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wito-chan-bla-bla · 1 year ago

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Return and imprisonment

You thought you were freed from the shackles of Satoru Gojo when you found out he was sealed. But fate, which has been giving you signs for so long, has decided that it no longer wants to help you

Warnings: not really, only yandere!Satoru and a little-little creepy

On the day when the whole world seemed doomed, because the great Satoru Gojo was sealed, you finally found your freedom.

While people were cowering in fear, you were finally able to breathe freely. The oppressive walls of his luxury apartment, which became a golden cage for you, could be destroyed without fear that someone would come for you. It was actually quite easy to escape all this time. The only problem was that your "crazy lover" will always find you.

You can hardly remember how long you were in his loving arms, so you can hardly remember why he chose you in the first place. When you asked him that one day, Satoru gave you a big smile, as if you weren't shaking with fear at the time, hugged you gently, kissed your temple, and told you that he would never find the perfect person for him that you were.

You met him quite a long time ago, back in high school, and he seemed quite normal back then. He immediately started talking to you a lot, but for someone like Satoru, that was normal. You didn't mind either, especially since Gojo was stronger, more experienced, and could teach you how to fight curses better and thus reduce the chance that you would die by your own stupidity.

But with every month - no, week - that you knew him, something started to feel wrong, terrible. Satoru has always looked at you a lot, but since when did he stop blinking? Since when did he turn his head horribly behind you when you decided to change the trajectory a little? Since when did he run into you again and again, even though you never had the same schedule for every day?

When you first asked him about it, you should have immediately run to the other side of the world after answering. Gojo was in a trance at the time, muttering that he had never seen a creature as perfect as you. When he blinked, seeming to recover, he just smiled and, to your confusion, which should have been a horror, replied that he was telling the complete truth.

You haven't noticed the hints of fate for too long. But it couldn't have been any other way. You come from the "village", you have never interacted with other sorcerers, especially those as strong as Satoru. After talking to his friends and reasonably judging that the "strongest" ones have their own oddities, you continued to communicate with Gojo…

And then were abducted and locked up for several years.

It happened suddenly, on a day that didn't bode well. You just opened your eyes and realized that this wasn't the school dorm you were living in, since it was quite expensive to rent an apartment, but an unfamiliar room that was too richly furnished for it not to be a dream.

And you thought it was all a dream for a while, especially after Satoru showed up. Yes, the strange feeling in your stomach was still trying to warn you of the danger, but Gojo was smiling so sweetly at you while carrying your breakfast tray that you thought it was fine.

And then reality hit you.

You were wearing the same clothes as last night. You felt the weight of the fork and the hands of the sorcerer, who placed his big hands on your blanket-covered knees. You could taste the food perfectly, and you could smell the sheets and tell exactly what they had been washed with most recently.

If this was a dream, it was too real. If it was a dream, it soon turned into a nightmare.

There were strange bracelets on your hands and feet that gave off cursed energy. It only took you one attempt to use your abilities to realize that you are now completely defenseless.

A scream, a tantrum, a tray thrown at Satoru... all this caused the sorcerer, who was frozen next to the bed, only a slight smile of a man in love. When you asked him in a shaky voice what you were doing here, Gojo opened his arms as if inviting you into a hug and smiled harder, now looking like the maniac he was slowly becoming over the years.

"You're safe here, my sweetcake."

And with these words, you have lost any freedom.

At first, Satoru wouldn't let you out of the room, which was large but very limited. He kept repeating that it was all for your safety, that it was the only way he, the strongest, could protect you from "the evil of this world." He treated you as if you were a lover who responded to his feelings. He continued to act as if all your screams, all your pleas, all your curses at him were nothing. He pretended not to notice that you didn't want to be here at all.

Gradually, he allowed you to walk all over the apartment. And even though it was bigger and better than his bedroom, where you were forced to sleep in the same bed as the man who kidnapped you, you still didn't feel any better. There wasn't a single person you could talk to except Satoru, who would return from missions and continue to demand love from you as if you were his beloved wife.

You've wandered through corridors filled with paintings and expensive decor, you've explored every wall and found so many ways to escape. But every time you managed to escape, hurting yourself or not, Gojo found you, brought you back, locked you up. And it happened again and again and again.

You would never accept his tender but perverted love. But at the same time, you started to lose all hope. Your relatives didn't even know you were trapped. You asked your friends to turn their backs on you so they wouldn't get hurt. No one could help you because Satoru Gojo is "the strongest".

Gradually, you stopped trying to run away, to resist, just drowning in the arms of Satoru, who naively believed that you loved him in return. You might have loved him back if he hadn't kidnapped you, held you hostage, prevented you from communicating with other people, and threatened your loved ones and random strangers by telling that he would kill them if you tried to leave him.

"We are made for each other, that's what my heart says, that's what my mind says, that's what my eyes say. So why do you want to leave me?"

You have almost lost your identity, becoming the plaything of the caring but crazy Satoru Gojo, as fate seems to have decided to take pity on you.

On the day when the whole world lost hope, you found it.

As already mentioned, it was quite easy to escape from his home. He pretended to trust you. And even though he could always find you and teach you a lesson, he wanted to see if you really agreed to play by his rules and never, ever leave him. Once Gojo was out of this world, there was nothing to keep you in his apartment.

Grabbing the numerous jewels that the sorcerer gave you, you ran as far as you could until you felt a pain in your stomach. All the subsequent events were a blur, you wanted to cry and scream, tear your hair out on your head and thank the world that you can finally go outside, see other people's faces, breathe in fresh air, without being afraid that your loved ones will be brutally killed, and their corpses will be brought to you on the silver expensive dishes.

You were in such a hurry that you even forgot who you were asking for help. All you can remember is how you were able to start breathing again as soon as the restraints on your power were removed. You had a lot of money after selling your jewelry, and if something was missing, you could go back to Satoru`s apartment. And even if you hoped that he was robbed a hundred times, it is unlikely that all the most valuable things could be taken away at once.

After a few days of sitting at home and just enjoying the freedom, you were able to more or less leave the creepy apartment behind. You tried to erase from your memories the big bed where Gojo slept with you, hugging your body as if you were his cute little pet that can't resist. You tried to forget the big room where the walls were decorated with your photos, and the shelves were filled with things that were dear to you and suddenly disappeared for several months. You have tried to permanently erase from your mind those moments like Satoru would come home, give you a gentle hug and stretch out his cheerful voice: "I'm home, my sweet roll!"

If only he was normal, if only he didn't kidnap you, if only he didn't say that he would kill anyone who tried to take you away from him, even if you wanted to escape... it would be a perfect, rich and happy life. But that wasn't the case.

But that's all in the past. Now you are completely free and are in another city. The war of sorcerers and curses is over, you are not going to help those who were afraid of Satoru Gojo and did not even try to help you. (And even if you wouldn't cross his path yourself, some invisible anger at the entire sorcerer society still lingers deep inside you.)

You planned to leave the country soon and start a new life somewhere far, far away, perhaps even stop being a sorcerer and become someone else. You felt lonely and insecure, but there was nothing you could do about it.

You couldn't go to the sorcerers because they would never help you and so have too many problems. You couldn't go to the police because they would just get killed, which is exactly what you were trying to avoid by staying peacefully in your prison and trying not to annoy Gojo. You could not go to a psychologist, because then you will also be asked to contact the police, assuring them that you are now safe, but this will be a lie that "ordinary people" will consider true.

So you were forced to deal with everything that was happening on your own, but at least not in the four walls that you can't leave.

You walked slowly out of the store, enjoying the freedom and the streets full of people rushing to their homes. You were planning to leave Japan in the near future, you just need to make documents and fly to wherever your heart wants. While you were gradually healing, cooking your favorite food and finally logging on to social media, watching and listening to what you like, rather than dying of boredom in front of the TV and radio that Satoru deigned to give you as "entertainment" while he was away.

So you went up to your floor, enjoying the weight of the bags in your hands, because Gojo didn't let you carry anything heavy, even if you were trying to forget yourself. You entered your small, poor rented apartment and felt that you were finally at home. Kicking off your comfortable, cheap shoes, you went to change into your own clothes, not the ones that belonged to the sorcerer, and began to prepare dinner, enjoying every second of what was happening, because Satoru forbade you to pick up anything sharp, for fear that you would harm yourself.

You calmly sliced vegetables, listening to the TV on out of the corner of your ear. It looks like it was some kind of romantic movie. You continued to cook, gradually immersing yourself in the plot, until it dawned on you that the main male character kidnapped the main female character and said that she should fall in love with him in a certain period of time. You opened your eyes in horror, remembering Gojo's beautiful face, which you wanted to slash with a knife, turned around, rushed to the console... and froze, noticing a familiar tall figure on the couch.

Your kidnapper always seemed big, but that was a little overshadowed by the fact that all the furniture in his apartment was designed to match his height and build. Now, sitting on a small, faded sofa, he looked like a giant. You almost dropped the knife from your hands in shock, but you clung to it just in time, even though you knew it was a normal weapon – even if it was filled with cursed energy! – it won't help you.

You staggered backwards until you hit the kitchen cabinet. A loud sound cut the room in two, and you almost lost consciousness. Your entire body was frozen, you wouldn't be able to move even if you were attacked.

You hoped, prayed, that this was all just a dream, a nightmare, one of the ones you saw every night after you left the sorcerer's apartment. You raised your hand to pinch yourself, but your trembling fingers couldn't catch your own skin. There were tears in your eyes, and you wanted to wake up screaming right now, right at this particular moment.

But it wasn't a dream, it wasn't a nightmare. No, no, no, no...

Gojo reached for the remote and turned off the TV. He stood up and slowly turned to you with a big smile. He didn't look as angry or enraged as you thought. He looked like the same loving young man he always was.

–Hi… my little cinnamon roll.

You still dropped the knife, and Satoru hurried over to catch it. He picked up the sharp object and tossed it aside, shaking his head. Looking at you with loving blue eyes, he chuckled and said:

–Be careful, my cupcake! The knife is very sharp. What if it had fallen on your foot? I can't let you get hurt!

He opened his arms and wrapped them around you, pinning you to the kitchen counter. Tears came to your eyes, but not from happiness. You were disgusted by the smell of him, by his movements, by his breath on your neck. Gojo laughed deeply and pressed his lips to your neck. He pulled away, looked at your tear-stained face, shook his head, and started kissing your cheeks.

–Now you don't have to be afraid, – he murmured between kisses. – I will always be with you now, I will always protect you, my darling. You must have been so shocked that you ran out of my apartment here, afraid that someone would find you and try to kill you, right?

It would have been better if you had just died outside. You would die in fear, shock, but never, ever see Satoru Gojo again.

His embrace grew stronger, and you could hear that familiar mad laugh that sometimes came out of his chest when you tried unsuccessfully to escape and got stuck right in front of the sorcerer's feet.

–You're with me now, you're with me again. You're safe again, – you felt something being put on your finger. Ring. – I know you deserve so much more, but this is the ring I prepared for you as soon as I saw you the day you arrived at school, – he pressed his nose to yours, and you saw his eyes darken with emotion. His big hands grabbed yours. You are trapped in a trap from which there is absolutely no way to get out. – Will you marry me, my only ray of light?

Your answer was unimportant. Your answer was never important to him. He just wanted you to be forever in his arms, forever touching his body, forever smiling at him and swearing that you would never leave him. You were the only person he ever wanted to see around him... even if you didn't want to. But who are you compared to the one who is called "the strongest"?

If before you were a bird sitting in a golden cage, now you are a bird that has its wings broken forever.

#jujutsu kaisen #gojo x reader #yandere!gojo #fem!reader

433 notes · View notes

comfortless · 10 months ago

Note

hi angel! i have to tell you that ‘All That You Don’t Want’ was incredible- such a lovely, sweet tale! i keep revisiting it! would you consider writing a second part? or even a role reversal?

Roach Head

lich! König x fem necromancer! reader

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. abduction, injury, mentions of insects (reader is the world’s worst necromancer), forced proximity, pining, violence/regicide, major character death, questionable morality, fluff, smut, a lil angst.

notes: i am so sorry you have had to wait so long, anon. ): though… i doubt that i will ever write a continuation of ATYDW, take this sickly sweet… (almost) role reversal, instead!

wc: 6.7k.

It’s an odd thing that, after finally having the blindfold removed, the first thing you notice are the cobblestones beneath your bleeding palms. Not a single one is in disarray; not cracked or crumbling from being used as any other common footpath. No, each stone is in it’s place, lain complete with not a single splintering crack or a sharpness to it from being broken. All pristine and smooth beneath your stinging scrapes.

Just like the cobbles, the air feels untouched here. There’s no stink of manure or spoiled food from the cramped streets of the inner kingdom. There are no roars of fighting men nor the baying of beasts, a lack of giggling women batting their eyelashes to lure those with jingling pouches of coins into brothels. You can’t even detect a breeze. Twisting onto your side, your eyes catch on the extending limbs of sturdy trees, and oddly… not a single leaf flutters or moves. The air is still.

There is only the absence of everything.

You should think it a blessing after your abduction, after being thrust into the back of a dusty carriage drawn by two massive horses.

You could almost swear you had seen the devil in their dark eyes, hellfire deep in those dark pits and you had known assuredly they would be chauffeuring you straight into the darkest circle of Hell. That was, until a thick, rigid cloth was tied around your head, forcing you into complete darkness. Your assailants had done well to bind you and leave your aching body only capable of wracking with sobs against the hard wood at the bottom. Every jolt of the wagon had caused you to flinch, to scramble as best you could, resulting in an array of bruises and your still bleeding hands from fighting at the ropes.

There had never even been a chance to fight back; you never even saw them. Even now as you raise your throbbing head to glance about, there’s no sign of the men that have left you here, in this silent place. Your heart almost seizes in your chest when you realize you can no longer even hear the cantering and whinnying of those dark, stoic horses.

You know that nothing good comes from silence.

It’s one of the first things that you came to learn as a fledgling witch. Quiet rarely ever bodes well. The prey animals in the wood all scurry to hide amongst fallen leaves and well-packed nests the very moment that a predator draws near, and you, still green with your admittedly lackluster talent in reanimating were little more than a fawn in the eyes of any beast.

A groan leaves your parted lips as you force yourself to your knees, ignoring the incessant sting of bruises and how your vision blots from even the barest of exertion. Your binds must have been cut free when you were abandoned here, you realize, as you twist around to crawl.

That’s when you see it— the glory of what lies before you.

Rather than being dumped into some desolate street for the vultures to find and pick apart like any common carrion, the men with their frightening steeds had left you at the steps leading up to a beautiful castle of sorts. The stone bricks and marbled towers above you, spirals of darkened blue shingles descended into gilded turrets, the rampart casting a shadow over all that settles beneath. There’s a flag there, too, positioned just outside of the wooden door leading into the heart of it all. The rich, blue fabric is torn in places, the tassels frayed, bare white thread visible near the paling center making the crest practically invisible.

Something draws you to it, that singular rotting thing in this bright, sterile void. Your feet move quicker than your thoughts as you pad up toward the flag, eyelids squinting as your palm dances over the canvas. The strangest thing happens as you finally make out what remains of a wolf’s head amongst the rips and splintering threads— the wooden door begins to move. It’s not one of those fancy, well crafted ones with those mechanisms you couldn’t fathom in the King’s keep, this one has to be pulled open from the inside.

You watch, lips pursed as the door continues to slowly creek open until finally, you can make out the small courtyard beyond it. A fountain, long since dried up sits at its center, and even with what you imagine must be little care in such a desolate place, the plants are all in bloom; petals of vivid blues and gentle purples fill your vision.

Amongst them, stands a shadow of the purest black, from the opaque veil shrouding his head to the soles of his boots. The cloak he wears is heavy, finely stitched with that very same blue crest embroidered into its chest, the stitching in equal disarray as the flag adorning the stone wall.

You’ve seen specters before. They haunt the kingdom in every nook, crawling over the tops of buildings, invading your dreams with threats of what will come to you if you don’t reanimate something, give them any body to inhabit and puppet so that they might just have a taste of the pleasures of being human once more. Greedy, malevolent things that make you feel ill from a mere glimpse.

This one is entirely an unknown.

He does not crawl from your gaze with the gait of a wary spider, he stands rigid, daring even as those eyes like sapphire lock onto your form. Not a word is uttered between the two of you, yet you feel a pull, one that curls at the bones tucked into the flesh of your legs, pushing and pulling you past the threshold as though an unseen dog were nipping at your heels. You don’t fight it. Your bare feet cross over smooth stone and your stare remains wistful on the figure until he simply strolls away.

That’s it. That’s all it takes before you’re snapped out of your trance and the wooden door swings heavy and violent behind you, closing and locking without a hand to guide it. Then it’s back to the nothingness, the silence.

You should be very, very afraid. In a panic, even as your hands flatten over the wood and you realize that there are no handles from inside at all. You are entirely trapped here, short of finding a way to carve through it or climb up the rampart and risk snapping every limb on your descent. Thing is— you are not afraid, at least not enough to do anything so rash.

A calm settles here, electric and tickling as it feathers unseen through the cool air.

You stay in that courtyard for a long time, admiring every flower and shrub, some you recognize and others you do not. The empty fountain is not empty at all; you find that the marble ring is filled to the brim with riches— gold coins, shimmering stones, all twinkling beneath the yellow glow of the sun overhead.

Inside of the castle is more or less the same, each corridor bathed in the glow of soft candlelight, highlighting paintings in gilded frames that must have taken months to complete, treasures you have only ever heard of seated on polished wood and fine metals. Like walking through a dream. Though your hands itch to pocket something, anything to take back with you when you find the will to escape, to free yourself from the reality of your little shack at the corner of the market that you share with a dozen other witchlings, you don’t touch anything at all.

Following a branch to your right, vast and equally laden with treasures, eyes darting from one shiny thing to the next until the tightly woven, ornate rugs beneath the soles of your feet wind to an end and you instead find your footing on smooth stone tiles.

You find yourself in the throne room, where the specter sits, lofty yet misplaced upon the soft, rolling velvet. That pull, like a lead drawn too tight, pivots you forward, one foot before the other until you’re kneeling at his feet. The figure remains still, watching you with that somber, unrelenting stare even as you reach up to take his gloved hand into your own, kissing along each knuckle until the hand coated in blackened leather moves to cup your face.

This is no king, you know it in your very bones. The dark veil stained by teardrops tells you everything, of a life trodden by deceit and pain untold.

“I know what you are, hündchen.”

The voice startles you, a rasp, alive only in the way that fire lives, crackling and swaying with each lilt. You must have flinched back, the spell weaved around you broken with all of the subtlety of a lightening strike, your elbows dig almost painfully into the rough tiles below, eyes locked to the veil.

Your own voice doesn’t come for a time. When it does, it comes tight; meek and quivering, almost absent entirely as though your own body refuses to bring a ripple to the quiet that has engulfed you.

“Why have you brought me here?”

The feeling that curls up in the hollow spaces within your chest when this enigma pulls you to your feet with a sudden curl of his hand over your wrist feels familiar. It’s not unlike how you felt when accidentally resurrecting that old mantis found dried beneath your bed. It had attempted to chew through your hand, but being so small it hardly seemed a threat, just offensively waving it’s front legs at you until you scooped the critter up and locked it up tight in an old trunk. Some strange tide of wonder, and it takes a moment for you to push it down enough to realize that… the specter is still stood before you, his grip still tight, not saying a word.

Why it brings a swell of warmth to your face should have you questioning your taste in men rather than what he may or may not have done.

“Sorry, I just—“

“You are hurt, hündchen.” He interrupts, turning your wrist over to inspect the flecks of dried blood littering your palm. It’s not the worst injury you’ve ever had, in fact, you had very nearly forgotten it even existed— just a few scrapes from a rope tied far too tight.

You shake your head, biting back that surge of… something, that furry something that crawls from the fluttering organ behind your ribcage and down into the pits of your stomach. That feeling is also familiar, you felt it the first time you laid eyes on that pompous, boy-man serving as heir to the throne in the castle, at least, until he turned his head to look at you and your ilk with thinly veiled disgust.

If the specter sees scum before him, the veil does well to conceal it.

His eyes seem to only light up the more he appraised you, rubbing his thumb over your scrape with such a gentle touch that a shiver rips down your spine.

“I see…”

He guides your wrist back down to your side, delicately trails his fingertips up to your shoulder and… that’s it before he draws away and steps right past you. That’s all the touch you’re given and you find yourself, humiliatingly yearning for it. There should be nothing but contempt scraping at your skull and yet you feel treacherously endeared by this strange, strange faceless man living in this lonely castle.

The risk of this being some bewildering trap weighs heavy on your mind; you’re far more intelligent than some scrappy undead insect, begging to be tossed into a dusty crate, after all. You had heard of the way other lands treated necromancers: shunning them, chasing them from villages, and in far more dreadful cases— leading them to kneel before a headsman for decapitation.

You center yourself, force your mind to conjure up any evidence of some magical foul play only to be left with the knowledge that these feelings are entirely your own.

This man does not have the sticky aura of one dripping magic from his palms like thick globs of honey. He seems almost vacant, devoid of even anything making him human, while you stand transfixed and lacking even the sensible reaction of fear.

You can only find comfort in his gentle hand, in his stare like an unholy flame.

So, when he guides you to what is to be your dwelling you mouth does not part to argue. You’re led to a room larger than the entirety of the cluttered home you shared with the other witchlings. Everything within is worth more than even you, and something about it stings, sharp and sudden like ant’s venom seeping into skin.

From the canopy bed, draped over with thick velvet curtains to protect from the chill of a winter’s night to the neatly polished wood of varying furniture, it all feels so rich— so foreign.

“You didn’t have to prepare all of this for me… I don’t even… why am I here?” You’re rambling, searching every corner of the room with a flitting gaze as if some small patch of dust will provide you with the answers.

Your specter only laughs as he nudges you towards the bed, now your bed, the motion only sending another question to the forefront of your mind.

Were you bought? Meant to warm some peculiar stranger’s bed without even the grace of having the knowledge to prepare?

Perhaps your concerns should have drifted as to why you were not entirely opposed.

“Sleep.”

The simple command leaves you stifled entirely, all confusion and tentative excitement dispelled in an instant.

He wants nothing from you, only to extend a foreign cup spilling over with generosity to one who would not admit it was ever even needed.

You find yourself nodding your head, unaccustomed to the kindness of a forgotten thing like him. In truth, you’re unused to anything but bickering between the other ladies in the witch’s house, the cobwebs stretching without end caking the ceiling, the scuttle of crawling legs over your flesh as you pulled your threadbare blanket over your body to shield you from the cold. From stark poverty to this… it claws at your eyes, steels your mind— man or ghost, it mattered not; your heart sang while your mouth remains pressed into a stiff line.

When he leaves you, your body cloaked in the softest gown you’ve ever worn, burrowed beneath sheets of the finest silk, that unknown thing in your heart seems to spill over, rushing through your veins like honeyed wine.

You dream through the eyes of someone else that night.

A woman kneels at your feet with tears in her dark eyes. She hasn’t slept, the thick, dark patches just above where her cheeks rise make it evident, and she’s pleading with the you who is not you; this woman tells you that she wishes to go home, that she could never be a part of what you are or are not.

Even in dreaming you feel your jaw tighten, sure that your nails have splintered from the shooting pain in your fingertips as your hands tighten over the hard wood of your seat. The not you speaks for you, his voice coming warbled and distant. You can not make out the words, but seeing how this pleading woman’s face seems to morph into an expression of terror, you’re grateful to not know what’s been said.

Nothing becomes of her. You watch as she strolls away, unharmed. This other you, however, is. It’s the tingling of so many unseen legs parading through your chest; spiders in a downward course to burrow in the shadow of your belly. The discomfort rings out as you feel this body rise from its seat, out to the courtyard with a fountain. The flowing water subsided the clambering of spider limbs inside, just enough for this body to pull a ring from its pocket and cast it down into the clear water.

You watch the ring seat itself at the marble bottom, the gentle flow of water causing small ripples to crest over that tiny band of silver until you wake.

Confusion twists itself into curiosity as you free yourself from the sheets, padding out of your room still only adorned in the thin, white fabric of the gown. Morning light filtering through each window of the castle carves a path where the candles have long since been blown out. The only darkness here is with your captor, all tall and shadowy, and you find yourself considering the fact that perhaps you’ve been sucked down into some strange afterlife, one where you and this specter would remain in a silent stasis for all time. You find that you don’t entirely hate the idea, either.

Most of the rooms in the castle are dull. It’s not that there isn’t plenty to look at, but a cluttering of what’s expected, all gold and ornate, only proves to bore you. There is little mystery to be found in riches.

None of it is of importance, anyway. It’s him you’re seeking out, and oddly enough, you find your specter in the courtyard staring down at the cluttered fountain. He shifts in place as you take to his side, fingers curling into loose fists momentarily before he offers you a small greeting by way of running a hand along the back of your neck, petting you as though you truly were only a puppy.

You shiver beneath that warm touch, seem to melt against him before collecting yourself enough to straighten up.

“I did not sleep well,” he says quietly, the look in his eyes tells you that he dreamt through your own. He had seen the decay and filth of the king’s city, perhaps even those angry, little things that you brought back to bite and sting and pinch.

“I didn’t either.”

You recognize that faint, strange smell when you move just a step closer to him, like dust and forgotten things. Not quite rot, but similar, a comfort for you as it’s all your fate has ever allowed for you to know. Yet, this is not one of your reanimations. Only a man.

A man, only, like you; touched by the rot.

The realization crosses your face by way of a widened glance, a sharp intake of breath. It stings again when he turns away from you, drops his hand back to his side.

“Will you walk with me, hündchen?”

“Sure.”

It’s no less strange pacing along at his side than roaming about the castle with no idea where he is. The specter still feels worlds away, even as your arm brushes over his, your fingers occasionally ghosting over his gloved hand. While the vivid blue of globe thistles and hydrangeas entertains your vision, that patient stare of his remains trained on you, even as the quiet settles over the garden once again.

In a way, you feel as though you’re being courted, even as the questions remain scurried and fluttering in your mind. The ghost, the man, whoever he is, refuses to sate that curiosity of yours even as you bring it up to him again. Why? He only responds in an almost boyish laugh that pulls at your heart, infuriating and delightful all the same.

You share a meal, something you’ve no idea how he managed to scrounge together or had the time to prepare at all. He’s been at your side all morning, yet the fruit pastries and tea are served warm as you seat yourself across from him at some grand, oak table. That sparked tingle of magic does not feather off of him as it does with your sisters, but you know without a doubt that he must have it. You glower at him a bit, lips pursed and brow pinched as he sips at his tea, not beneath but through the fabric of his black veil.

“You will have to explain what’s going on at some point,” you huff, pushing your plate away as if to make a show of it. No more accepting his gifts, even if your stomach growls in protest. “Especially if you’re trying to court me.”

It’s cute how wide his eyes go at that, his cup of tea nearly slipping from his hand. The surprise wears off almost immediately, his eyes narrowing in what you imagine must be amusement as you’re left feeling a bit humiliated. Your gaze flits over to the candles adorning the table as you nervously drum your fingers against the lap of your dress.

“Court you?”

“The gown, the walk, the food… is that not what this is?”

“Nein, hündchen…” He pauses to sigh, setting the cup against the table with a dull thud. “It’s better that I did not.”

You think to question him further, but hold back the words bubbling in your throat, sullenly picking at the food on your plate instead. It feels like courtship, would look like courtship to anyone else, but then again… you’ve never quite experienced it for yourself, either. You’re no noble lady, and it feels a bit silly to imagine yourself roaming a place like this with him as your suitor. For all you know, he could be some king from a neighboring kingdom, only offering you respite out of pity after falling from that wagon.

More likely, all of this is just some strange dreaming.

When your lunch is thoroughly picked apart on your plate, the cup emptied, you shift out of your seat and offer him a curt little bow of your head and move towards the door.

— — —

Your days are filled with him— the drab specter you’ve taken to calling König, King, simple and befitting a name as you can give to one without one. No one else lives here, at least that you can see. Not even the rats or scuttling insects you were used to dare to take up residence within this castle. Yet, you remain taken care of and well-fed. You walk at his side every morning and part ways after minimal conversation in the evening. It’s so simple yet odd it almost makes you feel uneasy.

The dreams remain through the eyes of another. Some are combat, and you don’t care for those, looking down to see blood on steel and settling with the odd sense of guilt that you’ve killed someone, even when the you who is not you does not seem to pause. In fact, he often laughs in those dreams, drinks his wine from a golden goblet while he polishes the thick mace in his lap, trousers stained with blood that is not his own.

Others are dreadfully dull. You watch as knights with long swords and silver plates circle around you, your muffled voice shouting demands of what you can only imagine must be tactics and plans for a war you would only ever be apart of in the late hour with your eyes closed.

Your unease nearly doubles on the fourth night, when you wake with a start, pulled from a dream where you see that same woman from the first wailing over a bloodied corpse to find König looming over where you rest. The curtains of your bed parted with what little moonlight filtering inside bathing him in an unearthly, bluish glow. As usual, he doesn’t breathe a word, only stares as you slowly peel back your sheet to sit up and face him fully.

“Is something wrong?,” you ask in a whisper, rubbing your palms against your eyes as you force yourself to pull through the haze of sleep.

“Du bist schön wenn du schläfst,” he hums. “Even having a nightmare.”

“You said you were not courting me.”

“I’m not, hündchen.”

He offers you a hand that you readily accept, hardly having time to marvel over just how cold his skin feels without his glove before you find your cheek pressed to a broad chest. Your breath catches in your throat, heart hammering with the urgency of a cricket’s song.

“You didn’t sleep well either?”

“Nein.”

“Maybe we could sleep together?,” you offer with a laugh that sounds stiff even to your own ears.

You expect some other quip about the status of your peculiar relationship, not a sigh, not the way König gently lowers you back into bed and climbs in to follow, not at your side, but rested with his head over the swell of your breasts. You’re almost certain your rib cage will bruise by the pounding in your chest this infatuation burdens you with.

He hums contentedly at the contact, props his chin up on the valley between your breasts.

“Warm,” he murmurs.

You reach to pull the blanket over you both without a word, staring up at the velvet curtain as you try to force yourself into a state of calm indifference.

It lasts for all of a single breath; König shifts, stroking over the fabric of your gown, bunching over your hip. His touch makes you shiver, too cold, as though he doesn’t have any body heat at all. Your arm settles over the expanse of his back, pulling him just a tad closer as you relax into the feather-stuffed mattress.

“Ja… I like this.”

“I do too...”

So, you sleep, so intertwined with one another that your body heat melts away the frigid touch of his own flesh with no discernment for where you end and he begins. Your dreams are absent in his presence, replaced by a solace you’ve never known as a comfortable stillness settles over you both.

When morning comes, an unhurried sun casting a dull glow through the arched window in the room, you’re pleasantly surprised to find him still here. You’ve shifted in the lack of dreaming, finding your positions opposite to when sleep had taken its hold; your head rests on König’s chest now, comfortably slow. He doesn’t feel as cold, though…

König does not breathe.

You hurriedly rise, throwing the covers off of you both and shove at him with a panicked urgency, desperately searching for any sort of reaction from him to ensure he hasn’t passed away in his sleep.

It’s not a corpse’s silence that you’re met with but an annoyed huff of breath as he grabs at your wrists and tugs you back down.

“Was..?” Your specter only sounds annoyed as he gazed down at you, keeping your trembling hands steady in his unyielding grip.

“You weren’t breathing! I thought…” You trail off, the words catching in your throat as you realize just how ridiculous that you sound. Of course he wasn’t dead. Even if he were a reanimation, no magic in the entirety of this kingdom would allow him to retain so much of his soul.

König only laughs at that, closes you in an embrace that sets your pulse racing again as he carefully maneuvers you below him. When he had become so familiar mattered not, you wouldn’t dare to complain. It’s achingly comfortable, brings a sigh from your parted lips as you fall back into that perfect, placid state of contentment.

“Hündchen… you worry too much,” he huffs, caging you in as he relaxes with his face pressed back to the divot between your breasts. “So many questions… too many concerns, ja?”

“I would not fret so much if you would just explain a few things.”

“Geduld.”

Though you do pout, make a show of your irritation by exhaling heavily, his tone harbors a calm finality. You’re not so sure that any reasoning for all of this would matter much at all anymore; whether it be a dream or some gentle corner of an afterlife you’ve found yourself tucked within, you only find that you never wish for it to end.

— — —

This dream is worse than any before it.

You feel your vessel’s emotions tenfold; a clamor of disquiet and rage, vicious and searing. The air is still and silent but heavy with the scent of iron. From the blurred view that you’re granted, the shapes of cadavers are easy enough to tell, all lain twisted in glistening pools of their own blood.

Your vessel isn’t moving, though you will your thoughts to encourage him to do so, he remains in place, a pillar destined to topple.

You don’t want to see it, yet waking eludes you.

The sounds of hurried footsteps fill the quiet, a shout to your right that you do not even have the capability to turn towards. Cursed are hissed, warbled and unfamiliar, only recognized by their venom. You know that this is the end, a brutal, grisly one for your counterpart and for these dreams in their entirety.

When wicked steel carves it’s way into your vessel’s middle, you feel how tightly he clenched his jaw to bite back a howl of agony, take the subdued, shooting pain spreading through him as though it were your own. Try as you might, you can not wake; forced to be a voyeur to this stranger that you’ve grown fond of’s gruesome demise.

The vessel’s head is tugged forward, forced to kneel at the feet of the brute who has buried a dagger into his side. A sneer paints the man’s face as your counterpart’s veil is thrown away, and you recognize it— that same shroud of black, stained with imagined tears as it falls to a small heap onto a bloodstained floor.

König.

You wake with a start in a haze of utter confusion, catching your breath as the truth of it all crawls down to settle someplace within you. A cold sweat settles over your skin, bringing with it the rise of slight goose pimples and an incessant tremble.

The specter is just as you had suspected in that brief moment between bonding and sleep, dead and long-forgotten; a corpse made man again. This isn’t some silent kingdom, but a well-preserved crypt.

It hurts.

You wash your face in the water of the small basin at the corner of the room, change from your bed gown into a dress of a drab gray. Even to yourself, mourning a truth that’s been glaring you in the face since your arrival feels misplaced and odd, but that horrible sadness does not subside.

At least, not until you pry your door open to find König waiting just on the other side. He cocks his head at you, gaze softening in a silent understanding as your hand is fitted into his own.

The morning walk is less quiet this morning, a single dove could be heard cooing, hidden beneath the green of some sprawling alder’s leaves. König speaks to, explains some without giving all away. He tells you what he can remember, the details of his failed courting of the foreign princess with dark eyes and a petrified stare, the plot against him that dwindled out into a curse that’s left him here, but never an estimate for how long.

You listen in a perplexed silence, clutching his hand just a bit tighter as each questioning cobweb is swept away with a low voice droning out a story better left untold.

When he finishes, with your free hand sifting it’s fingers through the petals adorning a hydrangea shrub, you think to tell him one simple truth: “I can’t bring you back.”

It startles you when he suddenly pulls you in, resting his chin atop your head and curling those broad arms over your shoulders. The embrace is tight, a certain desperation in his touch as though he almost fears the thought of you pulling away. Strange from a man you now knew had not even feared his own death.

“Nein. I just want to be understood.”

And you do understand, perfectly, as only one also touched by the rot could.

— — —

There’s never a night that you don’t find yourself asleep with König mere centimeters away, if there is any gap between at all, anymore. He feigns his breath until you’re fast asleep, takes to playing human enough to not worry you any further, even after you explain that it doesn’t, not any longer. Always, you wake to his head buried against your chest, listening to the fragile beating of your heart until you stir to wake him. Your hands rove over his veil, but never question what he hides beneath it. You already know without seeing— the wicked, sprawling scar from where his head was once wrenched from his body.

A necromancer and a lich, of all things. If the bards in the King’s city were to ever know, your story would be passed from tavern to tavern until it became little more than the stuff of myth.

The thought occurs to you when you wake, huffing a drowsy little giggle as you repeat your morning ritual, fingertips grazing over the dark fabric obscuring König’s face until heavy eyelids languidly part to focus his attention on that mirthful expression painted across your face.

“I have changed my mind,” he declares some moments later as he nuzzles in the divide between your neck and shoulder, unhurried and gentle as he always seems to be with you.

“Hm?”

“I will court you.” A statement that would make most with a better grasp on the disparity between what’s living and dead flinch back in horror. Though, where most would consider corruption, you only take it as further confirmation to your mutual devotion.

“You already have been.”

He falls silent at that for a moment, trailing a cold path of chaste kisses along your jaw, lazy and soft to a point you can feel the grin beneath his hood.

Finally, he hums in agreement.

“Then I should have you, hm?”

He drags a palm down your thigh to your knee, the pad of his thumb bunching up the fabric of your gown as he presses against you, tracing small circles.

Your mouth feels dry when you part your lips to speak once more. The words falter, engulfed in a far more desperate flame; someplace far off, in the back of your mind you can hear them echo, bouncing from cavern walls.

“Hündchen..,” he rasps quietly. Maybe he’s thought it too, that this should be far more innocent, but the way he furiously tugs your undergarments down to your ankles belies his interest far more than some ideal, ancient telling of courtship would ever allow.

“You want to..?”

König laughs, whether it’s at your words or the surprise on your face, you didn’t know. Despite your nudity, he doesn’t look at you down there, his eyes remain locked on your face. There’s something wild and uncanny about them, something bordering on madness. His breathing is heavier, as if he’s fighting back the urge to bury his head in your cunt and breathe you in, and you’re almost certain that after all of your yearning he could bring you to ruin from a puff of breath alone.

He echoes your question with barely contained amusement, until you breathe out your consent. You sound just uncertain enough to prompt him to pull away briefly, raising up to look you in the eyes as his own narrow in search of any signs of apprehension. Finding none, a heavy palm meets your chest to push you to lie down in full as his head dives between your thighs without hesitation.

The feeling of a wide tongue slipping over your slit prompts an immediate reaction— a sharp cry that has you slamming your palm over your mouth in an effort to not break the peace settled over this place.

Every lick is slow and deliberate, a far cry from enough stimulation to properly get you off. It’s as if he’s doing this to prepare you rather than bring you to ruin. His tongue thrusts into you at a languid pace, fucking you open with heady muscle rather than the cold touch of his fingers. For that you’re grateful, but it just isn’t enough.

König huffs another chuckle against your sex when you whine and buck your hips, desperately searching for a friction that just isn’t being supplied. His hands press against your hips to hold you in place, the pads of his thumbs circling against your abdomen as he tries to set you at ease.

“Be patient,” he mumbles as he raises his head, bottom lip slowly raking over the hood of your aching clit. You find it difficult to comply, but in a way you feel fortunate to even experience this much. Who else could say that they were being fucked by the tongue of a titan and be believed? His lips close around your sensitive bud, tongue languidly circling over it, kissing you there as gently as he can manage. The very moment a moan is pulled from you, breaking the silence of his concentration he tears back to lick far further down than you were prepared for, before climbing over you instead of allowing you a release.

The taste of you lingers on his tongue when your face is pushed beneath the veil, an urgent probing as he thrusts the muscle into your waiting mouth, sampling the mixture of your saliva and slick. A palm is splayed over your thigh, forcing you to open yourself to him despite the strain.

He proves he’s less patient than he pretends to be; that’s all of the preparation that you get.

A breath later you feel yourself speared open, the girth of his tip slipping into you with involuntary resistance. Your gasp is met with a keening groan from his open mouth, quickly stifled as he bites into the side of your neck. Each thrust is shallow, the head of his cock spreading you meticulously until you’re nearly in tears from your own impatience. His body temperature is far cooler than your own, and you feel as if you’re more of a mess than you’ve ever been prior as his own precum mixes with the arousal already freely dribbling past your swollen labia.

You kick your leg out, force your hips in a different angle to push him in deeper only to have his grip tighten and his teeth dig into your flesh. Again and again, until you’re a babbling mess beneath him.

“König… please..,” You manage to choke out, voice small and barely audible over the obscene sounds pulled from the wetness of your cunt.

Immediately, your pleading is answered with a slam of his hips, the thick cock forced to its hilt inside of your pulsing walls. König’s head lolls back, his free hand curling over your hip as he grunts. He isn’t making love to you, but fucking into you like a man possessed. A palm fitted over your mouth wouldn’t silence the obscene sounds of sex, nor the bed creaking beneath your combined weight as he pumps into you; each drag is pure rapture as he fills you entirely.

The repetitive spearing of your sweet spot brings you to a near-painful orgasm, trembling cunt only sucking him in further with each pulsing wave of bliss. The quiet is forgotten entirely as you whine out your praises between wanton moans and breathy cries.

He kisses you, proper and sweet when he comes. The thickness of his seed floods you, spilling out onto the sheets below as he fucks it back into you, his pace never slowing until the throbbing of his cock comes to an abrupt end.

The hand holding your leg in place retreats to gently brush your cheek, his thumb grazing beneath your eye until you reach for his wrist to pull it down to kiss over his palm. He returns your kisses with a breathy laugh before pressing his forehead to your own, kissing from the tip of your nose down to your chin.

“I do understand,” you whisper against cool flesh.

“Ja… because you were made for me.”

You don’t disagree.

This morning is the first you’ve caught sight of a breeze, gently pushing at the curtains lining the bed, the first you’ve heard of any semblance of life beyond yourself. When your eyelids flutter shut, relaxation prying away any residual tension, you almost think you can hear the pounding of a second heart— one you can only think to wish together with your own.

#könig x reader #könig x you #konig x reader #konig x you #cod fanfiction #könig #konig #and now i sleep for 40hrs farewell everyone everywhere

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starmapz · 4 months ago

Text

shame on me || chapter thirteen || sacrifice

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 || 11.7k.

edited but not beta-read.

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

The late afternoon sun paints the walls a golden auburn fitting of a king. The still air is tense but the silence that hangs over the heads of the group gathered in the room is more rigid still. The beautiful afternoon sun is so serene you have half a mind to wonder if it recognizes the gravity of the situation you’ve found yourself in.

At the head of the room, Yaga and an older man that had only been referred to as an ‘old fart’ by Satoru stand with stern looks as they wait for a debrief from Choso. Megumi had taken him for a breather when he’d begun to panic and no one seemed to dare speak while they awaited their return.

Glancing around the room, you’re almost surprised by how few people you recognize, but with the higher-ups out of the picture, Yaga and the older man seemed to have been trusted with directing missions now.

When Choso returns, he doesn’t seem any less distraught, lips pressed into a firm and fearful frown. He takes a breath as he stands beside Yaga, exhaling shakily while overlooking the small room crowded with sorcerers.

“Yuji and I were on a mission,” he explains, casting his gaze to the floor momentarily, “when Uraume and Kenjaku appeared.”

Uraume?

Do you know Uraume? You wonder to Miriko.

They have been around a long time if I am to assume it is the very same. They are an ally of Sukuna. I do not believe this bodes well for us.

Your heart pounds in your throat as you find yourself inadvertently backing into Satoru. His arms move from their spot crossed over his chest to rest on your shoulders, soothingly rubbing circles into your tense muscles.

Without his grounding presence, you’re sure you would have fallen apart by now. Of course, you knew this day would come, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less knowing that someone was using the body of the man who was once your world to kidnap your student.

“Uraume cornered me and Yuji chased Kenjaku. I didn’t think about- I should have- I should-” Choso stammers over his words, staring down at trembling hands before a tall blonde woman you don’t recognize reaches out to him. It seems to reassure him as he continues. “Kenjaku led Yuji into a big warehouse on the dock and lowered a veil. I tried to join Yuji so that we could fight together but I couldn’t get into the veil.”

You frown, letting out a long breath of your own as you consider who exactly the veil would be designed to let in, if anyone at all.

“That’s… all I know.” Choso’s voice grows strained as he all but scrambles to join the blonde woman at the sidelines of the room, to get out of the watchful eyes of the room.

“If Uraume’s around, we can assume this is a part of the plan to complete Sukuna,” Yaga states confidently behind dark glasses not entirely unlike Satoru’s. “We should still have one finger which will give us an advantage. Ino, can you check on it?”

The sorcerer you can only assume is Ino salutes and bounds out of the room quickly, leaving behind a tense room of what remains of the sorcerers.

Satoru had mentioned once that the Shibuya incident last year had thinned out the ranks of sorcerers fairly severely. Surveying the room, you wonder if this is truly what’s left of those who can fight Sukuna, as you’re not sure it gives you confidence for the battle given what you’ve heard about the monster of a curse.

“The next question we need to consider is the veil. Given what we know of the Shibuya incident, we can assume it’s likely meant to keep Gojo out.” All eyes turn to you and Gojo and you suddenly want to shrink into oblivion, but the attention diverts quickly to Yaga once more. “We may also want to consider the possibility of multiple barriers.”

“This also brings into question the choice of location,” the older man speaks up now. You can’t help but feel as though he looks like he’s about to croak from the way he’s hunched over a cane, a thought which you’re all too confident comes from spending too much time around Satoru.

“Where was your mission?” Someone you don’t recognize speaks up.

“Takahama.”

The room goes silent in consideration. “The power plant?” Megumi points out, arms crossed over his chest. “Makes sense if it was near the ocean.”

Something nags at the back of your mind. A doubt, a little twinge of worry that you don’t want to allow to spiral, yet the more you consider it, the more it feels like a distinct possibility.

“They’re not trying to keep Gojo out,” you blurt out, cheeks heating up at the sudden attention as all eyes turn to you. The air is rigid around you. “Choso couldn’t get in because they want everyone except Sato- Gojo- out.”

“You think they’re trying to kill him?”

You shrug. “I don’t know what their goal is but he can’t fire off his attacks in there without killing everyone and causing a nuclear meltdown.”

“He’d obliterate Takahama,” the blonde woman agrees.

A tall blonde man in distinguished robes takes a step forward. His hair is black at the tips and his eyes are sharp, devoid of the empathy evident in the rest of the sorcerers. Just the sight of him is enough to send a shiver down your spine.

“Don’t see why that’s a problem. Just evacuate the area. Not like it’ll kill Gojo,” he shrugs nonchalantly.

Your blood runs cold in your veins, agitation seeping from deep within you like the slow drip of coagulated blood. You consider him lucky you don’t rip him apart then and there when Ino returns to the door.

“The finger’s still there,” he reports.

“See? Feed the kid the last finger and blow the whole thing up. Boom, Sukuna problem solved.”

This time, he’s not quite as lucky. “How about I give you a taste of my technique instead?” You hiss, taking a step towards him.

His eyebrow raises in a silent challenge as he smirks. Confident asshole.

Satoru firmly pulls you back to him. “He’s not worth it, sweetheart. The Zen’in are all pieces of shit.” He whispers loud enough for the man to hear though your gaze never once leaves the Zen’in clan leader.

“Enough, all of you,” Yaga scolds, though the pointed look he sports is aimed at the blonde man and not you. “If you’re right y/n, then we have limited options. We need to figure out if we can get others into the veil.”

“Hold on, Kenjaku is inside the barrier, right?” Satoru finally speaks up, bringing a hand up thoughtfully to his chin.

Choso nods affirmatively.

“... was the warehouse near any kind of plant life?” Gojo’s voice is grave when he asks the question that he knows is dooming for the both of you. The question that will answer every subsequent one all with one response.

“I don’t think so,” Choso responds with a questioning tilt of his head, sunken eyes narrowing as he fails to understand the correlation.

Your heart drops to the pit of your stomach, your head woozy as you exchange a glance with Satoru, leaning further into his hold. His hands tighten on your shoulders, the deep frown on his face telling that the same wave of emotions was threatening to drown him as it does you.

“It’s a death trap,” Yuta gapes in disbelief, equally coming to the realization of just what Kenjaku and Sukuna have planned.

Your breathing grows faint, vision blurring as the world seems to spin around you. If not for Satoru’s firm grip on your arms, you’re almost positive you might have been on the floor by now. “Take a breath, sweetheart,” Satoru urges in your ear, his voice low for only you to hear in spite of all the eyes on the both of you.

As you cling to the string of hope that is Satoru’s strong grip, he goes on to explain his thought process. “They want it to be y/n and I’s graveyard. I can’t attack in a power plant without doing bad damage and y/n can’t use her technique without nature. I'd be willing to bet we’re the only ones meant to get into that veil.”

There’s also the fact that Kenjaku’s current host is Nanami and that’s a bridge you’re not entirely ready to cross yet, but you’re grateful at the very least that your boyfriend doesn’t rip the bandage off the wound that is Kento in front of a room full of your allies and the Zen’in.

You exhale shakily, standing straight with your back to Satoru’s chest. “How strong is Sukuna with one finger?” You wonder aloud, glancing around the room as you silently evaluate the team you have to support you. Half of the room is students, which doesn’t sit well with you. They shouldn’t need to be a part of this.

“He’s not overly strong, why?” The white-haired sorcerer tilts his head in an effort to get a look at your thoughtful expression.

“Then we kill Sukuna with nineteen fingers. If one isn’t a threat, then that can be a problem for later.”

A hum of approval ripples through the room, much to your relief.

“What do you propose then, y/n? It sounds like you have a plan.”

“Miri-” you clear your throat in order to cut yourself off, unsure of how widespread the knowledge of your technique is. “Merely-” you begin, a sad attempt at covering up the name of your curse, “-a guess, but I think I can kill him without hurting Yuji with my technique.”

“Not while we’re stuck in there,” Satoru tries to insist, not willing to entertain the thought of you using your technique without the ability to heal, especially on a being like Sukuna. He’s interrupted by the Zen’in again.

“Y’know Sukuna’s special grade, right sweetheart? What does someone like you think ya can do?” He sneers, arms crossed over his chest as his eyes narrow at you, trying to evaluate your skills as though your appearance was enough to go off of.

“Do you wanna find out?” You hiss back through your teeth, jaw clenched. When Satoru firmly grips your arms again, you actively pull against him this time, wanting nothing more than to clock the asshole.

“Zen’in. Y/n,” Yaga’s voice is stern as he scolds you both, an entire lecture held in just your names. “She’s special grade, Zen’in. Quit your whining,” the older man sighs, unwilling to put up with the interruptions.

The Zen’in’s brow twitches when he hears that and a swell of pride surges through you. You smile snidely at him as he huffs and leans back against the wall, averting his gaze as though he’d lost a battle.

Asshole, Miriko huffs in agreement within you.

“So, what? Do we just look for a way to dismantle the veil, then worry about Kenjaku and Sukuna after?”

“I- I’m actually a bit worried about that,” Choso hums uncertainly as he fiddles with his fingers. “Uraume mentioned something about locking Yuji’s soul away if they have enough time.”

Shit.

“It’s the perfect trap to pull in Gojo and I,” you sigh, resigned. You suppose at the end of the day, you always assumed something like this would happen.

From the moment you first met the white-haired sorcerer, you always figured he would be the reason for your demise. Yet, never in a million years would you have imagined it would be a freak accident which he had no part in orchestrating. Worse still, you can’t fathom the idea of being more afraid of losing him than losing your own life.

“Hey,” Satoru’s thumb and forefinger gently lift your chin, everyone else in the room completely forgotten as the blindfolded man keeps your gaze steady on him. “I know what you’re thinking. We’ll be okay. We’ll figure it out, together.”

“Together,” you repeat, clearly satisfying Satoru when he smiles.

“What do you need in order to kill Sukuna?” Yaga asks.

Pulling from Satoru’s grasp, you take a breath, stepping forward with more confidence now. “I need Sukuna severely weakened.”

Glances are exchanged across the room. You know very well that’s not an easy condition to fill.

“How long can you two hold out against Sukuna and Kenjaku? Surely we can take Uraume while we figure out how to get through the veil,” the blonde woman beside Choso raises a finger pointedly in the air and you exchange a glance with Satoru.

“I’ll be fine,” he hums confidently. You have to resist rolling your eyes as an overly familiar phrase slips from his grin-laden lips. “I’m the strongest, after all.”

You don’t expect him to speak again. You expect that to be the end of it and for everyone to move out. Satoru Gojo loves to find ways to shock you, though.

“Besides, I won’t be alone.”

Your lips quirk up into a smile.

–

The world around you feels foreign. Like unfamiliar territory, never once charted to paper. It’s as though you’re on a journey through new lands yet to be discovered, yet this experience is without the wonder of exploration.

Each mile closer to the destination is another twist in your gut, another soar of uncertainty in your heart. Another fearful look shared with your boyfriend, doing his best to comfort you even with all the unfamiliar figures alongside you in the car.

Even your own clothing feels unfamiliar. A compression tank top adorns the top half of your body with stretchy, skin tight workout pants on your lower half. Robes cover the outfit that matches those of Satoru, an outfit you’ve never seen him in before.

White robes are tied loosely around his upper half with matching pants around his hips. A black compression shirt is barely visible beneath the robes on his torso, his defined abdomen a treat for prying eyes.

Yet, you can’t bring yourself to feel an ounce of happiness even at the thought of spending time with your most treasured partner.

Because each mile further brings you closer to what feels like a concrete tomb.

Satoru’s fingers glide gently over your knee, squeezing your thigh in reassurance but it does little to ease the growing fear.

“It’s okay, sweet girl. We’ll be okay. We’ll win.”

The look you shoot him is uncertain. He knows as well as you do that no words could possibly ease the anxiety you feel. You wonder if he knows that the reason you’re so scared isn’t even for your own sake either, it’s for him.

The pitious stares from Choso, the tall blonde woman known as Yuki, Yuta, Shoko, and Kusakabe all make you want to shrink into yourself.

Yet you can only imagine how Yuji feels.

It all feels like a cruel, inescapable nightmare. Like you’re chained to the negative thoughts of the past, chained to events that will scar you for a lifetime. Your past always did seem to catch up with you one way or another. You can only suppose that you’re not destined to find happiness, otherwise why would the world be so cruel as to tear it from you each and every time you found it?

You swallow hard, staring at your hands.

You are afraid, Miriko states matter-of-factly.

Your eye twitches.

Thanks, Miriko.

I apologize. I can feel your fear.

Sorry.

With a soft sigh, you shut your eyes and reach for Satoru’s hand in an effort to calm your nerves.

I need to bring something to your attention.

Satoru’s finger intertwine with yours as Miriko continues.

I did not have the opportunity to bring this up when I intended to, but I feel it is worth mentioning that when your mother and I found my second scale, the clans grew weary of us and sent their strongest after us.

The strongest. It couldn’t be… could it?

I believe you are smart enough to piece together what that means, she hums inwardly.

You’re kidding. The Six Eyes?

The one and only.

The irony that that same person would sit beside you four hundred years later, as your partner rather than your enemy.

That is not what truly matters, however. I fear history is repeating itself.

Your brow furrows, deep in thought as Miriko speaks.

Your mother had a partner that day. She fought the Six Eyes alongside him and he fell at her side.

Your eyes widen in disbelief. After four hundred years, everything had come full circle. Here you are, in a battle alongside the user of the Six Eyes, your mother’s same weapons sat at your side, in Satoru’s traditional clan attire that was likely worn back then by his ancestor as well.

Four hundred years apart, and yet the situation bears a horrible resemblance, coming entirely full circle.

Satoru’s on our side, this time. That’ll give us an advantage. You’re sure that Miriko knows you’re trying to convince yourself more than her. She hums inwardly, letting silence return to your mind.

Subconsciously, your grip on Satoru has tightened to a degree that he’s staring at you with concern.

“Sweetheart?” His voice is low, whispered softly for your ears only as Choso and Yuki mutter something between themselves, Kusakabe looks as if he’s half-asleep.

“Hm?”

“You’re squeezing me like I’m the enemy,” he hums with a teasing lilt in spite of the tense atmosphere.

Blinking in surprise, you look down to your intertwined fingers to see your knuckles are white, nails digging into his skin enough to make you wince when you loosen your grip and see the marks left behind.

“Sorry, Toru,” you sigh apologetically, smoothing your hand over the indents left in his skin.

“You’re fine, pretty girl. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you sigh, leaning closer to him to keep your conversation between you. “Just worried is all.”

“Everything’s gonna be alright, love,” he reassures you, kissing the crown of your head so gently that your heart hurts at the thought.

Love. It’s the first time he’s ever uttered the word.

Your heart races in your chest and you shift in your seat in an effort to get your heart to calm and your mind to quiet, but it’s all for nought.

Your bond with Satoru is something you don’t dare question. Intense, passionate, playful, caring, and burning with desire. It came so naturally once you started to get along that you could only wonder how you had let things get so far away from you both in the first place.

He’s your universe.

You should tell him. You should tell him so that he knows. You should tell him so that your past doesn’t repeat itself. So that history doesn’t repeat itself.

“Satoru, I-”

The words die in your throat as the car pulls to a halt and Ijichi announces your arrival. They sit like an uncomfortable lump in your throat, one that makes you want to claw and tear until it’s out in the open, until you can make it known.

It’s not too late, right?

“Alright, let’s go over what we know,” Kusakabe takes charge, jolting to a suddenly wakeful state.

It’s too late.

Kusakabe lays out the plan before you as you do everything in your power to pay attention, but at the end of the day, it’s not much of a plan. You don’t have enough information to go off of and the longer Sukuna is left unattended, the more sullen the situation becomes.

When it comes down to it the plan is throwing spaghetti at the wall and praying you and Satoru can hold out.

No matter how long you spent trying to convince your boyfriend that his stupid title didn’t define him, it always came back to haunt him, only now it haunts you too.

The strongest couple.

When you take a step out into the cool late autumn air, a shiver runs up your spine. The night is fast approaching and with it brings a layer of frost that you can only imagine will make the upcoming fight more tedious.

Concrete warehouse or not, you’ll be inside at least.

The veil before you extends several dozen feet high, a perfect half sphere. It’s positioned to perfectly avoid the ocean that laps and sullies the dock with its harsh salt water and border any grass or nature.

You grip the handles of your sickles in one hand, while Satoru’s fingers haven’t left their place intertwined with your other hand. Although he sports that ever-present nonchalant smirk, you can sense his uneasiness.

“I think I always hoped we’d have more time to prepare,” Satoru speaks up abruptly, confirming your suspicions of his uneasiness as Choso, Yuki, Yuta, Shoko, and Kusakabe all scatter in their designated directions.

“I don’t want you to be alone,” you tell him, examining the way those starry blue pools of his swirl with melancholy.

“I know, my sweet girl,” a pang of heartbreak blankets his tone as he averts his eyes, “but I know this isn’t what you wanted.”

He’s right, but it doesn’t change the fact that somewhere along the way your priorities shifted. Somewhere along the way you realized that Satoru had become your world. The stars in your sky, the tide in your ocean, and the love of your life.

You need to tell him.

“Toru, I-”

CRASH.

Like shattered glass, shards of ice fly in your direction and in an instant Satoru is in front of you. The ice stops and eventually falls short inches away from him as his technique activates like second nature.

“We need to go,” he mutters under his breath, pupils growing small as he focuses on the task at hand.

Fuck.

His hand presses to the barrier and it relents in an instant, letting him pass through. You steel your resolve and follow after him, passing through shortly after.

You didn’t want to be right about the barrier, but it was too obvious what they’d set out for you. Obvious or not, it doesn’t change the horrible advantage they have over you in this location.

Before you, a jungle of steel and concrete plating and steel beams extends in every direction, towering over you. Two massive reactors can be seen a small distance behind the main building and the low hum of machinery drones around you.

Satoru takes the initiative, cautiously making his way around the side of the building in search of a door while keeping a careful eye on your surroundings. Rounding the corner behind him, you suck in a breath at the sight of a body slumped against the wall, sliced through so precisely you feel sick at just the sight of them.

“Oh god,” you whisper. Satoru pauses, numb to the sight of death. His lips are pressed into a tight line as he turns back to you.

“C’mon, keep moving,” he warns, surveying the area around you. Your grip on your sickles tightens at your sides as you hurry after him with one last uneasy glance at the pooling blood beneath what remained of the body.

A large pair of heavy steel doors stands at the end of the building like an imposing force to be reckoned with, as though it’s your first real opponent.

“Shouldn’t we take a less obvious entrance?” You query with a glance at the rest of the building.

“They won’t ambush us. They already have an advantage and that’s not Sukuna’s style,” Satoru replies with a frown. “He wants to win, fair and square.”

You nod slowly, subconsciously taking a step towards Satoru to feel the warmth of his body against you, but your movement stops an inch from his body. Right, Infinity. You almost had forgotten he had it.

Of course, he notices the way you seek the heat of his body, stopped prematurely. Cautiously, he leans down towards you, Infinity a thought of the past as he cups your face, carefully observing your crimson eyes and uncertain expression. “Will you be okay, sweet girl? Just remember to use the simple domain I taught you if you need to.”

“No- Yeah, yeah of course,” you shake your head, trying to shed your nerves. “I’m just… worried.”

With both Kento’s body somewhere within the power plant and Satoru standing before you, you can’t shake the horrible image your mind continues to conjure of both bodies limp before you with Sukuna standing over them. It sends a shiver straight up your spine. You can’t let history repeat itself.

“We’ll be okay, baby.” His tone is firm, reassuring. There isn’t a shadow of doubt in his mind, but he knows this doesn’t come second nature to you. His lips press to your forehead, lingering a moment as he breathes in your warm embrace. “Will you be okay… with Kenjaku?”

“I-” you hesitate a moment, exhaling. “Yeah. I’ll be okay.”

“Good,” he whispers against your forehead, “can’t have you going full lizard on me.”

“I take offense to that, Gojo.” Miriko speaks up from the back of your hand.

No matter how serious of a situation you find yourself in, Satoru never can resist cracking a joke. Strangely, you find yourself chuckling at your two companions, helping to ease your nerves.

Satoru’s eyes crinkle at the corners at the sight of your smile before wasting no time as he presses his palm flat on the door before him, ducking through the entrance as he enters the massive facility, holding the door for you to follow him.

Before you is a lobby with red flashing lights and hallways stretching out to either side with a set of doors lightly swinging at the end of the hall ahead. You swallow harshly at the sight of the blood-painted walls and sliced chairs, keeping your eyes fixed on the swinging doors in an effort to ignore the bodies that litter the halls.

Satoru seems unphased by the sight, confidently walking towards the doors that quietly swing back and forth in a subtle, small movement. Following after your boyfriend, you feel your blood run cold when he swings the doors open dramatically.

“Sukuna! Long time no see.”

You wish you had the same confidence as Satoru. You wish you found the same joy in fighting as Satoru did.

“Kenjaku, not a fan of the new look. It makes my girlfriend sad.”

You slide through the swinging doors behind Gojo, mustering every last ounce of confidence to face what you dread most. A massive warehouse stretches high and far on every side with several concrete and steel cylinders on either side of the facility storing the nuclear energy that likely feeds the two massive reactors you’d passed on the way in.

Standing atop one of the cylinders is, to your horror, Kenjaku. He’s adorned Kento’s body in a deep red pinstripe suit with a black button-up and yellow tie, while Yuji stands opposite him, wearing his usual school attire, however Sukuna’s tattoos adorn his face and his expression is smug and intrigued, a look that doesn’t sport the kind-hearted student you’ve come to know.

Although you’d mentally prepared, the sight of the three people you care for the most getting ready to face off is nearly enough to bring you to your knees and beg them to stop, but all you can do is remind yourself that it isn’t them.

It’s not Yuji. It’s not Kento. Neither of them would want this. You have to kill them.

The only positive is that Sukuna doesn’t appear to have been able to bury Yuji yet. He doesn’t sport the four arms you’d been warned about.

“Oh? Girlfriend, you say?” Kenjaku tilts his head and you swallow hard, biting down on the inside of your cheek as you stand at Satoru’s side in the matching clan attire.

“What a fun development,” Sukuna purrs with an amused grin. Your brow furrows at the deep chuckle that follows, “and here I thought you’d be the easy one to defeat, little Vessel.”

“Mmm, I thought I’d have you at your knees at the sight of me,” Kenjaku agrees.

You grit your teeth, muscles tensing under his sharp glare but you don’t give him the satisfaction of a response.

“You know, I think the Vessel would suit me better than this skin, don’t you think Sukuna?” Kenjaku exchanges a sly look with the tattooed curse.

Your skin crawls at the way he speaks, so out of character for Kento that your chest tightens in pain at seeing him used in such a way.

“I’m ending this,” your words are low, intended only for Satoru, whose overenthusiastic smile shifts to concern.

“Are you sure? I can take Ken-”

“You can’t attack in here, Toru,” you point out in a whisper, glancing between the barrels of nuclear energy. One attack and it would end everyone in Takahana. “I can take Kenjaku. You defend against Sukuna, it makes the most sense.”

He hesitates a moment longer, but when he steels himself, the look he shoots Sukuna is one of amusement. He unties his robe dramatically, tossing it aside with bravado and leaving him in his black compression shirt and puffy white clan pants.

“Alright Sukuna, you always said I’d be first to die, so let’s see it.” Satoru leaps forward as the two bound off of the nuclear storage containers. Satoru’s expression is entirely too thrilled, too wild for your liking, but as your boyfriend still manages to use his technique to his advantage even in such a dangerous and confined space, you know this is what he was raised to be. He’s in his element. This is The Strongest.

Your attention turns to Kenjaku, who stares at you with a bored expression unfitting of Nanami. His leg dangles from the energy silo as he waits for you to make a move. Following Satoru’s example, you pull at the tie at the front of your robe, letting it fall to the ground as well. The cool air of the facility chills the bare skin of your shoulders as you prepare to face Kenjaku.

His eyes glint in the dull light that pours in through skylights on the ceiling. “Done wasting time, my dear?”

You inhale sharply at the sound of Kento’s sultry, honeyed voice calling you his dear. Your grip on your sickles tightens and you dart forward, using cursed energy to push yourself off the ground and into the air just as Satoru had taught you in the short month since you’d been learning to fight.

Landing on the silo alongside Kenjaku, he grins widely and full of malice as he ducks out of the way of your sharpened sickle attack. You reel backwards when he attempts to slice you with a blade similarly blunt to Kento’s, though you know it isn’t his given that you have it.

Narrowly avoiding the attack, he lunges forward with a grunt, the first of many misses that’s exchanged, however you quickly realize you don’t have the skills to face off against him alone. With each narrow miss of your skin, your sickles grow further and further from reaching him. Kenjaku has well over four hundred years of training and your month isn’t stacking up to him.

“Is that all you have for me, dear?” He taunts, voice lowering to a silky murmur as he taunts you with Kento’s voice.

Don’t let him get in your head. Keep trying, I will take over when I feel the time is right. Defend.

Heeding Miriko’s words, you very narrowly manage to avoid two more strikes from Kenjaku, breaths coming in heavy pants as you leap from silo to silo, taking care not to damage the barrels of nuclear energy. You can hear Gojo laughing above you, his form casting a shadow over you from where he stands atop the building windows now.

In the split second you’d spared a glance at Gojo, the blade Kenjaku wields hits you squarely at the ratio needed to critically hit your arm. You gasp in pain, adrenaline and shock spiking through your body like a drug as your sickle hits the ground.

Grab the sickle and find somewhere to hide for long enough that I can heal you.

You huff out groan, picking up the second sickle and throwing yourself down off the silo, using the hook of your weapon to swing yourself beneath one of the raised platforms built as a walkway between barrels.

Miriko takes over, wasting no time in growing your arm back before handing control over once again.

“Oh? And here I thought I’d have the pleasure of meeting your curse.”

“Tough luck,” you grumble, parrying an attack from the curse before just barely missing your target in retaliation. The crimson suit he dons has a hefty slash through the collar now.

“This is a new suit, you know,” Kenjaku hums in disapproval, taking a step towards you and effortlessly blocking an attack before laying hits on hard and heavy.

Three.

You recognize Miriko’s signal, brow furrowing as you focus on blocking hit after hit from the blade Kenjaku has. He hasn’t yet broken a sweat and you know he’s playing with you. Your power doesn’t match his at all.

Two.

The clang of steel is piercing and Kenjaku continues to back you into a wall, seemingly figuring he has an advantage.

One.

As your back grows steadily closer to the wall beneath the steel walking platform overhead, you charge your sickles forward, eyes flashing suddenly as your hair shifts to a dramatic silver.

Kenjaku’s eyes widen as you, no, Miriko, shove him back a step and leap off the wall, swiftly moving behind him and slicing at his dominant arm. It falls to the ground with a horrible splatter as blood pools from his arm.

His lip curls in irritation as he leaps back and picks his weapon up, not yet having noticed the very slow and far weaker decay than your usual attacks that’s been imbued into your weapon. If you can keep his attention pulled from his arm, you can win this here and now.

Never daring to back down, Kenjaku tries to get into a location that betters his advantage, leaping back atop the silo. Miriko bounds after him, following his moves with practiced precision as she leaps forward with eyes on Kento’s shoulder.

Her sickle collides with the cylinder beneath and you’re mentally grateful it only collides and doesn’t pierce.

“So you’re the curse?”

“And if I am?”

Kenjaku’s lips quirk up into a grin. “All the more fun for me.”

Their battle is a dance of elegant and well-timed attacks, blocks, and dodges in comparison to your battle just moments ago. Miriko moves with precision and ease, doing what she can to keep Kenjaku’s attention from the decay steadily crawling up his arm. If it can just reach his shoulder-

Kenjaku’s expression grows frustrated as his attention is drawn to the remaining portion of his arm. Shit, of course he would notice his arm hadn’t yet healed.

His lips quirk upwards in a smile. “Clever old curse, aren’t you?”

Miriko ignores his quip with no desire for chatter, watching as he manages to use the ratio technique barely an inch over the decay and slice off the rest of his arm, healing it as easily as Miriko had healed you now that her decay wasn’t in effect.

Rolling her shoulders, Miriko spares no time in launching attack after attack on Kenjaku, a flurry of missed attacks, until finally her chance comes.

Satoru crashes down from the skylight, spotting an opportunity to create an opening with his keen Six Eyes. Catching Kenjaku off-guard, he lands squarely on top of him, his ever-present Infinity blowing the cursed spirit within Nanami off the cylinder he was standing on.

Having spotted the white-haired sorcerer mere moments before he landed, Miriko made the quick decision to throw herself off the cylinder in her best guess at the direction that Kenjaku would be launched in.

Luckily, a thousand years gives you time to learn math and physics. As Kenjaku plummets down beside her, rolling a few feet and coming to a halt on his back, her sickle is square on his chest before he can recover.

“Still having fun?” She asks with a blazing fury behind her eyes as she plunges the weapon deep within his chest. He sputters and coughs and as Nanami’s pained expression reaches your eyes when Miriko hands control back over, you suddenly feel sick all over again.

No amount of mental fortitude could prepare you to say goodbye to Kento again. With a deep breath, you remind yourself it’s not him.

“You are a unique pair,” he groans out as the decay spreads through his chest and up his neck. You stand back, letting the sickle’s power seep into the man.

Regardless of the anger you feel for what’s been done to Kento, you can’t help the tear that falls down your cheek. The sympathy you feel for someone you’ve long said goodbye to already.

Somewhere beyond my domain, I am certain he is thankful for what you have done.

Thanks, Miriko.

You crack a small smile at the curse’s strangely comforting words as the cracks of decay spread up his face. His breathing grows ragged and increasingly strained until he’s gripping painfully at the sickle, slicing his hands open as decay spreads through his limbs too.

“You don’t stand a chance against Sukuna,” he rasps. “Not with 19 fingers.”

Your lip trembles as you tug the sickle from his chest and blood pours from the laceration. Even knowing it’s not him, the pained look in his auburn eye brings you to your knees beside him.

“Go to hell, Kenjaku.”

It’s the last thing he hears before his world goes dark. Your trembling hand caresses Kento’s cheek gently and you’re grateful you can have a proper burial for him now.

You swallow hard in an effort to keep your tears at bay as your fingers loop beneath the thread that keeps Kento’s head sewn shut. With each loop of thread that you pull, bile rises in your throat until your breaths grow ragged from the mental exertion.

When finally his skull falls open, you damn near wretch, swallowing down the bile just in time as your trembling hands pull the real Kenjaku, a disgusting brain with teeth, from Nanami’s skull. Liquid drips down your fingers and wrists, warm and slimy, as you set the brain aside.

“Never again,” you whisper, jabbing the sickle into the brain. It writhes and pulses when the sickle jabs it as though Kenjaku was trying to hide his ability to stay alive through a body’s death, but you knew better. You knew of Geto. It wouldn’t happen again.

With one final twitch, the brain falls flat as decay continues to spread.

Taking a deep breath, you stand up and spare one final glance at Kento, your heart twisting in pain at the sight of him, his whole body scarred, in a suit not belonging to him, with a weapon not his own and his head hanging open. Your lip trembles as you fight the urge to… you aren’t even sure. Cry? Vomit? Scream?

You don’t have the luxury of any of those.

With a deep breath, your gaze rises to the skylight where you can see Sukuna and Satoru’s shadows moving in a flurry of precise movements. You don’t want to join them, but if you plan on saving Yuji, you’re not sure you have an option.

Wiping a tear from your cheek, you leap up the cylinders, propelling yourself up through the skylight in a crash of broken glass as you lunge at Sukuna, hoping to catch him by surprise. His senses are too keen and he easily dodges, having sensed your cursed energy a mile away.

“Oh? Is your beloved ratio sorcerer dead?” Sukuna taunts with a dark chuckle.

You all know it’s a blow to your gut but you don’t so much as flinch, remaining steady and focused. “Don’t stop your fight on my account,” you reply evenly, glancing over to Satoru to see his skin marred with shallow cuts. Your lip parts in disbelief that Sukuna could ever land a hit on him, but they do seem to be healing.

Satoru’s gaze falls to you, keeping Sukuna in his peripherals. Though he doesn’t say anything, those big blue eyes soften and his eager, battle-ready gaze calms when he meets your eyes. Swirling within his irises is a glimmering reassurance that puts you at least a hair’s width more at ease as you return his gaze silently.

All attention turns to your opponent, grinning across from you. Of course, Sukuna knows more about your abilities than Kenjaku so you won’t be able to take him by surprise like you’d done previously. Sukuna is also more cunning and he knows Miriko better than you’d like.

“Let us see what one thousand years does to a death curse,” Sukuna hums, lunging at you in the same breath as he unleashes a rain of slices down. Satoru’s before you in the blink of an eye, a grin as wide as Sukuna’s spread across his features. His infinity protects you from each of Sukuna’s attacks but Satoru can do very little other than defend given the close proximity to the reactors.

You’re no match for Sukuna, but Miriko is. Your minds meld as you swap back and forth in a flurry of missed punches, kicks, and slices from both sides. Satoru’s six eyes help him manage both your safety, the safety of the facility, and his own as Sukuna unleashes more and more powerful attacks as though testing Satoru’s limits and abilities.

The king of curses’ slices cracks the concrete structure below you and you worry for the stored nuclear energy below, but you don’t have time to think about it when you miscalculate a movement and Sukuna’s slice hits squarely across your chest. You fall back onto the hard concrete with an unfortunate thump.

Blood spills from your mouth as you reorient yourself while Satoru takes over. You allow Miriko control as she heals you before managing to bound back up to Sukuna.

Your chest heaves as the battle rages. Your muscles burn with the intensity as Satoru tosses you around with his technique, both to move you out of danger and in an attempt to surprise Sukuna.

Yet as the sun falls below the surface of the horizon outside the veil, you begin to realize that something is wrong.

Sukuna’s attack launches you back in a flurry of limbs as you hit the concrete beneath and glass embeds itself in your skin. With a cough, you get to your feet as Miriko heals you from within. Satoru stands in front of you defensively.

“You know, this would be more fun for us all if you two would attack me,” Sukuna comments with an arched brow. He knows very well the reason that you won’t, but something else occurs to you as well.

He knows something you don’t.

Something is very wrong.

The veil should have lifted by now. The plan was to lift the veil and move the battle away from the power plant, but if Yuta hadn’t found a way to dispel it yet and defeating Uraume hadn’t done it, assuming they had been able to defeat them, then what kept it up?

Satoru takes a step back to exchange a knowing glance with you, clearly coming to the same conclusion. It’s Sukuna’s veil. The only way to break the barrier is to break Sukuna. That was his plan from the start. Whether it would be him or you, he planned on having only one side leave this battle.

“Fuck,” you mumble, taking a deep breath. You’ll have to adjust your plan. “Toru?”

“I know,” he responds gravely. He knows very well what needs to be done.

So, your strategy is adjusted on the fly. Miriko takes over and launches herself at full force towards Sukuna. His eyes widen at the thrill of what he considers a real battle as her sickle narrowly misses his arm.

Satoru moves to the sidelines, swapping his strategy to defend the power plant rather than you.

Each movement burns as your muscles scream for a break, unaccustomed to this kind of a workout, but each glimpse of Satoru is your reminder to keep going. Keep pushing.

Miriko strategically swaps positions with you at precise intervals, each swap burning into your lungs uncomfortably but you don’t- can’t- stop.

As Sukuna’s slices rain down in a tempest of pain, Satoru moves his body to block the nuclear facility while it rains over you in a flurry of agony. Your jaw slacks at the pain as you stumble over the concrete ceiling that creaks beneath you, holding on by a thread.

Miriko pulls control from you, working through the pain to heal you when she spots a single moment, a single opening.

A chance.

Sukuna and Satoru banter effortlessly while Sukuna pays attention to the sorcerer for just a moment too long. Miriko manages to get into his space, close enough to slash him if she can just manage to-

In an instant, Sukuna’s attention is returned to you and he bats the sickles away with a thrilled grin.

But at the end of the day if this is her only chance-

She has to take it.

Her hand connects with his shoulder in place of the sickle. His eyes widen, expression changing to one of shock as decay spreads through him from his shoulder just as quickly as it rises up your arm.

Sukuna flails backwards and Satoru takes the opportunity to slam into Sukuna with the full force of his infinity, blasting through the side of the buildings and forcing all of you to the small dirt area at the side of the building. It doesn’t offer much space until the edge of the barrier but it’s better than the potential of the roof collapsing.

Miriko heaves in each breath, making a constant effort to stave off the decay as it attempts to spread through your body. Your left hand dangles at your side, cracks trailing up to your jaw and blinding your left eye. Even for her, it’s intensely painful.

“Y/n!” Satoru calls your name, trying to reach your side only for Sukuna to raise his undamaged hand and throw a battering of cleaved slashes in the direction of a reactor and, in turn, Satoru.

Miriko? Even internally, your question is painful. You’re scared.

I apologize, y/n. I am uncertain of any other options.

Sukuna seems mostly unphased by the damage as he continues to attack Gojo, paying little mind to the heavily damaged Miriko who stands a small distance away, evaluating options.

I am truly sorry, y/n.

What?

Sukuna’s had a thousand years to perfect healing Miriko’s technique, yet it still isn’t an easy task. Regardless, the decay still lingers for enough time that there’s a chance. His movements are sluggish enough that there’s another opening.

“NO!” Satoru’s voice pierces the air like a siren, a warning that Sukuna is a split-second too slow to avoid. Miriko’s hand connects with the curse’s legs as she swipes low at him, pulling life from him in order to heal her own decay, however as the stone gray texture spreads up through his body beyond what Miriko can heal, she has to swap her technique again to damage you more.

She doesn’t dare disconnect her hand, her technique inversing itself as the decay spreads back through you and cracks through Sukuna’s lower right eye. He hisses and shatters your arm as he manages to back out of your grasp.

It could work, Miriko could split him and Yuji if she could just-

Decay wraps around your heart as Miriko’s focus wanes, cradling your vital organ like a baby but as she works to stave off the damage and keep you alive, your body collapses. Her breathing grows ragged, the shine in your eyes fading.

Satoru should take the shot. He should risk the facility and take the shot, kill Sukuna, but that’s not what the haze in his mind tells him as control returns to you and your body convulses on the ground.

“Nonono, no, y/n, no,” he breathes out, falling to his knees at your side. He hears Sukuna’s victorious chuckle behind him, ignoring it as he pulls you into his arms, his touch so gentle and delicate you would think you were a flower.

You are his flower. His world, his everything.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen, I told you we’d be okay. I- I promised,” he whispers, unsure if you can even hear him as your eyes glaze over. You’re breathing so faintly that fear spikes through him and his eyes go wide with horror. “Stay with me, baby. Come on, Shoko’s just outside, we- we can-” he hesitates, but he knows the barrier won’t let either of you through.

“This is pathetic to watch,” Sukuna hisses with a triumphant grin. Half of his body is still wholly covered in graying cracks and one arm hangs limp at his side. It’s healing slowly but at the end of the day it’s not worth it if you’re not there with him. It’s not worth it if you die and he still has to kill Yuji. Not after everything you’ve been through together.

“You don’t win this, Sukuna. You know that, right?” Satoru’s pupils are pinpricks as he stares at Sukuna, a crazed smile quirking his gorgeous lips up. The curse’s eyes widen, frowning at the sorcerer as he tries to decipher Satoru’s words.

The white-haired man laughs at the distraught and confused expression he receives, his grip on you intensifying.

“Miriko, are you still in there?”

Neither you or her respond, but your eyes flash alight with a glowing crimson that he recognizes as a sign.

“Princess?” His voice softens as he returns his full attention to you, holding you close to his chest, keeping that fading consciousness with him as you cling to life. “I should have said it sooner, but you’re my world. My everything.” He pauses, steeling himself to keep back his tears as he speaks. “I know I’ve said it before but I was a fucking dumbass and you didn’t deserve that and now…”

He shoots a sidelong glance at a confused Sukuna, knowing he needs to speed up his speech if he’s planning on keeping you with him and giving you the shot he knows you have to take as Sukuna is still immobile.

“Now I took everything from you, all over again. I… Don’t think I can live with myself for that. So just know that I’m sorry,” he pauses again, letting out a trembling breath as he cradles your face with his hand. “I love you, y/n,” he whispers, pressing his lips to yours. Your lips twitch in an attempt to respond, but you’re too weak.

Satoru Gojo has spent so long thinking he’s the strongest sorcerer, the strongest man, the strongest- well- everything. Yet in this moment, one where you’ve sacrificed your entire life to help him protect Yuji and still failed, one where somehow Sukuna is the one still standing while he cradles the dying body of the person he loves most, he feels hopelessly weak.

His lip trembles as it parts from yours, still brushing the soft skin of your lips as he whispers something meant for only you and Miriko.

“Now, Miriko.”

Life surges back through your body as Miriko grips Satoru tightly. His gorgeous blue eyes fade just as your crimson ones had and the curse within you doesn’t spare a glance back at him as she tackles the king of curses to the ground.

NO!

You scream as you try to pull control from Miriko, but your consciousness is lost in a haze, trapped behind a fog that seems endless. Where normally you would sit comfortably on Miriko’s ship, you’re now trapped in an endless pale fog. Its grip on you is tight and your consciousness falls to your knees, sobbing, begging, screaming.

You can’t feel pain in this form, and yet your lungs and throat sear. Your eyes burn. Pain tears through your body like claws ripping at flesh, threatening to tear you apart from within.

MIRIKO!

You scream for her, but she doesn’t respond.

MIRIKO, PLEASE! Not again, not- please- I can’t-

You can’t even tell if she hears you until suddenly the fog dispels and you’re in an unfamiliar environment.

Your breaths come in harsh pants as you take in your surroundings. The harsh iron smell of blood taints the air and you wrinkle your nose in an attempt to keep the rising bile down. Before you sits a pile of bones while a massive rib cage stretches overhead.

Atop the pile of bones, Miriko’s massive form ducks and weaves through slashes and slices, attacking Sukuna with everything she has. Within his innate domain, he’s at his full force with no need for domain expansion. This is a dangerous play.

“Y/n!” Yuji’s voice cuts through the haze as his footsteps approach quickly, splashing the thick crimson liquid at your feet up your body with each rushed step.

“Yuji?” Your eyes travel slowly from the curses to your student.

“Shit, you look bad,” he comments.

“Thanks,” you mutter.

He shoots you a wry smile, offering you a hand. “Are you alright?” He asks apprehensively as he pulls you to your feet. You’re certain he knows what’s happened, you’re certain he saw through Sukuna’s eyes.

“I’m fine,” you lie, but your voice breaks.

Taking a shaky breath, you spare a glance at Yuji. He looks fairly battered from his fight with Kenjaku and Uraume earlier, but he’s in better spirits than you in spite of everything.

It’s a tragic end to everything, really. To think that you and your student would watch everything and everyone you love get torn down and killed by your own hands and neither of you could do anything but watch.

What a cruel end.

History repeated itself after all.

Miriko cries out in pain as her arm is sliced off. She works to use the reverse cursed technique as she continues her mountain of attacks on Sukuna.

“We can beat him,” Yuji says suddenly, pulling your attention away. You shoot him a questioning glance, although you’re certain he can see defeat written plainly on your expression. “We can beat him and then maybe…” he trails off hesitantly. You nudge him in an attempt to get him to continue. “Maybe if we win, Shoko can…”

Heal Satoru.

It’s too late, you know it is. But if this is what your life was leading to, then fuck it. You’d be damned if it was the king of curses who walks out of this barrier and not Yuji. Even if Satoru and you are left dead, Yuji will live. He had to. Kento and Satoru wouldn’t die for nothing.

“What did you have in mind?”

“We just need to get close enough to hold him down for Miriko. I should be able to get to him if you can distract him.”

You nod solemnly, sparing a glance at the curses that now danced elegantly above the ribs that tower over Sukuna’s innate domain within Itadori.

Miriko slinks around a rib as she whips her tail at the curse.

You leap up the bone pile, letting Yuji throw you upwards until you walk along the long spine.

“Sukuna!” You call, but he pays you no mind. Without Miriko, you’re an insect to him. And you know that. Which is why you play dirty. After all, if he won’t respect you, then you needn’t pay him any respect. “Now, Gojo!”

Sukuna’s eyes widen as he takes in your words.

It’s not Satoru that attacks though, it’s Yuji that tackles Sukuna off the ribs and down into the pile of bones below. The pile clatters as Sukuna and Yuji disperse them and Miriko falls after him.

She moves with urgency as she wraps her snake-like body around the curse once, twice, three times, as decay takes its hold on Sukuna.

“You insect!” He hisses in disbelief as he unleashes wave after wave of cleaves into Miriko’s body.

You watch with anticipation as cracks scatter across Sukuna’s body, over the muscles of his tattooed arms and up his jaw, all the while Miriko falls apart around him with each powerful slash that slices through her scaly flesh.

To your horror, although his body is nearly entirely stone, it’s Miriko’s muscles that twitch and falter first and allow what remains of Sukuna to escape. He chuckles darkly, turning his attention to you.

“No,” you whisper, collapsing to your knees as you stare down at Miriko’s body, limp on the ground.

Sukuna’s skin slowly regains its structure, graying cracks fading and healing gradually as he grins at you. “Did you think you had won, little vessel?” He asks tauntingly.

Kento, Satoru, now Miriko too. They all lay dead at the hands of this monster.

Yuji uses the distraction to leap into action, eyes fiery as he goes hand-to-hand in combat with Sukuna while you sit helplessly and watch. What else can you do? Your technique is dead on the ground below.

Yet… you’re still here. Still using her technique to enter Sukuna’s domain. Your eyes train down to the pool of blood below, looking over Miriko’s body. She’s still in pieces, but she’s in fewer pieces than she was.

Your lips part as you realize all hope isn’t lost, Yuji just needs to bide his time. You silently fall to the pool of blood, letting the warm liquid cover your body as you find Miriko’s head. She doesn’t move when you set your hands on her snout, but her pupil shifts to you.

You don’t dare blow her cover, you don’t dare make a sound.

Her pupils roll over to watch Sukuna again, still distracted by Yuji’s flurry of punches. Sukuna gripes loudly about him using dismantle, his own cursed technique, against him, and you’re glad your training with him paid off.

Miriko’s muscles tense under your fingers and you realize she’s ready to strike, when suddenly the course of battle changes. You would recognize this feeling anywhere. It’s nothing, it’s everything.

It’s Satoru.

Infinite Void.

Your chest tightens as you search frantically for him, but he’s nowhere to be found. No, he’s turning the tides in your favor with whatever power he has left, just as Miriko had brought up months ago.

You frantically look between Sukuna and Yuji, both paralyzed by the domain. Beneath you, Miriko shifts. By all accounts, she shouldn’t be able to move. But unlike last time when Satoru kept only you safe from his domain and Miriko was unable to move, you now were keeping her safe within the innate domain as well. The three of you connected as one within the Infinite Void.

Your fingers tangle in the serpentine curse’s mane as she slinks forward, blood staining her white scales and silver hair.

Under usual circumstances, Miriko is the most angelic form of death, the most merciful end, and you’re her gentle and kind vessel. Covered in the blood of Sukuna’s domain with anger coursing through your veins, you’re the ruler of hell and she’s your most loyal demon.

You leap from Miriko, pulling Yuji away from her form as she wraps herself around Sukuna once more. Satoru’s grip slips just in time for Miriko to wrap around him once again.

“Six Eyes,” Sukuna snarls in disbelief as he unleashes cleave attacks against Miriko again. You watch in horror with Yuji as Miriko’s body falls to shreds once more with each slice through her scales, blood spurting from each laceration.

The difference between this time and last, however, is that Sukuna was already nearing death. And so even as Miriko’s grip on Sukuna slips, so too does his hold on life, and his hold on Yuji Itadori.

Miriko falls to the ground and as she does, she leaves behind a statue of what was once Sukuna.

“She did it,” you whisper in disbelief, taking a step towards Miriko. She shuffles in an effort to face you, red eyes flickering as she searches for you, but her eyes are glazed over, blood dripping from her lashes. She’s blind.

“Miriko?”

“I am sorry, y/n.”

“It’s okay,” you whisper, swallowing down the bile rising in your throat as you rest your hands on her snout. She writhes under your touch, her long whiskers twitching as her tongue tastes the air.

“I promised him, you know.”

“Promised who, Miriko?”

“When you were recovering. I promised Gojo that should the time come, I would save you by taking his life.” She exhales heavily and you watch in horror as her detached foot twitches at your side.

Adrenaline, grief, fear, you aren’t sure which one it is that’s keeping you numb, but you don’t realize you’re crying until a tear wets your hand, slipping down to her scales. Your hands tremble as everything begins to crash in on you.

“That asshole,” you whimper, more tears falling down onto Miriko’s scales below.

“Don’t cry, little one.” The timbre of her voice changes as she rasps her breaths.

“Can’t you heal?”

She chuckles lightly, her snout rumbling beneath you.

“Take care, y/n. You make good company.”

“No, no, please. Miriko,” you beg, clutching at her but you feel the innate domain of Sukuna fading and the serpentine curse needs to sever the connection between Sukuna and Yuji before it’s too late.

You glance back desperately at Yuji, your chest heaving as you gasp for air.

“Miriko, you have to heal, please,” you beg, tears falling down your cheeks as you sob, falling to your knees.

When next you open your eyes, Yuji sits before you, alive, though his gaze is distant. Where once there was decay, he’s healed now. From within the innate domain, Sukuna must have healed him, expecting to win. The veil has dispelled but there’s no sign of the rest of the sorcerers.

With his knees pulled to his chest and a forlorn expression, your student stares at you with a clearly guilty conscience in spite of the fact that he has no reason to feel responsible for what’s transpired. You swallow your agony as you muster your most convincing reassuring smile, trying to be the responsible adult, but Yuji’s focus is already on something behind you.

Blinking away the disorientation of the innate domain, you feel your chest tighten when you whip your head around, seeing Satoru’s limp body splayed across the ground with his hair over his face. His hand loosely clutches your ankle, other hand still just barely holding the familiar hand sign of his domain expansion.

“Toru?” Your voice barely manages to penetrate the air, not even loud enough to call a whisper.

You scramble to his side, pulling him desperately into your arms. His body is decayed from his feet to just beneath his chest. Miriko must have spread the decay to him from your feet in an effort to potentially save him.

It’s moments like these that make you question whether ‘curse’ was the correct term for her.

Your lip trembles as Satoru’s figure lays limp in your arms. Your mind seems to move slower than your body as your entire frame shakes with your relentless sobs, barely allowing you an opportunity to breathe.

“Gojo-Sensei! Y/n! Yuji!”

Yuta’s voice is a distant sound, blanketed by the shrill ring in your ears with blurred vision as you hold your boyfriend close to you. You bury your head into his shoulder, gripping at him desperately.

Yuta bolts over to you, setting his sword aside as he falls to the ground beside you, although you don’t fully process that it’s him. In truth, you’re not sure you care. It doesn’t matter much at this point, because your love is gone.

In your peripherals, Yuta kneels at your side, looking over Satoru. Shortly behind him is Shoko, who kneels opposite you, healing his surface-level wounds.

“Y/n,” Shoko softly whispers, lost on you. She repeats your name once more, setting her hand over yours. Blinking tears away, you meet Shoko’s gentle gaze, her kind eyes and reassuring smile easing your pain just long enough to hear what she has to say. “Look,” she says softly.

You follow where she points at his torso, eyes widening at the spot where his shirt rides up as you see that slowly but surely, the cracks are healing.

“Is- Is he…?”

“He’s stubborn, is what he is,” Shoko smiles at you with sunken eyes. “Satoru, you dumbass,” she sighs, placing her hand an inch away from him in an attempt to speed up the healing process.

Yuji comes to join you after reuniting with Choso and Kusakabe, all waiting with bated breath to see if he would awaken.

You aren’t sure how long you wait when a muscle twitches beneath your fingertips.

“Satoru?” You whisper desperately, biting your lip as your heart pounds in your ears. His expression is so serene that you wonder if he was an angel in another lifetime. His skin is flawless, with the faintest hint of stubble on his chin that matches the color of his lashes and gorgeous white hair. You feel like you stare at him for an eternity, when it happens again.

His muscle twitches.

“Toru? I need you baby, please, I-”

His low groan cuts you off as one eye flickers open and you let out a gasp, relieved when he shifts in your arms, leaning into your warm embrace.

“You didn’t say it back,” he rasps as tears fall from your eyes like a river, relief coursing through you.

“Oh my god Toru, I love you too, I thought I lost you and I didn’t know what to do, you scared me, you idiot-” your words come out as a ramble when you hug him tight to you. The crowd around you has been long tuned out as you bawl into Satoru’s shoulder. The world slows for you, allowing you the moment to yourselves.

“Hey, pretty girl, I’m here,” he coos, hushing you softly as he reaches up to gently stroke your hair. “I’m here, my love.”

“I thought I lost you too,” you cry, voice breaking and betraying your relief. It’s all so overwhelming to love, to lose, over and over and over, that you clutch to him desperately as though you might lose him again.

“I promised you we’d all be okay,” he whispers, pushing himself up as he heals more. His lips brush yours softly before he kisses you languidly, savoring the moment as though it’s his last. “I meant it.”

Your mouth goes dry as your eyes remain shut and you breathe his living scent in, trying to bury your face into his shoulder again.

“C’mere, love,” he urges, shuffling to take your head in his hands. He lifts your face to his, pulling you into another tender kiss. “I love you,” he murmurs against your lips, eyes fluttering open. “And I should have fucking said it earlier,” he chuckles dryly, averting his eyes guiltily.

“I love you too,” you whisper back, voice growing even enough that Satoru’s heart flutters. You’d succeeded. He’d kept his promise. Everything would be okay and you had your way out now, you could finally leave the world of curses and sorcerers and it’s all he could ever want for you.

When your eyes open again, Satoru’s eyes widen. It’s the first good look he’s gotten at you since waking up and his lips purse, brow furrowing. “Your eyes…” he whispers.

Your head tilts as you sniffle, unsure of what he means, until it clicks. Miriko is dead. Your eyes have returned to their natural color. “Oh,” your voice breaks, your grip on him tightening. “Yeah. They were only red because of Miriko.”

Satoru sighs, understanding passing over his features as he solemnly drops his head. You embrace the moment of silence, each paying respects to the curse that likely saved the world and only a small crowd would ever know. “She’ll be back someday, you know. It might be a lifetime from now, but she’ll be back.”

“I think she severed the connection between Yuji and Sukuna and then herself and me. If she didn’t then I… I should be dead, shouldn’t I?”

Satoru grimaces. “You should be,” he answers. “I owe her one for trying to avoid my heart with her attack and bringing my girl back to me,” he whispers hoarsely, a bittersweet timbre to his tone.

Your heart jumps to your throat, pounding as he calls you his girl. “You’re an asshole, you know that?” You tell him suddenly, the words falling from your lips before you have time to process what you’ve said.

His brow furrows.

“I thought I wouldn’t be able to say that I love you back again,” you tell him, pinching his shoulder. He recoils, playful frustration passing over his features. “Gimme a break, I told you I shoulda said it earlier,” he grumbles, pouting.

You sigh, leaning your forehead into him. “Just… don’t you dare pull that sort of shit again,” you mumble. He huffs out a sigh, caressing you tightly against his toned form just as he regains movement in his feet.

“I promise, my love.”

You lift your head to look at him. His pout fades, replaced easily by a mesmerized smile, absolutely lost in your gorgeous eyes. “Shit, you have beautiful eyes. I mean you always did, but-” he shakes his head “-I had no idea they weren’t always red.”

Your smile doesn’t quite meet your eyes, after all, you still have a lot to process, but Satoru is just thrilled to be alive to see the way your lips curve so beautifully, the way a timid laugh slips through them as you hold back your grateful tears.

Thank you, Miriko. Thank you for keeping us all alive.

She doesn’t respond, of course, but you hope somewhere out there in whatever afterlife she’s experiencing, that she’s watching over you both.

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

a/n || wowowow i just want to say thank you as always for all the support and i'm sorry for the ANGST. holy this hurt to write </3 but i hope you all enjoy and stick with me for the next and final chapter full of fluff ♡

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moghraidhs · 5 months ago

Text

because i cannot stop thinking about it, have a bikeriders fic :)

crossposted on ao3.

Johnny's awake when he hears the knock.

He's always been a light sleeper; since the war, light sleeping has turned into the occasional night of no sleep whatsoever. Betty had called it "insomnia", whatever the fuck that is. To him it just means staring at the ceiling until sunrise.

He gets out of bed. Betty's still fast asleep. The knock isn't heavy enough or loud enough to be a Vandal, so it must be something else.

Briefly, he thinks about that punk kid from Brucie's funeral. Mean look in his eyes. He could be standing on the porch right now, waiting with a knife in hand.

Johnny's vaguely surprised by how little the thought bothers him.

He goes downstairs and opens the door.

Benny stands on the porch, one foot already on the steps as if he was in the middle of leaving. Lit up in the yellow glow of the streetlights, he looks for all the world like a hallucination. A memory of the worst night of Johnny's life.

But it's cold outside, and Johnny had heard the knock, so this must be real. Right?

"Hey, kid," he says quietly, not wanting to scare away this maybe-hallucination. And doesn't that just make him the most pitiful man in the world, clinging on to the imaginary vision after he'd driven the real thing away?

"Hey," Benny says, and that's when Johnny realises two things.

1) This is real.

2) Benny's hurt.

His face is angled away towards the street, and one arm is pressed against his middle, almost protectively.

The sight makes something inside Johnny howl. He doesn't want to think about why that is. Refuses to even consider it.

All he says is, "Come on in."

The injuries look even worse under the ugly yellow-white light in the kitchen, but maybe that's just Johnny's thinking. Two cuts, one across Benny's cheek and the other at his hairline, both needing stitches. His knuckles are wrapped up, which doesn't bode well, but he can move his fingers okay so nothing's broken.

"Who was it?" Johnny asks as he awkwardly threads the needle he'd stolen out of Betty's sewing kit. She'd always teased him about his hands. Big enough to cover the whole state.

Benny's hands are big too, but there's something almost fine about them. Those long, slim fingers of his look like they were made for playing a guitar or working with animals or something. Not bikeriding and getting into bare-knuckle fights.

Shut the fuck up, Johnny tells himself harshly just as Benny answers.

"Couple of guys in a bar." He doesn't even flinch as Johnny starts cleaning up the first cut. "It's fine."

Of course it's fine. Johnny's seen Benny in a fight half a dozen times, knows he can handle himself and then some.

None of that does a thing for the side of Johnny that wants to know exactly who and where and then call the others so he can go take care of it. So this never happens again.

He's getting fucking sentimental in his old age, that's the problem. Twenty years ago, someone like Benny wouldn't have made a dent in him. Wouldn't have been allowed to. Real men don't do that shit.

Real men. Johnny's lived through a war, a dozen motorcycle club rumbles, and now another war, and he still doesn't know what the fuck that means. Honestly, he's tired of trying to figure it out.

All he's wanted for the past six months is for Benny to come back. And now he's here, all Johnny can think of is how not to fuck up and make him leave again.

So he swallows the questions and stitches Benny up, carefully as possible. Benny doesn't make a sound the whole time, doesn't even wince as the needle slides in and out of his skin.

A real man. Or maybe someone who's so used to being hurt he doesn't feel it any more.

Johnny doesn't like thinking that last bit, doesn't like the way it makes him want to tear the room apart. He finishes stitching and starts to tidy up. "Your ribs okay?"

Benny nods, even though his arm is still pressed across his middle, the set of his shoulders the only other sign that he's in any kind of pain at all.

The temptation to push the issue threatens, and Johnny gets up. "Want some coffee?"

They sit at the table and drink in silence. After, Benny takes out his cigarettes and offers Johnny one. Johnny lights both of theirs and selfishly uses the opportunity to get a better look at Benny up close. Beating aside, he looks okay. A little tired, maybe. Definitely thinner. Not that Johnny cares. Why the fuck does he care?

"You got somewhere to stay?" he asks halfway through the first cigarette.

Benny nods. "Motel."

"Good. That's good."

Where were you? Are you staying? Are we okay now? The questions tumble over themselves in Johnny's mind, demanding to be spoken.

He doesn't, of course. Being sentimental hasn't made him fucking stupid. He'd already fucked this up once.

A little bit of Benny is better than none at all.

They finish a couple of cigarettes each before Benny gets up to leave. Johnny walks him to the porch. He's surprised to see the sky turning pink-grey, dawn on the horizon.

"Thanks, Johnny," Benny says. He'd looked beautiful enough at night. Dawn makes him look like a fucking angel, wounds and all. Fallen angel, maybe.

He's just a man, though. And so is Johnny, which is why he can't stop himself from asking, self control and fucking sentimentality be damned. "So, you gonna be around now?"

Benny looks up at him, and just for a second Johnny catches what looks like surprise in his eyes. "You want me?"

He sounds almost vulnerable, and it's for that reason and that reason alone that Johnny ignores the thoughts those three words put in his head. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah. You n' me, kid."

That gets him a lightning-swift, half-shy smile, which disappears almost as quickly as it came but leaves him speechless nonetheless. He watches as Benny walks back down the porch steps and climbs back on his bike. The growl of the machine cuts through the morning quiet, and then just like that he's gone, the street empty as if he had never been there at all.

The sun is coming up. Johnny smiles and heads inside.

#the bikeriders #benny cross #johnny davis #benny x johnny #abbie writes

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bookofbonbon · 2 years ago

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the fool who thought he could kill his wife - aemond targaryen.

Pairing/s: Aemond Targaryen x Reader; Aegon Targaryen x Reader (slight).

Warnings: cheating. mentions of character death & murder.

Summary: based on this request but, I took it one step further as usual lol

Word Count: 1774.

A/N: This is my first time writing in this style - I quite like it. The final line is one of my absolute favourites from the movie 'Troy'. I wasn't going to write this request but, it got stuck in my head.

You didn’t notice until it was too late.

Too caught up in the midst of war to notice that slowly, slowly, your dear husband Aemond’s affections toward you began to wane.

You had chalked it all up to changes caused by the war.

The shorter trips at home in turn for longer trips around the Realm.

His avoidance of you when he was home.

The lack of intimacy.

The change in his scent.

The constant arguments.

Then came the attempt on your life and when you told, Aemond… he did not even show the tiniest bit of emotion toward you.

Neither seeking to comfort you or pursue the one who attempted to murder you.

It was then that you knew that these were not changes caused by the war at all but, it was easier to believe that they were when you had no proof.

Until supper one night, when Aegon's drunken stupor finally opened the door to answers you were looking for.

“Aemond has been gone for some time,” Alicent worried aloud, turning toward you. “Have you heard word from him, my dear?”

“I am afraid not,” you shake your head, eyes downcast in false despair.

Truthfully, you could care less of Aemond’s whereabouts or if he had sent word to you or not.

Alicent however, places an anxious hand to her neck and, swallows thickly so, you continue with your performance and place a comforting hand over her other one.

“But he is in the Stormlands after all, my Queen. You know how the weather does not bode well for the ravens.”

“The Stormlands?” Aegon drunkenly burps. “Aemond’s not in the Stormlands. He’s been overseeing our war effort in the Riverlands for the better part of the past year.”

The threads that hold you together threaten to snap but it wasn’t enough, you needed more.

So, you play a lustful game with Aegon, the only one who could give you the full truth behind the answers you seeked.

More giggling, less eye rolling.

More indulging him in his love for the cup, less scolding him for it.

Stolen looks, lingering touches, kisses on the cheek that grew nearer and nearer to one another’s lips and wanton glances from across the room.

Until finally, finally, finally… he innocently invites you to his quarters under the guise of wanting to go over battle strategy with you before your trip to the North but, with the true intention of bedding you.

It was easy from there.

Aegon longed only for women and wine and so, you used both of those things to your advantage – plying him with glass after glass and drawing him in with your body.

Allowing his hands to wonder over every curve and dip of your figure.

His hand cupping your cheek, lips brushing against yours and then you pull away.

“I cannot,” you croak, false tears springing to your eyes. “I- Aemond is my husband. He is your brother, and he is out there fighting for us and protecting us. Loyal and dutiful and I-I am here being a-a… a whore.”

You allow your tears to fall most dramatically from your eyes, a harrowing sob falling from your lips.

Aegon scratches at his head, annoyed by your sudden outburst but, still hopeful of a pleasure filled night so, he brings you into his arms and wipes at your tears; the faint outline of his cock pressing against your lower stomach.

“Oh, my dear, sweet, sister. The true picture of loyalty and duty toward a husband who does not do you the same kindness,” he tuts, thinking out loud.

You sniff sadly, lips pouty and eyes shining innocently as you stare up at Aegon, baiting him.

“W-what do you mean?” you ask, voice wobbling.

Aegon studies you for a moment, thinking about how pretty your lips would look wrapped around his cock.

Thinking about how your thoughts of Aemond were now preventing your pretty lips from being wrapped around his cock so, in his lusty, wine filled daze Aegon confesses Aemond’s sins.

Of the bastard Alys Rivers of House Strong with whom Aemond now lay with, taking her up as not just his whore but, his lover.

"A witch," Aegon tells you.

A witch who had been aiding them in their war effort for she could see what had not yet happened but was certain to come.

A witch who Aemond plotted with to rid you of life.

Aegon only confirms what you already know but, still it hurts to hear and so, you spend the rest of the night weeping into an irate Aegon’s chest as he holds you in awkward comfort.

He was hoping to get his cock wet not his shirt.

The next morning you are gone. Taken to the skies on the back of your dragon Vermithor.

Those in King’s Landing assuming you had left for your assignment in the North but, only going so far as Dragonstone.

Aegon unsuspecting and forgetting of the words he had spoken to you the night before.

“Rhaenyra,” you bow your head to your niece.

“Daemon,” you turn your nose up at your cousin.

“I should slice you from the opening of your cunt to the opening of your mouth for even showing your face here,” he hisses at you.

“You should but, you won’t,” you shrug.

Your arrogance provokes Daemon forward until Rhaenyra's hand wraps itself around his bicep.

“And you won’t because you know I can help you,” you finish.

“In what world would you think that I would want your help after your husband murdered my son?” Rhaenyra seethes, tears lining her eyes.

“A world plunged into war and forcing those of us who stand to gain nothing from it to take sides,” you bite back coldly. “I can help you win.”

“Why help us win if you stand to gain nothing from it?” Daemon studies you, slowly connecting the dots. “What has our foolish nephew done that turns you away from him?”

“My dear husband conspires to have me killed with a witch by the name Rivers. A bastard of House Strong. I’m sure the irony of who Aemond has taken to whore is not lost on either of you.”

“So, you do stand to gain something from it,” Rhaenyra looks at you smugly. “Her head.”

“You are sorely mistaken, niece,” you chuckle darkly. “It is not the head of Aemond’s whore that I want but, the head of Aemond himself.”

You lie in wait, perched atop of a mountain as Vermithor bristles beneath you.

You instructed Daemon on what to do – Aemond saw Daemon as the biggest threat to Aegon’s throne and so, you knew he would respond to a challenge issued only by Daemon.

His unwavering need to constantly prove that he was the better, that he was the best had always been his downfall and now he would pay for it with blood.

The undeniable flapping of wings that could only belong to a dragon bigger than your own reaches your ears; signalling the arrival of Vhagar and her rider and with that you take to the skies.

Vhagar glides through the sky, Aemond’s keen eye searching for the lithe red dragon of his opponent as he calls out taunts in High Valyrian; completely caught off guard by the colossal spew of fire that engulfs him and Vhagar.

A thunderous roar spills from the she-dragon but, it’s cut short when she’s suddenly attacked relentlessly over and over again by a barrel of bronze hurtling into her, sharp teeth, fiery breath, and large claws ripping into the older dragon in a loud clash above the God’s eye.

Aemond desperately clings to Vhagar’s reign, trying to regain control of Vhagar to steer her from where the onslaught of attacks had come from.

He only just manages, hair whipping around wildly as Aemond searches the sky frantically. Shock becoming him when his gaze settles on the Bronze Fury that emerges from above the clouds – the Bronze Fury that was sired to his dear wife.

Aemond freezes, the icy glare you level him with telling him everything he needed to know and before, he can realise what’s happening, Vermithor locks his jaw around Vhagar’s neck.

The older dragon too slow and too injured to counter Vermithor’s attacks as the Bronze Fury rips out the she-dragon's neck, sending her spiralling into the water below with a tidal wave splash.

Aemond emerges from the water with a sharp gasp, taking in mouthfuls of air.

Adrenaline pumps through your veins, giving you the strength to drag Aemond’s battered body across the wet sand, your hand fisted in an ironclad grip around the neck of his armour as you use up the last ounce of your strength to heave his body against a nearby rock.

Aemond stares at you from his position, each breath burning his lungs.

“How, how,” Aemond pants, violet eye piercing into your own.

“Aegon,” you answer, kneeling beside him. “He has only taste for women and wine so, I am sure you can imagine how easy it was to withdraw the answers I needed from him.”

“I do not under- understand. Alys- Alys only saw Daem-”

You tut disapprovingly at Aemond, pulling a necklace from beneath your armour, the blood red eye-shaped pendant swinging back and forth.

“Protection from her wandering eyes. No matter how far or clearly your beloved Alys could see into the future, she could have never foreseen me,” you brush silvery strands from his head, gripping his chin between your fingers.

“The Targaryen bloodline is rooted deeply in fire and blood magic, dear husband. You might have done better to remember that if your mother had bothered to keep to the traditions of our House whose sigil you wear so brazenly on your chest and name you call your own.”

Aemond glares at you with the hatred of a thousand burning suns. He should've killed you himself.

“But, not for long,” you pull the Catspaw Dagger from the sheath holstered to your side, dragging the tip along the side of his face.

“I will not beg you for my life,” Aemond spits through gritted teeth.

“But you will beg me for your death,” you smile saccharinely. “For when I am done with you, you won’t have eyes tonight; you won’t have ears or a tongue. You will wander the underworld blind, deaf and dumb and all the dead will know. This is Aemond. The fool who thought he could kill his wife.”

All fics are my own work - I have not posted my work anywhere else.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters/places mentioned above.

Do not copy. Do not translate. Do not repost.

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aegon targaryen x reader #aemond x alys

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milliesfishes · 6 months ago

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౨ৎ꣑ৎbreaking billy out of jail౨ৎ꣑ৎ fem reader x billy the kid

One night when the two of you are out at the saloon, an accident happens.

While at the bar getting two whiskies for Billy and you, an older man sidles up to you, calling you sweetheart and sliding his hand around your waist. Immediately Billy sees, and he abandons his poker game, appearing at your side and shoving the man off you. Unfortunately, the man is drunk, and he takes this as a threat, tackling Billy to the ground.

You yell in surprise, jumping aside as Billy fights to get the man off him. Somewhere in the struggle, a gun is pulled out; not Billy's but it didn't matter. When it goes off, you cry out, your eyes wide.

The drunk man, as it turned out, was a friend of the sheriff's, and when Billy had pushed the gun away as the man had fired it, sending the bullet into his shoulder, the night ended with your boyfriend in the local jail with charges of attempted murder against him. And with his criminal record, well, it didn't bode well for him.

You'd protested of course, clinging to Billy's arm as they took him away. "He didn't do anything wrong! He was protecting me!"

He'd tried to soothe you the best he could while being put into handcuffs. "Honey, honey, just sit tight alright? It's gonna be okay."

You'd watched helplessly as he was hauled off, tears stinging your eyes. His boys had to keep you from chasing him, and one of them escorted you home, back to your little cabin in the woods.

Tossing and turning, all you could think of was him all alone in that cold jail cell, after heaven knows what had been done to him. It cost you hours of sleep. Finally, after staring at the ceiling for awhile, you threw back the covers. you were gonna go see the one person who could make you feel better.

You hauled yourself out of bed, taking yourself to a particular drawer in your dresser. Within it was a spare pair of Billy's trousers, suspenders attached, and one of his shirts, the one you adored with blue stripes. He kept a few things at your place, in case he stayed the night and he didn't feel like wearing his sweaty work clothes from the day before.

Now, you pulled on his clothes, tightening the suspenders to fit you, tucking the too big shirt into the trousers. You shoved your feet into your riding boots and went to get a hat, shoving your hair up inside it.

It wasn't safe at all for a woman to be out this late at night, especially in the part of town the jail was at. If you wanted to see Billy, you at least needed to give the illusion that you weren't a woman.

The guard at the jail was fast asleep so you easily snuck past him and opened the door. There was nobody watching Billy on the inside.

He didn't recognize you at first due to the darkness and your diguise, but once you got closer, his eyes squinted in recognition. You took off your hat, letting your long hair spill over your shoulders.

Billy's eyes widened. "What're you doin' here sweetheart?"

You ignored the question and knelt on the ground next to him, clasping his hands through the bars. "Are you okay? What happened?"

He smiled, tugging on your (his) shirt collar. "These my clothes baby?"

"Couldn't come here lookin' like a girl," you breathed, smiling softly back at him.

"Think they look better on you than me doll," he grinned, pulling you closer by the collar.

You breathed a laugh, resting your forehead against the bars.

He squeezed your hands, bringing them to his lips. "Ya shouldn't be here baby, it's late. Ya gotta go home f' me okay? Get some sleep?"

You shook your head earnestly, not letting go of his hands. "I couldn't stand it. You being here all alone, especially when you didn't do anything wrong."

"Oh honey," he murmured, reaching his hand through the bars to cup your cheek, his big hand a comfort to you. "I'm gonna be okay. Can't have ya gettin' in trouble cause you're being a sweetheart for me."

"I'm not leaving here without you," you whispered, your hair framing your cheeks as you leaned forward.

"Ain't no way for ya to get me outta here baby," he said softly, tucking your hair behind your ear with the hand on your face. "We just gotta wait it out, see what they wanna do with me."

That could be a while, you knew that. And with his history, it was extremely likely that he'd be sent away to an unknown fate. You didn't care to think about what that would be.

All these thoughts were spinning through your head as you looked at Billy. It was clear he was trying to stay calm for you, but he was thinking the same thing. You shook your head again. "No. No. You're getting out of here right now."

"It ain't possible sweet," he said, his thumb running down your cheek.

"Yes it is," you said, standing up, your mind working quick. He stood up with you, looking confused.

"What-?"

"I'll be right back," you said, tucking your hair back inside your hat.

"Baby-"

You were gone before he could ask any more questions.

Your footsteps quiet, you opened the door and peeked outside. The guard was still asleep. Eyeing the key ring on his belt, you crept toward him. He was snoring softly, and you hoped the noise of it would drown out any sound you might make.

Carefully, you unhooked the ring from his belt, relief washing over you when it didn't wake him. But when you turned to leave, you accidentally brushed his shoulder.

Dread filled your body as the man took in a sharp breath, signaling that he was awake. You turned as his eyes opened, and he looked confused as he spotted the key ring in your hands. The man stood up, his hand going to the gun in his holster. "Now what the hell're you-"

Your fist flew before you could think about it, hitting him straight in the nose and knocking him backwards, unconscious. The motion broke the skin on your knuckle, and you winced, looking down at the blood. A bruise was already forming, but you shrugged off the pain, taking the keys back to the cell.

Billy was leaning against the wall, and he smiled when he saw you again. You took your hat off, holding up the key ring.

"Well you're a regular little thief ain't you?" Billy laughed softly. "Think I'm startin' to rub off on you."

"Well, it's hard to say," you said, pushing your hair behind your shoulder and sifting through the keys, trying each one in the lock. "Maybe I've been a natural the whole time-aha!" You found the one that worked and opened the door as quietly as you could.

Billy walked right out, immediately lifting you in his arms and spinning around. He hugged you tightly to his chest. "M' best girl," he murmured into your hair. "Comin' to rescue me." When he set you down, he picked up your hand, then noticed the injury to your knuckles. He examined it, his brow furrowed. "Now what'd you do while you were out there pretty?"

You smiled coyly, tilting your head. "What kinda outlaw in training would I be if I divulged my secrets?"

He shook his head, grinning. "My baby's out throwin' punches and stealin' keys..." he kissed your hand. "Couldn't be prouder of 'er. My girl knows how to take care of herself."

"We'd better get outta here before the guard wakes up," you said, tugging on his hand. "Don't want the both of us to be put in the cell."

"I dunno, maybe it wouldn't be so bad," he murmured, his hands moving down to your hips. "You're a damn fine sight in my clothes baby."

You giggled, pulling his hand again. "You can love on me back home, let's get going."

"Yes ma'am," he chuckled, letting you drag him out.

Back in your little cabin, he picked you up and held you to him, your legs wrapped around his waist. The sight of you in his clothes, hair falling over your shoulders was one of the prettiest things he'd ever seen and he let you know it, peppering soft kisses over your face. "Missed out on a lot of lovin' on you while I was in there...atta girl, gonna let me make up for it..."

You both knew after breaking out you wouldn't be able to stay in this town much longer, and that you'd be on the run soon enough, but for now he was out of jail and safe and that was enough.

come talk about billy here!

#billy the kid #billy the kid fanfiction #billy the kid imagines #billy the kid x you #billy the kid x reader #william h bonney fanfiction #william h bonney x you #william h bonney imagines #william h bonney x reader #milliesfishes billy #milliesfishes imagines

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etoiline · 6 months ago

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brothers

(read with tags and characters on AO3 instead)

(@paper-crane-castles drew art for this fic and I am melting right now, go see!)

“Safest way outta here,” Bode says, and Cal’s stomach churns as he looks at the Imperial sign on the escape pod bay door in front of him.

“Sure about that?” Cal says, looking over at the merc who’s just saved his life several times over.

“No,” Bode says with a shrug and a cheeky smile.

“Okay then,” Cal manages, but Zee calls him on the stress in his voice.

“You seem nervous,” the droid says. “I’m going with him.” She maneuvers her chassis over to Bode’s pod.

“After you,” Bode says, gesturing to the open door. Cal catches his concerned look out of the corner of his eye, but he’s momentarily frozen in front of his pod. BD chitters a query in Binary, and his little weight shifts onto Cal’s right shoulder as he beeps another question in Bode’s direction.

It’s that little shift that makes Cal rock back on his heels and trot to the other pod. If BD wants to stay with Zee, Cal doesn’t have to choose this solitary pod, and then Cal doesn’t feel so bad about his sudden need to not be alone. And if Bode is there, well…

Cal boosts his speed with the Force so he can slip between the pod doors as they close. Bode’s eyes immediately meet his, widened in surprise, his hands on the straps of Zee’s restraints. Their gaze holds for a moment before Zee raises a hand and waves. “Bode is being such a gentleman, securing my seat. But there’s plenty of room for you too, Cal!” she says. She waves a hand at the chairs across from her.

BD chirps and jets himself over to the small platform between the other chairs. Cal frowns. He knows exactly how many steps it will take to get from the door to the chairs, and how many jumps his younger self would need to boost himself over his Master’s dead body. Cal doesn’t want to take those steps. He knows, he knows, there’s nothing here to harm him, not this time. Bode’s right, these pods are the safest way to get out of the Lucrehulk without fighting their way through the Raiders and droids trying to steal Zee away from them again, but Cal can’t make himself move.

All Imperial tech is laid out the same way. Cal could walk the halls of this ship blindfolded and find his way to every refresher, even without the Force. One little escape pod is nothing. Zee is sitting in the exact same seat where Cal had huddled, Master Tapal’s broken saber clutched in his hands, Master Tapal’s broken body at his feet, and Cal lifts his chin, refusing to look at the floor. But he still can’t take that first step.

It’s Bode’s hand on his shoulder that jerks him out of that paralysis, soft words he can’t quite comprehend murmured near his ear, a gentle push on the middle of his back that has him almost falling forward towards BD, who lets out a sad bwoo before Bode catches his elbow with a gloved hand.

“Doing okay there, scrapper?” Bode says, and Cal can only nod. He lets Bode turn him, obeys when Bode tells him to sit, hearing only static as his eyes drift to the pod floor. The floor, which is pristine and white and not covered by a fast-cooling Lasat body.

Bode’s hands are sure, efficient, as he pulls the restraints around Cal’s unresisting form, repeating the motions he’s just done for Zee, who’s stayed uncharacteristically silent throughout all of this. Cal closes his eyes and imagines he’s somewhere, anywhere, else. Sorc Tormo’s fighting pit, even—that hadn’t frozen him so badly as this. BD thrusts his head under Cal’s fist, and he looks over and unclenches his hand enough to pat his droid, then drops his head to the pod wall, gaze drifting to Bode’s broad chest in front of him, focusing on the collar of his shirt, how it stretches as Bode’s arms move, at the shifting line of skin that shows there. Better that than Zee’s unblinking optics or the empty floor.

“You can do this, scrapper,” Bode says, tightening the restraints and grabbing Cal by the shoulders. Cal’s eyes drift up to Bode’s, and suddenly there’s nothing else in his view.

The mercenary kneels, and Cal blinks owlishly down at him and their suddenly entwined hands. He can feel the warmth through the well-worn leather, echoes of its use fluttering their memories at his psychometry. Cal’s glad they’re not stronger, grateful a carefully exhaled breath blows them away. “I don’t know what happened to you, but I swear you’re gonna be safe here with me,” Bode says, squeezing their hands together.

BD trills agreement at his side, confident and reassuring. The ghost of a smile pulls at Cal’s mouth.

“And with me!” Zee says, holding up a finger. Cal has to laugh, though it’s a strained one.

“Ah, there you are, scrapper,” Bode says, and Cal wonders if he really can feel the relief pouring off of Bode, or if he’s just projecting his own. He’s stuck on the smile the mercenary gives him, the flash of teeth bared in a grin.

Bode gives him one more squeeze, then gets to his feet, moving toward the pilot’s chair. Cal holds onto Bode’s hand a moment longer than he should, trapping the don’t leave me behind his teeth. It’s childish, he’s a Knight, for void’s sake, he’s safe and of course someone has to start the ejection sequence. BD butts his head into Cal’s thigh with a Binary whistle, and Cal looks down at his droid with a tremulous smile. “I know I’m safe, buddy. Thanks.”

“This Empire has not been kind to you, Cal Kestis, has it?” Zee says, for once the enthusiasm in her voice gone. Cal presses his lips together; there’s no need to tell her his life story, not when it’s carved into his face.

The pod jolts and Cal’s hands go to his restraints. Bode takes the seat across from Cal, buckling his belt with quick movements. Not a moment too soon—the pod jerks them sideways, and they’re high enough that Cal’s stomach seems to press into his throat as they fall, as BD clamps onto his arm, as the lights flicker, as the wind rushes by the pod, driving the scent of blasterfire and blood into his nose, as the too large form at his feet is pushed to the rear of the pod with the speed—Master Tapal had always said Cal would be able to look him in the eye one day but this isn’t the way he wanted to do it—

“Look at me, Cal,” Bode’s voice says, and Cal has to obey. He finds Bode’s eyes in the strobing light and stares at reality.

“You’re safe, scrapper, safer than a tooka kit in its den. Just a little while longer, yeah?” Bode’s voice is soothing, low, just audible over the escape pod engines, and Cal blinks, letting the words wash over him.

Another jolt, this one stronger than any of the others, has Cal raising his hands to protect himself, and BD slides off his arm with a startled beep. That first pod had driven itself deep into the mud, shattering the windows, and Cal had to climb out the back, stepping on his Master’s body to reach the hatch—the sob he’d let out then matches the one he can’t stop now—

Bode’s hands are on his—when did he get out of his seat? How long have they been stopped?--and Cal realizes Bode is speaking to him in that same calming voice, you’re safe, it’s over, whatever happened to you was then and this is now and you’re safe with me, scrapper.

Gloved hands release Cal from his restraints, and he falls forward, into Bode’s arms. BD hops on his back, chattering in Binary as Bode chuckles and lifts Cal’s elbows, helping him stand.

Cal lets himself stand there for a moment, huddled in the circle of Bode’s embrace, and Bode allows it. He’s still murmuring soft words into Cal’s hair, his comforting voice bringing back memories of the Temple and his Master after a particularly bad echo had left him voiceless with remembered screams. Cal does what his Master had done then, letting a tendril of his Force curl around Bode. He won’t be able to feel it, but it’s all the thanks Cal can manage as his muscles slowly start to obey his wishes after being locked up for so long.

“Brothers indeed,” Zee announces, and Bode stiffens, pulls away, giving Cal a crooked smile and a wink before turning to the droid. Cal keeps that light Force touch on Bode’s shoulders while the mercenary helps Zee out of her restraints, offering a hand to help her stand.

BD whistles a happy line as Bode ushers Zee out of the pod; thankfully it landed rather level, so there’s no giant jump outside the hatch. Then the mercenary turns and looks back at Cal, holding out his hand, beckoning.

“You’re safe now, scrapper,” Bode says, and Cal smiles for the first time since Dagan tried to drop a piece of machinery on his head.

Cal thinks safe and takes Bode’s hand as he exits the pod. He looks back at the gaping hatch, once, as they begin the limping trek back to Rambler’s Reach, and misses Bode’s shiver as Cal withdraws his fiery touch.

#calkestisweek2024 #day 6 prompt: a different choice #cal #cal kestis #bode akuna #bd-1 #zee #jedi survivor #jen writes #spyscrapper

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antianakin · 1 year ago

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I think if we can accept that there are things Jedi are shown capable of doing in canon that Cal is incapable of doing in the games due to video game mechanics (i.e. he cannot carve through locked doors or walls, and he cannot jump more than about 10 feet without dying), then we can accept the opposite as well: there are things Jedi are shown to be INCAPABLE of doing in canon that Cal IS capable of doing in the games due to video game mechanics (using the dark side in fights all the time without any real impact on him). Yes, Cal was given a "dark side" power-up ability, and yes, you can continue to use it for him over and over again and it seemingly has no real negative impact on his character. But this is how video games work, every time we get given an ability in the game, Cal is able to keep it for the rest of the game in order to explore new areas and fight new things. But that doesn't mean that that's how using the dark side actually would work for Cal within canon if he were shown in something like a film or TV show rather than a video game.

And if you look at the actual STORY within the game rather than the basic gameplay options, it's made pretty clear that Cal using the dark side is akin to losing himself. He CANNOT use it without that risk being there and he has to keep letting it go. The first time he uses it on Nova Garon, Merrin stops him by saying they've both lost enough people and she doesn't want to lose Cal, too. When they talk on Tanalorr before making it to the Temple, Cal expresses fear of losing himself. After the funeral, Cal says to Cere that he nearly lost himself during that fight with Bode. Over and over again they let you know through the STORY that Cal using the dark side is a bad thing that he isn't using without consequence even though the ability exists in gameplay without any impact.

Cal isn't a Gray Jedi, that's not how it works. The game is doing the best it can to tell you that the dark side WILL ultimately cause Cal to lose himself if he keeps using it even though it has to let you keep using the ability due to how video game rules work. Cal is a Jedi, full stop. The dark side is bad and twists everyone who uses it, full stop. Stop pretending video game gameplay rules are the same as the story it's actually telling when the dialogue practically spells it out for you.

#star wars #jedi survivor #jedi survivor spoilers #cal kestis #anti gray jedi #anti grey jedi #gray jedi critical #grey jedi critical

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fanficsformyfaves · 1 year ago

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Safe

Loki Laufeyson x Fem Witch!Reader

WARNING: SMUT 18+, ANGST, Oral Sex ( R Receiving) P in V Sex, No Protection (This is fiction, you are not, WRAP IT UP), Praise Kink, Mentions of Torture, Hurt to Comfort

PREFACE: Nearly a month after being rescued by Loki, Reader begins to warm up to him and even starts developing a crush on the all powerful god. One night, she has a particularly frightening nightmare about being kidnapped by Thanos and goes to find Loki for comfort

A/N: Flashbacks in Italics!

Dream Sequence in Bold, Italics and Colored!

Loki never faked his death in Avengers 1, but just escaped in this A/U

I have such an affinity for big scary villains having soft spots for 'that one person'

"Please", I sobbed quietly,

As the titan walked closer towards me. The gauntlet on his wrist emitting different colored glows from each infinity stone.

"I don't know where the mind stone is", I lied.

I couldn't give Vision away and betray the family I made of the Avengers. They've saved my life on countless occasions and I couldn't let them down.

"Lies do not bode well with me, little witch. It is in your best interest to be complicit", he warns menacingly,

Before calling over his henchmen to pull my bruised aching frame off the floor.

"I will not ask again...where...is...the stone?"

"I don't know!"

He sighs heavily and points the golden fist right at me.

"Fine. Have it your way"

The gauntlet begins to radiate light and I felt it drawing my powers out of my body. The screams of agony I let out echoing around the room and down every hall.

To say it was excruciating would've been an understatement. I could physically feel the life in me being quickly drained and the remaining strength I had left leaving with it.

Just as I was on the verge of completely losing consciousness, I wake up screaming into the darkness of my bedroom.

This was not the first nightmare I've had since escaping Thanos and I was sure it wouldn't be the last, but this one felt all too real. Like, I truly was still on that spaceship, enduring even more of the torture.

It had been nearly a month since Loki found and rescued me. No one knew that either of us survived Thanos' attempt on our lives, so, we were left to hide out somewhere in Europe.

At first, I wanted to leave and find the rest of the Avengers, but Loki refused to let me go and enchanted the house we were staying in. It wouldn't have been a problem...had I not just lost most of my powers.

He was a god after all and I was nowhere near strong enough to break through his magic, especially running on an almost empty tank.

"It's not safe-"

"They're my family, Loki-"

"Then they should be able to understand that you are in no condition to fight!"

"I at least need to let them know I'm alive!"

"And risk exposing yourself to Thanos?! Are you really that stupid?!"

The tension between us was all you could feel. That and the deafening silence that followed his harsh words.

"Don't call me that-"

"Stop acting like it and I will"

I walk away and take a seat by the bay window. He sighs and bows his head.

"I saved your life. You might hate me for this now, but I do hope...eventually, you'll understand", he says,

Before making his way back to his room.

I couldn't really blame him for being the way that he was. He had lost so much already and I was the only person, besides his brother, to give him another chance at life.

Loki and I met long before the kidnapping, while he was in S.H.I.EL.D.S' custody. No one was getting through to him and Thor thought I would be the right person for the job, given my past.

"You sure about this, kid?", Nat questioned,

"I know enough about dealing with people like him"

She furrows her eyebrows curiously.

"What does that mean?"

"I was like him", I emphasized,

Before walking towards the chamber they locked him up in.

"Well...you must be the witch I've been hearing so many murmurs about"

I sigh through my nose, as he scanned me up and down.

"A lot shorter than I imagined"

"And a hell of a lot tougher than your futile attempts to get under my skin, so", I smiled sarcastically,

"Oooh, sharp tongue", he says,

Using his elbow to lean against the glass, as his deep voice causes my stomach to stir.

"You might just be the most interesting person I've met today. Well, that's not saying much, given your competition. My dull brother, the broody spy, metal man and captain wonder boy"

I scoff, folding my arms.

"I hear you use to be a villain of sorts. Why the change? I can tell you had potential"

"I found a family"

It was now his turn to scoff and turn away.

"The avengers?", he mocked,

Turning back to watch me step closer to the glass.

"You truly think they actually care about you?"

I take a moment to myself, before returning my attention to the god before me.

"I used to be just like you. Untrusting, malicious, a conniving little backstabber that was convinced that everyone was out to get me. I would hurt people before they could even think of hurting me first, sound familiar?"

He rolls his eyes and shakes his head at me.

"If you're such an expert on my character, then why not just kill me and get it over with?", he questioned,

"Because you still have a chance. I did and I know you do too"

"How incredibly naive. This little mind game of yours might work on the weak, but not on me"

"Its not a mind game, Loki. It's the truth"

He glares at me in an attempt to scare me off, but that wasn't going to work.

I knew back then if the team had just walked out on me, I would still be in the same exact position as him, maybe even worse off. So I wasn't going to back down without a fight.

"Was it easy for me to let my guard down? No, it was terrifying. I thought they would turn on me at any chance they got, but when they came back and saved me from Hydra...I knew I could trust them"

"How touching. Should I bring out the violins?"

I roll my eyes at his sarcasm.

"The point of all of this is that I'm not giving up on helping you"

"You're wasting your time", he said dismissively,

"Maybe, but that's not gonna stop me"

Unbeknownst to me, what I said actually got to him that night and for the first time in centuries, he truly felt seen as something other than a monster.

After his escape, I didn't see him again till Ragnarok, when we had to battle against his sister, Hela.

I was preoccupied with fighting off one of the undead that I didn't notice another one closing in on me. Just as the Draugr was about to swing his sword, his head was cut clean off his neck and the moment his body hit the ground, Loki was revealed standing right behind him.

"Hi", I greeted surprised,

"Hi", he nodded.

I look behind Loki and see Hela's wolf charging at us, when I use my powers to suspend the creature in the air and send it flying over Asgard's edge.

"I see you've gotten stronger", he says,

Causing me to shrug.

Once Thor put an end to Hela's reign of terror and got the remaining of Asgard's people safely onto the ship, we thought we were in the clear.

We couldn't have been more wrong. The refugees were mercilessly slaughtered by Thanos' guards and we were all imprisoned for days. All of us, except for Loki, who still pretended to be on the titan's side.

Eventually, when Thor was ejected out of the ship, Loki somehow managed to sneak the tesseract out and plan his escape, but when he realized I was still trapped there, he couldn't leave me behind.

I was laying in my cell, after freshly being drained of my magic, when a flash of green catches my eye. I tiredly turn to see who it was and in my half-conscious state, I could still recognize the man rushing to my side.

"Loki?", I called out weakly,

"Shhh, I've got you", he whispered,

Scooping me up into his arms, before using the tesseract to teleport us away.

I couldn't make out where we were, but he immediately lays me down on the bed and started checking me for injuries. Thankfully, only my hands had aged years from my powers being taken and they would eventually return to normal with time.

"Get some rest. I need to make some arrangements"

It didn't take long for me to fall asleep after that.

Back to present day, I find myself leaving my room and making my way to his. Hesitantly, I knocked on his door and awaited a response. The door eventually opens and I was met with Loki rubbing his tired eyes.

"(Y/N)?"

I could no longer keep my composure. I run into his arms, throwing my own around him and sobbing into his chest.

"I had a nightmare", I wept.

He sighs in relief, before holding me.

"I still see him when I close my eyes"

"Shhh, you're alright"

I pull away, sniffling and he wipes my tears away.

"Come in", he urged,

Gesturing to the inside of his room. I nod and walk in, taking a seat on the foot of his bed, as he followed suit.

"He can't get you. I won't let him", he reassured,

Taking my hand into his.

"You can't promise me that"

"That won't inhibit me from trying"

I take a deep breath, as he uses his hand to gently cup my cheek and turn me to face him.

"It won't"

"Could I um...stay here? Just for tonight", I sniffled,

"Of course", he reassures.

We get into bed and buried ourselves beneath the blanket. A few moments of silence goes by, till Loki spoke up.

"Was this the first nightmare?"

I was too embarrassed to reply, so I simply shook my head.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I was ashamed. I didn't wanna worry you either"

"Ashamed? You've gone through the worst of it and here you were, worried about how I would see you? (Y/N), you don't have to pretend with me. You're allowed to express your pain"

Hearing him be so sincere and gentle was more than enough to calm my nerves. I scoot closer towards him and he welcomes me in with a warm embrace.

"You are here with me and as long as there is still life in my veins, I promise you, you are safe"

I crane my head up and he meets my gaze.

Maybe it was just the exhaustion that was getting to me, but in that moment, I felt something and I was sure he felt it too.

"Loki", I whispered,

Carefully bringing my hand to his cheek.

"Yes?"

Without wasting another precious second, I press my lips onto his. If you had told me months ago that Loki and I would be here, in this moment, I would've laughed in your face, but right now...all I could think about was how good he felt against me. How effortlessly his skilled hands would caress the expanse of my back.

For a while, he reciprocated the kiss with the same fervour that I had, but then suddenly, he pulled away from me with a gasp.

"We can't"

"Loki-"

"If you're doing this because you feel as though you owe me...don't"

I couldn't help but feel my heart ache at his words. He really thought this was just a pity kiss, when it was nothing of the sort.

With my hands still cupping his face, I spoke.

"Loki. You saved my life, yes...but this isn't just some act of me saying thank you. Don't get me wrong, I will forever be grateful, but this is not what tonight is about"

He watched me intently, anticipating what I had to say.

"Life could end at any given moment and I won't spend what could be my last days being afraid. I know should've said this sooner...but I've fallen for you", I confessed.

His shoulders relaxed at my words.

"You truly mean that?"

"With every fiber of my being", I reassured,

Rubbing my thumbs back and forth on the apples of his cheeks. He lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, before continuing.

"You have no idea how long I've been waiting to hear you say that"

All the weight that had been burdening me for weeks had finally been taken off my shoulders. He brushes a hair away from my forehead, before continuing to speak.

"You saved me from the moment you met me. You gave me another chance at redemption...and I will never"

He presses a kiss to my forehead.

"Ever"

He pressed one more to my cheek.

"Be able to thank you enough"

He presses a final one to my lips.

"If you'll have me, darling, I would love to show you the depths of my devotion"

I couldn't help, but blush at his request.

"I'd love nothing more" I exhaled.

That was all the god of mischief needed to hear, before grinning like a wild cat and pouncing onto me.

Our lips meet in a heated exchange, as his hands used my hips to pull me in closer. Every inch of my skin was burning for more. All the secret pining and anticipation has lead us to this very moment and I knew there was no going back from here. Not that I had any plans of doing so.

At some point, he flips us over so that I was on top, straddling the expanse of his thighs. I pull away for a moment to grasp at the bottom off my sweater and pull it off over my head. I was now left completely topless.

A coy smile tugs at his lips and his hands make their way up my waist, till they gently settled on my breasts.

"Had I known this was what awaited me beneath your clothes, I would've invaded New York much sooner", he joked,

Making me chuckle, whilst biting back a smile and shamelessly rolling my hips against his erection.

"Glorious, every inch of you", he exhaled.

Every word he spoke had me losing my breath. Though, it should come as no surprise to me, as he was always so effortless with them. He didn't have to say or do much to make me melt and he knew it.

Growing impatient with me teasingly grinding on him, he flips us over once more, causing a surprised gasp to escape me.

"You will be the death of me", he murmured under his breath,

Kissing me again. His lips eventually trail down my neck, the valley between my breasts, till he wrapped them around one of my eager buds, using the tip of his tongue to draw firm circles. The sinful noises spewing out of me only encouraging him further.

Once he was done showering both my hardened nips with attention, he journeyed down farther, before yanking my shorts and underwear off and pulling my thighs apart. I couldn't help but feel a chill run up my spine, seeing him stare at me with now darkened eyes.

"At long last"

He drags a finger up my drenched slit.

"A feast worth dying for", he whispered,

Finally lowering his head. I gasp at the contact, feeling his tongue clean up the mess he caused. My hands flying up at his hair, grasping at the roots.

"Loki", I whimpered,

As my legs tighten around his head. I was only met with approving hums and his hands keeping my legs apart, allowing him to continue savoring the taste of me.

"Even the sweetest fruits fall bitter at your presence", he mumbled against my bundle of nerves,

Sucking it in like the last thing he'd ever have.

I already found myself trying to fight of the nearing climax that was threatening to overtake me.

It would've been less of a struggle, had he not decided to slip two of his digits into my needy cavern, repeatedly pressing into my sweet spot. He was oh so precise with his ministrations.

"You're close, I can feel it. Do not deny me of that. Come undone for me, darling. Show me how good I make you feel"

That was the final push I needed for the knot in my stomach to snap apart and unravel. My vision fading for a moment, as my body tensed to welcome in the euphoric high.

Eventually, I grow limp coming down from my orgasm and he slowly made his way back up to my lips.

"Do you taste yourself? So exquisite, so rich. I must have you"

"Then take me", I demanded,

Holding the back of his neck.

"I was only ever yours to take"

I could tell that unlocked something within him. Like I had just awoken a beast that was already trying to claw its way out. Giving me one last mischievous smirk, he sits up, pulling his own boxers off, revealing his painfully hard cock that was begging to be soothed.

"Do you see what you do to me? Driving me up the walls by simply just being? I will ravish you to no end"

"Stop talking and just do it"

He chuckles deeply and reunites our lips once again, before tossing my legs around his waist. He takes his member into his hand, pressing the red aching tip against my sensitive clit. My back arching off the mattress as a result.

"So responsive to my touch. Will you be good for me?"

"Yes", I whispered,

And before I knew it, he plunges himself into me, resulting in another gasp to escape my parted lips.

"You are just as I'd dreamt", he groaned into my ear.

After giving me a moment to adjust, he slowly pulled his hips back, before thrusting back inside of me.

"You feel so good around me"

It didn't take long for his pace to pick up momentum. Within what felt like seconds, he began pounding mercilessly into my heat. His arms bound tightly around me waist preventing me from slipping away, as if I had any plans to.

That same familiar feeling that overwhelmed me not too long ago already building up.

Loki wasn't that far behind either. I could tell by the tempo of his movements faltering with each passing second.

"I cannot hold back any longer. Come with me, darling. Now", he struggled,

As we both fall into it together. I claw down at the alabaster skin of his back, whilst he gripped onto me for dear life, emptying himself into my pulsing walls. He then collapses on top of me and we take a moment to catch our breaths.

By the end, the room smelled of sex, sweat and the apple cinnamon candle illuminating the darkness.

He then musters the remaining of his strengths to carefully pull out of me and place me atop his sweaty chest.

"Nothing and no one will ever hurt you again. Not while I can help it", he promised,

Kissing the top of my head.

#loki laufeyson #mcu #loki laufesyon x reader #loki laufeyson oneshot #loki laufeyson fanfic #loki laufeyson fluff #loki laufeyson angst #loki laufeyson smut #tom hiddleston

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morkhan · 2 years ago

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Jedi Survivor impressed me so, so much. I loved Fallen Order, but I genuinely feel like Survivor was on another level. A few things I loved, full game spoilers ahead...

Cal genuinely feels so much older and more mature. It's incredible how much his interactions with the Mantis crew feel like a wayward adult son coming home again after a long time away.

Cal and Merrin's romance was beautifully built up and paid off, felt totally natural. Importantly for me, it required both of them to move the needle; Merrin to definitively make the first move and let Cal know she wants him, and Cal to finally acknowledge that he wants her too, that he isn't really a Jedi and that they weren't right about everything.

Cal using the Dark Side is portrayed as dangerous, but not inherently evil. The game does not vilify or punish Cal for using it, in fact, it does the opposite; it essentially says that it was necessary for Cal to embrace his darkness in order for him to survive. Importantly, it shows that even the darkness can be controlled; when Cal first uses it on Nova Garon, he nearly loses himself in it, but Merrin calls him back. When he uses it again on Tanalorr, he is in complete control of it, calmly using it to lift Bode off of him and partially disarming him before letting it subside. Merrin's final monologue to Kata in the ending says it all; your pain, your loss, it will always be a part of you. But it doesn't have to define you. Both Dagan and Bode let their pain and loss consume their entire lives, and it led directly to their respective ends.

When Cal kills Bode, he does so quietly and with no anger, and only after offering him multiple chances to surrender, all of which he rejected violently. Cal killed Bode not out of vengeance, but because it was clear that Bode was beyond reason. He was never going to stop. He was never going to accept any outcome other than the one that he had decided was best. And even then, Cal quietly takes a moment alone to mourn him, and respectfully gives him a Jedi funeral alongside his two mentors.

The entire final chapter is such a beautiful contrast to the first game's. Fallen Order had you storming Fortress Inquisitorious, fighting hoards of the game's hardest enemies and concluded with a bombastic escape sequence. The atmosphere was alternately oppressive, tense and exciting, full of mechanical reds and blacks. Tanalorr is the complete opposite; it is quiet and calm, an organic place of white rocks and blue plants. There are no enemies there other than Bode, a man whose paranoia has isolated him from everyone in his life, including the daughter he supposedly loves so much. When you find him, he is not even with her. When you beat him, there is no bombast. This is not a victory to be celebrated; it is a tragedy, one that you tried to avoid, but was seemingly inevitable.

"Ghost Star," the lullaby you hear Kata singing as you approach the final battle, is so stunningly beautiful and thematically appropriate that I am appalled there wasn't a full orchestral version of it playing over the credits.

So yeah, there's probably some other stuff I'll post about later, but man, Survivor really kinda blew me away.

#Star wars #jedi survivor #cal kestis #nightsister merrin #bode akuna #jedi survivor spoilers

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weemssapphic · 2 years ago

Note

adjsfh so i never really send any requests but i really like your writing style so if your requests are still open could you maybe write a smutty piece featuring submissive larissa and dominant fem!reader. the idea i had is maybe fem!reader is some sort of a supervisor that came to the school to write a report on larissa?? and larissa decided to cover up some shady stuff she did by trying to seduce her and it ends up working lol but what she hadn't thought about is that reader is more dominant than her but she ends up actually really liking that??? idk if that's like too specific feel free to add to it or like do a slightly different thing if you don't feel this would work i just want sub!larissa ahahh *slithers back into the void*

hello ahkdhsj thank you so much! i absolutely hope this does your request justice, it's also my first time writing sub!larissa so i'm just gonna post this and slither back into my very own void <3 ao3 link in title as always!

warnings/content: nsfw / pwp, sub!larissa, cunnilingus, fingering, praise kink, feel the need to mention everything is consensual (I hope that comes across)

words: ~4.2k

Dominate Me

You pulled down the long, winding drive leading towards Nevermore Academy, past striking wrought-iron gates, putting your car in park as you reached the visitor’s spots by the entrance. Glancing at the time, you realized you had a few more minutes before your scheduled appointment, so you grabbed the thick manila folder from your passenger seat and leafed through it. You’d already memorized the contents but you thought it best to take another look, to have your facts straight.

You’d been sent by the school board to investigate the principal of Nevermore, Larissa Weems. After the attacks by a “bear” (or whatever that thing out there in the forest was) had left a student in a coma, the school had come under close scrutiny. Some discrepancies had come to light regarding the earlier disappearance of another student and, well, it didn’t bode well for Nevermore - nor for Principal Weems, who appeared to be at the center of the cover-up.

Confident you were ready to face the formidable woman, whom you’d already heard so much about and whom you had to admit you were more than a little intrigued by, you stuffed the folder into your purse and stepped out of your car.

A cool breeze whipped at your face as you ascended the steps to Nevermore’s imposing entrance, pushing open the doors and searching the entry hall for a hint on which way to go.

Quickly spotting a young girl with blonde hair sporting a school uniform, you waved out a hand and stopped her in her tracks. She eyed you curiously.

“Hi, I was wondering if you could point me to Principal Weems' office?” You smiled at the girl, hoping she wouldn’t be too intimidated. She smiled back rather timidly and nodded, saying “yeah, sure” as she guided you down several hallways towards a pair of wood-paneled double doors, adorned with a shiny gold plaque that read “Principal Weems” in an elegant font.

You thanked the girl and checked your watch. Right on time. Taking one last steadying breath, you raised your fist and knocked.

– –

Larissa paced the length of her office, furious that her already busy afternoon was soon to be interrupted by the likes of some school board supervisor who was surely going to try to discredit all the hard work she’d put into Nevermore. She’d spent so many years putting her entire heart and soul into the school - she wasn’t going to let just anybody come in and tear it down. No, she wasn’t going to go down without a fight. She had a reputation to uphold.

A knock on her door had Larissa nearly jumping out of her skin. She smoothed her skirt and checked her lipstick in the reflection of her cell phone, before click-clacking her way to the door to let in the visitor.

She was prepared for anything. She knew her story well - she’d rehearsed it at least a dozen times by now. And if all else failed? The art of seduction would always be on her side. Smoothing a hand over her hair and plastering on her best fake smile, she opened the door to her office.

– –

The doors to Principal Weems’ office opened and you were almost taken aback at the woman standing before you. You’d heard much about her reputation - strong, unyielding, a woman to be revered and even feared. But what had failed to reach your ears was that she was also stunning, impossibly so. She was attractively tall, with silvery curls pulled back into an elaborate updo, accentuating a long neck and smooth, high cheekbones, lips painted a rich shade of crimson…

Your admiration, however, was cut short as she peered down at you with sapphire eyes, clearly waiting for you to speak, lips pursing ever so slightly.

“Uh, hello, Principal Weems. I’m Y/N Y/L/N, from the school board. I believe we have an appointment.” You reached out your hand for the woman to shake. Her hand was warm to the touch, soft, and you had to suppress a shiver at the contact.

“Yes, of course, please come in.” Larissa gestured for you to enter and shut the door behind you. You thought you heard the faint click of a lock, though you couldn’t be sure, so you brushed it off as a trick of the imagination and waited for Larissa to guide you to one of the leather armchairs opposite her desk.

“So what brings you here today?” The blonde smiled warmly as she sat in her own chair, placing her elbows on her desk and resting her chin on her palm.

You raised an eyebrow at her before rifling through the contents of your bag and pulling out your folder. “I believe the school board informed you why I’ve been called to come by? It should have been mentioned in the letter you received on March 1st.”

Larissa pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration. “Yes, I received your letter.”

“Good. Then let’s cut right to the chase and start at the beginning, shall we? There was a student attending Nevermore, Rowan Laslow. His disappearance was reported to you by a Miss Wednesday Addams after the Harvest Festival in Jericho, is that correct?” You eyed the principal carefully for any tells - any signs of anxiety or deceit.

What you saw, though, was mostly agitation marring the principal’s gorgeous features. “Yes, that is correct.”

“Though you claim he hadn’t disappeared at all?”

“Funnily enough, he turned up again the next day,” Larissa batted her eyelashes and cocked her head to the side, her lips turning up into a smile - it wasn’t exactly a warm smile, though, there was something decidedly bitter about it.

“Well, funnily enough, Principal Weems, his parents claim he never did return home.” You gave the principal a smile of your own, curious what the woman would say now.

Larissa stood from where she was sitting and rounded the desk, perching on the edge of it just in front of your chair. You couldn’t help the wandering of your eyes up her form, trailing over her exposed calves, the area around her stomach where her skirt bunched up just a little bit, the pale, tender flesh between her exposed collarbones.

She smirked at you, your ogling not lost on her.

“Unfortunately, what that boy does when he leaves campus is none of my concern - he was expelled, after all. And do call me Larissa, darling.” Larissa’s voice had dropped several octaves since she’d last spoken, causing a wave of desire to wash over your core.

You rose from your chair, gaining yourself some leverage in the situation. “Do you care so little for your former students?” You stepped closer to her, until there were mere inches between your bodies.

Larissa’s pupils widened imperceptibly. “I’m not sure I like what you’re insinuating. But Rowan was a danger to this school and all of its pupils, and keeping him here was far too dangerous. If he chose to run away from his parents, well… that’s on him, I’m afraid…”

Larissa’s lips ghosted yours, her breath warm on your face.

“You think you can seduce me into writing you a glowing report, Larissa?” Your lips brushed hers, hands coming gently to her waist, allowing your fingertips to rub against the fabric there.

Larissa’s teeth sunk into her bottom lip. The tables were suddenly flipping on her - moments before she’d been in control, well on her way to, well, seducing you into giving her a glowing report for the school board. And now here you were, trying to take that control away from her. She wasn’t used to being dominated - usually she was the one with the power, the one calling the shots.

She could only shake her head feebly and feel the smile that spread across your lips as they connected with hers. Her lips were soft, warm, inviting. You spread her legs apart so that you could push one of your thighs between them, reveling in the moan that tore from her throat at the action. It reverbated against your own lips and had you swiping your tongue at her bottom lip, a silent plea for entry. Larissa parted her lips and allowed you to explore the contours of her mouth, as your hands moved to her clothed thighs.

Larissa whimpered into your mouth as your right hand slipped under her skirt and trailed along the inside of her thigh. Her center radiated heat and you couldn’t help the guttural moan that bubbled forth from your chest as you felt how damp her panties were.

You pulled back, regarding the woman in front of you with awe. Larissa’s cheeks were pink, her lipstick smudged, her chest heaving.

Her brows furrowed, little creases appearing on her forehead as she narrowed her eyes. “Just what do you think you’re doing?” She tried to sound indignant but failed, only managing to sound extremely turned on as your thigh pressed further into her center.

“You’re an attractive woman, Larissa,” you met her gaze, quirking an eyebrow and watching as her cheeks darkened considerably. You took her chin between your fingers. “I’m going to worship you the way you deserve it. Are you going to be a good girl for me?”

You smirked as Larissa’s mouth fell open, her blush now extending from her chest to the tips of her ears. An interesting reaction to your praise. You’d have to file that away for later. “Tell me you don’t want it and I’ll stop. Tell me to leave and I’ll go without another word, it won’t affect the report.” You needed Larissa to know she had a choice in the matter.

Larissa’s eyes searched yours for a moment, finding nothing but honesty and a mad desire to bring her mind-numbing, all-consuming pleasure. “I want it,” she confirmed.

“The door is locked?”

“Y-yes,” Larissa looked to the ground, rather sheepishly.

“There’s no need to be embarrassed,” you cooed. “It’s just us. Now where was I?” You grazed the backs of your knuckles over the fabric covering Larissa’s core, a sinful moan dripping from her lips as her head lolled back.

“P-please,” Larissa’s voice was low and shaky.

“Please what?” You knew what she wanted, of course you did, but you sure as hell weren’t going to make this easy for the woman.

“Please… fuck me.” Larissa’s gaze, pleading and famished, met yours, and you were happy to oblige her request.

You hooked your fingers around her underwear and slid them down her legs, planting kisses along the tender flesh of her thighs and the smooth, solid muscles of her calves as you followed them down. Discarding the underwear, you knelt before Larissa so that your head was level with her sex, suppressing a moan as you saw how wet she was for you, her cunt glistening.

Flattening your tongue, you licked a path through her folds, starting at her entrance and working your way to her clit. Larissa’s hips bucked forward and you felt a hand settle in your hair, pressing your face roughly into her cunt.

You pulled back, arching an eyebrow at the high-pitched whine you received in return. “Did I say you could touch?” Larissa’s hand dropped rather pathetically from your head and she flushed, a mixture of irritation, shame, and lust swirling in her pupils.

“Come here, gorgeous,” you cooed, reaching out a hand to Larissa for her to take as your other hand worked at the buttons of your shirt, unbuttoning them one by one at a tantalizing pace.

Larissa’s eyes were glued to your cleavage as you led her to the loveseat in front of her fireplace. You shed yourself of the button-up and guided Larissa onto her back, dragging her skirt down her legs and leaving little scratches with your nails on the flesh of her thighs as you did so.

Larissa’s hands found purchase on your own waist, pulling you in for a searing kiss. It didn’t last long, however, as you pushed yourself up and grabbed hold of her wrists, pinning them above Larissa’s head in a swift motion - you didn’t have anything to tie her up with so this would have to do. Your grip was loose but firm, wanting to provide Larissa an out while showing her who was in charge. Her pupils dilated, chest heaving as she squirmed beneath you.

“Are you gonna be a good girl for me now?” Larissa seemed to fight beneath you for a moment, each of her sapphire eyes flicking between yours, breathing coming out in shallow puffs as she twisted in your grip. Slowly, her movements stilled and she nodded, cheeks dusted pink.

“Talk to me, love. Is this okay?” One of your hands held her wrists in place as the other came to cup her cheek, thumb brushing against her bottom lip. Larissa mewled, leaning into the touch.

“Y-yes, it’s okay,” she murmured, squeezing her eyes shut.

“I’m going to let go of your hands, okay? And you’re going to leave them up there - no touching unless I tell you to.” You waited for Larissa’s nod beneath you before dipping your hands under the hem of Larissa’s top and finding her bra.

You slipped your hands behind Larissa’s back, expertly unhooking the offending garment and pushing it aside before working to remove her top and latching your mouth onto her nipple, sucking at the already hardened bud as your hand began to palm the pillowy flesh of her other breast.

You switched sides, ensuring no side would feel neglected as you nipped and sucked at her chest, feeling how Larissa began to squirm beneath you as your tongue soothed over the little marks you left on her skin.

“Patience,” you chuckled, throwing Larissa a mischievous grin as you unbuttoned and removed your own slacks. Dark eyes roved over your body as you settled between her thighs, now clad only in your underwear.

You paused for a moment, drinking in the woman before you. The smooth, milky expanse of her thighs, coated in her glistening arousal, legs bent at the knee and dropped open for you. The pink flush of her heaving chest, moving in time with her ragged breaths. The soft flesh of her stomach and breasts, covered in goosebumps, nipples erect. Her long arms extended over her head, just as you had asked of her.

And that face - my god, that face. Eyes you could get lost in, staring down at you wantonly through mascara-coated lashes, batting against her high cheekbones, flushed with desire. Painted lips which had long since been smeared, parted slightly in question as you regarded her. An angel in human form.

“You are so gorgeous.” Your admission brought a fresh blush to Larissa’s cheeks. “You’re going to look so beautiful for me when I make you come.”

Larissa’s subsequent moan spurred you on as you ran a teasing finger through her folds, gathering up her arousal. You brought the finger to Larissa’s lips and she sucked it into her mouth, swirling her tongue around it and groaning. She released the digit with a pop that caused a fresh wave of desire to pool at your core.

“So wet for me already, hmm?”

Larissa practically purred beneath you. “God, please, please touch me.”

The low timbre of her voice spurred on your own arousal and as you brought your fingers back to Larissa’s cunt, you straddled her thigh to provide your clit with some much-needed friction.

You circled her clit with the pads of your fingers once, twice, before plunging two digits into her dripping center, moaning at the way her walls immediately began to draw you in. You began a steady pace inside of the blonde, curling your fingers into her sweet spot, creating pressure around her clit with the heel of your palm.

Larissa bucked her hips upwards with every thrust of your fingers, creating a delicious friction against your own cunt with her thigh. Your soaked panties rubbed against her skin and you rolled your hips in time with your thrusts, hissing as the seam of your panties rubbed against your throbbing clit.

She spread her legs wider, inviting your fingers deeper into her cunt. You added another finger, feeling her walls clench slightly. You could feel how close she was as her thighs began to tremble and she seemed to have trouble keeping her arms above her head as she writhed and squirmed.

– –

Meanwhile, Larissa was coming undone beneath you. She had no idea what had compelled her to follow your orders, and it should have been easy to simply take back the control and force you into submission. But some part of her couldn’t help but to be intrigued by you, the way you took control of the situation. She found it (and you, if she was being honest with herself) extremely attractive, and relinquishing her dominance might just be exactly what she needed.

Larissa dropped her thighs open, as wide as they could go, a loud moan escaping her lips as you added a third finger. She wanted so badly to reach out and touch you as she watched you fuck her, and fuck yourself on her thigh. She could feel how wet you were for her through your underwear and the thought drove her wild.

A particularly sharp thrust of your fingers had Larissa crying out, eyes rolling back into her head. She could faintly hear you whispering praises past the ringing in her ears and her entire body felt like it was ablaze. She’d never had a lover shower her with praise before and the thought of being someone’s “good girl”, of being your “good girl”, brought her over the edge.

– –

“You’re doing so well for me.” You smirked down at Larissa, watching as she panted and writhed beneath you, thighs still trembling from her first orgasm. “You think I’m done with you, pretty girl?”

Your own cunt throbbed with desire as you abandoned your seat on her thigh, still not quite having reached your own orgasm but dying for another taste of the intoxicating blonde.

You trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses up the inside of Larissa’s right thigh, then her left, stopping just shy of her center each time. You kissed the blonde patch of curls at Larissa’s mound, breath ghosting just over her clit. The woman let out a needy whimper, shifting her hips in a desperate attempt to get closer to you.

You dragged your tongue through her slit, finally latching onto her clit and drawing lazy circles around the sensitive bud with your tongue. You moaned at the taste of her, a heavenly mixture of tangy and sweet, the vibrations of your moan against her cunt causing Larissa’s hips to tilt upwards, pressing herself into your mouth.

“That’s it, gorgeous. Fuck, you taste good.” You continued to lap up the juices that flowed from Larissa’s center, barely able to contain your smile at the way she rolled her hips into your mouth. You hooked your hands around her thighs, dragging her as close as you could, burying yourself in her.

“C-can I…” Larissa’s voice trailed off into a breathy groan as your tongue dipped unexpectedly into her entrance.

“Can you…?” You looked up at her in question, your eyes meeting hers, clouded with the lust of her impending orgasm.

“Can I touch you?” Her voice was almost timid as her arms twitched above her head.

“Yes,” you grinned at the sigh that escaped Larissa’s lips as she brought her hands to your hair, fingers weaving into your locks, pushing you gently but insistently back down to her pussy. You obliged, lapping at her core as her thighs tightened around your head. Her moans were muffled, punctuated with sharp pains on your scalp as long fingers wound themselves tighter into your hair. Your lips never left her clit, tongue flicking languidly as you brought her down from her high.

Her legs released you from their iron-grip and you finally felt like you could breathe again. You cleaned her up with your tongue, pressing sweet kisses to the insides of her thighs and trailing up her body - her hips, her stomach, the swell of her breasts, her throat, finally capturing her lips, which curled up into a blissed out smile at the contact.

“You’re amazing, Larissa,” you whispered, relishing the feeling of her overheated skin pressed against your own. The feeling of her nipples poking at your bare skin, the taste of her arousal still fresh on your tongue, the sound of her breathing - heavy but evening out - were all doing nothing to quell the embers glowing in the pit of your own stomach. Every nerve-ending in your body was alive, raw to the touch.

“I regret to inform you, however…” you trailed off, taking Larissa’s wrist in your hand and guiding her between your legs. “That I am still very turned on by you, my darling.” Larissa’s pupils widened as you pressed her fingers against your center - warm, wet, aching.

“Think you can take care of that for me?” At Larissa’s feverish nod, you pulled her up with you.

“Get on your knees.” The blonde slid onto the floor in front of you and folded her legs underneath her, waiting for further instruction. “Help me with these?” You shifted your hips as Larissa hooked her fingers around your underwear and dragged it down your legs.

Larissa suppressed a groan when she saw how wet you were for her. You brought your fingers down to your clit, amused at the rapt attention with which Larissa watched as you began to finger yourself.

“Think you can put that gorgeous mouth of yours to good use?” You smirked down at Larissa, who didn’t need to be told twice as she placed her palms on your knees, spreading your legs as she settled her head between your thighs. She wasted no time in flattening her tongue against your sex, running it up your slit until she found your throbbing bud. Your hands found purchase in her curls, neither of you caring that you were ruining her perfectly coiffed updo as you pushed yourself into her, fucking yourself on her face.

“I’m so close,” you panted. “Fuck- you look so good fucking me, you’re being s-so good for me.” Larissa moaned into you and your nails dug into her scalp, your hips canting upwards rhythmically to meet her face.

Your arousal dripped down Larissa’s chin as she picked up her pace against your cunt. The coil in your abdomen was winding tighter and tighter and as Larissa’s tongue began to tease at your entrance, dipping into your core, you felt yourself begin to come undone. Her thumb came up to brush against your clit, determined to prolong your pleasure as stars began to explode behind your eyes.

Once you had steadied your breathing, you leaned down, capturing Larissa’s lips for a sweet kiss, your own taste still fresh on her tongue.

You offered your arms out to the woman. She seemed hesitant, but ultimately allowed you to pull her half onto your lap, her head on your chest, your fingertips tracing soothing patterns over the smooth expanse of her back. She didn’t seem like the type who often (ever?) relinquished control, so you were happy to give her a few seconds to ground herself.

You nuzzled your face into Larissa’s hair, almost involuntarily - she smelled of peonies and jasmine, soft and feminine, a heavenly combination. Her breathing began to even out against the bare skin of your chest and you couldn’t help the low chuckle that escaped your lips.

“Don’t fall asleep on me, Larissa,” you murmured into her hair.

Larissa peered up at you, an eyebrow quirked up in mock-offense. “Do I seem like the type?”

You grinned. “Not at all. I should be going though. I do hope you didn’t have any other meetings lined up after mine.” You nodded towards the clock on the wall.

Larissa’s eyes followed yours and a groan fell from her lips.

“Try not to act too disappointed. Against my expectations, I rather enjoyed our meeting.” Larissa couldn’t have looked more adorable in that moment if she’d tried - cheeks pink, curls falling into wide eyes, teeth worrying her bottom lip. “It - it did take a rather unexpected turn. I can’t say I’m disappointed at the outcome… That is, unless…?”

“You mean the report? As far as I’m concerned, Rowan simply… How did you put it? Ran away?” Your smirk widened at the relieved smile you received from the principal.

Larissa eased herself from the couch, reaching for her clothes and dressing herself. You followed suit, reluctantly tearing your eyes away from the blonde’s bare skin. After combing through your hair and wiping away remnants of Larissa’s lipstick from your face, you gathered up your belongings and headed towards the doors, Larissa on your heels to see you out.

As Larissa began to ease the door open, you turned to meet her gaze.

“You might want to, you know,” you gestured to the smudge of crimson that stained her chin. Comprehension dawned on her face, followed by a mischievous smirk as she leaned down to match your height, planting a kiss to the corner of your lips.

“Yeah, you too,” she gestured to the lipstick mark she’d just left behind.

With a chuckle and a shake of your head, you bid the principal goodbye and walked back to your car, wondering just how you would convince the school board to send you back to Nevermore again.

thank you to @afeatherformills and @scumppa for beta-reading <3 and tagging @orchidsshine and @sapphicsbeloved bc i think i remember you guys asking to be tagged in things but also correct me if i'm wrong hehe

#larissa weems x reader #larissa x reader #larissa weems #principal weems x reader #principal weems

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