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bratbby333 · 1 month

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i will possess your heart – satoru gojo

-this story contains very heavy nsfw content! please read at your own discretion!-

𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪 content warnings dead dove fic- heavy stalking, violent obsession, manipulation, forced voyeurism, forced exhibition, drugging, mentions of blood, knives, use of restraints, plot twist, extreme dub-con 𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪 synopsis for as cocky as Satoru is, it’s oddly fitting. in his mind, everything belongs to him, including you. 𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪 word count 8k

Satoru fumbled with a tripod as he positioned his camera onto the stand and proceeded to hit record. He was thorough, making sure his chair was perfectly centered before he sat down, staring at himself in the viewfinder while he fussed with his hair, inhaling deeply. A wide grin cut across his face before dropping back into lackluster neutrality. He looked down at his lap, his fingers ran up and down his denim-clad thighs. He snapped back onto the camera blank-faced before a deranged smile pulled at his cheeks.

Click

January 16th, 4:06 AM

I woke up drenched in the feeling of lethargy again—another night of only an hour’s worth of sleep. Nothing feels real when you hit a certain point. I’m plagued by the shadows, my entire life enshrouded in darkness. I don’t remember what things were like before. Day by day, it’s all the same. I cannot escape it—this anchoring feeling of despair. The emptiness eats away at me. I’m in search of release…of some sort of freedom from this pain. I need to fill my life with meaning, to find purpose in this accursed world…I think I’ll go out for coffee today. People watching brings me so much joy. They seem to live much happier lives than me.

Click

January 16th, 6:38 PM

My daydreams must’ve blended into reality because there was no way I created someone as beautiful as she was outside my imagination. I’m certain of it. She was sitting at the bar of the cafe down the street from my apartment, dressed in business casual—she probably works nearby. How kismet. The coffee was bland, as were most things in my life, but she awoke something in me. I hope I see her again. She somehow managed to clear the cobwebs around my heart. I think my life has finally found purpose. She is my driving force. I wonder what her name is.

Click

January 19th, 6:11 AM

Feeling well-rested today. Four hours of sleep is my new record. I plan to go to the coffee shop again. Back to the place where my eyes were first blessed with the mirage of her…where I first fell in love. I hope she’s there. People are so fun to observe when they don’t think they’re being watched…it’s simple psychology. The Hawthorne Effect. When humans notice they are under observation, they change. So inauthentic. But her? She never notices. She sits so obliviously, allowing me to take her in with ease. So good to me. She’s a breath of fresh air. I hope to work up the courage to speak to her soon. My heart soars at the mere thought of being in her presence once again. It’s so refreshing to feel something after all this time. I’ve been numb for so long, but she has set my heart on fire. She is everything to me, my sole purpose for existence.

Click

January 19th, 8:27 PM

I saw her again today. She didn’t see me. Just how I like it. She typed away on her computer like normal…she’s a hard worker, it seems. Driven and strong. And here I was thinking such beauty was a thing of legend. It's refreshing to have been proved wrong–that rarely happens. Oh, how I crave her. I know she’d make me feel whole again. She can save me from all this, I can feel it.

Click

January 23rd, 5:13 AM

Only two hours of sleep tonight. But, for some reason, I feel better than ever… I normally do when I find a reason for living, again. It’s her…it must be because of her. She keeps me going; my muse, my inspiration. She’s worked wonders on me already and she doesn’t even know it, yet. I’m going to the cafe again today, I cannot wait to see her. Maybe today I will finally speak to her.

Click

January 23rd, 9:53 PM

She never showed up today…I wonder what’s going on. Maybe she had other things to do. It’s fine, really. I’m annoyed, honestly. I waited around all day. I’ll keep checking until I see her again.

Click

January 28th, 7:06 PM

My sweet girl has gone missing. I haven’t seen her in quite some time now. This is just ridiculous. The woman I love…is she avoiding me? No, no that cannot be.

Click

February 2nd, 8:31 AM

I haven’t slept well in days. I’ve been awake for twenty six hours now…my mind feels like it’s filled with static and yet, I feel sharper than ever. I’ve gone to the cafe every day. Still no sign of her. I’m slipping back into my old ways, the darkness is going to return any moment. I’ve begun to hear the laughter in the shadows again. They’re making fun of me, I just know it. I need her…oh, I need her so bad. How could she do this to me? Does she not know how much I suffer when she’s not around? If I don’t see her again soon, I will never recover.

Click

February 5th, 6:21 PM

I finally saw her again today. My heartrate spiked and I nearly leaped from my seat to kiss her, to hold her, sway her side to side in a deep hug. Instead, I slipped a tracker into her purse as I walked by her chair. I must know where she works, where she lives, and what she enjoys in her free time. She slipped away from me so easily…can’t let that happen again. I need to know every little thing about her. She is my one and only after all. It would be ridiculous to love someone so deeply and know nothing about them. She is too beautiful, I cannot let her wander around unsupervised. There are some crazy people out there—you never know what could happen. I can’t lose her. I must keep her safe. I will possess her heart. No one else can have her but me.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.

Satoru observed her for months, shadowing her all around town. He knew the woman’s routine like the back of his hand, before he ever learned her name. Sunday’s she went grocery shopping, Monday after work was her pilates class, every couple of Thursday’s she was at the nail salon, and Friday’s were seemingly payday–he picked up on her pattern of going out to nice restaurants every other week. Satoru eventually got an upper-level management position at a company that shared the office building with her job–he is incredibly intelligent and overqualified, after all; they would be foolish to not hire him. Now he could really keep an eye on her.

That was when he finally learned her name–the two of them taking the same elevator. She didn’t recognize him as the man who seemingly had the same routine as her–it’s one of the many reasons why Satoru loved her so much: her naivety. She looked into his eyes for the first time that day, her voice was soft and angelic, and the name that fell from her lips sent waves through Satoru’s body, the same name that would now be coupled with his gasping moans every evening as he stroked himself to the thought of her.

With Satoru’s new job that brought him one step closer to her, he knew he could no longer watch her in the way he used to. His movements had to be more calculated, putting more distance between them than he normally would or hiding behind the deep tint of his car windows. If she saw his face too frequently, she surely would have caught on. Satoru smiled at the possibility of her never catching on…how she’d greet him with a smile and a friendly hug each time they “coincidentally” bumped into one another, giggling about their lives' odd synchronicities. Such a sweet girl. If only she knew.

He stopped into her job, a small gift bag hanging off his slender fingers, desperate to watch her eyes light up with the sweet gesture of an unexpected gift. He asked to see her, only to be informed by the receptionist that she had the day off.

It was no worry, he didn’t let that dull his excitement. “I’m a friend of hers, brought this in to surprise her. Do you mind showing me to her desk, I’ll just leave it there for her when she returns to work,” he said kindly. The lady working the front desk blushed under his piercing gaze and handsome features, nodding shyly and walking him to his lover’s designated area.

Satoru thanked her, stepping into the cubicle to place his gift by her computer. His eyes glazed over her workspace. It was decorated with trinkets and family photos. He picked one up, his thumb tracing over her face. His pretty girl. That smile could bring about world peace; it definitely quieted the angered voices in his head. He scanned her desk, a moment of envy shooting through him at the thought of her dainty fingers dancing over the keyboard rather than tangling in his hair. He groaned internally, looking over his shoulder to ensure no one was around, before ducking down, rummaging through his beloved’s drawers. Stowed away in the bottom of the unit was a fuzzy, white cardigan. He brought the fabric to his nose, inhaling deeply, stifling the filthy moan that nearly echoed through the cubicle. He quickly tucked it into his jacket, took one last look around, and headed toward the exit.

In the safety of his vehicle, Satoru whipped the clothing out from under his wing, bringing it to his face once more. He undid his belt buckle with haste, shoving his dress slacks halfway down his thighs before his large fist swaddled his cock with the fuzzy white cardigan. He nearly sobbed at the contact, the smell of his car filling with her beautifully floral perfume. He brought the free edge up to his nose, taking another whiff as his hand worked furiously against his shaft. He had never finished so quickly in his life, staggered whimpers and choked moans fell from his parted lips as fat ropes shot up onto his abs and chest. His cheeks were flustered a violent red as he wiped his sticky shame away with her top. After he came, then did his clarity, and Satoru’s body ached with the thought of how good it would feel to finally be sheathed within her sticky walls, rather than her soft clothing. I’ll be with you soon. Soon, my love.

These feelings were getting unbearable. His overactive brain had him teetering on the edge of insanity. He needed more. His imagination was no longer enough to satiate the hunger that gnawed so deeply in his core, the distanced watching and hopeless longing for the love of his life created jagged rifts in his already damaged psyche. He didn’t know how much more of this he could take. A few deep breaths and the promise he made to himself to take action soon quelled his burning desire. But for how much longer could Satoru repress the demon that clawed through his body?

Satoru surveyed her while she ran to the bank, walked her dog, or took her car to the wash. But his most favorite place to watch her was from the bench just outside her bedroom window, engulfed in darkness. Pretty girl lived on the second floor, her silly little brain assumed she didn’t need curtains. She never saw him, but he always saw her. All of her. Drinking in the way her clothes were delicately removed from her pretty little frame, the way she turned and posed in the mirror–so good to him. How her skin glistened after she got out of the shower, the water droplets running along her body in the same way Satoru wanted to.

He fell into a state of bliss, feeling spoiled by the show he was getting tonight. The lotion that she worked into her body, the beautiful set of lingerie that she dawned. His eyes buzzed around his sockets, elation flooding through him. Gorgeous, gorgeous girl. But his body went rigid and his jaw locked tight at the appearance of another man behind the love of his life. He sat upright, shoulders stiff and heart pounding in his ears at the thought of his sweet being in danger, he cursed himself for not being more aware of her surroundings on her behalf. But when his darling girl turned to the unknown man with a smile, greeting him with a gentle kiss with the lips that were supposed to be just for Satoru, his heart shattered into a million pieces.

Oh, no. This just won’t do, my love. You are mine.

Jealousy coursed through his veins while he looked into her room, rage balled in his fists as he watched a random man have her in the one way Satoru couldn’t. Not yet, at least. He must’ve been new in her life, judging by the way his nervous hands explored every part of her skin. Satoru laughed at this–he knew he could please his woman so much better. But betrayal nipped at the back of his neck; how could she do this to him? Had his loyalty fallen on unappreciative shoulders? No, that couldn’t be. Satoru knew she was better than that, he picked her for a reason, after all. She was just playing hard to get.

You rejected my advances and desperate pleas, and now you throw your relationship in my face. It’s punishment enough that I can’t have you, but I won't let you let me down so easily.

Feeling at a loss, swallowed whole by his hungered desperation, he did what any rational person would. He moved in next door.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.

Satoru Gojo was your next-door neighbor. He moved in only a few months after you did. You were elated, chalking it up to a lucky roll of the dice that you had met by chance at your job; he had started working for the company that shared the office park with yours. It really seemed like things were on the come-up for you. He was kind, confidently intuitive, funny, and supportive. Mildly egotistical, but it worked for him. He always invited you over for dinner and movie nights and was a strong, dependable shoulder for you to cry on. You had just moved to the city, feeling utterly lost and absolutely gutted about being so far from your support systems now, and he was your first friend. You felt safe knowing he was just a wall away.

On a random Sunday, you opened your front door to see all the food you loved sitting at your doorstep–weird, you were just about to leave for the store. You turned your head, seeing Satoru peeking out from his cracked door, grinning at you.

“Was this you, Satoru? You didn’t have to…this is incredibly thoughtful,” you beamed, stepping over the grocery bags to give him a tight hug. “You’re the best, I don’t know how I could ever repay you.” But Satoru did, he knew exactly what you could do for him.

When you needed a ride to work, he jumped in to save you. The two of you worked in the same building after all. It was a crazy coincidence that your new neighbor turned best friend worked just a few floors above you. It’s such a small world, isn’t it? But it worked out perfectly for the two of you.

There was a month where you were short on rent, and there was Satoru, paying the rest on your behalf.

You weren’t catching on. Sweet, naive girl. Oh, how he loved you. I need to work harder to get her attention.

Satoru was not a patient man, but for you, he would do anything and everything to get you right where he wanted you, expertly playing the long game. It began with the fated sighting of you sitting in a cafe, and snowballed into something bigger. At first, he only ever observed you, maybe the minor occasion of overstepping, but as time went on, he couldn’t sit idly by. It was time to make his move.

His disruptions in your life started inconspicuously. Leaving for a date? You found your car tires slashed and windows shattered in the parking deck. Now there’s a police investigation. Bummer…gotta cancel the date. Had a guy over? Satoru’s apartment flooded. Weird… that was the second time this month.

“You gotta talk to the landlord about this, ‘Toru,” you sighed. He had to stay at yours that evening.

You cried on his shoulder, telling him that some guy stood you up on a date you had been anticipating for weeks. There was an electrical fire in that man’s apartment that night. Must’ve been faulty wiring...or something.

His apartment flooded again. He was back at your door. You welcomed him with open arms, of course. He’s so good to you, the least you could do is help him out, as well.

Satoru, you’re slipping. That’s too many times in one month. Ease up or she’ll catch on.

Friday night, in a wild happenstance, he bumped into you while you were out with another man, enjoying a nice dinner together. He smiled warmly at the two of you, before politely dismissing himself. His cheery smile dropped into a demented grin once he stepped out of the restaurant as he anonymously called in a bomb threat to the establishment. You were so shaken up at the entire ordeal you practically begged Satoru to stay with you that night. He’d be a fool to turn you down.

Satoru got everything he wanted. You were just a tough nut to crack, is all. No big deal. He loved a challenge. After all, how could you not love him by now?

But nothing was working. You couldn’t catch the hint, even with everything he threw at you. He was always the one there for you, even when you weren’t aware of it. What more could he do to prove that he was the only person you needed? I’m reliable, witty, and loving… how can she not see this? He finally snapped. The last straw? Hearing your pleasure-filled cries while getting fucked by another man, your “boyfriend”. The lewd sounds ricocheted around your room, shooting through the thin walls of your apartment and straight into his listening ears.

Tsk, tsk. Now you’ve done it. Always been such a tease.

For as cocky as he was, it’s oddly fitting. In his mind, everything belonged to him, including you. And with that, his demented plan was in full effect. He had hoped to spare you, prayed that you would fall in love with him before he lost his composure completely. But your sweet, naive nature had proved to be a difficult wall to break down.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.

Click

The sound of your front door’s lock disengaging echoed through the empty hallway. Satoru stepped in, inhaling deeply as he shoved your house key into his back pocket. It was far easier to gain access into your home than he had originally anticipated; he was fully prepared to break in, but all he had to do was tell your landlord you went out of town and you forgot to leave a key with him before you left. The manager of your apartment complex knew how close you and Satoru were, so it was an easy lie to tell. But it couldn’t have been further from the truth. You weren’t out of town, he wasn’t house sitting, and you had no intentions of having company this evening.

Seated at your desk, he opened your laptop and navigated his way to your iMessage settings, ensuring you could only send and receive texts from your laptop. Clicking on the messaging app, he stifled the gag that threatened to escape his throat as he clicked on the thread between you and your boyfriend, his contact name “my love” in your phone. He rolled his eyes, before drafting a quick text:

-Hey, baby. I have a half-day at work today…dinner and wine at my place tonight? ;)

He grinned at the quickness of your boyfriend’s response.

-I would love that. What time, my love?

Satoru scoffed at the pet name. He doesn’t deserve to call you that. Poor bastard needed to learn his place. Heat rose in his chest, jealousy emanating through his skin as he crafted his response.

-3pm…Can’t wait to see you.

Everything was going according to plan. Satoru glanced at the clock beside him: 11:17 AM. It was time to get set up, he had a big day planned for you, and his first guest would be arriving in a few short hours.

A knock rang through the apartment as Satoru finished lighting his final candle. He smiled wide, sauntering over to the door. He swung it open, grinning politely at your boyfriend. “...Hey, man…didn’t expect to see you here…” he said warily as Satoru stood to the side and gestured him in, a quizzical look painted on your partner’s face as he stepped through the doorway. The door shut and the lock was reengaged. “Where’s…” but before he could get his question out, his chin was met with Satoru’s right fist.

Satoru made quick work of dragging his body upstairs. He dug through the unconscious man’s pants, pulling out his cellphone. Satoru was disgusted to see that you were his lockscreen. This pitiful man wasn’t worthy enough to be with you. He rolled his eyes, unlocking the man’s phone and sending you a text:

-Hey, beautiful. Come straight home tonight. I’m making dinner for us. See you when you get off work.

You smiled at the familiar ding of your phone, the notification effectively distracting you from your tedious paperwork. Your heart soared at the message, sighing deeply and shifting your weight around in your office chair. Your hand rubbed at your face in an attempt to hide your blushing cheeks.

“What is it?” your coworker asked.

“Oh, nothing. I thought my boyfriend forgot our anniversary cause I hadn’t heard from him all day…but he just texted me saying he’s at my place and is making dinner for us tonight.” A giddy smile couldn’t help but drag across your face.

Satoru looked at the clock: 3:28 PM. You would be home in an hour or so. Just a few more things had to be done, everything had to be perfect.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.

Your heart rate spiked as you got closer to your apartment door, keys jingling against your palm as you fumbled with the lock, excitement making your movements a bit clumsier than usual. You entered and kicked off your heels, and as you turned to toss your keys onto the small table in your foyer, you noticed a small card that said “Read Me” placed perfectly in the center of the tray. You were perplexed as your eyes scanned over the note. “Go to the living room” was all it said.

You blushed, a nervous smile pulling at the edge of your lips as you crept to the other room. Your eyes went wide at the sight; deep red roses were placed in the center of the coffee table and every accessible surface around the couch was adorned with beautifully flickering candles. Another note was on the table, your fingers fumbled with the edge of the card as you opened it: “Have a seat, take a sip, and press play.” You settled on the couch, noticing a glass of alluring red wine to the right of the roses. You took a few deep, fulfilling swigs of your drink before grabbing the TV remote. Your face twisted a bit, examining the glass in your hand, the flavor of wine different than the one you were used to. It was a special night after all, your thoughtful boyfriend must have wanted you to branch out this evening. Where is he, anyway? As you pressed play, you called out for him, only to be cut off by your own confusion as Satoru’s face appeared on your TV screen. You watched with perplexity as Satoru recentered his chair, smiled, relaxed his face, and then smiled again.

No…no, no, no. What is this? You were locked in place, the melodious sounds of Satoru’s voice cascaded out of your surround sound system. He looked different though, his eyes were dull and low, his voice monotonous–his alarming difference in demeanor sent a chill down your spine. Your groggy mind inferred that this must’ve been an accident. Maybe it was casted to the wrong TV. I shouldn’t be seeing this…these are Satoru’s video diaries.

You so badly wanted to tear your eyes away from the screen, this seemed like such an invasion of privacy. But you were entranced, staring intently toward the TV, though you didn’t really have a choice, your body was completely numb now.

“January 16th, 4:06 AM

I woke up drenched in the feeling of lethargy again—another night of only an hour’s worth of sleep. Nothing feels real when you hit a certain point…” you fought to keep your eyes open, to piece together what the hell was happening, until your body eventually succumbed to sleep.

When you finally came to, you were laid out on your bed, fully nude. Soft grunts lingered in the air as you worked your hardest to refocus your eyes, your head pounding. You shifted your weight onto your forearms, your neck straining as it felt like your brain was filled with lead, eyes searching your bedroom for the culprit of the moans. One glance to the left, a quick look to the right, before you stared straight ahead at the wall directly across from the bed. Your body lurched in fear as your heart sank, the source of the sounds now looking you dead in the eyes: The man you had been seeing for the past couple of months, gagged and tied to a chair, his bloodied face twisted up in agony.

You tried to call out for him. Your feeble attempts to drag your heavy body closer in order to console him were interrupted as the room was suddenly illuminated with the streaming lights of a projector. Your movements halted as you shielded your eyes immediately, the bright interruption feeling like a flashbang to your sensitive head.

“We didn’t get to finish my show and tell,” a voice spoke up from the dark corner.

“Satoru?? Wha…what is going on?” you cried out, tears spilling from your eyes while your hands attempted to cover your modesty. You tried your hardest to sit upright, your head spinning, unsure if Satoru was the culprit or your savior. Your body felt like it was anchored to the floor, your head throbbing with every word that tore through your chest.

“There’s no need for all that yelling, sweetheart,” Satoru grinned, crouching down next to you. You winced as his hand cupped the side of your face, his thumb brushing away the tears that trickled down your cheeks.

Click

Metal cuffs clamped down on your wrists before you could even register what was happening. A million unanswered questions spun through the room as you frantically searched through his blue eyes, hoping to find any sort of insight into the torment he was inflicting upon the two of you.

“This is what’s gonna happen, okay? I need you to listen to me.” His voice was sickeningly sweet, each syllable that left his lips more damning than the last as he dragged your limp body up the bed, securing your wrists to the headboard and angling your body toward the projected video on your wall. A crazed grin lit up his dull face as he raised his hand, pointing the remote toward the projector. “You’re gonna sit here and look all pretty f’me while you watch these tapes, and if you move, if you stop paying attention for even a second…” Your stomach churned at how gently he was able to give such vile instructions. He turned his attention towards your partner, the blade of a knife twirling through the slender fingers of his free hand, “...He’s dead. Understand, angel?”

You nodded reluctantly, unable to do anything else but comply with his demands. Your head was spinning, trying to digest the fact that this was the same person who had paid your rent and entertained your rants after a hard day of work. You listened as his voice continued to drabble over the static of the projector, recalling how bland that day had been until he saw your face. How he must’ve dreamt of you because there was no way your beauty could exist outside of his imagination. To you, it had been a normal Tuesday afternoon. To him, it had been the start of the rest of his life.

The longer you watched, the more the realization set in that the sweet gestures he presented to you were not out of the goodness of his heart, but from the darkness of his spirit, driven by his wanton lust. Your face was slack, eyes wide in horror. Disappointment crawled through your chest at your own naivety. How could I be so oblivious? So trusting?

Satoru’s eyes bored into the side of your face as he sat beside you, his hands rubbing deep circles into your bare thighs, pure elation shooting through his veins at his sweet girl finally having a look into his mind. The look of terror that painted your beautiful face made his heart leap with joy. Satoru’s giddy demeanor dropped as pained grunts emerged from the tethered man against the wall. He stood, closing the distance between the two of them, his fist encircling your boyfriend’s throat. You began to protest, to plead with Satoru to leave him be, but the rage that filled his eyes made you shut your mouth. “Uh uh…eye’s on the screen, my love.” Your head snapped back toward the videos, fat tears rolling down your cheeks as the muffled wailing of your boyfriend filled the room.

As the final video played, Satoru returned to your side, kneeling on the edge of the bed as he stroked the back of your head and rubbed at your cheeks. “Can’t you see all that I’ve done for you?” He grabbed your face, digging his fingers deep into the space under your cheekbones, forcing your lips into a pucker. “You belong to me, my love.” A deep growl rumbled through his chest, “You look so fucking beautiful like this.” He leaned down and crashed his lips into yours, his hot tongue bullying its way through your tight lips. Small whines echoed through your mouth and into his, and Satoru greedily swallowed up your sounds with ease. Whimpers of protest came from the wall across from your bed, but they were quickly drowned out by the wet sounds of smacking lips and battling tongues.

He broke away, a thick trail of spit still connecting the two of you. Satoru released your cheeks with a gentle shove, throwing his leg over yours to straddle you. He dropped his head to your neck, his white hair brushing against your skin. You winced as he licked a thick line from your collarbone to your ear. “I finally get to have you,” he whispered, nipping at your flesh, “You ready to give yourself to me, princess?” Your eyes widened in horror, your gaze affixed towards your boyfriend, blood trickling from the fresh cuts on his cheeks. Your head shook side to side, tears brimming in your eyes once more as your thoughts raced through your mind, causing a traffic jam in your throat. “I…no, I can’t…he’s…” Satoru’s palm covered your mouth, a groan erupting from the back of his throat as his eyes rolled deep into his skull. He sat back, staring down at you, his free hand running its fingertips between your breasts. “This has nothing to do with him…It’s just me and you now, my love.” Your head snapped up to stare at your captor as the rough pads of his fingers brushed over your nipples. A stifled moan teased the back of your throat, an exasperated look of fear in your eyes as you stared up at Satoru.

Your cheeks flushed as you held his gaze. He grinned back down at you before rolling the hardened bud between his fingertips. Your chest arched toward him, a shameful hum dancing from your lips as he played with you. A deep laugh erupted from the blue-eyed man at your unintentional reaction, his head thrown back with pure joy as he continued to pull at your nipples. He leaned into your neck once more, his teeth grazing the outer shell of your ear. “I knew it,” he purred, “Knew you wanted me, too. You were just playing hard to get, isn’t that right?” You shook your head once more, your words constricted in your chest. “N-no…I never wanted you,” you retorted, head thrown to the side, attempting to distance yourself from him, but to no avail. The weight of him anchored your lower half to the mattress while your tethered wrists held you in place.

A deep chuckle rumbled through Satoru, “So if I feel your pussy, it won’t be absolutely soaked right now?” A pathetic whimper escaped your throat as you shook your head furiously. The rolling motion against your nipples halted and his hand trailed lower down your abdomen. “Hmm…let’s see then, shall we?” he taunted, tracing your skin before rubbing your folds and dipping into your core. “I knew it…you’re fucking drenched f’me, sweetheart.” He shoved two fingers in, shallowly teasing your hole before withdrawing, bringing his sopping digits between your faces, turning his wrist as the dim light of the room illuminated the wetness, making it glisten ever so slightly. He examined them before meeting your fearful gaze. “Why did you lie?” He sucked his middle digit into his mouth, his tongue lapping hungrily at your sweet juices as his eyes fluttered shut. A hum emanated from Satoru as his other soaked finger pushed past your lips, “Here, have a taste, pretty girl,” his long digit dancing around your tongue. “So fucking sweet. You have no idea how badly I’ve been craving this.”

“I’ll ask you again, princess…Why’d you lie to me? I thought you were better than that,” he teased, an insincere pout twitching at his lips as he cradled your chin. Your body thrashed as his hands pawed down your body, plunging two fingers deep inside you again. Your back arched toward him, his knee between your legs was the only thing keeping you open for him. “I…It wasn’t..ahh!– I wasn’t lying…I–”. Your words fell on deaf ears as a wicked smile crept across Satoru’s face.

“Shhh…shhh my sweet girl, just lay back and enjoy,” he smirked as he crawled down your body, laying himself flat on the bed with his head nestled between your legs. Satoru’s body no longer shielded you from your boyfriend, your teary eyes darted across his face, a silent apology being sent his way. Small gasps escaped your lips as Satoru continued to pump into you, the tips of his curled fingers toying with your sweet spot. When you stared down at him, the look of pure desire peered back at you, the dampness between your legs skyrocketing at the sight. A scarlet dusting of shame brushed across your cheeks at your clear enjoyment of all this, even though it betrayed every natural instinct you had. His tongue darted out from between his lips, the tip circling your swollen clit as his fingers dipped in and out of you, his movements spurred on by his own desperation.

He was delirious, suckling against your clit while his fingers worked into you with fervor, moans and growls echoing through the room as he drank you in. You so badly wanted to break away, to console your boyfriend who had an unintentional front row seat to you falling apart on someone else’s tongue, but you couldn't bring yourself to stop him, his digits hitting spots inside you that you didn’t even know existed. Pleasure ripped through your body as a tightening sensation crept its way into your stomach. The rattling of your cuffs echoed through your bedroom as you fought against your restraints, desperately wanting to tangle your fingers in Satoru’s hair.

Your hips bucked toward his mouth, your body aching for release as your pelvis thrusted against his flattened tongue. You didn’t dare look away from Satoru, for you knew there was another set of eyes affixed upon the damning scene that was unfolding. He continued to hum and suck and pump into your core as you tightened around him, his slender fingers quickly coaxing your orgasm from your writhing body. Your eyes screwed shut as your gushy walls spasmed around his fingers, your release painting Satoru’s overly-eager face. He lapped at you some more, working you through your orgasm as he cleaned you up with his wickedly talented tongue.

A deep growl broke through Satoru’s chest as he removed his head from between your legs, the back of his hand dragging across his chin, catching the last of your release before he licked you off of him. He sat upright, craning his neck to look over his shoulder, “Hope you were taking notes,” a smug grin on his face as he addressed your watching boyfriend. He redirected his attention to you. “Did so good f’me, angel. Dreamt of that for so long…” he grinned, his tongue darting out to trace along his lips, hoping there was still some of you coating his face “...I could do that all fuckin’ day.”

Your shaking chest heaved as clarity settled into your mind. Satoru untethered your wrists from the headboard, shifting your body so that you were on your hands and knees, head positioned toward the wall your partner was leaning against. Strangled sounds rang from your boyfriend’s chest as you finally met his gaze. Humiliation prickling under your skin at the realization of what you had just done. But you had no time to dwell on it as Satoru repositioned himself on the bed.

“He’s gonna watch me destroy you, my sweet girl,” Satoru was kneeled behind you, lining himself up with your embarrassingly soaked entrance. He grasped your hips roughly, sinking into you in one fluid motion. You choked out a sob as you dropped your head in shame.

“You’re so pretty when you cry. He can’t help you…can’t save you. Go ‘head, keep cryin’ for him,” he cooed, his thrusts deep and slow inside of you. Jagged moans escaped your throat as the thick head of his cock brushed into your sweet spot. “He can’t make you feel as good as I do.”

He leaned down, reaching around to cradle your throat in his hand, squeezing tightly as he turned your head to the side, his sharp eyes running up and down your contorted face. “Can’t you see that you belong to me, how my poor heart aches for you? How badly I’ve needed you?” His thrusts were agonizingly slow but incredibly deep, the pressure in your tummy betraying your desire for this to stop. “That’s it, my love. Feel you clenching down on me…you’re getting off on this, aren’t ya?” His hips rocked deeper into you, the new depth had your hands clawing at the sheets of your bed as pleasure worked its way through your trembling body.

“He doesn’t treat you the way I do. He never will. No one is better for you than me, princess,” he seethes, his hand cupping your chin, holding your head up, “Now look in his eyes while I use you.” His pace picked up, pulling you back on to him with his anchored hand around your neck. A broken sob cut through your constricted throat as he fucked into you, the visceral sound of flesh smacking against flesh and whines and cries spun through the otherwise stiff air of your room. He palmed at the fat of your ass, pulling your body to meet his rough thrusts. A choked cry left your lips as you maintained eye contact with your boyfriend, crimson droplets running down his face, mimicking the pattern of your tears. You mouthed a silent “I’m sorry” to him before your eyes shut tightly, waves of sinful bliss pulsed through your body with every mean thrust of Satoru’s hips.

“Gettin’ so tight around me–f-fuuuck–you’re close, huh?” Your face contorted in shameful pleasure as you nodded, your back arching even more to take him deeper. “That’s it…c’mon, my love. Need you to cum on my cock,” Satoru begged, his voice airy as he got lost in your tight, sopping walls. “Show me how good I make you feel.” His words ricocheted around your head as the building pressure in your stomach finally snapped, your legs shaking violently as your orgasm ripped through your body, splattering onto Satoru’s thighs and the mattress below you.

A few more strokes met your dripping center before Satoru bottomed out inside of you, thick ropes of his pearlescent seed painting your spasming walls. He finally released his tight grip around your throat, your head dropping immediately as indignity plagued your trembling frame. He pulled out, spreading your cheeks as he leaned down, an animalistic growl pulling from his chest as he watched his cum dribble out of your pussy.

Satoru rubbed soothing circles into your lower back as you worked to regain your breath. “You’re mine,” he whispered. He unlatched the restraints from around your wrists, a coy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth at the purple bruises that marked your skin. He locked eyes with your boyfriend, a deranged smile dancing across his face as he reached for the discarded projector remote.

Another familiar voice flooded through the speaker, but this time it wasn’t Satoru’s. “...We broke up a few weeks ago. No, no. Really, it’s okay. She was kind of a bitch anyway.” Your pupils widened as you stared back at the man you had just been feeling sorry for minutes ago, rage mixing into the vast sea of emotions you were already feeling while you watched a grainy video of him snaking his arm around another woman’s waist. The two of them were laughing outside of his house before she leaned in to kiss him.

“My poor sweet girl.” Satoru’s hand brushed lightly against your cheeks, catching tears that you didn’t even realize had begun spilling out. “I didn’t want you to have to find out this way, but I didn’t have much of a choice, did I?”

There were a million other ways he could have broken the news to you, but that somehow wasn’t the most pressing issue at hand.

“An eye for an eye, right?” The same haunting grin that you’d grown to know all too well spread across his face again, his blue eyes slicing into your ex-boyfriend’s. “I can’t believe that my entire world was in the hands of someone so undeserving…” he redirected his attention back to you and recaptured your cheeks in his hands. He leaned down to meet your gaze, unexpected softness replacing his usual sinister demeanor. “What do we do now, baby? It’s your call.”

Your pulse was ringing through your ears. “My call?” your voice was reduced to a whisper as you repeated it back to him.

“I’m going to kill him either way, but I want you to tell me how.”

You pondered for a moment, still coming to terms with the chain of events that lead you to this one vengeful moment.

Satoru stood, sauntering over to your boyfriend, stooping down to his level while his hands hovered over his gag. “When I take this off, I don’t want to hear anything other than remorse come from that pathetic fuckin’ mouth of yours.” Your boyfriend’s eyes shifted towards you, then back to Satoru, as he nodded pitifully. The tie was pulled from his mouth. His words were broken, barely audible. “I’m -” he choked out. “I’m sorry, I -”

Your stomach lurched as a sharp smack met his cheek, the painful sound resonating through the room. “You can do better than that. You got one more try,” Satoru spat, his eyes burning into your ex-lover’s bloodied face as he wrapped his fist around his throat, jostling his head around in a fit of rage.

“Satoru,” you hardly recognized your tone let alone the thoughts that were racing through your head. The last few hours of your life had been a blur. The words you heard earlier made perfect sense now, “Nothing feels real when you hit a certain point.” You were officially at that point. “Satoru, don’t. Let’s just end this.”

It was the first time you’d ever seen the silver-haired man look surprised. His eyebrow raised, a mix of curiosity and amusement glinting in his eye. “Tell me how,” he repeated. “I need to hear you say it.”

You were in a dream. Nothing more than a figment of Satoru’s imagination, just like he had said. It was the only thing that made sense to you because there was no way any of this was actually happening.

“Rip his heart out,” your voice emotionless as you gazed toward the blue-eyed man. Satoru groaned deeply, his dick twitching at the sound of your pretty voice speaking his dark language. The same depraved grin pulled at the edge of his lips as he looked back at your ex.

“Well,” he smirked, “looks like it’s decided then…” Adoration swam through his ocean eyes as he looked back at you, “I knew I picked the right one.”

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.

Click

The lock of your front door unbolted as your bodies pushed through the door frame, giggling as four glasses of wine danced through your systems. Satoru wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you into a deep, passionate kiss. “Happy anniversary, my love,” he mumbled against your lips. His hands grasped yours as he led you toward the couch.

You nestled into the warmth of his chest, his arm secured around you while you gazed around the room. Your head spun from the wine-induced nostalgia that this day had inevitably brought on. You were still in the same apartment, only it belonged to both of you now. A blend of sentimental gifts decorated your bookshelf that the two of you had collected over the last year. A camcorder, pressed red roses, framed vacation photos, and the first set of diamond earrings he’d bought you stowed away in a heart-shaped jewelry box. But out of all of the memories that tied you together, there was one that stood out the most.

“Should we open it?” you whispered, drawing lazy circles into his shoulder.

You didn’t have to see his face to feel his smirk. He knew his girl and he knew her well. He stood wordlessly, retrieving a jar from the highest shelf. He presented it to you, a smug grin gracing his ethereal features, the same look that was permanently etched into your brain the night he got it for you.

“Be my guest, princess.” You unscrewed the lid, peering into the jar as the strong scent of formaldehyde tickled your nose. You smiled longingly into the container, the overwhelming feeling of love reverberating through your chest. There was something so beautifully poetic about Satoru’s limerence, the lengths at which he went to steal the heart of another in order to fully possess yours.

author note: im so sorry for not posting my sweets,, i had the worst case of writer's block and i was actively trying to work on six different WIPs...i was losing my mind.

this was quite the heavy fic to write...i hope i didn't scare anyone away with it lol

alsoooo!! sending out the biggest thank you to @remlionheart for forcing me to finish this...my editor, my co-writer, the love of my life ♡ ⋆｡˚

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dramaticals · 5 months

Text

did you hear what i said?

pairing: theodore nott x gryffindor reader

summary: after a year of secretly dating, theo breaks things off when classes start up again. it's now christmas eve and he's back with a figurative box of regret / requested by anonymous.

author's note: angst! there will be a part two with fluff, but i just needed to get this out since i've been writing this for too long. (please) feel free to leave angsty requests in my inbox because this is the genre that gets my gears going! but i make no promises on resolutions and happy endings ♡

"You look happier."

Theodore stands in front of the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, his hands shoved into his pockets. His presence garners murmurs all around, even though the Great Hall was emptier than usual for the holidays. The sight of him makes your breath catch. It's been three months since you last spoke to him, but the memory of that night resurfaces, ripping open the wound on your healing heart.

It was back in September.

Theo had passed you a note in Potions, asking you to meet him in the Astronomy Tower after dark. It wasn't a peculiar ask, so you didn't think much of it at the time. The Astronomy Tower had become your and Theo's spot. A quiet place for the two of you to just exist—no interruptions and no expectations from the outside world. Your house rivalry was nothing in that tower. It was just you and Theo.

The two of you would spend hours hiding there, often cuddled on top of a lush blanket you had hidden nearby. You'd talk about anything and everything with him, from learning about each other's likes and dislikes to venting about classes and classmates. On nights where the two of you favoured serenity, it was never unpleasant. You'd embrace the quiet, exchanging sweet kisses all the while enjoying the comfort and protection of his arms.

That night in September was different, though. You sensed it the minute you ascended the steps to see Theo standing stiffly by the railing, his gaze concentrating on a bird on the horizon.

Theo didn't even turn to face you—acknowledge you—before he was muttering the words that shattered your heart into pieces.

"I'm over this." Theo said, his tone void of any emotion. His hand clutched onto the railing so tightly that his knuckles were pale.

Stunned silence fell over you. You just looked at him with a puzzled expression.

"Did you hear what I said?" Theo turned to you then, and you could see the pained expression on his features. But then something shifted, and his expression turned cold. "I'm breaking up with you."

His words on their own were harsh, but the inflection on each syllable felt like he was personally twisting a serrated knife into your heart.

"I don't understand." You said. "Why? What did I—"

"I feel like you're getting attached, and I think we've run our course." Theo interrupted. His eyes, the ones you became so accustomed to, were dark and flooded with an expression even you weren't familiar with. Theo scoffed. "You didn't actually think we'd last, did you?"

Maybe it was the naive and hopeless romantic in you, but you truly believed you would. House rivalries, judgemental friends, and family expectations were merely obstacles the two of you would deal with together. You just felt so strongly about him, and you were certain he felt the same about you.

"Did you hear what I said?" The Theodore standing in front of you jerks you back to the present.

You blink, and you nearly drop your fork.

"I heard you," you say firmly, returning your attention back to the half-eaten plate in front of you. You make yourself look busy and uncaring (as much as you could with food and a full stomach), as if Theodore's sudden presence had no effect on you.

Theodore shifts in his spot, his eyes darting to the empty seat in front of you, silently contemplating whether he should take it or cut his losses and leave. Reluctantly, he settles on the former. This makes you tense, your lips pursing as he sits. It doesn't help that you were highly attentive to the whispers; your classmates were surely speculating why Theodore Nott would be choosing the company of a muggle-born on Christmas Eve. You put down your fork, bring your gaze to his, and let out an exhausted breath.

"Nott, what do you want?"

Hearing his last name from you makes his jaw clench. It was cold and formal, stripped of any history you two shared.

"Just wanted to know if you were as happy as you looked."

"You have no right to that type of information anymore."

"Humour me."

You glare at him. Theodore looks back at you with such shy tenderness that your gaze softens slightly.

Am I happy? you think.

Some days, sure. But most days, you find yourself wandering back to that dreadful night in September. Even after all these months, you still wonder if you had just said something different or fought back instead of taking it, maybe you and Theo would still be together.

It was why Ginny, the only poor soul who was aware of your relationship with Theo, had set you up with Michael Corner, a cute Ravenclaw boy in your year. He was smart, funny, and occasionally sweet, but he wasn't Theodore Nott.

Still, you persisted. You allowed yourself to indulge in the idea of being with Michael because the brooding Slytherin boy who had your heart had made his choice. You went on a few dates with Michael; he'd walk you to class, sit with you during Quidditch matches, and sometimes—when he was feeling courageous—he'd plant a kiss on your lips in the middle of the bustling corridor.

"I am." You lie, and you bite down on the insides of your cheeks. What good would it do to admit you weren't, especially to the cause of your turmoil?

Theodore watches you, practically analyzing your features. He doesn't have to say anything for you to know he didn't believe you, and you hated that—hated him, for having been so attentive to you that your tells were obvious.

"You are?" Theodore questions.

"That's what I said, didn't I?"

"I think you and I have a habit of saying things we don't mean."

His careful words and wistful gaze make you flush with embarrassment and anger. To this day, you still weren't sure why Theo had broken things off with you, and it was something that had kept you up countless nights. Through gritted teeth and cheeks stinging with remembered hurt, you say, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," Theodore starts, his eyes flickering around to ensure no one was listening in. While a few lingering glances were sent your way, everyone was spread out far enough that it'd be hard to eavesdrop. He drops his voice anyway. "I shouldn't have said what I did that night. I didn't mean it. I don't mean it."

The anger bubbling in the pit of your stomach erupts, your eyes blazing. "Is this some sick game to you? It's been three months, Theodore. I spent three months crying over you and wondering what the hell I did to you to be so bloody cruel. And now when I'm finally ready to move on from you, you come back to tell me you... you didn't mean it?" The last words leave a dirty, salty taste in your mouth.

"No, no," Theodore shakes his head, swallowing thickly as you recounted the months of hell. He hadn't been doing any better either, but Theo was generally good at hiding his afflictions. Numbing the pain with weed and alcohol were among his favourite remedies. "It's not a game. It was never a game. You should know me well enough to know that I would never mean any of the things I said."

"Know you?" You almost laugh. You had replayed the breakup and the weeks leading up to it in your mind countless times, trying to make sense of the bullshit non-reason he had given when he broke up with you but nothing made sense. The whole thing made you spiral, questioning everything that had ever happened between you two. "I'm actually convinced I never really knew you, because the guy I knew would never have done that to me."

Having had enough of the conversation, you get up, leaving your half-eaten plate and a pained Theodore at the Gryffindor table. You're almost past the door of the Great Hall when Theo, as a last-ditch effort, grabs a hold of your wrist, hauling you to a stop. You let out a small huff and turn to face him.

"Meet me in the Astronomy Tower after dark." Theodore says softly, almost pleadingly. He makes a conscious effort to ignore all the prying eyes that turned.

"Because that worked out so well for me last time."

"Just—please. If you want to continue never speaking to each other again after that, then fine. But at least let me explain."

You had every intention of ignoring Theodore’s request. He didn’t deserve a chance to explain—the statute of limitations for explaining ended months ago. And yet, you found yourself sneaking out of the Gryffindor common room and up to the Astronomy Tower, inebriated by the countless what-ifs and string of memories: Theo sneaking a kiss on your lips as everyone turned to view whatever Hagrid had for Care of Magical Creatures, Theo resting his hand on your thigh during potions, Theo winking at you as you watched him play Quidditch.

“You’re here.” Theodore says, just as you reach the top of the staircase. He was sitting by the railing.

“I am,” you say as you walk toward him reluctantly. You settle next to him.

Theodore looks at you, and it looks like he’s about to say something, but then he shuts his eyes, shakes his head, and sighs.

You’ve never seen him at a loss for words. He was intentionally silent, sure, but his quick wit never failed him.

“I’ve regretted that night every day, you know.” He speaks up, his solemn eyes trained on yours. “I replay it over and over.”

Theodore’s gaze is unrelenting, brimming with seriousness and a vulnerability that you haven’t seen before. You tear your gaze away from his because the more he talks and looks at you like this, the more you find it hard to breathe.

“Then why do it? Why say those things?” You manage to ask.

Theodore’s jaw clenches. “Lesser of two evils.”

When you look at him with a confused expression, he continues, “It was better to lose you on those terms than to lose you completely.”

Silence falls on both of you, filling the space like a thick fog.

“I lost my mom when I was seven.” Theodore explains, his eyes darkening. “A freak accident.”

Out of the year you and Theo dated in secret, he had rarely mentioned his mom. And if he did, it was small tidbits—precious memories. Regardless of how small and insignificant the memory would seem to others, you gathered how important Theo’s mom was to him. Underneath Theo’s stoic expressions and calculating demeanour was a softness to Theo that could only be accredited to his mom.

“She got caught in the crossfire between some death eaters.” Theodore says, his expression pained. He drops his gaze now, but you keep your eyes on him. There’s a mixture of grief and anger that flashes across his features, and it takes everything in you to hold yourself back from reaching for him. To comfort him.

“It took me years to get over it. I don’t even think I am yet—I’m still angry at my father for allowing this shit into our lives and for continuing to do it.” Theodore says, letting out an exasperated breath. You knew what everyone else knew about Theo’s father—he was a blood purist, rumoured to be loyal to you-know-who. He’d hate you the moment he’d find out you were muggle-born.

Theo meets your gaze now, and it’s your turn to feel winded. It was like you were looking at your Theo again. The sweet, sarcastic, pain-in-your-ass-but-in-a-good-way Theo. “I lost my mom, who meant the world to me, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to handle it if I lost you too. So I pushed you away. I figured it was best to cut our losses before I pulled you into something you had no reason being in. Before I lost you permanently.”

“What’s changed?” You ask, shaking your head. His words were hard to process, but the pieces of the last few months were beginning to click into place. “I’m still me, and last I heard, your dad was still your dad.”

“I realized that, in a way, I was kind of like my dad.”

“What?”

“I mean,” Theo says. “My dad never gave any of us a choice. Not me, and not my mom. We always had to go along with him and deal with the consequences of his actions. I took a choice away from you, and you just had to deal with it. I don’t want to do that anymore. I still think I did it for the right reasons, but I regret it. I want to be with you. I should have told you what I was worried about—told you about the risks of being with me, so we could make a decision together.”

Together.

That’s all you wanted. You were more than willing to have dealt with any obstacle that was thrown your way, so long as you had Theo by your side.

But that was three months ago. And while his words brought goosebumps, butterflies, and heart palpitations, they also brought a slew of conflicting feelings. You understood why he broke things off now, and although his reasoning was well-intended, it didn’t excuse the fact that you had spent the last three months in a state of despair and heartbreak. You didn’t eat as much, your grades dropped, and you couldn’t even look at him until recently in fear of tears and the overwhelming rush of memories.

“So?”

“Theo,” you say softly. Your eyes search his face.

There’s a ghost of a smile on his lips at the sound of his name. Not Theodore, not Nott. Theo.

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

He exhales sharply at your response, and his expression shifts as he turns to face the horizon. He wanted you to say it was worth the risk and that you wanted to be with him as much as he did. He wanted you to forgive him for what he did to you. “It’s fine.”

“No—I just... I need to think.” You say quickly. Your heart was screaming for him, but your brain was weary. And if the past three months taught you anything, it was that you needed to act with your brain and not your heart. “I just need time. This was a lot to process.”

“Right, of course.” Theo says with a curt nod. He turns to you again, offering a weak smile. It was his heart’s turn to break. “Well, thanks for coming tonight and letting me explain. I guess, just let me know.”

You watch him stand, brush the dirt off his robes, and turn away. Just as he reaches the staircase back down, he looks back at you. Your eyes catch his gorgeous arctic eyes, your cheeks burning and your heart racing.

"Merry Christmas, by the way." Theo says before he descends down the stairs.

#theodore nott #theo nott #harry potter imagine #slytherin x reader #theodore nott x you #theo nott x you #theodore nott fanfiction #theodore nott imagine #theodore nott x reader #theo nott x reader #theo nott x y/n #theodore nott x y/n #slytherin boys #theo nott imagine #*writing

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targaryenluvs · 2 months

Text

HIDE N SEEK’ / DEMON!DEAN WINCHESTER

Pairings: Demon!Dean Winchester x Fem!Hunter!Reader

Summary: Sam had placed you in a safe home when learning that Dean had somehow gotten away. But Dean promised you, a few games have to be played, and maybe you might just get away. Silly you, a Demon never keeps his word.

Warnings: Dark themes per usual, established relationship, chasing, taunting, use of force, threats & anger, hair pulling, threats, dacryphilia, sexual implications, vulgar language

Word count: 1.7K Words

A/N: Here it is! My first Supernatural fic, I’m so excited to write for these two! I'm still on season one so forgive me for any inaccuracies <3

Gif not mine, credits to the owner!

Your heart was beating erratically, and rightfully so.

The literal demon version of your own boyfriend, Dean, was currently chasing you around your place. So much for safe home.

“The more you run, the more angry I get Y/n/n.” His voice sent chills down your spine but you knew you had to keep going. You rounded the corner and grabbed the stair case banister to haul yourself upstairs. You could hear his footsteps, loud and clear.

“I gave you a chance, remember that.”

The house that was now trapping you inside, used to be your safe haven.

“Why won’t you just tell me what’s going on Sam?!” His eyes wouldn’t meet yours, the entire time he drove. Sam’s knuckles kept wrapping around the wheel, his knuckles were white and his grip unrelenting.

You’d met Dean not long ago, whilst you were still a baby hunter. Only a year had gone by since you’d lost your best friend whilst she and her boyfriend were on a hunt. It was your first time, and when you’d found out about the supernatural world. A wrong swing, a sharp knife and the dark of night caused her to pass away that night.

You were thoroughly traumatised from losing someone you were so close to, and the job wasn’t complete yet. But Jake called in reinforcements, in the form of Sam and Dean.

From then you’d continued to keep in touch with them, mostly Dean, talking to him helped you immensely when dealing with the pain of losing someone you loved. And when you’d run into them in California, and Dean asked you out, you were jumping for joy.

Within the two weeks you’d spent with them, hunting, travelling and living, you’d never felt happier. So when Dean asked you to stay with him, to be his?

You agreed with no hesitation.

But with a sick family member, you drew back. It’d been over a month and in that time you’d missed so much. So when your family got better and they all dispersed to their rightful places, you were surprised when Sam all of a sudden came to pick you up.

And you’d wound up at your safe home. With no explanation and a lack of communication, you found yourself lonely. Dean never reached out, Sam only checked in on mornings to make sure you were okay. Sam had literally taken your phone, giving you another with only his number.

Of course you’d asked questions, but you trusted Sam. So when he told you it was for the best? You’d listened. You’d wanted more information, but not like this.

The ringing of your phone had awoken you that night, you groaned as you turned over glancing at the alarm clock to your side.

3:30am.

“Sam what—,”

“Are you okay?”

You furrowed your eyebrows as you sat up in your bed, “I’m fine, what’s up?”

“You need to check the doors. The windows— god everything. You need to make sure you’re safe. Do you have access to your weapons?”

“No, I left them in my car. Most of my weapons stash is downstairs, I only have a few handguns and knifes in the bathroom. What’s wrong Sam?”

“It’s Dean, I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you Y/n. He’s not safe, he’s…” You got up from your bed, heading downstairs. You needed water if you were going to continue with this weird conversation.

You refrained from rolling your eyes, what hell is up with the dramatics? “He’s what Sam. A vampire?” You joked whilst grabbing a glass from the cupboard.

“Nope, not a vampire sweetheart.”

The glass shattered on the floor at the sound of his voice, it’d been far too long since you’d heard it.

‘Y/n? You still there?’ His voice was so close yet so far.

‘'Y/n? Is he there?" His voice was so close yet so far. Dean’s eyes were dark and black, nothing like the green you found yourself loving everyday. As if the eyes weren’t enough to tell you something was wrong, the hammer in his hand and the dark expression on his face.

Demon.

It was the one word that seeped into your mind from Sam’s screeching through the phone. Dean’s smirk made your heart beat faster. "If I was you sweetheart, I’d get to runnin’."

So you did.

With all the energy your drowsy body could muster, you ran past him and into the dining room before turning the corner. His taunts followed as you turned a corner, only to be met with a hard chest. “You’re making this too easy baby. How bout’ this, you hide and I seek. And if I catch you,”

You tried to pull away from him, but Dean was stronger now. “If I catch you, well you don’t wanna know.” His eyes flicked from green to black, and your heart dropped. His grip faltered and you took it as your chance to go. You ran to the back door, only to find it locked.

“Thought I told you to hide?”

“Shut up! I’m not playing!” You shouted as you ducked behind the kitchen counter, hopefully he hadn’t seen you by now.

As you peaked from behind you noticed the black boot by your foot, “You always looked best beneath me.” A wave of disgust rolled through as you grabbed onto his leg and pushed, swiping it from underneath him.

You ran back to the stairs.

“I gave you a chance, remember that.”

The words echoed through your head as you ran upstairs into your bedroom when the alarm system began blaring.

A bit late for that, you thought.

The crimson red seeped through the whole home, indicating an intruder. Shivers went up your spine at the thought of a demon chasing you, red consuming you.

You were a hunter, yes. But not emotionless, so a literal Demon chasing you through your home with the face of your boyfriend was more than enough to cloud your judgement. On one hand, all you can see is Dean. You can stare into his eyes, whether they're green or black, you can see the familiar stature that always cuddled you.

You could hear his voice, and boy was it hard to not listen.

Leaning against the door, you closed your eyes and breathed heavily in an attempt to calm yourself down. Was Sam on his way? Or were you defenceless against him?

As you calmed down, your eyes widened in terror. The bathroom door to your right was open, and led right into your room. You scrambled to your feet and rushed to the door but were knocked back down.

You were right, a Demon's much more menacing with a red glow. he was entering the bathroom with a smile on his face.

"There you are, sweetheart." He raised his arms outwards in a mock hug, those open arms were usually your safety. But now? You weren't so sure if they'd be the best place to be.

"Now I told you not to run, you can't get away. Be realistic baby." His footsteps were slow and menacing, but he hadn't entered the room yet. Your eyes flickered momentarily to the door, and an idea rushed through your mind.

Dean seemingly caught on, "Don't you dare—,"

The slamming of the door cut him off as you swiftly rose to your knees, turning the lock. A sigh of relief escaped your lips as you got up with the help of your bed. "Okay, now I'm mad."

And you sure as hell were not in the mood to experience it. So you slowly tiptoed over to the bedroom door, unlocking it. The eerie silence did nothing but raise your heartbeat. Where was he?

You turned to look back at the bathroom door, you couldn't spot any shadows. Either you barricade yourself upstairs and pray for a miracle in the form of a certain Winchester, or you take your chances with the stairs and risk getting grabbed.

You had a good feeling about the stairs, and if Dean was following then you'd for sure hear him with how loud his steps were, right?

The bedroom door closed behind you as you slowly made your way to the top of the stairs. You couldn't hear anything, or see anything besides red. So you ran.

With each step your faith in getting away was renewed.

But as you made your way to the ground an arm harshly dug into your stomach as you screamed. "Told you I'd getcha." You squirmed in his grasp, clawing at the door to pull yourself away from him. "Keep moving like that and I'll crush your skull in." That got your attention, your arms dropped to your side as you stood on the ground.

"Always so good for me baby, yeah?" You shook your head as he chuckled, "You don't want to be my good girl?" His voice was hot in your ear, and his words went straight down to your--

"I'm talking to you." Dean spun you around, you were chest to chest now, his eyes bore into yours as he awaited a response. His stare was too intense so you settled for staring at the ground. He didn't like it.

His hands dug into your chin, forcing you to look up at him, "Yes or No?" Your lips inched closer to his as he grinned, "Missed me have you?" The distraction was all you needed, the hunter in you telling you to run. Dean groaned as you ran towards the door having swiftly kneed him in the groin.

As your hands fumbled with the latch, a hand twisted around your hair before yanking you back, "You bitch, you think you're slick?" You cried out as he climbed ontop of you, his eyes flashed back to black as a scowl overcame his face.

His hold never relented as he dragged you upstairs, “Please Dean!” Despite your pleading he continued to walk, your pleas seemingly driving him. “You want to be a bitch? I’ll treat you like one.” You wheezed as you made impact with bed, courtesy of Dean’s harsh push.

You turned over, trying to crawl away as his hand wrapped around your ankle, “Stop!” His chuckle was deep and his hand bruised you. You couldn’t help the tears that ran down your face, this wasn’t your Dean.

“Fuck you look pretty when you cry. Y’know, I’ve missed this.” His hands ran down your stomach, and back up your chest as you attempted to shimmy away. A hand wrapped around your hip, digging in to hold you down.

“Missed these tits too.”

Your eyes widened as his hand unbuckled his belt.

“We’ve got time to spare, right?”

#supernatural x fem!reader #supernatural x you #supernatural x reader #supernatural #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester #dean winchester x fem!reader #demon!dean winchester x reader #demon!dean winchester #dark!dean winchester x reader #yandere supernatural x reader #yandere!dean winchester x reader #dark themes

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s4lv4tions · 9 months

Text

numerology; nsfw

pairing; gojo satoru x reader / gojo satoru x geto suguru (past) / geto suguru x reader (past) summary; numerology — the belief in an occult, divine or mystical relationship between a number and one or more coinciding events. or: trying to move on. wc; 13.4k cw; death, angst, requited unrequited love, violence, smut (at the very end, but mentions throughout), canon divergence, spoilers for manga an; if you think you've read this before, you probably have! i posted this on my old tumblr a year or so ago, and it's still available on my ao3. this version is slightly updated and edited, but still diverges from canon as it was created at the start of the culling games arc :)

The first time you bathe with Satoru, he cries.

You don't notice at first; he's quiet — abnormally so —, and his face remains pristine, unchanged. The only hint you get is a small, barely audible sniffle that stops as quickly as it starts — and you think he wants it that way. You don't think he's ever cried in front of anyone.

That's why you don't say anything. Just continue washing the suds from his hair, and pretend that the tears rolling down his cheeks are beads of water dripping from his hair — but you take extra care to massage the conditioner in, and peck his cheek as you finger-comb through silky, cloud-white strands.

It occurs to you afterwards — as he lounges on your bed, scrolling through channels with a wayward hand planted on his stomach — that perhaps, it's the first time somebody has taken care of him. The first time ever, or just the first time since… since…

Geto Suguru's face smiles up at you from your vanity — a tiny polaroid, his face no bigger than the nail of your thumb. Beside him, Satoru grins, cheeky and bright-eyed — you don't think he's ever been any different —, and in the corner, the smudge of your thumb covers the lens. You don’t have to lift the photo and check the back to know what’s written there, in your scratchy, looping scrawl; the strongest, 2006.

"Lord of the Rings?" Satoru calls, carefree as ever. A yawn catches in his throat, and his fingers slip underneath his shirt to scratch absentmindedly at his chest. "Ooh, haven't seen this one yet…"

"Uh, yeah. Sure."

It was a better time. Less pain. Less responsibility. Less death — or maybe the same amount, just shielded by the blinding cover of childhood inexperience. Suguru was still alive and burning bright, Satoru was happy (happier. He didn't cry in the bath, at least). Shoko didn’t self-medicate as intensively as she does now. The days were spent in childish ignorance and stupid indulgence, and even when things seemed their darkest, you never lost hope.

(It probably says a lot about you that, if given the chance, you wouldn't return. Whether that's because of what you know is bound to happen, and the pain is too much to experience again, or because you're so utterly pathetic that you'll take sadness and grief and a tiny shred of affection over… whatever it is you were back then, you don't know. A smudge in the corner of a picture of the jujutsu world's greatest.)

Suguru's eyes seem to burn into you. You turn the picture over, and rejoin Satoru on your bed.

"It's been two years."

Satoru doesn't like to talk after sex. Not in any way that's really meaningful, you mean, nothing that lets you in. He loves jokes, empty small talk, work politics. Chatter that's deep enough to show he cares a little without bearing any part of himself — your injury healed up? When was the last time you had a break? There's a new teppanyaki place in Shinjuku, I'll treat you. Don't work yourself too hard, you'll put me out of business!

If you're being honest, you didn't go into this expecting anything more than a person to scratch an itch with.

You're already friends — though, you're not sure friends totally encapsulates what Satoru is to you, romantic or platonic. You've been friends since you were 12. Satoru, Suguru, you — and then Shoko, when you all met in your first year at Jujutsu Tech. That's how it's always been.

You swear sometimes you know him better than yourself. You swear sometimes it's his voice you think with. Is that what "friends" encompasses? Somehow, it doesn't seem enough.

Whatever. The point is that your relationship with Satoru is already strong; foundations tall and proud and unshakeable. You didn't start fucking Satoru in the hopes of forming a relationship — one was already there.

It's just... Satoru is young, yes, and he enjoys flirting, but (contrary to common belief) he's not all that keen to sleep with the first person who's willing. You don’t say this with the belief that you’re special. It’s just that with work, and especially with — y'know, his… romantic history, Satoru hasn’t found the time or will to just sleep around. At least, according to him.

Sheer willpower isn't enough to make those urges go away, though, and… well, you had them too, and you were willing, and he trusts you. And you'll take anything he'll give you, really, even if it's just scraps. Even if sometimes it makes you feel worse.

Today's one of those days.

You feel sick, after. Not because of him — because of yourself. Your polaroid of Getou and any other photo he's in has been turned over, anything that could remind you of him tucked away, but — but he's everywhere today, everywhere, and you'd fucked Satoru despite it. And Satoru is covered in memories of Getou, of course. Every freckle, every shifting of muscle, every jut of bone — did Getou touch him here? Caress every bit of him he could get his hands on? Tangle his hands in his snow-white hair, breathe against his collarbone?

When you came, you cried. Pretended it was just because it was so intense, but behind your eyelids, dark, cat-like eyes stared back.

"Hm?" Satoru hums as if he didn't hear you, eyes fixed on the TV. Dumb doesn't suit him — it's honestly a bit of an insult for him to even try it. Like you didn't sense the stiffness of his limbs the second he'd stepped inside, or the crumbling edge of his smile, or the way he'd forced you to love him harder — pull his hair harder, scratch his back deeper, his Infinity turned off and his skin yours for the marking.

Satoru's mannerisms are scribed into your brain. You catch yourself emulating them, sometimes; hands waving, head tilting, grin wide and posture open. You wear it like an oversized coat, an ill-fitting costume, and sometimes you wish you could stop taking on pieces of him. The more you take, the more you must throw away — and it's Suguru that your memory discards. You find yourself forgetting how he hummed when he woke up from a nap, or filled his cheeks with food like a hamster; how he scrunched his face up when he laughed, pretty all the while…

The point is that even with his incredible knowledge, his awesome strength, the sheer holiness of his existence — you know Satoru. And the fact that he came to you today isn't mere coincidence.

You decide to come out with it. You've tiptoed around it for 24 months, give or take, had a shockingly brief mourning period before the jujutsu world forced you along, and… even with what he did, Suguru deserves better. "Suguru died today."

A beat of silence. Then:

"Mm, I guess he did."

You'd spent the day staring out at the grey sky, the miserable sight of soaked pavement. Grey, grey, grey. Concrete jungle. Heavy rain clouds and an ocean of multicoloured umbrellas, bobbing and rolling to destinations unknown. You hadn't said it aloud; hadn't even thought of it, specifically. The knowledge of it had just sat over your head like a thick, sweltering fog — and if you know Satoru at all, you know that he'd done the same. Maybe he hid it better.

You don't have to look now to know that his lips are pressed thin. You find the sudden thought of looking him in the eyes daunting, anyways, so you turn onto your side, back facing him, and pick mindlessly at the sheets. You don't want to see what his reaction will be when you say—

"Did you know that I loved him — back then?"

You don't want to see the shock, or the confusion — and you'd rather not see a lack of them, either. What's worse, you wonder — him knowing and loving Suguru too, or not knowing and loving him?

"...Yes."

You screw your eyes shut and try to will away the sudden surge of cold, like a sharpened dagger to your chest.

(It turns out that knowing is much more painful.)

Suguru Geto had been the apple of your eye ever since you'd met. 11 and gangly and stupid in a way that all children were always stupid, Suguru had been a bit kinder than his white-haired counterpart. Satoru, being Satoru Gojo, had grown up with no fear of authority, no mindfulness for his less-powerful peers as anything more than people who existed around him. You and Suguru were allowed the title of friends, but very few were. Anyway — he grew out of that mindset, of course, but your fondness for Suguru stayed.

(Though they'd always seemed to be on another level than you — not even just in terms of power, but… just caught up in each other, always. Suguru had only ever wanted Satoru. And vice versa.)

And then Suguru changed. Right under your nose, he changed, and his sudden quietness made sense. His fatigue. The way his hands would always shake when swallowing an exorcised curse, always had since you were kids, and then suddenly they were ingested with a scary calm. Nobody understands the taste of curses. Not even you, not even when he’d explained it in sickening detail.

You sigh, then. Tired and lethargic and not from physically straining yourself for an hour. This is bone-deep, soul-weary. It's been held in for 730 days, or maybe more. Maybe you've carried it with you since birth. "I never apologised."

"For what?" Satoru asks — and he laughs, jolly, and the sound fits awkwardly in his throat. A clear attempt at feigning indifference, but he's a bad liar. He always has been, because he's never needed to lie. Perks of being the strongest, you guess. You can just come out and say shit — and if you can't, not saying anything technically isn’t lying.

"I hated you, after," you confess. You dig your thumbnail hard intoyour pinky finger, taking momentary refuge in the sharp shock of pain. "I couldn't stand to look at you. When I did, I saw… I saw what you did. What you had, and what you had thrown away. I blamed you for Suguru. I blamed everyone except Suguru."

Another snicker, a bit too humourless. "You can't stand to look at me now."

"I…" You don't know what to say to that.

Truth is, you don't want to see his face. Contorted in pity, or disgust, or sadness for you. You've gotten used to living in his shadow — most everyone has — but that doesn’t ease the ever-present blanket of insecurity that you carry around your shoulders. It doesn’t dull the ache of inferiority you’ve been housing in your chest from the moment you were saddled with your technique. As you aged, you got better at hiding it, and you generally prefer your self-pity to go unnoticed, but Satoru—

He could always read you like a book. And you hated it. You hated being pitied by someone who was as powerful as him — someone as close to God as one could get. It was demeaning. Patronising. It makes you feel like a child again, bowing your head as your mother makes excuses for you.

You shift over — onto your back, and then onto your other side — and you look at him. You force yourself. Blankets pooled around his waist, his skin so pale it could be translucent, eyes icy blue and framed with fluffy white.

"You were forced to do it," you murmur. Your eyes remain trained on his chin — his are much too bright, much too all-seeing for comfort. "If you hadn't, he would've gotten worse. He never would have stopped. You knew that, you always did. It… took me a while to come to terms with it."

Satoru sighs. Then, he slumps down so that — like you — his head rests flat on the pillow, and his body arcs towards yours. He's forced himself into your sights again, in a way that’s gentle, but not so much that you wouldn't be able to figure out what he's doing: forcing you to face him.

"Would it have made you feel better," Satoru begins, reaching forward to brush his fingers against your chin, "if you were there when I did it?"

Would it have?

Would it have given you closure? Would you no longer spend your nights wondering what he'd looked like, what his last words were, his last thoughts? If he had spittled and roared in anger, if he had wept in fear, if he had attempted a smile, a joke? If he thought of you, or if you were just another insignificant blip in his radar?

In your mind, Suguru exists as his 17 year old self — smiling and mischievous, polite yet humorous. He puts extra broccoli on your plate and gently berates you to eat more. He tells you that you're a precious part of the team, that none of them would be who they are without you. He calls you crybaby because you always wear your heart on your sleeve, and tells you not to worry about things you cannot change.

Change what you can. Forget the rest and leave it to me, crybaby.

The bubbling hatred that had festered inside him has no place in your head. You want him to stay as he is, your Suguru that was never yours, shining like gold in your mind.

"No. He hated me at the end, I think," you say quietly. For a second, you dare to meet his eyes — bright and pointed in how they stare at you. You know he can see the tears that have begun to burn in your waterline, the way you ball your fists so hard you dig half-moon into your skin. He doesn’t need to be blessed with the Six Eyes to see.

"I wasn't interested in changing the world like he was, even with my Technique. That made him despise me, I think."

Satoru stares for a few more seconds. You wonder what he's thinking about. A second in your time is a lifetime in Satoru's; he must be thinking hard.

But he blinks, at last; sighs so deeply that his chest caves in with it, before he winds an arm around your waist and pulls you close, bare chest to bare chest, only atomic space between you.

There's nothing sexual about it. You're nothing but bones and skin and blood, here. He moulds your head to his shoulder with one large hand and cocoons you in his embrace, warm. Protected. You're not sure who the action is meant to comfort.

And just when you think the conversation is over — just when minutes have passed with nothing but the sound of the TV between you both — he speaks.

"Suguru could never hate you. Trust me."

You don't want to know what that means. You're only beginning to get over it, two years later.

Satoru is holding three onigiri in one hand, and two Starbucks' cups in the other — extra sugar, extra cream, extra ice, extra unicorn-marketing, just the way you both like it.

"There she is!" Is the first thing he says as he meets you just outside the metro, grinning.

It's sweltering hot today — the sun had risen early and would surely set late, and Satoru seems to be taking advantage of it. Gone is his Jujutsu Tech uniform and thick blindfold, but he's stuck with the all-black theme like he usually does — black jeans, black linen shirt, black socks and shoes. Even the frames of his sunglasses are black.

(Handsome. He's handsome. He's always been handsome — years later, you'd think you'd stop feeling the effects of it.)

Lucky for him. You're not, y'know, the strongest sorcerer in the last century, so there's no leeway for you — and even in your summer uniform, the skirt and short-sleeved blouse, you're sweating. Your only respite is that the combined force of you and Satoru will mean this mission is going to be a breeze.

Satoru tsks. "Took your time. I almost ate your onigiri."

A man nearby jogs past, clearly in a rush, and Satoru has to step closer to you to avoid him. He could've stayed still. He wouldn't have touched him, anyway, with his Limitless.

"And you would've had to buy another, genius."

A pout. "You only love me for my bank account, don't you?"

(He's joking. It's a joke.

But your hand shakes — a miniscule tremor — as you reach out to take one of the cups, and you know he sees it because he's Satoru and he sees everything. You turn away as quickly as you can, setting off in the direction of whatever place it is you're here for, and pretend that the fact that he can say it so casually doesn't kinda fucking hurt.

(He could never say it like that with Suguru — so bluntly, so crassly. Not without softened eyes and softened smiles and a gentle tilt of his head — those are mannerisms reserved only for him, never to be seen again. Instead, you get snickers and digs in the arm and teasing pulls of your hair. Of course it’s a joke. That’s all you are.

Perhaps you should just be grateful for what you get. Perhaps you should try to stop comparing yourself to a man you once loved. Perhaps you should try to stop comparing yourself to a dead man. Perhaps, in the end, you just love the pain of it all.))

"Yeah," you reply, taking a large, sugary sip. "And don't you forget it, either."

Satoru catches up to you quickly, effortlessly; his arm flops around your shoulder as he tugs you in the opposite direction, chastising you for going the wrong way — but it stays there long after it needs to.

Itadori Yuuji — Sukuna's dead-but-not-really vessel — thinks your cursed technique is powerful. He thinks it’s amazing that you can use reverse cursed technique — you must be really powerful, right? Gojo-sensei says you’re special grade. He also thinks you're very pretty. He tells you this over his fourth grilled pork belly wrap — this one bursting at the seams with kimchi, garlic, and roasted sesame seeds.

He doesn't say it in a flirtatious way — it's just an observation to him, simple and blunt, and you figure he has about as much of a filter as Satoru does.

"O-oh," you say, metal tongs frozen over the sizzling meat. "Thank you, Yuuji."

You had briefly met him for the first time before his death — Nobara, too. Megumi, the third piece of the golden trio, has been something of a little brother ever since Satoru had taken him in, and you know him well enough to know that Yuuji's death (or lack thereof) is weighing on him terribly.

(There are too many parallels you could make. Suguru and Satoru. Haibara and Nanami.)

Hiding it does make you feel guilty. To experience that grief, that loss — even if it will soon go away when Yuuji rejoins jujutsu society — isn’t something to take lightly. But Yuuji needs a guide that isn’t completely off the rails. Satoru and you balance each other out, and balance seems to be something Yuuji needs.

He reminds you terribly of Satoru when he was younger. Maybe that's why you have such a fond spot for him — he's too goofy and well-meaning and genuine to dislike.

"Why are you acting surprised?" Gripes Satoru, chewing with his mouth open. "I tell you that all the time."

Your eyes narrow. You place a perfectly cooked slice of marinated beef on his plate. "You're you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" He whines. "We're best friends, crybaby!"

"You don't say I'm powerful. You say I'm helpful. There's a difference. And don’t call me that."

"Is there?" Satoru asks, turning to Yuuji for guidance. The teen boy shrugs, preoccupied by assembling his newest monstrosity. "I call you pretty, too."

"Yeah, when—"

When you're eight inches deep in me, face buried in my neck, trying to get yourself off. Your cheeks flush with warmth at the thought, and you shut your mouth. Yuuji doesn't notice your slip up, busy as he is; Satoru does completely, and fixes you with a grin so sharp that you vow to not give him any more meat until Yuuji is completely full.

"It's not the same," you say, voice final. It's a lighthearted lunch. You don't want to ruin it by getting touchy over semantics, and that's exactly what'll happen if you keep going. "You say it to reward me. Like tossing a dog a bone."

You reach for the scissors to snip the meat into little pieces — and in doing so, you miss the brief frown that presses against Satoru's brow.

Neither of you say anything more on the matter.

Satoru has known you for five years when he realises that he resents you. Not completely, and not for one particular or solid reason, either. He prefers not to think about it, in any case, because you're one of his closest friends — and even at 17, he knows that that's hard to come by. Especially as the Strongest.

Satoru stares up at his ceiling; stares at the miniature striations only he can see, the starburst-shaped gyrations of clay used to finish it off.

Tonight, he's thinking about it. And many other things.

He hates that you're so hesitant about everything — he hates that you believe yourself so weak that you have to tiptoe. You, with your reverse cursed technique — which is a feat in and of itself — that could transcend time and space, just like he could. A technique passed down for hundreds and hundreds of years, accumulating power all the while…

(Your technique has lots of rules and regulations, of course. A handicap, and he understands it frustrates you, but his own frustration eclipses his understanding. Why should someone so strong feel anything but their own strength?)

He hates that you curl in on yourself when you're sad, or lonely, or angry. He hates that you wear your heart on your sleeve — he's never allowed himself to, not fully. He can't, never fully, because there are people who are watching him, people who hate him, people who want him dead. He can joke. He can make his political desires clear — but he can’t love like he wants to, and God forbid he cries.

He hates that you close your eyes and bask when it's sunny, like a cat in a sunspot; hates that you remember that he doesn't like chicken wings and prefers thighs; he especially hates that you watch over Suguru like it's your job, when Suguru doesn't need it.

And some part of Satoru hates Suguru, too. It was strange for him to come to terms with it, fond of him as he is, but as he grows Satoru realises that there's no love of his that isn't closely affiliated with hate. It makes the love all the more strong.

Satoru, for one, dislikes how polite Suguru is, even when he doesn't need to be. He hates that Suguru becomes a straight-faced, unfeeling thing when he's upset, and tries to hide it — the emptiness in his eyes unsettles him like nothing else.

Most of all, above all, Satoru hates that Suguru loves you, crybaby, and is too pussy to do shit about it. Satoru doesn't understand why, anyways, because he'd made it clear that if he wanted, Suguru could have you both and Satoru wouldn't care. Usually, the thought would offend him. How can you love someone when you already love me? When you've already sworn yourself to me? You already have the strongest, who else do you need?

But… he doesn't know. He kinda understands. You're precious to him, too, after all, sunflower soaking up the sun.

Like he said: there's no love of his that isn’t closely affiliated with hate.

Six and a half hours after the hours-long meeting that followed the ruined School Goodwill Event, you find yourselves in a diner somewhere in Harajuku. It’s one of those weird fusion places, loaning ornamentation and tokens from classic American diners, serving omurice with fries, sushi with mashed potatoes, with a cute little mascot that looks like Elvis. It’s loud enough and bright enough to make you feel timeless. It's a sensation you can appreciate.

Something’s been telling you that time’s ticking, and you’re not quite sure what it is. Trauma, probably. Anxiety. The fact that curses have been banding together, learning spoken language, amassing power — planning an attack on Jujutsu Tech, gaining intelligence, gaining anger.

Satoru doesn’t say it — doesn’t want to say it — but you think it’s unnerved him, too. The last time outsiders entered school grounds was… two years ago, wasn’t it? It’s crazy. Everything always seems to lead back to Suguru.

The attack has fueled something in both of you, anyways; something that makes you both stay up instead of knocking out like you usually do; something that makes you both hungry and restless and liable to travel across Tokyo past midnight. By public transport, no less. No warping or high-speed flying for you, tonight.

But you appreciate it. And you think that Satoru is taking things slow for the same reasons you want to — to take things in, to appreciate what you never think to appreciate. To admire the mundane, even for a little while. Satoru’s less emotionally attached to the jujutsu-less aspects of life than you are — bullet trains and waiting in line and standing on the train platform, escalators and traffic — but he enjoys them all the same when he has time to. And it’s not often The Strongest gets to experience pure, genuine normality, too, so maybe sitting in this gaudy diner and watching the world pass you by is a luxury he rarely affords himself.

He orders the most complicated drink they have — a sakura-caramel milkshake topped with whipped cream, glacé cherries, and an entire slice of cheesecake. He’s down to the last dregs of melting cream within 10 minutes, swiping fries from your plate between sips, ignoring your chides of rotten teeth and high blood sugar.

Blindfold swapped for glasses. Strands of hair drifting down against his forehead.

You’re always reminded at the worst times of how handsome he is. It’s not like it’s a secret, or he’s unaware of it — and he takes pride in his looks, if his extensive skincare shelf and general attitude is anything to go by — but he puts much more stock in his strength, in his usefulness to others, his intelligence. The things he can provide for others. Not many people realise that.

Maybe you shouldn’t act so high and mighty. It’s not like you don’t appreciate his appearance as much as the next person — hell, half the time you’re trying to stop it from distracting you — but maybe you get a pass. Y’know, as a person who actually has reason to marvel over the stretch of his neck and the flush of his cheeks and how his lips go the prettiest pink when you kiss him. Or the cords of muscle along his arms; the slender-yet-thick bands of muscle of his chest and legs. The large, veiny expanse of hand — slim, delicate fingers wrapped around a paper straw…

"Are you gonna eat those?" Says Satoru, slurping obnoxiously. “Haven't eaten since dinner."

You push the basket across the table, uncharacteristically void of argument. "Go crazy."

Satoru sets his empty glass aside, but the straw remains in one hand. The other he uses to pluck up fries, 4 or 5 at a time, his gaze suddenly fixed on you as he chews nonchalantly.

"Y'know," he says, licking salt from his fingertips, jabbing the straw in your direction, "I can always tell when you're horny."

"Excuse me?"

"You squirm," Satoru continues — matter-of-fact, casual, as if he's talking about the weather. "And you get quiet.”

“I’m a quiet person,” you snap, nails pressing against your palms under the table. “Sorry I know when to shut the fuck up—”

“And then you get flustered. And when you’re flustered, or embarrassed, you get angry.” He raises his hand — signals the cute waitress for another basket of fries, and leans back with his arms splayed along the back of the booth. “Don’t look so surprised! How long have we known each other?”

If you were a better person, you’d probably admit that yes, he’s right. You do get quiet when you’re horny, and you do get angry when you’re flustered — if you were a worse person, though, you’d remark on how you're the first person he crawls to when he’s sad, or overwhelmed. How getting you into bed and losing yourselves in each other is a sort of therapy for him. How he always tries to distract you with cheeky grins and sly, flirty comments, but then afterwards he cries in the bath as you clean him up.

You don't say that, obviously. Seems like a pretty shitty thing to bring up today of all days. He'd probably deny it anyways, but you don't think it's a coincidence that the attack has left him restless and he obviously wants to take you home.

The new fries are delivered to the table, but he looks right past them. He bows his head slightly, glasses slipping a little further down his nose so that his white-framed eyes peek over the top of them.

"Let's warp home," Satoru says — and oh. There's that voice. That drop in tone, that lack of boisterous humour he always employs. It's soft enough to have goosebumps rising on the back of your arms, smooth enough to have you squirming — yes, squirming, you admit it — in your seat. "Alright?"

"Yes." And it's embarrassingly breathless, and embarrassingly quick, but Satoru doesn't tease you. Just smiles, raises a hand for the bill, and watches you all the while.

You count seven stitches in the forehead of Geto Suguru.

Count, because it's all you can do. Everything else is lost to you.

Breathing.

Standing.

It feels like even your heart has stalled. Because—

Because—

Because Geto Suguru is dead. Dead, in the ground, no longer breathing, no longer living. Satoru had killed him. Satoru had demolished him.

The lips of the Geto in front of you twist — a sickening, stomach-turning imitation of the smile you once adored. On his face it's a sneer, a mockery. Your Suguru did not smile like this when you knew him.

"Hello," he greets pleasantly. His arms are hidden within the sleeves of his yukata. Hair down. Suguru always tended to wear his hair up, unless he was fresh out of the shower. Unless he was upset. It was too much hassle to take care of. You know when he took over the Time Vessel Association and donned the gojo-kesa he began wearing it down. "_____ _____, yes?"

You can't answer. Your ears are ringing. Your stomach gives a worrying lurch that winds up your throat — you think you're going to be sick.

How? Why? Who — who is this in front of you? Because it's not Geto, not Suguru — and you don't say that because of longing or a pathetic desire for ignorance. This thing feels wrong. Inherently, blasphemously wrong. Looking at him for too long makes your cursed energy prickle. Seeing Suguru's image painted in such slimy, rancid energy has you gasping for breath.

Satoru, your mind whispers. Satoru needs to know.

He should. He needs to. But this pseudo-Geto does not look friendly in the slightest, and you are isolated.

Looking back, it had seemed fine to go alone to exorcise curses in the belly of Tokyo's metro. Taking old service tunnels and eventually entering abandoned tracks hadn't felt scary. You're a semi-special grade sorcerer with years of experience under your belt and a powerful cursed technique that could get you out of most, if not all, pinches, restrictions and regulations be damned.

"I'm sure you're very confused. I apologise, really…"

The reality of the situation hits you. Maybe hit is the wrong word — it doesn’t come as a bloody, stinging smack in the face. It’s a trickle of ice-cold water down the nape of your neck, drawing dread from your head all the way into the pit of your stomach. You don't think this is a pinch you'll come out of — at least not battered half to death, especially when a silver-haired curse decorated with stitches steps out from behind pseudo-Geto. The curse Kento had fought. The one that he said to look out for. Patchwork.

Immediately, you know fighting isn't an option. But what else is there to do, in the face of pseudo-Geto and his silver-haired, sentient curse? Your technique may not be limitless in your possession, but in theirs? If they did to you what they did to so many others — transfiguring you past the point of recognition, stealing your body and technique, desecrating your corpse with cursed energy…

"I can feel it from here," titters the curse excitedly. "So warm… I have to have it! Her soul, I have to have it!"

Fuck.

You could try to escape, but you wouldn't have enough time to run past them and through the winding corridors of the underground, even while distracting them with your cursed technique. They'd catch you within seconds. You’re sure they have curses lurking around waiting to thwart you, too.

You could burst directly into the layers of concrete and metal above — use your technique to revert them back millions and millions and years to their very first forms, atoms and subatomic particles, and then rebuild them up as an ascending platform — but that would take too much time, and you'd be completely defenceless while you did. Not to mention the toll it'd take on you.

(Not to mention the fact that you'd be bursting into the public eye from a giant crater in the ground.)

"I'm sure you know what I'm going to do," continues pseudo-Geto, amiable. "I would ask you to join us, but I know that is impossible. Therefore, there is only one course of action."

Can't fight. Can't escape. Can't get answers. Can't stay clueless. How contradictory.

You're not dying, that's all you know. And if you have to do the one thing you never wanted to do, then so be it. Anything is better than death. Death is not an escape, in this scenario — it’s a guarantee of imprisonment.

"It's a shame," pseudo-Geto sighs, bloodlust swelling. "Such a waste of a good technique."

You make a Binding Vow with yourself within seconds.

Using a magnitude of cursed energy usually out of your reach, your entire body will be reduced to atoms — intangible, untrappable, unkillable — for as long as it takes to retreat to safety. In return, you will be unable to think, unable to move according to your own will, only a mere pawn to entropy as the rest of the galaxy is — high risk, high reward.

There are many things that could go wrong.

In reducing yourself to essentially nothing, in splitting your cursed energy into billions of particles, you could reach a state of such low cursed energy concentration that you are, for all terms and purposes, considered dead. In doing so, your Binding Vow could break, and you would be unable to return to living.

Or you could float for days, weeks, years — safety is subjective, subjective is dangerous when it comes to contracts, and you can only hope that your own understanding of it sets the standard.

It's either this, this fleeting, terrifying chance, or death. With one, you can return to your school, your students, your Satoru — you can tell them what happened. You can bring justice to whoever has disturbed Suguru from his slumber. With the other — nothing. Just plain, utter nothingness forever and ever.

(You know which you'd rather.)

The last thing you recall, in spotty haziness, is the heart-stopping sight of Suguru surging towards you, eyes bloodthirsty, face contorted in malice.

The last thing you hope is that Satoru isn't too upset about the risk you've taken.

Eight days after your solo mission, you resurface — a discombobulated, stumbling mess on the outskirts of Shibuya, eyes glazed and mouth stuttering over syllables. A nearby Window calls the college within seconds, and Gojo is there just as soon — hands shaking when he grasps your arm and turns you to face him, fingers trembling when he cups your cheeks and brushes them under your eyes.

It’s you. It’s you, it’s you, it’s you, and he can breathe, he can fucking breathe, his chest is lighter than it’s been for those entire 8 days — all the while, he burns with an anger so intense it hurts. And Satoru is no stranger to anger, of course — knows it as intimately as he knows himself — but he's not sure if he can remember the last time it had rendered him breathless, trembling. Bloodthirsty.

It's not the time to think about it. Not when you're shaking in his arms, so frail and weak everywhere except your hands — no, your hands remain strong, fingers digging into his clothes and skin. He turns off his Infinity. The sting of your touch grounds him.

Shoko is already waiting in the clinic for him — she’d been preparing ever since the call first came in. The students (the ones on campus, at least) crowd together at a distance, buzzing anxiously as Satoru disappears swiftly into the depths of the infirmary with you in his arms.

Bad things happen often. Too often. Satoru isn’t sure whether it’s a good thing or a bad thing that they haven’t gotten used to it yet.

“Gibberish,” Satoru answers when Shoko asks if you’ve said anything competent since he picked you up. “Just gibberish.”

Shoko is poking and prodding you with the usual doctor's shit — stethoscopes and thermometers and that blood pressure band that goes around your arm — and you just lay there and take it. Head rocking side to side, limbs trembling, mouth lolling open, and Satoru's trying not to lose his head because what good is taking your temperature? Do you look like you have a fucking cold? Is the way your eyes focus and unfocus normal? The way you can’t string together two syllables that make fucking sense?

But even with how he can see your cells malfunctioning all over your body, Shoko knows more about this shit than him. So he sits pretty on her swivelling chair, twisting back and forth, body the image of boredom but mind anything but. Time and time again, he’s reminded of how unprejudiced tragedy is — how it leaves no hint, no mark of itself, no time to prepare for the toll of it all.

Satoru had greeted you briefly before you’d left. Said something about getting lunch together, that you better be careful because you were treating him — the same shit he said time and time again, his real plea hidden within the folds and twists of his jokes and quips. Be careful. Don’t die. I can’t lose you. You’re precious to me.

You’ll be okay. You have to be — he won’t allow anything otherwise. But if he’d known last week that you’d end up like this, would he have said those things out loud? He doesn’t think so. He’s cowardly in that way.

A few moments later, Shoko straightens up. Immediately reaches into the pocket of her lab coat and pulls out a cigarette and a rusting lighter, and is puffing out clouds of bitter air just seconds later.

Shit. That’s not a good sign.

Shoko sighs. Rubs at her dark undereye circles and only makes them worse, taps her cigarette so that the ash falls to the floor. “I know what it is.”

Well fucking tell him instead of keeping it in!

“Oh?” Satoru says instead, leaning forward onto his knees. “What is it, then?”

“She used her technique on herself.”

“She does that all the time to heal."

“She didn’t heal herself,” Shoko snaps — and Satoru remembers that he’s not the only person you’re important to. That while he and Suguru had gotten ahead of themselves being the strongest, they’d left you and Shoko to stroll humbly along your own paths. The only girls in their year. The only person Shoko could fully confide in, really — at least in Tokyo —, the only person who had bothered to check up on her when she drank too much, smoked too much. Even if Shoko hated it.

Shoko is upset. Satoru doesn't what to do with it.

(Alcohol — she likes alcohol. Satoru reminds himself to pick up the most expensive bottle of the stuff the next time he's out.)

(No. She’s trying not to drink so much, isn’t she?)

(Whatever. Life is short.)

“She dissipated herself.”

Satoru knows about your technique intimately enough that it immediately gives him pause — but he runs over the details in his head, just in case, as if it isn’t already imprinted on the flesh of his skull.

Your cursed technique allows you to disassemble items down to their most basic units — subatomic particles — while your reverse cursed technique allows you to reassemble them. Items can be reassembled into their previous form, or to another related form, but you cannot exceed the item’s natural entropy threshold. If you do, the item cannot be reverted back to a physical state, and you will bear the brunt of the resulting shift in energy.

It's a finicky technique. Finicky and fickle and the risks tend to outweigh the rewards — but you'd always used it so elegantly, so gracefully. Even when you doubted yourself, you had a handle on it. Satoru admired that about you.

("You don't say I'm powerful. You say I'm helpful. There's a difference."

You'd said that to him once, when he brought you and Yuuji to lunch. You'd acted like it didn't bother you but he could tell it did — he didn't need his Six Eyes to notice how your nose twitched and your eyes narrowed, displeased.

But Satoru believes in two types of helpfulness.

The kind he is — powerful, needed, a force to be reckoned with. Someone that keeps things afloat, that acts as a beacon in the dark.

Then there's the other kind. The usefulness of pawns, of bait. Necessary, but not fundamental. Desired, sure, but rarely crucial.

You've always been the first. Always. You and him and Suguru and Shoko, always. Even he could admit that.)

You disassembled yourself into atoms. Into nothingness. You lost your mind, your body, your energy, everything—

Satoru sighs. He's been doing that a lot today.

“I didn’t know she could do that,” Satoru says. His throat is covered in a layer of sawdust. He can’t remember the last time he had to actually focus on not throwing up. “Why would she do that?”

“She talked about it, before,” Shoko says. She leans against the bed you’re laying on, gazing over her shoulder — and the way she looks at you turns his stomach, the upturn of her brows, the sad downturn of her mouth. It’s as if you’re already dead. As if she’s looking at a living corpse. “Just… as a theory. A last resort to help her get away, if needed, but—”

“But what?”

“She knew she didn’t have the power for it,” Shoko mutters. Breathes another puff of cigarette smoke. “If she tried, she'd end up just… fading away. In breaking herself up, she'd negate the cursed energy that gives her the power to put herself together.

"And the side effects would be… well, you can see that for yourself. Stupid, so fucking stupid…”

“Well, obviously she has the power for it,” Satoru murmurs. “Or made the power for it.”

“A binding vow?”

Satoru shrugs. Clenches his jaw, watching as you scratch at the faux-leather underneath you. “It'd make sense. Explains how she put herself back together."

(But for what? What could have driven you to such lengths?

A curse like Jogo wouldn't be all too difficult for you to defeat.

So who…?)

Shoko hums. She stares into space for a moment, eyes unfocused, and for a moment Satoru sees her younger self — the one who just started smoking, just started drinking, who carried the weight of all the people she healed (and those she'd failed to) tucked in her pocket. The Shoko that would make sarcastic quips and humble them when they needed humbling, but humour them when she knew the outcome would be funny.

A time when they had very little responsibility. Even him, shackled with it since birth. Comparing his duty from then to now is like comparing a boulder to the weight of the world.

He feels very old, suddenly, at 28.

"There's nothing I can do for her," Shoko says, softly. Regretfully. "If she did make a binding vow, I can only assume she made a condition about returning to normal. If so…"

Satoru can’t do anything about it, basically, she explains. Your condition is one that will only heal with time, patience, and the odd boost from Shoko’s technique. Maybe, she says — she's still unsure about that last bit.

It sickens him. It festers as a deep, curdling annoyance in his bones, his uselessness. It’s a sensation he had only felt once before, standing before the slumped-over body of Geto Suguru. Nothing he could do for him except put him out of his misery, and even then that felt like a cop-out.

So… he can't go directly after the thing that had forced your hand, because they had left no trace. He can't heal you, either. He can't take care of you while your body repairs itself, while your supposed binding vow returns you to your rightful state — that duty will fall to Shoko, or one of her interns.

He can do nothing. And Satoru is nothing if he cannot be of use.

Nine months after the events of the culling games, Satoru enters your room to see you sitting up — eyes wide, eyes seeing, and it only takes you fixing him with a single look to know that you're okay.

(Subjectively. Relatively.)

Suguru Getou — Kenjaku — is finally dead — exorcised. He’s not sure which is the right word to use. All of his allies, killed or exorcised too. Nanami, murdered. Nobara, comatose. Yaga, dead. Inumaki, Maki, Okkotsu, maimed; the great houses of sorcery destroyed and rebuilt in the image of Satoru’s will.

Itadori Yuuji — dead. Sukuna Ryomen — exorcised.

Adding up the gains, subtracting the losses, carrying the ones… Both sides seem to have lost pretty evenly. And he should be happy about it, too; things could have turned out much worse. And they would have, too, if he hadn’t pushed himself out of his pouting and escaped the prison realm — a feat that was half out of spite and half concern for the outside world, and maybe a little curiosity. Rage. Longing to see the bastard who’d stolen Suguru’s face and body, who dared to reanimate him and rouse him from peace — longing to slaughter the thing that had rendered you bedridden and half-mad for months.

He had been the one to kill Kenjaku. It only felt right to be the one to do so — he’d killed Suguru, after all; had been the one to leave him defenceless and open to manipulation. If Suguru hadn’t been dead, Kenjaku wouldn’t have been able to steal his body.

Of course, Satoru ignored the fact that the very last rotten, desperate dregs of Suguru would have enjoyed Kenjaku’s plan — it was the only way he was able to keep his eyes open when he blasted his brain to bits. It was hard enough the first time.

All of these things sit on his tongue, bitter and souring and curdling — every detail of the battle, of the culling games, the colleagues and peers and students he’d held in his arms, the ones he’d comforted as they slipped away, the ones he’d reassured and promised.

(Pink, blood-covered hair; a smile that never dimmed, a nervous murmur (“It’s okay, Gojo-sensei. I know what I got into.”). The shaky laugh that had followed.)

Satoru’s hands tremble at his sides.

Your eyes are wet with tears when you look at him.

“How long has it been?” You croak — voice dry and cracked with disuse, whining in some parts, low and wheezing in others. Bone-deep, the fear in your voice, and for good reason — things had already been at a boiling point when you’d been taken down. Everything had moved past you. “Satoru—?”

Another selfish decision on his part: he doesn’t tell you. At least, not now, when the words threaten to vomit out of his mouth, when the pain is suddenly too fresh and too raw.

(For one strange, too-long second, he’s reminded of his mother — weak, presence-less, powerless as she was. Empty-eyed and unhappy. She was hardly even a mother with the amount of governesses he had.

Somehow, though, every problem would seem worse when her eyes were upon him; every cut and bruise was more painful; every slight against him a grave insult; every mistake a cause for self-pity and temper tantrums — and none of it mattered, as long as she took him into her arms.

A rarity, yes, but… maybe one of the only fond memories he has of his childhood in the Gojo household.

Satoru feels like a kid again — suddenly sniffling from a bruise he swore didn’t hurt, his mother ready to pat his head and baby him and coo his name. Satoru. Not Gojo-sama.)

He crosses the room and plants himself upon your bed and takes you into his arms for the first time in months, and—

And for the first time since Yuuji’s death, since Nanami’s, since Suguru’s, since your injuries—

He cries. Openly. Heaving, chest-wrecking sobs; red, wet nose and ugly whimpers. It’s overwhelming. It’s cathartic. It makes the pain worse, for a second, before it begins to taper out in a bruising wave; with it, he remembers his darling underclassmen who died, his colleagues that he’d wanted to live at least a few more years; he remembers that despite years of being told so, he’s not God — he couldn’t stop Yuuji’s death, or Suguru’s, or Toge losing his arms, or—

“Thirteen months,” he manages to get out. “Thirteen months — you couldn’t talk, or move properly, or—”

Satoru grabs handfuls of you — hair, waist, belly, it doesn’t matter. He can feel you beneath his skin. Rushing, pounding blood, cells, micromolecules — and he doesn’t need to, but he engages his Six Eyes for a moment — actually engages them, doesn’t let them run unconsciously in the background. It’s a comfort to let himself see each receptor interact with each signal on each plasma membrane, to let himself see the tissues that formed organs that formed organ systems forming you, breathing, living, sentient—

He kisses you — or you kiss him, he’s not sure — but it’s far more intimate, far more tender than any touch he’d delivered unto you; hands clutching the sides of your face, your fingers digging into his wrists. You’re crying, salt on his tongue — and he only knows they’re not his own tears because you give a great, shuddering sob when you part, trembling like a leaf in the wind.

“I had to,” you gasp, and he wants to tell you that he knows, he knows, he doesn’t blame you, sweet girl — did what you had to do to live, to survive— “I had to—”

“Only go where I can follow, okay?" His eyes are burning again, voice cracking with the promise, regardless of the fact that he’d rather you do it 100 times over than die. But it's the only way he can tell you he loves you without telling you he loves you, and he can't remember the last time he said the words aloud.

(He does. He remembers. And he remembers that Suguru wouldn't mind if he said it to you — that Suguru loved you as he loves you. And he remembers that Suguru is dead and doesn't have an opinion anymore, so it really doesn't matter, anyways.)

Satoru calls Shoko when he rights himself, barely pulling back from your embrace to text her something barely understandable and hurried. You don't say much while he does; still acclimating to being aware, being awake — he catches you with your eyes screwed shut and your nose buried in his jacket, fingers tight on his arms again. Grounding yourself. Reminding yourself that you're alive, and with him.

Shoko scolds you between rummaging around for a thermometer and scribbling your prescription in messy, barely legible cursive — calls you a dumb bitch for doing what you did, tells you that you owe her a bottle of wine and a trip to a fancy hot spring, and it all seems a little lighter.

(She cries a little — if the slight glassiness of her eyes can be considered crying. Satoru only teases her a bit for it, though you're quick to mention how he'd blubbered like a baby when he saw you, and he's humbled quickly.

It's the most normal he's felt in weeks.)

Shoko clears away after a few hours — gives you strict orders to rest, and sends him a knowing look that he's not all too sure of the meaning of.

"You look tired, Satoru," you finally say when you're alone again. Your smile is sad, knowing, and Satoru curses it all. You deserve a grace period, a moment of ignorance before the grief settles in. "What happened?"

But when have you ever wanted a moment of ignorance? When has he ever been able to hide the truth of things from you? When have you ever been anything but his equal, his confidant?

"Everything," Satoru says. A short, humourless laugh punctuates his single-worded sentence. "Everything, crybaby. Everything that we thought could happen, and everything we thought couldn't."

A flicker of a smile — uncomfortable, flat. Your eyes flicker down to the bland, starched sheets of the hospital bed. "Did you see him?"

He doesn't need you to elaborate. There's really only one person you both mean when you say him.

"Yes."

"Who was he?"

Satoru shifts in his seat. "An ancient sorcerer named Kenjaku. His cursed technique allowed him to transplant his brain between bodies and possess them."

"And he chose Suguru."

"Yes. And many others, too."

"And you killed him."

"Yes. For Suguru, and for you. But mostly for Suguru.”

“I’m glad,” you say, but your fingers twist the sheets tightly. “When I saw him, I was angry. So angry, I… I wanted to kill him. I knew I wasn’t strong enough, and I knew he would kill me, but for a second—”

He understands. God, does he understand. “You wanted to take the risk.” No matter the cost, no matter the damage to your own body. Anger like that consumes.

“I did.” You swallow. Your eyes meet his. “It was like… adding insult to injury. As if it’s not enough that Suguru is dead, but this — this Kenjaku has to puppeteer him too. Disturb his peace."

The wind rustles the trees outside. The late-afternoon gold of the sun settles along the horizon, a burning orange that stretches the shadows and warms the wind and turns the side of your face honey-soft and sad.

“But I realised that I was probably the first person he’d revealed himself to," you continue, "so I was the only one that could warn you."

Always thinking about the good of others. It was another thing he admired about you — Nanami, too. Satoru, for all his big talk about changing the world of jujutsu, about being better than those who came before him, is really quite selfish.

It's why his hands had trembled when he'd had to kill Yuuji. It's why he couldn't put Suguru in the ground the first time they met after he became a curse user. Even when he knows things are necessary, he tries his damnedest to hold on — just for the chance of it all. The chance that Suguru could change his mind. The chance that Sukuna could be removed from Yuuji without him needing to die.

"And…”

One snow-white brow raises. “And?”

“You’ve already lost too many people that you love,” you say simply, shrugging — like it's a simple fact, no need for experimentation, no need for an academic paper complete with its own abstract and footnotes. Like you've always known, in some little way, but you're only able to bring yourself to say it now.

And Satoru — well, it's no secret to him, is it? He's known it since he was 13, 14, 15 — had a bit of a buffering period, sure — and now here at 28, he knows it just as well. The point is that you're not supposed to know. Not while you're still healing from Suguru and… being attacked by fake-Suguru.

Regardless of what he knows and how long he's known it, Satoru feels his throat begin to close up, twisting and turning and holding his breath tight. He doesn’t like the feeling.

“Love?” He echoes. His voice has gotten a little empty. It's too soon for him to say it aloud, he thinks. It was okay when he whispered it in his head after making love to you; it was easy when he grinned at your scrunched up nose and scoffed comments and thought fuck, I love you. It was easy when he could pretend it was a simple, passing comment, a trick of the mind — but having it said as fact?

Not so simple. But you don’t need to know that. “Is that so?"

You don't seem to notice his momentary pause — a lifetime of rambling in his time, a second's hesitation in regular time — too busy staring at the space where his fingers stretch apart over the sheets. Just inches away from yours. "We're friends, aren't we?"

Oh.

"Oh." Satoru blinks back. "Oh, yeah. Best friends, you and I, crybaby."

"I know it's normal for us," you say, ploughing ahead, "to just lose and lose and keep losing, but… I'll be honest. I never fully got used to it, and I don't want to."

He wishes he could say the same, but he can't.

He understands, in some capacity. Nobody wants to see the people around them die, a continuous and vicious cycle. Nobody wants to get so used to loss that most funerals no longer hold any emotional significance. But getting used to it had saved him. Getting used to it helped him act without consequence, without remorse, and that's what the battlefield both needs and requires of him.

He could count on both hands the people he wants to save in this world — about half of them were dead, at this point. A lot of them died while he was imprisoned. Two, he had to kill himself. He swore he'd protect the rest with all Six Eyes, every non-existent boundary of his Limitless.

So Satoru doesn't care much about getting used to death and dying and loss and grief. As long as you're okay, he's okay. As long as his job as the Strongest is done, everything is as it should be.

He doesn't say that to you, of course. You'd probably curse him out and call him a heartless bastard. Instead, he nods, hums and agrees and tells you the names of those who died when you work up the courage to ask.

It's a long night. It's an even longer list.

10.

Shoko keeps you for observation for 10 days after you wake up — three days longer than necessary, but she won't hear it from him, no matter how many times he reminds her that technically she falsified her degree—

He's joking. Mostly.

Satoru volunteers himself to help you back home, taking with you the plastic bag filled with your cleaned sorcerer's garb and weapon. He carries it over his shoulder along with two teddy bears, a half-wilted bouquet of tulips and a half-eaten box of chocolates (all courtesy of the second years — except for the chocolates, which are half-eaten because of him). He winds his other arm around your waist even though you can walk perfectly fine, but — it's just in case. Purely precautionary. For once, you don’t argue about being babied.

In the midday sun outside, you tilt your head back and close your eyes and smile. For a moment, it's as if the sadness has melted away from you — the tears you shed over Yuuji, Nanami, Suguru. The tears you shed over him, and he wasn't even dead. Satoru is glad your eyes are closed — even beneath his sunglasses, it's painfully obvious that he's staring.

You decide to take the subway home — it's my first time outside in almost a year, you remind him, so he pushes down any arguments he might have and enjoys the too-cramped journey towards Akihabara. You’re both shoved standing together, between a panicked looking man holding a tray of coffee and a woman with her child hanging about her legs, your head bobbing against his chest as the train moves.

For a moment — as the train passes momentarily out of the underground and becomes encapsulated in light — it's easy to drown in the normalcy of it all. For a moment, he sees himself looking in as a stranger would. Here, he isn't the Six Eyes; just a simple man taking his girlfriend home, standing close on the train, wishing to be closer. Riding home to your shared apartment where he'll peel oranges and feed them to you, where he'll lay his head in your lap and hold your hands to his heart.

His nose wrinkles. He prefers reality, he thinks, where he can be powerful and have you by his side; where he can protect you, uphold peace, change the jujutsu world for the best — and then go home all the same, and have you to hold.

"What are you thinking about?" You mumble against his collar.

"Oranges," he replies.

"I don't have any at home," you say, "or if I did, they're rotted."

"Don't worry — we cleaned your kitchen up. Me and the kids." It was an afternoon of Yuuji attempting to shove rotting potatoes in Nobara's face. That was before Shibuya; before everything, really.

"Oh? You got your hands dirty?"

Satoru tries to not think about that same beaming, smiling Yuuji's last breaths. "Of course! This is me we're talking about, honey. I was front and centre."

You snort, soft against his neck. It's a wonder he went almost a year without you. "Housewife Satoru. I'll keep it in mind."

When you return to your apartment, you shower together for the first time in forever. He spends extra time and care massaging shampoo into your scalp, detangling each knot; spends extra time rinsing the suds out, tilting your head back with a gentle tap to your chin.

Steam clogs his mind. Almond shower oil and citrusy shampoo fog his senses. The realisation that you could have potentially been taken away from him sits heavy like a stone in his stomach — why it hadn't sunk in in the past, oh, 13 months or so, he doesn’t know. All he knows is that he's terribly bad at caring for precious things — but if he could, if it's possible, he'll remould and reshape his hands, his heart, his mind, just for the chance—

"Satoru," you breathe against his lips, "Bow your head."

(Bow your head, you say. He'd kneel if you asked him to.)

You brush your hands through his hair; rinse him free of suds and bubbles and kiss his temples as you shut off the water. What is supposed to be healing for you is quickly becoming therapy for him — muscles relaxing, mind clearing of all responsibilities, mournings, obligations. All he knows are the soft, newly washed sheets beneath him and your nose in the crook of his neck.

It's a strange sensation, the lack of tension, his brain not working overtime. But hardly unwelcome.

11.

Satoru asks you if you saw anything when you were indisposed. Memories, flashbacks, prophecies? Blurry half-truths, nonsensical babbling? You tell him that you can't really remember — and you can't, not really, but you do remember one thing.

When you were 11, you met Satoru and Suguru for the first time. It's that memory that you can remember playing in your head, over and over and over again: Satoru and Suguru, scrawny and still-faced in their yukata.

Satoru was from a great, traditional house. Suguru was not, but upon discovery of his powers, was taken into unofficial custody of the higher-ups. In most circumstances, you wouldn’t have been allowed within two feet of them — but the elders had deemed your cursed technique a great gift, and so you were warily accepted into the upper echelons of jujutsu society, a stranger, a foreigner.

Introducing you to the most powerful sorcerers your age was nothing more than political play, of course. The adults followed behind as you walked through the grand grounds of the Gojo family — (maintained by a team of 12 gardeners, according to the Lady of the house) — muttering and scheming between themselves, making sure nothing would go awry.

Nothing did, of course. Satoru picked his nose and Suguru told him it was rude and they bickered for a while — Satoru bickered, Suguru replied calmly and quickly. Satoru asked you if your technique was good or bad ("No such thing," interjected Suguru) and whether or not you think you could beat him in a fight.

(That last question was to stroke his own ego, of course. Everyone knew he was the strongest sorcerer born in the last century.)

At some point, Satoru made you cry.

You can't remember what about, all these years later — you'd think you'd remember, considering the fact that you know the amount of gardeners employed by the Gojo estate — but you know that you had tried to stop it; fists balled, teeth gritted, full-body heaves. Crying was the last thing you had wanted to do. Crying meant weakness. Weakness meant being taken advantage of.

But you were so scared. It was all so alien. You wanted to go home, but home didn’t exist anymore. You wanted your mother, but your mother was long gone. All you had left were stone-faced adults that were only interested in your abilities.

Suguru had been confused at your reaction to what he took as a harmless quip — a little callous, as most children are — but he had reassured you nonetheless.

"Don’t cry. Satoru speaks before he thinks," he'd said, nudging your shoulder. "Sometimes you have to ignore him and he'll be so bored that he has to think."

"I can hear you," Gojo huffed. "I didn't mean to."

"See?" Suguru smiled. "Works like a charm."

Yes, Suguru had always been there to protect you. Emotionally, at least. He was willing to be kinder to people. More gentle, more forgiving. He'd believed that it was his duty as a sorcerer to protect those that couldn't protect themselves, and—

Well. That had changed, by the end, but having that memory replay in your head made you see the bigger picture of it all. Suguru's place in things. Your place in things.

You'd loved Suguru, no doubt. And you’ll probably always carry a piece of him with you — you'd hate to do otherwise. You’ll carry his kindness and his jokes and his catlike smile, all tucked away in bubble wrap somewhere in your chest cavity — but you will never disregard his wrongdoings. Since his death, you'd argued against the two sides of him; felt guilty for loving him after what he did, felt guilty for hating him after loving him and knowing him for as long as you did. Two halves of a whole. Darkness in light and light in darkness.

He was both of those things. You love him, but you don’t forgive him, and you probably never will. He will never again be the boy that comforted you after Satoru made you cry; he will never again be the boy who let you braid his hair back. He won't be the boy who slaughtered innocents, either — death's funny like that. Indiscriminately doing away with both the good and the bad.

And that's okay. Kenjaku is dead, after all, and Suguru can finally rest — and with him, your warring mind.

12.

Midnight strikes and you're still awake. You don’t even seem tired, and that's after a long shower and takeout and a movie. Usually you'd be a drooling mess by now, but tonight is different. Feels different. Satoru isn’t sure if it's just a year's worth of built up sexual tension or something else, but he feels it regardless.

He's flopped on his stomach, hair still damp; you're curled up in the shape of a C, skin reflecting the light of the TV. He might visit Nobara tomorrow. Megumi usually goes on Wednesdays, too — they could make a day out of it, and you could tag along, too. He's got a craving for the pistachio macarons they sell near—

"I'm in love with you," you announce.

Satoru doesn't bother asking you to repeat yourself because he knows he didn’t mishear. It isn't the knowing that shocks him — he's not stupid, and you wear your heart on your sleeve — it's the sudden, quick verbal affirmation of it that catches him off guard. After all, haven’t you two been putting this all off? Yearning for a dead man? Being pulled from two opposing poles?

He turns his head towards you, opens his mouth to ask you just that, and—

"After Suguru, I thought I'd never be happy again," you say, and you’re smiling like you didn't just say something inherently heartbreaking. But no, you look fond — content, even, blinking slowly at him. "And I thought I'd never feel for someone as strong as I did for him. But here I am: happy, and in love, and okay."

Satoru opens his mouth — then closes it quickly. For some reason, he remembers something Suguru said to you when you were younger: "Satoru speaks before he thinks." But he wants to think about this — about what he should say. How does he respond to you quite literally baring your heart to him? How does he tell you what he wants to tell you, what you deserve to hear? He's never been good with real, genuine words — emotional shit never came easy to him out loud. His thoughts are much more concise than his mouth is, but he guesses it's because it moves so fast in comparison.

Pity you can't read his mind. It'd make things much easier.

“You don’t have to say anything,” but he wants to, don't you know? "You don't have to pretend. It’s okay. I know that… maybe you don’t love me as much as you loved Suguru, but I know you love me in some way, at least—”

Satoru frowns — strings of ideas and thoughts bunching up and stopping short as your words register. “As much as I— hey, stop putting words in my mouth—"

"The truth is," you continue on, "I feel lighter than I have in years. I don't dread life so much anymore. I don't dread you anymore."

"You… dreaded me?"

You hum. Your legs stretch down, arms forward, face scrunched up in a passing yawn. "I'm not stupid to think you didn’t know how I felt, but… I hated that I was so obvious about it. Even when I was fighting with myself about it, I was obvious. It made me hate being around you, sometimes."

You sigh, then — not as heavy and melancholy as they used to be, no. This is a sigh of relief, of cathartic release.

Satoru blinks, and attempts to wade through the seventy-or-so compulsions telling him to make a joke, to laugh, to tease you. Maybe he should actually be serious for once. Say it straight and say it firm, so you can't take anything the wrong way. If there was ever a time for him to not beat around the bush…

"I've liked you since I was 17," he confesses, finally. "Me and Suguru, we were together, y’know, and we were happy. And Suguru loved you, and somewhere along the line I… began to do the same, but we were so young and then… Everything changed so fast. Everything broke so fast.”

Your fingers brush against his, and he breathes in a sigh. Your eyes are wide and watery, low light reflecting like glitter in your eyes.

"Sometimes, it keeps me up at night," Satoru says, laughing a pained sort of laugh. "Out of everything, that's what keeps me up — that we could've been happy together, all three of us. It never would’ve been enough to make him change, but…"

At least you would’ve known what it was like. To be happy together in that way. To be content. To find your places in the world, hand and hand. To know what it was like — even if Suguru’s fall from grace was inevitable — so you wouldn’t have to keep wondering until your untimely, gruesome, sorcerer-style deaths, or whatever.

Back then, Satoru didn’t understand why Suguru never told you how he felt. He couldn't understand how he could be content watching from afar, looking but never touching. What Satoru wanted, he learned to take; the Strongest didn’t need to ask for permission, only forgiveness.

He learned quickly that some things were better left unsaid. And now, 28 years old, half of his friends, students, colleagues dead — he understands even more.

He remembers how Yuuji had tried to stave off tears when he realised he had to die; remembers how his student’s throat had felt being crushed in his hands. He loved Yuuji like a little brother. Like a son, even. He was family. He was his student, and yet his death had been necessary, and Satoru battled with it. It allowed him to succeed in the mission he was born to complete. But he had given up Yuuji in return.

There is no curse more twisted than love.

Therein lays the problem, he supposes. The second you love someone, you run the risk of having them end up like Yuuji did. Like Suguru did. Like Nanami did. When you are burdened with incredible power like Satoru is — like Suguru was — you must be able to sacrifice for it. The closer that people are, the more likely they are to be caught in the crossfire, the more likely you are to be hurt. Suguru hoped to avoid that at all costs. It was easier to watch from afar, less painful.

Satoru is a tad more selfish. Which is bad, he knows, because he's too prepared to sacrifice. Even now. Even now, he knows that if caught between saving you and saving society, he would be forced to — to—

Satoru inhales. The only thing for it is to simply stop things from getting that far.

He could explain all this to you. He could talk circles around you about it, in fact, but the truth is that it's all conjecture. Suguru isn’t here to tell him why he did what he did. He can’t speak for him, no matter how well he knew him.

"I don't know why Suguru never told you," Satoru says instead. He folds his fingers tighter, taking yours in his grip as he does so. "Guess that's something he took with him to the grave."

"I've stopped wondering," you say. “I’ll never stop regretting, but I’ve stopped wondering. I can’t stay rooted in the past any more. It was doing more harm than good."

And you raise your interlocked hands — nestle them under your chin and screw your eyes shut, like you're wishing on the evening star, like he's something precious to be treasured. All of a sudden he's 17 and confused about why he can't stop staring at you. He doesn’t have Suguru to tease him about it, now.

“I’ll never forget him,” Satoru announces — a warning, or a reassurance, he doesn’t know. All he knows is that he’s telling the truth and nothing but the truth, and whether or not you like his truth is not his concern. He respects you too much to lie about this to you.

Your lips twitch upwards, a phantom of a smile. “Neither will I. "

"I'll never forget you, either."

The smile grows, blooms, blossoms, until it stretches bright and full across your face. The first smile of yours he's seen in a while that wasn't at half-mast, or tinged with sadness, or pain, or fatigue.

"How lucky I am," you whisper, "to be known by you, Gojo Satoru."

It should be the other way around, he thinks.

(12.5.

It's the first time he makes love in years.

Satoru has always fucked you. Always. No matter how tired you both were, no matter how injured — he'd always force himself to be rougher, force his touches to not linger as much as he wanted them to.

If he felt too much, he'd crack a joke instead of drowning in it; if he felt his eyes beginning to burn he'd bury his nose in the crook of your neck and push it down. If he thought of long, dark hair and cat-like eyes, he'd tighten your grip in his hair and the shock of pain would clear his mind. He fucked quick, and when he was done he'd lay far away enough that he couldn't feel your skin against his.

Tonight, he lets himself love and be loved again.

You're on top of him, ass flush against his thighs, taking every inch he has to give you; his hands have found your jaw, thumbs brushing back and forth across your dewy, sweat-slick cheeks. One hand of yours clasps around his wrist; the other bands to his chest, nails digging red into his skin. Your cursed energy blooms, flushes, flourishes when he opens his eyes to look at you.

He sees every pore, every hair, every dimple, every broken capillary, every scratch and scrape. Every part of you, bending to him in some places, unfalteringly stubborn in others.

"Look at you," he mumbles, blinking dumbly. "So… pretty…"

You snort something like a laugh, and continue: up, down, up, down. Slow, grinding gyrations of your hips that make his head spin pleasantly; and with his Limitless nullified, he feels every inch of skin, every tensing of muscle, every scrape and press fully and completely. He’s never felt so engulfed in it before — the sensations of it all, the warmth, your scent, your weight above him.

He'd drown in you, if he could. Take you in his mouth and nose and ears and everywhere, until he's left gasping for air and grappling for something of substance. Maybe once upon a time he would keep those thoughts to himself, for whatever reason — but now he's allowed to be selfish in his affections, allowed to give more than surface-level compliments and vague declarations of love.

Between pleasure-ridden shudders and sloppy, wet kisses, he breathes:

"I want you everywhere," he says, "All the time. Over me, on me, in me—"

You raise a brow, impudent and teasing in a way that makes his abdomen tighten. "In you?"

And maybe he didn’t mean it in the way that you took it, but he plays along anyways, waggling his brows. "You heard me."

"You're terrible."

"I'm not joking," Satoru argues — but it’s hard to take him seriously when his voice quietens, when he arches up eagerly to meet your lips—

When his grip on your lower back becomes painfully tight, when his lips part in a moan and his eyes screw shut and he throws his head back, hips rutting up to meet yours, and—

His peak rises to greet him — and his heart swells all the while. He finds himself clawing for you as his orgasm builds, hands clambering against your back, your neck, your hair, until (with a great, shaking breath, may he add): "Fuck, I — mmf, I love you—"

It carries him off to a state of fuzzy, empty-minded ignorance — pleasure tightening his entire body, fizzling from the tips of his fingers to his curling toes. Your name on his tongue, slurred and mellifluous, his smile dizzy and drunk.

As you smile down at him, so unbearably fond, Satoru thinks that he doesn’t mind saying I love you aloud after all.)

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lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 1 year

Note

How would the suitors reaction be when their wife ( Crewle daughter) is pregnant with triplets? And meeting the kids after birth?

With Ruggie, Jack, Lions, Malleus, Silver, Trey, Vil and Ace

Triplets Are Here | Yandere Twisted Wonderland Crewel Daughter

Ruggie Bucci

“What can I say I’m a beast in bed!”

He’s not going to act like it even could have been inherited to you

He’s got a whole new air of confidence

Not only does he have the woman of his dreams

But he knocked her up times three

Hopefully that will squash anyone else’s delusions about being with you

Either way he doesn’t mind getting rid of them the old fashioned way

“Awww they look like we had babies! Oh wait-”

“Just focus on feeding that one.”

“Yes Mama!”

Jack Howl

“...!”

“Jack?”

“!!!!”

“Jack?!”

“!!!!”

“If you faint now, I won’t catch you!”

This is the best news

A strong litter, a perfect mate

He’s protecting his already larger than average pack

“Back away or I will not hesitate to end your life. I’ve got four lives to protect now.”

Leona Kingscholar

“Geez…three?”

“Don’t make that face.”

“What face? I’m just surprised you took me so well.”

He has mixed feelings about it

Especially when he’s catering to you as your belly swells to an almost unbelievable size

And you groan in pain

“Why don’t the brats just get here. I hate seeing you in pain.”

He’s heard of other lions so jealous they kill their kin

But as he holds the little bundles he can’t begin to fathom it

He might just cry

Malleus Draconia

“If you and I were not made for each other, theres noway this could be.”

He’s ecstatic

But the entirety of Briar Valley and the world around you must be made to cater to you

Devoted to your comfort and health above all else

he even struggles to let Crewel see you

“Nothing will ever hurt my loves. My babes. My wive. I’d curse the world for you.”

Genocide Murder spree ensues should there be any pain or assassination attempts

No one’s so much as flicking you

He’d sooner rend them to ash

Silver

“Three…at the same time…?”

“Yes so we’ll have to get three times the baby equipment and–Silver?”

“Three…in…you?”

He’s barely processing any of it

Even when he’s practically carrying the four of you as you waddle places

“Our babies…”

“Aren’t they precious they have your eyes!”

“M-m-my eyes-? Agh-!”

“Its okay babe this is a good time to cry.”

“H-how did Dad do it!? I-I’m never letting any of you leave me!”

Any protective traits are amplified even higher

And if there was ever a time he refused to kill anyone in his pursuit for love

That has long since past

Trey Clover

“Well I did always say I wanted a big family!”

He’s thrilled to see your tummy rounding with his children

All while you incessantly demand for his sweets and cooking

And he’s jumping to his tooth brush after a rough morning

But its all made even better when they arrive

Little mixes of his love and himself

“They’ll have the cutest little teeth!”

He definitely saves them when they get older

But he’s the perfect papa

Poisoned sweets and all

Vil Schoenheit

“We’ll be parents…is that registering?”

“Barely. When we agreed to marry I doubted ever moving further than that.”

“Does it make you unhappy?”

“Not in the slightest.”

He’s brimming with anxiety

Worry eating away as he contemplates his own jealousy and the excitement of having a child

It doesn’t become much easier when the triplets arrive

He despises the paparazzi

So much so he’s willing to set his rabid fans on them

Purge them of every photo of his adorable babes

He’s the only one who gets the honor

A dazzling photo of your delivery is only for his eyes

Doxx the peeping toms

“They’re all mine. I’m willing to lose everything for them.”

Ace Trappola

“Dang! I really am amazing–Ow! Joking, joking.”

He couldn’t be happier

What better way to prove his love ownership of the sexiest woman alive if it weren’t for the giant round belly you had

And soon to be three little rascals that are further testaments of his status

He’ll whine about things

Probably more than you

But in the end he’s glowing with pride as you look down at your freshly born babies

“Ehehe they can’t deny that I may have children for days but I’ve got game.”

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saerotonins · 7 months

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there's something about kento's eyes when he looks at you.

it turns so soft and he looks so peaceful. comfort evident on his face whenever he sees you. even more when you smile so wide or speak to someone. even when he's not the one you're speaking to, he looks at you fondly, the yearning paints his eyes as his vision sees you, even though he is fully aware that you have been together for years and everybody can see it.

sometimes it's also paired with a sincere smile and a relieved sigh. your smile radiates so much positivity that every negativity leaves his body so he naturally rests around you, much like a cat around their owner. his shoulders visibly relaxes when you're around. and his eyes, oh his eyes were such subtle yet crucial detail proof of how much he loves you.

even when you guys fight, too. albeit rarely, your fights with him are never met with anger, instead you see gentleness with a hint of sadness, eager to talk things out with you, fix things up with you like adults do. even more rarely, when tears well up to his eyes when frustration hits him. but when you're there, the softness in his eyes is prominent and more tears flow out and paint his face, his vulnerability out in the open just for you. he's a pretty crier too, his eyes despite coated with tears, still speaks volumes on how you make him feel comfortable, and when it comes to a halt, his eyes slowly drift down to sleep, and then he snores in the place he loves the most— around your arms.

there's also something about his eyes when you directly look at him. love almost oozes out when you're there, not even words, nor kisses can describe how much love is there in his eyes. you were the one who lit up his world, his ride or die, his partner for life. when you kiss, he sometimes secretly opens his eyes to see your face, the way you moan in pleasure, respond to his tongue inside yours, makes him happier. it's like a fuel to the fire that makes him want you more, and do more to prove his love to you.

there's also something in his eyes when he fought for his students' and colleagues' lives in shibuya. his life flashes in his eyes in every swing of his blunt sword. the worry spreads across his face when he thinks about your and the others' safety amidst the chaos. there's also something else—

blood.

oh the pain seeps as the adrenaline wore out in when he woke up with his left eye battered and a part of his body burned.

desperation.

he badly wants to come home to your arms and just take a rest— sleep, even. he is so tired of fighting but he just cannot. he had to protect his colleagues.

and then his world stops.

he looks at itadori, defeat present in his eyes, and a peaceful smile.

"you've got it from here," was the last thing he says.

regret.

oh how he regrets leaving you in a cruel world when no one else could protect you. he could've. but he thinks, at the moment, he wasn't strong enough.

he failed to be a mentor, sorcerer, and a lover.

his eyes full of regrets, sorrow, and a silent apology for leaving you alone, but also a mixture of peace and serenity knowing that he doesn't have to fight anymore, that he finally gets to rest.

but still, and most of all, love.

it's always present when his lens is pointed at you, even though when you're weeping at his grave, holding onto his tombstone for dear life and clutching on your chest on the other as tears drop on the concrete.

too bad you're not going to witness it anymore.

note: guys, i'm so sorry + not proofread

#nanami fluff #nanami angst #nanami kento x reader #nanami x reader #nanami kento fluff #nanami kento angst #nanami kento x you #nanami kento x yn #nanami x you #nanami kento #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen angst #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk fluff #jjk angst #jjk x reader

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danielcalmdown · 5 days

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Here's a few thoughts i have about Disco Elysium and it's lack of philosophical approach towards Harry's experiences. (Not to mistake it with psychology. There is plenty of that in Disco and the characters and ideologies are pulled apart in many fun ways.)

Explanation below the cut, so it's not a long-ass post.

So, Harry is very much suffering. He says "I am in pain. I have no idea how to get better, I'm about to fucking give up." What he gets as response, from his own mind and other people, is things like: "Get your shit together. You have to go through this hell. It will be awful, depressing and boring. Forget her. Stay strong, don't give up, you will eventually feel better. This is how normal people live. Do it for the (...)." This is encouragement. What it does is it keeps him on his feet and helps him move forward. But it's the only type of response he ever gets. What it doesn't do is challenge how he experiences his life in the first place. There is not a single sentence, a thought, any kind of spark in the game that would begin some sort of reform within him. He's the same sad, old Harry utill the end. The rest is accessories.

Beyond that, the gameplay is screaming at you: SEIZE THE MOMENT! There is so much work put into describing things happening around Harry. And so much fondness towards that world. But it's just there, next to him and his pain. Beautiful and worth living for, but it's not used to reveal anything that would inspire him to change. Something about humanity, the meaning of his suffering, maybe a hint about that hole in the world. Yknow, philosophical stuff. Even the miracle of the story, the phasmid, answers Harry's most existential question with "I don’t know, nobody knows." It's not there to guide him away from the vicious circle he's stuck in. It's more like a pat on the back. "Look, something incredible happened today! Life can be great sometimes." Here are a few statements meant by the game to be impactful: "Something beautiful is going to happen", "The night is always darkest before the dawn", "One day, i will return to your side", "The road to healing is going to be a long one. You will make it, some day." They sound like coping mechanism. They are motivational, hopeful, but don't speak about reality. "I'm suffering RIGHT NOW. The world and my head are still fucking broken. Heelp!" Harry cries out. "Hope for a better future. Go for a run. Focus on your job, get a hobby, take your mind off the pain." Try to be happier while remaining the same. Switch alcohol and drugs for non destructive activities to help you endure through that persisting pain. Look out of the window each morning, wait for that special thing to happen. And when it happens? The core stays unmoved. You don't even know what it is about you, where lies the first mistake. You learned nothing new about yourself.

I think all of this fits with the creators' views, which are sparsely hinted at throughout the game. "God is indifferent. This is our curse", "The world is inherently meaningless", "True love is possible in the next world, for new people, it's too late for us." Maybe that's why the game didn't allow Harry to change, because it doesn't believe there is anything out there that could help him. He's a human, therefore he has no choice but to think and suffer exactly the way he does. So yeah, that's my thoughts on it. Feel free to comment, disagree and enlighten me if you think i'm wrong. I'm always open to change my mind.

#disco elysium #english is not my first language so sorry for any awkward thingies dingies #i know the game is about politics and everything is a political allegory #and politics can save the world but I disagree #you can't do good politics without good philosophy #philosophy is loove philosophy is lyyfe

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me-loving-woso · 11 months

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The Aftermath

Hello Tumblr and Hello readers.

This is Part 3 of Monthly visits. I really hope you enjoy it. I’m already working on Part 4, so hopefully you won’t have to wait that much. Does this part end in a cliffhanger? Yes. Am I sorry about it? No.

Let me know if I should continue this series. Hope you enjoy this!

The past few days have been incredibly challenging for you. Ava's room was finally finished, so you had to help her move to the room and Lucia finally decided to join La Masia, so you went with her to sign the contract.

Things with Alexia have been really in a weird place. You still remember vividly your conversation with her that day after she called for a break.

"So you want a break from me or the kids?" You ask, nearly crying, changing your position on the bed to sitting, waiting for an answer.

"I don't know, okay! These past few weeks have been overwhelming; I thought I could handle it. Then, Mom began talking about holidays and Christmas, and I guess I didn't think about it before? I don't know, it feels like my life has been changing so much, and I can't keep up anymore." She says clearly, in a very anxious state. "And above all of this, there is the World Cup, and I have all this pressure put on me, and I just want to disappear." She gets out sobbing, making your heartbreak.

"Hey, hey, look at me." You gently take her face, turning it to you, wiping away her tears. "Since when has this been going on?"

"Since I got called up for the World Cup."

"So two months ago." You say more to yourself. "Why didn't you tell me anything?"

"You had already been dealing with your problems; I didn't want to add to anything."

"You are not a problem to me, okay? If you are happy, I am happy. If you are sad, I am sad. Whatever you need, I'll always be with you. I love you. And I know I don't say it much, but I probably should have. I love you." You began leaving small kisses on her face, trying to kiss away the tears, "What do you need?"

"I need not feel so broken and out of control of my feelings." She says, keeping her gaze down.

"It's alright to feel broken every once in a while, and it's alright to feel out of control. If you need time, I can give it to you. I'd rather lose you for a while than for the rest of my life. I'd wait a thousand lifetimes for you because you are worth waiting for. So when you are ready. I'll be right here." Your eyes start to water, too, as you understand what this entails. You shift on your bed, hugging her.

"I love you so much, Alexia. I don't know what I would do without you. You really changed my life for the better. You are the love of my life. The only person I imagine spending my life with. And I swear to God, or whatever is up there, that one day I'm going to marry you, and I'll finally feel like I deserve your love."

"You know, you never said that."

"What?"

"That you wanted to marry me." She smiles shyly, keeping her head on your shoulder, hiding in the crook of your neck.

"Of course I do. I can't wait to be your wife and call you that." You pause, taking a deep breath, making her move her head to look at you. "But before that, you must focus on yourself and be good and happy. I want a happy wife, okay? Not the depressed ones you see in the movies that drink an absurd amount of wine and pass out. I want you to be happy. And if, eventually, I am not part of that happiness, I still want to see you happy." She nods, giving you a light kiss on your hand. "I want you to have fun at the World Cup and kick ass, okay? If you ever need me, I'm a phone call away."

That night was the last time you saw her. You told yourself you wouldn't call or look at her Instagram; it would be too painful. So you decided to distract yourself, of course, still having as first priority the kids.

The first thing you did was go to the pitch. You decided to take Lucia and Ava with you, the older girl was about to start the season in Barcelona B, and you couldn't be happier for her.

You were practicing free kicks and penalties. You and Lucia were in a clear competition while Ava was just there having fun with the ball. After a while, Ava got bored, so she decided to stay on the sidelines in the shadow playing some games on your phone, which left you and Lucia on the pitch.

"Where is Alexia, by the way? I haven't seen her all morning." She asks out of the blue, catching you off guard.

"She left for the World Cup." You reply coldly, quickly passing the ball from one foot to the other, then shooting hard to the goal post, scoring a top bin.

"Aren't they leaving in like two days?" She replies, clearly not getting the point.

"Aren't you asking a lot of questions?" You glare at her, then realize that your tone slightly hurt Lucia. "I'm really sorry, Lucia. I didn't mean to snap at you like that."

"No problem, I'm used to it anyways." She rolls her eyes, closing off, then walks away.

You were feeling guilty; you really didn't want to hurt her feeling, so you told her the truth, "She left."

"What?" She turns around, looking at you.

You take a deep breath, "She left me."

"Wait, what? You broke up?" She says, shocked at the revelation, fully turning her body to you, taking a step towards you.

"I don't know. I'm sorry I snapped at you; you took me off guard with the question, and I still haven't fully processed it."

"It's okay. I just overreacted." She pauses. "I'm really sorry about Alexia. Do you need a hug?" She asks awkwardly.

You chuckle. "No. It's better not. If you will, I'll start crying. And I am an ugly crier, especially when it comes to Alexia. And I don't think none of us want to experience that."

"Are you going to be okay?"

"I will be." You release a shaky exhale. "Now, let's go back home. Ava here is getting too bored." You wrap your arm around Lucia's shoulder and take her to her sister.

As you get back home, you decide to go and take a shower, and there you silently cry until no tears are left. You then change into something comfy and go outside to your garden, trying to get some fresh air, and for the first time during the day, you check your phone. There were multiple missed calls from Alba and one from one of your best friends, Mapi. You knew that you had to call back both women, so you opted to go first with Alba. You knew it would be a sad call and hoped that calling Mapi after would cheer you up.

Spoiler Alert: It didn’t.

You take a deep breath and call Alba; she almost immediately picks up.

"Y/n, are you okay?" Alba asks almost immediately, quite sadly. You really didn't want her to pity you.

"You already know the answer, Alba." You smile sadly, "How is she?" You couldn't not ask about her; even though you tried to keep some distance, you still wanted to know how she was doing.

"She is miserable and guilty but knows she must focus on herself now."

"Did you tell her she doesn't have to feel guilty?"

“Y/n.” She replies sternly. "She might be my sister, but that doesn't mean I must agree with everything she does."

"Alba, we know how your sister deals with the pressure and anxiety. Alexia has always been very sensitive. She doesn't deal well with that kind of thing; when she was younger, she had her father and football that kept her going on and deal with the pressure. Now she only has football. You can't take that away from her."

"But she can take you out of her life?"

"That is an unfair question." You clench your jaw, trying to keep at bay your own feelings.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm sorry."

"Just know that I only want what is best for your sister, and if she really wants to, she will return; I really hope she will."

"She will." She says a little too sternly. "Or else she won't hear the end of it from me and Mom."

"Just please, stay with her, support her, and care for her. She needs it now more than ever for this World Cup."

You soon end the call after that, and after taking a minute to ground yourself, you call your best friend. She, too, picks up very quickly.

“Y/N!” She screams in your ear excitedly, .

"How was Norway? Did you already come back? Are you already in Barcelona?" You reply as excited as you can, given the circumstances.

"Norway isn't that bad; I missed Barcelona though; Ingrid made it worth it. How are you? How's Alexia?" You could feel her smile through the phone.

"Mapi, you have been away for a month; I have some news to share, big news, actually."

"Oh my God, did you get engaged?" She replies excitedly; without making your reply, she continues, "Oh my God, I'm so happy for you guys! And yes, of course, I will be your maid of honor, and yes, of course, I already planned your bachelorette par-"

"Maria calmate, I didn't get engaged." You reply sadly while feeling utterly sick to your stomach from the sadness of the situation.

"Then what is the big news to share?"

"I think I need to tell you in person about it."

"Oh, you can't leave me hanging like that!"

"Come over, and I'll tell you." You say, nearly reaching your point of total exasperation, you knew she wouldn't budge, but you also knew it was best to tell her in person that you have children now.

"A small hint?"

Losing your patience from your long day, you went straight to the point, "I adopted two children, and Alexia and I are on a break." You say, feeling a knot closing your throat.

"Ha ha, a good joke; tell me the truth."

"Mapi, I'm not joking." You say while your voice is wavering. She never heard you cry.

"I'm coming over." With that, she closes the call leaving you with a small tear running down your cheek.

You go inside and find the two girls watching something on TV.

"So girls, change of plans; a friend of mine is coming over, so you will meet them."

"Is it someone from the team?" Lucia asks.

You nod, "Guess."

"I know you are friends with Mapi; is it her?" Ava says excitedly.

"Yes, it is her, but that doesn't change anything. Bedtime is always at the same time."

"But-"She tries to find an excuse, but you interrupt her, "No buts, you will definitely see more of her, so don't worry." She lightly pouts, reminding you of Alexia and how she uses the same facial expression.

When you hear the doorbell ring, you open the door, finding your best friend in front of you for the first time in a month. You share a hug, then she asks, "So what happened? What is all this about?" Trying to make sense of what you said in the phone call. "Or was this a way to make me come over?" She gives you a mischievous smirk.

"Even though I missed you, it's not. I'll let you meet the kids, and we can talk later, okay?"

"So it wasn't a joke?" You shake your head, annoyed, "Then this 'talk' will take a while.”

She enters your home and makes her meet the girls. In the beginning, Ava was very shy, hiding a little behind you. But, as soon as Mapi began asking for her attention, she gladly gave it to her. Whereas Lucia was trying to keep it cool.

Your teammate, in the meantime, was giving the older girl a weird look as if she was trying to remember something.

"Do I know you from somewhere?" She asks, mostly rhetorically. Your friend had a memory of steel. "Wait, you were the girl that won the meet and greet."

Lucia shyly nods.

"I remember you because you were the first kid I met after joining Barcelona. You were so excited to meet your favorite players. But then, when you found out that Alexia and Y/n weren't there, you were so sad." She chuckled. "You must be happy living with your favorite player now." She says while looking at her smirking and then glancing at you.

"Oh yeah, they never shut up about Alexia. It's so annoying." You chuckle, crossing your arms, looking at both girls as if you unveiled one of their secrets.

"Oh no, if I'm not wrong, Alexia wasn't your favorite player," You could see Lucia changing expression in one instance, trying to communicate with Mapi to stop talking, she was shaking her head, widening her eyes. She was embarrassed, and you could see it from miles away. "Your favorite player was Y/n Y/ln." She chuckles.

You turn around facing her, utterly shocked, wearing a proud smirk.

"She couldn't stop talking about how much she loved to see you play and how she couldn't wait for you to win the Champions League. It was quite cute, actually."

"Now. Now. Lucia. Now that I have this information, you know you'll never hear the end of it, right?" You chuckle a little, making the girl slightly blush from the embarrassment but quickly recovering.

"You really had to say it?" Lucia asks Mapi, shaking her head.

"Of course she did! Do you want an autograph?" You joke.

"Oh my God! Stop it!" She says, smiling, clearly not enjoying your teasing.

"Lucia, pay some respect to your favorite player!" Mapi retorts, then she bursts out laughing.

"Yeah, Lucia! Pay some respect. In this household, we don't condone this disrespect, especially when talking about your idols." You finish the teasing while she rolls her eyes, "Moving on, who's up for some food?" You ask, turning to the three girls around you.

You decided to order pizza again; you really had to begin doing some serious grocery shopping.

You were so happy that your best friend met the two girls that you loved so much, and you were even more delighted when you saw that they got along great; it was nearly perfect. Only a person missed for it to be perfect.

That night you played games together, and when it was time to go to bed, Ava apprehensively went to bed after some convincing.

"I think I'm going to bed, too," Lucia said soon after her sister left for her room.

"You know you don't have to; if you want, you can stay with us." You offer.

"Nah, don't worry. I'm tired, and I have some episodes that I have to catch up with." She says, heading to her room. "Goodnight!" She says, while you and Mapi reply in the same way.

After a month of not seeing each other, you were left alone with your best friend.

"So, the girls are great!" She says, clearly trying to begin all the explanations you had to give her.

"Before I begin explaining everything, I need a drink." You go to your kitchen, open the first bottle of wine, and then go outside with your friend.

You sit at the table, basically downing your glass of wine. You took a deep breath then you began explaining everything to her. First, how you met the kids and what made you adopt them, then you talked about what happened with Alexia, reserving some of the most private details.

"She told me she needed a break because she was getting too overwhelmed, and of course, I let her."

"She's an idiot. She'll come to her senses, believe me. You and her work so well together; it's almost annoying. I don't think I could ever see you guys break up." You knew that she would be sad about Alexia leaving you, as she was the person that indirectly put you two together in the first place.

"Me too. But I guess nothing good ever works out perfectly." You reply sadly, looking at your glass of wine just poured. "I even bought a ring; I would propose after the World Cup. I had everything planned. Our honeymoon, the wedding date, everything. I'm so delusional." You realize, sadly.

"Hey, hey, Y/n, you are not delusional." She reassures you, taking your hand. You look up at her with glassy eyes, looking at her skeptically. "She wants the same things as you do. It might not seem like it right now, but you'll have your happy ending in the future."

"You know what I hate about all of this? The fact I still don't know what made her decide to want to leave me. Is it me? The kids? She said she couldn't deal with the constant pressure anymore, but what made her change her mind about me? Fuck! Am I not enough? In those three years that we've been together, we've gone through so much, from dealing with my own shit to her ACL; I thought that what we had was good, great even. I thought that taking the next step would be the best thing, you know, she would give me hints too that she was waiting for the proposal. So I thought she was sure about us, but I guess I was wrong? I don't know. I really don't know." You sniff, trying to keep in tears, then you quickly backtrack. "I'm really sorry; I shouldn't be dumping you like that; I know I am talking about one of your best friends too."

"No, Y/n, you can talk to me about it. You are one of my best friends too, okay? And I'm here for you. For whatever you need. And now that you have kids. Thanks for telling me right away, by the way," She remarks ironically, earning a chuckle from you, "I'll be the best aunt they ever had."

"I know you will." You give her a faint smile.

From your talk with Mapi, you realized one thing, which is that the kids should be your first priority, and everything else would come second.

You tried to deal with Alexia leaving after three years of relationship, in many ways. Normal people would think that you went to therapy, as this whole situation was making your abandonment issues from your parents surf up, but instead, you coped differently: watching Grey's Anatomy, the first seasons obviously.

That show was oddly comforting for you, for many people, such as Alexia, were adamant about watching it at first. You tried to convince her to watch it for three years, but she never budged. So now that she is gone, you thought it was the best time to watch it again. You usually watch it after Ava’s bedtime. You would put it on your TV for a couple of episodes. Initially, you didn't go in order; you just watched the most painful episodes. In all of this, Lucia would be like Alexia; she would roll her eyes when you watched the show and then go and mind her own business. You often offered her to come and watch it with you, but she wouldn't; you jokingly called her a girl full of prejudice, while she replied that she wasn't as lame and soft as you. But you could definitely see her stealing some glances at the show.

What you didn't know was that Lucia and Mapi were keeping in touch. A phone call happened, and Lucia told your best friend that you began watching the show; needless to say, Mapi was concerned because she knew that you only watched the show when you were on the verge of a mental breakdown. She told Lucia that she would be coming over soon, as she left town for a couple of days. But you still didn't know that.

That left you one night while you were watching a really intense episode. Lucia came out of the kitchen, passing through the living room, trying to get to her room, but she suddenly stopped looking at the screen. "Wait. Where is the brunette? The best friend of Meredith, I think. Wasn't she supposed to be in the show from day one?"

"She left," you replied, not taking your eyes away from the screen.

"Wait. What?" She says surprised, taking a seat next to you. You gave her a pillow.

"Yep."

"Is it okay if you put an episode from the beginning?" She asks shyly. You beam at her and switch on to the first episode.

And that is how Lucia began watching Grey's Anatomy. And what shocked you the most was that she was an emotional kid, and she got really invested really quickly, but what was funny was that she tried to hide it, but she never managed to do it properly, silently sobbing when characters died.

A week after, you were so invested that you watched it in all of your free time. You knew that it wasn't healthy. Especially for you, but it looked like she was enjoying herself, so who were you to stop her from watching something she loved.

That day you were watching the bomb episode; Ava left with Nico to get some stuff for his shop, leaving you and Lucia with time to kill, so you put on the show, and both decided you were up for a show marathon. As you got up to get some water for the both of you, you heard a knock at the door.

"Hey Mapi, what are you doing here?" You ask happily, being surprised you were seeing your friend without her telling you beforehand.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing, why?" You ask her, clearly hiding the fact that you were watching Grey's Anatomy.

"You are watching Grey's Anatomy again, right?"

"No, I am not!" You say defensively.

"Stop bullshitting me, Y/n. Do you remember after we lost the Champions League last year against Lyon? You began watching that freaking show because you thought it could bring you some comfort, but instead, it made it worst!"

"That's not true!" You bark, even though you know it is the truth. "And you can't barge in like this, into my home unannounced, making wrongful claims."

"Lucia told me to come."

"And since when you and Lucia talk?"

"Since the night we met, so where is she?"

"Oh, you'll love what you are about to see." You chuckle, taking her to the living room.

When she saw Lucia watching the show, her face was adorned with the most disgusted and offended look.

"Lucia?" She says, making her turn around quickly, giving her a guilty expression.

"Okay, this is not what it looks like. It's-It's Y/n's fault."

"Oh don't blame me! I didn't force you." You say, showing the palms of your hands.

"Okay, you two. We are going out. The both of you. We are going on the pitch; get ready. Where is Ava?"

"With Nico." You reply.

"Tell him we'll be out for at least two hours."

As you get in the car with Mapi, she keeps her eyes on the road without giving you another glance. Leaving Lucia and you with an awkward silence.

As she gets to the parking lot of the training grounds, she makes you exit the car and turns to Lucia. "Have you already been here?"

"Yeah, Y/n takes me at least once a week."

Mapi looks at you surprised while you comment proudly, "Mark my words, she's going to be the future of Barça." Lucia blushes lightly, staring at the ground.

"I'm not that good." She says, nearly whispering.

"Don't you dare underestimate yourself! At your age, I was not even near as good as you. And you didn't even start training! Imagine then." She curls her lips in a small smile, heading to the entrance of the pitch.

"Did Y/n tell you about how we got the keys to this place?"

"Oh yeah!" Lucia chuckles, "She told me that you got drunk and wanted the keys, and Alexia had to save you."

"So, are we also changing this story?" Mapi asks you accusatively, making you sigh.

"Okay, maybe I embellished it a little." You grin guiltily.

"So what happened?"

"She was the drunk one!" Pointing the finger at you while you rest your forehead on your hand, shaking your head, not looking at Mapi. "And then, with some excuse that I don't even remember she lured us into helping her get the keys. Needless to say, she couldn't keep quiet, so her plan went to shit. She couldn't think properly because she was very drunk. She called Alexia, who was partying with the other girls because we had just won our first Champions, crying."

"I wasn't crying."

"You were sobbing because you couldn't figure out where the keys were, even though you claimed you knew where they were. And then Alexia came to the pitch, worried sick, and helped us find them. Which is something I would have never expected her to do."

"Well, she definitely told me another story." Lucia chuckles.

"Well, okay, I may have skipped some of the most lame parts of the story because it was the second time I saw you, and I wanted to not sound too lame." You reply, a little embarrassed.

She places her hand on your shoulders and smiles at you. "But you are lame."

"How dare you talk like that to your football idol?!" You say, faking being offended.

"I can, and I will!" She begins running to the pitch while you follow behind her trying to catch her. Spoiler alert: you couldn't. That girl was fast. Too fast.

After a little while, you both stop, taking a break. You put on your shoes and begin passing the ball to each other in a triangle. Then you leave Mapi and Lucia to play alone while you sit on the grass, smiling at their interactions.

You were more than halfway through July, meaning the World Cup was about to start. Even though you decided not to participate, you still told yourself you would watch all the Spain games. You had friends and teammates in that squad and wanted to support them. You and Mapi had the same idea, so you hosted a little get-together with other Spanish teammates who didn't attend the World Cup. Of course, you chose to tell all of your teammates about the kids and the adoption but refrained from talking about the Alexia thing. Initially, they were shocked that you had two children now, but then they were very happy for you.

So you found yourself on the day of Costa Rica against Spain, with many people in your home, all commenting random shit on TV. You were wearing your old Spain shirt with the number 10 behind it, while Lucia and Ava wanted to wear Alexia's. You let Ava wear one of the old shirts Alexia gave you at the beginning of your relationship with her. While with Lucia, you basically forced her to wear a Spain shirt with your name on it, claiming that "You have to wear the shirt of your favorite player, and you are lucky enough that you live with her." You loved teasing Lucia about the fact that you were her favorite player, and loved even more her annoyed reactions.

The two girls looked too cute, making your heart swell. So you posted a story on your Instagram showing the two backs of the shirts and the tv behind, with no caption. You still had to wait for everybody to come when you received a text from Alexia.

'Love the fits ;).'

You reply almost instantly, with your fingers trembling, as it was the first time you spoke to her since she left that night. 'They look so cute in it!'

‘I still don't know how you convinced Lucia to wear one of your jerseys, though…’

‘Long story’ You simply reply. This conversation confused you, as she wanted to keep talking to you. At the same time, she was the one that wanted a break, but you kept on replying to her, as you really missed talking to her.

'You'll tell me when I get back?'

You are about to reply when you hear a knock on the door, so you leave your phone on the table in your living room and go to the door. Mapi, Sandra Paños, Patri, and Claudia quickly enter your home, clearly looking for something.

"Nice picture you put up on your insta." Mapi remarks, "People are going to ask why you have two kids on your story and why you were watching a Spain game when you were part of the 15 people that refused to participate in the selecciòn."

"Make them talk about the kids; I'll discuss everything with Lucia in the future. And for the story, I'll just say it was in support of Alexia and nothing more, which is true." You explain to your best friend.

"So, where are the kids?" Sandra, the goalkeeper, asks you.

"They are in the living room."

After your teammates meet the two girls, you all order pizza and wait for the game to start.

You picked up your phone and saw that Alexia sent two other texts to you.

'Wish me luck (luck-clover emoji).'

'I miss you.'

You released a shaky exhale and decided not to reply; it was hurting you too much to respond to any of it. It was unfair of her to send you that last text, and it wasn't fair to you to reply.

During the game, when Alexia did something remarkable, as always, your friends, who were clueless about your break with her, would always make little comments about her and you, which you would shrug off, but Mapi and Lucia immediately understood that they were making you a little sad.

Spain managed to win that game by a very narrow margin. 1-0. You knew that they could've won by much more. You could see that by how they played, something was missing. Alexia's performance was clearly below her average, which made you low-key very worried. You see them return to the changing room, and then you switch off the tv. All the people in the room began talking and joking with one another, mainly focusing on the two kids that you had in your home; okay, a kid and a teenager, but for you, Lucia will always be a kid.

After a while, you receive another text from Alexia, making you feel bad that you weren't replying to them. Which she wrote

'You all were right about Jorge. I should have stayed home.'

You reply to this text, saying, 'I'm sorry, Alexia. He's an asshole.'

What actually had shaken you up from the text wasn't the fact that Jorge probably verbally abused many of your friends and teammates from your national team, which still made you angry as shit, but actually was that she said that she should have stayed home. Was she saying that she regretted going to the World Cup? Or was she regretting leaving you?

Mapi realized you were having inner turmoil and dragged you to your kitchen, asking what was happening. You showed her your phone, and she looked at you surprised.

"Since when has she been texting you?"

"Since today." You put away your phone, "I just don't get what she is doing. What she wants from me. And I know for sure that she is going through worse than me. But this is fucking torture, and the worse thing is that she doesn't even realize it."

Mapi didn't have the time to reply that a very tired Ava came to the kitchen searching for you.

"Mo-, Y/n, I'm tired."

"Do you want to get to bed?" You ask her smiling as you know the subsequent request that she will make. Over the weeks that she stayed at your home, you started giving her piggyback rides to the bed, making her fall into her bed, earning a laugh from her. Then you would tuck her bed sheets, giving her a good night.

She slowly nods, raising her arms and making grabby hands. You chuckle at her and turn around, waiting for her to jump on your back.

You put her to bed, give her goodnight with a kiss on the forehead, and return to the chaos in the living room.

You found your teammates and Lucia outside in your garden, sat down on the couches, actively talking about random stuff that you didn't even want to know about. You went out and sat down next to Lucia and took part in the conversations that were happening.

"Now Lucia, I have a really important question for you." Sandra begins, making the young girls sit up straight, a little worried. "How's living with Y/n?" Making all the people at the table chuckle apart from you. "I ask you this because when this woman here moved in with Alexia, we were really worried for Nala. And also because she has never once made a plant live for at least more than a week."

"Okay, this statement is very wrong. A, I am a great dog mom, Nala loves me, and B, I only ever owned one plant, and I hate taking care of them." You say, clearly, nobody was listening to you but were waiting for Lucia's answer.

"Honestly, she has been very good to us." She replies shyly. "She took us in when nobody asked her to, and honestly, she has been more of a mom to me this past month than my mother has ever been in sixteen years."

You look at her, eyes watering, really shocked about her statement. You give her a small smile, "Stop it, you will make me cry." You chuckle while removing with your fingers the tears forming in your eyes.

"Who would've thought that Y/n was such a softie!" Claudia teases you while you give her a deadly stare.

"Shut up, Claudia." The other girls at the table chuckle softly, then you turn to Lucia, "I'm really happy you feel that way." You hug her, and you give her a small kiss on the temple.

"If you will excuse me, I'm going to bed now; remember that tomorrow we have training." She reminds you, you slowly nod at her, and then she turns to your teammates, "It was so nice meeting you all; I hope I'll see you again sometime. Good night." All your teammates say goodnight to her, and as soon as she leaves for her bedroom, they turn to you.

"That revelation must have hit you like a ton of bricks." Mapi jokes.

"Oh, you don't even know. I wasn't expecting her to say that; she's not the kind of girl who likes to 'speak her feelings.' But it was a nice surprise."

"They are good kids, really kind and smart. You must be so proud of them." Patri speaks up.

"I am. Ava is so smart and sneaky, you don't even know. Whereas Lucia she's a really good kid, she will be playing for Barcelona B this season. I'm so proud of her; she'll surely be our team's future."

You say proudly as if you were speaking about your own kids, which slowly you realized that as time progressed, those two kids became so much part of your life that now you couldn't see yourself without them. For you, they were your kids, but you knew that it wasn't right to both of them for you to call them that, they already had a mom, and you didn't want to make them feel like you were replacing her.

"And with Alexia? How are they getting along with her?"

"Oh great! The younger one has her wrapped around her little finger. You all know how Alexia is with kids. Ava found out how she can make her say yes to everything she wants, so that's that. Whereas with Lucia, they bonded over football and dogs."

"You all look like a happy family."

"Yeah, I guess." You chuckle sadly, trying to keep up the façade that you and Alexia were still together.

After approximately half an hour, all your guests left, leaving you alone in the house, wallowing in your pit of misery. You were so happy that Lucia told you what she had told you, and there was only one person that you wanted to tell, Alexia. But you couldn't, and that realization left you helpless.

You go to your bed, which had been half undone since Alexia left, and you lay on it, still smelling her perfume from her pillow. You really missed her. So damn much.

You turned on your phone one last time before going to sleep. As Mapi predicted, you received many comments about the two kids and why you were watching the Spain game, but what worried you was your agent, who texted you.

'Call me as soon as possible. I don't care if it's midnight."

You decide to call him immediately, hoping he wouldn't pick up. He picked up, telling you how the story you put on Instagram makes many people ask questions, making you roll your eyes.

The next day you wake up after approximately two hours of tossing and turning in your bed, and go downstairs to your kitchen; you give Nala something to eat and make her go outside. You prepare coffee for yourself and wait for the girls to wake up.

You were scrolling through your phone when Lucia and Ava came to the kitchen for breakfast. Fortunately, after more than a month, since they moved in, you managed to get something to eat for them for breakfast, so you didn't have to go to your brother's place every day.

Lucia sat at the chair next to you while Ava tried to sit on the kitchen countertop, as she saw you many times sit there, but she couldn't because she was too short, but she wouldn't surrender. So you chuckled, then picked her up and put her where she wanted to sit.

"What are you doing?" Lucia asks, trying to peek at your phone.

"Did you open my Instagram yesterday?" You ask her.

"You might be one of my idols, but I don't stalk you on Instagram; I already live with you." She threw her hands up.

"Look at my story." You push her phone to her hands, and she picks it up and goes on Instagram.

"Wait, this is us!" She says, smiling shyly. Ava snatches her phone from her sister to see the picture, making the owner of the phone grunt from irritation, the older girl tries to physically take back the phone, making them have a small fight.

"Okay, girls, it's nearly nine a.m.; it's too early for this type of physicality. Ava, give back the phone to your sister." The little girl huffs and reluctantly gives the phone back.

"So, what is the problem with this picture?"

"People are asking who are the kids in the picture, so I thought I would post about it to get my agent off my back. Is it okay for you? I chose a picture in which you can't see your faces, so you won't have any problems." You reassure the older girl, showing the picture on the phone.

It was one of the first pictures you took together. The first one, Alexia, took it, and it was the first time you hung out together, all four of you. Ava was very tired and fell asleep on you; Alexia took a picture and sent it to you the day after. You couldn't see the sound girl's face in it, but it was evident she was a child.

The second one instead was a picture of you and Lucia playing football, you didn't remember who took it, but it appeared on your phone. You fell in love with the photo right away. You were possessing the ball, and Lucia was trying to take it away from you, but you were pushing her away laughing. When you saw both pictures, they became your top three favorite pictures of all time.

The third picture being with you and Alexia you took when you won your first Champion's League together. You had just started dating and thought you couldn't be happier at that moment, but boy, you were wrong.

"I love them." Lucia simply says, nodding.

"I don't like my picture!" Ava says, crossing her arms on her chest and pouting.

You chuckle at her antics, "What do you have against it? It's cute!"

"It's not cute! I'm sleeping."

"Okay, why don't you decide the picture." You offer, giving you her phone, on the album where you kept all the pictures with the girls.

She casually lands on a picture you took of her and Alexia petting Nala, which you thought was beautiful and sad. Making you rethink your life choices again in the past month.

"I want to put this." She says, giving you back the phone.

"I'll think about it." You give her a smile, then go back to preparing breakfast for them, thinking you'll finish the post that night.

That day, you had a lot of things to do. One is enrolling Ava in an elementary school and then bringing Lucia to the pitch to help her train for the season. You decided to multitask. You took Lucia to the pitch, then left for the school with Ava, and then you'd leave her with Nico and then go back to the pitch to Lucia so that you could train for preseason in Mexico.

Needless to say was that when you got home, you were exhausted. After the tough training that you and Lucia just endured, you both decided to shower then the both of you found yourself lying frozen on the couch with the AC on, waiting for Nico and Ava to come back home to dinner.

—

Fast forward to three weeks, and you still had to do the post; you opted out of it because you thought the pictures were great, but you knew something was missing: Alexia. How could you post about your family when a huge part of it was missing? So you decided not to post anything, hoping she'll return to you.

You were all now watching the Spain game against the US. The same at your house for the Panama game was again at your home. Spain barely got out of the group stage, with all the players clearly missing the spark they usually had. Matches with the US have always been challenging games; they were 4-time world champions for a reason, but more than that, the majority of the players in the USWNT played in the US, so you weren't even used to playing with them in a club.

Needless to say, Spain lost that game badly. Jorge was fuming. You could see it from the screen. He would scream at his team at any time, especially with Alexia, making you extremely worried. Alexia didn't deserve it; nobody did. He was acting irrationally for the world to see how bad of a manager he actually was.

The US team was over the moon when the final whistle blew, whereas Spain was shattered. They were all on the ground with their hands covering their faces. Then Alex Morgan walked towards your ex-girlfriend, picked her up from the ground, and gave her a small pat on the back for encouragement. It really hurt seeing the love of your life this hurt and distraught.

You see her go to get water near the bleachers, then the camera frame Aitana Bonmatì, which she was too standing up, but then you see her begin running. The camera changes the frame again, and you see where Aitana is running to. Alexia was drinking from a Gatorade bottle, and Jorge approached her. He snatched it harshly away from her and began talking angrily at her. You couldn't hear what they were saying to each other.

Still, you knew Alexia wasn't having any of it, chuckling sarcastically and shaking her head. He reacted by grabbing her by the arm. In the meantime, many of your Spanish teammates that have seen the scene unveiling, ran up to their captain, trying to make him take his hands off her. Ona even forcefully removed his hand from Alexia's arm, giving him a death stare. As she saw her teammates swarm her and their trainer, Alexia put a hand on Ona and Aitana, trying to stop them from doing something stupid. At the same time, Jorge kept screaming at all of them.

You and your Barça teammates were watching the scene on TV and looking at each other worried. You were frozen and scared, hoping that things wouldn't go sideways than they already were. FIFA was about to intervene when Jorge just finished screaming when Alexia shook her head and left the pitch, practically stomping. The game's broadcasting went to the ads, and you all looked at each other.

"What the fuck just happened?" Map was the first to speak, all turning to her while you still stared at the screen. Many voices were talking one on top of the other, but you closed them out, trying to think about your next step. You knew that if their interaction had lasted more than it did, you would've probably already been at the airport.

What brought you away from your spiral of thoughts was Ava calling out your name. This made you snap out of your trance and realize that also Ava and Lucia probably saw the same thing as you and many other kids around the world.

You went before her and then kneeled so she wouldn't have to raise her head too much.

"Y/n, why was the coach screaming at Alexia?" She asks worriedly with her head down.

You didn't know what to say to her; you couldn't possibly say that Jorge was an asshole who couldn't interact appropriately even on a worldwide broadcast.

"You know, when a person is sad and angry, they sometimes take it out on others even though they don't deserve it. That's what happened, even though you should never have your feelings out of control." She nods understandingly while you gently take her sides, "Now, why don't we go outside and get ice cream together?" She nods excitingly. "I have to make a phone call now. Can you stay with Mapi until I am back?" You look at your best friend; she gives you a slight nod, then turns her attention to the younger girl.

You go to your room, and the first thing you do is call Alexia. It goes to voice mail. And even though you hate leaving voicemails, you do.

"Hi Alexia, it's me, Y/n. I think you probably know that already. I saw the game today. I'm trying to say that please call back as soon as possible, or even just text me to let me know you are okay. And I know we're on a break, so I must give you space. But just please let me know if you are okay. I love you." You say, probably holding your phone too tightly, trying your best to find the right words.

Then you text Alba, which you haven't heard from her since the day she called you.

'Hey, Alba. I know that you are in New Zealand right now. I just wanted to ask you if you had heard anything about Alexia. Is she okay?'

Then you send a text again to Alexia. 'I saw the game today. Can you call me when you get this text, please? Or if you don't want to call, just tell me you are okay.'

Then you took a big breath to ground yourself. You told yourself to put your concern for Alexia in little boxes in the back of your brain. You had to be strong for Ava and Lucia.

You went downstairs to the girls and found your house empty, only Mapi and your kids.

You give the woman a puzzled look. "They left about two minutes ago. And the kids are outside playing with Nala. Did you manage to get a hold of Alexia?"

You shake your head. "I send her a text, and Alba too. I really hope that she's okay. That interaction looked like a lot. And for the whole team to intervene seemed like he was saying some hurtful stuff."

"I sent a text to Aitana to ask her what was going on. She told me that some hurtful personal stuff was said to Alexia. They haven't seen her since then."

"I mean, should I be worried? I know that we aren't on talking terms right now, but she is still someone I still care very much about."

"It's okay to worry about her. I know for sure that she won't be MIA for much long."

"Thank you for taking care of the kids, I'm sorry I left in such a hurry, but I had to make the phone call, ya know."

"If it were Ingrid, and I was in your place, I would've probably done worse." Her confession made you chuckle.

"So, ice cream? You don't have to come if you don't want to."

"Of course, I'm coming! I still have to beat Nico for top place as aunt/uncle!"

"You are an idiot." You say, laughing.

You go outside and call the two girls; Ava goes straight past you to Mapi, whereas Lucia, Shows you the thumbs up and asks you, "You okay?". You nod, giving her a weak shoulder pat, making her enter the house.

Every ten minutes, you would check your phone in the hopes of notification of Alexia, but it was useless. Good thing that Mapi was there, keeping the kids busy.

You were taking a walk when Alba called you.

"I'm sorry I have to take this." Your mouth to the defender that it was Alba and move away from the three girls.

"Hi Alba, how are you?"

"I'm good; we are about to go back to Spain. Tomorrow we have the flight."

"Say hi to Eli from me, okay?"

"Oh no, she told me to pass you the phone when we are done talking. What are you doing?" Even though you have known Alexia's mom, she has always been scary to you, especially when Alexia was on the line..

"I took the kids for some ice cream with Mapi. Right now, they wandered off, probably looking at some squirrel." You chuckle, smiling at the thought. "Have you heard from Alexia?"

"Nope, she didn't even call mamá. But strangely, she is not that worried. I think she knows where she went."

"At least one of us knows." You say hopefully.

"Mamá wants to talk to you," Alba says, passing the phone to her mom.

"Y/n, how are you?"

"I'm good, Eli. How's New Zealand?"

"New Zealand is nice, but Barcelona is better."

"No doubts about that." You chuckle, agreeing.

"How are the kids? Are they behaving well?"

"They are wonderful; you should come to dinner as soon as you get back." You say politely.

"Now, I know you love my daughter very much, right?" She asks you authoritatively, making you subconsciously make your back straighter.

"Yes, I do very much."

"When she'll come back to you because she will. Make her work for it." Your face turns into a weird and confused expression. "You two are perfect for each other and complement each other perfectly. That is why I gave you my blessing to propose to her a year ago. But when my child comes to her senses and apologizes to you, if you want her back, which I really hope you do, make her earn it."

"I will." You say, chuckling. "I'll make her sweat a little."

"Good. Now I'll let you get back at it with the kids. Give them a hug from me. And take care of yourself, with ya?"

"I will. Have a safe flight."

The rest of the day and the next day passed on rather quickly. You were still worried, but somehow, after the call with Alexia's mom, you were worried less. You knew she was a nearly 30-year-old independent woman; she could care for herself.

It was approximately 11 pm. You had just put Ava to bed, and Lucia was already to bed, ‘Claiming’ that she was tired. You thought she was hiding something from you, but you weren't worried about that. When she is ready, she will tell you. At least, you hoped.

Alone in your house, you wondered if this was like rich housewives felt when they waited for their husbands to come home, except that you didn't have a man, nor a woman, for that matter.

So, willing to get the whole desperate housewife experience, you decided to do the most typical thing they could do. Which was pouring yourself a glass of wine or two and hoping for the best.

You tried to find the cheapest bottle in your kitchen and opened it immediately; as you were about to put the wine in the glass, you heard an insistent knock on the door. You checked your time and wondered who in their right mind would knock at someone's door at past 11 pm.

You go to the door and open it.

"Alexia?"

#alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #woso imagine #woso x reader #woso one shot

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