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mcntsee · 9 months ago

Text

— ★ tomorrow

↳ summary: “I wasted all those yesterdays, and now,—“ His words trailed off with a sigh, his eyes red-rimmed from hours of tears shed in the hospital, his gaze blurry as it searched for her face, “—What if I am completely out of tomorrows?”

↳ warnings: hospitals, mentions of gunshot wounds, pain, regret, not proof-read. No use of “y/n”

↳ author’s note: This is fluff, I promise the end is really sweet! This is also inspired by different, random, pinterest quotes my friends sent me. Enjoy!

* ੈ✩‧₊˚

No one enjoyed hospitals. The colors lacked vibrancy, the sounds became repetitive after a few minutes, the antiseptic smell was overpowering, the food tasted bland, and the anxious wait for news about a loved one was excruciating.

Unfortunately, the team was all too familiar with hospital waiting rooms, and even more unfortunate was their familiarity with being patients themselves.

Thankfully, the Federal Employees' Compensation Act provided some relief. Without it, they couldn't even begin to fathom the astronomical medical bills they'd be facing.

Tonight, however, finding themselves stuck in the uncomfortable chairs of the hospital waiting room had not been part of their plans.

The young genius's head throbbed relentlessly, a sensation he'd endured for weeks. The unimaginable pressure around his entire head, compounded with the bright light reflecting off the hospital's shiny white walls, the incessant beeping and the sounds of loved ones crying doing nothing other than intensify his discomfort.

The nurse they had bombarded with questions upon arrival had emerged not long ago to thankfully inform them that everything was alright. The surgery had gone well, and she was now in recovery. Soon enough, if they wished, they could stop by her new temporary room and visit her.

By now, most of the team had returned to the office. Hotch had been called back to work to tackle the pending files on their desks. Fortunately, he had allowed Rossi and Reid to remain behind. Ostensibly, their task was to update the team on her condition, but both of them understood that even if that hadn’t been necessary, there was no force on earth that could have budged Spencer from his spot, where he had been stationed for the last however many hours.

Spencer could feel David's gaze piercing through him. He wanted to snap at him, but he knew his current behavior had undoubtedly attracted more attention than just the older agent's. Clutching at his head, tugging on strands of hair intermittently, his leg bouncing up and down, with eyes tightly shut—his agitation was palpable.

“Kid, they said she’s alright. You need to relax.”

It was true, they had been told that, but it did little to reassure him. His mind raced through various worst-case scenarios. Her wound could become infected, or there might be undetected damage to internal organs. He fretted over potential complications like inflammation of the peritoneum, the formation of blood clots, or even damage to blood vessels leading to reduced blood flow to vital organs, potentially resulting in organ dysfunction or failure.

“The survival rate might seem high, but statistically speaking, complications can arise, even with the best medical care.”

“Spencer—“

“For instance, studies have shown that gunshot wounds to the abdomen carry a significant risk of infection, with rates as high as 20%. And there’s the possibility of peritonitis, which occurs in approximately 10% of cases.”

“Kid—“

“Organ damage is also a concern, particularly with injuries to vital organs like the liver or intestines. Even with the most advanced treatments—“

“Reid!”

For the first time since he sat down, his leg ceased its relentless movement. His hand, which had been tugging at the ends of his hair, relaxed and dropped to his lap, along with the hand he had been waving in the air to explain the statistics. His eyes unclenched, the worry in his brow disappearing as the rest of his facial muscles relaxed.

“What is going on, Spencer?”

The genius's eyes met the older agent's worried gaze with deliberate blinks, adjusting to the harsh fluorescent lights overhead while tuning out the cacophony of noise that surrounded them. “I just— I”

“I never told her and I— I don’t— “ His breathing was uneven, his words tumbling out faster than his mind could keep pace, his mouth struggling to articulate as his chest constricted with anxiety.

A gentle weight settled on his shoulder, its warmth grounding him as it gave a light shake, bringing him back to the present moment and prompting him to pause and take a breath.

“Rossi I- I devoted half my time since meeting her to loving her, only to spend the other half hiding it from her.”

With a sigh, the formerly retired agent settled down next to the much younger agent, his hands staying on the genius's shoulder as he shifted slightly to find a comfortable position.

Reid's gaze lingered on Rossi's face for a moment before he averted it, focusing instead on the bustling activity in the hallway where nurses and doctors hurried back and forth attending to patients.

“Every moment we shared, every laugh, every smile she graced me with, even in her unconscious gestures—“ His gaze returned to the hallway momentarily before lowering to where his hands rested on his knees. With a quick, almost imperceptible shake of his head, he cleared his throat. “Every time I looked at her, the words swelled in my throat. I longed to tell her how much she truly means to me, the happiness and peace she effortlessly brings into my world.”

“To tell her that I love her. That I have for a while now.”

David’s mouth opened, but before he could utter a word, Spencer's pointer finger shot up in the air, silencing any impending speech. It hovered there for a brief moment before his whole palm opened, effectively halting whatever words David had intended to say and then dropping back down to his lap.

“Every single time, I held back. I stopped myself from reaching out to her, from letting my true feelings spill out, from whispering all the things I desperately wished she knew.” His words cracked along with his voice as he, for the first time, admitted aloud feelings he had hidden for so long. “And with my heart pounding in my ears, I always just watched her, silently promising myself, ‘Tomorrow. I’ll tell her tomorrow.’”

“I wasted all those yesterdays, and now,—“ His words trailed off with a sigh that escaped his lips, his eyes red-rimmed from hours of tears shed in the hospital, his gaze blurry as it searched for the older man’s face, “—What if I am completely out of tomorrows?”

They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of Spencer's admission hanging between them until the ringing of a phone shattered the stillness. With a sigh, Rossi reached into his pocket, retrieving the vibrating phone and glancing at the contact name.

“She’ll be okay, kid.”

With one final, reassuring squeeze to his shoulder, the older man rose to his feet, his knee cracking audibly as he turned to leave. Despite his efforts at reassurance, Spencer's profound anxiety remained largely unchanged.

He felt utterly helpless, his mind desperately grasping for solutions, for the comforting embrace of statistical analysis with its reassuring numbers. But instead, there was only silence. For the first time in his life, his mind was empty, devoid of answers, devoid of the usual cacophony of thoughts and calculations.

He couldn't recall the moment the nurse returned to inform him that he could visit her, nor did he remember following the nurse into the room and settling down beside her bed.

He cast restless glances around the room, his eyes darting from one piece of medical equipment to another, then flitting to the walls and ceiling. His gaze moved incessantly, pausing only briefly before moving on, taking in every detail. Except for her.

Alone in the quiet with her, he couldn't bring himself to meet her frame. To look at her now would make everything feel too real, and his heart was already heavy with pain.

His body felt like it was betraying him. Breathing became labored, thoughts fragmented, and the pain in his heart seemed insurmountable.

He wanted to tell someone— no, he wanted to tell her, but he knew she wouldn’t have a solution like she always did. So he sat there, his hands nervously tugging at strands of hair, eyes squeezed shut against the overwhelming cacophony of beeping machines surrounding them.

His heart weighed heavily in his chest, burdened by the weight of pain, regret, and fear. It was a sensation he never wanted to experience again, a darkness that threatened to engulf him entirely.

Throughout the night, nurses came and went. Some spoke to him, gave him updates on her condition but he didn’t listen. He tried, he just couldn’t understand it.

As the first light of dawn crept over the horizon, he reluctantly turned his gaze toward her bed. His eyes lingered on her hand, once so delicate and warm in his, now adorned with tubes and wires connecting her to different machines.

With a heavy sigh, his eyes remained fixed on her hand as he leaned forward, feeling the strain in his back from hours of immobility. With gentle care, he reached out and clasped her hand in his, his thumb tracing soothing circles over the back of it, mindful of the wires and tubes.

He remained still for a moment, relishing the warmth of her hand in his before allowing his gaze to travel up her arm, eyes tracing the patterns of the thin, cream-colored blanket that draped over her midsection when they got there. Then, his gaze shifted to her other arm, positioned protectively over her stomach where the wound lay, as if guarding it from further harm.

He studied the blue hospital gown draped over her body, its hue accentuating the sickly paleness of her skin. He traced every curve, every wrinkle, every wire, everything until his eyes finally met her bruised face.

She looked so peaceful and beautiful, devoid of worry. The furrows that typically marked her brow now absent, her closed eyes darting beneath her lids.

Tears welled in his eyes, the overwhelming emotions washing over him as he gazed upon her form. There was no smile, no gentle words escaping her lips, just a faintly parted mouth and serene countenance.

“Please wake up.” he whispered, his voice raspy from not being used in hours. “Please.” The desperation in his voice was evident in the way it cracked, in the way his chest tightened, in the way his throat constricted.

But she didn’t. Not for two weeks.

The medics reassured the team that she was showing positive signs and was going to be fine. They explained that in cases of severe internal bleeding within the abdominal cavity, it was common for patients to take longer to regain consciousness. "Sometimes, this can lead to hypovolemic shock and reduced blood flow to vital organs, including the brain," said the doctor they were currently questioning, one arm cradling a notepad against his chest while the other gestured towards her on the hospital bed, "which contributes to the prolonged unconsciousness she's experiencing."

Once the team's questions were answered, the doctor turned towards the door, his pen moving rapidly across the notepad as he scribbled something down. Upon reaching the door, he paused, pivoting back to face them. "While I can't predict the exact timeline for her awakening, I want to reassure you that we're doing everything we can to support her recovery." Tucking his pen back into his chest pocket, he scanned the room, meeting each person's gaze before lingering on on the genius’.

"Every individual responds differently to trauma and surgery, and it's not uncommon for patients to take some time to regain consciousness," he said, his tone gentle and reassuring, his kind smile directed at Spencer. "However, I want to emphasize that she's showing positive signs of progress, and her body is responding well to treatment. She should be waking up soon." With a final nod in the genius’ direction, he opened the door and disappeared into the flow of medical staff and patients outside her room.

The doctor's reassuring words and comforting demeanor provided Spencer with a small sense of relief.

As the days stretched on, nearing the two-week mark since her surgery, Spencer's exhaustion was becoming more evident. Dark circles underlined his eyes, his hair unkempt, and he felt the weight of fatigue settling into his bones. Sitting by her bedside day after day had taken its toll, leaving him feeling drained and with a sore backside.

It wasn’t until night, when he was alone with her again that he made a promise. “If you wake up tomorrow, I promise—“ He delicately released her hand, curling his fingers into a fist before extending his pinky finger to link with hers. “I pinky promise,” he whispered, a soft, trembling laugh escaping his lips as he recalled her insistence that a promise was only truly binding if sealed with a pinky. “If you wake up tomorrow, I’ll tell you everything.”

He had made up his mind days ago, swearing to himself that the moment she regained consciousness, he would lay everything bare. He hoped that verbalizing the promise would somehow penetrate her unconsciousness and draw her back to him.

As the night wore on and the room bathed in the soft glow of predawn, his senses awakened to a subtle movement near his head, his mind clouded with confusion as he remained still, trying to grasp his surroundings.

He found himself in a hazy state, unable to pinpoint the exact moment sleep had claimed him, yet the sensation of their linked pinkies lingered, his other hand placed gently on her leg, while his head rested on the bed.

It wasn’t until he felt his pinky being squeezed that Spencer’s senses sharpened, his back straightening with a crack as his eyes snapped into focus on her. The familiar furrow returned to her brow as she squeezed her eyes shut, her free hand instinctively reaching up to rub at her forehead.

His breath caught in his throat, his body frozen as he stared at her, his heart pounding loudly in his ears.

“Spence?”

Her voice was raspy, her tone confused as her eyes opened and scanned the room. Without hesitation, he rose from his seat, hands releasing hers as he hurried to the table with the water bottles. He swiftly grabbed one, unscrewing the cap as he returned to her side.

She struggled to lift herself up on her elbows, her eyes tracking his movements, fixated on the open water bottle as he presented it to her. With a gentle nod from her, he brought the bottle closer, tipping it carefully as it reached her parched lips, his other hand positioned beneath her chin, ready to catch any droplets that might escape.

After consuming almost half of the bottle, she gently pushed it away from her lips, taking a moment to swallow the last gulp before lying back down.

He remained in a state of shock, his mind racing faster than it had in weeks, attempting to process the moment as he observed her shifting, striving to find a comfortable position.

“Spence?”

“You—” he began, his words trailing off as he struggled to articulate his thoughts. “You are awake.”

At his words, a gentle smile, the one he had longed to see for weeks, graced her lips. She nodded in acknowledgment as she looked at him. Without hesitation, he moved forward, enveloping her in a tight embrace, being careful not to hurt her. "You're awake," he whispered softly, his face nuzzling into her neck.

He knew he was supposed to call a nurse in —something the staff had reminded him of repeatedly— , but in that moment, he couldn’t bear to let her go. So, he held her tighter, his arms enveloping her as if protecting her from everything, his hand gently cradling the back of her head, thumb tracing soothing circles as he drew her closer.

They stayed like that for what felt like an eternity before he released her from his embrace, his body reluctantly withdrawing from her warmth. His hands remained, tenderly cupping her face as he gazed into her eyes, memorizing every detail of her being.

"I have to tell you something," he whispered, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. The familiar nerves and doubt flooded back, causing his heart to race so fast that he knew that if he had been the one hooked up to the machines, medics would have surely burst into the room thinking someone was having a heart attack.

He hesitated, his eyes lingering on her face, absorbing every detail illuminated by the gentle glow of the sun filtering into the room.

In his hesitation, his mind revisited every memory he shared with her. He recalled the moments he wanted to confess but held back, as well as his conversation with Rossi. Then, the memory of their pinky promise last night resurfaced, reminding him of his commitment. He couldn’t break a pinky promise.

“Spencer?”

“I love you.” There. He said it. His gaze lowered in fear of rejection, the nerves in his stomach growing, but he kept going, he had to. “I am so unimaginably in love with you.”

“Spencer—“

“No, I need—“ he paused, his eyes brimming with unshed tears, gazing still fixated downward as he cleared his throat from the imaginary knot that was beginning to form there. “I need you to know that every time you smile, every time you laugh, every time you talk to me, it’s like my whole world lights up.”

“And when you look at me, it’s like everything else fades away, and there’s just you.” With a deep inhale, he squeezed his eyes shut, colors swirling behind his eyelids from the pressure, before slowly exhaling and looking up to meet her gaze. “I can’t even scientifically explain how you make me feel. There is no book, or research article that explains what you make me feel.”

One of his hands left her face, gesturing through the air as he attempted to explain everything without the safety net of statistical knowledge. “Every time I’m near you, it’s like my heart speeds up so much that, scientifically speaking, I should be dead.” The quiet chuckle that escaped her lips reached his ears, easing the tight lines on his forehead as his lips formed into a gentle smile. “But it doesn’t matter, because being near you makes me feel more alive than I’ve ever felt before.”

“Every little thing you do, it just… it makes me fall more and more in love with you.”

“God, I’ve loved you for so long.” His hand halted its relentless movement and lowered to push the hair out of his eyes before running down his face with a grunt of frustration.

"I've fought multiple inner battles trying to tell you how I feel, only to back down at the last minute, silently promising myself that I would do it the next day."

Her eyes softened at his words, her lips pulling into a sad smile as his remained parted, eyes teary as they left her gaze and focused on his lap. “And then you got shot and I—“ The memories of everything that happened in the last two weeks rushing back to him. "I thought I had run out of next days.”

Her hand, which had been holding his against her cheek, shifted gently, cupping his cheek and wiping away the tear that had managed to escape his eyes.

With a sigh, he looked up to meet her eyes again, his own free hand coming up to hold the hand she now had on his cheek. He leaned into her touch, his head resting against her hand as she rubbed soothing circles against the stubble that had appeared after weeks of not shaving. “I adore you.”

His face inched closer to hers, resting his forehead against hers. "I’m fine with whatever you want as long as I'm able to have you in my life," he whispered, his warm breath brushing against her skin. "I love you so, so much. Always." With that, their foreheads separated and his lips moved up to plant a gentle kiss on her forehead.

The room fell silent, his words hanging in the air as she processed them. After another second, Spencer moved, standing up and letting her know that he was going to go get a nurse before quickly disappearing.

The nurses flooded her room with warmth and care, each one exuding kindness as they attended to her needs, explaining her situation, answering questions, and expressing relief that she was recovering well.

Spencer stood patiently by the door, his shoulder leaning against the frame as he observed the nurses with gratitude, thanking them as they left after ensuring everything was in order.

As the last nurse made her way to the door, she slowed her footsteps, casting a reassuring smile at Spencer. “I told you she’d be alright, sweetheart,” she said with a gentle tone.

Marisa, the lovely old nurse, had not only been concerned about his best friend’s well-being but also his. The genius could confidently say that, had it not been for Marisa, he probably would’ve starved in that hospital chair.

She would often stop by during her morning shift, offering reassurance that she would be alright, often bending a few hospital rules to make Spencer more comfortable, providing him with the comfiest blankets, or allowing him to take showers in the bedroom’s bathroom so he wouldn’t have to leave her side.

She also insisted on him taking breaks to get some fresh air, eat proper meals, and change his clothes, assuring him that if anything happened, she would call him immediately.

With a comforting squeeze to his arm, the nurse left, closing the door gently behind her and leaving the two of them alone in the room.

As he settled back into the familiar chair, their eyes met once more, exchanging a silent understanding. They sat in comfortable silence for a while, relishing each other's presence. Eventually, Spencer broke the quietude. "I should call the team," he suggested softly.

He rose from the chair, his hand diving into his pocket to retrieve his phone. With his back turned to her, he scrolled through his contacts, his foot shifting slightly as he prepared to step away.

Before he could get far, his movements halted by the touch of her hand on his arm, he lowered his phone and turned back to her, meeting her gaze with curiosity. "Wait," she said softly. With a nod, he returned his phone to his pocket, yielding to her gentle tug until he found himself seated by her side on the bed.

A grunt of discomfort escaped her lips as she struggled to sit up, reaching out for his hand for support. Once she was upright, she shifted closer to him. “What are- oomf—“ before he could finish, his question was cut off by the sudden press of her lips against his, her hands gripping the back of his head.

His body momentarily stiffened, eyes widening in surprise as he tried to process what was happening. When it finally clicked, the initial shock turned into a gentle surrender as he closed his eyes, allowing himself to be swept away by the warmth of her lips against his.

With a soft exhale, his hand instinctively rose to caress her cheek, pulling her face even closer to his and deepening the kiss.

If he had ever believed his heart couldn’t beat any faster than when in her presence, he stood corrected. Now, he was certain he was experiencing a heart attack.

His lips moved against hers so perfectly, as if they had kissed a thousand times before, as if their souls recognized each other instantly.

It was perfect, not because it was flawless, but because it felt so real.

He never wanted to stop; her lips were addicting, but when his lungs screamed at him for air, he reluctantly pulled his lips away from hers, resting his forehead against hers as they caught their breath.

“I love you too, Spencer.”

His head jerked back, eyes wide open as he looked at her, scanning her expression, looking for any hint that she was lying, only to find honesty shining through her eyes.

With a laugh, she took his face back in her hands, pulling him closer and pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “You have, and will always be the one my heart searches for in a world full of everyone else.”

With a toothy smile, he pulled her lips back to his, chuckling inwardly, as their lips met, acknowledging that if he thought he reached the peak before, he was mistaken again. His heart was racing faster than ever before. A heart attack of a different kind.

A heart attack that he’d gladly experience a million times more.

#spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #fanfiction #fluff

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annwrites · 4 months ago

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⸻ tell me i'm your national anthem. part four. ⸻

· pairing: homelander x collegestudent!reader · type: part of a series · summary: you begin to get a better idea of just how deeply damaged john truly is & he stakes a claim to you. · tags: lactation kink · tw: possessiveness · word count: 2,618

You sip on your iced coffee, typing away on your laptop, near to completing your essay for one of your classes, which is due in two days.

“God, he’s so hot. I don’t get why you don’t think so,” Emma says.

You glance up to her from over your laptop screen with a raised brow, watching as she stares down at her cellphone with a dreamy look in her eyes.

“Huh?”

She looks at you, then raises her phone, showing you a recent livestream of John. No, Homelander.

No, John. You hate his moniker.

He smiles charmingly at a reporter, who speaks into her microphone with an excited look on her face. “I’m here speaking to the one and only Homelander, who just—with the aid of his fellow supe, A-Train—saved a family of three from a near-fatal car accident.”

She holds the microphone toward him. “Can you tell us what happened here, Homelander?”

You refrain from rolling your eyes at the obnoxious name.

“Yeah, me and my buddy and fellow supe, A-Train,” he nods to the smiling man at his side who waves to the camera. “Were just doing some patrols of the area—just something we try to do every now and again across the state to keep our people safe,” he says with a shrug.

“When we saw the driver over there,” he continues, pointing to a man standing near a blue sedan. “Run a red light here at the intersection. Just—” He purses his lips, shaking his head. “Carelessness.”

He sighs, continuing on. “But, thankfully, A-Train and I were able to step in and rush the injured parties: a mom, dad, and their sweet little girl, to the nearest hospital. I mean, to wait for an ambulance…there’s no telling what might’ve happened. What precious lives might’ve been lost.”

The camera pans back to the reporter. “What would we ever do without you—either of you? We are all so lucky to have heros like the two of you—like the Seven—saving and protecting America every day.”

The camera returns to John who shakes his head, waving his hand. “No, it’s the people of this great nation who are the real heros. We’re just here to do our jobs and use the gifts God gave us to protect and save our fellow man.”

“And save them you did,” the reporter replies, continuing on before Emma locks her phone, looking at you, resting her chin atop both her fists.

“I want him so bad,” she mumbles with a smile.

You grin, shaking your head—sweating nervously.

She’s loved the man for as long as you can remember. Used to have a poster of him—ok, multiple posters—stuck to her bedrooms walls growing up. And she’s seen all of his movies probably an unhealthy amount of times.

If she had any idea that he’d had his head shoved between your thighs just a few nights ago—that you know his real name, his childhood story—the real one—that you’ve had him in your bed, crying in your arms, sitting at your dining table as the two of you eat together…that he’s called himself ‘your man’ more than once now… You’re pretty sure she’d pop a blood vessel, grill you relentlessly on everything, and then never forgive you.

You tell her everything, but this…you can’t.

Honestly, you wonder if she’d even believe you if you tried, anyway.

“What do you think he’s like in bed?”

Your head shoots up. “What?”

She grins. “Not like you want to know how many times I’ve thought about it, but…he’s like the American Dream, right? I mean, he’s definitely my American wet dream.”

You snort.

She continues. “So do you think he’s vanilla, then? Only missionary? Or…oh, I bet he loves creampies. He seems like he could be the type to have a breeding kink. Nuclear family and all.”

You lay your head down. “I don’t want to know.”

You know he’s incredibly good at oral, if nothing else. And he’s a boob man. He’d spent the entire night with his face resting between both of yours.

And he really loves to cuddle. He’d held you like a human-sized teddy bear all night. But, you suppose it makes sense: being desperate for affection. Every time you’d thought today about what he’d told you last night, your heart had broken all over again. You’d actually had to hide yourself away in a restroom today between classes just to cry.

Maybe your period is going to start soon…

God, who would’ve thought in a million years that you would feel sorry for Homelander? But you don’t see him as that now. Not when you’re alone together. Now he’s just…John.

Honestly, in a million years you would’ve never imagined letting him into your bed. Holding him. Calling him baby. Or sweetheart…

“Just guess,” she insists.

You groan in irritation, raising your head. “Maybe he’s a boob man.”

She rolls her eyes toward the ceiling, thinking for a moment before looking back to you while nodding. “Yeah, I can see that.”

You shake your head while smiling. “I have to get this paper done.”

You don’t bother keeping your balcony doors closed this evening. Not while you’re up and idly watching TV, at least.

Watch, you think, the one night you leave them open—as a reluctant invitation—will be the night he finally decides he’s grown bored of coming here and he never returns.

You’re entirely okay with that possibility.

You’d do anything to pass him off onto Emma. Then again…no, you wouldn’t. You most certainly don’t like the idea of him doing to her what he did just a couple nights ago to you on your kitchen counter.

But, she also wouldn’t have even thought about fighting back like you had. She would’ve been completely willing.

You wonder if that would’ve made him all the more angry. Maybe that’s the part that turns him on the most—resistance; a fight.

You jolt when you hear a soft thump to your left. You, begrudgingly, turn your head in that direction, met with the sight of the one and only Captain Asshole.

You feel guilty after thinking that, though. Especially after last night.

He’s just…emotionally stunted. And you’re not even sure at what specific age. Maybe there isn’t a particular one, because for his entire adolescent life…he’d been locked in that room with no one and nothing to interact with.

Tears sting your eyes.

He steps over the threshold, and you merely gaze up at him.

You’re not offering to willingly make him dinner like some trained pet. Not that you feel like it to begin with. You’ve already eaten. He can fly down to the local McDonald’s and pick up a Big Mac if he’s hungry.

Fly down.

He can fly.

What an insane thing to be able to do.

But also fantastical and amazing.

You wish you could do that.

He slips off his boots, setting them beside the door, before padding over, seating himself heavily beside you.

You flip the channel to some trivia game-show then.

“You ever seen any of my movies?” He asks.

You roll your head to the side, staring at him. “What do you think?”

He rolls his eyes, crossing his arms, looking at the TV. “So, you’ve never had a favorite supe?”

You face forward again as well. “Not really, no.”

“Never had so much as a poster of me?”

You shake your head.

He smirks. “Maybe I should gift you a Homelander pack of panties.”

You look at him with a raised brow.

“Of course they sell those,” you say with a shake of your head.

He leans over you, sliding a hand up your thigh. “I could be with you all day long that way. Right between your legs.”

You shake your head yet again, but in disapproval. Even if your lip twitches in mild amusement.

He leans back again. “I’d like a glass of milk.”

You huff quietly—the playful moment clearly over—and stand.

Once you’ve given him his requested drink, he takes a brief sip, then speaks before you seat yourself once again.

“Well, you’ve gotten to see me undressed. I think we should make things even.”

You still—the hairs raising on the back of your neck—while you simply stand and stare at him.

“C’mon,” he says, motioning with his hand, taking another drink. “Strip.”

“You’ve already seen me without…bottoms—”

“So now I get to see the other half.”

The part of you he’s most interested in, he thinks.

You cross your arms, frowning, heartrate slowly beginning to climb.

His eyes go red and you jump slightly, arms falling to your sides in surprise.

Shades of blue return to you then, and he smiles sweetly, which serves only to make your stomach turn.

“I’m waiting.”

With trembling hands and stinging eyes, you grip the hem of your shirt, slowly tugging it up and over your head. You bunch it up, then hold it shyly against your middle.

“All of it,” he states, taking a long drink, licking his lips as he looks you over.

Your chin wobbles. “I don’t want—”

He sighs, leaning forward. “It’s just us. So slip it off, then climb into my lap.”

You waver.

“I’m not going to rape you. If I wanted you on your back with your legs spread, you would be.”

Not that it’s an unappealing idea to him.

You reach behind you, undoing your bra one clasp at a time. You slip it from your shoulders, tossing it onto the coffee table, then clasp your hands over your naked breasts.

He makes a beckoning motion with his index finger, so you step forward. Hesitantly.

“Straddle my lap.”

You swallow thickly, then do so, settling bent legs on either side of him, resting back on your calves.

He glances to your hands, then into your eyes with a raised brow.

You’d been right in what you’d told Emma that morning—your assumption about him having an appreciation for breasts—apparently.

You lower your arms, resting your hands in your lap, and he abruptly wraps his own around you, leaning forward, taking a nipple into his mouth.

Your eyes widen in shock, your body growing warm all over as he begins to gently suck, his eyes fluttering closed while he moans quietly in the back of his throat.

You, meanwhile, remain still and silent, unsure what the hell to do with yourself.

He releases your breast for a moment, taking a drink of milk, then immediately dives back in.

The TV plays softly in the background, so you choose to instead focus on mentally participating in answering trivial questions instead of…this.

Until he leans back, sliding a hand up your back, gripping your neck.

Your eyes meet his.

“Touch my head.”

You slide trembling hands atop his shoulders, lacing your fingers into his blond strands, and he returns his attentions to your chest.

You gently rub your fingertips against his scalp and he hums in contentment, taking another sip of milk, then sucking on your other breast.

It’s then that the metaphorical wheels begin to turn.

Constantly switching between taking drinks of milk and sucking on your breasts… Oh good lord, he has a breast-feeding kink, doesn’t he?

He just grows more and more interesting the more time you spend with him.

And then your heart breaks all over again.

What if it’s not, entirely, a kink? You know it’s at least half one with the feeling of his erection pressing against your shorts.

He never had a mother. Never had any form of maternal comfort growing up.

Showing up and asking—rather, demanding��dinner, your attention and approval, nearly threatening you last night after a moment of extreme vulnerability… He’d held you to his chest the entire night. Like a child does with a toy for comfort when attempting to sleep.

And now…he’s pretending to breast-feed.

You decide on another small experiment—he liked it the other night when you gave him affectionate touches—and begin to quietly hum a nursery rhyme.

This feels like some fucked-up psychological experiment: you trying to read him and gauge his reactions to this and that to get an exaction on his true nature. But, in reality, he doesn’t seem terribly hard to get at.

He goes to switch breasts again and you grow silent. Until he looks up at you, and tells you, “Keep singing.”

The two of you are lying in bed again with John’s head resting between your breasts as he takes even, steady breaths.

You run your fingers slowly through his hair, lulling him to sleep.

You’re nearly on the edge of it yourself when he stirs before leaning over you, slowly sliding his hand up your chest, then along your neck until his large, heavy palm comes to rest atop the soft, delicate skin.

He stares down at you, and you cup his cheek, brushing your thumb along it.

He smiles gently, tightening his hold, and you swallow nervously, your brows furrowing.

“You’re mine,” he whispers. “You belong to me now. Do you understand?”

Your eyes flit between his and your heart begins to hammer in fear.

“You understand me,” he continues. “Like no one else has ever bothered to. We’re together now. Got it?”

He can’t really mean it. Someone like him…he must be expected to carry on with who Vought and the press choose for him.

“We…we’ve known each other for four days, John. That’s not enough time to—to know how you feel—”

“It wasn’t a question. I wasn’t asking. You’re mine.”

He presses his lips to yours and a tear slips from the corner of your eye.

He lies back down then, snuggling close to you for comfort. “If I find out you’re seeing anyone else, you won’t like what happens to him. So, I suggest staying loyal. Not that anyone else could ever compare to me, anyway. I mean, you should be happy about this—that you’re the young woman I’ve chosen for myself. It makes you special. Being mine, that is. A rich superhero. The supe.”

He closes his eyes, softly smiling. “The greatest man in all of America—the world—and I’m all yours.”

He tightens his hold around you.

“Doesn’t that make you happy?” He asks with a flat, slightly-threatening tone.

Your fingers tremble against his scalp. “What about Maeve?”

He snorts. “She might be my equal—for the most part—but you have your own appeal. There’s nothing I can give her that she can’t already get on her own. Whereas you should be grateful I’ve spared you a second glance or thought. That I’ve let you get this close to me. I’m a gift, really. Come to add interest to your ordinary life.”

A narcissist is what you are, you think.

Does he think, by stressing how special and one-of-a-kind he is, that you’ll…what? Agree? See how blind you’ve been all these years to have shirked the prospect of idolizing him, and finally fall on your knees, beginning for his attention?

You already have it.

The roles are reversed here, in truth. He’s the one desperate to have yours.

You know you shouldn’t speak further, but you want to hear his response to you laying the truth plainly before him. “If I’m so ordinary and you’re so…extraordinary, why bother with me? What is my ‘appeal’, as you put it?”

He grows quiet, listening to your heart pounding in your chest.

Finally, he curls his fingertips inward against your back. “Go to sleep.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, terrified of him. Of what’s happening to you.

Dear God, why couldn’t you have skipped just one day of class? Or come halfway through the day instead?

Now… Now you would be paying for it until he chooses to call this sick game quits.

#fic: the boys (homelander x reader)#homelander x y/n #homelander x you #homelander x oc #homelander x reader #the boys x you #the boys x y/n

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starmapz · 7 months ago

Text

shame on me || chapter three || hard fought

gojo satoru x female vessel reader

❝gojo satoru is the strongest sorcerer. when you come along with power to match his own, his responsibility to the world gets the best of him and his first impression is poor to say the least. when he needs your help, by some miracle you're too kind to deny him. or maybe he's just manipulative enough to convince you. either way, you're stuck training his student, a vessel like you. what could possibly go wrong?❞

warnings || 18+ only. contains explicit content. enemies to lovers. extreme angst. graphic descriptions of injury and death. hurt/no comfort. hurt/comfort. fluff. major character death. anxiety. panic attacks. extreme slow burn. eventual smut. p in v. oral (f! and m! receiving). praise. overstimulation. unprotected. fingering. mating press. slight nanami x reader. happy ending!

additional tags || gojo is a dumbass but very lovable. very very very minor love triangle, will not be a main theme. no competing. takes place after season 2. au where gojo is not sealed and the shibuya incident does not go down the same. nanami is alive. choso is around. no major manga spoilers but will contain themes and ideas touched on later.

wc || 7.9k.

edited but not beta-read.

series masterlist || main masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter

You wake with a jolt to a loud knock on your door, lifting a hand to rub sleep from your eyes. Was it early? Why were you so groggy? You spare a glance at your phone, letting out a deep sigh as you realize it’s nine in the morning. You usually would have been awake by now but yesterday had been long, so you would forgive yourself for sleeping in. Pushing yourself out of bed, you throw on an oversized t-shirt and a pair of sweats, grabbing your sunglasses from the table to answer your door. Even behind your sunglasses, you squint as the sun greets you when you open your door.

You grimace at the sight of none other than Gojo, adorned in his usual black jacket and that frustrating grin.

“Well, don’t you look ready for your first lesson? Wait-!” Gojo reaches out to stop you from slamming the door in his face, narrowly missing his window to do so as you close and lock the door.

Gojo could wait. After all, he hadn’t given you a time to be awake, nor any opportunity to prepare for teaching. Allowing yourself time to quickly shower and throw on a cute black dress and light makeup, you finally open the door again with a coffee in-hand. Gojo had sat on your front step, his chin rested on the heel of his palm, propped up on his leg.

“That was rude,” he mumbles.

You shoot him a sharp glare. “Don’t talk to me about being rude,” you grumble, waving your hand in the air as a signal for him to lead the way.

Without hesitation, he hops to his feet as his familiar devil-may-care attitude returns. Somehow, the sorcerer never seemed phased by your words, frustrating you to no end.

“Listen, Gojo,” your tone is serious as you catch up with him. He tilts his head towards you to indicate that you have his attention. “To be honest, I don’t love the idea of working with you,” your statement earns a hum from Gojo, “but I’m willing to have a professional relationship with you for the sake of the school.” His smirk falters for only a moment. “If you can respect that, then please fill me in.”

Taking on a more serious tone, Gojo’s adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. He continues his stride towards his cabin as he begins, “Yuji Itadori, first year. He learns fast. No technique but he’s skilled in hand-to-hand combat.” Gojo shoves his hands in his pockets as he continues. “He’s got potential, but after the Shibuya incident, the higher-ups are pushing for his execution more by the day.”

You swallow uncomfortably at the thought. He was just a kid, how could anyone push for his execution?

“I agree,” he hums, catching the small action as if reading your mind. “He ate enough fingers that Sukuna was able to take control. He wiped out more people than the special grade attackers did on that night, or even Geto-” he pauses, “-all those years ago.” You nod slowly, remembering the incident in question. “He’s still coming to terms with that. Blames himself,” he grimaces. “I think he could benefit from lessons from someone like you.”

Though you can’t see his eyes behind his blindfold, you feel his gaze on you. Gojo makes his way past his cabin, maneuvering through the trees.

“Like me, huh?” You sigh quietly. You can only pray that you can be the help Yuji needs, but you wouldn’t know until you tried. “Anything else I should know?”

“Sukuna can see and hear everything, as far as I can tell,” he shrugs, running a hand through his white hair. “He’s got his own agenda, but you can probably try talking to him. He answers once in a while.”

You nod. That wasn’t unusual, as far as you knew. Miriko could hear and see everything unless you chose to suppress her, though you figured Yuji didn’t have experience in doing so. Miriko had taught you that skill as a defense mechanism to keep people with their own cursed energy away. People like Gojo. You could likely teach the skill to Yuji in due time.

Striding across a small clearing in the trees, a young boy with salmon hair rises to his feet to meet you. His uniform isn’t unlike Gojo’s, though he has a red hood in replacement of the black collar. He straightens as he formally introduces himself. “You must be y/n-Sensei,” he says with a look of determination.

You chuckle at the formality of it all. “No need to be so formal,” you smile and he seems to relax a bit. A feeling of dread bubbles in the pit of your stomach as you notice the scar across his face and on his lip. He was so young, yet it seemed like he had already been through so much. Not to mention the guilt Gojo had mentioned.

“Gojo said you’re a vessel too, right?” Yuji asks with an excited grin, fiddling with the worn wood of the small picnic table as he intently focuses on your every word. Even with the life-or-death situation Gojo had given you the unfortunate responsibility of, his excitement was heartwarming and endearing.

“I am,” you confirm, glancing towards Gojo who had taken a seat at the other end of the picnic table as he quietly observed. “Am I safe to have Miriko take over here?”

“That’s why we’re out here,” he confirms with a grin and a thumbs up. He leans forward on his elbow, intently observing your every move. It didn’t take a genius to know that Gojo had ulterior motives beyond simply helping Yuji. He wanted to know just how to take you down. How to kill you. You knew better than to reveal your whole hand, however.

You close your eyes, letting Miriko take control as your hair shifts into a silver matching her mane. Her piercing red eyes glow from behind your glasses as she opens them and takes in her surroundings, her pupils small as she focuses on Gojo. He meets her gaze in a mental stand-off between them before she finally turns her attention to Itadori, observing his quiet wonder.

“Wait, so, are you…?” Itadori poses his question with wide eyes.

“Yes. My name is Miriko,” she nods to him. “Nice to meet you, Itadori.”

“Miriko!” An eye opens beneath Yuji’s eye, a toothy smile chuckling lowly beneath the eye. “Long time no see,” Sukuna snickers. “Guess I should have sliced you into more pieces, hm?”

Miriko huffs, eyes narrowing. “I wish I could say it is a pleasure to see you after so long, but I rather wish you had stayed deceased,” she growls, staring at the eye that bored into her own.

“You’re as old as Sukuna?” The young sorcerer asks curiously, glancing down at the irritating curse that had popped out of cheek.

“Mhm, older if anything. Sukuna killed me long ago,” she reveals. This comes as a shock to you as you contemplate the meaning of her being so old. If Sukuna was over one thousand years old, and Miriko was too, what did that mean about some of the information she had told you before? After all, she had said herself that your mother was her first and only vessel until you. Did that mean your mother had found her cursed object only a few decades ago, or did that mean your mother had been alive for hundreds of years? Regardless, it’s not something to bring up around Gojo.

“Why does everyone wanna kill me? I wouldn’t hurt a fly,” Sukuna teases before disappearing entirely. Yuji brings a hand up to his face where the mouth had just been, rubbing at it.

“Sorry ‘bout that, he’s usually quieter,” the boy shrugs. “So, you and y/n work together?” His brow furrows at the thought. Most curses wouldn’t be thrilled to be working with a human, let alone stuck within one, so Miriko was aware that she was a bit of an anomaly.

“We live in harmony,” she replies simply, taking in the two markings beneath Itadori’s eyes as she figured that much like her hair, Itadori likely gained Sukuna’s extra eyes and markings as his tell.

“Are you a special grade curse too?” His jaw slacks open as he asks the question, leaning forward over the table. Miriko nods and Itadori continues his questions. “Why work with y/n? Sukuna won’t do shit if it doesn’t benefit him,” he grumbles, grimacing at the thought of his unfortunate partner.

Miriko pauses, her red eyes cold as she turns her gaze to Gojo. She calmly sizes him up, wondering just how much she wants to admit to the special grade sorcerer. Did she even have a choice at this rate? Could she respond vaguely enough to the boy’s questions to satisfy without going into specifics?

“Sukuna and I are not entirely alike,” she explains, her gaze never once leaving Gojo’s. “I was born long before the time of curses.” She crosses her arms, shaking her head in a very animalistic manner. Although she generally could keep up the facade of being a human, her behavior slipped through the cracks on occasion. The light breeze was refreshing for her and she was enjoying it, given that she had been trapped in her domain for so long now when usually you could more freely swap.

“That’s so cool!” Itadori grins, earning an amused smile from Miriko. “So you’re the curse of…?”

“Death.”

Itadori’s eyes widen, his back straightening as though the word was enough to make him shiver. A special grade curse of death was certainly nothing to bat your eyes at.

“Glad she’s on our side,” Gojo chimes in cheerily from across the table, a pair of narrowed red eyes finding their way to his overly-happy grin. While it was clear he had the capacity to be serious, it seemed as though being around his student somehow made him more frustrating to handle and Miriko found herself retreating into you as she boiled in her own irritation.

You blink as you take in the sunlight, disorientation clearing from your mind.

“Oh, so you’re y/n now, right?”

You nod, pushing your sunglasses up on the bridge of your nose as you shoot him a kind smile. “Enough about me though, we’re here to teach you,” you push the subject away from yourself, feeling a pang of sadness in your chest as the young boy’s face lights up. What if you did have to kill him? No, you couldn’t focus on that right now. Even if it meant helping Gojo and spending time with him, you would need to pour your focus into training him. Maybe, just maybe, it would be enough.

–

You wave to Itadori as he bounds through the trees across the clearing. You had chosen to cut the teaching session short today given that you wanted to put together some sort of a teaching schedule as this was all new to you. You let out a breath, feeling a heavy weight on your shoulders. Not just Yuji, but everyone was relying on you to help him.

The quiet sound of footsteps over the grass beneath you pulls your attention to Gojo. He’s staring down at you with a genuine smile, one that doesn’t fuel your irritation for once.

“He’s a good kid,” your voice is barely a whisper as you stare at the expanse of trees before you where Itadori had disappeared off to.

Gojo hums. “That’s why I needed to find a good teacher,” he smirks.

“Is that why you extorted me?”

“C’moooon, no need to be so dramatic,” he waves his hand dismissively. “Let’s go get lunch.” He begins making his way out of the clearing, stopping only once he realizes you weren’t following. He pauses as he turns back to you with a tilt of his head.

Gojo was smart. Too smart. So how could he not see the way he angered you?

“I’m not going with you,” you sigh with a shake of your head. “I’m going back to the cabin. I need to let Taro out anyway,” you grumble, deciding to wait for him to leave so you could walk back in peace. Unfortunately that moment never comes.

“I don’t bite,” he insists in a sing-song voice, dragging out his last word.

Not willing to humor him, you simply shake your head. A frown pulls at his lips and he brings a hand up to scratch the back of his neck. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Same time,” he waves as he finally gives in and leaves you be.

–

The cool breeze whistling through spring leaves was a welcome feeling over your skin, warm from the harsh sunlight overhead. Though you were still getting accustomed to the general functions of Jujutsu Tech and what it meant for them to be sorcerers, your schedule allowed for a decent amount of time to yourself.

And that was exactly how you spent it, by yourself. Though your thumb had hovered over Nanami’s name in your contacts on more than one occasion, you found yourself constantly reminded that at the end of the day, there was a reason you kept your distance from the world around you.

The only constant in your life was Gojo, much to your dismay. He’d made a habit of asking you to grab lunch despite being constantly turned down and you were starting to think it was getting under his skin. Good.

“In the same way that you imbue a weapon, or even a fist with cursed energy, you should be able to suppress it. Essentially direct it inwards and shield it,” you found yourself explaining to Yuji how you were able to keep hidden for so long. It had been a good couple of weeks since your arrival and Gojo had attended every lesson thus far. You insisted he needn’t do so, but you were fairly certain he was trying to learn more about you regardless.

Gojo was right, Itadori was a quick learner. In just two weeks, you had managed to teach him a decent amount about what you knew as a vessel, though somehow it felt as though you had only scratched the surface.

Itadori’s cursed energy flares for a moment before he gets a grasp on what exactly he’s doing and suppresses his cursed energy. You smile, allowing Miriko to take over as she quickly zips behind Yuji to test whether he can keep his attention on the suppression while remaining quick on his feet. Miriko’s speed didn’t match Gojo’s, let alone Yuji’s, so tracking her shouldn’t be an issue. Yuji turns quickly, just short of being able to divide his attention. Miriko would have been able to strike him, but it wouldn’t take much practice to get a hang of being able to keep up both tasks at once. Miriko nods in approval.

“Good, you were able to stay relatively attentive as well, that will-” Miriko’s eyes widen as her head whips around, wide searing red eyes landing on the guest standing beside Gojo at the edge of the clearing. Miriko retreats, allowing you control. You take a moment to ground yourself, blinking a few times before your gaze lands on Nanami.

Though you wanted to hope he hadn’t seen you, your eyes were locked with one another.

“Shit,” you mutter the curse under your breath, clenching your jaw.

Six Eyes was meant to keep visitors away, Miriko hisses and you sigh. He’d made it obvious enough at this point that he had no intent on earning your trust, so what did it really matter at this point anyway that you were angry with him? He had no regard for your anger either, which only served to make you more upset with him.

With a sigh, you decide it isn’t worth it to remain in a staring match with Nanami, only able to hope he didn’t notice your glowing eyes and hair shift colors. Motioning to Itadori to follow you, you jog to the edge of the clearing.

“y/n,” Nanami greets you with a sidelong nod, repeating the action for Yuji who bounds up behind you.

“Nanamin!” Yuji grins. You shoot a surprised look at Nanami at the nickname, a warm smile spreading across your lips at the exasperated look he shoots at you in return, though in truth you see a warmth flash in his brown eye. “What’re you doing here?”

“I’d like you both to accompany me on a mission.”

“No,” without hesitation, you turn him down. “I don’t fight.”

At that, there’s a pause. The whole group looks confused.

“You’re a sorcerer, aren’t you?” The salmon-haired boy at your side raises a brow.

Looking between the group, Gojo is the only one who seems to understand what you mean, though he’s in no rush to relieve you of the shocked looks from either Yuji or Nanami. Even so, he doesn’t know why you don’t fight. Can’t fight. He smirks at you, leaving you to explain yourself. Why did he feel the need to be so frustrating?

“I-” you pause, looking for words. An excuse. The wind whistles through the trees behind Nanami’s broad form as you search for a response vague enough to leave you out of suspicion, but precise enough to keep questions from bowling you over. “My technique isn’t meant for fighting.”

Nanami flashes Gojo an unreadable look. Gojo just shrugs, the smirk never leaving his face.

“Very well,” Nanami agrees. “I’d like you to accompany me regardless, you won’t need to fight. Gojo can accompany us as well.”

You shake your head again. “I can appreciate the idea, but I’d prefer not to put myself in harm’s way.”

Nanami hums understandingly. “You won’t be in danger, the reported curse is grade two or lower.”

“That’s… weak?” You confirm, tilting your head. Special grade, first grade, it was all relatively new to you and you found yourself constantly questioning the world the Jujutsu Tech sorcerers lived in.

Nanami nods. “I won’t allow it to lay a finger on you,” he assures you.

Pausing, you search Nanami’s gaze for a sign that he was bluffing, but you never found it. In fact, you find your cheeks growing red at the mere thought of such a statement. Your eyes wander, if only for a moment, down to his broad chest, before you swallow and compose yourself. “Fine,” you give in to defeat with a sigh.

“Hell yeah!” Itadori grins, bringing a determined fist up. You smile softly, happy to see him so hopeful, only for your smile to fade into a frown at the bleak realization that he was just a kid and was losing his childhood to a world full of curses and death. He was just a kid and he held himself responsible for the deaths following Sukuna’s rampage in Shibuya.

“Why don’t we all grab a bite to eat first?” As usual, Gojo attempted to get you to join him, only to watch like clockwork as you shake your head.

“I’ll meet you at the gates in an hour,” you deny his company, turning on your heel to head back to your cabin. Your heart jumps as the sound of steps catches up to you, but when you turn it’s not Gojo’s frustrating smirk you’re met with. It’s Nanami’s kind gaze.

“Still not fond of him I see,” he comments, lidded eye trailing over to meet you.

“You could say that,” you chuckle. Aside from the gentle crunch of grass and leaves beneath your feet and the rustling of the leaves above you, the only thing breaking the silence between you was the distant chatter of the two sorcerers whom you had left behind.

“I didn’t intend to force you to accompany me,” the blonde comments, frowning. “You can stay back if you’d like, I know I may not have made it sound like such.” He shoves his hands in his pockets, accompanying you across the open sunny field that led to your cabin. “I believe this case would be beneficial learning for Itadori, however. Gojo mentioned you’ve been working hard.”

“It’s alright, I’m sure it’ll be fine,” your voice is quiet and unconvincing. Nanami frowns at how dry your words are, stopping to face you. In the broad daylight, you can see now just how much of his body is scarred. Burn scars seem to cover the entire left side of his body as far as you can tell, only able to see the skin of his forearms from his rolled-up sleeves and of course his face and neck. You figure his eye is likely missing as well, given his eyepatch. Had a curse done such a thing?

“You’ll be safe,” he reassures you again, brown eye examining you carefully.

“I appreciate it, Nanami.”

“Kento, please.” A smile plays on his lips which you return.

“Well in that case, Kento,” you pause, your eyes crinkling in the corners as you smile warmly at him. “You can come in, if you’d like.” You bounce up the stairs to your cabin, glancing behind you as the blonde man hums and follows you inside. Taro’s barking begins the moment you slot the key into the lock. Immediately he’s at your feet, more excited when he notices Nanami. Nanami chuckles as he leans down to greet the dog, scratching behind his ear.

“Make yourself at home. I was just planning on putting together some ramen.”

“You needn’t-”

“I insist,” you interrupt him. Wood creaks beneath your feet as you make your way into the kitchen, putting together the rather small amount of ingredients that were in your fridge to make what was at least a half-decent meal. At least it wasn’t instant.

Nanami takes a seat at your dining room table, pulling the weapon that he carried off his back and placing it precariously against the wall. A comfortable silence falls over you both and when you glance in his direction, you notice he seems to have let his guard down, content as he allows himself a break and seems to stare distantly at the worn wood of the table. He looks tired.

Turning your attention back to the pot before you, you hesitantly remove your glasses as the steam rising from the boiling water coats them in a layer of fog. Tending to the food, you bask in the comfortable silence as you allow Nanami to relax.

As you’re beginning to wrap up cooking, he breaks the silence. “Thank you for cooking.”

Not considering that your sunglasses are sitting off to the side, you glance back at him, striking crimson eyes meeting his gaze. You smile in response, though his reaction catches you off-guard. His eye widens briefly before narrowing in turn as he investigates and examines your supernatural irises. You avert your eyes, focusing on the soup as you swallow the lump in your throat.

“How’s Itadori doing?” His words come as a surprise, as well as a relief. If nothing else, at least he still trusts you, despite your secrets.

“Good,” you hum, clearing your throat as your voice breaks. “You were right, he’s a good kid. Kento seems satisfied with the statement. “How’s… work?” Your words come out as a question as you debate whether being a sorcerer is a profession. “Do you get paid?”

Kento chuckles. “I do get paid,” he responds. “It’s been quieter recently.” He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “It was troublesome after the Shibuya incident. Though many of the stronger curses are out of the picture, there were far too many curses in general compared to sorcerers.”

A pang of guilt tugs at you as you complete the finishing touches on the ramen, adoring each bowl with half an egg. Though you knew Kento didn’t intend his words to come off in such a manner (he was too kind for that), you couldn’t help but feel as though you should have helped. You knew of the amount of curses, but you had to remind yourself that unlike most techniques, yours came at a cost too great to use on the regular.

Setting a bowl in front of Nanami, he quietly thanks you, taking a brief pause to examine your eyes more closely before he begins eating.

“Were you there? In Shibuya?” You ask between bites.

“Yes,” the air grows tense very suddenly. Kento pauses, his shoulders hunched before he takes a breath and relaxes again. Taking the hint that you’d struck a nerve, you choose to move on.

“Hey, um,” you lean back in your chair, the sun cascading through the blinds as golden rays hit your cheek, warming them further than the ramen already had. “Are you okay?”

The words seem to surprise him as he sits up. “I’m well,” he responds curtly, guarded. He takes a breath as he decides to give into your kind question after a moment. “I suppose I’m just a bit worn out,” he admits. He turns his head to stare out the window as he contemplates something silently.

“It doesn’t seem easy,” you comment as you watch his expression shift to a more somber one, “being a sorcerer.”

“No,” he agrees, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “You’re wise to avoid it.” Sighing, you both continue eating your ramen in relative silence. Nanami finishes first, clearing his throat. “One of these days my luck will run out.” Your brow furrows as you observe the subtle way his lips downturn and his chest seems to clench. You tilt your head at him, a sign for him to continue. “Every time I look in the mirror I’m reminded that this,” he motions to his general left side of his body, completely scarred and missing an eye, “is from the day I was lucky.”

Worrying your lip between your teeth, you uneasily follow his motions. No wonder he was worn out. Was this injury from Shibuya? Likely.

Can you heal him?

Unlikely, Miriko replies. Healing you and I is different from others. And while I can reverse death, I do need a body. I believe given that this isn’t death I couldn’t do much.

“I’m sorry Kento,” your voice is quiet, barely breaking through the silence. You’re not sure what else to say. What else to do. Nanami is silent as he stares down at the bowl in front of him. After a long pause, he sighs and pushes himself up from the table, bringing his bowl along with him and beginning to wash it. “Oh you don’t have to-”

“It’s my pleasure,” he interrupts you, shooting you a smile that eases your discomfort. “I appreciate the lunch.”

You smile, relaxing a bit as you join him at the sink, taking your turn to wash your bowl as well. Your arm brushes against his and you spare a glance at the way the muscles in his forearms flex as he runs the bowl under the water. Your wandering gaze catches Nanami’s attention and he hums. Heat rises on your cheeks as you focus on the bowl you were cleaning, maybe focusing a bit too hard as you miss his amused question.

“y/n?”

“Hm?” You stare up curiously at him, eyes wide like a deer in the headlights. The corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiles.

“I asked if you would like me to take over,” he repeats himself with a motion towards your bowl as you purse your lips.

“O-oh! No, that’s okay.” Heat dusts the tips of your ears as you avert your gaze. His chest quietly rumbles and you wonder if he’s laughing, but before you have the time to think about it, he interrupts your thoughts.

“Are you ready to leave?”

You nod, pushing aside the feeling of getting caught staring at him as you glance back at your cabin. Setting your bowl in the sink, you dry your hands as Nanami picks his weapon back up. With a quick goodbye to Taro, you trail after Nanami, shooting him a grateful look as he hands you your glasses. You aren’t sure why he doesn’t seem interested in questioning you on the secrets you were so obviously keeping from him, but you’re grateful nonetheless.

Locking the door, you turn to follow the blonde sorcerer, who takes a moment to wait for you to fall into step with him.

“Thanks for having lunch with me, Kento.” You grin up at the tall man, your heart warm at the thought of having company. Aside from visiting your dad whenever you were in town, you hadn’t had the opportunity to spend time with someone in such a long time that it was a very welcome feeling. Perhaps you’d been lonelier than you thought after all these years of distancing yourself from everyone in order to keep safe.

“Thank you for lunch,” he returns your smile, his expression softening. “We should do it again sometime,” his voice holds an intonation that you don’t recognize, one that makes your heart skip a beat. Your grin turns sheepish as heat dusts your face once more, however as you approach the gates of the school, Gojo calls to you before you can respond to Kento.

“You guys ready?” The white-haired man calls out to you.

“I believe so,” Nanami responds, rolling his shoulders as he assesses the group.

Though he still wears his blindfold, you can feel Gojo’s gaze on you, the frown on his face telling. What he was frowning about, you couldn’t be sure. His head flicks between you and Nanami before all thoughts seem to get pushed aside as he grins. “Field trip!”

With a grimace at his enthusiasm that matched that of his student, you all pile into the car as Ijichi takes you to Tokyo.

–

Since your arrival at Jujutsu High, you hadn’t had the chance to visit Tokyo. You’d grown accustomed to the breeze that ran across the school’s fields and rustled the leaves in the trees that surrounded your cabin. Tokyo’s hustle and bustle had never been something you were fond of, especially given the need to suppress your cursed energy and shut Miriko out, but now as neither a sorcerer nor a human, you carried with you the strange sensation of not belonging in either world. Something you supposed Miriko had likely grown accustomed to after all these years.

Ijichi parks across the street from an abandoned strip mall on the outer portion of Ginza and casts a veil over the area, trapping the four of you inside while he remains safely outside.

“Stay near me,” Nanami’s voice is low, intended for only you to hear as he briefly sets a reassuring hand on your shoulder. You nod, keeping close behind the blonde sorcerer. Gojo trails a small distance behind the group, hands in his pockets as he walks with a nonchalance that burns a fire in your stomach. He couldn’t take a damn thing seriously, could he?

A clanging noise causes you to jolt as you search for the source of the noise, spotting only a rock near a sheet of metal and a very guilty looking grin on Gojo’s face. You’re ready to tell him off when Nanami suddenly stops. You just barely manage to not collide with him, peeking out from around him to see what he was staring at.

A small weasel skitters across the pathway before you and into an alley. Only, it wasn’t a weasel at all. Though it looked relatively normal, its green fur gave away that it was a curse.

I do not understand curse grading, however I believe you were led astray.

“Hm?” You hum questioningly aloud at Miriko’s question, catching Nanami’s glance.

Whatever resides nearby is stronger than I expected.

Your eyes widen and you turn your attention back to Kento. “Remind me, how strong is a grade two curse?”

“Weak enough to take down with a gun, in relative terms.”

“I don’t get the feeling that this is a grade two curse,” you mumble, exchanging a glance with Itadori who’s nodding in agreement. Gojo is still, having stopped a short distance away and seemingly looking around. He had obviously caught on as well.

Another small weasel-like creature skitters between Itadori’s feet. “Hey!” He yells in surprise, reaching down to try to grab it. It slinks out of his grasp, a snicker escaping its parted maw as it skitters down a corridor between buildings.

“Should I go after it?”

Nanami nods. “You’re the quickest of us. See if you can draw something out.”

You watch Itadori’s movements, hoping that you might be able to catch onto how he currently uses his cursed energy. This would be a good learning opportunity for you to determine how best to teach him, after all.

The sounds of Itadori’s steps began to fade as silence fell over your group, awaiting his return. A clang. A screech. Footsteps. Itadori emerges from between the buildings with the creature writhing in his hands.

“I get the feeling this isn’t the curse,” he mutters, exorcizing the critter effortlessly. He claps his hands together, wiping them in disgust on the fronts of his pants. Before he can come back to join you, his eyes widen. “Oh shit, look out!” He calls, having noticed a much larger curse approaching from the side. The curse was blocked by the figure of the man beside you and Gojo was paying it little mind, while it remained in Nanami’s blind spot, unable to see what Itadori was looking at.

Without thinking, you grab Kento’s hand, dragging him out of reach of the gaping mouth of a curse with a toad-like appearance and green, bulbous skin adorned in large red cysts. It hurdles towards you once more, but Nanami is prepared this time. Or at least you think he is, despite the fact that his weapon is incredibly blunt. You’re not sure what its use would be, but you also aren’t about to doubt him.

The curse huffs and grunts as it moves with great effort just in time to avoid a hit from Nanami, who it had clearly chosen to be the larger threat, putting the brute of its focus into avoiding his blunt knife. Yuji wasn’t to be underestimated however, striking with enough force to incapacitate the curse long enough for it to lose its leg to… a blunt knife? You take a couple of steps back, deciding to keep clear of the battle so as not to endanger yourself or distract Kento or Yuji.

One final step back and you accidentally collide with something strong. Turning your gaze, Gojo’s grin is the first thing you meet and you jolt forward, huffing.

“Watch your step,” the sorcerer teases smugly, entirely too amused at your reaction. Even so, he quickly returns his focus to whatever he was doing previously, removing his blindfold. “That’s not the only curse here,” he says, striking blue eyes seeming to glow as he evaluates the area beneath the veil. His demeanor is unlike that of Kento or Yuji. Gojo’s eyes are filled with intrigue despite the immense amount of focus he was putting into whatever it was he was so focused on. He was having fun.

You follow his gaze, focusing yourself on its location, but before you have the time to do so, Gojo wraps you in his arms, moving you out of the way in a blink of an eye. Your lips part in shock, reorienting yourself from where you now stood on the opposite side of the battle Nanami and Yuji were already fighting. Gojo’s arms return to his sides, his wide stare one that could strike fear into any enemy as he focuses on your new assailant. The curse standing opposite you both is humanoid, it seems to be cut from the same cloth as the weasel and toad-like curses but this one holds a clearly larger amount of intelligence.

The curse’s skin is green like the toad’s, but its build is slender and muscular, its movement more similar to an ape. You shiver at the sight, taking a look at your group. The toad seems to be nearly incapacitated as Nanami takes a step back, turning to face the new assailant.

Something is off.

Gojo seemed to be on the same page as Miriko, letting Nanami and Itadori handle the new curse in front of you. Gojo’s narrowed eyes shift around the setting as he attempts to pinpoint the source of cursed energy, but his attempts fail as more and more tiny weasel-like curses begin making their way out of the alleyways.

“Is Miriko capable of fighting?” Gojo’s serious tone sends fear up your spine.

“Yeah,” you follow his gaze as he evaluates what could only be described as a horde of tiny curses. Not dangerous on their own or even in this large of a group, but they all seem to move in sync, as if they weren’t all separate beings.

“Miriko, why don’t you fight?” His narrowed gaze is now on you. A mouth filled with jagged teeth opens from your hand.

“Death is a costly burden to bear, Six Eyes.”

Gojo hums. “I see.”

You gasp as Nanami’s back brushes against your shoulder suddenly, the humanoid curse’s tail lashing against his blade. It swipes its claws past his blade, snickering as Nanami hisses at the contact of its claws.

“Kento!” You gasp, but he’s already chasing after the curse as it bounds back. You take a step forward, concern building uncomfortably in your chest at the sight of blood seeping through his blue shirt.

“He’s fine,” Gojo’s voice is, unmistakably, a grumble? Confused, you turn to look at him but he pays you no mind.

Before you can question the snowy-haired sorcerer, a weasel slinks over your foot and you jump. The weasels all begin to move in a pattern, backing you nearly into Gojo when a shadow on the concrete wall beside you begins to twist, a bleak pair of white eyes following your every miniscule movement.

Gojo’s arm wraps around your core again, much to your frustration as he pulls you out of reach of the curse that begins to crawl from the wall, strange gangly limbs hanging from its slender figure. Much like the other two curses and weasels, its body was a sickening green with red cysts covering its figure and form. Most notably, a small glowing light dangled from an appendage on its forehead. Each time it flashed, the weasels would move as though they were one single organism. While the ape-like curse had exhibited a level of intelligence, it paled in comparison to this one.

“Gojo! Keep the damage to a minimum!”

Gojo groans at Nanami’s words, like a child being told he wouldn’t get ice cream. He mumbles something to himself about Nanami being a pain. Suddenly overly aware of being tucked against the sorcerer’s body, you writhe and push against him.

“Let me go,” you hiss.

“Can you cooperate for once?” His blue eyes pierce into yours, nose wrinkled as he argues with you unnecessarily. The slender green creature’s body contorts strangely and just when you think it’s about to throw itself at you and Gojo, its appendage flashes and weasels throw themselves at you. None reach you, however. Gojo grins, flashing you a cocky look that has you groaning at him. Each one is stopped mere inches from either you or Gojo.

“That the best you got?” Gojo taunts, moving you out of reach in the blink of an eye before he chases after the curse. Thankful to be out of the sorcerer’s grasp, you move closer to Nanami, finally able to get a better look at his injury, as well as evaluate Itadori’s skills.

Although you were keeping a watchful eye on your surroundings, something slips through the cracks mere moments before Itadori finishes off the humanoid curse. Teeth sink into your side, blood seeping out from the massive bite marks. A strangled gasp parts your lips as your eyes widen in shock.

Without a moment’s thought, Miriko takes over, eyes flashing a bright red as her technique spreads through the smaller toad-like curse with sharp teeth. Gray cracks spread through its small body before it shatters into dust. Death.

Unable to pay mind to the injury, Miriko joins Itadori and Nanami as they finish up with their battle. Gojo is shortly behind them, making short work of the curse despite its immense strength. Although it pained you, and even more so Miriko to admit it, he had a reason to act as high and mighty as he did. It didn’t make him any less irritating.

Gojo claps his hands together with a grin. “See, that wasn’t so bad now, was it y/n?”

Miriko retreats into your body and you open your mouth for a sassy retort, but a strangled noise interrupts you. Blood seeps from the corner of your mouth, jaw slack with pain.

“Miriko?” Your strangled plea for help barely meets the ears of the panicked group around you as you collapse. Nanami catches you in time to prevent you from colliding with the concrete, taking no time to haul you into his arms.

I apologize y/n, i believe your kidney is ruptured.

No shit. Unable to focus your gaze, you attempt to focus on your wound. Miriko had healed the external wound from the curse, however when she extinguished the weak creature with her own cursed technique, clearly the cost had been your kidney due to its close proximity to the bite.

“Shit, y/n!” Nanami’s words finally make it through to you and you meet his desperate gaze. Though you recognize the timbre of their voices around you, you can’t make out anything the other two sorcerers are saying. If only you had explained to anyone just how your technique worked.

“Park,” you cough, blood spurting from your mouth. “Plea-”

Kento doesn’t need more of an explanation, making an effort to talk to you and keep you conscious as he makes a quick pace to the park a couple of blocks away that you had noticed on the way into the concrete jungle that was the strip mall. His fingers grip your body carefully, like you were a flower so delicate he couldn’t bear the thought of a scratch on you. Though you knew he was talking, you couldn’t make sense of most of his words. Your consciousness was beginning to fade, you wanted nothing more than to retreat and let Miriko take over, though you knew she was focused on preventing the spread of her technique past your kidney.

Kento gently sets you down in front of a tree, unsure of what more to do from here. “Is this-?” Startled, he takes a step back when the grass beneath you shrivels and grays, the tree behind you cracking and snapping under the pressure of its life being stolen in little more than a second.

The three sorcerers before you could all only watch as your breathing steadies slowly, though you were still relatively weak from the injury. Miriko’s technique wasn’t so simple like others were. You weren’t special grade for your overwhelming fighting abilities, but rather how difficult it was to heal from your technique. How deathly it was. More often than not, it was easier to drop a limb and heal it than to attempt to heal death itself before it could spread, but Miriko wasn’t able to do such a thing in your body, so much more fragile than hers.

Coughing, you spit out blood, your head rolling to the side as you catch your breath. Nanami is kneeling directly in front of you now, mahogany gaze filled with concern. Your heart skips a beat at how heartwarming it is to have someone care for you, especially in a moment like this. In all your time living with Miriko, you had made every effort to avoid using her technique on anything beyond flora. To experience it yourself for an extended period of time was a new, and exhausting, feeling.

Itadori’s gaze is on the splintered tree that seemed to threaten to teeter over at any moment while Gojo quietly stands with piercing blue eyes taking in your every movement. As usual, he was evaluating you.

“You gave me a scare there, y/n.” Kento’s expression is warm as he gently runs a finger down your jaw, tilting your head to either side as he checks you over for any further injuries.

“Sorry,” your voice is hoarse and you clear your throat, the taste of blood remaining fresh on your tongue. “I ruptured my kidney with my technique,” you explain quietly, mindlessly bringing a hand up to where the pain had been mere moments ago. “Thanks for bringing me here, Ken-” a cough cuts you off. No more blood, at the very least.

“No need to thank me,” he shakes his head, regret flashing through his eye. “I apologize for bringing you here in the first place. I will be having some words with the Window who provided the report.” There’s a subtle anger to his voice but it fades when he speaks again. “Let’s get you home,” he reaches his hand out for you to take. Taking his hand, you take a moment to steady yourself, your gaze distant as you orient yourself. There’s a strange ache in your side sending fog to your brain and leaving you feeling somewhat lost.

“You okay, y/n?” Itadori’s voice is strained in concern, wide eyes staring at you. It takes you a moment to process his question before you nod, sending a reassuring smile his way. That seems to satisfy his concern as he lets out a breath.

Your eyes shift to Gojo, whose expression is unreadable as he stares at you unmoving. Your mind is too muddled to bother with trying to decipher the sorcerer either way and you direct your attention to Nanami.

“Steady?” He asks quietly, one hand still steadying you while the other ghosts your upper arm in case you were to collapse. You nod slowly, taking a breath as you follow his lead. Itadori bounds up to Gojo ahead of you, the two loudly snickering over something unrelated. His demeanor around you could be studied, he was so confusing.

“I owe you an explanation,” you tell Nanami, the warmth from his hand keeping you grounded. Before he can insist you don’t (and he was planning on doing so), you launch into a short explanation of your technique, and Miriko. You do try to keep quiet, but Gojo’s occasional glance back isn’t lost on you.

Nanami’s eye is wide as he stares down at you. “So that curse attacking near your kidney caused the technique to backfire into your kidney?”

You nod slowly. “The technique is too strong for my body,” you explain. “She doesn’t have the same issue in her full form. That’s why I need to pull life from something living to heal myself from her technique, but not for regular injuries.”

“Right.”

“Sorry I didn’t tell you, Kento.”

His brow raises. “You don’t owe me any explanations,” he smiles reassuringly, shifting the hand you were holding to his other hand so that he can set his opposite hand on the small of your back. “I’m just pleased that you’re safe.”

Shivering at his touch, you feel your cheeks heat up. Unfamiliar feelings bubble in your chest, feelings you had chosen to detach yourself from many years ago when Miriko’s presence had awoken. You swallow the lump of uncertainty in your throat, choosing to relax into Kento’s presence. Just for a moment, you could allow yourself to enjoy someone’s presence.

Maybe with him being a sorcerer, things wouldn’t be so bad.

Maybe for once, you could let go and not worry about the danger.

Just maybe.

series masterlist || main masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter

a/n || Hope you all enjoy! Thanks again for all the support ♡ We've officially hit the end of what is fully pre-written so my next updates will unfortunately be further apart but I already have the two main plot points and their connections fully fleshed out so at the very least I can assure you it shouldn't take me too long!

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lingerina · 1 year ago

Text

➤ g!p wonyoung x fem!reader ➤ pwp, smut, choking, hair pulling, creampie, squirting ➤ 748 words ➤ your roommate had invited a friend over for a study session, but said friend makes it before your roommate does. and what can transpire while you both wait for her to return?

You do not associate with Jang Wonyoung: the campus Barbie, valedictorian, and all-around athletic jock.

You do not associate with an arguably flawless being; your roommate does.

Ahn Yujin, one of Wonyoung’s closest friends who’s equally stellar in all aspects, had invited her over for a study session and a debrief on an upcoming volleyball tournament. She had consulted you about having someone over, so you had expected a visitor today. You just didn’t expect the visitor to be one of the most sought-after campus girls.

You couldn’t look Wonyoung in the eye.

You couldn’t look into her round, doe eyes. Couldn’t look at her gorgeous face.

Yujin has yet to make it home, so you’re stuck with her perfect best friend–tongue-tied and frazzled. From afar, there was no denying her beauty, and it’s further amplified by her confidence and charisma. Heads turn when Jang Wonyoung struts down the walkway, but you could barely allow yourself a glimpse of her in your peripheral view.

And she didn’t seem okay with that.

“Ah-!”

You gasp as she shoves her cock inside you, forcing you up against the kitchen counter that you’re bent over. Her chest presses against your back, long but dainty fingers locking your tresses in a vice grip as she fucks you. Her soft features and pure beauty masquerades the sins of a villainess with the way she had pounced on you, trapped you beneath her, and is now rutting into you with no concern of your roommate possibly bursting through that door.

You had prayed for Yujin to return when Wonyoung’s hand slipped up your flimsy pajama shorts. Now you’re begging for the world to stall her as you’re getting railed–destroyed.

“You like that, huh?,” Wonyoung purrs by your ear after a pause.

Your breath hitches in response, your slick walls suctioning tighter around her with the lack of friction. Your initial pleas and concerns didn’t match your actions, as you had allowed her to get this far. Pathetic, really. You’re even more pathetic now, pinned down with the prettiest girl balls deep inside your weeping cunt. Wonyoung thrives on your helplessness. You’re a person of little words, and it amuses her that you only make so much noise.

“Don’t be shy.”

With a flick of her wrist, she fixes a hold on your hair and jerks your head back. You yelp at the searing pain on your scalp, but it quickly fuses with a moan as her cock is dragged out, then rammed back into you. The force of her hips nearly embed you into the hard, marble surface, but you don’t care. Wonyoung is stretching your cunt deliciously, filling and hitting all the right places that have yet to be reached–even by your own toys.

Wonyoung’s hand wraps around the base of your throat. She forces your head back onto her shoulder and her lips skim over your collarbone, as if your neck hasn’t already been converted into a canvas for her mouth.

You’ve gone beyond your conscience over the pain though. Numbness. Accommodated. You’re already used to it. You’re more fixated on Wonyoung’s pace.

And with vigorous swipes of your clit, your eyes roll back and you clutch the edge of the counter for dear life as you squirt all over her dick. Your clenched walls resist her, but your orgasm ejects her. Her hand doesn’t slack on your engorged clit, however, and she forces you to make a mess everywhere, juices spattering all over the cupboard doors and her fervent digits. Her strength is to be commended because she’s holding you up while you’re writhing and struggling to keep still.

The second you sink onto the counter, she forces her hard cock back into you, minding the orgasm that tore through you a second ago and reducing you to a vessel for her cum as she fucks you. Your pussy has been through hell, heaven, and back, but Wonyoung is fixed on one final thing.

“Fuck!,” she hisses with a drawl, fingertips digging into your hips as she thrusts harder. “Yes, yes, yes!”

You nearly lose your footing when she bottoms out in you, the silent apartment reverberating with Wonyoung’s moans and profanity as she spills inside you. She withdraws her slick-coated dick and shoves back into you with a guttural ‘yes!’, pushing her cum deeper into you. Your brain can barely function now that you’ve been utterly ruined by your roommate’s best friend.

But you don’t regret it.

Not one bit.

#girl group smut #ive smut #wonyoung smut #fem reader #girl group imagines #wonyoung imagines #ive imagines #girl group scenarios #ive scenarios #wonyoung scenarios

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cotl-flower-crown · 3 months ago

Note

How and why did Lamb fall in love with Narinder to the point that they got married and had children?

Besides, if we consider that Narinder was evil and just wanted to use her to return to the world of the living.

TLDR: Slow burn, very slow burn

Feel free to ready the wall of text I prepared below

Angel (the Lamb) ever since they met The One Who Waits, was deeply devoted to him, so when it was revealed that he had plans to sacrifice them, they were devastated. It took them a long time to approach the Gateway, hesitant to fulfill their purpose, but when they thought they were at peace with their fate, Angel finally met him there.

Their plan was to negotiate. Perhaps if Angel pleaded with him enough, they would spare him, but they could tell from the moment he opened his mouth that he was not open for negotiation. But Angel tried anyway. They tried convincing him that perhaps there is another way to free him and if there is one they would be happy to do so. But what The One Who Waits saw was weakness, he saw fear in his vessel's eyes as they looked at him and questioned their faith in him. Were they not as devoted as they claimed to be? No, they doubt his judgement. Him! The One Who Waits Himself! Their God! Such blasthemy could not stand! He called The Lamb out for their cowardice and shamed them for their lack of faith. He demanded for the final time that they kneel to him, so the prophecy could be fulfilled.

But Angel could not do what their God has demanded. Even their deviotion had its limits. Through out the whole journey to free him, Angel was encouraged to learn to stand up for themselves, even by him. And now he's demanding that they ignore all their teachings and bow to him. It all felt so wrong. If they are gone, what will become of her followers, what will become of the scraps of Sheep folk's culture that they hold in their heart? It will all be gone, THEY will be gone.

They could not stand for that. With tears streaming on their cheeks, they drew an axe and pointed it in his direction. "I cannot leave yet" they whimpered through their tears. And so the battle begun.

As it ended, Lamb had no idea that The One Who Waits would survive this battle and yet, there he was, laying in front of them. A stature not taller then theirs, not even able to hold himself on his legs. But he was alive. Their prayers and hopes were heard. A wave of relief washed over Angel's body, and while they still felt betrayed by their ex-God, they didn't have it in them to finish him off. So despite his protests, they brought him to their cult. They would decide on his fate later.

When brought to Lamb's cult, Narinder felt many emotions. Anger, disappointment, fear even. Mostly anger though. He was angry that his vessel betrayed him, that he's stuck in the cult now and stuck in this weak, needy body that cannot even stand on its own. Lamb would help him get back on his feet and he hated that the most. How long would it take for the Lamb to change their mind and finish off what they started? In the best case scenario, he will be killed, free from this mortal body, but in the worst scenario, they will imprison him again. He could not read their mind anymore, he couldn't even read their face, shrouded with unreadable cold disapproval. It was both unsettling and annoying.

For many months Narinder was dependant on Lamb's help to recover his ability to walk. They would help him stretch, accompany on his walks in case he falls over from his croutches, they were his personal assistant in a way, which without a doubt Narinder liked to abuse. But eventually he would learn to stop it, as such behavior was not acceptable among Lamb's followers. They did not take kindly to him making their leader cry and Narinder will forever remember the day those people locked him in prison and threw rotten food and excrements at him. He also remembers well the night when Lamb came to him to clean off the waste off of his head and let him out of the stocks. He knows that they enjoyed watching him being served with justice a little, they told him as much, but he couldn't help, but help feel relieved by their mercy. It's not something that he would do, that's for sure. Supposedly, it was a good reminder that even if Lamb is not keen on punishing him, they have no issues letting the others do the dirty work.

Angel's grief passed soon enough, seeing Narinder's legs getting better. Witnessing him be able to stand and walk on his own, run even, was the most joyous they have felt for a long time. Still he wasn't exactly in the best shape, so the regular walks were still mandatory. Lamb didn't have to accompany him anymore, but they still did to Narinder's distaste. They would not usually speak much, but when Lamb warmed up to him a little, they begun to try and start a conversation. Though Narinder would usually turn those attempts down and challenge Lamb's attitude, one day he insulted how the cult looks, and when asked what's wrong with it, he couldn't point out specifics and stammered that there's not enough red candles. Lamb took it upon themselves to fix that issue, partially out of spite. Begrudgingly he allowed Lamb to take that win. (Narinder's first quest)

Finally the time came when Narinder was well enough to start working. Lamb assigned him to work at the farm. As he worked around with the camelia flowers he mentions Leshy, before he gets back to work. Time passes and Lamb comes back to bring him the flowers, straight from Darkwood. He expresses how he didn't ask for them, but Lamb could see past his exterior, see that they made him a little happier.

Suspicious of Lamb's intentions Narinder challenges Lamb to go to Anura and bring him mushrooms unscaved. Angel teases him a little before the travel and brings him what he wished for. Then as they talk more, Nari sends them off to Archordeep, wishing to see their crystal walls crumbled. And when that's done, he quietly asks Lamb to bring him silk from Silk Cradle. He waited by the entrance as the Lamb came back from the crusade and handed him the silk. And they brought him tea as he at last allowed himself to process the grief.

Narinder grew attached to the Lamb as there was nobody else he would think of as a worthy company. Although he did not consider them a friend, nor anything of that matter. It was hard for him to describe what his usurper meant for him at that point, but he couldn't help but follow them if he wasn't at work or asleep. They would discuss the common topics, like the weather, the jobs, hobbies and their own health. While he didn't seem to let go of his grievances with Lamb, they noticed that he wasn't exactly angry about them either.

One day Narinder witnesses a follower's death for the XYZth time and he grows curious. He hasn't been exactly a regular attendant of Lamb's sermons and he wasn't planning to be, but he realised that he doesn't know all the rites the Lamb and their flock performs as well as he wished he did. He approaches the Lamb, admiting his apprehensions towards them as worthy of the crown, demanding in his usual fashion that they show the legacy of the new God of Death. Lamb did not plan to bring anyone back from the dead that day, but they will not turn down his challenge, if that mean that they can make him eat his words.

They did not expect a genuine praise though. It felt somewhat offputting to see Narinder laugh and sound proud talking of them. They were put off guard by it and Nari didn't blame them. He was surprised himself too, to the point that had to take a step back, but it was undeniable, he was proud to see that his vessel is continuing what he started. Perhaps they have some wits in them after all. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to attend their sermons more often.

Time passed and while Narinder grew to get used to his new home, the more he stayed there, the more trapped he felt. The cult grounds seem a lot smaller once you learn all their nook and crannies. He was itching to see more of what was left of the Lambs of the Old Faith after the millenia of imprisonment. Angel excouraged him to do so, but at the same time, they were worried for his safety. The outside world is dangerous and Narinder was no longer a powerful god. While it wouldn't be impossible to bring him back to life, Angel did not want to see him dead. They eventually figured out that giving him a company to make sure that he's alive would make them a lot calmer about the expedition. They decide that they will send their most experienced missionary with him. Meanwhile Narinder and Shepherd (one of Lamb's most loyal followers, the leading farmer and the missionary veteran) shared another petty interraction, which this time ended in a fight that Lamb needed to break off.

Later, Narinder learned that him and Shepherd would be stuck together on a mission. He was vocally not happy about it but did not fight it. A human shield is always in value.

They get through their shenanigans and end up becoming friends.

When they come back, Narinder is injured and seems like it got infected, but he insists that he's fine. He stops objecting when Shep fistbumps his arm (very much intentionally) and makes Nari speechless. Angel takes Nari to the med bay, and there Nari thanks Lamb (the end of the final quest)

So, by the time the quests are finished, Nari and Lamb are kinda like friends. Acquaintances, maybe. After that, Nari spends his time either working, sunbathing or hanging out with Shep and/or Lamb. Him and Shep turn into bros, but he doesn't really know what to think about the Lamb. They're ok in his eyes.

As the time went by from then on Nari developed a vague fondness of Angel as a companion. He's not in love or anything tho. Meanwhile Angel develops a little crush on him. They think he's cute the way he is now and they enjoy spending time with him. They don't try anything with him because they don't want to ruin their friendship, but they get jealous when someone else shows interest with him and they may contribute to his dwindling love life.

More time passes and Nari begins to develop feelings for Angel. He's very dismissive about it and denies when asked, but Lamb knows and they are very fond of him at that point and really wants to say something, but doesn't want to jump this ship only to later learn that he's not happy. They made that mistake before and they don't want to pressure him into anything so they wait for him to make a move.

Meanwhile Nari tries really hard to convince himself and everyone around that he doesn't like the Lamb, even though he gets very possessive over Lamb's attention and jealous when they speak fondly with anyone else. He also wants to kill people who just happen to have a crush on the Lamb or those critical of them. He's not sure why, but he can't help it.

Even more time passes, and it finally gets through Narinder's skull that, yes, he is in love with Angel, and it's not a hex. He realises it after him and Lamb share a dance among the crowd and after talking with Shep about it. He finally decides to start courting the Lamb, but the way he wanted to do it was to give his life to them, aka stabbing himself in front of them and Shepherd was like "NOPE, how about you try the more casual ways of courting instead?". So he tries the gifts first. Gifts that consist of bones, snake skins and dead critters. Because cat instincts. Shepherd tells him to stop and try something else. After some trial and errors Narinder decides to just stick with his original plan.

He meets Lamb at night when everyone else is asleep and Narinder begins with confessing, then he pulls out a sacrificial knife and aims it at his chest. Lamb stops him, saying that they don't want to see him dead, but Nari argues with "how am I supposed to accurately show you how strong my feelings are if I cannot give you my life" and Lamb is like "do it by being by my side, not like this" and then Nari lets go of the knife and complains that now he doesn't have any plan B and Lamb proposes for him to "court them like a mortal" by sharing a dance together. Nari complains that there is no music to dance to, but that is easily fixed by waking up one of the followers to play music for the two. They share a lovely soft slow dance that ends with them kissing.

They end up getting married soon after that. And after some time spent getting adjusted to married life, they decided to try for children for one reason or the other.

And that's that. Slow burn narilamb beloved <3

#cult of the lamb #cotl #cotl lamb #narilamb #cotl narilamb #cult of the lamb narinder #cotl narinder #cotl next gen au #cotl next gen #cotl au #cult of the lamb au #long read #slow burn

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haveihitanerve · 3 months ago

Note

Bruce accidentally gets shot by Jason and is in critical condition

I read this idea somewhere, so it isn't really mine, but I'd really love to see it written please if you feel comfortable

ohohohohoh!!! this is do delicious i can just ~feel~ the angst... lemme see if i have anything inside that can write this well...

Jason was pissed at Bruce. That, actually, wasn't unusual. Jason was used to living in a perpetual state of pissed off-ness for the man who was had once been his father. What was unusual, however, was the fact that he had still agreed to come on this mission with him, with his Replacement no less.

Jason didn't hate Tim. Anymore. The kid was smart and witty and good, with a sort of spark, a need to be Robin that neither Dick nor Jason had really had. It didn't dilute the sting of the betrayal, but Jason could respect the kid. And was marginally more understanding as to Bruce's reasons for taking him in. Marginally.

But his hatred for Bruce and his only accepting behavior towards Tim did not mean he didn't have their backs. Well, it could've, and at this point Jason wouldn't have put it past Bruce to still take him on a mission without fully trusting Jason to guard his back, but it didn't matter anyway, because Jason had both their backs.

Like now, for instance. Jason cursed as the man opposite Tim pulled a gun. "Fucks sake." Jason reached for his own, previously holstered because he was aware of Bruce's dislike for them and didn't actually want to kill anyone, not while he was on the Bats turf and could get repercussions at least, and aimed.

The gunshot slashed through the air, hard and unforgiving, unflinching. It was why Jason could do nothing but stare in horror as Bruce made his move, diving in front of Tim, willing to take the bullet of the attacker for him, unsuspecting of the bullet flying at him from behind. Tim's eyes were wide in fear. Bruce went down. The goons fled.

Tim dropped to his knees immediately, hands moving, tugging out gadgets and tools from Bruce's belt and his own with a familiarity that made Jason's heart throb. "Help me!" The kid screamed and Jason realized he had been stuck, frozen, watching hollowly as Bruce's blood pooled around him.

"Please." Tim gasped, and Jason hesitated as tears streamed down Tim's throat, hands shaking as he tried to apply pressure and staunch the flow of blood. It wouldn't be enough. The bullet had flown through his shoulder, a clean hit, at least, but it had hit too many main blood vessels. If they didn't move fast....

Jason dropped down beside him, tying quick knots and connected his comm line. "Oracle! Come in." "Hood. What do you need?" Babs voice was detached, but not cold. "B's been hit. Please." She didn't answer, but Nightwing appeared only a moment later, eyes cold with a hatred and fear Jason had never seen before.

They whisked him to the manor, and it was more autopilot than invitation that Jason followed, the hollowness inside him turning numb as Alfred paled at the sight of the wound, Leslie already having been called. "Its critical." The doctor revealed, grim, but she finished her work, and promised to return in the morning.

Alfred watched over Bruce, hovering, periodically cleaning and changing his bandages. No one bothered to tell him it was unnecessary. "What happened." Dick growled when Bruce was finally taken care of, the only other sound filling the cave the beeping of his heart monitor.

"He took a bullet for me." Tim answered, and bile built in Jason's mouth at the shakiness of his voice. Because if he hadn't fired, Bruce truly would've taken a bullet for him. But... if he hadn't fired then Bruce wouldn't have taken his bullet, just the other guys but... his mind was too frazzled.

Dick seemed to calm a little at the explanation, and Jason waited, tense, for Tim to reveal it was Jason's bullet he had taken, but he didn't. Just followed Dick silently over to Bruce's side and squeezed his hand. "Get better B." Dick whispered, and Jason's heart squeezed as his brothers voice broke.

"Come on," Dick nudged Tim's back, pushing him to the stairs. "It won't help him if you stay awake all night." Jason fought his snort of "hypocrite." Because Bruce would stay up all night. And Dick was guaranteed to come back downstairs the second Tim was in bed and do the same. But, at least he was watching over Tim. The way he had never done for Jason.

They all left, Alfred going to the kitchen to make tea to calm himself, and if Jason had a clearer mind he might've thought a little on it, how they all trusted him. Alone. In the Batcave. With an injured Bruce. But he didn't, so he slouched onto the chair next to Bruce instead, head heavy.

"I'm sorry." He gasped weakly. He didn't know how long he'd been sitting there silently. How long it'd been since he started speaking. "I'm so fucking sorry B. I-I just... I'm wrong, and I'm broken, and we're broken and I just don't- I don't know how to fix it!" He scrubbed his nose, sniffling hard.

"I'm so sorry Bruce. I thought... I thought I was better, I thought- you were right. Guns suck-" His breath trembled and it took every ounce of self control for Jason not to break, not to collapse and sob. Because if Bruce died... It would be his fault. And if Bruce died, he had no doubts Tim would stop his silence for Jason. And if Dick found out the truth... If Bruce died Jason had no doubts in his mind that his son would avenge him. If Bruce died Jason wasn't sure he'd even try to stop it.

"I miss you." He whispered. "I do and it hurts and I hate it, but I just can't stop and why do you have to be so difficult?" Jason let out a shaky sob, pressing his hands to his eyes. "Why can't you ever just let things be fucking easy?" He begged. "Why can't we just go back to being fucking easy?" His voice sounded pitiful to his own ears.

"language." Bruce rasped. "B!" Jason almost toppled the chair with the force with which he leapt forward, grasping the older man's hand. Bruce offered a small, constrained smile. "Hey Jaylad." Jason sobbed, throwing himself on top of his father. "I miss you too." Bruce murmured, and as his arm wrapped around Jason's back, Jason felt a portion of his anger chip away.

#uhhhh #it kinda derailed at the end tbh #idk #i hope you liked #i wasnt really sure where to go once i started #but i hope you found it enjoyable #and didnt stop reading #or try to gouge your eyes out after the first few paragraphs #it kinda went downhill from like “if they didnt move fast” but oh well #batman #batfam #jason todd #tim drake #bruce wayne #dick grayson #hope you kinda liked it

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katerina-marie · 6 months ago

Text

The Tragedy of a Duality

Gojo Satoru x Female Reader and (Past) Ryomen Sukuna x Female Reader

Chp 1, Chp 2, Chp 3, Chp 4, Chp 5, Chp 6, Chp 7 (Final)

In the present, you are a sorcerer and the cherished wife of the Honored One. In an era long gone, remembered by only one, you were ordinarily human and the beloved bride of the King of Curses. How fitting it would be, in an evening of destruction, to have your heart torn in two.

Content: JJK Universe and Canon Events (tho tweaked to incorporate reader), Fluff, Angst, Flashbacks, Ambiguous ending, Violence, Death, Female reader but left descriptively vague, No use of y/n, True Form Sukuna in the past, Itadori Yuji is Sukuna's vessel in the present but nothing inappropriate b/n reader and Itadori as the vessel.

WC: 4.4k

A/N: Me, drafting this post: Eh, it's probably not that bad. I'm just a baby when it comes to angst.

The Final Chapter

Just like the surrounding camp, the inside of your tent is mostly quiet and settled. Your breathing has just begun to even out, and you rest on your stomach with your face pressed into the crook of Sukuna’s shoulder. Two of his hands are tucked behind his head while one cups your rear and the tips of nails on his right tickle the skin of your hip. The two you bask in the warmth of each other and the last tingles of shared pleasure.

“Sukuna,” you whisper, letting your lips brush across the skin of his chest. You feel his answering hum under your cheek at the same time it reaches your ears, and his hand slides upwards to rub at the small of your back. “What are we going to do when we return home?”

“Whatever pleases you,” he replies instantly, and you smile.

“If I want to go see the ocean after we have recovered from our travels?”

“Then I will take you to it when the weather turns warm.” Sukuna pauses in consideration. “But do not ask me to frolic in the water.”

You giggle, but it turns into a pleasant sigh when he kneads the muscles of your back. Your eyes feel heavy and you nestle in closer to him.

“If I want to plant every flower in existence in the gardens outside our chambers?”

“Then I shall send the gardeners to the ends of the earth to procure every such type for you.”

“And if I want—,”

Sukuna interrupts you by pressing his lips against yours and pulling you up further onto his chest. When you break apart, his fingers trail down your cheek and then grab a hold of your chin so he can tip it upwards so you meet his eyes. You think they are the gentlest they have ever looked.

“Whatever you desire, whatever you seek—ask it of me and I shall give it to you. There is no limit to what I would do for you.” His words fill your chest with effervescent joy, and you murmur back gratitude and adoration.

“Whatever we do not accomplish will wait for us in the next life, and the one after that, and so forth. I will always find you.” Sukuna’s last words to you follow you into sleep, so it is no wonder how you dream of your days with him.

---------------------------------

Weekends at home with Satoru are your favorite.

The two of you sleep soundly into the morning, and it is always a toss up of whether or not you can slip from Satoru’s grip without waking him up. You consider it a mild success if you’re able to brew a cup of coffee and take the first sip before he is wrapping his arms around your shoulders to pull you back against his chest. You rest your head against his shoulder and he steals a drink of your coffee. He feigns retching just like he always does, his appetite only whetted by sugar and more sugar.

Sunshine spills in through your windows and bathes the kitchen and living room in soft morning light. The sink drips ever so slightly because you missed shutting it off completely, and soft music filters in from a little speaker you keep on the counter. Stuck to the side of the fridge is a small calendar, and you are thrilled that it finally reads “October.”

“What should we do today?”

Satoru makes a contented sound as he sets your mug on the counter in front of you. “It’ll be cool outside today. We can go for a walk?” he offers. His hands skate up over your hips to squeeze gently at your waist.

The idea is tempting. Autumn has always been your favorite time of year, and the prospect of feeling the briskness of the air on your skin excites you like no other. But you have more fantastical ideas in mind.

“If I want to take a trip north to have that dish we had on our honeymoon?” you ask playfully. Satoru chuckles in your ear and nips at it in a way that has you squirming.

“I think we could probably make it there and back in time for class on Monday.” His lips dip to your neck, and you lean your head back farther to allow him to reach more skin.

“And if I want to hop on a plane and lie on a beach somewhere warm?”

Satoru pauses this time and lifts his head.

“I think we could make that work,” he says slowly. “Things have been quiet at school lately and I could force—I mean ask—Nanami to cover the first year’s training for a couple days.”

Quiet is accurate. Sukuna has hidden himself away, and you don’t know how to feel about it when you know it’s because of you.

Satoru’s hands wander, and you bat at them, giggling at the way his fingers sneak under your shirt to tickle at the skin on your stomach. His laughter is rich and never fails to set your heart alight. When one hand reaches up to tilt your cheek in his direction so he can kiss you, you melt against him.

“If I want to spend all day in bed with you?” you ask, breathless in the best of ways, and maybe such grand vacations can wait.

Satoru turns you in an instant and wastes no time in dragging you back towards the room the two of you just left, and there is a wicked gleam in the blue of his eyes that matches the grin rounding his cheeks.

“Who am I to ever deny you?”

You kiss him fiercely because Satoru has never denied you anything, and you are too lost in him to be aware of anything else, to consider doing anything beyond twining all of yourself with him. After all, you know there is nothing but time for the two of you to accomplish everything you want together.

---------------------------------

Everywhere you look, the city you love is nothing but carnage. Bodies lay strewn across one another in piles of mangled gore and puddles of blood threaten to soak your shoes. You sprint over asphalt and each step deeper into Shibuya sends blistering panic through your body. There’s a pull in your chest that began just minutes ago and intensifies exponentially. It’s urging you forward to somewhere…someone. There are images in your head you cannot quite understand or make clarity of, but what you know them to be is an unequivocal truth. The memories come to you in fragmented pieces that you can’t connect together yet. You’re losing count of how many fingers Itadori Yuji is somehow consuming, and your focus is being split into inordinate directions.

“Do you have a habit of stealing fruit that doesn't belong to you?”

The only sound left in the normally busy station is your frantic breathing and the slapping of your shoes on tile. Your eyes sweep over various entrances and exits, and there are multiple staircases slicked with blood of human and cursed kind. Rationality is fading, allowing for fear to drive your decisions, and you decide to move further down into the station.

Four arms and too many eyes. It should repulse you, send you fleeing, but something about him is enticing. He looks at you as though he thinks the same.

A long stairway looms in front of you and you take them two at a time, your hand gripping the railing to keep you upright when a step lands wrong or your balance tips forward. What is real and what is memory are superimposed together in front of your eyes, and trying to discern between the two has you staggering.

“Wed yourself to me.”

When you reach the bottom of the stairs, reality takes over your vision and the sight in front of you stalls your feet. Dozens of curses lay torn to pieces and scattered all over the pristine white floors. There is viscera painting the walls and cylindrical columns, and in the middle of it all, a glimpse of something strikes you with great sadness.

“Did you miss me while I was gone? I have returned to you now.”

Your chin quivers, and you suddenly wish that your talent for being able to recall seemingly useless details relating to the people you care most about didn’t work as well as it did. You hate the way you can instantly pick out a pair of perfectly polished, mahogany-colored dress shoes that still gleam under fluorescent lights, if only because they are the one thing that allows you to identify what remains of Nanami Kento.

There’s a forest that looks so familiar in the way it offers shelter from the rain and bears fruit you like to eat. Once, long ago, someone large and powerful weaved through its trees as he stalked you in the night. In your most recent memory, it’s decorated with glowing bulbs of light and saw you wed another.

A sob rips through your clenched teeth as memories flash before your eyes again, but this time they don’t take the form of an age long gone. Instead, you reminisce on the image of an always-weary smile and kind brown eyes. There is echoing laughter, and you remember the comforting pressure of a reassuring hand and a friend who cared for others more than he would like to let on.

If you know anything about Nanami Kento, it’s certainly that someone else is alive because of him and where he lay. And if the mounting pressure in your chest didn’t drive you to press onwards, you’d take the time to fall to your knees and mourn a man who didn’t deserve the fate that befell him. But neither did you take a pause just a few minutes earlier when you first arrived in the city and stumbled around a street corner to see familiar bodies laid out on cots. You recognized the black suit Ijichi always wore even though it was riddled and torn with puncture wounds. You couldn’t miss the way Shoko was hovering over Fushiguro as he lay unmoving. Behind them a ways, a white sheet was tucked up almost entirely over a half mangled face, and bile stung your throat at the chestnut bob that was splayed out around it.

You couldn’t stop then and didn’t stop now. Not when Satoru isn’t answering his phone and you are manic in your desperation to find him. Not when something ancient and primal is driving you towards a being you almost have no memory of, yet the marrow of your bones and sinew threading your muscles ache to remember him. There are students, some still children and others just barely not, who will suffer from the events of today. Dear friends and peers lay broken and beaten, and there are those that will never get up. Tears blur your vision and your feet slip as you take off again.

“Come to me, when you feel so inclined, and I will always be willing to let you find me.”

All of this steals your breath and claims your focus, and maybe that’s why you don’t hear a once familiar voice or register Satoru’s exclamation of someone’s name. By the time you skid around a corner and the station opens up, what lies before you is unfathomable, and you stop. The dark hair of a friend you thought was gone and buried is jarring and unexpected. Across from Suguru, Satoru’s face is crumpled and broken, and he is forced to his knees and tangled up in something you don’t understand. You go to call for him, not thinking in any sensible way, and his name only halfway slips out before there is a pressure at your chest and you realize a fatal mistake has been made.

“When you are caught off guard, you freeze, even if I would always remind you that it makes for bad prey.”

It’s a horrid habit, most unbecoming of a sorcerer, and it’s unfortunate—now that memory serves you—how you never seemed to grow out of it.

A patchwork face of pale skin and blue hair takes up most of your field of vision, and you slowly look down to see the hand resting between your breasts. The noise around you has started to fade away, and your attention is drawn to the flicker of white-hot pain somewhere beneath your ribs. Those fingers begin to curl against your sternum, the tips digging into the fabric of your blouse, and the noise that escapes your lips is strained and might just sound like someone’s name.

Did you always know what it feels like to have steel part your flesh?

Pain and pressure are mounting, and something is keeping you upright as your chest threatens to cave in on itself. Your eyes flicker over the shoulder of the curse that stands in front of you, but the devastated look on Satoru’s face as he screams your name has you wishing you had closed them instead.

It’s alarming to feel how hot your blood is as it pours down your chest.

Satoru’s voice reaches a fever pitch. The lights seem to flicker, but it’s more likely your vision is going because blood is starting to paint your front scarlett. In the distance, though it’s nearing, a thundering roar of regret and retribution shakes the ground and the very walls surrounding you all. But something inside of you is being ripped in two, and all you can think of last is how fitting it seems.

“I will always find you.”

How terribly he has cursed you.

---------------------------------

Ryomen Sukuna finds it wholly unfair and unnecessarily cruel that on two separate occasions he has felt your heart stop beating—that this is twice now he has been incapable of making it to you in time.

Itadori Yuji is slumped back against a wall and something is being forced down his throat. The boy is just barely alive, and yet Sukuna thrashes against the boundaries of his control. You are here, and he is stuck. Another finger is consumed and Sukuna thinks he can get Itadori’s head to turn. Your heartbeat is frantic. One more finger, and if he strains hard enough, pointed fingernails spring from Itadori’s fingertips. Sukuna thinks he might hear you say his name, but it’s hushed and far away, and it could be his own wishful thinking. One last finger and Sukuna bursts forth, obliterating whatever—whoever—stands in his way.

He can sense your panic and hear the way your white-haired lover screams your name. In desperation, he crashes through metal and brick, ripping down walls and plummeting through tiled floors in an effort to reach you. He sets Gojo Satoru free from the trap designed to seal him (it’s what you would have wanted, and Sukuna is weak to your whims) and destroys the two curses who had orchestrated this whole ordeal. However, once again, he is too far and too late, and there is nothing to do when you are dead before your body hits the floor. What remains of the crumbling train station goes eerily silent, and Sukuna knows he’ll spend the next thousand years hating himself again.

When dust and debris clear from his vision at the same time he shakes it from his clothes, Sukuna sees Gojo stumble his way to you. There is a keening, wounded sound coming from his mouth and it overlaps with the way he gasps out your name. Even Sukuna can admit it’s painful to watch as he trips over bodies and staggers on hunks of sheetrock before he can fall to his knees beside you. Gojo is sobbing by the time he is able to slip his hands under your shoulders and lift your body up enough to clutch you to his chest. He moans and laments as he rocks you in his arms and Sukuna debates if putting him out of his misery would be the kinder thing to do.

He waits a few feet back, still in the shadows and either ignored or unnoticed. As he sniffles and pants, your husband staggers to his feet with you in his arms and turns in Sukuna’s direction. There is blood seeping through your shirt from a cavity in your chest and your head hangs loosely just over the crook of his elbow. Your eyes are shut and his fingers grip desperately into your knees from where his hand is curled under them. He begins to walk dazedly, his footsteps stilted and unbalanced, and the sorcerer stares blankly ahead.

Your body is limp and lifeless, and the way your legs swing slightly in time with his strides bring about memories that live fresh in Sukuna’s mind even though they are centuries and centuries old.

It is your neck this time, delicately flayed with fatal precision. The white nightgown he had peeled off of you hours before is saturated in a red so deep it will never wash out. It trickles down your shoulder to seep into the bedding under where you lay, and Sukuna is uncertain if he should be grateful that your eyes had slid shut in your final moments. Seeing them empty and dull as they now are would haunt him for all the days to come.

He could do no more for you than slide his upper arms under your knees and below your head so that you are nestled in his arms. He carries you out from the tent, and the whole of the camp goes absolutely silent.

There is nothing left by the time Sukuna is done. Trees laid flattened for miles and there are body parts strewn in branches and thrown against rocks. Ripped sheets of fabric rustle against the ground as a stiff wind catches them, and smoke pours up towards the blue-black of the sky.

Sukuna does not feel anything else besides mind-numbing pain and searing loss. He sees no point in honoring your last request to consider the lives of worthless mortals. He has you no longer, and there is no one to prevent the complete decimation of everything around him.

When Sukuna returns to his estate, alone and despondent, he takes one look at the flowers blooming in the garden and sets it all ablaze.

When Gojo is nearly past him, Sukuna jerks forward involuntarily to take you into his own arms, but the snarl of utter hatred that twists the other sorcerer’s face nearly makes him step back. It’s then he remembers that you do not belong to him in this lifetime, that you have loved and married another, and again Sukuna has lost you in more ways than one. It sends something white-hot racing through each limb, erasing the same numbness that is familiar to him, and the earlier bloodshed is not enough to satiate the rage that overtakes him. He is a couple fingers more powerful and in control again, (though not soon enough), and at current, there is no one else near—nor capable—other than your widower husband.

Sukuna imagines that the same hatred on Gojo’s face is reflected on his own, and maybe the two strongest sorcerers are bound to have it out for more reasons than one. Gojo probably blames him for the state of everything around him and for how you lay dead and cold. Sukuna craves to put a fist into your husband’s face because he had the opportunity to have you when he didn’t, and for failing to do what Sukuna also couldn’t. There’s a mutual understanding between the two, and he lets Gojo pass behind him.

Sukuna watches as he finds an alcove of fallen stone and places you gently under it. His fingers smooth down over your hair and his lips whisper declarations of love against your forehead when he leans down over you. It’s sickening and gut wrenching, not unlike what Sukuna did when he finally laid you to rest when it was his turn. It pains him greatly. You pain him greatly, and by the time Gojo whirls around, Sukuna is ready.

---------------------------------

The Honored One is still braced in a fighting stance though blood drips from his nose and parts of his clothing hang in tatters. The King of Curses has gashes that mar his arms and one that slices down over his right eye. Both of their chests expand with more effort than usual. Satoru has two fingers ready to twine with another, and Sukuna’s hands hover next to each other in front of his chest. They are surrounded by open night, having leveled the rest of the station in their fighting, and somewhere far off sirens blare and lights flicker.

Gojo’s face is pale and wild, his eyes empty and devoid of everything, and for a split second Sukuna empathizes with him. He had felt the same lack of emotion a thousand years ago, experienced immense loss and knew nothing else but the pain of it.

“You wish to close your eyes in the hopes that she is alive and waiting for you when you open them again,” Sukuna tells him, and his words are not gentle, but maybe understanding.

Gojo offers no retort and barely moves, though his eyes do flicker once to where your body is lying a distance away, sheltered by the stone you lay under and the careful way they fought to avoid bringing about any more damage to you.

“You wish to find her in death,” Sukuna continues. His voice is all knowing and authoritative, and his sympathies for his rival end here. “Yet, I am the one who finds her in life.”

An elegant white brow springs upward. “You’ve lost her twice now. Do you think you’ll live long enough to see her a third time?”

Black tattoos twitch erratically as the some of the composure on Sukuna’s face slips, and he bares his teeth at the other sorcerer. “When I find her a third time, if you happen to be around, I suggest not getting in my way.”

The laughter that pours out of Gojo again is hollow and maniacal and carries through the night until it trails off into emptiness. The two stare at each other, each with their own silent promises and resolute in their determination to see them finished. Immense power flickers over them both, but only one of them would walk away alive.

Gojo Satoru hopes to be victorious and spare you from death should what Ryomen Sukuna say is true and he lives long enough again to doom you a third time.

Gojo Satoru cannot deny that he desperately wishes for what the King of Curses has just described. If only things were so simple, so that he could close his eyes and open them to see you next to him. Maybe this time, fate would be kinder to you both.

Gojo Satoru isn’t sure if he wants to win this fight, yet duty burdens him.

Ryomen Sukuna despairs at the thought of prowling the earth for another unknown amount of time while waiting to be reunited with you. He thinks of what could have happened if he had been whole, if there weren’t still pieces of him missing. Would you have given in to the lure of him and remembered what once was? Maybe then he could have saved you.

Ryomen Sukuna fears one possibility, and will forever ponder if his curse in life is to always lose you just after he’s found you. Would a brutal and sanguineous history always repeat itself? Until he can find out, there are countless cities to lay waste to and souls to torture, but years still pass rather slowly when one is deprived of the thing they want most.

Ryomen Sukuna wonders which of the two of them would find you first, should he and the white-haired sorcerer both perish. Perhaps they’re destined to battle for you then, too.

---------------------------------

Many, Many Years Ago

Hidden away in the desolate countryside, a being sits by candlelight to chronicle the life of their master. They escaped the chaos of his demise, wrought by his own doing and the cowardice of pathetic mortals, and are now waiting for the day of his return. In the meantime, they take it upon themselves to ensure that history is recorded with pinpoint accuracy.

There are minor adjustments to be made however, if for nothing more than to maintain their master’s legacy as something well respected. There is no need for the dalliances of a woman to mar the pages of an otherwise heroic tale, and leaving evidence of such weakness would be a disservice on their part.

Uraume has already deigned themselves once with the responsibility of removing such hindrances from their master’s focus. It would be of no trouble for them to serve Sukuna-sama in such a way again.

An unfortunate and momentary affliction, Uraume thinks, and then they swirl their brush into black ink and begin to write.

---------------------------------

Epilogue

Consciousness comes to you on the tail of a wayward breeze. It is cool against your skin and flows from behind where dusky night has settled into the sky. In front of you, the last remnants of a blushed orange sunset begin to dip below the trees and blacken their silhouettes. With it, warmth bleeds away.

You blink at the sight of it, and even that feels slow and languid. You step forward and the grass that hovers above your ankles rustles and cracks beneath your feet. Awareness is not sudden but trickles in with every point of connection between the sole of your foot and the ground.

Pink and white, faceless bodies, and odd echoing voices.

You walk further and let your fingertips tap and twitch in the empty air by your sides until your nail digs into your skin.

Old and new, landscapes that vary so differently in what views they offer, and they feel so very far from one another.

You stop without realizing it, and a man calls out your name. You perceive it as your own right then, but every detail that would fill in a composite picture for what it means still slips in gradually. You first turn your head enough to focus on the outline of a horizon just to your right, then again to glance over your shoulder and allow the first glimpse of your profile to whoever stands behind you.

The pitter patter of rain and the warmth of someone’s arms.

Consciousness and awareness do not heed the passing seconds as something to be considered significant. Perhaps, by the time you shift your weight into your heels and allow the beckoning of the presence behind you to steal your attention, recognition will have returned to you. Maybe then, the face that awaits you won’t seem so unfamiliar.

---------------------------------

A big thank you to everyone who read and left comments for this story! I had such fun writing it, and I hope you all enjoyed it.

Now, I'm off to find something soft and fluffy because I have thoroughly hurt my own feelings <3

Taglist: @kalopsia-flaneur ; @kafanizdakicokiyi ; @rosso-seta ; @lululala06

#gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x reader #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jujustu kaisen

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mogamuncher · 2 months ago

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“You're on a path in the woods. And at the end of that path, is a cabin. And in the basement of that cabin, is a knight. You are here to slay him. If you don't, it will be the end of the world.”

Please accept my meager shitty art as we come back for part three of the "Moga fuses her hyperfixations together" saga! Aka: Slay the Knight AU!

Here's what I think Emilia and Subaru would look like, in true STP fashion I imagine both would never be referred to by name, instead being The Knight and The Frozen Bond (hah, get it?)

I made Emilia a little scary (and kinda Satella-esque), but that's mainly because from what we see in The Princess and The Dragon route, The Long Quiet is just actually fucking scary, so having Emilia be similarly intimidating would be fun.

Though I do think her personality would remain the same in this au, mainly because she's nice enough that she would naturally play mediator to the the voices, but malleable enough that she could just end up going with their whims when pushed enough.

Now for Subaru, I actually wanted to give him a definitive outfit that would kinda function like the Princess's dress, something that is a constant in every design but changed to fit the theme, the recognizable trait that showcases that no matter how fucked up these forms get they're still the same person

That's kinda why the little cape is there, it's supposed to be a significant design choice that can be warped with future forms

For the official lore, I like to think that it's still actually very similar:

The Frozen Bond, the manifestation/god of stasis, consistency, the chilling frozen in time allure of stagnation

While Subaru would be something like The Returning Cycle, the manifestation/god if constant change, perspective and identities splitting depending on choices, the constant cycle of time

Together they'd make the cycle of life and death, in a sense, and since Echidna in canon was trying to find a way to reach immortality, it is only fitting that she would split them apart and attempt to pit them against the other, as to goad Emilia into killing Subaru, this ending the concept of change, making it so that there is no means of which others can die.

But that's what I have for the moment, now, let's talk about some more ideas I have for the IF Barus

The Prisoner, my beloved

I rewatched someone playing her route and it dawned on me when The Shifting Mound described her as a vessel, but she's oddly a lot like Slothbaru

The idea of someone cautious to the point of stagnation, content to let the world pass her and remain in inaction, I mean, that's literally what Sloth is shown to be in the og series. That's also inherently what Slothbaru did when he took Rem's hand and ran away, leaving everyone else to die, but gaining a happy life for himself

Prisoner is like an Slothbaru that can't take Rem's hand, content to let the world pass him by for the sake of self preservation, but stuck in one place without the chance of running away, he can only wait and see because he's inherently passive, as he thinks he has no other choice

The Adversary, however, is the funniest one I think

Someone mentioned in the last post in the tags that Adversary is kinda Smolbaru coded, so I went back to read the arena fights in arc 7 and y'know what? They're correct, they're absolutely right, The Adversary is very much just Smolbaru

Which is funny, because The Adversary is supposed to be bigger and stronger than usual, though maybe it's either just that his personality is Smolbaru and his appearance is still intimidating, or we go all in and have Smolbaru just absolutely kick Emilia's ass with his bare hands in this one

Either way, I love it, also this is the route where Priscilla (Voice of the Proud) would show up, so having an Arc 7 Baru here would be a nice touch

Ok so I'm about to sound unhinged, but the Grey's

What if they were Natsumi.

Now, look, I have no evidence to back me up on this, I'm going off from pure vibes alone, but like what if

Honestly, it would be fun to have most of the Deadbarus be in some way or another Natsumi coded, though that would be fused with the Baru that lead to their routes in the first place (like Arc 1 Baru for the Burned Grey and Slothbaru for the Drowned Grey)

I mean, look at The Wraith and The Spectre

Imagine if the Spectre was more akin to Natsumi in her purest form, since the Spectre is actually surprisingly chill and nice about this whole thing, and then if you attempt to leave him there, you get the Wraith

A withered rotten version of Natsumi, falling apart at the seams and determined to hitch a ride and finally leave

In more confirmed Barus; Wrathbaru as The Witch and The Thorn, Greedbaru as Happily Ever After and Arc 1-2 Baru as The Damsel, The Nightmare would be Gluttonybaru and A Moment Of Clarity would still be Gluttonybaru but with more Louis/Rui elements

Again, I accept suggestions, and tell me if you want me to make more art for this AU, maybe I can draw more Barus and also the voices, who knows?

Edit: good news gang, I actually did in fact write this! The first chapter of this au is out here!

#re:zero #natsuki subaru #subaru natsuki #slay the princess princess #slay the princess #rezero au #slay the princess au #slay the knight au

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nastylittleghouls · 8 months ago

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Individuality is fine, as long as we all do it together

Relationship(s): Aether/Dewdrop, implied polyghouls

Rating: Teen and up

Words: ca. 2.5k

Summary: The sight that greets Aether when he finally returns to the ghoul common room after a too-long shift melts his heart and momentarily drowns out his bone-deep exhaustion. The pulsing pain. It’s balm for his lonely soul. He wants it painted, framed, and hung over the fireplace. OR Two Ghouls willfully ignore their own limits in favor of others

Tags and warnings: Nerds in love, chronically ill Ghouls, movie reference, light banter, jokes with a sexual reference

Notes: Combines the Day 3 Mushy May prompt “Massage” and the Bonus “Shut up I'm taking care of you". I'm just winging it at this point because life does not want me to catch up. Many thanks to the wonderful @forlorn-crows for bringing Mushy May back this year. Unbeta'ed

AO3 for the so-inclined First/Second Mushies

The sight that greets Aether when he finally returns to the ghoul common room after a too-long shift melts his heart and momentarily drowns out his bone-deep exhaustion. The pulsing pain. It’s balm for his lonely soul. He wants it painted, framed, and hung over the fireplace.

He stops rolling his tense shoulders, stops stretching his limbs to keep the burning in muscles of his body at bay, and simply stands in the door frame, taking his time to take it all in and commit it to memory.

There’s Dew, on the brink of falling asleep. His eyelids fluttering closed, upper body tipping over just so only to snap open as his instincts shock him back awake. The process repeats itself a few moments later. And it‘s all for Aether. Or well, because of him. As warm and fuzzy, and admittedly a little horny, as it makes him feel that Dew waits up for him and that he doesn’t have to come back to a quiet, empty den and can instead spend some precious moments with Dew, it never fails to make Aether feel guilty as well. There are just so many better, healthier, more enjoyable things he could do with his time instead of waiting for good ol’ Aether.

But that’s not all of it. What truly gets to him is how individually Dew runs his fingers through the hair of the two ghouls with their heads propped up in his lap. One side treated carefully and focused on the top, the other firm, with his fingers running deep through the strands of hair. An adjustment to his glasses reveals Ifrit and Phantom. Conked out and slightly drooling.

The urge to join is immediate and so is the feeling of envy. Aether would be lying if he denied it, knowing how good Dew’s warm fingers felt running over his scalp and temples and how long Phantom and Ifrit were able to enjoy it while he was stuck somewhere else. How just one touch would ease his ailments so fast. But Aether won’t ask. Not when he can see how stiff the movement of Dew’s fingers still is, remembering this morning when he couldn‘t even get them to bend.

But for a moment Aether only aches for him and his touch and a cooing sound leaves him before he can stop himself.

Dew blinks sleepily in his direction at the sound before, once it falls on Aether, his gaze turns razor-sharp, a smile lighting up his face, fangs flashing.

It’s a hello and finally you’re back in one and the pull of it has Aether moving before he’s aware of it.

“Look at you, taking care of the kids,” Aether quips, as he leans over the back of the couch and brushes his lips first to the back of Dew’s neck, behind his ear, and lastly on his cheek. He lingers there and closes his eyes. Just that little contact, to only breathe Dewdrop’s scent in, feels like his quintessence is channeled back to him with renewed energy. It makes the pain from bending over that shoots down his spine and into his legs and has him freezing up for a good few seconds more than worth it.

Damn the frazzled nerves from too much quintessence use without enough breaks in between and his aging vessel. Not to mention damn himself for sitting outside with Mountain for way too long last night. Dew‘s palm rests on his cheek a second later, holding his face as if he can hear the inner monologue Aether’s hiding from him and wants to tell him it’s okay.

Aether could fall asleep like that. He just might. Who’s going to stop him?

“My husband, he has finally returned from war”

There’s tired laughter in Dew’s mind voice and again, that pang of guilt that sits in Aether‘s chest grows again. That Dew’s choosing to communicate this way says a lot and he presses even closer, smushing his nose into Dewdrop‘s cheek like it can stop that little black hole from growing further.

„He has indeed. Where is his leg poppin' welcome kiss?“

„I‘ll pop something else for him,“ Dew grins, earning him a nip in the jaw but he just leans into it, so he nips at Dew again until he turns his head and rests their foreheads together. Their own little bubble.

Aether sighs dramatically, ramping up the fakeness of it all. „Maybe I wanted to be the one doing the popping, ever thought of that? That it was my lifelong dream? Now my leg will forever be tragically unpopped.“

Ifrit stirs before Dew can unleash his undoubtedly snarky reply to him, and they both look down as he insistently nudges Dew‘s free hand back into petting motions with his nose. Phantom, follows suit, smacks his lips, and rolls over, belly up.

Aether and Dew share a look before a chuckle bubbles out of them.

“Idiots tried to stay up for you with me. Failed pretty hard,” Dew explains, so much fondness in his words that it has Aether wanting to know about the undoubtedly interesting events that took place.

„They fell asleep for a noble cause. Just have to figure out how we get them up and into bed.“ He grasps Dew’s hand, rubbing his thumbs gently over the swelling. He‘d love to use his quintessence to pull all of Dew‘s discomfort into himself but can‘t. He feels the refusal of his being to deplete his energy completely.

“Maybe…”

Mountain's head appears at the kitchen door, followed by the rest of his body after an oddly long moment, holding a jar of chocolate spread in one hand and one of peanut butter in the other. The munchies have struck again it seems.

“I’ll help carry those fools to bed if you wanna?”

Aether opens his mouth to answer, undoubtedly about to decline the offer for some dumb reason, but the look on Dew’s face sends him a clear message. Aether needs to let Mountain help or else. Even in his tired state, it’s no less threatening. So Aether relents. Reluctantly.

“We wanna. We definitely wanna”

Mountain gives them a thumbs up and once he has his hands free, he scoops Ifrit into his arms, while Aether does the same to Phantom. “Fresh, hot fire ghoul delivery goes where?”

“Aether’s room. I may or may not have to keep a promise”

Aether has many questions regarding that statement, the implications giving him the heebie jeebies, but he just nods for Mountain to follow Dewdrop, making him the tail end of their little caravan. Back there, Aether can freely grind his teeth through Phantom’s added weight, through the gritty sand-like feeling in his knees, especially when the smaller ghoul starts chasing something in his sleep, ‘running’ on all fours in the air. Under any other circumstance, Aether would find that hilarious, but as it is he has half a mind to drop Phantom and make it look like an accident.

In the end, he makes it.

They make it.

Aether and Mountain navigate around each other to choose a nice fur for Phantom and Ifrit to curl into each other. Mountain gets the softest of kisses for his help that has the tips of his ears blushing and him stuttering a little as he bids them goodnight.

Dew disappears into the bathroom and Aether hears the water start running as he makes a solid attempt to rid himself of his infirmary uniform, letting out small breaths with each movement after the pain eases again. He has to pause with his undershirt halfway up his torso for so long that he decides to give up. A part of him wishes he was alone. It would take less effort to keep his composure and not worry about inconveniencing anyone else by having to worry about him. It would also mean he would have more space to roll around and ease the strain on himself.

The other part, which is arguably much stronger, craves contact with his pack after being among humans the whole day.

To Dewdrop.

He moves to his nest to position the other two properly, making sure they won‘t roll onto the floor while he and Dew get ready to join them. Both being too wriggly for their own good. A pillow here, trapping the hem of the blanket under a foot there. Smoothing his hands over their frames to remove the creasing. He manages a kiss on Ifrit’s forehead before a tail curls around his middle and two hot hands pull him gently toward the bathroom.

„I wasn‘t done. They….“

The little protest dies on his lips, snuffed out by the spade of Dew’s tail. His words. They‘re neither firm nor demanding, just matter of fact.

„Nope. It’s Firefly time now“

And what his Firefly wants, his Firefly gets.

Fresh herbs fill his nose, prominently, lemon grass, chamomile, and rosemary and he recognizes the mixture. Aether can see the little linen bag floating in the tub, infusing the water with swirls of color. Greens and Yellows. Browns that dissolve into faint reds and pinks.

He remembers the complimenting tincture that sits on the tiled shelf next to the bathtub and lists the ingredients of both in his mind. Epsom salt, Lavender, peppermint, sage, and thyme. Something ghoulish Mountain adds, to increase the effect of pain reduction and anti-inflammation for them. Somehow that particular one slips his mind right now. His head filled with too many human words. He only knows that Dew loves the smell of it. Especially on either of their skin.

Dew works on getting Aether‘s shirt off and stretches it enough to be able to pull it over his arms without the other ghoul having to move them too much. Leans in to kiss his collarbones, his pecs and tucks his face into his neck to breathe him in while he loosens Aether’s pants enough to give them and his boxers a little shove to let them pool around the tall ghoul's feet to step out of easily.

„You don‘t have to do this“

Aether mirrors the gesture in a strange counterpoint to his words and drags his nose up the side of Dewdrops’s throat with a sigh, the tips of his tongue coming out to play too. Dewdrop shivers and he wishes they had the energy for more.

„I know“

„I‘m just saying, you‘re tired. You should sleep“.

„I don’t want to sleep“

With that, he runs his hands over Aether’s arms, the swollen hot joints in Dewdrop's fingers feeling like hot stones on his skin. He badly wants to sag forward into Dewdrop's embrace and get lost in his touch. He just doesn’t think he deserves it when Dewdrop’s in pain too. He should be the one helping him, he should….

Yet he sways forward just as Dewdrop’s hands slide higher and steal Aether’s glasses off of his nose, smiling oh so softly up at him.

“I want you”

Aether has to try one more time for his own peace of mind.

„But you‘re…“

„I haven‘t touched you all day and I am starved for it, that‘s what I am. So shut up. I’m taking care of you.”

Before Aether can react to the blatant vulnerability, Dew’s clothes join Aether‘s on the floor and he’s in the tub, making himself comfortable

He wriggles his finger at Aether when crooking it fails. „C‘mere“

It‘s clear what he wants. It‘s just one of those moments where Aether‘s too aware of his size, even after all these years. While he can work it most of the time, precise and proud, it feels impossible right now. If he slips, he might not be able to catch himself, and….He decidedly does not finish that thought, the potential outcome already looming humiliatingly at the edge of his mind. Paralyzing in its nature.

„Starlight….Stop thinking and get the fuck in“

The fond exasperation in Dewdrop’s voice makes Aether smile despite himself. He knows he‘s too deep in his head, overthinking things. Most of his positive thoughts blanketed by layers of doubts and insecurities, increased by his exhaustion. His own weakness projected on Dewdrop when he knows, he knows!, Dewdrop is far from it.

And he really would love to be the little spoon if he’s being honest.

Carefully, Aether climbs into the tub and gingerly lowers himself between slender thighs, and instantly the heels of Dewdrop's hands press into the hardened areas on Aether’s back, nimble fingers loosening the knots and a clever tongue showering him with praises and encouragement. Peeling the dark layers back to let Dewdrop‘s light in, quieting the nasty voices in Aether’s mind. The hot, infused water takes care of the rest. Relaxes muscles and nerves.

He wants to sob with how loved he feels.

Aether doesn’t know when he snoozed off but wakes to Dew guiding him to lay back against his chest and starting to work on his front with one of those spiky massage balls. He feels floaty, the previous pain only an echo in his body now. He tilts his head up, kissing along Dew’s jaw, with mumbles of „Thank you. ‘m sorry for fallin’ asleep“ and promises he’ll take care of him now until Dew can’t help but seek his lips out, shushing him effectively.

The kiss is slow at first, lazy. It’s them catching up on what they had to miss out on during the day. A well well-timed flick of tongue tips it over into heated and deep, small appreciative moans bouncing off of the tiles. Dew’s hands splay over Aether’s belly with a hint of claws, a touch that feels simultaneously claiming and grounding and Aether can’t help but cover them with his own and keep them there just before the kiss tapers off into a gentle slide of lips and happy purrs. Until it’s simply them breathing each other's air. Twins of a smitten smile gracing their faces.

Then Dewdrop shifts, directing their attention to a different, but in Dewdrop’s opinion no less important matter. Aether quirks an eyebrow, a teasing smile on his lips.

„Guess you told me you’d pop something else for me”

When Aether cracks an eye open the next morning because he’s repeatedly jostled by something, it’s just in time to watch Ifrit and Phantom roll by like a tumbleweed in the desert. Wrestling or making out, he can’t quite tell. In times like these, he curses having a nest as big as this. Dew yawns next to him, his lips finding Aether‘s warm, sleep-scented skin, kissing up a trail to his face.

“Your kits are awake” Aether sighs, letting his eye fall closed again. If they notice that they're awake too it's over. Dew dares to raise his head to peer over the hem of the duvet, hums speculatively, and then burrows himself further into his spot.

„Before sunrise, they’re your kits.”

#Aether Ghoul #Dewdrop Ghoul #nameless Ghouls #Phantom Ghoul #Aeon Ghoul #Mountain Ghoul #Ifrit Ghoul #namless ghouls #ghost ghouls #mushy may #Mushy May 2024 #ghost fanfic #ghost fanfiction #the band ghost #ghost bc #the band ghost fanfic #Mighty Feathers #Dewther #Aether/Dewdrop

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astro-b-o-y-d · 10 months ago

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Triangulum - Chapter 3 - An Unwelcomed Guest

— — — — — — —

Bill’s head hurt.

A searing ache throbbed at the back of his skull while consciousness returned to him once again. No pain in recent memory compared to something like this; even getting his eye ripped out of its socket had been more of an inconvenience at worst. It took forever to regenerate those things!

The closest thing he could compare such intense pain to was his outright death, which sent a jolt of panic through his mind that only furthered his headache. He wasn’t dead again, was he—

“Why would I go through all this effort to bring you back, only to deceive you about what I have to offer?”

Oh. Right.

Any concerns were washed away in an instant as the feathery face of the shelduck drifted to the front of his mind. Not just their face, but the conversation the two of them had shared in the mindscape. The game they had wanted him to play, their contract, the destruction of the barrier as a prize—

—something was wrong.

Even with his eyelid still closed, Bill could physically feel a disconnect with his body.

It was difficult to verbalize properly—his eye felt too distant from his limbs, and his usual shape felt noticeably altered. As if he’d slipped into a costume with lots of awkward parts, ones that stuck out in ways that forced him to be aware of their existence as he tried to descend down a narrow passageway.

Almost exactly how he’d felt whenever he possessed someone in the past.

But the way the body suited itself around his existence, it didn’t feel like it would belong to a talking, anthropomorphic shelduck. Even with his eye closed, Bill could still feel a lack of any feathers pinpricking their way through his skin, or a beak protruding from his face—

“When did I ever say you were going to possess me in this game?”

…Ah.

Alright, even he couldn’t ignore a good loophole dodge when he saw it. Point to Tangy for their oh-so-clever little trick; he’d be sure to give them kudos for it later.

Kudos in the form of soaking their tacky windbreaker in a gallon of rotten tuna fish for a month. Good luck getting the smell out after that one, Birdbrain!

“—what if he’s not even in there anymore?”

“Yeah, he could’ve jumped out after Wendy clunked him on the back of the head!”

“Are we even sure it’s him in the first place? Just sayin’, some random kid cackling maniacally in the middle of the woods isn’t the weirdest thing to happen around here.”

“Everyone just hold on a second, I’m trying to think—”

The sound of frantic, hushed voices stirred him further awake, and he fluttered his eyelid—no, wait, eyelids plural—open the tiniest amount to investigate.

It didn’t seem like Birdbrain had taken any extreme measures with his vision; he still possessed a functioning eyeball. But rather than being set in the center of his face, his vision had taken a hard shift to the left and weakened to a noticeable degree. And while his vision hadn’t carried over to the right side of his face, he could feel another eyeball rotating around in its socket.

Almost as much as he could feel a set of teeth and tongue in a separate cavity much lower on his face—oh, eugh, he’d forgotten how bizarre it felt to have his face parts separated like this, and not even the fun kind of bizarre!—or a protruding nose right smack dab between his new pair of eyes.

Alright, so Birdbrain had gone humanoid for his vessel. Bit cliché, but nothing he wasn’t used to by this point. And if his mouth and eye placement weren’t enough to confirm this fact, peering open his eyelids further revealed his head to be slumped forwards, gaze fixed on a pair of black-panted human legs that were clearly attached to his body.

Yep, there was no denying that he’d been slapped back into a meatsuit mecha.

An even-riskier peek around him revealed he was currently tied up in some sort of bedroom. One clearly owned by the word’s most generic older woman of all time; creme-colored floral wallpaper decorated the walls, a shelf lined with creepy, porcelain dolls was situated near the door, and a comfortable old recliner had been set up near the fireplace—

—hang on, wasn’t this just the parlor room in the Shack?

“He’s awake!”

Shoot. Guess he’d made it a bit too obvious that he’d regained consciousness.

Bill’s head snapped up to full height at the sudden exclamation, only find himself on the receiving end of a number of different intimidation methods—all to various degrees of effectiveness.

Mabel’s weapon of choice was her beloved grappling hook. One of the better options of the bunch; metal was strong enough to shatter a fragile human skull if aimed at just the right spot and applied with just enough power and force. Terrible for his current vessel, but Bill could appreciate a healthy level of bloodlust.

Stan’s brass-knuckled fists were—admittedly—also an inspired choice, given how effective his fists had been in the past. A fact that Bill was happy to ignore and brush to the side as he shifted his attention over to—

—the random plank of wood in Dipper’s hands, one he was gripping tightly with all the intimidation of a mildly-inconvenienced kitten. Yeesh, had he even tried?

Of course, Pine Tree’s embarrassing incompetence was compensated in full by the gun in Ford’s hand, both the barrel and his own violent gaze locked onto Bill like his life depended on it.

Hmm, that was annoying.

And here Bill had hoped he could keep his return discreet for at least a short while before these suckers caught wind. Maybe strike some fear and uncertainty in their naive minds by staring ominously at them through their windows, only to vanish from sight when they came over to investigate.

Were their minds playing tricks on them now that they were back in town? Were they simply paranoid as a result of what happened the year before? Or was there really someone watching them beyond the shadows of the trees?

Maybe if his methods were effective enough, Ford would even start shooting at the woods in a blind panic. Heck, maybe one of the kids would even get caught in the crossfire!

Y’know, fun stuff like that.

But unfortunately for Bill, it seemed like he’d dropped right into the belly of the beast and Ford had gained the upper hand while he’d been unconscious.

Any attempts to move his new human limbs revealed them to be restrained to the chair he was seated upon; arms tucked behind the back and bound at the wrists, torso tied in place—what, had there been a sale on rope or something? It was a miracle they’d left his legs alone—or maybe they’d just run out of rope by that point?

Nope, an abandoned piece near the far wall rendered that guess incorrect. Maybe they just hadn’t had enough time to restrain his legs, then?

Moving the focus back to his captors, Bill’s gaze bounced from person to person as he took a quick stock of their expressions. Unanimous hatred and fury trying so desperately to mask the uncertainty and fear behind their expressions. The clear desire to come across as intimidating, despite the trembling hands around their weapons.

So much fear, despite having the upper hand over him. Bill was tied to a chair and barely conscious, yet he could get a reaction like this outta them?

Good.

Because otherwise, he had no idea how he would be able to spin this situation to his advantage. With the element of surprise and mobility no longer an option for him, tapping into those fears and insecurities was the only weapon that Bill had left at his disposal.

Speaking of which—

The silence in the room stretched on as the Pines continued to stare at him, to the point where Bill was starting to grow bored. Sure, leaving them forever entrenched in uncertainty might be fun in theory, but that also required him to remain quiet for just as long.

And while that wasn’t an impossible order, Bill Cipher was not the kind of triangle to sit and behave quietly if he had any say in the matter.

He needed just the right comment to break the ice. A perfect reintroduction to his presence in their lives, one that would only strengthen that fear behind their eyes.

“I gotta ask, what didja think a gun was gonna do against me?” he asked with a grin at Ford. “I mean, do you really think regular old bullets are going to be enough to get the job done?”

His pupil flicked over to Dipper. “Guess it’s better than whatever Junior’s got going on over there, though,” he said. “Seriously, Pine Tree, a piece of wood? I guess you might have a chance at beating me in a game of interdimensional rock-paper-scissors, but outside of that, I don’t like your odds.”

Just for good measure, he punctuated everything with his loud, trademark cackle—one that shook the room and everyone in it.

Oh yeah, that’d do the trick nicely.

Sure enough, everyone’s grip on their weapons tensed, the fear in their faces now completely tangible as the worst scenario they could possibly imagine was confirmed.

“Bill.”

It was Ford who spoke first, tone marinaded in venom as he stared Bill down. Such vitriol sent another cackle throughout Bill, his body wiggling with delight against the bonds that held him to the chair. “Aww, it’s good to see you too, Sixer~!” he said sweetly. “What’s it been, about nine months now? Nice beard, by the way. Really brings your face together in a way that those sideburns didn’t, know what I mean?”

His amusement fell with a vindictiveness he made no attempt to mask. “Although if you ask me, I’d suggest taking up that old face-burning habit of yours to clear everything up and start fresh,” he said, narrowing his eye—eyes. “I mean, you’re clearly the expert in burning things around here. Facial hair, bridges, minds with me in them—”

Bill was cut off by the cold, threatening steel of the gun barrel being pressed against his cheek, pupil flitting up to Ford’s own cold, threatening gaze. “Stop talking.”

Oh, he was real mad.

Of course, not even Ford’s ire was enough to silence Bill completely, and he managed a smug grin despite the distortion of his cheek against the weapon’s tip. “Again I ask: just a regular gun? No Quantum Destabilizer? No memory-erasing device or fancy-schmancy magical weapon from your precious journals? You must really getting dull in your old age if you're busting out the repeat performances, Fordsy.”

He tilted his head, half in thought and half to give himself some breathing room. “Although I have to wonder why you didn’t just try to kill me while I was knocked out, if you’re this trigger-happy?”

The answer to that one was pretty obvious. Given their initial reactions, they hadn’t been certain if he had actually been possessing someone—and they weren’t about to go and murder an innocent human on the off-chance they were wrong. And now that he was awake and his presence confirmed, they weren’t about to go and murder an innocent human while he was possessing them.

And if that was truly the case, it probably meant he was free to run his mouth as much as he wanted.

Probably.

Maybe?

“Ooh, lemme guess: you wanted me to be awake before you pumped me full of lead?”

…Aw, heck with it; he couldn’t resist a chance to press a few more of Ford’s buttons! To really test the waters on what he could get away with saying or doing. “Well, I’d love to see you take your best shot at it~!” he continued with a wide grin, one that show far too much of his gums. Guess that was one benefit to having a humanoid vessel again. “I know it’ll probably get a real laugh outta the poor sucker I’m puppeting around now—”

There was a click of the hammer as the tip was pressed further into his cheek, to the point where not even leaning away from it would pull Bill out of its line of fire.

Alright, limit reached for the time being. “Okay, okay, geez, I get the picture,” he said, rolling his eyes in annoyance. “Can I at least ask for a mirror or something? I wanna see what I’m working with over here.”

Okay, maybe one more. “I’d fetch one myself, but as you can see, I’m a bit tied up at the moment~!”

Ha. Hilarious.

Luckily for him, his clever little risk seemed to pay off in the unexpected way of making Ford lower his weapon, with an added bonus of painting a look of confusion across his face. And judging by the looks being exchanged between the other family members, it was clear that his little joke had been far more effective in causing confusion than he’d originally intended.

After a few more minutes of perplexed silence between them, it was Mabel who eventually—and hesitantly—spoke up with a: “You…don’t know what you look like?”

Hmm, an unexpected question to follow the unexpected responses. And a stupid one at that; did she really expect him to give her the honest, unfiltered truth when prompted? If she did, the answer to that question would be a resounding “It’s funny how dumb you are, Shooting Star~!”, followed by a bout of condescending laughter to drive the point home.

And the answer to her former question would probably be that same reply and condescending laughter. There was no chance across the entire multiverse that he would tell them about his little deal with Tangy. Birdbrain had said it themselves back in their mindscape: the second they found out that he was playing a game where the prize was the destruction of the barrier, the second Ford would do everything in his power to keep him restrained until the end of the game.

Or, well—more restrained than he was already.

Still, as good as his clever little joke had been, he had unintentionally dropped a small hint to them about his situation.

Guess it was time to do what he did best; scramble their mushy little brains more than he’d done already and throw them completely off the right track.

“I mean—it was all kind of a blur when I possessed the guy,” he said casually, leaning back in the chair as far as he could. “Didn’t exactly feel like stopping and sussing out all the details, not when the chance to stretch my legs again after spending nine months as a lawn ornament was right there in front of me—hey, come on—”

The barrel of the gun was at his cheek again as Ford gave him another warning look. “Don’t listen to a single word he says,” he said, directing the statement at the others. “We have no reason to believe that what he’s telling us is the truth, so don’t take any stock in anything he’s saying.”

Bill narrowed his eyes up at him. Spoilsport. Spoilsport and a hypocrite, to boot! “Oh, yeah, that’s rich, Sixer,” he said bitterly. “But I guess you would know what it’s like to give people a reason not to trust you, wouldn’t you?”

His functional pupil bounced over to Stan, the corners of his mouth twitching with the threat of a smile. “I’m just saying: the last time we saw each other, you were promising to finally give me that equation,” he said, with a look back to Ford. “But then when I ended up making the deal, it wasn’t your brain I ended up in, was it—OW!”

The tip of the gun was jammed so hard against his cheek that the skin would likely be bruised in the shape of a triangle later. “Stop talking—”

“Alright, that’s it.”

Before Ford could respond, Stan’s hand was back on his shoulder and gently goading him towards the door. “Ford, come on, let’s just—”

“Stan—”

“He’s tied up, Soos says the rope’s got the unicorn stuff woven into it,” Stan kept trying. “Let’s just step outside for a sec. Kids, why don’t you go with him? I’ll be with you in a few minutes, just—”

“We’re on it.”

Ford opened his mouth to protest further, but Mabel had already taken one of his hands in her own while Dipper claimed the other. “Come on, Grunkle Ford,” Mabel said, giving his hand an encouraging tug. “Let’s go wait in the hallway.”

“Yeah, why don’t you go ahead and leave, Sixer~?” Bill teased with a kick of his feet. “I’m sure I won’t go anywhere while you’re gone!”

A risky taunt, for sure. Ford had turned the gun on him enough times to prove that he was only a few more pokes away from throwing caution to the wind and sticking a bullet between his eyes, regardless of the consequences. Besides, the sooner Bill got the chance to be alone and collect his thoughts, the better.

But at the same time, any opportunity to get under Ford’s skin was just too good to resist—nor did he have any desire to try resisting in the first place!

It seemed to be a lucky day for him in terms of taunt-rope balancing, because Ford pulled his hands from the kids’ embraces and trudged out of the room with calm, restrained steps. Steps clearly powered by every last ounce of self-control he could possibly muster, ones that suppressed a deep, brooding storm that swelled just beneath the surface.

Good. Seethe harder, Stanford.

Eventually the door shut behind him, leaving Stan and the kids—their own hands now void of any that possessed six fingers—behind. Although it was only a second later when the door cracked open again, and one six-fingered hand reentered their line of sight.

A hand that Mabel immediately took hold of again before both her and Dipper hurried out into the hallway after him. Leaving only Bill, Stan, and a deafening silence left in the room.

A deafening silence that Bill was quick to break with a casual: “Gotta say, the beard look is waaaay more natural on you than it is on Sixer. Covers your ugly mug way better than his does.”

Apparently Ford had kept all of the restraint for himself because Stan was back to him before he could blink, and Bill had no time to brace himself as the older man grasped a rugged hand around his throat. “Listen to me, and listen good, Wise Guy,” he growled. “I don’t know how you got back here, and I don’t really care how.”

The hand around Bill’s neck tightened while he balled the other into a fist. “But I punched your lights out once, and I can do it again. As many times as it takes for you to stay down for good.”

He moved the first near Bill’s blinded eye, his good pupil following despite himself. “You try anything with my family again, you’re gonna know what it feels like to get punched to death twice. ¿Comprende?”

It was a threat Bill knew that Stan would hold himself to if necessary. One that Bill couldn’t help but feel a twinge of genuine fear towards as those final memories inside Stan’s head came rushing back to him.

And for a split second, Bill could almost feel the terrifying heat of the flames around them, creeping nearer and nearer as they swallowed every last bit of the room in their destructive wake—

One fatal mistake…

—only for a brief moment, before he flashed Stan another toothy grin. “Seriously though, you should keep that beard. Maybe try and convince Sixer to shave his, I don’t know who I was kidding when I told him it looked good, that was such a bad idea on his part!”

His grin spread wider, once again revealing far too much of the inside of his mouth. “But then again, you might have a little trouble convincing him. Considering your poor track record in fixing mistakes.”

Stan punched him. Hard.

And when Bill crumbled with a shout, pain enveloping the area around his right eye that was sure to be bruised within minutes, Stan turned and stormed out of the room.

Yep—flew too close to the sun with that one.

— — — — — — —

Ford had barely made it out of the room before the stress of the situation brought him to his knees, and Stan entered the hallway to the sight of almost everyone else circled around him in an attempt to bring comfort.

Seeing him, Soos lifted his head. “So, is it really him?”

“Sure looks, sounds, and acts like it,” Stan said. “Alright, so the guy who tried to take over the universe and who we thought was dead is now tied up in the next room, very much the opposite of dead.”

He pressed a weary hand to his temple as he glanced around at the rest of the group. “...Does anybody have a game plan?”

From beside Ford on the floor, Mabel perked up. “What about that zodiac prophecy thingy Grunkle Ford tried to do during Weirdmageddon?” she asked. “Didn’t he say that was supposed to stop Bill?”

“Hey, yeah!” Stan snapped his fingers with an inspired look. “Great idea, Pumpkin, we could try that!”

“But don’t we need all of the symbol-things for it to work?” Soos pointed out. “And out of the original ten, we only have, like—” He paused to count heads. “—six of the people here that we’d need.”

From the spot near the wall where Wendy had seated herself, she lifted her head to join in on the conversation. “Well, then why don’t we just get the other four?” she asked. “I doubt it’d be hard to convince Robbie, Pacifica or the others to help us out. They probably hate Bill as much as we do.”

“We could also try the Quantum Destabilizer,” Dipper added thoughtfully, pressing a hand to his chin. “Grunkle Ford said it could blast Bill back into the Nightmare Realm, but I wonder if that would actually work without a rift to—you know, blast him back through.”

“What do you think, Dr. Pines?” Melody asked, directing the question at Ford.

And suddenly all eyes were back on Ford again, who had yet to move from the spot where he had collapsed after leaving the bedroom—too enveloped in his own overwhelming, smothering thoughts to take any notice to the others’ suggestions.

Bill was alive.

A scenario he had only envisioned in the worst of the nightmares that plagued his head on a nightly basis. A fear that lingered over him like the shadow of a starving predator, waiting to strike its unsuspecting prey when they least expected.

He had wanted to hope so dearly that he’d been dreaming when that child between the birch trees began to laugh in that horrific, familiar way. The bone-chilling laughter that often echoed through the deepest recesses of his mindscape, nothing more than a mere shadow of the one who had once produced it.

But this was no dream, no nightmare, nor a bad memory he could simply banish to the back of his mind—

Bill was alive.

“Dr. Pines?”

“The Zodiac Prophecy is a no-go,” he said, his words forming on their own as he returned to his feet. “The entire town believes that Bill is dead, and letting too many people know that he’s returned could ignite a panic.”

He cast a tense look around at everyone else. “One would argue that too many people know about his return already.”

“Hey, come on, I don’t think anyone here’s in a hurry to go blabbing about him,” Wendy pointed out.

“Regardless, it’s not a liable option at the moment,” Ford continued. “And unfortunately, neither is the Quantum Destabilizer. The only power source stable enough to power the device was only obtainable in another dimension, with the assistance of another another dimension’s Fiddleford McGucket—”

“Oh, yeah, that’s gonna be tough to get, then,” Melody spoke up. “Fiddleford's out of town for a few weeks with his family.”

“We had to put our weekly anime club meetings on hiatus until he got back,” Soos added sadly. “But, that gives all of us plenty of time to catch up on our latest show and discuss our thoughts once he’s back!”

Ford raised his hands. “Wait, that’s not what I—”

“Well, what about when he does get back?” Wendy asked. “I mean—like I said before, I doubt he’d be in a hurry to go blabbing to anyone else. Plus he’s probably smart enough to build anything we’d need to get rid of Bill.”

“Wait, I—”

“Yeah, yeah, good point, Wendy!” Stan said, waggling a finger at her. “The guy turned this place into a giant, robotic, triangle-punching whatchamacallit. He could definitely build some fancy-schmancy power source—”

“You’re missing the point!”

Ford’s fist hit the wall before he could even process his action, and suddenly the hallway was quiet enough to hear a pin drop. His frustration lingered for only a second, before he took a look at the concerned expressions around him—

—and the guilt swiftly drowned any other emotions that had been building inside his chest. “Sorry, that was—sorry,” he said quietly. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

Several pairs of shoulders unclenched as his arm fell back to his side, and Stan moved to him again. “Woah, woah, hey, come on, no one here’s about to judge you for swingin’ a fist,” he assured him. “Feel like outta anyone here, you deserve to do it the most.”

He flicked a thumb back at the bedroom door. “‘Sides, at least you held out as long as you could. I may have given the little jerk a—let’s call it a ‘welcome back gift’.”

A pause. “I…I gave him a black eye, that’s the joke I was trying to make.”

“Non-refundable gift,” Wendy said with a proud nod. “Nice.”

“Stan’s got a point,” Dipper added from Ford’s side. “It’s Bill Cipher. I feel like if anyone deserves to be angry right now, it’s you.”

“Yeah, sorry for uh—sorry if we sounded like we weren’t taking this seriously,” Soos added. “I know how dangerous he is, and Wendy and I even told Melody everything about him ahead of time. Just in case something like this ever happened, of course. A big bad returning during a moment of peace is a common trope in sequels, after all.”

He rolled his hands together. “And since this is the summer after he died…you know, sequel summer? Just…just sayin’, it wasn’t outta the realm of possibilities.”

“I wasn’t sure how much of it was actually true,” Melody admitted. “But also I’ve seen way weirder stuff in this town. So if you all say that kid in there’s actually an evil triangle demon bent on destroying the universe, then I’d believe it.”

“There, you see?” Stan added. “Ain’t nobody here to judge. You be as angry as you want, punch another wall or two if you really gotta.”

“Although if it helps you swing at them less, clearly we’re all on the ball when it comes to thinking of ways to put Cipher back under the ground where he belongs,” Wendy pointed out. “Maybe the stuff we already suggested won’t work, but putting our heads together like this will probably get us somewhere a lot quicker than when you were just doing this by yourself, y’know?”

“Once again, Wendy knows what’s what,” Stan agreed, and gave her a thumbs up. “If I were still your boss, I’d give you a raise.”

“...No, you wouldn’t.”

“No, I wouldn’t.”

He reached over to clasp a hand on Ford’s shoulder. “Point we’re tryin’ to make is that you’ve got your family here for you this time. You don’t have to deal with this alone again.”

“Yeah, Grunkle Ford,” Mabel agreed, casting him a weak smile as she once again tucked a hand into his own. “We’ll do everything we can to help you kick Bill’s butt again!”

Ford’s gaze fell to her face, sweet eyes wide with concern and small hands once again gripping his own tightly. He could feel them trembling, clearly masking just as much fear as he was harboring inside him—

—the same way his had trembled as he pulled the trigger on the memory gun, wiping every little trace of what made his brother himself from his mind.

He forced his gaze to the man at his right, eyes moving up to the face that mirrored his own to a near-identical degree.

The face of the man Ford had cried over for a week straight while he worked so tirelessly, so desperately to restore those lost memories. For whom he had dug out every last movie reel, scrapbook—even old postcards that Stan had sent during his travels across the country, and with whom he had spent several long night poring over the contents.

The man whose confused expression shifted to bright realization as the kids read out the jokes from his favorite joke book, jokes he would follow up with every terrible punchline with perfect recollection. The man who suddenly remembered his and Ford’s brush with the Jersey Devil mid-story, only to go on and tell the back half as if the two of them had only experienced it yesterday.

The man who had risked sacrificing all those precious memories, all of who he was for the sake of the world’s safety. For the sake of his family’s safety.

And now Bill was back, leaving that precious sacrifice nothing more than a pointless suffering for Stanley to have endured.

“I’ll figure out a way to stop Bill by myself,” he said suddenly, pulling his hand out of Mabel’s before turning to the others. “Someone’s going to need to stay up and keep an eye on him tonight anyway. I’ll use that time to come up with a plan, and we can reconvene tomorrow.”

He reached for the doorknob. “As for the rest of you, it’s late and you should be getting to bed.”

Everyone exchanged a series of unsure looks, which Stan vocalized with a: “Do you really expect the rest of us to just sleep while you deal with some all-powerful demon all night?”

“Also, do you really expect us to sleep at all with someone like that in the house?” Wendy added. “I mean, I know he’s kindaaaa—” She made a shrinking motion with her fingers. “—now, but this is the same guy that crawls through people’s heads like a sugar-laced kid in a Hoo-Ha Owl’s playplace, right?”

Ford looked to her, then the other adults with a raised eyebrow. “You said the rope had unicorn hair weaved into it?”

“Well, yeah,” Soos confirmed. “Plus we set up those moonstones, got you that mercury you needed—”

“We have a whole stash of everything in the storage room, too,” Melody added. “If you need any more of anything.”

“Then it should be enough to hold Bill in place for the night,” Ford said matter-of-factly. “And if it’s not—well, I’ll be enough to hold him in place for the night.”

Before anyone could question him further, the bedroom door was opened and shut behind him. Leaving the rest of them out in the hallway, the shrill and barely-muffled greeting of “Welcome back, Fordsy~!” in the bedroom only adding to the unsure aura surrounding them.

Despite the door being closed, Soos held up a hand to the side of his mouth. “Uh, okay! Good night, Dr. Pines!” he called. “Also if you’ve gotta shoot him, please aim the bullets away from Abuelita’s porcelain doll collection!”

Mabel finally let her arm—the one that she had kept outstretched even after Ford let go of her hand—fall back to her side with a dejected sigh. A look that Dipper immediately spotted and moved to her side to comfort her. “I’m sure he didn’t mean it,” he said reassuringly. “Ford’s just worried about Bill, that’s all. And he probably just wants us to stay safe.”

“Yeah, but he doesn’t need to go around makin’ himself unsafe to do that,” Stan said, pressing a hand to his head with an annoyed huff. “Is he out of his mind? What’s he thinking, dealing with all of this by himself?”

Everyone else exchanged a look. “Well, if he doesn’t want our help then…what should we do now?” Melody asked.

With a sigh, Wendy took a wide step away from the wall. “Guess we do what the doc said and try to get some sleep. Dibs on the couch as usual, by the way.”

With that, the shuffled on down the hallway, while the rest of the group silently watched her take her leave. Once she disappeared around the corner, Soos pointed towards a door on the opposite side of the hallway. “Uh, I dunno if it’ll help at all, but Melody and I sleep in the room next to Abuelita’s,” he said to Stan. “If you want, we can sleep in shifts and check in on Dr. Pines for you.”

“And if anything actually happens, one of us can come get you,” Melody added. “Leaving the other person down here to help him if he needs it.”

“Yeah!” Soos said, nodding in agreement. “If anything happens, we’ll come get you, okay?”

Stan hesitated to respond—as if the idea was anything but okay to him—but eventually he gave them a tired nod in return. “Alright, you two. Just keep an ear out for him.”

He leaned over and placed a hand on Soos’s shoulder. “And—should I not get here quick enough to do it myself—I give you my blessing to punch the pointy little jerk in my place.”

With a look of honor, Soos pressed a hand to his forehead in a salute. “I won’t let you down, Mr. Pines! I’ll even knock out a few of his teeth if I’ve gotta!”

“Good man, Soos,” Stan said, giving his shoulder a pat. “Now get.”

With Stan’s approval, Soos gestured for Melody to follow him to their bedroom. “I’ll be the one to come get you if we need to, then,” she assured Stan as they walked. “That’ll leave Soos open for—well, that.”

And soon their bedroom door closed behind them, leaving nobody but the remaining Pines in the hallway. And with a gruff sigh and the realization that they were the only ones left, Stan turned to face the kids.

Despite the reassurances from everyone else—and even each other—they had shuffled close to one another with their attention firmly locked on to the door of Abuelita’s bedroom. As if they expected Bill to come bursting out of it at any second.

Yep, that was about what he expected.

Another sigh brought Stan to their level, and he gave both of them a weak smile. “Well, you two knuckleheads heard everyone. Let’s head upstairs.”

The two exchanged an uncertain look. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Dipper asked.

“Yeah,” Mabel added. “I mean…it’s Bill.”

“If Ford’s so insistent on dealing with this by himself, then he’s probably got a couple of tricks up his sleeve to solve it by himself,” Stan pointed out, and reached over to lightly bap the top of Dipper’s hat. “It’s like you said, he probably just wants us to stay safe. And if he does need our help, then—well, he knows where to find us...”

Even he couldn’t bring himself to try and sound convincing by the end of his reassurances, but he gave both of them a nudge to move forwards before returning to full height. “In the meantime, let’s not give that demon the satisfaction of knowing he’s freaking all of us out and go get some rest, okay?”

After another look to each other, the younger twins eventually let themselves be lead down the hallway. Despite this, Stan counted at least three times where one of them would pause to look back towards the bedroom door, before they finally rounded the hallway corner and the room was barred from their line of sight.

The interior of the Mystery Shack had fallen silent by that point, save for the faint creaking of the wooden floor beneath their steps as they headed for and—after grabbing the bags they had dropped upon arrival—up the staircases that eventually brought them to the topmost floor of the shack.

Mere hours ago, the sight of the old attic would’ve been a nostalgic welcome back, like greeting an old friend after spending so long apart. And approaching the room at the far end would’ve been the equivalent of bringing that old friend into a warm hug.

Warm, friendly, welcoming—

But the air around the trio just felt so miserable as they slowed to a gradual stop outside the bedroom door, and Stan reached a hand to the doorknob. Rather than turn it immediately, he instead chose to direct his attention back at the kids.

Silent attention—as if he wanted to say something, but struggled to find the proper words.

After a few, long seconds, he spoke with an uneasy: “Hey, uh, if you kids need to—you know…” The hand on the doorknob moved to the back of his head. “You gonna be alright by yourselves up here? You know you can always join Wendy in the living room, or come bunk down with me if you really need to, or something—”

The younger twins looked to each other in silent consideration, until Dipper finally spoke up: “I…think we’ll be okay,” he said, although his shaky tone implied otherwise. “If we’re really that scared, we can always sleep in shifts.”

“Yeah,” Mabel added with a bit more optimism. “And—and we’ll lock our door and window—”

An oink at the staircase drew a pointed finger from her, aimed at the pig who had ambled up the stairs after them. “—and we also have Waddles as an attack hog if we really need him! We’ll be okay!”

Her shoulders fell. “Right?”

Dipper folded his arms with a feeble nod, hands tightly gripping the sides as if he were attempting to keep himself grounded with such an action. “Yeah, we’ll…we’ll be okay.”

Stan didn’t miss this, and knelt down in front of them. “Hey, you two listen to me, alright?” he said, moving a hand to each of their shoulders. “I may not know how the little demon got back or why he’s back at all.”

The hands moved to ruffle their heads. “But what I do know is that I ain’t gonna let him lay a hand on either of you or Ford,” he reassured them. “And I don’t care how long it takes or how many times we gotta kill him before he stays dead. We’ll squash him for good if it’s the last thing we do—”

He was suddenly cut off by Mabel flinging herself at him in a tight hug, with Dipper quickly following suit. Stan remained still for a few seconds, before he wrapped an arm around each of them to complete the hug. “Alright…we’re gonna be okay, okay?”

He forced a smile as the two of them broke the hug. “And hey, look on the bright side,” he continued. “With the puny size he is now, we could probably just step on the little jerk and actually squash him to death!”

Sure enough, his weak attempt to lighten the mood brought a small pair of smiles to their faces. “We could get a pair of really big shoes,” Mabel added, smile widening further as she made a stomping motion with her foot. “Just go squish, like he’s a gross cockroach under a boot!”

“Are you implying that he’s not a gross cockroach already?” Dipper asked with a weak laugh.

“Touché, but I like painting a clear, visual picture of my words,” Mabel explained. “It’s almost as fun as painting an actual picture! Ooh, I wonder if I should paint an actual picture of Bill with a cockroach body—?”

“Save that for tomorrow,” Stan said. “Right now, you two need to get some rest. You’ve got a whole summer to look forward to, and I ain’t gonna let you kids miss a second of it.”

He gave them a wink. “Even with a sudden triangle-shaped cockroach thrown into the mix.”

Both gave him a smile—much wider than before—in return before finally shuffling to the door and pulled it open, revealing the waiting bedroom on the other side.

Aside from a lack of almost any dust on the furniture—had that been Soos and Melody’s doing?—the bedroom had remained mostly untouched since the previous summer. A few scattered googly eyes rested on the floor beside a forgotten food bowl for Waddles on Mabel’s side of the room, while several crumpled pieces of paper still filled Dipper’s old wastebasket.

And while uncertainty and fear still lingered in the air as the kids stepped inside, a bit of that old, nostalgic warmth did seem to be sneaking its way around them in a reassuring embrace. A reassurance that despite the evening’s stress, this was still a place they could call a home away from home.

After one last little smile at Stan—one he returned in full—Mabel shut the door behind them. Stan continued to wordlessly stare at the door for a few minutes, attention focused on the clicking of the lock, then the creaking of the wooden floor on the other side. When he was sure the sound had reached their beds, he finally turned and shuffled back towards—then down—the staircase, continuing onwards down the hall on the second floor until he reached the door to his own bedroom.

It was only once his hand touched the doorknob that his entire posture sank from exhaustion.

He once again lingered for a moment as he looked back towards the staircase that lead downstairs—before he shook his head and trudged on forward into the bedroom.

— — — — — — — —

It was barely an hour later when Stan firmly concluded that he was not falling asleep anytime soon.

How in the heck was he supposed to sleep at a time like this? Bill was back! The evil triangle demon that had tried to take over the town—town? Universe? Dimension? Eh, all of the above.—and had haunted his brother’s mind for literal decades!

Ford had always downplayed how much weight Bill truly held over his mind, always reassuring Stan that he was fine whenever the topic came up in conversation and was always quick to change the subject to something unrelated.

But if Ford really thought the guy who slept in the same cabin as him for months on end wouldn’t notice him crying out in his sleep—the names Bill, Cipher or both being shouted into his pillow with so much hatred and fear more times than Stan could count—then Stan had a bridge to sell him.

And if he really thought that he hadn’t picked up on the subtle little ways Ford would flinch or the way his mood would shift on occasion—probably due to some unearthed memories about Bill, ones that Stan so desperately wished he could just punch as hard as the guy who had burned them into his brother’s mind—then Stan had two bridges to sell him.

“But then again, you might have a little trouble convincing him. Considering your poor track record in fixing mistakes.”

With a grunt, Stan rolled over onto his back and squinted blindly at the ceiling. He didn’t trust the pointy little jerk as far as he could throw him but he’d raised a good point. What right did he have to stand—lie around and call Ford an idiot for not wanting to talk about Bill, especially when he’d been the one in charge of getting rid of Bill in the first place?

He felt his thoughts drift to the earlier events of the day, before all the Bill stuff had started. Soos’s wedding announcement, the tour of the new exhibits—

“The very weird point they’re to make is that none of this would’ve happened without you building the shack to begin with, Grunkle Ford. So in a way, a lot of this is because of you!”

“Well, we kinda have you to thank for the idea, Dr. Pines. You and the kids, of course.”

It didn’t bother him.

Really, it didn’t.

So what if Soos wanted to give Ford the credit for tying the knot with the girl he liked, or for giving them the smart-guy science methods to make the exhibits more exciting? Even if Ford was terrible at hiding his Bill feelings, at the very least he’d seemed pretty flattered by all the praise.

He’d felt appreciated, nostalgic over the new, science-y ways that Soos and Melody were bringing in customers. The kids were excited to be spending time with him this year.

Ford felt like he belonged.

What kind of jerk would Stan be to take that happiness away from him, especially after all the years that had been taken from him already?

At at the end of the day, it didn’t matter if people slapped Ford’s name over every single one of his own accomplishments. Honestly, after stealing his identity for three decades, Stan would willingly give up a few of his own accord if it made Ford happy.

If Soos wanted to give Ford credit for building the place that inevitably lead him to his fiancé—even if Stan had been the one running the place when Soos started working here—then fine. If him and the kids wanted to give Ford credit for the exhibit ideas—exhibits that were wildly improved from the two-bit slop Stan had been pushing for the past few decades—then fine.

It was fine.

But if there was one accomplishment that Stan thought nobody could take away from him, it was the ability to keep his family safe. Not just them, but Soos, Wendy—the entire town. They had all called him a hero, finally saw him as someone worth a darn—

At the end of the day, he had finally proven he was worth something to someone.

And then Bill came back, alive and unharmed. Stan had failed to kill him good and proper, and now he was back. Now he was back, and now Ford and the kids had to spend their summer in fear.

Now he was back, and Stan was truly worthless again.

After staring at the ceiling for about ten more minutes—and waiting another ten minutes for his nightly body aches to settle—he fumbled for his glasses on the nightstand and swung his legs over the side of the bed. And with the groan of a man whose bones were older than he was, he pulled himself to his feet, trudged out of the room and headed down to the first floor of the shack.

The light of the TV stopped him at the living room doorway, and a quick peek into the room revealed that he wasn’t the only resident of the house who was still awake.

Despite the TV running some early morning infomercial for a cheap and useless product—one worth more than its share of that hyper-specific brand of scorn and mockery that only a snarky teenager could provide—Wendy’s attention was firmly glued to her phone as she tapped away at the keys.

At the sight of Stan in the doorway, however, she lifted her head with a curious look. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“Whaddaya mean? Clearly I’m sleepwalkin’.”

“Haha,” she said, snapping her phone shut. “Gonna try again with Dr. Pines?”

“You know it,” Stan said, and placed a hand on the doorway frame. “You, uh—you holdin’ up okay out here?”

“Psh, don’t even start,” Wendy said, waving him away. “I mean, sure, I’ve got my share of worries about that little megalomaniac being back—”

She flashed him a grin. “—buuuut I think a lot of ‘em were pretty evened out by the fact that I got to clunk him in the back of the head with a bat!”

“Oh yeah, that was great,” Stan agreed with a smirk of his own, before pressing his hands together in a squishing motion. “Isn’t it soooo satisfying? The little jerk talks suuuuuuch a big game, but you hit him once and he crunches like a soda can.”

Wendy cackled at that, although her expression fell again as she cast a glance upwards. “How’re the squirts handling it?”

Stan followed her gaze up to the ceiling. “Well, they’ve stayed in their room so far, so my money’s on ‘probably as well as they can with somethin’ like this.’”

“Mmm…”

She flipped her phone back open, fingers once again tapping at the keys. “At least they’ve got each other through all this,” she mused. “The two of them combined are some of the toughest and strongest kids I’ve ever met. No matter what happens, they’ll get through it so long as they stick together.”

“Yeah,” Stan agreed, with a glance back towards the hallway. “At least they’ve got that goin’ for them…”

Both fell silent for a moment, before Stan turned to leave. “If you hear any yellin’ going on down the hall, it’s because I’m trying to convince Ford to go to bed,” he told her. “If I succeed, make sure he actually goes up to bed, okay?”

“You got it, boss.”

— — — — — — — —

The room was silent, save for the scratching of pencil to paper as Ford continued to write.

Not for a lack of trying on Bill’s part; he had made several attempts to strike up a conversation with Ford already, but all had been shot down by either a menacing glare or the flash of the gun he kept within reaching distance.

And while neither were enough to completely shut Bill up, he did fall silent after the dozenth-or-so attempt to take advantage of the chance to gather his thoughts.

He’d agreed to play a game with that stupid duck and they’d plunked him back down in front of the shack. He assumed it had been right in front of the shack, at least; he did recall being greeted by the concerned faces of Mabel and Ford, along with some faint, blurry remarks about how he’d potentially fallen out of a tree—

—thank you, Birdbrain—

—but there was always a chance that they had stumbled across his body somewhere else and simply brought him to the shack to keep a closer eye on him.

Regardless of how it had happened or wherever those suckers had originally found him, he was back in town as Tangy had promised. Sure, it had been a sneaky drop off with several details of what that drop off entailed omitted. But at the same time, they had still kept their word.

And while Bill still had plans to dunk that silly little windbreaker of theirs in tuna fish—perhaps with the added flair of tossing in a bottle of itching powder, Melt-Your-Skin-Clean-Off-Your-Bones-Juice, and maybe a splash of lime for taste—he could at least respect how much effort they had put into getting him here at all.

Planned retribution aside…eh, game could recognize game.

And speaking of game—

His thoughts shifted to the deal they had agreed upon, sealed with both a handshake and a signature. Three months, they’d said. He had exactly three months to play. Three months to find all the pieces of their dumb trinket and put it all back together again, Humpty-Dumpty style.

He briefly considered the idea of not playing their game at all—out of sheer spite for their deviousness in getting him here—but the idea was discarded as quickly as it formed. Despite their underhanded methods to get him back to town, they had been very clear about how strictly they had to stick to their contract. And even if they’d been lying about the legitimacy of said contract, they had still foolishly locked themselves into a deal with Bill himself.

Whether or not they truly planned on upholding themselves to their side of their deal didn’t matter—if he won their little game, Bill would either have a destroyed barrier or a duck subjected to an eternity of slow-roasting over an over fire in the Nightmare Realm. Maybe in the case of the second option, such torture directed at another being would be enough to get his buddies off his back when he returned. Heck, maybe he’d even get a spiffy new jacket out of the deal!

And that was simply the worst case scenario. Best case scenario, the barrier would be gone and no one would be able to stand in his way ever again.

And a prize that valuable was enough for him to humor the tacky idiot and romp around an annoyingly-familiar hick town in a meatsuit for a summer.

Even with his current situation, escaping wouldn’t be a difficult task to accomplish. Sure, he was tied so tightly to a chair that it would make Harry Houdini blush—he would know, he dabbled in a bit of dealmaking with the famous magician back during the height of his career—and the ropes apparently contained some of that fancy-schmancy unicorn magic that the household had used to protect the shack last year. A fact that soured Bill’s expression for a brief moment, but at the end of the day, even a magically-laced rope was still just a rope. And any rope could be cut with the right tool, or by the right sucker.

The sound of paper being ripped from a notebook distracted Bill from his thoughts, and a mischievous grin poked at the corners of his mouth as he cast a look in the direction of his six-fingered warden—just as the discarded page was crumpled into a ball and tossed it into the unlit fireplace.

Well, a sucker by any other year was just as gullible—or whatever.

Sure, Bill knew Stanford Pines would rather chew off his own extra fingers than be unpromptedly helpful to him in any way, shape or form. But even if a few details about the bigger picture had to be omitted—it wouldn’t be the first time when it came to Stanford—there were always ways for Bill to get people to do what he wanted.

The scratching of pencil to paper began again, and Bill lightly tugged against the binds that held his wrists. Well, while there were always ways to get people to do what he wanted, even he knew it was highly unlikely that he’d manage to trick Ford into freeing him tonight. And the near-silence of the room was starting to become agonizingly dull.

To reiterate an earlier point, Bill Cipher was not the kind of triangle to sit and behave quietly if he had any say in the matter. Even if Ford was attempting to keep a lid on things now, there was always a way to annoy him into tossing out a few bits and pieces of information he had gathered in Bill’s absence. Perhaps some of that information would be of use to him.

Or maybe he would only succeed in getting the gun shoved in his cheek again.

Either way, the fifteenth attempt at starting a conversation was always the charm~!

“You know,” he began with a light kick of his feet. “I’m surprised you haven’t bombarded me with questions about how I got back yet.”

He saw Ford’s hand twitch in the direction of the gun, keeping his attention still firmly focused on his writing. “Don’t pretend you don’t want to, Fordsy!” Bill continued. “You and I both know for a fact that you’re a man beckoned by the call of the strange and bizarre.”

He winked at him with his good eye. “And let’s not kid ourselves; I’m the strangest and bizarre-est guy you know~!”

Another kick of his feet, his feet bouncing against the chair legs. “Even if I no longer have access to your mind, I can tell you’ve got a billion questions about me buzzing around in that lump of wet meat you call a brain,” he continued. “Questions like ‘How did he get back?’ ‘Why is he human now?’ ‘Why, oh, why did I think that a simple memory gun would be enough to defeat someone as powerful, as amazing, as unstoppable as Bill Cipher?’”

Ford’s hand inched closer to the gun as Bill kept talking: “You must’ve felt so proud of yourself for that memory gun trick, by the way,” he went on. “I wouldn’t blame you if you did, it was a smart move that only a brainiac like you could’ve drummed up in the short time you had.”

A wink. “Well, lucky for you I’m not the kinda triangle to hold a grudge,” he continued. “In fact, I’d even be willing to answer a couple of those hypothetical questions for you! And to call us even, you can always just answer a couple of mine in return. Like what you’ve been up to in the past nine months~! Come on, I’ll bet you’re just dying to tell me all about how you grew that beard of yours!”

The hand wrapped around the grip, and Bill settled lower in the chair with a sigh. “Fine, I guess it was too much to hope for a chance to catch up with an old friend,” he said with a dramatic flair to his tone—

—one that immediately shifted into something far more malevolent. “But then again, I guess I wouldn’t find any of those around here, now would I?”

Bill paused, giving Ford him a few seconds to chime in—only to roll his eyes when he heard a click from the gun as Ford turned off the safety catch: “Oh, come on, Stanford, are you really telling me that you’d rather spend the entire night alone with your thoughts than to spend five minutes holding a conversation with me?”

“Yes.”

It was the first word, sans any threats, he’d managed to get out of Ford all night, and it was annoying enough for Bill to sink further against his restraints with a huff.

Not a defeated huff; if a stubborn, old fool not giving him what he wanted was enough to stop Bill Cipher, then he wouldn’t be Bill Cipher. If he’d possessed enough patience to wait eons for a functioning portal, then he could certainly possess enough to get a few words outta Ford over the course of a single evening.

And as soon as Ford stopped being so difficult—you couldn’t avoid talking all night, Sixer—he'd be in business.

The distant sound of floorboards creaking somewhere on the other side of the shack perked Bill up again with a look towards the ceiling. Guess the rest of the household was fighting back the urge to sleep with a stick.

The sudden lack of pencil to paper also caught his attention, gaze bouncing back to where Ford was seated. He hadn’t moved, but Bill could still see the pupils of his sunken-in eyes shift towards the door with mild curiosity.

Mild curiosity that vanished the second he realized Bill was watching him, and his focus immediately returning to his notes after clicking the safety back and leaving the gun where it rested.

Hmm.

“Fine, you don’t wanna talk about what you’ve been up to for the past few months?” he tried again. “Fair enough, I really didn’t wanna hear about it. Why don’t we talk about about something else, then? Like the kids, perhaps?”

The hand was back at the gun without pause.

“They’re looking well, older even. Or do they?—I’m still fuzzy on the details of the aging process of you mortals,” Bill continued. “Or if you don’t wanna talk about them, we could always talk about your brother. Can’t believe he’s still wildly swinging those fists around like a wild animal, especially when that didn’t even work the first time—”

The gun was ignored completely as Ford crossed the room in an instant, the vitriol behind his eyes hot enough to burn straight through Bill’s skin, blood, skull—everything, until it bore a hole right through to the other side of his head. A motion that made Bill jump against his better judgment—his blackened eye instinctively twitching as he remembered Stan’s earlier show of force—and for a fleeting moment, he expected another hand around his throat in seconds.

Before Ford could react proper, however, a loud knock pulled both of their attention to the bedroom door. After a silent breath of relief, Bill shot Ford a cheeky grin. “Sounds like you’ve got company~! Unless they’re here to see me, which—I mean, who could blame them if they were?”

Ford glared at him before turning back to the door. “Who is it?”

“Jersey Devil. Who d’you think it is?”

“...Come on in.”

The knob turned and Stan slowly entered the room, casting a silent look between the two of them before settling his gaze on Ford. “Just checkin’ in. How’s, uh—” he began, then paused. “—how’s everything going?”

He was clearly talking to Ford, and making an obvious effort to ignore the triangle-shaped elephant in the room. So naturally, Bill had to do everything in his power to make his presence as loud and obvious as possible.

“Everything’s peachy~!” he piped up, with another wiggle against his binds. “Ol’ Fordsy and I are having the time of our lives catching up on things! In fact, I think he was just about to tell me about what the kids have been up to for the past few months?”

He flashed Ford a wide grin. “Come on, Ford, I’ll bet they’ve shared a ton of stories with you~!”

Stan pointed a finger at him. “Hey, you’d better watch that mouth of yours, before I come over there and make it match your eyeball.”

“What, you’re gonna punch it?” Bill asked. “Go right ahead, I was just lamenting the fact that my mouth and eyeball are separated in this body.”

He giggled mischievously and flashed him a wide grin. “Your fist’s about the size of a mouth-sized eyeball, right? Just asking, because the second you swing it at these puppies—” He gave a warning snap of his teeth. “—I can’t promise that you’ll get it back.”

“Everything’s fine, Stanley. Go get some sleep.”

Ford’s tone was so scripted and hollow, like the words he actually wanted to say were being held back by a metric ton of steel. More than just the physical steel plate installed in his head, a whole dam of metaphorical steel was keeping the flood of Ford’s true thoughts at bay. And judging by the way Stan’s features twisted with uncertainty at his brother’s words—only until he spotted Bill eyeing him and promptly shifted his expression into a look of disdain—there was clearly something keeping his own thoughts hidden as well.

Oh, it killed Bill to not know what they were thinking. To lack the ability to act as the metaphorical wrecking ball that could smash through all that steel in an instant, leaving him free to pry open every last little thought, rivet by rivet, bolt by bolt.

Well, at least he still possessed the ability to verbally taunt them~! “You heard the big guy, Goldfish~! Why don’t you run on back to bed while the adults talk?”

“Why you little—” Stan began, then paused with a look of confusion. “Goldfish, what—”

“Your sign in the Zodiac Wheel,” Bill elaborated. “You know—that little goldfish thing on your hat! Although I guess it could also be a reference to your constant desperation for fortune and fame, combined with your childish dream of dragging Sixer off on some ridiculous, insignificant boat adventure. You know, first part’s the gold, second part’s the fish?”

He tilted his head. “Of course, I could always call you Fez instead, but that just sounds silly. It’d be like calling Question Mark Shirt or Pine Tree…I dunno, Other Hat? Hmm, kinda like that, actually.”

“...Welp, that one’s on me for asking,” Stan said, and promptly turned his attention back to Ford. “I did need you for something, though. Apparently Soos found a few more moonstones that he said we should lay out in the hall—”

“Well, feel free to lay them there,” Ford said, making his way back to his chair. “One at each corner, evenly spaced…Probably a smart idea to stick one at the end of the hallway for good measure—”

“I really think we need your help with it,” Stan urged.

“Not if you follow my instructions.”

Bill’s eyebrows shot as far up his forehead as they could get, expression lighting up with sadistic glee. Oh, oh—they were fighting~! “Aww, I’m back for five minutes and you two are already at each other’s throats again!” he said with a mirthy twinkle in his eye. “Man, even after all this time, you Pines Twins still can’t get along!”

He began to rock back and forth in the chair with delight. “Come on, punch each other in the face!” he demanded excitedly. “Give Sixer a black eye that looks worse than mine!”

He stopped rocking for a moment, and cast a look down at the chair. “Hmm, I forgot that you mortals haven’t evolved to the point where you can hear the voices of inanimate objects,” he said. “Such a shame that I can’t hear how much this chair is screaming while I rock around on it!”

With a cackle, he proceeded to rock back and forth even harder. “Hehe, I’ll bet the four-legged jerk's absolutely livid right now—ACK!”

The chair suddenly tipped over and crashed—Bill and all—to the floor with a loud clatter. With his limbs too restrained to catch himself in any dignified fashion, Bill quickly found himself with his face squished into the lavender rug near Abuelita’s bed.

Both Ford and Stan stared at him for a moment, their disagreement temporarily forgotten at Bill’s misfortune. However, Stan snapped back to reality first and took advantage of the other two being distracted long enough to pull Ford towards the door and out into the hallway.

Bill barely had time to bark out an irritated: “Hey, get back here and pick me up!” before the door was pulled shut behind them. With a irritable huff, he attempted to rock the chair again in the hopes of adjusting to a more comfortable angle.

And after a moment of struggling, he finally succeeded in rolling the chair onto its—and by extension, his—back. Leaving him completely flat on the floor with his gaze pointed upwards at the ceiling.

Well, at least this angle was more familiar.

— — — — — — —

“Stanley, I said—”

“I know what you said,” Stan replied, closing the door shut behind them. “But you know I’m gonna try and make you sleep tonight, right?”

“And you know I’m not going to do that, right?”

“Ford—”

“How on Earth am I supposed to sleep with Bill still alive?!”

It was like something had finally crashed right on through whatever wall Ford had built up in his mind, the stress he had tried desperately to repress all evening spilling out of him in an instant. “The memory gun should’ve worked,” he muttered in a panicked tone. “It…it destroyed everything in your mind, right?”

“Well, yeah, everything—” Stan began. “But—”

“There had to have been something he did, something that protected him,” Ford rambled on, mostly to himself. “Was it a spell? Some kind of failsafe? Did he catch onto our plan—”

“Woah, woah, hey, just breathe for a sec,” Stan interrupted. “Yeah, this is exactly why you’ve gotta let someone else babysit the little jerk while you get some sleep. You’re not gonna get anywhere if you’re too tired to think straight.”

And maybe if Ford got some sleep, he could shift some of the burden to Stan’s shoulders where it belonged. Yeesh, the poor guy had really been holding back earlier. Had he really been this stressed all evening?

…As if Stan needed to ask.

“You’d be surprised at what I can accomplish during an all-nighter,” Ford assured him. “Back in my college days, I once started a twenty-thousand-word essay at ten in the evening, and had it on the professor’s desk by six the next morning.”

He pressed a hand to his forehead. “And when you first arrived here to help me hide the journals, I was starting my fourth consecutive day of staying awake.”

“Fourth?!” Stan sputtered in disbelief, before he shook his head. “No, no, just gonna ignore that for now—it’s not like I got any room to talk when it comes to bad sleep schedules. But also you are not staying up four days to deal with this by yourself.”

He reached over to place a reassuring hand on Ford’s shoulder. “Come on, Stanford, let me help you,” he urged. “At least go get an hour of sleep. I’ll stay down here, keep him quiet—heck, I’ll duct tape his mouth shut if he gets too mouthy with me.”

He balled his free hand into a fist and thumped it against his own chest. “Let me help you put that pointy jerk twenty feet back under the ground, and make it stick this time!”

Ford’s eyes fell to the hand on his shoulder and followed it up to the desperation in his brother’s features.

An expression near identical to the one he had worn after being blasted by the memory gun. Confusion mixed with a desire to understand…

It was like they were back in that clearing in the woods, the natural warmth of the sun draping itself back over the town, after the blood-red skies of Weirdmageddon had barred it from sight for so long. Stanley kneeling in front of him and the kids in a dazed trance, no recollection of whom he was or the sacrifices he had just made.

All of which he had assured Ford was worth the risk while they swapped clothes back in the Fearamid, beneath the wretched tapestries of the remaining Zodiac members, an ear perked on both ends for Bill’s thundering footsteps reapproaching the main room.

But had it been? Had it been worth the risk?

Up until Mabel’s scrapbook method, they had no way of knowing that Stanley would’ve been able to return to his usual self. And as far as they knew, that cure only worked when presented with the memory gun’s effects. What if Stanley got involved again, only for something worse to happen to him than lost memories? What if he couldn’t simply be scrapbooked and home movie’d back to his usual self again this time around?

What if—

“Yeah, well, if they keep on bein’ that thrilled, you’re gonna have to bust out that necromancy spell to talk to me.”

“I’ve made up my mind, Stanley,” Ford said, and turned back to the door. “You go get some sleep.”

“Wh—Ford!”

His brother’s name fell on deaf ears as Ford promptly open and shut the door behind him. Stan continued to stare at the closed door, too dumbfounded to properly react.

Ford really didn’t want his help with Bill? He could understand sending everyone off to bed earlier, but he was still turning down his help when it was just the two of them?

He raised a hand to the doorknob, the temptation to try and properly sway Ford into letting him help rising in his chest—

“Mr. Pines?”

Stan nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of a voice from the other bedroom in the hallway, and he turned to see Soos standing in the doorway. “Everything alright? …I don’t have to punch anyone yet, do I?”

With an exhale, Stan forced his hand back to his side again. “Yeesh, Soos, don’t sneak up on me like that or I’m gonna be the one who starts swinging. But nah, everything’s fine. Just thought I check in on Ford, is all.”

“Alright,” Soos said with a small smile as he held up a fist of his own. “But I swear, I will throw a punch if I need to! I made a promise, after all.”

He paused, and switched the fist to another hand. “Although maybe I should use this hand,” he said thoughtfully. “Don’t wanna accidentally break my Shack-Brochure-and-Fanfic-Writing hand on his face, you know what I mean?”

He swapped back to the first. “Although it’s probably better to use your dominant hand to punch—”

“Go to bed, Soos.”

“You got it, Mr. Pines!”

He shut the door, leaving Stan once again by himself in the quiet hallway.

Stan cast a look back to the door in front of him, his hand moving towards the doorknob again.

The same way it had when Ford had called him to the shack all those years ago, eyes bloodshot and features sunken from a lack of sleep—four days, Ford?!—and he’d showed up without a second thought to help.

Despite all the time they had spent apart, Ford had relied on him enough to seek out his help. Despite everything, Stan had still held some worth in his brother’s eyes.

And how had Stan proven that worth to his brother?

By tossing him through some massive, otherworldly portal for thirty years, stealing his identity, and ruining his life.

By getting huffy over a simple thank you and nearly dooming the entire universe.

“But then again, you might have a little trouble convincing him. Considering your poor track record in fixing mistakes.”

By not doing the one thing that had actually granted him worth, and killing that stupid demon proper.

He slammed his hand back down to his side again in a balled fist, and headed back down the hallway.

Forget it, he’d try again tomorrow.

— — — — — — —

“So, how’d the fight go~?”

Not even Bill’s shrill tauntings could pull Ford out of his determined state as he returned to his chair and notebook, the tip of his pencil once again dancing across the paper with incredible speed.

From the floor where he’d fallen earlier, Bill cast him a sour look. “Oh, real mature, Sixer. You’re really not going to pick me up?”

Ford’s hand clenched tighter around the pencil as he went to scratch out his latest idea—one that joined the dozen other scribbled-out ideas above it—before moving down to the next empty row on the paper and starting again—

“Uh, hello? Stanford? I’m talking to you!”

Talk then, you vile little demon.

The tip of the pencil snapped and Ford was unable to bite back his frustrated grunt of surprise. Right on cue, a cackle started from the floor as he reached for a pencil sharpener. “Hehe, I heard that~!” Bill chimed in a singsong voice. “Guess we know who lost the fight, eh, Grumpypants~?”

Ford paid him no mind as he quickly sharpened the pencil back into a point and returned to his work with that fierce determination from before.

No matter how many scribbled-out ideas he had to toss into the fireplace, he was going to find a solution to this problem.

No matter how long it took, no matter how much he had to verbally endure at Bill’s hand again—

—he would make certain that his brother’s sacrifices hadn’t been in vain.

“...Okay, seriously, are you going to leave me down here all night?”

— — — — — — — —

Mabel couldn’t sleep.

Ever since she’d settled into bed—a snoozing Waddles curled up at her side—her eyes had stayed glued to the ceiling. At first she’d tried distracting herself by holding mental conversations with the mold spots permanently stained into the old wood, but not even Daryl could lift her spirits at a time like this.

Every few minutes, her gaze would move to the bed across the room, a question lingering on her tongue for a moment before she returned her attention to the ceiling.

It was around midnight before she finally vocalized her lingering question with a quiet: “You awake, Dipper?”

Her answer immediately came in the form of blankets shuffling as Dipper rolled over to face her. “Of course I am.”

She rolled over to face him proper as well, both pairs of eyes shifting to the triangular window of their room. The moon hung high in the night sky, its beams of light shining through the glass and illuminating the floor in a way that would normally be comforting.

Tonight, however, the sight of an eye-shaped object through the triangular frame was just a painful reminder of what waited for them just a few rooms below.

“I can’t believe he’s back…”

Dipper turned his gaze from the moonlight and back to his sister at the sound of her voice. “Did you see Grunkle Ford?” she asked quietly. “He was so scared…”

“I don’t blame him,” Dipper admitted, placing a hand to his forehead. “We went through all of that trouble to kill Bill, and it didn’t even work.”

He slid the hand down to cover his eyes, but immediately lifted it again to peek over at her. “Hey, you saw it, right? How much he looked like me…”

There was more shuffling—this time on Mabel’s end—as she sat up in bed completely. “It was like when I saw him during the puppet show,” she said, pulling her legs to her chest. “Except the hair and eyes were different this time around. His left eye wasn’t all—”

She covered her own left eye with one hand. “His hair color’s different this time, too. I wonder why?”

“Who knows?” Dipper said with a shrug. “Although I guess meeting—or re-meeting a guy who looks like me isn’t the weirdest thing to happen in this town, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Mabel agreed. “Still…why’d it have to be that guy? Why does he have to ruin everything?”

A sad hum escaped her as she hugged her knees close. “So much for getting to spend more time with Grunkle Ford this summer…”

Dipper let his arm fall before he sat up in bed. “Hey, come on, you really think it’s gonna take all summer for Grunkle Ford to get rid of Bill?” he asked. “He’s spent the last thirty years traversing the Multiverse! He’s explored more dimensions than we could probably even think of on our own—dimensions where everyone lives underwater, dimensions ruled by talking robotic octopi—”

When Mabel plopped sadly back against her pillow again, Dipper paused for a moment to think. “—dimension where the air is made of cotton candy instead of oxygen?”

As he’d expected, the concept twitched the corners of her mouth with mild amusement. “Ugh, I’ll bet that dimension is soooo tasty,” she said. “I wonder what they do when it rains, though? All the cotton candy would just melt and then they’d have no air—ooh, I’ll bet they have like, a ga-ZILLION of those cotton candy-making machines ready for when that happens!”

“Anything’s possible in the Multiverse,” Dipper said with a nod. “My point is that Grunkle Ford’s been around, and he’s probably picked up a lot of different ways to get rid of Bill! Even if the methods he’s tried already didn’t work—and even if we can’t use stuff like the Zodiac or his Quantum Destabilizer—I’m sure he’s got something up his sleeve.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. And if none of those work, we could always come up with some ideas for him! Like—like—”

She flumped her arms across her blanket with an exasperated huff. “Well, I’m too tired to think of anything now, but I’m sure we could think of something!” she said, scrunching her face in concentration. “What if we…I dunno—”

“Oooh!” Dipper snapped his fingers with inspiration. “What if we got one of those time travel devices, strapped one to Bill, and then rocketed him to a date so far into the future that he’d never be able to get back to our time?”

Mabel pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle, but her amusement faded almost immediately. “Nah, that wouldn’t work. He could always trick and possess someone super far in the future, and they could help him get back here,” she pointed out. “Like what he did with that Blendin guy, remember?”

“Oh, yeah…”

The two fell silent again, the only noise that could be heard was the gentle summer wind rustling the forest outside their window. “We should probably sleep for real,” Dipper finally said. “We can just…do what we told Grunkle Stan we were going to do and take shifts, right?”

“Well then, you sleep first,” Mabel said, once again in an upright position as she reached over to pull Waddles close to her. “And like I said I was gonna do, I’ll let Waddles stay on your side and be your guard hog while you sleep.”

Waddles followed up her remark with a groggy little oink of reassurance, and Dipper let out a chuckle. “Yeah, and what’s he gonna do if Bill pops up in my dream?”

“I mean, you can always dream up a dream Waddles to eat him,” Mabel suggested. “He looks like a corn chip, right? I’ll bet dream corn chips taste just as good as real ones!”

She plapped a hand against the top of Waddles’ head. “Plus then when you wake up, you’ll have the real Waddles right there to comfort you!”

This got a full-on laugh out of Dipper. “Alright, alright, point made. Send him over.”

Mabel leaned over the side of the bed and gently set Waddles to the floor, giving his little rump an encouraging pat. “Go on, boy! Go protect Dipper from the dream nacho!”

With another tired little oink, he ambled on over to Dipper’s side of the bedroom and oinked up at him for assistance. “Go ahead and set an alarm on your phone, Mabel,” Dipper said, and reached down to pull him up onto his bed. “What should we set it to? An hour? Hour-and-a-half?”

“An hour works for me,” Mabel said. “But if you don’t actually sleep for that hour, I will not hesitate to stay up longer out of spite!”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sleeping…”

Dipper settled back down under the covers while Waddles snuggled up next to him, and it wasn’t until Mabel heard Dipper’s light snoring that she finally dared to tear her gaze from him and reach for her phone.

That was good. At the very least, he’d be getting some sleep tonight.

She looked to the window again—the moonlight still faintly illuminating the darkened room—and crawled out of bed to stare outside properly. Despite the tall trees that surrounded the shack on all sides, there was little to block the ocean of stars that painted the night sky.

After staring for a bit, she turned and crawled back into her bed. With another look at her brother to make sure he was still asleep, she dug her hand between the mattress and wall, the tip of her tongue poking out between her lips in determination as she fumbled around for the unseen object she sought so desperately.

She knew it was a longshot that it would’ve remained in the same place for nine months—given the dustless state of their room, Soos would’ve been the most likely candidate to find it if he searched-slash-cleaned hard enough—but eventually her fingers brushed against something and she pulled it out to investigate.

It was an old, dusty piece of paper, the same one she had crumpled and tucked in its hiding spot almost a full year ago. The edges were frayed and torn and the tint of the paper was a sicklier yellow than she remembered—but the jagged writing on the front was still just as legible as the day she’d found it in Stan’s car:

“Note to self: Possessing people is hilarious! To think of all the sensations I’ve been missing out on—burning, stabbing, drowning. It’s like a buffet tray of fun! Once I destroy that journal, I’ll enjoy giving this body its grand finale—by throwing it off the water tower! Best of all, people will just think Pine Tree lost his mind, and his mental form will wander in the mindscape forever. Want to join him, Shooting Star?”

Mabel stared hard at the paper for what felt like an hour—although in reality, it was probably no longer than a few minutes. She read and reread several times over, every cruel word like a knife to her vision and gut, before finally crumpling the paper in an angry fist and shoving it back down between the wall and her mattress where it belonged.

She settled back against her pillow again, and turned back to Dipper’s bed. Still fast asleep, with nothing more than the occasional twitch or shift in place.

He was sleeping, supposedly without nightmares. That was all that mattered.

She continued to stare at him until the sight made her drowsy, before turning her attention back to the various mold spots on the ceiling.

Daryl was going to have to work overtime tonight if he really wanted to lift her spirits.

#Hayley Writes Triangulum #Gravity Falls #Triangulum The Fic #Bill Cipher #Stanford Pines #My Writing #Long Post #(More characters in the chapter; they are just tagged for the art)#(Stan and Mabel get some decent screentime in this chapter as well)

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fivewholeminutes · 2 months ago

Note

Alexxxx!!!

Tell us all about your experience!

I'm stuck at work, so if or when you have time! Let me live vicariously through you! 🖤🔥

-♥︎

HELLO MY DEAR GHOST, sorry for taking my time with it, i needed 37495 hours of sleep 😮‍💨🫂

Where do i even start!! Apart from how glad i am i could experience this with my beautiful friends @a-s-levynn @takemetoasgard and @thevenomousseprent (which was also my host for this trip mwah mwah mwah thank you once again, tell your cat i miss him 💖)

The rest under a cut, bc i am yapping a lot

It might sound silly, but that was my very first actual gig experience with friends who are as dedicated to see a band as me and it's HUGE for me ok. I am still emotional about this, I've never had this before 😭

And boooy. The coldest day of the week in Budapest and we've been by the venue by 9am. It was so so worth it tho, we've got barricade on iii's side, babey!!!!!!!!!! The organisation of the venue was so good too. At some point they came out to us with hot tea, the ticket office was giving people valuable clues, they opened a merch stand inside in warmth for people who were queueing early, the security check was swift etc. etc.

I forgor to check Bilmuri before the show and i was positively surprised by them, what a band!! Their energy was extremely contagious.

And now, the main event. It was a blast, seeing them after almost a year, man. They were so close. The sound was surprisingly good, for where we were standing (not perfect, but still, i could even hear Espera well, which never happened before!!!!!). It felt unreal, i missed seeing them live so much, like. They're here. A few meters away from me!!!! My neck stopped hurting from headbanging only today.

The cloak man's prancing is even more free, it's good he got a bigger enclosure for his shenanigans. The podiums for the girls and ii moving up and down was a nice touch (idk if they did that in the US??), iii was in his element, feeling the music very much. And iv. Well. The screams are scrumptious live. And you probably saw the Neck Photo™

The catwalk was so much fun too!! Let Espera or ii walk down the catwalk next time tho

They're so good live what the fuck man who gave them the right i mean. I knew this, but still. What the fuck, maaaan. With more money for the sound design and light design it's even more ethereal than before. The fucking. Lights. At one point i turned to look at Vessel on the catwalk and the lights shining on the back walls were so good i started taking photos of the lights instead of Vessel. Sorry, Vessel. But look at those lights!!

The drum solo returned my will to live. iii's moves returned my will to live. Well, the whole gig returned my will to live.

There weren't many bad things happening either! Someone laughed out loud during one calmer part of Atlantic, but it was a coincidence, i think. No stupid yelling, no crowdsurfers (THANK FUCK), well, at least not where we were standing.

Also, the whole time before the show, there was a Vessel cosplayer standing ominously at the top of the section with seats. It was hillarious:

Kudos to whoever decided to play the whole LP's Reanimation album between doors opening and Bilmuri's gig. And to that one ST crew guy who had to run closer to the stage every single time anyone from the band was going to the catwalk, poor guy. Also, i didn't recognise Adam in the new haircut at first lmao

ii made a mic drop with his drumsticks after one song (don't remember which), it was funny. You go, red bull man!!

Starting with TNDNBTG and finishing with Euclid gave me -374959HP damage. I managed not to cry on Euclid, tho. DO YOU KNOW HOW LONG I'VE BEEN WAITING TO HEAR EUCLID LIVE?

Btw. During Euclid i caught iii's pick. I mean, technically it hit me in the chest and landed on my fanny pack, but yeah. Do you know how much it means to me that it was during motherfucking Euclid of all songs??? Especially when it was my first time hearing it live???

Here's a pic with a very done-with-his-owner's-shit model:

(Dw, he was purring anyway)

I took around 150 bracelets with me to give away to people. Yes, 150. Yes, i am unwell. It's only the half of what i've already done, anyway. People thought i wanna sell them lmao. Nope, i am Just Like That and Yes You Can Take More Than One Bracelet, I Don't Mind. I did get some things in exchange from some people, though!! Behold, exchange gifts and gifts from my friends (love u 🥺):

Peeled Vessel plush (and fivewholeminutes bracelet) from @thevenomousseprent 🐍✨️💓

Print and Berry Vessel (Bessel, if you'd like) from a very cute person who in the midst of everything i forgot to ask about their name. Thankfully, i have a card with their insta handle!!

I didn't ask the ii sticker person and Euclid/Jericho/Calcutta bracelets about their details too 😔

Atlantic keychain from @taka-chan 💖 (ALSO I REALISED I WASN'T FOLLOWING YOU??? I WILL CHANGE THAT IN A SECOND, I'M SORRY, I AM CHAOTIC)

Hands keychain from @bubacorn 💖 (I LOVED YOUR HAIR AND OUTFIT BTW, BUT I WAS TOO SHY TO TELL YOU, SORRY)

Euclid bracelet and serpent ring from my beloved @takemetoasgard 😘😘😘

And, of course, the army of Tiny Tokens from @a-s-levynn 🔪🍌❤️‍🔥

Overall, amazing experience, 10/10, i love my friends, i love Budapest, i love this stupid fucking band that makes me travel for the whole night in a bus and stay in 2 Celsius degrees for hours.

Ok, that is finally all, sorry it was this long. Thank you for this ask, it was very fun summing it all up, i hope you could at least for a moment live through this experience while reading my ramblings 🥺🫂💖🌸🌸🌸

EDIT: i forgot i also got this banger keychain in exchange!! From a person who came for a few rituals from fucking Canada.

LOOK AT THOSE TEEF!!!!!!!!!

#love you i hope you have a good day mwah #🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂#asks

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eagle-shadows-nest-of-stories · 4 months ago

Text

Gravity Falls au

Mabel and Dipper are Ford and Bill's children.

After the breakup Bill is is just drinking his sorrows, it's all fun and games until he wakes up a massive headache and sees a new timeline unfold before his eye but he ignores it. Because it shows him crying and begging like all those sheep he's slaughtered before.

He finds the twins inside of a pocket dimension with in himself. Their weird human biology has made them adapt to his godly form and powers. He could see their weird human flesh color and they were in a newer perfect replica of a womb but he suffers no draw back. At first Bill leaves them alone not knowing the full extent of their connection. Bill spends more time in the pocket dimension enjoying the silence that washes over him, it's almost peaceful full. The little shrimps listen to his rambling some times they react to him or so he likes to think they don't do much. At first he is worried that they haven't changed at all so he looks for information on human reproduction. He learns about the development of the shrimps, they are behind it should be nine months and he should be able to spit them out or something.

A year passes according to human time and the shrimp now are the equivalent of a month old. Bill wonders if it's the Nightmare realm or his powers. As years go by Bill watches as they become less shrimp like and more sharp and triangular. Time goes on, and he grows attached to the shrimps.

One day he returns instead of the shrimps he sees two right triangle.

For the first time in all the trillions of years he's been alive he feels fear. Not fear for himself but for his little spawns. This long forgotten fear and repressed memories come to the surface. The need to hide them to keep them away from the ones who always takes the irregular children away. Its like an itch that he can't scratch, They can't have his children they are gods like him not bound by an old society long dead! His children will never know the pain and suffering that he went through!

For he is free and so will his spawns!

In time grow into their power!

If only the universe knew how far Bill would go for his spawn. Not that anyone would believe he could ever love let alone care for anyone. Some say everyone can have children, but not everyone can be a parent.

Bill will prove everyone wrong as he burns dimensions for the sake of his children, his little pine tree and shooting star.

Even if Gravity Fails

Single parent Bill Cipher who loves his kids! He is still hell bent on getting out of the Nightmare realm even more so that he can rule it along side his brats. Basically Human biology prevailed and Bill is technically pregnant but he can't truly get pregnant so his body creates a pocket dimension into a womb and keeps the twins inside. But the twist is they age like Bill not like humans, so it will take a while for them to grow, but Bill keeps getting a weird timeline information, he ignores it until that day when Ford shoots Bill's hat.

Bill like any parent freaks out, watching as his spawn begin to fade so he prays the the Axolotl to save his children, he will pay the price just help his children.

There is nothing the Axolotl can do.

For their birth would never come to be and so they never existed not now nor ever. This was the one timeline they were conceived. In every other one they never existed

Bill brakes, searching for another timeline any other way to save them, but the Axolotl is right. So Bill floods the timeline/dimension, far greater nightmare power collapsing the earth into the nightmare realm. With this boost of power he again searches, he finds a new dimension one where the og Dipper and Mabel are stillborns. So he goes and puts the remaining souls of his children into their new vessels.

Mother Pines knows her children are dead it's just her Mr pines got stuck in traffic waiting for his uncles, the doctors shuffle around her as they bring the twins closer. Then they all fall, standing up like dolls, and a voice speaks

"Be honored flesh bag! For your stillborns will give life to mine"

She watches as two spirits float into her children their eyes open revealing thin black slits for pupils and pale yellow eyes. She faints, when she wakes up her husband and his family are holding the children. The doctors all stare at her with bright knowing eyes and tooth filled smiles.

Think horror movie where children is possessed from Mrs Pines pov, Mr Pines is worried as the children don't develop normally and thinks they maybe autistic and thinks his wife is suffering from postpartum depression or something while single dad Bill pov who can only interact with his kids via Mindscape where they are developing nicely. Although he doesn't trust the flesh bags.

#gravity falls #gravity falls au #bill cipher #stanford pines #billford #Gravity Fails au

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aegon-targaryen · 6 months ago

Text

The Missing Horseshoe

Zelink Week Day 7: Reunion | BOTW Zelink | read on AO3 | @zelinkcommunity

Some people, Zelda thought when the sound of hoofbeats reached her ears, would be thrilled by this reunion.

She couldn’t go anywhere in the castle without hearing the rumors. Soldiers, servants, Sheikah researchers—he was all they seemed to talk about. The swordsman stood against eight men in the training yard today. The swordsman saved the princess’s life with a pot lid. The swordsman can take down Lynels with a flick of his finger. They never used his name. Zelda supposed he had no use for it when he was already a living legend, an embodiment of all the hope she failed to inspire.

But as he halted his horse before the shrine, all she saw was a stubborn burr stuck to her clothing—or, much worse, an anchor dragging her back beneath her father’s watchful eye.

She took a deep breath of the chilly mountain air, reaching for some semblance of calm. It’s a beautiful day. Focus on that. A crisp breeze swept through the Ancient Columns; the sun gilded his hair as he dropped from the saddle with effortless grace. He was no one’s archetypal image of a knight, thanks to his small stature and delicate features—yet that didn’t stop Zelda’s handmaids from swooning over him when the thought she wasn’t listening.

Worst of all, there was truth underlying the gossip about his skill. No matter how many times she gave him the slip, he found her without breaking a sweat.

Zelda stalked down from the shrine she couldn’t even activate without his help, lecturing him about personal space while he just stood there, unwavering and unreadable. The swordsman’s eyes are blue as the ocean, one of her maids had tittered, and I’d love nothing more than to drown in them. Well, she was welcome to him. Zelda couldn’t stand the way his gaze concealed everything about him and exposed everything about her.

“Return to the castle, and tell that to my father, please,” she tossed over her shoulder as strode past him. Surely the command would stick this time. Surely he wouldn’t keep stealing it all away—the wild, the solitude, the only chance she had to make a tangible contribution to Hyrule.

For a few blissful seconds, there was nothing but silence behind her.

Then footsteps, trotting to catch up. The sound tossed one more log onto the fire building up in Zelda’s chest. He fell into step behind her, always behind her, always reminding her. And as the heat seared up her throat and down to her fingertips like a mockery of the power she would never claim, she whirled, flinging the words at his blank face.

“And stop following me!”

He blinked hard, several times over, as if the sun was in his eyes. His fingers—already curled into fists at his sides—tightened almost imperceptibly under his gloves. Even now, his gaze never left hers, and Zelda couldn’t look away either, because this was the first hint of emotion she’d ever seen him show.

Anger? Contempt? It didn’t matter; she already knew how to fill in the gaps his silence created. She was a spoiled brat who abused her station against someone who was only following the king’s orders. She was a broken vessel using her jagged edges like a weapon. She was supposed to be his partner against the darkness, but when the Calamity came raging down upon Hyrule, he would be facing it alone.

Zelda jackknifed away and continued towards her white stallion, shame curdling in her stomach. Rune shifted restlessly as she reached him, probably sensing her tempestuous mood—he didn’t like her much either, but that was nothing new. She yanked the stirrups down and was about to mount when the wind carried a single word to her, quiet and ordinary and completely shocking.

“Wait.”

Disbelief froze her in place. The swordsman was stone-faced again when she looked back at him, but for a moment he seemed to be…hesitating. Wavering. She’d never seen him look anything but completely, ruthlessly certain of himself, and it replaced her fury with pure bafflement.

Then he came towards her, the blue-and-gold scabbard tapping against his back with every step, and Zelda was rooted to the ground in anticipation of what he might do. Rebuke her, or forsake her, or—

He walked right past her, stopping to run a hand along Rune’s leg in a quiet request for him to lift his leg. Confused beyond belief now, Zelda stared at her knight’s downturned face while he studied the horse’s hoof. The twin crescents of his eyelashes were fanned out across his cheeks, a shade darker than his tawny hair, and there was a tiny scar at his temple that she had never noticed before.

And then he shifted, reminding her where they were, and she realized what had caught his attention: her stallion was missing a shoe.

“Blessings of Hylia,” she swore. “When did that happen?”

The swordsman straightened, looking up at her impassively; of course he couldn’t answer that question.

“We’ll have to walk him all the way across the Tabantha Bridge. But the path is so steep, that might make matters worse…perhaps we could fetch a farrier back here. Assuming there is a farrier at the stable—" With every word Zelda felt more foolish, more selfish, for there was no doubt Rune had thrown the shoe during her mad rush to slip away undetected.

As her knight turned away, she watched the set of his shoulders, always so straight and alert under the weight of the sword. Despite everything, the sight had become a familiar part of her world, and it made her heart lurch when she saw him reach his mare and brace a hand on the saddle, as though preparing to mount. Preparing to leave.

Two minutes ago, Zelda had been certain that was what she wanted. But when she considered what type of person would notice a horse’s predicament right after being snapped at by a half-mad princess, she wasn’t so sure. She had the strangest sensation that she stood on the precipice of something vast, but until she jumped, she wouldn’t know if it was a trove of precious technology or a pool of sacred springwater waiting to drown her.

The swordsman did not mount his mare. Instead he stretched up on his tiptoes to rummage around in his saddlebag, coming back towards her with a bundle of bandages and a spare bowstring. The latter he gave to Zelda, who accepted it in dumbfounded silence. Then he picked up Rune’s leg and began to wrap his hoof with bandages, filling in the space the shoe had left behind.

She took the opportunity to study him again: the steady precision of his hands, the way he pressed his lips together in concentration, the dark circles under his eyes that matched her own. The last detail surprised her, though perhaps it shouldn’t have. He had stood guard outside her room at the inn last night, as he always did when they traveled, no matter her insistence that it wasn’t necessary.

Did he snatch any sleep out there, leaned against her door through the slim hours of the night? It was difficult to picture him falling short of any goal. Zelda would give anything to feel half so certain of herself for a day, an hour, a moment.

If only she could ask where his strength came from. She had tried that day by Lake Kolomo, when she brought up the voice in the sword and he responded with a wordless nod, as if it was a given that he could hear it. She had swallowed the rest of her questions, though they had rattled around her ribcage every day since. How do you pull your fate down from heaven to earth? How do you hold it in your hands without shaking? How do you carry it on your shoulders like it weighs nothing?

Maybe that was the wrong place to start. Maybe the first thing Zelda needed to say was, I’m sorry.

Maybe she needed to call him by his name.

The swordsman—Link—held out a hand, and she stared for a moment before remembering the bowstring. She placed it in his open palm, feeling a shiver travel up her spine as her fingers brushed his callused skin, and watched him tie the bowstring around Rune’s wrapped hoof to hold everything in place. That would get him back to the stable uninjured, though when the horse put his leg down, he huffed in displeasure at the encumbrance.

“Sorry,” Link murmured sympathetically, patting Rune’s shoulder. “It’s not for long.”

Zelda’s eyes were stinging from the cool wind, from the shock of hearing him speak, from everything. Her own voice wasn’t as clear as she’d like it to be, but she took a step towards the precipice and said, “Thank you.”

He dropped his hand suddenly, taking a step back from Rune, as though he’d forgotten her presence until she spoke. And when he raised his eyes to meet hers, his expression was blank as a slate once more.

I see, she thought with cold clarity. In her mind’s eye, the precipice receded from view, leaving her in the same place as always: a barren land with path to follow, no map to reference, and no guide to keep her company.

She’d always known Link was capable of both speech and compassion. Interwoven with the gossip about his skill were stories of him rescuing kittens from trees and helping old women carry their groceries home. Mipha watched him with shining eyes; Daruk called him a Sworn Brother. Somewhere along the line, Link must have spoken to them both, just as he’d spoken to her horse with quiet kindness.

Then the answer was simple: he didn’t want to talk to Zelda.

She pressed a hand to Rune’s warm neck, surprised when he dipped his head and nuzzled at her quietly. He was sweet beneath his tough exterior. Maybe her knight was too, but that wasn’t for her to see. It was for someone who wasn’t a failure of a princess, someone who wouldn’t abandon him to the fate they were supposed to share.

He was still looking at her unfathomably. Unable to bear it for one more second, Zelda reached for her horse’s reins.

“Well?” she said tiredly, not bothering to wait for a response that would never come. She led Rune down the slope, moving slowly for the sake of his uneven footing, waiting for the sound of Link and his mare falling into place behind them. Half-collapsed columns of white stone jutted up on either side of the path, surrounding them like the fangs of a beast.

It would take a while yet to loosen the coils around her heart, and longer still for his silent walls to come down. But one thing did change in those ruins, no matter how much Zelda wished otherwise—from that day forward, she could no longer keep Link’s name out of her thoughts.

#my writing #zelink week 2024 #loz #botw #botw zelink #zelink fanfiction #loz fanfiction #zelink

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starmapz · 5 months ago

Text

shame on me || chapter thirteen || sacrifice

gojo satoru x female vessel reader

wc || 11.7k.

edited but not beta-read.

series masterlist || main masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter

The late afternoon sun paints the walls a golden auburn fitting of a king. The still air is tense but the silence that hangs over the heads of the group gathered in the room is more rigid still. The beautiful afternoon sun is so serene you have half a mind to wonder if it recognizes the gravity of the situation you’ve found yourself in.

At the head of the room, Yaga and an older man that had only been referred to as an ‘old fart’ by Satoru stand with stern looks as they wait for a debrief from Choso. Megumi had taken him for a breather when he’d begun to panic and no one seemed to dare speak while they awaited their return.

Glancing around the room, you’re almost surprised by how few people you recognize, but with the higher-ups out of the picture, Yaga and the older man seemed to have been trusted with directing missions now.

When Choso returns, he doesn’t seem any less distraught, lips pressed into a firm and fearful frown. He takes a breath as he stands beside Yaga, exhaling shakily while overlooking the small room crowded with sorcerers.

“Yuji and I were on a mission,” he explains, casting his gaze to the floor momentarily, “when Uraume and Kenjaku appeared.”

Uraume?

Do you know Uraume? You wonder to Miriko.

They have been around a long time if I am to assume it is the very same. They are an ally of Sukuna. I do not believe this bodes well for us.

Your heart pounds in your throat as you find yourself inadvertently backing into Satoru. His arms move from their spot crossed over his chest to rest on your shoulders, soothingly rubbing circles into your tense muscles.

Without his grounding presence, you’re sure you would have fallen apart by now. Of course, you knew this day would come, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less knowing that someone was using the body of the man who was once your world to kidnap your student.

“Uraume cornered me and Yuji chased Kenjaku. I didn’t think about- I should have- I should-” Choso stammers over his words, staring down at trembling hands before a tall blonde woman you don’t recognize reaches out to him. It seems to reassure him as he continues. “Kenjaku led Yuji into a big warehouse on the dock and lowered a veil. I tried to join Yuji so that we could fight together but I couldn’t get into the veil.”

You frown, letting out a long breath of your own as you consider who exactly the veil would be designed to let in, if anyone at all.

“That’s… all I know.” Choso’s voice grows strained as he all but scrambles to join the blonde woman at the sidelines of the room, to get out of the watchful eyes of the room.

“If Uraume’s around, we can assume this is a part of the plan to complete Sukuna,” Yaga states confidently behind dark glasses not entirely unlike Satoru’s. “We should still have one finger which will give us an advantage. Ino, can you check on it?”

The sorcerer you can only assume is Ino salutes and bounds out of the room quickly, leaving behind a tense room of what remains of the sorcerers.

Satoru had mentioned once that the Shibuya incident last year had thinned out the ranks of sorcerers fairly severely. Surveying the room, you wonder if this is truly what’s left of those who can fight Sukuna, as you’re not sure it gives you confidence for the battle given what you’ve heard about the monster of a curse.

“The next question we need to consider is the veil. Given what we know of the Shibuya incident, we can assume it’s likely meant to keep Gojo out.” All eyes turn to you and Gojo and you suddenly want to shrink into oblivion, but the attention diverts quickly to Yaga once more. “We may also want to consider the possibility of multiple barriers.”

“This also brings into question the choice of location,” the older man speaks up now. You can’t help but feel as though he looks like he’s about to croak from the way he’s hunched over a cane, a thought which you’re all too confident comes from spending too much time around Satoru.

“Where was your mission?” Someone you don’t recognize speaks up.

“Takahama.”

The room goes silent in consideration. “The power plant?” Megumi points out, arms crossed over his chest. “Makes sense if it was near the ocean.”

Something nags at the back of your mind. A doubt, a little twinge of worry that you don’t want to allow to spiral, yet the more you consider it, the more it feels like a distinct possibility.

“They’re not trying to keep Gojo out,” you blurt out, cheeks heating up at the sudden attention as all eyes turn to you. The air is rigid around you. “Choso couldn’t get in because they want everyone except Sato- Gojo- out.”

“You think they’re trying to kill him?”

You shrug. “I don’t know what their goal is but he can’t fire off his attacks in there without killing everyone and causing a nuclear meltdown.”

“He’d obliterate Takahama,” the blonde woman agrees.

A tall blonde man in distinguished robes takes a step forward. His hair is black at the tips and his eyes are sharp, devoid of the empathy evident in the rest of the sorcerers. Just the sight of him is enough to send a shiver down your spine.

“Don’t see why that’s a problem. Just evacuate the area. Not like it’ll kill Gojo,” he shrugs nonchalantly.

Your blood runs cold in your veins, agitation seeping from deep within you like the slow drip of coagulated blood. You consider him lucky you don’t rip him apart then and there when Ino returns to the door.

“The finger’s still there,” he reports.

“See? Feed the kid the last finger and blow the whole thing up. Boom, Sukuna problem solved.”

This time, he’s not quite as lucky. “How about I give you a taste of my technique instead?” You hiss, taking a step towards him.

His eyebrow raises in a silent challenge as he smirks. Confident asshole.

Satoru firmly pulls you back to him. “He’s not worth it, sweetheart. The Zen’in are all pieces of shit.” He whispers loud enough for the man to hear though your gaze never once leaves the Zen’in clan leader.

“Enough, all of you,” Yaga scolds, though the pointed look he sports is aimed at the blonde man and not you. “If you’re right y/n, then we have limited options. We need to figure out if we can get others into the veil.”

“Hold on, Kenjaku is inside the barrier, right?” Satoru finally speaks up, bringing a hand up thoughtfully to his chin.

Choso nods affirmatively.

“... was the warehouse near any kind of plant life?” Gojo’s voice is grave when he asks the question that he knows is dooming for the both of you. The question that will answer every subsequent one all with one response.

“I don’t think so,” Choso responds with a questioning tilt of his head, sunken eyes narrowing as he fails to understand the correlation.

Your heart drops to the pit of your stomach, your head woozy as you exchange a glance with Satoru, leaning further into his hold. His hands tighten on your shoulders, the deep frown on his face telling that the same wave of emotions was threatening to drown him as it does you.

“It’s a death trap,” Yuta gapes in disbelief, equally coming to the realization of just what Kenjaku and Sukuna have planned.

Your breathing grows faint, vision blurring as the world seems to spin around you. If not for Satoru’s firm grip on your arms, you’re almost positive you might have been on the floor by now. “Take a breath, sweetheart,” Satoru urges in your ear, his voice low for only you to hear in spite of all the eyes on the both of you.

As you cling to the string of hope that is Satoru’s strong grip, he goes on to explain his thought process. “They want it to be y/n and I’s graveyard. I can’t attack in a power plant without doing bad damage and y/n can’t use her technique without nature. I'd be willing to bet we’re the only ones meant to get into that veil.”

There’s also the fact that Kenjaku’s current host is Nanami and that’s a bridge you’re not entirely ready to cross yet, but you’re grateful at the very least that your boyfriend doesn’t rip the bandage off the wound that is Kento in front of a room full of your allies and the Zen’in.

You exhale shakily, standing straight with your back to Satoru’s chest. “How strong is Sukuna with one finger?” You wonder aloud, glancing around the room as you silently evaluate the team you have to support you. Half of the room is students, which doesn’t sit well with you. They shouldn’t need to be a part of this.

“He’s not overly strong, why?” The white-haired sorcerer tilts his head in an effort to get a look at your thoughtful expression.

“Then we kill Sukuna with nineteen fingers. If one isn’t a threat, then that can be a problem for later.”

A hum of approval ripples through the room, much to your relief.

“What do you propose then, y/n? It sounds like you have a plan.”

“Miri-” you clear your throat in order to cut yourself off, unsure of how widespread the knowledge of your technique is. “Merely-” you begin, a sad attempt at covering up the name of your curse, “-a guess, but I think I can kill him without hurting Yuji with my technique.”

“Not while we’re stuck in there,” Satoru tries to insist, not willing to entertain the thought of you using your technique without the ability to heal, especially on a being like Sukuna. He’s interrupted by the Zen’in again.

“Y’know Sukuna’s special grade, right sweetheart? What does someone like you think ya can do?” He sneers, arms crossed over his chest as his eyes narrow at you, trying to evaluate your skills as though your appearance was enough to go off of.

“Do you wanna find out?” You hiss back through your teeth, jaw clenched. When Satoru firmly grips your arms again, you actively pull against him this time, wanting nothing more than to clock the asshole.

“Zen’in. Y/n,” Yaga’s voice is stern as he scolds you both, an entire lecture held in just your names. “She’s special grade, Zen’in. Quit your whining,” the older man sighs, unwilling to put up with the interruptions.

The Zen’in’s brow twitches when he hears that and a swell of pride surges through you. You smile snidely at him as he huffs and leans back against the wall, averting his gaze as though he’d lost a battle.

Asshole, Miriko huffs in agreement within you.

“So, what? Do we just look for a way to dismantle the veil, then worry about Kenjaku and Sukuna after?”

“I- I’m actually a bit worried about that,” Choso hums uncertainly as he fiddles with his fingers. “Uraume mentioned something about locking Yuji’s soul away if they have enough time.”

Shit.

“It’s the perfect trap to pull in Gojo and I,” you sigh, resigned. You suppose at the end of the day, you always assumed something like this would happen.

From the moment you first met the white-haired sorcerer, you always figured he would be the reason for your demise. Yet, never in a million years would you have imagined it would be a freak accident which he had no part in orchestrating. Worse still, you can’t fathom the idea of being more afraid of losing him than losing your own life.

“Hey,” Satoru’s thumb and forefinger gently lift your chin, everyone else in the room completely forgotten as the blindfolded man keeps your gaze steady on him. “I know what you’re thinking. We’ll be okay. We’ll figure it out, together.”

“Together,” you repeat, clearly satisfying Satoru when he smiles.

“What do you need in order to kill Sukuna?” Yaga asks.

Pulling from Satoru’s grasp, you take a breath, stepping forward with more confidence now. “I need Sukuna severely weakened.”

Glances are exchanged across the room. You know very well that’s not an easy condition to fill.

“How long can you two hold out against Sukuna and Kenjaku? Surely we can take Uraume while we figure out how to get through the veil,” the blonde woman beside Choso raises a finger pointedly in the air and you exchange a glance with Satoru.

“I’ll be fine,” he hums confidently. You have to resist rolling your eyes as an overly familiar phrase slips from his grin-laden lips. “I’m the strongest, after all.”

You don’t expect him to speak again. You expect that to be the end of it and for everyone to move out. Satoru Gojo loves to find ways to shock you, though.

“Besides, I won’t be alone.”

Your lips quirk up into a smile.

–

The world around you feels foreign. Like unfamiliar territory, never once charted to paper. It’s as though you’re on a journey through new lands yet to be discovered, yet this experience is without the wonder of exploration.

Each mile closer to the destination is another twist in your gut, another soar of uncertainty in your heart. Another fearful look shared with your boyfriend, doing his best to comfort you even with all the unfamiliar figures alongside you in the car.

Even your own clothing feels unfamiliar. A compression tank top adorns the top half of your body with stretchy, skin tight workout pants on your lower half. Robes cover the outfit that matches those of Satoru, an outfit you’ve never seen him in before.

White robes are tied loosely around his upper half with matching pants around his hips. A black compression shirt is barely visible beneath the robes on his torso, his defined abdomen a treat for prying eyes.

Yet, you can’t bring yourself to feel an ounce of happiness even at the thought of spending time with your most treasured partner.

Because each mile further brings you closer to what feels like a concrete tomb.

Satoru’s fingers glide gently over your knee, squeezing your thigh in reassurance but it does little to ease the growing fear.

“It’s okay, sweet girl. We’ll be okay. We’ll win.”

The look you shoot him is uncertain. He knows as well as you do that no words could possibly ease the anxiety you feel. You wonder if he knows that the reason you’re so scared isn’t even for your own sake either, it’s for him.

The pitious stares from Choso, the tall blonde woman known as Yuki, Yuta, Shoko, and Kusakabe all make you want to shrink into yourself.

Yet you can only imagine how Yuji feels.

It all feels like a cruel, inescapable nightmare. Like you’re chained to the negative thoughts of the past, chained to events that will scar you for a lifetime. Your past always did seem to catch up with you one way or another. You can only suppose that you’re not destined to find happiness, otherwise why would the world be so cruel as to tear it from you each and every time you found it?

You swallow hard, staring at your hands.

You are afraid, Miriko states matter-of-factly.

Your eye twitches.

Thanks, Miriko.

I apologize. I can feel your fear.

Sorry.

With a soft sigh, you shut your eyes and reach for Satoru’s hand in an effort to calm your nerves.

I need to bring something to your attention.

Satoru’s finger intertwine with yours as Miriko continues.

I did not have the opportunity to bring this up when I intended to, but I feel it is worth mentioning that when your mother and I found my second scale, the clans grew weary of us and sent their strongest after us.

The strongest. It couldn’t be… could it?

I believe you are smart enough to piece together what that means, she hums inwardly.

You’re kidding. The Six Eyes?

The one and only.

The irony that that same person would sit beside you four hundred years later, as your partner rather than your enemy.

That is not what truly matters, however. I fear history is repeating itself.

Your brow furrows, deep in thought as Miriko speaks.

Your mother had a partner that day. She fought the Six Eyes alongside him and he fell at her side.

Your eyes widen in disbelief. After four hundred years, everything had come full circle. Here you are, in a battle alongside the user of the Six Eyes, your mother’s same weapons sat at your side, in Satoru’s traditional clan attire that was likely worn back then by his ancestor as well.

Four hundred years apart, and yet the situation bears a horrible resemblance, coming entirely full circle.

Satoru’s on our side, this time. That’ll give us an advantage. You’re sure that Miriko knows you’re trying to convince yourself more than her. She hums inwardly, letting silence return to your mind.

Subconsciously, your grip on Satoru has tightened to a degree that he’s staring at you with concern.

“Sweetheart?” His voice is low, whispered softly for your ears only as Choso and Yuki mutter something between themselves, Kusakabe looks as if he’s half-asleep.

“Hm?”

“You’re squeezing me like I’m the enemy,” he hums with a teasing lilt in spite of the tense atmosphere.

Blinking in surprise, you look down to your intertwined fingers to see your knuckles are white, nails digging into his skin enough to make you wince when you loosen your grip and see the marks left behind.

“Sorry, Toru,” you sigh apologetically, smoothing your hand over the indents left in his skin.

“You’re fine, pretty girl. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you sigh, leaning closer to him to keep your conversation between you. “Just worried is all.”

“Everything’s gonna be alright, love,” he reassures you, kissing the crown of your head so gently that your heart hurts at the thought.

Love. It’s the first time he’s ever uttered the word.

Your heart races in your chest and you shift in your seat in an effort to get your heart to calm and your mind to quiet, but it’s all for nought.

Your bond with Satoru is something you don’t dare question. Intense, passionate, playful, caring, and burning with desire. It came so naturally once you started to get along that you could only wonder how you had let things get so far away from you both in the first place.

He’s your universe.

You should tell him. You should tell him so that he knows. You should tell him so that your past doesn’t repeat itself. So that history doesn’t repeat itself.

“Satoru, I-”

The words die in your throat as the car pulls to a halt and Ijichi announces your arrival. They sit like an uncomfortable lump in your throat, one that makes you want to claw and tear until it’s out in the open, until you can make it known.

It’s not too late, right?

“Alright, let’s go over what we know,” Kusakabe takes charge, jolting to a suddenly wakeful state.

It’s too late.

Kusakabe lays out the plan before you as you do everything in your power to pay attention, but at the end of the day, it’s not much of a plan. You don’t have enough information to go off of and the longer Sukuna is left unattended, the more sullen the situation becomes.

When it comes down to it the plan is throwing spaghetti at the wall and praying you and Satoru can hold out.

No matter how long you spent trying to convince your boyfriend that his stupid title didn’t define him, it always came back to haunt him, only now it haunts you too.

The strongest couple.

When you take a step out into the cool late autumn air, a shiver runs up your spine. The night is fast approaching and with it brings a layer of frost that you can only imagine will make the upcoming fight more tedious.

Concrete warehouse or not, you’ll be inside at least.

The veil before you extends several dozen feet high, a perfect half sphere. It’s positioned to perfectly avoid the ocean that laps and sullies the dock with its harsh salt water and border any grass or nature.

You grip the handles of your sickles in one hand, while Satoru’s fingers haven’t left their place intertwined with your other hand. Although he sports that ever-present nonchalant smirk, you can sense his uneasiness.

“I think I always hoped we’d have more time to prepare,” Satoru speaks up abruptly, confirming your suspicions of his uneasiness as Choso, Yuki, Yuta, Shoko, and Kusakabe all scatter in their designated directions.

“I don’t want you to be alone,” you tell him, examining the way those starry blue pools of his swirl with melancholy.

“I know, my sweet girl,” a pang of heartbreak blankets his tone as he averts his eyes, “but I know this isn’t what you wanted.”

He’s right, but it doesn’t change the fact that somewhere along the way your priorities shifted. Somewhere along the way you realized that Satoru had become your world. The stars in your sky, the tide in your ocean, and the love of your life.

You need to tell him.

“Toru, I-”

CRASH.

Like shattered glass, shards of ice fly in your direction and in an instant Satoru is in front of you. The ice stops and eventually falls short inches away from him as his technique activates like second nature.

“We need to go,” he mutters under his breath, pupils growing small as he focuses on the task at hand.

Fuck.

His hand presses to the barrier and it relents in an instant, letting him pass through. You steel your resolve and follow after him, passing through shortly after.

You didn’t want to be right about the barrier, but it was too obvious what they’d set out for you. Obvious or not, it doesn’t change the horrible advantage they have over you in this location.

Before you, a jungle of steel and concrete plating and steel beams extends in every direction, towering over you. Two massive reactors can be seen a small distance behind the main building and the low hum of machinery drones around you.

Satoru takes the initiative, cautiously making his way around the side of the building in search of a door while keeping a careful eye on your surroundings. Rounding the corner behind him, you suck in a breath at the sight of a body slumped against the wall, sliced through so precisely you feel sick at just the sight of them.

“Oh god,” you whisper. Satoru pauses, numb to the sight of death. His lips are pressed into a tight line as he turns back to you.

“C’mon, keep moving,” he warns, surveying the area around you. Your grip on your sickles tightens at your sides as you hurry after him with one last uneasy glance at the pooling blood beneath what remained of the body.

A large pair of heavy steel doors stands at the end of the building like an imposing force to be reckoned with, as though it’s your first real opponent.

“Shouldn’t we take a less obvious entrance?” You query with a glance at the rest of the building.

“They won’t ambush us. They already have an advantage and that’s not Sukuna’s style,” Satoru replies with a frown. “He wants to win, fair and square.”

You nod slowly, subconsciously taking a step towards Satoru to feel the warmth of his body against you, but your movement stops an inch from his body. Right, Infinity. You almost had forgotten he had it.

Of course, he notices the way you seek the heat of his body, stopped prematurely. Cautiously, he leans down towards you, Infinity a thought of the past as he cups your face, carefully observing your crimson eyes and uncertain expression. “Will you be okay, sweet girl? Just remember to use the simple domain I taught you if you need to.”

“No- Yeah, yeah of course,” you shake your head, trying to shed your nerves. “I’m just… worried.”

With both Kento’s body somewhere within the power plant and Satoru standing before you, you can’t shake the horrible image your mind continues to conjure of both bodies limp before you with Sukuna standing over them. It sends a shiver straight up your spine. You can’t let history repeat itself.

“We’ll be okay, baby.” His tone is firm, reassuring. There isn’t a shadow of doubt in his mind, but he knows this doesn’t come second nature to you. His lips press to your forehead, lingering a moment as he breathes in your warm embrace. “Will you be okay… with Kenjaku?”

“I-” you hesitate a moment, exhaling. “Yeah. I’ll be okay.”

“Good,” he whispers against your forehead, “can’t have you going full lizard on me.”

“I take offense to that, Gojo.” Miriko speaks up from the back of your hand.

No matter how serious of a situation you find yourself in, Satoru never can resist cracking a joke. Strangely, you find yourself chuckling at your two companions, helping to ease your nerves.

Satoru’s eyes crinkle at the corners at the sight of your smile before wasting no time as he presses his palm flat on the door before him, ducking through the entrance as he enters the massive facility, holding the door for you to follow him.

Before you is a lobby with red flashing lights and hallways stretching out to either side with a set of doors lightly swinging at the end of the hall ahead. You swallow harshly at the sight of the blood-painted walls and sliced chairs, keeping your eyes fixed on the swinging doors in an effort to ignore the bodies that litter the halls.

Satoru seems unphased by the sight, confidently walking towards the doors that quietly swing back and forth in a subtle, small movement. Following after your boyfriend, you feel your blood run cold when he swings the doors open dramatically.

“Sukuna! Long time no see.”

You wish you had the same confidence as Satoru. You wish you found the same joy in fighting as Satoru did.

“Kenjaku, not a fan of the new look. It makes my girlfriend sad.”

You slide through the swinging doors behind Gojo, mustering every last ounce of confidence to face what you dread most. A massive warehouse stretches high and far on every side with several concrete and steel cylinders on either side of the facility storing the nuclear energy that likely feeds the two massive reactors you’d passed on the way in.

Standing atop one of the cylinders is, to your horror, Kenjaku. He’s adorned Kento’s body in a deep red pinstripe suit with a black button-up and yellow tie, while Yuji stands opposite him, wearing his usual school attire, however Sukuna’s tattoos adorn his face and his expression is smug and intrigued, a look that doesn’t sport the kind-hearted student you’ve come to know.

Although you’d mentally prepared, the sight of the three people you care for the most getting ready to face off is nearly enough to bring you to your knees and beg them to stop, but all you can do is remind yourself that it isn’t them.

It’s not Yuji. It’s not Kento. Neither of them would want this. You have to kill them.

The only positive is that Sukuna doesn’t appear to have been able to bury Yuji yet. He doesn’t sport the four arms you’d been warned about.

“Oh? Girlfriend, you say?” Kenjaku tilts his head and you swallow hard, biting down on the inside of your cheek as you stand at Satoru’s side in the matching clan attire.

“What a fun development,” Sukuna purrs with an amused grin. Your brow furrows at the deep chuckle that follows, “and here I thought you’d be the easy one to defeat, little Vessel.”

“Mmm, I thought I’d have you at your knees at the sight of me,” Kenjaku agrees.

You grit your teeth, muscles tensing under his sharp glare but you don’t give him the satisfaction of a response.

“You know, I think the Vessel would suit me better than this skin, don’t you think Sukuna?” Kenjaku exchanges a sly look with the tattooed curse.

Your skin crawls at the way he speaks, so out of character for Kento that your chest tightens in pain at seeing him used in such a way.

“I’m ending this,” your words are low, intended only for Satoru, whose overenthusiastic smile shifts to concern.

“Are you sure? I can take Ken-”

“You can’t attack in here, Toru,” you point out in a whisper, glancing between the barrels of nuclear energy. One attack and it would end everyone in Takahana. “I can take Kenjaku. You defend against Sukuna, it makes the most sense.”

He hesitates a moment longer, but when he steels himself, the look he shoots Sukuna is one of amusement. He unties his robe dramatically, tossing it aside with bravado and leaving him in his black compression shirt and puffy white clan pants.

“Alright Sukuna, you always said I’d be first to die, so let’s see it.” Satoru leaps forward as the two bound off of the nuclear storage containers. Satoru’s expression is entirely too thrilled, too wild for your liking, but as your boyfriend still manages to use his technique to his advantage even in such a dangerous and confined space, you know this is what he was raised to be. He’s in his element. This is The Strongest.

Your attention turns to Kenjaku, who stares at you with a bored expression unfitting of Nanami. His leg dangles from the energy silo as he waits for you to make a move. Following Satoru’s example, you pull at the tie at the front of your robe, letting it fall to the ground as well. The cool air of the facility chills the bare skin of your shoulders as you prepare to face Kenjaku.

His eyes glint in the dull light that pours in through skylights on the ceiling. “Done wasting time, my dear?”

You inhale sharply at the sound of Kento’s sultry, honeyed voice calling you his dear. Your grip on your sickles tightens and you dart forward, using cursed energy to push yourself off the ground and into the air just as Satoru had taught you in the short month since you’d been learning to fight.

Landing on the silo alongside Kenjaku, he grins widely and full of malice as he ducks out of the way of your sharpened sickle attack. You reel backwards when he attempts to slice you with a blade similarly blunt to Kento’s, though you know it isn’t his given that you have it.

Narrowly avoiding the attack, he lunges forward with a grunt, the first of many misses that’s exchanged, however you quickly realize you don’t have the skills to face off against him alone. With each narrow miss of your skin, your sickles grow further and further from reaching him. Kenjaku has well over four hundred years of training and your month isn’t stacking up to him.

“Is that all you have for me, dear?” He taunts, voice lowering to a silky murmur as he taunts you with Kento’s voice.

Don’t let him get in your head. Keep trying, I will take over when I feel the time is right. Defend.

Heeding Miriko’s words, you very narrowly manage to avoid two more strikes from Kenjaku, breaths coming in heavy pants as you leap from silo to silo, taking care not to damage the barrels of nuclear energy. You can hear Gojo laughing above you, his form casting a shadow over you from where he stands atop the building windows now.

In the split second you’d spared a glance at Gojo, the blade Kenjaku wields hits you squarely at the ratio needed to critically hit your arm. You gasp in pain, adrenaline and shock spiking through your body like a drug as your sickle hits the ground.

Grab the sickle and find somewhere to hide for long enough that I can heal you.

You huff out groan, picking up the second sickle and throwing yourself down off the silo, using the hook of your weapon to swing yourself beneath one of the raised platforms built as a walkway between barrels.

Miriko takes over, wasting no time in growing your arm back before handing control over once again.

“Oh? And here I thought I’d have the pleasure of meeting your curse.”

“Tough luck,” you grumble, parrying an attack from the curse before just barely missing your target in retaliation. The crimson suit he dons has a hefty slash through the collar now.

“This is a new suit, you know,” Kenjaku hums in disapproval, taking a step towards you and effortlessly blocking an attack before laying hits on hard and heavy.

Three.

You recognize Miriko’s signal, brow furrowing as you focus on blocking hit after hit from the blade Kenjaku has. He hasn’t yet broken a sweat and you know he’s playing with you. Your power doesn’t match his at all.

Two.

The clang of steel is piercing and Kenjaku continues to back you into a wall, seemingly figuring he has an advantage.

One.

As your back grows steadily closer to the wall beneath the steel walking platform overhead, you charge your sickles forward, eyes flashing suddenly as your hair shifts to a dramatic silver.

Kenjaku’s eyes widen as you, no, Miriko, shove him back a step and leap off the wall, swiftly moving behind him and slicing at his dominant arm. It falls to the ground with a horrible splatter as blood pools from his arm.

His lip curls in irritation as he leaps back and picks his weapon up, not yet having noticed the very slow and far weaker decay than your usual attacks that’s been imbued into your weapon. If you can keep his attention pulled from his arm, you can win this here and now.

Never daring to back down, Kenjaku tries to get into a location that betters his advantage, leaping back atop the silo. Miriko bounds after him, following his moves with practiced precision as she leaps forward with eyes on Kento’s shoulder.

Her sickle collides with the cylinder beneath and you’re mentally grateful it only collides and doesn’t pierce.

“So you’re the curse?”

“And if I am?”

Kenjaku’s lips quirk up into a grin. “All the more fun for me.”

Their battle is a dance of elegant and well-timed attacks, blocks, and dodges in comparison to your battle just moments ago. Miriko moves with precision and ease, doing what she can to keep Kenjaku’s attention from the decay steadily crawling up his arm. If it can just reach his shoulder-

Kenjaku’s expression grows frustrated as his attention is drawn to the remaining portion of his arm. Shit, of course he would notice his arm hadn’t yet healed.

His lips quirk upwards in a smile. “Clever old curse, aren’t you?”

Miriko ignores his quip with no desire for chatter, watching as he manages to use the ratio technique barely an inch over the decay and slice off the rest of his arm, healing it as easily as Miriko had healed you now that her decay wasn’t in effect.

Rolling her shoulders, Miriko spares no time in launching attack after attack on Kenjaku, a flurry of missed attacks, until finally her chance comes.

Satoru crashes down from the skylight, spotting an opportunity to create an opening with his keen Six Eyes. Catching Kenjaku off-guard, he lands squarely on top of him, his ever-present Infinity blowing the cursed spirit within Nanami off the cylinder he was standing on.

Having spotted the white-haired sorcerer mere moments before he landed, Miriko made the quick decision to throw herself off the cylinder in her best guess at the direction that Kenjaku would be launched in.

Luckily, a thousand years gives you time to learn math and physics. As Kenjaku plummets down beside her, rolling a few feet and coming to a halt on his back, her sickle is square on his chest before he can recover.

“Still having fun?” She asks with a blazing fury behind her eyes as she plunges the weapon deep within his chest. He sputters and coughs and as Nanami’s pained expression reaches your eyes when Miriko hands control back over, you suddenly feel sick all over again.

No amount of mental fortitude could prepare you to say goodbye to Kento again. With a deep breath, you remind yourself it’s not him.

“You are a unique pair,” he groans out as the decay spreads through his chest and up his neck. You stand back, letting the sickle’s power seep into the man.

Regardless of the anger you feel for what’s been done to Kento, you can’t help the tear that falls down your cheek. The sympathy you feel for someone you’ve long said goodbye to already.

Somewhere beyond my domain, I am certain he is thankful for what you have done.

Thanks, Miriko.

You crack a small smile at the curse’s strangely comforting words as the cracks of decay spread up his face. His breathing grows ragged and increasingly strained until he’s gripping painfully at the sickle, slicing his hands open as decay spreads through his limbs too.

“You don’t stand a chance against Sukuna,” he rasps. “Not with 19 fingers.”

Your lip trembles as you tug the sickle from his chest and blood pours from the laceration. Even knowing it’s not him, the pained look in his auburn eye brings you to your knees beside him.

“Go to hell, Kenjaku.”

It’s the last thing he hears before his world goes dark. Your trembling hand caresses Kento’s cheek gently and you’re grateful you can have a proper burial for him now.

You swallow hard in an effort to keep your tears at bay as your fingers loop beneath the thread that keeps Kento’s head sewn shut. With each loop of thread that you pull, bile rises in your throat until your breaths grow ragged from the mental exertion.

When finally his skull falls open, you damn near wretch, swallowing down the bile just in time as your trembling hands pull the real Kenjaku, a disgusting brain with teeth, from Nanami’s skull. Liquid drips down your fingers and wrists, warm and slimy, as you set the brain aside.

“Never again,” you whisper, jabbing the sickle into the brain. It writhes and pulses when the sickle jabs it as though Kenjaku was trying to hide his ability to stay alive through a body’s death, but you knew better. You knew of Geto. It wouldn’t happen again.

With one final twitch, the brain falls flat as decay continues to spread.

Taking a deep breath, you stand up and spare one final glance at Kento, your heart twisting in pain at the sight of him, his whole body scarred, in a suit not belonging to him, with a weapon not his own and his head hanging open. Your lip trembles as you fight the urge to… you aren’t even sure. Cry? Vomit? Scream?

You don’t have the luxury of any of those.

With a deep breath, your gaze rises to the skylight where you can see Sukuna and Satoru’s shadows moving in a flurry of precise movements. You don’t want to join them, but if you plan on saving Yuji, you’re not sure you have an option.

Wiping a tear from your cheek, you leap up the cylinders, propelling yourself up through the skylight in a crash of broken glass as you lunge at Sukuna, hoping to catch him by surprise. His senses are too keen and he easily dodges, having sensed your cursed energy a mile away.

“Oh? Is your beloved ratio sorcerer dead?” Sukuna taunts with a dark chuckle.

You all know it’s a blow to your gut but you don’t so much as flinch, remaining steady and focused. “Don’t stop your fight on my account,” you reply evenly, glancing over to Satoru to see his skin marred with shallow cuts. Your lip parts in disbelief that Sukuna could ever land a hit on him, but they do seem to be healing.

Satoru’s gaze falls to you, keeping Sukuna in his peripherals. Though he doesn’t say anything, those big blue eyes soften and his eager, battle-ready gaze calms when he meets your eyes. Swirling within his irises is a glimmering reassurance that puts you at least a hair’s width more at ease as you return his gaze silently.

All attention turns to your opponent, grinning across from you. Of course, Sukuna knows more about your abilities than Kenjaku so you won’t be able to take him by surprise like you’d done previously. Sukuna is also more cunning and he knows Miriko better than you’d like.

“Let us see what one thousand years does to a death curse,” Sukuna hums, lunging at you in the same breath as he unleashes a rain of slices down. Satoru’s before you in the blink of an eye, a grin as wide as Sukuna’s spread across his features. His infinity protects you from each of Sukuna’s attacks but Satoru can do very little other than defend given the close proximity to the reactors.

You’re no match for Sukuna, but Miriko is. Your minds meld as you swap back and forth in a flurry of missed punches, kicks, and slices from both sides. Satoru’s six eyes help him manage both your safety, the safety of the facility, and his own as Sukuna unleashes more and more powerful attacks as though testing Satoru’s limits and abilities.

The king of curses’ slices cracks the concrete structure below you and you worry for the stored nuclear energy below, but you don’t have time to think about it when you miscalculate a movement and Sukuna’s slice hits squarely across your chest. You fall back onto the hard concrete with an unfortunate thump.

Blood spills from your mouth as you reorient yourself while Satoru takes over. You allow Miriko control as she heals you before managing to bound back up to Sukuna.

Your chest heaves as the battle rages. Your muscles burn with the intensity as Satoru tosses you around with his technique, both to move you out of danger and in an attempt to surprise Sukuna.

Yet as the sun falls below the surface of the horizon outside the veil, you begin to realize that something is wrong.

Sukuna’s attack launches you back in a flurry of limbs as you hit the concrete beneath and glass embeds itself in your skin. With a cough, you get to your feet as Miriko heals you from within. Satoru stands in front of you defensively.

“You know, this would be more fun for us all if you two would attack me,” Sukuna comments with an arched brow. He knows very well the reason that you won’t, but something else occurs to you as well.

He knows something you don’t.

Something is very wrong.

The veil should have lifted by now. The plan was to lift the veil and move the battle away from the power plant, but if Yuta hadn’t found a way to dispel it yet and defeating Uraume hadn’t done it, assuming they had been able to defeat them, then what kept it up?

Satoru takes a step back to exchange a knowing glance with you, clearly coming to the same conclusion. It’s Sukuna’s veil. The only way to break the barrier is to break Sukuna. That was his plan from the start. Whether it would be him or you, he planned on having only one side leave this battle.

“Fuck,” you mumble, taking a deep breath. You’ll have to adjust your plan. “Toru?”

“I know,” he responds gravely. He knows very well what needs to be done.

So, your strategy is adjusted on the fly. Miriko takes over and launches herself at full force towards Sukuna. His eyes widen at the thrill of what he considers a real battle as her sickle narrowly misses his arm.

Satoru moves to the sidelines, swapping his strategy to defend the power plant rather than you.

Each movement burns as your muscles scream for a break, unaccustomed to this kind of a workout, but each glimpse of Satoru is your reminder to keep going. Keep pushing.

Miriko strategically swaps positions with you at precise intervals, each swap burning into your lungs uncomfortably but you don’t- can’t- stop.

As Sukuna’s slices rain down in a tempest of pain, Satoru moves his body to block the nuclear facility while it rains over you in a flurry of agony. Your jaw slacks at the pain as you stumble over the concrete ceiling that creaks beneath you, holding on by a thread.

Miriko pulls control from you, working through the pain to heal you when she spots a single moment, a single opening.

A chance.

Sukuna and Satoru banter effortlessly while Sukuna pays attention to the sorcerer for just a moment too long. Miriko manages to get into his space, close enough to slash him if she can just manage to-

In an instant, Sukuna’s attention is returned to you and he bats the sickles away with a thrilled grin.

But at the end of the day if this is her only chance-

She has to take it.

Her hand connects with his shoulder in place of the sickle. His eyes widen, expression changing to one of shock as decay spreads through him from his shoulder just as quickly as it rises up your arm.

Sukuna flails backwards and Satoru takes the opportunity to slam into Sukuna with the full force of his infinity, blasting through the side of the buildings and forcing all of you to the small dirt area at the side of the building. It doesn’t offer much space until the edge of the barrier but it’s better than the potential of the roof collapsing.

Miriko heaves in each breath, making a constant effort to stave off the decay as it attempts to spread through your body. Your left hand dangles at your side, cracks trailing up to your jaw and blinding your left eye. Even for her, it’s intensely painful.

“Y/n!” Satoru calls your name, trying to reach your side only for Sukuna to raise his undamaged hand and throw a battering of cleaved slashes in the direction of a reactor and, in turn, Satoru.

Miriko? Even internally, your question is painful. You’re scared.

I apologize, y/n. I am uncertain of any other options.

Sukuna seems mostly unphased by the damage as he continues to attack Gojo, paying little mind to the heavily damaged Miriko who stands a small distance away, evaluating options.

I am truly sorry, y/n.

What?

Sukuna’s had a thousand years to perfect healing Miriko’s technique, yet it still isn’t an easy task. Regardless, the decay still lingers for enough time that there’s a chance. His movements are sluggish enough that there’s another opening.

“NO!” Satoru’s voice pierces the air like a siren, a warning that Sukuna is a split-second too slow to avoid. Miriko’s hand connects with the curse’s legs as she swipes low at him, pulling life from him in order to heal her own decay, however as the stone gray texture spreads up through his body beyond what Miriko can heal, she has to swap her technique again to damage you more.

She doesn’t dare disconnect her hand, her technique inversing itself as the decay spreads back through you and cracks through Sukuna’s lower right eye. He hisses and shatters your arm as he manages to back out of your grasp.

It could work, Miriko could split him and Yuji if she could just-

Decay wraps around your heart as Miriko’s focus wanes, cradling your vital organ like a baby but as she works to stave off the damage and keep you alive, your body collapses. Her breathing grows ragged, the shine in your eyes fading.

Satoru should take the shot. He should risk the facility and take the shot, kill Sukuna, but that’s not what the haze in his mind tells him as control returns to you and your body convulses on the ground.

“Nonono, no, y/n, no,” he breathes out, falling to his knees at your side. He hears Sukuna’s victorious chuckle behind him, ignoring it as he pulls you into his arms, his touch so gentle and delicate you would think you were a flower.

You are his flower. His world, his everything.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen, I told you we’d be okay. I- I promised,” he whispers, unsure if you can even hear him as your eyes glaze over. You’re breathing so faintly that fear spikes through him and his eyes go wide with horror. “Stay with me, baby. Come on, Shoko’s just outside, we- we can-” he hesitates, but he knows the barrier won’t let either of you through.

“This is pathetic to watch,” Sukuna hisses with a triumphant grin. Half of his body is still wholly covered in graying cracks and one arm hangs limp at his side. It’s healing slowly but at the end of the day it’s not worth it if you’re not there with him. It’s not worth it if you die and he still has to kill Yuji. Not after everything you’ve been through together.

“You don’t win this, Sukuna. You know that, right?” Satoru’s pupils are pinpricks as he stares at Sukuna, a crazed smile quirking his gorgeous lips up. The curse’s eyes widen, frowning at the sorcerer as he tries to decipher Satoru’s words.

The white-haired man laughs at the distraught and confused expression he receives, his grip on you intensifying.

“Miriko, are you still in there?”

Neither you or her respond, but your eyes flash alight with a glowing crimson that he recognizes as a sign.

“Princess?” His voice softens as he returns his full attention to you, holding you close to his chest, keeping that fading consciousness with him as you cling to life. “I should have said it sooner, but you’re my world. My everything.” He pauses, steeling himself to keep back his tears as he speaks. “I know I’ve said it before but I was a fucking dumbass and you didn’t deserve that and now…”

He shoots a sidelong glance at a confused Sukuna, knowing he needs to speed up his speech if he’s planning on keeping you with him and giving you the shot he knows you have to take as Sukuna is still immobile.

“Now I took everything from you, all over again. I… Don’t think I can live with myself for that. So just know that I’m sorry,” he pauses again, letting out a trembling breath as he cradles your face with his hand. “I love you, y/n,” he whispers, pressing his lips to yours. Your lips twitch in an attempt to respond, but you’re too weak.

Satoru Gojo has spent so long thinking he’s the strongest sorcerer, the strongest man, the strongest- well- everything. Yet in this moment, one where you’ve sacrificed your entire life to help him protect Yuji and still failed, one where somehow Sukuna is the one still standing while he cradles the dying body of the person he loves most, he feels hopelessly weak.

His lip trembles as it parts from yours, still brushing the soft skin of your lips as he whispers something meant for only you and Miriko.

“Now, Miriko.”

Life surges back through your body as Miriko grips Satoru tightly. His gorgeous blue eyes fade just as your crimson ones had and the curse within you doesn’t spare a glance back at him as she tackles the king of curses to the ground.

NO!

You scream as you try to pull control from Miriko, but your consciousness is lost in a haze, trapped behind a fog that seems endless. Where normally you would sit comfortably on Miriko’s ship, you’re now trapped in an endless pale fog. Its grip on you is tight and your consciousness falls to your knees, sobbing, begging, screaming.

You can’t feel pain in this form, and yet your lungs and throat sear. Your eyes burn. Pain tears through your body like claws ripping at flesh, threatening to tear you apart from within.

MIRIKO!

You scream for her, but she doesn’t respond.

MIRIKO, PLEASE! Not again, not- please- I can’t-

You can’t even tell if she hears you until suddenly the fog dispels and you’re in an unfamiliar environment.

Your breaths come in harsh pants as you take in your surroundings. The harsh iron smell of blood taints the air and you wrinkle your nose in an attempt to keep the rising bile down. Before you sits a pile of bones while a massive rib cage stretches overhead.

Atop the pile of bones, Miriko’s massive form ducks and weaves through slashes and slices, attacking Sukuna with everything she has. Within his innate domain, he’s at his full force with no need for domain expansion. This is a dangerous play.

“Y/n!” Yuji’s voice cuts through the haze as his footsteps approach quickly, splashing the thick crimson liquid at your feet up your body with each rushed step.

“Yuji?” Your eyes travel slowly from the curses to your student.

“Shit, you look bad,” he comments.

“Thanks,” you mutter.

He shoots you a wry smile, offering you a hand. “Are you alright?” He asks apprehensively as he pulls you to your feet. You’re certain he knows what’s happened, you’re certain he saw through Sukuna’s eyes.

“I’m fine,” you lie, but your voice breaks.

Taking a shaky breath, you spare a glance at Yuji. He looks fairly battered from his fight with Kenjaku and Uraume earlier, but he’s in better spirits than you in spite of everything.

It’s a tragic end to everything, really. To think that you and your student would watch everything and everyone you love get torn down and killed by your own hands and neither of you could do anything but watch.

What a cruel end.

History repeated itself after all.

Miriko cries out in pain as her arm is sliced off. She works to use the reverse cursed technique as she continues her mountain of attacks on Sukuna.

“We can beat him,” Yuji says suddenly, pulling your attention away. You shoot him a questioning glance, although you’re certain he can see defeat written plainly on your expression. “We can beat him and then maybe…” he trails off hesitantly. You nudge him in an attempt to get him to continue. “Maybe if we win, Shoko can…”

Heal Satoru.

It’s too late, you know it is. But if this is what your life was leading to, then fuck it. You’d be damned if it was the king of curses who walks out of this barrier and not Yuji. Even if Satoru and you are left dead, Yuji will live. He had to. Kento and Satoru wouldn’t die for nothing.

“What did you have in mind?”

“We just need to get close enough to hold him down for Miriko. I should be able to get to him if you can distract him.”

You nod solemnly, sparing a glance at the curses that now danced elegantly above the ribs that tower over Sukuna’s innate domain within Itadori.

Miriko slinks around a rib as she whips her tail at the curse.

You leap up the bone pile, letting Yuji throw you upwards until you walk along the long spine.

“Sukuna!” You call, but he pays you no mind. Without Miriko, you’re an insect to him. And you know that. Which is why you play dirty. After all, if he won’t respect you, then you needn’t pay him any respect. “Now, Gojo!”

Sukuna’s eyes widen as he takes in your words.

It’s not Satoru that attacks though, it’s Yuji that tackles Sukuna off the ribs and down into the pile of bones below. The pile clatters as Sukuna and Yuji disperse them and Miriko falls after him.

She moves with urgency as she wraps her snake-like body around the curse once, twice, three times, as decay takes its hold on Sukuna.

“You insect!” He hisses in disbelief as he unleashes wave after wave of cleaves into Miriko’s body.

You watch with anticipation as cracks scatter across Sukuna’s body, over the muscles of his tattooed arms and up his jaw, all the while Miriko falls apart around him with each powerful slash that slices through her scaly flesh.

To your horror, although his body is nearly entirely stone, it’s Miriko’s muscles that twitch and falter first and allow what remains of Sukuna to escape. He chuckles darkly, turning his attention to you.

“No,” you whisper, collapsing to your knees as you stare down at Miriko’s body, limp on the ground.

Sukuna’s skin slowly regains its structure, graying cracks fading and healing gradually as he grins at you. “Did you think you had won, little vessel?” He asks tauntingly.

Kento, Satoru, now Miriko too. They all lay dead at the hands of this monster.

Yuji uses the distraction to leap into action, eyes fiery as he goes hand-to-hand in combat with Sukuna while you sit helplessly and watch. What else can you do? Your technique is dead on the ground below.

Yet… you’re still here. Still using her technique to enter Sukuna’s domain. Your eyes train down to the pool of blood below, looking over Miriko’s body. She’s still in pieces, but she’s in fewer pieces than she was.

Your lips part as you realize all hope isn’t lost, Yuji just needs to bide his time. You silently fall to the pool of blood, letting the warm liquid cover your body as you find Miriko’s head. She doesn’t move when you set your hands on her snout, but her pupil shifts to you.

You don’t dare blow her cover, you don’t dare make a sound.

Her pupils roll over to watch Sukuna again, still distracted by Yuji’s flurry of punches. Sukuna gripes loudly about him using dismantle, his own cursed technique, against him, and you’re glad your training with him paid off.

Miriko’s muscles tense under your fingers and you realize she’s ready to strike, when suddenly the course of battle changes. You would recognize this feeling anywhere. It’s nothing, it’s everything.

It’s Satoru.

Infinite Void.

Your chest tightens as you search frantically for him, but he’s nowhere to be found. No, he’s turning the tides in your favor with whatever power he has left, just as Miriko had brought up months ago.

You frantically look between Sukuna and Yuji, both paralyzed by the domain. Beneath you, Miriko shifts. By all accounts, she shouldn’t be able to move. But unlike last time when Satoru kept only you safe from his domain and Miriko was unable to move, you now were keeping her safe within the innate domain as well. The three of you connected as one within the Infinite Void.

Your fingers tangle in the serpentine curse’s mane as she slinks forward, blood staining her white scales and silver hair.

Under usual circumstances, Miriko is the most angelic form of death, the most merciful end, and you’re her gentle and kind vessel. Covered in the blood of Sukuna’s domain with anger coursing through your veins, you’re the ruler of hell and she’s your most loyal demon.

You leap from Miriko, pulling Yuji away from her form as she wraps herself around Sukuna once more. Satoru’s grip slips just in time for Miriko to wrap around him once again.

“Six Eyes,” Sukuna snarls in disbelief as he unleashes cleave attacks against Miriko again. You watch in horror with Yuji as Miriko’s body falls to shreds once more with each slice through her scales, blood spurting from each laceration.

The difference between this time and last, however, is that Sukuna was already nearing death. And so even as Miriko’s grip on Sukuna slips, so too does his hold on life, and his hold on Yuji Itadori.

Miriko falls to the ground and as she does, she leaves behind a statue of what was once Sukuna.

“She did it,” you whisper in disbelief, taking a step towards Miriko. She shuffles in an effort to face you, red eyes flickering as she searches for you, but her eyes are glazed over, blood dripping from her lashes. She’s blind.

“Miriko?”

“I am sorry, y/n.”

“It’s okay,” you whisper, swallowing down the bile rising in your throat as you rest your hands on her snout. She writhes under your touch, her long whiskers twitching as her tongue tastes the air.

“I promised him, you know.”

“Promised who, Miriko?”

“When you were recovering. I promised Gojo that should the time come, I would save you by taking his life.” She exhales heavily and you watch in horror as her detached foot twitches at your side.

Adrenaline, grief, fear, you aren’t sure which one it is that’s keeping you numb, but you don’t realize you’re crying until a tear wets your hand, slipping down to her scales. Your hands tremble as everything begins to crash in on you.

“That asshole,” you whimper, more tears falling down onto Miriko’s scales below.

“Don’t cry, little one.” The timbre of her voice changes as she rasps her breaths.

“Can’t you heal?”

She chuckles lightly, her snout rumbling beneath you.

“Take care, y/n. You make good company.”

“No, no, please. Miriko,” you beg, clutching at her but you feel the innate domain of Sukuna fading and the serpentine curse needs to sever the connection between Sukuna and Yuji before it’s too late.

You glance back desperately at Yuji, your chest heaving as you gasp for air.

“Miriko, you have to heal, please,” you beg, tears falling down your cheeks as you sob, falling to your knees.

When next you open your eyes, Yuji sits before you, alive, though his gaze is distant. Where once there was decay, he’s healed now. From within the innate domain, Sukuna must have healed him, expecting to win. The veil has dispelled but there’s no sign of the rest of the sorcerers.

With his knees pulled to his chest and a forlorn expression, your student stares at you with a clearly guilty conscience in spite of the fact that he has no reason to feel responsible for what’s transpired. You swallow your agony as you muster your most convincing reassuring smile, trying to be the responsible adult, but Yuji’s focus is already on something behind you.

Blinking away the disorientation of the innate domain, you feel your chest tighten when you whip your head around, seeing Satoru’s limp body splayed across the ground with his hair over his face. His hand loosely clutches your ankle, other hand still just barely holding the familiar hand sign of his domain expansion.

“Toru?” Your voice barely manages to penetrate the air, not even loud enough to call a whisper.

You scramble to his side, pulling him desperately into your arms. His body is decayed from his feet to just beneath his chest. Miriko must have spread the decay to him from your feet in an effort to potentially save him.

It’s moments like these that make you question whether ‘curse’ was the correct term for her.

Your lip trembles as Satoru’s figure lays limp in your arms. Your mind seems to move slower than your body as your entire frame shakes with your relentless sobs, barely allowing you an opportunity to breathe.

“Gojo-Sensei! Y/n! Yuji!”

Yuta’s voice is a distant sound, blanketed by the shrill ring in your ears with blurred vision as you hold your boyfriend close to you. You bury your head into his shoulder, gripping at him desperately.

Yuta bolts over to you, setting his sword aside as he falls to the ground beside you, although you don’t fully process that it’s him. In truth, you’re not sure you care. It doesn’t matter much at this point, because your love is gone.

In your peripherals, Yuta kneels at your side, looking over Satoru. Shortly behind him is Shoko, who kneels opposite you, healing his surface-level wounds.

“Y/n,” Shoko softly whispers, lost on you. She repeats your name once more, setting her hand over yours. Blinking tears away, you meet Shoko’s gentle gaze, her kind eyes and reassuring smile easing your pain just long enough to hear what she has to say. “Look,” she says softly.

You follow where she points at his torso, eyes widening at the spot where his shirt rides up as you see that slowly but surely, the cracks are healing.

“Is- Is he…?”

“He’s stubborn, is what he is,” Shoko smiles at you with sunken eyes. “Satoru, you dumbass,” she sighs, placing her hand an inch away from him in an attempt to speed up the healing process.

Yuji comes to join you after reuniting with Choso and Kusakabe, all waiting with bated breath to see if he would awaken.

You aren’t sure how long you wait when a muscle twitches beneath your fingertips.

“Satoru?” You whisper desperately, biting your lip as your heart pounds in your ears. His expression is so serene that you wonder if he was an angel in another lifetime. His skin is flawless, with the faintest hint of stubble on his chin that matches the color of his lashes and gorgeous white hair. You feel like you stare at him for an eternity, when it happens again.

His muscle twitches.

“Toru? I need you baby, please, I-”

His low groan cuts you off as one eye flickers open and you let out a gasp, relieved when he shifts in your arms, leaning into your warm embrace.

“You didn’t say it back,” he rasps as tears fall from your eyes like a river, relief coursing through you.

“Oh my god Toru, I love you too, I thought I lost you and I didn’t know what to do, you scared me, you idiot-” your words come out as a ramble when you hug him tight to you. The crowd around you has been long tuned out as you bawl into Satoru’s shoulder. The world slows for you, allowing you the moment to yourselves.

“Hey, pretty girl, I’m here,” he coos, hushing you softly as he reaches up to gently stroke your hair. “I’m here, my love.”

“I thought I lost you too,” you cry, voice breaking and betraying your relief. It’s all so overwhelming to love, to lose, over and over and over, that you clutch to him desperately as though you might lose him again.

“I promised you we’d all be okay,” he whispers, pushing himself up as he heals more. His lips brush yours softly before he kisses you languidly, savoring the moment as though it’s his last. “I meant it.”

Your mouth goes dry as your eyes remain shut and you breathe his living scent in, trying to bury your face into his shoulder again.

“C’mere, love,” he urges, shuffling to take your head in his hands. He lifts your face to his, pulling you into another tender kiss. “I love you,” he murmurs against your lips, eyes fluttering open. “And I should have fucking said it earlier,” he chuckles dryly, averting his eyes guiltily.

“I love you too,” you whisper back, voice growing even enough that Satoru’s heart flutters. You’d succeeded. He’d kept his promise. Everything would be okay and you had your way out now, you could finally leave the world of curses and sorcerers and it’s all he could ever want for you.

When your eyes open again, Satoru’s eyes widen. It’s the first good look he’s gotten at you since waking up and his lips purse, brow furrowing. “Your eyes…” he whispers.

Your head tilts as you sniffle, unsure of what he means, until it clicks. Miriko is dead. Your eyes have returned to their natural color. “Oh,” your voice breaks, your grip on him tightening. “Yeah. They were only red because of Miriko.”

Satoru sighs, understanding passing over his features as he solemnly drops his head. You embrace the moment of silence, each paying respects to the curse that likely saved the world and only a small crowd would ever know. “She’ll be back someday, you know. It might be a lifetime from now, but she’ll be back.”

“I think she severed the connection between Yuji and Sukuna and then herself and me. If she didn’t then I… I should be dead, shouldn’t I?”

Satoru grimaces. “You should be,” he answers. “I owe her one for trying to avoid my heart with her attack and bringing my girl back to me,” he whispers hoarsely, a bittersweet timbre to his tone.

Your heart jumps to your throat, pounding as he calls you his girl. “You’re an asshole, you know that?” You tell him suddenly, the words falling from your lips before you have time to process what you’ve said.

His brow furrows.

“I thought I wouldn’t be able to say that I love you back again,” you tell him, pinching his shoulder. He recoils, playful frustration passing over his features. “Gimme a break, I told you I shoulda said it earlier,” he grumbles, pouting.

You sigh, leaning your forehead into him. “Just… don’t you dare pull that sort of shit again,” you mumble. He huffs out a sigh, caressing you tightly against his toned form just as he regains movement in his feet.

“I promise, my love.”

You lift your head to look at him. His pout fades, replaced easily by a mesmerized smile, absolutely lost in your gorgeous eyes. “Shit, you have beautiful eyes. I mean you always did, but-” he shakes his head “-I had no idea they weren’t always red.”

Your smile doesn’t quite meet your eyes, after all, you still have a lot to process, but Satoru is just thrilled to be alive to see the way your lips curve so beautifully, the way a timid laugh slips through them as you hold back your grateful tears.

Thank you, Miriko. Thank you for keeping us all alive.

She doesn’t respond, of course, but you hope somewhere out there in whatever afterlife she’s experiencing, that she’s watching over you both.

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a/n || wowowow i just want to say thank you as always for all the support and i'm sorry for the ANGST. holy this hurt to write </3 but i hope you all enjoy and stick with me for the next and final chapter full of fluff ♡

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