#i firmly believe that he’d feel most at peace w a love that sits somewhere right between platonic n romantic !!
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you are somebody that i want to keep ; satoru gojo
synopsis; you aren't sure what you have with satoru gojo, but you know that it’s good.
word count; 6.7k
contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, colleagues to friends to something unlabelled, you love each other though!!, fluff, hurt/comfort, very very soft, reader falls first but gojo falls harder, both of u are afraid of intimacy lol, a lil angsty if u squint, satoru gojo cherishing u for ~7k words straight <33
a/n; basically just a collection of moments between you and gojo throughout the years <33 (a significant amount of time has passed between each part!!) hes an emotionally repressed loser but i love him and he is smitten w u.
in the soft luminescence of daybreak, your kitchen looks something like a dream.
tainted with a hazy sunshine, simmering with warm colours and pleasant scents, it almost seems to sparkle in the peripheral of your vision. brimming with that feeling of home, a home you’ve broken your bones building, desperate to shape it into something safe — and you think you’ve done a pretty good job.
it’s soothing, comforting, all of these sensations. bleeding into each other like smudges of paint on a canvas; hyacinths blooming by the windowsill, espresso-flavored steam wafting up to the roof, soft meows stemming from the cats by your feet. absolute bliss.
indulging in a peace yet to be shattered by the strain of the working world, you rub the sleep from beneath your weary eyes. blinking and yawning like a drowsy child.
beyond the translucent glass of your windows, glimmering with the light of a sun soon to rise, the world is painted pink and indigo — save for that one hint of gold, a streak of honey slathered across the surface of the sky. fluffy clouds drift through the chilly air, melting in the wake of a new day, and you think they look a little like tufts of cotton candy. soft enough to sink your teeth into, if only the glass wasn’t in the way. keeping the cold out.
it’s a new day. a pleasant morning, sitting comfortably on the brink of dawn, before the city has a chance to rouse from its slumber.
a kind of solitude you so rarely get to bask in.
a false solitude, really. because, for once, there’s another human being in your home — one you don’t know nearly as well as you’d like, for him to be fast asleep on your couch, cheek smushed against the leather. snoring softly.
satoru gojo.
like this, he looks very… human. vulnerable. hair just slightly tousled, from tossing and turning on your not-so-comfortable couch, blindfold only covering one of his eyes and close to slipping off entirely. his expression has melted into one of something vaguely resembling relaxation, as close to unguarded as you assume he can physically get.
even in his sleep, he looks a little stiff. not entirely at peace; like a stray cat sleeping under the hood of a car.
(you’re curious. fascinated, maybe, by the loneliness that clings to the strongest person in the universe. by the paradoxical innocence of his grin.)
honestly, everything from last night is kind of a blur. you remember accompanying the strongest sorcerer on a mission, one long enough to leave you completely and utterly spent, fatigue nestled deep into your bones. remember gojo getting a sudden migraine, so earth-shattering that you thought he was going to keel over and throw up in the middle of the street.
then you remember bringing him back home with you. very hesitantly, only after he begrudgingly accepted the fact that he didn’t have much of a choice. because you were fucking exhausted, and so was he, and your apartment happened to be conveniently close. you remember him practically passing out on your couch, still somehow managing to crack a bad joke you can’t recall, while you went to collapse into the comfort of your bed.
and now you’re here. dyed in half-transparent sunbeams, caffeine bubbling in your veins, gazing at your sleeping coworker from your spot by the kitchen table. waiting for the world to open its weary eyes.
it’s still early. some part of you expects him to sleep a while longer, but you can’t say you’re particularly surprised when gojo begins to stir.
a splotch of sunshine splatters across your living room window, staining the floorboards, falling over the contours of his pretty face. in the light, he looks positively holy; white lashes, pale skin, plump lips. like a goddess.
when he opens his eyes, it’s even worse. a single iris cracked open, pooling with unbridled brilliance. eyes so blue they seem to cut through the stillness of the air.
(— and the world wakes up.)
a little groan slips from his lips, barely audible. with groggy movements, he brings a hand up to his face, obscuring the grating light of the sun flitting in. you think you can almost see the gears of his mind turn, as he takes notice of his surroundings, remembering what transpired just hours before.
faster than you thought, he regains some semblance of composure. huffing under his breath, as he forces himself into a sitting position.
it feels a little wrong, to see the closest thing this world has to a god act so human. be so human. morning-fatigued, just like you, wearing droopy eyelids and a soft, sleepy pout. a little disheveled. groggy with lost dreams.
when his gaze meets yours, you can’t control the breath that hitches pitifully in the back of your throat. a meek skip of your heartbeat, like you just saw something you shouldn’t have. oops.
gojo cracks a grin.
“.. watchin’ me sleep?” he calls out, cheeky. paired with a drowsy yawn. composed, unbothered, but there’s something almost performative about it, something you’re sure you’d miss if he wasn’t still in the process of collecting himself.
“good morning,” is all you offer him. ignoring his teasing remark. he doesn’t push it, to your surprise. “sleep well?”
a hum. absentminded, jovial. one of his large hands goes to adjust his blindfold, the other to fluff up his hair. kicking off the blanket you just barely had the energy to throw over him last night. your fluffiest one, warm enough to protect him from the chill gnawing at the windows. hopefully.
“like a log,” he quips, stretching idly, muscles straining under his baggy uniform. they must be sore, after that mission. or maybe he’s above such things.
choosing not to comment on his obvious lie, you put your lips against the ceramic of your cup. sipping from the bitter brew, a tinge of hazelnut on your tongue. letting him gather his bearings without you scrutinizing him. a little favor, one liar to another.
“thanks for letting me crash,” he grins, lazy. toothy. stumbling to his feet with a low groan, gaze flitting around the room — looking for the exit. “i’ll get outta your hair,” he mutters, and you raise a brow.
“not staying for breakfast?”
gojo stills. your question rings out, bouncing off the walls of the kitchen, into the living room.
his smile twitches, ever so slightly, in what you think must be surprise. then it’s back to normal; like putting on a mask, not allowing a sliver of weakness to slip through the cracks. he exhales a raspy chuckle, a sound that flows through the air and crawls down your spine.
���generous, aren’t you?” he hums, voice rich with amusement. dappling sunlight licks at the white locks of his hair.
you shrug. “i wouldn’t mind the company.”
the words climb up the walls of your throat, a little reckless, eager to catch a glimpse of the miracle before you. satoru gojo, framed by the simplicity of your home — somewhat hard to let go of. sunkissed skin, restless hands. a little out of tune. shifting from foot to foot, eager to get away.
(a little like a frightened fawn, you amuse yourself by thinking. he’s really more like the fox who scared it.)
you think he must be bit uncomfortable. forced to spend the night in a coworker’s apartment, one he doesn't even know that well, one he probably doesn’t have any intention of getting to know. still trying to politely excuse himself. persistent, stubborn.
maybe he didn’t expect this. maybe he was convinced he could sneak away, before you had a chance to wake up. maybe he thought you’d be all too eager to let him leave, and never speak of this again. maybe he’s not used to being wanted.
“ha… i’m flattered, believe me, but —“
“what do you usually eat?” you ask. cutting him off, gently, tapping your fingertips against the edge of the table. “for breakfast, i mean. i’ll whip something up.”
a chuckle slips from his lips. you can’t put your finger on it, but something about it bothers you. “really, there’s —“
“if you’re worried about inconveniencing me, don’t be.” you pause, unsure of what to say. but the words end up spilling out of your throat, oddly honest. ”it’s been a while since i had the chance to make breakfast for someone else.”
it’s strange, really, how intent you are on seeing this through. how much effort you’re putting into making him stay. you barely even know him. actually, you don’t know him at all — all you know is that his smile makes you happy and his strength makes you envious. that you aren’t afraid of him, even though you probably should be.
something about him just feels safe.
“i’m pretty good at making pancakes,” you hum, a small smile playing at your lips. polite, jovial. pale light flits in through the window and slips into its curve. ”do you want some? before we go to work.”
(something in his fingers twitch, when you say that tiny word; pancakes. a little tell. you just barely catch it, before it sputters out. before he reels it back in.)
a moment passes. slow, drawn out, a rubber band bound to snap.
gojo stands there, a very subtle contemplation etched into his features. behind him, your cats begin to scratch at the couch, but you don’t scold them. just waiting for something to happen. beyond the glass of your windows, the sun unfurls in the sky, stretching its arms to envelop the world.
he grins, suddenly. soft light reflecting off the white of his teeth. cocky, composed. not quite performative, a little more natural.
“well, if you insist.”
he strolls over to your side, just a tiny bit sluggish, lazy steps and comically long limbs. he must still be tired. but he takes a seat, right across from you, plopping down on the chair with an effortless air of confidence. lighthearted, leaning his elbows on the table, crossing his legs under it. comfortable. settling into his role.
you’re pleasantly surprised.
“how would you like them?” you ask, and you think some of your excitement may have spilled out with the question. if it did, gojo doesn’t comment on it. ”your pancakes.”
“with chocolate chips, please!” he shoots you a sweet smile. “and whipped cream on top.”
so demanding. for some reason, it makes the corners of your lips quirk up. kinda like a bratty younger brother.
“got it.”
the smell of dark chocolate hangs heavy in the air as you get to work, shuffling around the open space. all while gojo waits, patiently, tapping his foot under the table and staring out the window. leaning his jaw on the heel of his palm. listening to the humming of nightingales on the branches of the apple tree down on the ground, and the buzz of your old radio.
the kitchen fills with motion, sounds, smells. life. splotches of sunlight, crinkled cartons of orange juice. the clinking of plates. two tired adults, seated at the same table, indulging in a fleeting peace and the promise of something new. something almost concrete.
a small, precious moment. enough to make your fascination shift into something you know must be fondness. or close to it.
gojo grins at you, mouth full of pancakes, eagerly telling you about something the kids did last week. wolfing them down, chocolate smeared over his bottom lip. you laugh, and suddenly the world feels a little safer than it should. a little more intact.
you wonder what it means. where it’s going to lead. this feeling of something wonderful beginning, something you couldn’t stop if you wanted to.
a budding connection.
the city lays blanketed beneath a layer of thick snow. blurry pale dots dancing in the wind, obscuring the sky, frost engulfing every building in a bone chilling hug.
with a slight shiver, you dig your hands into the comfort of your pockets, seeking the fleeting warmth you find. admiring the frozen landscape before you, the hustle and bustle of people going about their day. the saffron light of the lamp posts, the glittering snow by your feet, the skeletal apricot trees and their bare branches. this monochrome city you find yourself in.
gojo exhales. strolling cheerily down the street, in tandem with you, a frosty breath to your left that scatters and melts into the open air. it smells minty.
today, he’s wearing black shades — like he usually is when you meet outside of work. it’s kind of nice. when you angle your face a certain way, you can almost see the blue pooling in his eyes, the white of his eyelashes.
he’s beautiful. he always has been. but like this, you think his beauty is simply unfair, highlighted by the winter wonderland you find yourselves in. mesmerizing, the red flush of his cheeks, how he hums along to some jolly tune playing from a little corner store further down the street. all bundled up, in a stylish overcoat and a nice scarf, untouched by the snowflakes fluttering about.
protected by his infinity, always. the silly god you call a friend.
he looks content, despite the cold that keeps nipping at your bare skin, smiling widely. blabbing on about the movie you’re about to watch, how he saw it back in high school but never thought it’d get a remake. how his friend thought it sucked but that friend always had bad taste so his opinion is irrelevant. how he has faith that you’ll like it.
(cute.)
distracted by the pretty man so close by, close enough to touch, you don’t look ahead. maybe just a little bit entranced. which would be fine, if you didn’t happen to be walking on the right side of the street —
crashing straight into a lamp post.
”owch!”
it’s sudden. and it’s a harsh collision, enough to leave your nose stinging, an ache that makes you whine. cursing under your breath as you take a couple steps back, hands reaching for the part of your face that took the brunt of the hit.
and gosh, is this embarrassing. you dance on the edge of death for a living, and here you are — whining over walking into a fucking lamp post. because you were too enamored by the beauty of your own coworker to pay attention to your surroundings.
a coworker who is currently looking at you, silently. having failed to warn you in time, stuck in his own memories, caught up in his in-depth, spoiler-filled review of a movie he’s been waiting to watch all week.
for a moment, all he does is blink. long eyelashes fluttering, like a dove flapping its wings.
then he starts laughing.
scratch that — gojo is downright cackling, thoroughly amused by your clumsy mishap, like he just saw the funniest thing in the world. laughter ringing out into the cold air, white breaths to compliment the red of your burning ears.
asshole.
with a harsh furrow of your brows, you attempt to look angry; but before long, your lips are curling up. infected by his joy. a soft punch to his shoulder is all you manage, biting back a little puff of laughter. you’re embarrassed.
(so embarrassed you don’t even notice how he puts his infinity down.)
”don’t laugh, you piece of shit!” you hiss, grinning even still, flushing and trying to ignore the curious glances you get from passersby. ”it really hurt!”
but gojo doesn’t stop. doesn’t even attempt to. you think he just grew even more amused, if anything, practically bending over from how hard he’s laughing — clutching his stomach.
”sorry, sorry — ’m just…” he tries to speak, taking deep breaths in between bursts of giggles. ”how the hell — how’d you —”
he stops trying. laughing, again.
and it’s a genuine laugh. a little wolfish, spilling out from his pretty parted lips, showing off his sharp teeth. from the very bottom of his gut, clear and bright, deep and infectious. melodic. shades close to slipping off the bridge of his nose, eyes tearing up behind them. trying to collect himself, muffled giggles turning to soft vapour in the cold air. dimples visible on his rosy cheeks.
and suddenly you can't think, can't speak, can only look at him and wonder how a human can be so very beautiful. how it’s metaphysically possible. like a crushed cluster of stars was given human form, a body of celestial light.
he looks so young, like this. a millenia younger, no weight on those broad shoulders, no immovable wall to separate you both. he looks like one of the guys you used to hang out with in middle school, running through corridors and play fighting and holding back shared laughter in the library. before the bite of the world left a mark in your skin.
he looks like himself. like someone pulled the mask off, and all that’s left is the human. none of the godhood he was saddled with at birth.
while you’re busy staring, gojo finally finds his composure again. wiping at his glassy eyes, a chuckle slipping out here and there. distracted by the breathtaking sight, you begin to forget the sting of your collision — until you feel something warm trickle down your chilled skin.
searching for it with the pads of your fingers, you feel a trail of wetness beneath your nose. and when you bring them down, to get a look, all you see is red.
”ah.”
gojo moves closer. maybe just a little alarmed, by the blood dripping from your nose, staining the white of the snow beneath your feet. a chilling contrast, one you’re frighteningly used to. it’s almost comforting. blood on your skin, that sting of pain clogging up your nose, enough for you to get lost in. colours melting together, memories rising to the surface —
when suddenly, something touches your cheek.
one large hand goes to keep your jaw in place, gentle. smooth leather, sneaking under your chin, lifting your face up ever so slightly. warmth trickles from his fingertips through the fabric, and you can smell a hint of his perfume. strawberries and vanilla.
gojo looks at you fondly. wiping the blood from your nose, smudging his expensive gloves. from this angle, you can see his eyes, a blue shimmer in an evening painted white and gray — the sole flicker of colour in this monochrome city. they’re crinkled at the edges.
he looks awfully amused.
(you stay still, not breathing, like any slight motion could have him pulling away.)
”careful,” he croons. so low you barely hear it, almost a purr. the word has a soft underbelly, something you don’t need to dissect to feel.
a sentiment that seems to simmer in the air around you, drifting past the little corner store, a dog tied to a lamp post, your reddened cheeks. past the blue of his eyes, a peripheral that stretches to cover the city before you. words too heavy to speak aloud.
stay safe for me, silly.
then he’s letting go. sudden, the bite of the air replacing his hand. it lingers on your skin, like a memory, like the ghost of a memory. but it’s there. strawberries and vanilla, leather and warmth. something kind. warm.
and it stays there, even as gojo takes a step forward, no longer facing you. walking confidently, the wind bending around his tall stature. long legs and large steps, leaving an imprint in the snow for you to follow. a northern star.
he turns his head, and grins. hair tousled by the breeze, white locks glittering with snowflakes. ”you coming? it’s starting soon.”
a moment passes.
”or do you need me to call shoko?”
you puff out a breathy laugh, at that, stumbling forward. reaching up to wipe more of the blood sticking to your skin. sniffling, but smiling, teeth peeking out between your lips.
”yeah, yeah,” a roll of your eyes. ”’m right behind you.”
gojo’s eyes crinkle, disappearing behind his shades when he straightens his back and raises his head. moving forward, while you follow; his back turned to you, snowy hair melting into the white all around you. like something out of a painting.
with a pep in step, you catch up to him. eager to hear more of his voice, his memories. still basking in the warmth of his hand on your jaw.
a touch from the untouchable.
gojo’s lying on your couch.
he usually is, to be fair, so it shouldn’t be surprising. kicking his legs up, watching tv — or sleeping, snoring loudly, like the couch belongs to him. like your home belongs to him. like he pays rent, and doesn’t just laze around and devour all the sweets in your kitchen cabinets.
(he’s there so often that you’re starting to wonder if you should give him a copy of your keys, or something. but you have a feeling that’d be just a smidge too intimate for him to ever accept.)
this time, however, gojo is doing neither of those things.
he’s on your couch, but he isn’t manspreading, or draping himself over the leather with a lazy grin. he doesn’t have that air of effortless confidence. and it’s palpable, in the air, the open space, enough that you can feel it. an itch on your skin, a lump in your throat. you could practically feel it as soon as you walked through the door.
he isn’t wearing his blindfold, or his shades. he isn’t even smiling. and gojo is always, always smiling.
you think he might be having a rough day.
even the cats are noticing that something’s off. jumping up in his lap, trying to comfort him, brushing against his legs. purring, when he cradles them close — always so gentle with them. hands petting down their backs, softly, the same hands he uses to rip out the throats of curses and curse users alike.
then they mewl and run away. and for once you wish they wouldn’t, wish they could keep clinging to him like they always do. just to make him feel better. right now, in the state he’s in, you wouldn’t even mind gojo’s usual smug declarations of how does it feel to know they like their papa best?
you can’t help but feel unsure of yourself. gojo isn’t doing anything, and he isn’t saying anything. he’s just lying there, on his back, eyes closed. letting the darkness of the room engulf him. drowning in his own thoughts.
he must know that you’re there. he must have heard you come in. but he isn’t saying anything, and you wonder if that means he wants you to leave him alone.
you’re reminded of that one morning. when he woke up on your couch, and looked more human than you’d ever seen him. how you wanted to avert your eyes, how wrong it felt to see a god rouse from its slumber.
(but you know better now.)
hesitantly, you begin to inch closer, step by step. quiet, floorboards barely creaking beneath your weight. tentative, as you settle down on the couch. brushing against the infinity between you.
gojo’s eyes flicker open. like an old tape beginning to play. they still shine with that same brilliance, they always do, but now you think they look just a little dull. a little red.
a moment passes. agonizingly slow.
before you can properly think it through, you’ve done it. almost on instinct, jumping the gun before he has the chance to cover everything up with jokes and laughter. opening your arms; a silent invitation.
gojo only stares.
his gaze moves down to your outstretched arms, and then up to your face. your pursed lips, nervous eyes, worried crease between your brows. one second passes. two, five. you stop counting.
for a moment, you’re almost certain that he’s about to get up and leave. that he’ll flash you a smile that doesn't reach his eyes, walk out the door and then never return. like you flew too close to the sun, just another icarus too mesmerized by the glow of his grin to notice your melting wings. like you stepped over the fragile line that separates his bones from yours, his heartbeat from your greedy hands.
— but then he sluggishly gets into a sitting position, and doesn't look at you.
when gojo collapses into your embrace, you’re so surprised that you almost forget how to breathe. almost forget your own name, forget whose home you’re in, why your arms are wrapped around a pale man. all you can think of is how warm he feels, how he’s like a weighted blanket against you. how he trusts you enough to come so very close.
cheek pressed against your chest, arms loose around your waist. no infinity, no barriers. just a single touch shared between two damaged human beings.
a brief inhale gives you the composure that you need. air flowing into your lungs, your brain, as you settle into a comfortable position. no words leave your lips; you just continue to hold him, one hand on his back, testing the waters. letting him hear the echo of your heartbeat. unsure, the both of you, but something about this feels right. close to right. almost there.
gojo is stiff. when you strain your ears, you hear a sharp intake of breath, and a full body shiver courses through him. a tremble of his spine. like he’s itching to run, like he doesn’t quite know where to put his hands. so painfully unused to a proper embrace.
(a little like a frightened fawn.)
a tender something unfurls within your chest, and you feel almost devoured by the fondness rooting itself into your beating heart. delicate, as you begin to brush away his tousled bangs, leaning close. pressing a kiss to his forehead, glistening with sweat. letting your lips linger on his skin.
he’s pale, shining in the bleak moonlight cast from the translucent curtains of your living room windows. pale like a ghost. and there are dark crescents beneath his dull eyes.
nightmares, you surmise. they haunt him too, don’t they? of course they do.
eyes brimming with emotion, you gaze at him; quiet as a mouse, closing his eyes. leaning into your touch, ever so slightly, breathing out a sigh tinged with pure exhaustion. and a certain realization washes over you, akin to a tidal wave, sudden and inevitable. so obvious it’s funny.
you’re not a god at all, are you?
a coo slips from your lips. barely a sound, more like a soothing breath. warm against his cold skin.
you’re just like everyone else. just as fragile.
one of your thumbs goes to smooth over the puffy skin beneath his eyes. so, so gentle. like one wrong touch could have him crumbling into little grains of stardust, spilling out over the worn leather of your couch.
there are so many things you wish you could say to him. so many things you’ll never be able to say, because you’re afraid that if you give him too much it’ll scare him off. like love could burn him if it were to leak out too fervently. like it’s burned him before.
so you don’t say anything. but you think it, you repeat it inside your mind like a prayer, and some part of you thinks that’s enough. i’ve got you — a whisper that you don't dare to voice.
one gojo still manages to hear, somehow, if the way he tugs you closer and snuggles into your neck is anything to go by. a shaky exhale brushing against your collarbone.
(if you feel something wet touch the skin of your shoulder, you don’t mention it.)
you simply hold him, and don’t even think the thought of letting go. even though it takes him hours just to fall asleep, hours you spend anxiously wondering if he’ll change his mind and pull away. but he doesn't leave, even though his body may want him to, and that's enough, and you don’t let go. not even once. he stays cradled to your chest the same way you’d hold a tiny puppy, something fragile. something you need to handle with care.
and when his heartbeat finally mellows out, when you hear little barely audible snores flow from his lips, you finally begin to relax. melting into the couch beneath you, watching him get the rest he deserves. praying that any nightmares of his will be given to you instead.
sleep comes, eventually, to the both of you. tangled up on the couch, him on top of you, comforted by the flutter of each other’s heartbeat. by the warmth of another human being. safe in each other’s arms.
(the next morning, through hazy sunshine and the clinking of coffee cups, he teasingly tells you that just satoru is fine.)
it’s barely daybreak when satoru wakes you up.
a rude awakening, to say the least. he pulls out all the stops, intent on not letting you sleep even a second longer; poking at your cheek, pinching them when that doesn’t work. tickling you, blowing cold air into your ear, flopping down on top of you like a big dog. anything to rouse you from your deep slumber.
and he just will not give it up. no matter how hard you try to ignore him, no matter how many times you swat him away with your duvet pillow or turn to bury your face into the sheets. that’s how satoru always is, how he’s always been, how he hopefully always will be — an absolute pain. one you wouldn’t trade for anything else in the world.
so, when he starts whining for you to just wake up already, voice tinged with a sadness that tugs at your heartstrings, you find yourself opening your tired eyes. all while he murmurs on and on about something unintelligible, still trying to bribe you.
”i’ll make you coffee, okay? just get up. c’moooon.”
”… what time is it, satoru?” is all you mutter, voice leaving your lips in a raspy, disgruntled fashion. stirring a little at the promise of coffee.
he cracks a grin. ”don’t worry about it! just come with me.”
despite your grumpy attitude, and the ungodly hour at which satoru shakes you awake, you find yourself letting him scoop you up and set you down on the kitchen counter. placing a hot cup of coffee in your hands, made just the way you like it, before grinning mischievously in a way that has you feeling ill at ease.
and ten minutes later, you find yourself on top of a hill. overlooking the woods, and a big lake below you, no city lights visible no matter where you turn — god knows where he’s taken you, but it’s pretty.
breathtaking, even. all frost and wildlife and peace, sweet solitude, tiny flowers blooming on the patches of grass around you. a murder of crows takes flight in the distance, scattering into the indigo of the sky.
gojo grins, boyish and bright, excited breaths turning into vapour as he speaks. awfully proud of himself.
”i can’t take you on vacation, but —”
he drags you with him, arm looped around your own, plopping down on the ground. not before taking off his jacket, to cover the ground beneath you. grass tickles the skin of your palms, as you comfortably spread your legs, making sure to sit as close to him as possible.
and your heart softens a little.
because he’s mentioned it, before; how it’d be nice to go on a road trip, someday, just the two of you. all around the world, wherever the wind takes you. basking in that feeling of freedom. it’s no more than a fever dream, though, with how busy satoru is, the responsibilities you both shoulder.
so this’ll have to do. that’s probably what he’s thinking.
”the sun’ll rise soon. it’ll be pretty, i promise,” he beams, so close that you feel his warm breath on your skin. that you can see the dimples on his cheeks, his barely visible freckles.
”oh, so that’s why you woke me up so early.”
his smile widens. ”nice, right? i wanted to surprise you. d’you like it?”
a smile blooms on your lips, in tandem with his, honeyed and content. indulgent. gojo looks at it, and immediately knows your answer.
”yeah. it’s really pretty out here,” you face forward, taking a deep breath, fresh morning air entering your lungs. cool and crisp, stirring your sleepy mind. ”kinda nostalgic.”
satoru hums, and follows your lead. looking ahead, admiring the beauty of an empty world.
the big lake looks like a mirror, from here, glittering in the peripheral of your vision. the sun licks at the frozen sky, not quite breaking through, not entirely ready to rise — but it paints everything a rusty gold and you can almost feel spring shining through, taste it on your tongue, that promise of something better, something more concrete. a warmth you don’t have to question.
a warmth that’ll stay with you for a long time to come.
it takes about ten seconds for the man by your side to start speaking, again, shattering the peaceful silence. but you don’t mind. his voice is nice, a mellow melody to your morning-fatigued brain.
side by side, you wait for the sun to rise. sharing hushed whispers and laughter, like two kids having a sleepover. like nothing exists but the space that cocoons you, wraps you up in a nostalgia so palpable the entire world feels like a fond memory.
(it makes you feel a millenia younger.)
satoru giggles like a child, telling you about something shoko said, or something megumi did, and you don’t miss a single word that spills from his glossy lips. hanging on to every word he’s willing to give to you.
he looks so unbothered, like this. eyes crinkling, humming some tune you don’t recognize, like a little nightingale ready to take flight into the skies.
you part your lips, admiring his features. every patch of skin you can see. words making themselves manifest, hungry to see inside his brain, to know more about him. a fascination that’s never quite left you — though now you think it may be better described as love. ”hey, satoru?”
at the sound of his name, he turns to you. the weight of his eyes feels so light, like this. those blessed eyes staring into yours. he tilts his head, a smile playing at his lips. ”mm?”
”if you could go anywhere you wanted, where would you be right now?”
satoru blinks.
he looks at you, a mild surprise flitting through the lines of his face, as he takes you in. measures the weight of your words.
then he smiles, again. lopsided, almost a smirk, rich with amusement. a hum buzzes in his throat, like a butterfly itching to break out.
”.. you teasing me?”
a huff fills the air. ”it’s a genuine question!” you insist, moving your leg to nudge his own. ”c’mon. anywhere in the world. i’m just curious.”
another hum. he narrows his eyes, playfully, biting at the inside of his cheek to hold back a chuckle when that makes you grumble. pouting softly, tilting your head. he’s amused, you can tell.
but he closes his eyes, lashes fluttering, glimmering with morning dew. and you can tell he’s taking you seriously. tasting the question on his tongue.
something shines in his eyes, when he opens them again; crinkling at the corners, soft lines of crows’ feet. you can almost see that burst of aquamarine, breaking through the black glass of his shades. like the laws of physics can’t contain it. and he smiles, as always, a smile so beautiful you wish you could live on the curve of his lips. flimsy, no teeth peeking out, no dimples to admire. but sweet. slathered with honey, as sincere as can be.
his voice comes out a little raspy, tainted with a tinge of fatigue, a smokey residue that sticks to the walls of his throat. but it's genuine, like he just woke up, like he's too sleepy to be dishonest. like every word he says can be no more or less than the absolute truth.
and when he turns to face you, tilting his head enough for you to see that shade of blue you love so dearly, his eyes shine with an honestly so palpable you feel like you’re being devoured.
satoru parts his lips.
”right next to you.”
a moment passes. silent, endless, no sound to be heard but the beating of your own heart.
at last, the sun breaks through that layer of frost, peeking up from the boundary of the world — and the morning begins to thaw. streaks of sunlight cascade down the contours of his handsome face, painting him a mellow gold, and it’s almost enough to distract you from the warmth of his hand finding yours.
for a moment, satoru looks unsure. smile shifting in the light, into something slightly stiff, and you know that means he's nervous. silent, as he wets his glossy lips. pink tongue tasting strawberry chapstick.
then he’s leaning forward.
it’s chaste, the kiss he plants on your forehead, soft as the flutter of a butterfly’s wings. but it lingers, even after he’s pulled back — a warmth on your skin. a silent declaration.
he doesn't have to say anything. when you look up at him you can see the red flush of his ears, and when you strain your ears you can hear all those unspoken whispers. the sentiment neither of you will ever have to say out loud, because you know. it’s there. and it means everything.
and you know that for as long as you live, you’ll both have this. one single thread of normalcy, in your unorthodox existences, one single glimmer of something almost entirely good. something that heals, something that isn’t a blessing and a curse all in one. something soft to the touch.
there’s no need to find the right words for it. there never was.
”kinda looks like melted ice cream.”
the words pull you out of your stupor. satoru’s looking at the sky, and you follow his gaze, watching the sunrise in tandem with him.
it’s beautiful. soft clouds melting into pinks and oranges, dappling sunbeams lapping at the trees, a saffron shade washing over the empty world in front of you. a world that may not be so empty, after all, because you hear crows in the distance, and someone’s fishing by the lake, and you think you spot a squirrel in the tree closest to you.
and you have someone, right next to you, right by your side. someone who won’t ever leave.
sometimes, loving satoru gojo feels a little like strolling on the edge of a cliff. like one wrong step could have you tumbling down, a mess of broken bones and unspoken words. but if you do stumble and fall — you know he’ll be waiting at the bottom of the precipice. arms outstretched, wearing that same innocent grin, ready to hoist you both back up.
so you know it’ll be fine.
swallowing down a bout of fresh laughter, like a flower unfurling in your chest, petals brushing against your ribcage, you give in. opting to bask in the moment, in his presence.
”yeah,” you puff out a chuckle, head slumping against satoru’s shoulder. he makes a little noise of approval, and your grin grows. ”it does.”
he doesn’t say anything. smiling, wordlessly, admiring the way the sun kisses up your collarbone. lighting up your face. and you bask in his warmth, how right it feels to be tucked into his side. how safe he feels, even now. how safe you make him feel.
you look at the man to your left, and he looks back at you, and that wonderful unnamed something unfurls inside your chest again. and, without having to speak it aloud, you know it will continue to do so.
many, many years later, he’ll still be satoru, and you’ll still be you. the distance between you will be what it always was; breachable.
and that will be enough.
#someone sedate me i giggled while writing this. im so in love w this stupid weasel#this is rly just my attempt at writing a more canon-aligned gojo and the kinda-sorta relationship i could see him having in canon#i firmly believe that he’d feel most at peace w a love that sits somewhere right between platonic n romantic !!#”me n the bestie <3” (selfie of u wearing matching rings)#its the kinda love that u dont need to label bc its just There. its just love !! a love that comes easy#im happy w how this particular gojo turned out i think!! :'3 hes my lil baby#in other news hes so bambi coded ☹️ i need to nurse him back to health#listen to capable of love by pinkpantheress btw its so gojo to me#jjk x reader#jjk#gojo satoru#gojo satoru x reader#jjk fluff#gojo x reader#gojo x you#gojo x y/n#jjk x you#jjk x y/n#jjk x gender neutral reader#gojo fluff#jujutsu kaisen#gojo satoru x you#gojo satoru x y/n#jujutsu kaisen x reader
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Prompt: Glorious
This is part two of my last prompt, which you can read here.
Part of the Good Omens 30th Anniversary celebration prompts. You can read all of the ones I’ve completed over on AO3!
--------
Part two: Project Heavenly Slumber
Crowley was in Baghdad in the court of Mamun the Great, giving his best effort toward whatever it was demons did – foster discord, disrupt the rule of law, interfere with justice, Aziraphale wasn’t sure. He miracled himself into the outskirts of town, where he’d sensed Crowley’s presence. He found him haggling with a merchant over a pile of dates. The demon had always had a sweet tooth, although he’d deny it vociferously if cornered about it.
“Crowley!” Aziraphale said, touching him on the sleeve. “How lovely to run into you!”
“You didn’t run into me,” Crowley said, not missing a beat as he handed over his pile of coins and took the bag from the vendor. “I felt you appear just a second ago. You’re here on purpose. Come to oversee the translations, I suppose?”
Aziraphale blinked. “Translations?”
“Oh!” Crowley grinned. “All kinds of fantastic things are going on here – they’re building this thing called The House of Wisdom. Big building full of scrolls! Translating all the texts from Greece, Persia, Sumeria. Been wondering when you’d show up – right up your alley!”
“Oh dear,” Aziraphale fretted. “And here I am stuck in the courts of Charlemagne overseeing stupid wars and conquests! I’d much rather be here! If only we could switch assignments!”
The demon smiled rapaciously. “We could undoubtedly work something out, angel.”
“Oh now,” the angel replied, retreating into his prim default. “That won’t be possible and you know it. But I did come here to seek you out.”
“Oh? Missed my sparkling personality?”
“Hardly,” the angel said. “But I need your advice. I’ve gotten myself in rather a pickle. Is there somewhere we could go to talk?”
--
Crowley laughed so loudly and for so long that Aziraphale began to feel quite annoyed. He helped himself to another generous serving of Crowley’s precious date wine, drank it all in one gulp, and then sat back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest.
Still the demon laughed.
“Oh – oh my –” Crowley moaned, wiping his eyes and beginning to calm down. “So sorry angel, but that one is a knee-slapper! Gabriel and his glorious presence overpowering the infant Yeshua into unconsciousness!”
Aziraphale giggled a little too at that one. It never got old.
“And – and now –” Crowley tried to regain breath control, but he was still half-laughing. “And now you’ve got to go teach a bunch of idiot angels how to sleep? Oh, for Satan’s sake. I wish I had your job sometimes. No one in Hell ever says anything funny.”
“Yes, well, that’s the problem you see,” Aziraphale said insistently. “I can barely sleep myself! Hardly ever do it. I was hoping you might have some pointers for me?”
Crowley noticed the low level of the wine jug and waved a hand to refill it to the top, then poured himself a mug of it. He took a sip while thinking carefully.
“I suppose I could teach you a few things,” he said. “Things I learned in China. Breathing techniques. Ways to calm the body and achieve other states. A little bit of hypnotic suggestion, perhaps?”
Aziraphale wrung his hands. “Oh dear, I would be so grateful. Anything you have, anything at all.”
Crowley nodded. “When do you have to report in?”
“Tomorrow!”
“Well then,” the demon said, “we’d better get started.”
--
Aziraphale left Baghdad armed with a sealed jug of date wine, several interesting new relaxation techniques designed to help ease anyone into a peaceful sleep, a scroll or two with some interesting guided incantations in them, and a small packet of a powder that Crowley promised would be safe but which he doubted he would ever feel brave enough to use. He still had his doubts about the demon’s intentions from time to time, and he certainly didn’t want to go down in infamy as the angel who got everyone in Heaven hooked on narcotic powders.
He made his way back home, left instructions with his secretary for things to be done in his absence, and then made a show of riding off on his best horse as if he were off on his travels. Once he was firmly out of sight of any and all of the humans, he set the horse free with a gentle command to find its way back to the stables and blend in, and miracle himself up to Heaven to begin his great and glorious work.
--
Gabriel was in that irritatingly heightened state he got into when he had come up with another new idea for team building or motivating his underlings. If regular Gabriel was hard to deal with, excited Gabriel was almost unbearable. He all but vibrated with self-importance and celebration, bestowing smiles and hearty claps on the shoulder to anyone he met.
“Principality!” he boomed jovially. “Glad you made it on time. Let me show you to where you’ll be working.”
He led the way through a winding series of corridors, each nearly indistinguishable from the next, past the library and on into an area Aziraphale had only rarely visited before – some kind of large, empty conference room, all white and chrome like the rest of Heaven, barely furnished except for a large stack of pillows and blankets someone had thrown in the middle of the room. Sitting in a half circle on the floor around the pile of bedding were eight nervous looking angels, low ranking guardians and office workers, obviously pulled from other duties and deposited here.
“Interns,” Gabriel announced. “This is Principality Aziraphale, former Guardian of the Eastern Gate, and our premiere expert on humanity. He’s here to introduce you to a human concept called sleep. Please give him your full attention and cooperate with everything he asks of you on this glorious new work. Questions?”
The angels jittered nervously and one fearfully shook her head. Aziraphale thought wryly that this was nearly the nicest thing Gabriel had ever said about him.
“Good then!” Gabriel said, whapping Aziraphale on the shoulder rather painfully. “I’ll check in on you later.”
He strode out of the room and the door sealed behind him.
“Good morning,” Aziraphale said nervously. “Shall we go around and introduce ourselves?”
--
As the day went by, the gathered angels got less and less fearful. Most of them hadn’t met a Principality before, Aziraphale realized, and they were naturally deferential and timid. Over the course of a few hours, though, they began to loosen up and to realize that this angel, in particular, welcomed questions and comments.
After a few stretching and breathing exercises, one of them raised her hand and waited patiently to be noticed.
“Yes, Anielle is it?” Aziraphale said.
“I’m terribly sorry, Principality Aziraphale,” she said quietly, “but I don’t understand. What is sleep FOR? And why are we supposed to learn how to do it?”
Terribly good question, Aziraphale thought. He tried to remain professional, despite his doubts about the entire project. “No one really knows what purpose sleep serves, but without it humans sicken and die. Also, many of them seem to enjoy it immensely,” he said. “I believe the archangels think we might be able to influence the dreams of sleeping humans, to – well, to guide them towards goodness and help counter demonic influences.”
Another angel raised his hand.
“You don’t really need to raise your hands,” Aziraphale objected. All eight pairs of eyes stared at him uncomprehendingly. “Or for Heaven’s sake. Yes? Plavian?”
“Could we perhaps use it to frighten them back into the path of righteousness, as well?” the angel asked. “In extreme cases of course. Using the nightmares you mentioned earlier?”
About half of the other angels tittered approvingly. Anielle, to her credit, looked upset.
This Plavian, Aziraphale thought, had a bit of Gabriel in him. He was undoubtedly going to be moving up in the chain of command. He could smell the wanker gene on him from here.
“Humans can react very poorly to nightmares,” Aziraphale said crisply, “and providing and worsening them is really more of a demonic tactic than an angelic approach. We’ll focus on methods that don’t actively damage anyone’s psyche. Our Heavenly Mother wouldn’t want us to harm them.”
He stood up. “Now,” he said, “everyone take a blanket and a pillow and find a space to lie down. We’re going to try some relaxation exercises and see if we can get any of you to fall asleep.”
--
Nothing worked. Nothing. They tried breathing exercises. They tried guided relaxation. They tried tensing and releasing each muscle in their bodies, starting with their feet and working their way up to their eyebrows. They tried calisthenics. They tried music. Finally, in desperation, Aziraphale magically dimmed the lights and read them all a story. He tried to pick a soothing one. A Tale of Two Cities should do, he thought.
The room was quiet and there was deep, even breathing all around when Aziraphale finished chapter two. He softly closed the book and stood up as quietly as possible, peeking around in the dim light. All eight of the angels were still, their hands folded on their chests, their eyes closed.
Were they – were they doing it?
As he leaned closer to the angel nearest him, he noted that she opened one eye just a crack and grinned up at him.
“I think I’m doing it!” she stage-whispered to him. “It feels really good!”
“It does!” someone else echoed from a far corner of the room. “I think I’m sleeping!”
“Me too!” said a third.
Aziraphale tried not to tear his hair out.
“Class dismissed for today,” he said. “Go home and try some of those relaxation exercises in the peace and quiet of your own abodes. We’ll try something new tomorrow.”
--
“You want to do what?” Gabriel said.
“I want to bring in a meal for them,” Aziraphale said patiently. “Food makes humans tired, so maybe it will help get them into the proper state.”
Gabriel frowned. “This is highly irregular,” he said, “corrupting them with gross matter.”
“You did want me to be thorough,” Aziraphale said primly.
Gabriel waved his permission, and Aziraphale got to work.
--
“Welcome back!” he said the next afternoon. “Today we’re going to expand our horizons a bit and try a meal.”
The angels filed in, looking curiously at the table Aziraphale had set up and its contents.
“What’s a meal?” one of the angels asked.
“It’s food! Humans consume it for sustenance.”
“So, it’s like the word of God?”
Aziraphale frowned. “Not exactly. Anyway, please take a seat around the table and let’s get started.”
He walked them through consuming a variety of dishes, taking a nibble here and there himself – fruits and vegetables, savory pies, cheeses and breads in various forms, sweets. The angels gamely tried everything, most of them looking somewhat unimpressed and trying to hide their distaste for the experience. One or two of them, though, took to the meal with slightly more gusto, taking seconds of some dishes and seeming to enjoy themselves. Aziraphale took note of these ones; they were potential future allies in his endeavors, he thought, and unlikely to be appreciated here in Heaven.
After they’d finished, they did some stretching and then he lowered the lights, had them all lay down, and he led them through the relaxation program from the prior day. He hoped that being warm, comfortable, and full would ease a few of them into sleep.
Aziraphale found himself fighting off a yawn. He really had been working frightfully hard the last few days.
--
The principality woke up some indeterminate amount of time later with the most terrible sensation of being watched. He opened his eyes in a panic and found himself ringed by his students, with eight pairs of eyes staring down at him in complete fascination.
Aziraphale pushed himself up to seated.
“Oh, for Heaven’s sake,” he said. “Did anyone besides me sleep?”
“No,” said one of the students. “But you did it very well, sir!”
“You were making the most curious noise,” another one added. “Kind of like this.” The student opened their mouth and started to make a rumbling noise that sounded a bit like an earthquake.
“No, I think it was more like this,” the original student one said, emitting a noise like a kitten purring, but loud.
“And you seem to have created a liquid,” added a third student. “It dripped out of your mouth onto your pillow. Is this part of the process?”
“We tried to touch your dreams,” Plavian said, “but it didn’t work.”
“NO ONE TOUCHES MY DREAMS,” Aziraphale said, leaping to his feet. The students backed away nervously; they had heard what a principality was capable of, in the general sense, and even more, they had all heard strange stories about Principality Aziraphale and his flaming sword. No one really wanted to see him angry.
“Oh, very well,” he said, pulling a leather pouch out of his robes. “Let’s try a little chemistry, shall we?”
--
“So in total,” Michael said sternly, “you’ve taken eight of our most promising young angels, sullied their corporations with cheese and bread, led several of them to believe that food is equivalent to the word of God, taught them heretical chanting techniques from the Eastern empires of Earth, and gotten several of them severely addicted to opium powder. Is that correct?”
Aziraphale looked at his feet and tried to appear repentant while inside he focused on one thought and one thought alone. He was going to murder the demon the next time he saw him. This was all his fault.
#goc2020#good omens#good omens fanfiction#Aziraphale x crowley#heavenly projects#angel interns#hijinks ensue
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King’s Orders 3/3
(The second post since... I deleted the other on accident)
Pairing: Onkey
rating: pg-13ish
w/c: around 5.5k, and.. angst…..(please read to the end.. you’ll like the ending I promise you. @tofnew) also @keybangs
Part one, Part 2 can be read on aff aswell
Kibum’s a career soldier, Jinki’s the town baker, and one day their quiet lives are interrupted again when Kibum is given the King’s Orders.
Jinki caught a glimpse of the military uniform out of the corner of his eye as he pulled a couple bread loaves from the big, brick fireplace. “Ah, the shipment’s almost ready. I just have to go get it from the back.”
“Mr. Lee, this isn’t about the bread order.” Jinki slid the loaves of bread from the long, wooden spatula and propped the tool against the wall with the wide side up. When he turned around, sure enough, they weren’t dressed in the usual uniform the men picking up the orders wore. He knew what those markings on their chest meant.
“No..” He whispered.
“I’m sorry, but I have to inform you that there was an avalanche during the war and Kibum Kim hadn’t reported back to base… The search for his body has been called off. He isn’t coming home.” The man was holding out a piece of parchment. Jinki could barely make himself reach out and take it from him with his shaking hands. “There’s information in there when the funeral will be, and where you can pick up his belongings. I’m sorry for your loss.”
“A funeral for what?” Jinki tried to remember to breathe. “An empty casket?”
“We’ve looked for a lot longer than we normally do.” The other man explained. “He’s been declared dead for all intensive purposes. There’s no way he made it out of it.” Jinki stumbled back, a harsh breath leaving him as his back slammed into the brick wall behind him. He couldn’t breathe. This was all some sort of sick nightmare. He’d wake up and Kibum would be lying beside him, holding him tight to try and stop the pain. His hands were shaking so much he almost ripped the paper trying to open it. Three days. The blood rushing in his ears masked the sound of the bell ringing signaling the soldiers leaving the bakery.
It was like the emotion… the loss hadn’t hit him just yet. There were no tears, only vacant space in his heart. He numbly locked the front door, flipped the sign hanging on the glass to closed, threw water on the big fire he used for baking bread and shuffled up the stairs. He fell into bed, pulling Kibum’s pillow close to his chest, and it was then surrounded by the memories of all the love they made and the smell of the man, that the tears hit him. They raked his body. His sobs hurt his throat and he bit into the pillow to try and quiet them. His fingers were almost white with how tight he was holding it, but he didn’t feel it. All he felt was the debilitating loss of the love of his life deep in his bones.
Kibum promised. He promised to return. Jinki had put all his hope into that promise, knowing Kibum always returned from his deployments. Why didn’t he ask him to step away sooner, back after the last deployment when he first got the idea to ask? Kibum would have left, he wouldn’t have been sent to war…. And he wouldn’t have died.
Anger bubbled up in him. Guilt ripping him into tiny little pieces. He was angry at himself, angry at Kibum for not keeping his promise, angry at his King for declaring war at all, but most importantly he was angry at all the time that was ripped from him with Kibum. How dare the universe take him away.
The burning rage, the pain of losing him, and the guilt raging through him all mixed together until he saw red. It was only some time later when all the emotion drained from his body and all he felt was a big, vacant hole in his chest, did he stop and notice the destruction he caused. The closet door was ripped from the hinges, clothes were thrown everywhere, knick knacks smashed on the floor, and he just slid down the front of the bed and brought his knees to his chest as the tears fell.
Kibum was gone. No matter how hard he wanted it, Kibum wouldn’t be walking through that front door into his arms again. He was lost somewhere in the cold wasteland of the north. He wouldn’t even get to say goodbye. He mumbled, broken to pieces, “You promised… you promised.”
——-
He smoothed out the fabric of his shirt slowly for what seemed like the billionth time. He had polished his boots enough times he could probably see his reflection in them if he looked hard enough. He swallowed thickly before grabbing his hat off the bed and tugging in firmly on his head. He debated not going, for Kibum wasn’t in that casket. He wasn’t telling his loved one goodbye like many others going, but he felt that he would come to regret not having some type of closure, even if it was just burying an empty wooden box. “It’s now or never.” He muttered before leaving his wrecked bedroom. Clutched in his hand was the parchment given to him by the soldiers a few days before and in the other were his keys. He locked the door behind him and squinted up at the sun. It was far too bright for such a dark feeling day.
A few people he passed softly gave him his condolences. He’d bow his head with a soft smile and a gentle thank you. It was strange to him so many people knew of his pain and loss. He felt so alone in it all that it seemed like there was no one else in his muddled world. When he finally made it to where he was supposed to be there were rows of wooden caskets, some surrounded by many people and others by none. He swallowed thickly as he walked through to find the one labeled with Kibum’s name and rank. When he found it he gently ran his fingers over the wood. “Wherever your final resting place is my love, I hope you’re at peace.”
The top wasn’t nailed down all the way and he managed to push the small slip of paper into the casket. The words see you again, wait for me, were scribbled out. Jinki wasn’t sure what he believed in, but he wanted to hope that wherever Kibum was he would get his message somehow.
He was just about to leave when soft trumpets could be heard and Jinki turned to see the King stepping up onto the small platform just to the west of him. “All these great men lost their lives for the war I wanted and from the bottom of my heart, I give you my condolences. If at any point you need anything from the crown, I will hear you. May the Gods grant mercy on their brave souls.”
Jinki’s hand was flat on the top of the casket, eyes closed as he said his goodbyes in hopes of getting some type of ending to the pain in his chest, when he heard the quiet voice behind him. “Excuse me, Sir… Are you Jinki Lee? The Baker on Main Street?”
When he turned standing there was a soldier with his arm in a sling and a scar from a cut healing on his forehead. “I might be. Depends on who’s asking.”
“Kibum Kim was my superior officer and he gave up his ride to safety to save me.” Jinki’s hard shell softened a little, “I never got to thank him, so I’m working on doing what he asked of me the last time we spoke.”
“And what would that be?”
“Returning a few things to you sir.” The soldier gave an unsure smile. “I couldn’t bring them with me, but I have them housed safely nearby.”
“What’s your name soldier?”
“Minho Choi.” Jinki knew he shouldn’t trust the man, but there was something in those big eyes of his that tugged at his heart.
“I’m not much for anything this morning,” Jinki sighed before looking up at him. “But come by the bakery later around dinner time with the things. I’ll treat you to something to eat.”
“Thank you,” Before Jinki could walk too far away he heard the man say, “I do wish he could have been here instead of me.”
Jinki looked back over his shoulder with a tiny smile, “I cannot say I don’t wish you were him too, but he saved you for a reason. I have to believe that reason was a good one.”
——-
Jinki heard the bell over the door jingled as he walked to put the last tray of leftover treats in the back, “I’m sorry, we’re closed for the day.”
“Oh, I-”
Jinki stopped and turned. Standing there was Minho, hand holding his hat against his stomach, “Ah, I apologize. I thought you were someone else. I’m almost finished. Mind flipping the lock for me?”
Minho nodded softly and Jinki went back to finishing up his last few things. When the soldier walked into the back Jinki was covering the leftover pastries. After a few moments, Jinki smiled softly up at him. “All done. Do you like apple or cherry pastries better?”
“Either or,” Minho flashed a smile, “Kibum would never stop talking about how good they were.”
Jinki’s face fell at the mention of Kibum and Minho quickly rushed to apologize. Jinki waved his hand, “You’re here to explain to me what happened. Hearing his name still hurts a little is all.”
“The items I have to return to you are outside,” Minho looked like a cornered animal. “I didn’t think you wanted the bigger one in here.”
“Bigger one?”
“The horse,” Minho explained. “She meant a lot to Kibum. I made sure I got her to ride home to guarantee she returned to you. Along with this.”
It was as Minho’s long fingers curled around the string over his chest that Jinki noticed the weapon along his back. It was lifted over his hand and held out hanging from his open palms. Jinki was pulled toward it like a string was tied around him. “His bow.., How…”
“He tied it on the saddle before hitting the back of the horse. Told me to return it to the Baker.”
Jinki curled his fingers around it and gave a small smile up at the man, “Thank you for finding me…. Keeping it safe. It meant a lot to him.” He grabbed the plate with their pastries on top of it, “Follow me up. We can talk in the living room area.”
He laid the bow on the table just inside the room and led Minho to sit on the couch across from the plush seat he chose to sit in. He pushed the plate closer to him with a smile. Minho took one and took a small bite. He groaned with how good it was and Jinki smiled, slightly proud. Once Minho finished it he brushed his hands off on his pants and quietly asked, “Where would you like me to start?”
“Anything.” Jinki rubbed his hands together nervously. “All they told me was there was an avalanche and… that he wasn’t found.”
“We were sent from the north, closer to the large mountains curling around the city. Everything was going as planned until we heard the drums. They were loud, booming, and then we heard the sound of the tons of snow falling from the mountain above us. Kibum called for us to fall back and he would have made it, if he hadn’t stopped to help me to safety. The city uses the drums to hold off attacking armies as a last resort. It is probably why is it the oldest city still inhabited and thriving while other more powerful peoples perished with time.”
Jinki wanted to be angry at Minho, for he was the reason Kibum wasn’t sitting there in front of him, but he couldn’t find it in himself. Kibum gave up his life to save his soldier and Jinki smiled softly as the tears fell knowing how honorable Kibum was even in death. “Thank you.”
“When I woke up I begged to go look for him.” Minho continued, “I was held back and I was taken away before the search was called off for better care. I wish I had found him.”
“You can’t change the past Minho,” Jinki sighed and gave a little smile, wiping his tears as he spoke, “You aren’t from around here are you?”
“No, I’m not.” Minho made a face, “How did you know?”
“Everyone who has grown up in this village in the last dozen years knows who I am,” Jinki laughed a little, “You looked like a lost puppy trying to find me at the service today.”
Minho looked sheepish. “I was that obvious?”
“Like a sore thumb,” Jinki studied the man for a moment, “If you need anything during your stay here, my door is always open.”
“Oh no, you don’t-”
“It would be inconsiderate of me to not take care of you after… everything.”
“Thank you.”
——
The bow was lying across the room from him on the couch, taunting him somehow. He pulled his knees to his chest and tugged his blanket tighter around his shoulders. It had been almost a month since the funeral since he buried an empty box because his lover’s body was never found under the feet of fallen snow, and since he got a small sack of belongings and the bow with it’s quiver. He knew he should put it away in the heavy, dark wooden box that Kibum always kept it when he wasn’t on duty, but he couldn’t make himself go into it. The box was somewhere he never went. It was Kibum’s, a part of him he kept to himself and Jinki wanted to respect that even now he was gone, but the bow belonged protected in the velvet interior. He stared at the bow, pain aching in his chest as memories of Kibum using the weapon, teaching him how to shoot with basic techniques. He squeezed his eyes shut and hit his head back against the wall behind him. After a deep breath, he pushed off the ground, fingers curling around the wood of the bow, and feet hitting wooden floors as he made his way into their once shared bedroom.
He stood in front of the open closet for a long time. There were clothes thrown around the room, random places on the floor where they landed, and the wooden door of the closet hanging off its hinge from the pain induced rampage he was in after receiving the news of Kibum’s passing. He softly kneeled and curled his fingers around the far edges of the box to pull it closer. He swallowed thickly as he pulled the key from around his neck, one that was in a small envelope with his name on it at the bottom of Kibum’s pack. It slid into the lock with a little wiggle, the age of the metal creaking as he unlocked it and removed it. His breathing was shaky as he opened it, the velvet soft against his fingers as the hinged squeaked open. The bow was carefully placed in the spot worn down by the weight of the weapon over the years. He then took the quiver into his hand and placed it in the spot in the curve of the box in the box. The arrows were held tightly in his other hand, the flap pulled open on the top lid, but when he went to put the arrows in his fingers brushed parchment.
Slightly confused he pulled the paper object out. It was a wax sealed envelope, his name scripted in Kibum’s hand on the back. He swallowed thickly as the arrows were dropped in their place and he sat back on his butt with the letter in his lap. He closed the box, pulled the lock through and click it close before grabbing the letter and climbing into the bed behind him. After a deep breath, he pulled open the wax seal and pulled open the folded parchment. Jinki tried to keep his emotions in until he at least finished the letter, but he knew as his eyes glossed over just by opening it he knew that he wouldn’t succeed in his desire.
Hello my love,
If you are reading this I have returned to you in a wooden box instead of on horseback. I am so sorry I let you down and disappointed your belief in my abilities. I need, to be honest with you and come clean, for this is my last chance to. I wrote this the morning I left just in case I never returned to you and got the chance to come clean. I knew when I left it was a death sentence. I knew that with what Our King wished me to do the chance of me being killed increased dramatically. I was sent as a pre-emptive strike, to take the attention of their archers from the north and give the main army a chance to get closer to the South and East. The North side of that castle has no cover… no chance of survival. We’re being sent to our deaths.
I love you so much Jinki. You’ve made an orphan feel loved and given me someone to come home to. You’re my family Jinki. I’ve seen you at your best, the smiles and laughter, and you’ve brought me into your dreams. I’ve seen your worst, the tears when your father died, the anger and fights, but we always made it through. I feel like I’ve lived a full life with you even if it was just 12 years.
Before I met you I was a broken boy, a hollow being where I used to be, but you’ve touched my heart and soul, changed my goals in life to be with you. I’ve shared so many things with you Jinki, opened up myself so clearly without boundaries in a way I never thought possible. You were the one for me. I’m so thankful I was able to have you for the time I had.
Goodbye Jinki. Please, when you think of me think of the good times. The weekends out at the cabin, me teaching you how to hold a bow, the sweet kisses shared after closing. The little things like the way you always liked to put your cold feet on my back, how my scruff tickled you when I forgot to shave, and how many tiny cupcakes you let me get away with taking.
This is goodbye for now, but one day, some far far away day, you’ll move on from this world just like I have and we will meet again.
Forever yours,
Kibum
Jinki felt shattered. He had always told himself that even though Kibum died that he died for a good reason. He died because he was loyal to his King, fighting to protect their kingdom from something the common folk didn’t have the liberty of knowing. Jinki grew up being taught to love his King, to honor his Kingdom, however, he could, and to have pride in the beauty of his home, but all of it was broken to pieces knowing the King he used to have so much respect for would send in hundred and even thousands of men to their death without blinking an eye. He sacrificed Kibum and his men like they were nothing. Jinki was full of sorrow and anger, bubbling and mixing in his stomach until he felt sick. His fingers curled around the letter tightly as he hissed. He felt like he couldn’t breathe. He lost Kibum and his respect for his Kingdom. What more did he have left?”
——-
Minho was sitting on the steps leading up to the living area above the shop nibbling on a piece of bread as Jinki made more bread early in the morning when he was told by the baker of the letter. “The King sent you up there expecting you all to die.”
The soldier made a face, “I don’t think that’s true.”
Jinki pointed to the crumpled letter he tried to smooth out on the table near Minho. “It’s all there. Kibum knew going in he had very little chance of coming home to me.”
Hesitantly he pulled the letter into his hands and opened it. He softly gasped as he read, “Jinki this… This is extremely personal. Are you sure you want me to keep reading this?”
He smiled over at Minho. “You’re the only real friend I have. I feel we’ve gotten close in the last month or so.”
Minho melted at the words and then continued to read. He frowned deeply at the word confirming what Jinki had told him. “I can’t believe- If he knew why did he go?”
“He was ordered.” Jinki made a little noise as he smiled sadly, “And he always did as his duty asked of him.”
After a moment Minho folded the letter and softly asked, “Would you like help?”
“Do you have any idea what I’m doing?”
“No, not really.” Jinki laughed at him and Minho beamed, “But I’m willing to learn.”
Jinki seemed hesitant for a few minutes before he gave in, “Grab an apron from the hook. You can knead the rest of the dough for the next batch.”
——
Jinki had always enjoyed how closely knit his village was. Everyone seemed to know everyone, but the problem was that just meant everyone knew he had lost Kibum and every single one seemed to want to look at him with the pity he always saw in their eyes as they spewed their heartfelt condolences. Every time he felt as if he was learning to be a little bit whole again someone would remind him Kibum was gone and he’d give them a tight smile and wish it all would stop. He couldn’t spend a moment with a customer in the shop without being told they were sorry for his loss. It was like being pricked with tiny needles each time someone looked at him like he was broken. He felt as if one more look and it would be the last one he could handle.
He was walking through the market near the square looking for fresh fruit to restock at the shop when he saw the group of pups in the pen. Most of them were short haired dogs, but there was one sleeping in the back that was a foot long puff ball. The woman sitting next to the pen approached him noticing him leaning down to run his hand over the dog’s ears as the dogs jumped up to be noticed. “Are you interested in buying one Sir?”
“They’re for sale?”
“Most of them are from the same litter,” She explained before pointing to the puff ball in the back, “Except that one. He was given to me along my way here. His mother didn’t want him.”
“How much?”
“30 gold pieces.”
Jinki’s nose crinkled, but the dog was so cute. The pup’s eyes opened slowly and he looked over at him softly. Jinki felt pulled toward him. He had felt lonely, even with Minho’s friendship. He knew a dog would never replace the love of Kibum, but it was a start. He pulled his coin purse from his pocket and began to count out the money into her hand. “How about 20?”
She seemed hesitant but gave in. “Deal.” Once the money clinked into her palm she waved him on with her other hand. “He’s all yours.”
He stepped over the pen walls and walked over to the little guy to scoop him up. He was bigger now being closer, but it was obvious he was still very young. He licked Jinki’s chin making him chuckle. “Nice to meet you too…. Taemin.”
——-
Jinki was gently packing his bag, Taemin curled up on his bed looking at him, when Minho climbed up the steps. “Why are you closed in the middle of the afternoon?”
“I’ve had the last person looking at me like I’m made of glass and walking around me like egg shells.” He explained, he smiled a little as Minho sat down and began to pet Taemin’s ears. “Kibum’s family left him a cottage out of the village. I haven’t been since before he left, but..”
“Do you think this is the best idea? Isn’t this shop everything to you?”
“It is,” Jinki frowned at the idea of leaving the shop his father worked so hard to open. “And though I know the cottage is going to remind me so much of Kibum… I need to get away. I can’t heal properly here. I’ll be back.. I’m not leaving for good. Just for a few months.”
“You’ll let me come visit you right?”
Jinki smiled big, “Of course. As much as I love Taemin’s company, an intelligent conversation will always be welcome.”
Minho noticed the old box pulled out of the closet. “What’s that?”
“Kibum’s bow.” Jinki answered without looking, “I’m taking it with me. He showed me how to shoot with it… Hopefully, I remember enough to kill game to eat out there.”
“When are you leaving?”
“Tomorrow morning.” Jinki huffed as the bag wouldn’t pull close all the way. “Gives me enough time to give away the product I have and get rid of the ingredients that will go bad.”
Silence fell over them as Minho continued to pet Taemin and Jinki rummaged through his things to get all he needed. Minho finally spoke up again, “I think leaving will do you good. I wish you well.”
“Thank you.” Jinki let out a breath as he finished packing. “All done. Want to help me give away bread?”
“Of course.” Minho stood and stretched as his bones cracked into place. “Come Taemin.” The pup yipped happily as it bounded off the mattress. Jinki snorted.
—–
The fire was bright and warm, casting a glow across the man’s face as he poked the wood at the base. The rabbit he had killed earlier that evening was gently cooking on the metal rod just above the flickering flames. He ran his fingers over the soft fur of Taemin, his big malamute, who was lying at his feet, enjoying the warmth of the fire after the long trek from the eastern lake that afternoon. They had been out here for almost 5 months. Minho had come a few days ago with a little milk and more tea leaves for his nightly tea. It was a pleasant visit and Jinki had needed the human contact after the 13 days since Minho’s last visit.
The sound of something approaching had his hand curling around the bow at his feet, freshly polished after his afternoon hunt for dinner. Taemin rose, a soft growl leaving him as he stepped in front of Jinki. As the faint noise got closer he rose to his feet, knocked an arrow and aimed, “Who goes there?” With the vague light, the moon and fire gave he saw a faint figure approaching, but they didn’t answer his question. “I asked who goes there.”
The voice that came from the figure made Jinki’s heart stop, “Put the bow down. I wouldn’t want to be killed with my own bow after the trek I’ve had to be here."
Jinki swallows thickly, arrow still aimed at the center of the figure’s mass. "Show your face. The owner of this bow is dead."
Long fingers curled around the thick fur hood and lifted it back. Jinki gasped, stumbling from the log he was sitting on, bow clattering on the ground. Taemin looked back concerned before turning back to the figure threatening his human. "Oh but Jinki, I’m just a bit late coming home. Call the dog off.”
Jinki couldn’t breathe, but he managed to huff out, “Taemin, down.”. He felt a pressure in his chest, and he couldn’t believe his eyes. Kibum was standing there, scruff around his jaw and his hair shaggy around his face, thick furs on his frame and a huge sack on his back. There was a bow in his hand, but it was simple and weak looking. Jinki rubbed his eyes, believing full well when he opened them again Kibum would be gone. He was just a false hope created by the pain he still hadn’t worked through. That’s what he was. Except, Kibum was still standing there, taking off the pack and a few furs. Taemin plopped back on his butt, obviously disliking being told to stand down. Jinki didn’t work through the fact his dog could see Kibum too, his mind and emotions were swirling around what he was seeing too much to think logically. “You’re not real. My minds making you up being alone out here for so long.”
“Jinki, I didn’t die in that avalanche. I made it out. I was recovering and I couldn’t get a letter to you…. ” When he took a step forward Jinki stumbled back. “Really look at me Jinki. I’m real. I’m here.”
“You died.” Jinki’s voice was soft, just louder than a whisper as he shook his head. “It’s been six months. I should be okay with… losing you.”
Kibum visibly broke, eyes showing his pain at seeing Jinki so distraught. “You can close your eyes, shake your head all you want as you beg for me to disappear, but I will still be standing here Jinki.”
Jinki swallowed thickly, chest rising and falling as he took a deep breath, and then he took a step toward him until he was standing a small step away from him. He slowly raised his hand until his fingers brushed the scruff on Kibum’s cheek. A ragged breath left his lips when he felt warm skin as he pushed further. “Ki.. Kibum..”
“Yes, Love,” Kibum whispered, eyes soft and glossy. “I’m sorry it took me so long to return to you.”
It was the sound of his pet name, so quietly spoken, that finally broke the so carefully held together dam. Jinki fell forward as the first sob racked his body. Kibum hurriedly wrapped his arms around Jinki, nose pressing into his hair and holding his head close to his chest to squish Jinki’s cheek against him. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry Love.”
——
Taemin was curled up at the end of the bed sleeping. Jinki had his head laid against Kibum’s chest as the man held him. He hadn’t let go of him since he realized it was really Kibum. Jinki’s voice was still soft and weak from the sobbing earlier, but he managed to ask with limited stutters, “How.. did you make it out?”
Kibum was rubbing Jinki’s hip as he quietly explained, “There was an enemy soldier with a kind heart that found me. Instead of taking me to his King, he snuck me into his home. He warmed me up, fed me. He took care of me. I was unconscious for so long he thought I wouldn’t make it but I pulled through.” He pressed a kiss to Jinki’s head. “His name was Jonghyun. When I could speak and be aware he informed me that he was supposed to bring me to his King, but I told him of you. Of the man I left behind who was probably being told I was dead and begged to be led out of the city.” He smiled so softly as he gazed down at Jinki. “It was the stories of you that convinced him to help me get out. I left there 3 months ago after our Kingdom had left and the dust settled. I couldn’t send a letter with the risk of being caught, so I just kept walking.”
“I thought-” Jinki’s eyes were squeezed shut as he took a deep breath. “Why did you go?”
“I was ordered to.”
“You knew it was a suicide mission.” Jinki lifted his head to stare at him, “You left promising me you’d return believing you had no chance in the world to. Why?”
“I didn’t want to let down my family’s legacy,” He cupped Jinki’s cheek, “Let down you. I would have been a coward if I had stayed against orders.”
“You could have died… I-”
“But I didn’t.” Kibum kissed him gently, giving him a soft smile, “I promised to come back to you and I did. I’m never going away from you again.”
“Promise?”
Kibum beamed, “Promise.”
—–
When Jinki woke up he thought the warmth he felt at his back and the memories of the night before were all a part of an elaborate dream, but the tickling sensation of Kibum’s scruff against his neck, the warmth of his breath as he deeply said against his hair, “Good morning Love,” Felt too real to be a dream.
He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, thinking rapidly, its all a dream, all a dream, but when he turned around and gently pushed his fingers against Kibum’s cheekbones he felt warm skin and bone. Kibum’s eyes opened to look at him, and they were warm and soft as he asked, “Checking to see if I’m real?”
“Yes,” Jinki answered, embarrassed.
“I’m here.” He lifted his hand to push Jinki’s longer hair out of his face. “I like the longer hair. It suits you.”
Jinki ran his fingers over his scruff, “I can’t say the same about this wild man look you have going on.”
Kibum snorted. “Okay, first things first breakfast, and then you can give me a haircut.”
When Jinki kissed him Kibum laughed, “Okay, correction. Kisses, then breakfast.”
“I have almost a year of kisses to get back.”
“You’ll have all the kisses you want in the years to come, Love.”
——
#onkey#jinkibum#onew#key#shinee#kings orders au#ALL I WANTED TO DO WAS CLEAN UP MY BLOG A LITTLE WITH THE REBLOGS BUT NO#ugh
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Church Assassin
//You didn’t think I’d forget about Mirza, did you? (Truth is I almost did...^^;; that’s what notes are for!)
Those black eyes held no emotion as the assassin stared, the bloodied mace in his hands now transforming into a frightening morning star strewn with enormous spikes. One hand was still trapped beneath Mirza’s foot, and her gun had been lost somewhere during the scuffle; she was essentially helpless and entirely at the mercy of this Church assassin, and it didn’t seem like he was in the mood to be merciful.
“P-Please, I-I-I haven’t—I’m not, I’m not a beast...j-just let me go! I swear, I-I won’t, I won’t bother the group anymore; please, please...!” Her lips trembled and before she knew it tears were falling, Sio hiccuping with fear as the Bloodletter pulsed wickedly, as if sensing her tainted blood. “I-I don’t, want to die...!”
“...Alas, I’m afraid not, my dear. Sweet as you are, I know what happens to those who turn...” Those spikes were now an inch from her face. “Just look at how eager my Bloodletter is; it smells your blood, yearns to cleanse it. The further along the mutations, the more it hungers.” A spike pierced out right next to her eye, splitting a few hairs and leaving just the slightest red line on her cheek. “But for you, I promise to make it as painless as possible.”
Painless? That thing? Her eyes slid over to those sharp spikes, coated with the blood of countless past victims. If she weren’t about to be one herself, the girl would’ve snorted in response. She futilely tried to free her arm in a panic as the assassin took a step forward.
“P-Please, don’t...!”
“Think again, wanker!” There was an explosion of fire and glass, Sio immediately ducking back as Mirza cursed, now busy trying to put out the fire on his clothes, only to be clobbered by the blunt end of the Stakedriver.
“Fucking bastard; Sio, you all right? Tell, you keep an eye on that asshole; if he tries anything funny, put an arrow through him. Or two,” Adam muttered angrily, making sure Mirza was out cold before helping the girl up. “Sio!”
“Adam, y-you...I...you’re bleeding!” She winced as the hunter gently checked over her injuries, seemingly not caring about the puncture wounds in his own torso as he bandaged her fingers into a crude splint. “M, Mirza, I didn’t...he was here the whole time...!”
“Yeh, I should’ve known he’d get desperate enough t’ pull somethin’ stupid like this,” Adam’s eyebrows furrowed with anger, but mostly at himself. “Honestly, I fucked up; shouldn’t’ve left ‘im alone without doing anythin’...” Those slim fingers in his hands, now bloodied and mangled from Mirza’s cruel treatment; blood boiled in his veins, but Adam knew he had to keep a clear mind if they wanted to get out of this without anymore collateral. “I’ll be completely honest: in my opinion we should just get rid of him...permanently.” Sio gave a small gasp, but Adam didn’t seem deterred. “He’s already revealed his intentions, which is to murder anybody who might even turn into a beast—couldn’t be more like Geronimo and just exterminate actual beasts, that cunt. Besides, it’s not like the rest of the group has any strong feelings about him anyway.”
“B, But, if we do, g...get rid of him, how are we going to explain his disappearance to the group?”
“Uh, squirt? Last I checked, beast huntin’ was an extremely dangerous profession where even the best can get killed at any second; I seriously doubt anybody’d bat an eyelash if we just say he met some misfortune with a beast,” Adam raised an eyebrow, still surprised by the girl’s naïveté at times. “‘Sides, it’s not like we announced he was comin’ with us or anything...hunters come and go. It’s just par for course.”
“I, I see, but still...” Even though Adam made very good points, and certainly she did not want to be around Mirza ever again, there just seemed to be something...unsavory about murdering someone, especially one who’d helped them, even if it was a ruse. ‘Then again, it’s not like I’ve hesitated when we’re fighting rival hunters...so why am I conflicted now?’
“A-Anyway, you’re hurt! That was from...MIrza, wasn’t it?”
Adam nodded wordlessly, hissing slightly as Sio now helped patch him up in return. Deep, bloody holes that she could easily stick a finger through...shuddering, the huntress tried not to think too hard about how it would’ve felt had it not been for Adam’s timely actions.
A groan made both of them jump, Mirza regaining consciousness but now firmly hog-tied and guarded by an expressionless, stoic Tell, who also had an arrow trained right on his heart.
“My my...how the tables have turned. You surprise me, Muirhead.” Despite him now being the victim, the assassin did not seem concerned at all. “Perhaps it was you I underestimated, and not the girl.”
“Shut th’ fuck up; I’ve no interest in talking to you.”
The cursing didn’t throw Mirza off at all; if anything it only served to amuse him further. “Oh? Well that’s too bad, considering I’ve an interest in chatting with you...especially you, Miss Ogura. That leering grin, and even though there was no way he could get out of those knots and Tell’s watchful eye, still Sio shivered as she tried hard not to turn away.
“Wha, what...do you want? Y-You said, the Healing Church...you, work for them...don’t you?”
“Correct; I am employed by them to hunt down the infected who are about to turn...so that we may quarantine this disease before it spreads.” His eyes narrowed slightly, as if recalling some long-lost memory. “It’s a shame really, but someone has to do the dirty work. Oh, all those good hunters...but in the end, what matters if they’re destined to become beasts? A monster is a monster, in the end.”
“Tch, load a good that’ll do you at this point,” Adam muttered darkly, still refusing to engage the other man. Perhaps when the scourge first appeared, an aggressive quarantine campaign may have had some effect. But now, with most of the population already half-beast... “I don’t believe it. Th’ Church has little power left at this point, so there’s no real reason you’d keep working for ‘em. Unless you really are a nutter...”
“My, Muirhead, I thought we weren’t going to converse?” The assassin gave a light chuckle. “You just can’t resist knowing, can you? Both of you...and perhaps a few others, that seek to know the Truth...” He gave another laugh and Adam scowled, wondering if perhaps Mirza truly had gone mad, after all this time.
“Bear in mind. Some places are better left untouched, and some secrets are better left alone....only fools do brazenly roam..."
The two left Mirza tied up, still under Tell’s gaze as they discussed in a more private corner. As soon as they disappeared from the assassin’s view the huntress dropped to her knees, shaking even as Adam pulled her close.
“Th-that, that was...h-he...” She didn’t even finish her words before tears rolled down her face, shoulders hunched over as small sobs wracked her body; the shock wearing off as the realization of how close she came to dying, and her own condition, hit her full on. There were too many things happening, as if she didn’t already have enough to worry about; now there was an assassin to deal with, and the sinking horror that her illness was further along than any of them realized. “I, I, I-I don’t...I don’t want to die!”
“Shh love, there there...” Adam patted her hair and murmured soothing words in her ear. “You’re not gonna die; I’ll protect you, I swear. Remember, I promised you this night will end...and I aim to see it through.”
Sio nodded, throat too tight to say anything and so she could only nod weakly. “I, I know...but still, sometimes it’s just so hard...!” She was so tired of everything: the unending horrors of Yharnam, hostile hunters and mysterious beings that might as well be gods...all on top of keeping a close watch on her blood sickness that was creeping ever closer. She leaned against Adam’s chest, relishing in a few minutes of peace as she listened to his heartbeat while he rubbed a soothing hand along her back.
Still, no matter how bad she felt or how tempting it was to just close her eyes right there, Sio knew they couldn’t leave such matters unresolved. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to sit up, wiping away the last of the tear stains. “So, about Mirza...do we really want to just...kill him?”
“Yeh really still hung up on that?” Adam cast her a curious glance. “Well, I mean...is there some reason you want to keep him alive? Is it sympathy?”
She didn’t want to admit it, but Sio supposed that was part of it. “W-Well, maybe...I guess it just feels...wrong to outright kill someone, even if he does want to kill me...I don’t know, maybe it’s because we already worked together before, it just feels...” She glanced at Adam helplessly, unable to put her emotions into words, but Adam simply nodded in understanding. “B-Besides, I think he might be a valuable source of information.”
“...I understand where you’re coming from, and yeh, I’ll admit at one point I did consider him a comrade, even. But this,” he took one more look at her bandaged fingers and shook his head, “I can’t forgive him for that. Even if we need more info. Not to mention logistically speaking, how the hell are we going to keep him from tryin’ to go after you? It’ll be impossible to keep an eye on him every second...”
“We won’t have to...” Those emeralds stared at her in confusion, but in Sio’s mind the plan was already formulating. “No, if I play this right...we won’t even have to worry about him turning on us.”
“Uh, if you don’t mind me asking—and excuse my language—but how the bloody hell d’you propose we do that?”
Those wide maroons, still shiny with tears but now set in a determined glance. “We’ll just convince him to join our side. Abandon the Church’s goals. Yes I know, it won’t be easy—but I have a feeling, he’s not actually that loyal to the Church. He just...agreed to do it because of some other reason...which I don’t know, but I bet I can fish it out of him...”
“I—uh—ah, hell...y’know what, I’ll just trust you on this. I don’t like it one bit, but if anyone’s got the brains t’ make this work it’s you.” Sighing heavily, Adam could only nod in agreement. “Still, that doesn’t mean I’m going to let him wander wherever he pleases. If I feel we can’t trust him at any point, then that’s it; no more second chances. Fair enough?”
Sio nodded. “Fair. A-And, thanks, Adam...for always watching my back.”
He didn’t say anything, only pulling her close for one last embrace before both of them nodded and headed back, Sio taking a deep breath to steel herself.
“Ah, and the lovebirds return. Needed a moment to yourselves? How sweet.” Adam growled in the back of his throat but Sio cut him off with a single arm.
“Mahesh Mirza. I don’t like you, and clearly you want to kill me, so let’s get to the point: give up fighting in the name of the church, and really join our group. There’s no reason for you to keep trying for your goals at this point. The Healing Church is as good as dead...and if it’s infected hunters you’re after, well we’ll be seeing plenty of them.”
At this the assassin threw his head back in pure laughter. “Bargaining? Really? I half-expected you two to come in and behead me without another word—and judging from Muirhead’s face, that’s what he has in mind. But you, Ogura...you’re even willing to give your enemies a second chance?” He shook his head in amusement. “I can’t tell if you’re a soft-hearted fool or an idiot savant.”
Sio gritted her teeth but forced herself to not give into Mirza’s taunts. “You’re right, we can just kill you right here and nobody would even care. But you don’t actually want to die...at least, not like this—a boring, pointless death, not even able to fight back. That’s why you go out of your way to specifically hunt those who haven’t turned yet; regular monsters are too ordinary.” Mirza hadn’t said a thing but she could’ve sworn his eyes were changing.
“You enjoy the chase; the thrill, the challenges...actually, it wouldn’t be inaccurate to that it’s not the Church that’s using you, but you’re using them...isn’t that right?” Sio didn’t know where this strange, new confidence was coming from, but somehow the more she spoke, the less she was afraid; even daring to saunter up to the very man whom tried to decapitate her with a knife. “In fact, I know that feeling too...the tension when you’re just one step away from victory, or death...that’s what you live for. That’s why you came with us, and bided your time.”
Mirza laughed in return. “Oh, and here I thought I was doing such a good job hiding my intentions,” he replied sarcastically. “But then again, I figured you were different...not just your blood sickness, but you yourself...you too, enjoy the hunt more than you care to admit. You hunt not only to find a cure, but because you genuinely relish the bloodshed...don’t you, Miss Ogura?”
Sio’s heart thumped so loudly she was sure everyone could hear it, but outwardly her face betrayed no other emotion. Mirza wasn’t the first to point it out, and she herself admitted many times already she did enjoy the hunt; the way it made her feel alive like nothing else.
“Yeah, and why not? If I’m going to be trapped in this damn nightmare, might as well get some sort of satisfaction, right?” As guilty as she felt, somehow just admitting that yes, she did enjoy a good fight, lessened the anxiety that had been eating at her all this time. Was it so wrong? She’d always been different her whole life, the blood sickness notwithstanding—and despite all the terrors, hardships and obstacles, she felt that she belonged at last, even if it was with a rag-tag band of what were essentially marauders. “It’s true, I have the blood sickness...but I haven’t turned, not yet—despite what your Bloodletter may sense, there’s still time...you would waste such an opportune target just for the sake of precaution?” She tossed her head with a snide look. “Really, given what you’ve just told me, I half-expected you to keep quiet until I literally started sprouting claws and fangs. That would be a real fight...not something pathetic like this.” The edge of her spear just grazed his chin. “You scared that if you don’t kill me now, I’ll be stronger than you right when I’m about to turn?”
The assassin scoffed. “Hardly; an inexperienced huntress like you ought to watch her mouth around the Church...” But the slight tension in his voice did not escape her. “Those who are infected need to be stopped before they can endanger others.”
“Right. Uh huh.” The huntress rolled her eyes. “But anyway, since you don’t seem keen on changing your mind, I guess we’ll just have to get rid of you.” She casually turned her head back at Adam, who wasted no time in charging up the Stakedriver. “Too bad, Mirza...I have to admit, I was kind of looking forward to that fight...” Sio licked her lips as she sauntered away, letting Adam take the lead.
“...Some places are better left untouched, and some secrets are better left alone. Only fools do brazenly roam." The Stakedriver was a second away from being fired when Mirza spoke. Adam didn’t move a muscle, instead waiting for Sio’s command.
“...Go on, I’m listening.” Sio waved Adam off.
“If you’re that determined to prove me wrong, Miss Ogura...then I’ll tell you. That which you seek.” The assassin’s eyes glittered, as if in a fevered madness. “What the Church wrought, and how this all began...if you can slay the Nightmare, I’ll take it as a sign that you actually know what you’re doing.” Mirza laughed. “Hell, I’ll even join your merry little band, if you so wish...”
“The...Nightmare?” Yharnam and its obsession with blood, dreams, monsters and gods... Sio closed her eyes briefly. “And where is this place that only fools go looking for?”
There was a shuffling noise, Adam readying his Stakedriver as Mirza managed to wriggle a hand into a pocket (despite the tight ropes), but it was only a toss a small vial of something towards them, the glass container rolling to a stop just at her feet. “You’ll need this to enter.” Sio picked up the small jar, only shuddering slightly as she made out the bloodied, single eyeball suspended within it, its pupil muddied and sunken. “When a hunter becomes drunk on blood, and starts turning into a beast...they get taken by the Nightmare, destined to wander forever, engaged in an endless hunt.” Another chuckle from the assassin, as if he were truly enjoying himself for the first time.
“Yours will look the same, Ogura, soon enough. It is a fate that no Hunter can escape"
Sio said nothing as Mirza continued to laugh, instead quietly clenching her fist around the small glass vial. No matter the odds, she would not let herself succumb to what many other hunters before her had. “Come on, let’s go then.” Without even a backwards glance at Mirza, who was still tied up (though she had a feeling he wouldn’t be for long), both men instantly followed her towards the lamp.
“Don’t forget, I’ll know whether or not you’ve slain the Nightmare...best be heading to the Cathedral Ward now, if you don’t want your pretty little eyes to end up the same...” The laugh continued to echo after them as they slowly vanished.
Nobody said a word after that, but after they landed with a swirl back in the Dream, it was all Sio could do to not stumble to the nearest crevice and collapse into exhaustion. The rest of the group was mercifully elsewhere, only Hunter giving a slight greeting upon their return and a quip about everyone else wandering in the Nightmare Frontier.
“Sio, you aren’t serious...” Adam followed her into what was now considered her private little corner inside the building, behind the counter where runes where engraved. “You’re really going to trust that cunt’s words?”
The huntress heaved a sigh as she shucked off her overcoat, careful not to bend her fingers too much. “I know Adam, I know...trust me, normally I’d be getting the hell away from whatever Mirza’s trying to play at, but somehow I just...” She gave a frustrated sigh, before sitting down in the only chair with her eyes closed. “...Even though it’s only a hunch...I just can’t shake this feeling he’s telling the truth; that there is something more out there,” her bandaged fingers toyed with the glass vial containing the bloodied eye, “something that will help us come closer to understanding this whole dream...and therefore ending it...”
There was a long silence, only the fire crackling until there was the soft rustling of cloth, Sio turning around to see Adam shed his outer gear as well and sitting on the floor. “...You know, out of all my years hunting, I don’t think I’ve met another hunter quite like you. I-In a good way of course,” he stammered, Sio’s steely gaze turning on him with a raised brow. “It’s not that I don’t trust you; you’ve proven plenty of times that you know what you’re doing. But, I feel like each time we try to come closer to finding out whatever truth there is...the more peril you put yourself in, “ he whispered softly, gently stroking her bandaged fingers and Sio found herself shivering slightly. “Not to mention, we both know you’re on a time limit; and I don’t fancy finding out what that limit is.”
“I-I...” She couldn’t say anything else after that; He had a point—was if her wild goose chases to find the truth would be just that: a wild goose chase? Wasting time looking for something that may not even exist, instead of trying to end this dream and cure your sickness... And yet the despite all the evidence against it, her internal compass still pulled her towards it; like a mysterious beacon, whenever she thought about seeking the truth her soul felt it was the right thing to do.
“...That being said, I already promised I would help you see this night through, to the very end.” Somehow Sio found herself sitting in his lap, though she didn’t seem to remember how or when that happened. “And if that means going to the ends of this nightmare to do so...then I will follow without hesitation.” Despite the seriousness, his eyes were smiling at her, in that very peculiar way that only he could do. “I trust your judgement, Sio.”
Sio felt her face flushing, and it definitely was not from the fire. Even though she and Adam were considerably less prickly with each other now, it was still rare for him to genuinely complement and praise her skills at such length—and even from before, when all her classmates had made fun of her strange fascinations, and only Asao stood by her. She barely managed to stammer out her thanks, laughing nervously about how she appreciated his loyalty when he simply turned her face towards his and kissed her.
It wasn’t the same as their first kiss, when it had been a volatile combination of pent-up frustrations and desire; this one was much softer, warmer and comforting, like the tight embraces she’d come to cherish. Both her hands wound behind his broad shoulders, fingers threading through those fine strands of silver that felt like silk between her scarred fingers. His breath was pleasantly warm against her skin, Sio sighing as Adam pulled her a little deeper into his arms. Without the bulk from their coats, she was able to feel more his warmth; unconsciously she pressed herself against his well-built chest, shifting her position as she felt fingers slowly undo the top buttons of her shirt.
Normally there was no way either of them would risk such scandalous behavior in an open area, but Sio reasoned she deserved a break after so many streaks of bad luck. Not to mention everyone else save for Hunter and Tell were out, and those two weren’t the type to nose around, thankfully. She heard Adam murmur something about maybe stopping before they got too carried away but she shook her head and shushed him with another kiss, this one deeper than the first one and certainly more passionate. He seemed to take that hint, brushing her strands from her cheek as his tongue slowly swept across her lips to ask for permission.
She knew nothing about relationships or marriage, or even courting—but she did know the feeling of warmth, the pleasant tingles rushing through her body as both of them became more entwined with each other. The collar of his shirt was undone, exposing a sliver of heated skin she pressed her palm against, relishing both the heat and the steady thumping of his heartbeat. His lips were now tracing her delicate jaw, Sio gasping as it brushed against a sensitive spot and her grasp tightened; there was a low chuckle from the man at her reactions.
We probably should stop...but somehow, I can’t... Her vision was hazy as he traced shapes through her shirt, a sudden bloom of heat sinking low into her stomach—a new and intense feeling, Sio getting restless from the heat building up throughout her body. It held the same intensity as the thrill of a fight, but it mingled with her desire for him; a strange yearning that made her want to bury herself in him.
“Eager, aren’t we?” Another low chuckle and Sio panted from the warmth of Adam’s hands as they dipped underneath her un-tucked shirt and smoothed across her stomach. “We should probably stop...”
“Ah...I don’t, see you stopping anytime soon,” she breathed against his ear, unconsciously grinding her hips downward to soothe the heat that did not seem to be going away. Each movement sent delicious tingles up and down her spine, Adam groaning very softly as he also starting moving in sync with her. “B-Besides, I thought you trusted my judgement...”
They were both panting now, hips rocking together in some sort of clumsy rhythm but neither could stop. What began as something to quench that heat only seemed to be fanning the flames hotter, it seemed; Sio found herself bracing herself against his shoulders, using them as leverage as the pace increased yet the knot inside her stomach only grew tighter.
‘What is this feeling...I don’t know what’s going on, but it feels so good...!’ She relished the friction from the rough cloth rubbing between her legs with each movement...it made her want to simultaneously curl her toes and arch her back. Everything felt so hot, as if she was on the brink of breaking through something...whatever it was.
“S-Sio...I-I’m serious, we should...really stop...” Adam was panting as fast as her now, his own face flushed a deep pink while his hands gripped her slender hips. “Even though it feels...amazing...with you...” He pressed their foreheads together, those deep emeralds reflecting her own eyes back into her.
“Nnng...I, I know...b-but, I just, can’t...ah, wh-what is this...I’ve never, felt it before...” Pure, scintillating pleasure from his touch—she’d never been this close with anyone, physically or otherwise, and the fervor from their little session was almost overwhelming. There was a sort of urgency added to the flames now, as if she had to reach this one point now, causing her to gasp and buck her hips unsteadily as she nearly let herself go to this hedonistic pleasure.
“S-Sio! You—!” Her quickening pace did not go unnoticed by the silver-haired man, who couldn’t even finish his sentence before roughly grabbing her hips, almost slamming himself into her as she couldn’t help but cry out. “Seriously—!”
“N-No, please, I’m...c, close...to, s, something...” Yes, she was almost there...just a little more, just a little faster, and the end of this teetering tightrope she was walking across would be in reach... “Ah, Adam...!”
The resounding clatter of throwing knives dropping on the floor shattered whatever nirvana Sio was about to achieve in her pleasure-filled haze. Both of them froze at the commotion, only to see a very sheepish-looking Hunter looking away in embarrassment.
“Och, sorry ‘bout that...didn’t mean t’ interrupt...oy now, dinnae ye two be givin’ me tha’ look! T’was a right accident, that was. ‘Sides, not like I saw no nothin’...though at the rate ye two were carryin’ on...” Hunter shook his head and gave a low whistle. “Be grateful the place’s empty as it is. This building ain’t exactly the place I’d chose fer a tryst, but eh, guess ye take what ye can get.”
And with that the surgeon placed all his knives into the storage box this time, and strolled out without another glance back, leaving the two of them staring at the floor in an awkward silence. All the passion she’d been experiencing just seconds earlier was completely dead, Sio now feeling a mixture of embarrassment and frustration at having come so close—if only Hunter had come in a few seconds later—
“Well, squirt, guess we should’ve stopped, ‘ey?” Adam had a roguish grin on his face, still flushed from their activities. “Just kiddin’; wasn’t like I wanted it to end, either... He gave a pained groan as Sio reluctantly pried herself off his lap. “Well, not like this, anyway...”
“A, Adam...” Her voice came out as a squeak, Sio suddenly feeling incredibly shy and embarrassed now that her mind was recalling what exactly just transpired. Going at it like a pair of animals in heat...grimacing, she mentally berated herself for letting her base wants get the better of her, especially in a time and place like this. “I-I, I’m, sorry...”
“Hey, don’t be sorry; ‘s not like I regret anything,” he gave her head a playful ruffle, “an’ from the looks of it, you don’t either, yeh?” He winked and Sio felt herself turn even redder. “Though I gotta say, I definitely wasn’t expecting you to be so...well, aggressive...but I like that, this...duality of yours...it’s what makes you special.”
Adam smoothed out his clothes, before helping her up and Sio could only blush and mumble shyly as she buttoned her shirt up. Seriously, what the heck had that been about? ‘It’s like that time I almost lost control, after Logarius...except this time I actually did lose control...’ But there was no denying it had been pleasurable, and quite so, at that. Even with the lust fading, still the warm crevice between her thighs tingled ever-so-slightly whenever she thought back to the heat of the moment, when they were tangled together and moving in sync to reach whatever goal it was...
“Anyway, don’t dwell on it too much; Hunter won’t say anything, you know that.” Adam was putting on his overcoat again, looking and acting as if nothing had happened at all. “Speaking of which...to that place Mirza was talking about—through the Cathedral Ward?” Sio nodded. “I have a feeling, this ‘Nightmare’ he’s talking about...it won’t be easy to defeat. An’ if we’re really going on this wild goose chase, then I don’t know about you, but I’d like some backup; and honestly, I can’t think of anything better than our original trio, yeh?
The ‘original’ three, just her, Adam and Hunter...Sio felt herself smiling at the idea, nodding silently as she gathered up her equipment and the two went to find the surgeon, Sio patting the vial in her pocket on last time.
#documentation#hunt or be hunted#//updates the most recently updated fic#//instead of the oldest one#//WHOOPS#//what can i say it's got the current momentum
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