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3d-wifey · 1 year ago

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I've read that Johnny NSFW alphabet like 30 times, it was so gooddddd, there's been no good Johnny Cage smut or writing in general honestly. Your Johnny just feels so in character and you're feeding me crumbs, I need moreeee 🥺🥺🥺🥺 (that sneak peek made me levitate)

Show 'em Who I Belong To

Pairing: Johnny Cage x Reader Synopsis: Johnny has seriously pissed you off this time, like, royally. The "begging on his knees" kind of pissed off. But luckily, he knows just the thing to do to prove he’s sorry. Word Count: 2.58k Playlist: Here's a Johnny Cage playlist to read his smut or just get inspo from, I made it myself TW: Vaginal Sex, Oral Sex, Cunnilingus, dom!reader, sub!johnny cage, switch!Reader, switch!johnny cage, dom!johnny cage, sub!Reader, Forgiveness, Making Up, Apology Sex, Vaginal Penetration, Recording, Sex Tapes, Exhibitionism, Begging, Hand Jobs, Grinding, Crying During Sex, johnny cage loves you, johnny cage is just really really dumb, celebrity!reader, No Spoilers, Making Out, "straight" couple, johnny's slutty little slacks, Johnny cage is a little shit, Pussy drunk, cock drunk, Praise Kink, simp johnny cage, no other canon characters show up in this, Smut, Shameless Smut, Gratuitous Smut A/N: Since the poll I put on Tumblr voted for switch!Johnny, that's what I'm doing! This chapter will mostly be sub!johnny and dom!reader with a switch at the end. It's a bit of a mixed pov, but it's mainly from the reader's pov. Nothing but Dom!Johnny in the next chapter and sorry if the quality was lacking, I've slept a total of 10 hours in a span of 72 hours. CHECK OUT THAT JOHNNY NSFW ALPHABET I WROTE, IT'S CONSIDERED CANON TO THIS! Part 2 (tbm) Ao3

Your acrylics tap a beat onto the arm of the plush white couch as you read the tweet on your phone.

" Johnny Cage spotted cozying up on set with Co-Star. Has the star finally met his match? " Your nails stop and you glance at where Johnny kneels fidgeting on the floor in front of you before looking back to the screen.

He spreads his hands. "Okay, I know this looks bad." His voice floats in the otherwise quiet mansion. "But will you please stop ignoring me?"

You look down your nose at him. "Is this enough attention for you?" You sneer and he grimaces.

"My PR team cooked this up a while ago and they've been hounding me about it for ages. It was so unimportant to me that it sorta...slipped my mind." He shrugs and your glare hardens him. " C'mon , babe, it's just a little publicity stunt our agents had us do for the movie. It doesn't mean anything." He laughs and his nonchalance about the situation is pissing you off more than you already are.

"Do I look like I'm laughing?" You fume and his brows furrow. "This isn't funny, Jonathan."

" Oof, " he winces, "government name."

You're both celebrities, you know what you signed up for when you agreed to date him after years and years of his begging and truly horrible pickup lines.

You're not mad about the situation itself, not really. You've gotten into drama before loads of times to drum up hype around a new project, but nothing like this. At least, not while you were dating Johnny.

You're mad that you had to find out about it from the trending page on Twitter along with a slew of concerned messages from your friends, family, and manager.

You scroll down and read messages concerned fans have posted, worried that you and Johnny have broken up or, worse, that he cheated on you. But you know that he knows that you know he wouldn’t dare.

"Look at this shit." You shove your phone in his face. The screen reflects off the sunglasses that sit low on the bridge of his nose and he squints as the brightness nearly blinds him. "'I hope this isn't how she finds out.' 'I'd be so embarrassed if I was her.' 'I knew Johnny wouldn't stay faithful for long.'"

He looks from you to the screen and then back to you. "...You're mad."

You stare down at him.

"You are un- fucking -believable.” You move to stand up, but he grabs ahold of your hips.

"Okay, okay! I'm sorry, I'm sorry ! I didn't mean to upset you. Next time, I'll give you a heads up— I mean I'll run it by you.” Johnny corrects, pulling you closer when you try to pull away again. "What can I do to make it up to you, huh?" The muscles in his biceps flex against you as he wraps his arms around your waist. You try to stay firm, but it's pretty hard when he's pressing reverent kisses to your stomach.

You shiver from the coldness of his rings as he runs a big hand up your calf, traveling up your outer thigh to hook the hem of your dress at your hip before repeating the process up your other leg.

You want to stay mad—you are mad. This is incredibly careless and he didn't consider your feelings at all and...and you don't want him to think he can get out of trouble by kissing up to you. But, begrudgingly, you card your fingers through the short hair at the nape of his neck.

"I'm still really upset about this, Johnny." You frown.

"I know, sweetheart. And I really am sorry. But, hey! I know something that'll make us both feel better." He grins up at you and you let him lead you back to the couch with a huff, dropping down once the back of your calves brush the white upholstery.

“I’m sure you do.” You roll your eyes, spreading your legs to make room for him without thinking. “How would you —ahh !” You yelp at the sudden pinprick of pain on the skin of your inner thigh and it morphs into a moan when the pinch is quickly followed by a warm heat. You look down in time to see the pink of Johnny’s tongue as he licks over the tender spot—tender because he bit you like a damn dog!

“I’m sorry, what were you saying? I couldn’t really hear you over all those cute little noises.” You can feel the shit-eating grin against your skin as he talks. “You’re so sensitive. Definitely not a complaint—it does amazing things to my ego.” He laughs, hooking his hands under the back of your knees and pushing your legs up until the heels of your feet are balancing precariously on the edge of the seat.

He grips your hips, pulling you further down the couch and closer to his face. He moves your legs so your feet rest on his shoulders, the white polish of your toenails reflecting the light.

He leans in and you hold your breath in anticipation. You don’t want him to think he can just distract you and you’ll forget about being mad at him but—he leans in close to where the skirt of your sundress rucks up around your stomach, warm breath making you clench around nothing with each pant—but you like getting ate out almost as much as Johnny likes to do it.

You sigh as the warm, wet heat of his tongue drags across the damp seat of your panties.

" Johnny. " You whine in frustration, fingers tightening in his sandy hair, as he pulls away as quickly as he came.

"Hold on, sweetheart. I think you're gonna like this." He grins, pulling his phone out of his back pocket. You pause as he unlocks it and presents it to you, camera on and recording you.

"What the hell are you doing?" You try to push as much disapproval into your voice as you can as you flip it from the front-facing camera to the rear one, but that’s an almost impossible task since he’s rubbing his nose up and down the crease of where your thigh meets your pussy. You end up sounding far more breathy than intended.

"What?” He grins into the camera. “You can watch this whenever you need a reminder of who I belong to." He says and if you weren't wet before, you definitely are now.

For as long as you’ve known him, Johnny has never been one to half-ass anything . It’s whole ass or nothing with him putting 110% into everything he’s faced with. However, when you first started dating, you hadn’t thought that would hold up when he had his head between your legs—yet another thing Johnny went out of his way to prove you wrong about.

The camera captures it the moment he pushes your panties to the side; he’s in his element.

There’s no preamble, no warning. Johnny dives in giving you no time to prepare for the shock of pleasure. You jerk away, but he holds onto your hips, hands becoming heavy weights you can’t lift.

“You always taste so good for me, it’s insane.” He groans as your thighs try to squeeze his head, but he keeps them open easily. You sigh shakily at the casual show of strength. “I’d stay down here forever if you’d let me.” You bite your lip to muffle your soft moans, reminding yourself to steady the phone every few seconds, but forgetting to do so almost as soon as you do. But you can’t be blamed when Johnny gives head like he’s training for the Olympics; trying to break his previous record each attempt. You’ve been eaten out by people other than Johnny—of course, you have. It’s a requirement—but none of your past lovers come anywhere close to this. Johnny blows them out of the water every time.

That would be fine if you didn’t factor in his ego. Which would also be fine…any other day. But today, after the shit he pulled, you aren’t in the mood. This is supposed to be his way of apologizing, after all. So before he can get any ideas, you blink past the haze he’s put you in and grab the back of his neck. His back stiffens. He glances up at you and the shift is so swift that you doubt the camera even picked it up. His shoulders relax, almost limp against you, wide eyes going lidded as his grip on you softens.

“I know you can be louder than that, Johnny. I, hah , wanna hear how sorry you are. You are sorry, right?” You narrow your eyes.

His words are muffled since he refuses to take his mouth off of you, but you’re able to make out ‘yes’ and ‘princess’ which is good enough for you. Through the camera, you manage to get his pleading eyes and his hand unabashedly palming his bulge in the same frame and you smile around a moan.

"Are you hard, Johnny?" He doesn't hesitate to nod enthusiastically, and you feel yourself throb in his mouth. You're sure if your feet were on the ground he'd be grinding against your leg shamelessly. His body knows this too since his hips keep making aborted little thrusts, itching for relief from his tight gray slacks. "Heh, of course, you are. You can't help yourself, c–can you? Go on, then.”

He pauses, assessing you for a second to see if you’ll follow it up with anything else. You’re being surprisingly benevolent. He always has to work to earn your approval when you get like this, any pleasure he gets is dictated by you—not that he’s complaining—and that’s on the days when he hasn’t pissed you off. He honestly didn’t think he’d be cumming tonight, but he won’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

He buries his tongue in you, licking from your pulsing hole to your throbbing clit as his hands work to unbuckle his belt and pull his dick out. He groans in relief once he’s free, squeezing the base of his dick so he doesn’t cum too quickly. You’re certainly not helping, shivering against him like a house in a storm and he moans in synch with you when you yank on his hair.

He freezes at the press of sharp nails at the nape of his neck. He shivers at the slight pinch of pain before leaning into it and you reward him with smoothing down the hair there. He stops the movement of his hands, but not his mouth.

“If you’re touching yourself, you’ll do it slowly or not at all. You wanna make it up to me, don’t you? Yeah ?” You hiss as he nods against you, mouth a tight suction on your clit. “Then you don’t cum until I do.” Normally he’s more bratty than this, making you fuck the submission out of him, but he must really be sorry because he does just as you say. He slows down as you instruct, his sharp brows furrowing as one of his hands grip the fat of your thigh. His other hand jerks him off haltingly like he actively has to remind himself to obey you.

“You’re being so good for me, baby.” You gush, squirming in his hold. “ Mmh, s’fucking good.” You have to adjust your grip on his phone when he grunts at your praise, uncertain if you should jerk away or towards the vibrations. You run your nails over his scalp before yanking on his blond hair and he moans like a pornstar, hips thrusting into his hand. To the untrained eye—or ear—it seems like he’s playing it up for the camera, performing, but he’s always this loud. Especially when he’s got your pussy in his mouth.

It's almost embarrassing, the wet sounds of Johnny sloppily eating you out. Your moans mix with his and bounce around the mansion's walls with a filthy echo the longer this goes on.

He stiffens his tongue and you know what he wants. You move your hand to the back of his head, gripping the soft strands to pull him forward. You thrust your hips with helpless, heady moans as you fuck his face. His heavy gaze burns through the camera to stare up at you with his tongue out. The corner of his mouth quirks up into a smirk and he winks. You throw your head back, eyes closed with an obscene moan and he moves forward to press his nose against your clit, tongue flat as you move his head side to side.

“Johnny , mmh, ‘m gonna, f– fuck, ‘m gonna cum!” You cry and he moans into you in response. You glance down to see his foggy glasses riding low on his nose and he stares right back, brown eyes half open but full of lust. The apples of his flushed cheeks become accentuated, sharpening with his grin. The barest hint of teeth brush your clit before pressing against it and you jerk back with the strength of your orgasm. Your mouth falls open with a repeated whine of his name, legs shaking as you hold his head still.

“Damn.” He curses, pulling away when your muscles untense. He doesn't bother wiping his mouth, wearing your slick like a trophy as he smiles into the camera. “Should’ve got that on camera. It was a money shot.” You scoff, smiling despite yourself. You pull his glasses off and sit them on your head before you press stop on the camera and toss the phone on the couch beside you, pulling him to you by the open collar of his button-up. You kiss him deep, tasting yourself on his tongue with a groan. His hands go to your hips and you wrap your legs around his waist, licking into his mouth.

“You played dirty.” You slide your hand down his chest, unbuttoning his shirt as you go. You grab his dick, still hard and leaking against his stomach. He laughs before whimpering into your mouth at your touch, rutting up into it. You swipe a thumb across his tip where precum drips down the underside of the head. "You're so wet, baby. This all for me?" You pull away to lick yourself off him, tongue dragging across the skin of his chin as you twist your wrist with every upward stroke.

"Are you joking? O–of course. Can, shit , can you blame me?” He puffs into your neck, hot air warming your neck as you alternate between licking and kissing his jaw. His fingers spasm around your hips, and your hands fly to his shoulders when he pulls you forward until your ass is barely on the edge of the couch. Now he’s in the perfect position to—

You gasp as he ruts against you, still sensitive as his dick slides between your pussy lips. There’s no friction with how wet you both are and with every upwards thrust he bumps your twitching clit.

“Wait, I’m— mmnh —Johnny, I’m sensitive.”

“Ah, ah, sweetheart. You said I can cum when you do,” you jump when he nips at your neck, strong arms wrapping around your back holding you tight to him. “Besides, I’m not done apologizing.” You rock against him despite your complaining. The overwhelming feeling only increases when he bends over you to reach something, and it’s enough to distract you from the sound a phone makes when you press record.

#johnny cage #3d wifey answers #johnny cage x reader #mk1 johnny cage #johnny cage smut #sub!johnny cage #mk smut #mk1 smut #mk1 x reader #mk x reader #dom!reader #mortalkombat #mortal kombat #mortal kombat 1

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leeknowslaughh · 4 months ago

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Sorry for the spoiler to some folks! But I’m so in love with the way Satoru Nii is writing Sakura’s character.

I have so many thoughts so this surely will not be my last post about the newest chapter! But I honestly kind of love the draw?? Like I feel like it makes the most sense and shows a positive side of the “either I win or we both lose” trope that a lot of MCs have now.

This isn’t a loss. This is 100% Sakura’s victory and I will fight anyone that says otherwise.

Now it’s time for the others to take care of their grade captain and protect him from anything else! 💗

Also I’m hoping this means we get a glimpse next chapter in what’s been going on on the roof!!! I’m worried about Ume !!

#wind breaker #sakura haruka #suo hayato #haruka sakura #rambles #wind breaker (satoru nii)#chapter 148 #windbreaker spoilers #wind breaker 148

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a-b-riddle · 7 months ago

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I'm just going to ask this because I need to get it out of my head. This is all in regards to your Poly141 x Reader series going on. I'm just going to recap things first.

-Price got verbally eviscerated because of all the times he got short/snapped at the reader because he came into their bookstore that they bought with their own money, put their own blood, sweat and tears into fixing up and had THE AUDACITY to call them immature for trying to break things off cleanly like a MATURE adult in a space that's RIGHTFULLY THEIRS because he couldn't be an adult admit how he shouldn't of been treating the reader like one of his men.

-Soap showing up trying to apologize and then thinking with his dick because of how the reader got dressed up for a dinner date and got a taste of his own medicine when the reader just hit it and quit it without so much as a thank you, or a goodbye kiss and basically told him to clean up, get dressed and kick rocks.

-Gaz shows up after weeks of just flaking out of any dates and just being a ghost (ironic considering Ghost's callsign) trying to talk to the reader in person when the reader had tried for months to just get a glimpse of him only to be told he couldn't right now but could another time. Then the reader just tell him, 'yeah sorry no. I don't have time for you and your mates nonsense at the moment, just swing by to get your stuff when it works for you'.

-Ghost showing up whenever the reader is in trouble and getting them away from danger only to disappear shortly afterward and give the reader radio silence. The one time that the reader tried to seek him out for just a SHRED of comfort and he just told them, 'You're only good for what's in between your legs love, you knew what you were getting into. You should've known better.'

With all this mind, I want Ghost to have everything and the kitchen sink thrown at him. I want him to be told in no kind words that his words and lack of realizing how fucked up the things he said to the reader were was the straw that broke the camel's back. I want the reader to hurl everything that they didn't say to Price to Ghost. I want him to realize in no unclear terms how if he didn't fuck up so royally and had actually attempted to give the reader a fraction of what he was being given, things would be so much better. And for some extra salt on the wound, have the reader tell him that they suppose that when it comes to his line of work, he's pretty good at breaking anything and everything he touches. It's just a shame that for anything that involves a softer touch, he winds up breaking it beyond repair.

I just love narrative/reflective irony and can't wait for the next part and wish you well for making it to the end of this ramble. 🥰

I'm throwing up.

I am so happy that y'all got it without me having to say it. YES! She is giving everything back that they gave her. John's outbursts, Johnny's lack of aftercare and Kyle's flakiness.

I will say this which I think is interesting. Simon said something hellllla shitty and unforgivable. Like it was mean and something once you say you can't take back. I will ask this and feel free to go back and re-read.

What else did Simon do? Before the phone call, what else did Simon do to reader? We know Simon wanted to hurt reader. Why? Did he plan

Spoiler below, read at own caution

Or was he just sick of being the only one out of the four guys to actually contribute to the relationship and knew he needed to be the one to drive it home that there isn't a future with them? Reader refers to Simon several times as her body guard or guard dog... But never a boyfriend or partner.

In flashbacks, we see that Simon only ever came over at night. You'll find out why in the next few chapters, but as much as I love y'all hating on Simon, I cannot WAIT for y'all to get to the why.

And remember kiddos, hurt people hurt people.

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bloodiedrogue · 1 year ago

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IF THOUGHTS COULD TEASE (3)

SUMMARY: At the tiefling party, Astarion uses his Illithid powers to offer you another memory.

PAIRING: Astarion & Female Reader

WORD COUNT: 2,771

WARNINGS: Unresolved sexual tension, heavy petting, Illithid abuse at it's finest. Sort of contains spoilers for Act I?

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hi, welcome to day three of Haunted Hoedown! The prompt I chose was why do you keep following me? but I used it pretty loosely to be honest, so... whoops?

CHAPTER LIST / MASTERLIST / NEXT CHAPTER

The inner parts of the grove are bustling. Filled to the brim with celebratory bodies, everyone’s huddled up in their respective groups, talking amongst themselves over endless sloshes of ale that dizzy your brain.

As the bonfire burns, you and the rest of your group glance around with interest. On either side of the party, merchants stand alongside tables of trinkets, grinning and guiding heavy pockets to their nicest wares, while, in the centre, a group of bards play joyous songs, singing along with a group that glides around in circles, dancing in patterned steps that onlookers like you can't help but watch.

“Gods, it’s such a rarity.” Pulling your attention from the dancers, Astarion sips a bottle of wine, turning to face you with a grin. “The whole… heroism thing.”

Narrowing your eyes, you give him a curious look, watching the way his gaze shifts between you and the bards, his lips only extending their excitement. “I guess being helpful has its benefits.”

“Mm, like this free wine.” He nods —takes another long, careful sip, then smacks his lips. “Although, it’s certainly due for improvement. Tastes a bit of vinegar.”

Standing at your other side, Wyll peeks around your frame to look at the both of you; a sudden look of interest filling his features. “True, but who are we to look a gift horse in the mouth?”

After speaking, he offers Astarion a smug expression. One that the silver-haired elf reciprocates with an eye roll before he steps away, discarding any sort of verbal response in favour of moving further into the depths of the party. As he leaves you can’t help but snort, watching as Wyll chuckles and shakes his head, knowing exactly what he’s done.

“Behave, Wyll. You know he isn’t fond of kindness,” you say, taking a sip of your own bottle. Inside, an amber ale tickles your lips, making you sigh in slight relief as the cool liquid slips down your aching throat.

The battle fought earlier had been rough. An ambush within the goblin camp’s prison had proved tougher than you anticipated, earning yourself a nasty lash to the throat that Shadowheart subsequently healed, still earning yourself a fair bit of bruising.

Hours later, it still aches with every breath. Stinging with each sound that reverberates through your vocal cords as you pause to hear Wyll speak.

“He doesn’t seem to mind your’s though.”

While taking another sip, you raise your brow at his comment, watching the way he merely stares back, waiting for you to clue in. To realize that, despite attempting to hide your ever-growing niceties towards Astarion, it’s somehow become noticeable.

“I’m sorry?”

“Fangs,” he reiterates, pointing towards one of the merchant tables —towards Astarion who’s still chugging his wine as he eyes up some wares. “You’ve gotten close.”

“Have we?” You feel the aching of your throat uprise as you speak. Immediately feeling the pain send you into a fit of coughs, prompting Wyll to scoff.

“You’re not very good at hiding it. Not like he is, anyway.”

As frustrating as it is, you know he’s right. Your deceptions are average at best. In the heat of a tense moment you can lie and cheat no problem but when it comes to Astarion and the way you’ve slowly grown more fond of his presence, it’s difficult to cloak.

Humming in response, you take another sip of ale, hoping to wash away the pain before letting out a heavy breath. “I’m not hiding anything.”

“No?”

Offering the same smugness he gave Astarion just moments before, you quickly find yourself pushed to the edge, scrambling to find your footing within a conversation you never anticipated having.

Sure, perhaps over the last few days it had become increasingly obvious that you and Astarion had grown rather close. Opting to choose each other’s company over everyone else’s, you could see the assumption brewing behind curious eyes. During raids, it wasn’t odd to see the two of you working together —you posing as the distraction while he went in for the kill from behind. And while looting, it was common knowledge at this point that the two of you would wander away to look for traps.

But obviously, it was all a symptom of continued happenstance. A build-up of time spent together without even realizing it. You weren’t friends by any means. Yes, you were fond of him in a way but, if anything, it was as if you were coworkers at best, working together when need be but still bickering off the clock.

“I’m only nice to him because he’s nice to me.” It’s a childish answer. One that has Wyll grinning so wide it looks as if he might split in two, making you frown in response.

“I’m just saying,” he says, pausing to raise his hands in innocence, even though he’s anything but. “The two of you seem to be connecting more and more at the hip as of late.”

“What, like you and Gale?” Your tone is uncharacteristically defensive. At least for Wyll. If it were Astarion you were speaking to the elf would hardly bat an eye. More than likely he’d just wave it off —change the subject and forget, but unfortunately, Wyll isn’t like that.

“I didn’t realize you’d noticed,” he says sarcastically, watching the way you huff under your breath, taking one last sip before storming off, too tired to entertain the conversation further.

It’s one thing to be teased by Astarion —with him, it’s practically expected. What with the way his voice carries within a conversation. Regardless of the subject matter, there’s always an inkling of sass in his words. A gentle beratement that often fills you with rage each time you’re at the receiving end of it.

It’s the same feeling you get as you leave Wyll behind. Glaring forward while wandering the party, drinking your way through the outer rim, knowing it’s all futile. Now that Wyll’s seen the side of you that looks at Astarion as anything other than an annoyance, you’re doomed. Fated to hear a constant onslaught of questions and comments about your blooming camaraderie.

As you trade your now empty drink for another, you scan the party until your eyes land on Astarion again, watching him slide up to a particularly tall tiefling who smiles at his presence. The two of them chat for a while, both of them leaning in, appearing more interested the deeper the conversation gets.

It makes you smile seeing him almost happy. Considering that he’s almost always in a sour mood, it’s strange seeing such obvious enjoyment. To see his face light up amidst all the shit you’ve been through over the last few weeks.

The only other time you’d seen him that happy was after he fed. After he tore his teeth from your sensitive flesh; a newfound energy coursing through his veins. The euphoria laced within his features was nothing short of breathtaking, and now that you know him a bit better you’re aware that when he spoke of the moment being a gift, for once he wasn’t lying.

“You know it’s rude to stare, darling.”

You nearly leap at the sound of his voice. Feeling its tone nestle into the crook of your neck, shamefully a soft yelp hurtles from your lips, causing him to laugh just as you turn on your heel. “I’m sorry, can I help you?”

Immediately he shakes his head and brings his wine to his lips, giving it a lengthy taste before licking his lips. “Just came to see what you want. Seeing as you’ve been relentlessly following me around with that little gaze of yours.”

“Have not,” you scoff, a little too quickly. Your eagerness to lie painting your true intentions in the dirt beneath you.

“So your eyes haven’t been looking upon me and that gorgeous tiefling over there?”

As his brow quirks up you find yourself scrambling. Searching through your thoughts for some sort of excuse. Perhaps you could simply say that you’re tired. That the alcohol you’ve consumed has managed to perforate your brain —that you’ve lost all sense of vision as you awkwardly blink and force out a yawn. If the performance is good enough you’re sure you could pull it off…

“Sorry, I’m just a bit tired.”

Somehow still amused, Astarion watches as you replace your words with a drink of ale, gulping down a hefty portion that has him smirking through the edge of his lips. “You know I’m joking, right?”

“Hm?”

“About being rude,” he explains. “In fact I’m happy to welcome all sorts of gazes. The more the merrier, my dear.”

Your face screws into a confusing stare that has him narrowing his eyes, looking back with the kind of interest that has your tadpole slithering back and forth.

It’s been a few days since you last felt it move this much. The last being when you and Shadowheart were communicating during a particularly rowdy fight with some ogres. Back then, all it felt like were a few simple twitches back and forth. A moment of confirmation between two parties before the feeling was erased and you were fit to return to normal. Said moment didn’t take up space within your thoughts. All it was was there and gone in a flash, so for Astarion’s occupancy to feel so different suddenly interests you.

“Is there a reason you’re trying to get inside my head?”

You raise your brow while he shrugs his shoulders, both of you then standing in silence while the party rages on, wondering what will happen if you let him in. What you’ll see once you inevitably give in to curiosity and open the gates.

“There’s always a reason.”

“Care to tell me what that reason is?”

He ponders for a moment, dramatically glancing around the grove before honing his gaze onto the aforementioned tiefling who offers a wave. For a moment, both of them share a look, one that appears almost like a warning before Astarion refocuses on you.

“Isn’t the whole point of these things to show instead of tell?”

He has a point. An unfortunately, stupid and fair point that has you releasing an annoyed breath and nodding your head.

The power of the Illithid, while still greatly unknown to both of you, at base level is just another form of communication. A way to discreetly speak to one another in the form of offered memories.

“Sure, but having an actual conversation works too, you know.”

Astarion scoffs then, taking another sip that has him licking the points of his teeth before running it along the seams of his lips. Overall, the sight is… nice. The way the organ in his mouth glides across the tips of his canines, threatening to spill his own blood before circling out.

Even you have to admit it works in winning you over to some degree.

“Aren’t you enjoying such powers?” As he speaks, he takes a step closer, his base of frame bumping ever so gently into your shoulder as he leans down toward your ear. “Does it not interest you, seeing the world from someone else’s eyes?”

You crane your neck to look at him fully. To see the teasing expression take over and match the tone of his voice —how it ghosts the shell of your ear. Upon impact, it makes your breath catch inside your sore windpipe, threatening a cough you’re quick to suppress by swallowing another sip of ale.

“Because personally, I think it’s well worth the price of discarded conversation,” he continues. “Why bother wasting my time with words you might not understand when I can just push my thoughts into yours?”

At that point, you’re actually confused. Lost in translation just as he predicted. You’re not sure what he means by claiming your lack of understanding but you don’t admit it. Instead, you merely just take a step back, eyeing him with suspicion as you slowly let the creature behind your eye accept his message.

When you do he smiles against the rim of his wine bottle, staring you down with half-open eyes that project the feeling of hands. Soft palms cascading across bare skin.

A violent shiver runs up your spine almost immediately. The air within your lungs once again catches in your throat as your brows knit together, trying to place where the hands are going. At first, it feels like they’re starting at your hip. For a moment, there’s a rough press —a tightened grip that wraps around the bone, filling the space with a bit of pressure before it slides down your thigh, drawing new patterns. But then you feel it on your other thigh too, tiptoeing across the top before it finds purchase at the outer edge.

“What are y—“

Still unaware of the exact intention of the memory, Astarion interrupts your questioning with a simple gesture. An index finger raised to his lips, signalling a silence you reluctantly obey as you feel the hands hold both sides of your thighs, their thumbs ebbing to and fro.

Swallowing hard, you twitch against their movement, pushing your legs together while Astarion watches, his eyes fully immersed in your reactions. The way your face nervously twists once the arrival of hot air cascades between your thighs. How it wafts across your skin like heavy clouds moving through an electrical storm.

The longer it goes on, the more obvious it becomes that he’s amused. That your ongoing discomfort is nothing more than a form of entertainment. A method of his own personal, sadistic torture that has you threatening to sever the connection.

“Oh, don’t be such a puritan,” he says then, clicking his tongue as he moves a step closer to bridge the gap. “I’m just showing you what I plan on doing later tonight.”

“Tonight?”

Before he answers, there’s a kiss placed to your inner knee. A needy smack of lips and teeth that drag upward as you stand.

In response your mouth falls open without you realizing, a soft gasp coming out that makes Astarion snort.

“Yes. Are you hard of hearing or something? Distracted maybe?”

You grit your teeth, trying to withstand every sensation that overtakes you. The way the hands drift and the mouths feed —both of them working in tandem as they travel to the same spot you can feel aching within you.

“It’s alright if you are. I understand. Such feelings can be overwhelming when it’s been a while.”

Breathing through your nose, you watch as he smugly downs the final sips of his bottle. Throwing his head back, he exposes his neck in a way that makes you tighten your lips together, trying your best to remain calm as the hands that fill your mind continue their ascent, eliciting twitching flesh in their wake.

At that point, you know you should call it quits —close the doors and lock them up never to be opened again. But something is stopping you. Something pulsing at the back of your mind, filling you with interest.

It’s always been blatantly obvious that Astarion’s friendship has been nothing more than a ruse. A farce carried out only to keep you close. When he treats you with kindness there’s a hidden agreement that looms in the shadows. An unofficial contract that states his affections will be met with trust. With a loyalty that he’ll more than likely never return.

From the beginning, his intentions have always been ill and you know this. You see it wherever he is —whenever you speak. You can feel its falseness itching your skull each time he touches your skin or calls you pretty names.

It’s what he’s doing now with the Illithid. In the caverns of your mind, he’s showing you the benefits of his allegiance. The potential perks you’ll receive if you’re able to prove your worth, and to put it simply, it’s tempting. And not just for the sake of sex.

Suddenly, there’s a finger that strokes you gently as you stand before him, questioning his authority in the form of a raised brow that’s returned by him discarding the memory.

Once it’s gone you can feel your breath slowly begin to return. Every thought in your head is clearer, not necessarily crystal, but with fewer distractions you can finally see the hefty rise and fall of his chest.

“I hope you have fun with your tiefling,” you say then, letting yourself grin in such a petty way that you see his jaw shift ever so lightly before you turn on your heel and walk towards your tent. -

TAGLIST: @poohxlove @gaiasmight @sassy-stupid @novarex @v-gremlin @sapphiccloud @lipstickghoulie @kuroitsukyo @jjkchk (if you'd like to be added to the taglist fill out this form)

#if thoughts could tease #astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion fan fic #astarion series #astarion x female reader #astarion x reader #astarion x you #summer writes

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megamagimugi · 5 months ago

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Art for @silenzahra

This is a post of appreciation for @silenzahra who welcomed me to Tumblr so warmly, became my first mutual and has ever since treated me with nothing but extreme kindness and sweetness.

And it all started with my comment on her post where she announced chapter 3 of her amazing story "Anything for him". I absolutely love this story and was so, so happy to hear that it would be finished after all. If you haven't read it yet, go do that. There are going to be spoilers in my post.

You can find the story here:

So. Here are my illustrations for each chapter compiled into a single image (CW: blood stains, nothing too gruesome):

Below are full versions of each image, along with chapter descriptions.

Chapter one is a beautiful description of Luigi's POV in Luigi's Mansion. It's canon compliant and not unlike other Luigi's Mansion retelling fanfics. We can see into Luigi's head as he faces his fears with one goal in mind: to find and rescue his beloved brother Mario.

Chapter two is where it gets really exciting as not only do we get to see Mario's side of the story, but we get an amazing twist that diverges from canon. Spoiler: Luigi gets seriously injured and Mario actually manages to get out of the painting on his own in order to help him! And thankfully, he succeeds. Luigi's wounds are healed and the brothers are together again.

The last chapter wraps up the story, switching back to Luigi's side. Some of the story overlaps with the previous chapter, then we get to see the proper reunion after Luigi wakes up. Lots of brotherly affection in this one. I like how the ending is sort of open yet definitely optimistic. I just had to try to draw the forehead touch.

Well, Zahra, I hope you like these little illustrations. I'm sorry it took so long, I know at this point it's been a while since you posted the last chapter, but I hope this post still brings a smile to your face.

Thank you once again for being such a nice and fun person, and of course such a good writer as well. I mean it when I say: keep being you :) Looking forward to your next works.

Btw, this is my first time posting my digital art here, which I'm not very good at so I'm kinda nervous. Please be gentle everyone? ^^' Shoutout to @peaches2217 for encouraging me to try posting fanart here on Tumblr, though!

#my art #mario #luigi #fanfiction #fanart of fanfiction #luigi's mansion

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justagalwhowrites · 7 months ago

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Yearling - Ch. 36: Severed

Joel, Tommy and Ellie search for you. A continuation of Yearling ch. 1-35 found on Tumblr here.

I'm sorry I couldn't resist.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: Canon-typical violence and a step beyond. Torture. Mention of past sexual assault (not described). No use of Y/N. Minors DNI 18+ Only

Length: 8.2k

A/N: I want to state, real quick, that Bambi is NOT going to be sexually assaulted again. This is a highly triggering subject and, given the situation she's in, I understand if folks are bracing for it. That's not going to happen. The threat of it is there but it's not going to happen.

We are into the final arc of Yearling and we are going to see some TLOU 2 OVERLAP again. There isn't any this chapter but there will be in this arc and here's how: a character from that game will be mentioned as will the spoiler-y incident from a few chapters ago. What happens plot wise in this arc is completely separate from the game and entirely original content BUT there is that character overlap and more specific mentions of the incident and the motives behind it. This character returns NEXT CHAPTER. If you're trying to go in blind to season 2, it might be wise to step back. Feel free to send me a DM, I'm happy to answer any and all questions!

AO3 | Chapter One | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Joel had rarely paid much mind to how long it took to get out of Jackson before.

“Tommy,” Maria was stalking after her husband as he, Joel and Ellie headed for the stable. “Be reasonable, you can’t just take off…”

“Sorry, babe, but I can’t just sit here and let ‘em have a piece of her,” Tommy said as they went to the stable. There were the two horses Tommy and Joel had just returned on, the three that had carried the kids back, and some horses you’d been working with. You’d been telling Joel about their progress, how one was nearing well broke and you wanted him to go with you to the shooting range with her soon to get her accustomed to the sound of gunfire.

“Do you have some kind of death wish you haven’t bothered to tell me about?” Maria planted herself in front of her husband, her arms crossed, defiant. “You have responsibilities here, Tommy! People who depend on you, people like me and our fucking son! You don’t get to just take off at your brother’s command anymore!”

Joel stiffened at that. He and Maria had gotten to a good place in their relationship over the years, her moving past the thought that he’d been the driving force behind all her husband’s misdeeds. They’d settled into a mutual respect and eventual affection since he’d come to Jackson, Maria seeming to appreciate what he did for the community and the way he loved her son and Joel admiring her leadership and the way she was a partner to his little brother. He thought they were past this.

Maybe he was wrong.

Tommy took his wife’s shoulders in his hands, his thumbs rubbing little circles against her.

“If it were you, he’d be going with me,” he said gently. “That’s my baby sister out there, Maria. Can’t live with myself if something happens to her and I didn’t do everything I can to stop it. I’m goin’. You can either help and hope we get back soon or you can be pissed while I’m gone but I’m goin’, you can’t stop me.”

He pressed a kiss to her forehead and went and stood beside Joel, looking over the horses.

“What’s better,” he asked. “Tired mounts or ones that might spook?”

Joel looked at his brother for a moment, thankful that he had him to rely on, and ground his teeth. He didn’t know the answer.

“They’re on foot,” Ellie said, joining them. “Tired is probably better, we’re still going to catch them. But I don’t expect this to be quiet and if we’re on horses that spook, well…”

Joel gave her a stiff nod and went to get the horses ready to leave. He was moving as quickly as he could but it felt slow, everything felt so slow. It felt like he should be running, pushing himself to the brink so he could reach you sooner. Every second you were away from him hurt. It was worse than when you’d left Jackson to search for Savvy in the blizzard. That had been bad enough but at least then he could believe that you were in one piece, that you could take care of yourself.

That wasn’t the case now. He knew you weren’t safe. He knew you weren’t OK. He knew he’d vowed to protect you, the night the two of you made promises to each other in his bed he had sworn to keep you safe and never let anything happen to you.

He’d failed at that.

He’d failed and now he was here, doing what he had to do to make sure he could reach you. It just didn’t feel like enough. Nothing would, not until he held you again.

Tommy and Maria talked in low, harsh voices until they had things situated. Food, water, ammunition, medical kit.

“Tommy,” Joel said, jerking his head toward the horses, voice sharper than he’d meant it to be. His brother jogged over to him, taking the reins of his horse from him.

“The guys who brought the kids back are going to wait here until a few more crews come in,” Tommy said. “Then they’re coming out after us. We can mark a path. With fresher horses, they’ll catch us quick.”

Joel nodded stiffly and the three of them led their horses to the gate, Maria following with her arms crossed over her stomach. In another situation, Joel would have taken the time to talk with her and reassure her. He didn’t have the luxury of time now.

He mounted up as the gates opened, Ellie and Tommy following suit, the three of them riding through the gate the moment there was room.

“Joel!” Maria called after a moment. He looked back at her. “Bring my husband home.”

He watched her for a moment, at the fear on her face and in her wide eyes, a mirror of what he was feeling now. But she was still letting him go. He wasn’t sure he could do the same in her position.

“I will.”

Ellie took the lead, pointing out the spot in the fence where kids left town. Joel ground his teeth and resisted the urge to yell yet again. What good would it do? What was done was done and this lesson was one he doubted Ellie would forget. She didn’t need to be taught it again.

They rode for nearly two hours when they came upon a small clearing and Ellie jumped off her horse before it had even come to a stop.

“We were here,” she said, looking around, almost panicky. “We were here, I know we were, they had us behind that tree…”

She ran over to it, walking around it until Joel couldn’t see her anymore.

“Ellie!” He called. He couldn’t have her out of sight, not right now.

“I was right,” she called back, coming around the tree. “I took a chunk of bark off of it, this is where we were but they’re gone, completely fucking gone, I don’t…”

Joel was less surprised than Ellie.

“They weren’t about to sit and wait for us to find ‘em,” he said. “We need to track ‘em. We’ll find them.”

He, Tommy and Ellie circled the clearing on foot, looking for signs of a trail. It didn’t take them long to find one. Unfortunately, they found more than one.

“The fuckers split up,” Tommy kicked a plant in frustration. “Any way to tell which group had her?”

“Smaller boot prints, maybe,” Joel said, looking closely at the ground.

“But there were other women,” Ellie said. Joel’s head snapped toward her. “They had a few women. I didn’t talk to them but… She wouldn’t be the only one.”

“We can’t split up,” Tommy said. “It’s too goddamn risky, there are too fuckin’ many of ‘em, we have to stick together…”

Joel nodded, trying to think. He tried to keep his shit together but he could feel it happening, the panic setting into his bones. He could hear the blood in his ears, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs. He was having a hard time taking a full breath, his head spun. He reached out, his hand finding a tree trunk, giving him something to root him to the ground.

“Joel?” Ellie’s hand appeared at his back. “Hey, you can’t die on us right now, we have to get her back, you can’t do this now, you gotta keep it together, you hear me?”

He nodded quickly, closing his eyes for a moment. His mind scrambled for something - anything - to hold him here, something to make him push past the fear and do what he had to do.

He thought of you.

He thought of the first time he’d felt your body against him, on the back of a horse in the snow-covered forest. The first time he’d held you because you wanted him to, how you’d sought comfort in him. The first time he’d kissed you, how your lips had fit softly against his, the quick little breaths you’d made, the way you’d felt so close to him. The first time he’d touched you as his wife, how your body was so familiar to him but was brand new, too, with this new context. You were his, he was yours and he needed to keep himself together long enough to get you home.

He took a deep, shaky breath.

“We follow one trail,” he said. “We either find her or we find the people at the end of it. If she ain’t with ‘em, we get ‘em to tell us where she is.”

“You really think they’re just going to, what, tell you whatever you want to know?” Ellie gaped at him. “They’re not going to just answer your fucking questions, Joel!”

“Wasn’t plannin’ on askin’ nice,” Joel said, stalking back toward the horses. “We follow the middle track. See where it leads.”

Joel knew he should feel some kind of shame about what he was about to do. What he wanted to do, how he wanted to hurt them. He’d never told Ellie the finer points of what he and Tommy used to do - still did, when the need arose. He’d never told her what he did to find her when David had her and he was desperate. She knew he used to kill people, he thought she had some idea of just what that entailed but he’d protected her from the worst of it, the most shameful parts.

Now, he was hungry for it. If he were a dog, he’d be salivating for it, aching to get his jaws around the throat of the man who had taken you from him. He didn’t want to just kill him, that wasn’t enough. It hadn’t been enough the year before when he’d sent him away from Jackson and it wasn’t enough now when he was doing who knows what to you. He was going to enjoy pulling him apart, piece by fucking piece. He almost hoped that Cody wasn’t with the men they were tracking, that he’d find you and have the chance to take every ounce of pain from them before finding Cody and taking it from him, too. He couldn’t even regret the drive to do it or the fact that he knew he could do it and do it well. His only concern, after finding you, was exposing Ellie to that.

But they lived in a harsh world. Maybe it was good for her to know the harsher parts of it.

Joel led the way, slower going now that they were beyond where Ellie knew the group to be. They were carefully tracking a group of what looked like seven people - including two women - for hours. It was dusk when Tommy noticed the signs of people first, giving a low whistle that sounded something like a bird. Joel looked over his shoulder and Tommy nodded toward a patch of sky he could see through the trees. Joel looked up. There was smoke.

He dismounted and tied his horse off, Ellie and Tommy doing the same, before the three of them prowled, quiet and slow, toward the smoke. It wasn’t long before they could smell it, hear the quiet laughs of men. Joel tightened his jaw and his grip on his gun. His heart raced.

The group they came upon largely had their guard down. Joel spotted someone through the trees, beyond the fire, looking like they were patrolling. Otherwise, they weren’t paying any attention. Joel gestured to Tommy and Ellie, sending them behind larger trees, Joel going to one himself. He peered around the thick trunk to find them there, make sure these weren’t just innocents passing through and seeing if he could catch a glimpse of you.

But they weren’t innocents, a woman with her hands bound sitting beside one of the men at the fire, another one - also tied - with her back against a tree. There was no sign of you or Cody.

Tommy met Joel’s gaze, his face set and determined. Joel gave him a stiff nod before turning to Ellie, her own expression hardened with barely controlled rage. She didn’t even look at Joel, too busy watching the men around the tree.

Joel took a deep breath and raised his gun, stepping around the tree and firing, catching the man with his back to them in his head. He fell forward with a thud.

There was a moment of stunned silence, the only sound birds fleeing the crack of the gun. Then, it was chaos, the men scrambling for weapons. One of the women screamed.

“Need two alive!” Joel yelled to his brother and daughter, pressing closer and firing again, felling another man.

Tommy shot next, a third man going down. A bullet whizzed past Joel’s head, close enough that he felt the heat of it on his skin, the shot clipping his ear. He ignored the sharp pain of it, watching as the shot Ellie got off dropped a fourth man. The fact that they’d caught the men when they’d stopped for the night was to their advantage. They were clearly used to traveling in a larger group and running unchallenged, only watching for infected who often made themselves known with crackling breaths, the sound of crunching through the brush and sharp clicks. They weren’t expecting a small group to come in, guns blazing. They were slow getting their weapons, rifles on the ground and out of reach, making picking them off like shooting fish in a barrel. Joel shot the man on watch as he came running toward the fire, his gun raised and aimed at Joel.

Tommy charged forward and grabbed a man who was just getting to his feet, his back toward the three of them. He was just raising his gun when Tommy swung the butt of his rifle at his head, catching the man in the temple and knocking him off balance. He took advantage of the moment and ripped the weapon out of the man’s hands, casting it aside before shoving him to the ground and putting his boot in his chest. Tommy leveled his rifle at his head, holding the man in place.

“Got one!” He yelled to Joel.

There were two men left standing now, one reaching for a gun. Ellie shot him in the shoulder before Joel got a chance to react, sending him sprawling on the ground. The other was smarter. He grabbed the nearest woman and pulled her in front of him as she screamed, pressing a gun to her head, his eyes darting between Joel and Ellie.

“Keep coming and I kill ‘er,” he panted.

“Joel,” Ellie’s eyes darted toward him. “What do we do?”

“Let me go,” the man said, the woman in his grip trembling. “Him too, and I leave her alive.”

Joel didn’t have time for this. He moved quickly, raising his gun and firing, hitting the man in the middle of his forehead. The woman screamed again, covered in his blood and stumbling forward as his body went limp on of her.

“Shit,” Ellie lowered her gun, looking at Joel. “I thought we needed two.”

“Think we got two,” he stalked over to the man Ellie had hit in the shoulder. He was whimpering on the ground, clutching the hole that was gushing blood.

“Please,” he said, eyes wide. Joel ignored him, grabbing a fistful of his shirt and dragging him to the man Tommy still had at gun point. He dropped the man there with a pained groan and he looked to the women, the one who had been a hostage sitting up next to the body of the man who’d had her.

“C’mere,” Joel said. They looked at each other quickly but stayed still. Joel, again, resisted the urge to yell. He didn’t have time for this. “Ellie, cut ‘em loose, tell ‘em how to get to Jackson if they want. Give ‘em whatever they need. See what they know.”

Joel turned his attention back to the man on the ground, going down on one knee beside him. He grabbed his hair in his fist, forcing his eyes to meet his own.

“You’re gonna tell me what I wanna know,” Joel said. “And you’re gonna do it quick. Understand?”

“Why would we tell you a goddamn thing?” The man below Tommy asked, watching Joel. His words were quick, panicky. Joel looked back at him for a moment before he ripped the injured man’s hand away from his wound with one hand and thrust his thumb inside the bullet hole, pressing up into the tendon below his skin. The man thrashed and screamed, the shrill sound sharp and cutting. Joel left his thumb jammed inside him until the other man spoke again, his eyes wide. “Fuck, OK! OK! What do you want to know, we’ll tell you! We’ll tell you, please!”

Joel pulled his thumb free of the man’s body and wiped the blood on a clean spot on his shirt, turning his full attention back to the man below him.

“Should get one thing straight now,” Joel said. His voice was flat. “I don’t mind hurtin’ you. In fact, I like it. Like gettin’ justice for everything you’ve done wrong in this life. I can promise you’ve done a lot wrong and I can promise I can make you pay for every goddamn ounce of it in blood. I know how to make it last. But I’m in a hurry and I want this over quick. It’s in your best interest to give me what I want. Got it?”

The man gave a shaky nod.

“Your boss has got my wife,” Joel said. “You split up. I need to know where he’s takin’ her.”

“He gave us a meet up point,” he said, voice shaking. “We were afraid of someone coming after her, he had us split up, he’s got her not us, I swear…”

Joel ground his teeth.

“Where.”

“I don’t know where he’s taking her,” he said quickly. “I know where we’re supposed to meet him tomorrow, that’s all! I swear, I don’t know where he’s going.”

Joel thrust his thumb inside the gunshot wound again, plunging it deeper, pulling harder at the structure of him as he screamed and writhed.

“No, stop!” The man below Tommy begged. “We don’t know, we don’t know! We just know he was taking her to trade, that’s all we know!”

Joel froze before pulling his thumb from his body. He grabbed the man’s hair again, forcing him to look at him.

“Trade?” His heart was pounding. “Trade for what.”

“Territory,” the man panted. “Please, there’s a guy who wants ‘er, promised us territory if we got her for him, that’s all I know. He was going to try and meet with him, see if they can cut a deal. If he couldn’t find him or couldn’t get what he wanted, he’s meeting us in the morning.”

Joel looked to Tommy, his face hard. Tommy just gave him a nod. It seemed like the truth. Joel turned back to the man.

“You’re gonna tell me where the rendezvous point is,” he said. “And you’re gonna keep it real quiet and then we’re gonna ask your friend the same question and he’d better say the same place as you. Got it?”

Joel leaned in close, the rattle of the man’s pained breaths hot and wet on his ear.

“North, ten miles,” he said. “Where the rivers meet.”

Joel sat back from him and looked to the other man.

“Now you,” he said. “Better say the same damn thing as your fuckin’ friend.”

The man’s eyes darted toward Tommy, who pressed the gun closer.

“Don’t look at me,” Tommy said. “I ain’t savin’ ya. You wanted to live? Shouldn’t have taken my brother’s girl. Answer the question.”

“North of here,” he said, looking back to Joel. “Said they’d be there in the morning, we were just stopping to rest for a bit, that’s all…”

“Where north of here.”

The man’s eyes darted to his friend before looking back at Joel.

“Ten miles or so,” he said. “There’s a spot where two rivers meet…”

Joel nodded slowly and looked to Tommy before getting his knife out.

“No,” the man below him shook his head. “No, I told you what you wanted to know, I didn’t lie, it was the truth I swear it was the truth!”

“Oh, I know it was,” Joel said, adjusting his grip on the knife. “But you took my daughters, took my wife. Not about to just let you live.”

He thrust the knife into the man’s stomach and he gasped, his eyes and mouth gaping wide in a silent scream. Joel angled the blade up, forcing it towards his lungs before twisting it and pulling it free with a harsh tear. He wiped the weapon on the man’s pants before getting to his feet, watching as he tried to hold himself together, not able to take a full breath. He’d drown in his own blood before too long and Joel wanted to watch him do it. This man had taken everything from him. He was owed his suffering.

“Joel,” Tommy said, nodding down at the remaining man at the end of his gun, one who was clearly about to make a run for it. He knew he was done for, he was desperate. “What are we doin’?”

“Shoot ‘im,” Joel said. “Not worth the risk.”

Tommy obeyed, the man dead even had a chance to flinch. Joel went back to watching the the first man gasp and gargle, fighting to breathe and failing. He should feel something, he knew that. He should feel guilt or some kind of pity. He didn’t. He barely even felt satisfaction. You were gone. He was hollow of everything beyond pain and fear and rage.

“Joel,” Ellie’s voice was quiet behind him. He turned to face her, her eyes wide as she looked between him and the dying man. He’d almost forgotten she was there.

“Get the women out?” Joel asked, shifting instinctively to block her view of the man suffering at his feet. She peered around him, anyway.

“Yeah,” she said. “They didn’t know anything. Gave them directions back to Jackson and some guns from these assholes. I don’t know that they’ll end up there but…”

She looked at the man again for a long moment before looking up at Joel.

“Did you get an answer?” She asked. “Do we know where Mom is?”

His chest got tight, hearing Ellie call you that, knowing that he shared children with you and you were gone.

“We know where Cody’s headed,” Joel said. “Let’s get what we can from here and head out.”

The three of them took ammunition and weapons and food from the dead before mounting up, Joel taking the lead again.

It only took a few hours to reach the place the men indicated. The group had stopped here before, Joel could tell. There were signs of fire pits, places where fallen logs had been dragged over for places to sit, cleared brush.

“What do we do now?” Ellie asked.

“We wait,” Joel said, not happy about his answer. How was he supposed to just sit here when you were out there, with them? But he didn’t have another choice.

They got the horses settled and found places to watch and wait where they should see people coming and have the advantage. Joel settled in, Ellie sitting beside him while Tommy kept watch.

“Where’d you learn how to do that?” She asked eventually, quietly into the dark.

“Do what,” he asked, even though he knew.

“Hurt someone like that,” she said. “Make them give you information.”

Joel was quiet for a moment, twisting his wedding band over and over on his finger.

“You know some of what me ’n Tommy did after the outbreak,” he said. “Did some of that, too.”

She nodded slowly.

“You never talk about it.”

Joel shrugged. The sound of crickets seemed loud, louder than they should be.

“Not exactly somethin’ I’m proud of, baby girl.”

“But it’s useful,” she said pointedly.

He sighed.

“I’ve used it a few times since, when it’s important,” he said. “When it’s to protect you or her. It’s not somethin’ that’s good to know how to do.”

“I want to know how to protect people, too,” she said, her voice dark. “I have shit to protect, too, Dad. I want to know how.”

Joel sighed, looking over at her, the outline of her barely visible in the light of the moon as it filtered down through the trees.

He wanted to tell her that she didn’t need to know this stuff. That he would always be there to look after her, to do these ugly things that needed doing. But he knew that wasn’t true.

He’d doomed her to this life, in a way. One where she wanted to know how to pull answers out of someone with pain, how to turn the love you carried for the most important people in the world into a deadly weapon. There was no other way to be in this reality, one with infected and raiders and the last gasp of human kind struggling to continue on. If he’d left the doctor alive, at least, maybe things would be different. Maybe he’d have succeeded without Ellie, maybe the world would have been better for her eventually.

But he would have come after her and there was no point in fixing the world if it had to continue on without her in it. Good, bad, indifferent, there was no point to any of it if the price was her life. Hers or yours or Savvy’s, the three of you were all that mattered. And he liked knowing he had skills he could fall back on if he needed them.

“We’ll take care of what needs doin’ now,” Joel said. “Then we can talk.”

The three of them took turns keeping watch. Joel wasn’t able to sleep. Instead, he thought of you. How he’d had to coax you into life in Jackson, how you’d come to find your place there, how you’d chosen to do all that with him at your side.

There was a lot in this life he knew he didn’t deserve. He’d never deserved Sarah, that was for damn sure. The world hadn’t deserved her, either. He’d squandered the gift that was her existence, let her down when she’d needed him the most and he’d bourn that weight the rest of his life. He didn’t deserve Ellie, either. He certainly didn’t deserve you, something so strong but soft, vibrant but centering. You were meant for something more than him but you’d chosen him, anyway. He remembered when your fingers first brushed his, when he first heard you play guitar, when he first saw how you loved his daughter like she was your own. He wasn’t sure how he was meant to keep going if he didn’t get you back. What would be the point? Ellie was grown now. Savvy had survived all on her own for years and Ellie had taken her under her wing. They didn’t need him. But he needed you.

Dawn was just beginning on the horizon when Joel heard it, the sound of people coming in from the north. He roused Ellie and Tommy and the three of them stood, lying in wait amongst the trees, rifles at the ready.

Joel wanted to come out guns blazing but then he saw Cody, riding on horseback with just two other men.

They weren’t outnumbered. You weren’t with them.

Joel readied to step out from the trees, rifle raised.

“Joel,” Tommy hissed.

“Go around the side,” he said, voice low. “Kill the others. But he’s mine.”

He moved from behind shelter then, weapon leveled at Cody’s chest.

“Cody!” Joel called, watching as the men’s heads all whipped around to focus on him, scrambling for rifles. “You have what’s mine.”

Cody lifted a hand to his henchmen and they lowered their weapons as he smirked at Joel.

“Think she was mine before she was yours,” he sneered. “Seems to me I just took back what got away.”

“Where is she,” Joel said, prowling closer, straining to keep his voice calm.

“Back where she belongs,” he said, fishing in his pocket for something. He found it, pulling it out, unwrapping it from a kerchief and throwing it onto the leaves at Joel’s feet. “But you can have the part of her you laid claim to.”

Joel looked down and his vision narrowed to a sharp, bloody point. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears, the soreness of his legs and back and the pain at his ear that had been nagging at him suddenly gone. His hands shook as he dropped the rifle and lowered himself, slowly, to the ground. Lying there were two fingers. Your fingers. The wedding band that had been there since Joel had slipped it onto you was bloody, ragged flesh dangling from the ring he’d made you.

Something inside of Joel snapped then. It was a sharp, clean break, one that he could he could feel deep at the core of him. A severing of his humanity, a setting aside of the things that made him who he was. The love he held for his family, the care he had for the place he called home, the remaining parts of him that were gentle and good - those things were closed to him now. Joel Miller had been called monster many times in his life but he knew he’d never become one. Not truly. He knew it because this had always been there, lurking below the surface, brought forward when he needed it most but always controlled, always contained. It wasn’t contained now. It couldn’t be.

Joel left the gun on the ground, gently picking up your fingers - sticky and cool - and putting them delicately in his pocket before getting to his feet.

“Thought about sending you back with her whole hand but,” Cody shrugged. “Mitchum has use for it. Nothing she can’t do down a few fingers, though.”

Joel didn’t even see Ellie and Tommy getting into position when he roared and lunged for Cody, ready to kill him with his bare hands.

***

The Day Before

“Move.”

You glared at Cody, your wrists chained in front of you.

“Not telling you again,” he said. “They’re still close enough, we could run ‘em down if you want to try me.”

Your stomach got tight.

“Fine,” you said. “Let’s go.”

He split his men into three groups, hauling the man you’d killed to the brush and leaving his body behind. There were three women you hadn’t seen yet, one going with one of the groups, two with another. You didn’t get a chance to say anything to either of them, just sharing a look of desperation before you were led away.

“You’re going to regret this,” you said as he shoved you forward.

“Why, because you’re fucking guard dog is going to run me down?” He sneered. “Think we’ll handle him just fine. Besides, by the time he finds us, you’ll be long gone.”

You followed his command, trudging through the forest and trying to find some way to leave a trail to follow. Joel would come for you. It would likely be hours yet before he was back from patrol, hopefully long after Ellie and Savvy made it back to town. You knew he’d come looking for you the moment he discovered you were gone, that he’d do anything to get to you. You just needed to make sure he could find you and that you were in one piece when he did.

“Why are you doing this?” You asked once you’d been walking for hours, looking at Cody. “You said you knew it was wrong, you helped me. Now you’re doin’ this? Takin’ me and other women?”

“Let’s just say I learned my lesson with you, Doll,” he said. “Could try to be a ‘good’ man all I wanted, try to do the ‘right’ thing but it wouldn’t get me anywhere. Not like there’s much left here to live for, right? I should just take what I want while I can, no one is going to give it to me, even if I deserve it.”

“Deserve it?” You stopped and turned to face him. “You think you deserved something from me? You held me prisoner, you fucking raped me, you…”

His backhand caught you off guard, sending you sprawling to the ground, unable to catch yourself with your bound hands. He stood astride over you, grabbing your face sharply and forcing you to look at him.

“Don’t fucking call it that,” he hissed. “That’s not what it was.”

You spat in his face.

“Fuck you.”

He squared his jaw, like he was considering doing something more to you before he straightened, wiping your spit from his cheek.

“Get her up,” he said. “We’ll stop here for a bit, take a break. Make her take a piss, get her cleaned up a little. Maybe we’ll have some fun before we hand her over.”

You hoped the fear didn’t show on your face, that the way your stomach dropped and heart stuttered wasn’t obvious.

It’s not like you didn’t know, consciously, what this was all leading to, what you were going back to. You’d been there for long enough before, you knew what it was and what this meant.

But you weren’t sure you could survive it again. It had nearly killed you before. If you hadn’t escaped when you had, you weren’t sure how much longer you would have really lasted living that way and now you were going back to it. It would be worth it to protect your children but the fear of it was still there, the claws of it sharp and harsh inside you.

Cody smirked.

“Maybe I’ll show you just how nice I was before,” he said. “Show you what you took for-granted.”

Two men pulled you roughly to your feet and shoved you into the trees, off the trail you’d been walking. Your chest got tight and your stomach turned and you found yourself flexing your fingers, clenching and unclenching your hands into fists as you tried to focus. Your vision threatened to narrow but you forced yourself to see beyond your own body, think beyond the fact that your lungs couldn’t seem to fill and your head was getting light.

The men pushed you for a few minutes away from the rest, toward a stream. One stayed further back, watching the forest for signs of infected or someone who might come to take you.

“Alright,” the other said, nodding to you. “You heard ‘im. Piss, get cleaned up.”

“You think I’m gonna just do that with you watching?” You sneered, brows raised.

He stalked forward, drawing his gun and pressing it to your chin.

“You really think I won’t blow your goddamn head off?” He asked, his breath reeking of rot and liquor.

“No,” you smirked back. “Your boss has you by the balls. You can’t do shit to me.”

He stepped back and you saw the strike coming that time, dodging it enough that he caught your cheekbone more than your chin and you stayed standing.

“I can do that,” he snapped. “And I’ll do it again.”

“Go ahead,” you said. “Because you’re a little bitch. I’ve had good sex that hurt worse than that.”

He bared his teeth and he went for you again.

But he was stupid and big and slow and you knew where he was going to be now. You dodged him, not fully thinking and with no real plan. He stumbled where you’d been standing and you stepped behind him, looping your arms around his neck and pulling back so the chain constricted on his throat.

He choked and gasped, dropping his gun on instinct as he clawed at your arms, trying rip himself free and trying to make a sound but you were pulling too hard, the other man too far to hear or see what was happening.

The weight of him thrashing against you sent you off balance and you fell, taking him down with you, his body heavy on top of yours. But you didn’t give in, keeping the chain tight over his throat as he kicked and flailed. You held it there until he went limp and you released him, shoving his body off yourself and panting for breath as you did. You didn’t have time to get the feeling back in your body or to ease the panic, though. It was sheer fucking luck the other man who was standing just out of sight hadn’t heard something and you had to take care of this now.

You found the gun where the man you’d killed - thought you’d killed, at least, you weren’t about to risk shooting him - had dropped it and took a guess at what direction to run in.

You didn’t make it far.

“Hey!” You heard the crush of leaves, someone moving for you. “Fuck, she’s running!”

You turned and shot, the first bullet going wide as your hands shook but you were able to keep it together enough to get off another shot, this one hitting him square in the chest and he dropped like a stone.

You kept running.

You weren’t sure how long you ran for when you heard them, the men closing in on you. You couldn’t afford to look back and take the time to shoot, you had to keep moving, even as the sound pressed closer and your head was swimming. And then a hand closed on the collar of your shirt - Joel’s shirt - and ripped you back and down. You twisted on the ground, trying to aim the gun but it was kicked away from you.

“You’re gonna regret that you little bitch,” the man panted over you. “We could’ve made this easy on you. We ain’t now.”

He hauled you to your feet by your bound hands and forced you back to where the group had stopped, finding the two other men who had been sent after you on the way. Cody was standing where you’d stopped before, a small fire built on a patch of dirt in the middle of the trail.

“You really think that was the smartest thing you could have done?” He asked, his voice almost eerily calm.

“Did you really think I was just gonna let you hand me over?” You replied. “That I’d just go quietly into being a prisoner?”

“I guess that’s why Mitchum’s so obsessed with you, isn’t it?” He asked, prowling closer. You wanted to shrink away but you couldn’t, not with the man at your back. “Because you just keep that fight in you. You didn’t give up like the others and he’s a man who likes a little fight.”

He nodded toward the stump of a tree and the man at your back shoved you to it, forcing you to your knees beside it.

“Thing is,” Cody said, pulling his knife free of its sheath at his belt. “You don’t need to be… intact for the shit he likes best about you.”

Your eyes darted. You were surrounded, there was nowhere you could go and nothing you could reach.

“Don’t be too worried about it,” he continued, kneeling on the other side of the stump. “Think he’d be pretty pissed if we took your whole hand, for example. But I don’t think he’ll miss a few fingers.”

Your heart raced, the blood pounding in your ears.

“That a risk you want to take?” You fought to keep your voice calm as you clutched your hands tightly to your body. “You really want to go through all this trouble for nothing?”

He shrugged.

“Think we’ll be fine.”

The man at your back took your wrist in his grasp and shoved your arms down to the jagged wood of the stump, your hands clenched in tight fists. Cody took your left one and pulled at your fingers, trying to pry it open as you grimaced and fought him on it. After a moment, he gave up.

“Fine,” he said. “Don’t want to cooperate?”

He took the knife and slammed it through your forearm, on the side of it so it missed bone, making you scream as the blade went through the muscle and skin and into the wood on the other side. Your hand went limp on instinct and Cody spread your fingers with one hand, holding the other out. Another man handed him a knife and he lined it up with the base of your ring and pinky finger, smirking a little as he did.

“Would you look at that,” he traced your wedding band and you tried to look at your hand through the blur of pain and tears. “The feral woman got hitched. You marry that animal of yours, that it?”

You considered begging. If you thought it had even a chance at working, you’d have done it. But it didn’t.

“Fuck you,” you said instead.

“Think this’ll make for a nice keepsake of you, if he ever comes looking,” he said, pressing the knife in just enough that you could feel it, even through the pain of the blade still lodged in your arm. “Wedding ring won’t mean much where you’re going, anyway.”

He started cutting then, the automatic response your body had to pull away ripping and tearing against the knife holding you to the wood. You couldn’t look away from it, even though what little there was in your stomach was threatening to come up and the pain had deafened all the sound around you. You weren’t sure if you were screaming or not but you couldn’t breathe and couldn’t think as you watched part of your body be cut away.

Cody finished, wiping the knife on your shirt - Joel’s shirt - before passing it back to one of his men. He held your bloody, jagged fingers up, turning them slowly in front of his face. You could hear again, the ragged sound of your breath and the rustle of leaves on the trees, the breeze moving through as though you weren’t being dismantled on the forest floor.

“Think your guard dog will even still want you now?” He asked, holding them in front of you. Your blood dropped from them onto the sleeve of the shirt. “Not sure he’ll be interested in such… damaged goods.”

You stared at the fingers in his grip in disbelief. It didn’t seem real, the things you’d used to play guitar and grip the reins of your horse and hold your husband’s hand were separate from you now. You remembered, for a moment, marrying Joel. The clarity of it was almost visceral, how he’d taken the ring that was now slick with your blood and slipped it onto the finger that was dangling before your eyes. It was a part of you then. It wasn’t now.

Cody held his empty hand out and the man he’d given the knife to returned it.

“No,” you shook your head, your voice wet and raspy. “Please, I…”

“Not taking anything else,” he said, his tone almost kind. “Just going to make sure you don’t bleed out on us.”

With that, he pressed the blade to the place he’d cut part of you away and you screamed, the metal scalding hot. You realized they must have put it in the fire, using the heat to cauterize the wound. Without warning, one of the men pulled the knife that was still in your arm free and the heated blade moved there, too. You could smell your skin burning, the man at your back holding you still as your body fought to escape the pain of it. They moved you around like a rag doll, cauterizing the other side of your arm, too, before stepping back from you.

“There,” Cody stood, handing the knife off and taking a kerchief from his pocket, wrapping your bloody fingers in it before stashing them away. “Now you should know I’m not fucking around. Get up. We’ve wasted enough time on this shit and Mitchum won’t wait on us forever.”

The man behind you pulled you to your feet by your shoulders and you swayed on your feet for a moment, your head swimming before you doubled over, vomiting mostly bile before your legs gave out, the man catching you before you hit the ground.

“Shit,” Cody’s voice sounded far away. “We’ll have to find a way to move her…”

You passed out.

When you woke up, it was dark, a hand around your jaw.

“There she is,” Cody said, releasing you and patting your cheek twice. “Need you up and walking, can’t trade you half dead. Move.”

You tried to orient yourself, get some kind of understanding. You weren’t where you’d been when you’d passed out. You were on some kind of makeshift litter, your left arm and hand throbbing dully. Your hand was bandaged. Cody grabbed a fistful of your shirt, pulling you upright and you all but collapsed against him, stumbling as you tried to find your footing. The second you did, you pulled away from him. You couldn’t bear to touch him, even if that meant you ended up on the ground again.

“Just gotta make it about 100 yards,” he nodded toward a flickering glow in the distance. “Then you’re not my problem anymore.”

He nudged you in that direction and you moved, almost mindlessly. You weren’t strong enough to fight it. You were barely strong enough to walk. You cradled your injured arm to your body as best you could, watching as the glow of the fire drew closer.

“Stop right there,” an unfamiliar voice said, a man coming through the trees with his rifle raised. But he lowered it as he drew closer, looking the group you were with up and down. “Cody. Starting to wonder if you weren’t going to make it.”

“Got held up,” he said. “But I got what he’s after, if he still wants to meet.”

The guard just jerked his head toward the fire and led the way, you trailing along behind him with Cody and his men at your back.

The fire was in the middle of a large clearing, one with a cluster of about 20 men around it, the man you feared more than any other sitting at the back of it.

A wide smile came over his face when he saw you, the spread of it sinister and slow.

“Well well,” Mitchum said, getting to his feet and walking closer. He was still so much bigger than you, tall and broad and you knew just how well he could force you to do what he wanted. “The prodigal son returns, with my favorite toy no less.”

“Told you I could get her,” Cody said, pushing you toward him. “And I believe we had an agreement.”

“Sure, sure,” Mitchum waved him off before looking you up and down, just feet away from you now. Your head spun. “Jackson is yours when we take it down, as is anyone who survives. S’long as you remember who gave it to you.”

Mitchum reached out, grabbing your injured hand roughly and you cried out with it as he pulled your arm toward him.

“The fuck is this?” He held it up. “Thought I told you I wanted her intact, there’s no deal if you fucking maimed her.”

Cody shrugged.

“She killed two of my men,” he said.

Mitchum dropped your hand and clenched his jaw before snatching his gun from its holster and shooting Cody’s man who was at your side, making you flinch away from the sound.

“You think I give a fuck how many of your men make it?” He asked. “You think their lives matter? Got fuckin’ news for you, theirs don’t and neither does yours so you better do a damn good job of explaining why you brought her to me damaged.”

“She tried to take off,” Cody said, eyes darting down to the man who was dead on the ground. “Had to do something to keep her under control. Figured you’d want her at all, even if that meant damaged.”

Mitchum holstered the gun with a huff and pulled you away from Cody, your skin crawling where he touched you.

“Well, she’s back where she belongs now,” he passed you off to one of his men before turning back to Cody. “Jackson’s yours, when we take it.”

“And I want horses,” Cody said. “For my trouble.”

Mitchum seemed to think for a moment before giving him a stiff nod.

“Fine, three horses,” he said, waving them forward. “Take ‘em and go. Don’t want to see you again for a while or else I might change my mind.”

“Pleasure doing business with you,” Cody smirked before looking to you. “Told you you should have given me what I deserved.”

You didn’t say anything. Instead you just stood there, in the hold of one of Mitchum’s henchmen, watching as the man who’d stolen your freedom rode off into the night.

Next Chapter

Taglist: @ashleymsnodgrass@planet-marz1@kalea-bane @juneswonderlust @ilovepedro @h-annahayy @starstruckmusiciansartghost @beccerjune @mumma-moonchild @netonetoneto @mellymbee @purplelye @n7cje @flugazi @evyiione @randomhoex @aliengirl99 @orcasoul @reds-ramblings @pedropascalsbbg @fupoola @tinypotatothing @knopes-waffles @lilmizmoz @ayamenimthiriel @jenispunk @panda-pascal @sarap-77 @flugazi @your-slutty-gf @daniegraceg @partyofone3413 @cumberpegg @noisynightmarepoetry. @fifia-writes @grumpygrumperton @srmacaroni @txlady37 @bigboiseason123 @ashleyfilm @arizonadreamingg

A/N: I know it's a rough chapter but... feral!Joel?

We've only seen the beginning of him, he's about to go on a rampage like no other I can promise you that.

Also, I'm sorry for making this chapter quite so brutal. I really didn't want them to get off easy in this situation, I wanted to make sure we know that there are going to be some long term repercussions from all this - in this case, Bambi's missing fingers. They live in a brutal world and they're facing brutal things and I wanted this to be reflective of that.

Thanks for sticking with the story. I really do love you all!

#fanfic #joel miller x female reader #yearling #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x oc

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shiro-s2e2-erukinzu · 11 months ago

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Anime only watchers and people who aren't caught up with the Manga, BEWARE... Cuz I'm about to discuss Spy X Family Mission 93... You have been warned...! 👌

[SPOILERS AHEAD FROM THIS POINT ON]

AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!

IT HAPPENED...! IT FINALLY HAPPENED!! THIS IS NOT A DRILL!!! AHHHHHHHHHHH!! 😵

Honestly, words cannot describe how crazy this chapter was, but we're gonna talk about it anyway...!! 👀 LET'S GO!!! 😆

The chapter begins with everyone checking how well they did on finals, and Anya did a whole lot better than last time...!! 😆

I AM SO PROUD OF HER!!! 👏😄

Anya went from 213th to 168th place!! 🎉 Let's hope that Anya continues to improve in the future...!! 😊👍

Then, we finally got to see how well she did in Classical Language and...:

She got second place...!

But, she will still receive a Stella for it!! 👏😆Then, we find out that she got 24 points in math, which is just below the cut off point... Which means...:

So, not only did Anya get a Stella, she ALSO received A TONITRUS BOLT!!? 😵😂🤣😌

GODDAMNIT ANYA!! 😂 That means the score is still tied, but now it's 5 and 5 until she either becomes an Imperial Scholar or gets expelled...!! 😌

Then, we got probably my new favorite Loid expression...:

🤣😂🤣😂🤣😂🤣😂 I'M SO SORRY LOID!!🤣

This poor man can't catch a break, but at he's quite proud of Anya for doing well on the test...!! 😊

After that, we cut to Authens praising Anya as well, but Sigmund says something that intrigues me...:

"...One day you'll experience the frustration of realizing that hard work is not always rewarded..."

Hmm... What could this mean...? Personally, if Sigmund does have something to do with the experiments that were conducted on Anya, then this could be his way of saying that not many know of his scientific experiments... But, that's just a guess at this point and I could very well just be reading too much into this single sentence... 🤔

Moving on, before Anya goes to bed that night Loid asks her a question...:

I was surprised that Twilight asked this!! 😲 But his question turned out to be for naught because Anya doesn't really remember... 😔 So, Twilight just tells her to forget about what he asked and now I'm wondering if this will lead Twilight finding out the truth about Anya's past and that she's a telepath... 🤔

Well anyway, we cut to Anya and Damian receiving Stellas for doing well on the test, and then it's the middle school students turn... AND GUESS WHO SHOWS UP...?! 👀

DEMETRIUS MOTHER F---ING DESMOND!!!😵

AFTER ALL THIS TIME, HE HAS FINALLY APPEARED...!! 👀

I can't believe that I was ACTUALLY RIGHT that he was gonna look more like his dad...! (Check out this post where I drew what I thought he might look like!! 👍)

But to continue, Demetrius is also as strange as his mother and father... ESPECIALLY BECAUSE OF THIS...!!:

After finally getting to meet him and seeing that Anya can't read his mind, my original theory that he might be working with his father, just got thrown out the window...!! Because now, I think that Demetrius has been experimented on... 😥 I hope that I'm wrong, but I just don't know this point...

AND THINK THAT'S ENOUGH ABOUT THIS CHAPTER FOR TODAY!

Today's chapter was excellent, but now that Demetrius has finally shown up, my mind is going crazy about what this ALL MEANS!😫

Anyway, I think I'll stop for today and possibly regroup with myself to figure out WHAT IS WRONG WITH THE DESMONDS!! (Except for Damain, who is the only normal one there..! 🥲) So until the next Mission or if I try attempt to figure out what is up with the Desmonds; take care, be safe out there and be kind to one another...!! Later!! 👍

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starmapz · 5 months ago

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shame on me || chapter seven || weapon

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 || 7.3k.

edited but not beta-read.

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

The feeling of the breeze threading through the open door is refreshing given the tense air in the cabin. The smell of spring blossoms puts a smile on your tired features from yet another long night.

At some point in the night, you had heard Gojo come down the stairs, his steps approaching your door but after some sort of turmoil, he seemed to decide against knocking. You had wondered if he thought you were asleep, but since you’d woken up he’d been avoiding you. He had left breakfast on the table for you early in the morning at some point, retreating back to his bedroom before you had the chance to talk.

Every time he shuffled or moved in his bedroom, you’d freeze, a sudden uncomfortable air to being in the cabin with him. You’d asked him for space last night and he was certainly giving you that, but it didn’t make you feel any better about the previous day’s interactions with him.

As you sit at the table eating your breakfast, a knock at the door makes you jump. Pressing your palms flat against the table, you push yourself to your feet, but before you can make your way to the door, Gojo hops down the stairs. His hand ghosts over your shoulder and sends a shiver down your spine.

“I got it,” he tells you, his first words to you since your argument last night.

You sit back down, wanting nothing more than to talk to Gojo about the events of last night, but the presence of Yuta at the door prevents you from doing so.

“Morning, Sensei!” The boy grins cheerily, gripping the bag slung over his shoulder. He peeks into the cabin, shooting you a kind but wary smile. “Good, you’re both here. Can I come in?”

Gojo shoots you a glance, a silent question. When you nod, Gojo makes space for Yuta to enter.

“Hey y/n, how’re you feeling?” He asks, sliding his katana bag off his shoulder and leaning on the table beside you as he sits down.

“Been better,” you admit but shoot him a reassuring smile.

“Yeah I’m sorry about stabbing you, by the way,” he chuckles as he runs a hand through his hair.

Gojo had mentioned that Yuta was the one who stopped your draconic rampage a few weeks back, but it didn’t make it any less of a strange apology to hear.

You shake your head in embarrassment. “I’m just glad no one got hurt.”

Yuta and Gojo excitedly exchange a few words as Gojo flips the chair opposite you, straddling it as he casually rests both arms over the back of it.

“So listen, the higher-ups called for me,” Yuta frowns, glancing between you both.

Avoiding Gojo’s stare, your brow furrows in confusion. “Why call for a student?”

“Oh!” Yuta chuckles, scratching the back of his head. “I’m a special grade sorcerer, so I’m a bit different from a normal student,” he exhales shyly. He watches as you nod, taking in a breath as his expression grows more serious. “Gojo, you know what that means, right?”

He hums, his blindfolded eyes very clearly locked on you in thought although you couldn’t see them. You’d grown more confident in your ability to read his expressions even when hidden, and the apprehension currently clouding his features was obvious.

“I see,” he hums, resting his chin on his arms.

“Do they know I’m awake yet?” You ask, fiddling with your fingers.

“No, Shoko’s keeping it under wraps.” Gojo’s foot begins bouncing as he’s deep in thought.

“So, can we keep stalling?” Yuta asks hopefully, pulling his knee up on the chair.

Gojo clicks his tongue. “If Yuta doesn’t kill you,” he points his finger in your direction, “they’ll send someone else.”

“Tsukumo?” Yuta cocks his head to the side.

Deep in thought, Gojo shakes his head. “She wouldn’t. The Zen’in, if I were to guess.”

You weren’t overly familiar with the clans aside from Gojo, but you recognized the name. From what you had heard they were relatively ruthless and Nanami didn’t seem too fond of them. A conversation had come up that multiple students in Tokyo and Kyoto had roots there and had chosen to abandon them based on their treatment.

“One Zen’in isn’t too bad,” Yuta muses. “We could handle a Zen’in.”

“I didn’t say one.”

“Oh.”

Tapping your fingers a couple of times on the table, you worry your lip between your teeth. “Would it be so bad for me to talk to the higher-ups?”

Gojo lifts his head, lips pursed. He runs a hand through his snowy locks, giving them a more disheveled look than usual. His leg bounces beneath him, a tic you’d started noticing more often. From what you could tell he seemed to do it when something was bothering him, but when it came to Gojo, things were always a mystery.

“Well…” Yuta chimes in when Gojo doesn’t answer. “It could work.”

“No.” Gojo’s voice is firm and earns surprised stares from you and the student.

“Why not?” You ask curiously, not having enough knowledge about the world of Jujutsu or the higher-ups to form an opinion.

“It won’t matter. And they won’t have you stand before them.”

“Can they… stop me?”

Gojo hums, shifting his jaw from side to side. “No, but-” He chews on his lower lip in thought, as though he’s grappling with something. “Give me a moment,” he sighs finally, getting to his feet and walking off to the washroom.

Your gaze follows the tall figure down the hall, fixing on the door as he shuts it behind him. Yuta sighs, mindlessly fiddling with his uniform jacket, one that was a stark white in comparison to the rest of the students.

“Miss y/n?”

You hum, turning your attention to Yuta.

“I think it could work,” he offers, shrugging his shoulders hopefully. “Talking to them, I mean.” He offers a kind smile.

“You think?” A flicker of hope shines in your eyes.

“They wanted me dead two years ago,” he chuckles. “Special grades scare them, especially Gojo.”

Even Miriko had been afraid of Gojo upon your first meeting, but knowing him now and seeing the way he interacted with the world around him, it almost felt like a crime to be afraid of him. He was so childish, you couldn’t envision a world where someone with a title of a ‘higher-up’ would be afraid of such a man. After all, surely they had to be powerful.

“Him? Why?”

“He’s the strongest.”

“So I’ve heard,” you sigh, getting awfully sick of that statement.

“The thing about Gojo is that…” he pauses, eyes flickering to the door as though he isn’t sure he should utter a word. His voice lowers as he continues. “I don’t think he’s ever really been one to listen or care about what they think,” he starts, “but they have to listen to him as the head of the Gojo clan.”

You nod slowly, taking in his words. You were familiar enough with the concept of the power the clans held, Gojo included.

“I think, though, what they’re really afraid of is the other side of him.”

“What do you mean?”

“Shoko probably knows better than I do, but…” His eyes flicker to the shut door again. “He’s a different person in battles. He’s willing to make sacrifices more than I think the average person is.” Your brow furrows, not sure where Yuta is going with this. “I think the higher-ups see him as a weapon, not a person. There’s no way he doesn’t know that,” his voice is small as he frowns. “I think if they keep ordering him to kill the people he cares about, he’s gonna snap.”

Your eyes widen at the revelation, thoughts racing through your mind as you take in what he said. Though you’d seen a more cold side of Gojo, even in battle you’d never once pictured him as any less of a person. Leaning back in your chair, you worry your lip between your teeth in deep thought, not sure which of the questions racing through your mind to start with.

On one hand, there was the question of who exactly Gojo had been ordered to kill. Did Yuta mean himself and Yuji? Or was there more to the story than just his students?

On the other hand, you weren’t confident that you qualified as someone Gojo cared about. Sure, he’d shown that at least now he was trying and there was a level of civility between you both, but him caring about you was another story.

“What do you mean ‘keep’ ordering him to kill?” You ask, leaning forward against the table, but before Yuta can say what’s on the tip of his tongue, the washroom door swings open and Gojo returns with a composed grin. Yuta’s eyes widen, his lips zipping tightly as he abruptly stops your conversation.

“Talkin’ about me?” He teases, stepping over the backwards chair to take his spot straddling it again. You roll your eyes at the cocky greeting despite him being right. “Why don’t we grab some food before we continue?”

Shooting a glance at Yuta, you nod. Maybe that would give you a chance to continue your conversation with him. Noting that you were still in yesterday’s clothes, the two men allow you time to shower, put your hair up and throw on more acceptable clothing, opting for a cropped shirt and joggers. You didn’t have the energy to put any more effort into how you looked.

Pushing the door open, you throw your old clothes into the guest room, slipping your phone into your pocket. Coming up to the table, you stand behind Yuta as you wait for the two to stop laughing over something.

“Ready?” Yuta asks with a smile, turning to look up at you.

Nodding, you look to Gojo to lead the way, his head fixed in your direction with pursed lips. Clearing his throat, he smirks. “Right! Tokyoooo!”

Yuta slings his bag over his shoulder, taking the lead as you stop to grab your sunglasses before unsteadily making your way after him. As footsteps approach from behind you, you feel something brush against your arm. The sight of Gojo offering you his arm catches you off-guard and you feel an embarrassing heat rise to your cheeks.

Somewhat begrudgingly, you take it and your small group has Ijichi drive them to a cafe not too far from the school that Gojo claims has the best mochi.

To your absolute delight, he was right.

Starry-eyed, you stare down at the treat, tongue gliding over your lips. “I gotta hand it to you Gojo, you were right.”

He hums in response, an uncharacteristically quiet response to what might even be a compliment, and when you look up at him he seems equally distracted. He’s worrying his lip between his teeth, gaze seemingly fixated on you, though you could only assume he’d spaced out or something.

Shrugging it off, you turn your attention to Yuta, who mutters, “Maki would love this, I’ve gotta bring her here sometime.”

You smile warmly at the thought of the students going out for food, just enjoying life. You’d grown so accustomed to sorcery that sometimes it was easy to forget they were all kids. They should be out enjoying life, not worrying about what curse would try to kill them next.

And yet that was exactly where your life had brought you. In fact, you were probably Yuta’s age when you forced yourself into isolation and lost your freedom. You grimace at the thought, training your attention on the mochi in your hands with a frown as though it was responsible for your loss of freedom.

You inhale sharply, forcing the thought aside. No need to feel pity for yourself when you were happy with how your life had been.

“I’m gonna grab some for my friends,” Yuta decides, getting up to stand in line.

With Yuta out of earshot, Gojo turns his attention to you. “I’ll arrange a meeting for you with the higher-ups.”

You tilt your head in surprise.

“I don’t want Yuta to stand before them. He’s just a kid.”

It’s strange to hear Gojo say something so protective, even when it comes to his students. His trust in them and their abilities was so great that you sometimes doubted his judgment when it came to them, but all that really told you was that there was something about the higher-ups that even he feared.

“I agree but… why the change in heart?” You ask, wondering why he’d decided to keep this from Yuta.

“I have a plan,” he tells you, leaning forward on the table. He attempts to slyly reach across the table and steal your last mochi, snickering when you try to slap his hand away but you’re met with Infinity.

“Why are you even using that? We’re in a cafe.” You grumble, watching him pop your last mochi into his mouth. Your conversation about Gojo’s plan is now long forgotten as you narrow your eyes at him.

“You never know,” he shrugs you off.

“You’re such a pain,” you grumble at his chipper laugh. “I was enjoying that.”

“Awh, were you?” He teases.

If looks could kill.

Yuta returns, brow raised at the looks being exchanged between the two of you. “Do you guys need a moment?” He utters uncertainly.

“No,” you force a kind smile.

After going over his mochi flavor choices, Gojo decides he needs to try some of them, getting back in line himself. Eagerly awaiting Gojo’s departure to continue your conversation from earlier, you unceremoniously flip towards Yuta.

“What did you mean, earlier?”

“Uh…” The boy’s brow furrows, the conversation clearly a passing topic for him, whereas for you it was the answers you were seeking. Or so you hoped. “Oh, about Geto?”

Your eyes widen as an image of the raven-haired man, pale and unmoving, in Gojo’s arms returns to your mind.

“Geto… Suguru?” You ask in disbelief. Of course, it made sense, but still it felt like pieces of the puzzle were missing. Gojo was a menace but even you could admit he wasn’t a monster. Geto, though, it was hard to make an argument for. Were they…?

“That’s the one,” he hums. “He once told me he was his only friend. I guess they were classmates with Shoko.”

At a loss for words, you lean back in your chair deep in thought. It had been a long time since you’d considered why it was that Gojo had seemed so desperate to have Geto back when he had inexplicably showed up at your gate.

Back then, you’d paid little mind to the melancholy laced between his words. The way he’d gripped the limp body in his arms with all the care in the world, how he’d begged for you to bring him back. You saw it now, clear as day. He had been in love and his tragedy laid in his arms, his wounds bared to you, of all people.

Yuta frowns, eyes trained on the bag of mochi in front of him. “He killed him a couple of years ago. Then when someone used his body, he had to kill him again.”

“He did some terrible things,” you reason, headlines of Geto Suguru’s actions coming to mind from when you were around Yuta’s age.

Still, you mumble a curse under your breath at the thought of having to kill someone you were so fond of. The horror of the idea tightens in your chest, digging uncomfortably into your heart as you shoot a glance at the cheery sorcerer ordering mochi with a boyish grin.

“That’s why he couldn’t kill you.”

“Hm?” You ask, unable to connect the dots between you and Gojo’s closest confidante.

Yuta’s head tilts sympathetically. “Maybe you should ask him about it,” he mumbles with a sparkle of mischief in his sunken eyes.

Pursing your lips, your confused expression remains as Gojo approaches your table.

“Alright! Ready?” As you and Yuta both nod, he makes his way around the table, reaching his hand out to help you up. Still lost in thought, you barely notice the way he effortlessly pulls you up by your forearms before snugly pulling you to his side, holding you up by your waist. You don’t bother to think about it, because Gojo’s always been one to invade personal space, and you need the help anyway.

The car ride back is filled with joyous laughter between Yuta and Gojo, though you can only watch the scenery go by as you try to make sense of what you know about the Limitless sorcerer. How many people had he lost? How many had he been forced to kill?

Why did everyone seem to see him as a weapon?

Pulling into the entrance of the school, Yuta thanks Gojo for lunch, his eyes lighting up when he spots his friends in the distance. His teacher urges him off to them, telling him the conversation about the higher-ups could be handled by you and him.

He bounds off happily towards the green-haired second-year who you recognize as Maki. She seems to soften when she sees him, smiling when he pulls out mochi for her before sharing with the panda (who is still an enigma to you), and the shorter blonde student.

“They’re cute,” you comment.

Gojo hums, smiling as he offers you his arm again. You take it as he leads the way back to his cabin, returning to your thoughts.

Yuta’s words clung to you like glue, unable to be shaken. Would Gojo even answer you if you did ask him why he didn’t kill you? Or would he give you another excuse? Would he avoid the question altogether? After all, you had asked him why he didn’t kill you when the higher-ups asked. By all accounts, it would have been excusable to most people given the damage you’d done. What was more surprising was spotting him waiting at your hospital bedside with sunken eyes and pale, tired skin when you’d woken up.

You’d never stopped to consider why he was so adamant on staying at your side. Why he had decided to take care of you, and not just keep an eye on you, but cook and clean too. Hell, even the way he helped you get around while you were struggling was soft, kind even.

Was it guilt?

Or… was there more to it than that?

Questions of Geto swirled in your brain as well. If they had been so close, what had happened? Had it affected him in a way he wouldn’t dare show others? Was his cheery act all a facade? A coping mechanism?

It was shocking how well his student knew him.

Coming back to the cabin, you kneel down to greet your excited pup at the door, squealing happily as he licks your cheek. He doesn’t even bother barking at Gojo anymore, clearly growing more accustomed to him.

“Miriko, you in there?” Gojo asks, half-sitting against the back of the couch.

“Can I help you, Six Eyes?” Her mouth appears on your cheek, your eyes rolling down to try to see it.

“You’ve got a week to heal y/n,” he says bluntly, removing his blindfold and tossing it on the table. His locks fall over his eyes and he shakes his head to clear his vision. “I have a plan.”

–

Days came and went with few changes besides an increase in your physiotherapy with Shoko and when Miriko’s cursed energy had finally returned, she was able to heal you fully. You had happily gone bounding down the faculty stairs back to the cabin where Gojo sat with feet up on the table, grinning as you excitedly bounded up to your dog and ran outside with him.

It was your first genuine, truly happy grin in a long time.

Too busy playing with Taro, you missed the way Gojo slyly followed you and leaned against the doorframe, ducking his head to fit properly through the frame as he watched you play with a rope toy with Taro. Stumbling back, you shriek in surprise as Taro lets go of the rope and you fall flat on your ass. You spot Gojo shaking his head in the distance, bringing his coffee up to his lips.

You’d gone a shocking amount of days with no real fight and only minor spats here and there when Gojo felt like being a pain in the ass, but there was nothing new about that. If there was one thing he enjoyed, it was irritating you.

He seemed to enjoy it more as your mood and coordination both picked up, growing more and more teasing each morning as he would practice cooking eggs to your preferences.

This morning is no exception as he calls you inside. You take a seat at the table, thanking him as he serves your eggs.

You raise a brow, turning your attention to him. “This is still burnt, Gojo. It’s almost impressive.”

“It’s not burnt! C’mon, it should be perfect,” he insists, spatula still in-hand as he rounds the table, only to spot that it was in fact a bit crispy as he invades your personal space when he leans in. “Hmm, it adds flare?” He insists as though he’s running out of compliments for his somewhat burnt eggs.

“I don’t need flare in my food, dumbass,” you tease, his eyes narrowing as he pouts at you.

“Maybe not in your food, but your personality could use some,” he mutters on his way back to the stove, surprised when you have not only the energy but also the movement necessary to lunge at him in a shockingly playful manner.

Gojo drops the spatula on the counter at the realization you’d lunged at him, dashing behind the couch in the living room. You stumble over yourself once but remain mostly dexterous as you face him on the opposite side of the couch. A boyish grin dawns his features as he places his palms on the arm of the couch, blue eyes gleaming playfully.

You feign to the right, before hopping over the couch, forgetting that he can, of course, teleport, as he disappears when you launch a pillow at him.

“Cheater!” You call over to him from where he’s now leaning against the wall with a sly smirk by the kitchen. You can’t help but smile at the infectious look, hopping down off the couch as you return to the kitchen. An overpowering smell of crispiness reminds you that Gojo was cooking when you dove at him.

He seems to remember at the same time as you both approach the pan with what was meant to be his serving of eggs.

“Do these ones have enough flare for you?” You tease as you both stare at the undeniably very burnt eggs in the pan.

“You’re a pain, you know that?” He teases with parted lips, poking your shoulder. Behind the guise of irritation, his eyes give away that he’s secretly enjoying your teasing.

“Speak for yourself, Satoru.”

Gojo’s teasing falls off as he stares at you in shock, his jaw practically dropping to the floor. Stiff as a board, he inhales sharply and rolls his shoulders, composing himself before you can notice the way you left him speechless. Never in a million years could either of you have imagined a world where you were on a first name basis, but whether it’s an accident or not, Gojo smiles fondly and lets you dump the eggs out.

“I’ll make new ones,” he says, clearing his throat. You sit down at the table again, eyes flitting over to your roommate as he leans down to grab new eggs from the fridge, his back muscles rippling from beneath his tight black shirt.

Your thoughts trail back to your conversation with Yuta and you debate asking the questions that remain unanswered, but it never seems to feel like the right moment.

“Hey, so listen,” Gojo starts, a more serious timbre to his voice. You give him your attention, tilting your head as he eyes you to see if you’re listening from where he stands over the pan. Still facing the stove, he continues. “I’m being sent on a mission, but you should be fine now that you’re healed.” You nod, not thinking much of it. You would still have one extra day to prepare for the meeting with the higher-ups when he got back, anyway.

“Must be a strong curse if they’re sending you,” you comment.

He hums in agreement. “The data they gathered on it estimates that it can negate the effects of cursed techniques.” He shrugs nonchalantly, a confident smirk donning his features. “Some sorta ugly humanoid thing I guess.”

The Thief cursed spirit?

You stare down at your eggs, repeating Miriko’s question aloud to Gojo.

“Hm? Dunno, I don’t have much more info.”

“I don’t mean to interrupt,” Miriko appears on the back of your hand. You hold her up to face Gojo. “However I do not think it would be wise to send you.”

“Why’s that?”

“It sounds like a curse I knew once, it has the ability to temporarily disable and steal other techniques.” Her red iris darts to you, examining your curious expression. “You would be allowing it to use not only Limitless, but Six Eyes.”

“Nah, I’d win.” He grins nonchalantly, turning back to the stove and ignoring Miriko’s warning. “I’ll just kill it first.”

“You would be much wiser to send Itadori, he has no technique to steal and it shouldn’t be capable of reaching Sukuna.”

“It’s fine Miriko, I got this.” He grins again, shooting a confident look at the curse. She huffs before disappearing.

He is stubborn, she comments.

You chew your eggs, humming internally in response as you watch Gojo’s movements. You aren’t sure why, but a familiar anxiety settles in your stomach.

Do you think it can hurt him? You ask Miriko silently, spacing out as you speak to her.

Certainly. It did a number on me a long time ago. It’s unpredictable and very smart.

We can’t send a student.

It’s not very strong without a technique to steal. Itadori would be more than capable of taking it on alone.

You hum in thought, pulling Gojo’s attention from his eggs.

Could it… kill him?

Miriko pauses. I don’t know.

You swallow uncomfortably, poking at the remains of your eggs. A cursed spirit with a technique built to rival someone like Gojo. The anxiety begins to boil in your stomach, pulling your attention to the snowy locks of your roommate.

You suck in a breath as images flash through your mind of Kento. Of his smile, his warmth, his love. The way the light faded from his eyes when the curse pierced through him, when he lifted his arm to attempt to free himself, only to be pulled into a pool of acid, with nothing left of him but a blade.

Images of Gojo in the same situation settle uncomfortably in your mind alongside those of Kento.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, your breathing quickens and you stare wide-eyed at Gojo as words pour out of your mouth before you can think twice about them. “Please don’t go.”

Sliding his eggs out onto a plate and setting the pan aside, he turns to you with a raised brow at the meek tone behind your words. “Why? I can handle it.”

“I- I’m just looking out for you,” you stammer over your words, sitting upright. “Miriko thinks-”

“I’ll be fine,” he interrupts, waving his hand in the air with a scoff. “I’m the strongest.” There it is, that familiar phrase. The sentence you've heard uttered so many times that it makes your blood boil.

Anger begins to seep through the cracks of your calm facade, pooling in your chest and forming an uncomfortable weight that pulls you down. “For god’s sake, Gojo.” You sigh, watching with discontentment as he sits down to eat his eggs, pulling up his phone as he blatantly pushes away your concern.

Glancing up from his phone with a bite of eggs in his mouth, he hums questioningly at you when he sees the way your jaw is clenched.

“Can’t you listen to me for once?”

“What? C’mon, it’s not a big deal y/n. I handle shit like this all the time,” he shrugs nonchalantly, setting his phone down on the table.

“I know you do, but-” you pause, brow furrowed as you search for the words that will convince him, as stubborn a man as he is. “I just think- Miriko says-”

“y/n,” he interrupts, running a hand through his silvery locks. “I can handle myself, seriously. I’m the-”

“For fuck’s sake, I know!” You raise your voice, lowering it immediately as he glowers at you. “Just because you’re the strongest doesn’t mean you’re immune to everything,” you reason.

“I’ll be fine,” he mutters through his teeth, crossing his arms over his chest.

You stare at him in disbelief. Was everything you were saying going in one ear and out the other?

“For fu- Why are you being so stubborn?” Wide-eyed, you press on in hopes of getting him to listen.

“Stubborn? Do you hear yourself?” His voice raises now too, clearly growing upset.

“I’m just trying to make sure you don’t get hurt!” You raise your voice again, somewhat hurt at his lack of self-preservation.

“What does it matter? I’ll just heal myself,” he insists through gritted teeth, his voice edging on a growl.

You rub your hands over your face in exasperation. “What if you can’t? What if this thing is stronger than you think? What if-” Your words die on your tongue as the claws of anxiety begin to strike at your chest and your breathing increases, panic setting in thick. You take a shaky breath, balling your hands into fists in your lap to stop them from shaking. God, why did this keep happening? Why was he so insistent on arguing with you?

“You know what, whatever. I’m heading out.” Gojo gets to his feet, the clang of his plate rattling in the sink causing you to jump as it pulls you from your thoughts.

“Why is it so hard for you to listen to someone other than your goddamn self?”

He whips around, eyes flashing furiously. “You have to be fucking kidding me,” he spits. “It’s always something with you, I’m always doing something wrong.”

Hurt strikes you like a stake through the heart and you feel the familiar burn of tears brimming in your eyes. God damn it, not now. “I didn’t mean it like that, Gojo, I just-”

“Then what did you mean?” He hisses, swinging a hand through the air in disbelief. “Why does it even matter to you?” His accusation burns a hole through your chest and you don’t have time to think before words spill from your lips.

“Because I can’t lose you too!” You cry out, your arms hanging in the air before slowly dropping at your sides, your chest rising and falling quickly as you practically gasp for air, teetering dangerously on drowning in your own desperation. Because god damn it, why could he not listen?

The silence in the cabin is palpable, interrupted only by the incessant chirps of the summer cicadas. Even behind his sunglasses, you can see his eyes are wide, his jaw hanging ajar. Paralyzed at the sound of your words, he can’t manage to mask any amount of his shock. Satory Gojo, who you couldn’t seem to get to shut up most of the time, stood before you at a loss for words.

His shoulders fall, brow twitching as he finally processes what you’d just said. His lips part but he can’t seem to find words, shaking his head. His tongue swipes across his lower lip, your eyes flickering down to the motion for a brief moment.

“I- I didn’t realize…” He mumbles, clearing his throat. “I thought you didn’t care,” he sighs, ruffling a hand through his snowy hair.

“You’re so dense sometimes, Satoru,” you quietly chuckle, rubbing your hands over your face again. “Obviously I care,” you whisper, willing your voice not to waver as you bite your lip.

Quietly examining your face, the sorcerer inhales abruptly and walks back into the kitchen, his steps light as though he’s treading on eggshells. He eyes you for a moment before pouring a glass of water and sitting back down at the table, setting the glass down in front of you.

Gingerly, you reach for the glass, quietly thanking him for the oddly thoughtful gesture.

“I’m sorry, y/n.” His lips are pressed into a thin line, quietly observing the way your breathing begins to slow. A prolonged silence spreads in the cabin once again, neither of you daring to look at one another as though you’d been caught doing something embarrassing.

Then again, it was embarrassing to care for Gojo, sometimes.

Sighing deeply, Gojo leans back in his chair. “We can’t send Yuji alone. He’s not a first grade sorcerer yet,” he clears his throat, motioning to your hand as though he expects Miriko to pop out at any moment. “So… Why don’t we go over who should go with him

To your surprise, Miriko cooperates and you land on sending Kusakabe as backup, although Gojo claims he won’t be fond of the decision. Regardless, it puts you at ease as Gojo makes a call.

Leaning his head back, Gojo slides down in his chair. “I’m not dense.”

You snort, rolling your eyes. “Whatever you say.”

He pouts, closing his eyes.

Neither of you know what to say. Your relationship has always been strained at best, but the charged emotions left hanging in the air make it hard for either of you to make sense of one another.

Letting out a deep breath, you lower your head. The weight of the morning’s argument exhausts you, and as you glance at Gojo, you realize he too seems to be succumbing to that weight, his breathing already beginning to steady as though he was falling asleep. You quietly chuckle at the sight. He really could sleep anywhere.

Deciding to take after him, you make your way to the couch and it isn’t long after your head hits the cushions that you’re out cold.

–

It was the day of the meeting with the higher-ups and your nerves were at an all-time high even though you had rehearsed what you would be saying to them. Gojo had insisted he go with you in case of emergency, though the intonation behind his words told you there was something more to his insistence on standing before the “old hags” as he so chose to call them.

For the first time in a while, Gojo was wearing his familiar all-black faculty uniform with a high collar, adorned with golden buttons. He also claimed he’d gotten you one, but when you told him Ijichi had never dropped it off he’d just pouted. So you had chosen to wear a fancier black dress with pink flowers that flowed just past your knees.

The sight of a single door had never instilled such nerves in you. It seemed to taunt you, sitting in a strangely barren waiting room, as though you were in a DMV.

Mindlessly bouncing your leg, you sneak a glance at Gojo, who looks calm as ever, his signature smirk donning his lips as he leans back in his chair, crossed arms behind his head. He may as well be the picture of confidence as usual, which on one hand is reassuring, but it also has you wondering whether you might accidentally disappoint him.

Catching your stare, Gojo peeks out from under his blindfold with a reassuring smile. “You’ll be fine,” he hums in a honeyed voice, smooth and calm. His blue eye is warm, white lashes blinking at you a few times before he replaces the blindfold.

You exhale, smiling thankfully at him. Since the day you’d called him dense, he’d seemed to catch on to your more minute emotions, actively trying to keep in tune with you. Every day he seemed to find new ways to make it harder and harder to even say you disliked him, let alone the idea you once hated him.

Nothing would change the fact that he was at all times a cocky pain in the ass, but what mattered was that he was trying. You were both trying.

As the time for your meeting rolls around, you wait in hopes that the door will creak open to a well-lit podium ready for you to speak at, but Gojo hadn’t prepared you for what awaited. Getting to his feet as the clock strikes the hour, the sorcerer springs to his feet, humming as he treads to the door and awaits your meek steps behind him.

Sliding the door open, he holds it for you before sliding it shut behind you. Your eyes take a moment to adjust to the sights around you, the darkness of the room illuminated only by six dim lights, each pointed at a screen panel. The faint outline of a person can be seen behind each one, causing a shiver to run up your spine as you take your place in the center of the panels. All eyes on you, a frail feminine voice addresses you.

“l/n y/n. Your actions are called into question today,” she speaks. You turn to face the panel that the voice is coming from, glancing back at Gojo who shoots you a reassuring nod from the entrance. “For the damage you caused to the Tokyo Jujutsu Tech grounds,” she begins, “and for unleashing a special grade cursed spirit at full power.”

You swallow, staying silent. You’d been over this with Gojo. Do not speak unless spoken to. There’s a pause as they wait for you to speak up. Met with silence, an older male voice pipes in.

“Vessel, are you not responsible for keeping the special grade cursed spirit of death at bay?”

Turning to face the new panel, you swallow. “Yes, I am.” It pains you to say, just as much as it pains Miriko to hear, however every line is rehearsed. You just need to stay calm.

“Upon unleashing the cursed spirit at full force, you put not only faculty and students, but innocent bystanders in danger.”

“Kindly, sir, I was in control.”

Silence chokes you as you wait for a response. A deep and raspy voice snickers at you. “In control, eh? Is that why second-year student Okkotsu Yuta stabbed you through the head?”

You swallow hard. You knew the question was coming, but it didn’t make it any easier. “I was in pain. We had discussed it before, it was premeditated.”

“Should that not be the responsibility of your equal rather than your student?”

Gojo remains unmoving as you nervously search for encouragement from him. He’s frowning now too, clearly frazzled.

“Y-Yes,” you stammer. “Gojo was unavailable.”

“I see,” a deep rumbling sounds as an older man laughs heartily, though you aren’t sure what’s so funny.

Maybe Gojo was right to call them hags. It wasn’t as far fetched as you had once thought, now in their presence. To think they had attempted to sentence two children to their death already, and you were potentially next.

“Miss l/n,” the first feminine voice addresses you again. Flipping to face her, you see a shadow shift from behind the dimly illuminated panel. “Do you have a defense in the case of the untimely death of a mother at the Yokohama hospital in 2008 resulting in the orphaning of a young boy?”

Memories come racing back through your mind, leaving a set of fresh wounds as deep as they had all those years ago. Like shards of ice, they pierce your skin as your blood runs cold.

This, you had not rehearsed. You’re not sure how they ever could have found out about the incident and it makes you shiver. Just how long were they watching you, secretly keeping an eye on you?

Your heart pounds hard against your chest as you glance back at Gojo. He’s frowning, his expression unreadable. The comfort you had hoped he would provide never finds you.

Taking a steadying breath, you steel yourself as you face the panel. “I wasn’t aware of my technique. It was an accident and I never caused harm again.”

The silence that stretches between you is too long, the uncomfortable sound of your nervous breathing all that can be heard. You whip around anxiously to face a different panel as a new voice speaks in a slow, low drawl.

“l/n y/n,” they begin, “as the Vessel of the cursed spirit of death known as Miriko, it is your responsibility to keep it at bay. You have proven on multiple occasions you are incapable of such a feat.” The voice doesn’t waver, the shadow of the figure straightening as they lift their chin, their voice booming. “On these grounds…”

You hold your breath. There’s no world where you’re off the hook based on what they’ve said, but still you hope.

“... We sentence you to death.”

A chill runs squarely up your spine at the words as you spin to face each of the panels. A low snicker sounds from a woman, followed by a grunt of approval from another.

“Gojo Satoru, you will kill the Vessel.”

Turning to face your assailant, your mouth runs dry. He stands unmoving at the entrance, hands in his pockets. Though blindfolded, you feel his gaze on you in a way that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. It’s as though the person staring back at you isn’t a person at all.

Yuta’s words echo in your mind.

“I think if they keep ordering him to kill the people he cares about, he’s gonna snap.”

It was undeniable at this point that, to some degree, you both cared for one another. Your argument a couple of days ago left little to the imagination in terms of how you felt about one another.

But would that be enough to save you? Would he deny them?

He slowly lifts a finger to his blindfold, pulling it down to rest at his collar. His eyes shine wildly in a way you’ve never before seen. His pupils are eerie pinpoints, unblinking as blue seems to tint the white lashes outlining his wide eyes.

Time seems to stand still as he raises a hand to face you, bringing his middle finger to meet his thumb. Swallowing hard, your breathing picks up and you bring your arms up in order to defend yourself despite the horror that roots you to the spot.

Why did it seem the world wanted you to suffer so badly? After so much time convincing yourself it was okay to be close to someone only to have them ripped from your grasp, you now faced the barrel of a loaded gun held by someone you had finally learned to trust.

You close your eyes as Gojo inhales, prepared to take his attack head-on but what meets you isn’t the pain of an attack. Rather, when you open your eyes, everything seems to happen in an instant. You don’t have time to register the way Gojo closes the distance between you, one muscular arm pulling you into his warm chest as he holds you tightly against him.

You feel the flexing of muscles against your shoulder in the arm he’s holding in the air as he makes a signal with his hand that you’ve never seen. His grip on your core tightens, fingers flexing around your shoulder as an unsettling anger seems to rip through the air around you.

“Domain Expansion. Infinite Void.”

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a/n || thank you for reading as always! i had so much fun with that last scene and the egg scene ♡

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