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cruel-seduction · 8 days ago

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Tom Riddle Headcanon || 18+

(୨୧) 6’3 | Tall, intimidating, and he knows it. He’s tall, but not towering—it’s the kind of height that lets him loom over you just enough to make you uncomfortable in the best way. His presence is magnetic, commanding, like he’s taking up more space than he actually does. (You think you can hold eye contact with this man without second-guessing your life choices? Good luck.)

(୨୧) Lean, but it’s that sharp, calculated kind of lean. Like he was sculpted out of pure ambition and dark magic. His cheekbones? You could slice your finger on them, and his jawline looks like it was chiseled by Salazar Slytherin himself.

(୨୧) He doesn’t have He’s not bulky—oh no, Tom believes muscles are for people who need to physically overpower others. His strength is in his mind, but don’t mistake that for fragility. He’s all sharp edges and taut sinew, like a blade just waiting to cut. Tom has power. Subtle, unassuming strength that hits you when he casually pins someone to the wall or clenches his fist during an argument, making every vein in his forearm pop. (And suddenly you’re wondering if you enjoy being terrified of a man.)

WE LOVE A MAN WHO COULD STRANGLE US WITH ONE HAND AND STILL LOOK PERFECT DOING IT!!!!

(୨୧) Abs? Oh, he has them. But they’re not flashy gym-bro abs—they’re carved out of years of silent rage and perfectionism. You’d only see them under candlelight, the shadows teasing you just enough to make you question every moral fiber in your body.

(୨୧) Tom doesn’t work out. Ever. He’s too busy reading ancient texts and rewriting the definition of “overachiever.” Yet somehow, he has the kind of body that looks like it was sculpted by dark magic itself. His posture is impeccable, every movement deliberate and precise, like he’s constantly two steps ahead of everyone else.

(୨୧) Long fingers, veins visible, nails always perfectly kept. These are the hands of someone who can cast a killing curse with chilling accuracy—or caress your skin like you’re the most fragile thing in the world.

(We LOVE a man who could both destroy and cherish us with the same hands!!!)

(୨୧) His face? The blueprint for the resting evil smirk. He doesn’t even have to try to look dangerous. One glance, one slight quirk of his lips, and suddenly you’re doing whatever he wants without thinking twice. (You: “Why am I holding this cursed object?” Tom: “Because I asked nicely.” …And now you’re smiling like an idiot while the Horcrux slowly sucks away your soul. Love that for you!)

(୨୧) Hotness Level: Nuclear

Tom doesn’t just walk into a room—he owns it. His hotness isn’t in your face; it’s insidious, sneaking up on you until suddenly you’re wondering how you got trapped in his web.

His energy? He doesn’t need to ask for your soul. You’d willingly hand it over while thanking him for the privilege.

And when he’s angry? Oh, you feel it. That piercing stare, the slight tilt of his head, the way his voice drops an octave just to let you know you’ve made a very, very big mistake.

THERE’S HOT, AND THEN THERE’S TOM RIDDLE HOT—THE KIND THAT MAKES YOU WANT TO APOLOGIZE FOR BREATHING TOO LOUDLY.

(୨୧) A Walking Manipulation Manual Tom doesn’t ask for things. He makes you want to give them to him. Every glance, every word is carefully calculated to pull you into his orbit. He’s not just charming—he’s dangerously compelling. (One conversation with him, and suddenly you’re questioning your entire moral compass. Like, “Oh, you want me to help you break into the Restricted Section? Sure, Tom. Anything for you.”)

(୨୧) Validation is His Drug Let’s be real: Tom craves approval like it’s oxygen.Tom will deny it to his last breath, but he needs to be the best. He doesn’t just want to succeed; he wants to be the only option. It’s not enough for him to win—everyone else has to lose. (And don’t get me started on how he reacts to praise. Compliment him in the right way, and you’ll see that flicker of pride in his dark eyes before he schools his face into that unreadable mask again. We love a secretly vulnerable king.) He’s spent his whole life proving he’s better than everyone else, and it’s not just for pride—it’s because he doesn’t know how to not seek validation. He thrives on being the teacher’s pet, the top student. Maybe it’s because he never got his parents validation. But trust me when I say he is a bitch for teacher’s validation. (But let’s be clear: the second you start overshadowing him, he’ll knock you down a peg faster than you can say Avada Kedavra.)

(୨୧) Control Freak Everything about Tom screams precision. His desk? Immaculate. His spells? Flawless. His plans? Perfectly executed. He doesn’t just like control—he needs it. Chaos makes him itch, which is ironic considering he’s the embodiment of quiet destruction. (And He will make sure you’re oriented too)

(୨୧) Manipulative but Subtly Possessive He doesn’t say you’re his. No, Tom makes it clear in subtler ways—like the way he rests a hand on your back just as someone else looks at you too long. Or the cold, sharp glare he gives anyone who dares speak to you without his permission. (A man who makes you feel like a queen while also terrifying everyone else around you.)

(୨୧) Unyielding Ambition Tom doesn’t just want success—he wants power. He wants to be remembered, revered, and feared. He’s the guy who’ll smile sweetly at a professor while planning to steal their research for his own gain. He has a goal. He will do anything to get there. Anything can include from threatening someone to killing someone. He is, as poet says a psycho.

Tom Riddle | The Duality

(୨୧) The Charm is a Weapon His voice? Silky smooth, with just enough edge to keep you on your toes. He’s polite, refined, and utterly disarming. But behind that charming smile is a predator watching his prey. (You’re falling for him, and you don’t even realize it until it’s too late. And honestly? You don’t even mind.)

(୨୧) Dark, Brooding, and Mysterious Tom’s the guy sitting alone in the library, surrounded by ancient tomes, quill scratching quietly against parchment. He’s untouchable, aloof, and yet somehow you can’t stop staring. (You just know he’s plotting something, and you want in on it. Even if it’s dangerous. Especially if it’s dangerous.)

(୨୧) The Possessive Gentleman He’ll hold the door open for you, pull out your chair, and offer you his arm as you walk. But don’t be fooled—this isn’t just gentlemanly courtesy. This is Tom Riddle subtly marking you as his. (Imagine him offering you his coat and then hexing anyone who dares comment on it. THAT’S the energy.)

Tom Riddle|| Personality

(୨୧) He’s the Most Dangerous Kind of Asshole—Polished and Calculated Tom isn’t like Mattheo, who might yell across the hallway for a laugh. No, Tom is refined, cold, and deliberate. When he doesn’t like you, you won’t hear him shouting about it—he’ll make you feel it. He’ll dismantle your self-esteem with just a few carefully chosen words delivered with a sharp smile. (“A shame you couldn’t understand the assignment. I suppose not everyone’s meant for greatness.” Translation: You’re an idiot, and he’s better than you.)

(୨୧) He’s Addicted to Control Every aspect of Tom’s life is planned. His work is immaculate, his appearance is flawless, and his ambitions are unshakable. He thrives on structure because chaos reminds him of what he came from—something he’s desperate to leave behind. Don’t ever try to surprise Tom; he’ll take it as a personal offense. He hates unpredictability because it’s the one thing he can’t manipulate.

(୨୧) A Master of Masking His True Self Tom can charm anyone. Teachers adore him. Classmates admire him—or at least pretend to, because who wants to get on Tom Riddle’s bad side? He wears his “perfect student” persona like armor, and it’s nearly impenetrable. (But let’s be real, you know he’s sneaking into the Restricted Section at 2 a.m., whispering spells under his breath like it’s his birthright.)

(୨୧) Unhinged Beneath the Surface Tom doesn’t snap in loud, dramatic outbursts. No, his anger is a quiet, simmering thing, so much worse because you never see it coming. He’ll stare you down with a look so cold you’ll swear the temperature dropped, and then suddenly— “I suggest you choose your next words carefully. You won’t like what happens otherwise.” (And when he does lose it? You better pray you’re not in the blast radius because that’s some “destroy-everything-in-sight” level fury.)

Tom Riddle | Relationships and Obsession

(୨୧) Emotionally Unavailable, But Intensely Possessive Tom doesn’t do feelings. Or at least, that’s what he tells himself. He views relationships like he views everything else in his life: something to control. But when he does fixate on someone? It’s all-consuming, suffocating, and terrifyingly intense. He won’t shout “you’re mine” from the rooftops. Instead, he’ll show it in the way he glances at anyone who gets too close to you, the subtle squeeze of his hand on your waist, the icy calm he maintains when someone dares flirt with you. (“You’re being watched, princess. I’d think twice before entertaining fools like that again.”)

(୨୧) Manipulative in the Most Beautiful Way Tom has mastered the art of making you think his darkest ideas are your idea. He’ll twist your words, your emotions, until you’re second-guessing yourself and believing that he’s the only one who truly understands you. (“You don’t need them. They’ll only disappoint you. I’m the one who’s always been here, haven’t I?”) (Yes, it’s toxic, but are we complaining? Nope. Absolutely not.)

(୨୧) Softness is Reserved for You and You Only Tom is cold to everyone—except you. When it’s just the two of you, he lets his walls down just enough to show you glimpses of the boy beneath the monster. He’s still composed, but his voice softens, his touch gentles. He’ll sit beside you in the library, his hand brushing yours as he murmurs, “You’re brilliant, you know. Far more than they deserve.” (That’s right. You’re his weakness, and we’re eating that up like it’s our last meal.)

Tom Riddle | Dark Habits and Quirks

(୨୧) Obsessive Overachievement If Tom gets less than perfect marks on anything, he’ll lose sleep over it. He’ll re-study every detail of the assignment until it’s engraved into his mind. (If you try to comfort him, he’ll glare and say, “Mediocrity is unacceptable.” …Okay, Tom, calm down.)

(୨୧) No Time for Fun or Friends Tom doesn’t “hang out.” He doesn’t do parties or casual drinks with the boys. His version of “fun” is solving an ancient magical riddle or perfecting a spell no one else has dared attempt. (Though I imagine he secretly finds your mundane activities fascinating. He’ll pretend he’s annoyed, but he’s watching you decorate a cake like, “How… how does one enjoy this?”)

(୨୧) Petty in the Most Refined Way Tom won’t call you out in public, but he will ruin your life in ways you don’t even realize until it’s too late. (“Oh, did you fail the test? Strange. I suppose all that time gossiping didn’t leave you much room to study.” Cue his perfect grade plastered on the board.)

(୨୧) Refuses to Eat Like a Normal Human Being He’s the type to skip meals because he “doesn’t have time for such trivialities.” When he does eat, it’s methodical, quiet, and eerily polite. (You could be scarfing down chips, and Tom’s over here delicately slicing his food into perfect pieces. Honestly, it’s infuriating and hot at the same time.)

(୨୧) When Tom Realized He Was in Love Tom was the last person to admit he was capable of love. He didn’t need it. In fact, he despised the very idea of vulnerability. At first, he simply enjoyed the control, the power he had over you, the way you seemed so easily ensnared in his web. But then something changed.

It wasn’t dramatic. No hearts aflutter, no sudden epiphany. Instead, it was little moments—the way your laugh made his heart tighten, the way his thoughts lingered on you when he was supposed to be focused on his next conquest. It started to feel like something deeper. The first sign? He found himself doing small things for you, things that felt personal—that were not for his image, but just for you.

Like when you were late for a class, and Tom “accidentally” got your notes for you—notes he knew you didn’t need but knew you’d appreciate. Or when he made sure the books you wanted were always ready for you in the library, despite the fact that he despised wasting his time on “mundane tasks.” He would act as if it was no big deal, but his eyes would linger on you a moment too long, watching you with a touch of something he refused to name.

(୨୧) When He Realized He Loved You

Tom didn’t have some grand epiphany. It was a slow, torturous process of denial. But the moment he knew? It was after you smiled at him after a particularly heated argument about something inconsequential. You stood your ground, refused to back down, and still looked at him like he wasn’t the monster he feared he was. He walked away, but later that night, when the castle was silent, he whispered the words into the dark, testing them out as if saying them aloud would make them feel less… dangerous. "I love her."

(୨୧) His “Confession” Was Terrifyingly Intense

Tom doesn’t stumble through his words like Mattheo might. No, when Tom confesses, it’s calculated and deliberate—but still deeply unsettling.

“You’ve done something to me,” he said, his voice dangerously low, his gaze piercing. “I don’t know what it is, but I can’t stop thinking about you. And I won’t. So you’re going to stay by my side, because that’s where you belong.”

(Translation: We are gonna stay together forever. And we belong with each other. )

(୨୧) Tom’s Denial and “Caring” Moments When Tom started feeling what people call “love,” he fought it. He refused to let himself admit it, convinced that emotions were a weakness. He never said “I love you”—not in the way that other people did. Instead, it was subtle. Insidious. He’d show his affection in the smallest, most frustratingly subtle ways. He wouldn’t bring you flowers or offer grand gestures. No. Tom’s “love” was found in the way he’d drag you into the darkness of the restricted section when no one was watching, the way his fingers brushed yours for a split second before he pulled away, pretending he didn’t want to touch you.

And he definitely wouldn’t say “I love you” unless absolutely necessary. He didn’t need to. His actions spoke louder.

But then, one evening, it just… slipped out. You were sitting together in his private little corner of the library, your laughter echoing in the otherwise silent space. Tom, for once, seemed genuinely relaxed, his usually tense frame at ease. He was looking at you, his gaze dark but softened—something that wasn’t there before.

“You... make everything easier,” he muttered, almost to himself. When you raised an eyebrow, he didn’t immediately elaborate. Instead, he just leaned in, his lips brushing your ear as he added, “It’s ridiculous how much I care about you.” and you just smiled and pecked his lips.

There was no "I love you," not in so many words. But you heard it, and it made your heart do something strange—flutter, maybe? But you weren’t sure if you were imagining it because Tom's voice was still so casual. Like everything he said was just... a matter of fact.

(୨୧) Praise Where It Matters Most

Tom doesn’t throw compliments around lightly. When he says something nice, it’s like being struck by lightning. His words carry weight.

“You’re brilliant,” he’d murmur, his voice low, his gaze intense. “More than anyone else here. Don’t ever let them make you think otherwise.”

(And yes, you’d be a puddle on the floor because Tom’s version of praise feels like a rare, precious gift.)

(୨୧) Tom’s Trust and Relationship Dynamics Here’s the thing: Tom doesn’t get jealous. He’s above it. It’s not in his nature. If you’re his, you’re his, and no one dares to get in the way. He doesn’t need to question your loyalty, because in his mind, the moment he chose you, he is gonna trust you more than anyone. For him you’re never at fault but the other person is gonna die. It’s not that he’s insecure—it’s that he knows you would never cheat on him. Why would you? You have everything you could ever need in him.

He doesn’t even feel the need to keep tabs on you, though don’t get it twisted—he is watching, but he does it from the shadows. If you’re not at his side, he trusts that you’ll come back. You always come back. And if you don’t, well… that’s where things get a little interesting.

He’s not showing you off like Mattheo might; he’s staking his claim.

If anyone so much as looks at you the wrong way, you’ll feel the shift in his demeanor immediately.

“Do they think they’re worthy of your attention?” he’ll whisper, his tone deceptively calm. “They’re not. Let me remind them.”

(Spoiler: He will. And it won’t be pretty.)

(୨୧) Acts of Service, But Darker

Tom will do things for you, but it’s always with a hidden motive. Did someone upset you? He’ll “take care of it.” Did you want something rare or hard to find? He’ll get it for you, no questions asked.

“Consider it handled,” he’ll say with a ghost of a smile. But you know better than to ask how he handled it.

(୨୧) The Gaslighting Is Unreal

If you ever try to put distance between you and Tom, he’ll make you question everything.

“Why would you leave? After everything we’ve built together?” His voice will crack just enough to make you hesitate.

And when you falter, he’ll pull you back in with a kiss so intense it leaves you breathless, murmuring, “I can’t lose you. Don’t you see? You’re my weakness.”

(୨୧) First Kiss

It happened in the library, of course. You were studying, lost in your notes, and he was pretending to read while stealing glances at you. He didn’t plan it, but you looked up and caught him staring.

“What?” you asked, tilting your head with that infuriatingly perfect smile.

He leaned in before he could stop himself, his hand cupping your cheek as his lips met yours. It wasn’t soft or tentative—it was intense, consuming, like he was staking a claim. When he pulled back, his expression was unreadable.

“You’ll be the death of me,” he murmured before returning to his book as if nothing had happened.

(୨୧) The Reality of Tom Riddle’s Love

With Tom, everything is earned. He doesn't just give his heart away, and certainly not without demanding something in return. But for you? You’ll always have his trust. You’ll always have his attention. You’ll always know that beneath that cold exterior, he’s obsessed.

Tom Riddle | Intimacy and the Smut

(୨୧) With Tom Riddle, intimacy is an art—meticulous, calculated, and suffused with a dark intensity that leaves you trembling in its wake. He isn’t one for rushed encounters or fleeting passions. No, when Tom takes you, it’s deliberate, almost ceremonial, like he’s claiming something he already knows belongs to him.

(୨୧) The Build-Up Foreplay with Tom is a slow burn, a game of control that he always wins. He knows exactly how to make you crave him without even laying a finger on you. His voice, low and commanding, is enough to send shivers down your spine. He has this way of leaning in close, his lips brushing against your ear as he murmurs things that are simultaneously a praise and a promise.

“You look exquisite when you’re begging, darling,” he whispers, his hand ghosting along the curve of your neck, stopping just short of touching you fully.

Tom thrives on anticipation. He’ll spend what feels like an eternity trailing his fingers across your skin, watching your reactions with a sharp, almost predatory focus. Every gasp, every arch of your body—it’s all cataloged in his mind, stored away for when he decides to unravel you completely.

The way he kisses you is enough to leave you breathless. It’s not hurried or frenzied; it’s controlled, methodical. He tilts your chin up with a single finger, his lips slanting over yours with a precision that makes your knees weak.

When he finally touches you, it’s overwhelming. His hands are strong, commanding, but there’s a certain reverence in the way he holds you, like he’s savoring every inch of your skin.

(୨୧) The Act Tom is not gentle, but he’s not reckless either. He knows exactly how to toe the line between pleasure and pain, how to push you to the edge without ever letting you fall. He’s all about control—his control over you, your body, your mind.

His stamina is almost otherworldly. Where others might falter, Tom thrives, his focus unwavering as he pushes you past your limits. He doesn’t stop until you’re completely spent, your body trembling beneath his, your voice hoarse from calling his name.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, his tone laced with dark amusement as he brushes a strand of hair from your face. “Falling apart so beautifully for me. Are you even aware of how perfect you are?”

He loves to whisper things into your ear, things that make your cheeks flush and your heart race.

“You’re mine,” he growls, his voice rough and commanding. “Every part of you. Do you understand that?”

And when you nod, he smirks, his lips ghosting over yours.

“That’s a good girl,” he murmurs, his voice soft but firm.

(୨୧) Pet Names and Praise Tom isn’t overly creative with pet names, but the ones he uses are potent.

Darling: His go-to, spoken with a dark edge that makes your knees weak.

My love: When he’s feeling particularly possessive, usually whispered against your skin.

Good girl: Said in a way that makes your heart race and your mind spin.

Perfect: Because to him, you are, and he never lets you forget it.

(୨୧) Roughness and Domination Tom doesn’t shy away from being rough. His hands grip your hips hard enough to leave bruises, his teeth graze your neck in a way that makes you shiver, and his pace is relentless. He loves the way your body reacts to him, the way you cling to him, desperate and needy.

“You can take it,” he murmurs, his voice low and commanding. “I know you can. You’re stronger than you think, my love.”

And when you finally break, when you can’t hold back the cries of pleasure that spill from your lips, Tom smirks, his satisfaction evident in the dark gleam of his eyes.

“Such a good girl for me,” he whispers, his lips pressing against your temple. “Always so perfect.”

(୨୧) Aftercare Despite his roughness, Tom isn’t cruel. Once the heat of the moment has passed, he softens ever so slightly. He doesn’t say much, but his actions speak volumes. He’ll run his fingers through your hair, his touch surprisingly tender, and press soft kisses against your forehead.

“You did well, darling,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble. “Rest now. I’ll take care of everything.”

And he does. Because while Tom Riddle might be a lot of things—manipulative, calculating, and intense—when it comes to you, he’s nothing short of devoted.

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flying-fangirls · 3 months ago

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As a music, religion, and literature nerd, the Dies Irae has been one of my favorite go-to pieces of trivia for a long time, which means that this line:

Has been driving me batshit BONKERS since part 42! And also as a semi-professional media analysis yapper, I figured I might as well dive into the exact reasons I jumped up and audibly gasped upon first hearing this line and have subsequently lost my mind since then. So!

Here is why I think that the Dies Irae is the perfect analogy for John and Arthur:

Religion

Let's start with the most straightforward meaning: "Dies Irae" is a Latin term, and it translates to the "Day of Wrath." Or otherwise known as the Judgement Day, the foretold second coming in Catholic canon, when Christ will "come again in glory to judge the living and the dead." It's at this Last Judgement where God will wield perfect justice to send the worthy to everlasting peace and the unworthy to everlasting punishment. (everyone say "thank you" to excessive childhood Catholic lessons for burning this into my brain)

There's a kind of irony to the fact that Arthur so vehemently rejects Christianity and religion as a whole, and that John spends much of his arc trying to distance himself from the role/identity of a god, yet both are given this incredibly religious title, effectively restricting them from ever forgetting the presence/influence of religion in their lives.

This title has a couple layers though, because we have to consider why it's the Day of Wrath specifically that represents Arthur and John. Now, I don't think I have to tell you that those two are bursting with anger 80% of the time. But I am going to tell you that those two are not just angry, but moreso "divine fury" incarnate.

The Day of Wrath, the Final Judgment, is the final and eternal judgment of God on all: "For now before the Judge severe / all hidden things must plain appear; / no crime can pass unpunished here." (Dies Irae, Dies Illa). The final Judge, the all-powerful God, can see the objective morality of every single person, and is thus the sole, rightful determiner of fate.

This assumption of their right to perfectly and single-handedly decide others' worthiness shows up over and over, not just John and Arthur's actions, but also in how they describe these judgments.

When Arthur kills the widow on the island, it's not because she was dangerous, but because she was a cultist who "deserved" to be punished.

When John and Arthur need to get rid of Mr. Scratch's stone, John says they should give it to "criminals" who are "deserving of this curse." Even though, just moments before, Arthur refused to give the stone to Oscar because to do so would be to cursing him to a fate of eternal suffering.

And I can't go into every single detail about the entire Larson plotline because this post would double in size, but it obviously needs to be included here. Possibly the strongest tie between this arc and the idea of the Dies Irae is Arthur's conviction through it all. Arthur vows that he is going to kill Larson in divine retribution not because he wants to, but because he has to. He even goes so far as to admit that killing Larson will be a mistake, a cruel and overly-bloodthirsty action that goes against his compassion. But killing Larson isn't a choice to Arthur, it is the unavoidable punishment for Larson's sins and Arthur is simply the enactor of justice. Just like the Final Judgment, there is no sympathy, no hesitancy— the judgment is absolute, divinely ordained, and cannot be stopped no matter how undeniably horrific it is.

If we look at the Catholic Catechism, principle 2302 states that it is sinful to kill out of desire, but that it is "praiseworthy to impose restitution" and use violence to "maintain justic." So even if Arthur has intent to kill, his actions count as divinely sanctioned. He is acting as the hand of God's punishment.

Over the course of Season 3 and 4, Arthur's fiery rage dies down to a more gentle simmer, but his conviction only seems to grow, and John follows suit. Despite previously reprimanding Arthur for his unquestioning wrath, John eventually becomes just as convinced that Larson "deserves" to face a wrathful reckoning. The "fact" that Larson is wholly unforgivable and is fated to receive eternal punishment becomes more indisputable in their minds, and they both stop questioning the morality of their intentions, entirely convinced of their judgment.

Throughout the story, Arthur and John insist upon the importance of kindness, compassion, and forgiveness, and say that these are the values that guide their every action. Yet, time and time again, they approach certain people with nothing but wrath and resentment. It's a sharp contrast to the benevolent figures they make themselves out to be, and Arthur and John are often blind to the contradiction because, in their eyes, they are still following those values in every action. And in the moments when they do recognize their horrific words or actions, they still cannot let their judgment go, convinced that it is their "duty" either way.

In Part 35, Arthur says "Just because you can't make the hard decision, doesn't mean it's wrong." This is exactly how John and Arthur view themselves. They know that some of their actions are harsh and violent and painful, but they are don't view that violence as wrong, because they are enacting that violence in justice. They move through life with carefully-selected destruction, culling the world of those they view as unforgivable sinners, and punishing them with divine righteousness. Arthur and John carry righteous fury in their every step, bringing the Day of Wrath down upon the world around them.

Now, there's already a ton of meaning just in this religious allusion alone. However, there's another application of the Dies Irae in modern culture, which brings us to the second side of this title:

Music

Back in the 13th century (sounds like a familiar setting...), friar Thomas of Celano wrote a poem for and about the Dies Irae. The poem was recited at Requiem Mass (church services to honor the dead), and it ended up being set to a Gregorian chant tune.

Over time, this melody has been used by a variety of composers, but the one we're focused on is Hector Berlioz. In 1837, Berlioz used the Dies Irae melody as part of his narrative symphony, Grand Messe de morts, in order to communicate that the main character had died. Then a lot of other composers saw that and said "Hey that's a cool idea!", and started also using this melody to represent death in their music. Nowadays, it's a fairly staple part of modern film and musical storytelling. If you've listened to literally any major soundtrack, then there's a good chance you've heard this motif (or a variation of it) used before. It's often subtle, sometimes loud and obvious, but no matter what, it reveals the inevitable presence of death. (essentially, the Dies Irae=death)

Now, obviously there's something tragically ironic about Arthur being likened to a musical motif when he tries so hard to distance himself from it, and there's something tragically ironic about John being associated with such a dark piece of music when he shows so much fascination and joy toward the art. Again, though, we've got some layers here. Yorick doesn't just compare Arthur and John to the Dies Irae, he literally defines them as the Dies Irae, a full embodiment of it.

Even before the story started, Arthur lost both of his parents, his friend and wife, his daughter, and his best friend.

John, when he was part of the King in Yellow, knew only how to harm and attack. In the Dark World, he falls back on this fearful lashing out with violence, harming even more people.

And throughout the story, John and Arthur seem to bring devastation to everyone else around them: Lilly the buopoth, Oscar, Noel, Collins, Daniel, Larson and Yellow.

The arrival of Dies Irae musical motif in a film always indicates that death is approaching or that is has already struck— a host carrying its blight to spread onto others. Just like the musical motif, the arrival of Arthur and John foretells the near-arrival of death. They play a duet together— John and Arthur, and death— always singing and dancing around and with each other.

These two never succumb to death, always finding a way to slip through its fingers and survive every situation. But they cannot escape death's presence because they are death's partner— singing the melody to death's subtle harmony. They cannot escape death because they are its host— destined to carry and spread devastation to death's victims. From the moment you meet John and Arthur, you know that death is inevitably approaching just a step behind, waiting to strike you down.

Whether it's the religious or musical side, we can see that John and Arthur are the literal embodiment of these allusions. They carry these powers and ideas in their every action and word, in their every step, in their very breath and blood.

Arthur and John. The hands of God's justice. The enactors of divine fury.

Arthur and John. The hosts of blight and destruction. The partner of death's song.

The man himself. The voice inside his head.

The Day of Wrath. The Dies Irae.

#this is late. like. really late #and canon is clearly lining up for an actual plot point related to this title #but ignore that!#and just think about the themes guys. the allusions. the symbolismmmm #(humor me here)#also i am. so sorry. for basically posting an entire informal essay #that appeals specifically to just me. and maybe two other people in the whole world #but the worms in my brain demanded that i yap about this #malevolent #malevolent podcast #malevolent analysis #malevolent meta #dies irae #arthur lester #john doe #cherrys rambles

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daisiescomelate · 9 months ago

Text

Bad bad wolf

Prompt: Gojo accidentally scared you during a mission and now he's begging you to open the bathroom door and let him talk to you.

Content: Gojo/Reader, angst, cursing, ooc.

div. plutism - masterlist

It was an accident. You knew that. A curse got too close to harm you and he snapped for a second, letting go of his goofy attitude and showing you a side of him that you had yet to meet. He checked in with you, he double checked, and then he triple checked, worried about you being injured or scared of the situation or... him.

You told him you were fine, that it was all good, you were just in shock still —about the curse, of course. You just needed a shower. So he cared your cheek and kissed your palm and drove you home so you could take your bath.

But now you couldn't bring yourself to open the bathroom door.

You rubbed your face and tried to stop your mind from derailing.

I mean, c'mon!

Gojo Satoru was a prophecy made flesh, he was the most powerful sorcerer in Japan, maybe the world. Of course that meant he was dangerous, that he was lethal. I mean hell, you were lethal and your curse technique wasn't even that good.

And you knew Satoru was an asshole with a loose moral compass, and that his silliness was more of a tool of provocation and manipulation than anything else.

But it was different— to actually see it.

Raw power.

Cold blood murder in his eyes and a maniac smile.

A snap of his fingers and life just... vanished as far as the eye could see.

The joy he got from it.

But for God’s sake! It was Satoru. Kisses on your forehead Satoru. Fart jokes Satoru. Pouty lips for cuddles Satoru.

The meaner thing he had ever done to you was putting salt on your coffee as a prank because you weren't the first person to wish him happy birthday! He had never lifted a finger against you. Then why were you so scared?!

The doorbell rang and you heard the front door opening and closing. Satoru began singing some made up lyrics about chinese food that included a falsetto. You heard him walk up to the bathroom door and knock on it, a smile on his voice.

"Babe, food is here!" he said.

You were wrapped on a towel, damped, looking straight into the mirror and trying to calm yourself down. Satoru, it's just Satoru. What's your problem?

His voice echoed on the tile of the room and on your temples. You were suddenly too aware of the water drops falling from the shower head and the cold, wet floor under your feet.

"You have been there forever, babe. Everything alright?"

I'm not ready.

Just breath.

You walked to the door, counting to ten in your head. Just go and open it, you will be fine. He will hug you and everything will be fine.

I want Satoru.

As you extended your hand to the handle, it shaked slightly, catching you off guard. You inhaled sharply and quickly moved to hold it in place.

"I'm alright", you said quickly, a little bit too aggressive even— maybe? Shit, it was an accident, I’m sorry. "I'm fine," you added, trying to be softer this time, "just give me a minute, love. I'll be right out."

"Mmm? Of course, baby."

You heard his footsteps getting away from the door and the clatter of the dishes as he probably set the table for you two. He continued to talk to you through the door.

“Ijichi is already messaging me about another assignment.” He sighed dramatically. “I never get a break, what would these people do without me?”

You heard him turn on the TV and lower the volume to keep it in the background as you liked it.

“One of these days we should ditch them and go on a vacation. What do you think? Fall off the map for a month or two, that would do wonders for my back! We could go to the beach~” Satoru kept walking around, you heard the rustling of clothes as he took off his uniform and put on something clean. “Drink cocktails under the sunset~”, he continued, his voice fading as he left to another room and increasing back again when he returned to the living room area.

“I’ll ask Nanamin to take care of my assignments, he still owes me a favor or two.” You heard the sound of Satoru opening one of his wine bottles.

His voice, that you often found so silly and even sweet, suddenly felt as if it carried a layer of an uncovered threat.

You noticed that you were shaking slightly.

You tried to repress it, sing to yourself, and tell yourself a joke, but nothing had any effect and your legs became weak; you sat on the toilet to prevent yourself from falling.

Time passed, maybe ten minutes, maybe an hour. Satoru had run out of conversation and had fallen into silence. The wait must have been long enough, since the next thing you heard was Satoru right behind the door again.

“Pumpkin pie, I don’t mean to hurry you but dinner is going to get cold!”

You stayed still, hugging yourself to try and find some comfort. Your whole body felt like freezing, and you pinched your skin in a nervous tic without realizing.

"Do you need help with anything? Is it your hair? Do you want me to help you dry it, love?"

Your breathing picked up, an anxious feeling kept bubbling under your skin, making your body suddenly uncomfortable. There was a hint of something in his voice but because of your now rising panic it was hard for you to decipher what it was.

Wasn't the bathroom a little bit too small? Is there really no other way out of here other than that stupid door? Do people hate proper windows on bathrooms that much?

"Love?"

You turned around and glanced at the mirror.

Why are you freaking out?

"Babe?"

You heard the doorknob again and the bathroom door unlocking.

Out of reflex, you slammed it close again.

Silence.

The longest minute.

"Do you need a towel?” Satoru’s voice was oddly cheerful in an awkward attempt to ignore what you just did. “Is that why you don't want me to come in?", he asked, even if he had walked on you naked several times already and that had never been a problem between you two.

Your tongue was too heavy to speak.

"I'm going to go fetch you a towel, okay baby? Be right back."

You felt like crap. You felt like shit. You felt like you couldn't breathe.

Were you really making that big of a deal out of this?

You were embarrassed. You were scared. You wanted to leave. Open the door, push Satoru to one side and bolt. Leave this house.

"I'm back with the towel!" Satoru sang.

It was hard for you to stay quiet, it was hard for you to keep your lungs filled with air, your breathing should be audible now even at the other side of the door.

"Love?"

Your eyes were tearing up.

Satoru paused waiting for an answer but you couldn't mutter any.

"Baby, I'm going in." His tone deeper, not wanting to play his usual façade anymore. He tried pushing the door open again. You pushed your whole weight against it to keep it close.

A hiccup.

No.

No, no, no. Be quiet.

You bit your lip.

Love, please just give me a moment. You prayed to yourself.

A ruffling sound, then he knocked twice.

"Baby, what's wrong, would you let me in, please?", he asked softly.

Please, just wait. Why can’t you wait until I’m ready?

"I'm okay!" You repeated. "Just give me a second."

On the other side Satoru heard your voice tremble.

Fuck.

He buried his hands on his hair and pulled.

Fuck.

He knew he should have kept bothering you about it. You still looked like you were in shock, you were still clearly processing what had happened.

Earlier that day he was told about a case he had to look into. It was a silly little curse, they said, but because there was no one else available they asked Satoru to go, and because he wanted to take you out on a whim, he called you to come along with him.

He was so busy playing around with the weird looking thing, putting on a show for you, that he didn’t notice anything odd about it until later on.

It had the general shape of a human except with longer arms and legs. It moved slowly so as not to lose its balance because of its long limbs. In a rush of excitement as your eyes were glued to him, he moved around it and used his flashiest kicks and punches. He was usually childish for the fun of it, but knowing how much it made you laugh, sometimes it got to his head and turned him actually stupid.

He was more aware of where you were and where you were looking at than he was aware of the curse. He noticed that something was about to go wrong from your expression first rather than by seeing it by himself.

When he turned his head around to look back at the curse it had doubled in size. He was in a jump midair and trying to process what was happening, it took him a second longer to realize that it had suddenly launched at you two with greater strength. At that moment, he was in an awkward position to stop it and whatever move he made would be delayed by a fraction.

He saw it as it happened in slow motion.

It was something outside of your league.

It was suddenly so much faster and wilder, nothing like the slow guy he had been dancing around a second ago.

It noticed the difference in power and you being the most vulnerable of the two.

You and Satoru were separated by a considerable distance. Its form morphed once again. It moved forward, opening a mouth full of raiser teeth, and splitted into two. One half moved in Satoru’s direction and tried to corner him, and the other— jumped aiming at your throat.

Satoru saw red.

When he came back to himself, the woods burned and there was a gaping hole on the earth where the curse had been. He turned around to ask you if you were okay, and as soon as he did his blood went cold. Your eyes were wide open, one hand covering your mouth, the other holding your stomach. Horror.

He was no stranger to that look. Many people looked at him as if he were a monster after they realized what he could do with so little effort. He enjoyed it, sometimes. He didn’t care most of the time. But now he realized he had made a terrible mistake.

Truth be told, when you came about he started to be a little wary of it. He wasn’t hiding it, his reputation preceded him, you were meant to find out about it sooner or later. He was just more cautious. He tried to not overdo it anymore, especially in front of you; he would make up excuses so you couldn’t come with him to certain missions and he would keep a close eye on the noisiest pair of elders so they wouldn’t run their mouths in front of you.

After you came into his life, the title of the strongest was more annoying than ever. Hunting, even. It caught your interest, it always caught everyone’s interest, but how many could look at him the same before and after witnessing what it actually meant?

His heart beated heavily on his chest.

He untangled his fingers from his hair, clearing the lump on his throat, making sure to keep his tone non-threatening.

“I’m not going to open it, baby. You can come out when you’re ready. I will sit right here, yeah?”

Nothing.

Satoru pressed his eyes closed, thinking full speed what he should do next. He was surprised by the rush of adrenaline that embedded his system. His body was instinctively ready to kick the door open but he held himself back. He had to keep a cool head, he needed to avoid scaring you further.

Think.

A sob came out from the bathroom.

No. No, please, don’t cry.

“Love, please. Let me give you a hug. Open the door for me.”

He had been too careless. He needed to apologize properly. He needed to see you and reassure you that he loved you more than anything and he would never hurt you. But at the same time –he realized– he was scared to see that same expression on your face again.

He held both hands to each side of the door frame, letting his head fall. What you two had was still fragile, it was still too early for a problem this size.

He was scared.

He had no right to try to hold you back just yet when this didn't even have a name. He was sure he wanted to keep you with him, he had known for a long time before he approached you to ask for a first date.

It was delicate.

Gojo Satoru was a god, they named him that and so stripped him away from his humanity; like so, he grew up empty. He was scared you could see that, how far away he was from human.

It was dangerous, for you and for him since no matter how many people talked about the lengths of his powers he came to know by experience that there were many things he could still not reach nor control. So many people wanted so much from him, and he attracted so many others with ill intents. On his darkest night he felt the strings that picked at his skin, holding to his limbs. An all powerful puppet.

But he met you and he was fool enough to think he could try.

He placed his hand against the door and called your name in a whisper.

“Please, please, open the door, love.”

But could he really let you go without giving a fight if you rejected him?

“I'm sorry. Please give me another chance. Please talk to me.”

Could he fight this greed that grew on his chest everytime he was around you?

“I would never, ever hurt you–”

His voice cracked.

He felt pathetic.

The reporter talking on TV warned the public of intense rains to come, and the most powerful sorcerer felt his eyes prickling and gritted his teeth.

Around you he didn't feel like the titan that people talked about and recoiled from. He was the Satoru that had been lost along the halls of the Gojo estate as a little kid, and the Satoru that was healed and held before he lost half of his soul later on. He felt complete again. Person again.

But what if he lost all of it. Again. Because of all his power. Again.

His head fell forward as the door opened, just an inch, taking him by surprise. Your eye picked through the crack, your cheek was covered in tears.

He blinked and stared, feeling his heart break by seeing you like this.

“Hello.” He said, a lame attempt to break the silence.

“I'm fine, I promise.” Your voice trembled on every word.

He sighed painfully.

Satoru straightened his posture and held a hand to the door. You visibly trembled and gave a step back, you looked like you wanted to protest but didn't say anything.

He opened the door completely and stepped into the bathroom. You followed his every move with your eyes, you tried to fight back the worst of your instincts, the ones that told you that this man could always do as he wished with you and you wouldn't be able to escape it.

He moved his arms up and you guessed he was going to go for a hug. It was hard for you to reciprocate just now, so instead you closed your eyes and nodded, to let him know it was okay.

But you didn't expect to be hugged by the waist, his head on your stomach.

You opened your eyes with confusion. Satoru was kneeling over the bathroom floor, hugging your legs with his head buried on your towel.

“I swear” he said in all seriousness, “I will never hurt you.”

He squished a little bit more, almost making you fall out of balance.

“I swear”, he repeated.

You felt his desperate grip, and as his fear sinked in, your's wavered, and you could finally feel how truly wrong you were about fearing this man.

“Satoru…” you called.

“Mhmm?” He said but didn't look up the way you wanted to so you could see his dazzling eyes.

You buried one hand in his silk hair and carefully ran your fingers through it. “Love, look at me.”

He refused, pressing his face harder against you.

You kneeled instead. There were you, with your face covered in tears with nothing but a towel, and Satoru with wet sweatpants on the damped floor and refusing to let you see him. You hugged him and felt his heart beating fast against his chest matching your's.

“I am the one who is sorry.” You whispered.

He held you with all his strength, almost leaving you out of air.

“I believe you. I don't know why I reacted that way. But I promise I believe you and that won't happen again.”

His breath shook against the skin of your neck. You run your fingers along his nape, reassuring him. He nodded and kissed your neck before ultimately raising his head and looking at you.

There were no tears but his eyes shined brighter. You held his face with both hands and brought him down so your noses would touch. The way he looked at you with those eyes, as if you were the most precious thing he had ever seen. You saw it clear as day, you had nothing to fear.

You moved closer so your lips would touch just slightly, “I love you, Satoru”, you said.

“I love you too”, he whispered.

#jjk #fanfic #fanfiction #x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru #angst #gojo x reader #🍰-- short fic

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a-whisper-in-the-forest · 6 months ago

Text

Useless

“Please, one more,” Hero slurs while pushing their empty glass over the counter. “No, you've had enough,” the person behind the bar says, putting Hero's glass out of their reach.

“Villain, please,” They beg, “What do you want me to do? I'll even kneel for you, that's how desperate I am.” Villain chuckles at the sight. They should record this and use it to blackmail them. On the other hand, they did just get their ass kicked by Supervillain.

They look up to see Hero look back at them pouting with puppy eyes. “Please,” they cry as Villain can see actual tears forming in their eyes. Villain sighs as they pour Hero a glass of water. They put it on the counter and Hero immediately pushes it back. “No, no water. I want booze. I don't care which kind.” Villain pushes the water back towards them. “I do care, and you're only getting water.”

“Oh come on, you're a criminal. You can give me a bit more. It's not like you have a moral compass,” Hero says while putting their head on the counter. Villain leans with their forearms on the counter. “I do have a moral compass, it just doesn't line up with yours. Besides, I really need this job and I am not getting fired because you want to give yourself alcohol poisoning.”

“What? Villainy not paying you enough?” Hero asks sarcastically. “No, it doesn't. Money isn't my goal and the little amount that I do gain I have to give to Supervillain as tax,” Villain answers. Hero groans as they lift their head up. “I just lost emberassly hard in front of the whole city, I deserve an extra drink.”

“You lost hard and I have to admit that I enjoyed every second of it. But let me tell you as someone who's been looking for a long time, the answer is not on the bottom of that glass,” Hero lets out a frustrated grunt. “I know. It feels better though.”

“Maybe now, but in a couple of hours you are going to curse yourself for the hangover you gave yourself. And then you start drinking to get rid of the hangover and then you have to fight someone and you can't because you're too drunk,” Villain says, putting a towel over their shoulder. Hero lets out a deep sigh. “My partner just broke up with me and they won't tell me why. And then I lost today. I feel like I can't do anything right. Like I am useless,” Hero says as they look at their hands. “Look, Hero, that's not true. You're not useless. You constantly do so much for the city. People couldn't survive without you. I understand that it may feel like that but what we feel isn't-”

Villain couldn't finish their sentence since Hero let their head drop on the counter and was snoring loudly.

“I didn't know I was that boring…” Villain mumbles to themselves. They sigh as they pick up Hero from the stool. They have no idea where Hero lives but leaving them in the street is not an option. Villain sighs even deeper. Their place it is. Villain prays Hero doesn't puke…

Part 2

Hi! A shorter one today but I just wanted to post something today. I might make a part 2 but I don't know if people are interested. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it.

#hero x villain #heroes and villains #snippet #villain x hero #my writing #writing #writlbr

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deepestnightcolor · 4 months ago

Note

Hi,hi!! I absolutely love your fics; they keep me fed 🙏🙏 and I've come to make a Sam x afab!Reader request.

As much as I love Penny, her one sin is being Sam's counterpart. That said, if you're comfortable with it, maybe Penny's finally ready to confess her feelings to Sam, and she's walking to his house when she knows he's most likely to be home alone but she hears faint moans from his window..🙈

ᴀ/ɴ: I hope this delivers, hehe

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Sam x Fem!Reader (x Penny)

ᴡᴄ: 1554

ᴍᴅɴɪ ✧ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: exhibitionism, someone watches you having sex, masturbation, cursing, dirty talk, angst

☾ ᴅʀᴏᴘ ᴏꜰ ᴀ ᴘᴇɴɴʏ ☽

Penny would do it. Yeah, she would finally do it. Today. Or maybe tomorrow? Yeah, tomorrow would work better, right? She could go through what she wanted to say today and tell him tomorrow, yes. That sounded like a plan. A good plan. Perfect plan. Like she hadn't had that damn plan five consecutive days in a (censored) row.

Penny had decided: it had to be today. Or she would never do it.

The ginger had memerized the words by now, knew them by heart. If someone had woken her up at 3 in the night and yelled at her to speak, her practiced confession would be the first thing to fall from her lips. "Sam - I really like you. And I feel there is some kind of connection between us that I'd love to act upon. Would you perhaps like to go on a date with me?" Solid statement, clearly structured, giving him an option, just like she had read in all these books. The words even jumped off her tongue as she made her way to Sam's house - today would be a great day for this. She knew Jodi would be out with Caroline and Vincent would be with Jas - what could *possibly* go wrong? There was his window already, so why worry? It would be nice!

"Alright, Penny. You can do this. He probably won't even say no! Why am I beating myself up about it? Jee," she murmured, trying to hype herself up and dragging her feet at the same time. She tugged at her skirt as if it would grow any longer, tucked away strands of hair as if she hadn't stood in front of the mirror to brush them like that. She took another deep breath. She was 20 steps away from a nice date with her crush. So why didn't she take these last few steps?

Closing her eyes, she finally walked forward. 1, 2, 3, 456789- "Sam - I really like you-"

The words got stuck in her throat as soon as she heard it. Coming from Sam's window was a subtle sound, but she was close enough to hear it. It couldn't be, could it? Small huffs and puffs that definitely belonged to the blond. But then again- he was alone, so maybe he used the time to take care of "business"? She had read that taking care of "business" was healthy, so he wasn't really to blame. But what now? Should she just turn around and go? Probably, yes. Anything else would have been a breach of trust - and Penny had always had a good morale compass. So why did it feel like her legs were chained to the ground? Why was there this sickening twist in her stomach, urging her to step closer? And why, for heaven's sake, were her legs obeying that?

She had taken another step closer. And another. "Just another small one," she told herself, promised herself. There wasn't any need to step closer, there wasn't- oh God, she had heard him groan. It was low, deep. A little like his voice, and yet so much more gravelly. "That's it, fuuuuuuck, yeah, that's fuckin' it!"

Her ears were burning with hot embarrassment, hearing those words, so obviously moaned, hearing him curse- she felt a pulse go through her like a lightning bolt, making her clit throb in her panties. Penny frantically looked over her shoulders, one way, then the other, quickly pressing her thighs together. She should really go now, go home and wait for Sam to be done. Return tomorrow. Totally not step up to the window like she was doing now!

Then again- it was okay, right? They'd probably be dating by tonight anyway, right?

Another pulse, this time going through her core. She could feel that she was getting slick down there, nervosity bleeding into excitement. She would have never admitted it, but she had always wondered what Sam looked like naked. She knew he was athletic and strong, very well aware of the fact that he could easily pick her up- God, the thought alone made her feel all giddy.

"Fuuuuuuck, yes, Yoba, fuck."

If she hadn't been sure by then, she was now. Finger tips pressing to the windowsill out of Sam's window, Penny got onto her tippy toes to take a peek. Just a tiny, little peek, promise!

There he was, making her heart skip a beat in her chest. Muscular back turned toward the window, head thrown back in his neck, his blond hair all messy as his hips worked forward. Penny almost *moaned* at the sight, seeing her crush so vulnerable, in such a state of bliss.

She was so enthralled that it took her a while to realize that there were a pair of legs wrapped around these slender bucking hips, and the fact that there was another string of moans bleeding into Sam's. It took her a while to realize that Sam wasn't alone, and that he wasn't taking care of his "business" by himself. That he wasn't moaning for whatever scenario he made up in his head, but for you.

"Saaahammm," your voice whined, strained with the rough fucks that made your body shake.

All color drained from Penny's face. Sam...Sam...was having sex with the farmer?

Her hands clasped over her mouth, eyes wide open as she started at the two figures. She couldn't see much of you, but she could hear you now, loud and clear, loud and *full of pleasure*. You babbled his name in hiccuped moans, your legs clenching tighter around him whenever he hit a spot, your hands sprawled our on his back, scratching down the pale skin whenever your moans grew a little more high-pitched.

"That's it, baby, thaaaaats fuckin it! Love th-this Lil pussy, baby, *shiiiit*, don't want anyone else's," he panted, thrusting faster inside of you as if to make a point. Penny could feel tears well in her eyes, but that didn't mean she looked away. No, quite the opposite. She pressed her upper body against the window sill, leaning in a little further, trying to make out more of the two of you.

Sam was fucking you quickly, fucking you like she deserved. She had been Sam's friends for years! She had been the one that had a crush on him for years! And now you were the one having sex with him? Good sex, at that? You seemed to enjoy yourself, given the way you gasped for air, begged for more. And Sam, like a dog, delivered. Humped into you, stroking his hands up and down your sides while praising you.

It should have been her! Her jaw was clenched as her hands slid down her skirt, under the fabric of her panties. Her jaw was clenched when she realized that she was wet, and the tears started to flow when she began to rub at her clit.

"My girl, my pretty, goregous girl," Sam slurred, making Penny's breath hitch, her clit pulsing under the gentle, steady rub of her fingers. She could be his good girl, his perfect, pretty, goregous girl. Not the farmer.

"Mhhhmng! Sam! Fuck! I- you are *so* deep," you moaned back, making the blond chuckle breathlessly. "Just howcha like it, baby- know what my girl wants- cunt suckin' me off so well, fuck, do I *love* you, baby..."

Love you? Was that the reason he had gotten so distant the last few months? God, she had thought he had become shy! A small sob left her lips as she pushed a finger inside of her, desperate to replicate the feeling of the rough fuck you must have been receiving.

The high-pitched moan that came from both your and Sam's throats were caught by Penny, swallowed down with a sense of bitterness. He loved you? Yeah? She didn't want him anyway. Didn't want you as a friend either. Didn't want to watch your bodies intertwine, didn't want to admit *how* wet it made her. How hard she had to bite back not to moan, especially when your moans became so beggy and high pitched. She hated that she was fucking her cunt with two fingers in the middle of the daylight while watching her crush and his...his...girlfriend? Fuck. And yet it made her stomach twist and tie in a way that she had never felt before. A burning pit of lust and desire, and yet also ice cold jealousy.

"G-gonna cum!" "Cum for me, baby, cum-" he slurred, making Penny speed her fingers up as if he meant her, the arousal making her cheeks flush. She could hear you sob for Sam as he groaned, the blond holding you closer to his chest as he fucked into you hard, making her head fall against the wall of his house, eyes closing as she felt the waves of her orgasm sift through her.

It took Penny a few shaky breaths before she could stand upright again, taking a glance into the bedroom again. There you were, pressed against one another, holding one another, Sam whispering sweet nothings to you.

She pulled her fingers away abruptly, scoffing as she smeared the wetness on the window sill, turning around with her chin held high.

"Sam - fuck you."

Deep inside, though, perverted excitement lingered.

#stardew valley #sdv #stardew valley fanfic #stardew valley farmer #sdv fanfic #fanfic #sdv sam #sdv sam x reader #stardew valley smut #sdv penny

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sorcerersseestars · 5 months ago

Text

LIMERENCE (III)

PART I, PART II

preview: So maybe this was unexpected, but maybe not. Your parents had always told you to be careful who you lent your heart to, but even more careful about who you made promises—or rather, vows—to. You were never fond of listening to their advice, however life saving it turned out to be…

word count: 11.9k

warnings: Violence/violent thoughts, mentions of illness/injuries, mentions of choking, vomiting, and blood, actual romance finally?? 😳

song rec: Mahler Symphony III, mvt VI <3 for nostalgic/bittersweet parts

NOTE: JJK0 edit! In this timeline, Geto invaded the school, failed to obtain Rika, but left unscathed. The twins depicted as mid-late teens.

“WILL YOU please lay off for once?” The man sighs, an unusual note of annoyance threatening to creep into his voice.

“But, Master Geto, this is horrible! They look like they're on death's door and you basically dropped them!” The girl exclaims loudly. “Who even are they?”

He hoists your limp body back over his shoulder, easily handling your weight. He had set you down for a few moments, as his shoulder had begun to ache after being burdened in one position for too long, but he intends to move you to a more permanent place than the ground he had momentarily set you on. He begins to walk away and, like always, the girl is his shadow, following behind immediately with no hesitation.

"I didn't drop them, Mimiko. My shoulder was hurting, so I had to put them down..."

"You practically did. If that's how you treat someone who's unconscious, remind me to never pass out around you. It looks like they hit their head when you 'didn't' drop them."

"Well, they have a price to pay. I wasn't necessarily trying to be gentle," He chuckles bitterly, “Let this be a lesson to you and Nanako. Don’t make a deal you’re not willing to follow through with until the end. It could cost you your life.”

The young girl frowns, confusion clear in her bright eyes. “But Master, aren’t they a sorcerer and not a monkey? I feel their cursed energy, even though it is weak. Why are you acting like this, Master Geto? I feel like…I feel like I don’t know you right now. How can you be so kind to us and then…and then treat this sorcerer…”

Her voice that started strong, as she means her words and thus began her inquiry with conviction, now gradually fades in volume until nothing can be heard but the roar of the wind.

He turns away quickly, trying to conceal how wide his eyes are, to hide the quiver that runs down his neck and through his fingers, to bury the contradicting feelings and morals that are tearing him apart. Yes, he has always been praised for his gentle nature and softness of his soul. Yes, he has always been commended for his strong moral compass and even sometimes accused of being self-righteous. Satoru had a tendency for the latter, but you…you would always readily agree with Geto and would look to him for an example. He remembers your eyes on him when Satoru pledged to kill all of the sorcerers that had involvement with Riko’s death during the Star Plasma mission. You had instantly laid down your weapon when Geto told Satoru that it wasn’t worth anything, that it wouldn’t change the tragic outcome that had already fallen upon them.

But when Geto later had—in the view of the sorcerer’s world, and most definitely in your view as well, he can only assume—his fall from grace, you had not looked to him or followed him then. But as he only had one opportunity to speak with you after, he could not pretend to fully understand your entire opinion of him—did you despise him, did you feel betrayed by him, or maybe, deep down, did you understand?

He doesn’t know what you truly think, and probably never will. And yet he cannot hold back about what he thinks about you—you, a pivotal figure in the Jujutsu world, a strong sorcerer who also has a strong attachment to the strongest sorcerer. You, who represent and fight for the future generation of sorcerers. You, who often put your life on the line to save mere monkeys, and teach others to do the same.

He turns back to Mimiko, who looks to him with wide, hesitant eyes. Her presence alone reminds him of his purpose, of his mission, and he quickly summons his resolve. He has his reasons, after all.

“Master, I am so sorry, I didn’t mean…I didn’t mean to doubt you or disrespect you—“

Geto sighs, expression softening at the slight tremble in her voice. “It’s quite alright, Mimiko. I am the one that should be apologizing. It’s just that it is difficult for me to be in their presence, knowing what they are and who they are close to. It makes me someone…someone that I sometimes wish I wasn’t. They are both symbols of everything we despise, of everything we are fighting against. I can’t help but feel disgusted and irritated in their presence.”

She blinks slowly, processing his words. "So you mean them and...are you talking about this sorcerer and Gojo Satoru?"

"Very good," Geto praises, but he does not smile. "Those two have been on my list a long time."

Mimiko raises an eyebrow. "I understand about Gojo Satoru, of course, but why this person? I don't recognize them from our black book. Aren't they just a teacher at Tokyo or something?"

"(Y/N) was our classmate at Tokyo, and it is true that they teach there now. They are particularly special to our situation, you could say. They could turn the tide for us," He pauses, then shakes his head decisively. "No, they will."

Mimiko's lips twitch as many more questions threaten to burst out, but she holds her tongue and instead takes in her master's expression. Excitement glitters in his dark eyes, or maybe anticipation. He looks like he has cracked the code to something very important, giving him an almost manic appearance. But there's also something else in his countenance. She can't put her finger on it, but an emotion akin to regret occasionally interrupts his otherwise eager expression.

"They have always been infatuated with Gojo. I can't say it was love at first sight, but as close as you can get to that. I knew that, eventually, they would fall for Gojo. For a long time, I never thought anything of it, other than the fact their heart was going to be broken someday. After all, he was notorious for his arrogance and, well...philandering, I guess you could say, back then."

Mimiko rolls her eyes. "You mean he was a playboy."

"So, you get my meaning," Geto chuckles. "Yes, he has always been like that. And ever since the night that...that I rescued you and Nanako, ever since we went our separate ways, I haven't been able to lure him out. Not that I've wanted to, yet, but you know my goal."

"Yes," She breathes out the word almost instantly. "To eliminate all non-sorcerers, for the betterment of our world."

"That's the end goal, yes," He says, letting out a grunt of assent. "But remember what I told you and Nanako all that time ago?"

He turns to face her, eyes searching her expression, wondering just how firmly she believes in his ideals.

She looks up at him instantly, eyes glinting with a determination and purpose beyond her age. The intensity of her gaze almost startles him. "Gojo is the sorcerers' figurehead. Once he is eliminated, they will panic and we can make our move. They won't have the advantage anymore."

"Figurehead...maybe I said that before, but he is no figurehead. The higher-ups are, definitely, but Gojo...Gojo is the real deal. As much as I hate to admit it, we are no longer equals and haven't been for a long time. He is the most difficult to handle, and that's why we have to take him out first."

"Even though you didn't get Rika? I thought acquiring that cursed spirit was necessary."

Geto sighs, "You wound my pride by reminding me of that failure...but, no, that won't be necessary anymore."

He enters his room and haphazardly deposits you onto his bed, although it is still considerably gentler of a movement than before. His eyes sweep over your form, scrutinizing your sickly appearance. You look rather convincing for his case.

"Why not?" Mimiko prompts after the silence stretches out too long. Her patience can only last so long—he has been avoiding what she has really wanted answers for this entire conversation.

He nods to your form. "Gojo will come for them soon. He knows this is my doing, I made sure of it. And once he sees their condition, knowing that he caused this...and after they explain our little Binding Vow we took, his worldview will shatter."

He doesn't elaborate. Mimiko, who was listening with rapt attention, shakes her head in confusion. "Master, please explain this to me. What do you mean to happen? I thought you wanted to dispose of him."

"I did, once. When I was angry with this world, angry at his sudden insistence on helping the weak, I did. But I've never truly wanted to kill him, just as he has no desire to kill me. He's supposed to, but he won't. We were best friends, after all. After this happens, after they succumb to this disease, then I can't imagine he will ever want to help anyone ever again, monkeys included. Even if he doesn't join us, he will no longer be a threat."

His dark eyes trail over your form, taking in your gaunt cheeks and thin hair. He lingers on your closed eyes—even though you are unconscious and technically resting, the fatigue that plagues your features does not fade in the slightest.

“Which disease, Master?” Mimiko prompts, seeing that Geto’s mind has drifted. His eyes quickly shoot up to meet hers.

"They are afflicted with Hanahaki disease. This is what I anticipated all those years ago as I watched them fall head over heels for Gojo. That he would be too cautious to show his affection to them and they would believe their love to be one-sided. It is not, I know it is not, but I convinced them otherwise. I made a Binding Vow with them to guarantee that they wouldn’t notify anybody else about their condition, once it has befallen them. They vowed to keep quiet until they sensed they were close to death."

“They took this Vow willingly, or…?” Mimiko asks in a hushed voice, as if afraid to offend her master.

“Yes. I told them that one day they would fall prey to this disease, that their love would be unrequited—they easily accepted this. I convinced them that letting them succumb to the disease would be…would be for the best.”

Fear and confusion pulse through Mimiko, quickening her heart rate. She is quickly piecing together all the information that pertains to her master, and through every line of thought she comes to the same conclusion. She squeaks out, “But won’t he come for you?”

Geto shakes his head calmly. “No, he’ll come for them.”

“That’s not what I meant, Master,“ She says with urgency. “Won’t he kill you?”

“And what would that accomplish?”

“He’ll be angry, he’ll want revenge! You implied that he…that he loves them, too.”

“Killing me will not bring them back.” He says simply, coolly. “It would only bring him more pain. His love and his best friend dead in one night? It would be too much to bear.”

Mimiko shakes her head worriedly. “Even so…would he really consider you his best friend after that? I think you are misjudging the situation slightly, Master…”

Geto laughs, “You believe me to be a fool. I can’t say I disagree, but I know him. Too well.”

“Can I ask you something, Master?” She asks quietly. He nods his consent with an intrigued expression. “Did he ever expect you to defect? When you two were close, did he ever know this side to you? If not, then…how do you expect to know him at all, either?”

Geto says nothing, train of thought interrupted by a bright sound. Mimiko’s point is clear, clearer than the peals of the bells from the rustling wind chimes outside. The wind that consumed Mimiko’s words before now disturbs his thoughts with this incessant chiming.

He eventually says, “He will be defeated, especially with the knowledge that they agreed to this. That they agreed to die for him.”

“Why did they?” Mimiko whispers, gazing at your broken form with unbridled pity in her eyes. “What did you promise them?”

“They came to me, begging to spare him. They knew I would come after him some day. They admitted to me that he had direct orders to kill me, but could never go through with them or even think on them. They feared this weakness of his would cause him to hold back and leave him vulnerable if I ever decided to go through with my plans. But I, of course, needed something valuable in return if I were to promise to spare him. And this is the only valuable exchange I could came up with…a way to defeat him without ever needing to physically do so. They didn’t hesitate to lay down their life, and I…”

Geto pauses, reflecting on his feelings for you. You had once been a good friend, although he always thought you were too lenient towards Gojo—always walking around with large puppy eyes for him, at times blind to his faults. At one time, you and Geto were so close that he perfectly knew your order at the local cafe, down to the two sugar packets and only a few droplets of cream, and that you would only ever go to bed earlier than 2 am if you knew they were serving your favorite breakfast in the morning. In comparison, Geto doesn’t know much of you anymore—but he knows your literal fatal flaw—you give up too much of yourself for Satoru, this time being your life.

“Well, I have to admit it didn’t feel great guaranteeing the death of an old friend, but…it is for a higher purpose. Our purpose. It’s for the sake of the entire world. If Gojo goes down, in one form or another, we will be able to infiltrate and dismantle their whole society. Their death won’t be in vain.”

A new voice pipes up from behind him, soft and choked. "That's too cruel, Master Geto.”

He looks over to the doorway and sees only long, dark brown hair and shaking shoulders.

“Nanako?” He questions quietly, tone gentle, yet curious.

Nanako slowly turns around, her face revealed inch by inch, and he is surprised to find glossy eyes and rivulets of tears pouring down her cheeks. One hand is pressed over her mouth as if she is trying to rein in her emotions, but is failing.

“I know it is for the betterment of our world—“ She is stopped by a telling rasp in her voice. “But—I really can’t believe in love and goodness anymore if they die.”

Before she can hear any response from either her sister or her master, she turns on her heel and races down the hall.

The air in Geto’s lungs is stuck and feels like it’ll be forever suspended there, but then Mimiko says, “She still believed in that stuff?” and he can finally exhale.

Gojo Satoru isn’t having a good night—or, rather, a good morning. Ever since you called him at 3 am, he has been wide awake and filled with a jumble of emotions. He was so relieved to see your name pop up on his screen—he thought it was a good sign, that maybe you didn’t hold his ghosting you for months against him. He was also glad that he didn’t have to initiate contact with you, which he honestly didn’t feel like he deserved after how he’s brushed you aside—although he couldn’t shake off the feeling that maybe he was just a coward and in denial about it. He’s often in denial about things pertaining to his feelings—oftener about feelings involving you.

Ever since the call ended, when your screams and near unintelligible speech were abruptly cut off, Gojo has been frozen: hands shaking, vision coming in and out of focus, mouth turning to sand. He can’t reach you right now. He wishes he could teleport instantly to you, but he remembers Shoko’s news that you have moved to a new apartment about a month ago. Shoko had been shocked when he admitted he didn’t know, and further so when he didn’t proceed to ask for your new address. Gojo always used to come by and bother you at your last apartment, after all. And here his past behavior comes to bite him in the ass.

His mind begins to race, full of regrets and hopes and fears; his thoughts fly by faster than they ever have before. It makes him think of you all the more, and memories he had long forgotten begin to surface.

It’s funny how fast he is inundated with memories. In school, you had always teased him about how slow he was in school, specifically how slow of a test taker he was. He would always finish last, no matter the day, no matter the subject.

“You must be a slow thinker,” You used to tease him. Once you had followed it up with, “I’m surprised you even take the tests seriously. I figured you’d just Christmas tree it and be the first one done just to get it over with. Wouldn’t ‘the strongest’ want to focus on training more anyway?”

Your mischievous smile flashes through his mind, your laughter so full of mirth that he hasn’t heard in forever also rings through his mind; his chest aches. Back then, he didn’t exactly know what to think of how you could never stop poking fun at him—he didn’t understand what you meant by it, but he sorely, sorely misses it now. Back then, he couldn’t help but try to fire back with something he found equally as insulting, but it never had the same effect. His face would always be flushed and his charisma would melt away, revealing a stuttering and helplessly in love boy. Nobody could look at him and recognize him as what would be the strongest sorcerer in their age, or relate him to the cocky, rich Gojo heir who was rumored to be head of his clan soon. He was a mere boy would wanted to impress a regular sorcerer of no material or familial importance or fame, a sorcerer who was smart and witty enough to cut down his personality—or, rather, his persona—down to his raw self with just a few words. And yet when Shoko and Geto would poke fun at his crush on you, he would vehemently deny it. He didn’t truly believe it himself—or didn’t want to believe it—because of how vulnerable you made him feel. Despite all the signs, he maintained his claim of not liking you, which was hard to believe with his strong need to impress you.

He couldn’t use his charm or fame to get to you, so he wanted—no, needed—to impress you through other means. For example, Gojo did indeed prefer training to studying, but he couldn’t just say that, otherwise he would reveal too much. So whenever you would tease him about his molasses pace in academics, Gojo would begin to either shrug or quip back with something about how you were quite the opposite, a quick learner with perfect grades but always the first one to be beaten in a spar and the last to understand a new technique. You never seemed offended or even embarrassed by his claims, which irked him, considering how ruffled he would get if you said something similar to him. You would just smile as if you knew something he didn’t.

The real reason why he tried so hard in academics is—surprise, surprise!—that he wanted to impress you. He found that you were difficult to impress—you didn’t seem to care about how strong he was as a sorcerer, or about his looks and charm. In Satoru’s view, you always seemed to prefer his best friend Suguru for his mind and moral compass. Suguru was naturally book smart and didn’t have to work hard to get good grades; if Gojo fell behind, he thought he wouldn’t have a chance with you at all. In actuality, you cared little about others’ grades, but you were amused—and, okay, maybe a little impressed—by how diligent Gojo seemed to be.

Either way, you’d be destined to fall for Gojo Satoru anyway. Either way, Gojo Satoru was destined to be oblivious to your attraction toward him.

But, your love for him was inconsequential—either way, he would always come for you. Even if you hated him, he would be there, with no ounce of hesitation. He wouldn’t think twice when it came to you, even if it involved someone he also had a painfully complicated relationship with.

His former best friend, someone he truly believed to be the only one to understand him, blindsided him all those years ago. Even you, who were always so perceptive and attentive to your friends, hadn’t anticipated Geto’s horrific exit from society.

That was the first time you had seen cracks emerge in Gojo’s mask. He remembers your concerned gaze on him when he would forget to laugh when a joke was told, or at how quickly his perpetual smile would fall once he thought nobody was looking.

“We’re all shocked,” You had tried to console him once, even though he acted like he didn’t need it. “It’s not your fault, Satoru. Nobody expected this…”

You two were enjoying ice cream, sat lazily on the steps of the school. It almost felt normal, but the fact that Satoru’s treat was untouched broke the illusion for you.

“Who said it was?” He tried to laugh like he normally would, but it sounded faker than he anticipated. “If that idiot wants to go running off like a little bitch, let him.”

Your brow had furrowed as you tried not to glare at him. You hated when he used misogynous terms like bitch or pussy when describing someone negatively, but he couldn’t give a flying fuck right now. You knew he was struggling so you said nothing on this, but your sharp gaze reminded him of his fault nonetheless.

“It’s a little more than just running off,” You had sighed. “The report was…”

You trailed off, not wanting to recount the atrocious crimes someone you believed to be so gentle committed.

“Like I don’t fucking know that.” He snorted bitterly, angrily.

The mask was slipping more, that much was obvious. You wanted to help ease it off, but knew you would likely have to press him. It wasn’t healthy for him to be holding everything inside.

“There’s a rumor that they’re going to assassinate him,” You said quietly.

“It’s no rumor,” He said, voice quivering from trying to hold back his emotions.

“Really?” You turned to him with rapt interest, but he didn’t elaborate. The school-wide known yapper sat silently, his jaw clenched.

“Why are you holding back?” You suddenly accused. “You never say so little.”

“He shook his head, avoiding your eyes. He felt like he could snap at any second, that his mask would shatter for good and he’d be completely exposed in front of you.

“Why are you holding back?” You repeated more loudly. You didn’t seem like you were going to give this up.

He suddenly threw his uneaten, melted ice cream to the ground. There was a palpable crunch as pressed his palm down on the cone, shattering it. You flinched, momentarily caught off guard, but deep down you weren’t surprised. He had so much guilt, anger, and sadness sitting dormant inside of him, and it was only a matter of time before it erupted.

Your eyes followed his figure as he pushed himself up and started to walk away. He didn’t glance at you—but it guessed he was being avoidant rather than spiteful.

“Don’t you dare walk away, too,” You had pleaded, but it sounded more like a threat. “We’re not done here, Satoru.”

You stood up quickly, ready to go after him, but your fear would soon be proven unfounded, because Gojo stopped abruptly at your words. For a moment, both you and him were still. You were scared of what might happen next, but you didn’t dare say another word.

You didn’t have to. Gojo swiveled around, eyes blazing with a fire you had never seen before and chest heaving as if he had just been battling. Long gone was his usual cocky smile and condescending, playful gaze.

He began to shout at you. “What do you want? For me to admit to you what you already know?! Well, fucking fine! They ordered me, me of all people, to murder him—or, as they put it, ‘dispose’ of him. Is that what you wanted to hear me say? Are you fucking satisfied now?”

Your eyes were wide, taking in this new and painful information. You recovered quickly, speaking back in the most gentle tone he had ever heard from you.

“I’m sorry, Satoru. I didn’t know. I can’t believe they would…No, I guess I can believe that, but they can’t…they shouldn’t be allowed to order you that just because you’re the strongest. I’m sorry I pressed you about this,” You murmured. “I just wanted you to let out whatever was hurting you. You keep pretending around everyone, but…You’re hurting more than any of us, but you won’t admit it. You can tell us your pain…you can let it out.”

Nobody had seen through him like that before.

Then words began to flow out, words he had never told anyone. Truths that had never seen the light of day. He hated that you had this effect on him, that you able to unravel him like nobody else could. He could never keep anything from you, and this alone would influence many decisions in the future.

He shouted the words out, thinking that maybe if he yelled it would force the ugly painful lump in his throat to go away. “I hate that I’m expected to kill my best friend. I hate that the higher-ups use me as a weapon. I hate that ever since I was born, that’s all I’ve been and ever will be. And I hate most of all that one day, one of us will have to kill each other, and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

Your eyes swam with tears, horror clear in them. You knew his words were true. You knew it was true, and you had to do something about it. Later you would seek out the other side behind Gojo’s back, not knowing why desperation burned through you until you had settled a deal.

You looked so scared that it startled Gojo out of his miserable state. He came closer to you, arms held out as if he was halfway thinking about embracing you.

“God, I’m sorry I yelled at you like that, angel.” He said, mistakenly believing that his yelling induced your horrified state, eyes crinkling apologetically behind his shades.

“Angel?” You questioned, taken so aback that you barely remember what other words he uttered.

His cheeks suddenly colored. You had never noticed him blush before, even though he had because of you many times, so you couldn’t help but be surprised at his redness.

“I-is that okay?” He asked, uncharacteristically sheepish.

You rolled your eyes. “Sure, Mr. Flirt. I’m sure you call everyone that, anyway.”

He shook his head, “Nah, I’ll reserve this one for you. Of course, everyone else is baby, or sunshine, or pookie—”

“Okay, can I give you one then? How about harlot? Can I call you that?”

“What? NO!”

He smiles at the memory—the first time he called you angel, which was then cemented as his ‘ironic’ nickname for you. How you never realized his pet name was indicative of his feelings, he could never understand.

His smile falls—that pet name hasn’t crossed his tongue in ages, just as he hasn’t been open with you about his feelings and situation. He is sorry to say that you and him haven’t had the type of transparency you had in the past in a while, at the very least not since he was backed into a corner by the higher-ups and forced to ignore you. And maybe even not since the time you once came to him, bawling your eyes out and claiming you felt like you had done something awful that involved him but you couldn’t remember what, as if someone had put a spell on you to forget.

These memories all run through his head at a speed beyond what he can comprehend. He feels like he is missing something, and that it may be hidden somewhere deep in his memories. But Gojo does not have the luxury of time on his side; he has no more time to dig through his memories. Even if the answer may lie from within, he has a better chance of finding it out by pursuing you.

After he allows himself a final moment to remember and remember and remember, to regret and regret and regret some more, he starts making calls—he needs to gather information as quickly as possible. He knows that Geto is crafty and calculated—this must definitely be related to your Binding Vow with him. He can’t guess what it entails, and as much as he wants to believe that Geto must have some good in him still, he can’t rule out the possibility of your life very much being in danger. You being some sort of a twisted bargaining chip is a fear that does not go unnoticed in his mind. He knows this to be highly probable, but he doesn’t want to admit it.

Gojo knows that Geto and his association, disguised and funded as a “religious organization”, are constantly moving around. Their temple’s location has been known for a long time, but they are rarely there, intel has reported. Thus he makes calls to all of the top sorcerers involved in collecting intel to see if a new hideout has popped up. He was hoping that they could pinpoint exactly where Geto is, but they only have a few general ideas of his location.

Gojo hangs up on the last sorcerer right after they could only propose two vague locations. He wanted to berate all of them for being inadequate, for letting such a high level dangerous sorcerer like Geto to exist without detection, to let him run amuck in their society with virtually no consequences, even after targeting Gojo’s student for his sole personal benefit. But Satoru knows this anger would be misdirected—projecting the higher-ups problems onto these sorcerers who are just obeying orders.

“Fuck!” Gojo yells, the panic and frustration rising with every passing moment. “I’m going to kill those fucking higher-ups one day.”

At least they all had similar guesses, so Gojo has an idea of where you could be held. The only completely useful piece of information he acquired was your current address, as much as it pained him to ask a random person for it. And just like that, Gojo is on the case. He could have called in specialized trackers, but it would take too long to dispatch them and would definitely result in interference from the higher-ups.

Instead, Gojo pockets his phone—which he had thrown quite forcefully onto his bed in his frustration after failing to locate you—and teleports to your new address. He races up the steps to your floor and stops in front of your unit. He frowns. Your front door is ajar, which makes him bristle. It’s a clear statement from Geto—brazenly boasting that he got to you easily and with little care about being caught. Well, really no care—which is suspicious and smells of a trap. But there’s no way Gojo will choose not to pursue you—and, unfortunately, Geto seems to know this, too.

Gojo sets his Six-Eyes on your apartment and finds no active cursed energy. Finding the coast to be clear, he quickly pushes the door open further and walks in. He is first struck by the mess in the living room, eyes darkening at the sight of the broken glass and neglected blooms lying on the floor.

You struggled all the way to the door, is what Gojo assumes of the eerie mess. His jaw clenches as he recalls your shrieks as you were dragged against your will. He continues on, reaching your bedroom first. It is surprisingly in order there, so he moves to your bathroom—and that’s when his heart drops into his stomach.

Blood. Blood is everywhere. He feels sick. The scent clogs his nose and he swallows to keep himself from gagging. He sees the imprint of your hands in the edges of the pool of blood on the floor. He feels sick. He sees red handprints on the doorframe where you desperately tried to hold on while you were dragged out—there are gouges in the wood from your nails digging in. He feels traces of your cursed energy, fainter than they should be, overpowered by Geto’s strong residuals. He feels sick.

The only key detail that Gojo fails to notice is the singular baby blue petal, darkened from a layer of dried blood, lying on the floor. You had disposed of the flowers earlier in the night because their presence only allowed you to think of him—but this petal had evidently escaped your notice. Is it ironic or fitting that the object of your affection and disease does not notice the petal in the color of his eyes?

Geto has been waiting patiently by your bedside. You haven’t woken yet, which spares him the ordeal of conversing with you. He fears that you would be troublesome if you realized that Gojo would be coming for you—if you truly realized what was going on, you’d in hysterics, surely. Good thing that he prevented that the day he made the vow with you.

On the other hand, however, Geto is curious about what you would possibly say to him. Would you be glad to see him after all of these years? He doubts you truly despise him, deep down. After all, you always aspired to be more like Geto—from his composure, to his gentle character, to his morals. You definitely don’t adhere to the same moral code now, and Geto is positive you think of him lowly for his misdeeds. But perhaps you may still envy him for his composure and even his apathy to an extent—his ability to keep calm in life or death situations, and for his ability to kill without batting an eye. Maybe you wish you more like that so that you could take him out and spare Satoru the pain of doing so.

Or maybe he is completely wrong. Maybe you have changed—if you had not been in such a sickly state, would you have fought back to the point of killing him? Have you gained enough mental fortitude and tenacity to kill him in Satoru’s stead?

After spending a few more minutes mulling over his thoughts, Geto leaves the room. Satoru should be here soon—but not too soon. After all, nobody knows his new location—only him and his girls know. So Gojo shouldn’t arrive at least until sun-up, or at least he hopes. He’s depending on that—if not, then he might have to interfere more directly.

Geto exits the house, hoping the chill of the night air will clear his mind. It is very cold tonight—a few small flakes are falling, but melt as soon as they touch the ground. He’s itching for a smoke, a warm stick of cancer to fill his lungs with. He detachedly wonders if Shoko is still keeping her old habit.

“Master Geto?” Comes a small voice.

He turns his head to acknowledge her presence.

“Can’t sleep?” He asks with genuine concern. “It’s late, Nanako.”

She shakes her head. “Not really…this place doesn’t hold the best memories for us.”

He nods. “I know. That’s why we chose it though, right? It sets the scene well.”

“Yeah. It’s kind of eerie that nobody lives around here anymore…I mean, this countryside was full of monkeys.”

“I remember very well,” Geto says with some disgust. “You and Mimiko were too good for this place. They were cruel to you.”

She sighs. “I know, we really hated it here. To think what would have happened if you didn’t rescue us…thank you, Master.”

Geto smiles gently. “There’s no need to thank me. I only did what was right.”

Nanako smiles back, looking a little sheepish. Then her smile falls and she nervously twiddles her fingers together. “By the way, Master, they’re still asleep…and still breathing. I thought they would…I thought you said they’d be deceased by now?”

His eyebrows furrow. “Hm. I thought so, but perhaps I was mistaken. I’ll go check on them. You should go back to bed and try to get some rest.”

He seems troubled and his mood noticeably soured. Nanako nods and quietly excuses herself, not wanting to bother her master any further. But before she is out of sight, Geto loudly lets out a string of expletives from. When Nanako turns to look at him, she sees that his head is in his hands.

“What’s wrong?” Nanako asks, rushing back to him.

“He’s here,” Geto says through gritted teeth. “Nanako, go. I don’t think he’d harm you, but I won’t take any chances. Wake Mimiko and go to the place we discussed earlier.”

Nanako doesn’t hesitate. She really doesn’t want to be anywhere near Gojo Satoru, who her master has admitted surpasses him in strength. She’s seen Geto in battle before—she can’t imagine how monstrous Gojo must be in comparison. She rushes back into the house, set on going directly to Mimiko, but instead pauses by the room where you rest. She studies your sleeping form, lingering on the unfairness of your situation. But what can she do? She is powerless to help you.

And so, Nanako and Mimiko flee just as they were told to. One wonders if she’s doing the right thing, the other yawns and asks about breakfast.

While they’re escaping, Geto ponders what to do. It’s not dawn yet—the sky is starless, covered by black clouds full of snow—but the barrier Geto placed has been penetrated. Gojo Satoru has arrived. Early. Which is, well, rather inconvenient: you aren’t dead yet. But he can’t just go and finish you off—it would defeat the entire purpose of this set-up. He doesn’t have to lay a finger on you for you to die. That’s the beauty of it.

Geto suddenly stands up straight, alert from the feeling of cursed energy so near. His eyes trace the perimeters of his vision, but he sees nothing even in his peripherals.

“Where are they?”

The words come from nothing, from nowhere. It’s as if the words enter only his mind and not his ears.

His instincts are going off like crazy—ringing through his head as a massive wave of cursed energy washes over him from behind. Geto slowly turns around, regaining calm as his thoughts catch up to his instincts.

There stands Gojo Satoru, the man who can change everything. Just like the time Geto ‘revisited’ Tokyo Tech, white bandages obscure his famous eyes. While Geto blends into the night’s shadows, Gojo almost glows. His white hair and pale countenance instantly draw attention to him.

As Geto quickly looks over his figure, his eyes begin to narrow. Considering what he’s seeing, he’s not sure how to approach this or what his reaction will be—because right now, Gojo looks different. He doesn’t stand with his usual casual air, and even lacks the cocky smirk he normally wears. His hands aren’t in his pockets, he isn’t leaning on anything, and his weight isn’t shifted to one side. In contrast to his normal posture, he stands tall, finally doing his height and strength justice.

If Geto were wiser, he might be scared. After all, he’s never seen Gojo look this serious, even when he was messing with his students in front of him. But knowing what he knows, Geto can’t help but feel smug. Almost everything has gone according to plan so far—a plan that he had enough foresight to create years ago. His prediction of you falling for Gojo and feeling the keen sting of unrequited love came to fruition—surely, everything else will also fall into place.

Geto chooses not to be wise.

Geto looks at Gojo calmly, a small smile appearing on his face. “Always so direct nowadays, eh, Satoru? Well, nevertheless, I’m glad you’re here. Without the strongest, this would all be pointless.”

Gojo’s lip curls. He can hardly believe that the man in front of him used to be his closest friend that he thought understood him the most. To Gojo, it’s sickening how gentle and familiar Geto’s easy smile is, knowing he has killed more innocent people than he ever saved.

“Oh, really? Care to enlighten me on your worthless plan this time? I’m really starting to think you actually went crazy just like everyone said.”

Geto walks away from Gojo, back turned to him. With no eyes on Gojo, he leaves himself completely exposed and at the mercy of Gojo. Geto’s display of trust makes him bristle, eyes darkening under the swath of white that lays over his eyes.

“That would be easier to accept, wouldn’t it?” Geto says, but quickly pulls away from the topic. “You know, Satoru, I didn’t even give you the address. I would give a warmer welcome for an invited guest…say, like (Y/N)! They have been received well by myself and my twins.”

Gojo sighs, adopting more of his casual charm as he chuckles dryly.

“Just what is this, Geto?” Gojo holds up his hands. “Don’t tell me you’re the jokester now, because this isn’t fucking funny.”

“Whatever you say, Gojo. I’m thoroughly amused.”

His dark eyes, glinting in the light of the moon, crinkle in said amusement. Gojo holds back a shiver—there’s something sinister in those eyes.

“Just because you have forsaken yourself doesn’t mean others will accept that,” Gojo says firmly. “I thought that would be obvious by now.”

“And when has that stopped me?” Geto says with a tut. “Besides, you’d think someone would try to interfere if they didn’t accept this. But alas, you have left me alone for years. Is this not a product of your own doing?”

Gojo almost falters. After all, he’s not wrong.

“I leave you alone for years and you go and—” He audibly exhales. “You harass my students and then kidnap (Y/N)? Let’s cut the bullshit. What are you plotting? Why would you take (Y/N)? What could you possibly want with them? You left all of us and never looked back.”

“With them? Don’t you mean from them?” Geto says, turning to give him a small smile. “As to what I’m planning…you’ll find out soon enough.”

Gojo’s brow furrows, but he says nothing.

“It’s so cold tonight,” Geto sighs lazily, as if he hasn’t a genuine care in the world. “You know, I would welcome you inside, but you’re here earlier than expected. I don’t know if they’re ready for you, yet.”

Gojo is rendered silent for a few moments as he considers what Geto could possibly mean. Geto speaks lightly, as if he’s hinting at something amusing to himself. Obviously Geto has done something to you—but what could be possibly mean by ‘ready for him’?

Gojo doesn’t want to entertain Geto by falling for his bait, so he speaks only what he truly wants to know. “I already told you, Suguru. Cut the bullshit. Tell me what you want from them. Now.”

Geto turns to him with a sharp glare. “What am I, a dog for you to order around? Don’t you know that’s what monkeys are for?”

“Do you try to control, or should I say enslave, humans now, too?” Gojo sneers. “Sounds like you have less dignity than one of your so-called ‘monkeys’.”

“What a low blow. Enslave? No, nothing like that! I just put them out of their own miserable existence after they do some of my bidding. You know Satoru, you’re more feisty than you used to be.”

“I wonder why,” Gojo says bitterly, but tries to hold his tongue. The more he gives in to his banter, the further he is from what he came here for.

Geto doesn’t respond this time. Gojo doesn’t like the feeling he starts getting—the feeling that Geto is stalling for time. He needs more information if he can get it, but Gojo knows he doesn’t have any more time to waste—you could be in any sort of condition. He’s beginning to panic, even though he knows he shouldn’t.

“What do you want from them? Why would you take them?” Gojo speaks lowly. “They don’t have anything to do with you anymore.”

When Geto remains silent, Gojo barks out, “Tell me now, Suguru! I won’t play these fucking games with you. You already crossed the line before by messing with my students. Now this? You should be careful. It’s like you want me to kill you.”

Geto laughs heartily, as if this is just a tense moment in an otherwise pleasant reunion. “Sure, Satoru. We played poker together, don’t you remember? You could never hold your pokerface. You’re still horrible at bluffing, I see.”

“Call my fucking bluff then,” Gojo spits.

“I have been, all these years. We both know why I’m still alive.” Geto says calmly.

“But you know that I won’t overlook this. I don’t know what you’re thinking, Suguru, but there’s only so much I can sweep under the rug. Especially with…with them, and you know that.”

“Oh, yes, I certainly do.” He smiles easily, eyes crinkling as if he is particularly pleased.

This unnerves Gojo even more.

Geto startles when Gojo suddenly appears mere inches from him. He’s never before witnessed his former friend with an aura this agitated and full of aggression, with cursed energy so inflamed and oppressive. Gojo seems so tall in this moment, towering over Geto even though they’re practically the same height.

Geto finally feels a sliver of doubt. Gojo has never been able to harm him, or rather, could never bring himself to. Geto has known this and has exploited this, in fact—but right now, for the first time, he can’t help but wonder if today is the day.

“What the fuck are you doing, Suguru?” Gojo asks lowly, anger bleeding in to his tone despite his efforts to stifle it.

Geto laughs. If only he knew. If only he knew that he would soon be on his knees, reality falling apart, finally succumbing to Geto’s worldview.

“I don’t think that’s the right question,” Geto shakes his head, his voice teasing—mocking. “Wouldn’t it be ‘What have I done?’”

He watches the color drain from Gojo’s face as his meaning sinks in. Something has been done to you, and it might be irreversible. You might be…you might be de—

Gojo sharply inhales as his mind goes blank with fury. His entire mind is consumed with the thought of strangling Geto. He can’t get the image of his hands around his throat, hurting him like he must have hurt you, life draining from his twisted eyes, to fade away. The fiery rage in him is triggering the euphoria he gets with a taste of violence—when he almost goes mad, addicted to his own strength and invincibility.

But…but you. What about you? What if you’re still alive?

The violence falls away, cast away by thoughts of you. All it takes is a single second of your smile, an echo of your sweet laugh, for him to singularly focus on you. If you’re alive, he needs to find you right now.

And the next time Geto blinks, he is greeted on with an icy breeze, as the figure in front of him has vanished. Geto doubles over in laughter, thinking that he has won. He will be the one to break THE Gojo Satoru, or at least shatter the weapon the jujutsu higher-ups love to use. This weapon will be at his disposal; with Gojo Satoru by his side again, the extermination of the human race will be finally be within his grasp.

That’s assuming that your heart has stopped beating. Geto, who chooses to be a fool, does not even check. Even though Nanako relayed that you were breathing a few minutes ago, his arrogance and hope to break Satoru exceed any doubt.

Gojo is also a fool, or so he thinks. He wasted so much time on Geto, who had him so easily transfixed by his vague mentions of you. He should have just searched for you from the start.

Thundering footsteps and calls of your name now echo through the house in which you reside. Finally able to focus solely on you after separating from Geto, Gojo frantically searches the house, going from room to room as fast as he can.

He hadn’t acknowledged it to Geto, but he’s been here before, that time when he had to confirm with his own eyes the extent of Geto’s crimes. It doesn’t bode well with him that Geto chose this place to house you—the place where he slaughtered dozens of people, his first step to breaking away from jujutsu society.

Gojo finds himself profusely sweating—whether it’s from fear or from sprinting through this maze of a house, he can’t tell. But after learning practically nothing from Geto except that he has done something to you, Gojo can’t keep the bubbling anxiety at bay for much longer.

The panic rises acutely in Gojo once he realizes something—he feels so blind, running around like a chicken with its head cut off, because there is no cursed energy to detect. Your distinctive energy that led him from your home until here, is nowhere to be found, as if it has been extinguished.

He can’t breathe. His chest feels tight, and he is practically wheezing as he continues to rush around the rooms, scanning them with his bare eyes since he doesn’t trust his Six-Eyes right now. It’s illogical, he knows, but maybe his eyes are broken and that’s why he can’t see your energy. He refuses to give any serious thought to the alternative—if you didn’t have any cursed energy anymore, then that would mean…

He enters the last room—this room is larger than the rest, implying its greater importance, but is practically empty. It’s one of the the most minimalist looking bedrooms Gojo has even stepped foot in. The only thing that immediately captures his attention is a neat stack of papers that sit on the desk. He instantly recognizes the scrawl on the top paper as Geto’s. It pains him that he still remembers a detail as minute as that about Suguru.

His gaze migrates to the rest of the room, namely to the bed that is nestled into the furthest corner. His heart lurches. The fact that he didn’t notice this immediately, not used to relying solely on his normal vision, isn’t good. Him not noticing someone usually means they’re not with the living.

Only steps away, there is a figure strewn out over the sheets, unmoving and looking rather ragged. Hair unkempt, lips cracked, clothes bloodied, chest still.

Chest still.

He immediately moves to you, not wasting a second as takes a place by your bedside.

“No, no, no,” Satoru whispers, as if speaking too loudly will mean that this is reality, that maybe if you don’t wake up it’ll be because he didn’t speak loudly enough. Though soft, his voice is urgent and pleading. “Please no. Please don’t be true.”

He instantly scoops you up, handling your weight easily. He cradles you close to him as if you could disappear from his arms at any moment—and maybe, if you could see yourself, you’d understand that his fears aren’t unfounded, as you truly look as if your life force could fade at any moment. He then notices a rivulet of blood running from your mouth—he tries to gently brush it away, but ends up smearing it onto both your chin and his hand. Anger fills him when he thinks what Geto must have done to reduce you to this state.

Your eyelids begin to flutter open at his touch and warmth, but Satoru still sees more of your long eyelashes than your unusually dull eyes. They will not open past halfway, no matter how hard you try. In your disoriented state, you don’t notice Gojo’s sigh of relief, or how his grip on you tightens as if to remind himself that you’re here, you’re alive and breathing, you’re safe in his arms.

Through the spots in your eyes, you see a halo of white and two luminescent blue eyes. As your vision clears, you admire the light filtering through his translucent hair, which makes him appear angelic. Of course, he is as beautiful as the last time you saw him.

“Satoru? ‘S that you?” You manage to ask, and you sound raspier than a chronic smoker, much to your displeasure. You cringe internally, knowing how awful you must look and sound right now. You know it doesn’t matter how disheveled you look when you’re on the brink of death—and yet you can’t help but worry about it while you’re in his presence.

“You’re so cold,” Is his softly spoken answer. “God, I really thought– I thought that—”

If you didn’t know any better, you would say he sounds despaired. But that can’t be right—there’s no way he still cares about you. Not after his cold and harsh behavior towards you, not after he got together with Utahime—he can’t care. Or at least, not how you want to be cared by him.

After a few moments of silence, it’s evident that Gojo doesn’t intend to finish his sentence. Even in your hazy state of mind, you can guess what he was going to say. You do look awful, probably even worse than the last time you had a chance to look in the mirror.

“I think you’re just warm,” You tease weakly, with a smile full of too much amusement when considering the situation, when considering your condition. Now you’re playing Gojo’s role: joking when you should be serious.

It hurts Gojo to see the gentleness in your smile, gentleness and goodness that reveal how truly soft-hearted you are. Your natural softness after what you’ve been through—it angers him.

“No, I can’t be. It’s snowing outside,” He says, growing more upset with each sentence. “But you’re– you’re even colder than that. Your skin is—it’s like ice. You’re making me fucking worried!”

You blink rapidly, startled by his show of strong emotion but even more surprised by the glimmer of near tears in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” You say quietly, although neither you nor him know what exactly you’re apologizing for.

“That’s not what I meant,” He says, sighing, pulling you tighter to him. “I’m just…I was worried before I came, but now I’m really scared for you.”

“You are? You have been?” You blurt out automatically and mindlessly, eyes wide open now. You look so surprised that Satoru can’t help but chuckle a little, though it pains him that you don’t seem to believe him.

Heat rises to your face and you squirm a bit in his arms, now suddenly aware of your closeness, of all his skin touching yours. He quells your movement with a brush of his hand on your arm, encouraging you to stay still.

“You shouldn’t move too much. You really don’t look too good, angel,” He says, voice tight and threatening to break. “What did he do to you?”

Hah. You must look so disgusting and beat up that he assumes Geto hurt you. You smile weakly to yourself, wondering what he would think if you said you had looked like this for days.

“He didn’t,” You simply say, not seeming to have any intention to clarify. “This is how he found me. How could something like this happen overnight?”

You’re astounded by your own honesty. It’s always been difficult to be completely transparent for you, especially to Satoru—always trying to brush things off, make excuses for people, diminish your own pain in order not to bother or worry others.

Your words cut deep through Gojo and instantly take his breath away.

How could something like this happen overnight?

He hasn’t seen you since the day he rudely brushed you off, and it has been weeks since then. In the months before that dreadful interaction, he had only seen you one-on-one a handful of times. He knows you didn’t mean anything by your words, but he can’t help but feel guilt and karma very sharply. He deserves this after ignoring you for so long, even if he thought it was for the best.

You begin to cough, and it’s a horrible grating noise. It’s a miracle this didn’t happen sooner, although you wish that Gojo wouldn’t see this at all.

“You should go,” You croak out between coughs. “Leave me here, get away from Geto. It’s…it’s too late for me. Leave me.”

Gojo lightly rolls his eyes, partly in frustration by your melodramatic reaction and partly at himself because he has made you believe that he would just leave you there.

“As if,” He says almost playfully, gaining back some of his personality now that he has processed that you’re alive. “What are you saying? If I leave, I’m leaving with you. Just gimme a second to call Shoko, she’ll get everything prepared as always, she’ll be annoyed but she always has a soft spot for you—”

“No,” You interrupt Gojo, your voice firmer than he’s heard from you in a long time. “I told you, there’s no saving me.”

The dread sets in. Why are you so insistent on that?

He opens his mouth, about to say something, but doesn’t manage get the words out before the room is filled with rough coughing. You cough until all the air escapes from your lungs—and then you’re wheezing and choking on nothing.

“You okay? Tell me what’s going on,” He asks in an even tone, but he is anything but calm, especially when you are thrown into another coughing fit. “Angel? It’s okay, just breathe.”

Gojo places you back onto the bed, elevates your back so you’re in a sitting position, and begins to pat on your back in the hopes that it’ll help regulate your breathing. What he doesn’t realize, though, is that you’re not just having a panic attack. Something is actually lodged in your airways.

You begin to choke and gag. Satoru’s eyes are wide when he realizes that something is wrong, something is horribly wrong. He pats your back harder, the force beginning to push your body forward.

“Well, it’s finally started, has it? A little late, but no matter.”

Gojo’s head whips to the door so fast it almost gives him whiplash. He has been so focused on you that he didn’t even sense Geto’s sudden presence. He rests on the doorframe, watching with interest sparkling in his eyes.

“What’s going on here?” Gojo asks, accusatory, but is so scared to hear the answer that he almost wishes neither respond.

“Just watch and you’ll understand,” Geto says knowingly, easily. Everything is unfolding as it should, he’s glad to see.

Geto looks to Gojo smugly, wanting to see the fear swimming in his uncovered eyes, but is completely caught off guard by the intensity of his gaze. Adrenaline quickly courses through Geto’s veins, the type that spiderwebs through your tingling palms and traces icy fingers down your spine, for the first time in years. The true fight-or-flight feeling, reminiscent of when he first fought a high-level curse. But now it’s from Gojo’s hardened blue eyes boring into his own, penetrating down to his very soul, like a god passing divine judgment.

Your hacking interrupts the tense face off. Gojo is the one who looks away, but Geto does not feel as if he is backing down. He is ashamed to admit that he feels waves of relief once Gojo tends to you again. Unsettled, Geto takes a few steps away from the doorframe, retreating into the hallway away from Gojo’s scrutinizing gaze.

You don’t notice it, but of course you can’t in your state. At least, not when you feel it coming.

The thorns and stiff branches begin to scratch your throat. The numerous petals suffocate you and are slow to rise as they are heavy with blood. You grip Satoru’s wrist tightly to get his attention.

“Go,” You manage wheeze out. “Leave. Don’t want you to…see.”

He looks at you with so much horror in his eyes, looking even more scared than you feel. You can visually see the gears turning in his head, connecting the dots. Your weakness, your coughing, the blood from your mouth, the fact that this ‘couldn’t happen overnight’—

A blue petal escapes from your lips. It spins through the air, right before Gojo’s eyes, confirming his worst fears.

This must be a nightmare. It has to be a nightmare. Maybe he hallucinated the petal. Maybe you can still be saved, even though your coughing keeps getting worse and worse.

But then there’s something he can’t deny out of existence. As he rubs your back, helping you through your coughing and gagging, you cough up what he feared most. His heart rate skyrockets as he lays eyes on what you coughed up. A flower.

A flower the color of his eyes, the beauty of it corrupted by your blood that drenches it. A flower that’s meant for him. A flower that means you love him and that you don’t believe he loves you back.

Pain shoots through him, spikes working under his chest. He brought this on you. He thought he was protecting you, but instead he has been slowly killing you from the inside.

“No…” He whispers, unbelieving.

For some reason, you smile. Just a tiny quirk of your lips and the crinkling of your eyes as you look up at him. It’s a real smile, one he hasn’t seen in so long. And it hits him: one he might never see again, if he doesn’t fix this.

“No!” Gojo gasps out, not wanting to believe his eyes. “No, angel, no. Not this. This– this can’t be real. Why? Why did this happen to you?”

It’s cruel, but he knows very well why. He vied for your affection for years and years and has loved you for just about as long. And yet you are the one cursed to this fate, due to his denial erroneously leading him to Utahime and the suppression of his feelings leaving him to heartlessly ignore you.

You stare up at him with wide eyes, shame flickering through them. You didn’t want him to find out.

“‘Can’t help it,” You say weakly. “Not when it comes to you. Always sort of knew, but I figured it out recently. By then, though, you were…gone.”

He shakes his head frantically, words coming out in a jumble as he desperately tries to explain. “I just wanted to protect you. The higher-ups were after you—I thought I had to let go of you. I-I never thought this would happen. I never knew that you…”

“It’s okay, Satoru. I understand,” You say, holding back tears. “I’ve accepted it. It’s okay that you don’t feel the same. You have…you have her and that’s enough for me.”

You smile again. So bright, so genuine, and yet so painful.

“No! I…”

He wants to vehemently deny it, but the words get stuck in his throat. For years he has swallowed his feelings and never truly allowed himself to feel or speak them. The deepest feelings in his heart have never risen to the surface to be shared; they have always pooled deep in his soul, away from prying eyes and hearts.

But now they are so close to be verbally admitted that they are in his throat, choking him. He looks into your eyes and is overwhelmed by the waves of emotion that crash over him; it’s uncomfortable and even painful.

He has always shoved down his emotion for you. Any time he has ever shown his true feelings, about you aside, is when you eased it out of him. He has never divulged any real emotion on his own.

Despite his natural instincts screaming at him to keep it inside, despite the knot in his throat choking him, this time, he lets himself be overwhelmed.

“I love you. I always have,” He speaks, voice trembling with emotion. “Even when I didn’t know it yet. (Y/N), I’ve always liked you. I used to try so hard for you during school, always trying to get your attention. Remember how I never left you alone? You’d get so annoyed at me. Shoko and Geto said I was so obvious…”

Now that he’s started, he can’t seem to stop.

“I know I’ve fucked up recently, but it’s not…it’s not because I don’t have feelings for you. They’ve never once faded, even when I tried to ignore them. I tried with Utahime because I couldn’t get you out of my head, even though I needed to. The higher-ups have been targeting you, and I thought it was because of me, so I had to prove to them that you weren’t close to me. I even went out with Utahime, who hated my guts, but that…didn’t work out. It wasn’t fair to her—she herself realized how in love with you I am.”

He looks at you with an emotion you can’t place—it fills you with warmth and brings tears to your eyes. You sniffle a little, wondering if this is a cruel trick because this just cannot be real. There is no way in the world that Gojo Satoru went to look for you after months of radio silence. There is no way that he is here, right now, admitting feelings you never once suspected.

A sob wracks your body, even though you try your hardest to keep it in. You cover your face with your hands when you can’t stop yourself from the absolute meltdown that ensues, trying to preserve your dignity. He can’t love you, he just can’t.

“Don’t do that,” He says softly, gently easing your hands away from your face. “You don’t have to hide from me. God, I’m so sorry, angel. I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault.”

He leans in close, wanting to embrace you but not knowing if he even deserves to hold you. You sense his hesitance when he comes near you, and you think that this is the most vulnerable you’ve ever seen him. His hand slowly comes to your face to caress your cheek, to wipe away your pathetic tears, and you are shocked at the drops that fall on your skin from above.

“You don’t believe me, do you?” He chuckles weakly, tears freely falling, his words an echo of your own mind. “I shouldn’t be surprised, but please…please try. I don’t want anything more to happen to you.”

And you do try. You do, but you feel so tired and weak. Your vision is starting to go out of focus and your ears are ringing. Your body is telling you that it will soon give up. Your body is ready to give up, but you aren’t.

You lock eyes with him as best as you can, your heart skipping from the prolonged eye contact. If only you could have always been able to look into his eyes like this.

“Satoru, I think it’s pretty obvious by now, but…no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop loving you. Not even if it kills me…” You smile sadly. “And I think it might.”

“But I love you!” He cries, and it comes out as a plea. Tears stream down his face. “I don’t understand, I love you, (Y/N)! Is it– is it someone else? It’s okay if it is, I’ll take you to them and—”

You laugh, causing blood to dribble down your chin. “Even after all that studying, you can’t think. I already said it, but should I say it again? I love you, Satoru.”

“Then why? It was just one flower. You should- you should be fine. Please be fine.”

“The flower,” You explain hoarsely. “That wasn’t the first one. I’ve already coughed up a lot of them. Too many. I think my fate has been sealed for a while. I’m sorry, Satoru. I’m a fool. I finally learn that you love me, and I’m like this.”

He’s frozen for a moment, everything sinking in. Your life is no longer suspended in his hands, but rather in death’s treacherous grasp. There is no telling how long you have left.

In the next moment, he quickly gathers you in his arms, scooping you up effortlessly from the bed.

“You’re not dying on me,” He says, trying to assume his regular calm. “I won’t let you. We’ll figure this out, o-okay? Please angel, just fight it a bit more for me. We’ll leave right now, I’m sure Shoko can handle this.”

You nod, seeing through his false calm. “Satoru…I want you to know that even if I d—”

He shakes his head resolutely. “Tell me when you’re all better, okay? Promise me.”

Time feels suspended when you look into his eyes again, all of your emotions showing through them as if this is the last time you’ll ever see each again in this world.

You never get to promise him. Instead, Geto’s loud and commanding voice startles the two of you. “You’re not leaving with them.”

“Like hell I’m not,” Gojo snarls. “Like you can stop me.”

He closes his eyes, mentally easing into his large store of cursed energy, and prepares himself to make the familiar teleportation route to Tokyo Tech. But something’s different this time—his eyes fly open, pupils blowing wide, when he hits a block he never has before.

“You can’t teleport once you’re inside this barrier,” Geto explains calmly, voice as smooth and slow as molasses. “Thought you might pull something like this.”

You’re glad you didn’t promise him. Your ears ring again, and you feel so dizzy that you can’t keep your eyes from closing, even though you hear him begging you to keep them open.

The conversation between Geto and Gojo is lost on you with your fading hearing. You only hear their vague intonations and cadences, shouting and cursing. And then you’re being jostled wildly. Gojo is running with you in his arms, making a break for the edge of the barrier—that much you can surmise by the loud thumps and his erratic breathing.

You’re fading fast. You mumble out his name, giving everything you have just to open your eyes.

He’s so beautiful. The moonlight catches in his silver hair and reflects through his blue eyes you’ve always loved so much. You gaze into them as if they were pools you could dive into, endless depths of his soul. You wish you could spend more time looking at his eyes, just like this.

You hear his voice you could listen to for hours. He usually has a sly, silver tongue, but not today. It is weak and wavers. It bares the true feelings of the strongest today. “Don’t you dare die on me, angel!”

You wish you could promise him that, but your eyes close without your permission.

part iv

TAGLIST: @certainduckanchor @kawaiivillainess98 @arehzhera @starrylibras @mandysfanfics @rain-and-a-nice-nap @csillana @sup-hoes-its-me @llliissuu @hawkdaddy1111 @dcvilxswish @angel-kyo @eliz-lovesgojo @5268r @wooasecret @timetobegone @ceronnica @torusblindfold @mo0nforme @crookedlyaddictedtodark-blog @soapysofi @sadmonke @shartnart1 @dummyf @adoraspace @allie-jay @notgoodforlife @spin-garden @astrokatsuki @reiluvr @kinny-away @turtl3-warr1or

a/n: not Geto listening to the confession like 🧍‍♂️

ahhh I’m so sorry it took this long!!! Thank you for your patience! basically I had a pretty long draft written out and it yeeted itself out of this world (😭😭😭 legit have no idea what happened to it) and was really frustrated by that, so I didn’t return to this for a long while…Anyway, I’m glad to be back!!

There will be another part! Sorry not sorry about the cliffhanger/ambiguous ending. 😳

Btw I’m really sorry to all Geto lovers out there, I feel like I always do Geto dirty and write him as some evil unfeeling man 💀💀 but I swear I don’t actually hate his character and I think he’s a lot more complex than I write him…🥴

Thank you for reading! 💙🩵

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo fanfic #gojo hurt/comfort #hanahaki #jjk #jjk fanfic #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x you

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sophiethewitch1 · 1 year ago

Text

A Dramatic Irony

A/n: Trying to combat writer's block so I decided to do this little drabble. Spoilers for the WHB prologue, and also includes my theory that MC will turn out to be God in some form or capacity. Because why the hell else would the angels turn over to our side?

GAME IS 18+ THIS DRABBLE ISN'T, BUT EVEN THE PROLOGUE HAS ADULT CONTENT! MINORS PLEASE BE SENSIBLE!!!

“So, it was you? This whole time?” His lips graze against your throat. He’s warm, of course he is. All that holy light spilling out? He’s so warm it’s almost uncomfortable.

Everything about this is uncomfortable, really. But of course, like always, you’re at the centre of it. Of every situation, from the depths of hell to the cloudy tops of heaven.

“I’m not Him,” you grit out, your body shivering. You don’t dare move. Not with Gabriel, the man who had sworn to kill you, who had chased you over hell with armies of feathered fiends, with his teeth at your jugular.

It doesn’t matter the way he shakes just the same as you. It doesn’t matter that his fingers skim delicately - reverently - across your stomach. It doesn’t matter that those eyes that before looked at you with absolutely nothing inside, now seemed to overflow. With love, obsession.

You know, before all this, you’d been an atheist. Before an unholy angel had crawled out of your computer and a righteous demon had saved you and your best friend’s life, you had thought God couldn’t exist. That the world couldn’t be so cruel if someone like Him truly did exist. That your childhood wouldn’t be mired in tragedy, that you wouldn’t struggle to get out of bed every day. That you wouldn’t have to blink away flashes of the scent of copper and soap.

And of course, then you’d made a deal with the devil. You’d gone to hell. You’d broken countless contracts, and warred against heaven. You’d had to fight for every second of your life, and you’d done it bitterly, angrily.

Angry at this God that had disappeared, and angry at His stupid mistake of making every angel madly in love with him. Angry at how He never thought of the consequences of his actions, of how He never imagined a world He wouldn’t exist in. How just by your birth, you’d been destined to suffer. How your parents would have died no matter what, how you would always have had to walk this thorny path.

How He never seemed to consider what could happen when you created one of the strongest beings in the universe and forgot to give them a fucking moral compass.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he murmurs, ignoring your words. His too-warm body crowding in too close to yours, as your fists curl against his chest, desperately trying to push him away. It’s no use because no matter what’s in your blood, you aren’t strong enough - what is Solomon’s, and what is His.

Because, apparently, those stupid mistakes you’d cursed God for, were yours.

“I’m not Him,” you repeat, hands moving to claw at his throat. He doesn’t react beyond a small sigh of pleasure, curling into your touch like a cat in the sun. “I’m not Him. I don’t have His memories. I’m not Him.”

“I told you, didn’t I? I didn’t have any negative feelings towards you. I’m sorry, I’ll fix it. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. Please, just let me stay by your side?”

It’s such a strange dichotomy. The angel who sees this as a beautiful, miraculous reunion. And you, who sees this a tragedy. One you could never escape. The angel from before, swinging his scythe at your throat, and the one who now presses plush lips against that same skin. It’s too ironic, isn’t it? It just can’t be true. It just doesn’t make any sense.

“I don’t want you by my side,” you sob, but he just shushes you, pressing kisses against your head and across your face. He licks up your tears, groaning at the taste.

It’s too cruel. You have to wonder if the old you, the one you can’t remember, ran from this.

His hands tighten around your waist. It doesn’t really matter what happened before, because you know you won’t be able to run this time.

#what in hell is bad #whb #whb gabriel #what in hell is bad gabriel #whb x reader #yandere x reader #yandere drabble #whb gabriel x reader

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blitzyn · 1 year ago

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rookie mistake

dottore x m!reader

Request: Requests are open right? I hope so 🤞 Would I be able to ask for a sub!(male/amab)reader X dom!dottore? With some blackmail and coercion, preferably leaning towards dubious consent but I’m am a-ok with non-con elements, with a fatui/subordinate reader? If you could add in a small scene of him continuing while talking with someone outside the door that’s be awesome 😎 - Anonymous

Synopsis: You accidentally invade Dottore's office in search of intel.

a/n -> yall i know that i said i was on the fence about writing for genshin, but it was dottore and i love him plus i really liked this idea despite it having collected dust in my inbox for decades. whoever requested this: i love your mind and im so sorry it took me forever to decide to write this!! but just a reminder to whoever sees this, i will not be writing for fontaine unless stated otherwise!!

wc -> 3.6k

cw -> non-con, blackmail, coercion, blowjob, deepthroat, literally getting caught, spit as lube, anal fingering, anal sex, standing doggy position, fatuus/infiltrator reader, guys he calls you a rat because you're a spy, not beta read

Your job was straightforward. But it was also one of the most grueling missions you've ever been assigned to.

With your status as an elite spy, you were tasked with infiltrating the Fatui as one of their ranks to gather information regarding the locations and purposes of specific forts to prevent potential attacks and keep the organization from acquiring knowledge valuable to their cause.

There was absolutely no room for error, lest you get caught and pay for that mistake with your life.

Fortunately enough, the mask everyone was required to wear (with the exception of the Harbingers) concealed your identity, allowing you to execute your orders with relative ease. Of course, it wasn't completely simple. You had to fight your way up the ranks in order to even get a hint of the plan from your superiors, which took years to even get recognized for your efforts.

Several times have you had to go against your moral compass. Several times, you doubted your abilities and questioned if you were even making a dent in the Fatui's plans. Although, when you heard a faint argument due to a lack of resources, you knew you were on the right track.

But one day, you noticed that an agent's office door was left unlocked. There was no one in the hallways, and not a soul knew that you had stolen an important document that recorded data for some valuable supply that you didn't care enough to read about.

Making sure you tucked the paper deep inside your coat pocket, you strained your ears to ensure you were alone before taking the risk and entering the isolated office. It looked like your standard room. Boring, silent, and strangely barren of many decorations. You took a moment to inspect the area before deciding to take a step forward when your blood suddenly ran cold.

"I don't use this office very often," a voice said from behind you. You just about jumped out of your skin, swiveling your head to the person behind you. It took you a moment to put a face to the name you'd heard so many times before, but when you did, you quickly regretted your decision to search for any additional information. "But even so, don't you think it's rude to invade someone's personal space?"

You froze, unable to find the right words. Nothing could explain why you were currently snooping around in an office that wasn't yours—much, much less when it belonged to the Second of the Eleven Harbingers.

You inwardly cursed your naive eagerness to do more than you were asked. Your years of experience as a spy should've kept you from making such a rookie mistake, and now all your work was going down the drain.

The two of you stared at each other for what felt like an eternity, fighting the urge to fidget at the overwhelming feeling of his gaze on you, analyzing your appearance. He broke the silence with a hum, neither intrigued nor entirely disappointed.

"I have heard others spread rumors of a mole within our ranks but thought nothing more of their words as an excuse for their inability to secure our resources," Dottore mused, raising a hand to his chin. "I assume that the mole is you?"

You couldn't bring yourself to reply. Your throat was dry, and your stomach twisted into knots. Not that he cared.

"I must applaud your efforts," he said, a slight smirk decorating his pale face. "Not many people evade our eyes so easily, and for as long as you have."

"But, a word of advice—" He reached into his pocket, pulling out a familiar device. He presented it to you, watching in amusement when you suddenly patted yourself down before looking back up towards him. It was the device you used to contact your organization. "—Make sure you clean up after yourself. It's impolite to leave your items lying around."

You don't remember dropping it or forgetting it somewhere. But that didn't matter anymore. You were stuck in the present with no way of getting out of this situation.

He flipped the device over, dully inspecting it as he continued talking. "After going through your data log, it wasn't hard figuring out what you were going for next. While this normally wouldn't spark any interest in me, this resource just so happens to be vital in my current experiment, and I can't have you tampering with my results."

He walked forward, stopping just a few feet in front of you. He was close enough for you to inhale his scent of sterile rubbing alcohol and metal. It made your nose burn as you watched him intently, tensing and fighting the urge to back away out of fear of angering him somehow. The document in your pocket felt unusually heavy.

"Although, I didn't expect such a seasoned spy like yourself to make such an amateur move," he hummed, ignoring your need for personal space to pull your mask off. And you were helpless against it all. "[Name] [L.Name], is it? Why don't you read the paper you have right now?"

That's when you knew you fucked up big time.

With a shaky hand, you reached into your coat pocket to pull out the report, unfolding it only to realize that it wasn't a report at all. It was a blank piece of paper. But you could've sworn there was writing on it when you grabbed it earlier!

He could see the confusion on your face clear as day as a laugh left his lips, tapping a rolled-up piece of parchment on the tip of your nose to regain your attention. "I believe this is what you're after." With a flick of his wrist, he unfurled the paper that contained everything you needed.

"What—" you gasped, briefly staring at your paper before looking back up.

"It's a shame you didn't think to check the ink before you took it," he said, faux disappointment laced in his voice before it reverted back to its normal tone just as fast. "The ink 'disappears' when subjected to anything higher than room temperature. When you put it in your pocket, your body heat, coupled with the insulation from your coat, affected the writing and turned it invisible."

Fuck.

He planned this out.

You swallowed nervously, taking a deep inhale to steel your nerves, even when it didn't do much to help you. "How... how long have you known?" you couldn't help but ask.

"Not long, really," Dottore casually replied, as if he didn't hold your entire life in the palm of his hand. "I caught you just in time."

"Now," he said with a voice that demanded your attention. Not that he needed to try, anyway. His very presence was almost impossible to ignore. "I'm willing to offer you two options. One, I hand this device over to one of my lovely agents and have them torture you for answers then promptly dispose of you. Or, two—" He waved the communicator in the air, taunting you. "—I have you make it up to me."

It was obvious which one you'd be more tempted to accept, but you knew that accepting an offer such as this from Dottore, of all people, was not a good idea. He knows he has you right where he wants you.

"The second one. I... I'll make it up to you." The words tasted like acid as you forced them out, watching a pleased smirk rise on his face.

"Good," he muttered mostly to himself. Leisurely, he turned around and walked towards the door, shutting it before refocusing back on you.

"Get on your knees," he ordered, placing his hands behind his back as he waited for you to move. He observed silently as you obeyed, staring at the floor in shame. "Crawl to me."

He sighed impatiently upon seeing the conflicted and perplexed expression on your face. "You want to be a rat so badly, don't you? So get down and crawl to me like one."

You were given no choice but to comply despite the absurdity of his request. Hanging your head, you inched forward as the cold, wooden floors painfully dug into your knees, stopping once the sight of his boots came into view. You held back a flinch when you heard the fabric of his clothes rustle as he leaned down to lift your head up by your hair, forcing you to your knees.

Instantly, your eyes zeroed in on the prominent bulge in Dottore's pants, making you painfully aware of what he wanted you to do next. With a suspiciously gentle tug, he brought you slightly closer to him. You could tell he was getting impatient.

"Well?" He questioned, a frown gracing his features. "You don't need instructions. Go on."

You glanced up at him with blatant disgust in your eyes before raising your hands to undo his pants and reveal his semi-hard cock. You suppressed a grimace as you held it in your hand, steeling your nerves just enough to be able to lick a stripe down the side. Flattening your tongue, you moved back up to take the tip in your mouth, letting your saliva slip past the corners of your lips to lubricate the rest of his dick.

You half-assed it all, not bothering to take it all the way down or, at the very least, use your tongue. However, Dottore caught on quick enough with an annoyed sigh. You supposed you shouldn't have been surprised when he tangled his fingers into your hair and shoved you down, but you were caught off guard either way.

You were embarrassed to hear a loud gag sound from you, choking and sputtering on his cock whenever the tip of it slid down your throat. You dug your nails into his thighs when he suddenly shifted and pressed the sole of his boot onto your dick, letting out a muffled cry that only served to please him. He made no move to rub it against you, simply keeping it firmly on your crotch—to keep you in line, you assumed.

You squirmed, internally cringing at the feeling of your drool seeping out the corners of your lips. Fluttering your eyes shut, you tried to focus on your breathing. In and out, in and out, in and—

"Don't look away," he said, refusing to give you a moment of respite, shoving his cock all the way inside your mouth, harshly tugging on your hair at the same time. He fucked your face, ignoring your sounds of protest as he battered your throat. He laughed at your struggle, entertained with the way your tears gathered at your lash line.

"Awh, is this too much for you?" He taunted, shifting his hand to the back of your head to push you down to the base. He sighed contentedly at the feeling of your throat tightening and spasming around him, gently rocking his hips. "You should've thought that through before you accepted the job."

With a painful tug, he pulled you off of his cock. A trail of saliva connected you to him, which you quickly broke when you turned your head to cough into your elbow. He ordered you to get up, unwilling to wait a second before he hauled you up by your arm impatiently. He effortlessly moved your body, pressing your cheek against the wooden door as he pushed on your back, forcing it to arch.

Deeming your position acceptable, he tucked his fingers underneath the waistband of your pants to yank them down to your knees. Your breath hitched at the sudden change in temperature, refusing to lean back and seek any warmth from Dottore.

With one hand on your hip, the other strayed toward your ass, spreading it to inspect your hole. It took effort to keep yourself from fidgeting under his gaze, and you opened your mouth in a daring attempt to get him to hurry up when he suddenly spat on your hole, shoving two fingers inside soon after.

You let out a grunt, clawing at the door he had you lean against. It was an uncomfortably foreign sensation but you were in no position to struggle. A burning sensation emanated from your hole as his fingers forced their way inside, wasting no time to move in a scissoring motion. They brushed against a spot that sent sparks up your spine every so often, taunting you wordlessly.

"You're enjoying this," Dottore said, not as a question or comment, but as a statement. And the worst thing was, he was right. No matter how much your mind made you hate it, your body told a different tale.

You let out a displeased sigh, pressing your forehead against the cold door, not daring to make your words known. Not that he minded. He enjoyed forcing your reactions out of you just as much as having them given to him without a fight.

He made it known with a jab to your prostate, sending a shock up and down your spine so suddenly it nearly made your knees buckle. That was all he gave you before abruptly pulling away, leaving you uncomfortably empty until the quiet ptuh! sound of him spitting on his cock filled your ears.

Fuck. This was actually happening. And you had no way out.

In a last ditch effort to maintain your dignity, you tried to push yourself off of the door but was quickly pressed—borderline slammed—back down with a hand to the back of your neck.

"I don't think you'll enjoy the alternative," he said, the undertones of irritation and impatience evident in his voice. He squeezed the sides of your neck hard enough to ensure your compliance, nearly scowling when you shifted in place. "So be still and behave like a good little thing."

Without missing a beat, he lined the tip of his cock up against your slick asshole and pushed his way inside, forcing a strained cry from your throat. He made sure it hurt, purposefully moving slowly to make you feel every inch and vein.

You whimpered, trying to breathe and calm yourself down. The stretch fucking hurt and you instinctively shifted your hips forward in a futile attempt to ease the pain when Dottore held your hips to yank you back, shoving the last few inches inside you.

You let out a strangled groan, biting your lower lip to stifle your noises as searing pain tore through you. You breathed heavily through your nose, feeling the weight of disgust settle in your chest when you heard him sigh in satisfaction at how tight you were. You winced when he pulled out slowly, only for him to slam back inside with a loud slap.

You jolted, just about ramming your head against the door in surprise. You grit your teeth and pressed a hand against it as the wood audibly creaked and groaned under your weight when he began to move. You tensed upon hearing faint voices beyond the door, peering back over your shoulder in a pathetic attempt to get him to stop.

"W—Wait," you muttered, breath hitching. "There's someone outside...!"

"Then I suppose you're just going to have to be quiet," he replied with an upward quirk to his lips before angling himself in a way that made his cock press up against you just right. You were disgusted to feel heat beginning to pool in your gut, forcing moans past your lips no matter how hard you tried to stop them. You covered your mouth with a hand as you listened to the noises approach. Dottore was (somewhat) merciful enough to press his pelvis against your ass, though that didn't stop him from rocking his hips to cruelly grind his cock into your prostate.

"Dottore?" It took you a moment to process the voice as electricity shot up and down your spine, trying your damn best to stifle your whimpers. "Are you in there?"

It's Pantalone, you recognize.

"Yes. Is there something you need from me?" Dottore replied, shifting his hold on you to start shallowly thrusting. You squeezed your eyes shut, listening to the painfully loud squelching.

"Not at the moment. I thought I heard something... else," Pantalone hummed with a knowing tone, sending a wave of mortification through your body.

"Then if that is all, I'd prefer it if you left," Dottore said, his amusement clear as day in his voice. He didn't even try to hide it as he gave you a punishing thrust, the resounding slap mixing in with your moan as it echoed off the walls. "I'm busy."

A laugh came from behind the door. "Very well. I'll leave you to it."

Dottore refused to wait for him to leave when he started again, this time fucking you so hard you were convinced there'd be a bruise. His fingers dug into your skin, yanking you back in time with his thrusts.

Your legs shook and you bit your lip until you bled, but it hardly did a thing to silence you.

"Look at you," Dottore mused, reaching around to hold your aching cock in his hand. He gave it a squeeze before jerking off the top half, focusing on the tip. "You were never meant to be a spy. You'd be so much better off as my little pet, wouldn't you agree?"

You let out a loud moan, instinctively looking down. You didn't even realize you were so hard, but as you watched the head of your cock drool precum onto the ground, everything felt twice as intense.

"N—No!" You choked out, clawing desperately at the creaking door. "I'll never—I'll never be your pet!"

"No?" Dottore laughed, sounding so unbothered it sent a spike of fear through you, reminding you of just how fucked you were. Swiftly, he swiped his fingers over the tip of your cock before bringing his hand up to push them into your mouth, making you taste your precum. With the palm of his hand, he pressed it against your chin to force your head back.

You let out a groan, feeling the strain on your upper back and neck as you stared at him with fear and disgust.

"I'm afraid you don't have a choice," he reminded, pulling out the communicator with his other hand. He slightly shook it, taunting you. "Don't you remember that actions have consequences?"

He pocketed the device as he slid his hand away from your mouth to bring it to the back of your neck, holding it tightly as he harshly pressed you against the cold wood. The side of your face ached, but, much to your horror, the pain only went straight to your cock.

"So just stand there and enjoy it," he said with a groan, his dick pulsing rhythmically as he savored the sensation of your walls clamping tightly around him. "Don't fight how much you like this."

"I don-" Just then, he rammed his cock into your prostate over and over, reducing you into a babbling mess that only proved his point.

Your eyes burned with unshed tears, ashamed that you loved the feeling of him so deep inside you, but you hated that it was him fucking you. You could feel the heat in your stomach intensify with each harsh thrust, feel the way your balls tightened in a way you knew you couldn't stop.

"Please..." you whimpered, weak against the wet slapping sounds that filled the office. "I don't want to...!"

You came with a whorish moan, arching your back as your cock spilled cum onto the floor. You could hear the sound of Dottore's laugh through the haze of your orgasm as sparks coursed through your veins, knees nearly buckling.

"Yes you do," he groaned, voice slightly strained. You could faintly hear his labored breathing the closer he got to his own orgasm, noticing the way his movements grew sloppier and weaker. He reached around again, jerking you off despite the lurking overstimulation.

You tightened, sending him right over the edge as he slammed his cock inside you a final time, pressing himself flush against your ass as he came. It was uncomfortably warm as he throbbed in time with each spurt, savoring the way you practically tried to milk him dry.

But he didn't let it last long as he pulled out with a satisfied sigh, enjoying the sight of you, shaky and vulnerable, before him. He graciously gave you a moment before commanding you to fix yourself, stepping back to adjust his own appearance.

"Now," he said, sternly, like he didn't just fuck you within a damn inch of your life. "Why don't you send a message to your organization stating that you're not going back."

He handed you the communicator with a smug smirk, relishing in your distress. Taking in a deep breath to steel your nerves, you accepted the device, reluctantly typing in a message before returning it back to him with regret written on your face.

"Oh, don't look so upset," he pouted, pocketing the device. You weren't sure when you'd see it again. "It'll be easier for you if you cooperate."

He made his way past you, opening the door, sending shivers down your spine at the sudden chill. "But right now, you have a lot of work to do."

cross-posted on ao3

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rainylana · 2 years ago

Text

“Stay the night.”

Eddie Munson x female reader

summary: after eddie gets his ass kicked for helping you out, you show up to his trailer to aid his wounds.

warnings: enemies to lovers, fighting, slight harassment, very brief smut sorry y’all, jason carver as his cunt self, mostly told from eddie’s perspective, i don’t want to give away the major plot twist in this so all i’ll say is that there is talk of major physical trauma/abuse, also credits to @vol2eddie for helping me with the idea! also, should i do a part two to this?

pt 2

The only reason he even debated going and helping you was because of Wayne’s golden rule. Always respect women. Help them when they need it. Protect them. Wayne was old fashioned when it came to his viewpoints, but he made sure Eddie was raised well and had a good morale compass. Right now, Eddie was cursing it. Of all people.

He was just about to hop in his van to leave school for the day when the basketball team caught his eye, and the pretty girl they surrounded. He threw his backpack through his rolled down window and rested a hand on his hip, watching through his dark sunglasses. “Oh, shit.” He said, realizing you were the girl who’s attention had been caught from the pubescent young men.

Eddie hated you, and you him. It had been like that for years. Everyone knew it. Everyone knew you too couldn’t tolerate being in the same room together. The school guidance counselor even had to change two of his classes so he wouldn’t have to engage with you. He didn’t like to think about way back when, the days you where once friends. It almost made him sad.

“Fuck,” He turned to get in his van, let it be, but it was clear whatever they were saying to you was making you very uncomfortable. When he seen Jason Carver, enough was enough. “Damn it.”

He trudged up the hill to the patch of grass you were standing in, a beating in his heart indicating his nervousness. “Hey!” He barked, getting the attention of everyone. He tried his best not to look small.

“Munson?” Carver raised a brow, surprised to see him. “May we help you with something?”

You locked eyes with Eddie, face masked in surprise and curiosity. Jason had cornered you, along with his goons, trying to get you to go out with him. As if you’d ever go out with him. You loathed him. He wouldn’t let you pass, wouldn’t let you say no. By the time he had grabbed your elbow, Eddie Munson had shown his face in the crowd, the last person you had expected to see.

Eddie and you had history. Not good history, either. You used to be very close in 7th grade. Almost best friends. To this day, Eddie didn’t know why you dipped and broke his young heart. You never gave him a reason. It wasn’t important for him to know. Besides, it was easier to hate him.

“Just seeing what the problem was.” Eddie shrugged, looking away from you to Jason, trying to keep his shoulders tall and broad. Jason was significantly taller than him.

“Problem?” Jason shook his head. “No, no, there’s no problem. Just curious as to why you suddenly give a shit about y/n over here.” He laughed, along with his friends.

He laughed, too. Carver had a point. Still, golden rule, Eddie. Golden rule. “Yeah, well,” He took a step toward him. “Just making sure no one was uncomfortable.”

He ignored you completely now. He wouldn’t look at you.

“Uncomfortable?” Jason scoffed. “Freak Munson is getting brave, boys! I think if you don’t step back, man, the only one who will be uncomfortable is you.”

God, he’d almost broken his record. He’d gone almost 10 days without a black eye. He sighed heavily, bringing back his fist.

•

“What do you want?” Eddie was surprised to see you on the porch of his trailer, caressing a first aid kit in your hands. It was late, almost nine o’clock. There was a chill in the air and you had a thick coat wrapped around you.

“You have a black eye.” You pointed out awkwardly, shifting your weight. “I came here to…well, thank you for what you did. And to patch you up. You’ve got a little cut up there.” You lifted your finger.

“Mhm, I’m aware.” He said, holding a cold beer to his eyebrow. “But I don’t need your thanks and I don’t need you freezing to death on my porch. I didn’t do any of that for you.”

You sniffed in the cold, closing your arms to your chest. “Oh? Then why did you?”

He rolled his eyes, debating kicking you off his porch steps. “Look, my uncle taught me to respect women, okay? Look out for…well, your breed.”

You held your head high. “I see. Very admirable of you. You gonna let me in so I can help?” You let yourself in anyways, pushing past him. You tried not to stare and recall the memories of when you’d last been inside his home. It had been many years.

“Hey!” Eddie slammed the door shut. “This is breaking and entering!”

“You’re gonna preach to me about the law?” You raised a brow, taking off your coat. “You of all people?”

“How bout shuttin’ the fuck up, eh?” He plopped down on his couch, glaring at you. “I don’t need any of your help to begin with.”

“But you let me in.” You kicked off your boots, giving him a pointed look.

“I can kick you out anytime, L/n.” He stared at you through his lashes. “I suggest you doctor me up before you’re kicked to the curb.”

Your both stared at each other for a moment before you sat beside him on the couch. He stiffened when you touched his cut with an alcohol wipe, making you apologize softly under your breath. Neither him nor you thought you’d be in such close proximity ever again. It felt awkward, at least that’s how Eddie saw it. It was awkward and unconscious. He wanted you gone, but he couldn’t deny that your touch was almost a little bit comforting to his throbbing headache.

“I really do mean it,” You broke the silence, noticing the small cuts on his knuckles. He’d gotten in several good punches, but he looked like shit. “I appreciate what you did, even if it wasn’t for me. I owe you this.”

He flexed his fingers when you started dabbing at his ring finger. “You don’t owe me anything.”

You wrapped a small bandaid around his pinky finger, switching to his other hand where it had been bruised. “Still. Thank you, Eddie. Those guys are jerks.”

“What did they want, anyways?” He found himself contributing to the conversation.

“Jason was trying to convince me to go out with him,” You paused to look at him, the sudden look of your eyes startled him, his body tense and uncomfortable. “I said no but he wouldn’t listen. He grabbed my arm. That’s when you showed up.”

Eddie scoffed lightly. “Yeah, sounds about right for Carver. Piece of shit, if you ask me.”

“I agree.” You nodded, wiping away dried blood around his knuckles.

You both found it odd that you were having a normal conversation, not a screaming match. It was kind of nice actually. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been here.” You sighed, wrapping another finger in a bandaid. “How’s Wayne?”

“He’s fine.” He said dismissively.

Your eyes dropped and you looked up at him. He wasn’t looking at you this time, only the floor. It killed you that Eddie hated you so bad. It killed you that you had to hate him. You wished you could explain things to him. Make the world twist back in time. But again, it was easier to hate him. Wasn’t it?

“I’ll get this done so I can go.” You halfway muttered, causing Eddie to look at you. He found himself not wanting you to leave.

“Sorry.” He licked his lips. “Old man is fine. Working everyday. Bringing home the bacon. Same old. You remember that, I’m sure.” He leaned back on the couch, allowing you to decorate his fingers with bandaids. He didn’t question the girly designs on them.

You breathed heavily. “Yes, I do. I miss him.”

When was the punchline? You two didn’t do this. You didn’t coerce with one another. “Why are you really here?” Eddie questioned you.

“What do you mean?” You paused your work.

“You come here to mock me or something?” He raised his brow, an inquisitive tone in his deep voice. “Tell me I shouldn’t have gotten in the way?”

“No.” You said firmly, placing his hand down. “I told you why I’m here.”

“Well, I don’t believe you.” He sat up to glare at you, dark curls tossed behind his shoulder.

“I’m not out to get you, Eddie!” You raised your voice. “Believe it or not, I came here with sincere intentions.”

He scoffed. “Sincere intentions, huh? That what you thought when you ditched me in eighth grade? Was that sincere intentions?”

“You don’t know the whole story, Eddie!” You snapped, gathering your trash and standing up. “You can hate me all you want but it’s not fair. Nothing about anything is fair!” You ranted, throwing your bandaid sleeves in the trash.

Eddie’s eyes were wide, startled. He looked down to his hands, seeing the pink and purple bandaids. An awkward silence ensued.

“I’m really sorry, Eddie.” Your voice broke across the room, making him snap his head up. Were you crying? “I never wanted any of this to happen. It just…I didn’t want anything bad to happen to you.” You were crying.

Eddie stiffened. He didn’t know what to do. Here, his mortal enemy was crying in his home. He had the urge to kick you out, yet comfort you at the same time. But how was he to do that? “You’re not making any sense, L/n.” He said awkwardly.

“I know, I know.” You had your back to him, waving your hand. “I’m sorry, I know. I just…wish things could be different. I wish you could know…how sorry I am that things turned out the way they did.”

He raised one singular brow, mouth falling in ajar. He’d never been more confused in his life. “Listen, Y/n, I’m feeling very uncomfortable right now so…you want a beer or something?” He tried to contribute to the conversation in some helpful manor.

You turned, stilling his movements at the sight of your tears and snotty nose. He swallowed hard. “You alright?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. I just…can we talk about somethings?”

“What things?”

“Things from back then.”

“Back then as….?”

“Eighth grade.”

No, not really. He didn’t want that. But did he? This could be his chance to get some answers, and it was clear you were ready to give them. He halfway wanted to turn you away, but the sight of your tears made him uncomfortable. He didn’t want you crying, oddly enough.

“Yeah, okay.” He gave up with a heavy sigh, patting the seat on the couch next to him for you to sit.

When you sat down next to him, your shoulders brushed and he stiffened. He cleared his throat, fiddling with his hands. You wiped your face with your sleeve. Maybe he should’ve offered you a tissue. Did he even have those?

“You remember my parents, right?” You started, making him scoff.

“Yeah, they’re assholes. Why?”

Here goes nothing. You turned to put your back to him, placing your hands at the side of your shirt. With one movement, you lifted it over your head, leaving you in your red bra.

Eddie jumped like a startled deer, but settled when he saw what was in front of him. Your back was decorated in thick, red marks, splatted across it’s length. Eddie couldn’t help but move closer, his jaw falling slack. He placed his hand on your shoulder to get a better look.

“You knew they hated you.” Your voice was thick with tears. “Especially my dad. He said you were evil and wicked. He said you’d��you’d take- advantage of me. He said if I didn’t stop being your friend then he’d..he’d, he’d kill you.”

Eddie felt like he was going to be sick. He knew these marks were from a belt. A thick one. You were bruised everywhere. He stomach churched and he thought he was going to be sick. He traced a bruise with his finger.

“My parents are creative when it comes to dealing out punishments.” You laughed without humor, a crack in your voice. “Eddie, I know you hate me, but I hope you don’t really hate me. Because I don’t hate you. I never have. It was just easier to let you go. I didn’t want anything to happen to you.”

It was like Eddie had been transported back to eighth grade. His hair was buzzed and he had horrible acne scars and buck teeth, but you were still as beautiful as he’d ever thought. Eddie’s heart had broke and it was as if no time had past, there had been no water under the bridge you were standing on.

He got up and moved to the other end of the couch where he could see your face, and he pulled you in for a hug, careful where he put his arms. “Y/n, I’m so sorry.” He pleaded with you. “Forgive me, I’m so so sorry. Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

You couldn’t help but cry in his arms, relishing the feeling of having your friend back. “It’s okay. Just hold me.”

He scooted closer and held you tighter. Mentally, his mind was a battlefield, connecting dots and pieces of a puzzle that he hadn’t known existed. Everything made so much sense now. He hated every bit of it.

Eddie held you for almost an hour. You both laid on the couch where you stayed on top of his chest, torsos flush against the other. It was extremely intimate. Eddie asked the questions he wanted, to which he finally got answers to. It made you feel so much better, a weight that wasn’t no longer pressed against your windpipe.

Within the minutes, you were both looking at each other, staring into each other’s eyes with a gentle softness. Eddie wanted so badly to kiss you, a thought he never imagined would cross his mind. He also hoped you weren’t aware of his slight hard on. After all, a beautiful girl was laying on top of him, shirtless.

“Kiss me.” You said through a whisper, brave and quiet.

Eddie gulped, giving a slight nod. “Okay.”

He leaned in until his plush lips were soft against yours. With a tiny movement, he kissed you, opening his mouth ever so slightly to deepen the kiss. It really wasn’t even much of one. It was so delicate and soft as snow, but it meant the world to you. When you put your hand on his cheek, he took it as a sign to kiss you harder. He did, pressing his face into yours and opening his lips wide to give you his tongue. Your lips lapped and licked and your breath was hard in each other’s faces.

You felt the heat between your legs throb. You couldn’t but moan. He groaned right back. As much as he wanted to have you, now wasn’t a good time. It wasn’t the right time, not of all circumstances. He gave you one last kiss before he pulled away. You were almost sweating. He smiled, pulling you back into his chest. “Stay the night.”

#eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things season four #eddie munson x reader #joseph quinn #eddie munson imagines #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson headcanons #eddie munson blurb

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violentdelightsandviolentends · 2 years ago

Text

Pretty When You Cry.

Joel realises his morals are fucked. You realise you like it.

Pairing - Joel Miller x female reader

Age Rating - 18+

Warnings - Lots of cursing, sexual content, mentions of prostitution

Word Count - 1750

Author's Note - oh boy. buckle in. i love when a character has a messed up moral compass and is a little rough and jagged around the edges. i also love lana del rey. hence, this joel fic was born. please enjoy.

Masterlist. Requests.

“Stupid fuckin’ girl,” Joel spits at you.

You flinch and step backwards, trying to escape what is inevitably going to be a brutal verbal assault. The older man watches your every move and chuckles darkly.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Nowhere, is the answer. You’re down a dark alleyway in the QZ, a barely lit back street. Even if you run, you’ll just end up circling back around. You’re walled in – both literally and figuratively.

Joel moves towards you, his large frame making you want to shrink away instinctively. He towers over you, broad shoulders blocking your view.

“What the fuck were you thinking?”

You weren’t, is the issue.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

Joel has been desperate for a car battery for weeks. A few days ago, you’d overheard a guy talking about smuggling spare parts. You’d set up a covert meeting, and asked if he could get you what you needed. He’d told you he could – for a price. It didn’t matter that the currency was you. You’d do what you needed to do. For Joel.

You’d made your way to meet him tonight. His name was Pete, you were pretty sure. He was a sleaze, a real piece of work - but he had connections. He had people working for him, could practically get you anything if you asked nicely and promised to pay.

You had nothing to your name. No one did, these days. You knew you couldn’t pay Pete with alcohol, or cigarettes, or drugs. No, you’d give him something else. You’d give him you. An offer which he eagerly accepted.

He wanted you to pay before he’d give you the battery. You’d argued, but it was no use. You didn’t want to make him angry – it’d only make it worse.

So there you were. He had backed you against the wall of this very alleyway, demanding you take off your shirt. Just as you were lifting the hem over your head, Pete hit the ground.

You looked up to see Joel, more furious than you’d ever seen him before. He’d punched Pete in the head and knocked him out cold.

“What the actual fuck are you doing?” he hissed.

“Well I was doing you a favour. Not anymore, apparently,” you hissed back.

“A favour? You’re whoring yourself out as a favour?”

“Fuck you, Joel,” you spat, turning on your heel to leave.

Joel grabbed your wrist and pulled you backwards with force, taking no care whatsoever. You were worried he was going to snap your arm, the way he was clutching it.

“Stupid fuckin’ girl.”

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

“Are you even listenin’ to me? What the fuck were you thinking?”

He’s looking at you pointedly, clearly expecting some sort of explanation. You’re not really sure what to say. When you don’t answer, he takes another few steps forward, intimidating you until your back is pressed against the rough brick of the wall.

Joel grabs your chin between his fingers and forces you to look at him. His fury hasn’t subsided – you can still feel it rolling off of him in waves. He’s buzzing with adrenaline, the electricity of it infectious, seeping into your pores.

“You better have a damn good reason as to why I just watched you take your shirt off for Pete fuckin’ Davis.”

He spits the man’s name like it tastes disgusting in his mouth. It makes you smirk slightly.

“You think this is funny? Huh?” Joel asks, squeezing your face tighter. You shake your head, not once breaking eye contact with him. He stares you down for a minute before releasing his grip.

“He has a battery,” you explain quietly. “He’s been selling spare parts. Said he could get me what you need if we cut a deal. It’s a small price to pay, Joel.”

“That is not a small price.”

The genuineness of it makes you wince.

The thing is, Joel doesn’t usually care about this kind of stuff. He’s not exactly an upstanding citizen, having made his fair share of dumb deals and below the belt exchanges. He’s usually the one encouraging you to break the rules a little, if it means you both benefit.

Above all, you are convinced that Joel doesn’t care about you. He doesn’t care about anyone, not really. You know that he and Tess have this ambiguous sort of partnership - friendship at a complete stretch. But that’s it. Joel doesn’t care.

So why is he so furious?

His rage has infected you now. You’re exasperated, sick of the mixed signals. You and Joel were partners in crime, acquaintances at most. It didn’t matter that when he looked at you, the whole world fell away. It didn’t matter than when you heard his voice, time stopped temporarily. It didn’t matter that he was the last thing you thought about at night and the first thing you thought about in the morning. None of it mattered.

“Why do you fucking care, Joel?” you spit, shoving at his chest. His scent is suffocating you, making it hard to think. You need to put some distance between you before you do something reckless.

“Why do I care? Why do I fuckin’ care?” he practically yells at your face. “Are you that stupid?”

“Stop calling me stupid!” you retaliate. “I’m smarter than every damn person in this place!”

“Smart enough to turn to prostitution?”

That word makes you scoff.

“It wasn’t like that. It would have been a one time thing. A quick payment.”

“That’s not a fuckin’ payment! That’s the one thing you shouldn’t fuck around with!”

You can tell he’s genuinely upset, but you’re not sure why. It’s none of his business what you choose to do with your body.

“I was doing this for you, asshole! He would have given me the battery, and you could have gone and found Tommy. I did this for you,” you yell, shoving him as hard as you can. He doesn’t move.

“Keep your fuckin’ voice down,” he hisses.

“Don’t tell me what to do!”

“God damn it! You never fuckin’ listen, do you? How stupid are you, huh?”

Joel takes a heavy step forward, one hand reaching out to wrap around your throat. He doesn’t squeeze, just keeps it there, holding you in place. Right where he wants you.

His eyes darken, still alight with fury. He smells like smoke and musk and sweat and spearmint toothpaste. You want to lick the exposed skin of his neck to see if he’d taste the same.

He leans in, almost bumping your nose with his.

“We don’t fuck around with that stuff, alright?” he murmurs. “I’ve seen pretty girls like you get hurt real bad for a lot less. You can’t let them treat you as any less than human.”

You’ve never heard him this sincere. It sends a shiver down your spine.

“Why do you care, Joel?” you whisper. “I’m just as disposable to you as I am to the rest of them.”

He pauses, and you can see the cogs turning in his head. He’s still holding you by the neck, his other hand coming around to tangle in the back of your hair. He’s looking at you so intently that you feel your bravado start to waiver. Your bottom lip quivers, and your eyes begin to well up. A drop runs down your cheek, and the dam breaks.

He’s never seen you get upset like this. You’re trying to stay stoic, but the tears are falling freely, dripping down your face.

This is the moment Joel realises that he’s a changed man. He’s known for years that his morals aren’t what they used to be. They can’t be, not in this world. He’s murdered, robbed, tortured, kidnapped. His moral compass was broken a long time ago. But the change has never dawned on him, until now. He’s holding you roughly, watching you try not to sob, and he doesn’t feel sad. He doesn’t feel sympathy, or regret, or remorse. No. He feels a sick sense of arousal. He’s turned on.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, looking at you carefully. Your lip quivers again, and his resolve breaks completely. He’s surprised he doesn’t hear it shatter.

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty when you cry.”

With that, he’s surging forward, dipping his head to lick at your tear stained cheeks. Your sadness is salty and sweet and real. He’s hooked.

Joel presses forward and kisses you harshly. His hand tightens in your hair, yanking you closer to him. He presses your bodies together, and the warmth of him makes your head spin.

You’re still crying as you moan into his mouth. He’s rough and careless and you want more. He groans, and presses you backwards into the wall, the brick scratching up your back. Everything is blurry for the both of you. He’s grabbing at you, groping anything he can find. He’s searching for skin, hands making their way up and under your shirt. You know how risky it is, making out with Joel in a back alley in the middle of the QZ. You don’t care. Neither of you do. You’re drunk on each other and it’s clouding your judgment.

“You like it when I’m mean to you, honey?” he murmurs, voice jagged and low. He’s kissing at your neck, nipping the skin and leaving purple bruises in his wake.

“Yeah, Joel, fuck. I love it,” you whine. “I love you.”

The both of you freeze at your confession. You’re honestly not sure if you mean it, or if it’s just the heat of the moment. It doesn’t matter now. You’ve said it, and you can’t take it back.

“You think you do,” he mutters against your throat. “But love doesn’t exist in this world. Not anymore.”

You both pause, heavy breaths filling the air. After a while, you break the silence.

“I’m sorry, Joel,” you whisper. “I’m sorry. So fucking sorry.”

You’re not sure whether you’re apologising for loving him, or admitting it, or for the events of the evening. You’re just sorry.

“Don’t be sorry, sweetheart,” he murmurs gently against your mouth as he kisses you again. “Don’t be sorry.”

He takes you up against the red brick wall, legs wrapped around his waist and arms tangled around his neck. Your back is cut and bleeding, throat sore and pulsing where he’s bitten you. He makes you come twice before he finishes himself, teeth sinking into your shoulder, hands leaving prints on your hips.

Joel says that love doesn’t exist anymore. You think he’s wrong.

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asdfghjklmals · 1 year ago

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MEET THE GOJOS✩༶‧˚

GENRE + T/W: sfw, fluff. mentions of injury and blood. WORD COUNT: 10.8k words. TAGS: satoru gojo x fem!oc. mutual pining. the babies are still not official yet.

SYNOPSIS: satoru asks oc gojo girlfriend to visit his clan with him during the semester break. how will meeting the gojo clan go? AUTHOR'S NOTE: made up my own gojo clan lore. fuck it, we ball lol. the hardest part is coming up with names for people. also, playful cloud belongs to the zen’nin clan, but in this au it belongs to the gojo clan because i swear i thought it did. i left a present in this fic for you guys and it starts with a 'first' and ends with 'kiss'. REMINDER: if you want to imagine yourself in oc gojo girlfriend's character descriptions instead, please do!

your first semester at tokyo jujutsu high had flown by. you've been sent on your very first mission with satoru (thanks to yaga-sensei), practiced your close combat with mei mei, sharpened up your cursed technique, refined your domain expansion, and of course, spent all of your free time with satoru gojo.

you and satoru were practically inseparable since your birthday. you don't know how it ended up this way, and everyone on campus knew that you both liked each other, but neither of you wanted to admit your feelings for each other. whenever anyone would bring it up, you'd both say that you were 'just friends'.

friends. friends that slept in each other's beds, friends that would buy each other souvenirs just because they reminded them of that person, friends that would link arms and hold hands while they walked together, friends that worried about each other when they went on missions, friends that called each other at random times of the day just to hear their voice. sure, you and satoru gojo were just 'friends'.

"(y/n), when are you and gojo just finally going to date each other?" shoko asked you out of the blue. she looked up from her medical textbook and stared at you, waiting for an answer.

you looked up from your pre-calculus notes, "i think dating satoru gojo is the least of my worries, shoko. i have a b+ in pre-calculus right now."

"being (y/n) (l/n) must be soooo hard." shoko mocked you playfully, "she's pretty, she's smart, and she has the one and only satoru gojo wrapped around her fingers."

a thought came to your head as you paused, putting down your pencil, "shoko, can i ask you something?"

"sure. go for it."

you asked that question you’ve always wondered, "have you ever liked satoru or suguru? as more than just friends?"

shoko started laughing hysterically, "never. both of them are definitely not my type. they are my best friends though, and i love them. that's why i keep pushing you to date gojo. i want to see you both end up together."

you rolled your eyes, "—and why would you want that for me? satoru's insufferable."

"i can't imagine gojo with anyone but you. you two are like yin and yang, fire and ice. you're basically geto but a girl version. you and geto are the moral compass to that guy. it's no wonder gojo likes you so much. i've never seen him act like this before. and to be honest, i never thought he'd ever be faithful to a girl."

"oh, so satoru's a flirt? i knew it." you giggled at the memory of satoru's bold faced lie. "he told me the other day he doesn't flirt with anyone."

"gojo will flirt with anything that breathes even though he doesn't mean to. he's just naturally a people person." shoko stated as-a-matter-of-factly, "but since you came to the school, i've never seen him so curious over a girl before. you should've saw the way he moped around campus when you went to visit your family for the weekend."

you pointed your pencil at shoko, "he came to see me at my clan's estate that weekend too. my brother was so suspicious of him."

shoko looked over at you again, "hey—i heard that gojo asked you to visit his clan with him for the upcoming break. the gojo clan seems to be interested in you. are you going to go?"

flashback: one week ago

the weather was starting to get colder as the climax of winter was arriving. ice clung around the cobblestone pathway, while a light layer of snow laced the school grounds. you and satoru were walking hand in hand outside sharing a small pocket hand warmer, giggling about sweet nothings and enjoying the day together.

satoru stopped in his tracks, grabbing your attention. "(y/n)."

you halted and looked back at satoru, "what? do i have something in my hair?"

"nothing's in your pretty hair, princess." he chuckled at how cute you were, "what do you think about going back to visit my clan with me next week?" satoru shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets. he avoided eye contact with you, afraid of possible rejection.

"me? go back with you? to meet your family?" your eyes widened in surprise. he really wanted you to meet his family?

"yeah, my grandparents want to meet you—and to see your cursed technique. plus, i hear that our clans are actually good friends or allies, whatever you want to call it."

you remembered touya telling you that the gojo clan are allies of your clan. that was another reason why your clan elders were okay with you attending tokyo jujutsu high instead of kyoto—because satoru gojo was here.

you bit your lip. would it really be okay to go back with satoru to meet his family if you weren't officially dating? would they scold him for bringing you back to the estate? the last thing you wanted was to make a bad impression.

"are you nervous or something?" satoru asked as he stepped closer to you, invading your personal space like he always did.

you looked up at him, his blue eyes softening in your gaze, "do you think it would be weird? me going to meet your family?"

"i don't see why not—" satoru shrugged, "i mean, we spend almost every day together. you're pretty much my gir—"

satoru stopped himself to correct his sentence, "we're pretty much always with each other." he cleared his throat, "plus, our grandparents supposedly know each other."

satoru started to feel hot like an iron was branding his cheeks, he wanted to change the subject quickly. he couldn't believe he almost called you his girlfriend. he was kicking himself for that one.

an evil chesire-grin spread across your face, "you were about to say girlfriend, weren't you?"

"no i wasn't!" satoru was mortified and caught red-handed. he looked away from you, but you ran in front of him and blocked his path.

you taunted him, "satoru, just say it!"

satoru sighed, knowing he would never win an argument against you, the queen of stubbornness. the 6'3" sorcerer leaned into your 5'3" frame, "do you wanna be my girlfriend, (y/n)?"

you gulped while meeting his gaze. you felt like he could see right through you. he always made you so nervous. your heart skipped a beat when you looked at his lips. that stupid satoru gojo and his pretty lips. with lips like that he hasn't even tried to kiss you yet? the closest thing to affection he ever showed you were half-assed hugs. you never took satoru for a 'where my hug at?' guy until now.

"no, i don't want to be your girlfriend, satoru." you looked away from him, lying through your teeth.

"aw, come on. don't be shy now, (y/n)." satoru teased you, waiting for an answer to his question.

you rolled your eyes and changed the subject, "i'll go back next week with you to meet your family."

satoru lifted his face out of your personal bubble and celebrated with a little victory dance, shimmy-ing around the courtyard as you shook your head in defeat. you smiled at the fact he wanted you to meet his family.

to you, it felt like you were being tested. to satoru, it felt like he had won the lottery.

end flashback

"we're leaving tomorrow actually. he said his clan elders have stuff they want to talk to him about before the new semester."

"—and they want to meet you." shoko added.

you brushed her off. "it's not even like that, shoko."

the library door slid open, "it's not like what?" suguru interrupted.

"oh my god, suguru, get this. (y/n) is going to meet the gojo clan tomorrow." shoko started to update him on the hot new gossip on campus.

suguru set down his books next to you and flipped open his notebook. he was trying not to laugh. "satoru's already got you meeting the family? and he hasn't even made it official with you yet?"

"right?" shoko asked her other bestie, instigating the situation.

"come on, make him work for it, (y/n)."

you rolled your eyes, "you two are ridiculous."

"again—you and satoru would be cute together." shoko sang.

satoru busted through the library door, he had his books tucked under his left arm, a can of coke in his left hand, and a box of kikufuku in his right. speak of the handsome devil. he gave shoko and suguru a head nod, and smiled when he made eye contact with you. he was late to the study party, as aways.

"are you ever going to be time?" you chastised satoru. he put his arm around you, hugging you with little effort as you leaned into his chest.

"god, you two should just get a room already." shoko incited, twirling her pencil between her fingers.

satoru winked at the amber-eyed sorcerer. you gave him a death stare, knowing that he was probably thinking about something childish or innapporiate.

"what's in the box, satoru?" suguru asked.

satoru's face lit up, excited about the sweet treats he brought, "i brought kikufuku!" he passed everyone a piece.

the next day

"god, i feel like i failed my exam." you complained to your classmates as you all walked out of the classroom.

satoru put his arm around your shoulder, nuzzling his face next to yours, "i'm sure you did fine, (y/n). even if you failed this test, you'd still pass the class."

"she's used to getting straight a's, satoru, not a barely passing grade like you." suguru expressed.

"i feel pretty good about my test," shoko admitted, "(y/n), don't worry. at least you're still pretty.

you all laughed and joked around together while walking back to the dorms. suguru and shoko would be staying behind during the semester break while you and satoru were going to be leaving campus.

"(y/n), are you ready to head out?" satoru asked, unable to hide his eagerness to leave.

you smiled at him, "yeah, let me grab my stuff."

you spent all of last night packing for your weekend trip to the gojo clan's estate. this morning before class, you and satoru went on a quick errand together to buy fruits and a small cake as a gift. you told satoru that it was a good gesture to present a small gift to his family if you were going to be meeting them for the first time. and just for that thought, he couldn't say no to you.

you rolled your suitcase outside of your dorm to meet satoru in the hallway. he looked over at you and gave you his million dollar smile that always made butterflies flutter in your stomach. he had a small backpack ready to go, throwing it over his shoulder, taking your suitcase from you.

"a whole suitcase for a two day weekend?" satoru poked fun at you. you were so high maintenance, it wasn't even funny.

"i had to make sure i have options."

"you already know you look beautiful in anything.” satoru mumbled quietly as you gave him a self-satisfied smirk.

you looped your arm over his as he clasped his palms together, teleporting you to a beautiful, large minka with a gorgeous stone walkway.

the gojo clan's estate

you and satoru jumped down from the air and started walking along the walkway to the entrance of the gojo clan's estate. satoru held your hand, guiding you through the gated area. there was a large koi pond to the left.

"that is a huge koi pond." you ran over to see the koi fish swimming around. there were lily pads and rocks all over the pond. different sizes and colors of koi fish started to swim towards you.

"want to feed them?" satoru asked.

you nodded your head in excitement as satoru walked to a wooden storage unit next to the pond to take out a bucket of fish feed.

"they'll eat out of your hand." he told you, scooping a large amount of fish feed into your hand. he watched you place your hand into the water as koi fish started to surround you.

"this pond has been here for almost 500 years. some of the fish in here are really old." satoru told you as he watched your bright green eyes admire the pond, he felt his heart melting at the sight. you were so beautiful and radiant in his six eyes. how was it that seeing you so happy and content with something so simple as feeding fish could set his heart on fire?

satoru ran the water hose for you so you could wash your hands. you looked up at him, "satoru, it's beautiful here."

"the clan tends to take pretty good care of the estate." satoru was pleased to hear that from you. you noticed that he was looking off in the distance behind you.

"oh—hey grams!" the white haired sorcerer waved to an older woman that was walking towards the both of you.

you immediately felt nervous, a pink flush filling your cheeks. you took a step behind satoru, feeling him squeeze your hand in reassurance. you had a feeling you were about to meet a member of the gojo clan.

"i felt your cursed energy as soon as you teleported here, boy." the older woman laughed and hugged satoru, "satoru, who is this?" the woman peered over at you.

"grams, this is (y/n) (l/n)." satoru stated proudly with a bright smile, "she's our guest this weekend."

"your grandfather didn't tell me that we were having any guests! my goodness, let's get you two settled in.” satoru's grandmother turned to you, "(y/n), it's a pleasure to meet you. i'm satoru's grandmother."

you admired the woman who just introduced herself to you. she had grey hair in a neat, low bun. she had beautiful purple eyes, just like an amethyst. you sensed her vast amount of cursed energy. you bowed your head and greeted her properly.

"hi, obaa-san. my name is (y/n) (l/n) of the (l/n) clan. satoru and i brought fruits and a cake for the family to enjoy."

satoru's grandmother laughed, "well, that's sweet of you. no need to bow to me, child. i know your grandparents very well, (y/n). and you can call me sobo or 'grams' like satoru does."

she lifted your chin to study your face, "you look just like your mother and your grandmother. kanae gave birth to very beautiful children, you and your brother, touya." (a/n: oc gojo girlfriend's grandma and mother's names are inspired by demon slayer characters)

you felt a warmth of familiarity and comfort wash over you. you blushed at her compliment. satoru smiled at the sight of you and his grandmother interacting, enjoying what he was hearing and seeing. during one of the many nights that you and satoru spent together, he told you that his grandmother raised him growing up. she was his favorite person in the world. and now you were meeting her.

"thank you so much, sobo." you decided to call her sobo instead of grams. maybe one day you'd end up calling her grams, but for now, sobo will do. (a/n: there are so many ways to address a grandmother in japanese, i just chose this one.)

"satoru, please bring (y/n)'s belongings to your room for now. i'll make sure to have the housekeepers prepare a room for her."

"she can just sleep in my room with me, grams." satoru said nonchalantly.

his grandmother smacked his arm, "over my dead body, boy!"

satoru ran off hysterically laughing, only for him to come back and hug her. he kissed her on the cheek and grabbed your suitcase to head the opposite way. you followed his grandmother.

"we're going to get you a fresh clean komon kimono. these ones are specially made for the gojo clan." sobo smiled warmly at you. in that moment, she reminded you of your own grandmother. her welcoming aura put you at ease.

she led you into the gojo clan's beautiful minka. you were in awe. it was truly a work of art. the floors were heated and made of the finest bamboo. white and blue porcelain vases, jade statues, and expensive paintings decorated the long corridor that led to different rooms. it was a beautiful combination of modern and old-fashioned style. the lighting was brilliant and illuminated every detail in the estate. you expected no less from the number one family in jujutsu society.

you saw a couple of housekeepers getting dinner tables ready. as you and sobo walked by, they turned to bow their heads at her and quickly resumed back to what they were doing. you could tell that she was highly respected in the household by the way everyone bowed to her and catered to her every request with no hesitation or resistance.

you and sobo turned the corner, entering a small room where two girls were washing and drying kimonos and haoris by hand. they bowed when you both entered the room.

"good evening, madam gojo. is there something we can help you with today?" one of the girls asked.

"akemi, would you please prepare a kimono for our guest? this is (y/n) (l/n).

"it's a pleasure to meet you!" you greeted akemi, bowing.

"miss (l/n), what color kimono would you like to wear?" akemi asked you with a friendly smile. she started to show you all the fabrics hanging on the clothing racks. "—we have kimonos and haoris in all colors and fabrics."

"akemi, get her the jade green one. she looks best in that color." satoru chimed in from the entrance of the wash room.

satoru flashed a smile at you. he had changed into a white t-shirt and black pants, sporting a new pair of sunglasses. akemi and the second girl immediately stopped what they were doing and bowed towards him.

"good evening, master gojo. we'll prepare the green kimono for miss (l/n)." akemi turned to her partner, "hitomi, make sure you get master gojo's orange haori with the dragonflies ready as well."

"will do." hitomi turned to satoru, "sorry for the wait, master gojo."

"oh my god," satoru groaned, "what did i tell you two about calling me master gojo? just call me satoru. master sounds weird."

you and sobo laughed at satoru's interaction with the two girls. sobo left to supervise the kitchen as akemi and hitomi quickly prepared the kimono and haori for you and satoru. you changed behind the screen as they took your school uniform from you. they mentioned that they would have your uniform washed, pressed, and returned to your room by the end of the day.

akemi helped wrap your chest with a white cotton wrap as you draped the jade green kimono over your shoulders. with assistance from akemi, she tied a beautiful bow with a darker green ribbon behind your back.

"wow! miss (l/n), you look beautiful!" akemi beamed, "would you like green ribbons to replace the blue one in your hair?"

"that would be nice, but i'll keep the blue ribbon with me. satoru got this for me as a gift when he got back from a mission!" (read 'souvenirs' here)

surprised, akemi asked, "are you a jujutsu sorcerer like master gojo?"

you nodded, "i am."

"—and she's a pretty strong one too." satoru added, moving the screen. akemi's jaw dropped at the sudden intrusion. she was surprised that satoru came over and moved the screen as you were in the midst of changing your clothes.

"my apologies, master gojo. i should've told you if miss (l/n) was finished changing or not."

"no worries, akemi. it's nothing i haven't seen before." he winked at her.

you glared at satoru, "akemi, please ignore him. he has not seen me naked." you wished you could launch an ice shard at him for that.

akemi giggled and patted your back before she left you and satoru alone in the wash room. you turned back to him, piercing him with your emerald green eyes, "why would you joke around like that around your housekeepers?"

satoru ignored you, "trust me, the whole household is just over the moon that i brought a girl back with me this time. they're setting up a whole banquet today because gramps told them to."

"are you going to tell them i'm not your girlfriend though?" you confronted satoru. he rolled his beautiful blue eyes at you, grabbing your hand to lead you out of the wash room. he would actually like to introduce you as his girlfriend, but he wasn't sure how you'd react. he would have to find the right time to do so.

"come on, let me show you around—you look beautiful by the way." satoru complimented you as you blushed, forgetting that you were in the middle of scolding him. he sure was a sweet talker.

satoru led you back to the main hallway that you and sobo were walking through earlier. you admired his orange haori. the complimentary color made his eyes look bluer than usual. you passed by more housekeepers while you walked down the hallway, letting go of satoru's hand as you walked next to him.

satoru frowned at your sudden action, "what? don't wanna hold my hand now?"

"it's not that... it's just—we're at your clan's estate. be a little more modest with the pda." you quietly reminded him.

satoru respected your feelings whenever you were too shy to show pda in public. it was only just recently that you two started holding hands at the school and knowing satoru gojo, he would hold your hand whenever he got the chance. he was always the first one to initiate any pda. physical touch was his love language next to gift giving. satoru would probably die if he couldn't be within arms reach of you.

he put his arm around you in a half hug as if he was saying 'alright, fine then' before he walked in front of you to continue leading the way down the corridor. he showed you the family portraits on the wall of the gojo clan throughout the years. you recognized him in one of the portraits as a child. he was holding up a peace sign, ruining the picture. how very satoru gojo coded.

"you looked like such a trouble maker." you joked with him before asking, "—where are your parents?"

satoru pointed at a couple in a different picture. his father had white hair and his mother had light brown hair. "my mom married into the family. as you can see, my dad is the one with white hair and purple eyes."

you glanced at his parents. you guessed that the white hair ran in the gojo clan. his mother had beautiful golden eyes, reminding you of touya.

"wait. oh my god—am i meeting your parents tonight?!" you started to panic. you weren't ready to meet satoru's parents.

"nah, my parents are out on business. they're in africa studying a cursed tool that can apparently disrupt our clan's technique." (a/n: jjk0 miguel's rope anyone?!)

you sighed in relief. satoru turned to face you with a mischievous smile, "speaking of cursed tools, let me show you the gojo clan's collection."

the gojo clan's basement

satoru led the way further down the corridor. he opened a door that led to a stone chamber, unlocking the door using a two finger hand motion and some cursed energy. the lock unlocked and floated forward, dropping on to the ground.

"all that for a lock?" you laughed at all the effort that was needed.

satoru turned to you and grinned, "cursed tools are expensive on the black market."

he opened the door and flipped the light switch on. you gasped at the sight. the gojo clan's collection of cursed tools and objects was vast and extremely organized.

"all the cursed objects are sorted in order of power from grade 4-1." satoru explained. "and this one is my favorite."

satoru took a red, three piece nunchaku off the wall and threw it at you. "this one is called playful cloud. i grew up with it. and it's only as strong as the person who uses it."

you caught it and twirled playful cloud around. it was heavy. some cursed tools felt disgusting to hold, but playful cloud felt fine. you gave it back to satoru and walked down the room, admiring the wall of knives and blades. as you and satoru were talking about the cursed objects, you heard a stern voice call his name.

"satoru."

the both of you turned around. an older man with grey hair, a grey beard, and piercing dark blue eyes appeared.

"gramps." satoru bowed. you followed his lead and bowed as well. it was his grandfather. you could sense the immensely strong cursed energy from him as well.

satoru introduced you to his grandfather, "gramps, this is (y/n) (l/n)." he smiled proudly.

"ah, this is genkei's granddaughter? it's a pleasure to meet you, (y/n)."

genkei was your grandfather. you were surprised at how far back your clan and the gojo clan went. satoru’s grandparents and your grandparents were on a first name basis.

"it's a pleasure to meet you as well, ojiisan. you have a beautiful home and an impressive collection of cursed objects."

satoru's grandfather smiled at you. "no need for honorifics, call me ojii, (y/n). are you hungry? we're going to start dinner soon. your grandfather told me that you enjoy sushi."

"—and gramps requested omakase today." satoru added with a grin.

"only because you're home for the weekend, satoru." ojii smiled back at his grandson, "come, (y/n). let me show you to the banquet hall."

his grandfather reached his hand out to you and you held onto it.

"oh, so you'll hold my gramps' hand but not mine?" satoru asked, folding his arm like a child throwing a tantrum.

you turned back to shoot a glare at him, your blazing green eyes telling him to ‘shut up’. he held his chest in fake despair while following behind you and his grandfather. you could see ojii laughing to himself as he guided you to the banquet hall.

dinner with the gojo clan

ojii hit a traditional gong to gather everyone's attention. there were multiple tables set up and everyone in the gojo clan was attending this dinner, even the housekeepers and cooks. no one was ever left behind.

"i'd like to announce satoru’s return. he just finished the semester at tokyo jujutsu high." ojii started to say. you watched as family members clapped and cheered for satoru. satoru really was the pride and joy of the gojo clan. you wondered what his childhood was like growing up surrounded by so many people who admired him.

"also, i'd like to introduce our guest tonight, (y/n) (l/n) of the (l/n) clan."

everyone clapped and stared curiously at you. you smiled nervously and waved to everyone. satoru couldn't help but gaze at you in adoration. after the introductions, everyone started to eat. the banquet hall was filled with light conversation and laughter. drinks were being poured and there were different types of fresh sashimi, nigiri, and sushi rolls presented on the dinner table in front of you.

satoru turned to you, "you okay? you're quiet. if we were at splendid sushi right now, you wouldn't have waited for me to eat."

"just taking everything in," you said softly as you were overwhelmed, "this is pretty extravagant for your return home."

"i told you, gramps is being extra just because i brought a girl home." satoru scoffed, "here—take some wasabi." he placed a small dollop of the green paste on your plate.

as you and satoru were eating, his grandparents were watching the both of you. they were happy that satoru finally brought someone home to visit with him that wasn't shoko or suguru. someone that could be his life partner.

sobo and ojii thought back to how they got married. they had an arranged marriage within the jujutsu society and were married when they turned 18. satoru's grandmother was part of a small family of jujutsu sorcerers. her family wanted to form an alliance with the gojo clan and offered her to the gojo clan as a deal. and that's how she met ojii.

"dear, don't you think satoru and (y/n) make a fine couple? satoru seems to really like her." sobo whispered to ojii as he took a bite of his nigiri.

"don't you dare reach out to kanao to try to set them up." ojii laughed at his wife. after 40 years of marriage, ojii could read sobo like a book. he knew what she was thinking.

kanao was your grandmother. currently, your grandparents, genkei and kanao, were the main decision-making elders of your clan. they were also a part of the faction of elders in the jujutsu society.

satoru's grandmother started to imagine a future for you two. "can you imagine how grand a gojo and (l/n) wedding would be? and how powerful their child would be if they were born with a cursed technique?"

"i wonder what technique their child would inherit. do you think it'd be a mix of limitless and an element?" his grandfather wondered, "unfortunately, i don't believe their child would inherit the six eyes or the water element since only one person can inherit that in a lifetime."

"they are just like the legend of that couple." sobo said excitedly, "what if they're the reincarnation of those ancestors? oh dear, let's see if we can arrange a marriage for them." she begged her husband.

ojii brushed off his wife's request, "our son and his wife aren't even home to discuss this with. let's just let the children be children, my love. i don't believe they do arranged marriages in this day and age anymore."

the grey haired couple watched as satoru used his chopsticks to pick up a piece of his favorite sushi to place on your plate. you picked it up and ate it, chewing in approval. you gave satoru a soft smile, cheeks full of food as he laughed at you. he brushed your hair out of your face and behind your ear as you continued to chew your sushi with delight. his grandparents were in awe at his behavior towards you. they've never seen anything like it. they never thought they'd live long enough to see the day where their beloved grandson would show any acts of affection towards another person.

later that night

"(y/n). i had the housekeepers set up the empty bedroom next to satoru’s for you. i hope that's okay."

"yes, that's great. thank you, sobo." you bowed towards satoru's grandmother.

"hey grams, isn't (y/n) great?" satoru asked his grandmother, "don't you think having a (l/n) in the gojo clan would be a good idea?"

she teased him, knowing damn well satoru liked you and wanted to know what she thought of you. "she is quite a remarkable young lady. maybe we should set her up with one of your cousins so she can marry into the clan."

"no way, grams!" satoru got defensive, "(y/n) is my—no one in our family is her type!" he huffed, arms folded.

you laughed at the interaction between satoru and his grandmother. sobo grinned and winked at you. she was on your side, and rooting for you and satoru too.

"(y/n), sweetheart. the bathrooms are across the hall from your room. the shower springs should be nice and warm by now. towels, a robe, and slippers are in there for you as well. take your time."

"thank you, again!"

you turned to faced satoru, "i'm going to get settled down for the night, satoru. i'll see you in the morning." you gave satoru a warm smile and wave before turning to leave for the showers.

he looked at you from under his sunglasses. he waved while watching you walk away. he was unable to contain his happiness. you were really here with him in the very home he grew up in... and you got the stamp of approval from his grandmother.

*****************************

you stepped into the guest room and your jaw dropped at the sight. the room had a queen-sized futon made with a bamboo board. the room was spotless and smelled like jasmine. a large floor to ceiling window with sheer white curtains faced the massive koi pond from outside. you saw that your school uniform was folded neatly and placed on the corner of your bed along with your suitcase that satoru brought into his room earlier.

you grabbed your toiletries and headed to the bathroom. you took your time in the shower as the hot water soothed your muscles. you were quite nervous meeting satoru's grandparents today that you didn't realize how tense your body was. you hoped that you made a good first impression on them for satoru's sake. you would hate to make him look bad for bringing you here.

once you finished showering and drying your hair, you changed into a long sleeved sweater and cotton shorts. you made your way back to your room to find satoru sitting in your bed tapping away on his phone. you could tell by his damp hair that he was also freshly showered too. how could one person look so handsome after a shower? and why did that handsome person have to be in your room?

"satoru, what are you doing here?!" you hissed.

satoru looked at you in disbelief, raising his eyebrows at you, "you're telling me that just because my grams said you can't sleep in my room, i can't be in here with you?"

"absolutely not." you stated, "what if she thinks we're up to no good?"

satoru got up from your bed and started walking towards you, "and what if we are?"

you summoned a wall of water in front of you. nervous of him coming any closer to you.

"jeez, what was that for?" satoru asked, scratching the back of his head in confusion.

"i want to make a good impression for your grandparents, satoru. and sneaking around at night like we do at jujutsu high isn't a good look for me." you admitted.

his family's opinion of you meant a lot to you personally, especially because you liked satoru. the more time you spent with the special grade idiot, the more your feelings for him grew. and right now, you felt like your heart couldn't like him any more than you already did.

satoru reassured you, "trust me. they love you already. they wouldn't change their minds about you even if they caught me in here." he chuckled at the thought of his grams chasing him out of your room with a broomstick.

you released the wall of water that separated you from satoru. you walked over to him with a frown, reaching your arms out for a comforting embrace. he smiled at how adorable you looked with your puffed out cheeks, pouty lips, and emerald green eyes. he brought you in for a hug.

"does that mean we have to sleep in separate rooms tonight?" you laughed in his chest, "what am i going to do without my arm pillow?" (read 'sleeping with the enemy' here)

satoru groaned reluctantly, "if grams finds me in here, she might chop off a certain body part i need later in life for reproduction."

satoru looked down at you, grateful that you were in his arms. "gramps wants me to bring you back at the next semester break. what do you think about that?"

"i'll think about it," you taunted satoru, "depends on if we're still a thing by next year."

this dreaded situationship. this relationship between you and satoru that was lacking a clear definitive answer of commitment to each other. neither of you could start that conversation, neither of you had the guts. but maybe it was time to discuss it.

"don't think i'm letting you go that easily." satoru remarked. he kept his arms around your waist, squeezing you tighter as you giggled. god, he loved that laugh. it was music to his ears.

you placed your hands on his chest. his blue eyes sparkled like the tokyo bay whenever he looked at you, his perfect slender nose led your gaze to his soft pink lips.

he slowly leaned down towards you. you could feel his quiet breath against yours as you felt your heart race. you stood on the tip of your toes, moving your hands from his chest to lock your arms around his neck and shoulders instead.

you couldn't tell who kissed who first, but your lips and satoru's lips were made for each other. it was like the satisfying feeling of two puzzle pieces fitting perfectly together.

your tongues entangled, the two of you giving each other gentle kisses until you both felt like you couldn't breathe. you just couldn’t get enough of kissing satoru. you felt dizzy and out of breath, but you still wanted more.

and that was yours and satoru's first kiss.

as you pulled away from satoru to catch your breath, running your tongue across your bottom lip, still tasting his strawberry-flavored lip balm on you. you continued to hold him close. he studied your face before cracking a joke to break the awkwardness in the air.

"my virgin lips!" satoru gasped in fake shock as you laughed and kissed him again to steal his fake innocence. he couldn't believe that he finally got to kiss you. he was so infatuated with you in this very moment. if this was how it felt to kiss you, he hoped that he could do it every day for the rest of his life (along with hearing your laugh that he loved so much).

"that was really our first kiss? what took you so long?" you asked satoru in disbelief.

"it only took about 2 months." satoru dramatically sighed, "you're playing hard to get, princess. there was only so much hand holding and hugging i could take."

you scrutinized him, "it's only fair that a girl plays hard to get when it comes to satoru gojo."

"well, then. it's a good thing satoru gojo only wants one girl and her name is (y/n) (l/n)."

you continued to banter with him just how he liked, "wow, she sounds like a great girl for satoru gojo to only want her."

"she is." satoru beamed with pride, "she's the girl of my dreams." he said as he snuck another kiss.

you rolled your eyes and laughed, "you're so cheesy, babe."

satoru blinked twice, tilting his head to the right, "did you just call me babe?"

"no, sorry, i meant satoru." you quickly covered your mouth with your hands, a flush of red filling your cheeks.

satoru corrected you, "who’s satoru? i go by babe now."

"satoru."

"no! go back to calling me babe!" he whined, hoping you'd change your mind again.

you couldn't contain your laugh. you attempted to change the subject to distract him. you asked him sweetly so he couldn’t resist, "satoru, can you kiss me again?"

"don't gotta tell me twice, babe." satoru grinned, throwing back the petname towards you.

the white haired sorcerer bent down again to kiss you on your forehead, down your nose and on your lips again. you hit him on the chest.

"what was that for?!" satoru complained, "first we're kissing and then i get a smack to the chest?"

"this!" you motioned your arms around him and you, "—is why your grandmother didn't want us sleeping in the same room!"

satoru smirked at you, "i don't care. i'm staying here tonight."

you squealed as he swiftly picked you up bridal style and placed you on the bed, the both of you getting under the covers. he turned to face you as you watched him.

he kissed you on your forehead and left one last strawberry-flavored peck on your lips. he stroked your cheek with his hand and smiled at you. you turned your back to him so he could be the big spoon. he gave you an arm pillow as his free hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

"goodnight, satoru." you said, closing your eyes.

he called out your name before you fell asleep. "(y/n)?"

"what, satoru?" you asked, furrowing your eyebrows. this man would never let you sleep in peace. maybe you should have never invited him into your room on that one fateful day. (read 'love at first fight' here)

"can you call me babe again?"

you could feel your eyes rolling to the back of your head, "oh my god, satoru. no. go to sleep or go back to your room."

"it was worth a try." satoru grinned as he snuck a kiss to your shoulder blade. he snuggled his face into the crevice of your neck and shoulder. you could feel his soft breath against the nape of your neck as you fell asleep to the scent of jasmine and the warmth of satoru's body.

*****************************

little did you know, while you were sleeping, sobo and ojii opened the bedroom door to check on you. and to their surprise, they saw satoru in your bed too. his frosty white head of hair was still snug between your neck and shoulders, his arm curved around your waist as you both cuddled for warmth under the cool linen duvet. they smiled at each other as they saw the two of you sleeping together peacefully.

"look at them, dear... aren’t they precious?" sobo whispered to ojii as he smiled back at her. his grandparents were happy that their grandson was happy. being the satoru gojo was lonely, anyone who was willing to love their grandson for him and not for the powers he possessed was enough for them.

and you were enough for the gojo clan.

the next morning

"gramps wants to see your cursed technique, so we're heading to the sparring dojo after breakfast." satoru explained, biting into a piece of toast. you used your thumb to wipe off the crumbs that stuck to his bottom lip. you planted a gentle kiss on the corner of his mouth.

you were enjoying breakfast together in the banquet hall. in front of you were small plates of bacon, sausages, eggs cooked sunny side up for you and scrambled for satoru, toast with different flavored jams, and a small stack of pancakes with a little too much syrup thanks to satoru. the head cook of the gojo clan went all out for the occasion, happy to see you enjoying the food here.

"so what cursed technique does your ojii have?" you asked satoru as you poked at a piece of sausage with your fork.

"anything i can do, he can do and more. he just doesn't have the six eyes. and he's pretty damn good with close combat. almost everyone in my family is."

you leaned into him innocently and nudged his shoulder, "maybe you can teach me sometime."

satoru laughed at your sudden bold move on him, "what? training with mei isn't good enough?"

"she kicks my ass every time." you groaned. every spar with mei mei was grueling. no wonder her and touya got along.

"i'm not gonna go easy on you, babe." satoru sipped his orange juice, "just because you're cute, don't think i'll let you win. i never lose."

"babe, huh?" you laughed, thinking about last night and how you called him that first.

satoru smiled mischievously at you, "would you rather it be sweetie pie, sweetheart, babe, honey or sweet cheeks? all of them are good to me."

you crinkled your nose in embarrassment, hitting his arm playfully. he laughed and held your tiny fist against his chest. you tried to take your hand back, but he held onto it tightly.

"excuse me, master gojo, miss (l/n)." a boy around the same age as satoru came into the banquet hall.

you glared at satoru to let go of your hand. he just continued to laugh, knowing you were embarrassed about the pda.

satoru gave the boy a head nod, "hey kaito, what's up?"

"sorry to interrupt, but grand master gojo is ready to see you and miss (l/n) in the sparring dojo."

satoru gave kaito a thumbs up, "cool, we'll be there in a sec."

you got up and started to clear the utensils and plates from breakfast. the housekeepers insisted that you leave it to them, but you continued to help by stacking up plates on the cart before leaving the banquet hall. satoru admired how helpful and thoughtful you were in that moment. you were the same way even at jujutsu high. the girl he was falling head over heels for never ceased to amaze him.

satoru grabbed your hand to lead you to the dojo, you looked at him and asked the question you were wondering for the past couple of minutes. "who was that? the guy that came to find us."

"that's kaito. he's my grandpa's assistant. he’s a good guy."

satoru cracked his knuckles, preparing himself for whatever was going to happen in the dojo.

at the sparring dojo

as you entered the dojo, you saw ojii standing in the center of room with a couple of other boys around satoru's age.

"looks like my cousins decided to show up today." satoru announced. he felt irritated knowing this. he started to stretch his arms and legs.

"why are you stretching?" you asked him curiously.

"we're gonna be sparring. anything goes in the gojo sparring dojo."

your jaw dropped, "wait. what do you mean—"

"hey satoru!" a cousin approached satoru, waving. he had greyish white hair and dark blue eyes, he looked just like satoru's grandfather.

"what's up, minato?" satoru greeted while glaring at his cousin.

"this your little girlfriend that i've been hearing about? ojii said you brought a friend home this time around." minato glanced over at you.

"minato, this is (y/n). she's from the (l/n) clan." satoru cleared his throat. "—and yes, she's my girlfriend."

this definitely wasn't the way satoru imagined he would be introducing you as his girlfriend. but in a room full of his cousins around his age, he felt the need to stake his claim on what was his.

you quickly glanced at satoru, baffled to be exact. did he really just introduce you as his girlfriend? you turned to his cousin and greeted him, "—hi, i'm (y/n). it's nice to meet you!"

"nice, a (l/n). what element do you have?" minato asked you abruptly. he really didn't care for the introductions.

you pooled a large sphere of water in your hand to show him. his cousin grinned at you.

"water? wow. you and satoru must've been destined to be together." he scoffed, turning back to satoru, "come on six eyes, let's go say hi to ojii."

satoru continued to glare at his cousin in annoyance. you noticed that he was gritting his teeth, his jaw tense. you grabbed his hand, trying comfort him. you walked with satoru to greet his grandfather.

"(y/n), satoru." ojii nodded, "did you sleep well last night?"

"yes, thank you!" you bowed, "the bed in the guest room was very comfortable."

"i'm glad satoru could keep you warm last night." his grandfather teased.

your jaw dropped as satoru, minato, and his other cousins stared laughing. you felt your cheeks turn beet red. this is exactly why you didn't want satoru to sleep in your room. first it was yaga-sensei, and now it was satoru’s own grandfather.

"it was either that or she slept in my room, gramps. and you know grams would never allow that." satoru shrugged, attempting to save you from embarrassment.

satoru's grandfather turned to you, studying your cursed energy. "(y/n), genkei mentioned that you hold the element of water. i'd love to see the extent of your powers. how is your domain expansion coming along?"

“i’ve almost perfected it.” you smiled at him.

"gramps, she's really strong." satoru explained, "she's the second fastest at laying out her domain."

"who's the first?" a cousin named ren asked.

satoru gave ren a peace sign, "i am, of course."

"well then, i'd love to see your skills." ojii reached out for your hand to help you up onto the platform he was standing on. satoru watched as you stood with his grandfather.

"do you think you can target all five of these boys with your cursed technique?" ojii asked, wondering what the limits of your cursed energy was. was your power similar to limitless with the never ending negative emotions that came with water?

you scanned the room, satoru, minato, ren, and two more cousins stood in front of you. you nodded, knowing you could probably land a hit on one of the boys.

ojii laughed in amusement, "you have free reign to do whatever you want to these punks, don't hold back."

you drew 16 ice shards. satoru scoffed as his cousins' eyes widened. satoru was very familiar with these ice shards as he probably got one thrown at him on the daily. his cousins took a defensive stance as your ice shards circled around you.

you threw all of the shards in different directions. as the five gojo boys were jumping and dodging, you casted multiple jets of water in different pressures, speeds, and sizes. you managed to land a hit on one of the gojo boys. you waved away your shards and water jets, running to the injured cousin's side.

"mako is fine." ojii stated, "don't worry."

"i'm so sorry!" you gulped, "are you okay?"

"yeah, i'm fine." mako winced as he sat up, "damn, satoru. your girlfriend sure packs a punch."

"tell me about it." satoru grinned while walking towards the both you, "(y/n), it's okay. mako's fine." he patted your shoulder to let you know it was okay. you felt horrible that mako got hurt because of you even though his grandfather said you had free reign. you and satoru helped mako up so that he could sit on the sidelines where the gojo clan's family doctor started to heal him with reversed cursed energy.

"genkei said that you can also use reversed cursed energy. is that true?" ojii asked as he saw you watching the gojo clan's doctor heal mako. he was as good as new again in just a matter of moments.

you turned back to his grandfather, "yes, i can heal people."

"can you heal satoru?”

“i healed him once, but he hasn't gotten hurt since, so i haven't been able to try it again."

"well, let's put that to the test." ojii said as he quickly shot out a small red beam, barely slicing satoru's arm enough for him to bleed, but not enough to cause any true pain to his precious grandson.

satoru winced as he grabbed his arm. blood trickling down his bicep and forearm, "what the hell, gramps? what was that for?"

"ojii really hit you with red?" minato's eyes widened, "that was a fast cast."

"he wants to see if (y/n) can heal me." satoru grunted. he walked towards you as you looked at him in shock. you couldn't believe his own grandfather hit him with a cursed technique so fast that satoru didn't even get a chance to dodge it or turn on his infinity.

you placed your hand on his arm, worried, "are you okay?"

satoru scoffed, "yeah, don't you worry your pretty little head. can you fix me up?"

"of course."

minato, mako, ren, and kyo came over to watch you heal satoru. your right hand hovered over the small cut on his arm. you focused your cursed energy as water started to surround the cut and heal his wound. his cousins were amazed to see someone outside of the family doctor heal another person, and so was his grandfather.

"does it feel better?"

"like it never happened." satoru gave you a thumbs up and a cheeky smile to go along with it. "well, gramps? what do you think?"

ojii nodded his head in approval, "impressive. i'd like to see your domain expansion now."

"wait, you want me to use my domain expansion on you?" you asked in disbelief.

"would you mind?"

you shook with uneasiness. ojii really trusted you that much to show him your domain expansion? you only ever sparred with touya and satoru when it came to your domain expansion...

"um... if you can try to stay in one place instead of swimming to the top or bottom of my domain, i'll active it for 10 seconds so you can see what it feels like."

"go ahead, (y/n). an old geezer like me can handle it." ojii laughed. satoru pushed you foward. he knew how powerful your domain was and he knew that his grandfather could handle it, he wasn't worried.

your hand signal for your domain was the buddhist hand gesture of the vitarka mudra. you connected the tip of your thumb and index fingers while keeping the other three fingers straight. you put your hand in front of you. "domain expansion: iridescent ocean." (a/n: sorry this detail wasn’t explained in love at first fight!)

a large sphere surrounded you and ojii as it started to fill with water. you could see ojii start to hold his breath as he was submerged underneath the water. he was using some type of reversed cursed technique to try to cancel out your sure hit from your domain. you saw the blinding lights at the top and felt the water pressure at the bottom, you wondered what it felt like to ojii. after ten seconds, you released your domain as water poured onto the floor of the dojo.

ojii was breathless as you, satoru, and his cousins ran towards him. "i'm fine," he waved you all off, "i wanted to see what (y/n) could do. i could barely move or breathe in that domain. i can see why water is quite dangerous and why there can only be one water user in a lifetime."

"hey! that's like satoru and his six eyes!" kyo said with a smile, putting his arm around satoru.

"your grandparents must be proud of you and the way you’ve honed in on your techniques, (y/n). i know i would be too if you were my granddaughter." ojii continued, "you must be tired using all of this cursed energy in one session. satoru, make sure she gets some rest before dinner."

satoru nodded, "understood, gramps."

"boys! clean up the dojo." his grandfather called out to the rest of his grandsons.

minato grumbled, "if bringing home a girlfriend means i don't have to clean the dojo, i'm doing that next time."

"i can hear you boy. i may be old, but i haven't lost my sense of hearing." ojii retorted.

everyone laughed as satoru and you waved and said your goodbyes until dinner. a wave of exhaustion hit you as you fell forward towards satoru.

"i got you," he caught your fall and swiped you off your feet, "you tired?"

"exhausted." you whispered. he held you in his arms, bringing you back to your room. you tried to stay awake, but fatigue overpowered you.

he placed you onto the bed as you were already fast asleep, draping a blanket over you. you must've been completely worn out just like the first day he met you. you used all your techniques, a reversed cursed technique, and a domain expansion that same day too. you were really something else…

he smiled at you before closing the door behind him. it was time for his meeting with the gojo clan elders.

in the conference room

"how are your studies going, child?" one of the elders asked.

"average." satoru bluntly admitted.

"and your jujutsu training?"

"fantastic." he said sarcastically, "i'm ranked first in close combat and cursed technique."

"although you are number one in cursed technique, you need to be able to harness the power of infinity. that must be activated at all times for your protection." another elder added.

"27/4 with infinity? that's crazy. i'll run out of cursed energy. and i get tired when i have it on for long periods of time!" satoru barked.

ojii interjected, "not necessarily, satoru. that's where limitless comes in. limitless and infinity work together, if you can make sure that you always use a reversed cursed technique in small amounts, you will not tire yourself out. that is why you got hit with red earlier. if you had infinity on at all times, that wouldn't have happened."

satoru folded his arms in frustration. his clan elders always asked so much of him. sometimes he wished he wasn't born with the six eyes. he was tired of being told what to do and how to do it.

a third clan elder joined in, "it will take time and practice to do so, make sure you work on that this semester."

"how is your training with activating red and hollow purple coming along?" the first clan elder from earlier asked.

satoru rolled his eyes and muttered, "i’m working on it."

"this is serious business, satoru." the elder lectured him, "there are only a few select members of the clan that even know of hollow purple. that is our secret weapon against the rival families and our enemies."

"i got it, i got it." satoru shrugged, "i'll work harder."

"the last thing we want to talk about it is the (l/n) girl." the last elder in the group went on to say.

satoru glared. what could they possibly want with you? "—and what about her?"

"keep her safe. the (l/n) clan and the gojo clan have a strong alliance. if anything happens to her, consider the allied ties severed."

"nothing is going to happen to her as long as i'm with her. i swear on my life." satoru said confidently, "is that all?"

the elders dismissed satoru as he stepped out of the room. he groaned, he hated having these meetings every semester. he felt like every aspect of his life was controlled. could he just chill and have fun while in high school? he walked back to your room as the elders continued their talk.

"satoru will protect her. i've seen the way he looks at her. he cares about her." ojii explained to the remaining elders.

"should we meet with the (l/n) elders and consider an arranged marriage for them then?"

ojii disagreed with anything that had to do with an arranged marriage. "no. we don't need to arrange a marriage for soulmates who were destined to find each other again in this lifetime." ojii laughed in hilarity, "another six eyes and a water cursed technique user from the (l/n) clan together after 400 years... what a sight to behold."

back to satoru's pov

as satoru walked back to your room, he dismissed what the elders had to say. they really wanted him to have infinity on 24/7? were they insane? he should be able to turn his infinity off around people he was comfortable with, right? should he really have it on at all times?

satoru knocked on your door before barging in. you opened your eyes groggily as he sat down at the foot of the bed.

"did i knock out?" you asked sheepishly.

"completely. you fell straight into my arms." satoru smiled softly at you. just the sight of you made all his problems fade away. "you feeling better?"

"yeah, just a little tired."

"ready to go back to jujutsu high tomorrow?"

"i like it here, satoru." you smiled back at him, "we should come back soon." according to satoru, he only came to see his family at the end of each semester. you hoped that you'd visit more often with him.

"didn't you want to visit your family soon?" satoru asked.

"yes, and you should officially come visit with me." you sat up in the bed. "your last visit didn't count."

satoru laughed boisterously at the memory. he missed you so much he teleported to your clan's estate without telling you. he lied to save face, "i had to make sure you were safe."

you laughed at his ridiculous statement, "safe in my own family's home?"

"it's probably time for me to formally introduce myself as your boyfriend to your brother, huh?"

"i guess you can call yourself my boyfriend... i'll allow it," you grinned at him, "—and you better hope that touya doesn't kick your ass."

satoru and you shared a laugh as he patted your head, brushing your messy bed hair down your neck and back. you grabbed his hand and placed it against your cheek as satoru leaned in for a kiss.

"ready for dinner?" he asked.

"god, yes. i'm starving."

the next morning: heading back to jujutsu high

"the both of you take care now." sobo said, "make sure to eat all your meals and train properly."

satoru hugged his grandmother and kissed her on the cheek, "thanks grams."

"(y/n), it was a pleasure having you as our guest. come back soon, we'd love to see you again." ojii said as he smiled at you.

"thank you so much for having me!" you bowed towards the both of them and gave them your million dollar smile that satoru loved so much.

"grams, gramps, (y/n) is my girlfriend.” satoru proudly stated, “so it only makes sense that she'll be coming back to visit.”

"girlfriend, huh?" you nudged satoru with your elbow as he put his arm around your shoulder.

ojii and sobo laughed. they already knew that you and satoru would love each other in this lifetime. they could sense it as soon as satoru walked through the door with you. everyone besides satoru and yourself could see that you two were meant for each other.

"i’m sure kanao and genkei would love to finally meet the gojo clan's child that stole their granddaughter's heart," sobo gushed, "(y/n), make sure satoru meets your grandparents soon. next time you're back, satoru's parents should be here for you to meet."

"i can't wait to meet them," you said excitedly, "satoru is coming home with me in a couple weeks to meet my brother and grandparents."

ojii turned to his grandson, "satoru, make sure you pay your respects when you meet genkei and kanao. and take care of (y/n)."

satoru put his arm around your shoulder, "of course, gramps! nothing's gonna happen to my girl!"

you rolled your eyes at your newly titled boyfriend as his grandparents laughed at the both of you. satoru and you said your farewells to the gojo clan. his grandparents, akemi, hitomi, and kaito saw you off before satoru teleported you both back to tokyo jujutsu high.

EXTRA:

"so what did you think?" satoru asked as you were applying moisturizer on your cheeks. you rubbed your face in circular motions, working the cream into your face.

"think of what?"

"—of my family."

you took a moment to think before answering, "everyone was so nice and welcoming. i was thinking it was going to be the exact opposite to be honest." you admitted.

you sat down on your bed, satoru sat up and scooted over to make room for you. he raised his eyebrow at you, "why would you think that?"

"hmmm, the gojo clan being the number one family in jujutsu society might be a reason."

satoru rolled his eyes, "god, my family isn't as horrible and stuck up as people make us out to be. we live a quiet life and mind our business."

satoru frowned as you tilted your head towards him. "what's on your mind?" you asked as you caressed his cheek with your hand.

"my cousins said some stuff that bugged me before we left." satoru mumbled and pouted his lips.

"oh no, satoru gojo bothered by his own family?" you sarcastically sang, "what could they have possibly said to upset you?"

"they kept talking about how hot you were." satoru complained, "as if my cousins are your type. they need to find their own girl and back off of mine."

satoru gojo was jealous. now that was something you didn't see every day.

you smirked, attempting to push satoru's buttons, "i don't know, satoru. minato was really nice to me before we left. should i ask for his number next time?"

satoru gasped, "you wouldn't."

your bright laugh filled your dorm room, satoru ears perked at the lovely sound, but still attempted to glare at you with his cerulean blue eyes.

you confessed, "you're right, babe. i wouldn't. you're the only one for me."

"oh really?" he countered, "give me a kiss to prove it then."

"fine," you muttered, "come here, you big baby."

DIVIDERS PROVIDED BY @/ANLIAN-AISHANG

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