapped his chin, pretending to count, as if the score wasn’t already seared into your brain like an irreversible branding. "My lead, obviously. But hey, if you ever need tutoring, I could always squeeze you in."
You bite the inside of your cheek in frustration. “I wouldn’t want to impose on the time for any of your hobbies. After all, when will you get the time to watch anime? My 5000 Year Old Girlfriend is Stuck in a Twelve Year Old’s Body, was it?”
He presses a hand to his chest in mock hurt, as if your words had truly pierced him through his chest. “Tut, tut. After all this time, I’d think you’d have my anime preferences memorized since you’re so obsessed with me. It’s Digimon, not whatever pedophilic shit you think I jerk off too.” He pauses, and then his voice drops into a conspiratorial whisper. “But you know Fred, the grad student TA that holds recitation every Wednesday? I just know he’s probably a Discord mod of a server that sends, like, daily tentacle porn. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s on the Megan's law registry either.”
Now, you have to hold back your smile because Gojo has a point. Fred is not just any TA. Fred is the grad student that mentors you on a research project; the program’s super selective, so when you realized you got him, you couldn’t just back out and give up the opportunity. However, Fred isn’t just a weird–-he’s sooo handsy with his greasy ass hands, so you accept any and all Fred slander. Because he’s your research advisor, you can’t wait to finish the project any faster. He probably would be into underage girls, but you don’t need to express your approval to Gojo, or worst of all, let him think he’s funny. God knows that would get into his head. “Yea, yea. Whatever. Anyways, I hope you have fun with your Pokemon—”
“Digimon.”
“—or whatever. I’m leaving. Some of us have things to do. Later, Gojo.”
You turned on your heel, lest Gojo hook you in with another taunt.
Maybe you needed to blow off some steam, if you’re allowing yourself to lose to Gojo.
Worst of all, it’s become a streak, like two times in a row—one on this quiz, and the other on the midterm a few weeks back. Your mind goes back to the last women in STEM recruiting event you had went to, and, how, in the middle of taking a bite of the delicious margherita pizza they offered, you registered that the woman in the panel had insisted that what helped her power through her PhD and dickwad supervisors was by exercising. Her fervor over pilates could almost qualify as a cult pitch, but it made you pause at the moment. Before you continued to further engorge yourself on the food offered on the charcuterie board.
But maybe it was time to hone your focus in, and some sweaty endorphins might help you get just that.
You’re not really surprised the demographic at your university’s gym looks like the way it does. After all, not only was it renowned for its academics (from all the nepo babies like Gojo whose families donated buildings and had like four generations of alumnus), but it was also a Division I school. So not only was the gym packed but it was packed with men.
As you walked in the hallway towards the room that contained weight machines, gym bag slung over your shoulder, you eyed the glistening backs of the (D1, mind you) men’s swim team through the glass that separated your path and the swimming pool.
Wow, those Speedos really hugged their asses. You imagined Gojo in one, and almost snorted. Rich boy nerd Satoru definitely didn’t learn how to swim; his family’s mansion probably had a twenty year old personal lifeguard that Gojo lost his virginity to, or something. Regardless, he would squint in his silly swim goggles, the exact antithesis of sex appeal while his glow-in-the-dark eyes lit up the pool while he stroked, cheeks puffed like a pufferfish.
Regardless, the smell of testosterone that hits you when you enter the weight area is almost nauseating, and, if you’re honest, a little intimidating. You’re not exactly the fittest of people, so you quickly speed walk past the grunting and sweaty men at the squat machines and barbells, avoiding eye contact and praying furiously that none of them perceive you.
When you reach the dumbbell stands, you hunch over, taking random light weights. Then, you pretend you know what you’re doing while jumping every so slightly whenever anyone comes in six foot distance of you. It’s only when another girl comes in to grab a weight (and when she bends over, you definitely ogle her ass in a way that would get you slapped if you were a man) that your gaze removes itself from where it was focused on the 2.5 lb dumbbell you were previously bicep curling with. To see him.
The glint of ivory hair is unmistakable—you’ve basically gotten off to the fantasy of razoring it off in his sleep. His blue eyes are bored, pretty boy face framed in glasses. Now, he’s giving teenage boy turned to Andrew Tate after a breakup. Black sweatshirt and sweatpants that are too small, because they cling to his legs in a form-defining way. He’s walking over, hands in his pockets, to a barbell station. Slaps some guys on the shoulder as he goes through, gets a lot of daps.
Which is weird to you, because you only the Gojo inside your physics class, not outside. He’s a fucking nerd—a loser that spends his time beefing with you, so why is he so popular when he gives you the time of day?
There are three dimensions to gaining alpha status, or whatever they call male popularity. You have to be 1) rich, 2) really physically fit, or 3) just really charismatic. Considering that Gojo—in all his clothing—-looks like a twink moreso than ripped gym bro, it’s definitely not dimension two. So you conclude that it’s because he’s rich and probably throws yacht parties so these ripped guys don’t push him into a locker, or something.
When he finally reaches his destination, you smirk to yourself. With that scrawny build underneath all those loose sweaters, you know he’s only going to be able to lift the bar, no plates. After all, he was warming up. insulting Gojo in countless of ways by taking jabs at his physique mentally, so you barely register that he’s grabbing for the hem of his sweatshirt, peeling it up—
To reveal his bare torso.
Your first thought: Wow, he has huge bazonkas.
That has easily got to be one of the most built physiques you’ve seen at your college so far. His pectorals basically pop out out of his torso as he moves to grab plates. First, he grabs a really big plate—you’re not a gym expert, so you wouldn’t know the weight—and stacks it. And stacks another. And another. And another, until you’re sure it’s definitely more than your bodyweight.
As you’re staring at him in awe, your 2.5 lb dumbbells hang limply by your sides, abandoning all pretense of training to openly gawk at the clench of his biceps, the sweat rolling down his temple, and the set of his jaw as he stares holes into the bar. And by the way there’s heat creeping up your cheeks you realize one thing:
You’re screwed.
“You know what?”
You keep your eyes on your notes firmly, refusing to look at Gojo sitting right next to you. You don’t know why he always chooses to sit next to you on recitation, really—it’s not like you’re receptive to his company. After all, he could be doing other things—like metaphorically sucking a TA’s dick by talking about their research, where Gojo probably knows more about the TA’s research than they do themselves.
From your periphery, you notice Gojo pouting, then scooting his chair (dragging it, so it makes a god awful screeching noise against the floor tiles that has you cringing) until he’s so close that he slings an arm on the back of your chair and leans in closer and closer. You’re fighting to keep your eyes on your notes, face heating up traitorously until you feel his breath fan across your neck because he’s just so close.
“Rude, ignoring me. Look where that got you.” He then points to a problem on your paper, one you were currently working on. “You’re doing that wrong.”
You finally turn to glare at him, but he’s closer than you anticipated, his face just inches from yours. His grin is all sharp edges and knowing amusement, and it makes your stomach flip in a way you refuse to acknowledge.
“I’m not doing it wrong,” you argue, despite the creeping suspicion that, okay, maybe you did mess up somewhere.
“Oh, really?” Gojo drawls, tilting his head slightly. “Then why is your integral off by a factor of two?”
Your eyes snap back to your notes, scanning through the equations—and, dammit, he’s right.
You huff, begrudgingly erasing the mistake. “Whatever.”
“You know, you should really be thanking me,” Gojo muses, still leaning way too close for comfort. “If I weren’t here, who knows how many mistakes you’d make?”
“She’d have me,” comes a greasy voice, and you have to fight the tears in your eyes that arise when Fred (the aforementioned pedophilic TA and your research advisor) comes, his moldy cheese stench following him as he takes a seat from across you and Gojo. You grudgingly turn your face away from where it was so close to Gojo’s to look at him and sigh inwardly. At least Gojo’s face was prettier to look at.
“Hi, Fred,” you smile tightly, willing him to go away. “We’re good here, so you can help out other students—”
“How was your weekend?” He instead replies, and you wince. Stealing a quick glance at Gojo, it seems that his jaw and posture are uncharacteristically tense.
“Lot of work for the class and for, uh, our research,” you respond, nodding and averting your gaze to your paper and feigning working on a problem so that he would get the hint.
Fred, unfortunately, does not get the hint. Instead, he leans forward, elbows on the table, eyes too focused on you. “You really ought to take breaks, you know. You can give me the code late. Someone as cute as you shouldn’t stress so much. You’ll get wrinkles.”
Your fingers tighten around your pencil, your skin crawling at the way his tone veers into something too familiar, too patronizing. You open your mouth to give a clipped response, but Gojo beats you to it.
“Oh? Didn’t know you were an expert on skincare, Fred,” Gojo drawls, his voice deceptively light. His arm, which was still resting on the back of your chair, shifts just slightly—not quite pulling you in, but making his presence more noticeable. “Though, if we’re giving out advice, maybe you should take your own. I mean, stress must be rough on you too, right? All those late nights grading papers, staring at screens. Takes a toll.”
Fred bristles, but Gojo just smiles lazily, pushing up his glasses as he tilts his head. “Actually, you know what? Maybe we should all focus on our own business. Like, say, teaching, instead of weirdly hovering over students. Crazy thought, huh?”
You swear you see the muscle in Fred’s jaw twitch, but he forces out an awkward chuckle, shifting uncomfortably. “Right, right. Just looking out for her.”
“Don’t worry,” Gojo interrupts smoothly, now fully leaning into your space, his arm draping a little lower behind your chair, “I think she’s got plenty of people looking out for her already.” His voice is soft, but there’s an undeniable edge beneath the words.
Fred lingers for a second too long, but finally, he mutters something about helping another student and stands, walking off with an air of forced nonchalance.
You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, slumping slightly in your seat. Gojo hums beside you, his fingers tapping idly against the back of your chair.
“You’re welcome, by the way,” he teases, but there’s something in his tone that’s softer than usual. He then makes a show of stretching, raising his arms. His sweater rides up a bit, exposing his lower abs and peeks of white that has you averting your gaze, the heat creeping up at his proximity once again. Then, his arm back on your chair. Weirdly, you find that you don’t mind it.
You sigh, resigned. You’ll figure out these feelings later. “Yeah. Thanks, Gojo.”
But you don’t immediately go back to your work, because Gojo suddenly hunches down and whispers in your ear. “Yea, I definitely saw an underage anime girl sticker on his laptop.”
Your responding snort is so loud everyone turns to look at you and Gojo, who is now sporting a mischievous and satisfied smile.
It starts with a single drop, fat and cold where it splats against your wrist. You glance up from your phone just in time to see the sky split open.
“Shit,” you mutter, stuffing your phone into your bag. The library doors shut behind you with a heavy clang, sealing away the scent of old books and the quiet hum of studying students. Outside, the air is thick with the petrichor of freshly fallen rain, and within seconds, the pavement is slick, puddles forming in the uneven cracks of the sidewalk. The streetlights reflect off the wet ground, casting fragmented golden glows against the darkening sky. You’d been studying to grind for the upcoming assignments; after all, to rival Gojo is a no small feat. It’s just unfortunate it seems to take you thousand times more effort than it does for Gojo.
“Guess we’re stuck together, huh?”
You don’t have to turn to know who it is.
Satoru Gojo, standing beside you under the library’s narrow overhang, wearing that insufferable grin like he’s amused by the entire situation. Like the rain personally fell from the sky just to give him an opportunity to bother you.
“I’ll take my chances,” you say flatly, shifting your bag on your shoulder. But as you peer past the downpour, your stomach sinks. The rain is merciless, an unrelenting sheet of water stretching as far as you can see. There’s no way you’re making it back to your dorm without looking like you took a fully clothed shower.
Gojo hums, pulling something out of his bag. You blink when he flicks open a half-broken umbrella, the metal ribs slightly bent like it’s barely holding itself together. He gives it a little shake, sending droplets flying, before glancing at you with a smirk.
“Well?” He lifts a brow. “Wanna be smart about this?”
You do not want to be smart about this. You want to wait out the rain or make a break for it. But the storm shows no signs of letting up, and the thought of walking through it alone makes you hesitate.
Reluctantly, you sigh. “Fine. But I get most of the cover.”
“Hey, sharing is caring.” He tilts the umbrella slightly, just enough to make a point.
With great reluctance, you step closer. The moment you do, you regret it.
Gojo is warm. Even in the damp, chilled air, he radiates heat, standing so close that his sleeve brushes against yours. He smells good, too—like expensive laundry detergent with a faint undercurrent of something sweet, something distinctly him.
You swallow hard, forcing yourself to stare straight ahead as the two of you start walking. The rain pounds against the umbrella, droplets cascading off the edges, and with every step, you’re hyper-aware of the way Gojo moves beside you—loose-limbed, annoyingly graceful, a stark contrast to the crooked metal above your heads.
“Man, this thing’s on its last leg,” he muses, tilting the umbrella just slightly. Water dribbles off the side, landing directly onto your shoulder.
“Gojo!” you yelp, recoiling as the cold soaks through your shirt.
“Oops.” He does not sound remotely sorry.
You glare at him, but before you can snap back, he shrugs off his jacket and—without preamble—drapes it over you.
You freeze.
It’s warm, still carrying the heat of his body, and it smells so much like him—clean, sweet, dizzyingly familiar. Your brain short-circuits.
You force yourself to breathe, keeping your gaze firmly ahead. “You didn’t have to do that,” you say, voice tight.
“I wanted to.”
Something in his tone makes your stomach flip. You glance at him from the corner of your eye, and—
Damn him. Damn him.
Water drips from his bangs, clinging to the sharp edges of his jawline, sliding down the curve of his throat. His shirt sticks to his skin, fabric clinging in a way that reveals the toned lines of his arms, the broad plane of his chest. He’s watching the rain, the usual teasing glint in his eyes softened into something contemplative.
You swear your eggs just recently got released, for you cannot help but avoid your ever going attraction to Satoru Gojo except the age-old excuse: ovulation. Your mind wanders to how his arms would feel around your head, to lay on his chest, how he’d be able to manhandle you, force you to take it—
But you’re snapped out of your inappropriate thoughts by what he says next.
“You know,” he says, voice quieter now, “I like this. Just us, no grades, no competing.”
You pause.
He says it so simply, so easily, like it’s nothing at all. But the words settle deep, curling somewhere warm inside you, and you don’t know what to do with them.
So you do what you do best: you shove them away, bury them beneath years of rivalry, of late-night study sessions fueled by caffeine and stubbornness, of sharp words and sharper glances.
You roll your eyes, forcing a scoff. “Don’t get used to it.”
But even as you say it, your fingers curl into the fabric of his jacket, holding it a little tighter.
It’s been a week since you saw Gojo. He had dropped you at your dorm in a surprisingly gentlemanly way, and you had insisted on returning the jacket only after washing it, to be courteous. What you didn’t mention was how you kept repeatedly smelling it in your dorm whenever you got a reprieve from your roommate’s eyes because Gojo smelled like expensive cologne and he did one thing most nerds / physics majors don’t do: shower. This fact, unfortunately, made you more attracted to him because the bar is truly in hell.
You’ve concluded that these…feelings can’t hurt you and that it isn’t real, like a beefy and shirtless Gojo-looking demon that’ll jump and surprise you from under your bed. So you move on your life, caught in the ever perpetual slog of studying and researching.
Thus, you find yourself at the library once more.
The night hums low around you, quiet except for the occasional shuffle of paper and the distant hum of the library’s espresso machine (only librarians could use it, however. you fervently thought that was a form of elitism, but you digress). You’re at the corner table, the one by the window, where the dim light pools just enough to illuminate your notes but not enough to make you feel like you’re being studied under a microscope. You think you’re alone—until you aren’t.
You don’t have to look up to know it’s him.
Satoru Gojo is hard to miss, even when he’s not trying. He slides into the chair across from you with the kind of ease that makes it seem like he belongs there, like he was always going to end up sitting across from you tonight. His hair is tousled, white strands falling forward in a way that makes him look softer under the warm light. His glasses are perched low on his nose, a rare sight given that he usually has them pushed up like some kind of pretentious scholar.
The two of you don’t speak.
It’s surprising, really. Gojo never runs out of things to say, whether it’s an obnoxious quip or some unnecessarily insightful observation that makes you want to throw your textbook at his face. But tonight, he just pulls out his own notes, taps his pen against the edge of his lips, and starts reading.
You should focus on your own studying, but something about this—this silence, this late-night haze, this tiny moment carved out of time—makes your mind wander. You steal glances when you think he won’t notice. His brows furrow when he’s concentrating, his jaw tightens when he’s stuck on something, and when he exhales, it’s this slow, measured thing, like he’s trying not to get frustrated. He’s just—
He’s just really there.
You’ve spent years defining Gojo as your rival. Your competition. The person standing in your way at every academic milestone. And yet, somehow, somewhere, he’s slipped into something else, something harder to define. Because you’ve seen him like this before—when he’s so focused that he forgets the world around him, when he bites his lip in thought, when he gets so caught up in something that he mutters under his breath without realizing it. And for the first time, it dawns on you: you don’t actually hate it.
You don’t hate this comfortable silence. This moment of peace, a white flag waving lazily between you both.
The hours blur. The café starts to empty. Your notes turn into background noise. It’s late, and the warmth from inside lulls you into something dangerously close to comfort.
A soft sound breaks through the quiet.
You glance up and freeze.
Gojo’s head has tilted to the side, his glasses slipping slightly down the bridge of his nose. His hand is curled loosely around his pen, and his breathing has evened out. He’s asleep.
For a moment, you don’t move. You barely breathe.
Gojo, asleep, is not something you’ve seen before. He’s always in motion, always buzzing with energy, always running his mouth about something. But right now, he’s still. His long lashes cast faint shadows over his cheekbones, and the tension he always carries—the cocky bravado, the smirking sharpness—is nowhere to be found. He just looks… peaceful.
Cutie.
What?
The thought slips in so quickly, so effortlessly, that it nearly makes you jolt. But when you look at him again—head tilted just slightly, glasses slipping down his nose, breathing slow and even—you can’t deny that the word fits. He looks like a lazy cat napping in a sunbeam, limbs loose, utterly unguarded. It’s so unlike him that you find yourself staring, caught in the contrast.
Your fingers twitch. Before you can stop yourself, you reach forward, slow and hesitant, to push his glasses back up his nose. But you catch yourself just before you touch him, as if the warmth of his skin might burn. Your hand hovers in the air for a fraction of a second too long, and then—
You pull away.
Your heart is pounding. It’s fine. It’s nothing. You just need to get out of here.
You gather your things quietly, glancing back at him one last time before slipping out the door into the cool night air. The moment you step outside, you take a breath, deep and shaking. The world feels different now. You feel different now.
Because for the first time, it isn’t just that you find Gojo attractive.
It’s that you care.
And you don’t know what the hell to do about it.
The gym, once again, smells like sweat and overpriced protein powder.
You don’t know what’s possessed you to come here today. Maybe it’s because you keep telling yourself that you need to exercise more, or maybe it’s because you need to take a break from studying before your brain melts. But deep down, if you’re really being honest with yourself, you know the real reason.
Gojo is here.
You spotted him the first time by accident. You were on the treadmill, barely jogging at a pace that wouldn’t embarrass you, when you caught a flash of white hair across the gym floor. And there he was—dressed in a fitted black sleeveless top and joggers, casually loading plates onto a barbell.
And he wasn’t wearing his glasses.
It was a stupid, inconsequential detail, but it made all the difference. Without them, he didn’t look like the annoying academic rival who constantly got under your skin, flashing his smug grin as he beat you in exams by the smallest possible margins. He looked… sharp. Unfiltered. Effortlessly attractive in a way that made your stomach tighten in ways you didn’t like.
You’d seen him in his regular clothes before, of course. You knew he had broad shoulders and long legs, that his body wasn’t just a lanky frame hidden behind layers of sweaters. But here, in the gym, watching him roll his shoulders as he prepped for another set—it hit differently. He was lean but muscular, his arms flexing as he adjusted his grip on the bar, and for some godforsaken reason, you couldn’t look away.
You shouldn’t be watching him. You should be focusing on your own workout, pretending you don’t care. But the way his shirt clung to his back, the way his forearms tensed, the way he exhaled sharply as he lifted—
You’re so screwed.
You force yourself to look away, grabbing the smallest dumbbells available and curling them in what has to be the weakest excuse for a workout imaginable. You’re barely paying attention to what you’re doing, too busy sneaking glances at Gojo between sets. It’s pathetic, but at least no one else is watching you.
Or so you think.
Because then she appears.
A girl.
Tall, toned, and effortlessly gorgeous, with sleek hair pulled into a high ponytail. She strides over to Gojo with a confidence you could never dream of and smiles at him, saying something that makes him laugh. Her ass is definitely bigger than yours, and she’s in this coordinated, cute, pink set, looking like she walked straight out of a fitness TikTok. You can’t hear what they’re talking about over the sound of weights clanking and some obnoxious EDM song blasting through the speakers, but you can see it. The way she leans in, the way she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, the way Gojo—
—smiles at her. That easy, lazy grin he always wears when he’s teasing you, except this time, it isn’t for you.
Your grip tightens around the dumbbells, something ugly curling in your chest. It gets worse when she gestures toward the squat rack, and Gojo nods before moving behind her, hands hovering just slightly as she sets up for a squat. You watch as he spots her, one hand resting lightly on her lower back, close enough to correct her form but far enough to be polite. He’s focused, watching her movements carefully, murmuring something that makes her laugh before she drops into another rep.
Your stomach twists.
This is stupid. You have no reason to be feeling this way.
It’s then that it hits you—you can have your silly little academic rival moments with Gojo, but, in the end, you’re just a footnote in his story, a fleeting challenge in a life where everything already belongs to him. He quite literally has generational wealth; he’s not going to spend his life buried in grant applications or clawing for recognition in a field that demands twice the effort for half the reward. He’ll be the one funding the research, sitting at the head of the table, making decisions that shape the future. And you? You’ll be one of the many who struggle just to be in the same room.
He’s the guy who spends his vacations on yachts or private islands—not just surrounded by wealth, but by people who belong there. Girls who glide through life with the same effortless ease as him, girls who don’t second-guess if they deserve to be in the spaces they occupy. Girls who don’t have to fight for their place at the table because it was always set for them.
Girls that are his equal—equally attractive, equally smart, equally rich.
Not you.
You swallow hard, forcing yourself to look away, but the image is burned into your mind. The easy way he talks to her. The way she tilts her head when she listens. The way he doesn’t even know you’re here.
You shouldn’t care. You shouldn’t care. You shouldn’t care.
But you do.
You grip the dumbbells tighter, exhaling sharply. Then you put them back, pick up your water bottle, and walk out of the gym before you do something stupid.
The office is too small. Too suffocating. Too filled with the weight of unspoken words and the sharp-edged smile of Fred, the TA, as he leans back in his chair and laces his fingers together.
"You know," he begins, voice sickly sweet, "I really expected more from you."
You sit stiffly in the chair across from him, your hands curled into fists in your lap, nails digging crescents into your skin. Your heart pounds, but your face remains carefully neutral. You've been called into his office under the guise of "academic guidance," but you know better. You always know better.
"I don't know what you mean," you say, keeping your voice even.
Fred exhales dramatically, shaking his head. "Come on. You and I both know you're barely keeping up in this project of ours."
You grit your teeth. You're not barely keeping up. You're giving him your work at the highest level, at its best. But Fred—Fred has always had a way of twisting things, making you feel small, insignificant, like your achievements are nothing more than accidents.
“I think my progress speaks for itself,” you respond tightly. Mind you, while he was supposed to be your mentor, you’ve done 80% of the work.
But you think Gojo’s defense of you ran deep into Fred’s heart because by the way he’s sleazily smirking at you, you know he’s trying to get back at you.
He smirks. "Your progress? Sure, you’re smart. But you think that’s enough? You think anyone’s going to care about a girl like you when there are people out there who don’t have to struggle to be exceptional?" He leans forward, voice dropping into something conspiratorial. "You’re wasting your time. The best you can hope for is being someone’s assistant. Maybe a glorified research grunt if you’re lucky. Just like for me."
Your stomach twists. You shouldn’t care. You know you shouldn’t care. But the words burrow deep, hitting a place inside you that already doubts, that already wonders if you’re nothing more than a temporary obstacle in a world built for people like Gojo Satoru—people born brilliant, born wealthy, born effortless.
Fred’s eyes flick over you, assessing, smug. "You’re working yourself to the bone for what? You’ll never be at the top. Not really."
The bitterness of the situation really dawns on you—Gojo’s the one who took a jab at Fred last week, not you. But you’re the one who’s left to deal with its consequences. You’re not going to assign blame and lament that it’s not Gojo in this office dealing with him. It was in your defense, after all.
But Fred’s words remind you. You’ll never be at the top. At Gojo’s level, who’s at the top without even seeming to put in effort.
You’ll never be his equal.
You stand abruptly, shoving your chair back so hard it scrapes against the floor. "If that’s all, I have work to do."
Fred chuckles, leaning back, clearly pleased with himself. "Sure, sure. Don’t say I never tried to give you advice."
You don’t respond. You just walk out, gripping your bag so tightly your knuckles turn white, the echo of his words following you down the hall, settling in your bones like lead.
The hallway is too bright. Too loud. Too full of people who don’t know that you’re on the verge of crumpling in on yourself like a dying star.
Your breath feels too shallow, too quick, and there’s a weight pressing down on your chest that no amount of rationalizing can shake off. It’s not even your meeting with Fred—just a slow accumulation of stress and exhaustion and frustration that’s settled deep in your bones. A grade lower than expected, an upcoming deadline you’re nowhere near prepared for, a general sense of drowning no matter how hard you try to keep up. It’s all too much, and your hands are starting to shake from how tightly you’re gripping the strap of your bag.
You just need to get out of here. You need air, space, something.
But, of course, the universe has a cruel sense of humor, because when you round the corner, you slam straight into Satoru Gojo.
“Whoa—”
Your balance is already precarious from the way you were rushing, and the impact sends you stumbling. For a split second, you think you might actually fall—your ankle twists awkwardly, the world tilts—and then there’s a strong hand gripping your wrist, another bracing against your back, steadying you before you can hit the ground.
You don’t process what happens immediately. Your mind is still stuck on too much, too fast, can’t breathe, and it takes you a second to realize that Gojo is holding you upright, his hands firm but careful, his expression hovering somewhere between amusement and concern.
“Jeez, what’s the rush?” he teases, but his voice lacks its usual careless lilt. He’s searching your face now, eyes narrowing behind his glasses, and that’s when you realize: you must look as bad as you feel.
Shit.
You jerk away from him, a little too fast, a little too sharp. “I’m fine.”
Gojo doesn’t look convinced. “You sure? Because it kinda seemed like you were about to pass out on the spot.”
“I said I’m fine.” You adjust your bag over your shoulder, shifting your weight onto your other foot, ignoring the faint throb in your ankle. “Go bother someone else.”
Most of the time, that’s enough to send him off with an exaggerated sigh and a smirk. But not today.
Today, Gojo just stands there, watching you like he’s trying to piece something together—like you’re a problem he wants to solve. He doesn’t press, not yet, but the silence stretches, and it’s unbearable, because you can feel the weight of his gaze, and you don’t want to be seen like this. Not by him.
So you give him a tight nod in dismissal, and walk away.
There’s a knock at your door. You frown because you didn’t expect any visitors, and you’re in your sleepwear. Regardless, you pad your way lazily and open the door.
To see Gojo.
What the fuck.
He’s drenched in the glow of the hallway light, looking entirely too at home despite standing on your threshold. His hair is still slightly damp from the rain, white strands falling over his forehead in careless disarray. He’s not wearing his glasses.
"Why are you here?" you demand, gripping the doorframe, willing your voice to stay steady.
He quirks an eyebrow, tilting his head just slightly. “You’re holding my jacket hostage.”
Oh. Right.
You make your way to your wardrobe, where the now-cleaned jacket hangs neatly on a hanger. Grabbing it, you hand it over to Gojo, who’s standing at your threshold while eyeing the insides of your dorm, as if trying to take in what your living space looks like. You shove it into his chest, stepping back like the heat of it burns. "Here."
Gojo takes it, but instead of leaving like a normal person, he lingers, running his fingers over the material like he’s checking for something. Then,, he lifts a hand to the back of his neck, rubbing it in that way that only makes his biceps flex, his lean muscles shifting beneath his shirt. You hate that you notice.
A beat passes.
"You know," he muses, far too casually, "you seemed a little disheveled back there."
Your stomach twists. "It's not a big deal—"
"—Bullshit." His voice cuts through yours, sharp and immediate. He shifts, stepping just the tiniest bit closer, his tone losing its usual teasing lilt. “You’re lying. I saw what you looked like. What happened?”
“It's none of your business,” you say, stiffening. “Nor is it a big deal, really.”
Gojo exhales, something heavy in the sound. His eyes don’t leave yours, and for once, they aren’t filled with their usual mirth or mischief. Just something searching, something that makes your chest ache in a way you don’t have the strength to deal with right now.
"You always do that," he says, softer now, but no less intense. “Act like no one’s supposed to care. Like you’re carrying the world alone.”
Your fingers curl into your palms. Your lips press together. You don’t want to hear this. You don’t want to acknowledge the way his words settle too close to the truth.
And then, quietly, Gojo asks, “Do you not consider me your equal?”
You swallow.
Your silence must be enough of an answer because something shifts in his expression. It isn’t anger exactly, but it’s something close—something bitter and disappointed and aching all at once.
"You’re the one who shuts me out, you know." His voice is sharp now, edged with frustration. "You act like I'm the one keeping you at a distance, but every time I try to get close, you push me away."
Your throat tightens. “Why do you even care?”
Gojo lets out a breath, his head tilting just slightly, eyes scanning your face like you’re something he’s trying to figure out. Then he laughs, quiet and humorless.
“You really don’t know?”
“I—” Your voice wavers. “What do you mean—”
“For a girl so smart, you sure do act stupid.” He steps forward then, closing the space between you just enough to make you want to back away, but your feet don’t move. His voice drops lower. "Do you think I talk to you because I give a fuck about physics?"
Your brain short-circuits. “What—”
He groans, dragging a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I give zero fucks about the class or any class, trust me. I have better things to do than to try to aim for 100s on every test."
Your heart is pounding now, too loud, too fast. “Then why—”
"God," he exhales, tipping his head back, like he's debating whether or not he should even say it. Then, after a beat, he looks at you again, and whatever is in his eyes makes your stomach flip, makes your breath hitch.
Something in your chest lurches, but before you can even process it, he huffs a laugh—like he’s just remembered something ridiculous.
"You didn’t even look my way the first week," he says, eyes flicking over your face, searching. "I could tell you only cared about anyone that could challenge you. Like, it wasn’t even until I did better than you on the second midterm that you even talked to me."
You open your mouth, then close it, heat prickling at the back of your neck. Because—yeah. He’s not wrong. You had ignored him, dismissed him as just another overconfident rich kid who thought he was smarter than he was. It wasn’t until he proved himself, until he became a real obstacle in your path, that you bothered to acknowledge him.
Gojo smiles, but it’s not cocky this time—it’s small, almost rueful. "And then you looked at me like I was finally real. Like I existed."
Your breath hitches.
He shrugs, eyes dropping for a brief second before snapping back up to yours. "So, yeah. Maybe I started trying harder. Maybe I cared about all those stupid tests because it meant I got to see that fire in your eyes, that I got to be the one you were pushing against." He rubs the back of his neck, his biceps flexing in a way that would usually annoy you, but right now, you’re too busy trying to remember how to breathe.
Gojo stares at you for a long moment, gaze unwavering, like he’s daring you to say something—anything.
Your chest feels too tight, your pulse erratic, and you don’t know what to do with the way Gojo is looking at you—like you’re something precious, something worth holding onto.
But he’s wrong. He has to be wrong.
“You can’t like me,” you whisper.
Gojo frowns, expression shifting. “What?”
Your throat clenches, and before you can stop it, heat pricks at your eyes, blurring your vision. “You can’t like me,” you say again, voice cracking. “I can’t even match you.”
Gojo's face slackens, his teasing demeanor completely gone.
"You do everything so effortlessly," you force out, your fists clenching at your sides. "It’s so infuriating." A shaky breath escapes you, and you shake your head, looking down. “So why would you even want this? You make me feel this way, and I—I hate you for it.”
For a second, there’s only silence.
Then, Gojo exhales softly.
“Is that what you think?” His voice is so gentle it makes something inside you ache.
You don’t answer. You can’t.
Gojo shifts, stepping forward slowly, carefully, like you’re something fragile. And then—then he reaches out, his fingers ghosting along your wrist before curling around it, grounding you. “It’s not effortless,” he murmurs. “I try so hard. You just don’t see it because I don’t want you to.”
"You really don’t get it, do you?" His voice is quieter now, something dangerously close to vulnerable. His fingers twitch at his sides. "I care because it’s you."
You shake your head, still not understanding, still unable to believe it.
Gojo watches you for a moment, then exhales, running a hand through his hair. “You act like I just woke up one day and decided to like you.” He huffs a quiet laugh, but there’s no real amusement in it. “Do you know how long I’ve been stuck on you? How infuriating it was, realizing that no matter how much attention I got, the only person I wanted it from was too busy treating me like an obstacle?”
Your breath catches.
“I tried everything,” he continues, voice rougher now. “Teasing you, annoying you, beating you in tests, losing to you in tests. It didn’t matter what I did, because you—” He breaks off, shaking his head. “You only saw me when I gave you a reason to compete.”
Your fingers tremble slightly at your sides. You don’t know what to say, don’t even know what you can say.
And suddenly, everything—the teasing, the constant pestering, the way he always had to be around you—it all clicks into place.
Your heart hammers in your chest, and before you can second-guess it, before you can even think, you surge forward and kiss him.
It’s a mess of a kiss—too rushed, too desperate, all clashing teeth and uneven breaths—but Gojo groans softly against your lips, like he’s been waiting for this. His hands are on you immediately, one slipping around your waist, the other cradling the back of your head as he presses you flush against him.
You’re dizzy. Overwhelmed. But it’s good. It’s him, and you don’t want to stop.
When you finally pull away, breathless and unsteady, Gojo is grinning, his lips slightly swollen.
“Worth the wait,” he murmurs, eyes shining.
You avert your gaze, fully blushing now. “But I—” You take a look at him, then hide your face in your hands. “I’m a stalker.”
“Maybe I’m into that.”
“No,” you bemoan. “I’ve stalked you at the gym, and I—” Your voice drops into a shameful whisper. “You were good. Like, stupidly good. Like, making everyone stare at you good.”
His lips twitch. “You were staring too, huh?”
You glare at him, but he just grins, all teeth, clearly eating this up.
“I hated it,” you insist, heat prickling at the back of your neck. “I hated that you’re already smarter than me, that you already have all these advantages, and then—and then you also have that? Like, it’s just unfair. You’re unfair.”
Gojo is silent for a second, and you think you’ve screwed up, but then exhales a sharp laugh, shaking his head. “You are so cute.”
“Stop it!” you whine, but you don’t protest when he pulls you closer and locks your lips with his another time. You clutch the front of his shirt, drag your hands on his chest, his arms, everywhere. Then, you guide his to firmly clutch your ass, to which he freezes.
“We can stop here. We don’t have to do anymore than this, and—”
But you interrupt him, slamming your lips against his once more. Grabbing him by the shoulder you pull him into your room and slam the door behind you, pushing him against the door. “Fuck no.”
He laughs breathlessly, then continues to switch your position, now you against the door. “Thank god. Now, jump.”
You do, and you almost moan at how easily he grabs you in his arms, your legs straddling him. It’s like you weigh nothing to him as he carries you over to your bed and manhandles you into it, following not long after.
When he gets on top of you, he maintains eye contact as he pulls your shirt over your head, trailing kisses down to your neck, the valley of your breasts (but not before giving each of the girls their own tender kiss), and your stomach. With his eyes boring into you, he slowly, teasingly drags the pants you were wearing down your legs until you’re just in your panties.
You let out a noise, and he coos. “I know, I know, baby.” He gives you a gentle kiss on the top of your mound, and you clench, squirming from the contact. “Let me take my time, though.”
He gently, but firmly, lays a hand on your hip as he starts licking the crotch of your panties. It’s truly maddening—the sensation is there, but you oh so wish his skilled tongue was meeting your skin, bare and electric.
He’s taking his time laving, ravishing your taste, but you’ve had enough. “Gojo, please,” you sob, throwing your head back and grinding further into his tongue, which he welcomes. “Stop teasing.”
“Mmmm,” he pretends to think, all while focused and looking only at your crotch, now rubbing your clit in small, miniscule circles. “I can, but,” and now he’s just mocking you, with the way he adopts a babying tone, “I think you’re going to have to beg for it.”
You groan in frustration as a response, but he only clicks his tongue as his fingers reach and finally rid you of your panties. He spreads your folds with two fingers, his face oh so close to your bare pussy. But instead of finally giving you what you want, he clicks his tongue, pouting as if you’re the one forcing him to be a bastard. “Yea, I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to earn it.”
Before you can respond, he holds out his tongue and inches his face even closer to your bare folds until you can feel his warm breath over it. “You just have to say please.” Then, he ahhh-s, as if holding his tongue out to a doctor and says, “Look I’m so close—ahhh.”
You can only plead with him. “Please, Gojo.”
“No, it’s Satoru to you now, baby.”
“Satoru, please eat me out.”
He smiles. “Yeaa, that’s my girl.” And proceeds to eat you out in a way that has your toes curling.
He acts like a man eating his last meal on death row. It’s the masterful combination of laving over your folds, kissing your clit, and groaning and making noises that has you inching closer and closer to your orgasm. When you tell him, you’re close, he does exactly what he’s supposed to do—keep doing what he’s doing, same spot, same tempo, same pressure.
With a cry of his name, you come quickly, and he takes your writhing hips and their motion like a champ, easing you through it. When you feel the all-too-familiar feel of over sensitivity, you grab his hair and pull him towards your face, kissing him tenderly.
He maneuvers his huge frame to lay down next to you, and you fall easily into a gentle embrace. It’s a comfortable silence, as he burrows his face into your chest and you stroke his hair gently.
Gentler than how you’ve ever treated him.
It’s this thought exactly that you voice to him. “You know,” you muse softly. “I was such a bitch to you.” This gets his attention, because he moves from where he was comfortable (your boobs) to look at you in alarm. “Like, I was always mean, and like acting all high and mighty—”
“Whatever you think you did, it was hot,” he interrupts you, grinning boyishly. “Like damn when you insult me I get all fired up—”
“Satoru!” You laugh, shocked, looking down at him. “You’re crazy.”
“Yea,” he winks. “Crazy for you.”
You smile softly at that, biting your lip. “I mean, I get that.” You feel his curious gaze rove over you and heat creeps up your neck as you confess, “Like I was stalking you at the gym. I saw you one time, and um. You definitely have a sleeper build.”
He hums. “I get that a lot.”
“Yea,” you blurt. “you’re really hot. Like you have really big arms, which I definitely didn’t notice in all those sweaters you wear. You could definitely throw me around.”
Silence.
When you look down at him, he’s looking at you mischievously. He sits up, takes off his shirt, and says, “Want to test that theory?”
The both of you test the theory, indeed—it’s a nice nod to your guys’ academic, theoretical physics roots. But instead of some theory involving dark matter or quantum physics debated while in class, this theory takes all night to prove.
general masterlist
a/n special thank you to @purplegemadventures ily pookie <3 we were discussing how a lot of fics so far have made seem nerd gojo really cute and shy but we tried to envision a shit eating sassy diva just like hidden inventory arc <3 like what that one anon said i need my gojo to be a little annoying cocky (but cute) bastard (or, i quote, "your gojo makes me want to oil his scalp and give him an aggressive head massage and mess his hair up"). ANYWAYS props to that one anon that dropped the "nerd gojo with sleeper build" and my beloved @tiramisuandlove i love you forever
comment and reblog to let me know ur thots!
#aashi writes#gojo x reader#gojo smut#gojo x you#jjk x reader#jjk smut#jjk x you#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru smut#gojo satoru x you#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen smut#jujutsu kaisen x you#jjk#jjk fic#jujutsu kaisen#gojo satoru#nerd gojo#nerdjo
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i can't stop thinking about the first episode of season 6, when sam tries to convince dean to come with him, to come back to hunting. he says "it's just better with you around, that's all." it's an interesting line because sam is soulless, obviously. and even though he doesn't understand the details yet, he knows something's wrong with him.
"it's better with you around" he says, citing dean's compassion and care for others as the reason why. and how interesting is that? sam's working with plenty of other hunters who still have their souls—they're all more than capable of caring about the people they save. but sam needs dean specifically. he knows he's missing something, and he sees dean and recognizes that something in him. even cold and calculating and unrelentingly logical, sam recognizes that dean, alone, can "complete" him, give something back to him that he's supposed to have.
in episode 8 he tells dean he "needs his help." he doesn't elaborate; he never explains what he means by that. he has a whole family of hunters who'd be willing and able to help him, but still he needs dean. even without his soul, his hyperrational mind knows he needs him.
soulless sam isn't capable of caring about dean. but he doesn't need to care to know they need to be together, no matter what—to know dean is good for him, dean completes him, dean needs to be there for him.
it's like a sick reversal of season 1. sam drags dean back into this life because he can't keep going without him. because he needs him. because when you think about it logically, and sam has no other choice, there was never any other option for them.
#supernatural#wincest#i mean i'm absolutely looking at this through wincest-colored lenses but this isn't even a romantic observation#and i think that makes it so much worse#every time soulless sam gives an indication that he needs dean in his life even when he's incapable of caring about him. that's so fucked u#like what the fuck do you mean sam's dependence on dean isn't even irrational. that it's so normal to him that it's completely logical#to need him. that sam needs dean the way humans need air to breathe: an unalterable fact of nature and reality#'there are also things about it i remember that i... let's just say i think i should probably go back to being him'#What The Fuck Do You Mean By That Sammy#having a soul hurts but he should 'probably' go back to having one#he says in a conversation about how he knows he should care about dean but doesn't#like there's something inside him screaming for dean. and it's trapped and trying to claw its way out#he needs to care about dean no matter what the cost is. he needs to love him again#it's unnatural and wrong for him to exist without loving his brother. is that what you're saying. is that it#i just can't stop thinking about soulless sam. sorry. what's wrong with him seriously#besides not having a soul#.txt#sam#the winchester gospel#spn posting#6.01#6.08#spn6
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Sophie Shepard & Kaidan Alenko (ME1) 1/?
MIRA'S MORE CANON ME1 "After everything that happened with Zaeed, Caleston, and the Villa? I think need to tell you a few things about BAaT." "Well, after everything that happened with Zaeed, Caleston, and the Villa? I think I might owe you an explanation about how I really know Anderson." AKA: Zaeed Massani and the case of the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad message ping. :) Mass Effect: Legendary Edition (2021)
#mira makes gifs ✨#sophie shepard#kaidan alenko#shenko#mass effect#mass effect legendary edition#me#dailygaming#morecanonmasseffect#otp: you’re real enough for me#hi my name is mira and i like taking the most convoluted route to make gifs of my blorbos :)#the devil on my shoulder told me to do an LE1 mesh swap and i should not have listened lmao but IT TURNED OUT CUTE SO IT WAS WORTH IT :)#alright if we’re nailing down canon all of this happens at the villa technically?? so not even on the normandy lmao but we don’t have that#so this is as close as i could get it. and soph pulling up kaidan felt more canon to me in the ✨context✨#so we MESH SWAPPED BABY and now i have the power of kaidan alenko as shep to make AU gifs#LE1 mesh swaps might hurt my soul but eden prime calls my name :)#all of this happens at soph’s favorite spot overlooking the villa which is where they have the baat/anderson conversations :)#the most canon thing from this is the interruption of the kiss which isn’t joker in soph’s canon it’s zaeed lmao#he bypasses the mute on her omni-tool to bug her about coming to grab his shit from the normandy he didn’t grab earlier in the day#the eye roll in that one gif? she is internalizing her rage#her inner thoughts are literally something along the lines of#‘zaeed massani i am literally going to fucking kill you and strip your viper for parts’ in canon lol#i said fuck it to me1 canon and decided they get together early. caleston is the first mission. it just makes sense for them honestly#i could go on a 30 rant tag about just that but i think it’s just like a *when you know* and a trust thing#especially for soph who has issues trusting people and there’s always been a feeling in the back of her head of knowing she can trust him#and in soph!canon i think it goes the same in reverse for kaidan because i think there’s sort of a ‘lone biotic’ stigma around him#and i think they were both drawn to each other because it was easy to see *someone* to trust under the lone biotic and the sole survivor#‘someone’ i use that word a lot in canon :) but i think they’re both trusting of each other early on because they see foils in one another#and i think they both feel on the outside a bit in a way. kindred spirits. which is probably why they fall hard fast :)#i probably ranted too much like i always do because i treat the tags like a TEDtalk but have a good day as always friend! 💙
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Just another note on shadowhunters rewatch, hugging it out with Sebastian/Johnathan Morgenstern without even having his dying words is mind boggling to me
#Clary is such a 2010 core female main character HOW did the show make her more soft than they should#She was ready to murder Johnathan on sight#ik they probably didn't have that much time to develop it but it took away one of my absolute favorite things#the fact Clary was barely able to mourn her brother#she watched this young man she never actually met die in front of her as their mother mourned him#HE APOLOGIZED#the first and last things Johnathan Morgenstern did in his real life were apologize and try to make sure they didn't get hurt after he died#they had a sad scene with his death and didn't GIVE a reason for why it was sad#back to the idea that Clary was absolutely UNHINGED in the books and her simply going Stab Stab was much more entertaining#they really said ''no murder for her!'' AND GOT HER PUNISHED FOR IT#AND ANOTHER THING Raziel would never give a fuck about Clary using her powers#He DID NOT care about humans he didn't know what they were doing#the only angel who cares is Ithuriel bless his soul#like Raziel only knew Valentine was fucked up bc Ithuriel ratted him out (as he should)#and he went ahead and punished Valentine bc it was EXTREME and it was Raziel's name and pride he was using to commit atrocities#the angel was ready to smite Simon for bothering him again actually he would NEVER get involved directly bc of his fancy
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DCXDP - Danny is a flerken, this causes Dick a lot of concern
Dick doesn't like Damian's new cat, or everyone thinks it's a cat, at least. It's kinda big for the size of a regular house cat, and it's whole body is like a weird trippy illusion; black with blue eyes one moment, white with green the next.
Damian claims he just picked it up off the street, and he's overall utterly unperturbed with the cat. According to him the thing was probably some sort of escaped lab experiment, and he is determined to figure out who was testing so inhumanely on animals. May God have mercy on their souls when that boy reaches them.
No one in the family quite likes the cat, except Damian, obviously.
The animal just has a way of sneaking into where it's not supposed to. It's always watching. Always just around the corner. Always at the exact place you don't want it to be at that exact moment.
Tim in particular is very annoyed by the cat. He likes to sit on Tim's paperwork, press buttons on his computer, and stick his face in Tim's coffee. The cat actively makes Tim's life harder whenever it gets the chance. Damian finds this to be the best form of comedy, because he is a little menace(lovingly).
Dick thinks he has it the worst with the cat overall though. Why? Because no one believes him about this stupid animal. Sure, they all agree that the cat is fucking weird, at the very least it's more sapient than a cat should be, but that's as far as they take it.
Not Dick.
Dick managed to sneak up on it once, and only once, and has never even attempted again. He just wanted to get back at the creature after it spent all day tripping him as he walked down the halls. It was harmless! Honestly, he just expected the cat to jump, maybe hiss, and skitter away for the rest of the day.
Instead the cat whirled around and opened its jaw so wide Dick swears its chin began to grace the floor, and then glowing green tentacles came out! They latched around his arms, covered his nose and mouth, and began to pull him into the tooth filled abyss of its jaws.
He felt the life in him leave before he was even half way pulled in. The fight slowly began to drain out of him, and the room was getting so so cold. Dick really thought this was how he was going to die, via his baby brother's freaky ass cat.
And then Damian's voice rang out, sharp and firm, simply calling the name of his cat lovingly dubbed "Phantom". The name Dick gave him, actually, because the cat travelled around the house like a ghost. Damian is the one who decided the name ghost was too childish, and thus, Phantom came about.
Damian arrived to him laying on the floor, Phantom on top of his chest purring away, as if the thing didn't try to consume him mere moments ago.
"Lying on the floor is quite unbecoming of you, Richard. However, since you are bonding with Phantom, I will let it slide."
And then Damian picked up the cat, tucked it into his chest, and walked back to where he came from.
When talking to Damian about the event later, he just looked at him like he was stupid. Tim said the cameras had shorted out (something that had been happening a lot recently), and he had no clue what Dick was talking about. Bruce and Alfred both advised him to seek mental help, believing him to be stress hallucinating. He didn't even bother telling the others.
So yeah, Dick doesn't like Damian's cat monster. He doesn't want to hurt his baby brother's feelings, but it can't stay.
Will be reblogging with more, eventually, other people's additions are VERY welcome
#this was actually meant to be way more serious (i still have that draft if you want it)#but i sillified it so enjoy this instead#batman#batfam#dc x dp#dcxdp#dcxdp fanfic#dc x dp crossover#dc x dp prompt#danny phantom#dick grayson#nightwing#to be shown later but danny is the most transcoded cat ever#dpxdc#dp x dc crossover#dp x dc prompt#dp x dc au
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ARGUMENTS
(HSR X READER) (ANGST)
(Amphoreus Men)
(GN!READER)
MYDEI: (His devotion to his fight which results in neglect.)
You couldn’t remember the last time you and your beloved spouse had talked to each other. It was as if Mydei’s mind was constantly on things that neglected you heavily. Even a simple “How are you today” would’ve been enough at this point. It hurt a lot. As if millions of daggers pierced you everytime Mydei walked past without saying anything. You were his lover for God’s sake.
Mydei was in the training room punching dummies with ease, letting them break into shards as they thumped onto the ground, his knuckles bleeding heavily from the constant fight.
You stepped in peeking through the small opening of the door with your wide gaze contemplating to yourself if you should walk in and say something or not.
Eventual acceptance of the option ‘yes’ overthrew your mind so you walked in and Mydei’s keen senses picked up on it immediately.
“What is it.” His gruff reply made it sound like he was annoyed. (Which he probably was.)
“You’ve been busy lately.” You mumbled out moving from one foot to another a bit nervous to how he was going to reply.
“Of course I am. You know my duties.” Mydei went back to smashing his fists against the solid wooden dummies as you winced at the sight and decided to walk up, up to him.
“I miss you.” You murmured out making Mydei freeze slightly and you could’ve sworn he softened. But as fast as it came it vanished. Mydei was back to his tense state.
“You should know everything I deal with in a singular day.”
“But I’m your lover!” You exclaimed out flinching at your own tone of voice and words making Mydei turn looking at you in your eye for the first time.
“That doesn’t matter.” He huffed out. Okay wow. Now it was your turn to be cruel.
“No wonder everyone finds you difficult.” You spat back leaving the door slamming heavily making the walls vibrate as Mydei stared dumbfounded at the shut door clenching his fists.
PHANION: (Accusations that result in anger.)
Phanion was a gentle soul with you. The perfect boyfriend in your eyes. Though as days passed you had a weird gut feeling. As if he was talking to someone other than you. Not possible. Right. The constant ‘they’re just a friend’ sounded like a lie. But you didn’t have any proof. Not yet at least.
Phanion was sitting on your local bench quietly reading as you walked up to him with a half lidded gaze of suspicion. Feeling your hard gaze Phanion sighed, shutting his book and standing up to match your height.
“Don’t give me that look.” Phanion murmured frowning with a pained expression on his face making you feel a hint of guilt.
“It’s just that you’re constantly not letting me meet your friends at all. As if you’re hiding something from me.” Your fists clenched, eyeing up at Phanion as he narrowed his own gaze at your words.
“I do not let you meet them in order for them to not do anything to you darling.” Lies. You repeated in your head. You were being unreasonable. You knew that. But your gut feeling never failed you.
“I don’t believe you.” You said spitefully making Phanion droop in hurt as you frowned at his reaction. You were expecting anger.
“Why don’t you trust me?” Phanion said holding your hand. He really had to pull that card out didn’t he.
“I do..I just.” As if knowing you were in the wrong, the only option left in your mind was to get out of the scene immediately. You let go of Phanions hand shakily leaving Phanion standing next to the bench alone as he stared at your slowly disappearing figure with a pained look.
ANAXA: (His anger towards the Gods.)
You knew your spouse's hatred towards the Gods. It never bothered you really because the people of Amphoreus worshipped titans rather than the Aeons above. Though Anaxa seemed to be solely focused on that singular emotion of hatred removing everything else in his life. Including you.
You were sitting in bed with Anaxa as he fixed up his eyepatch with his usual elegance as he eyed the several books in front of him that talked about the several elements the Gods gave down to the mortals.
“Anaxa.” You mumbled out tilting your head as Anaxa hummed out a reply as you frowned. “Why are you so focused on this subject?”
Anaxa sighed at your words as if he was contemplating you speaking out on this matter and turned his gaze towards you.
“You don’t know what these Aeons have done to our people. They’re vultures.” Anaxa spat out with seeming elegance despite his harsh words.
“I feel like you’re forgetting about everything to focus on this.” You said a hushed whisper as Anaxa narrowed his gaze.
“That’s utter lies darling. I have enough mindspace to deal with everything.” You stared at him blankly. You doubted it at this point honestly.
“I feel like you’re lying.” Silence dawned between the two of you at your words as if rendering Anaxa speechless from your statement. Which added onto your doubt from his quietness.
Silently Anaxa grabbed his things and left.
Did he just storm off?
I post in like once a century oopsie (Since I don't know anything about the characters personalities I went off looks and the trailers)
#romance#gender neutral mc#x reader#gender neutral y/n#honkai star rail#amphoreus#hsr mydei#mydei x reader#angst#arguments#hsr anaxa#anaxa#anaxa x reader#honkai star rail anaxa#mydei#phainon#honkai sr#hsr men#couple#light angst
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Street Mouse
Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley X Reader
Summary:
Warnings: Language, Violence, Minor Angst, Hinted attempted assault, fluff, military inaccuracies (teehee)
Word Count: 2.3K
A/n: i've got a whole bunch written for this pairing, and i might make some hc explanations. I've never played COD, sue me. I hope y'all enjoy and I'm gonna probably keep pumping out more parts of this cause i love love love it.
~*~
The distant sound of gunshots is akin to a lullaby now.
You're curled up in a rundown building, a tattered blanket draped over your legs as you try to get some rest.
The sound of more gunshots, these ones much closer, jolt you upright.
Risking a glance out the broken window, you peer down at the street below you, eyes widening as you see two men fighting intensely.
Your heart jumps into your throat at the display, and you can't tear your eyes away.
Eventually, the larger of the two plunges a knife into the smaller man, watching as his body crumples to the ground in a heap.
A shiver races down Simon's back, and he straightens, eyes carefully scanning the area for danger.
He turns around, glancing into each window before finally resting on the eyes he could feel piercing through his gear. His hand twitches toward one of the many weapons strapped to his body, but something about the wild curiosity in her eyes has him pausing.
You hold his gaze, unblinking and absolutely entranced.
He's a huge man, with a skull mask covering his face. Only his eyes are visible, and they all but gaze through your soul. He holds the staring contest, turning to face you fully until there's a soft grunt from behind him.
He glances over his shoulder as his comrade comes into view, and when he glances back at the building, you're gone.
He turns back to Soap slowly, risking one more glance over his shoulder, but it's as if you were never there in the first place.
"What is it? Ya see somethin', Lt?"
Ghost says nothing, only starts heading back the way he came, pausing to rid the corpse on the street of the weapons he was carrying.
You slowly peek out the window again, watching as the two disappear into the darkness of the night.
For weeks, maybe months, the country you now call home has been war-torn.
Schools have long since shut down, and the majority of the population has fled to find refuge elsewhere.
Which makes it a perfect place to hide.
And even though you know you should be keeping a low profile, you can't help but be intrigued by the skull-faced man.
And so you begin to follow him.
The streets are familiar now, as are the schedules of the soldiers and the hostiles.
Which is how you find yourself here.
You're not dumb enough to follow him onto the base or anywhere near it, but in the city when he's on patrol, those hours are all yours to observe.
Your curiosity does have you venturing farther outside of your comfort zone than you normally would, but it pays off every time your eyes meet.
And he's not oblivious to the new eyes that seem to be following him whenever he's in the city. Sure, he's gotten used to the locals staring whenever any of them walk through the streets, but these eyes aren't afraid or hostile. No, these ones are curious. Excited.
The next time he feels the gaze on him, he's outside at just past one in the morning, puffing on a cigarette in one of the few safer areas of the city. Goosebumps rise on his skin and he flicks the end of his cigarette, watching as the ash floats to the ground.
"As much as you try, you're not going to sneak up on me," He says softly, flicking his cigarette onto the ground and crushing it with the steel toe of his boot.
You say nothing, only watch curiously from the second floor of the house he's leaning against.
He turns around, backing up a few paces as his eyes dart from window to window, searching for your face until finally, they land on you.
"Show yourself."
You cock your head to the side, eyes shining in the moonlight.
"Come on, I won't hurt you, but I won't ask again," he warns.
A little grin pulls at your lips and you lean forward in the moonlight, not enough to fully show yourself, but enough for him to see the outline of your face.
You shake your head at him and bring your hand up to the side of your head. With your pointer and middle finger extended, you curl your ring and pinky finger in, pointing the faux gun at your head.
'Bang,' you mouth, knocking your head to the side dramatically.
Ghost lets out a breathy chuckle at your theatrics, his hands resting on his tactical belt.
"Why have you been following me?" He finally asks.
He's not one to second guess himself, not after all he's seen, all that he's endured. But he has to give you credit - you made him question his sanity for a day or two there.
Knowing that you're real, that someone has, in fact, been following him, puts his mind at ease.
You give him a soft smile then lean forward and press your lips to the glass.
He stares at the kiss mark left on the window, traces the soft pink mark with his eyes and then looks back up to where your eyes were, only to find that you've disappeared once again.
Simon Riley is a man who prides himself on his attention to detail, his situational awareness. But he cannot, for the life of him, understand how you manage to disappear into thin air like that.
This starts happening more and more frequently. Little run-ins, kisses left on windows, your twinkling eyes in the pale moonlight.
It's gotten to the point where he volunteers to go out on patrol if only for the possibility of catching a glimpse of your pretty eyes hidden between shadows.
And soon enough, the drawings start to appear.
The first one is drawn on a window, and he doesn't even notice it. Soap is the one who points it out.
"Look, Lt, looks like you've got a fan," he says, pointing to the window across the ally.
He glances over, following Soap's finger, and his brows raise.
On the window, drawn in what looks like marker, is a skull that matches the hard-plated mask on his face.
He scoffs, but deep down, he knows exactly who put that there. His suspicions are confirmed when he catches a lightning-quick glimpse of your eyes peeking through the curtains.
He starts seeing them more often. It surprises him how you manage to get into some of the most dangerous parts of the city and leave nothing but a skull drawing behind.
What really gets him, however, is one particular day, when they're tasked with a particular assignment.
Hostage rescue.
But the exact location of the hostages is unknown.
That is, until he notices little skulls drawn on the windows of one building. More skulls than he's ever seen you draw before.
Trusting his gut, he nods toward the building, signalling for his team to follow him as he approaches.
Sure enough, the skulls lead them better than breadcrumbs exactly to the hostages, and the hostiles are taken out quickly.
"How did you know it was this one?" Gaz asks once the building is secure, leaning outside with his Lieutenant as he lights up a cigarette.
He takes a long drag from it the blows out a cloud of smoke, his eyes flickering around in search of his helper.
"A little mouse told me," is his reply.
Never one to question his Lt, Gaz only nods and heads back inside to meet up with Soap.
As he smokes, Ghost notices a small piece of paper fluttering in the wind, half hidden beneath a rock on the ground.
Crouching down, he picks it up and unfolds it, scoffing out a chuckle.
On it is none other than one of your signature skulls. His little Banksy.
With his cigarette tucked between his lips, he grabs a pen from his breast pocket and scribbles down a half-assed picture on the paper, then tucks it beneath the rock one more time.
Though he can't see you, he knows you're nearby. He can feel your ever-present gaze.
"Ghost! Let's go!" Price calls from inside.
Tossing his cigarette onto the ground, Ghost turns on his heel and heads back inside to meet up with his team.
His back is turned for what feels like only seconds, but when he glances over his shoulder to check on the paper it's already gone.
~*~
You don't see the man with the skull face for a while after that, but you keep his drawing on you at all times.
It serves as a pleasant little reminder that life isn't so bad. Not all the time.
Your thoughts are shattered when you bump into a hard chest, tumbling to the ground with a grunt.
The night may be dark, but the moon shines brightly enough above you to illuminate the back alley you were sneaking through.
"Well, well, boys. Look what we've got here," the man says, a sick grin on his face.
He wears a similar uniform that your skull-faced soldier does, but this man's eyes are sick and snake-like. They send a shudder racing down your spine as you scramble back, scraping your hands on the ground until your back hits a wall.
"It's a long time past curfew, sweet cheeks. What're you doing out so late?" The ringleader asks, stepping closer to tower over you while his comrades circle around you, leaving you with no escape.
One of them grabs your arms and yanks you to your feet in front of them, and your heart almost jumps out of your chest.
The leader drags a dirty finger down your cheek, his brows drawing together when you yank your head back.
"I asked you a question, bitch," he snarls, grabbing your jaw and forcing you to keep your head where he wants it.
You glare up at him, then spit directly in his face, watching with satisfaction as he flinches back.
He chuckles after a moment, squeezing your face harder and glancing at his friends.
"Looks like we've got a fighter. That's okay, we know what to do with those, don't we, boys?" He asks.
This elicits chuckles from the men around you, and you feel your stomach drop.
"Do we?"
The voice is like the crack of a whip in a still room, and the laughter stops immediately.
The men beside you straighten up, hands coming up in salute.
Like water dousing a flame, you feel some of your fear ease at the newcomer.
"Tell me, Corporal, just what might we do with those?" Ghost asks, stepping out of the shadows.
"Lieutenant! We were just... this street rat was out past curfew," the man holding your chin tries to reason, quickly dropping your face.
Ghost nods, looking between the men, his eyes scanning over their names before finally resting on your eyes.
"This is what you lot spend your nights doing? Terrorizing the locals? The people we're supposed to be helping?" He asks, stepping even closer.
The tension grows thick, and you watch as the man in front of you turns around to face his superior.
Ghost chuckles dryly, the sound lacking any humour.
"You know bloody well what we do to terrorists, Corporal," he whispers, his voice deadly, dangerous.
"Now, would you care to explain to me what exactly you were doing to this nice young lady?" He asks again.
You stare up at his icy blue eyes as he makes the man cower, absolutely bewildered and warm inside.
"She's out past curfew," the Corporal tries again, his voice whiny and afraid.
Ghost nods, "and if I remember correctly, we give the citizens a warning and escort them home, we don't corner them against a wall and try to have our way with them. Or did you miss that day of training?"
The soldier's mouth opens and closes several times, but Ghost stays stoically staring at him, gaze sharp enough to kill.
"I asked you a question, Corporal, and I expect an answer!" He snarls, stepping into the man's personal space.
"There's a place for scum like you, and it's not on my team. You're removed, go back to base." His eyes find the other men, "if I ever catch you lot in the city pulling a stunt like this again, I won't be so forgiving. Dismissed."
With that final word, the three men all but sprint away, leaving you alone with the man who's consumed your every thought for the past several weeks.
He watches the men leave, and you're tempted to make your escape.
As if reading your mind, his gaze snaps back to you and his head cocks to the side.
"Even you can't go everywhere unseen, can you, mouse?" He asks.
You blink up at him, your heart racing in your chest.
He watches you for a moment longer, his brows drawing together.
"You speak English?"
You blink up at him again and he sighs, "Christ."
Slowly, you reach into the pocket of your sweater and pull out a piece of paper, opening it up and showing it to him.
His lips twitch upward when he sees his scribbled mouse next to the skull you've drawn.
"Mouse," you whisper, touching the paper.
He nods, pointing to the little drawing.
"Mouse. S'what you are. Quick, hard to catch."
You cock your head to the side and he takes that moment to take you in.
Since that first day, he's imagined what you look like, what you really look like, and he has to admit, he's not disappointed.
You're pretty, lovely even. If circumstances were different... if he were to see you in a bar, he might buy you a drink, ask for your number.
But you're a local, a street mouse, and he's here on business.
He gently pushes the paper back into your grasp and takes a small step back.
"You keep yourself safe. Try to stay out of the streets after curfew." He turns his back to you and takes a step away, then pauses.
"Or at least don't get caught."
#ghost x reader#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#simon 'ghost' riley x reader#simon x reader#simon riley#simon 'ghost' riley#COD fanfic#simon riley x y/n#simon riley/reader#ghost/reader#ghost x y/n#cod fluff#cod angst#COD mw2#cod mwii#cod mw2 x reader#cod mw fanfic#ghost x reader angst#ghost x reader series#ghost x reader smut#ghost x reader fluff
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Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3 (you're here)
Full fic on Ao3
Art of LBM
Pt. 4: An Unexp-ectoed Party (not on Ao3 yet)
Constantine was quietly freaking out. He couldn’t be sure, but he suspected that the ghost who had turned itself into a cute little tatzelwurm to avoid answering questions might be something far beyond his capabilities to deal with. Everything it said and did suggested it was way outside his scope of experience. While Tim used a shoelace to play with it like a rambunctious kitten, John mentally catalogued the things that threatened to give him a panic attack:
Before the ghost even arrived, the blinding power flowing through his spell array nearly knocked him flat. It had felt like being swatted in the eyeballs by an eldritch god.
The ghost appeared in human form, fully alive, before being transformed by the summoning magic. John had only ever heard whispers of legends about a being who could do such a thing. The legends were vague and grandiose, but some epithets included The One Who Walks Between, He Who Straddles Life and Death, Twilight Walker, Shroud Danger Child, and The Halver.
The ghost could not only see his soul at a glance, it could perceive all the damage he had done making deals with demons.
The ghost implied it was on casual, friendly terms with the Ancient of Time aka Chronos, Kala, Father Time, etc. And that it had altered the timeline at least once already.
It could age. Despite what the ghost said, only Neverborn should be able to age. The dead were static, and given the death that he could feel sustaining the portal, this ghost had definitely died.
It was brilliant enough to pinpoint a weakness and successfully distract Tim by transforming into a shape that could manipulate his protective instincts. John did not want to admit that he also felt protective of the cute little blighter.
It had hopped out of the summoning circle as if it were just chalk scribbles, despite John working in some of his most powerful containment spells as a matter of what he had thought was excessive precaution.
Shite, the list had already reached seven items. The tatzelwurm (had Drake really just named the thing Little Baby Man?) glared at him and called him “Gross!”
“Seriously!? This cloaking spell should be more than sufficient.” John grumbled. “Did it really have no effect?” If so, that was gonna be item number eight.
Little Baby Man tilted his head. “It worked.” Then he huffed with amusement.
Thank fuck for small blessings.
A quickly muttered spell turned his burning cigarette into a makeshift sort of laser pointer, and Constantine distracted Little Baby Man while he tried to think of what to do next.
“Hey kid, this is a problem.” He kept his voice low, and watched to see if the tatzelwurm appeared to pay any attention to him. It dedicated all its attention to the glowing dot, and ignored the two men.
“I assume this isn’t the normal direction your interrogations go.” Drake wound his shoelace around his hand and pocketed it. “It’s certainly a first for me.”
“Ditto, in so many ways.”
“Any idea what to do now?”
“We should probably return him where he came from, and wait for Zatanna to get back from wherever she’s disappeared to now.” John would really like a second opinion. He would also like to dump this mess in someone else’s lap and be on his way.
Although to be fair, watching the tatzelwurm careen around after his lazer dot was actually pretty fun. Not that he’d ever admit it. Still, the creature was done answering questions and John wasn’t prepared to bind the thing because he didn’t think he’d need to pack the tools to bind an eldritch god when Batman called him to do a “quick consult.”
Danny couldn’t remember the last time he had this much fun. The CEO person played with him! He did feel a bit bad for hurting his foot, but it was difficult to dwell on regrets or worries when he could attack the string instead. And now there was a red dot to chase! It was very fast and sneaky, but he was faster and sneakier.
Is this what Paulina felt like when she wished herself to be a giant chibi version of herself to be loved and worshipped by everyone? Because he felt adorable. And fierce. He was going to kill that red dot so hard when he finally sunk his claws in it!
Frustratingly, it seemed to also have intangibility powers. Well, Danny knew what to do about that! He concentrated ectoplasm into his paw and bapped it down hard on the dot. This scorched the floor a bit, but when he lifted his paw, the red dot was skewered on one of his claws. It tried to tug away, but he clung tight. Apparently its size belied its strength, because it started to drag him across the floor.
Danny tried to release the dot, but his claw was firmly snagged, so he resigned himself to being dragged back into the chalk circle. He tingled a bit as he crossed the perimeter, but it wasn’t a bad sensation, just a little odd. Then a portal opened up and pulled him through the water filled tube snake toy sensation in reverse and ugh! Just as bad the second time, if not worse.
The spell spat him out in human form under the Specter Speeder. Or rather, it ejected him at speed so he smacked into the bottom of the Speeder before falling back to the ground with a heavy thud. Thankfully he didn’t crack his head against the concrete, but he still couldn’t stifle a pained groan.
A firm hand wrapped around Danny’s ankle and dragged him out, and he found himself staring up at Drake and Constantine for the third time that day.
“Uh, hi,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I suppose I have some explaining to do.”
Being able to create ghost portals would come in real handy right about now. Maybe he should just commit some arson and let these two deal with escaping the basement on their own.
#danny phantom#danny fenton#dp x dc#dpxdc#dc x dp#timothy drake wayne#tim drake#tim drake wayne#red robin#john constantine#A Round Door Like a Porthole[comma] Lazarus Green#the whole thing is on Ao3#lbm#lbm danny#little baby man#lbm is a tatzelwurm#fanfic#dp x dc fanfic
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Our Blue Spring: Gojo Satoru x Reader
Time stopped for you that day. That day where all four of you are laughing together, the sun brightly shining, the wind gently blowing, the sky a beautiful blue, where all of you believed everything was going to be alright.
Tags/Warning: Fem!reader, Teen!Gojo, Reader is a jujutsu sorcerer, Fluff, Gojo in love, Gojo in denial, One-Shot
˚✧˚. Wc: 2.5k ˚✧˚.
"Shoko! I need help!" Satoru burst through Shoko's door. "I think I'm dying!"
Shoko turned around to face Satoru. She did not want to deal with his childish antics right now. It was 8am in the morning, and she was surviving on less than 2 hours of sleep.
"Gojo Satoru. I haven't had my morning coffee yet. Do not talk to me until I have my coffee. I am not ready for whatever thing you have to say."
Satoru put his hand on his chest and whined dramatically– "You wound me Shoko! I could be dying right now, and all you care about is coffee!"
"Please do. It would save everyone from your annoyance," Shoko sighs.
"I am not annoyi–"
"Just tell me why you think your dying when you're perfectly fine."
"Well–" Satoru quickly plopped down on Shoko's chair and leaned his head back. "Lately, my heart had been beating super fast and–"
"Out of nowhere?" Shoko interrupted.
"Well, no but–"
"So around someone?"
"Technically, yes, but will you–"
"Around who?"
Satoru huffed angrily and crossed his arm. "Will you let me finish first! It's like I'm being ignored here!"
Shoko ignored his comment and continued– "Around wh–"
"Nuh, uh! Let me finish talking first!" Satoru immediately interrupted. "So, as I was saying before, I was rudely interrupted."
Shoko rolled her eyes at his comment because Satoru always rudely interrupted people when they're talking.
"Lately, my heart always beat super fast around her, and my eyes always follow her around. I always want to see her smile and see her happy. Whenever I see her sad or hurt–" Satoru grasped his shirt tightly where his heart was and looked down– "My chest hurts. It feels like someone ripped my heart out, which is impossible since I'm the strongest!"
Shoko had an expression of shock before it turned into amusement.
"And who is this girl?"
"Y/N! She must have cursed me, right? She must be envious of how strong I am despite her always denying it! Shoko! Diagnose me! I'm sure I'm dying!"
Shoko couldn't help but laugh at this predicament.
"Why are you laughing?" Satoru pouted. "I'm dying, and you're laughing at me."
Shoko eyes sparkled in amusement and mischief.
"You're diagnosed with love."
"What?"
"Suguruuuuu!"
"No, Satoru. I don't want to listen to you complain about your crush for the 50th time today."
"I don't like her! I just–you know!" Satoru whined and made some weird hand gestures.
"Satoru. I swear to God, I will summon a curse right now to eat you. Ever since that day where Shoko diagnose you with love, you only talked about her, complained about how much you like her, how she doesn't pay enough attention to you and then denies it the very next second." Suguru sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. He can already feel an upcoming headache from this conversation.
"I don't like her!" Satoru whines again. "I don't like her just because my eyes follow wherever she goes. I just want to be close to her at all time! It's not my fault my heart and soul desires hers. It's not like I want her to be mine or anything! I don't like her like that."
"Satoru. You're contradicting yourself in every sentence."
"Excuse me? I am not!" He crosses his arms and starts to sulk.
"Are you guys fighting again?"
They both turned around to see you and Shoko carrying drinks.
"They're probably were being the idiot they are. Always fighting about the stupidest things." Shoko sighs and puts down the drinks on the table. "And they're the ones who made us go out and buy them drinks. I should be the one beating them up."
"Satoru was complaining about his crush again. This is like the 50th time today." Suguru grabs the newly brought coffee from the table. "Even coffee won't save me from this catastrophe."
"Geez Satoru, poor Suguru having to go through all that," you laughed. "When are you going to tell us who got you all whipped up?"
All three of them stared at you. Like stared at you.
"Why are you guys staring at me? I'm sure all three of us want to know who he likes since all he talks about is her."
"It's nothing to worry your pretty head about," Satoru says as he grabs his coma-inducing drink.
"You wouldn't understand since you're so oblivious to such obvious hints," Shoko said as she sat down and grabbed her coffee. "He's absolutely smitten by her, and the girl is completely oblivious."
This immediately causes Satoru to complain – "Excuse you! I do not give out obvious hints, and I absolutely am not smitten! I do not like her like that!"
What you didn’t notice during this time was how he kept sneaking quick glances at you. It's not like he can help it! You obviously had some dust on you, and it was bothering him!
"Why is she with Nanami!? I'm so much cooler than Nanami!" Satoru glares at you who is busy talking to Nanami. "Why isn't she spending time with me!"
At this moment, all Suguru wanted to do was to dump Satoru into the trash can. Shut the lid and hope that the garbage man takes him far away. Not that it will help since Satoru could teleport.
"For the love of everything nice, Satoru just confesses that you're in love with her. Stop being in denial. I'm going to lose my mind listening to you complain every day about the same thing."
Satoru huffed– "It's not love!"
"Satoru, listen. What if someone comes up to her and takes her away from you? What are you going to do?"
"That's such an easy question!" Satoru laughed. "I can use reversal red on them, duh! Even their ashes won't remain!"
"What if she likes them too? Or what happens when we lose her all together? You know being a sorcerer is dangerous," Suguru sighed.
That immediately stopped Satoru from laughing. The smile immediately wiped away from his face, and the light in his eyes dimmed. The expression on Satoru's face was fear? Uneasiness? For once, Suguru couldn't tell what expression was on Satoru's face. He couldn't figure out what he was feeling.
"Satoru?"
No response.
"Satoru," Suguru shaked his shoulder. "Satoru."
Saroru snapped out of his daze. A smile immediately reappeared on his face, and his eyes light up once more.
"Hm? What did you say, Suguru? You bored me so much with your rambling that I dazed off~"
"Satoru–"
Before Suguru can reply– "Satoru! Suguru!"
Both of them look toward the sound of your voice. You were dragging Nanami toward them.
"Ah, finally bored of just talking to Nanami?" Satoru laughed as he walked up to meet you halfway. He then put his arms around Nanami. "Nanami is quite boring compared to me after all~"
You stared at him and then frowned. "Satoru."
"Hm?" He hummed as he tilt his head to face you.
"What's wrong? You're acting stran–"
"Nothing is wrong," he immediately interrupted you, smiling brightly. "You're imagining things. Everything is fine, right Suguru?"
Your frown deepen. Something wasn't right.
Satoru felt like using reverse red. For all he knows, all he can see is red. Today was the day of the goodwill event, and there was this guy from Kyoto Tech who's putting his hands all over you. He felt like something was clawing his chest open. Sure, there is a rule of no killing, but surely they'll understand that his hand slipped, right? He just wanted to get rid of that weird feeling in his chest.
He then felt someone's hand on his shoulder.
"Jealousy is an ugly look, Satoru. You're going to stare a hole into that guy."
"I'm not jealous, Suguru. That guy just looks so annoying! He's annoying me by existing! I just think my hand is slipping, which might cause me to accidently use reversal red."
Suguru shakes his head in amusement.
"Whatever you say, Satoru. But she doesn't need rescuing Satoru," Suguru said as he pointed toward your direction. "Look."
They watched you as you elbowed the guy in the guts. The guy crumbled onto the floor, and you leaned down and said something to him before you noticed both of them. You immediately smiled and came up to them.
Suguru laughed as he ruffled your hair– "Ouch. That looks like it hurts a lot."
"He deserved it," you huffed. "He was annoying and being a disgusting pervert."
"Surely I can reverse red him, right? I mean, it's not like anyone will notice him gone–"
"Absolutely not, Satoru!" You quickly turned to look at him. "The rule of this event is absolutely no killing even if he's a creep!"
Satoru looked you in the eyes and then whined– "Fineeeee. No killing! Maybe a few broken bones or–"
"Satoru!"
The sun was setting, and when the goodwill event ended, the guy from earlier has seen much better days. He was covered in bruises, broken bones, and a few fractures. But it's ok! He's just an NPC that no one would care about, as Satoru claimed.
"See, I didn't kill him!" Satoru exclaimed as he waited for you to compliment him.
You couldn't help but roll your eyes. "Good job, I guess."
"You guess?? How rude! I defended your honor!" Satoru complained.
"You saw me elbowing his gut this morning, Satoru," you replied, which led to Satoru to look away and sulk.
You laughed at his behavior before saying– "The sunset is beautiful today."
Satoru looked back up but not at the sunset. He looked at you. The way the light kissed your skin made you look beautiful. He felt his breath get taken away by your beauty. You were always beautiful to him. His heart felt like it was beating out of his chest.
"Yeah. Absolutely beautiful."
After the goodwill event passed, Satoru was acting weird. Yeah, he's normally weird, but this was a whole different weird. Lately, he always seems to be in a daze thinking about something.
Today, you guys decided to go to the park to hang out, but Satoru was even more unusually quiet.
"Satoru! Earth to Satoru!" You called as you wave your hand over his face.
"Huh?" Satoru snapped out of his daze. "What's happening?"
"Shoko and Suguru went to buy some popsicles. You didn't answer them, so they said they'll make sure not to get you anything," you shaked your head and sighed. "We called you multiple times, but you didn't answer. What's on your mind lately? I'm worried about you."
Satoru bit the bottom of his lips and got up from the swing. He pushed you to sit down on the swing and held the chain with his hands.
"Satoru?" You tilted your head to the side in confusion.
He took a deep breath and looked you in the eyes.
"I have something to say. I think I'm in love."
You were about to open your mouth to say something, but Satoru quickly continued.
"Don't say anything until I finish."
You closed your mouth and nodded. Satoru's cheek was dusted in a shade of light pink. You couldn't help but think about how cute he looked in this moment.
"You remember asking who I was 'whipped' up for? The one I always complain to Suguru about?"
You slowly nodded your head.
"It's you. It's always been you. My heart always beat uncontrollably fast around you. All my thoughts are consumed by you and only you. I want you to be happy. I want you to smile. I never want to see you hurt. I don't ever want to see you sad. Lately, I’ve been thinking about what life would be like without you and... it's hard to imagine. I feel like there's this hole in my chest when I imagine what life would have been like without you. Maybe I have been denying my feelings for a long time despite knowing that I was in love."
You notice how Satoru was trembling. He was scared.
"I'm scared. I'm scared of these new and weird feelings in my chest. I'm scared of love. I'm scared of the changes it will bring. I'm scared of the pain of losing you because I love you. I'm scared to lose you. I'm scared to imagine my life without you. But I want you to be mine. I love you. I love you so much that I feel like dying without you. Will you please date me? Go on a date with me? Let me court you? Be my girlfriend? Let me call you mine? Please?"
You were beyond surprised. You didn’t expect him to confess to you out of everyone. You definitely didn’t expect him to pour out all his feelings either. But it was a pleasant surprise. You couldn’t help but smile gently at Satoru.
"Satoru." You said as you cupped his face.
He looks at you, eyes gleaming with anticipation and fear.
"I'll date you."
The second you said those three words, Satoru eyes light up with happiness.
"Really?" He asked as he took your hands off his cheek and into his own.
"Really."
Satoru immediately pulled you up from the swing, lifted you up, and spinned you around. He couldn't help but feel relieved that you agreed to date him. He felt extremely happy. He felt like he had the world in his hands, and in a way, he did. Because you are his world.
"Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you," he laughed.
You couldn't help but laugh along with him. After all, he had the brightest smile on his face right now. He was radiating pure happiness. He gently put you back down onto the ground and leaned down towards you.
"I want to kiss you. May I? Or am I moving too fast?"
You smiled, leaned in, and wrapped your arms around his neck– "You may."
He wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you closer. When he leaned down and your lips gently connected, you felt butterflies fluttering in your stomach. A feeling of warmth spread across your body. It was like everything was perfect. Like it was meant to be. It felt just right.
When your lips parted, both of your cheeks were dusted with a shade of pink. You stared in each other's eyes for a moment before both of you crack a smile.
"About flipping time."
Both of you jumped and turned around to see Shoko and Suguru. Their eyes were sparkling, and they had a smirk on their face.
"You guys–" you started as you carried a massive blush on your face. "How long have you been there?"
"The whole time," Shoko laughed as she shook her head.
You looked down and then noticed that they hadn't brought any popsicles like they said they were going to.
"Man," Satoru whined and nuzzled against you. "You guys totally set this up, didn't you?"
A moment of silence passed before you let out a laugh. Your laugh caused Satoru to start laughing as well. Which ended up with all four of you standing there laughing.
In your mind right now, time stopped. All four of you together, the sun brightly shining, the wind gently blowing, the sky a beautiful blue, where all of you believed everything was going to be alright.
Author's note: I struggled a lot with deciding the ending... I wanted it to be a happy ending, but I also originally planned for a sad ending. After going back and forth for a while, I decided a happy ending with a tiny hint of angst. 🩵
#gojo satoru x reader#jjk x reader#gojo satoru x y/n#gojo satoru x you#jujutsu kaisen x y/n#jjk oneshot#jjk fluff#geto suguru#shoko ieiri#jujutsu kaisen x you#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen fanfic#jujutsu kaisen fluff#jujutsu kaisen#jjk x fem!reader#gojo x reader#gojo satoru#gojo fanfic#gojou satoru x reader#satoru gojo x reader
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keeping secrets
gojo satoru x fem!reader
summary: you and satoru avoid each other
warnings: actual fighting, sad everyone, hurt/little comfort (sorry)
last part | next part
*
year four.
"did megumi give you a permission slip?" you ask satoru, leaning against the side of the couch, peeking at his phone. "it's for a field trip, but i haven't seen it. he says he set it on the counter."
satoru glances at you. then back, and shakes his head.
"he didn't give you anything to sign?"
"not recently."
you sigh. "i don't think he lost it."
satoru's lip quirks. "you think i'm hiding it?"
"i don't know. did you accidentally eat it?"
his eyes roll. "i have better taste than that."
"well, can you help me look for it?"
satoru sighs, head hanging back for a moment, then he throws his phone down, groaning as he stands up. after he stretches, he half-heartedly moves a pillow, pretending to look under it.
you snort.
but satoru doesn't look back at you, and moves to the table, to look at the stack of papers there.
and, admittedly, things have been a bit off.
you tried to ignore it at first--ignore the way satoru avoided your eyes, or kept himself five feet away from you at all times. you tried to pretend that it wasn't happening. that he wasn't giving you short responses, or only joking with you in dire moments (like when something you say goes over both of the kid's heads and they stare at you weirdly).
honestly, you hadn't even noticed anything was wrong until you'd realized that it'd been a week since he fell asleep with you. since he even bothered to come out of his room after putting the kids to bed. a week since he tried to squeeze you to death, or grossly kissed your cheek.
and... it shouldn't be weird.
no rule says that he has to spend a specific amount of time with you, or cuddle in your bed, or smile at you, or... do anything that your best friend probably shouldnt do.
but it's weird.
it's strange because your relationship with satoru has stayed relatively consistent, an upward slope for the past six years. you've grown closer, but never farther.
and, in the depths of your mind, usually when you're lying awake at night, you recognize that there's one single moment when it switched. that everything changed a specific morning, and you haven't been able to rewind it. to take it all back.
and you could just blame the alcohol for your confession, you probably should.
but then you'd also have to blame your sixteen-year-old self, the girl who'd been attracted to satoru in the first place. the eighteen-year-old who agreed to tie her life to his and take in the kids, or you now, still cursing yourself for falling in love with him.
it's not like satoru made you.
if intoxication is to blame, so is your heart, your soul, for starting all of this in the first place.
you'd decided to not blame anything at all, in the end. everything's fine.
"find anything?" you ask him, a bit cold in the room, feeling that same tension that's been there. those unspoken words, infinite amounts of distance.
you try to ignore it, really.
"just the receipt for tsumiki's violin."
"tsumiki's what?" you ask, blinking at him.
"i didn't tell you about that?"
"satoru, you can't just buy them things on a whim--"
he holds a hand up, stopping you. "she said it was for school," he says, giving you a quick grin. "plus, she's pretty good."
"there's no way she's good."
"you'll see," he says, "when we go to her recital."
"what?"
satoru shrugs, then he turns around, organizing the piles of papers into neat stacks. it almost makes you want to check him for a spider bite, a fever, remnants of poison. no way your satoru is doing that.
not that he's yours. he hasn't been yours in years, hasn't been your anything ever.
"oh, here," he says, eventually, handing you a paper which he already signed--of course--and shaking his head. "museums," he grumbles.
but he doesn't give you the chance to respond, turning to walk down the hall--towards his room--before you can even chide him for forgetting about it.
so, yeah. things are fine.
*
"where's gojo?" megumi asks, as the two of you walk through the door.
the house is empty without satoru there. colder, dimmer. and, of course, there's no one to irritate the boy right when he walks in.
you try not to wince at the question, or spiral into your own question of 'where's gojo?'
"uh," you lock the door, then unlock it. then lock it again. "he's on another job."
"again?"
you give megumi a bland smile, taking his backpack from him. "guess they think he needs more practice," you say, trying to tease.
it falls flat.
"did he get in trouble?"
"i don't know," you shrug. "probably."
honestly, it's not like you would know anyway. satoru doesn't tell you anything these days.
it's probably what bothers you the most, because if he's not saying anything, then neither can you. you can't ask him what he thinks about tsumiki's new friend, or if megumi should be eating more, or if you're just making everything up, probably going insane--
"when's he going to be back?"
"he said probably tomorrow. maybe the day after if it takes longer. i can't remember where they sent him..."
megumi looks mischievous. his eyes are bright. "so we can make those miso brownies? since he's gone?"
you laugh, ruffling his hair. "sure, when tsumiki gets home."
he nods, satisfied, and turns around. then he looks back at you, eyes trailing over your expression.
megumi looks at you quizzically, like he knows something you don't. "do you miss him?"
you roll your eyes. "do you miss him, megumi?"
he doesn't even think about it. "true," he says, then walks into the kitchen, grabbing something from the fridge.
maybe you miss him, you think, but only a little bit. it's not like he's been gone long.
just, you know, forever.
*
"hey," you lean against the desk in the office. satoru must be filling out a report, which should make you blink twice, but really it's him being out in the open that surprises you.
most days he goes to hide in his room. he locks his door and makes sure that you wouldn't dare to walk through. that you have no means to interrupt his solitude.
"oh, hey," satoru answers, not bothering to look up at you. his voice is low, familiar, and creates goosebumps on your skin.
seriously, why is it so cold in this house?
"i'm surprised those haven't gone missing yet," you gesture toward the papers, trying to be casual.
he snorts. "yaga said that if i lost them again, i was fired."
"he said that two years ago."
satoru nods, still scribbling. you want more than anything to just see his eyes for a moment, for him to look at you and grin like you're used to.
but you know he won't, so you tap your fingers against the desk. "do you have a second?"
"sure. what's up? megumi do something?"
"no, the kids are fine, i, um--" you pause. it feels ridiculous to have to ask him this, to not know the answer. it feels ridiculous to be nervous around satoru. you haven't felt anxious, or worried about asking him anything since you were sixteen and realized that it didn't matter. "shoko texted me about that work 'meeting' that's happening on friday. do you want to go to that? i just need to know so i can tell her..."
"meeting?"
your smile is teasing, not that he's looking. "i think she meant party."
"on friday?"
"yeah. she said that the booze is free, and i think nanami's going, so i thought..." you hint, not even sure what you mean.
i thought we could talk. i thought we could go together and maybe everything would go back to normal. i thought that we were friends, if anything, and that you cared about me--
satoru hums. "what about the kids?"
"tsumiki has a birthday party that night, and megumi likes the sitter from last time," you wince at your accidental mention of that night. "or he can come, i guess, but he'd probably hate it."
satoru snorts, nodding in agreement. you watch his hands freeze, then resume.
he's thinking the same things you are, you know. he's thinking about how stupid you are, how ridiculous it is to imagine him being in love with you, caring about who you are or how you feel.
you just know it.
"so..." you whisper, after a second. "do you want to go?"
you feel like you're standing on uneven ground. how can this be the only real conversation you've had with satoru this week?
how can you miss him this much when he's literally right there?
"i don't--" satoru makes a face, finally looking toward you. he sets down the pen. "i don't think so. but you can go and i can stay here with megumi," he suggests easily like he's not rejecting you. "we can have a guy's night."
"megumi hates guy's nights."
satoru has a cheeky grin on, but it's half-hearted. barely there.
like a glimpse of him in a peephole, a moment where he's not hiding completely from you.
he doesn't say anything, though. he doesn't even bother to come up with a better excuse.
it's clear as day that he just doesn't want to hang out with you, even in a crowd of people.
"that's okay," you hum, eventually, trying to keep your voice steady. "i don't really--"
"no, you should go. you haven't seen nanami in a while. you can have a night out," he says genuinely, but it sounds more like i need a break from you.
"yeah," you try to laugh. "i--um, okay. if you're sure."
he nods, looking away again. he hasn't touched you in weeks. your skin is almost molding, going completely stale. "i'm sure. we'll order dinner, so you don't have to worry about the brat complaining."
"okay."
"okay," satoru answers, but it doesn't mean anything.
and it's not okay.
*
the two of them walk through the door, and megumi looks... pleasant. he's got the makings of a smile on his face, a little jump in his step.
it's one of the only times you've seen him look like the ten-year-old he is, instead of someone who's concerned about economic collapse.
it makes you smile a bit, even if just the sight of satoru sends pangs down your chest.
"hey," you say, hand on his head as he lingers by you, eyes meeting yours in greeting. you look to satoru, who's pretending to wipe away a smudge on his glasses. "where were you guys?"
"we were--"
"gojo took me to that old hospital by my school," megumi says, "there were cursed spirits hanging outside. he let me and my divine dogs deal with them," he says this almost excitedly--as excited as megumi gets--and you can see it in his eyes. that little twinkle of pride.
your eyes widen, but you smile, trying to be genuine. it's difficult because you've been lying for weeks. "really?" you ask, trying not to look over at satoru accusingly. "how'd it go?"
"good," megumi, moves to the sink, washing his hands. "they're getting better at scenting them out. it didn't take long."
"that's great."
"megumi didn't need any of my help," satoru adds, giving you a short glance. "he's got good intuition."
megumi looks at satoru with a glare in his eyes, but you can tell that he appreciates the compliment.
you can tell that he's completely fine with this, that the two of them are going to act like it's normal, but you can't.
you try to ignore it when megumi looks between you and satoru, a slight furrow in his brows. he knows something wrong, you know. but you're not going to admit that.
you swallow. "do you have any homework you need to finish, megs?"
"uh..." he pauses. "i think so. reading?"
you smile, hand on his back as you lead him out of the room. "okay, how about you go work on that? i need to talk to satoru real quick."
he nods immediately, looking eager to leave--both the room and the tension.
as soon as he's gone, you turn to satoru, narrowed eyes as you observe him. he's already smiling because he knows that he's in trouble. because he knows that you're angry.
because, even if he hasn't actually spoken to you in weeks, satoru has always read you so well. he's always known what you're going to say before you say it.
but you can't care about it. it doesn't mean anything to him.
“you can’t do that,” you say, almost whispering. “not without asking me.”
“i knew you’d say no.”
you laugh, looking away from him. “exactly.”
“he’s fine,” satoru reassures. he shrugs, because why should he care about your concern? “he did good, and there’s not a scratch on him. i’m sorry for not telling you but—“
“no buts, satoru. you can’t take megumi out on missions like he’s a student. he’s not. and you definitely can’t do it without even telling me," there's a burning in your chest. your head is clouded over with anger.
just looking at him--at his ridiculous smile and stupid perfect face--makes you clench your fists.
how can he stand there and act like you're a team?
“it’s not a big deal. i was there the whole time—and he didn’t need me.”
“i don’t care!”
satoru rolls his eyes, his arms crossed. “i think you’re overreacting.”
“i’m not," you say, trying to get him to look at you--actually look--but he won't. it makes your chest hurt even more. "you’re not telling me things—fine, whatever, keep whatever secrets you want, gojo. don't bother talking to me. but you can’t keep secrets from me about the kids.”
“secrets? i’m not—“
you shake your head, hands in the air, trying to clear all of it away. you want the past month to go away, the past six years. “megumi’s just a kid. he’s ten. he can’t be going on missions, not until he’s ready.”
“i think i’ve already proved how ready he is.”
“well, maybe i'm not ready. he’s a kid.”
“yeah,” satoru says, obviously. he scoffs. “yeah, he’s a kid. but he’s also a jujutsu sorcerer. you can’t separate the two.”
his voice is all-knowing and his stance is firm. you know that you won't convince him otherwise--know that he's right, to some degree, but this isn't about megumi.
this isn't about cursed spirits or jujutsu.
“yes, you can," you say, clenching your jaw. "he doesn’t need to be seeing that shit right now. not until he decides he wants to. practice his technique with him all you want, but you can’t just take him to exorcise a curse with you.”
“like i said, he’s fine.”
“it’s not about that! it’s about you doing something reckless—again—and acting like there aren’t any consequences to your decisions. he’s my son,” you hiss, “he shouldn’t be going anywhere i don’t know about. you shouldn’t be making decisions about him behind my back.”
you shouldn't be pushing me away, you shouldn't be ruining this--
“so you want to lock him up here?" satoru asks, laughing at you. his teeth are sharp and he is still. "you want to take away his ability to defend himself?”
you scoff. “are you kidding? you think me saying i don’t want you to get him killed is equal to me—“
“he was fine. if anything—anything—had been there that megumi couldn’t handle, i would’ve taken care of it. i wasn't going to let anyone touch him. that’s why i was there! and he didn’t even need me," he's boasting, swearing to you--you can feel it as he rolls his eyes at you.
“you know what he needs, satoru? he needs you to treat him like he’s a little boy and not some experiment for you to play with.”
“i would never—“
you cut him off, “bringing him out into the open, where anyone could see him, could hurt him, and making him deal with your cursed spirit is not okay.”
“i didn’t make him deal with anything," satoru swears, chin up.
you snort. the two of you are standing in front of each other, arms crossed, head guarded. your muscles are tense like something is about to attack you. “oh, so he asked you to go?”
“well, no, but—“
“then you made him! you put him up against a monster and treated him like a student, like a 16-year-old, and not your son.”
the words feel nice to say. some version of the truth that's much better than whatever this version is. if satoru won't talk to you, you'll talk for him.
you'll make every assumption, every bad perception (because he's supposed to keep you from worrying, he's supposed to be there to calm you down, to save you from that spiraling). but if he's not going to try, neither will you.
satoru’s eyes grow hard. “what?”
“why can’t you just let him be a kid? why do you have to push him into these things—“
“we talked with megumi about who he is,” satoru grinds, “he knows about the privilege of his strength, and the fact that he has to work to use it—“
“a ten-year-old shouldn’t have to work for anything!”
he laughs at you. you can't see his eyes, but you watch his face as he tries to hide his expression, trying to keep his voice low. the kids are still in the house, so you shouldn't be yelling. but you can't bring it in yourself to really care.
“what do you think the point of him living here was? why do you think we took him in?”
you gape at him. “are you kidding?” you ask. “are you serious? we took him, and tsumiki, in because you’re responsible for killing their father! because they didn’t have anyone else, and that’s your fault.”
“you think i don’t know that?”
“well, i thought you did," you say, stepping away from him. some part of you wants to push him out, make him leave. the other part desperately wants him to stay--to say he's sorry. "but you just said that the only reason megumi is here is so you can teach him! when i agreed to this i thought you were facing the consequences of your actions, doing the right thing for those kids because you could. i thought you wanted to take care of them! to keep them away from our awful, messed up world.”
satoru is staring at you with his jaw clenched.
you continue, without consideration for the consequences of your words. “i didn’t think that you only wanted to keep megumi here so you could train him, like a dog.”
“that’s not what i said.”
you shake your head, a bitter smile on your face. “well it’s what you meant, and clearly you have no regard for his feelings or the way that curses might affect him—“
“don’t act like i did it just to mess with him," he interrupts, harshly. "it’s not a joke. i want him to be strong, i want him to be able to take care of himself—“
“and i want him to have a dad who isn’t so selfish!”
“what?”
“did you even think about it? what about the nightmares he’s going to have?" you wonder, rhetorically. "what about the fact that he’s different—that he’s already struggling to relate to other kids in school? what about him, satoru? why is it only about you?”
what about me? you don't say.
“i didn’t bring him for me—“
“you want a replacement. you want someone else to deal with everything, while you sit back and watch. i know what you’re trying to do—“
“really?" he points at you, the other hand clenched in the air. he's laughing again. "you can read my mind? you’ve already been let in on my plans—“
“don’t you wish that you’d had the opportunity to be just a kid?” you demand. “don’t you want that for megumi?”
he shrugs. “sure. but it’s never going to happen.”
“well, clearly, because you won’t let it.”
“he gets to be a kid every day. god forbid i take him to see one curse, to understand how to use his powers, to protect himself, and you treat me like i wanted to kill him.”
you laugh. your mind is a minefield, and everything he says ruins another part of it.
all you can think about is him, him as a teenager, him with you, telling satoru you love him and him having nothing left to say--
but you scoff again, shoving yourself further away from him. “do you know how many times i’ve wanted to go back to when i was ten and just got to live my life? do you know how often i think about how everything could’ve been different?”
“this isn’t about us."
“yes, it is. it is, satoru, because i didn’t get that chance and neither did you. and you just took away megumi’s chance.”
“i didn’t take anything away," he says, softly, like he's trying to convince himself.
clearly, you've struck a nerve.
“he’s never going to be able to look at the world normally, but he doesn’t need the burden of saving people before he’s even in middle school.”
“why is being strong so bad?” satoru asks you, demanding something more. why am i so bad? “why do you treat it like it’s a curse? like it’s going to hurt him?”
“look at you!” you respond. “look at suguru, and me, and shoko! look at any jujutsu sorcerer and ask them if being strong is worth it—is worth screwing your life over.”
satoru looks taken aback. he steps away from you.
“god, it’s like you think that we’re a different species," you tell him, never having felt like it's more true. "you’re human, satoru. you might be the strongest, but you’re still human, and you still have nightmares like all of the rest of us.”
he shakes his head at you.
“why do you want that for megumi? why push him into this right now?”
“i want him to be able to take care of himself. so that he doesn’t die like our colleagues, so that he doesn’t make the wrong choice like—“
he stops, his voice breaking before he can continue.
and maybe you know what this is really about, but if satoru doesn’t want to tell you how he feels, if he wants to pretend like it doesn’t matter—
fine. you will too.
“it wouldn’t make a difference. he’s already—his life is already messed up.”
satoru looks at you, his eyes ablaze. “don’t you think that if i was him, if i could’ve been stronger, if i could’ve saved all of those people—don’t you think i would do it in an instant? don’t you think i know that because i wasn’t strong enough, people died?”
this is the thing you've feared since you were eighteen, a brand new person responsible for two little lives. you've feared satoru's moral commitment since before you met him. since you saw him destroy a curse in an instant and realized he was different than everyone else.
“megumi isn’t you! he doesn’t need to be taught to take on the responsibility of everyone’s lives—“
“you can’t say that i’m selfish, that i don’t care, and then say that i care too much,” he says, shaking his head, unable to look at you.
he hasn't been able to look you in the eye in weeks.
“you’re both!" you say, almost yelling. "you’re everything. and you don’t think! you haven’t thought for a moment about what megumi might be feeling, who he might want to be—“
“and you have? what about what you want him to be?”
“i want him to be happy! i want him to grow up better than i ever did. i don’t want him chasing a bunch of cursed spirits around on the weekend like it’s a normal thing—“
“it is normal. for us, it’s normal. for him, it’s normal.”
you sigh, a weight on your chest, a burning in your throat. “well, maybe it shouldn’t be.”
you're not going to start crying now. not with satoru watching, not when he gets to know just how much you care.
satoru scoffs. “so you’d just have everyone defend themselves--"
"i don't know how you're arrogant enough to believe that you can save everyone--"
"--you’d just forget that we’re strong for a reason, that we--“
“but you’re never going to be strong enough, satoru. never.”
satoru stares at you. he doesn’t say a thing, doesn’t hesitate, and doesn’t bother to argue.
and after a moment he turns around. you reach your hand out to grab him--hold onto him and keep him here, because this isn't finished, and you're not done with him. you haven't even started.
but you run into a wall. you look down and your hand is dangling idly in front of his arm, stuck in the air.
you can't see satoru's eyes, but you can feel his heart--your heart--as it skips a beat in realization.
but then satoru shakes you off, pushes you infinitely farther away from infinity, and keeps going.
he walks out the door, slamming it shut.
you stand there for a moment, watching. you wait for the door to open again, for satoru to come back, for him to laugh--tell you that everything's fine, that it'll all be fine. that it's okay if you're angry, that he doesn't care.
but after a minute, he doesn't return.
and after another, you have to lean against the counter. your hand burns--but maybe that's just your imagination. you're pretty sure that infinity has no drawbacks, that there's no consequence for touching, for not touching satoru.
pretty sure.
but you still look over your skin, trying to see if he's left some mark. it would be nice to have some evidence of what he's done to you. you clench your fist, but the feeling doesn't go away.
and maybe it's not your hand. maybe it's your chest. maybe it's these weeks of feeling separated, feeling miles apart from him, feeling like it's all your fault that any of this has happened.
you... you can't even remember what you were arguing about.
you feel like a kid again, hiding yourself in your room just so your parents don't have to deal with you. you feel like that little girl who hid in the cupboards, trying to escape the monsters that no one else could see. you feel like that smaller, reckless version of yourself that left home at the first chance, who knew she wasn't allowed back.
are you allowed here? you wonder. is it going to happen again? are these monsters--real and fake--too much for your family to handle again?
you exhale, trying to catch your breath again. none of this feels right, normal, easy.
should you--should you call him? should you wait for him to come back?
is he going to come back?
the slam of the door is still echoing throughout the house when they creep down the hallway, making sure their footsteps are soft, but also loud enough for you to hear.
maybe you've only been standing there, waiting for satoru to turn around, for thirty seconds.
but it feels like an hour.
"mom?" a tiny voice asks, and both of them are turning around the corner, taking hesitant steps towards you.
you have to swallow. you need some water, an icepack maybe, to get rid of the burning feeling in your throat. the telltale signs that you're going to cry--that you've suffered blows to the core, and you can't backtrack now.
but you don't want to cry in front of them. you refuse to. if you didn't want to cry in front of satoru, you won't cry in front of the kids.
so you turn around, swallow again, and fill a glass of water.
you chug it down, wanting it to wash away that feeling, that ache.
you can't say anything just yet because then you'll actually fall apart.
megumi and tsumiki watch you, both of them silent as they wait for your direction. for some solution you should have.
you take a deep breath, then turn, almost faltering when you see the worried look on both of their faces, the concern in their eyes. neither of them should have to worry about this.
god, how could you forget that they were there? that they could hear everything?
how could you make another mistake?
"hey, guys," you say, clearing your throat. you want to be nonchalant, and casual, but you've never been either a day in your life.
"where did gojo go?"
"i, um," you take another sip of water, because that feeling crawls up your throat, makes itself known again. "i think he went on a walk."
"is he okay?" tsumiki asks.
"are you okay?" megumi follows.
"yeah, he's fine. he's good. i--he just needed some space, you know? um... a break."
"from us?"
your eyes widen. "no, no, no. of course not, never you guys. he's... just been busy this week. working a lot. and, i, well, he's good. we're good."
megumi leans on the counter next to you, looking at you very closely. "are you okay?" he repeats.
"i'm good, megs. it's..." you smile. "it's fine. um, did satoru get you anything to eat while you were out? i'm not sure what we've got, but i can make something if you--"
"when is he going to be back?"
you stop, sighing. you shouldn't have taught either of them how to read emotions, or how to eavesdrop. you shouldn't be speaking to anyone, or trusted with anything.
"i'm not sure, buddy. he'll be back when he's ready."
"is he going to stay out all night?" tsumiki asks, worried.
"no, i'm sure--" you stop again. "gojo will be back in time for bed, okay?"
they're both staring at you, waiting for you to say something profound, something to make it actually okay.
but you have nothing. is satoru going to come back? is he going to stay somewhere else? you know he'll exhaust himself just to avoid coming home--
this is why you shouldn't have moved in--
this is why you never should've agreed to this, allowed himself to burrow a hole in your heart, in your soul--
"hey," megumi takes a step towards you. and then, before you can blink the tears out of your eyes, reassure him that it's fine, his arms are around your waist.
he nuzzles his face into your side, squeezing tighter than you thought a little boy could.
theres only a second of this before tsumiki's on your other side, and squeezing just as hard.
your hands fall on both of their backs, and you take a breath that feels more like never breathing again. your lungs won't fill, and your chest is incomplete
but they stand there with you, and eventually, your heart begins to match theirs, and their little hands keep you together.
you can't cry, but you really want to.
*
satoru's entire body feels different.
he knows what it's lacking, the changes he's made in a short period of time--giving himself no time to acclimate, no pause where he slowly adapts to the differences.
he misses you.
it's been like this before--when suguru left and satoru couldn't bear to look at himself in the mirror, nonetheless you in the eyes--but it's never felt so severe.
because you're right there. you've been there every day, waking him up, making the kids breakfast, laughing when megumi bullies him, smiling at tsumiki's attempts at mediating.
you're there in the morning, in the afternoon, and every night. you're right there for him--and he can't say a word.
he doesn't want this, this thing to be real.
denial is his favorite emotion, and recently, he can't even muster the strength to go through with it.
and now, he feels even more hopeless, lacking, never ever enough.
but he walks through the door because he has nowhere else to go. he has no other home--besides the three of you.
it's dark outside when he comes back, and the door is unlocked, so he knows that you've been waiting. that you had to deal with the aftermath of shouted voices and scared children who he felt lurking behind a wall before he got the chance to think about any of it.
he needs to talk to you. satoru knows that, he really does. but he's not sure what to say.
he could apologize for tonight--could tell you that he won't make any more decisions, that he won't wreck this thing you've built--but it's not enough.
he should probably apologize for the last seven years. for letting himself grow attached to you, and then continue to hold you at arms length. he should probably apologize for being himself, for being less than he could be.
but those words feel too rotten to say aloud.
so, when he walks up to your door, waiting to feel your obvious presence--to see it, like he always does, the wall of cursed energy that you are--he feels like running away again.
you don't even need to know that he's home. satoru could go to bed, and he could probably pretend that nothing happened in the morning and you would follow along.
but he doesn't want to do that. not to you.
and he needs to see you, needs to say something before he figures it all out--should he leave, or stay? should he continue to push you away to protect you? should he tell you all of it?
it doesn't matter, he knows, because he probably won't be able to do any of it.
and for the first time in years, satoru makes sure to knock before he opens your door. just a small repetition of his knuckles, but he might as well be breaking down a tradition.
there's no answer, but he's not waiting, so he creaks the door open, looking for you immediately.
and he sees you, lying in bed.
and he sees your shoulders shaking slightly, with you curled up in the fetal position, and he can hear the sniffle before the door is all the way open.
there's no choice, he knows. he's not going to let you cry yourself to sleep without saying anything. he's not going to leave you alone.
you don't turn around, but satoru knows that you must know he's there. he walks across the floor, sitting at the edge of your bed, waiting for you to turn to him.
and yell, maybe. tell him to leave again. tell him that you don't want to look at him anymore.
but you don't move. your shaking is slightly stifled, and satoru can tell that you're trying to keep your breathing low, to keep him from noticing you cry.
it's foolish, really, because satoru hasn't missed a single detail about you since he was seventeen.
he doesn't say anything, but it's a natural reflex to tap your legs, to stand and slip off his shoes, gently pushing you off of the edge of the bed, towards the middle.
and then he's laying there, curling his limbs around yours, arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you into him.
immediately, there's a release somewhere inside of him. that yearning--that ridiculous need is finally satiated.
satoru swallows. he needs to say something, he knows, but he's not sure what. should he apologize right now? should he tell you that he hates it when you cry--that he never feels more desperate to be more than in moments like this?
should he whisper that he loves you, just to get it off his chest?
but you cough, body shuttering as you relax into him, never pushing him away. and your voice is so small when you say, "you can't leave."
satoru feels the pieces of him crack into even more.
he tries to hold you tighter, but you move in his hold, turning so that you're facing him, and you nuzzle your face into his neck--trying to hide, but making sure that he's there.
your hands cling onto him, leaving marks.
he can feel your tears against his skin, your entire body on overdrive.
"you can't leave," you repeat, voice breaking. satoru feels it against the very outline of his soul.
"okay," he says, quickly. "i won't."
"i can't lose you too."
he pales, body going still. his heart might stop for a moment. "you won't. i'm not going anywhere." he sighs. "i'm sorry."
"i can't--" you're still crying, and you begin to shake again. "i can't do this without you. i won't."
"you don't have to."
"you can't leave, satoru," you say, leaning up to meet his eyes--yours glistening with years full of hurt, a lifetime of secrets and unsaid words. "please don't leave."
"i won't," he repeats, feeling a bit desperate. what can he say to prove to you that he's not like everyone else? that he would trap you within his atoms, if he could? that he would stay in this bed, holding you, even if it meant nothing, forever?
there's nothing, he knows. nothing but the truth. but that doesn't come out--it can't, now. it's not the right time.
so instead, satoru wipes the tears from your face, even though they're replaced immediately, your breath coming in short, short bursts. he wraps his arm around your back, pulling you back to him again.
"i'm sorry," you whisper against his skin, so quietly that he can barely hear it.
"i'm not going anywhere," he answers.
and, just for tonight, it's enough.
he'll fix the rest of it tomorrow.
*
next part | series masterlist
#gojo satoru#gojo satoru x reader#jjk gojo#jujutsu gojo#gojo x reader#gojo satoru x you#gojo satoru x y/n#gojo satoru fluff#satoru gojo#satoru x reader#satoru x you#satoru gojo x reader#satoru gojo x you#satoru gojo x y/n#jjk fanfic#jjk fluff#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen#a typical family#jjk satoru#gojo x you#gojou satoru x reader
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Yandere JJK - Yuta Okkotsu
When you leave for a month long mission without telling your close friend and maybe crush, Yuuta. You come back and he’s cracked.
It’d been two months since you left on a mission, only now being able to return back to Japan. When you arrived home to your shared apartment, you had expected a warm welcome from your kind and courteous friend, Yuuta. You imagined he’d tell you, “Welcome home,” ask how your trip was, and offer to make dinner like he usually did on days he felt adventurous enough to cook. The two of you lived pretty harmoniously together, both being capable sorcerers with similar demeanors and all.
What you didn’t expect was to be shoved against the wall of the flat’s narrow hallway kabedon style, body pressed flush against your roommate’s, who had a look on his face like he hadn’t been sleeping for weeks and just found out the cure to his insomnia was something ridiculously simple, bordering on relief and hysteria.
“Where. Have you been.” He practically growled, your heart beating at an odd pace since he was barely an inch away from your face.
“Uhnn, on a mission. But great news-I’m back home and won’t be working for a bit, aha?” You broke eye contact, unable to withstand the cold intensity of his dark eyes.
“And you left without telling me? Without telling anyone?”
“Well, to be fair it was a secret mission! It wasn’t to be disclosed and even then I knew it’d only make you worry and you’d probably end up trying to tag along somehow. I didn’t want to distract you from your work, Yu.”
Your explanation didn’t do much to help calm his nerves. You could tell he was obviously worked up, he was breathing hard, his arms were shaking, and his newfound grip on your shoulders was soul crushing. You knew your friend was strong, but the fact that you couldn’t move at all from your position was impressive.
“So you just up and left? That’s not fair,” His languid voice spoke with quiet rage. He was never one to raise his voice, not even now. “You don’t get to decide that. What if you had died? What if something happened and nobody from home knew anything about it? Would you be okay with leaving everyone behind? Leaving me?”
“No…I mean…I wouldn’t want that. I mean hey, I’m here! We’re good now, right? I’m fine! We’re fine.” You said this last part with no confidence, “…Are we?”
Yuuta took a step back, staring at the wall next to you because he couldn’t stand to look at you. “No. We’re not.”
He let you go, moving to turn back to his room. You grabbed his shoulder. “Hey-wait! I know you’re upset. I would be too. But please, don’t ignore me. I was so lonely on my own, now that I’m back I…well, is it too selfish to say I want you by my side? I missed you a lot.” Your abandonment issues were about to be the death of you.
“You trampled on my feelings, completely disregarding how I’d feel, and now you want pity?”
You deflated. “No. Just. I just want you. I’m sorry for hurting you, Yuta. I didn’t mean it, really.”
A minute of silence passed you both. You felt like you were about to cry. You sniffled. “I really am sorry.”
He stared at the ground, muttering a soft curse before looking back at you, slowly opening his arms. He sighed. “I can never stay mad at you. I missed you too. C’mere.”
And you nearly leapt into his arms, hugging him tightly. His scowl broke, turning into an ever so slight smile.
Coming home wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
You thought the two of you were cool and were about to offer to order take-out when he threw you over his shoulder, went to his room, and threw you on the bed, locking the door promptly behind him.
“Uhhhh, Yuuta?” You asked. “Watcha doing?”
He chuckled darkly. “You confessed to me before your mission, right? And then you bolted before I could even respond. Well, I’ve had a lot of time to think about how I should reply in the past months you were gone. And this is my response.”
Your face grew red. How could you have forgotten about that?
He crawled on the bed after you, leering over you like a tiger would its prey.
“I love you. More than anything in the world. And when I noticed you left and had no idea when you’d be back, or if you’d come back at all? I thought I’d go crazy. It took everything in me to not kill the elites that ordered you on the mission and drag you back home myself.” He had you caged between his arms again, voice dropping to something thick and heavy at his next words, “I decided that when you came back, if you ever came back, I wouldn’t let you go anymore. I want you by my side forever. And even then forever’s no where near enough.”
“Quite the romantic, are you big guy?”
He smirked at that. “I’ve had enough time to study up on the type of guys you like.” You shivered when you felt his lips glide across your neck, a rough hand slowly sneaking up your stomach, beneath your clothes.
“You’re mine tonight. And forever.”
Tonight was going to be a loooooooong night.
#male yandere#yandere#yandere imagines#yandere x reader#yandere x you#yandere scenarios#yandere writing#yuta x reader#jjk x reader#jjk yuta#yuta okkotsu x reader#yuta okkotsu#yandere yuta x reader#yandere headcanons#yandere drabble#yandere jjk#yandere jujutsu kaisen#yandere male#Yuta okkotsu#okkotsu yuuta#jjk#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen
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I have an idea! Only do it if you feel comfortable though 🙌🏻 no pressure
Teen reader with Alastor who have this father-daughter bond. Teen reader has never really 'acted out' in a sense. At least not in ways expected of in a sinner. Always had manners, polite, and reserved, yet was always open and honest with Alastor.
Now imagine reader out on the town doing some errands and they overhear a demon talking some nasty crap about Alastor. For the first time, they let their anger get the better of them and get into a fight with the demon. Not without a few cuts and bruises though, poor thing.
Reader not wanting Alastor to get angry or disappointed at them decide that it's best that just this one, they won't mention anything. They'll not tell him this one thing. It won't hurt. He won't know!
Yet it's Alastor. And he always knows. Mainly because they're reading sunglasses inside and trying (failing) to cover up a limp.
Are Ya Winning Child?
⌐‣Alastor & Teen Reader REQ.
Want more? Check out the masterlist↩︎
AUTHOR’S NOTE: KSNAKXNSM I HAD SO MUCH FUN WRITING THIS I AM LIVING FOR THESE REQUESTS. I ACTUALLY HAD TO TAKE BREAKS WRITING THIS TO BREATHE. I WAS GENUINELY TWEAKING LIKE ALASTOR WAS THIS LAST EPISODE WRITING THIS.
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Alastor & Teen Reader
You had always been one to hold your tongue and watch your actions. To not act out on rashness. That's how you had always been, even before ending up in hell. You had always been known for your good manners, even as a kid and it's only become more solidified in your character as you grew.
Then why was it so hard to not beat the living shit out of the demon in front of you.
There's no way they didn't know you were connected with the infamous radio demon in some way. Maybe they had seen you and him out and about here recently and knew you two had a connection. People are more courageous than ever to question Alastor’s authority since his 7-year absence.
Maybe the demon is just trying to get a rise out of you. Sinners, who were once people, tend to poke and prod at what they don't understand. “How could some random teenage sinner be so close to the radio demon? Maybe they have a deal? The poor soul probably got tricked…” You've heard it all by now.
But, every time someone said something would be in hushed whispers that were easy to ignore. However, it can be quite hard to ignore some random drunkard spouting lies from his lips. And straight to your face too.
“He’s probably got your ass on a leash doesn't he?” and “Oh! If he's so powerful—” There were a few loud noises, maybe a scream or two.
What…? Oh shit.
The walk back to the hotel was not fun. You really should have just ignored him. Silencing him was not worth the pain you had in your leg and the ache you felt. You're pretty sure you got a black eye too.
By the time you arrive, you have adorned sunglasses on your face come up with an idea as to why you have them, and practiced how to hide your limp until you at least got up the stairs.
By telling those who questioned your weird behavior, “Oh someone was giving out free sunglasses they didn't want anymore so I took one.” and walking past your sorry excuse of trying to hide a limp, you finally made it to your room.
However, you didn't have peace for long until a familiar knock sounded at your door. Quickly throwing back on your sunglasses, you heard Alastor’s static voice through the door.
“I heard you arrived back from town just a few minutes ago!” Oh, he's definitely already on your trail…
You walked- well more so limped, over to the door. Signing in defeat before tossing the sunglasses on your bed.
Fuck it, he probably already knows.
Opening the door, you were immediately met with the radio demon himself. His eyes already shooting up and down your figure. From your leg to your black eye.
“May I come in?” It sounded like more of a command rather than a question. Without much thought, you opened the door wider before going back over to your bed and sitting down on the edge. Staring blankly ahead like a guilty child who got caught with their hand in a cookie jar. There's no point in trying to argue that you're fine when you know Alastor will just keep pestering you until you tell him.
Sitting down next to you, Alastor sat with you in silence for a moment. As if giving you the chance to speak up first, but when you didn't he let out a soft sigh before gently cupping your face, turning your head to look at him.
“What happened.” The average sinner would have been scared shitless at his tone, but you were only mildly frightened. However, there was definitely ill intent behind his smile. He knows you didn't just do this to yourself. You had to have a reason, you don't usually act out of line.
“I got into a fight.” His hand dropped from your face as you spoke, his smile growing wider before he let out a chuckle. His shoulders slightly shaking and his eyes closed in euphoria. His next words were clear when he spoke, looking you in the eyes.
“And did you win?”
“Yeah…?”
Another chuckle left his lips, though, it sounded more like a childish giggle. His hand raised again, landing on your head before ruffling your hair. A proud smile on his face.
“Good.”
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Word Count: 735
#gender neutral reader#x reader#gender neutral y/n#no use of y/n#voonroo#hazbin hotel#hazbin#hazbin hotel alastor x teen reader#hazbin alastor x teen reader#hazbin alastor#hazbin hotel alastor#alastor#hazbin x reader platonic#hazbin hotel x reader platonic#hazbin hotel platonic#platonic x reader#platonic#hazbin hotel x teen reader#hazbin hotel x child reader#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin x reader
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Before It All
Alastor’s affiliation with deer goes back much further than his death.
Part 2 + Part 3
Human Alastor Headcanons
‐-----------------------------------
No.
No way.
Were your eyes deceiving you?
“You summoned me?” You exclaimed with disbelief, staring at the adolescent boy with incredulity and he seemed just as surprised as you were. “You are just a–”
He interrupted you swiftly with a bitter voice. “If you call me a boy or a child, I’ll…” He clenched his hands, kicking at the dirt in a very childish manner before looking at you again. “I didn’t think it would work. I mean,” his voice lowered and he let out a scornful laugh, “demons? They aren’t real.”
Your brow rose and you tilted your head. “You drew a summoning circle and somehow have access to the secrets of a ritual to summon a demon and you don’t think we are real?” You crossed your arms. “I know I probably am one of the least frightening demons you could have summoned, but still. What exactly were you trying to do here?”
The boy opened his mouth, but did not seem to have an answer. Instead, he took in your unique features and blinked when he seemed to realize just exactly what he was looking at. “Are…” He almost hesitated to ask when you sighed, clearly guessing what he was about to say. “Are those ears…?”
“Yes, these are deer ears, okay?! I’m a deer demon! I know, I know! Not very scary, is it!” You were flustered and the boy watched in fascination as your ears twitched and flattened against your head. “I’m still a demon though. And you’re just a human. Don’t make me remind you who is stronger here.”
“Can I touch your ears?” The boy asked, not even hearing what you had just said as you spluttered, almost backing up as the boy fearlessly moved closer towards you.
What the hell was wrong with him? Did he have a screw loose in his head?
‘This is happening. This is actually happening.’ You thought, standing stiffly as the boy stood in front of you, staring at you expectantly. He seemed rather tall for his age, there wasn’t too much of a height difference, that could not be an excuse to turn him down.
Well, if you really were going to let this human touch you…
“What’s your name?” You sighed, willing your ears back to their usual position and his eyes followed their path with clear interest. “Why did you summon a demon to begin with? How old are you to even be doing such things?”
“Alastor Hartfelt.” The boy, Alastor, shrugged. “I’m fifteen. Why I summoned you?” His eyes darkened so abruptly that you were taken back by the sheer hatred you could see within them. “I want you… to kill my father.”
Ah.
You should have known.
It was a typical request.
You reached out your hand, looking at Alastor for permission to touch him and though he hesitated for a moment, he nodded. You felt him unconsciously flinch when you grabbed his arm as gently as you could and slowly brought it up towards your head. “Please, just don’t pull or tug them too hard.” You placed his hand on your ears and they twitched at the touch of another other than yourself.
“They’re real.” Alastor blinked, as if surprised by that fact as he stroked your soft ears, causing you to sigh. It took a lot out of you not to bleat when Alastor kept on stroking your ears for quite some time before he had his fill and finally stepped back. “You’re actually a deer.”
“A deer demon. Yes, thank you for pointing that out for me.” You shook your head. “Are you aware of the consequences of this? If I kill your father, your soul is mine. It will be mine to do with whatever I please once you die and descend to Hell. Is that what you truly want?”
“I don't care, as long as that man dies. Just kill him! He hurts my Mama, he hurts me! He's a drunk waste of life!” Alastor trembled with rage at first, but then began to claw at his face when he felt his eyes sting with unwanted tears.
He absolutely froze when he felt your arms wrap around him in a warm embrace.
“Damn. I'm an awful representative of demons everywhere for even thinking this, but I don't want to condemn you to Hell. Just this once, I'll give you a pass. I'll make it look like your father died in some accident and you keep your soul, okay?” You pulled back to see Alastor’s wide eyes.
“Why?”
It was a simple ask.
Why indeed.
You weren't quite sure yourself.
“Go home now. Take care of your mother. And most importantly, make it like you never met me. Forget about me.” You began to shoo him off, no longer paying him any attention as you began to plot the death of a human, made to look like an accident.
You didn't notice Alastor’s manic eyes staring at you until he could no longer see you through the foliage of the forest.
His fascination with deer festered.
~00~
“Oh my!”
Rosie placed her teacup down on its saucer, enthralled with the story. It wasn't often Alastor talked about his human life and even less so about his adolescence.
She was almost reluctant to ask, but she had to know!
“Have you found your sweet Doe here in Hell yet?” Rosie eyed Alastor’s expression closely, though, as expected, it did not change from its usual unreadable smile in the least.
“Hmm,” Alastor set down his empty coffee mug, “who can say?” His grin widened when Rosie pouted and he stood from his chair. “That's information I will not share even with you, dear Rosie.”
“I suppose that's fair.” Rosie also stood. “I'm grateful you trusted me enough with that precious story of yours! It must be dear to your heart.”
“What little there is left of it.” Alastor’s smile darkened for a second before bidding farewell to Rosie.
He had a rare day off from his hotelier duties tomorrow and he wasn't going to waste a second of it.
And while he wasn't one to believe in redemption–
–an entire day with his Doe sounded heavenly to him.
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Baby come home | Salesman x Fem!Reader
Summary: He wants you at his home. Where you belong.
Warnings: Manipulation - Toxic!Relationship - Possessive!Salesman - Stalker!Salesman - Suggestive -
He wants you by his side the moment he has his eyes on you for the very first time. Did he hear weeding bells ? No that was probably a part of him that was dead long time ago.
But did he want to possess you in every way? Heart ? Soul ? Body ? Yes. He wanted that and more. Be the one who brings you joy, who makes your world, you only need him in that. Just you and him together, no one else.
But he has to play good. He is good with words, he is a natural manipulador, he is good looking, he knows how to flirt, how to move. He knows how to get anyone on his bed and even make them do things they would never do if asked by other person.
But he is not anyone. And you are not a body he wants to use and leave behind.
No. Thats why he changes is game play. He is softer, little touches, dates, random texts, gifts, whatever a good boyfriend does to get his gilfriend happy.
And you are, after all he got a good list of your information. He knows your work hours, likes, dislikes, he is a second shadow in your life. You just dont know it.
At first its a casual meeting at the coffee shop you usually go. He catches your eye as a drinks and looks down over a book.
The same book you are currently reading.
Its fate? No, he knows you love books and got the information that you were reading this one at the time. Its a good thing to set common ground. A way of connect with you.
Its lovely how you fall for him. He sees it on how you act around him. At first you are just atracted to him by how he looks. But its the little acts he does, likes sharing his umbrella with you, paying for your drinks, walking you home when its too dark, opening the door for you, kissing your cheeck and letting his hand there like he is waiting for you to jump at him.
Its a pull he does, waits for you to give in to him. When you two are official things move well. The next step its to live together. He wants that so badly, after having you for one weekend he realizes how his home really feels like one when you are present. Besides it would save you money and time. But he can see how you seem not ready for it.
He gets it. Living alone does give you a sense of freedoom, but he cant let you have that. No when your company makes him feel so good. And he can compensate you, once you move in with him you will forget what living alone felt like. You will love him so much and crave for him so much...
You just need a push. Maybe getting some nasty neighbors would do the trick ? He gets the worse couple to move right next to your aparment. You never see them but fuck do you hear them all the time. Your sleep hours start to deteriorate so much.
The Salesman does not take vengeance on them (yet) because he is the one who sent them and also, he gets you to stay at his home more often. Being able to wrap his arms around you at night and see you on mornings.
Yes he will punish them later. For now they can live.
But its not enough. He should have know better. After all you have been facing life alone for quiet some time.
Raising the price for the aparment you are paying ? That does seem to do the trick. Everytime you two meet you look so stressed but you refuse to accept his money.
"I cant ask you for that. Its my problem to deal with" You said giving him back the wones he had offer you earlier. "Besides you let me stay at your aparment enough...and you dont even let me clean afterwards, im taking too much from you"
Oh love of his life! You can take all from him. And its not enough how many days and nights you stay. Not till it becomes a forever.
He now knows he must make things...worse. It will hurt you, but he is going to be there for you. With open arms and your favorite flowers, ready to bring back up yourself and pull the pieces together once again.
Thats why he needs you to get fired from your job. It does breaks him when you call him crying over it. How it was your dream job and how someone blamed you for a mistake you did not made and now you were jobless.
It just needs time till you cant afford rent any longer. And the shame of returning with your parents its too much. Besides he has whisper in your ear multiple times how good it would be to live together. How you could decorate his house (after a small comment on how plain it looked), how you two would be able to see each other more (not that you need to know he has hacked your phone and knows where you are 24/7) and how much money and time it would save you (He already has a company who wants to hire you...at least till he convinces you to stop working all along).
He is in heaven when you finally move in. Most of your old forniture was sold since he said he did not have space for it. But in reality he wants you to pick new one. Maybe he can help with it even if he was never good at decorating.
The sight of his wardrobe with now your clothes besides his ones makes his heart beat fast. Its criminal how many times he has smell them when you are not home, almost falling asleep with one of them as he imagines the future weeding you two will have.
You two now have matching cups for the morning coffee, something he does find a bit cheesy but he also likes it. Specially when he comes out from the shower and sees them together alongside some toasts.
It feels right, it feels good. He knows he does not deserve it but he was never fair to start with.
"Here Love you should pick a new color for our bedroom" He gives you his phone so you can look over the different colors
"But...I thought you liked how it was?"
"I believe my life its too grey already. A bit of color wont hurt. And its yours too, its natural you get to pick at least that"
Him going to the most expensive stores to check for a new bed, couch and more. He wonders if he should ask you or keep it as a suprise.
Him not letting you go on mornings and making you late (no that your Boss would ever say a thing if he values his life). He cant just let you go off from the bed, your smell and heat are his favorite things. And if he feels like he needs to give you a remind on who you belong to....
Well its a funny sight seeing you go to work walking funny. And with more makeup to cover up the different love bites.
If he feels mean he is going to Force you to keep his cum inside you for the rest of the day. And he just knows when you let some get out. Too bad he will have to fill you up again.
He cant wait to make you his wife. He already has you living with him. Your old aparment was now a memory. You had said to him how much you did prefer living with him, his aparment was bigger, neighbors that were not loud and him.
He admits his heart did skip a beat when you told him how happy you were when being with him and knowing that you would always see him at the end of the day.
Oh, of course you would. From now and for the rest of your life.
~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○
Him seeing where you live and thinking how much better you deserve
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/52756120d264c7a224c93f7b4b59e482/6f03135ccb8c87fb-4b/s540x810/fe774e04f0649d8572b36ece3e969c41969b5134.jpg)
#squid game imagines#squid game x y/n#suicide squad imagine#squid game x reader#salesman x reader#recruiter x reader
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Empty eyes | Dean Winchester x Reader
Summary: Dean doesn't take Charlie's death too well and because of the Mark of Cain affecting him, he tells you things that will regret.
Warnings: moc!Dean Winchester, Dean being a dick, minor mentions of injury, swearing, ANGST, major character's death
Pairing: Dean Winchester × reader
Featuring: Sam Winchester
Word count: 2,3k
We watched in agony as Charlie's body, wrapped around a white sheet, burned in the flames. This should never have happened to her kind soul. She died so we could save Dean. I couldn't help but feel guilty; my heart ached because I lost a friend, again. I knew Sam felt the same. We both asked Charlie for help with the Book of the Damned, and we both lied to Dean about the book being destroyed. Now it was too late to make things right. Memories flashed through my eyes, making me tear up. I remembered when she helped us with the Dick situation, or when I taught her some hunter-kind-of-tricks. How happy she was and wouldn't stop thanking me. She didn't deserve this, anyone but her.
“Charlie,” Sam started, grabbing my and probably Dean's attention. “We are gonna miss you. You're the best.” He stopped when his voice cracked, and now I was sure he felt far worse than me because looking back, he suggested not telling Dean about the Book of the Damned not being destroyed, which I didn't agree with at first. But seeing Dean, my Dean, slowly fade away right in front of my eyes changed my opinion. Maybe it was selfish, me and Sam both were. But we couldn't let Dean become something he fears, a Monster. We couldn't lose another person, another family member, but we didn't realize who we were putting in danger on this path.
“We love you, Charlie, and I'm so sorry,” I said, blinking through tears.
“Shut up,” Dean said coldly, making Sam and me look at him. “You got her killed. You don't get to apologize.” He continued.
“Dean-“ Sam started, but Dean cut him off.
“You too, you two are the reason she is dead,” he said, not taking his eyes off the flames.
“We were trying to help you,” I said, still looking at him.
“I didn't need help,” he said bitterly. "I told you to leave it alone.”
“What were we supposed to do, just watch you die?” Sam asked, not letting me be the only one receiving the cold tone from his older brother.
“The mark isn't gonna kill me.”
“Maybe not, but when it's done with you, you won't be you anymore,” I stated. “Dean, you're all we got. So of course we were gonna fight for you because that's what we do,” I said softly.
“Yeah, she's right, we had a shot-“ Sam was cut off again by Dean.
“Yeah, you had a shot. Charlie is dead.” He finally turned his head to look at me and his brother, who was standing next to me. His dark emerald eyes bore into mine, and I couldn't recognize them. Never have I ever seen him look at me with those eyes. Because no matter how much crap we went through, he always made sure I was fine, and his eyes held nothing but sweetness and, on most occasions, worry. “Nice shot.”
“Are you even listening to me? You think I'm ever gonna forgive myself for that?!” I snapped, not being able to keep my voice down anymore. He is grieving, but so am I. If I could, I would trade places with her.
“You know what I think,” he started, still with the same voice tone. “I think it should be you up there and not her.”
I felt my heart break for the hundredth time today. I parted my lips, not taking my teary eyes off him, which clearly showed how hurt I was. Sam let out a small gasp and widened his eyes after he heard Dean's words, clearly not expecting his brother to go that far.
I knew he blamed me, probably even more than Sam. But knowing that he wanted me dead hurt more than any physical torture I've experienced.
Sam called his name, still shocked after what he heard, but his brother just walked away, breaking my heart more and more.
—————
It has been a week since I lost Charlie, since I lost my Dean. He has been searching for the Stynes ever since but has been having a bit of trouble finding their location. So meanwhile, he went on a few solo hunts. He hasn't said a word to me and to Sam, just a few like ‘buy some beers’ ‘did you find anything about the Stynes’.
He found another hunt for today and was packing his bag in his own room. We both haven't stepped in our shared room ever since the accident, which meant we weren't even sleeping on the same bed. I'm done with being ignored, so I knocked on his door and opened it without waiting for any response. He didn't even turn around, probably knowing it was me.
“Dean,” I called his name, not even knowing what I wanna talk about, but getting him to look at me was the first step. “Dean,” I called, this time louder, and when he still didn't turn around, I walked towards him and grabbed his arm. “Alright, I'm done. When will you finally stop ignoring me?!”
He looked at my hand, which was grabbing his arm, and slowly turned around, finally looking at my face. “I'm not ignoring you, I just don't want to talk to you or be near you,” he said bitterly, pulling his arm away and reaching for his door.
“Dean, you know you're not the only one who lost someone, okay? And believe me, I know it's my fault she's gone, and I'll never forgive myself for that. But, god, you're practically killing me. I miss you,” I said desperately, waiting for something in his eyes to change, waiting for him to embrace me in his strong arms, but... Nothing. His eyes didn't even hold hatred anymore, just emptiness.
“I don't know what you expect me to say, ‘I'm sorry you were so stupid’ ‘I'm sorry you got another person killed off’ ‘I'm sorry you're so fucking useless’ Huh?! Is that what you want me to say? You want me to feel sorry for you?!” he yelled, showing the anger and darkness in his eyes while he harshly slammed me to the wall, making me whimper slightly. His words cut deep into my skin, but I tried my best to ignore them, knowing this Dean wasn't really my Dean.
“I want you to understand, I want you to know that I'm sorry. I want you to tell me that we're gonna go through this like we always do,” I said softly, looking deeply into his eyes, trying to crack him.
He let out a dark chuckle and grasped my shoulders, lowering his head to be on the same height level with me. “You want me to tell you that we're gonna go through this? Well, baby, in that way, I'd be a big liar.”
“Dean, me and Sam, we are so close to saving you. Please, just don't let the mark control you,” I begged, feeling small under his touch.
“I don't want nor need you two saving me, and believe me, at this very moment, I'm trying to not let the mark control me, so don't provoke me,” he whispered against my ear, sending shivers down my spine.
"I thought you trusted me.”
“Well, that trust was destroyed when you got someone who was like a sister to me killed. Have you ever noticed how many innocent people died because you were being too stupid?” he said harshly.
"We all have made mistakes, Dean," I said, as I thought about the hunts where innocent people died, and I couldn't save them. I didn't want Dean to know how much his words were affecting me, but, god, I felt like a crumpled paper.
“Seems like that's the only thing you ever do,” he smirked, letting his eyes fall on the floor again before looking up at my eyes again. “Tell me, how does it feel knowing you don't mean anything to anybody and you're just a burden in our lives? How does it feel knowing nobody loves you?”
That's it. That was the punch line to make me break into tears.
“Y-you love me, you said that before.”
“You know I lie to get laid,” he said, smirking, proud of his response.
My heart was racing more and more, and I felt nauseous.
“Dean, please-“
“You're nothing, do you hear me? Nothing!” he grabbed my cheeks harshly. “Your existence doesn't matter. You.don't.matter.” he said, spitting the words out before letting me go. He took his bag and walked out of the room, not even glancing at me. I slid down the wall as I started sobbing silently.
Then I heard a buzz from my phone.
New message from Sammy:
“Y/N, Dean just said he found a hunt, probably three to four werewolves, and he told me to go with him. I was really surprised but didn't question him. I think he's getting better. I'll also talk to him on the road. Next time, he'll definitely ask you too, just like old times. Don't stay up and don't worry; we got this :) love you.”
He asked Sam to go, but not me. If he hadn't told me that he hated me a few minutes ago, I'd think he was worried. But if it was really 3 or 4 werewolves, there's nothing to be worried about. He just wants to stay away from me. He told me I was a burden to them; he'll probably throw me out of the bunker soon.
Dark thoughts ran through my mind, and suddenly a rush of anxiety ran through me. What if there were more than a few werewolves? What if they get hurt? What if Dean hates me even more?
I checked Sam's message again and saw that he sent me the address of where the werewolves' location is and where the hunt would probably take place. I quickly rushed to my room, grabbed my car keys, and went to drive to the location.
—————
I was hiding behind some of the trees in the forest, watching as each of the boys fought one werewolf, two already dead ones on the floor.
Everything seemed good so far; I mean, their guns were on the floor, but they were fighting each werewolf single handed and there was no need for me to make my presence known. The boys were winning as always. And that's when I realized they don't really need me in their life. I knew the words that came out of Dean's mouth tonight weren't really Dean's, my Dean. But he was somehow right; before I became the hunter I am today, I made many mistakes. Some were small, and some led to people getting hurt or even killed. I also put their lives in danger multiple times because I was being reckless. Finding the demons that killed my parents blinded my vision. I was ready to get back to the bunker when I saw both of the werewolves giving up until I noticed something.
A werewolf close to Sam's back, and it seemed like none of the brothers noticed him. I searched for my gun but remembered I forgot it in the backseat of my car. I cursed under my breath and did the only thing possible right now to save Sam. I couldn't let Dean lose another person, especially his brother, who I knew meant the world to him. I couldn't put him through something like that again when there's a chance to save the younger Winchester.
So I ran towards Sam, trying my best to not slip because of the woods on the floor. The Werewolf was close, and nobody noticed him. I'm not the only stupid one after all. The boys turned their heads to me for a slight second, surprised at my presence, but didn't stop fighting the other werewolves.
Until I pushed Sam away from the werewolf he was fighting onto the floor. He seemed confused at first, until he saw it. I assumed Dean did too but couldn't be too sure since he was behind me. I let out an agonizing scream when the werewolf grazed his claws into my stomach and the other one, which Sam was fighting before, grazed his claws into my back before my lifeless body fell on the floor. Dean didn't hesitate more seconds before getting his gun from the floor and shooting all the werewolves.
I was bleeding like a waterfall from my body and my mouth. But the good thing is-
I didn't feel any pain, or anything in that matter…
Dean Winchester’s Pov:
No no no.
This can't be happening.
It's all a nightmare, just another stupid nightmare.
I heard Sam's crying voice telling the love of my life, his best friend, to wake up, holding her torn apart body in his arms, asking her why she pushed him away. But there was no answer.
It's a nightmare happening in real life.
Her beautiful y/e/c are open but so empty, unrecognizable.
I stood over her body, not being able to move from my spot.
There is so much blood everywhere.
Her blood.
This is hell.
No, I’ve been to hell and it's worse than hell.
I started tearing up more and more, reality hitting me more every second.
I let out an angry scream and fell on my knees when I remembered my last words to her.
“You're nothing, do you hear me? Nothing! Your existence doesn't matter. You.don't.matter.”
She wasn't nothing, she was my everything.
She mattered, she was the reason I kept going, now she's gone and it's all my fault.
All my fault.
All of the words I said came back to me, making my chest hurt.
As I knelt beside her lifeless body, surrounded by the aftermath of our shattered world, I whisper into the silent abyss, "I'm sorry, Y/N. I'm so sorry."
And deep down I felt the Mark laughing…
#supernatural#dean winchester#sam winchester#dean winchester x reader#dean winchester x you#dean winchester x female!reader#dean winchester angst#dean winchester fanfiction#Dean Winchester mark of cain#moc!dean#mark of cain#supernatural angst#supernatural fanfiction#supernatural fic#dean x reader#dean x you#dean x y/n#angry Dean Winchester#angry!dean#dark Dean Winchester#angst#angst no happy ending#angst no comfort#platonic Sam Winchester
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EWAN MITCHELL TALKING ABOUT AEMOND TARGARYEN IN EPISODE 4 FOR NUEVA MUJER MAGAZINE.
(video of the interview comes out this week)
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/454c2baaa96e2bf3a528cb7eb4eba936/464b8bf78ba973a0-89/s540x810/005818fd45b085105efb7a6eb94fc20e92bfbcca.jpg)
AEMOND, AT THIS POINT, IS THE MOST INTERESTING AND COMPLEX CHARACTER IN THE ENTIRE SHOW. AT THIS POINT IN YOUR HISTORY, WHAT ARE YOUR INTERESTS?
"I love exploring the dark side of Aemond and delving deeper into his vulnerability."
"At the end of season 1, with his dragon, Vhagar, he knows he's made a mistake and lets his emotions get the best of him."
"It's good to see that feeling again and it breaks down and takes away that one-dimensionality: there's something more underlying beneath the surface that, in part, motivates it."
IT IS CLEAR THAT AFTER WHAT HAPPENED, A CONFRONTATION BETWEEN AEMOND AND DAEMON IS GOING TO HAPPEN. WHAT CAN YOU TELL US ABOUT THAT?
"Sure, but at what cost? Everyone saw the damage the three dragons did in the battle."
"After that moment, all of Westeros already knows what it is to fight with dragons and what they can do."
"Now, with Aemond and Daemon, if they sat together in a room, any item in it would be a deadly weapon."
HOW DO YOU DEFINE THE RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN AEMOND AND AEGON? IT IS VERY CLEAR THAT AEMOND IS INFINITELY SUPERIOR THAN HIS BROTHER AND HE KNOWS IT.
"Yes, I think he has always seen Aegon as someone who is inferior to him."
"He feels like he doesn't have the drive to be a king and the perseverance to be a leader."
"While Aemond was training with the sword and studying with the masters, his brother was probably in some Flea Bed brothel squandering his inheritance."
"So Aemond, although he was the second son, always felt that he should have been treated as the first and always prepared himself for that."
"He also feels that he would probably make a better king than Aegon."
"He hates his brother, but he loves him at the same time, because he is his brother."
"They share a heritage."
"He wants to love him, but Aegon gives her plenty of reasons not to."
BUT DID AEMOND WANT TO KILL AEGON?
"When we are in the battle scene, and when Vhagar attacks Aegon and Rhaenys, the question arises as to whether he intentionally tried to hurt his brother, or if he was in his way or if he was just collateral damage."
"I think it goes back to the previous answer: I think of them as Michael and Fredo Corleone, at the time when the latter betrayed his brother and plotted against him."
"This is because although they hate their enemies, there is a deeper hatred towards someone who should protect and care for you."
"And Aegon never did that. In fact, he led the bullying. Aemond “forgives”, but never forgets."
NOW THAT YOU'VE ALSO RECORDED 'THE LAST KINGDOM', AND, COMPARED TO YOUR CHARACTER, OSFERTH, AEMOND TARGARYEN IS CRUEL AND RITLESS. WHERE DID YOU GET INSPIRED FROM TO INTERPRET IT?
"It's interesting that you mention Osferth, because in many ways he is the antithesis of Aemond, in the sense that they are children of royalty who were marginalized and have been treated unfairly by their brothers."
"Aemond himself, because he has been sidelined, has a lot to prove."
"He is the second son who will inherit nothing and recognizes that whatever he wants in this life he will have to go out and get it himself, by hook or by crook."
"He has tremendous power in Vhagar."
"And, of course, he recognizes that he can do things that no one else in the kingdom can do."
"And that's why he sees it as a call to greatness, to write his name in the history books."
AEMOND IMPOSES FEAR. IT HAS A DANGEROUS AURA. HOW DO YOU TRANSMIT THAT SENSATION TO THE SPECTATOR, THAT SOMETHING TERRIBLE CAN HAPPEN TO SOMEONE LIKE THIS IN A PLACE?
"I think that in the first four episodes, Aemond is still not very much at the center of the conflict."
"You see it with Criston Cole plotting and trying to manipulate the council because they know war is inevitable."
"Now: Shakespeare said the eyes are the windows to the soul, but in Aemond's case, what does it mean to have one and the other a safari? Do you see less of his soul? There is silence."
"A lot of silence on your part and in those moments you say a lot without saying anything."
"I love those moments, because as a viewer, you can project your own interpretation on the character about what is happening through his or her gaze."
BY THE WAY, WHAT IS THE RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN AEMOND AND ALICENT?
"Someone asked me if I thought Aemond had problems with his mother and I don't think so: he just wanted to be loved by her a little more."
"He is an empty child and children need that unconditional love to be balanced beings and develop a vision accordingly."
"And since he never had that, he had to look for solutions in other beings. In Vhagar. At Mrs. Sylvie, from the brothel."
"Children need to be loved unconditionally: if a child is not embraced by the village, they will hug them to feel their warmth and seek validation through other means."
"In Aemond's case, it's war."
"And of course, if he finds out what Cole, his best friend, has been doing with his mother, I don't know how he would take it."
HE'S A PRETTY BROKEN CHARACTER. HOW DID YOU EXPLORE THAT?
"That's one of the most fascinating aspects of playing him."
"Because beyond that image that has been created, he is in a very different physical and psychological place from what we saw last season."
"He has cultivated this facade - almost homage - inspired by Daemon Targaryen."
"Now, there is a movie called 'Fire vs. Fire' starring Robert De Niro where he has a code to protect himself."
"Aemond has something similar."
"That's why it's so easy for him to reject the madame in episode 3, because he knows that in her world there is no place for love, since it is a weakness."
"He has to be seen as this 'Terminator' who scares everyone and is all-powerful."
"So it's interesting to see what's behind all of that, to see this abandoned boy who is still there."
DO YOU THINK THAT AFTER THIS BATTLE HE WILL HAVE SOME KIND OF GUILT LIKE WHAT HAPPENED TO LUKE AND ARRAX?
"He knows that there is no turning point this time."
"What happened with Luke and Arrax, he knows was a mistake."
"It wasn't his intention."
"He let his emotions get the best of him and lost control of his dragon."
"Here he is in complete control and knows what the dragons can do."
"In episode 5 you will see all the consequences of this."
#HIS HAIR#house of the dragon#hotd#hotd s2#tv shows#team green#ewan mitchell#aemond one eye#prince aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen#hotd aemond#hotd s2 spoilers#hotd spoilers#interview#magazine#osferth#vhagar#aegond#aegon x aemond#alicent x aemond#the greens#the last kingdom#daemond#daemon x aemond#criston x aemond
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