#to specify im the one getting physically abused

[dykealloy]

genuinely my sister and i thrift shopping. physical abuse included.

[ironteeth-fury]

👋 👋👋

Do u give ghoap fic recommendations? If so can u give us please 🙏 (iys alr if u don’t want to ^~^)

*rubs hands together* finally my time has come, the 436 cod bookmarks i have will be useful!

right so you didn't specify anything beyond ghoap so i'm gonna throw a bunch in here with different themes and lengths and settings and stuff.

Gonna try to keep it to one work per author as well, but generally check out the other works of these authors!

I'm gonna cover WIP's that i'm following and loving, canon ghoap, still military but au in ways that might be timeline or in the sense of magic or abo or supernatural or something. Also completely AU ghoap, and I also have a couple crack fics that i just think are really good and funny.

Buckle up there's a lot

WIPS

Acceptable Loss by MildLimerence. Limerence is one of my favorite authors, definitely check out all the other works as well. Acceptable Loss is post MWIII wherein Soap gets turned into an agent for Makarov. This has made me cry and scream.

But not to yield by monsterlice and toomanybats. Definitely also check both authors out, more good shit to be found!! post military service for ghost and soap both. Demi!Simon in an abusive relationship, absolute perfect specimen who will treat you right! Soap. Pretty sure this updates weekly on wednesdays or thursdays, i forgot sorry :/

There will be no tenderness by Simcoehole. Simcoehole is where I break the rules, there will be 4 of their fics in this list and I will not apologise (really you should applaud my restraint because i could've put a lot more in here). This is canon Ghoap with Soap on medical leave, stalker!ghost, a lot of angst and pining, and Simcoehole's specialty: idiots to lovers. has only one chapter so it's the best time to get into it! Updates on mondays, I think.

Crack fics

right so a couple shorter fics that are just generally funny

miannach by simcoehole. Right. Simcoehole fic #2. This is very much Crack Premise, executed super well and quite seriously as well. Premise: Soap cuts a hole in a bar of soap (lol) and it becomes a magical portal hole to his ass. So after fucking himself with it, he decides to leave it in teh communal showers. Which is fun but overwhelming. Then Ghost gets a hold of it. (this is just a lot of porn, but it's awesome)

Save a pony, ride a ghost - Jazzybot4 and naughtypixie. Soap has Stripper Skills and it is the perfect opportunity to show them off. the rest of the 141 is stunned <3

the divine and the blessed by ghost_throat. Soap finds himself being sacrificed to a god (believe me this will be 1000x better iwthout context. Don't forget to read the sequel)

Talk Too Much by achievement_huntresss. '22 ghoap who are in denial about their feelings run into '09 ghoap who, while not fucking (anymore) immediatly clock that the idiots are head over heels for each other, and decide to do something about it.

Russian Roulette by Red_Clegane. Just. Soap being a badass completely casual, as you-please. Love the attitude

Canon Ghoap

Up In Arms by eclecticscribbles. Ghost introduces Soap to BDSM so they can infiltrate a fancy exclusive bdsm club to find their target.

Any Time You Need Me by thirteenbullets. right so this is technically an entire series that i've linked, but, they all fall under what im gonna tell you: non-sexual intimacy, physical touch, a bit of angst and a lot of comfort. This entire series feels like curling up with a blanket on the couch in front of the fireplace with a mug of hot cocoa. it's comfy. (also has one of my favorite sentences ever that will live rent-free in my brain forever. He drew the ducks <3)

Seasons by StinglessWasp. the writing is breathtaking, it's a beautiful look at soap, ghost and their relationship and how they change over the course of four seasons.

What Has One Good Leg and Bleeds? by YmeMadarame. Soap gets his leg injured and betrayed and falsly confirmed KIA in the depths of hostile territory. He tries to make it back home. A classic case of it gets worse before it gets better.

Mission Briefs by BleedingTypewriter. What if ghost and soap hooked up before they met for the mission in al mazrah? Written as missing scenes between game cutscenes and missions. Beautiful, funny and sexy!

sometimes words have two meanings by Bluejay141519. beautiful take on the "the team accidentally massively hurts soaps feelings and trigger his inferiority complex" featuring a lot of hurt!soap.

its just a shot away by Bluejay141519. so another breaking of the rules by adding a second fic from bluejay, but both these fics are special to me. This is soap on a mission that went beyond FUBAR, trying to survive long enough for the 141 to come get him, and has been going on stims for almost 4 days. Soap reacts real bad to stims once he comes off of it. This is beautifully written and grabs me every time, and somehow manages to be one of the funniest things i've ever read while the tone of the fic overall is very serious and angsty.

Take a Breath by TAFKAmayle. Longg before the 141 started, we get Sergeant Simon Lamont (who will later be Lieutenant Simon "ghost" Riley) in charge of training the platoon of Corporal John "soap" MacTavish. There is tension. (turns out, it's sexual tension. who'da thunk it?) Includes them meeting again in game canon. (love this, its hilarious and i love it as a peek into Simon's mind)

can't keep johnny down by Wheezing_Joe. Soap loses comms on a mission. The 141 have to leave him behind. Soap makes his own way back to base. Turns out they missed him.

Bad Habits by NebulaGazer. I think this is the first real long fic that I'm linking, at 140k words. It's a mission fic of ghoap getting together. Soap gets thrown out of a couple of windows. It's great!

I Woke Up Underground by WispScribbles. this is a fun one!! we get wump, angst, buried alive trope, more wump, dad!price, and a lot of Feelings. (also definitely comfort at the end no worries)

Bait and Switch by Starlight_VLD. Another Soap gets turned into Makarov's assassin fic, this time with body doubles!! it's beautiful, it's sad, it's comforting, it's 141 as a family.

Oh, Brother by MeowMeowRiley. Ghost's family lives, and through some work civililan connections, both get roped into helping Soap's sibling move, unbeknownst to each other.

This is Ghost and Soap as Simon and John, seen through the eyes of their siblings, who do wonder 'why the hell are they not fucking yet?'

Military Ghoap AU's

faege by Simcoehole. #3 Simcoehole fic!! Soulmate AU following the MWIII storyline. Ghost and Soap wake up tied together by a red string of fate, declaring them soulmates. Both of them decide that, no, fate must have made a mistake, just because I'm hopelessly in love with him. He doesn't feel the same. I don't want to ruin our friendship. Let's see how we can get rid of this because he deserves better than being stuck with me for the rest of his life. (yep.) A lot of pining, angst, Idiots to Lovers (altho the idiots never really goes away with how fucking bad it is lmao). This is beautiful and it will make you yell at your screen and want to throw things but the worst part is that even though they're being big stupid idiots, when you're in their head you GET IT, you might not agree but you understand why they're comign to the conclusions they are (mostly). It's infuriating in the best way.

The devil has my throat by Simcoehole. Hi, last but certainly not least (with over 400k words) we have the devil has my throat. THIS FIC is what got me into the author, and what got me into the community. This fic is the start of my tumblr account. So, yeah.

Vampire!Ghost and Previously-Traumatised-By-Vampires!Soap. Who has, obviously, not processed said trauma at all, but is also immediatly horny as fuck for ghost. Features: being idiots, a lot of kinky vampire sex (so blood and biting and also some fun surprises you'll love later) a supernatural plot, price who doesn't get told even 10% of what's going on, and my Favorite OC Of All Time Ever.

Thrown for a Loop by enter_fand0m_reference00. Time Loop Alone Mission!!!! need I say more?? no, no i don't. (check out the rest of the series for more time loop shenanigans)

Results May Vary by HigherMagic. HigherMagic is one of my favorite authors so definitely check out all the other works as well, but this is the one I picked out to go on this list. It's wolf shifter soap deciding to woo the shit out of dragon ghost. (with a lot of lore!!! we love lore!!!)

Wont you lay your hands on me by Kensington. ABO but make it make sense! Alpha Ghost, Omega Soap, courting, world-building, trauma processing. absolutely one of my favorite abo fics ever (it's #2)

Yes to Heaven by Apollos_Last_Prophet. Okay but what if Soap was "killed" and taken and been made into Makarov's assassin before the 141 is even a thing?? You get this. The Ghoap is absolutely gorgeous in here.

My heart in your hands keeps going on by FetteEule. Former Military Soap! Neighbours Soap and Ghost! Ghost being forced on leave and fucking hating it, and soap changing his mind on it <3 (also of course price knows soap too)

Collecting Strays by WhisperedWords12. Check out the author again, there are more!! Werewolf soap gets rescued from a werewolf fighting ring and, being military, gets kept by Price and the 141. Ghost does not trust Soap at all.

No Rest for the Wicked by WispScribbles. Retired Ghoap are called back in when Price goes MIA. Mission fic. Feelings. Established Ghoap (theyre marrieddd)

hell hath no fury by sunshowers_and_dandelion_wine. Dragon shifter Soap!! Who accumalates the 141 as his hoard and is super protective and possessive, while trying to keep his being a dragon a secret!

Varium Lupus Division by North927. Sort-of military, sort of not? Post 141, Simon sets up his own division where they rescue and rehabilitate shifters/hybrids. Soap is the latest rescue.

Take Me On by Monsterlice. this is the #1 abo fic. It's got traumatised omega!Ghost who does Not Trust Anyone who goes into heat, has put it off long enough that it might kill him if he doesn't get handled by an alpha. Surprise, Gaz and Price, the only alphas (people, really) he trusts in the world are not here!! and won't be back in time. So, Laswell calls in Alpha!Soap (who will start at the 141 in like, a couple weeks) Features Consent!King!Soap who is absolutely enamoured by this huge feral omega who will fucking kill him if he steps a toe out of line. I fucking love soap in this soooo much.

a patron saint for butchers, fools and living fire by ForgottenFrog. I dunno, don't really want to spoil it by telling too much about it. This is one of the fics that settled into my bones and refused to leave.

(are you tired yet, cuz we've got some more to go)

AU's!

Dark Eyes Meet Under The Sky by Aessedia. (gonna have another one of Aessedia because i could NOT for the life of me choose) University professor Ghost. Grad student Soap. Soap needs a reccomendation for ghost who is known for being grumpy and hating his students. Also, Soap begins talking to a Dom on a kink-related dating website. Wonder who that is.

The Aerialist by Aessedia. LIsten okay Aessedia is just fucking amazing and go check /all of it/ out, because these two are my favorites but all the others are super good as well. Also, happy birthday to The Aerialist!! Aerialistic Acrobats Soap and Ghost who starts as rivals but then suddenly have to work together. Beyond overcoming their rivalry, there is also seemingly someone out to kill or at least ruin the 141 acrobats.

Why Did The Cowboy Take Hay To Bed? by LawfulSlab. Definitely check out all the other works as well they're beautiful. Historical au. Omega Soap and Alpha Ghost are the only two survivors of a convoy ambush. They seek shelter and have to pretend to be married to save Soap's virtue (unmarried omega out all alone, gasp!!) and then they fall in love. It's domestic as shit, and beautiful and the convoy was definitely a plot device to get them here and not something that will come back later as more plot, nahh.

Head of Department by Goblin_Pudding. Professors AU! Rival professors who hate each other, Price forces them to work together and /shit fuck we're in love now/. Including the past coming back to haunt you and Feelings <3. Romcom!!

Yellow Card by eddie_dxaz and skerryB. Football players AU! of course our boys start out having a massive rivalry and then Soap comes on the team and they have to play nice. Featuring homophobia of the world of sports, shitty exes coming back to create chaos, alive Riley family (except Simon's dad).

a pirate's life, aye? by victorianankles. firstly, pirate AU is one of my favorites. WE need more pirate au. Just gonna quote my bookmark of this one:

Soap's voice is the perfect mix of melodramatic, sad, hilarious and that somehow humble cockiness that's all Soap. I laughed so fucking much reading this and everyone should read this too, it's beautiful and I love it and I'm gonna cherish this fic forever

for those who need more convincing; one of the epilogues has soap in lingerie that's made of fancy chains and shiny gems. (i might or might not absolutely need art for this fucking hell)

Spoils of War by WhisperedWords12. RIGHT losers of a war get kept as war prisoners until the losing party signs officially that they've lost or something. They get used as sex slaves by the winning party. This is considered normal by everyone involved, as long as you treat your (temporary) slaves well. Soap gets captured and falls under Ghost's care. They are both not prepared for how much they like the other. (a tag from the fic: Enemies to Something They'd Rather Not Talk About. Which I think is quite fitting.) I love the dynamic in this, it's gorgeous.

RIGHT so that's it. For now. I mean i'd assume it's enough for the forseeable future.

Again, like i said i have more than 400 bookmarks so if you want more reccs, reach out, tell me what you like and I'll dig through my bookmarks and brain to see what i can find <3

Also people dont forget to leave kudos and a comment on the fics. If you dont know what to comment, give 'em this one from me:

✨️✨️💕🫧❤️💀💕✨️✨️

[infizero-draws]

girl what do you feel about kris' and noelle's relationship in snowgrave i want to know

OK OK. first of all thank you for specifying "in snowgrave" because if you just said their relationship in general i would literally never stop talking.

second tho, im really bad at putting how i feel about character dynamics into words because often there's just soooooo much to be said and different ways of looking at it and i get overwhelmed if i try to make some all-encompassing analysis. so let it be known that whatever i say here is not the full picture and there's so much more i could say.

putting this under the cut because i already know im gonna talk for way too long:

that being said oughghghhgh. where to fucking begin. i'd say the most fascinating (and disturbing) thing about their relationship in snowgrave is the weird romantic undertones. the fact that you have to pressure noelle into the idea of riding the ferris wheel with KRIS instead of with susie, her actual crush.

one of the most overt symbols of this weirdness is definitely the thorn ring. i know it isnt the only ring you give to noelle to equip, but this is the one that's mandatory for the snowgrave route. in order to do the route, you have to make KRIS give NOELLE a RING. a ring that literally HURTS HER TO WEAR. if that isnt a metaphor for a forced relationship i dont know what is

however perhaps the most damning and obvious one is of course this option:

i would say something about this myself but @/sorrybutiforgothowtomakecontent's tags on another one of my posts really summed it up:

im also aromantic so this really resonated with me. but yeah just going back to the first point they make. you literally HAVE to say "we're something else" in order to do the snowgrave route, which seems to make it pretty clear that this kinda subtext was intended. snowgrave can only exist with kris and noelle being "something else" because that's literally what snowgrave IS.

my favorite way to view snowgrave is through the lens of an arranged/forced marriage. again, the ring. it just feels so gross, especially because it's not just a regular marriage but an abusive marriage. snowgrave is abuser simulator (2021). im sure i dont need to explain that part

but the thing is, SNOWGRAVE IS NOT JUST ABOUT NOELLE and that's what makes it SO BAD. not only is noelle being forced to go through all of this, but KRIS is being forced to be the one who does it to her! kris clearly is EXTREMELY upset about snowgrave judging from the constant opportunities to choose more "normal" dialogue and abort the route, and from afterwards when they meet back up with ralsei and susie:

kris, under no circumstances, wants to do ANY of this. but they literally do not have a choice. snowgrave isnt kris manipulating noelle, it is US forcing kris into manipulating noelle. no one is winning here. they're both traumatized, and kris physically cannot even talk to their friends about it or show the true extent of their hurt. it SUCKSSSSS

and when you consider the idea that kris and noelle's friendship may have become strained specifically due to dess' disappearance, and kris possibly having something to do with that with the bunker and whatnot..... well now you're just forcing kris to hurt their friend AGAIN, when in the normal route this could've been their chance to finally reconnect. ahghrhgrhghh

going back to the marriage stuff, it's just so uncomfortable to see these two forced together like this. noelle is in love with susie. we dont know kris well enough to know if they have a crush on anyone (or if they get those kinds of feelings at all), but that doesn't matter. the fact is these two are likely not romantically interested in each other at all, and they are being forced together BY THE PLAYER. and it's horrific. (and even if one or both of them felt that way, this is still entirely wrong. they do not get a choice here)

@/hellspawnmotel's tags on this comic of hers will always haunt me, bcuz like. yeah. this is it:

there's also the fact that kris is naturally kind of a goofball; they're a prankster, especially it seems when it comes to noelle, as can be seen with the stepping off the button thing or the many, many examples from their shared childhood brought up by noelle.

but in the snowgrave route, kris drops this entirely. all of the alternate dialogue options to abort the route, which are very likely FROM kris, are very genuine and apologetic. kris is scared they're going to lose their friendship with noelle completely because of what you're making them do, and it's like they panic and all of their usual goofiness and sass is just dropped for genuine emotion. it's really sad to see honestly, esp in a full snowgrave route where you know that their efforts will be in vain.

OH OH ALSO. can't believe i haven't mentioned this yet. the fact that NOELLE KNOWS SOMETHING IS GOING ON WITH KRIS. THAT'S one of the things that really makes me insane.

noelle goes through ALL THAT, seemingly AT THE HANDS OF HER FRIEND....... and yet. she knows that something is wrong. she KNOWS kris, and she knows that they don't act like this. you'd think she would instantly cast kris off, it would be the right thing to do, but she doesn't. because she knows that something is off.

i cannot stress enough the fact that noelle is the ONLY one who seems to have noticed just how strange kris has been acting. sure other characters comment on kris seeming off or doing something they usually wouldn't do, but it is NOELLE and NOELLE ALONE who takes such notice of it and decides to actually DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT.

"i have to figure it out" is a mission statement, it implies that noelle (at least in the snowgrave route), is going to actively try to figure out what's going on with kris, WHICH IS CRAZYY and i feel like not enough people are talking about. not even kris's own mother has fully realized something's wrong. like she says, noelle seems to be the only one who's noticed just how off kris has been acting, and the only one who might try to understand and help them. genuinely makes me insane thinking of where that might go in this route oaugurhghh

im gonna stop here because im exhausting myself but. in conclusion I LOVE CHILDHOOD FRIENDS GONE WRONG!!!!!!!!! FAVORITE TROPE EVER!!!!!!!!!!!! anyways read this comic (all 3 parts) and you'll get it

oh also "kris, why are you wearing my watch?" still makes me go fucking insane

[tmnt-reticent]

Getting nasty tcest vibes from your art

Oh god no, I would never draw tcest, I PROMISE you. It genuinely disgusts me. Im not much of a romance artist or person in the first place and I *hate* NSFW so I would never draw stuff like that, ESPECIALLY with the turtles. I don't know which pieces you're talking about specifically but I *swear* any affection shown is platonic and platonic alone unless it's Leosagi, April X Irma or Jennikendra. I make it incredibly clear on both my tumblr and my Instagram that I do not want any interaction with tcesters whatsoever. If ANYONE who happens to be following this blog or my main blog is one, please unfollow me immediately, because if I find out you are one you will be blocked as soon as I find out.

Apologies that you got the slightest hint of tcest from my art but I promise I would never ever do shit like that in any fandom, ESPECIALLY with minors. I just like showing platonic affection between family (whether it be found or blood-related) because I personally haven't experienced a lot of that in my life, especially from my own sibling (Leo is kinda a combination of my mother and my brother without the physical abuse 💀💀💀 but at least Leo has his reasons) so I will continue to draw PLATONIC affection unless it's any of the ships I specified above.

If you've read this entire post, thank you, but for anyone who doesn't want to, as a TL;DR:

I DO NOT AND NEVER WILL SUPPORT/DRAW TCEST.

Thank you for your time.

[all-by-myself98]

Good evening!

We've pause your regularly scheduled programming to say that this fanfic blog is making a comeback...

Besties I'm aware that it's been like a couple years(???) since I've posted any oneshots or any kind of writing on this blog but listen in the wise words of the fanfic writers before me, my life has been crazy.

But I'm coming back! And I would love your help with getting started again! I already have some ways of getting myself started with ideas, but I would love your ideas too! Whether they're oneshots, headcanons, or just random ramblings that you want my thoughts on, I'm ready for it all and my ask box is looking mighty tempting, isn't it?

As I said before, I am open to oneshot requests and/or headcanon requests. Depending on how a oneshot is progressing, it may turn into a limited series, but that's just going to be based off of how much ideas I can wring out of one wet rag.

I am open to any of the Big Three: fluff, angst, and smut!

This also of course means...

NO MINORS INTERACTING WITH MY WORK, PLEASE AND THANK YOU!!! MDNI!!!

If you are a minor and you attempt to skirt around this rule and I find out, I'm literally wasting no time in adding you to my very empty blocked list. So maybe just don't try it?

Fandoms and characters I will write for:

Call of Duty: Modern Warfare (141 squad + König, Graves, Nikolai, Alex, Farah, & Laswell)

Marvel/MCU (the Moon Knight system, Layla El-Faouly, any member of Defenders including Frank Castle, Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson, Bruce Banner, Pietro Maximoff, Natasha Romanoff, Miguel O'Hara, Hobie Brown, Logan Howlett, Victor Creed, Laura Kinney, Valkyrie)

DC (any members of batfam, Aquafam, Justice Society, Titans, and Suicide Squad)

Star Wars (any member of Bad Batch, Captain Rex, Commander Cody, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Qui-Gon Jinn, Din Djarin, Boba Fett, Jango Fett, Lando Calrissian, Poe Dameron, Finn)

Star Trek (Kirk, Spock, McCoy, Uhura, Captain or Admiral Pike)

Arcane: League of Legends (Silco, Viktor, Jayce, Vi, Sevika, Steb (YES, IM INCLUDING FISH MAN, DO NOT JUDGE ME HE WAS A CUTIE PIE))

Baldur's Gate 3 (Astarion, Gale, Halsin, Karlach, Laezel, Wyll, Rolan)

Other misc characters including but maybe not completely(?) limited to Riddick, Master Chief, Hellboy, Prince Nuada, Aemond Targaryen, Davos Blackwood, Tormund Giantsbane, Geralt of Rivia, Lambert, Elrond Peredhel (LOTR and TROP versions acceptable), and Sherlock Holmes (BBC and Netflix!Enola versions acceptable)

Again! This list could change! If it does change, I will edit this post, and then make an announcement of what my changes are, but this post will almost always be the best reference to find out what I'm writing or who I'm writing for!

Things I will not write:

Minors in sexual/smutty situations. They're either aged up or they're going in the trash, #sorrynotsorry

Pedophilia

Noncon

Hardcore stalking and/or harrassment

Physical and sexual abuse (unless it's like part of a character's backstory then it may be referenced, but I am not writing it out)

Anything else thats just. standard generic icks or no-nos. If you need clarification on something you're not sure I'm okay with, just ask

PSA: I am a white woman. The majority of my writings will be "x reader", and they will usually be fem!reader or afab!reader too, so if you wish for me to write for a gn!reader, please let me know in your request and I will honor that to the best of my ability!

I will also always try to be as vague as possible with other details such as race, hair color, eye color, etc., unless I happen to be writing an OC character with a specified appearance. But I imagine sometimes I'll make mistakes. I'll kick myself for it and I'll say sorry a million and one times, but it's almost inevitable and I'm an idiot and proofreading? whats that?? and I want to prepare you all now. And, if I do make a mistake, or if my writing ever seems to break that promise of being race vague, please let me know what I've done wrong and I will always try to alter what I can so everyone, regardless of what their race or appearance is, can feel welcome, accepted, and included in my writings!

Okay, you can all return to your regularly scheduled programming now :)

This is Renny signing off!

[noisytenant]

my mother's physical abuse of me has gotten a lot worse, but then we inexplicably had a very nice weekend together and it makes me feel like i can't trust my own senses regarding her. i dont even hate her, i just need to be away from her. i had a couple bags packed and was ready to move several states away to be with my boyfriend (whose family had agreed to shelter me) but then they dropped out abruptly when they realized they couldnt afford to add an extra person to their household. im stuck and i feel very overwhelmed and i wish that the fastest possible solution had actually worked bc the longer i stay the more i feel my will to leave depleting. and what's worse is that i do have a lot of extended family in town but i dont think i can go to them on the offchance that they won't believe me/i dont wanna deepen the rift between my mom and them bc we still see each other every sunday... and quite frankly for that reason running to one of them wouldnt really be an escape bc we all live within a square mile of each other. im deeply conflicted and overwhelmed bc i know by leaving id hurt and scare a lot of people who dont deserve it, but at the same time i never want anyone to make me feel that worthless again. especially not my mother. being choked by your own mother is an existential nightmare for me in the truest sense of the word. i do have a backup plan with another good friend of mine, but it's going to take a lot longer, and i feel insanely overwhelmed and hurt. thank you for listening in advance

sorry to hear that, you're certainly in a difficult situation...

i didn't specify this before so you had no way of knowing, but in the future please ask before sending anons about heavy abuse/physical violence, because it can be triggering for me. i'm alright and feel okay about responding to you, i just wanted to set a precedent for the future. i think most bloggers would similarly appreciate a heads-up.

my longer response below the cut...

please take everything i say with a grain of salt. i'm just sharing the things that come to mind. i don't have extensive personal experience with the situation you're describing, so what i'm saying is based on observation, reading, etc. i'm not an expert and i can't really take responsibility for anything that comes from listening to me. i'm trying to be as thoughtful as i can here, but i may have blind spots. use your best judgment.

anyways...

abuse comes in phases, and it's really common for abusers to turn and become very nice for a moment. that doesn't negate the ways they hurt you and threaten your physical and emotional safety.

when you get distance from the abusers in your life, you realize that kindness without the threat of abuse is abundant. it hurts deeply to realize that someone you want to rely on for warmth and care isn't providing that without complementary pain, but time and distance allows you to grieve that and reconcile it in whatever way is best for you.

--

it seems like you're exploring a few avenues of escape, so i hope one of them pans out in the near future. waiting for change to come is the worst. believe that it'll be worth it in the end.

it's hard to open up to extended family. it seems like everyone's very close--maybe not on good terms, but seeing each other weekly is very high-contact. i can understand worrying about "rocking the boat".

that being said, you may be able to seek more closeness with some people, and get a vibe check on their perceptions of physical abuse, their ability to keep secrets, etc. if there's even one person you can open up to, it might help. maybe they can't house you, but they can let you sleep over if you have a bad night + can promise to keep your location a secret. every resource counts.

and if you think someone's trustworthy, and you open up to them, and they decide they want distance from your mother, that's their decision. basically, you don't need to shield your mother from the consequences of her own actions by remaining silent about your experiences. though if you think she will retaliate against you for it, exercise caution.

it can be hard to maintain hope, but i think reminding yourself of what you're working toward (physical and emotional safety, growth, peace) can help you sustain the will to leave. nobody deserves to feel, like you said, worthless. nobody deserves to be physically abused.

even if your mother becomes extremely kind for a few days, a week, or longer, i think you should trust that getting distance is important and necessary. as abusers push their warped perspective of the world onto you, they make it hard to see yourself and to think clearly. distance can lift the fog.

--

"i know my leaving will hurt and scare a lot of people who don't deserve it"... i do wonder if this is strictly the case. perhaps there are ways you can communicate your circumstances to the people that matter most to you while maintaining safety. and a lot of people are more understanding and patient than you might expect. i have little doubt you're trying to prevent collateral as much as possible. this is admirable, but don't overdo it.

i would encourage you to be okay with upsetting some people while you're doing what you need to survive and thrive. people may be hurt, confused, or scared in the moment, but i think people generally ought to consider good-faith reasons why something unexpected or hurtful would occur. and you may be surprised by the compassionate and thoughtful ways people respond when they learn of what's happening and why you left. being upset over one hurtful thing is very different than being upset because of repeated patterns of violence and abuse.

--

Another consideration for the moment, while you're still with her... I want to be really, really careful with my words here, because I don't know enough about your situation, and things that can protect someone in one situation can escalate or worsen things in others. But I did want to say, I think you have the right to defend yourself, physically and verbally.

Exercising these rights is sometimes safe and other times not, so use your best judgment. But I think sometimes we can feel helpless and forget our protective capacities. This is dependent a lot on things like your size and physical ability, but you may be able to do things like block your body, pull hands off you, or just walk/run away so as to escape further harm.

Maintain the goal of ending the interaction while minimizing injury. Self-defense doesn't need to be complicated martial arts maneuvers. It's your posture, words, and actions combined.

There are a lot of different self-defense strategies, from the pacifistic to "defense through offense". I wish I could tell you how to identify the perfect de-escalation and defense strategy, but I can't. Even people who study this stuff for a living don't have the perfect formula. Know that any effort is noble.

Anyways. In some circumstances, defending yourself gets people to think twice before trying to hurt you. Trying different ways of fighting back may allow you to gain back some control in your situation. But be careful, because sometimes it makes things worse.

I want to reiterate that you should assess your situation, and that I can't take responsibility for whatever happens. But I wanted to say this, as someone who sometimes "freezes" when feeling threatened. Sometimes just knowing you have the capacity to defend yourself, even when not exercising it, can help you stay grounded in the present.

--

If nothing else, trying to reclaim your emotional reality in your private thoughts can help you to get through the difficult times. "I don't deserve to be treated like this and I am doing what I can to change things for the better." Try not to let her wear down your innate understanding that you deserve safety and respect.

Good luck with it all </3

[fantasy-fields-bitty-center]

(Scenario please) Hello. This may be a strange trio to pick, but i would like to adopt a Psuedon, Rosy Boa & Taibra. I'm a disabled bitty expert, so any with disabilities, injuries, or trauma are welcome. Thank you in advance.

Sincerely, Royal Anon

Hello Royal anon! yes you can have all three of those bitties! Though due to my issues with scenarios im going to do a lil drabble and give you extra info on the bitties you'll be adopting! :3 also I wont specify their sizes as much as I can since you didn’t specify what sizes you want

Also im sorry but I will not be doing a scenario- I(mod wolf) am not good at them and they take so long to do- and im the only one running the blog now- but instead ill give you info on the bitties you're adopting!

-

Pseudon: He's just a lamia from the shop! Though he is a little skittish to touch due to his poison, he doesn’t want to hurt anyone! There isnt much else to say about him other than the fact he prefers sweaters and has a habit of wearing 'snake sweaters' over their tail! It slows him down but he doesn’t mind, it makes it less likely that they'll hurt someone! He currently goes by the name Max

Taibra: He was adopted before and his old owners(he was adopted three times before, and is very much a rescue) were abusive(mostly emotionally but also physically at times) so he tends to flinch at sudden movements and when hands are raised, due to this he's been diagnosed with C-PTSD(complex ptsd) though he never bites, he's cuddly when he feels safe but needs a lot of extra time to adjust to things, just show him that you arent a threat to him! He currently goes by the name Norman(his previous owners named him Bait, King, and Lucas, and he hates those names due to the trauma! Just a warning!)

Rosy boa: He was adopted once before, but it was by a loving home! They just got really tight on money and couldn’t afford where they were staying and didn’t want to make him be stuck inside(they had to move into an apartment), he has autism and is easily overstimulated and tends to just sob when he is, even if he knows it doesn’t help and can even make it worse- he just cant help it! He's super cuddly and affectionate and very co-dependent, but as long as there are other bitties around he'll be fine! He currently goes by the name Cookie(his previous family's young daughter named him)

-

All three of these bitties would get along great! The Rosy boa would know not to just go touching the Pseudon and the Taibra and Rosy boa would be great cuddle buddies!

-

You're care kit contains:

10 pairs of clothes for each bitty(so 30 sweaters and 10 snake socks for the Psuedon)

6 heat lamps

6 puzzle boxes(two for each bitty basically!)

6 blankets(3 normal, and 3 thick, for the difference seasons, one of each set for each bitty),

A bag of sensory toys(mostly for the Rosy boa but the other bitties can use them!) containing 3 sensory slugs, 4 tangles, 6 pop tubes, 3 wacky tracks, and 6 keyboard sensory toys,

And 3 bags of treats! One has Max's favorite treats, dried papaya, one has Norman's favorite treats, m&ms, and the last bag has Cookie's favorite treats, pretzel sticks!

[creatorsawoman]

Hi, I’m the anon that was asking for advice earlier. i’ve already explained myself in another person’s askbox, but I’d still appreciate it lots if you gave your opinion too (if you have any questions before reaching a full conclusion, feel free to ask me and I’ll specify in another ask). Here is the link:

https://www.tumblr.com/hikko-g/732391267655368704/previous-anon-because-im-not-confident-enough

Thank you again <3

Alright, first off, I don't care at all if you "initiated" the argument or if it was your "fault". Here's what happened from my point of view based on your words: You felt that you were wrong in an argument, whatever that argument was, and you were going to apologize for starting it. His response to you being on the supposed 'wrong' side of the argument was to hit you. Please just think about that for a moment. He was so ready to hit you at the slightest disagreement. I disagree with you that it "wasn't harsh or violent and it didn't hurt". It is ALWAYS harsh and violent to hit somebody for disagreeing with you. And it always hurts to find out that someone you love hates you enough to hurt you. Especially when they claim to love you the way you love them. That was harsh and extremely violent of him.

His apology isn't genuine. I don't know how else to say it, but he's lying. He didn't apologize until you told him off for it being fucked up. So, basically, he's only agreeing to appease and satisfy you. Why males do this, I can't say, I don't know. But he is doing it.

You say he is a lovely guy, but to me I see nothing lovely about him. No lovely guy would hurt you, physically or emotionally.

Don't listen to your father btw. That is clearly a misogynistic view and it holds no merit. You are NOT stupid.

You will never, ever be "overreacting" to the abuse you are facing. What you are facing right now has nothing to do with childhood trauma, it has everything to do with males around you being ultimately abusive garbage. The fact that you called out his physical abuse not once, but three times and he still has done it says enough to me about how lovely he is.

He is not a nice guy. You can't put those events aside, those are the ones that show how he truly is - a man that is willing to put you down, a man that is willing to watch women on rape tapes, a man that is willing to "pretend" that the woman he is having sex with is being raped by him… he is worthless and that is not your fault, he was already like that. Are you 110% certain he despises porn as much as you do?

He isn't the only person you have left. You will meet so many actually lovely people in your lifetime- he isn't one of them.

Anon as someone who wrote off my first boyfriends physical abuse, I get wanting to stick to the love. But this love is not good for you.

[heliconiius]

open up your eyes, there's nothing on my body left to see.

independent portrayal of kevin day of the all for the game series. very low & sporadic blog activity. more info under the cut.

carrd. pinterest. playlist.

brief about

zarina. 24. they/them. asian. bisexual. gmt.

a single muse & selective writing blog for the character kevin day of the all for the game series as written by nora sakavic. creds to her. a mix of canon-compliant & personal headcanon based portrayal with brief background & character alterations. this blog will handle heavy & sensitive content that will be marked in post tags. more 'about' details & character info located in carrd - please read carrd before interacting.

guidelines

general: i struggle with anxiety. clear communication & kindness would be great. i don't engage in drama, if ever i interact with anyone problematic or do anything you disliked, i'd sincerely appreciate you to let me know as it is likely unknowingly. if you ever lose interest, no problem, please be honest! it is not an issue, we can either re-discuss/re-vamp things or leave things and revisit in future. always happy to write with people again even if we lost touch/it didn't work out the first time.

activity: replies vary, heavily based on motivation, interest & time. i work full time & have a range of health issues, results in extremely low, unpredictable & messy activity, both in ooc & ic chat. this blog is just for fun & i don't want it to feel like a chore. i usually give brief warnings before inactive periods of any kind. i do like to exchange discords to chat as tumblr ims can get messy, but not necessary if you would prefer not to!

writing style: literate, multi-para, bordering novella. i opt for simple small text, no icons, little and brief formatting. i have dyslexia so overly fonted or formatted writing can be difficult to read. no one-liners. happy to use either tumblr or discord to write. for brand new writing partners, i like to plan things. i like to discuss for a bit how our characters align or contrast, (differences, similarities, what kind of dynamic we envision) and i like to consider a range of scenarios or situations we can put them in. i work best this way if we've never written before, and struggle to work on a whim/spontaneously. if this doesn’t match your roleplaying style, i totally understand - feel free to not interact as i’d like to avoid causing anyone disappointment or eventual disinterest. this blog is a fun space for me to write in ways i feel most comfortable.

memes: feel free to send! generally, plotted interactions are best with me - though i don't mind accepting sentence starters/prompts from mutuals even if we don't have something already established/the interaction is new. but please be open to the fact that i will highly likely come to your dms for brief plotting/context discussion /specifying which of kevin's verse to write from, as i work better that way. totally love & am fine with multiple sentence starters/prompts being combined together into one ask. please be patient with my meme (& general) responses, i only get to things when i have time/motivation/energy & might be a bit delayed!

content & limits: if you have any questions about the all for the game universe, exy, please feel free to ask! additional characters from this universe are highly likely to be mentioned in writing & background as they play a crucial role to kevin's life & character. you can find some more background info here, creds to author. i have no triggers myself. all sensitive topics will be marked with trigger warnings in hashtags, please be wary. no explicit nsfw on this blog, fade to black for writing. this blog may explore: depression, ptsd, anxiety, panic attacks, violence, gore, traumatic recounts of psychological and physical abuse, substance abuse, control and manipulation, organised crime, cult-like dynamics, power imbalances & power dynamics, suicidal thoughts. this blog will not write: incest, rape, pedophilia, a/b/o universes or scat/watersports. blogs that explore content of this nature will be blocked, dni.

important: this blog is not any kind of safe space for zionist, homophobic, transphobic, islamophobic, racist people & generally shitty behaviours. don't want to see any ai. minors dni. any of this will result in a block.

thank you for reading this & reaching here, hello! i would really like to make friends & long term partners with people! please be kind & respectful. roleplayer of 8+ years but gradually returning to tumblr roleplay after spending a long time away from it, patience & any help would be appreciated. please don't mind if i have questions as i adjust myself back to this platform! additionally, please don't take my delayed replies personally, i'm always interested & excited, i just get overwhelmed easy & it results in slower activity. i look forward to writing with you. :)

credits: lyrics in image & post - gemini feed, banks. titles of verses - all for us, zendaya & labrinth. kevin day, canon character - all for the game universe by nora sakavic, (kevin is also ingrained in my soul, however).

[sturn818]

rules

hi! welcome to my blog! following your visit, i feel like some rules are in need of order so that there’s no discomfort for anybody during the scrolling of sturn818, as i feel like this community has had a bad rep on the past for people’s certain writing genres, so id just like to let everybody know that this is a very safe space.

i write:

- fluff: fluff is always enjoyable to read and write and i love hearing a cute little soft scenario.

- angst: i’m such an angst lover and i have no issues writing toxic behaviours as long as they don’t interfere with the things i don’t write about listed below. i love finding a fic that makes my heart hurt but within reason. always down to write about reader getting her feelings hurttt.

- smut: i love reading smut, writing it however always makes my skin crawl even when i have the juiciest scenarios in my head. im hoping i can use this blog to improve on that and become less insecure about it (esp because i find sturniolo tumblr amazing talented in this department, lol!

- parenthood: omg one thing about meee - i will babydaddify your fav. always a sucker for imagining them with a lil baby.

things i DON’T write are:

- anything involving physical abuse

- non-consensual situations / assault

- anything involving pregnancy complications

- age gaps

- self-harm / suicide

- eating disorders

- extreme kinks i personally disagree with (incest, cnc, sadistic shit or age play etc.)

- i try not to specify reader's appearance so it can feel inclusive for everyone (the only thing i can imagine to throw you off may be the photos i use at the top which i can only apologise for but other than that i try not to point out certain features)

- i stick to fem!reader & she/her pronouns.

i'll do my best to see to your requests as best i can, however, i won’t guarantee they’ll always be written, especially if there is something that makes me feel weird or off. i'm not comfortable writing scenarios others can easily be triggered by. please consider what you're asking me before you send me a message.

other than that, feel free! 💌

and! if you want to talk in general, on scenarios, ideas, fics, anything! you can do so through the inbox also at any time!! please please please don't be afraid to send anything to me. 🖤

[o1dmoney]

–––––– multimuse by darcy. highly selective. low activity. muse list. rules under cut.

introduction. welcome to o1dmoney, an independent and highly selective female multimuse. i have been in the tumblr rpc for about four years now and have had a multi off and on for about as long. you may recognize me/have followed me from previous multis i've had in the past, of which there are....many.

interacting.  for me, it is crucial that we plot before we jump into things. as soon as i follow back, i will hop into your ims and we can figure something out. if this isn't your speed or if you aren't actually interested in writing, i suggest not following. after plotting, i adore getting and sending memes! please spam me! i ask that you specify a muse when you send those in or like starter calls. i will either contact you about which muse you would like it from or not answer it at all.

please reblog from the source and not from this blog! that includes aesthetics, memes, musings, etc. please do not like or reblog my threads if you are not apart of them. non-rp blogs will be blocked on sight. if you have a roleplay sideblog, let me know.

selectivity.  i practice high selectivity on this blog for the sake of my own sanity. i absolutely adore crossovers and ocs. please respect my banned fandoms list. i will not interact with muses from the following: book of mormon the musical, southpark, abrahamic lore, anime fandoms or steven universe. you will be hardblocked if you ignore this rule. i can tell if people haven't read my rules prior to interacting. i will likely not follow if you don't have a rules page or have some information about your muse on your blog whether that be a google doc, carrd, about page, etc. i don't know everything about every muse! i'm also sensitive to cursing to please, please, please try to minimize that when we're talking ooc! this is something i ask to make me feel more comfortable on tumblr.

formatting.  my formatting is quite simple nowadays. i do not expect you to match my style. if this doesn't work for you, let me know and i will adjust as necessary. i use a variety of psds. all icons, edits, etc. are made by me. do not steal them.

triggers.  triggering content will be tagged as “[trigger] tw." i tag common triggers and the ones you'll find on this blog (list below), but if you have something specific you need to be tagged, please im me about it or make note of it in my interest checker. triggers present based on my muse will be: murder, death, child abuse, homelessness, neglect, suicide, war, and physical assault. please tag political discourse, current events, and sexual nsfw content.

nsfw/shipping.  i love shipping! i much prefer to discuss romantic ships before getting into things. if you ship it, let me know! i'm probably down! i'm also a big fan of all sorts of dynamics! give me friendships, give me enemies, give me found family. there may be some nsfw topics mentioned, but it will never be written out as it makes me uncomfortable.

final.  i'm darcy (she/her; 18+). i'm a full time student and work part-time. i am here to have fun and make connections with people! please don’t be afraid to reach out if we are mutuals! i absolutely love rambling about our muses/plots! it's one of the best parts of this hobby for me. discord is available upon request for mutuals. i'm much more active over there and easier to reach!

[o1dmoneyarc]

 ––––––  darcy's female multimuse. highly selective and low activity. does not follow first. featuring: daisy buchanan, allie nelson, cosette fauchelevent, ellen marie truman, sylvie st. james, and nancy kensington. other muses may be requested with heavy plotting. rules under the cut.

INTRODUCTION. welcome to o1dmoney, an independent and highly selective female multimuse. i have been in the tumblr rpc for about four years now and have had a multi off and on for about as long. you may recognize me/have followed me from previous multis i've had in the past, of which there are....many. at the moment, i'm focusing on some newer muses that i'm very excited about. however, a few of my old muses are also available by request. links for my main muses can be found just above and the link to my request muses is next to them.

INTERACTING. for me, it is crucial that we plot before we jump into things. as soon as i follow back, i will hop into your ims and we can figure something out. if this isn't your speed or if you aren't actually interested in writing, i suggest not following. after plotting, i adore getting and sending memes! please spam me! i ask that you specify a muse when you send those in or like starter calls. i will either contact you about which muse you would like it from or not answer it at all.

please reblog from the source and not from this blog! that includes aesthetics, memes, musings, etc. please do not like or reblog my threads if you are not apart of them. non-rp blogs will be blocked on sight. if you have a roleplay sideblog, let me know.

SELECTIVITY. i practice high selectivity on this blog for the sake of my own sanity. i absolutely adore crossovers and ocs. please respect my banned fandoms list. i will not interact with muses from the following: book of mormon the musical, southpark, abrahamic lore, anime fandoms or steven universe. you will be hardblocked if you ignore this rule. i can tell if people haven't read my rules prior to interacting. i will likely not follow if you don't have a rules page or have some information about your muse on your blog whether that be a google doc, carrd, about page, etc. i don't know everything about every muse!

FORMATTING. my formatting is quite simple nowadays. i do not expect you to match my style. if this doesn't work for you, let me know and i will adjust as necessary. i use a variety of psds. all icons, edits, etc. are made by me. do not steal them.

TRIGGERS. triggering content will be tagged as “[trigger] tw." i tag common triggers and the ones you'll find on this blog (list below), but if you have something specific you need to be tagged, please im me about it or make note of it in my interest checker. triggers present based on my muse will be: murder, death, child abuse, homelessness, neglect, suicide, war, and physical assault. please tag political discourse, current events, and sexual nsfw content.

NSFW/SHIPPING. i love shipping! i much prefer to discuss romantic ships before getting into things. if you ship it, let me know! i'm probably down! i'm also a big fan of all sorts of dynamics! give me friendships, give me enemies, give me found family. there may be some nsfw topics mentioned, but it will never be written as it makes me uncomfortable.

WARNINGS. triggers will be tagged as: "[trigger] tw". there will be dark subjects featured on this blog such as child and marital abuse, mental illness, some horror themes ( think stranger things ). i make an effort to tag everything. if you need anything else tagged, let me know! please tag nsfw posts, current events, and political discourse.

FINAL. i'm darcy (she/her; 18+). i'm a full time student and work part-time. i am here to have fun and make connections with people! please don’t be afraid to reach out if we are mutuals! i absolutely love rambling about our muses/plots! it's one of the best parts of this hobby for me. discord is available upon request for mutuals. i'm much more active over there and easier to reach!

[absoluteroses]

RULES.

INTERACTING. i am a big fan of plotting out dynamics! this is much easier for me nowadays. i thrive the most when we can establish a dynamic between our muses and general idea and then jump into winging actual plots. mutuals are always welcome in my ims or on discord! please make sure to specify a muse when you send in a meme. i will either contact you to see which muse you are interested in or i will not answer the meme at all. please, please, please reblog from the source! this goes for anything. memes, aesthetics, musings, etc. i want to keep my notifications clean on here. if you are no longer interested in being mutuals, please soft or hard block me. please respect my selectivity on some muses. it's usually because i took up that muse for a specific person or people and i'm not very interested in doing more things with them. no hard feelings towards you or your muse, this is just how some of my muses work for me!

SELECTIVITY. i practice high selectivity on this blog. this blog operates at low activity and on the roleplay scene, i am more active elsewhere! personals are not welcome here and will be blocked on sight. this is a mutuals-only blog. if we are not mutuals, please do not interact with my ic or my ooc posts. i will not interact with muses from steven universe, abrahamic lore, the book of mormon musical, or southpark.

FORMATTING. my formatting is quite simple nowadays. i do not expect you to match my style. if this doesn't work for you, let me know and i will adjust as necessary. i use a variety of psds. all icons, edits, etc. are made by me. do not steal them.

TRIGGERS. triggering content will be tagged as “[trigger] tw." i tag common triggers and the ones you'll find on this blog (list below), but if you have something specific you need to be tagged, please im me about it or make note of it in my interest checker. triggers present based on my muse will be: murder, death, child abuse, homelessness, neglect, suicide, war, and physical assault. please tag political discourse, current events, and sexual nsfw content.

NSFW/SHIPPING. i love shipping! i much prefer to discuss romantic ships before getting into things. if you ship it, let me know! i'm probably down! not all of my muses are up for shipping. currently the list is: lucy coral barker and tony wysek. i am very down for canon ships for these characters, though! what i consider to be canon is: tony x maria and lucy x benjamin. i'm also a big fan of all sorts of dynamics! give me friendships, give me enemies, give me found family. there may be some nsfw topics mentioned, but it will never be written as it makes me uncomfortable.

FINAL. i'm darcy (she/her; 18+). this blog has been dragging along for awhile and you might know me from one of my old urls. you'll typically find me over here but i am always down to discuss our muses! as stated above, mutuals are one thousand percent encouraged to ask for my discord!

[prettyboykatsuki-moved]

HOW TO BE A DOG. | S. GOJO | PART 2

⊹ general tags ; fem + afab!reader, reader presents femininely and has some specific character traits (i.e. personality traits, nothing physical), reader is shorter / smaller than gojo but nothing specified, reader is a teacher, gojo carries reader at some point (but he is canonly able to do very insane things physically so)

⊹ content warnings ; dead dove. do not eat, yandere gojo satoru, manipulation, stalking, obsessive behavior, delusional behavior, workplace harassment (not from gojo), victim blaming, canon typical violence, graphic depictions of murder, minor character death, excessive religious imagery, coercion, gaslighting, abuse of power, something akin to stockholm syndrome, graphic depiction of noncon / sexual content, forced intimacy, fingering, hickies / bruises, begging, edging, loss of virginity, size kink, 18+.

all sexual content present in this part.

MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING FOR GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF NONCON, COERCION, AND SEXUAL VIOLENCE.

⊹ wc ; 18.4k / 36.1k

link to extended authors note | ao3 | how to be a dog, by andrew kane.

LINK TO PART ONE.

⊹ a/n ; here's part two!! miss ame has read it so im all good to post. i will upload to ao3 as soon as im awake i promise lol. hope you enjoy the fic and please heed the tags. likes and rbs always appreciated. also the last part is, relatively tame. the crazy gets amped up to ten so be careful.

⊹ synopsis ; with six eyes to see it becomes clear, you are being watched.

"You must learn, once you have sampled the freedom of a life without a chain, that it is better to return and be chained again. Or you may learn that it is not—a fugitive is also a kind of dog." - andrew kane, how to be a dog.

⊹ PART TWO : SOMETHING TAKEN IS BORROWED. SOMETHING RUINED IS YOURS. 

Snow is falling outside. The world is covered in white. 

Gojo Satoru sits on his hands and watches the blizzard outside from his window. His apartment is dark and there’s frost on his window. He can hear the wind from inside, and can feel the cold chill of glass as he stands close to it.  

Snow is falling outside. The world is covered in white. Spring feels like an innocent century ago. 

Nothing’s changed, but everything is different. It’s starting to feel comedic. It’s so cyclical. He has two states of being. Being with you, and not. It dictates his internal world. He functions the same as usual. Repetition. Working, coming home, and waiting. 

Gojo feels like he’s waiting. Perpetually waiting for time to set again so he can see you. There’s something in him only you can fulfill - an itch only you can scratch. Gojo is drawn to irreplaceable people, so perhaps it’s no surprise that he’s latched onto you this way. 

There’s nothing to call it other than greed. Sometimes love, but mostly greed. A habit he can’t break free from. Gojo wants to see you. He doesn’t know why either. There’s not any particular reason. Or if there is, he hasn’t examined it too deeply. Gojo has always known in some innate way that he’s lonely. That his loneliness makes him untouchable - but not in the same way it might make a God. 

The thought of doing anything without you makes paranoia creep up in his throat like bile. Gojo is that sort of lonely. Is it too much to ask to be next to someone, who never goes anywhere he can’t see? Monopolizing your time and all the ways to do it best take up most of his energy. 

When was the last time anyone made him feel warm, in the cold white of winter? He thinks maybe he realized it too late, that he cares about you this much. 

The reality is that Jujutsu Sorcerers are better off learning how to cut their losses. You love people and they die. You like people and they die. Gojo doesn’t think he can accept that from you so easily. He doesn’t think he should have too.

Does he need a good reason to want to keep you?

Gojo doesn’t want to make you hate him. He just wants to make sure you’re alive even if it means you might hate him. You might never understand either. Because you are still foolish, naive and human. Is that really asking for so much?

It makes him hesitate from the call to action. That instinct in his bones. He sees having met you as a blessing from the Heavens who’ve banished him. Gojo Satoru is not god. He understands God, but he’s not God.

No matter how much Gojo reaches for omnipotence, his long fingers can’t stretch towards it. Godliness is uninhabitable, an abandoned house. If Gojo casts his eyes on you for more than one second, he can do nothing but long. How can God long? Perhaps if he were more godlike, he could treat your inevitable death like a sacrifice. A martyrdom, or proof of your undying love for him.

Despite that, he understands how God's love can reach. Inciting violence to bring you closer to him is merciful. It’s only then you’ll come to understand it to the highest extent. That Gojo loves you after all, more than anything mortal in his world. He can hold all of you in his hands, keep you safe for the rest of your life. It’s what he wants so badly. If you just give him the chance to protect you - he could do it so easily. 

Religion can be so much like a dog and its master. Maybe, you could understand Gojo’s feelings if you saw it as an animal instinct to protect you. Even if it’s a falsity, a fictitious tale, detached from what's true. 

He doesn’t want you to hate him. He’s your watch dog, your keeper, your divine love. He needs you all to himself and he needs you to understand that you’re his reprieve. That in a universe decided by fate, the two of you are also red strings knotted together perversely. 

He needs you. He needs you. He needs you. 

Snow is falling. 

__

Come Saturday, Gojo receives a knock on his door. 

He’s usually sleeping in on the weekends, so he’s startled by it. School doesn’t start till later and if it was an emergency relating to sorcery - Yagi would’ve dialed him personally. He answers the door with sleep still in his, rubbing his eyelids as he yawns. He’s dressed in his P.J.’s with his hair messy and mind jumbled. 

He’s not unhappy though, when he opens the door up to see you. You’ve got something in your arms, a bag it looks like and a look on your face that Gojo can’t decipher. 

“Oh,” He says after registering who he’s talking to you “What’re you doing here so early?” 

You sigh, deeply, rubbing your arm. That anxious little habit again, your eyes darting every which way.

“A pipe broke in my apartment. Like, flooded the whole thing. Spent the whole morning scrounging my stuff together a-and I called maintenance but they won’t be here for a while and.” You stutter as you explain yourself and Gojo stares at you in confusion “I need a place to stay but going back to my parents right now is gonna be so hard and plus there’s work,” 

Gojo soothes you silently, putting a hand up. 

“Hey, calm down,” He says first, smiling up at you. He reaches out to pat your head “I’m here. It’s okay. Slow down and tell me what's wrong?” 

You sigh, closing your eyes and bracing yourself. 

“Would it be alright if I stayed with you? Just for a few days, until I figure this all out?” 

If God exists, maybe this is his way of giving Gojo grace. Gojo takes a minute to pretend, leans against his door frame and watches you fidget anxiously. He blinks at you, the way your teeth are pressing into your lip. You fold underneath the pressure of his gaze easily. He hums and haws.

“Hm,” He says, leaving you uncertain for as long as he can before you try to react. He’s memorized all your tells by heart “Well, there’s no reason not to, right? You’ll have to sleep in my bed though.” 

He half-jokes, but not really. He waits on your reaction. 

“Oh, uhm, then,” 

He interrupts just then, raising his voice. You jump back. 

“Just kidding! Of course you can stay with me. I’ll take the couch for a few days so don’t worry your pretty little head about it, okay? Stay as long as you like.” 

You look relieved. It makes Gojo smile a bit watching you take a deep breath, leaning on the door frame as he stares. 

“What?” You ask when you notice. He shakes his head. 

“It’s cute when you get nervous,” He says, inhibitions lowered. You pout at him and Gojo has to stop himself from reaching forward to grab your face in his hands. 

“You’re so mean,” You say with a sigh, arms crossed over your chest “I was really freaking out just now,” 

“I know, I know - but it’s kinda fun watching you fuss. Dunno. Maybe it’s cause I’m sleepy,” 

“You're wide awake right now!” You point out. He snorts. 

“Noo, what? I’m half-asleep right now,” 

“Gojo,” You whine, and he has to stop the blood rushing through his body “Let me in? Please?” 

“Try Satoru. Sa-to-ru,” He says. You frown at him, sighing as you rub your face. 

“Satoru,” You say, hardly getting the syllables out “L-let me in,” 

He pats your head one more time as your frown deepens. 

“Good girl,” He purrs, before switching his tone to a more lax one as he welcomes you “Come on in!” 

Another sigh of relief. Gojo finds it fascinating that you can find relief in his presence. It speaks to how well he’s been doing to make sure he’s acting in accordance to expectations. Despite how easy the opportunity has fallen into him, he doesn’t think it’s time yet. You’re still skittish.

Still, he should get something out of your stay here. And he will, but he should let you settle in first. He gives you a hum as you shuffle inside, standing awkwardly in his living room. He shuts the door behind you and locks it up. 

“Don’t be so stiff,” He says, waving a hand in the air before yawning “My home is your home. Be comfortable. Is there anything you need or wanna do?” 

“Could I borrow your shower?” 

Gojo feels something pressing into his ribs at the idea of you using his things  - sharp and sinful. 

“I was gonna shower this morning but, y’know.” You gesture vaguely. He’s quick to agree of course, nodding his head as he points in the general direction of the bathroom.

“Pretty sure our places are built the same so you should know where it is. The towels on the rack are all clean. Feel free to use anything in there and uhhh,” He scratches his head unsure of what else he needs to add. Though he’s certain he’s missing something “Oh, and I’ll give you some clothes,” 

You flush at the sentiment. So maybe you do know what this seems like, at least on the surface. Gojo peers at you as you turn his words over, interjecting before you have a chance to refuse. 

“Don’t say no,” He says, voice sing-songy. watching your expression morph into something nervous again. Maybe you caught it, because you certainly jump in your skin, but he switches into himself with ease.  Over and over and over - startling you never gets less fun “Let me play out my domestic fantasies a bit as compensation,” 

“That’s a bad joke,” You say, throat thick.

 You want to trust him don’t you? He wants to praise you for that. 

“Aw, c’mon. It’s lonely. Let me indulge a little,” He begs with enough lightheartedness that you don’t run away. 

“Geez. I thought you were popular with the ladies,” You try and joke back, though it’s stilted and awkward. He can tell you’re getting prepared to squeeze to the  bathroom before the conversation is too much. 

“Old ladies do love me,” He says contemplative. You elbow him lightly. 

“Stupid.”

He gives you a soft smile as you pass by him.

“Is there anything else that you need while you’re in there?” 

“I don’t think so,” You reply back. Gojo watches you disappear into the hall, trailing after you silently. He waits, listening carefully for the sound of the shower to turn on. 

When the water rushes, he follows you. 

He almost has a conscious standing in front of the closed door. The water pressure in his apartment is a little higher than it’s supposed to be. The closed walls keep all the noise inside them, making it almost impossible to hear what’s going on outside. Even with heightened senses like him. 

For someone like you, it’s probably impossible. 

It’s knowing that he follows behind you, lying in wait. He counts up to 5  minutes as he waits, letting you settle into it before he puts his hand on the door knob. He finds it unlocked. He’s pleased with that. 

You trust him, or you try too. 

When he feels certain you’re relaxed, he opens the door. He could teleport in but it’s noisy. Steam plumes outward as the door opens. He looks around the bathroom. Your clothes are folded neatly, with your pants hanging on the rack next to you. 

He stares at the fabric for a long time, contemplating what he has time for. 

Ultimately, he suppresses whatever urges come up to do what he came for. Too many to count and even more that are risky to act on. Instead, he checks the tags of each piece, committing it to memory. After, he stares at the shower curtain until he’s sure he overstayed his welcome. 

He leaves right after though, shutting the door just as quietly as he opened it. 

The less you know the better. Gojo makes his way back into the living room. 

He sits on his couch when he’s back. The sun hasn’t come up yet and he’s only turned on a single lamp for light. It’s hard for him to describe how he’s feeling. Things have been different for weeks now, but proceeding normally hasn’t caused him too many issues. Strangely the sense of routine has been grounding. 

He’s been dealing with it better than he expected. For all of that restraint to unravel so quickly is funny.

 But, Gojo thinks, that everything leading up to now must’ve been a sign. There are so many instances that befall him that feel aligned with fate. He’s naive in thinking you're different. He’s the only heir of the Gojo clan, the only one with the Six Eyes for nearly 400 years. He hears the water rush faintly through the walls of his apartment, picturing you trapped in those four walls. He thinks of how you met. Your proximity to each other.

It’s only now and in such circumstances does he think that you’re the due that the universe is paying back to him. Robbed of everything, of every joy he’s ever had - it’s both righteous and fair to take you. Gojo doesn’t want you to hate him. Not necessarily. 

But they always say in sickness and in health. Through the best of times and the worst. If you were made for him like he suspects (like he knows, believes deep down) then he thinks it’ll be fine. As long as it's you. As long as it’s yours. Even if you cry or scream, what matters to Gojo is that it’s yours. That he’s yours. 

Holding back is starting to be too much. Gojo’s never been the type to sit on his hands and wait. Being scared is so much like starving. Deprivation like that always threatens to turn Gojo to ruin. 

But like anything he does though, he can’t take the easy way out. There’s a method to the madness. An order even among his most disorderly actions, there’s things that need to be done the right way for the best possible outcome. On less of a whim than it seems, Gojo decides that he’ll do his best to make that reality happen. 

The thought settles in his body and suddenly he’s present again. He feels a pang of hunger in his stomach, causing him to stand to his feet. He feels lighter as he waltzes into the kitchen, whistling to himself on what he should make. Maybe crepes? He’s not a skilled cook but he’s pretty good at making those. 

At the very least, he thinks you’ll like them too. He proceeds into a normal-ish routine. He follows the motions of making breakfast as he hums to himself silently. Grabs a bowl from the cupboard, eggs and milk from the fridge, and flour from the pantry. 

He thinks to himself, immersing himself in the practical ritual. His comment from earlier about domestic fantasies was a half-joke at best. Gojo really does want to do this kind of thing with you, and he doesn’t want to miss the opportunity to play the part either. Even if it’s temporary. He’s giddy at the thought of doing this with you everyday, a warm fluttery feeling spreading through his body. 

He grabs a whisk off of the wall as he dumps everything into an empty bowl, turning the heat of a non-stick low. He whistles a song he can’t remember the name of, cracking an egg on the metal edge. 

Despite living in a nicer part of Tokyo, Gojo has yet to have an induction stove top. It’s not uncommon to have gas for smaller, cheaper apartments. Most of the stovetops in the Jujutsu Tech dorms are gas and Gojo has no issue using them. He doesn’t cook for himself often in the first place, so he’s never thought to complain about it or get it changed. 

Maybe he should. Once you live here, it might get inconvenient. The thing about gas stoves is that they never heat evenly. It’s not impossible to work with, and the heat is easier to control - but induction lets every inch of the pan get hot the same way.

( He often thinks of the analogy for boiling a frog. If you put anything living in heat too directly, it’ll jump to save itself. But if you keep the heat tepid, gently raising the heat till it boils - it’ll let itself stay in the treacherous waters until the very end. It’s best to keep the heat even. It’s best to fix it sometime soon. )

The whisk makes a pleasant sound as it hits the bowl, metallic scratch softened by the presence of batter. He picks the whisk up and watches the yellow liquid drip off the edge, a hand over the pan. Still too cool to the touch, he clicks his teeth. 

He waits, idly. The shower turns off, he hears, and feels his breath hitch. He has to steel himself, curb his enthusiasm. 

Too much heat, and you’ll jump to save yourself. 

Once the pan is hot enough, Gojo busies himself with cooking.  It helps him distract himself, the monotony of pouring and flipping and waiting. He gets through almost 6 before he hears your feet pad gently across his hardwood floor, slipping into the kitchen with a towel wrapped around your neck.

You’re wearing what seems like the only clothes you managed to bring. Gojo wonders how long it’ll last you. Despite it, he notices the way you smell. How you smell like all of his fancy bath products and soaps. There’s a twitch in his sweats that he barely gets under control. He lowers the heat and turns to you. 

“Morning,” He says. You giggle a little. 

“Morning. Are you making breakfast?” 

“Yes ma'am. The only thing I know how to make but,” He puffs his chest up “Pretty good, I’m told.” 

You roll your eyes at him, but smile anyway

“Guess I’ll be the judge of that,” 

“The audacity,” He says, full of theatrics “I’ll knock your socks off,” 

“Oh, I’m sure you will,” You say, flippant and giggly. Gojo decides then, maybe, in its entirety. That he’ll have all of you and soon “Can I help with anything?”

“Get started on some coffee maybe,” 

You nod your head and yawn. 

“Sounds good to me,” 

__ 

You decide to stay for a week. 

More precisely, Gojo convinces you to stay for a  week. That’s how long it will take for your apartment to get fixed completely. Concerned about inconveniencing him, you initially suggested 3 days - insisted you could find somewhere else or pay for a hotel for the rest of the time.

But Gojo insisted too. A week is more than fine (even longer would be better) and there’s no reason for you to go out of your way. Hotels are expensive, your parents live out in the countryside, and it’s not like you can’t board with a friend for a few days right? 

But won’t that trouble you? Of course not. Gojo doesn’t mind at all. It’s like having a week-long sleep-over. 

I don’t have the stuff I need. That’s fine. Gojo can take care of it. He already bought some clothes for you, an act of kindness. He can get the rest too. You can consider it a favor, if you really want to be sure. 

Are you sure? Of course he’s sure. More than sure. You’re doing him a big favor, he assures with nothing but affection. Being alone at home is pretty boring, anyways. What’s sleeping in the same room when we’re neighbors? 

Even with your unease, you agree to stay the whole week. You’re weak to being convinced, and hard-pressed on not fighting about things Gojo is adamant on. 

(He’d be stupid not to notice how your earnesty makes you easy to exploit. It’s a good thing it’s only Gojo who knows.) 

The first day passes quietly. You and Gojo go to your respective jobs and greet each other when you get home. At home, things are simple. Domestic. There’s no other way to view it. You graded papers and looked over lesson plans in the living room while Gojo got in his daily sets - TV playing in the background with neither of you particularly tuned in. Gojo sleeps on the couch. 

(He doesn’t make it a day without touching himself. The proximity is too much, too stimulating, and even with all of the restraint in the universe - it’s hard for him to stave it off.  What you don’t know can’t hurt you. Alone under the moon, he thinks of what you look like when you’re embarrassed and spills into his hand. 

Eventually, he’ll graduate to watching over you. You leave the door unlocked because you’re naive and Gojo stands with his cock in his fist, watching intently. You squirm in your sleep but you sleep deeply - because despite all the noise, you don’t stir one even once. He stops it from touching you, so close to your mouth, to your skin. ) 

On the second day of living together, the clothes Gojo bought you come to his door. You’re not home when it arrives, so he waits until you are home to open it with you. You come home a little later than usual (parent-teacher conferences, apparently). 

(“I have a surprise for you!” Gojo says, as finally comes back into the living room. You’ve returned from your shower, on  your last pair of PJ’s. You blink at him softly, tilting your head to one side as he hands you a package. 

“For me?” You ask. Gojo nods, grinning. 

“For you,” He confirms. He walks with you as you set the box onto the coffee table. You stare at it for a minute, glancing up at Gojo. Your eyes search for your keys. Once you find them, you take the sharpest key and rip through the tape on the top of its sides. An unceremonious krrk sounds through the room, echoing in the dimly lit living room. 

The clothes are wrapped in white, plastic packaging. You pick them individually, examining them closely. You look at Gojo again, more uncertain than before.

But Gojo shakes his head, nudging you towards opening the packages themselves. A promise to explain afterwards, silent in the air. You nod, confused, but do as he suggests. You rip the top open, dropping the thin plastic onto the table. More bags, this time clear. You repeat the action until the material flounces in your hands. You undo the careful folding for a minute, then stare at it. 

“...Clothes?” You repeat. 

“Surprise!” He says with his usual silly cadence “For you, free of charge.” 

A lot of things pass over your expression. Gojo watches each of them carefully, amused. He wonders what you’ll do. What you’re thinking, it’s a shame Gojo can’t read your mind.

“How’d you know my size?” You say first, inquisitive but not accusatory. Gojo shrugs. 

“Guessed. We’ve spent enough time together,” He says noncommittally. Your face changes, like you don’t quite believe him. But there’s not enough there for you to question him either. He can almost hear you narrate it in your head. The heart you wear on your sleeve, tender red and bleeding, thumps anxiously as you try to get a read on him. It’s not a sound he dislikes. 

He’s been good to you. He’s just being nice. You shake your head, regretful of your own doubt for a minute. You force a smile, and Gojo doesn’t hate it even though he knows where it comes from. 

The power of love, he thinks almost whimsically. 

“This is a big box. How much stuff did you even get?” You repeat, noticing the contents are up to the top. He feigns indifference. Pretends not to know that he spent countless hours looking over it. 

“Mm, dunno. Just whatever I thought you’d need.” 

“I’m only here for a week, Gojo.” You mutter, hands grazing over the cardboard edge.

“So? Maybe you need a lot of stuff. I don’t know what women go through.” He says with a pout, lips together. Joking with you to lighten the mood, which makes you huff through your nose. 

“You’re so dumb. It’s too much stuff,”

“I already bought it and I don’t feel like returning it,” He tells you, making it clear he’s not going to negotiate “Just think of it as a gift from Santa Claus.”

You snort. 

“You even have the hair,” You reply. Trying to make yourself feel better in the process, Gojo gives you a half smile “Still. I feel like I’m really indebted to you, lately.” 

“Yeah? You can count this week as one big favor, if that makes it easier.” 

“I don’t remember Santa doing favors for people,” You quip. Gojo laughs. 

“Change in management,” 

You laugh a real laugh at that, and Gojo watches you turn the situation over again and again. 

“Well. Thank you. Might as well look through the rest of it, huh?” 

“Take your time,” Gojo says, before checking the digital clock on his wall “I need to go get something from the store. Just leave the empty stuff next to the trash and I’ll take it out tomorrow morning.” 

“Oh, okay. Yeah. I’ll start on dinner. See you, Gojo.” 

“Yeah. See you” ) 

If you notice all the clothes come in shades of blue, you’re smart enough not to say anything. 

The third day passes in a blur. Nothing notable, but he’s content. You wear the clothes Gojo bought you and he’s careful not to stare while you know. He takes it upon himself only to do it when he knows you’re asleep, his nightly routine staring over the bare inches of your body in a dark room being a reprieve of his other desires. 

On the fourth day, he doesn’t have the restraint not to touch you. Too many days in the same room and he wants access to everything already. He hates being patient more than he thought, but there’s a method to this - he has to remind himself. 

Like taking out his aggression, he decides he needs more relief. Something to scratch the itch. With his infinity, you can’t feel his fingers ghosting over your legs. He checks if you’re wearing the other stuff he bought, settled at the bottom of the box. Not lingerie, but panties. Plain and cottony - white over your cunt as you sleep with your leg hiked up. Gojo knows you can’t feel him now, but part of him wants you too. He wants to know why you’re wearing them despite yourself. Gojo realizes too late that he’s interested in your misery just as much as he is everything else, and so far - that discovery has made everything all the more difficult. 

On the fifth day, things proceed the same. There’s a routine you’ve settled into together despite the time limit on it. That night over dinner, you and Gojo spend time together. There’s not really much to do - it’s a Friday. It’s the first time neither of you are completely occupied with any one task. 

You get to talking like that. On the fifth day, Gojo gets as close to opening up as he’s ever gotten in his life. Part of him isn’t sure why he does it. He thinks he’s seeking confirmation for something, but what that could be is lost on him. 

(“So, you’re the only person left in your clan?” You ask, half-way through a glass of tea he’s sure has gone cold by now. The T.V. is on but muted. Gojo looks at you in the low lights, fighting his own sleep.

“Mhm. Technically, I’m the sole heir.” He replies.

“...Is it okay to ask what happened?” 

Gojo laughs at you. You really can’t help your curiosity, but he still finds it amusing.

“It’s not a pretty story,” Gojo says honestly. 

“That’s okay,” You say, voice filled with an air of innocence that Gojo has a hard time wrapping his head around. 

“Most of them were wiped out. We had a lot of enemies, me included. A lot of them are dead, the remaining are somewhere far-away and have no combat abilities.” 

“You included?” You pick up on, naturally. Gojo nods and smiles a little. 

“Once I inherited my technique it was pretty commonplace. I went through a lot of assassination attempts,” He yawns in between, because this is an old, boring story “It took a lot of time for me to get strong enough to where I am now. But I got there eventually.” 

“You say that so easily,” 

Gojo peers at the frown on your face and laughs quietly to himself. 

“It was a long time ago, now. I never really had a lot to mourn, except for when I was a teenager. I’m used to it.” 

For a long time, you remain completely silent. Gojo almost thinks you’re going to cry. He doesn’t know how to feel about that. It’s proof of something. Of his ambivalence towards the idea of sympathy. Sure, it’s meaningless now for someone to feel bad for him. It’s a pointless endeavor, because Gojo is a selfish dick and the strongest - and he knows both of those things intimately. He accepts them as part of himself in the same way, he doesn’t know what he’s like without being frivolous. Without being the strongest. The line between misery and character is paper thin and Gojo hasn’t known it since he was born. 

It’s especially pointless for you to feel bad for him, because he’s going to ruin that very innocence you hold in your heart before the week is over. He’s going to do it with purpose and conviction. He won’t feel remorseful about it at all. 

There’s an irony to it. A dramatic irony that brings him closer to Godliness than he’s ever really been. Because Gojo knows that this conversation is confirmation that he needs you, just as much as he knows he’ll do anything to have you even if it means you can no longer look at him like this. 

He wonders how long you’ll hold sympathy for him. He decides for now, there’s no reason to not lean into it. It makes him happy that you care enough to feel sad. Even if it’s pointless. He doesn’t remember the last time someone did. 

Maybe when he was 17.

“You look like you’re gonna cry.” He says lightheartedly. Sincere in a way he hasn’t been in very well over 10 years. You sniffle. 

“How are you not crying?” 

“I never cry.” Gojo says smoothly, not blinking “I’m a heartless bastard.” 

“That’s not true.” You say, almost exclaim, turning yourself to look at him so seriously. It’s cute, he must admit, that you’re so sure on his character “You’re not heartless,” 

“But I am a bastard,” He clarifies, mischievous. And you pout, less eager to correct him on that 

“...You’re not heartless. Clearly.” You say again. Gojo laughs, a real laugh. He can feel it preemptively, how much he’ll cherish every minute of this conversation. He hums. 

“Oho, you almost sound like you’re defending me.” 

“From yourself, I guess. I know you’re not heartless,” You say, with some kind of clarity that you have him figured out. Maybe you do. It’s a little shocking. It’s not usually how this goes “You’re…weird. But you care” 

“That’s true,” Because it is, and Gojo has no reason to lie to you right now. “More than that, I’m hung up on the idea of the future.” 

“Isn’t it usually being hung-up on the past?” 

“Right? Usually, that’d be the case,” Gojo says, unsure of what to express “But the past is the past. I can’t go back to it. My technique is infinity. It means I can see infinite realities.” 

You sound like the winds been knocked out of you “That’s terrifying,” 

“It is. But you know, even in those realities, the past is the past. There are places where the past hasn’t happened. But it can’t be changed. It becomes part of infinity, when events occur. The only thing that can be changed is the future,” Gojo explains, though he leaves out so many intricacies “There’s a future I want to see. I’d like if my students could see it too,” 

“Because of your friend, right?” 

Gojo smiles. 

“Because of my friend. And for less selfless reasons.” 

“Like?” You ask, curious. 

“I like being able to do whatever I want, without consequences. Being strong lets me do that. For now it’s up to me, but eventually, I can raise strong comrades.” 

You’re silent for a while, again. 

“Seems lonely,” You say, simply. Easily. It’s true, and he knows that. It’s the most obvious thing in the world, and you’ve said it with little regard for anything. Almost mindlessly, a natural response to such a sad story. 

Gojo feels it again. Those stifling, pesky emotions that linger in the cavity of his ribs. He can’t bring himself to be honest, because when does he ever? But he does smile again, a little more melancholy than usual. You notice, certainly, but you have the courtesy not to say a word. 

“You think so?” Gojo says, passive and wilfully ignorant “Does it make you wanna hug and console me?”

He offers it sarcastically, but you don’t tear your eyes away from him. It’s almost enough to shake him. Almost. 

“...A little? You feel like a sad dog in the rain.” You say, too honestly.

“Jeez. Maybe you just miss Pokupan. Thinking about another man right in front of me. I can’t believe I’m the other woman,” He says, with a faux pout. 

You laugh, though it’s laced with sympathy. Gojo can tell you want to fuss. That you want to admonish him for being the way he is, and he’s almost willing to let you. That’s just the thing.

 You see Gojo as human, still. 

Gojo Satoru isn’t God. But he isn’t human either. If you want to know how God lives, asking Gojo is always viable. But you shouldn’t mistake false omnipotence for forgiveness, like you are now. You see Gojo for all of his humanity, but you're blind to his divinely violent tendencies. You will be until it’s too late. 

So, Gojo doesn’t think you need to comfort him how you’re thinking you should. Gojo wants you to depend on him. Because coveting you is an affair distinctly inhuman and crueler than even the heavens could be and he believes that you’re owed to him. 

 Gojo wants to protect this version of you, even at the sake of corrupting it. He doesn’t want to let you go ever, for any reason. And he wont. 

He turns the heat up gently. You’re none-the-wiser. The night swallows you both, but Gojo will remain untouched. He’ll hold you when it inevitably spits you back out. When reality washes into you, you should’ve trusted your gut after all. 

For now, he smiles at you. 

“If it’s any consolation, I’d be very sad if you disappeared.” Which Gojo hopes you can interpret without his interference. It seems like you do, because you smile to yourself. 

“Me too,” You reply. Gojo knows he’s going to ruin you. “I’d be really sad if you disappeared, Gojo. So, don’t, okay?” 

And if Gojo were an honest person, or a good one - he’d tell you you’re the last person who should worry about missing him. That you’ll be seeing him for a long time. 

But he’s neither, just like he’s not god or man. He lightens his tone and holds out his pinky, which you link with his. 

“Scouts honor,”

When he’s ready to look away, you pull a bare thread from Gojo’s clothes. Frowning at him, as you dust away the fabric with your hand. He stares at you. 

“What was that?” 

“You had a thread loose,” You say simply, unconcerned with anything “I just pulled it off.” 

Gojo stares. 

“Yeah. Thanks.”) 

The sixth day passes quickly. Gojo doesn’t think there’s anything worthy of saying. By then the routine is so practiced and so constant. The sixth day passes like a shadow in the night, disappearing through the woods before morning comes. A stepping stone. 

Today is the 7th day. 

On the 7th day, things are different. The same but different as they so often are. You don’t have work today, so you do what you’ve been doing. You and Gojo work in proximity to each other, share meals, and idly watch T.V.  

Night falls on the 7th day.

Gojo wants to take part in the act of creation, as the sun dips below the horizon. He’d set this in motion when the week started and now that it’s here - the anticipation is too much to bear. When Gojo Satoru sets himself out to be conqueror, the universe trembles at the sight of him. There’s no sound at all. The night reeks of death, in Gojo’s presence it trembles. Too fearsome to speak. 

Night falls today. Gojo starts his usual routine with less caution than he’s had the previous six. Where he usually bides his time and enters the room carefully - today he merely enters. He places his hand on the silver handle and pushes it open. A breath rushes from his lungs, adrenaline entering his system as he steps inside. His room has felt so unfamiliar to him lately, but like this - a sense of serenity washes over him. 

He stares at you. With his Six Eyes, with vision clear as ever, Gojo looks onto you as you are now. You can never reconstruct a flower crushed under steel boots. You’re not mud or earth, not adaptable like the sea. From the moment he’s met you - Gojo has known you to be so much like a flower. Gojo has never wanted to take the petals off of something so much in his life. 

And Gojo is in this instance, a natural disaster ready to pluck the root of you up from the ground. He’ll pick you up in a storm but return you to his feet. There’s a method to this. Gojo stares at your silhouette wrapped and tangled in his sheets, body so loosely dressed. Your visible figure rests easy. 

The night is glorious and silent. Gojo watches on in some cross of indifference and utter starvation. He blinks, leans on the wall. 

Like a call from fate, you start to stir awake.

Gojo moves towards you. He decides it might be easier just to join you in bed,  so he gently works himself into the sheets.. He creeps towards you slowly, and re-familiarizes himself with the feeling of his bed. It’d be lost on him for a week, but your presence in it makes it feel especially brand new. The bed dips under his weight, creaking. You shift lethargically, turning your head to look at Gojo. 

You look startled once you realize. For the first time in your entire relationship, it seems to dawn on you that something is wrong. Just a minute too late. He gives you a second to wake up. Your breath hitches, a stifled gasp as you greet Gojo’s expression. 

The hunger in his stomach is gnawing. Gojo feels like he’s starving. He thinks doing this will only half-way relieve the urge. This part of Gojo is inhuman as the rest of him. 

Gojo’s presence suffocates you so much in the moment, you can only barely open your lips to say your next words. 

“What are you doing here?” You sound still innocent. Gojo smiles briefly, under the glow of the moon. He can see your expression clearly. Sleep in your vision. A sheerness to your skin that comes with rest. Your bags are packed, and your things are cleared from his bathroom. You’re still wearing the clothes he bought. 

He knows he shouldn’t think it, but some part of him is vindicated. You’re leaving him today and Gojo finds abandonment to be the highest betrayal of them all. So, he’s vindicated. He licks his teeth, usual mirth coming back to him. 

Then he talks, his voice tender. 

“Getting my debts repaid,” And he means it, more than he’s ever meant anything he’s said “You owe me one, remember?” 

It dawns on you. Realization flickers in your eyes before it twists into fear. Gojo wants to encourage it. A curse starts to form, like tendrils around you. You’ll leave it here when you’re gone in the morning and Gojo will have a piece of you left with him. 

“W-what are you…? What do you mean?” 

He’s shrill, almost, leaning close to you. His sudden proximity makes you freeze. You know better, know so clearly it stops you from running. Gojo is tempted to see if you’ll do it. If you’ll run or if you’ll thrash or if you’ll fight. He’s not particularly sadistic, but he likes you - and he’s curious to know what your reaction will be to something like this. 

He eases you into it, He brushes his knuckles over your cheek as your heart sky-rockets like you’re being hunted. Gojo thinks he ought to be gentle with you. Regardless of how this is happening, it’s your first time together. Your fingers tremble as you reach up to grab his wrist. It seems like you’re trying hard to pull him off, and wiggle away from his grip. You ready yourself to give him push back and Gojo times it so that it seems like you’ll be able to break free. 

But Gojo is strong. Stronger than you by a lot, and you know that by now. When he finds that you’re trying to escape him, he’s quick to grab your wrists with his hands. They both fit perfectly in his palms. He pulls them up over your head and your eyes widen as you feel his grip - near bruising (though he is trying so hard to be gentle) on your body. He stares down at you. 

You look so frightened.

“Wh-what are you..?” 

“You owe me one for letting you stay here, right?” He asks enthusiastically, licking his teeth. Your eyes widen “I’ll take this as compensation, okay? It’s a good deal for us both I think,” 

“I don’t,” You squirm underneath him “I don’t—I,” 

“Shh,” He quiets you, humming softly “Don’t overcomplicate it. Just wanna see you,”

Gojo watches you turn it over in your head. He was wondering about this. What’d you do in these circumstances. If you’d act like you always do, pleasant and pliable trying to do what's best. Damage control for what's coming. 

Gojo pulls his hands away to undress you and yours fly to his shoulder blades. You heave as you push, mumbling something about how he doesn’t need to do this. Your expression is grief-stricken. Gojo soothes you. 

“You can bite, scratch, kick, scream - whatever works,” Gojo says, communicating his affection as best he can. He drives his hands under your shirt, laying his palm flat over the skin of your stomach. He runs his thumbs over your sides, committing every inch of you to memory. Without his infinity, Gojo feels every part of you “It’s not gonna hurt me,” 

You look like you’re at a loss for words. He gives you a warm grin. 

“Maybe we’re going about this all wrong,” Gojo says after some thought “Is this your first time?” 

You whimper, nodding meekly. Gojo  groans against your skin. You flinch. 

“Fuck, course it is. Shoulda known. Such a sheltered girl like you,” He adds the last part with a hint of condescension, watching your face curl up into a frown. 

“Didn’t say it was a bad thing you know,” Gojo is careful as he pulls your shirt higher and higher. Your breath is being held, afraid of what’ll happen if you let g.o “We’re tied together like this. Isn’t that nice?” 

“Gojo,” You say, swallowing something. Words that threaten to bubble up that you can’t find the strength to say. You’re not wearing anything underneath and Gojo feels a chill in his spine “Please,” 

“Not wearing a thing even though you’ve been sleeping at a man's house all week,” He reprimands. He lets the material sit over the swell of your chest, just under your neck where it stays. He can see the outline of your tits clearly now, just enough light from the open window to illuminate your skin. Your nipples are hard, heaving. Gojo can hear your little heartbeat thump against your ribs “I’m not telling you off you know? I’m glad you trust me. Great job, on that really. But you really should be more careful.” 

“Gojo,” You plead again, throaty. The sound goes through his system, sends blood rushing to his cock.  

“Satoru,” He insists on, knowing it will take more than that to convince him “I’ll try and listen to your requests if you say Satoru,” 

He doesn’t promise to stop, because he doesn’t think he’d be able to follow up on it. Still, with the level of desperation you show - Gojo thinks it’s worth it to gain something out of. You follow up his request almost instantly, lips wrapping around the syllables with a weak breath. 

“S-Satoru,” 

He gestures to take your shirt off. You’ve become more pliable, if only a little, letting Gojo see all of you completely bare as he tosses his clothes somewhere onto the floor. Shameless in viewing you, your instincts kick in to cover your chest. He clicks his teeth, pushing your wrists together again over your head. 

“That won’t do,” He coos at you softly “I wanna see you. All of you,” 

You hiccup, sobbing, Gojo reaches his palms towards your breasts, cupping them gently. Your nipples rub against his palms and he groans feeling how soft you are. 

“So pretty,” He admires you. Means it. Gojo lets his gaze catch on the edges and curves of you with enthusiasm. Your chest is sensitive to his touch, thumb and forefinger tweaking and teasing your nipples as you remain underneath him obediently. Your eyes look so watery, soft like lilies in freshwater “So cute,” 

“Satoru, please, I don’t—don’t want—” 

“So ungrateful,” He tsks. He smacks your chest lightly, enough to make you squeal “That’s the only request I can’t listen to,” 

You hiccup, looking away. Gojo hums as he hovers over you, seated over your figure. He pulls his mask off from his eyes, material falling into his fingers. Grabbing your wrists with his palms, he wraps the material around them - tight enough to keep you but with enough room so it doesn’t hurt. He places your hands over your head gently, kissing your covered wrists. 

“Don’t squirm too much, ‘kay? Stay like that. I’ll make you feel good.” 

“I don’t,” 

“Hey,” This time he’s stern, and you slink back into yourself. It’s the first time he’s had to use this tone on you and hopefully the last “What’d I say? You owe me this much, don’t you think? After everything I’ve done for you, the least you can do is not turn me away. It’s not like I wanna do anything bad with you, y’know” 

A pang of guilt passes through you. You stop squirming. Gojo keens, baring his teeth as he smiles. 

“Good girl.” He dips his head to kiss the place under your ear, where your neck meets your jaw. He scrapes his teeth on the skin so you can feel his teeth over your pulse “You learn quick.” 

You keep your arms over your head like he’s asked, hesitant and stiff. Gojo can work with that at least. He leans towards you, tipping your jaw so you’re forced to look at him. Tear-eyed and whimpering, a shudder passes through him. 

“So pretty,” He mumbles. He leans forward, presses his lips to yours - hand resting on the base of your neck. You make a noise of indignance but Gojo keeps you there. He eases you into obedience, forcing his tongue in your mouth, grazing the inside of your mouth. 

He swallows every sound you make. Distress and frustration and reluctance lend themselves to giving in  easily. Your body is sensitive to touch, a trail of goosebumps where his hands touch you. On your waist, trying to ease you into it. 

He pulls away from you, a string of saliva connecting you. 

“First kiss?” He asks. You shy away, clamping your mouth shut. Gojo chuckles, teeth nipping at you “Didn’t say it was a bad thing.”

You remain silent, so Gojo fills the space. 

“Mm,” Gojo presses kisses down the curve of your jaw, all the way down your neck where he stops and bites - hard enough for something to be there tomorrow. He undresses the rest of you. You try to resist this time too, but Gojo doesn’t bother putting up a show. It’s easy to overpower you. He tugs your shorts off with your panties and tosses them somewhere. Unceremonious and uncharacteristically impatient. 

He takes his time now that you’re all naked. It’s thrilling to watch distress fill your lungs, a ballooned breath and muffled protest. Gojo sucks hickies into your bare skin. It’s only fair to give you something to look at while you’re departed. Your blood rushes, capillaries breaking under the hardness of his incisors  - ridges pushed against your delicate skin. He licks the bruises afterwards, kisses them tenderly. 

“Gonna be a little sore for a while,” He says warmly. You’ve hit the stage of grief where you’re angry and resilient again but one look from Gojo is enough to make you slink back “Might as well enjoy yourself.” 

Despair flashes in your expression. 

“I mean it, you know.” He offers, stating it like he’s trying to appease you “You should relax a little, let it roll off your shoulders.” 

It seems like you register that Gojo is teasing you. He does mean it, about thinking you should enjoy it. Everything else is deliberate and you know as much. It’s good you’re starting to understand him a little better. 

“Why are you doing this to me?” You ask hoarsely. Gojo is surprised by your question. 

“Ah, it’s a secret, so you can’t tell,” He starts. He squeezes the fat of your chest in his palms, silver tongued and playful “I like things that I can keep.” 

A flash of true horror washes over you and you almost go ragged in realization. Weakened in your resolve once glimmering so brightly, Gojo takes the opportunity to please. He kisses down your sternum, runs his hands across the sides of your chest. He presses this thumb against your hardened nipples, rubbing lightly. Gojo takes them into his mouth. He bites then licks like he licks a wound

It pleases him immensely when you respond. When you gasp in a helpless sort of way and go to cover your mouth in shame. A sense of delight washes over his body and he does it again and again. He teases, changes from sucking harshly to lapping oh-so gently on the skin. Over and over until your voice can longer be contained no matter how hard you try - sharp gasps and cries of desire filling the air. 

When he thinks you’re worked up enough, he slots himself against you and nudges your legs apart. He can feel the heat from your bare skin against his body, clothed. How you tremble underneath him. He eases his hand down gently, fingers trailing down to your pussy. 

You hiccup. A sob of defiance stifled with obvious arousal, forced from you so easily. Gojo laughs. 

“You don’t wanna?” He pricks, intentionally. Gojo lets his middle finger ease along your slit, dragging his digits up and through - catching on your achy clit “Are you sure?” 

It’s torture for you. Of course it is. A pretty, sheltered little thing. It’s your first time with something like this and he’s sure all this is too much for you. Even if you tell yourself you don’t want it, your body can’t refuse him. You can’t either, try as you might. That’s why your legs are spread and why you’re practically dripping for him. Gojo thinks of it as admission. Your clit is hard underneath the pad of his middle finger, as he rubs too light and too gently. 

You cry out, pitchy and broken. Gojo laughs. 

“You need it here,” He punctuates, adding enough pressure that you gasp “Need me to touch you here, hm?” 

You shake your head at first. Gojo tucks himself against your chest, sucking the skin gently. 

“Be more honest.” He encourages a mockery as he so barely presses his finger inside of you - threatening to touch but never doing it “What do you want?” 

“Don’t, I don’t.” You say, or you try. 

“Liar,” He snips playfully against your clavicle “Your pretty little pussy is dripping wet and you want me to believe that?” 

Gojo smacks your cunt softly. Once, then twice, then three times for good measure as you cry. 

“C’mon,” He encourages meanly “Tell me what you really want.”

It’s a sick little mind game that Gojo is having too much fun playing with you. 

“P-please,” You stutter, so unbelievably broken with so little done to you at all. Gojo will take all of you at a later time. When you’re thoroughly pliable and broken and so beautiful all for him “Please.” 

So dependent like Gojo always thinks you should be. 

“Please what, hm? What are you asking for?” 

You swallow thickly. All your dread and doubt and disbelief gone as a sense of real and true need ignites within you. Of course this is too much for you. Gojo overwhelmed you like this on purpose. The resentment of wanting despite it all, despite how miserable you are makes for something so tragically Gojo’s. Whatever you have in your heart will always be for him. Good or bad, ugly or beautiful - like this you are all his and so perfectly too. It’s titillating, the sensation of control that wisps around him. It strikes him like a hammer on hot iron.

Gojo wants you to say it. Wants your selfless  little heart to beg for his mercy this once. You’ll understand some time later, that this is how Gojo loves. Selfish and twisted. Cruel. Intimate beyond mortal comprehension. All of him just for you, just like this. 

Strangely, it's perfect. Gojo teases you some more. Toys with your clit and feels a pool of arousal rush and drip from your sore cunt. He hits it with the palm of his hands as you try to form the words. You tremble in his arms, a vestige of your will to resist. 

You want to resist so badly, he can tell. But it hurts now to leave it alone and you want it despite yourself. It makes you so frustrated you cry. Limp, crystal tears down your face that Gojo licks up nearly immediately. Salty and bitter. Gojo kisses the apples of your cheek, nose nudging your skin. 

“So cute when you give up.” Gojo praises sincerely. You sob somewhere deep inside of your “Be good and be honest. I’ll reward you, hm? How’s that?” 

Gojo can feel the moment you give in completely. When acceptance settles over your hazy and contorted mind. You let the tides take you, curling into yourself.  A sound like you’re in pain even though you’re not hurt. 

“Please touch me.” You whisper, hoarse and defeated. Gojo laughs airy, peppering your face with kisses. You wince. 

“Good girl.” He coos, dipping his fingers down lower and lower. Heel of his palms pressed into your swollen, needy clit “That’s all you had to do. Easy, right?” 

You scowl at him (you try too).

“Open your legs, baby,” 

You listen this time, opening your legs wide enough for him to touch. Your pussy is so wet for him. Sticky and soft like you’ll fall apart, Gojo thinks it feels divine, wants to squeeze and grope and touch until you’re disintegrated. He likes feeling you like this. Vocal chords strung tight, all the noises throaty and gone. You throb against him like you’re begging. Gojo doesn’t stand to let you acclimate, flipping between three fingers in a gentle rub to a soft and well-practiced spank. 

Only when your words start to come out t0gether, like you’re spitting them out because they fill your mouth  too quick - does Gojo bless you with any mercy. He lets his hands sink lower, deeper - until his middle finger brushes your twitching hole. Your breath hitches, and the hands once stuck to your side, reach for Gojo’s hard to hold. 

He licks his teeth, some unspoken feeling sending an bullet through him as he feels your body resist. Needy thing you are and so untouched that even the point of your middle finger makes your breath slower. You’re wet enough he doesn’t need anything else to aid him. He pushes in slow, slow, slow - painstakingly carefully as your wetness envelops you. 

Because he intends to cherish you in his own way, he resists the urge he feels to flip you right over and take you. He’s being kind, and you’ll realize it later - when you’ve adjusted to him a bit more and know when to pick your fights. If he didn’t think it’d ruin the set-up, he’d have flipped you on your back just feeling. Fucked you without any consideration, just to feel your pussy around him in a vice grip. 

It’s all he can picture, but he shows restraint. He’ll fuck himself off on you when you’re sleeping maybe, just to scratch the urge. You might pass out before then. 

He comes back to you like that, a promise to himself to give the relief he needs with the body he finds oh-so tempting. He pushes his perversion aside to touch you. You let out a little sound every time he fucks himself deeper, gets his middle finger down to the first bend the all the way to the knuckle. 

When he thinks you’re adjusted - ready for more, he gives it to you without making you plead. He uses his ring finger this time - his longest ones and feels you stretch around. He groans, deep and appreciative, as he feels how tight you are. You preen, squeeze your thighs together and call his name 

“Oh, Satoru, its.” 

He shushes you before busying himself with tasting your skin. Closes his mouth around one of your tits as he repeats the process. In, in, in until he’s all the way to his knuckles. Fucks you till it’s easy, till you’re wanting more. 

If he were more merciful, a good man or a better one - he’d stop here. He doesn’t though. A third finger has your eyes widening. You gasp. Gojo kisses your face again and again. 

“Easy, easy,” He coos, voice coarse but encouraging “It’s a good exercise for the future.” 

You don’t register the words and Gojo doesn’t expect you to. Even still, he thinks giving you the heads up is quite nice. 

Three fingers proves to be more than enough. It pushes you to an edge he has seen before. He fucks you with three. Your mouth falls open, slack jawed. Gojo curls his fingers. He rubs up like he’s motioning for you to come here, deep enough until he feels it. That spongy spot inside of you, apparent through the sounds you start to make as he touches it. 

He hits something of a stride like that, finger fucking you with pressure on your clit and his mouth on your skin. Gojo takes to watching you once he knows he’s getting you to that edge. Your body stiffens underneath him, breathing going noticeably shallow. Mouth wobbly, lower lip trembling. He can tell you’re feeling it, just as much as you’re resisting it. Gojo coaxes you by whispering against your skin. 

“C’mon,” He hums, nudging his nose to your neck “You wanna cum don’t you? I can tell you. You too scared? Need me to help you.” 

You whimper “Aah, aah,” Gojo can feel you pulse. Can feel your insides tighten. He’s doing it on purpose, tipping you just over the edge. He wants to hear you beg. Wants to know what it sounds like when you beg for him. He fucks into you slowly, until you’re no longer able to put on a show of being composed. 

“S-sato—oh, please, oh—please m-make me,” 

“Want me to making you cum? Say it. Say, ‘Satoru, please make me cum,’ can you do that?” 

A bitter sob leaves your lips and Gojo can’t think straight. It strains you. 

“S-satoru, pleasemakemecum—please.” 

Gojo grins. “Of course I can,” He quickens his pace enough to make you feel it. Your eyes shoot open before screwing closed again “All you had to do was ask me.” 

He watches you intently. How you fall apart under his fingers, delirious whimpers of no, no, no - even though you begged so sweetly a minute ago. He hums as he feels the walls of your pussy start to tremble, a soft squelching sound hastened now. You say something he can’t decipher, words too jumbled for him to make sense. Gojo stares hard. Lets the infinity bleed away so he can feel you just like this, feel you cum on his fingers despite everything. 

He feels giddy to the point he’s sick with it, moaning as your hands grip at the roots of his hair. He kisses your breast tenderly, just over the latest lovemark. 

“Don’t hate me too much, kay,” Gojo says, whispering, means it so you carry it with you because he can feel the resentment nudged so deep into your heart by now “Come on. Cum for me, sweet girl. Want you to feel so good.” 

And so you do. You cry, scream - but the noise amounts to nothing. A cosmic thing, like you’ve been struck by a comet. Gojo fingers you through it, absolutely delighted at the hot rush of liquid that comes pouring out of you. Your first orgasm from him and you’re squirting all over his fucking wrists, soaking his sheets and his arms and his PJ’s with your back curved in a beautiful arch. You break apart in an almost violent way, like the pleasure’s vicious. It tears into you and you succumb with a whimper. 

Gojo shushes you as you break down finally into a teeny, tiny sob. You must be exhausted because you don’t pull away when he comforts you, despite the little angry why, why, why that you whisper. You hit his chest softly. He kisses your forehead and listens as your breathing goes still and you fall asleep in a heart-beart, still curled up into his bed and too tired to run away or go anywhere. 

He stays with you like that, relishing in the warmth of your body until you’re deep asleep. He flips you onto the side of the bed that isn’t wet, and presses a kiss to your forehead before moving out of the sheets. . 

When he stands to his feet, it’s to collect the curse that’s gathered itself on the foot of the bed. It manifests as a white snake with blue-eyes. Gojo finds himself amused. Of course the curse you’ve made is pretty. Gojo grabs it by the neck, watching it as it pries its mouth open and bares his fangs at him. He grins, pricking himself on the teeth to see if it makes him bleed. 

It hisses loudly before wrapping itself around Gojo’s arm. It doesn’t take any effort to subjugate it, sensing his power it stills with some effort. Gojo tilts his head as he walks out of the room, glancing at you before turning his head back at the snake. 

“Better warm up to me,” He whispers in the dark, a contentment to his words “You won’t be seeing your mama for a while,” 

—

Communication stills. 

Radio silence, more like - a busy bunch of messages deftly still. Suddenly, a raging storm of grief and anger disappears. The morning after Gojo assaults you, he wakes up to see you off like nothings happened. 

He mostly does this because he wants to see what you’ll do.

You spend the morning perplexed and confused. You eat breakfast with him. You sit at the table, contemplative and silent and Gojo chats away at you idly. About the news and the weather and the classes he has today. You chew your food but don’t taste. You listen but your replies are short and stilted - out of touch. 

Gojo learns that when something bad happens to you, you respond to it by detaching yourself. Though yesterday you were hot and fiery, the day after you seem to be mourning. Your grieving process starts early, and Gojo thinks rather amused—that you remind him a lot of himself.

He thinks you’re a little closer now that you understand the apathy of losing something that can never come back. And once this whole thing is over, once you find yourself back here - he’ll tell you all about it. You get it now right? It’s painful to feel like you can never be the same. 

They say that mankind was fashioned from their Lord. Gojo supposes he’s made you in his image. You look a little empty, and though you’re both so different - you can become close by having the same wound. You can understand him a little more this way, all while retaining your sense of resilience.

What is mankind not known for if not perseverance? Of course he knows, once you recover from your grief, you’ll return to your usual spitfire. He’s counting on it, counting on you to fight and run. Escape from him and never come back. 

But that cat and mouse game is more than okay. Gojo isn’t looking for your obedience, really. You’re too defiant of a character. Gojo thinks it’d be pointless if you’d just stayed the same.

You need to have hope to stay the way you are. Thus, Gojo doesn’t plan to rob you of it. He figures it’s best to give you breathing room. After all, he has full confidence in his ability to find you. He could hear the rhythm of your heart a continent away and chase it down without thinking twice. But it’s better if you’re able to show him some resistance. He thinks of it like a compromise. That sort of thing is typical for married folks, he thinks. He gives and you take. 

Eventually, you might realize that the endeavor of running away is fruitless. Maybe you’ll be clever enough to recognize that it’s not that you’re succeeding, but that Gojo is letting you. You’re definitely smart enough to do so early, but just stubborn enough to believe that there’s hope in spite of that. If you try hard enough, persevere a little more, etc. 

Gojo likes this part of you. Always will. You always put your best in everything and this is his own way of nurturing it. 

It’d be a shame to take that from you. Gojo has remained out of your sight for the time being to try and reinstate it. While he raises the curse up in his apartment, he watches you through windows and flitters into your bedroom to peer at you before disappearing again. He makes sure that you can’t sense him or that he’s gone before you can. The more ease you feel, the easier everything else will go. 

Feeding the curse you’ve left behind in his house has been taking most of its time. It’s obedient to him since he’s strong, and it’s big now. Longer and wider and more sinister looking (he feels a weird affection for it, maybe just because it’s from you), more hostile. He’s been careful to maintain it. Too much feeding will make it overgrown. 

It’s currently on Gojo’s floor, on a dog bed like a disobedient pet - all in a single coil. He has to be careful not to endanger you by making it too strong or giving it too much range. It’s just meant to be a showpiece - a prop at best and a scraped knee at worst.

He’s been building it up for a long time. Then, though, it wasn’t such a clear desire. He figured sewing seeds of fear in you would benefit you in a different way. But that’s fine. The means don’t matter as much as the ends and in doing so - he’s made this all sort of seamless. 

It’s not a complicated plan, ultimately. He’ll tell the curse to let loose, freak you out a little, and eventually - you’ll call the only person you know who knows how to handle it. Gojo will save you, and when you’re finally caught in his arms, you’ll have a little reunion amongst yourselves. He’ll reprimand you (but only lightly) and you’ll thrash (but only for a little while) and then he’ll keep you by his side again. 

Except this time he won’t be so quick to let go. He’s sure you’ll protest (and be all gung-ho about it). He’ll feign cruelty and push you to the edge. Whatever response you do have, he’s thought of a way to reply. 

A way to tend to it. 

Like any relationship, things take time. He’s not expecting this to settle right away - but he’s confident eventually it’ll work out how he wants too. Gojo can make that happen as long as you’re within view. 

He watches you through the window as you come in from your classes. You’re dressed up today despite the chilly weather - a blouse and nice pants with bangles on your wrist. He wonders what the occasion is given the time of year. Your bag is hanging loosely off of your shoulder - having only just returned. 

A sense of warmth spreads through him as he peers at you, a smile on his face. He really does like looking at you quite a bit. 

The curse hisses at the sense of your presence and Gojo waves a hand at it to keep it quiet. 

“Calm down or I’ll exercise you right away,” Gojo says coldly. It retracts itself. “I’m getting impatient, too, you know? It’s been a long time.” He says wistfully. 

He keeps looking until you’ve effectively disappeared from his sight. He listens for you outside of his door. The sound of the building buzzer, soft footsteps, and the slight jiggle and turn of keys before you’ve gone in - sound by a dull thump. 

He leans against the wall near his door where he was listening, eyes up at the ceiling as he turns over his options. He should wait it out a little longer. Giving everything enough room to mellow out before it picks up again is an important part of the process. 

But he doesn’t know how much longer he can wait. Plus, keeping this curse around is starting to be troublesome. He’d much prefer you back in his arms, in his bed - all back to that kind domestic fantasy that he’d been thinking about again for weeks. 

He supposes there’s no right decision, in this case. Just what he wants to do, versus what he should do, and some kind of middle ground he’s been spending too long looking for. 

He stands to his feet, no longer leaning on the wall before glancing at the curse from the corner of his eyes. 

“Today seems like it’s too soon yet too far,” Gojo pauses between sentences, scratching his head woefully “But it should be okay, right?” 

__ 

At 7pm, the curse slips underneath the door of his apartment into the hallway. Gojo sits comfortably in his living room, one leg crossed over the other with his phone in hand, a warm mug of tea cooling on his coffee table. 

The news is playing. A general and loose sense of anticipation fills him as he pays attention to the newscaster. Another storm is going to hit and the temperatures are dropping to an impossible low. Officials recommend buying bottled water and keeping warm as it continues to blow out. 

There’s a soft hiss as the muscled curse squeezes itself underneath the tight crack of his door. It’s unfortunate he can’t monitor it directly. Though the instructions ( and subsequently the consequences of disobedience) were made clear - curses are greedy as they are stupid. This one in particular seems to be self-aware enough not to try to go against Gojo’s word. 

So, when the time comes he sits patiently and waits. Watches the news. His ears itch and his skin pricks as he listens for the first whisper of your voice. He wonders if you’ll scream. You didn’t when he thought you should’ve but maybe there's a reason for you to do so now. 

The clock ticks away. It’s unceremonious. Gojo thinks to himself that maybe this entire thing is esoteric. Capturing you is a tragedy that he writes to himself and he’ll re-tell it to you all the time in different ways. 

The clock ticks. Again and again, the monotony is starting to settle in. Time moves slower than you could imagine. Like trying to pipe honey into straw, thick and impossible. 

Tick. Tick. Tick. 

Tick. Tick. Tick. 

Tick. Tick. Tick. 

At 7:02, a dog barks outside. It sounds cagey, and it’s not Pokupan because Gojo knows what that mutt sounds like. Nor is it cosmic. It does sound desperate, though - like asking someone to be let in. And if Gojo didn’t have such a pressing matter to attend to, he’d go outside and do it himself. After all the wind is frosty and the air is unforgiving and winter devours things so slowly it's painful. 

Gojo can’t abandon his task. It’s too important for him to stick his neck out for a being he doesn’t even know. He hopes briefly that it survives. That someone lets it in before it gets anymore violent (or desperate or willing) 

At 7:03, he reaches for the tea on his coffee table to drink it. It’s still piping hot, but Gojo can swallow it with his infinity. He does for a reason he can’t name. It’s just a compulsion, inspired by the fact it will probably be too cold when he comes back for it. He thinks, instinctively, that he should cherish the warmth in the glass despite the barrier that prevents him from feeling it. Ultimately it’s still milk tea. It will still fill his stomach and taste vaguely sweet where he permits. He ought to drink it when it’s warm even if it’s just an illusion. 

The clock ticks again, this time to 7:04 and Gojo regains a sense of bravado that’s riveting. There’s a commercial airing now for a new type of kitchen gadget, an airfryer with more settings than any one person knows what to do with. The advertiser is enthusiastic and loud. He wonders what happens when it switches to the next one. Do actors on set feel awkward when the cameras turn off? He knows a thing or two about performing, which is why he finds himself so curious. 

At 7:05, the first whisper of your pleading filters through the hallways. Though Gojo figures he’s not meant to be able to hear it - because however vague it is, the sense of shame that it holds is hard to ignore. Despite his urge to run to you, Gojo is reminded of the fact he is teaching you a lesson and this is all a show for you and in a way for him too. There’s timings and cues and calls, so Gojo lets your first prayer get passed through the winter winds. He’s sure it gets dropped off somewhere in the snow. 

The dog outside bares its teeth and barks louder than before. 

At 7:06, the feelings of fear and negativity start to weasel their way into his apartment. Through cracks in the floorboards and the aeration in the spackle - he can feel it come through his door and penetrate his being like waves of wind. With no barrier and no filter, your fear is a familiar presence in his life. It comes to a crescendo as he leans his head back on the couch and blinks up at the ceiling. He’s pleased with it so far. It’s proving to be just right. All the months of delicate orchestration have culminated into such a lovely overture. A symphony of sobs. It enchants him like a bird song, or maybe the whistle of a blizzard. 

He waits for it to die down. He waits for it to start back up again. He waits for the sniffling to become sobs and for the sobs to become demands and for the demands to go back to sniffles. He waits for the dog outside to be let in because he can hear the buzz of the gates all the way from his apartment. 

When Gojo has had enough of waiting, it’s 7:15 sharp. 

He stands to his feet and walks through his door with not so much as a look back. The T.V. is still playing where he fazes out and he leaves it because this will be quick and easy. 

You’re right across the hall. The walk is short. The building moans like it’s dead. 

He stands in front of your door and presses his ears to it and there’s some semblance of an altercation. Mostly the sounds of shattered glass. 

If you were any more familiar with this world, you’d know the thing is stalling. It has harmful intent but Gojo’s presence is too risky. If you knew anything about anything, then you’d know you were never in any real danger and even calling Gojo’s name when you hate it so much now would be pointless. 

But Gojo has done his due diligence in keeping you in the fateful dark. 

So this part is easy. He reaches for the door but it’s locked, so he teleports. 

When he enters, your apartment is in terrible shape. The curse itself notices his presence but does not stop to act. He stops to take a look around. He figures you’re cornered and holed up in your bedroom. A trembling figure in the corner praying for God to save you. 

Your house is effectively thrashed like there’s been a robbery. He’ll have to make up something in the report. Officials will come, but they won’t question his word. All the glass is broken and scattered and everything is torn up. Papers ripped and fabric shredded. 

(The stuff Gojo demanded not to be touched has remained that way. Even he’s not so much of a monster to ruin your students' keepsakes. He’s sure you’ll look relieved when he returns them to you later. How kind he is.) 

He prepares himself like an actor might for a role. He thinks of the lines he’s practiced and the way things will play out. This simple, choreographed tragedy. A manifestation of your fears. Gojo thinks that he is probably good at becoming the thing people love yet resent. 

He’s sure you and Suguru would have a lot to talk about in another life. 

He checks the time on your digital clock, left unscatched in all the destruction. 

At 7:18, Gojo phases himself into your bedroom like he’s only just arrived. He hears you gasp in a sharp fear that quickly breaks into a sob of relief. He glances at you where he stands. He’s never been in your room. Kind of a waste it’s happening like this. 

The first thing he does is check if the door is locked. When he finds that it is, he laughs to himself but covers his face before he turns to you. You are exactly how he predicts. Something curled tightly into your fists, fearful and backed into a corner. He coos internally. At what he's done to you. How this has played out. 

It wasn’t enough to break you a little. This part is necessary. 

Like he starts most interrogations off, he asks you question.

“Are you okay?”

“Oh, Satoru.” Your voice sounds shattered in such a way he finds it almost hard to stomach “Oh, it’s—Oh it’s you.” 

“Happy to see me, huh?” He says, tilting his head. You close your eyes instead of replying. 

“H-how’d you…?” 

“I can feel cursed energy,” He says, and it’s not untrue “I felt something very strange in your apartment. It’s been a while.” 

You still can’t find it in yourself to say anything. Maybe desperate, maybe afraid, maybe exhausted by your own paranoia - you relent. 

“Yeah.” You say. Gojo can feel the curse grow impatient. It lets out a loud hiss and you gasp in fear.

“Hey, you didn’t answer. Are you okay?” 

You stare at Gojo for a long time. 

“I’m not hurt but,” You swallow thickly. Upon looking at you closely, you look exhausted. He feels a little sorry for you. He’ll let you rest for a while when you’re home “I’m s-scared.” 

“You’re right to be scared,” Gojo says, and he means it a little. Not about the curse, but in general “It’s a pretty powerful class. A special grade, probably. You share cursed energy.” 

You look agape as he relays this to you. 

“Share…?” 

Gojo gives you a look. He can feel the creature coming towards you door down, slinking across the wood slowly. A coy, soft smile appears on his expression as he reaches down for you. You flinch from his hands but Gojo doesn’t falter. He strokes his thumb across your cheeks, peering at your eyes and how they reflect light from the outside. 

“It was made with your cursed energy,” Gojo explains very gently to you. You look at him in disbelief “Curses are negative emotions. So something like this isn’t uncommon. No idea how it got so strong, though. But that’s all your.” 

He watches you closely as a wave of horror settles over you. A nauseous feeling that has you cupping your hand over your mouth like you’re ready to throw-up. He masks a smile, but he doesn’t condescend you. Not openly, at least. Not to the extent he would like too. He reprimands you like a teacher - a sensei and his beloved mentee. 

“I told you didn’t I,” Gojo says nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders as you quell your own disgust at the thought “You have to be careful. And you can’t fight all by yourself, so you’re kind of helpless. What were you gonna do if I wasn’t around?” 

You look like you’re going to cry. Gojo keeps going. 

“You can’t call the police, you know. They can’t help you at all. Good for nothing bunch, really.” Gojo states, gesturing vaguely. He tugs his masks off of his eyes so you can get a better look at him “But you can rely on me if you need to. I’ll always protect you. Next time just give me a call, okay?” 

It must dawn on you, just then, what exactly Gojo is doing. Or some extent of this is hitting you for the very first time. The look on your face is picture perfect. It’s exactly what he wanted. An understanding he’d be hoping for for so long it’s unbelievable. 

“I’m the only one who can keep you safe, understand?” But he’s not really asking. You know that too “Can you nod your head and agree?” He pricks. You don’t hold back your tears but you don’t cry them either. You break down  silently nd you nod. 

Gojo reaches down and wipes them off for you. 

“Don’t be so sad,” He says to you, and he means it because what a shame it would be to wallow too much on such a nice day. Winter is for warming up next to your loved ones, isn’t it? “I’ll protect you now.” 

Left with no choice, you nod again slowly and clutch your pillow. Gojo kisses the crown of your head and leaves you to untangle your feelings. 

Then, almost on cue, the curse itself bursts through the door. The wood breaks off with the hinges. 

It’s really a weak thing. If Gojo was trying to keep his powers contained, he might’ve put up more of a fight as it lunges at him in your bedroom. It knocks over your things left and right but he’s mostly busy trying to muffle the noises so he doesn’t disturb the neighbors.

 It’s as fast as a gust of wind as he strikes out, neck elongated and jaw as unhinged as far as it can go. This time, Gojo can feel the weight of its desire to kill. A rampant sense of bloodlust in it’s every action, Gojo dodges each attempt and swipe at him. He leaves a barrier over you temporarily so that it can do you no harm.

It doesn’t go for you either. He figures maybe it has some understanding of its own predicament. Desperate animals can be clever too. Perhaps those things have always been linked together. 

But he figures a fair-ish fight is as much as Gojo can do to stave the thing off before he sends it off officially. Plus, he can feel you watching his back - like you’re trying to measure how strong he is. It’s a smart thing to do. You’re learning. It’s probably better to show you now, since there’s not much left to hide. 

So this time, when the snake comes flying towards him - Gojo reaches his hands out. He uses his infinity to stop it in its place. A noise of anger leaves its mouth, a low hiss as it hits the wall in front of him. Wide blue eyes stare at Gojo, a predator with its fangs bared. 

Gojo stares back, a predator with its fangs bared.

He uses a reversal of his Limitless, the infinite blue. The creature is pulled into him closely, crashing first into the space he’s created before disappearing into nothing but smoke and ash. It’s gone just as quickly as it happened. A curse so inferior, it can’t have been more than ten minutes to fight even with all the purposeful delays Gojo set in place to finish it off. 

It’s gone now, the product of you and him. A weird part of him is sad. But now he has you, so he cuts his losses. Now there is only you and Gojo, and a ruined bedroom and broken apartment. 

Gojo, who has no intention of enlightening you, turns his back to look at you. 

“Don’t know how long it’ll be gone but,” He shrugs, rolling his shoulder and cracking his spine “But it’s gone for now. Some officials will be here in the morning but with the way this place is, you might wanna come back to stay with me for a while.” 

This is all a formality. He’s sure you know too, but instead of turning away - you’re shivering figure wavers in the dark. You’re terrified enough to reach for his hand and hold it. You know what’s coming, but that knowing does nothing to save you. You were a victim to fate from the moment you met. Yet, you still look to him for comfort in safety because even knowing better, there isn’t anything you can do. 

And it’s just like you, to want to trust and forgive him. To reach your hand out hesitantly and try. Everything is tangled up and you are terrified and Gojo Satoru loves you. 

“Come on,” He says, encouraging you to get closer. He reaches over your bed to scoop you into his arms and you don’t do so much as protest “Let’s go home.” 

__

Gojo brings you home quietly. 

When he enters, the T.V. is still on. You are curled up in his arms. He has no idea how long you’ve been crying and about what in particular - but that’s okay. Tonight, to him, is something like an anniversary. Like any time before, he has no intentions to treat you roughly. 

It’s a good night, he thinks. Even in the state you’re in, Gojo can only think of making it even more memorable. You’re an injured thing in his arms. A delicate bird with clipped wings, or a butterfly with a missing antenna. Without Gojo there to pick you up in all your broken pieces, you might’ve really fallen apart. 

It’s reasonable enough. For someone like you, he’s sure tonight has been so scary. It makes him feel a little sorry for you. It makes him want to make it all worse before he makes it all better. 

He can’t describe it, but there is something so right about seeing you like this. 

All angry and resentful and volatile. All lonely and scared and saddened and somber. All Gojo’s forever, permanently through everything. He’s made you so completely in his image, something he’s always wanted to do. Maybe you’re a trial run, in its own right, of all the things Gojo will be able to do in the future. What he’s capable of creating with enough effort. 

Gojo is gentle to you. Tender, as he carries you into the apartment. You help him turn off the T.V. and put the mug into the sink. He carries you too afterwards, rewarding you with a kiss to your temple, before pulling through the threshold of his bedroom. 

Just like that, you find yourself again in Gojo’s bedroom like you were so many weeks prior. You’re weakened and exhausted, so willing that he is endeared. Like this, he hovers over you. Looks at your tearstained face and smiles so lovingly. 

Regardless of everything that’s transpired, above all - this is a reunion of two lovers to Gojo Satoru. So in the midst of it, he wipes your tears and kisses your cheek and you don’t pull away. Now you’re so ruined you relish his comfort if only a little, and this time it’s perfect. It’s everything he’s always imagined. 

He’ll give you hope and freedom and let you be. Eventually, you’ll come to realize you’ll always need him a little. And it doesn’t matter, does it? That he’s made it that way on his own. Because it’s true. It’s righteous and religious and godly. Gojo Satoru is not god, but he does understand the urge to make something that listens. 

He kisses your soft cheeks and hums at you, nose nudging your skin. 

“Still feel like crying?” He asks you. You blink up at him like you’re only just now realizing where you are. Some emotion overwhelms you, but ultimately you shake your head no. Gojo grins impishly. 

“That’s good,” He says tenderly. He kisses your lips this time, and you kiss back. It catches him off guard but he doesn’t dislike it “You didn’t get hurt did you? And now we’re together again.” 

This does seem to incite waterworks in you but you don’t look like you have the energy to cry. He doesn’t push you too much. Though it is fun seeing you like this, Gojo is grateful he has some time to cherish you. 

“Scary world out there, y’know?” Gojo says between kisses. He adjusts you, your arms around his shoulders loosely “Hold onto me okay? I’ll make it all better.” 

You whimper under your voice but don’t go to thrash. There’s something about you that feels limp. A spirit softened and dampened, like wet soil. Gojo is okay with anything as long as it’s you, and there is some part of this he likes too. How pliant you become under the weight of your fear, so tantalizing to Gojo he can’t help himself but kiss you.  Riper than the fruit of Eden. Just as sweet.

He kisses you for longer than necessary. It’s intimate and hopeful. All tangled hands and pulling different parts of you up to his lips.The occasional press of his teeth in your skin, with his senses so high he can practically feel the blood rush through them. Your mouth is soft and warm, the breadth of mint on your tongue. He pushes his tongue past your lips but this time around, you don’t do anything to refuse it. 

So accepting like this. Gojo thinks life with you will prove to be exciting. 

He rests his hands on your waist and you don’t pull away from him. Such soft skin covered in a sheer layer of sweat. It’s making him dizzy to have you like this, to kiss you in his bed. Again, again, again. You belong here with him and nothing has ever been so true. The euphoria of everything is overwhelming. He can’t get enough of you. Even if in the moment he carved a spot into you forever and buried himself there, he cannot help but want to be spoiled by your lenience and affection. He can’t help himself but to possess all of you so even time cannot spoil iit. 

Despite yourself, you touch Gojo back gently. Knowing you, it is a way to deal with the pain. You want to forgive him as much as you want him to save you. You hate him as much as you love him. 

From the beginning, everything has been exactly like this. This was the end of all ends. 

This is a lesson in divine truth. 

You’ve made Gojo this way as much as he’s made you. If Gojo Satoru is to play as God, then he supposes you are much like an owner. Some part of you has made him love you unconditionally. A dog and his master. An animal with a love so violent it shakes windows. Gojo Satoru makes you love him through violent means, and like a dog left abandoned in the snow - your own empathy for his unconditional but broken love makes you protect him. It’s cyclical. It can never change because the universe has ordained it. Because everything Gojo touches is a divination from the heavens. 

Where Suguru proves to be a lesson, you are the dues he is owed. 

This is a lesson in divine truth. 

More simply, Gojo Satoru loves you in his own way. Any loyal dog will chase its owner no matter how far they run. He lives for you, after all. He’s made you in his image. The difference between god and dog is nothing more than a matter of positioning. 

You love him back in your own way. Because his character and his tragedy makes it so difficult to abandon him  and your disposition will never allow you. You’ll hate and resent him. You’ll grieve and you’ll cry. You will want to turn your back but he will always come to save you. And who can love you so loyally as a dog undisciplined? Who can keep your sheltered being protected like a wild hound?

Spring was an innocent century ago. Winter is here. Gojo loves you. 

“My birthday passed recently,” He tells you. You blink at him. 

“Oh?” 

“Can you guess what I want?” 

You don’t do much more than nod. It’s not permissive. You just know better by now, and that too is not something Gojo finds himself pleased with. 

“You don’t have to do any work,” He offers you as a reprieve, busying himself once again with undressing you. You’re still wearing the clothes he bought you all those weeks ago “Just don’t run away from me.” 

If you notice how heavy the words are, you’re smart enough not to do anything. Even still, Gojo can’t tell if there's a purpose behind it. Perhaps you just know it instinctively not to. 

He takes you apart carefully. Careful, thick fingers unbuttoning the front of your shirt. You’re wearing nothing underneath, and the sight of your bare skin is almost too much for him. The hickies have yet to heal, though now they’re yellow and softened by time. Gojo will have to leave more to bring back all the color to you. 

He starts at your jaw this time, teeth against your earlobe. Heart in your hands, he knows your body a little better now. 

And he takes his time with it this time too. Even slower than before. Even more consuming, even more adoring. 

He laps his tongue against your soft skin and eats. Your skin is salty and sweet and Gojo can’t contain himself. He gropes you lightly, planing his palms over your shoulders and squeezing your breasts tight. He’s missed touching you more than he knows what to do with. 

Even in being gentle, there’s little he can stop himself from trying to devour. You lay about him squirming as he undoes each and every part of you. He can’t pick which place to go and what thing to do first because he wants so wholly. It’s making his head spin to listen to your sweet and short whimpers. You spread yourself as you lay under him, hands pinned to your sides - demure and needy. 

How different it is but the same. Something about how you’re clinging to him so desperately is making him feel sick with lust. 

Instead of going any further, he pulls away from you momentarily. He puts his arms on your sides and flips you over till you’re on top of him

The sudden change in position leaves you gasping for air. Gojo gives you an amused grin as you fall forward - as he props himself up on pillows while you try and steady himself. He holds you close to him once you’re all set, face to face like this.

“Don’t run away from me,” He says, more seriously. You swallow. Gojo lets you up until you’re half-way over him. You’re so much weaker than him, moved and manhandled so easily. There’s a target on your back so often and Gojo loves being an arrow. 

He kisses the side of your body as you stand on your knees beside him. His fingers hook into your shorts and panties, sliding them off of your body all in a fell swoop. He squeezes your ass slightly, spreading you apart.

“Look at you all bent over for me,” He coos, hands reaching underneath you to toy with your pussy. You whine, shuddering, clinging to his shoulders. “So pretty, baby. Prettiest girl.” 

A hiccup bobs in your throat. Gojo moves his fingers lower and lower, familiar now with the feel of you. Your cunt is just as welcoming as he remembers. The idea of making love sends a shiver through his whole body. Blood rushes to his cock like a bolt of lightning in his veins. He pushes his middle finger into your twitching, needy hole. 

Another sound, cut off by a garbled word of surprise, falls out of your mouth. You’re soaking. Ripe for taking. Gojo wants to fuck you more than anything.

He takes a deep breath, whispering to your skin. 

“Fuck,” He laughs, giggling at the thought of it “I’m gonna break you, huh? Gotta be—shit, need to be extra careful with you, right my love?” 

“Please be gentle.” You say at his request.

“Of course, of course but—” He squeezes your hip as he feels his middle finger go into you down to the knuckle. You roll your hips against him involuntarily  “You just—you’d look so good so full of my cock, y’know? Been thinkin’ about it for weeks.” 

And he has, means every word. You shudder at the confession. He quirks his lips as he fucks into you, relishing in those pretty little sounds that fall out of your lips. 

“You like that?” He grunts, another finger to stretch you out a little more for him “You like when I tell you about all the dirty things you make me think about?” 

Shame fills you, like Gojo’s lit a match under you. He can feel your heartbeat pick up. Is it the being so wanted or is it the crassness and humiliation? Maybe both. Sometime later he’ll pick it apart more closely. He lets himself talk you through it, so close to your skin as he whispers all the filth to you that he can. Confesses it to you. 

“Weeks and weeks, baby. Couldn’t stop thinking about how perfect and wet you would feel when I finally took you like this. Gonna make it so good for you, you won’t have to think about anything else again.” 

The promise sends you limp. When Gojo finally feels both of his fingers slide in and out of you with no resistance at all, he sighs lightly and pulls away. The loss of contact makes you whine, but he brings you back to his lap now, sitting with your legs on either side of his. 

His cock, clothed and restrained in his sweats, swells against your wet cunt. He watches your eyes widen as you stare at it, lucid enough this time to realize what it looks like. He looks up at you, kissing the corner of your mouth. 

“C’mon. You can look.” 

He guides you to the waistband of his sweatpants. You pull his pants down slowly, looking up for permission (which Gojo gives in a loving nod) before taking his boxers off too. His cock is so hard it’s almost painful. The tip is a flush red, white hairs trimmed neat at the base and feeling so fucking heavy Gojo can’t stand it. He hisses as your hands reach for him instinctively, and you try to pull away before he stops you. 

“Touch it, sweetheart” He encourages, wrapping your hand around it for you “Feel it? That’s all you.” 

A flush graces your features. For a minute, it’s all love and nothing more. Nothing less. Too briefly for it to mean anything, but enough for Gojo to know it. You wrap your hands around his shaft and stroke tentatively and Gojo groans shamelessly into you, rutting his hips into the round part of your palms. 

“Fuck that’s it,”

He looks at your expression, examining the concentration before chuckling. Your lip is poked out, eyes dazed. He pulls away from you, securing you close to him. 

With the new proximity, he holds his cock close to you. Measure it up against your skin, against your tummy. He feels you against him, Around him, folds nudging apart for him, The skin on skin alone has him so breathless. A dizzy sort of feeling as he presses the tip of his cock hard against your clit. You feel like silk around him. 

Looking at you like this, all helpless and needy, he can’t help but think about how easily he can overpower you. He’s stronger and bigger. His cock would be enough to split you in half. How he’s gonna make himself fit inside of you spins in his mind over and over. Maybe like always, your pretty little pussy will yield just for him. You’ll open and endure and take him so deep. 

He can’t help appreciating it. Can’t keep his thoughts quiet from telling you. 

“See that? How deep I’m gonna go?” He measures up to you. A hand on the bottom of your stomach, stroking his thumb “Gonna feel me right in here. You ready?” 

You close your eyes and look away. Gojo grabs your chin and tuts at you. 

“Nuh-uh. Want you to see. Don’t close your eyes.”  

It’s not a question or a request. 

So, you watch. Gojo lifts you up just enough to line up with your entrance and sinks you down so, so slowly on his cock. It’s agonizing how slow. It’s incredible how fucking good you feel. How perfect one sensation could possibly fucking be - Gojo could die here in complete bliss. He can feel the stretch of your pussy trying to accommodate. That sensation of resistance that sends him reeling, spine tingling and skin prickling with a heat so intense he feels like he’s going to pass out just sitting there. 

And then there’s looking at you, which proves to be an entirely new animal. You have this pinched expression, a shocked little gasp as Gojo pushes through. A whimper leaves your lips. Gojo rubs his thumb on your lower lip as he eases you down. 

“Hurt too much?” 

“N-no. Just… feels weird.” 

He laughs a little at your honesty, before fucking himself into you even deeper. Another inch and he really starts to feel you. Your walls feel like they’re sucking him and Gojo wouldn’t leave if it killed him. He groans, deep in his chest as you shake. Your grip on his shoulders gets tighter and tighter. 

With one more smooth thrust, Gojo sits you down on his cock completely. He feels so complete like this. Everything in him is at ease feeling your insides spasm and melt around him. He sighs contentedly.

“Still okay?” 

You nod weakly. 

“Can I move?” 

Your reply is nothing more than a whimper.

So he does, but he does so slowly. Just to get into the rhythm. He thrusts up slowly. 

‘O-oh. Oh, oh it’s,” 

He chuckles against the crook of your neck, hugging you close to him. He loves the way you feel against his body, the way your frame fits so perfectly into him. He rolls his hips up into you so there’s no effort on you to move. You whine that time, and he does again and again until your voice is a mess. 

“Starting to feel good?” 

“S-satoru.” 

He swears. 

“Fuck, stop that,” He swears “Gonna—shit, gonna cum right away. Moving so hold onto me tight, baby.” 

You take his words for it. Gojo feels your soft tits pressed into his chest as he pulls your hips up and starts fucking up into you. Each time he does, he feels like he can feel all the way to the back of you. None of his fantasies could compare to the feeling of being this deep inside, cock nudging against that sweet spot that keeps making you fucking mewl into his ear. He can hardly take it as it is now, focusing hard on not cumming until you do.

Making it good for you is his priority. Always has been, but you make it hard for him like you do most things. 

“Touch yourself for me, okay?” 

You look at him surprised but listen to his request regardless. Gojo takes to fucking you steadily. He builds an even rhythm as he keeps you up, hands firm on your hips as he pistons you from underneath. The pleasure comes in waves, undulates as blood continues to rush to his cock. He’s so hard he can’t think straight but he keeps each of his thrusts consistent, lines them with the pace you play with your clit so he can encourage you to cum for him. 

He can tell you’re starting to feel good when your mouth falls agape. He drags on your walls with each punctuated movement and your thighs shake and tense. Everything comes together so slowly but the pleasure comes at once. It’s a force that’s nearly earth shattering. All the planets aligned, everything in the same plane. Everything for him and for you. For the togetherness he’s created and chased after so long.

Now this part of you is all his too. 

“Sa—Satoru,” You warn, your hands trembling and fingers cramped up with need. He grunts as he stares up at you through thrusts “G-gonna…” 

“Gonna cum for me? Gonna cum on my cock? Go on. Know you can do it, baby. So good for me. Perfect for me.” 

It’s all babbling for him now, the sensation hitting him in waves. Your mouth falls agape and you cum so hard Gojo can feel every fucking pulse. Squeezing his cock hard enough he wants to grit his teeth. He presses his mouth to yours instead as you moan out, unable to hold it in. He swallows every noise like he’s trying to embed them into himself.

You cum hard and fast and Gojo is so quick to follow you. Only seconds after you fall limp into his arms does he feel it - no longer able to stave off the urge to cum so deep in you it stays forever. To mark you deeply you never think of anything. It’s almost animalistic for him. Every nerve on his body is on fire as he shoots his cum deep into you, sitting you on his dick with nowhere for you to go. 

Panting, he pulls back to gaze on you. He’s still hard as he’s twitching. He can’t hold off tonight, he doesn’t think. But he’ll give you a minute to collect yourself. He presses a kiss to your hairline. 

He whispers softly as the night comes to a quiet, quiet still. 

“I’m yours and you’re mine baby. Forever and always.” 

You shake. And Gojo knows you well enough to know that it’s the resentment coming back in waves. But that’s okay, because Gojo loves you. 

And with this, he’s taken everything.

EPILOGUE / OVERTURE : 

Your senses are accustomed to Gojo by now. 

You never thought such a day would come. You spent the first year of this relationship (if you can call it that, to begin with) in trenches so deep you couldn’t really tell left from right. So many things persisted as normal, but nothing was ever the same. 

In that, though, Gojo stayed by your side till the bitter end. He nursed you back into health and sometimes treated you so kindly that you could almost forget who you were dealing with. Sometimes the weight of everything became too heavy. You think you love Gojo almost as much as you hate him.

But it doesn’t particularly matter what your feelings are. Has it ever, in any of this? You always knew that something was strange but you didn’t think you were so clueless. Blindly following wherever his voice took you. 

The first time you try to escape Gojo feels like so long ago. That time, he let you go quite far. You made it out of the house and even went out of the country during summer. But you were sloppy and inexperienced. When he found you and brought you back home, you figured it had been a fluke. You’d learn from it. You’d do it again and that time you would succeed. 

That’s what you told yourself anyway. It’s how this all started. Where you would run, and Gojo would let you before he started to miss you. He’d come and he’d discipline but it was never too cruel. 

(You wished it were. You wished it were sickly and sadistic and tortuous. You think it’s so much worse to beg for mercy when you are sobbing from pleasure. For Gojo to coddle and sedate you and never yield. You think you’d prefer if he were just out of it. Just cruel instead of what he is. Which is knowing but certain. Justified.) 

This has been the farthest you’ve ever gotten. You don’t think you’ve ever been this far away from home. A cabin in the woods where you lived peacefully for days. You don’t know how Gojo found you. 

You had been so sure. This was it. It had to be it. 

Your heart shatters as you hear him. Feel him in your bones so much it frightens you. The world is covered in a sheet of white, and your ankles are bruised  and bleeding from where you’ve fallen. You’re cold and your heart is beating so loud - but no matter how much you run you can’t find any heartbeat to motivate you.

Gojo pulls through the thickets with a frown on his face. Blue eyes and black coat, his feet crunch the snow as he comes towards you. You crawl away. You try too, anyways. 

Gojo leans down to your level, looking at you closely. He reaches out to brush snow away from your skin. 

“My birthdays soon, you know?” He hums, not angry today. Not even wanting to discipline you “It’s not a bad place, y’know? The cabin. We can spend some time there before we go home. Might be nice. But we should get going so we can check on your foot.” 

He reaches his hand out to you this time. Too injured to run, you take it and he smiles before offering to carry you on his back. You hop on, arms around his neck and don’t even cry. A numbness settles. 

It is not the cold. 

“Oh, look,” Gojo says, reaching his hands out “Snow’s falling.” 

You suppose it is. Another Winter will pass just like this. 

A dog howls somewhere far off in the distance.

[peterparkersnose]

Give In

pairing: Joel Miller x reader

word count: 2.3k

warnings: suicidal thoughts, pining possibly one sided, ANGST (just a large angst piece, i wanted some joel angst so I made it), description of depression, emotional dependency on a person, arguing, fluff sprinkled in, implied age gap not specified, reference to pregnancy, mentions of substance and alcohol abuse, joel is lowkey toxic and uses reader

a/n hi loves I wrote this after the first episode aired, so if anything contradicts anything in the future in this story that is why. also, i didnt know how to end it so im sorry if the ending is a bit choppy. happy last of us sunday!

summary Y/N has feelings for Joel that she can’t control anymore

Part 2 here

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read time: 8 min 33 seconds

The harsh chill of the autumn afternoon swept your hair off your shoulders. The ration line was as long as ever, but seemed to be moving quickly. A stray dog barked as others murmured on the street. Staring down at your boots, you bit at your chapped lips.

“You’ve been avoiding me,”

His voice sent chills up your spine. He was behind you, must have slipped in line without the other person noticing. Of course now was the time he decided to confront you. And he wasn’t wrong.

Straightening your back, you turn towards him.

“Have I?” you asked, raising your eyebrows slightly. The line moved forward and so did you.

“Tess said you weren’t feeling well.”

She was partially right. It was the blatant lie you were telling the very few who were close to you. You were physically fine.

“I’m fine, Joel.” you said promptly, turning a cold shoulder to the older man.

“If you need any meds or anything…” he began. You knew Joel had anything you needed. Quite literally.

“Next!” The FEDRA soldier called, motioning for you to get in the final line. You gave Joel a tight lipped smile before disappearing in the crowd.

Back at your sad excuse for an apartment, you poked your fork at your stale meal. You tried to think about todays’s job but the thought of Joel Miller consumed you.

How his hands felt on your skin, how soft his hair could be, how much he respected you in private. Flashbacks of previous nights where he had snuck over and stayed with you burned in your brain.

You never thought the hookup would turn in to feelings. Especially in this world. Feelings you were sure he wouldn’t reciprocate. Joel wasn’t a very emotionally available man. And he had Tess- rumors of them being together had been going on for years. Sure, they deny it. But you see the way he looks at her sometimes. His eyes burn with the lust you want from him, but there staring at her.

Tess was friendly and all, you got along quite well with her in fact. Jobs worked with Tess usually went better than others. But the knowledge that she goes home to him every night almost ate you alive. You felt used every time you would watch her turn the alleyway to their apartment.

Roommates my ass.

It had been over a month since the last time you saw Joel.

He was right, you were avoiding him. Taking the jobs you knew he wouldn’t dare go by such as childcare. Taking a different route home to avoid any run ins. Leaving your lights off and sitting in the dark to possibly deter him away from your place. All your little queues worked.

And the pain grew day by day.

You layed in your mattress with your face buried in your pillow. It stopped smelling like him weeks ago, but you liked to pretend it still did.

You couldn’t live like this anymore.

Pills weren’t numbing enough. Alcohol wasn’t as fun as it used to be. The constant state of depression in this damned district was enough to make you want to end it.

But seeing him across the alleyway talking to a group of people or in the line for rations was enough to keep that tiny spark lit inside of you.

There wasn’t much else to look forward to in this world besides others. Living the same day your whole life is miserable without your spark of joy in it.

Sleep was close, you could feel it. Your thin blankets were just cutting it for the night. As the dreams began to dance in your head, you were awoken by a quiet knock on your door.

“For fucks sake,” you groaned, flipping over in bed. You ignored the knocks. They became more persistent.

The old doorknob then dropped to the floor, startling you awake. You didn’t even have to guess who it was. The door slowly creaked open as you heard him curse to himself.

“I’ll fix it later,” he sighed, picking it off your floor and placing it on your countertop. He pushed one of your folding chairs next to your table up against the door to keep it sturdy.

“So your just breaking into apartments now?” you snapped, sitting up right in bed. “I needed to see you.” he protested.

“I never knew Joel Miller to need anything.”

He sighed and rested against your countertop. “I need to know,”

“Know what?” you asked, wrapping a blanket around your exposed shoulders. A tank top wasn’t ideal to sleep in, in these conditions.

“What’s wrong.” he said bluntly. “I said there’s nothing wrong. What the hell are you doing walking around freely at night?” you yelled, realizing the time was way past midnight. The sounds of soldiers a few floors down outside your apartment began to yell. How did he move past them?

“You sick?” he asked in a more hushed tone, walking towards you. “Respiratory? Head pain? Joints? You pregnant?” he somewhat joked, looking over you in bed.

“Shut up.” you said coldly. “Can you please just go?”

You knew Joel wasn’t a good listener. “What is it?” he said sternly, sitting down next to your body in bed. He grabbed your wrist ever so slightly. Your pulse was shaking in his grasp.

“I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

You looked at the other side of your apartment, out the window. Rain had began to slowly plague the window. Ignoring Joel’s touch, you watched as the few drops raced to the bottom of the window.

“After everything I’ve done for you?” Joel sighed, not letting go of you.

“Stop, please. J-just stop talking to me.” you said, lying through your teeth. He could sense the pain hiding behind those eyes. “I’m not leaving.” he protested.

“Look at me.”

You turned to face him. His eyes were locked on yours. A genuine worried look was on his face. He looked softer, nothing like you had ever seen before.

It was almost as if someone asked you if you were okay when you were very obviously not. Silent tears rolled down your face as you tried to catch your breathe.

The man who you couldn’t love was staring in to your soul. There was no way you ever could love him. He was too mean, too stern, too old, too angry for you. The two of you were polar opposites. But as the saying goes, ‘opposites attract’.

Joel was unsure on what to do. Tess never cried. Hell, you never cried. He racked his brain for something, just something to soothe you.

He offered out a hand. Against your better judgement you took it. Connecting his other hand to your cheek, he tried to wipe away the streak of tears silently leaving your eyes. He held you tightly in your bed, stroking your hair as your head quickly made contact with the crook of his neck.

“I wish I didn’t have these feelings,” you cried into his embrace. Joel was confused on what you were getting at, but he ignored it. He tried to shush you in a soothing way.

“No, please. I wish I didn’t have these feelings… but I do.”

Joel froze. “What?” he asked, holding you in place.

You pulled back and looked at him. It felt like the first time over again. “Look at me and tell me you don’t feel a thing.” you hiccupped.

“I…” Joel sighed, closing his eyes for a moment and letting a breathe of air go.

“Say it.” you demanded.

The silence in the room was deafening.

“I can’t.” Joel said quickly. He looked down at his knees on your mattress.

“I think you should go.” you sighed, laying back on your side and facing the opposite wall.

He listened. Finally, Joel caught a hint. The sound of him walking away made you long for him more than ever. But it was good. The feeling of him leaving, knowing you were right. Joel Miller wasn’t a man who could love. At least not anymore.

Your sudden pride stopped when you heard his boots thud against the floor. Then the all familiar zip of his jeans followed by the hit of him placing them on your wooden chair next to your bed.

He rested a hand on your thigh as he peeled up the blanket that was stuck to your legs. Slowly, he moved down next to you in the tiny space you were leaving him.

“You don’t listen.” you huffed, still not giving him enough space on the bed.

“When do I ever?” he chuckled, wrapping his arm around your waist.

Fuck it. You gave in.

You allowed his arm to move closer to the underside of your breasts. Scooting over in bed, you gave him more space for his legs to entwine with you. His boxer’s material rubbed against the back of your thigh. It smelt like him; Wet grass and expired generic soap scent had never smelt better.

Sleep kindly greeted you once you felt his breathing slow. Trying to match his, you fell into the deep sleep you had been yearning for, for what seemed like weeks.

-

The absence in the morning was startling.

You struggled to move, hoping that the previous night was just a horrifying dream. A sigh escaped from your lips when you saw his boots sitting against the wall where he placed them last night.

The clanking sound of tools made you turn. On the other side of your small studio apartment, there he sat at your doorframe attempting to fix your door handle.

The overcast sky stayed, but you could tell it was early morning by the chatter outside.

“Shit!” Joel hissed, grabbing his finger in pain. “Damn fucking…”

He looked up and noticed you watching him.

“You alright?” you asked, watching him in amusement as he attempted to fix your door.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, sucking the tip of his finger. “Haven’t fixed a door in a good twenty years.” he muttered, wiping off the excess blood on his already dirtied jeans.

“Go back to bed, It’s still early.” he suggested, going through the tiny tool kit he had given you as a previous gift.

“This is more entertaining than sleep,” you chuckled, placing your feet on the cold ground and getting out of bed. “You want any breakfast? I don’t know if I have anything good here but…”

“Nah. Tess’l be expecting me.”

The sheer thought of Tess waiting at their home for him was enough to ruin the whole night you had before.

Joel looked up to you after your lack of a response. He noticed the demeanor change in your face. “Everything okay?” he asked, turning back to the doorknob he was almost finished fixing.

“You seem to go sour every time I mention Tess.”

“I wonder why,” you muttered under your breathe, attempting to open a tuna can for breakfast. You tried not to dry heave as the scent of the old fish met your nose. Tuna was never a favorite meal, especially for breakfast. But, it’s all you had.

Joel pretended like he didn’t hear you, but he heard you loud and clear. “We have a run to do today. You understand that, right?”

A bitter ‘mhm’ came from your lips as you shook the prepackaged coffee in your hand before ripping off the seal.

Joel sighed and placed the screw driver down dramatically. Joel’s knees cracked as he got up from his position. “You always gotta fucking act jealous. Don’t you? Ruinin’ a nice morning.”

“Jealous?” you said, raising your voice.

“What the hell do you even want from me?” you scorned, on the brink of tears. He could see through you like glass. You hated to admit it, but he knew you like the back of his hand.

Joel wished he could shout out the answer, but his ego kept it in.

You froze with your back turned to him and set down the brittle coffee mug. “Your always leaving me to go to her…”

“Because we’re business partners, Y/N. Don’t you get it? Don’t you hate livin’ the same damn day over and over again? It’s why I come to see you.”

“Stop,” you whispered, now face to face with him. “Stop yelling. Please, it’s too fucking early to get into that shit.”

“Really? Tell me you don’t loose your mind living the same day, same drama for years!” he yelled. “Always you being jealous. Don’t you ever get sick of it?”

Anger consumed you. Proof that the two of you would never work. He’s just a bitter old man.

“You know I would give anything to leave this damn QZ! To live a normal life, not fucking be here.” you yelled, with a finger now pointed at his face. You were avoiding the original accusation. Jealousy.

“Tell me.” you said, with a quieter but angrier tone. “Am I really just your fuck toy?”

Joel stepped back for a moment, stunned at what you just said. Guilt seemed to wrack his nerves as the realization hit him.

You were in love with him.

“Is that what you think?” he asked, approaching you with a sorrowful more soft look. “What else am I supposed to think? You come here, use me, and leave and go back to her.”

The feeling of letting go of all that emotion felt healing. The sudden aftermath of realizing what you just had accused him of made you feel somewhat guilty.

“No,” he sighed, grabbing your hand. “That- no. Absolutely not Y/N.”

His other hand reached for your chin, and brought your face up to his gaze. You could feel his heat on your skin.

“Understand…” he began to say. “Understand what?” you whispered back. A sly smile came to his lips.

“Give in,” he whispered, dropping your hand and wrapping his around your waist.

You melted into his grasp as he kissed you. Joel hadn’t kissed anyone in years. The hesitation from him only brought out the dominance in you.

As the two of you mutually pulled away, you wanted nothing more as to be back where you were just seconds ago.

“Understand that it’s hard.” he said, still holding you close. “I…”

“I know.” you said, cutting off his words.

You were an anxious, sorrowful over-thinker and he was the bitter, closed off introvert.

“I’ll be back,” he said, with a slighter more chipper tone. “Tonight. We have to get this damn car battery and…”

“Stay safe,”

“I promise.” Joel said. He really did not want to leave you. The thought of the two of you spending today lazily in bed was very tempting.

“But please believe me Y/N when I say, you are and never have been just a ‘fuck toy’.”

He squeezed your hand once more and then dropped it. Silence filled the apartment after he left.

The thought of how you tasted haunted Joel Miller’s mind the whole day.

Part 2

tag list: @dani5216 @uwiuwi @alohastyles-x @samanthacookieone @maddieinnit0 @alexxavicry @scoliobean @avengersfan25

[heartshapedbubble]

YOU GUYS WOULDN'T BELIEVE WHAT I JUST FINISHED⁉️⁉️

(jokes aside this chapter is heavy and when i say heavy i mean HEAVY it's the heaviest chapter ive wrote for now please read the tws and take care mwah)

childhood friends, a d.m. fanfic🐍// chapter 3

TW // descriptions and mentions of abuse, death, blood n gore (can get graphic so be careful), gender of reader not specified, sulphur hater community gonna go wild after this one, im inconsistent as fuck with the writing and the lore god save us, no proofreading we die like men, literally angst/trauma then fluff then i proceed to wreck incredible trauma upon desire, put your seatbelts on for the last part because oooh boy, teen desire angst mhm, desire needs therapy, me when i ignore the canon (sigma)

-------------------------------------------------------

A crumpled diary entry, the sides messily torn off and a lot of words aggressively scribbled over. The handwriting starts off neat and in a posh cursive, yet as the writing progresses, it turns to a manic, almost deranged shaky hand, a mix of unfinished sentences and unknown keywords, the paper wobbly and the ink blotchy due to the fact that it was sodden with the author's tears. The date is unreadable.

~

Today, it's my 17th birthday.

Today, it's also 6-years-and-something of my confinement inside the house. I stopped keeping serious track of time a while ago - I realized that thinking of it made me feel even worse than usual.

I still clearly remember the day when it all started. When i started descending into madness as all of my thoughts began to be blocked off one by one by hardcover books and the well-maintained white walls - I still harboured the fading pink scar on my palm. Yet, the worst scars were the ones on my psyche. They were like scabs - instead of forgetting what happened and letting myself heal, I did the exact opposite. I kept tearing apart the healed wound, reliving what I knew I should forget and what I can't fix. It fueled me, such bland and dull anger. I would scream, shout, dig my nails an inch deep into my skin upon the resurfacing memory, shunning my younger and my current self, while being fully aware I could never escape the situation nor now nor then. It's the worst kind of anger, the one that both riles you up and leaves your chest aching at the same time. It's not even the anger - it's the feeling of inevitable helplessness that you try so hard to hide. Beneath my thin veil of teenage angst and aggressive outbursts, I knew what i truly was. I saw the real me every night, hearing myself break down the second I locked myself in my room.

Even if he took my freedom, even if we had dinner together, even if I spent 10 hours a day studying thick textbooks that he spent thousands on, I could never see him as "dad". He never was one to begin with, so his countless attempts to make me consider him one were fruitless. I quickly forgot the burning feeling on my hand when he first hit me since he quickly resorted to physical violence as time went by. Cursed him under my breath as he passed by? You could bet his hand was tangled in my hair and my head was about to become one with the cupboard. Yelled back at him as we went for a walk together? His hand clenched my wrist with all its might and I felt like my bones could burst through my fingertips with each second he held it.

I looked out the window as I recalled. It was a sunny day, the beautiful flowers reaching over the fence from the neighbor's - their - garden. I opened the windows to soak up the sweet scent of lavender and lilac that the wind rolled over and waved around from side to side, north to south, east to west. As I savored the fresh fragrance, I caught a glimpse of my face in the surface of the glass. Two bright blue beads staring back at me and my uncombed hair framing my face. Nothing much has changed in my appearance, except my once chubby face thinning and sharpening with time and my shoulders growing wider. I was never lucky with my teeth, though - one of my canines grew over the incisors and made it look like a clumpy fang of sorts, as if I took a sucker punch to the jaw. It was a big insecurity of mine present even when I was a child and would spend hours in front of the mirror sometimes, making grimaces and running my tongue again and again over the bulging mass of teeth. I've kind of started ignoring it while growing up, but I can't say it's something I like about myself either.

After getting dressed, I headed towards my father's office. The hallway of our villa was long and quite plain for such a big, fancy house. Most gilded decorative motifs on the cupboards faded and a lot of paintings were removed, leaving behind rectangular grayish stains and nail holes. My footsteps were now muffled by the thick dark blue carpet spreading itself from the entrance to the small altar at the end of the hallway. "Altar" is how my father calls it, yet to me it was just a worn-out vanity with empty photo frames scattered on the desk, its drawers locked and the mirror dirty. I swore I saw him inspecting something in front of it, but maybe I was just imagining things.

At 11 a.m. I was already knocking at his door and inhaling the smell of printer paper, disgustingly expensive coffee and polished wood. Although the sun was shining and the window was open, he remained sat at the edge of his table, the shadows looming not over him, but with him. Knowing what follows next, I went and sat myself across the table. As I pulled my chair closer to the edge, I heard him whisper:

"No no no, come sit over here. We're going to do it a bit...differently today."

Not moving a bit, he just nodded towards a leather chair to his right. Taking my time, I scooted over to him and forced myself to look into his eyes.

"Did you eat today?"

"Not yet. I kind of slept over."

"That's no good." He stared into the textured glass of the cabinet door. As I grew up he started to get worse at talking to me. Eventually, my daily visits to his office became unavoidable small talks.

"Your exams?"

"What's with them?"

"You passed all of them?"

"Yeah."

"Wonderful to hear. Great." It was, as always, insincere. Whenever he complimented me there wasn't a change of tone or mood, he said it just as flatly as he said everything else. In fact, he kind of treated it like a chore.

"What's next?"

"Hm?"

"I mean, what's next after high school? I already passed everything in advance. Am I going to receive college education at home?"

It seems like that triggered a spark in him - he leaned forward, our faces now at equal height.

"I actually wanted to talk to you about that today. I already thought about that and, well, the answer is quite clear. You'll be inheriting my business."

And that's when it hit me - at that moment, I realized that in my 17 years of age I never thought about what my father does for a living. He had a lot of fancily-dressed people over often and he was rich, so it was clear to me that his job paid well. What he worked on, I never researched. When I was younger, I used to lay down on the staircase and watch over him from behind the balusters. I saw his men bring in various oil paintings, collections of coins and stamps, marble busts of emperors and philosophpers, ceramic medallions and other artistic pieces that I thought of as simply luxurious and over-the-top decoration. What I do remember clearly, though, is that whenever the two of us would go outside together he had to run some errands in the museums or galleries. From my cut-up memory I deduced that my father was some sort of curator.

"What business? You never really... talked about your job. Besides, you're not that old! I don't understand why you would retire at fifty-something. And even with my advanced education, I don't think I have the qualifications."

"Showing you the ropes is the easiest part."

"I barely just finished high school. You really do have high expectations for me, huh?"

"Why wouldn't I? You're my son, after all. Everything is already planned out."

"But your career is already quite great. Why drop it now during the golden years?" I realized mid sentence that I was treading on scarily thin ice. One badly formed statement and my shirt collar is going to be in his hands. Sulphur had his tolerance and his boundaries, and once they were stepped over a few too many times, things could get ugly. Very, very ugly. I was no exception to this.

He clicked his tongue. "Everything has its own reason. It's not important for you to know why, and all you need to do is sit up straight and get your hands on this opportunity. You know well how many grubby little hands would fight tooth and nail just for a shabby position in my field. You should be more grateful and tone down your curiosity a bit."

"If it's not important, then I assume it's not harmful either. Is there any problem with me knowing why?"

"Stop being so nosy." He murmured.

He suddenly got up and shut the half-open window.

"Do not question my actions. I am your elder, and elders ought to be respected. Soon, you'll be sitting in my office chair, signing papers and sorting them instead of me. Phone calls and documents. It's everything you can get hang of in a minute. Now, shut your mouth and go to your room. You're free until tommorrow. 11 a.m. as usual."

I didn't go to my room. I didn't even flinch when he spit his venomous insults at me. Instead, I sat perfectly still, my eyes still locked with his.

"You sound very disturbed. What is it that is so unimportant that you don't want to tell me?"

This was the sentence that made Sulphur Mélodis snap.

~

"Listen to me Desire, listen to me!" He growled as his enormous hands reached for my neck. I writhed and fought back and even bit, but as long as his hands were choking me, he had absolute control.

"Let me go, you fucking jackass!" I spat into his face, fueling his anger even more. It worked counterproductively - he pulled me closer and closer.

"Listen. I don't have much time left. It's not important. You just have to-"

"JUST TELL ME WHAT HAPPENED, FOR FUCK'S SAKE!"

His voice became quieter. I could hear him breathe heavily between each word.

"It's them. They're onto me. Turned their backs on me. Backstabbed me. Once they find me, I'm dead meat."

"Who?"

"Them. The superiors. They decided I'm not good enough for them anymore. They can't benefit from me anymore. They think I'm a traitor. I fucked up. I fucked up so bad, Desire. They know where I live. Who I am. What I do. They know about you. They won't spare you if you get in their way."

"Wha... what will they do?"

"The worst thing you can imagine. Listen. I'm their primary target. As long as they get me down, they're going to be satisfied. If they break into the villa, hide somewhere. Stay quiet and once they leave, get out and lock yourself into the house. Take over my business with a nickname or something. A codename. Whatever. You have the butlers to assist you. They're already informed."

My stomach knotted. I felt sick.

"When? What? Why? I- how?"

"It could happen in a week. In a month. Eliminate me outside the house. Poison me. Stab me. Electrocute me."

He gulped, and for the first time in my life I saw something in his eyes. It wasn't guilt or sadness, it was fear. Pure, unfiltered fear seeping out of this giant of a man. If he wasn't who he was, I'd pity him.

"Listen. There is a boy. Out there. Waiting for you. He might arrive in a week or so. Take care of him. Take care of yourself. Teach him well. I trained you your entire life for this moment. You are the perfect heir. My perfect ... mirror image."

"What boy? Please! Tell me more! I need to know!" I couldn't let all the things I needed to know die with this man, the man who made my house a birdcage.

"PLEASE! Tell me about him! Tell me about my mother! Who are they?"

There were so many questions and too little time for answers. Looking at him in that pathetic, vulnerable state, I could feel sorry for that man. I really could. But such strong emotions were torn away from me with his own hands, being in the way of his idea of the "perfect heir". It was a fleeting rush of love before I looked at him again and remembered who he really was.

"Your b-"

That were his last words whispered to me, before his brains splattered across my shirt, his blood flowed down my legs, his entire weight rested upon me. His lifeless corpse, a bullet carefully aimed and shot through the window, a fatal hit to the head. I never returned back to his cabinet after that day. Locked and in eternal darkness, the body of Sulphur Mélodis rot and bled for years, the blood melting into the wooden planks and the bullet resting in his skull forever - like a pearl inside an oyster.

~

The boy was staring at an invisible dot on the wall. He was thinking. He slowly bit his thumb, and then, hesitatingly, looked up at me.

"Is dad here?"

It was hard to look at him. The same silvery lock of hair, the same greyish-black eyes. He reminded me so much of him, but he was softer, still somehow radiating childhood innocence out of the features I grew to hate.

"No. Dad is gone."

He bit his thumb again. A habit since infancy, I supposed.

"And mom?"

"I... there isn't a mom. I never met my mom. She left when I was young."

"I hope she was a good mom. I had a good mom when I was at the orphanage. She used to scold me for reading books at night under faint light, though. She said it's because I was hurting my eyes and that I would go blind."

"Oh. That sounds... nice."

"Was dad good? I don't remember much about him."

I didn't want to trouble him with my own burden at such a young age, so I just waved my hand. "It's not important. He's not here with us anymore, anyway."

"What's your name? I forgot to ask you. Sorry."

"Desire. Yours?"

"Saphir. Apparently my dad gave me my name. I guess he likes giving odd names."

"...I guess."

I didn't know how to talk to him. He was well spoken, for sure, but prone to zoning out and thinking all by himself. He reminded me of myself when I was his age - it made everything hurt even more.

"What are we going to do now?"

"Well, I don't know. I can make you a room up there. I'm not that good at cooking either, but I have recipe books up there. And a butler."

"It's okay. You'll do a great job." His hand reached out for mine. I couldn't help it but feel incredible love for the little guy at that moment. Such a small gesture, but it placed him close to my heart. I've never met my half-brother before, but even with such polarizing emotions at first it felt like I knew him for a long time.

The butlers and maids greeted the two of us as we sat by the dining table. Instead of sitting on opposing sides like I did with my father, we sat right by each other.

I got reminded of them. My friend. At least used to be, for a month or so. It has been years since we met. I tried to push them out of my mind to make place for everything else that my father considered more important, but they never really left. It was an unstable relationship - to appeal to my father I villainized them, yet when it was too much to take I idealized their childish, innocent kind of love they selflessly embraced me with. And even considering the fact that they were living in the house right next to mine, I never built up the courage to knock on their door again.

"So at that orphanage... what did you exactly do?"

"Ooh. Lots of stuff. Played around, did some basic schooling. I also practiced some martial arts. A lot of it, actually."

"Ah. Interesting. I did lots of studying here when I was your age. I even did fencing."

"That's so cool! This villa house thing is huge, it looks quite pleasant."

"Cool". They flashed in front of my eyes immediately. I looked at my little brother, lost in thought and silently staring at the cook dicing the vegetables. A melty embodiment of all the good and bad people I knew, I grew to love him unconditionally and try my best to give him the childhood I lost.

~

The following paper is messier and wobblier than the other two. After inspecting it better, it becomes obvious that this one was torn away and was part of the first paper. Yet, it was crumpled in a ball and thrown in the corner of the room - just behind the writing desk. Did the author simply not like the way they wrote it, or was it too much for them to process?

~

He laid motionless in front of me. His bloodshot eyes were unfocused and his jaw was relaxed. He was all mine, and I could do whatever I wanted with him. Step on his skull again and again. Bash his head with his own cane and ruin his face with its silver tip. Slice his chest open. His organs were still in tact - I could donate them. Do a good deed.

As I headed for the cane, everything flashed right in front of me. Everything I forgot, was forgetting and will forget. What I should have and shouldn't have forgotten.

The bruised palm. The bruised knee. The bruised arm - the bruised everything.

I remembered how he found out my ankles were weak and wobbly. Whenever I did poorly during our study session he'd quickly sweep my feet with the cane and watch me helplessly fall down the flight of stairs. It brought him so much laughter that he started to do it even when I did well. When I cried and held onto his coat to get up again, he'd push me again until I got up on my own.

I remembered him holding the blade by my leg as I practiced my handwriting. The second my lettering got wobbly he'd push it into my skin, and if I cried he'd push it even deeper.

I remembered that the second my hair grew long enough, he used it to yank me towards him when I tried to run away from him. He pulled me so hard that I felt like my scalp was bleeding.

I remembered when he sliced my cheek with a razor in rage, all because I wanted to ask him a simple question. It took months for the scar to fully fade.

I remembered him grabbing a pair of scissors during one of our worst arguments, trying to snip at my skin.

I remembered him violently banging on my door for hours when I ran away from him and locked myself inside my room.

I remembered reading medicine books self initiatively because plasters weren't effective anymore.

I remembered wrapping the cuts with paper tissues and tape when I ran out of gauze.

I remembered too much.

I threw my abuser's cane at the wall, ran to my room and cried, cried like never before. Even when I made sure he wasn't breathing anymore, I couldn't muster up the courage to get into a one-sided fight against his cold, dead body. Freed from my shackles, I remained a coward.

~