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sorcerersseestars · 4 months

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LIMERENCE (II)

Gojo Satoru x gn!reader

part i here

summary: Gojo is uncharacteristically insecure and unsure to the point of double guessing himself—something practically unheard of for the self-proclaimed Honored One. Meanwhile, the ever-feared blood-laden flowers make an unwelcome appearance.

word count: 6.7k

warnings: mentions of sickness and blood, descriptions of vomiting (caution to fellow ppl with emetophobia), characters are anxious and stressed!, cussing (obvs), use of (Y/N), kidnapping!

genre: hanahaki disease au, hurt/comfort, lowkey mystery?

a/n: Here is part 2 (finally lol)! It is a whole 6.7k words (😫) to make up for not updating until now haha. This chapter features serious!Gojo and worried!Gojo 😳. It seems out of character but it’s intentional (or so I claim). Also, I kinda make a pun out of Utahime’s name—hime (姫) means princess in Japanese! Two last notes: for clarification—I use italics to emphasize things, but also for characters’ thoughts. Geto is still alive (still excommunicated tho) in this timeline. More notes at the end of the chapter!

“Hey, ‘Hime, when’s your lunch break today?”

He hears a scoff that hardly conceals the crackly laugh that follows through his speakers. Her laugh is delicate and bright, even over the phone.

“Don’t call me that, Gojo. Never been into the princess thing.”

“We’ve been over this, it’s Satoru. And what should I call you then? Hime is perfect, it’s literally in your name.”

“I’ll call you Satoru if you call me by my real name: Utahime.”

“You’re so boringgg! Come on!” He whines, pretending to pout.

Utahime breathes in sharply at his words, “Satoru…you shouldn’t say things like that.”

Gojo stops walking. His brow creases in confusion: this is how he has always behaved, with obviously facetious and playful words. Even the people that claim they can’t stand him the most, like Shoko and Nanami, recognize when his words are intentionally over the top or ridiculous. Utahime also knows this: he has not concealed this aspect of his personality from her.

He can’t stop his next words from being spoken with a twinge of annoyance. “I was kidding, you know. Is something wrong?”

Utahime sighs, “No, no. Sorry, I’m just a bit stressed since the higher-ups asked for a meeting with me. Have no idea what it’s about…”

“They did? So, you’re not free for lunch? Please say you are…”

His words feel unnatural and stilted, but he brushes the feeling aside. He’s probably just nervous since it’s her, right?

“Yeah, I’m going to my meeting in a few, but I should be able to make it. Could you get the reservation for us?” Utahime asks, tone leaning on snippy.

“Mm, maybe. What’s the magic word?” He teases with a playful tone, trying to lighten her mood. This should work, it should make her feel better. He has experience with this.

“C’mon Gojo, not now,” She groans, apparently disgruntled. “But, fine, could you please make the reservation?”

He frowns. Not exactly the reaction he anticipated.

“Okay, but next time you gotta call me Satoru,” He says with a small awkward chuckle, this time easing up a bit on his teasing tone. “I’ll let you off the hook this time, though.”

“Sure,” She snorts, but not in the way that she would if she thought it was funny. It’s a sardonic snort, rather, and he would bet money that her eyes are rolling.

A loud click signals the end of conversation, but his phone remains pressed to his ear. He lowers it slowly, a strange feeling swirling in his chest. It’s an uneasy, heavy feeling from deep down, but he can’t discern what exactly it means.

“Why would I expect that to work?” He mutters to himself. “That’s so annoying, who would tolerate that?”

Suddenly, an image flashes under his eyelids, almost making him flinch at how intensely it conjures itself. A vivid apparition of you doubled over in laughter appears in his mind. It’s a memory, he realizes: you’re leaning on him as tears part from your eyes, unable to catch your breath due to how hard you’re laughing at one of his horrible, stupid jokes.

He remembers this moment well. You had been crying for real before—quietly sniffling, trying to hide it from him. He knew that you hated crying in front of others—trying to always appear strong, he knew this feeling well—so he started direct attention away from it with the corniest jokes he could make. That’s when your tears, first full of the hurt that he could clearly see in your crumpled expression, turned into ones of relief and joy. Your eyes had sparkled with some other emotion he couldn’t identify—something familiar, something that made him feel warm in the chest, but also made him feel so, so scared.

He never did figure out what it was. Or, rather, he has tried not to dwell on it. Every time it pops into his head, he pushes it down, the fear rising in him each time he comes closer to the answer.

Utahime never made him feel like that. That must be better. He never feels scared like that when he thinks of his feelings for her. That must be better, it has to be.

He enjoys talking to Utahime. He likes that he can get under her skin with little effort, likes how easily he can get a rise out of her: and most of the time, she’s amused by it, giggling and slapping his arm. He’s never scared with Utahime, but…why does something feel wrong?

His fingers, typing in his name for the reservation, pause and begin to tremble when he sees what he typed. He typed your name. His eyes widen beneath his blindfold—he’s grateful it helps to conceal his expression, even if nobody he knows is around. In truth, this is partly why he seldom removes it; he masks his true emotions more often than not. Not that anyone suspects it, though, too convinced by his saccharine smiles and forever jocular personality.

The blue horizontal line blinks in and out of existence as his fingers hover over his keyboard. Your name, though written in normal text, appears bolded to him: it sucks his attention away from anything else on his screen. He begins to break out in a sweat.

Sweating just from their name? How pathetic…

He shakes his head, frantically backspacing, trying to erase all traces of you from his mind. He’s been trying to do this for months, ever since he began to distance himself from you. There is a legitimate reason he has been giving you the cold shoulder, but it feels like an excuse to drive away this fear that grips him when he thinks of that warmth, that sparkle in your eyes.

Fuck. Now he can’t get that image of you out of his mind—his chest aches, his breathing comes quicker, but he does not know why.

He walks almost endlessly in the town he booked the restaurant in, in a pace-like fashion. His large stature and height make the brisk pace he walks at look absurdly hurried to passerbys: they stare at him unabashedly and he barely notices.

It’s only when he checks his phone that he realizes how much time has passed since he called Utahime. His reservation is soon: he will be late if he doesn’t start walking there now. Shit.

His breath comes heavy when he finally reaches the restaurant. It’s a casual yet nice ramen place—something familiar yet suitable for a lunch date. He’s wearing a baby blue button down shirt, nice slacks, and trades in his blindfold for heavily shaded sunglasses: also suitable for a lunch date.

A date. Yes, that’s what he’s on. A nice lunch date with a girl whom he kissed before the first date. A bit untraditional, not that he would be one to mind.

He approaches the hostess, about to ask for a table for two, but then he spots a familiar red ribbon perfectly adorning the dark strands of hair she always pulls back. She’s already here, sitting alone in the corner.

Gojo sighs. Fuck, ‘messed up again.

He hurriedly stumbles over to Utahime, probably looking a bit disheveled. She gives him a questioning glance at his appearance—Gojo laughs and immediately plasters on an easy smile.

“Hey,” He says nonchalantly, slowly lowering himself into the chair opposite her.

“Hey. You’re late,” She notes, but she doesn’t sound as bothered as he thought she would. “Did something happen? You look…like something happened.”

He goes along with it, sighing dramatically, “How’d you know? Yeah, Yaga was bothering me about some mission stuff. Dumb paperwork I’m supposed to do and whatever.”

She smiles, but it’s tight lipped, “Of course. But that doesn’t explain why you’re all sweaty.”

“I am?” He questions, feigning confusion, but his next words are partly true. “Ah, well, I realized I was gonna be late since he was pestering me so much. Guess I walked too fast.”

“Hmm,” Is all she says. She stirs the tea in front of her with a small spoon, expression blank as she does so.

Once he realizes she isn’t going to initiate talking further, he takes it upon himself, “How did the meeting go?”

She stops stirring. She sets down the spoon more harshly than she means to: it clangs loudly on the tea tray.

“I have some questions,” She says seriously.

“Questions? About what?” He asks.

Her dark, stormy eyes meet his. “…About you.”

He gulps, “Sure! What type of questions? You know, people ask me a lot of stuff. I’m sure I can handle anything.”

He winks at her, his usual smirk spreading across his face. Maybe if he jokes he can diffuse this god-awful tension. Not that it worked before, but he can try.

Utahime blinks slowly, exhaling deeply, as if attempting to calm herself down. He can see the fire in her eyes between blinks.

“How about that the higher-ups were asking me about my relation to you, when they believed you to only show interest in someone else?”

No. They can’t still believe that.

Terror strikes Gojo’s heart, electrifying his nerves, but he tries to play it off. He breathes out a chuckle and a few weak words, “That wasn’t a question.”

“For once in your life, be serious! We’ve only been dating for 3 weeks and I–” She inhales deeply. “I don’t think it’s a good sign that you’re intentionally avoiding answering me about this.”

“I’m not, I just don’t know what you’re talking about. Who did they even ask about? I can’t think of anyone they could say that about.” He’s lying through his teeth. Alarm bells are ringing through his head, and he dreads her answer.

She narrows her eyes, but seems convinced enough at his alleged cluelessness.

“They were asking about (Y/N). Asking about…your relationship with them. About how close you are. Asking if it’s changed.”

Gojo takes a sip from his glass, avoiding her eyes.“Well, did they say why? Seems awfully strange to ask you about it.”

She’s silent for a few seconds, mulling over her next words. They end up making Gojo bristle. “Satoru, you know I couldn’t tell you even if they did.”

His tone is abruptly serious. “The hell does that mean?”

She blinks at him slowly, with anger flashing in her dark eyes. “Gakuganji is very involved with them. If I told you, it would definitely get back to him. Who knows how he would punish me.”

"So you'd rather possibly endanger (Y/N)?" Gojo scoffs.

“Who said anything about danger?” Utahime says lowly, suspicion clear in her voice.

“Well, when the higher ups ask questions about my life, it usually isn’t just for fun,” Gojo says with a shrewd smile. “I don’t know what the hell they’re thinking so I can only assume the worst.”

“Does this really matter right now? (Y/N) is capable enough if it does turn out like that, and besides, I sorted it all out. Told them that your ‘relationship’ is fine and dandy and yada yada.”

Gojo sucks in a breath, nerves beginning to turn in his stomach. No. No! That’s not what I wanted…

Utahime doesn’t seem to notice his discomfort and continues, “You two have always been close…didn’t you have a thing for each other in high school? They have always had these eyes for you.”

Her tone is strange, gushing and gossipy yet also jealous.

“What?” Gojo says more loudly than intended as he takes in all of the information Utahime just casually dropped.

“You know, I even told them that you two were meant to be together,” She chuckles. “Funny how things work out—or, rather, don’t work out.”

Gojo’s stomach twists painfully at her insinuation—even though it shouldn’t. He likes Utahime, he’s with Utahime. Not with you. He’s not with you, he has never been with you.

“Gojo,” Utahime says suddenly. He blinks rapidly in surprise, eyes finally landing on hers. “Can we agree to be honest with each other?”

“Of course. What do you mean?” He says easily, nervously.

“That’s exactly what I mean,” She shakes her head. “You’re deflecting at every question I ask. You’re not as slick as you think you are.”

Gojo lets himself sigh this time.

He studies her expression. She’s beautiful, he has to admit. She’s beautiful, but she’s not you.

“Utahime…what is this all about?” He asks slowly.

“I should be asking you that,” She counters. “Why did you ask me out if you won’t actively participate in our relationship?”

“What do you mean? I’m here, aren’t I?” Gojo responds carefully.

“But you mind isn’t,” Utahime sighs. “You’re miles away, Satoru. You always are. When you’re with me, you’re not thinking of me, are you?”

The question is so accurate that it seems rhetorical to Gojo, to the point of him not responding for many moments before he realizes she is genuinely asking him.

It’s so true and yet he physically cannot bring himself to admit to it. “I mean, I think about the higher-ups and work related stuff a lot. I’m sorry I haven’t been that present on dates and stuff, but–”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it, Gojo!” Utahime hisses out, tone bordering on venomous. “You’re always thinking about them. You make decisions thinking of them. I bet even when you kiss me, you think about them. Are you going to deny that?”

“Utahime…” He says softly, guilt constricting his vocal chords.

“I don’t understand you, Gojo. You asked me out and have taken me on fancy dates as if you want a committed relationship, but then your mind is always wandering away. I know that you still care for them, but then I heard from Shoko that you’ve been ignoring them for months. And then the fucking higher-ups ask me your relationship with them. Why would they ask me that and why would they even care? Something isn’t adding up. What’s really going on here?”

Gojo blinks in surprise at the depth of concern in her voice. It’s like she has already moved on from her jealousy towards you, and now is worried for you.

He must look surprised, because she adds on, “Just so you know, I’m not that sad. You’re kind of a shithead for doing this to me, but this wasn’t that serious for me. Obviously not for you, either.”

Gojo winces. Everything she has said so far has been true, but he wishes it wasn’t.

“Iori, I’m sorry. For everything. I didn’t even realize that…that I was doing that,” Gojo sighs. “And to answer your question—I didn’t want to tell anyone, but I think I owe it to you. I don’t know what’s going on either, and that’s what scares me. I have no idea what they want or what they’re plotting, but it can’t be anything good.”

Utahime sits there with a small smirk on her face. When he raises an eyebrow at her expression, she just chuckles and shakes her head. “You can’t even say their name. Just how much denial are you in?”

He can’t even answer. He just sits there, a hand brushing his cheeks in order the cover the warmth the rises at the mention of the depth of his denial concerning his feelings for you.

When she realizes he isn’t going to answer, Utahime rises out of her seat. “Well, I guess I can say I’m officially breaking up with you, not that you or I really care. Just…if you need help with this, just know I’m in your corner, yeah? Unless it’s something to do with Gakuganji, and in that case my hands would be tied. Otherwise, just ask. You know, I wasn’t joking when I said I rooted for you guys in high school. That’s a fact and I can’t deny it.

You should really figure this out—for their sake. It sounds like they’re not having the best time with it. And besides, as much as it pains me to say it, you owe it to yourself after fighting against whatever feelings you have had for them for so many years.”

He doesn’t interrupt her even once, instead quietly absorbing her advice. He fidgets at the mention of his feelings for you, still uncomfortable even at the thought of them. Still scared.

“Goodbye for now, Satoru. I hope you figure all this shit out. Have a nice lunch,” She says coldly as she readies her things. Her coldness stings a bit, but what else could he expect?

“Oh, one last thing,” Utahime pauses. “I’m surprised you didn’t ask me this, but I guess you’re too in over to head right now to think straight. I think I might know partly why they have taken an interest in (Y/N).”

Gojo’s gaze turns to her sharply, blue eyes bright with curiosity behind his shades. “Why? How do you know?”

“I think the higher-ups must have asked Yaga about them. I forgot until now, but they were asking me if I knew anything about (Y/N)‘s identity. And who would know better than anyone? Your nosey principal who digs deep on everyone,” She rolls her eyes, huffing out a small but humorless laugh. “Well, that should be it then. Bye, ex-boyfriend.”

She gives him one last look, then struts away with her head held high. He sincerely hopes she isn’t hurting too much, despite her very “okay with it” façade.

So it has to do with your identity? In Satoru’s view, you have somewhat of an average identity for a sorcerer. A grade one sorcerer who comes from a sorcerer family. You had not inherited your clan’s special innate technique, but you are still pretty strong regardless. There’s nothing unusual about your background, or at least to the best of his knowledge.

And yet this sickening feeling has begun to creep into his stomach, that feeling that something is horribly wrong. What he does not know is what he cannot control, and each heartbeat and breath of his feels tortured with the knowledge that you may not be safe.

Shoko won’t stop texting you, almost on the hour, despite your radio silence. It’s strange when you think about it—she has always hated texting, always grumbling that it’s going to give her carpal tunnel someday. And yet here she is, blowing up your phone with notifications.

You haven’t been to school in weeks, taking mission after mission instead. It’s very obvious that you’ve been avoiding Shoko and Gojo, but you won’t admit that.

The missions have been grueling and gruesome—your stomach turns when the curses you exorcised spring to mind. They were ghastly and frankly were some of the most mentally scarring curses you’ve encountered. So, you’ve decided to take a break.

You feel your skin crawl when you’re sitting at home doing nothing—the curses come to mind much more easily, and also thoughts of him—so you abandon being cozy for the sake of your mind. It’s cold outside, so cold that your breath greets you in a cloud with every puff of air you release. Winter has arrived, and it nips at your cheeks and numbs your extremities just to remind you.

You haven’t been coping well, and you know it. Avoiding thoughts of Gojo has not been working very well, even after physically avoiding him. You try to forget what you heard that day, but it won’t escape your mind no matter how much you distract yourself. You think of Utahime: her beauty, her quiet strength, of how she always seems so calm and collected and yet somehow always makes her voice heard. She has everything that you lack.

The skin of your face burns with envy when you think about her. And when you picture her with Gojo—her dark eyes looking into his pooling blue depths, her leaning forward and up to kiss him—your chest crumbles in on itself.

It hurts. Right now, everything surrounding Gojo Satoru hurts.

But today, you will change that. This will definitely help. You’ve taken yourself out of your apartment and straight into a place that has always lifted your spirits—the local florist.

You scour the aisles, wincing at the very romantic red roses and the bright yellow daffodils. But then something catches your eye: an array of festive bouquets.

You end up picking out a bouquet fit for the season: it features a string of cranberries, enveloped by branches of pine and pinecones, with a striped garland draped around it all. Despite all of your poisonous feelings inside, you crack a small smile at the sight.

You take it home, putting care into the beautiful and yet flowerless bouquet. You carefully mix the plant food into a vase full of cool water, cut the ends of the stems under running water, then submerge the bouquet.

It brings a sense of homeliness that you’ve been desperately missing ever since you’ve starting living on your own. It almost soothes the ache in your chest.

But, as always, reality swoops in to remind you that you cannot run from your feelings within. Within only minutes of arranging the new bouquet, you accidentally swipe at the vase. It crashes to the floor, the glass shattering everywhere, glinting beautifully as it spins through the air. The cranberries begin to bleed into the water, the impact too much for them to tolerate.

You bend down, slowly processing the collision. When you stare into the expanding pool of water, you see wild eyes brimming with pain. Brimming with heartache. It is then that you are painfully reminded what cranberries represent: a cure for heartache.

The irony is not lost on you. You begin to howl in laughter, and the voice that reverberates back to you sounds crazed.

Then, it begins. You abruptly stop breathing; you are choked, silenced, almost as if something is blocking your airway. And then your throat begins to convulse, an instinctual reaction to choking, and you have no choice but to obey your body. You stumble through the shards of glass and collapse at the foot of your toilet. You heave and heave—whatever is lodged in your throat is large, making it difficult and painful to retch up.

When you finally use enough force to hack up the offending object, you freeze at the sight in front of you. Vibrant hydrangeas the same color as his eyes float in a murky red cloud. Blue hydrangeas: a symbol of rejection and regret.

Your chest bursts in pain at the realization. You are in love with Gojo Satoru, and he doesn’t love you back.

You feel another bloom emerging from within. You shudder in fear, knowing that you have little time left. Once the flowers present themselves, death is almost always imminent.

You spend the next few hours by the toilet, conjuring a newer, more painful bouquet than the one that lays in shattered remains in your living room.

“You told them what?” Gojo exhales deeply, a sigh following his exasperated words. He pinches the bridge of his nose—a gesture uncharacteristic for someone as self-assured as him.

“That (Y/N) is important to you,” Yaga Masamichi states calmly. “Satoru, there is no reason to fret. Their intentions concerning this matter are pure.”

“Do you even hear yourself right now? The higher-ups intentions are anything but pure.”

“I can sense that you are agitated,” He observes, eyebrows beginning to furrow. “But you are blinded by your bias. They first and foremost protect our community. (Y/N) is of no threat to Jujutsu society, thus they should be in no danger.”

“You don’t understand,” Gojo shakes his head. He is clearly angry, but now his nerves are showing through more: his voice is uneven and his tone has an air of desperation. “The higher-ups are out to get them. I don’t have any answers for that, even though I’ve been searching for months. I’ve had to show indifference towards (Y/N) to convince them that there is nothing between us, and it was starting to work. Why did you tell them this without consulting me first?”

A frown etches Masamichi’s stony features. Behind his shaded glasses, his eyes rake over his former student, taking in his state. Gojo isn’t one to openly show fear or anxiety, yet his breathing is audibly shaky and his fingers twitch by his side.

“I see I have made a mistake,” Masamichi concedes. “But why are you so convinced the higher-ups have ill intentions toward them?”

Gojo begins to pace back and forth in front of Yaga’s desk—also very unlike him.

“They called me to meet them a few months ago, asking what my relationship with (Y/N) is. I brushed it off at first and basically told them to stop sticking their nose into my business, but then I started to notice something.”

Gojo pauses by a window. The light streams down onto his face, illuminating his rather uncommonly stoic portrait.

“They started assigning (Y/N) missions that were labeled as second or first grade, but actually turned out to be special grade. And it can’t be coincidental—the incident rate of this happening is much higher for (Y/N)’s assignments than any other person.”

“That does seem to be true,” Masamichi comments, thinking back to reports he’s reviewed.

“No, not seem,” Gojo snaps. “That is the reality of this situation. Ever since I realized that, I’ve acted coldly towards (Y/N), distancing myself as much as possible. And guess what? No more special grade missions. Less injuries. And—”

“Satoru!” Masamichi raises his voice, pulling Gojo out of his frantic spiel. He blinks in surprise; he didn’t even realize how much or how fast he has been speaking.

“I don’t know what they are thinking or planning, but stressing like this will not help the situation. This is our world; this is how they operate,” Masamichi says, leaning forward and resting his chin on steepled fingers. “We will find a way around this.”

“It shouldn’t be like this,” Gojo says, voice rumbling deep and low, dangerously quiet.

“They are resistant to change,” Masamichi counters. “We can’t directly influence their decisions.”

“Not if they can’t make them anymore,” Satoru snorts, a dark and bitter smirk curling his lips.

“That is completely out of the question,” Yaga says firmly in a warning tone.

“Their thinking is antiquated,” Gojo argues. “I think we need a complete refresh.”

“And yours is too radical and rash. No, Gojo. I will not even entertain your idea.” Yaga says with a note of finality.

“Won’t you let me have my fun?” Gojo sighs, exaggerating his disappointment. “You’re such a drag, old man.”

Yaga almost smiles. He’s back to his normal antics.

“So, there is nothing that you can think of that would cause the higher-ups to go after them like this? I know you looked into all of your students closely even before you became principal. You must know something.”

Yaga frowns. You were his student and, as Gojo claims, he did thoroughly look into your background. But—how can you truly be thorough when the information presented is so little?

“There was little to nothing on them,” Yaga says. “Even when I tried digging further, I didn’t find much. However…there are rumors that they have made a Binding Vow.”

“A Binding Vow?” Gojo echoes back. “That’s very vague. That can mean practically anything.”

“But it’s still interesting, is it not?” Yaga says with a wry smile. “If the higher-ups have heard, we can only assume that the Binding Vow is with another entity, not with themselves. Otherwise, why would they be interested? That is assuming this is true, of course.”

“Who did you hear this from?” Gojo asks. “Someone credible?”

“I’m not sure about their credibility. And you can’t really go out and interrogate them, even if you wanted to. If you did, there would be another expectation for your visit.”

Gojo grows suspicious from his obvious attempt at a non-answer, “Yaga, who?”

He sighs, “Geto Suguru.”

There’s silence. Then, Gojo cackles—it’s a bitter and sardonic laugh, slightly crazed as well—and shakes his head.

“Of course. Of course it was from him,” Gojo continues laughing, a hand covering his face this time. “Guess you’re right—there’s no avenue for conversation there. In that case, I’ve gotta go. See ya, old man.”

Yaga bristles at the nickname, but does not attempt chastise Gojo as he walks away without waiting for Yaga’s response. It simply doesn’t work, so why waste his breath?

Gojo walks out, digging his cell phone out of his pocket. He opens his text conversation with you, fingers twitching over the keyboard. But what would he even say? The last texts are all from you, scattered over a few weeks from literal months ago. He didn’t respond to any of them. He feels the need to contact you, but how would he even start that? ‘Hey, I know I’ve been ignoring you for months, but I heard that you might have told Geto that you made a Binding Vow and I think the higher-ups know about it.’

Nope. That’s not gonna work. He swipes the texting app out of existence, then locks his phone and puts it back in his pocket.

He leans back on the pillar, resting his head while he closes his eyes. Why does everything surrounding you have to be so complicated? Then, a series of hurried footsteps meets his ears, and he doesn’t need to open his eyes to know who it is. Gojo is ambushed by someone he hasn’t seen for a few days—your mutual friend, Shoko.

“I heard what happened from Utahime,” She says immediately.

Gojo exhales loudly, not even trying to conceal his annoyance, “Shoko, I really don’t have time for this right now.”

“No. Tell me what’s going on.” She says firmly, her tone hard.

“What? We broke up. What’s more to say?” Gojo says dismissively.

“No, Gojo. That’s not all there is. Things have been going on. She told me that she’s concerned for (Y/N) but wouldn’t tell me more. And it just so happens that I have been texting them just about every day for weeks and have heard nothing back. Tell me there’s ‘nothing more to say’ again! Because obviously something is going on.”

Gojo inhales sharply, his breath suspended at her words. He shifts his weight forward, finally leaning away from the pillar. Shoko takes notice of his surprise.

She sighs, deciding to clarify one detail, “They’ve still been taking missions so I assume that they’re fine…but they’ve never ghosted me like this. Even back then, when Geto…they didn’t…agh. Well, you know what I’m saying. I don’t know what they’re thinking.”

He only really gathered one thing from that. So you’re safe for now. Gojo recovers, his expression evening out into something more normal.

“Shoko, I don’t want to complicate things further,” Gojo sighs. “Too many people are already involved in this, ones I had no intention of involving. I’m sorry, but I don’t know if I should say anything.”

“You ass!” She shouts at him, making his eyes widen under his blindfold. Shoko never blows up like this—she’s always indifferent and sort of passive. “They’re my friend too, and I want to know what’s going on!”

“I don’t know what’s going on!” Gojo blurts out. Shoko blinks rapidly, shocked by the volume of his voice. He hates getting emotional like this, but he can’t help it when he’s so fucking worried. “I don’t know, Shoko. The higher-ups have been probing into my life, but this time– this time it’s about them, and I don’t know why they want to know. I don’t know what they’re looking for. I’m just praying every day that they stop, but then somebody else in our circle tells me that the higher-ups keep mentioning them. I don’t know what’s going on, but it can’t be good.”

She looks at him, finally noticing how…un-Gojo-like he looks and sounds. Worrying about others isn’t something that Gojo does, or at least not something he ever speaks about. He never has his brow creased like he does right now. He doesn’t bite his lip in worry, either, so why is he biting down so hard he’s almost pulling blood?

“Okay,” Shoko yields. “Okay. I believe you. I didn’t realize…I didn’t believe that you still cared so much.”

“You don’t even know,” He mutters under his breath, but Shoko still hears it. She acts like she doesn’t.

“Well, if you hear anything, tell me, okay?” Shoko asks him with a low exhale. “They’re really stressing me out.”

She pulls out a lighter and a cigarette, prepared to light up. The blinks, and the cigarette now lays on the ground, mysteriously absent from her grip.

“Fuck you,” She grumbles. “You know, that’s littering.”

She hates to say it, but her chest, heavy with worry, lightens a bit as his regular smirk spreads across his face. She feels a bit more hopeful as Gojo disappears in front of her, the wind from the teleportation blowing her hair and lab coat around furiously.

“If only you two weren’t idiots, this mess might have solved itself ages ago,” She chuckles to herself. “The densest people I know.”

Your lungs ache. You wheeze with each breath. You blink blearily, rubbing your eyes with one hand. You’ve been drifting in and out of sleep while you’ve been laying on the cold tile in your bathroom. The air is tinged with iron—the smell of your own blood curdles your stomach.

“What time is it?” You mutter to yourself, and jolt at the sound of your own voice. It’s raspy and weak; you almost don’t recognize it as being your own.

Your hands skate across the smooth tile as you try to locate your phone. When you finally do, you grab it and bring it close to your face. Your eyes, barely cracked open, ache at the bright light of your screen.

The time reads as 3:31 AM. You’ve really been here for that long? Under the time, a plethora of texts from Shoko appear. You groan and slam your phone back down on the ground, ignoring the guilt that rises from how long you’ve been flat out ignoring your friend.

I’m being just like Gojo. Your lips curl down at the realization.

You feel a wave of weakness wash over you, and you are forced to lay back down on the ground. You are half conscious, vision swimming half through dream and half through reality. You can barely think, barely process your own actions.

You feel cold metal in your hands, smooth glass under your fingers. You are tapping randomly, the light blinding you so much that you can’t open your eyes to see what exactly you’re doing.

All you hear is your own horrible breath. And then you hear a voice.

“(Y/N)? You called me?”

You blink blankly in confusion. Did you? You can only assume that you did.

“‘Guess so,” You try to say, but you can barely get it out with how sore your throat is. “Who…who is it?”

“What do you mean? You called me, silly.” They say with a small chuckle. “It’s like 3 am. Are you drunk or something?”

Why can’t you recognize their voice? Their voice sounds underwater to you. Your head is spinning so much and your ears begin to ring. Your feel yourself slipping from reality.

You hear yourself saying words, but you don’t remember thinking them.

“No…gonna pass out. Or die. Can’t tell.”

“What? (Y/N), what’s going on? Tell me where you are, I’ll come get you right now.”

You swear you know that voice. It’s deep and smooth, but filled with so much worry that you barely recognize it. He’s never sounded this scared before.

“Oh, you’re…you’re Satoru,” You wheeze out. “Why? Why you?”

You’re not making much sense, you don’t think. But you can’t, not with how far from reality you are right now.

You called him? It’s just too painful, too cruel a fate, that you accidentally called the man you’re in love with and who doesn’t love you back while you’re knocking on death’s door. You cough violently and choke on the bloody petals that rise to your throat. You wince in pain and struggle to breathe.

He is bordering on panic now, but he fights to keep it out of his voice. “It’s okay, (Y/N), just tell me where you are. You’re on a mission, r-right? I’ll come get you. Just hold on.”

Confusion floods your brain. A mission? Are you on a mission? Is that why the scent of blood is clogging your nose?

Your heart beat pounds in your head, faster and faster. It’s scary just how confused you are—how do you not know where you are?

“I don’t know,” You choke out. You didn’t even realize you were crying. “I don’t know where I am.”

“It’s okay, c-can you check your phone for me? It’ll tell you your location. Just open it and–” His breathing is fast. “And check in your maps. Please. Please (Y/N), I need you to do this for me. Then–then everything will be okay. Okay?”

“Okay,” You answer softly. “How do–”

You startle at the sound of a loud bang, your own gasp cutting off your words.

The door to your bathroom—that’s where you are—is knocked down, nearly missing your form where you lay on the tile.

Satoru is calling your name desperately, his voice louder with each repetition of your name. You can’t decipher any other words, but you know he’s shouting things, trying to get you to say something, to say anything so that he knows you’re okay.

A dark shape towers over you. You can’t make out who it is with your blurry vision and with how dark it is—but you are immediately intimidated by their large, broad frame.

“There you are,” They snarl. “I’ve been waiting a long time for this to happen. I’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner.”

You scramble to get up, grabbing your phone while you unsteadily rise on your shaky legs. You are an inch away from passing out and you fight the feeling with every ounce of your strength.

“Not looking too good, are we?” He says, tutting mockingly. “That’s perfect. Remember what we agreed on, my dear (Y/N)?”

You stare at him blankly, no recognition in your eyes.

“Silly me! Of course you don’t remember. That was intentional, you know. A good move on my part,” He chuckles, and it’s a soft sound that juxtaposes his words. “While you’re the one who has to suffer. Don’t blame me too much, though…this is all situational. It’s not like I ever disliked you or anything. It just has to be like this.”

You hear Satoru’s voice again, and this time it sounds dangerous, “Who the fuck is that?”

Anger runs through the man’s features, and he strikes the hand that carries your phone harshly. You yelp loudly both in surprise and in pain. Your phone clatters to the ground, instantly silenced. Probably broken beyond repair.

His words are chastising and almost playful, but he is furious. “You shouldn’t talk to him anymore, (Y/N). That’s not part of our agreement.”

Then he grabs hold of you and begins dragging you out of the room. You scream loudly, kicking and punching him as much as you can as you’re moved against your will. You are a strong sorcerer, but all of your cursed energy and strength has been sapped away by this horrible disease that afflicts you. You are powerless to stop this man.

There’s one thing you were mistaken about. With the crunch your phone made as it shattered against the ground, you assumed it was completely broken. That’s only partly true: the speakers were damaged, no sound coming out, but your phone actually survived. Your microphone continued to pick up every scream and cry you made as you were dragged against your will—kidnapped. He heard every whimper of pain and every plea of yours for the man to stop! and to let you go!

Even in this state, your heart would ache if you had heard the unadulterated fear that gripped his voice as he shouted and screamed for you through his phone.

Even if you didn’t recognize the man who manhandled you out of your apartment, Gojo Satoru has no doubts about who it was. It makes his blood boil thinking about it—he’s never going to forgive him for this, even if they used to be best friends.

a/n 2: Thank you so much for reading, it means a lot!! This got a bit out of my hands, I will admit…I ended up writing some details I hadn’t planned on (and a lot more lol) 😅 But I think it actually makes it more interesting!

TAGLIST: @certainduckanchor @kawaiivillainess98 @arehzhera @starrylibras @mandysfanfics @rain-and-a-nice-nap @csillana @sup-hoes-its-me @llliissuu @hawkdaddy1111 @unoriginalidea

@dcvilxswish @angel-kyo @eliz-lovesgojo @5268r @wooasecret @timetobegone @ceronnica @torusblindfold @mo0nforme @crookedlyaddictedone-blog @dasztasha

@soapysofi @qualitygiantshoepsychic

Some of these tags didn’t work, but I hope it still tags you…Lmk if I typed anything in wrong haha. 😌

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo behavior #jjk fanfic #gn!reader #Gojo is kinda smart but also an idiot at the same time #gojo hurt/comfort #hurt/comfort #angst

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hamsterclaw · 10 months

Text

Desecrate

A fall from grace causes you to stumble into the hands of a demon prince. Inspired by Lilith.

Pairing: Yoongi x f! reader

Word count: 2.6k

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Sex, swearing, mention of murder, non-explicit attempted assault, angels and demons

Min Yoongi is older than most creatures to walk this Earth, this much he knows. It’s been years since he last felt that any of the petty skirmishes mortals involve themselves in was worth any of his interest or his time.

Even though time, for him, stretches out, almost infinitely.

He doesn’t know your face at all, but you catch his attention, and hold it. He can sense your mortality slipping through your fragile grasp as you grapple with the men holding you down.

You’re not going to win, though he admires your grit.

Yoongi’s no stranger to blood but he has no desire to watch you get used and torn to shreds. He’s moving on when your eyes meet his.

You plead with him wordlessly, desperately, as the light dims in your eyes.

Yoongi knows that this is a dangerous time, the twilight between living and dying. You’re straddling both worlds, dying even as you push uselessly at the hands around your neck.

It would be facetious to say that Yoongi kills without a shred of remorse. It’s more truthful to say that he kills without a thought.

He’s standing amidst the mess he made, you at his feet, your face pressed to the ground.

You’re unconscious, but you’ll live, unlike the men Yoongi dispatched on your behalf.

There’s something unbearable to him about the way the lovely line of your cheek is touching the dirt of this human dumping ground.

Yoongi doesn’t know what possesses him, but he takes you with him as he leaves.

***

You wake in stages, in a very human way.

Your eyes flicker open, shut. Yoongi can hear your heart accelerate, your breathing quicken, he can see your muscles tense.

Your mouth opens on an inhale, and your eyes flicker open again.

‘Where am I?’ you rasp.

Your voice is soft, plaintive, your vocal cords swollen from your assault.

‘You’re in my home,’ Yoongi replies.

When you turn your head to look at him, your eyes are more focused.

‘And who are you?’

‘I saved your life,’ Yoongi tells you.

He watches as your eyes scan the domed ceiling, the painted frescoes, the stained glass. Your gaze stops at a scene of the Madonna.

Yoongi studies your profile, the dirt smudged on your cheekbone he’d not bothered to wipe off.

Your gaze returns to him.

‘You’re Min Yoongi.’

It’s not a question, but Yoongi’s compelled to answer anyway, because the fact that you’ve guessed his identity means there’s more to you than he first thought.

You sit up, and Yoongi wonders how he managed to miss the celestial aura emanating from you.

Lords and beings.

You’re an angel.

Seokjin is never going to let him live this down.

Min Yoongi, ancient slayer of humans, demonic legend from the mediaeval history of man, saved an angel.

Yoongi gets up, lets a tiny fraction of his darkness show. His voice deepens, resonating through the chapel.

‘Leave.’

You’re frightened, he can see it in the way you’re tensed, body held taut like a bow.

‘I can’t. It’s the night of Pandemonium.’

Pandemonium marks the beginning of when the Gates of Hell open each year. From your reaction, Yoongi guesses you’re a young angel, limited in power, incapable of cloaking or protecting yourself.

He laughs sardonically. ‘I don’t think the home of the bulgasari Prince is the right place for an angel on the night of Pandemonium, do you?’

You clasp your hands.

‘I’m not an angel.’

Yoongi stares at you.

‘Not anymore. I was cast out.’

For the first time, Yoongi feels a flicker of interest.

He can feel the scales in his mind threaten to tip by the tiniest of margins.

For the first time, he thinks he might not kill you.

Seemingly unaware of his internal debate, you take a step closer to him.

Towards the most dangerous being in the room.

Yoongi flicks his tongue over his lower lip, steps forward so you can see him in the red glow.

His human form is beautiful, drawing others in. Leading them to their own destruction.

He can see the way your pupils dilate, your tongue wets your bottom lip, as you see him clearly for the first time.

‘You want to stay with me?’ he asks, silky. He takes another step.

You tilt your chin so you can keep looking at him.

‘Show me how much you want to stay.’

Yoongi turns his head towards the painting above the hearth.

‘Destroy it.’

You turn to the painting.

It’s from the 14th century, by a little known Italian painter called Diavollo, depicting the death of Santa Lucia. He was gifted it by a corrupt nobleman in exchange for his life. Yoongi had taken both.

You cast a defiant look at him, rush towards the painting. You stop, head bowed, before it.

‘I can’t.’

‘You can,’ Yoongi says, pitching his voice low, letting the heat of it flare out to you.

You clasp your hands together again, despairing. ‘I can’t.’

Steps heavy, head bowed, you head for the door.

You stop just inside the front entrance to the chapel, as if giving him a chance to change his mind before he sends you to certain death.

Yoongi’s had countless beings plead for mercy from him in his long life and he has never once given in.

There’s a stirring in the recesses of his mind as he admires your profile for the last time. It feels like longing.

Then you’re gone, door swinging closed behind you.

***

Yoongi dislikes gatherings like this, when the princes of Hell and their delegates celebrate their misdeeds in front of the beings who serve them.

If Seokjin hadn’t asked him to attend as a personal favour, Yoongi would be in his home.

Oddly, he’s not been able to look at the Diavollo since you gave your life rather than destroy it.

He wonders if that sort of foolishness is what got you exiled.

He’s thought about your face so much that when he sees you, he’s momentarily stilled.

You’re knelt at the feet of Malvarius, the highest ranking demon of Yeomna’s court, save for Seokjin, and Yoongi himself.

Yoongi watches with revulsion as Malvarius scratches a bloodstained nail along the line of your neck, stopping at the iron collar around your throat.

Malvarius wraps his fist in the chain attached to your collar, tugs.

You fold to the ground in a heap of loose limbs and the sheer drapery he’s dressed you in.

Yoongi finds he still doesn’t care to see your face against the ground.

He approaches the demon, and you.

When you see him, there’s a flicker in your eyes.

‘She’s mine,’ Yoongi says, unceremoniously, to Malvarius.

Malvarius, the treacherous devil, says smoothly, ‘Pardon me?’

‘I made her a deal,’ Yoongi replies, preternaturally calm. ‘She owes me.’

Malvarius sits up, and Yoongi realises there’s a crowd gathering.

It doesn’t take much to have demons baying for blood.

Malvarius draws himself up to his full height.

‘Do you mean to say, Yoongi, that you own the soul of Azariel’s only daughter?’

Yoongi blinks.

Azariel, the most revered of the archangels, is a name that strikes fear even in the hearts of the most seasoned of demon princes.

You’re Azariel’s daughter?

Yoongi remembers the way you cried over the Diavollo as you walked to your death.

You’d not used your father’s name as a bargaining chip.

Yoongi says, coolly, ‘One fallen angel is just like any other.’

‘She’s a lusty slut,’ Malvarius remarks. ‘Can’t stop opening your legs for me, can you, angel?’

You gasp in pain as he pulls up on the chain, making you dance on your toes to keep from being choked.

Yoongi finds he doesn’t care for the sight of you in pain, either.

‘Give me what’s mine,’ he says, bored. ‘Or we can ask Yeomna to mediate.’

At the mention of the lord of Hell, Malvarius scowls. The last time he clashed with Seokjin, Yoongi had come very close to removing his power, Yeomna’s rules be damned.

He tosses the chain on the stone floor with a clang.

‘To your new master,’ he says, with little grace.

Yoongi removes the collar from around your neck.

‘Follow me,’ he commands.

Yoongi leads you through the debauchery, ignoring your gasps and sobbing breaths as you step through blood, entrails, sex.

It’s only when you’ve followed him all the way back to his door that he speaks to you.

‘I’m deciding what to do with you,’ he tells you. ‘You will stay here, whilst I decide.’

‘My father won’t engage in barter for me,’ you say immediately. ‘He’d as soon as I was dead as alive.’

‘You must have done something terrible, angel.’

Your mouth clamps shut, lips flattening into a straight line.

‘Did you kill?’ Yoongi asks. ‘Maim?’

You barely react to his taunting tone.

‘Were you envious? Greedy?’

You’re quiet.

‘You’re not wrathful,’ Yoongi observes.

He waits until your eyes meet his.

‘That leaves pride, and lust?’

From the way your face tightens he knows he’s stumbled upon his answer.

Yoongi lets his eyes travel to your beautiful form in the sheer silk you’re draped in.

Your breasts press against the material, rounded, enticing, and as he looks, your nipples tighten visibly.

‘Ah,’ Yoongi says, voice dropped to barely a whisper. ‘He said you were lustful.’

Yoongi leans down, close to your cheek, and enjoys the way you shiver as he breathes on your skin.

He flicks the tip of his tongue against your skin, and your pupils dilate so much your eyes are practically black.

Your lips part on his name, and Yoongi, for the first time in a long while, feels a surge of lust.

You stay completely still as he touches your cheek.

‘What do you want from me, angel?’ Yoongi taunts. ‘Aren’t you fallen enough?’

Your breath trembles in your chest as his fingers tighten on your face.

‘Come,’ says Yoongi. ‘Show me how you fell.’

He lets go of your face to caress the swells of your breasts, and you gasp, but you don’t stop him.

Instead, you arch your back to press your breasts into his palms.

‘You want more?’ Yoongi asks. He knows you do.

He grasps the front of your gown, rips it all the way down.

Your thighs tighten on his hand as he reaches between your legs.

Yoongi’s hand explores you, leisurely, slow, until you’re twitching and trembling.

Your nipples are so sensitive now that when Yoongi rolls his tongue around one you buck your hips into his hand.

‘Uhngh,’ you moan.

Yoongi thumbs the bud at the top of your sex, and your warmth pulses around his fingers.

Wet, hot, tight.

Yoongi drags his tongue along the round of your breast, and your breathing hitches.

Your nipples are so puffy and erect they almost look painful.

You whine as he grasps your rounded flesh. The sound causes a stirring, low in his belly.

Yoongi’s cock swells at the sounds you make. You’re so pleasured, breathless, and he’s barely making any effort.

He’s already almost fully erect when your soft hand brushes the front of his groin.

‘Bold for an angel,’ he says.

There’s a spark in your eyes, clouded with lust.

‘How many angels have you defiled, Lord Min?’

Yoongi considers your question as his eyes roam your beautiful body.

‘None,’ he tells you.

You smile, and you’re so pretty he can’t take his eyes off you.

‘Luckily, I’m not an angel any more.’

Yoongi smirks. ‘Let me show you how the other side lives.’

He turns, and you follow.

***

You’re lost, Yoongi isn’t sure when it happened, probably between your fourth, maybe fifth peak.

He’s covered in your arousal, he can taste you on his lips, on his tongue. His cock’s still so rigid inside you he’s aching, caught in the delirium between pleasure and pain.

He plunges into your wet warmth, rocking his hips against yours.

Your arms are limp, one draped around his neck, just barely holding on, the other splayed out, fingers uncurled. You look dazed, fucked out, teetering on the edge of consciousness.

You cry out as Yoongi moves, dragging his cock against the walls of your cunt, and he notes with grim satisfaction how hoarse your voice now is.

‘Yoongi,’ you beg, ‘wanna feel you.’

‘You’ll feel me,’ he promises.

You shake your head. ‘I want to feel your pleasure.’

Yoongi groans as you hold your legs apart for him, letting him see exactly how he cleaves you apart , the way he looks entering your core.

He wraps a hand around your neck, tight, and your eyes close. Your hand snakes around his wrist, urging him on.

You’re clenching around him so sweetly Yoongi’s disarmed, and when you press a kiss to his temple he releases, shouting your name, spilling inside you.

Belatedly, he remembers to loosen his grip around your neck, and as you remain still he feels an unnerving wave of fear that he might have hurt you.

He says your name, and you stir. Relief floods through his chest.

‘Stay,’ you mumble into his chest. ‘Stay.’

Yoongi curls his arm around you, a display of skinship he’s unused to but that you seem to want.

He wonders, curious, why he’s swayed to want to give you what you want.

***

You wake during the night.

Yoongi’s flat on his back, arm propping up his head. He watches with dark amusement as you look your fill at his naked form.

‘You’re too wide-eyed considering you have my seed all over you,’ he drawls.

You blink at him. ‘I was surprised to wake, my lord.’

‘You thought I’d kill Azariel’s fallen daughter?’ Yoongi muses, not bothering to acknowledge how close to the truth you are.

‘You do have a reputation, Lord Min,’ you say, so seriously that it takes him a moment to realise you’re teasing him.

He’s startled into laughter that sounds rusty even to him.

You turn over, breasts spilling onto the silk bedcovers, lush and beautiful like you were made to tempt him.

His cock stirs, and it doesn’t escape your notice, minx that you are.

You reach for him, gentle, soft against his hardness.

Yoongi groans, eyes never leaving you as you stroke him. Your lips part on a breath, tongue flicking between. The cavern of your mouth feels like the heaven Yoongi will never know.

He’s never rued being born a demon prince until this moment.

Yoongi pulls you off his rigid shaft, seeks the warmth between your legs. You’re already gasping, spreading to take him, so soft and slick and willing he can barely hold himself back.

His hand finds its way around your neck again, squeezing, and the pleasure ramps up a thousandfold.

Your back arches as you peak, and this time Yoongi doesn’t have the patience to deny himself. He groans into your hair as he fills you, remembers to loosen his grip.

You’re emboldened to press a kiss to his lips, a moment of contact so searing Yoongi’s jolted out of his post-pleasure daze.

Neither of you speak, and neither of you makes a move to leave.

***

It’s just past dawn when Yoongi stirs to the back of your entirely naked body.

You’re getting re-dressed, helping yourself to his clothes.

‘I should go,’ you say.

Yoongi hadn’t realised you’d noticed he was awake.

Pandemonium has passed, but Yoongi finds he doesn’t care for any possibility that you might get hurt.

He rises, unclasps a chain from around his neck, fastens it around your own. The ancient rune now hanging between your collarbones is distinctly, identifiably, his.

There aren’t many who would seek his wrath.

‘My father will —--’

‘Rue the day he let you fall into the hands of a demon prince?’ suggests Yoongi.

The hint of a smile plays around your lips, and Yoongi can’t tear his eyes away.

‘I’ll be back,’ you say. There's a faint question in your voice.

‘See that you are,’ Yoongi replies.

You bow slightly. ‘My lord.’

You take your leave, and Yoongi allows himself to watch you go until you slip between two buildings, and then you’re gone.

©hamsterclaw 2023

#yoongi smut #yoongi x reader #yoongi fic #bts fanfic #bts smut

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queenimmadolla · 2 years

Text

MEET THE PARENTS

(Eddie Munson x Reader fluff)

masterlist

summary: you decide it’s high time eddie finally meets your parents. your boyfriend isn’t so sure.

warnings: fluff!!! plus cool parents.

a/n: based on this prompt, sentence prompts can be found here and here. this was also very self indulging; the dad in this is based heavily on mine and I lost him to cancer last year, but he loved stranger things and I'm positive Eddie would have been his favorite character for the same reasons in this story. this was, of course, beta’d by the talented and gifted @kitmon . happy reading!

“You what?”

You huffed, arms crossing under your bust as you repeated, “I want you to meet my parents.”

Eddie blinked hard, absolutely baffled by your statement. It wasn’t long before a scowl crossed his pretty features, mouth morphing into a frown while his brows pinched together.

“No.”

“What?” Your own lips twisted into a pout, tensing when he denied you.

“No,” Eddie sighed, eyes fluttering shut to compose himself. Once he’d reined in his emotions, he approached you, his hands slipping over your hips. “Look at me, kid. I’ve never been the guy pretty people like you bring home to the ‘rents.’”

It wasn’t completely true, the last time he’d met the parents of a girl he’d been seeing, he quickly realized she was just using him to upset them. While he was all for anti-conformity, his feelings had been caught in the crossfire; and he’d been left devastated. It turned out, being used hurt like a bitch.

“Well, since I’m pretty,” you agreed, hands sliding up his arms to rest on his shoulders and tug him closer, “and I’m also bringing you home to meet my parents, I guess your logic is pretty flawed, huh?”

Eddie couldn’t fight the small smile, he knew exactly what he was signing up for when he fell for your stubborn ass. “I guess it is.”

You grinned, hands moving to cup his cheeks as you drew him in for a heated kiss.

“They’re gonna love you, all they want is for me to be happy. Luckily for you, you happen to make me very happy.”

Eddie’s arms wrapped completely around your waist, pulling your chest flush up against his.

“God, I hope I do.”

“And I’ll hide my dad’s brass knuckles, you’ll be fine,” you joked and Eddie laughed nervously, lifting you off the ground as he made his way to his bed.

“I think I’m gonna need you to reassure me a little more, honey,” he drawls with droopy eyes and a crooked smile, “but maybe with a little more skin-to-skin contact.”

The next evening found you waiting anxiously for Eddie’s arrival by the front door. Your house smelled amazing, your mother had gone all out when you informed her that Eddie would be attending dinner. She’d demanded to know his favorite foods and had called into work to have more time to prepare. You had a feeling she’d love him. Your dad, on the other hand, made you a little more nervous.

He was a big, burly man. Not as around as he’d like to be, what with being a trucker, but he was also a big softie. With you, anyways. He hadn’t liked any of your ex-boyfriends. You were positive it was because he simply didn’t like you dating anyone. But, you had a secret weapon, something neither was aware about the other. While you’d supplied a couple of details to your dad about Eddie and a couple of details about your dad to your boyfriend, you’d purposely neglected to mention–to both men– that your father and Eddie actually had something in common; their taste in music. Heavy metal, some hard rock and a couple of other slightly altered genres in-between. Your dad had more guitars than you could count around the house, though he kept his most precious one in the master bedroom, mounted to the wall in its special display case, facetiously referred to as ‘Cheryl.’ When Eddie had introduced you to Sweetheart, you had been instantly reminded of your father’s guitar.

So, you just had to make sure to bring it up before your dad could find a bogus reason to hate him. Easy peasy.

The doorbell rang, snapping you out of your thoughts and you quickly opened the door for Eddie. He was obviously nervous, and you could tell he was trying to seem as unlike himself as possible—something you didn’t exactly like—by wearing only a white shirt, a pair of unripped jeans you’d never seen him sporting before then, and a blue flannel. He had his hair back in a ponytail as well—that you didn’t mind too much, he looked so cute when he put it in ponytails and buns—and was holding a bouquet of pink roses.

You yanked him over the threshold, giving him a quick but thorough kiss.

He mumbled a ‘hello to you, too’ against your lips, a hand reaching up to cup your cheek but you pulled away before he could deepen it, eager to get the introductions started.

“You know, I think you’re hot all the time, even right now but I prefer when you dress like yourself.”

He looked sheepish, cheeks tinging a pretty shade of pink. “I just wanted to make a good impression."

“I know, baby,” you reassured him, a hand reaching up to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. “I want my parents to meet you, though. I’ll let this—” you gesture down to his attire, a little more boring than anything he’d normally wear. “—slide, but if you try acting differently, we’re gonna have a problem on our hands. I want you to always be yourself.”

The smile Eddie rewarded you with had you weak in the knees, and you nearly melted when he leant down to press his forehead against yours. “As you wish.” I love you.

Satisfied, you bypassed the living room where your father was sitting on the recliner, watching tv, and made your way to the kitchen instead. He could meet your mom first.

“Mom,” you called to get her attention, she glanced up from the dish she was working on, her face nearly splitting open with how big she grinned at the sight of you holding Eddie’s hand. “This is my boyfriend, Eddie. Eddie, this is my mom. Um,” you sarcastically faltered, “what’s your name again?”

She rolled her eyes at your joke, pulling off her apron as she closed the distance and introduced herself.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. These are for you.” Eddie held out the bouquet to her and the gasp she let out was comical, the hand that hadn’t accepted the flowers flew to her chest.

“Well, aren’t you just the sweetest thing, these are beautiful! You know what, I’ve got to get these into some water right this minute.” You watched with amusement as she threw her apron into the sink of all places before she dug around in one of the cabinets for a vase.

“Honey, why don’t you introduce Eddie to your father? Dinner’s ready, I’m just gonna put everything on the table, will you get your brother, too?”

You agreed and then pulled Eddie out in the direction of the living room. His palm was beginning to feel slick against yours and you squeezed it to calm his nerves.

“Hey dad.” You stopped in the entryway, trying not to appear as nervous as your boyfriend was when your dad twisted his upper half around to look at you. “I’d like to introduce you to Eddie.”

Your dad used the remote to switch off the tv (oh God, why did that simple action scare you?) before pushing himself up. He was clearly intimidating, face passive and unreadable as he approached the two of you.

You gulped, but soldiered on, “Daddy, this Eddie. Eddie, this is my dad; I’ve known him all my life.” Another intentionally bad joke, pitiful attempt to ease the tension. Unlike your mom, your dad didn’t even offer an amused roll of his eyes, just stared you down.

Eddie held out his hand, willing his nerves to not fuck him over. “It’s nice to meet you, sir.”

Your dad eyed his hand for a moment before reluctantly shaking it. Your eyes narrowed at him in warning and, despite how much he wanted to, he didn’t break Eddie’s hand.

Your father still hadn’t said anything though, and you knew he was quickly convincing himself to not like Eddie so you supplied, “You know, daddy, you actually have a lot in common with Eddie. He loves heavy metal, too. Plays the guitar real good, he’s in a band and everything.”

It was like a flip switched, your dad’s eyes lit up as he regarded Eddie with something akin to interest. “You play?”

Eddie nodded, eyes flashing to yours before you gave him a reassuring nod. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, I do. Pretty often, actually.”

“What do you play on?” You could tell your dad was testing the waters, trying to size him up and determine if he actually held the interest or if you two were just trying to impress him with a white lie.

“NJ Warlock, 24 fret,” Eddie answered without hesitation.

Your dad raised his eyebrows and gave a low whistle, there was obviously something impressive about it but you didn’t know all that much about guitars. Except that you kind of wanted your dad’s. No real reason why, you didn’t even know how to play though your father had tried to teach you on more than one occasion.

“An electric man. I don’t mean to be rude, just wasn’t expecting that from you in that get up. You look like you’re about to sing me the entire Simon & Garfunkel discography with an acoustic.”

Eddie rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish. “I sort of dressed down for the occasion, a lot of people assume the worst about anyone in leather and I wanted to make a good impression.”

“If you want to make a good impression, you can show me what you’re made of. I’ve got my own Warlock upstairs, just hold on a minute. Sweetheart, I’m gonna go get Cheryl, if your mom calls us to the table, distract her for a couple of minutes.” You watched as your big, bad dad ran up the stairs like a child, eager to show his new friend his cool toy.

“Oh, you definitely won him over.” You glanced up at Eddie to find him already watching you, finally looking a little at ease with an excited grin stretching his lips.

“You think so?”

You didn’t get to reply as your dad bounded back down the stairs, jumping the last two, the white guitar with the bandana tied to the bottom of the strap clutched in his hands like it was some precious cargo.

“Check it out!” Your dad beamed, holding the guitar out to display it in all its apparent greatness. It was just a white guitar to you, but from the way Eddie was looking at it, it must have been impressive.

“Holy—wow,” Eddie caught himself, leaning down to closely inspect the guitar. “She’s a beauty. I don’t see so much as a fingerprint on it, you must treat her right.”

That was exactly the right thing to say, your dad’s chest puffed with pride under the praise.

“C’mon, I’ve got the amps in the garage. Come get us when the table’s ready, will you, sweetheart?” Your dad lead Eddie over to the garage, and with how relaxed Eddie seemed to be, you found yourself not worrying about the possibility of your dad murdering your boyfriend. Instead, you went upstairs to fetch your brother, Lloyd, for dinner. Once you got his attention, he had promptly let you know he’d be down in ten minutes, all of which you spent arguing with him for not listening to you.

The loud sound that was Eddie shredding on your dad’s guitar didn’t even surprise you, you were used to your dad playing at his ridiculously loud volume but something in your belly warmed, knowing Eddie was bonding with your hard-to-impress dad.

You ended up dragging your brother down with you just as Eddie and your dad emerged from the garage in the middle of a conversation regarding Metallica and Van Halen, your mother in tow. She hated when your dad used his amps this late so she’d probably gone over to yell at him.

“Sweetheart, he’s good at playing! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I did! Numerous times! You always tuned me out.”

Lloyd was swatting at your hand that was gripping his upper arm but you didn’t release him from your hold until you’d all flooded into the dinning room. The nine year old adjusted his glasses, glaring over at you as he took his seat on the opposite side of the table. Your mom and dad sat on either end of the table and Eddie was sat next to you, your hands intertwined under the table.

Lloyd waved his hand from his place, holding his other hand to his chin as he signed his question.

Who’s he?

You’d almost forgot to introduce them!

You rolled your sleeves further up your arms, fingers signing the sentence as you spoke, “Eddie, this is my little brother Lloyd. Lloyd, this is Eddie.” You used a custom name sign you’d made for Eddie, fingerspelling it out for your brother so he’d know who you were referencing from then on.

Lloyd grinned, pleased that you hadn’t come up with something he’d consider lame like you had in the past. He stuck his thumb up in approval.

“He’s deaf,” you explained, though you could already see the gears in Eddie’s head turning as he figured it out on his own. Lloyd reached up to turn his hearing aid on, something he only did when around company or other hearing people other than you, your mom and your dad.

“Oh, uh—nice to meet you, Lloyd.” Eddie glanced from you to Lloyd, relieved when he noticed you signing to your brother, obviously interpreting for him.

Lloyd smirked, and his fingers began moving furiously as you voiced for him, “It’s nice to meet you, Eddie. I’ve read all about you—HEY!” You slammed your fist on the table top, glaring at the little menace and the smug look on his face. He quickly twisted his upper half around, his back almost completely to you as he wrapped his arms around himself, wiggling his hands over his shoulders to mock your diary entries noting your make-out sessions.

“No fighting at the dinner table!” Your mother scolded, giving the both of you a stern look.

“He just—you always let him get away with it, mom!” You argued, brows furrowed in annoyance as you sank back into your seat.

“Stop reading your sister’s diary,” your mother said aloud as her nimble fingers signed a much shorter version of it for Lloyd. He just shrugged and began loading his plate up with food.

You rolled your eyes, positive that he’d continue to do it so you’d have to find a new hiding place for it in your own damn room. You turned to face Eddie, who appeared thoroughly amused with the interaction, a small smile on his face as yours grew abashed, suddenly shy and embarrassed about the whole thing.

Your mother came to your rescue though, “So, Eddie, I’m told you’re a senior. Is that how you two met? in school?”

Eddie squeezed your hand under the table as his nerves came rushing back now that school had been brought up, fearful of having to mention failing to graduate twice. Really gonna impress ‘em.

He tried not to let his voice quiver, “Uh—yes, yes. We have a class together.”

That’s not how you met, he’d been dealing to you for the last two years, but telling your mother that would only guarantee them forbidding your romance.

You could only sit in your chair and hope your poker face didn’t give anything away, though you knew very well your parents packed and shared a bowl when they thought you and Lloyd were asleep. You’d found the bong in their bedroom while searching for your walkman they’d taken captive after a brief grounding. Hypocrites.

Despite how badly he didn’t want to actually bring it up, Eddie felt inclined to, as though hearing it from him, unprompted, would somehow make it his saving grace.

“This will actually be my,uhm,third a-and final senior year.”

You could feel Eddie’s hand tighten around yours—though it wasn’t painful—as his body tensed up, waiting for the inevitable judgment and the comments they’d berate him with.

Instead, your mother looked slightly sympathetic but not pitying, and your father didn’t even look like he cared about some high school three-peat senior dating his kid, focusing on cutting into the meat on his plate instead. He mumbled, “High school’s a bitch.”

“Honey!”

“What? It’s not like he can hear me.” Your father gestured to Lloyd, who was purposely unaware of the discussion before him, and then nodded in your direction. “And we both know that one has the mouth of a sailor.”

Eddie was flabbergasted, mouth slightly open in shock—not only because of the lack of a negative reaction regarding his education, but also at how non-judgmental your parents seemed to be in general. He wasn’t used to that from adults. Wasn’t used to not being picked apart for his flaws.

“That’s how we met, you know. In high school,” your mom crooned, staring at your father with lovesick eyes. “I got held back my senior year and met him in my Economics class the next fall.”

Your dad snorted, lifting his glass of water to his lips with a grin. “You’re being selective again, my love. You didn’t get held back, you were expelled.”

“Minor details, I appealed it and ended up graduating eventually—but you’d better learn from my mistakes.” Your mother pointed her fork threateningly in your direction and you held up your hands in defeat.

“I don’t stick it to the man, mom. The man isn’t worth my time, here, anyways.” You knew all about your mother’s hippie past.

Your mother seemed to notice how quiet Eddie had gotten, looking unsure of himself in his seat. The motherly nature she so naturally possessed came tenderly out, “I’m assuming you were expecting a different reaction?”

He hesitated only a moment, glancing at you for support. You gave him a reassuring smile, leaning in to bump your shoulder against his arm to encourage him.

Eddie licked his lips before answering. “Yes. Truthfully, I was pretty nervous about all of this. I’m not—I’ve never been really welcomed or accepted before, with these kinds of things.” Or anywhere, really.

Despite being sat at your dinner table, surrounded by a picture perfect family, Eddie wasn’t overtly aware or self-conscious about the ink on his skin; intentionally hidden by his clothing. He wasn’t overtly aware that he was almost able to legally drink but still struggled with a high school Civics class. Being with you and your family almost made him feel like he wasn’t a freak.

“It’s a little—’’

“Daunting?” Your mother supplied, a thoughtful expression on her features.

“Yeah,” Eddie exhaled, nodding once.

“Well, you’ll find that everyone in this house has something about them that makes us a little more unique than most. I grew up in a pretty rough setting myself, one in which I was always desperate to escape. When we had kids, we decided that we’d never make them feel like they had to escape. I extend that belief to all my guests as well, you are welcome in our home as you are. I can tell you’re doing your best and you make my child—” you rolled your eyes, intent on starting a drinking game one day for every time she referred to you as her child, “—happy. Plus, I’m hoping this means you’ll actually come inside from now on instead of scaling my roof to reach a certain window.”

“Yeah, I’m tired of replacing those damn shingles.” Your dad added, even though you knew he was excited at the idea of another musician hanging around the house, one which he could have jam sessions with.

“You still haven’t. Now, pass the mashed potatoes.”

The rest of dinner went off without a hitch; Eddie seemed much more at ease with your family, comfortable and you loved watching him as they interacted with each other. Even Lloyd was developing an attachment to him;. Once he’d found out Eddie played Dungeons and Dragons, he was practically begging you to take him to Hellfire sessions, even though you weren’t actually a part of Hellfire. When Eddie offered him a spot in his next campaign, you had no choice but to happily agree.

He looked like he was part of your family. You hoped that one day, he really would be.

After everyone was done eating dinner, your father and Lloyd quickly tidied up the dinner table and hauled the dishes off to the kitchen for washing while your mother set up the living room for a movie.

You and Eddie slipped out the front door, keen on spending the rest of the night, just the two of you.

“So? Polling the audience, what does the survey say?” You intertwined your fingers with his, leaning into him as you walked down the driveway towards his van. Once you reached the van, he pressed you up against the side of it, arms caging you in as he rested his palms against the vehicle on either side of your head.

“Survey says your family is really, really fucking cool.”

You beamed up at him, eyes shining as you noticed the glimmer in his own warm, chocolate gaze. “I’m pretty sure they think the same thing about you. In fact, I think my dad may be my competition. Did you see the look on his face when you listed the bands you listen to?”

Eddie laughed, his dimple prominent as he flashed his teeth. “Sorry to break his heart but I’ve only got eyes for you, kid.”

He leaned down and you leaned up on the tips of your toes, meeting him half way to press your lips eagerly to his. He groaned as your tongue swiped along his bottom lip, slipping into his mouth once he’d given you the opportunity. You stayed there, lazily making out against his van for a good couple of minutes, oblivious to the flash of your Polaroid camera from one of the living room windows. Your mom thought you’d like to have a cute little keepsake from the night. She also thought it’d be a really good moment to display during a future wedding reception; there was no way that boy wasn’t going to be asking them for permission to marry you in the future.

She was positive from the moment you’d walked into the kitchen, hand in hand, that she’d just met her future son-in-law.

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sociopathicartist · 23 days

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“vanilla?”

“No.”

“lavender?”

“No!”

“i give up.” Sans tossed his hands up in defeat, falling back onto the couch to sink into.

You rolled your eyes, lighting up a tea light candle you had and setting it on the coffee table. “You only guessed two times. It’s coconut.”

“how the hell was i supposed to guess coconut? we aren’t in hawaii, babe.” He complained, unamused by the scent of your candles.

There had been a power outage about an hour ago due to the storms outside. While you weren’t scared of the storms you did happen to be a bit scared of your entire house being pitch black, so you turned on the flashlight to your phone and started setting out tea light candles everywhere in your house. You saved them up since power outages happened a lot during the stormy summer weather.

As you had been lighting up the kitchen, your boyfriend suddenly appeared. You freaked out and almost whacked him across the skull with the lighter, which he backed up and tried to ease your freak out with a simple ‘ let’s not get things too heated, babe. ‘

Naturally, he was very amused by how you had managed to light up almost every main area in your house with little candles. He kept wandering around your house to see all the lights and would blow one or two out to annoy you, but stopped after that. Now he was just occupying himself with asking random questions while you were putting the candles out, like what their scent was.

“okay okay, you get to be alone with me for the whole week or get one dinner with ryan gosling.” Sans questioned, waving his hand up at the ceiling while he spoke.

You sighed as you placed two more candles on your TV stand. “You already know my answer. You, obviously. Even before dating you, I wasn't appealed much at the thought of dating a man.”

Sans snorted, a small twinge of blue coming up on his face. “awww, really? i guess you’re really into skeletons, you necrophile.”

“Human fetish.”

“maybe. me personally, i would choose ryan gosling.”

You turned around to walk over to him on the couch, setting the lighter down on the coffee table. “You’re a big liar and you know it. Now move or be moved.”

Sans chuckled and sat up, scooting a bit to the side as you wormed your way next to him on the couch. The layout didn’t work at first, and you both exchanged an awkward look before you moved to sit in between his legs, your back resting against his ribs. His arms rested over your chest, his mandible sitting on the top of your head. Comfortable.

“you know, i’m not critiquing your choices here, but you lit up the whole house when we won't be anywhere but the living room and bedroom,” Sans spoke to you, his voice lowered down to an attractively quiet tone which only assisted with how correct his words were.

You shook your head, your hands going to rest over his. Why did he have his mittens on right now? “Nuh-uh. Who said I was taking you up to my bedroom?”

Sans scoffed, but you could tell he was being facetious. “i was meaning to sleep, you perv.”

“Sure you were. And my candles my choices, pal. You showed up out of nowhere and choose to sit here and make fun of me for being scared of the dark.” You paused your complaints, leaning forward a bit to turn your head and look back at him. “Why did you come over here out of nowhere again?”

Sans took one of his hands off your chest, bringing it up to brush some hair out of your face while he spoke to you. “just thought you’d want the company. i know you don’t like the dark, and paps is sleeping anyway.”

You smiled and leaned your face into his hand, a bit glad he was thinking of you. There wasn’t a moment where he wasn’t, but it still made you happy nonetheless. “It was a very nice surprise. I’m glad you showed up to protect me from the hallway demons.”

There was an attempt from Sans to run his hand through your hair while he listened to you, but since he had his mittens on it was just slipping over the top of your head and making your hair all staticky. He found it a bit amusing to do even after you tried batting his hand away.

“you didn’t need to light the candles you know.” He suggested another solution, successfully nagging your attention.

You know him well enough for it to only take 3 seconds to realize what he was getting behind.

“i have something that glows.” He was holding back laughter, partially from his upcoming joke and partially because of your expression.

“Shaddap. You come over to my house and make disgusting jokes. How sick.” You moved your head away from his hand, trying to pat down the static he was causing.

Sans’ hand kept trying to rub on your hair, his mitten charged up with electric static now.

He snickered, both his hands cupping your face to make you look at him. “deez nuts.”

“Out of my house.” You let him hold onto your face, enjoying the little shenanigans he was up to.

He didn’t answer back with a witty pun or joke, instead just pulling you down to rest your head on his chest. “there there. it must be so hard having such a hilarious boyfriend.”

“No.” You wrapped your arms around him in an attempt to snuggle into his embrace.

It was hard to cuddle up to him sometimes because he was always shifting around or letting his hands roam on you until you had to call him out to stop so that you could both go to sleep. Unless he was sleeping or pretending to sleep, he seemed to have a difficult time staying in one place for too long. Sometimes though, you’d catch him after he had an exhausting day and you’d both just hold each other in comfortable silence, not moving an inch or saying a word for hours. Those were some of your favorite days.

“Sans?” You called out his name after a few minutes of quiet.

“yeah, babe?” He answered immediately, one of his hands gently rubbing up and down your back while the other petted your hair.

You thought for a few moments about your question. “How did you first know when you liked me?”

Sans inhaled deeply. He loved asking and answering these silly little romance questions with you, but sometimes it was difficult to find the correct words for an answer.

“i just knew. i looked over to you and the realization hit me. there were no second thoughts or doubts about it.”

You stared at the wall for a few moments, your thumb rubbing small circles on the back of his vertebrae just above the hood on his jacket. Your candles were starting to burn out. You needed to light up new ones in a bit.

You kept your voice quiet to match his, acting as if speaking too loud would break the moment. “Do you remember when it was?”

“oh, yeah.” His smile tugged up a bit on the ends, his genuine smile showing through at the thought of the memory. “you want me to tell you about it so that i can gush over you?”

“Yes, please.”

“okay, uhhh,” He paused before recapping his memory with you. “you were at my house. in my room to be more specific. i was showing you through one of my video games since you hadn’t played it before, but i was kinda off that day.”

It was weird to him to think about because he didn’t remember why he wasn’t feeling well that day, or what video game he was showing you. He just remembered you.

“you somehow noticed, and you asked me what was up. whenever i told you nothing was up except for the ceiling, you told me to stop lying. you said you could tell by the way my voice sounded, and how my smile drooped down just a tad. i don’t even remember if i ended up answering you, but i know i was quiet for a while. nobody had ever uh… ever seen me like that before.”

You listened to him speak. His hands had stopped moving around on you entirely, just resting on the small of your back comfortably. “Yeah?”

“yeah. i don’t know why it was like that, but it was like i was dragged out of the little reality in my head where i was noticed by everyone but not noticed enough to be cared about like that. and the worry in your voice. you just looked like a different person in that moment and from then on. it was like i saw you clearly after looking through fogged glass.”

Sans always had a really good use of his words whenever he chose to use them instead of being silly. This was one of those moments where you were fully convinced that you could listen to him talk for hours.

“I love you.”

“i love you too.”

You weren’t sure if the rush of being able to tell him that you loved him and having him respond with such little hesitation would ever go away. Sans wasn’t sure if he’d ever get used to it either.

All your candles had begun to burn out since they were just little tea lights, leaving you and Sans to succumb to a slow progression of darkness.

His voice broke the silence first, as it usually did. He always had lots of things to say to you. “all your candles are burning out, babe. you wanna light up some more? the power probably won't come back on for the rest of the night.”

The power probably wouldn’t come back on for a while, he was right. “Why don’t we just go to bed? It seems like a waste to light everything again when it’s so late at night, and I know you’re tired.”

“up to bed?” His voice took back a joking tone, and you braced yourself for the devious intentions behind his words. “no need for a candle, i know something that glows, hehe.”

“Sans… Don’t say it. It doesn’t get funnier the more that you say it.”

“deez nuts in your face.”

thanks for reading:3 it’s been storming really bad down where i live, so i wanted to write a little drabble for it. uploads might be a bit slow since finals during school r catching up to me, sorry! have a lovely night:)

#undertale #undertale au #undertale alternate universe #sans #sans undertale #sans x reader #classic sans #sans x you #sap #sans headcanons #sans one shot

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vaguely-concerned · 6 months

Text

I’m on a Star Wars books roll so here we go with my — unhinged thanks for asking! — thoughts on Dooku: Jedi Lost, specifically the audio play. Short version: I fucking loved this one! For maximum emotional devastation, pair with Master and Apprentice and Padawan the way my stupid ass did and then be sad about it forever I guess that's what I’m going to have to do.

Long (LONG oopsie) version:

- So. First of all, let’s get the most important thing out of the way on this here old man yaoi website. We all agree dooku and sifo dyas explored each other’s bodies right. Or at least definitely would have if not for the laws of this order etc., potentially. That’s not just me. Good. Thank you. We can now move on

- Secondly. Well. Guess I’m just going to be inconsolable about Sifo-Dyas forever now. I miss the days in which he was just a throwaway line in AotC spawned by a random misspelling to me, rather than an eternal raw aching wound in my heart

- poor poor ventress just reading through all the proof that dooku absolutely does have it in him to be a good dad I mean master and just — idk got tired of that and went the force lightning route with her. I love the move of having her dead master hang out with her all that time as well (having her slip up and refer to ‘us’ did something to me, god this is so sad. Is he actually there in spirit or is it just her grief dreaming him up because dooku is awful and cold as a cliff wall and she needs some kind of attachment figure even if she’ll have to reinvent him herself, rebuild him word for word, gesture by gesture. Pain. sorry about your terrible track record with father figures asajj)

- Lene: (About Averross): He hasn’t changed.

Dooku: (In the warmest fondest voice you ever heard) And I hope he never does

WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH MYSELF? MUST I SET MYSELF ON FIRE TO ESCAPE THE PAIN???

Another strong showing for Rael in general, btw. He’s so warm and charming as a presence even though he’s also a little chaos gremlin. (He’s quite similar to how Sifo-Dyas was when he was young in some ways, I can definitely start to see what Dooku responds warmly to in terms of character traits.)

- the fact that good ol’ sheev showed an interest in rael, dooku and anakin… interesting huh! He’s just got a soft spot for the disaster lineage I suppose, maybe there’s an element there of luring yoda’s most direct lineage into the dirt with him without yoda even noticing for the longest time. Also cackling at the idea that he looked at qui-gon ‘too fucking stubborn and insufferable to fall to the dark side out of sheer spite’ jinn and went ‘...not that one tho’ fhdskjfa. And obi-wan is more like ‘that one blorbo all my little guys seem wild about but I just don’t get it guys’

IF rael’s refusal to join dooku at the end of ‘master and apprentice’ is the last word (which I am not convinced of ;___; be safe cowboy jedi we never see in mainline canon so far), then he’s the only one who has dodged palpatine’s attentions. Wonderful if true love that for him

ALSO rael is one of the few people we know to be on (or at least to consider himself on despite what palps might think lol) first name basis with palpatine. Hilarious. I concur with dooku never change rael

- Sifo-Dyas: That’s insane.

Dooku, deadpan: Yes.

Sifo-Dyas: The worst plan I’ve ever heard.

Dooku, somehow even more deadpan: Most probably.

Sifo-Dyas: I’m in.

Crying… weeping and dying………… what if someone could have helped sifo with his unfortunate prophecy propensity and they hadn’t drifted apart. Clone Wars averted methinks if dooku still ended up leaving the order he would have been too busy having tender gay sex with the love of his life (and only person who can call him out on his shit and have him actually listen) to be a war criminal (I am being extremely facetious of course this is very much a ‘time traveler killing baby hitler’ situation where the underlying forces causing this point in history are way too powerful to avert the catastrophe in one move. but at least palps would probably have had to pick someone else to wreck the galaxy through and sifo-dyas would be kissed & held instead of going slowly mad. A net plus some (I, me) would say)

- I just wanted to applaud both the writing and the voice acting for the characterization of Dooku in this, from his young self trying so hard to be haughty and self-possessed but also being like, y’know, twelve and a dweeb and easy for Sifo-Dyas to pull into trouble, to the dry wit and warmth he shows with Rael and Qui-Gon or his sister later. It took me a little while to get into the voice acting specifically (the actor makes no attempt at going the full Christopher Lee, which in hindsight was probably wise), but now I love it. It gets a bit goofy in places but you know what, I am a long time lover of audio plays, that’s part of the charm

- “Master, have I done something wrong?”

My heart is clenching… do you think… that master yoda’s deal with leaving his student to try fucking everything to have some kind of relationship with him until he just breaks down in tears of despair… is the kind of thing that maybe started a little bit of a generational trauma cartwheel through the ages. The point that bb!dooku is arrogant isn’t without merit and he strikes out incredibly ungracefully about it (in fact I would be a lot more worried than yoda seems to be that he decides to try to kill a tree about it, ‘I felt like destroying something beautiful’-style) but I just don’t think a… fourteen year old? A teen anyway, Is going to learn what you think he learns from this. I simply don’t believe that silent treatmenting kids will teach them emotional intelligence I guess especially if they already struggle with that naturally lol

(It is exactly the same mistake (in my opinion) that Qui-Gon makes with Obi-Wan, too, just leaving the kid completely alone and forcing them to come to you every which way for comfort or guidance instead of meeting them or reaching out to them. Especially once you see that really Dooku’s prime emotion/big core wound right from the beginning is loneliness. And that doesn’t only come from a feeling of superiority (which to be sure is also a big factor), because he has no idea where he comes from until he meets his sister. I don’t think the jedi as a whole were unsalvageable by any stretch of the imagination, but Yoda specifically… you are on such very thin ice with me at this point you little green fuck. You’re very funny and moving in yoda dark rendezvous and that’s all that’s keeping you in my somewhat good graces.)

- Okay, coming back a bit later I think I’ve found the right words to say this. more precisely dooku has two big issues which you can later see haunting all the way down his lineage — loneliness and control. (and not incidentally the intersecting elements of the two haha.) We see from his relationship to sifo-dyas that he’s not incapable of having close mutual relationships with an equal, but that kind of crashed and burned for reasons neither of them could really help and after that it seems quite telling that he has the easiest time with deeper connection in a teacher-student sort of form. I think his affection is unconditional and real, but you can’t get away from the fact that he also has the most control in that relationship structure by default, he gets to dictate what form it takes to a big extent. He doesn’t trust other people — the underlying idea ‘Only I can do this’ that eventually leads him down the Separatist path is there the whole way. It speaks both to a sense of superiority and an utter lack of faith that other people can or will help him. And then that echoes down through the master-padawan line:

Qui-Gon with his self-righteousness and utter refusal to compromise leaving him isolated among the jedi (only he is right. Yeah the Force told him so. Don’t worry I’ve got a permit *insert parks and rec I can do whatever I want meme here*), Obi-Wan with his anxiety and perfectionism and incredible sense of shame and responsibility that he should be able to carry the whole world on his shoulders alone and beating himself up for failing, all feeding into not knowing what to do with Anakin and his complete lack of control of himself and his desperation to gain and maintain connection and love (which earns him the title of ‘Dooku’s least favorite family member’ fhdsa his immediate disdain for him is so funny and so in character. Repress and go slowly mad like a normal person anakin the way you’re carrying on is just undignified and that is much worse than being evil)…

- Rael gently telling Dooku to take on another padawan soon… so sweet, so sad, local cowboy jedi looking out for his dad. Also highlights something about Dooku I think is true: that he does much better and seems to have an easier time holding to the light when he’s responsible for someone else. Again, I do feel like Dooku’s core problem is loneliness, but it seems like raising kids is the one point where that relaxes somewhat. Maybe if Sifo-Dyas had stayed in a better mental place and they kept in touch it could have been different.

- Lene Kostana is SUCH a character! Charismatic and deeply fucked up, when it’s revealed how her and Sifo-Dyas’ relationship remains long after his padawan stage is done I felt a little bit sick, to my surprise. Because that could just be kindness on her part, of course, it’s good that he has someone he trusts to look after him when he can’t himself, but also there’s something… queasy about the way it keeps him continually young, in a way. (Notably he still calls her ‘master’ even as an adult, when they’re working together. Not uncommon in Star Wars, of course, but together with everything else going on vibes-wise… hm.) The inherent unreliable narration of this story really worked for me in this regard especially — do we know that young Dooku was entirely wrong when he sensed the dark side in her? She certainly is willing to go to lengths that are… worrying! in her fascination with sith shit, she tempted children into a dangerous place they didn’t understand and couldn’t know the consequences of and she continually puts sifo-dyas in situations that are implied to be a risk to worsening his condition. Run of the mill incredibly irresponsible at best, sincerely sinister at worst. Did she choose Sifo over Dooku because he’s more vulnerable and shapeable? There is an undercurrent of something icky and emotionally incest-y going on with how she relates to Dooku and Sifo-Dyas in general (right down to the ‘NO, no one can know about this’ intensity after the… evil moss cave. I can’t believe I’m this emotional about a book with an evil moss cave). I don’t think she’s a proper sith in any way and I also believe there is real affection there on all sides, but idk something about the whole thing makes me deeply uneasy. Yoda where the fuck are you your son is out there with his irresponsible mom again they’re looking for dirty needles in haystacks and they’re not even wearing any gloves

- dooku telling sifo-dyas he can come back to haunt him if he likes as a joke… well well well I’m sure that doesn’t ring with some dramatic irony at some point down the line lmao

- honestly looking back at master and apprentice after reading jedi lost makes qui-gon's apparent lack of reaction to dooku leaving seem — let's call it highly suspect haha. rael asks him if he's spoken to dooku after and qui-gon is like 'no. why would I. it's literally fine. anyway this topic is done now'. (and rael seems to just go ‘*older brotherly knowing* uh-huh’) meanwhile he's thinking about dooku *all the time* trying to figure out his role as master to obi-wan, thinking about being a padawan himself, the parts of his life he shared with both dooku and rael. The jedi doth protest too much methinks

ALSO how much of qui-gon thinking the council was too lenient with rael after he had to kill his padawan is about that actual situation, and how much is a ‘our family still likes my older brother more than me even though he Fucked Up so bad and breaks just as many rules as I do’ sort of deal mixed with his own neuroses about how he’s failing obi-wan (to which rael’s situation symbolizes the worst possible outcome, i.e. the kid dies and it’s basically your fault). Many thoughts.

- moment of silence for jenza of house serenno. Girl your only sin was being surrounded by asshole male family members and I’m so sorry I think you did all you could with what you had to work with here.

Not… entirely sure how dooku’s claim to the title supersedes hers — is he a year older than her? (she’s eleven when they first meet, he might be twelve or older at that point I don’t remember haha) Does she just give up her place in the inheritance order? Are primogeniture and male heir preference factors in Serenno inheritance law? Not the most important thing honestly it works anyway thematically but could have been clarified quickly!

- interesting to see that the council’s restrictive policy against engaging with prophecies had a surprisingly big impact on how things went down. Kostana has a lot of responsibility in Sifo’s fate for insisting he keep it secret, but there is genuine fear for what might become of him if the rest of the order finds out he’s got 24/7 futurevision hovering over him threateningly… listen it’s not like the poor guy can help getting the future constantly pumped into his brain at nightmare resolutions, I think maybe if there had been more willingness to at least engage curiously with the concept of prophecy and how it works, even if you don’t put your faith in the particulars of what the prophecies say, this wouldn’t have had to be such a shitty isolated secretive life for him. hearing him slowly fall apart over the years considering how bright and lovely he started out... oof is all I can say

- when dooku was a good jedi he was such a good jedi!!! The scene where they’re saving the kids from the collapsing hospital, every time he teaches his students anything…the impulse of someone has to do something about this! that made him so good at saving lives turning dark with the tarnish of frustration and rage over the years… nooooooooo problematic grandpa why did it have to be like this :(

- …do you think infant jedi can sense what’s going on around them in the Force. Because it makes a very sad kind of sense if dooku on some level remembers bodily or in the Force that he was not only abandoned but rejected in disgust as one of the first things he discovered in the world. Oh boy. With all the ways attachment relationships can go wonky in the first few years in real life I don’t even want to consider how much more wrong it can go when the baby is fucking psychic lol

- vaguely related: the way dooku seems to find the very idea of being truly reliant on anyone, emotionally or otherwise, personally offensive, terrifying and humiliating lol. Yoda saves him from being crushed by rubble and he is outraged because that means he can’t save himself (and his newfound sister) without anyone’s help like he thought for one glorious moment he could. The fantasy of perfect emotional self-sufficiency, doing away with all the messiness and risk of interpersonal relationships and cutting off the possibility of really being abandoned again. It’ll get ya every time. This is also a thing you see reflected in his lineage — they’re all quite inward-turning that way until you get to anakin, to different extents and with varying presentations but it is there I think. Qui-Gon turns to the Force, Obi-Wan to perfectionism and shame and rumination, Rael to the bottle and depression and hedonistic apathy, but they all struggle hugely with letting anyone in to help them. Dooku’s line are all much more comfortable being the helpers rather than the helpees, as it were.

- “Thank you for everything, Lene. Tell Rael and Qui-Gon — tell them… tell them the Force will be with them, always”

Emotional terrorism against me specifically and personally. You asshole you just excused yourself from the non-attachment rules there’s literally nothing in the world except you to stop you from reaching out and telling your children you love them yOURSELF why are you like this

- the recurring theme of dooku seeing something beautiful (the tree in the temple, the tirra’taka as a child and an adult) and ending up lashing out to destroy it… but the tree was old and mighty and he was young and new and couldn’t truly harm it, so he was saved from his own impulsivity. And then when he sees the tirra’taka as an adult he loves it immediately. And in the end he still mangles and destroys it. He didn’t mean to, but he did. He woke it up and hurt it just by existing as a child and then he had to kill it as a mercy because he was too powerful at that point for anything to buffer his mistakes. The parallel with the bird he loved that he also couldn’t protect. He starts out with an aching loneliness somewhere at the core of him through no real fault of his own but by the end it is entirely his own fault that it’s worse, because he starts wrecking everything he loves in an almost absent-minded but definitely intentional way, like it’s a nightmare he’s listening to through the door as it happens in the next room over. He really IS the ‘I just felt like destroying something beautiful’ central of the jedi.

at the end qui-gon is dead and through dooku’s own influence, however indirectly. Rael has had to turn away from him. Sifo-Dyas is dead on Dooku’s own orders and so is his sister, he might as well have done it with his own hands. (though I think it’s very interesting that in each case he didn’t do it with his own hands, he consistently uses a middleman.) He lives within the coldness of his sterile empty castle and horrifically mistreats the one person he might have found something like connection with the way he did with his students before (Ventress), deliberately trapping her in a similar state of utter desolate isolation and telling her, essentially, ‘We’re like this as people and nothing can be done to change it. We can’t escape, we’re already doomed, stop trying, it’s too late. You are just like me (and if you aren't already I'll make you like me)’. And that’s the closest thing he gets to love anymore. When he accused Ky of using her ‘as a salve for his own loneliness’ and you’re like well well well mr projection man how’s that working out for you. He is completely, shatteringly alone and he is so entirely as a consequence of his own actions and he's too far gone to understand or care. I’m howling you useless fucking FOOL dooku

- dooku 🤝 john gaius

“Hm. I have observed that there are in fact many flaws in our society and the government is deeply corrupt. So if I kill a few billion people here and there in order to fix it, is that not basically okay when you really think about it”

Dooku making salient points about the political and ethical failures of the Republic and then, just when you think he’s onto something, he goes and makes The wildest fucking decisions about what to do about it. Sure. dark magic and genocide are probably the only ways out of this you’re so right bro. If we make enough minuses to add together surely we’ll end up in plus sooner or later

- *head in my hands once more* I can’t believe I am genuinely emotionally invested in someone called Count Dooku with the looks of a knockoff dracula and ultimate moral character to match right now this is terrible. hey. hey dooks. what you have to go and fuck everything up so bad for huh I’m so incredibly sad now

there is something to be said about how getting to see glimpses of what dooku looked like in the light makes it so much more heartwrenching that he never came back. he could have, a thousand times. and every time he chose not to.

#star wars #dooku jedi lost #count dooku #sifo dyas #dooku x sifo dyas #disaster lineage #lene kostana #star wars meta #rael averross #qui gon jinn #I'm being peak on my bullshit in this one. you're welcome and/or I'm sorry as appropriate

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jasonscaramel · 8 months

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i guess only the stars would know the truth - chapter one - jason todd x reader

series summary: there's something going on in gotham. you transfer into gotham university's journalism program. simultaneously, people are going missing in gotham at record rates. it's only a matter of time before your curiosity gets the best of you.

words: 1.8k

cross-posted on ao3 | series masterlist

Gotham is a welcome change in scenery from your small town in the south.

Sure, it rains nearly every day, and there’s the fact that there are supervillains that terrorize the city like clockwork. But having never lived in a big city before, it has a certain charm you don’t see yourself getting over any time soon. Everything is open late, the streets never seem to quiet down… it’s been eye-opening, to say the least.

You moved here more for the convenience, so it’s only a plus that you enjoy city life too. Gotham University is home to one of the best journalism professors—and in turn, programs—in the country. With affordable tuition, and the cost of living in Gotham being nearly pennies on the dollar, it was a no-brainer to transfer here.

So here you are. Making your way through the winding, labyrinthian halls, you wonder if you’re ever going to get used to how large this place is compared to your old… everything. A small community college on the outskirts of an even smaller town has nothing on the pure expansiveness of Gotham University, and in turn, Gotham City.

The first class to start off the semester is Marketing. You have a hard time putting together how it’ll help you in journalism, but maybe it will be more helpful than you think. By the time you arrive, the class is already sparsely populated, so you find a spot with the most amount of empty chairs and begin to unpack your things.

As you’re logging into your computer, a bag slams on the table beside you, making you jump.

“Sorry! I forgot how heavy those books are.” You look up to see a man, probably about your age, smiling down at you in an apology. “I’m Tim. Mind if I sit here?”

You shake your head with a smile, “Of course not. It’s about time to make friends.” You give him your name as he sits down, and he gives you a smile of his own.

“Oh, are you new here?”

“Yeah, I just transferred. The journalism program is incredible.”

Tim smiles in agreement, but it seems a bit facetious. “Sorry, it’s just—I’m not used to people moving to Gotham. You are… aware of everything, right?”

You snort. “The pros outweighed the cons. Can’t exactly do much journalism work when all there is to report on is cattle.” You flash him a smile that he returns easily.

“You know, that would make sense—”

Tim was cut off by the professor beginning his lecture. The first day is always a bunch of syllabus talk, so you only half pay attention while looking through the Gotham Gazette website. You bookmark a couple of the articles you find, especially the ones that say MISSING PERSONS. Why is there so many?

The professor is kind enough to release the class 15 minutes early. It feels like the universe blessing you because you have no idea where to go for your next class, and you’re sure with the small amount of time in between the classes, you’d get lost and be late. Your old college was barely half the size of this place—you wonder if you’ll ever be confident in navigating it.

“You have any other classes after this?” Tim asks as you both pack up your belongings, and you nod. “I don’t, so if you need help navigating…?”

“Oh, Tim, you’re my hero. Thank you.” You throw your bag over your shoulder and follow him out of the classroom, having to walk a bit quicker to keep up with his strides. “I was honestly worried even with the extra time that I’d be late.”

He gives you that same kind, tired smile. “Don’t worry about it. Where are we headed?”

After you tell him the room number, Tim leads you up a few flights of stairs before leading you to a classroom door. You go to thank him, but you’re cut off by someone yelling his name. It’s a man, Tim’s age, running up to him and encircling him in a hug.

“Hi, babe. New friend?” You smile back at the man, finding it adorable how Tim’s hands immediately cover the other man’s. Tim introduces you and tells you that this is his boyfriend, Bernard.

“It’s their first day, they transferred here.”

“Oh, that’s awesome! We’re happy to have you.” Bernard finally unwraps himself from around Tim to stand at his full height. “If you ever need anything, just let us know.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it. See you Wednesday, Tim!”

“See you then!”

Your next class was more of the same, though you could already tell you wouldn’t have the same ease of social interaction here. Everyone seems to already know everyone else, groups of women in twos and threes with the occasional bro sprinkled in here and there. It’s a surprisingly small class, and thankfully your lack of bravery is also met with no one sitting beside you, so you don’t have to try and make conversation.

It doesn’t help that you can tell that you’re a few years older than everyone else in this classroom. Normally, it doesn’t bother you, but you’re not so sure this group will be as easy to crack as Tim was.

By the time both of your classes are over, you’re exhausted. It’s only 6 p.m., but with the constant rain and gloomy skies, combined with the hours of lecture you just sat through, you could probably go to bed and sleep through the night.

Before sleep, though, you need food. And instead of trekking through the pouring rain, you opt for the dining hall. You’re not expecting anything gourmet, but you do have some free dining dollars to spend, so it all evens out. As you make your way to the dining hall you keep your eyes out for Tim and Bernard, but you don’t see them anywhere. Just another endless sea of faces you don’t recognize.

It’s fine, really. You’ve got headphones and YouTube, so you’ll just have to be an iPad kid for today. Totally fine, and really not anything you aren’t used to. You set up shop in the corner, nibbling on an over-priced, over-greased piece of pizza you had to wait nearly thirty minutes on while you watch another reaction to another Cut video.

The walk home to your apartment isn’t the romanticized walk through the city that you’re used to seeing in the movies. It’s wet, despite the umbrella and the waterproof boots, and it’s really dark for the time of day. Regardless, it gives you time to think. First about taking the subway next time, and then about Tim and Bernard. You wonder if they were just being nice, pitying the new kid on their first day—or if you could actually be their friend. You hope for the latter. Making friends had never been an easy feat for you, and while you didn’t know much about either of them, you had a good feeling.

Which was immediately eclipsed by a very, very bad feeling as you watched a shadowed figure run across the rooftops of the buildings next to you.

Sure, you were fully aware that the shadowed figure you see is probably running toward the danger instead of going to cause it, but the threat of danger at all gives you pause. You knew what you were getting into coming here. The Joker, TwoFace… Gotham is nothing like where you’re from, and despite knowing that, it doesn’t make the reality any easier to digest.

Especially when you see what you’re pretty sure is Batman and Robin following not too far behind the first shadowed figure. Headed in the direction of your apartment.

Cool. Well, you had to have your vigilante v-card punched at some point, right? Might as well be your first night here.

You pick up your pace a bit since your building is within sight. It sure doesn’t sound like the fight is anywhere near your apartment, so you feel a bit safer as you scan your key and enter the building. The hallways are more reminiscent of a doctor’s office than an apartment building—sterile in places that should be homey, clinical in only a way someone so detached from living this way could create. You wonder if it's Bruce Wayne’s fault or Lex Luthor’s.

It’s not like your actual apartment is much better. There are the beginnings of a warm, inviting space here, but without the proper time and funds, it’s more sparse than anything else. The living room consists of a TV on an old side table and a couch sitting across from it, but you’re more than happy to plop onto the lumpy thing and click on the TV.

The gorgeous news anchor speaks, her voice melodic despite the situation at hand. “This is the fourth disappearance in Gotham in the past two weeks.” You sit up straighter at that, turning the volume up a few notches. The screen changes from the news anchor’s face to a graphic of the four missing people.

MISSING:

CRYSTAL JORDAN - 25

JAMES HEATH - 64

HOPE LEIGH - 32

HARLAN MAXTON - 43

IF YOU HAVE ANY INFORMATION PLEASE CONTACT GCPD.

Huh. Four people have gone missing, and they don’t seem to have anything in common. You skim each missing poster: grad student, grandfather, stay-at-home mom, businessman. You’re no criminal justice major, but that’s not typical… is it? It’s not like that many people went missing back home, but you’re sure this is odd.

“We have been told to urge the public to be cautious. Each of the missing persons was taken from a different area of Gotham, so there isn’t one place to look out for. If you see anything suspicious—”

You turn off the TV, but your mind just won’t follow suit. Four people in two weeks. That must be high, even for Gotham’s standards. You pull your laptop from your bag, determined to find more information. Google doesn’t give you much other than the locations these people were taken from, and statements from their families, but you save them into a folder on your desktop regardless.

You keep scrolling, desperate to find something. A way to keep yourself safe, or a way to dig deeper into this, you weren’t sure. You land on a photo of Crystal, gazing perfectly into the lens of the camera—only a little older than you, wearing a Gotham University hoodie. You can’t help but see yourself in her; you can’t help but see everyone you saw today in her.

As you slam your laptop closed, you pray to whatever god is out there that those four people come home safe. That it’s some stupid Joker stunt to catch Batman’s attention, and they’ll be returned to their families.

Deep down, though, as you settle into your bed, nesting into your covers, you feel a sickening feeling in your bones that only feels like dread.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd fanfiction #red hood x reader #red hood x you #jason todd x you #batfam #batfamily

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kvitka97 · 4 days

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At Njcon Jared crashed Misha’s panel and chatted for a few minutes then left again. Misha seemed happy to see him… wasn’t cowering in fear from his “abuser” 🙄

After Jared leaves Misha is asked if there’s a show currently on tv or streaming that he’d like to be on and he says Walker Texas Ranger. He’s playing to the crowd after Jared’s surprise visit of course and it’s also damage control of a sort after he ran his mouth about the CW being homophobic I’m sure.

Thing is I think Misha was probably joking when he made the comments about the CW because it played beautifully to his fans. I guess we shouldn’t be surprised that the same people who saw Destiel throughout SPNs run, after Cass showed up, didn’t catch on to the fact that their “heller king” was being facetious and they decided to run with it which resulted in him getting in trouble per his comments to another fan at a later con. Misha shouldn’t have been surprised either, we all remember straight-gate.

Of course none of that has stopped Misha from pandering (ex. his answer to a ridiculous question about Jack looking like Cass and Dean) and he’ll get himself in trouble again soon enough I’m sure.

Anyways, just my thoughts on an overcast and chilly Sunday morning.

Misha continues to Misha, Jared’s a happy/huggy bean (who looks 🔥 at this con), and Jensen doesn’t really support destiel/ Dean was and continues to be straight.

#anti hellers #anti destiel #anti misha collins #anti misha

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gwilymz · 2 years

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idea: you’re hanging out with robin and eddie and they are PRYING about your relationship with steve. eddie is just convinced steve has no idea what he’s doing in bed, and robin nods in agreement.

“he just looks like a missionary guy through and through.” robin says.

you shrug. they’re right, but— “what’s the problem with that?” you ask.

“nothing, per se…” eddie adds. “i just feel like he doesn’t know how to really pleasure a woman. dude seems clueless.”

you blush, crossing your arms over your chest. “he does, he’s just vanilla—and i guess,” you pause, embarrassed. you weren’t used to being so open about your sex life with steve.

“you guess what?” they both say in unison.

“i guess—i would kind of like him to not be so gentle all the time. he kind of treats me like i’m made of glass.”

you jump as steve lets himself into eddie’s trailer; you had forgotten that he was planning on picking you up.

he looks so handsome. his hair is a little matted from sweat, the chestnut highlights warm, a golden prize beneath the flickering lights of eddie’s room. his polo is a bit unbuttoned, allowing you to see his chest hair; the sleeves of his shirt tight around the swell of his biceps. you swear he looks more buff every time you see him.

“hey, y/n. you ready?” he offers you a tight-lipped smile.

your pulse gains pace, a nervous flutter against the green vein in your neck as steve holds his hand out for you, intertwining your fingers together.

maybe he didn’t hear.

eddie and robin share a look. he definitely had.

steve closes the door to the car after you climb into the front seat. as he’s about to start the engine, he throws the keys in the cup holder littered with receipts and loose change and your hair ties.

his hand finds your thigh, deft fingers pulling at the hem of your little tennis skirt.

his big brown eyes are locked into yours, unwavering, intimidating. gone are the days of puppy eyes and facetious pouts.

tilting your chin to him, he sighs, leaning in so your lips are almost touching. the edge of his bottom lip feels like a tiny feather, tickling yours.

his breath smells like mint gum, cherry soda, a confession left unsaid.

“you know,” he says. his tone is utterly patronizing. your legs squeeze together as his fingers brush against your cunt, wet and puffy and covered by his favorite little pink panties, adorned with a little bow. “if you want me to fuck you like a slut, you can just ask me.”

and then he squeezes your cheeks and flashes you that charming toothy smile of his, the one that makes his eyes crinkle and his nose all scrunched. you whimper as his hand finds its place on the steering wheel, leaving your pussy untouched, starving.

and then he’s turning the car on, chewing his stale gum and driving away. the radio is loud, but it doesn’t drown out the nervous thump of your heartbeat in your ears.

#my brain is rotting for steve harrington rn i’m sorry #steve harrington smut #steve harrington

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the-cult-of-russo · 1 year

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Such a Softer Sin (Part 26)

Pairing: Billy Russo x Reader

Warnings: I’m not specifically tagging this one, if you’ve seen the show, nothing will shock you. Smut will happen eventually so minors DNI, thanks.

A/N: I have no idea what’s up with me today. I’ve had the worst headache behind my left eye and it hurts when I look up or to the left. It’s driving me crazy. I have no idea if it’s sinus related because it's the same side I’ve been having issues with my eye and nose with whatever cold or bullshit is beating me up right now.

On another note, I can’t believe there’s only one more full chapter after this and then the epilogue. As I’ve already said, tomorrow when I post chapter 27, I’ll be posting 28 (the epilogue) right after it because it’s shorter. So tomorrow is the end of this story and I can’t believe it’s gone so quickly. I never expected for the story to turn into what it did and for me to get so attached to it. And I really didn’t expect you all to love it as much as you do, so thank you.

—-------

Two months pregnant

You stared at the open book in your hands, rereading the sentence a few times when your brain didn't quite take it in the first time. You were comfy on the sofa with Billy, both reading separate books as you just enjoyed each other’s company. You were reclined sideways, feet in his lap and he rubbed one of your feet absentmindedly. You weren’t at the castle, you were enjoying some time at Anvil. You found yourself going there every so often with him to get some peace after you’d told him how much you liked it here. You weren't showing yet but you were bloated and the pregnancy had been pretty easy on you despite some light sickness and tiredness. Your mind wandered again as you tried to read and you huffed to yourself, looking over your book to look at Billy who was engrossed in his own book.

“Does the baby need to be a boy to be the heir?” you asked curiously and his head snapped up from his book at your seemingly random question.

“Yeah,” he answered, watching you carefully as you nibbled your lower lip.

“What would happen if it’s a girl?” you asked.

“I don't know. She’d be a princess but wouldn't be the heir, I guess,” he explained.

“Why though?” you pressed with furrowed brows.

“It’s just how it is,” he shrugged, looking at you strangely.

“Don’t you think that's a little misogynistic?” you scoffed and he looked slightly uncomfortable as he shifted where he sat.

“It’s just tradition,” he muttered and your eyes narrowed at his vague answer.

“But why? Because girls can’t lead as well as boys?” you questioned incredulously and he rolled his eyes.

“It’s not like that…Even if we had a daughter, I wouldn't want her to be heir anyway ‘cause I’d wanna protect her and I know it’s a hard job,” he frowned.

“Right, ‘cause you think girls are weaker than boys. I could take you in a fight,” you squinted at him and his brows rose.

“Is that right?” he asked with an amused smirk.

“Yeah, it is. If I wasn't pregnant right now I’d kick your ass,” you muttered and his amused smirk only widened.

“You really think you could take me in a fight?” he asked teasingly.

“I’m faster and stronger now, we’d be more evenly matched,” you huffed. You knew deep down you couldn't take him in a fight at all but you loved to wind him up.

“You’re bein’ facetious right now,” he muttered as he leveled a look at you and you snorted.

“Look, I get wanting to protect a daughter, but what happens if we have five hundred babies and they all wind up being girls?” you asked him and his lips twitched up.

“You’re already thinkin’ of baby number five hundred and you ain’t even done cookin’ number one yet,” he murmured in amusement but when your eyes narrowed at him again, he sighed.

“I don’t care if the baby is a boy or girl and honestly, I think my first born should be heir no matter what,” he shrugged and you tilted your head at him.

“Where the hell did the transition even come from then? I mean, you're the first Lycan King so it’s not like it's been done before,” you asked in confusion and he furrowed his brows, looking deep in thought for a moment.

“It was the Council that said it and I just went along with it,” he admitted and you raised a brow at him, causing him to give you a sheepish smile.

“Whatever the baby is, they’ll be the heir, alright?” he asked, giving you a smile and you nodded, feeling a little better about the whole thing. You really hadn't enjoyed the idea of having to pop out a million babies in trying to give him a son.

—-

Four months pregnant

You turned to the side, looking at your small bump as you lay your hand over it. Your clothes still fit you but you knew you’d need new ones soon. You were still wearing your corset although you’d keep it loose, it was mostly to keep your tunic in place. After getting ready, you left the room to start on your jobs for the day, the first being to oversee training. As you walked down the stairs in the castle, you saw Azalea and she grinned when she saw you, a basket over her arm with a cloth over it.

“This is for you,” she beamed and you took it curiously.

“What is it?” you asked pointlessly as you uncovered the basket to peep for yourself. It was full of croissants.

“I know you’ve been craving them, I made them myself,” she murmured bashfully and you felt your eyes well up a little, your free hand moving to cover your mouth and Azalea’s eyes widened as she looked at you.

“Y/N! I’m sorry, I didn-” she started but you shook your head.

“It’s just the hormones, ignore me,” you rushed out, trying to get yourself under control. It had been getting a little harder to do lately. You found yourself touched by the fact she’d thought of you like this, that she’d made them all herself.

“I love them, thank you,” you smiled sincerely at her and she relaxed. You gave her a one armed hug before you said your goodbyes and you hurried to make your way outside, basket in hand. As you approached the training area, warriors were milling around as they got ready and you spied Frank already waiting for you as he sat on the lowest bench. You’d be working with him today. You sat next to him, the basket by your feet as you reached out to grab one.

“The fuck’s this? A whole ass basket of croissants?” he snorted and you flashed him an impish smile, handing one over to him. He didn't hesitate to take it and start eating it. You shared the croissants as you watched the training, it was one of your favorite things to do since you couldn't fight yourself right now. Viron stepped up to fight one of Frank’s guys and you turned to Frank with a grin.

“I bet you the rest of my croissants that Viron’s gonna win,” you smirked at him and he scoffed.

“Yeah right, Eli’s gonna win, hand’s down,” he muttered in contempt.

“We’ll see,” you smirked and he narrowed his eyes at you. You both watched as if you had more at stake than some croissants as the pair fought with their swords and it was a pretty close fight, keeping you on the edge of your seat the whole time. Eventually, Viron managed to disarm Eli and his sword went clattering to the floor.

“Yes! No croissants for you, Frankie boy!” you laughed, giving Frank a smug grin as you grabbed the basket and stood.

“Aw, come on! Not even one?!” he whined and you snorted, taking a teasing bite of the one in your hand and making a show of eating it as he sulked. You walked over to Viron and gave him a high five.

“Croissant?” you asked him with a bright smile as you offered him the basket, laughing when Frank cursed up a storm from where he sat.

—--

Five months pregnant

You lay on the slightly uncomfortable bed in the medical facility, nerves flowing through you as Billy clutched your hand. He was sitting on the chair next to the bed, his leg bobbing up and down anxiously. You were having an ultrasound today and you hadn't had one yet. Billy could sense if anything was wrong so that hadn't been a worry and you’d decided to hold off on an ultrasound until you could tell what the baby’s sex could be. Knowing you were about to see your baby for the first time filled you with anxious excitement and your heart was hammering away.

“Alright, this is gonna be cold,” Curtis murmured, holding some of the gel in his hand. You nodded and he squirted it in your stomach and you gasped a little.

“You weren't joking,” you muttered wryly and he smiled at you. He pressed the wand onto your stomach and before you saw anything on screen, you heard it. The heartbeat was fast and it soothed something primal in you to hear it. You felt Billy clutch your hand tighter as both of your eyes were glued to the screen in anticipation. A very obvious baby appeared on screen and you were taken aback by how developed it was already. You knew from the books you’d been reading that the baby was around the size of a banana right now and it blew you away that it looked very much like a real baby when it was so small. You blew out a shaky breath, tears pricking your eyes as you just gazed at the baby that was half you and half Billy and when you looked over at Billy, he had an awed and tearful smile on his face, eyes wide as he stared too.

“The baby is healthy and strong, they’re measuring as they should be. Do you guys wanna know the sex of the baby?” Curtis asked you, glancing from Billy to you and you nodded. He moved the wand around a bit more, looking at the screen as he tried to make his conclusion and a grin split his face before he looked back at the pair of you.

“You’re having a boy,” he smiled and Billy let out a delighted watery laugh as you felt overtaken by happiness. You knew you were pregnant, you very much felt it, but just knowing what the baby would be made it feel so much more real. You had a little person inside of you. A son. Billy wiped his eyes with his free hand, the one holding yours bringing your hand to his mouth as he pressed a lingering kiss to the back of it as he smiled at you. You could feel the happiness and excitement radiating off him in waves.

“How many pictures do you want me to print off?” Curtis asked as he grinned at you both.

“Uh… one each for us, one for Frank and Karen, one for Micro and Sarah and one for you,” Billy murmured, still trying to get his tears under control. You’d barely seen Micro lately so you knew you’d have to wait to tell him the news. He’d been staying a lot with Sarah and the kids at their pack. The plan had been for them to move back here after the war was over, but the kids were happy there and Micro didn’t want to unsettle them yet. Billy had offered Micro to go and live with the other pack if he chose to do so but Micro refused to give up his duties as pack Delta, so he was trying to split his time.

“I can’t wait to tell Frankie,” Billy laughed, staring down at the photo now in his hands in adoration. You could barely tear your eyes away from your own photo as you looked down at the baby. You really couldn't wait for him to get here so you could hurry up and meet him. When you left the medical facility, Billy led you over to where Frank and Karen were just hanging out together.

“We’re havin’ a boy, Frankie!” Billy laughed, running over to his friend and picking him up as he twirled him around comically and you couldn't help but laugh at the sight. Karen looked at you with wide eyes and a wider smile as she rushed over to hug you, Billy setting Frank on his feet as they shared a hug too.

“Look!” Billy beamed, passing Frank the picture and Karen moved over to peer at it too. He already sounded like such a proud parent and it filled your whole chest with warmth. Frank stared at the picture, his eyes tearing up as pure wonder lit up his face.

“I can’t believe I’m gonna be an uncle,” he murmured and Billy wrapped an arm around his shoulder with a blinding grin painting his face. You couldn’t believe how loved this baby was already and he wasn't even here yet.

—-----

Seven months pregnant

Your hand lay over your bump that was getting pretty big and you tried to calm yourself. Your moods had been all over the place lately and luckily, Billy had been nothing but patient with you. You were sitting on the bench in the Royal gardens as you cried softly, struggling to keep your raging emotions at bay. You sensed Billy before you saw him and you glanced over to see him standing in the archway watching you with a sympathetic look on his face.

“Did they run outta hot chocolate again?” he asked softly and you shook your head.

“No,” you whispered and you found yourself crying harder as you lowered your head, your breathing coming in ragged as Billy slowly approached you. You didn't blame him for being hesitant and apprehensive like this, you’d had a full blown melt down the day before because your feet were too swollen to fit into your boots.

“I-I can’t believe Kos and Atti aren’t here to see the baby,” you sobbed brokenly and his face fell as he realized you were upset for a very real issue this time. He hurried over to you, sitting down as he wrapped his arms around you and held you to his chest. His hand cradled your head, storking your hair as you cried into his chest.

“They might not be here in person, but they are in spirit. Wherever they are right now, they’re looking at you and the baby and they’re happy,” he soothed. You moved away from him, wiping at your eyes furiously.

“Why does everyone I care about die? My parents, Kos, the whole thing with Atti… What-What if something happens to you?” you wept pitifully and he frowned.

“That won’t happen, I’m immortal,” he murmured and you shook your head.

“You were immortal before and then I found out about the glowing red sword. It doesn't mean you can't die,” you bit out tearfully.

“The sword’s been destroyed, we used magic to get rid of it,” he countered.

“Something else could come up,” you argued, getting worked up and he grabbed your face, making you look at him.

“No matter what, I won’t leave you. I love you more than anything and there ain’t a damn thing in the world that can take me away from you,” he said vehemently, his eyes imploring as he stared at you. You sniffled with a nod and he moved you to lay your head on his chest again as you gripped the front of his tunic. He held you like that until your sobs stopped and you started to feel a little better. You knew the whole thing had been playing on your mind, but usually, you were better at keeping control of it. With how your hormones were lately though, it had just overflowed and poured out of you. You sat up, wiping your damp cheeks as you shot him a sheepish smile and he stroked your hair as he watched you carefully.

“What do you think about Kosmos? For the baby's name?” you suggested quietly, glancing at him. A small smile tugged his lips as he took your hand, kissing it softly.

“Kosmos Francis Russo,” he murmured, raising a brow at you and you smiled at him.

“I like that,” you nodded and he beamed a smile at you. You felt lucky to have him to take care of you, putting up with your up and down moods. You didn't know what you’d do without him.

—---------

Eight months pregnant

You strode to the meeting room with purpose, knowing Billy was having a meeting in there. A part of you knew you shouldn't disturb him yet your feet carried you there anyway. When you pushed open the door, you saw Billy sitting with Frank, Curtis and Micro by his side and on the other side of the table were the Human King and the leader of the Witches.

“Queen Y/N,” the Human King smiled, bowing his head and you did the same.

“King Alfred, Lady Mariam,” you smiled politely, bowing your head to her as she did the same with a warm smile. You liked her quite a bit and you’d spent some time with the witches after Karen introduced you. They seemed to like you too.

“I just need to borrow King William for a moment,” you murmured to them before your eyes snapped to Billy, who was watching you with slightly narrowed eyes. You stared at him intently and he shifted in his seat, feeling what you were feeling before he cleared his throat and turned to Frank.

“Can you finish up for me?” he asked him and Frank nodded. You left the room quickly as he said his goodbyes to the others there and you made your way to your room hurriedly, waiting for him to follow. It didn't take long before he came into the room, shutting the door as he gave you a look.

“You can’t keep interruptin’ my meetin’s like this, Y/N. This is the third time this week,” he sighed and you made your way over, trying to look innocent. You knew you shouldn't be doing it as he’d been busy forging alliances with the humans and the witches to ensure another war wouldn’t happen. That if the vampires tried to uprise again, they’d all band together and they’d be unbeatable.

“I can’t help it, I’m sorry,” you murmured as you reached him, slipping his jacket off his shoulders.

“I just… I need you,” you whispered as you blinked up at him.

“I’ve had you twice already and it’s only noon,” he muttered and you huffed, moving away from him as you shook your head.

“It doesn't matter. You don't need to give me excuses, I know you're not attracted to me anymore. I look like a whale,” you accused as tears stung your eyes and Billy looked aghast at your words as he strode over to you.

“You’re overreactin’ right now. I think you’re beautiful, you look like a Goddess carryin’ my baby like this,” he frowned, cupping your cheeks. He leaned down, placing a soft kiss to your lips and you tried to let him soothe you.

“You’re just wearin’ me out a little,” he joked with a smirk, rubbing his nose against yours sweetly.

“You're just old,” you muttered teasingly and he pulled away, mock offense on his face as you smiled up at him. He nipped your lower lip and you gasped, hands fisting his tunic.

“You’re insatiable,” he purred against your lips.

“It’s not my fault when you're so good looking,” you pouted playfully and he grinned down at you before he stepped back and started to undress. You watched him with sharp and focused eyes, feeling like if you didn't have him, you just might die. He prowled over to you in all his naked glory before he kissed you deeply and your hands smoothed down his sculpted body before your hand wrapped around his cock. He moaned into the kiss as you stroked him, losing himself in the feeling for a moment as he kissed you more insistently. He grabbed your wrist, pulling you away from him as he broke the kiss and you could see the fire behind his eyes, you knew you had him right where you wanted him.

He undressed you quickly before he got you onto the bed. Sex with a big bump wasn't exactly easy but you’d done it often enough recently to figure out what positions worked and what didn't. He lay down as you climbed on top of him, too eager for him to wait as you sunk onto his hard and thick cock with a moan of relief. He groaned, hands digging into your hips as you started riding him hard and fast. He was moaning helplessly, face the picture of euphoria and you could barely tear your eyes away from him. You leaned down, which wasn’t an easy feat with the bump in the way, capturing his lips in a hard kiss and his hand gripped your hair, making you let out a needy moan.

“Such a good girl, takin’ my cock like this,” he growled and you felt the pleasure ricocheting off every inch of you.

“Billy,” you gasped, burning up from the fire he lit inside of you. He tugged harshly on your hair, making you moan in pleasure and your head was spinning as you continued to ride him at a frenzied pace.

“Your Majesty,” you corrected quickly, earning a satisfied growl in response. He was rutting up into you, meeting each desperate roll of your hips with one hand still buried in your hair and the other wandering, touching every bit of skin he could. You were both panting and moaning, chasing the delirium together and you let out a delighted moan as your climax hit you. Pure bliss washed over you in waves and you rode it out, feeling him fall right over the edge with you with a loud groan. You were breathless as you relished in the calm feelings you were now bathed in, moving off him before you collapsed next to him on your side. He rolled to face you, still panting a little as he reached out and wrapped his arms around you. You snuggled into him the best you could, a smile on your face.

“I love you,” he murmured tiredly and your smile widened.

“I love you too,” you replied, basking in his presence. You felt sated for now but you had no idea how long it would last. You almost felt sorry for Billy with how hard you were pushing him.

Taglist: (if you’ve been asked to be tagged and aren’t here, it wouldn’t let me tag some people.)

@firexfate

@blanchedelioncourt

@on-ya

@sunshinedaisies-anddeath

@snowkestrel

@music-indie-tv

@idaofinfinity

@sweetserendipity65

@ramadiiiisme

@k-marzolf

@celestialams

@woowwwee

@noortsshift

@rainbowgoblinfan

@mysweetlittledesire

@promnightbinbaby

@intothesoul

#billy russo imagine #billy russo fanfic #billy russo x reader #billy russo

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ace-of-zaun · 2 years

Note

it's Father's Day so maybe: 'Silco I'm pregnant '🙏

A/N: Hohohohoho, what a cracking first request, thank you!! Apologies I didn’t manage to get this done in time for father’s day, but to be fair, everyday is father’s day with Silco ;) -elsie x

Silco x f!reader, Silco POV, 1k words, SFW

Warnings: fluff, pregnancy, angst/tension, light arguing, established relationship

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 1.5

When Silco had started out his day on a quiet Tuesday morning, he never would have guessed that it would be the day he was going to receive such remarkably wonderful news. But the elation at your life-changing announcement had come at the expense of a rather exasperating conversation beforehand.

He was sitting at his desk staring incredulously at you, who was curled up on the sofa in his office, a pout adorning your stoic face.

You’d been ‘arguing’ for the past ten minutes, although Silco noted that it was not the correct word for the situation, considering he’d been doing most of the talking. He’d just told you that he needed to go to Noxus to secure an important business deal, which was admittedly a rare occurrence in his job, but not an impossibility.

Usually, you would have immediately asked if he wanted you to do anything while he was away, or would have started to sneak little treats for him into his suitcase when he wasn’t looking. But for some strange reason, today you were being uncharacteristically difficult about the whole ordeal. And honestly, it was starting to send Silco a little bit crazy.

“I just don’t want you to go,” you state, avoiding eye contact with him and instead choosing to play with the hem of your shirt.

“Why not?”

“I just don’t.”

Silco sighs deeply. Don’t get him wrong, he absolutely adored you, and is fairly certain he couldn’t live without you at this point. But at this particular moment in time, you were being really quite frustrating. Your short, abrupt answers made him suspect that you were being facetious on purpose and for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why.

He didn’t have time for this, he had too much to prepare.

It was bad enough when Jinx didn’t want him to leave and kicked up a fuss, but now you were doing it as well? It was all too much for him. I mean, it’s not like he wouldn’t come back. He’d be utterly lost without you both.

Silco runs his hands through his greying hair and tries to be as tender as he can when he speaks his next sentence.

“Darling, I don’t understand. I’d only be gone for a week, I’ve been away for much longer,” he says.

“I just don’t feel safe on my own,” is your mumbled reply.

“You won’t be on your own, Sevika will be here.”

“I don’t want Sevika, I want you.”

Silco groans loudly and pushes his chair away from his desk, standing up in frustration.

Unsure what to do about your seemingly baseless objections, he resorts to one of the things he does best. Monologuing.

Silco paces back and forth behind his desk as he rants, the chair now resting up against the wall next to the window.

“Sweetheart, we are at the very precipice of change right now, I cannot just give up the mission simply because you want me to stay here. The whole of Zaun is relying on me to build a better life for them, to fight against the oppression that Topside has suffocated us with for years, to finally force them to see us as equals. To do that I need to-”

“Silco, I’m pregnant.”

The kingpin freezes.

Slowly, his head turns to face you and his expression is nothing short of astonished. He feels like he’s just been slapped.

“Sil?” you say worriedly after a few moments, when he continues to just gape at you, jaw slackened.

Broken out of his reverie, he suddenly rushes over to you, dropping to his knees in front of you where you’re perched on the sofa.

“You are?” he asks in awe, taking your hands into his own.

“Yes,” you nod, smiling so warmly at him, he can’t help but try to match it with his own weak smile.

“Oh, my lovely.”

Silco pulls you forward into his arms and kisses the top of your head.

He doesn’t think he’s ever felt this elated before. It’s like he’s floating in the clouds, far above Zaun, even higher than the skies of Piltover.

But then, the logical part of his brain brings him crashing back down to earth. He pulls back from you and grasps your shoulders lightly, examining you carefully.

“Are you feeling okay? Do you need bed rest? I’ll send for the doctor immediately, we need to start preparing for the baby’s arrival as soon as possible,” he begins his new rant, “And I won’t go to Noxus, I’ll advise Sevika on the business deal, and-”

The feeling of your hands gently carding through his soft hair shuts him up.

“Shh. There’ll be time for all of that later,” you say to him softly.

Silco already knew this, but your divine revelation had only reaffirmed the undeniable fact that he loves you with all of his soul. More than he ever thought could be possible for a broken man like himself.

“You are going to make the most wonderful mother,” he tells you ardently.

“Even though you were already an excellent mother to Jinx, you’d only met her when she was already a child, so this time would be wholly (and perhaps overwhelmingly) different.”

But despite your natural talent in looking after the young girl, for the first time since revealing your news, you begin to look unsure. Maybe you’re more nervous than you’re letting on, Silco thinks. Always trying to be strong for him.

“You really think so?” you ask.

“I know so.”

Silco cups your face in his hands and kisses you deeply, putting as much of his love as he possibly could into the action.

If he was being truly honest, he had never planned to become a father to the first adopted child, let alone entertain the idea of another that would be of his own blood. But somehow, it just feels right.

Regardless of the worry that was already lining Silco’s stomach at the thought of helping you through a pregnancy, and eventually becoming a father again, it’s miraculously soothed by the fact that he’d be going through it all with you.

PART 2

#silco request #silco x reader #silco x f!reader #silco x you

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kichous · 10 months

Text

✧･ﾟ:* don’t wanna miss you

summary. if shoko was here, she’d have taken your phone to make sure you didn’t do anything stupid. but it’s just you and utahime at this bar, and maybe that’s for the best. series. a night of dark trees. part one . part two . part three . part four . part five you’re here ! pairing. gojo satoru x gn!reader. warnings. alcohol cw. word count. 1889

Hime’s a sloppy drunk, but she’s also a fun one, on top of being your old senior, so you don’t mind going out with her at all. The Exchange Event has always been the perfect excuse to catch up over a pint (or six)—though you tried not to think too hard about your own, considering how thoroughly Tokyo trounced Kyoto, courtesy of Gojo.

Who, coincidentally, is also the reason why Utahime is currently clutching onto your arm.

“I’m… really… sorry,” she slurs, worrying at the damp parts of your sleeve between her index finger and thumb. If you were sober you might’ve realized this was only going to make the stain worse. “I wasn’t thinking, should’ve realized that you were in the splash zone—”

You pat the top of her head. So round. “S’okay. It’s that dickhead who splashed it all over me with his Infinity anyway.” Technically it was you who’d been foolish enough to choose a seat next to a man who definitely hadn’t forgiven you for answering his love confession with a pained ‘thanks.’ in the first place. But manners are manners, he should’ve been the bigger person.

The tea incident had left you jumpy, stuck with the discomfort of wet fabric plastered against your skin. And then the competition started, and everything just went downhill from there. You haven’t been in active combat in ages—you’d been overseas last Christmas and missed all of the hullabaloo—and it was only worse with Old Man Gakuganji nearby. He’s never masked his disdain towards the fact that a cadet branch of the family wound up with the more powerful technique, nor that you’d just been letting this gift go to waste for years.

“I mean,” you continue against your better judgment, “I guess you can only smack a guy around for so long without him snapping back.”

Utahime squints at you. “You smack him around?” Before you have a chance to respond, she rotates her entire body to face you and slides closer. The movement is disturbingly serpentine. “What do you mean? Is he an M? Is this a sex thing?”

She probably means it as a joke. She definitely means it as a joke. But you hesitate. Utahime’s mouth falls open, a Sadako-adjacent rasp of betrayal pouring forth. “It is a sex thing! You’re fucking him!” Suddenly realizing the two of you are in public, she claps a hand over her mouth as the other reaches over your shoulder to pinch the back of your neck between her forefinger and thumb. She ignores your yowl of pain as she hisses, as though you’ve sold her firstborn child into slavery. “How could you?”

“In my defense,” you wheeze, “he’s usually the one fucking meeEOWWW!”

Mercifully, she relases you to bury her face into her arms. “I can’t believe it,” heaves Hime, “one of our best and brightest, the Vice Captain of the Gojackoff Suckstoru Hate Club, seduced by that vile tempter—temptro—whatever the male equivalent of a temptress is!”

“There, there.” You’re petting her again, but this time it’s more or less to keep her hair from soaking in the condensation puddling beneath her beer. “Gojo’s not that bad. In fact, he’s actually quite good—”

“I don’t need to hear how good he is in bed!”

“I was going to say he’s a good person,” you snap.

“Sure.”

You’re not certain what compels you to defend him so vehemently. You highly doubt that Gojo would do the same for you, upset with you as he is. But for years, you’ve been unnecessarily cruel to him. His greatest crime is being mildly (and probably facetiously) self-centered and annoying, no doubt traced back to a childhood of neglect and a young adulthood of idolatry. He’s good to you. He’s good to everyone, to varying degrees.

“He’s actually really nice when he wants to be. He only teases you because he knows it’ll get a rise out of you and he thinks that’s funny.” By now, the bar’s interest has waned from Utahime’s earlier outburst. Only the bartender, who looks torn between cutting you off and serving you more in the interest of eavesdropping, is paying any attention. “And yeah, it’s not great that he’s almost thirty and still desperate for attention. But Satoru is caring and strong and he makes me feel safe in a way that I’ve never felt since—that I…”

There’s a pin drop silence—spiritually, not literally—as the realization settles in your gut.

“Oh my God,” Utahime breathes. “You’re in love with him.”

Your kneejerk reaction is to deny it. You can’t be in love, because that somehow lessens what you once had, what was torn from you all too soon. But you’d said it yourself—he makes you feel a certain type of way.

The heat of being enveloped in a loving embrace, once upon a time ripped from you and crushed and crushed by so much pressure that it turned into the diamonds sitting on your left hand, now instead the fluttery warmth you feel when Gojo smiles at you. Or when he sits beside you and his hand sits comfortably on your lower back. Or when he laughs at one of your jokes, a throaty chuckle a million times more genuine than his goblin cackle. Or when the two of you lie together in silence—oxygen, carbon, hydrogen, and nitrogen miraculously arranged in a beau ideal of the lovers’ embrace, touch as soft as satin and solace made sublime.

Words are how everything got all messed up. But in the quiet, the vacuum of your touch, it had felt like fate that you would be in each other’s arms. A sense of belonging, a clicking into place. It’s just that you hadn’t understood how to translate it yet. And now you know.

“I’m in love with Gojo.”

“That’s what I said.”

“I have to tell him.”

“What?!” squawks Utahime. She nearly launches herself off of her stool in her mad scramble to snatch your phone from you. “Put that away! I can’t let you do this!”

Her words are partially garbled by where she’s smushed up against your protective barrier (also known as your right shoulder), her hands clawing in the air for your device. Joke’s on her, you’d been staring longingly at your texts the entire night, so all it takes is a tap onto his contact photo—Satoru mid-snore, mouth unflatteringly ajar and a trickle of drool spilling down a corner, with a full view up his nose—and then another tap to call him. You raise your voice to hear yourself over the dial tone. “He hasn’t said more than seven words to me in a couple o’ weeks, okay? I need—I needa tell him I’m sorry for being such a dumbass—”

“Did your voice crack? Are you crying?!”

“Shut up.” You blow your nose on your sopping wet napkin, sending nut casings showering onto your lap and Utahime’s hair. What remains of the rational part of you says you might be getting kicked out pretty soon.

Gojo picks up on the third ring. He sounds half-asleep, and you can almost see him rubbing his eyes. “Hullo…?”

‘Oh, it is pretty late, isn’t it? My bad!’

‘Apologies for disturbing your slumber, my good friend.’

‘This sounds like a bad time. I’ll call back tomorrow.’

All of these are perfectly reasonable things to say to someone you’ve clearly just woken up. Not, “Hey, I’m so in love with you it makes me stupid.”

He’s so quiet for so long that you pull the phone away from your ear to check if he’d hung up on you. You barely manage to put it back in time to hear him ask, “Are you drunk right now?”

“Yes, but that’s not the point.” Leave it to Gojo to get stuck on the little things. “The point is that you make me a better version of myself. A happier version of myself, giddy like I’m fifteen years old and the popular boy at school actually smiled at me and not the pretty girl behind me, overjoyed like my husband of fifty-five years remembers that I like my yakisoba with pickled ginger even though it’s been so long and the dementia’s starting to set in.”

Utahime smacks your cheek, bringing you back on track.

“Except you’re not my husband, because you’re mad at me,” you gasp, taking a second to catch your breath. “And to be honest, I don’t blame you. I was really mean to you both to your face and behind your back. Utahime and Shoko and I have a group chat where we talk shit.”

Utahime smacks you again, harder this time for throwing her under the bus.

“But I love you. I love you and how you make me feel, all warm inside, like I deserve to be loved. I love you and how you know every part of me, from every inch of my skin to every dark crevice of my heart. I love you and I want you to feel the same way about me. I want you to want me, to want my comfort, to want my touch, to want me next to you. I love you, Gojo Satoru.”

There’s silence again, but it’s soon curtailed by a noise that could either be a bemused exhale or just Gojo rolling over. You choose, in all of your inebriated optimism, to believe it’s the former. “That was a nice speech,” Gojo hums. “Think you can give it to me again when you’re sober?”

“In spirit, sure,” you reply. “Probably not in those specific words. Should I have written that down? Shit, Hime, what did I say?”

He laughs, fond and forgiving. A far cry from the careful distance, meticulously tailored to his customary puckishness, that seemed nearly insurmountable just a few hours earlier. “I’m holding you to that,” he says. “So drink some water and go to bed. I don’t want you to miss breakfast tomorrow because you got so plastered you slipped in the shower and cracked your head open.”

“Breakfast tomorrow? It’s a date.” You ignore the violent gagging noises beside you. “I’ll see you soon, handsome.”

“Sweet dreams.”

Even if you had wanted to, you couldn’t wipe the smile off of your face. It’s like your cheeks are superglued to this position, a warm fluttery feeling in your chest and stomach that won’t go away. Perhaps it wasn’t as reciprocal of a response as he could’ve given, but he’d already told you he loved you. It was up to you to return the favor. All you could do is hope that he hadn’t changed his mind, and the fact that he’d wanted to meet seems to lean in your favor.

You might get your happily ever after, for once. For years, you thought it was beyond your reach. But now, with Gojo, there’s a chance.

Gently patting your drinking buddy on the back, you shake your head. “That’s why you don’t fake vom, hon, it’ll make you actually heave.” You give Utahime one last smack, making her body jerk, though it’s really more self-congratulatory than anything else.

“Besides, you should be happy for me. Didn’t you hear? I got the most powerful man in the world to fall in love with me.”

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #anodt tag.#jjk fic.#ding ding ding the dumbass finally figured it out!!!!!#and then shibuya happens LMFAO

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