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osaemu · 4 months

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I'LL DO WHATEVER IT TAKES (I'LL MAKE A MILLION MISTAKES): SATORU GOJO

✩ ‧ ˚. synopsis: the moment satoru's child comes into the world, his life turns upside down.

contents: fem!reader. fluff & angst (mostly soft angst). established relationship (marriage). inspired by dear theodosia. written on a whim.

satoru's only felt true heartbreak three times in his life.

the first time was when suguru left jujutsu high, shattering everything satoru was certain he could trust.

the second time was when his best friend died in his arms, draining the color from his life.

the third time was when he first saw his child, and the soft cries slipping out of his lips broke satoru's heart. in that moment, his reality fragmented again. any perception satoru had of his own strength faded the moment his eyes settled on his son in your arms, and in that moment, it took everything in his chest to keep himself from falling apart.

satoru's child has eyes eerily similar to his father's—it's almost as if he's peering into a mirror the longer he gazes at his son. it's only been a week since you brought his son into the world, but in that time, satoru hasn't been able to take his eyes off the two of you. maybe it's just the lack of sleep, or maybe it's just the fact that today is his birthday, but he can't help but wonder if his child is doomed to live the same relentless, demanding life as his father.

satoru isn't quite sure he remembers what life was like before you were in it, and it's scary—terrifying, even. what would he become if something happened to either of you, the only two bright spots in his heart? he doesn't want to know, and the nightmares he describes to you make you hope that you'll never have to know.

all satoru's life, he's been revered as the strongest, even as a child. thanks to his father's insistence that he bring the gojo clan back to its former glory, satoru couldn't help but wonder if it was even worth trying to have a normal childhood. after all, he'd never really be normal, would he? the world of jujutsu didn't allow it—and neither did his family.

but thanks to an extended hand from a boy satoru'd never forget, his high school years became the best of his life—in fact, maybe they were joyful enough to make up for the rest of his lost childhood. even though death was too close for comfort every day, and even though it took a new life every week, satoru would never trade those years for anything in the world.

right now, you're fast asleep, head resting on satoru's chest as you mumble sweet nothings in his arms. his son's sleeping peacefully in your lap, granting the three of you a rare moment of quiet. it's almost surreal to satoru—just a couple years ago, he could've never dreamt of living in peace with a wife and child, and now, it seems like it's almost too good to be true.

somewhere in the back of his mind, satoru wonders if this is a dream. maybe in another world, he's still fighting sukuna, who might still be in control of megumi's body. and maybe this is his mind's way of easing the transition from life to death—by giving him the life he never had.

whatever the case, the warmth in your hands and in his chest feels real enough to him, and that's all he needs.

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fleshdyke · 1 month

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I saw a deer rotting away on the side of the road, ribcage gaping open, sternum shattered, sagging leathery skin shedding coarse hair as decomposition sets in. Eyes and entrails long since pecked out by crows and vultures, the doe lay blind and empty, her cranium chewed open and cleaned out by reverent coyotes. Crawling with maggots and worms, she writhes.

Wildflowers bloomed tall around her, cushioning her corpse in a bed of milkweed and aster, wild lily and strawberry bursting through her drying skin and out through the cavernous hole in her body. Wasps and horseflies drink the nectar flavoured by her body, dripping sweet onto her ribcage.

A violent death unto peaceful sleep, bones crushed like brittle eggshell by steel alloy, whiplash and internal hemorrhaging as she stumbles forward and collapses into the cold ditch by the asphalt, gasping and twitching as her lungs filled with blood, shards of her ribcage puncturing her lungs, struggling to take a full breath as spots grew larger in her vision. Twin headlights barreled on, uninterrupted and uncaring as she lay dying in the ditch, the taillights of the departing vehicle bathing her in red light as it leaves. There are no other cars in the road.

Scavengers bowed their heads to her memory as they filled their stomachs with her body, gorging themselves on cold offal, worshipful as they licked congealed blood off the ground. A necessary sacrifice to the good of the many; her agony sustains them. They don't know anything else. She sleeps, quiet and alone, in the ditch by the road, as she decomposes. Her eyes, plucked from their sockets by hungry birds to be fed to their hungry chicks, no longer saw; she slept in peaceful darkness.

I wondered what she dreamed about. I wondered if she could still see, in her mind's eye, the life she dreamed of. I wondered if all she could see anymore was the wriggling of maggots in her skull.

I wondered if the deer on the side of the road left behind a herd, maybe a fawn, waiting patiently, nestled in tall grasses, for its mother to return. I wondered if it, too, had fallen prey to the great metal maw of a passing vehicle as it, hungry and cold, searched for its mother. I hoped not, but I know better; deer don't often practice crèches.

I felt kinship with her, in a way, a deer left for dead next to the country highway, carved out empty and left gaping. I saw myself in her in the way she died alone, ignored, rotting from the inside out as cars passed by, the way she was vulnerable, defenseless; she had no way to defend herself against her fate. The scales were tipped against her, the battle lost as soon as she took her first step onto cracked asphalt, doomed beyond her own comprehension and her killer's capacity to care. She had no antlers to defend herself. She didn't stand a chance.

A faceless figure in a nondescript truck, anonymous in the atrocity of death, with no witnesses and no guilt for what they had done. Perhaps I'd already passed them on the street. Perhaps I'd already wished them a good morning. Perhaps I'd done the same with others.

It was almost comforting, in a way, to see such a visceral and grotesque representation of myself, flayed open snd hollowed out and left to rot. It reminded me there were others like me, even if they were roadkilled deer. In the aftermath of catastrophe, I, too, lay broken and gasping, immobile as I watched the world pass me by, no one stopping to notice my agony. I supposed it wasn't quite as obvious as that of a deer, trembling and bleeding from the mouth, branded hot in the shape of a car's front grill. It was confusing, still. It certainly felt more than obvious.

I dreamed of coyote teeth tearing me apart, pulling out my organs as I watched, passive, of vultures picking at my skin, grunting in veneration as they ate me to the bone. I dreamed of crows eating the scraps left behind, pecking at my face and mouth, pulling out my eyes and tongue, rendering me blind and mute. I didn't mind; I hardly had use for them anyways. I dreamed of dandelion blooms crowding my airways, airborne seeds filling my lungs until I choked, and growing from my body again.

I dreamed of love, of prostration and black birds bowed in supplication, owing me their lives, surviving at the price of mine. I dreamed of love, of sickly sweet devotion, like the smell of decay. I dreamed of love, of poisonous butterflies drinking down the nectar of my body's wildflowers, of dangerous beauty. In my dream, I watched the jays snap up those sweet butterflies, bright wings crunching and shredding within the predator's beak, only for the eaten nymph to reappear as its bitter poison burns the jay's oesophagus, vomiting up the offensive prey. The butterfly is not saved. The butterfly is still dead, half-digested and broken in a small puddle of the bird's mucous, but the jay learns; the butterfly's death prevents others.

I dreamed of love, like the coyote and the badger that found my corpse one night, forty million years of evolution between the two, but perfect teamwork nonetheless. The two arrived together and left together after they'd had their fill of my lungs and heart. I wished them well on their journey and waited for the next scavenger to find me.

I hoped the deer on the side of the road found the same peace in death as I had. I hoped she found her closure in the scavengers who worshipped her. I hoped the faceless figure in that nondescript truck faced their retribution and I hoped the faceless figure in my hazy memories faced the Old Testament judgement I so wished.

As I accepted the deer into myself, let the shape of her rotting body brand itself on my mind (reminiscent, almost, of the brand of a car's front grill on her flank), I felt her dreams assimilate with my own. I felt, suddenly, the desire to walk along country highways in the dark, the desire to know what waits on the other side of the road, the desperation so strong that I couldn't stand to wait for the rumbling beast to pass. I felt the awe of staring into blinding light, larger than me and near incomprehensible. I understood why deer stopped in the middle of the road. I'm sure anyone else would, too. The first contact of the car's front grill to her (my) body felt something like love, like the embrace of the only one who could stand to have me.

I thought about the crows that picked off the smaller pieces of flesh missed by the larger scavengers. I thought about the sweet adoration between two black birds as they passed my eyeball to their mate, the pure devotion between them as they preened one another, beaks coated in congealed blood. Their love is a living thing, a separate entity, powerful and writhing. It occupies the crows entirely, not unlike parasitism. Their chicks will grow from my scavenged flesh, insatiable, fledging for the first time above my drying skeleton. To fly had always been a dream of mine, and now it is actualized by those young black birds, fulfilled as they hop unsteadily from branch to branch, their parents watching over them protectively. How lucky I am to witness this. How lucky I am to learn, firsthand, the depth of that love, the endlessness of life, how it begins again, and again, and again.

#this is one of my favourite things ive ever written tbh.#made it for an english assignment. sarah if youre checking for plagiarism and it matches with this. this is my account you can ask me if you #want to. love u sarah.#anyways. hi everyone #rambles #my art #ask to tag

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peonysgreenhouse · 25 days

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-`♡´- return.

summary: the obey me brothers react to mc coming back to life!

tags: obey me brothers x gn!reader, hurt/comfort, implied character death

i. lucifer

lucifer quietly steps into diavolo’s office, his usual professional mask quickly slipping onto his face, mouth set in a firm line as his eyes wander about the room. he freezes where he is when he sees who diavolo is talking to.

a familiar side profile, those kind eyes and soft lips he remembers so well, and he feels his breath hitch in his throat. this wasn’t real, he saw you die in front of his eyes. just how could you be here right now?

“lucifer!” you call, his presence being made known by diavolo, who grins wide upon seeing lucifer’s mesmerized expression. “oh, i missed you so, i–” you grip onto him tight, lucifer hesitating to return your affection out of both fear and regret. surely, he’d wake up any moment now in his own room and see that this was all a dream, remembering he had similar dreams after lilith’s fall. oh how his heavenly father liked to torment him so, even now.

“how did you…?” he clenches his jaw to keep himself from breaking. not in front of diavolo, not in front of you could he cry. lucifer hadn’t cried in eons, not since he was cast out of the celestial realm, but now, more than ever, he feels the weight of centuries of living creeping up on him, bubbling to the surface like a pressure he had let simmer for an eternity. “it’s really…?”

“it’s really me…” you whisper, putting your hand on his cheek. his hand comes up to cover your own, wishing he could shred the glove so he could feel the warmth of your hand on his. “it’s hard to believe, right? i was in the celestial realm for a while but… then i got sent back down here.” lucifer’s eyes flick to diavolo, who sits back in his chair with a smug grin on his face. he’s sure he now owes him two lifetimes worth of debts, one that he’d gladly work to pay off. you being here was worth more to him than anything the three realms had to offer.

“you’re never leaving again, understand?” his tone is more desperate than commanding, linking his fingers with yours. his other hand touches the spot where your mark is from making a pact with him, an eternal reminder that you both were connected. “from now until forever, you’re staying at my side.”

you laugh breathily: “yes, i’m yours, lucifer.”

ii. mammon

an unexpected knock at the door resounds through the hall. he doesn’t have the energy to get up and open it, knowing it was probably asmodeus out from a wild night out. hearing the knocks once again, he sighs, slinking over and throwing the door open, ready to snap at whoever is there.

when he’s greeted by your smiling face, eyes bright and glittering as you choke out words that he’s been dreaming of hearing ever since that night you died, he grips the door so tight that it threatens to shatter under his grip. lucifer stands behind you, his arm linked with yours and the brightest smile he’s seen on his older brother since the days spent in heaven.

he doesn’t care if he’s imagining things, he doesn’t care if it’s just a cruel illusion – mammon is greedy. he reaches out and pulls you out of lucifer’s grasp, holding you tight against his chest like you'd slip out of his arms if he let go. his breath hitches in his throat, hands running up and down your body, trying to commit this feeling to memory in case it turns out his hunch is right.

a flurry of emotions runs through his head, he has the urge to be angry that you left him, if only you could see the lengths he went to to get you back, all the restless nights spent bargaining with witches in back alleys and dark places. but he’s always cared for you more than he’s cared for his own pride, maybe even more than he’s cared for his own self. if this were an illusion he’s damn sure he’d sign over his own life to make it real, if even for a moment.

“hey,” your voice is more gentle than he remembers, “i’m here, i’m back, mammon.” when you push him back gently to cradle his face, he shatters, bursting into a fit of loud and childish sobs. he doesn’t care, he doesn’t worry about how pathetic he might’ve looked to you, you were back in his arms.

iii. leviathan

levi hardly ever left his room, not since the night you had died. he only came out when he needed to eat, or when lucifer would forcefully drag him to class. the days were long and dull, not even TSL seemed to make him light up anymore – it was much too painful to face the world without his henry at his side.

he gets curious one night when he hears the sobs of his older brother downstairs; had something else happened? stepping out of his room, he could’ve never imagined seeing the sight in front of him: mammon sobbing in your arms, lucifer stroking your hair from behind, the two brothers sandwiching you in like a vice.

it’s you, his breaths grow shaky as he nearly jumps over the banister trying to get to you, it’s his henry, his best friend, his–

“you left me, but you’re–!” he quickly pulls mammon aside, tears of his own pricking at the corner of his eyes. “you’re back… why did you leave me? why did you–?” his tone is harsh, but the way he’s gripping onto your shirt, fists balled up and tugging you out of lucifer’s grip and into his chest, you know he’s more upset with himself than anything.

“…promise me you won’t leave me again,” his voice is small, and it has fresh tears running down your cheeks.

“i promise.”

iv. asmodeus

he comes home late, in the hours where the devildom was at it’s darkest, smelling of alcohol and the perfume of other demons. fully expecting another lecture from lucifer, he tries to open the door as quietly as possible, slinking through the doorway, making his silent entrance. as he sneaks up the stairs and towards his room, he sees that the door to your room was open.

that’s odd, he thinks, but not entirely strange – mammon would often tuck himself away under your covers, sleeping in your room as it was like a second home to him, even when you were gone.

but then he hears it, the sound he so often dreamed of, so often tried to pull out of others as his fingers danced down their sides, but it was never the same. your laughter.

he hurries in, a sight in front of him he never thought he would see again: you with your head in lucifer’s lap, levi cuddled up beside you, mammon hugging tight to your other side. as your eyes snap up to meet asmodeus’s, he feels his cheeks heat up, the shame of what he’s done since you’ve been gone creeping up on him slowly.

but then you’re up and running to him, latching onto him like a vice and he finds himself smiling, the warmness of your body against his melting away his guilty thoughts like snow in the spring.

“it’s about time you came back,” he kisses you over and over, not missing an inch of your face. you taste salty, and he doesn’t know who’s tears he’s tasting at that point – yours or his. “you’re mine. don’t you ever think about leaving again, ‘kay?”

v. satan

a quiet knock at his door in the early hours of the morning alerts him, and he stiffens, knowing it was probably lucifer here to check up on him. the thought of seeing his brother made him sick, so he continues reading his book as if he heard nothing.

“can i come in?” a soft voice that sounds like yours asks. has he lost it? has he been awake for so long now that he had finally slipped out of sanity? if he tells you to come in, it doesn’t register until the light from the outside hallway makes its way into his room, satan hissing at the way it blinds him.

the way the light wraps around you makes you look not much different than an angel, ethereal and as radiant as the sun. you reach down and touch his cheek, noticing how hollow his cheekbones and how dark the circles under his eyes are. he hadn’t been taking care of himself, had he?

“satan, i’m here,” you smile down at him gently, “i missed you. i missed you so much.”

“you… you’re actually alive?” he heart beats wildly in his chest, “but… but i researched this and… and it said there was no hope! how can you be here now?”

“i’ll explain later.” you kneel in front of him, hand still on his cheek. “now, i just want to see you.”

he wants to be angry at you. he wants to scream at you until his throat is burning, wants to make you feel every second of agony he had felt since the moment you died. but he can’t, no matter how angry he was at himself for his failures, he could never take that out on you. “this is real, right?” he grits his teeth, sure you could hear how fast his heart was beating. “i’m not going to wake up and you be gone, right?”

“i’m not leaving you, satan.” you shake your head, “not now, not ever.”

he finally cracks, pulling you into his lap and burying his face into your neck. you smell just how he remembers, and he pulls you close, close, closer until you’re flush against him. even then it’s not close enough.

satan doesn’t trust himself to speak, no words seeming accurate to say how he felt in the moment. he lets the tender moment pass by in silence, until his brothers come in after deciding the both of you had enough alone time.

vi. beelzebub

the darkness of the devildom starts to wash away as the morning hours come. of course, it was never truly bright as it was on earth. beel finds himself waking up after another nightmare, hand clutching at his pillow like he would often clutch onto your hand when he had dreams of lilith.

in his dreams he sees you, shining like you always did, snuggled up against his chest. in the next moment, he sees blood staining your clothes, eyes wide in horror as you beg him to save you. beel is never quick enough, dying before he even had the chance to touch you, the last words of yours as cruel as a knife to the gut: why didn’t you save me?

beel makes his way to the kitchen, having left quietly as to not wake up belphie. he’s sure that it was levi’s turn to cook breakfast – not that levi would actually do it. levi didn’t leave his room unless forced to, after all. beelzebub could at least take over that job for him.

he passes by the common room, hunger pains keeping him from checking to see what his brothers were doing convened in there.

“oh, beel!” beelzebub whips around at the sound of your voice. he could never forget, not in a million years, just how sweet you sounded. like the brightest symphony or the softest lullaby. after you died, he found himself replaying your recorded phone calls with him over and over, to soothe him before he fell asleep.

“you’re… alive?” his eyes widen, and you pull yourself out of asmodeus’s lap to sprint to beel, who easily catches you in his arms, hoisting you in the air and spinning you around. tears prick at the corner of his eyes, and he crushes you into his chest.

“yes, i’m here beel!” your voice is a bit strained due to how hard he’s squeezing you.

“i’m sorry for not protecting you,” he whispers, “it’s my fault you were–”

“it’s not your fault.” beel leans down, letting you run your fingers through his hair, “not for lilith… not for me. none of it’s your fault. you did all you could.”

he smiles a watery smile, hands still strong around your waist: “thank you.”

vii. belphegor

as most nights go, belphie dreams about you. his head resting in your lap, your soft hands threading through his hair– it’s pure bliss, and he wants to cling to the dream as long as he can.

in fact, if he concentrates hard enough, he can feel something stroking his head in real life, his head resting on a surface both familiar and alien– did his favorite pillow always feel like this? but soon, beel’s voice pierces through the gauze, tearing his dream apart, and belphie opens his eyes.

blinking irritably, it takes him a second to process what’s going on– beel is smiling in a way he hasn’t seen in years. and his head is resting in your lap. you’re gazing down at him, something tender in your eyes, beel by your side.

it’s a dream. it has to be. there is no way you can be here, that you can be real– you were gone, and he was stuck, going around and around in his own head uselessly– but then you breathe, “belphie, i’m home,” and he turns and hugs you so hard you fall back on the bed, startled.

there is a flurry of limbs, of movement– beel has wrapped his arms around you from behind, and belphie is clinging to your front, head pressed in the crook of your neck, hands running all over to make sure you’re real.

hasn’t he wanted this moment forever? his two favorite people in the world, by his side? he doesn’t need an explanation, a reason. in fact, he’s sure mammon or lucifer will storm in in a couple more minutes, and he will have to tear himself from your side. belphie will have to share you with his five less lovable brothers.

but for now, you are his again. and it is enough.

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0bticeo · 1 month

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lurk | feyd rautha

part four of five. (part 1.) (part 2.) (part 3.)

summary:

“i need you,” he rasps, etching a molten kiss on the dip of your collarbone. “need to get rid of his taste.”

his hand crawls up your thighs, the folds of your velvet dress gliding against your skin. you can still hear the soldiers outside, feel the low thrum of their clamour in your very bones. should you focus, you’ll perceive the baron’s suspensors sucking away at gravity, the servants’ roaming about, feet like neelde-ants on cold marble.

anyone could catch you.

“what are you waiting for, my lord na-baron?”

wc: 1.6k

tw: political machinations, reader being inches away from killing everyone in the damn place including feyd, kissing, biting, mentions of breeding, possessive & needy feyd, sub!feyd, oral (fem receiving), fingering, hallway sex.

you’re getting tired of dreams.

there’s terrible, terrible purpose dripping from their edges. you see it all - snapshots of horror, fractals reflecting endless bodies dropping to the ground. sixty one billion people, dead. ten thousand worlds burning, the universe begging for respite under your brother’s crushing fist.

paul. little mouse, whom you’ve shielded all your life, whom you’ve sparred with, crysknife pressed against his throat, his shield a feeble protection against your blade. something shatters. blades. so many of them. your blade. jamis’ blade. feyd-rautha’s blade.

your dream has you standing in what you know to be the emperor’s ship, shrouded in bene gesserit veils. two silhouettes stand against the bleeding sun of arrakis.

the realisation embeds itself in your mind, marble-carved. fate is looking down upon you and tells you: one of them dies in the end.

when you wake up, there’s a scream dying on your tongue.

you don’t know where you are. you don’t know where you are, why your side is on fire, why you taste blood in your mouth.

slowly, you rise, heart beating furiously, breath laboured. i must not fear. your fingers dig your sheets. the infirmary. fear is the mind killer. you close your eyes, will yourself to breathe. fear is the little-death that brings total -

a hand settles over yours, bone pale fingers weaving with yours. warmth settles on your shoulder. you relax, ever so slightly, leaning into the touch, burying yourself in the crook of feyd-rautha’s neck. he’s all sharp edges, honed to deadly perfection. in the quiet midnight of geidi prime, he softens for you.

“what troubles you?”

you wonder if you should tell him. of the golden path, paved with blood, so much blood it clings to the soles of your feet, you see it rise, rise, eager to seize you-

a low mumble of your name.

“dreams are messages from the deep,” you whisper in the crook of his neck.

his hold tightens over you, brings you closer to the warmth of him, thumb running over the smooth skin of your belly, over your unborn child growing there. from your position, you can feel it, the way his vocal cords vibrate. he’s purring, soothing you bit by bit.

you tilt your head, hand coming to cradle his face, knuckles brushing against his cheek.

“i should be plotting your death.”

a low chuckle, a flash of almost eagerness in his eyes.

“i don’t doubt you will.”

his hand wraps around your neck, resting on the soft skin of your throat, bringing you closer to him, shifting your bodies until you’re straddling him, arms wrapping around his neck. you could strangle him. you could use the voice. ask him to take the knife you know rests on the bedside and slit his own throat like the harkonnen beast he is. use it yourself.

but you’ve sealed your fate the moment you stepped on arrakis. so instead, you let the darkness swallow your confession.

“i don’t want you to die.”

“i won't,” he mumbles against your lips, words like an oath as he kisses you.

they say the beat of a butterfly wing can cause a tempest on the other side of the globe. you wonder what tempest will be borne out of the fury beating in your chest. here goes: morning comes. the spice rules it all, even the baron’s affairs, so he gathers his troops to make a planetary governor out of feyd-rautha.

the glorious sun of geidi prime shines its lifeless light upon you all.

the finest harkonnen soldiers, ruthless hounds barking their sovereign’s name in fervent adoration, thousands upon thousands of ants stretching as far as you can see. they corrupt it all the harkonnen, eating away at the horizon. waiting.

you’re waiting, too, hands folded before you, lone silhouette clad in dark robes, veils like a mask before your face. bene gesserit, the court calls you.

not quite.

by bearing feyd-rautha a child, you’ve gained a modicum of respite. the bene gesserit will spare you, the mother of their precious kwisatz haderach. they will keep your survival a secret and bury it behind inscrutable eyes.

plans within plans within plans. you’re a pawn in the baron’s meaty hands, he’s a pawn in yours, and the bene gesserit have been pulling the strings for ninety generations.

your gaze flits to the scene before you. feyd-rautha harkonnen, clad in dark leathers, silver embroidery like pauldrons over his shoulders. the mass of his uncle hovers above him, a hovering beast eager for power. two meaty hands encompass his face - absolute disgust coils in your chest as you watch vladimir harkonnen kiss his nephew. he kisses back. a show of dominance.

the soldiers howl his name, earth trembling under the clamour. they salute, arms crossed over their heads, a living, breathing organism, synchronicity at its peak.

arrakis has a new ruler.

a hand clasps over your wrist, drags you away from the adoring masses, in the sweet darkness of the palace’s hallways. you’re pinned against the wall, and feyd-rautha looms before you, terrible hunger burning in his eyes. slowly, he lifts your veils, high enough to bare your mouth to him.

“my lord-”

you’re cut off by his lips on yours, eager, desperate, savouring you like fine arrakean spice-wine.

“i need you,” he rasps, etching a molten kiss on the dip of your collarbone. “need to get rid of his taste.”

anyone could catch you.

“what are you waiting for, my lord na-baron?”

he nips at your ear, grin sharper than his blade as he sinks to his knees. slowly, intimately, a shadow curling at his mistress’ feet. he unravels you, nails raking up your thighs, liquid desire burning in their path.

“eyes on me.”

your eyes snap open. oh, he’ll be the death of you, with the way his eyes freeze you in place, willing, begging for his touch. you shiver, a low, needy sound escaping you.

he grins, a flash of black teeth against the liquid darkness of your robes. shadows will swallow you whole - he will swallow you whole. already is, with the way he trails kisses up your thighs, teeth sinking in the meat of it until blood drips on your skin.

he’s lapping at it, hands wrapping around your leg, spreading you apart inch by precious inch until he fits the broad expanse of his shoulders in the space he’s carved for himself. he raises his head, leans his cheek against your thigh, nuzzling in its softness. there’s blood coating his lips, sweet like forbidden fruit, and an unquenchable fire in his eyes.

“exquisite,” he purrs, nail digging in the blossoming mark he’s left, until your hips seek his touch.

he puts his mouth to you. you bite your lip, hard, as you feel him tease you, tongue lapping at you like sweet pomegranate, skilled fingers coaxing pleas for more. the cold of his silver ring has you keening - you're melting against him.

it’s obscene, how the only sounds you can hear are the pleased moans of your lover, the squelching of your juices dripping down his face, his wrist. it’s too much, too fast - your nails dig into his nape, bringing him closer. fucker’s purring, hands digging in your hips. he’s making a feast out of you, and you’ve never seen prettier sight.

feyd-rautha, kneeling at your feet, a pretty, pretty blush dusting his cheeks, his soft mouth on your cunt, ruining you as he denies himself sweet release.

“feyd-”

a jolt - he’s just nipped your clit, and you’re falling apart with his name on your tongue, burning, melting in the pits of desire. you grow boneless, faltering on unsteady legs. he pulls you to him before you can fall, kissing you, moulding his devouring mouth to yours.

distantly, you register that he’s breathless, that he’s pressing you against him, that you can feel the dampness at the front of his pants.

his voice is a low, needy rasp.

“you taste divine, my dear.”

there’s a commotion. someone, somewhere, is calling. a servant. a feast is prepared. blasphemy - the baron is a beast, and he will not have his nephew leave without obscene amounts of food. good. it leaves room for you to plan - you’re running out of precious, precious time. there are too many variables for you to act alone, yet you are.

you’re sitting at feyd-rautha’s side at a banquet table. on you watch, a mockery of a bene gesserit, nails digging in your palm. there’s a knife before you, of course. the baron’s sitting at the head of the table, stuffing himself until he’s about to burst.

repulsive.

you could do it now. put an end to the harkonnen, avenge your family. plunge that knife in the baron’s throat and watch him die like an animal.

but revenge is best served cold. you remember princess irulan being seated in front of you. you remember the emperor at the head of the table. you remember his knife slicing through unknown poultry. a falcon. he’s doomed your family to death.

the emperor is old. paranoid. anybody would’ve seen that the atreides were far too loyal to even consider rebelling against him, rising influence or not. someone convinced him otherwise. the truthsayer, reverend mother gaius helen moriam.

you take a bite of your own meal and find it tasting like ash. the only dish you yearn for is revenge.

you want the baron dead. you want the emperor stripped of his power. you want to watch the split second of horrified realisation on the reverend mother's face.

you want them to burn, and burn they will.

taglist: @kpopnstarwars @moonsoulk @alexandrainlove @saturnhas82moons @coureurs-de-bois9 @kamcrazy123 @beebeechaos @avidreader73 @yzuposts @jaiuneamesolitaiire

#obticeo writes #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha #bald freak supremacy #feyd rautha smut #feyd rautha x y/n #feyd rautha x you #dune smut #austin butler smut

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rie-092 · 3 months

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LITTLE SIBLING.

⟡﹒yandere! older brother x fem! reader

summary : your older brother thinks that your boyfriend wasn't good enough for you.

during his childhood, yohan davis really wanted a little sister. a sweet little sister that he can protect and adore forever. but, that dream was shattered when his dad died and he had already accepted the fact that no matter what happened, he won't be able to have a little sister. because he can't force his mom to remarry just because of his selfish desire after all.

and let's be honest here. with yohan's handsome face and those captivating (e/c) eyes of his. even when he was a child, everyone adored him. and maybe that was the main reason why he became like— this. uh, a spoiled son who was able to get whatever he wanted? aside from little sister, of course.

but then, when he reached the age of 15, his mom got remarried. he was excited, for his mom and for the chance that he can achieve his dream through his new dad. yep, he knew how obsessed he was with having a little sibling. everyone, except his mom (since she thinks that it was a cute thing but clearly it's not) has pointed it out to him. but he didn't care since in his eyes, it was unfair for him that his friends had little siblings that they could adore and spoil.

and yohan fucking celebrated when he got the news of his mom being pregnant a year later. he basically ran to his new dad and hugged him tightly and started to thank him and his ehem, let's forget about the last part. anyway, after that sudden revelation, yohan had started looking for good names that he could give to his younger sibling. he also looked for some cute toys and clothes but let's forget about it.

yohan, during his little sibling's birth stayed at the hospital. he didn't give a fuck about what other people were saying when he did all of his homework at the hospital while waiting for his parents and his new little sibling. and boy, oh, boy. yohan teared up when he saw you for the first time. you were so cute, so precious, so adorable and the most innocent thing on this planet.

“ so, how about you give her a name, son? ”

that was what he was waiting for. with a smile, he kissed your forehead as he told them the name that he had come up with after the 9 months that he spent thinking a name that suits you. (first name), his little sister. don't worry, your big brother will give you everything that you want and he will do everything for you.

expect that this guy will be quite overprotective when it comes to you. don't complain if you aren't able to play with your peers or if he doesn't let you go out and lock you at home. he was just worried! you're too innocent! what if you got kidnapped when he wasn't looking?! oh, and when he realized that you're allergic to (insert food here)? that day, you weren't able to see that thing inside your house again since yohan really threw a fit in front of your parents exclaiming that if they served you that kind of food again, he would run away and he will bring you with him.

but aside from his obsession, overprotectiveness and overbearing personality. yohan was a good older brother for you. he was much better than your classmates' older brothers. when the truth is he just engraved the 'he's the best older brother in the world' idea on your mind during your early childhood so that you will stay with him forever

anyways, much to his disappointment, when you became a teenager you found yourself a boyfriend. and that angers yohan. i mean, why do you think that boy deserves you? gosh, he was the one who raised you and he knew that boy wasn't deserving of you! he did his best to make you dependent on him. he cooked for you, washed your clothes and even made sure that you didn't know how to do housework! do you think that boy will do that for you? yeah, no.

expect that yohan will always roll his eyes when you mention your boyfriend whenever you are with him. this guy shamelessly stalks you when you are on a date, and when he sees that your boyfriend is about to kiss you? he will immediately call you to cut off that dirty romantic atmosphere that disgusting guy created. that guy bought you a gift? don't worry, your brother will give you a more extravagant the next day.

he will do anything to make you see that you made a wrong choice of getting into a relationship with someone. look, he knew that his obsession with his little sister was because his friends and bandmates always pointing out to him. there was some point when they asked him if he romantically saw you but that only disgusts him. the hell are they talking about? why would he romantically see his little sister? do they think that he's a sick freak? that's disgusting.

sure he stalks his little sister, sure he makes her dependent on him, sure he manipulates his younger sister that he's the kindest soul alive, sure there are some points that he commits crime for you. but anyways— he only did that because you were his little sister. his innocent and fragile little sister that he needs to protect!

and when the news about your boyfriend cheating on you reached his ears. he was fucking happy! see? he told you, that guy wasn't good enough for you! oh, his poor little sister. the only thing that he did when he saw you go home crying was to hug and comfort you but of course, while he manipulates you thinking that other guy aside from him and your dad was like that. a fucking freak that will only hurt your feelings.

ah, of course! do you think that he'll forget about that ex-boyfriend of yours? of course, he won't! because yohan, with a 'little talk' made sure that guy won't be able to approach you again. oh? you're worried when he came home bloodied and had a bruise on his cheek? this guy will tell you that your ex suddenly punched him out of nowhere when he talked to him when the truth is he beat that guy half to death. hehehe, and seeing you believed him made him smile widely. ah, it seems like you're really stuck with him from now on. and yohan was willing to sell his soul to a demon just to make sure this would last forever.

“ big brother's doing this for your sake so listen to me, okay? ”

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x y/n #yandere headcanons #platonic yandere #platonic yandere x reader #yandere imagines #male yandere #platonic x reader #platonic yandere headcannons #imagines #tw. obsession #tw. manipulation #tw. mention of blood #tw. violence #tw. stalking

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rrickgrrimes8 · 1 year

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Your Bear

summary: Joel Miller doesn’t just lose Sarah that night but his other daughter too. but maybe you can still be found. (part II)

Joel Miller x daughter!reader -- she/her pronouns used & AFAB

warnings: guns, violence, angst, mentions of death, birth, hurt/comfort, happy ending ;) (kinda), no spoilers for part 2/canon divergent

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request guidelines (new)

requests are open!

word count: 3.2k

Joel Miller was always a good father - no matter what he thought. He cared for his girls more than he cared about anything in his damn life. So when they were both taken from him... there was nothing left to care about.

It was Sarah first.

He held Sarah as she died. His shirt was still stained with her blood. The watch on his wrist shattered by his failure.

But his other daughter, you, looking back he can only imagine the worst.

It all happened so fast. He had Sarah in his arms she gasped for air that was growing distant by the second, while Tommy watched with a pained look.

You, however, no one was watching you. Only 5 years old - you didn’t understand a thing. And so when you heard a loud noise. When you saw your sister go down and hearing the cries of both your father and her you panicked.

You thought you were getting help. That’s what’s your dad always told you to do if something bad happened. “Find the nearest phone or adult. Call me or Tommy or this number, okay? 911. Remember that number babygirl.”

And you did.

You ran as quick as you could, which wasn’t all that impressive but it was fast enough for them not to notice you had gone.

By the time you had found your way back into town, Tommy had noticed. “J-Joel,” His voice wavered, fear taking hold. Tommy searched the clearing, calling your name.

Joel looked away from his limp daughter then. His heart was thumping in his chest. His ribs ached as did the wound on his side but nothing compared to the terror that tore through his whole body.

“W-where is she?” His eyes darted over the area but you were no where to be found.

“No, Tommy,” He sobbed already fearing the worst, “T-tommy not her, please.”

Tommy shuddered. This couldn’t be real. This wasn’t real. You were just here. Sarah was just here.

“Joel,” He began until he heard shrill, painfully familiar scream from off in the distance.

“No,” Joel cried looking down at Sarah, hesitating just for a moment before setting her down, “I’m sorry baby.”

Tommy was already running at that point, hoping not to be late, not like he was for Sarah. Joel screamed your name as he sprinted - he couldn’t lose anyone else. He couldn’t lose you, his babygirl.

When he got there he saw Tommy knelt beside a bloodied teddy bear.

Your bear.

He collapsed. Knees giving way. He pulled the bear of the ground, its white fur tormented by the red hue.

Tommy shouted your name a few times. Joel didn’t have the energy to bother. His answer was here.

You were only five. You’d never have survived on your own.

And he would never survive without you, without his girls. He hugged the bear as if it was your body and he never let go.

“Why’d you have a bear in your bag?” Ellie teased as she caught sight of an fluffy ear sticking out.

Joel clenched his jaw, stuffing the teddy back inside. “What?” She laughed innocently, “Is it for your bad dreams? Chase the monsters away?”

The man grunted, discarding the bag on one of the chairs - away from Ellie’s view, “None of your business.”

Ellie frowned as she caught his eye. The brown was darker than usual, which was really saying something. They were empty, hollow but at the same time watery. Like he was one step away from crying. She shook the thought off - this was Joel she was talking about. Joel never cried, not in front of her - not really... She didn’t even think he could cry. But his eyes told her something else. They told an unspoken story. One she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. But one, at the same time, she needed to hear.

“Sorry,” She mumbled, moving into the living room of the house Tommy and Maria had given them.

Joel sighed as she did, guilt running through his veins. “Sorry,” He called out, gruffly, stopping her in her escape. Ellie turned back waiting for him to continue. “it was...” He cleared his throat roughly, “The bear was my daughters.”

“Oh,” She whispered, looking up at the man with sympathy, “If i had known it was Sarah’s... i wouldn’t have said anything.”

Joel sucked in a breath, turning towards the cupboards behind him, grabbing a cup. “Wasn’t hers,” He corrected trying not to let his voice catch on the lump forming in his throat.

“What?” Ellie dared a step closer, “But Sarah was... is your daughter.” Joel bit his tongue, forcing himself to face her again. “Joel?”

He let out a watery sigh, eyes set on the ground, “I had... i had another daughter.” He spoke your name softly but with fear. He hadn’t said it in years - he couldn’t. He hadn’t spoken about you in nearly 20 years either. He hated to talk about you. It was hard enough letting Ellie in, letting her know about his past, about Sarah. But it was too hard to say your name. You were only a baby. His baby.

“I didn’t know. You never mentioned her,” Ellie almost felt guilty asking - like this was something she should’ve known. That she should’ve known wasn’t something you just bring up.

“Yeah,” He scrunched his face a little, the feeling of your loss rushing back.

He thought and he believed for a time that if he didn’t talk about you, about the way he failed you then all that hurt would go away. He was wrong. He saw you every night in his dreams. He saw the woman you grew up to become. He saw your smile and heard your laugh. But then he’d wake up alone. He was always alone.

The worst was when the dream felt real. You were a baby again, Sarah was young too. It was just the three of you. You’d be doing something mundane - watching TV, eating dinner, whatever. He’d have conversations with the pair of you, forgetting that none of it was real. He’d hold you to his chest, sing to you, make you laugh. He’d dance with Sarah to their beat up radio in the kitchen. He would watch you take your first steps, say your first words, form your first smile.

But he’d always wake up. He hated waking up.

“How old was she?” She dared to ask.

Shakily he replied, “Five.”

She fell silent after that. Five. Five years old. Joel lost a five year old - no wonder he didn’t want to talk about it, idiot.

Ellie thought for a moment, a question daring to fall from her lips. “But she’s wasn’t on the memorial at Tommy’s.”

Joel’s head snapped up, anger residing in his chest. Who he was mad at he didn’t know. Himself? Tommy? Ellie? You? “Tommy... he,” He huffed, “He doesn’t believe she’s gone. Holds out hope on that fucking plaque - fuckin’ delusional.”

Ellie leant against the countertop, eyes not leaving the man for just a second, “Why would he think that?”

“No body,” His voice was cold all of a sudden as if it meant nothing at all. As if he wasn’t talking about the body of his five year-old.

“But then she could be-“

“Don’t,” He snapped, “Don’t say another word.”

Ellie rolled her eyes but complied. Joel turned back to his cup, filling it with coffee he had just traded for. He didn’t speak until he was finished and even then he wished he hadn’t.

“We heard her scream... And we found-“ He grimaced, gesturing to his bag, “And we found that damn bear.”

“But,” She tried again.

“Ellie-“

“No, seriously, if all you found was a bear she could still be-“

Without another word, Joel stormed past her, ripping the bag open, slamming the bear onto her chest.

Ellie saw it now.

She understood the haunting look in his eyes. She understood the story it told. It was matted, showed its age. What once was white was red now.

All of it.

Not just a patch here and there.

Everywhere.

It reminded her of Joel.

“That look like she could be alive to you?” He shouted.

“Fuck,” She felt sick just looking at it let alone touching it.

“You kept it?” A voice called from behind her.

Joel met his brothers eyes. “‘Course i did,” He spoke defensively.

“Joel,” He simpered. They stared at each other for a while. Almost like they were having a silent conversation.

Until Joel spoke, “It’s all i have of her left.”

And there was nothing else to say.

Years had gone by since they had gotten to Jackson. And things were surprisingly good. Eerily good. It was the type of good that Joel knew deep down wouldn’t last. It was the type of good that only existed before this mess.

Every morning he would wake up here he had a weight on his chest. A feeling that something was going to happen. This was the calm before the storm, he’d remind himself.

He didn’t tell anyone about it. He couldn’t. He’d just sound paranoid.

Him and Ellie were on a run. It was simple - it always was. The people in charge at the commune never liked to overstep - go to far. Never liked to do what Joel craved.

All they had to do was scope out a few cabins that were spotted deep in the woods. Ellie had jumped at the proposition as soon as Tommy had suggested it. She hated being cooped up for so long - Jackson could only give you so much freedom.

And just because Ellie agreed he knew he had to as well. There was no way in hell he’d let her go out risking her life when there was no way he’d be able to save it.

Getting there was the easy part. The horses at Jackson were a godsend. When they got there the place was still. Ellie gave Shimmer a soft pat before joining Joel who was stalking up to the door. He knocked first - not out of curtesy, just to attract any infected that it may hold. Because that’s what they expected. But Joel should’ve known better.

Joel should’ve thought about their biggest threat - people.

They had only cleared two rooms when Joel felt the cold sting of mental on his temple.

Ellie gasped but kept her gun up, eyes trained on the figure that held Joel’s life in their hands. “Put it down,” The voice ordered.

“Like hell I will,” Ellie retorted, finger edging closer to the trigger.

“I said put it down or the old man gets it,” She forced the barrel against his head - so hard he was sure it would bruise.

“Jesus, fuck, okay,” Ellie mumbled, slowly setting her gun on the floor infront of her, “Just let him go?”

The woman laughed, “So you can kill me, yeah, no thanks.”

“We can work this out,” Joel tried, hands raising to show he was unarmed but it only aggravated her more. Her arm wrapped around his neck, making him stumble back into a chokehold.

“Hey!” She yelled at Ellie as she reached for a gun. The teen stopped, taking a few steps back.

“Just put it down. We can work this out,” Joel proposed, gasping as she applied pressure to his neck, “We don’t want to hurt you.”

“Bullshit,” She spat, breathing heavily, “What the fuck else are you here for then, huh?”

“Supplies,” Ellie told her, “We’re from a commune-“

“Ellie-“

“We can take you back there - help you. If you just put the gun down.”

“Bullshit,” The woman removed the gun from Joel’s head aiming it now at Ellie, “You’ll kill me the first chance you get.”

Ellie shook her head, going to respond before Joel gripped the woman’s arm flipping her over. She gasped as she forcefully hit the ground, splinters from the wooden floor embedded into her spine.

Her breathing picked up, hand scrambling to get to the gun he had knocked out of her hand but a foot stopped her.

Joel’s boot pressed harshly against her wrist, “Don’t.”

“Christ Joel,” Ellie huffed, “You scared the fuck out of me.” Joel watched her as she reached down to get her discarded gun. Ellie laughed as she caught her breath, “Where the hell did that come from? You’re like 80.”

“Ellie,” He scolded with a strict look.

“Right, sorry,” She chuckled.

“So this is when you kill me then,” The woman heaved, chest rising and falling rapidly.

Joel turned to her then, catching her eyes for the first time. He faltered, boot leaving her wrist as he took a step back.

She was a spitting image of... you.

No.

“Shouldn’t’ve tried to kill us, i guess,” Ellie retorted humourlessly.

“You came into my house,” She shot back.

“This is your house,” Ellie muttered, “Needs some work. Right, contractor?” She shot a look over her shoulder at Joel. The man was pale, breathless. His eyes were trained on his attacker with a foreign look she couldn’t decipher.

“Joel?”

“Name,” He ordered, gun pointed down at her but both of them could see it shake.

“What?” She coughed, struggling to understand the strangers.

“Your name, what is it?” He yelled.

“Jesus,” She almost let herself laugh - she would’ve if she wasn’t so shit scared.

Joel gave her a stern look so she said it. She spoke your name.

Ellie’s lips parted, confusion leaving her face, “Holy shit.”

Joel’s expression crumbled as did the grip on his gun, which now hung loosely at his side. “Last name?” He asked, voice a mere whisper.

“What the fuck is going on?”

“Answer.”

“It’s Miller, Christ,” She answered, “What the hell is the matter with you people?”

Joel’s knees felt weak, his breath caught in his throat. This wasn’t real. This couldn’t be real. You died. You were gone.

“Joel is she-“

“Stand up,” He told you.

Hesitantly you did as he said, struggling slightly as your injuries caught up to you. Seeing this Joel stepped forward, hand outstretched. With an odd look in your eye you took it - ignoring how the mans eyes lingered on it for a second too long.

“Are you alone?” Fearfully you shook your head. “Where?” He ordered.

You shook your head again, “Please don’t- You can’t. I was just trying to protect her.”

“Who?” Ellie spoke up, despite it not feeling like her place to be in this conversation.

“M-my,” You started but a cry interrupted, echoing through the cabin.

You didn’t think for a second before you ran out of the room. Joel cursed as you did, going to rush out after you before Ellie spoke up, “What are we doing here, Joel?”

“I-“ He paused, shaking his head and leaving the room.

“Is it her?” She questioned, following closely behind him, “Is it really her?”

He gave her stern look as he entered the room you escaped into. His eyes blurred as he saw you with a baby to your chest.

“Please don’t,” You held up your free hand, stopping them, “You can’t- not her.”

“Holy fuck,” Ellie gaped, “You have a fucking kid!”

“Ellie!” The baby fussed in your arms, cries escaping despite your comfort.

“Please leave,” You beg, “Just let us go. I know i messed up. I didn’t want to hurt you guys but i- i couldn’t let you find her.”

“It’s okay,” Joel spoke softly, a type of softness you wouldn’t expect a man like him to be capable of. He holstered his gun, carefully and moved his hands where you could see them.

“We’re not going to hurt you,” He told you, “Ellie, put your gun away.” Ellie did as he said.

“So leave,” You pulled your child closer to your chest.

“We can’t do that,” Joel said.

“Why?”

“Because he’s-“

“Ellie, don’t,” He cut her off, turning back to you, “We weren’t lying before. We have a commune - it’s safe. You’ll be safe there. You both will be.”

You furrowed your eyebrows, repeating the same question, “Why?”

“B-because you’ve got a kid,” He lied, “We can’t leave you here to die.”

“I don’t trust you,” You frowned. Joel mirrored your action, looking around the room at the makeshift cot you had constructed. He felt his heart ache when he spotted a blood stain on the carpet in the corner - you had given birth here, alone. You went through that alone.

“Please,” Ellie spoke up, “You won’t survive out here. You need somewhere safe. And maybe you don’t trust us, that’s okay but we’re honest. We want to help you.”

Hesitantly, you nodded after a few minutes, anxiety building in your chest.

Joel’s eyes were still stuck to the bloodied patch and he was reminded again of how he failed you. How he failed Sarah. He thought about that damn bear. The bear that he thought was the last part of you he had. And despite the pain in his chest and the ringing in his ears he was so glad he was wrong.

“What’s her name?” Ellie asked as she took a tentative step forward.

You didn’t flinch, you wanted to but a part of you, a naive, childish part, wanted to believe them. “Sarah,” You returned, pinching your girls cheeks causing her to smile.

Joel’s eyes filled with tears, tears he had been trying to suppress for the past 20 minutes. For the past 20 years.

Sarah. His Sarah. Your Sarah.

Ellie’s eyes snapped to Joel. He almost felt embarrassed, showing this side of him. Showing his weakness.

“She’s beautiful,” He whispered.

You smiled as he spoke, kissing the side of Sarah’s head. “She is,” You kissed her again before whispering - more to her than them, “My babygirl.”

#joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller angst #joel miller imagine #joel miller x daughter!reader #joel miller x platonic!reader #tommy miller x platonic!reader #the last of us #the last of us imagine

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theamazingannie · 2 years

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Had a dream where I lived in the DC universe (Earth 1 specifically) and the entire east coast was being attacked by some supervillain and my area was suddenly hit so we had to pack up our stuff and start moving west and it’s one of those dreams that like forces you awake and you can’t just move on with your life afterwards

#like the general premise sounds a little silly #but like we were refugees really #also in my dream my roommate (nonexistent) was really annoying and then she died #and i very nearly stole her credit card to buy a sims game?#like little ridiculous moments like that but also world shattering shit too #like imagining what you have to pack in a survival situation #when you can’t take everything but you can’t bare to leave some stuff behind #and having to leave your home and the fear that you aren’t going to make it to safety #and wondering what you’re going to do when you get there #scary stuff and not sure if I can get back to sleep after that #despite only sleeping 4 hours

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sundaycentric · 5 months

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⌢ ⌢ yandere gojo x gn reader

␥ content — yandere, drabble, sfw, predator/prey ?, forced proximity, forced dependency, gojo is a bitch, gojo gets someone to (attempt to) hurt you, gojo treats you like a naive pet ... 760 words

Your feet ache. It feels like they are bleeding, and each time your heel hits the ground, you swear you can feel your skin tear and blister. Despite the pain, your desperation and adrenaline kept you running. You kept scurrying away, as your current agony was far, far more light compared to what awaited you if you stopped. Deep down, though, you knew you would suffer the same fate. All you were doing was delaying the inevitable: when he caught you.

Gojo never cared much for your pathetic attempts at escaping. You'd normally never get far, as he would always be able to you before you could truly begin running. Gojo would let you feel like you finally were about to do it, before shattering your dreams and taking you in his arms once more. He only laughed as you cried, and paid no mind to your weak hands hitting his chest. You were nothing compared to his strength, and no amount of fighting could get him away.

That is until you slipped away this morning. Somehow, Gojo didn't know that you were running away. Miraculously, his attention was elsewhere, and you could tell it was something serious. At least, more serious than you, since he hadn't been pestering you as much. You took your chances, and you ran. You could actually make it this time.

You didn't doubt that Gojo noticed your absence within a few minutes of you being gone, so you had to waste no time. You quickly stumbled around the buildings, taking you to the outskirts where only forest and sparse houses remained. You had left no trace of your direction, as far as you could tell, so there was no way he'd be able to trace you down. You wouldn't run into him.

But you would run into other people. Your aching feet forced you to slow down slightly. You panted slightly, making sure to survey the surroundings around you. That's when you spot someone. It wasn't Gojo. They turned around and noticed you pretty quickly. You softly smiled: perhaps they'd help you. You stumbled closer to them, desperate for some sort of shelter to hide in temporarily.

They smiled back as you came closer. You opened your mouth to speak before falling silent. They had a knife and had brought it up to you. It rested on your shoulder, the blade staring at your neck. They tightly gripped onto your weak, exhausted body. You couldn't move: you were overpowered, tired, and in shock. The person spoke up, "Has nobody ever told you to not trust strangers? You shouldn't be wandering around this late, especially looking so vulnerable. Don't worry, I'll make this quick."

Their smile grew wider as the knife grew closer. The tip caressed your skin. You shut your eyes, knowing you couldn't do anything as it came closer. Closer. Closer. And then it stopped.

You paused for a moment before opening your eyes. There was a hand around the person's throat. The one behind quickly through them to the ground and scooped you up. He caressed your neck, where a small, shallow cut lay. You recognized his hands, his touch. Gojo had found you. Part of you wished you had just died by the stranger, while another part of you was actually happy to see him.

Gojo hugged you to his chest before looking at the person on the ground. Gojo's hands that were comforting you gently cupped your ears, blocking your hearing for a moment. He said to the person, "You weren't supposed to cut them, idiot. Leave before I change my mind about staying true to my end of the deal." His voice was slightly mocking. He watched with a smile as the person left, before redirecting his attention to you.

Gojo moved his hands to your cheeks as he stared at you. He kissed the tip of your forehead. His voice was soft, but in a faux, manipulative way, "You shouldn't have run away. Do you see how dangerous it is out there? You're lucky to be with me, where I won't hurt you, yeah? It's okay, I forgive you. It was my fault for leaving a dumb pet alone without a caretaker." You only cried. You didn't know if it was from the fear of being killed, the slightly sting on your neck, or the fact that you'd been caught. But he was right, wasn't he? He didn't hurt you. Gojo loved you.

"You ran away because I wasn't giving you enough attention," He said. It was less of a question and more of a statement, trying to convince you that that was the reason you ran. He smiled wider.

"Let's go home now."

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its-your-mind · 5 months

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thinkin bout how orv starts with kim dokja actively working to ensure that kim namwoon dies during the first scenario

thinkin bout how kim namwoon was a teenager at the start of the scenarios, dealing with the apocalypse using the mental paths that came easiest, jumping into the new world with both feet

thinkin bout kim dokja as a teenager. tired. hurt. alone. his internal and external struggles ignored by the adults around him. choosing to throw himself off a rooftop because there wasn’t anything in his life worth living for

thinkin bout how kim dokja woke up again, even though he had planned not to

thinkin bout a teenage boy. lost, alone, broken, scared, angry, in need of someone to come and show him how to keep moving forward

thinkin bout a protagonist in a webnovel who is an example to you of how to survive against all odds. a mantra to repeat when living life as yourself is too hard

thinkin bout a hardened and powerful hero who knows exactly how this world works, who holds out a hand offers you a place with him

thinkin bout teenage kim namwoon, looking to yoo joonghyuk as captain, teacher, and protector

thinkin bout teenage kim dokja, looking to yoo joonghyuk as role-model, hero, and refuge

thinkin bout teenage kim dokja, who saw himself more as kim namwoon than any of yoo joonghyuk’s other companions

thinkin bout adult kim dokja, reclusive and unsocial, hiding his phone from his coworker so she doesn’t see what he’s reading. convinced that yoo joonghyuk would look down on him if he learns who he “really” is. ashamed of any details kimcom learns about his past

thinkin bout what happens to a life when the person living it has never seen in it any redeeming qualities or objects of value. how someone feels about life when they tried and failed to give up that life a decade ago, and every day since has felt almost accidental

thinkin bout the lesser fire dragon. the disaster of floods. the strongest in seoul dome. the devourer of dreams. the 73rd demon king. the industrial complex. the war between good and evil. the wager with secretive plotter.

thinkin bout the most ancient dream. an empty station. a cold and hard bench. bandages and a notebook and a too-loose uniform. smaller than he should be for his age and more broken than any child should ever become. alone.

thinkin bout an unbreakable faith, shattered. a family frantically throwing themselves at their heart to save him from himself. desperate hands prying a blade out of shaking ones, moments before the jagged edge pierced deep into vulnerable flesh

thinkin bout how the younger kim dokja, recently released from the hospital, does not watch. instead, he instinctively curls up to protect the parts of himself already hurting the most. he begins to repeat his mantra

thinkin bout how kim namwoon kicked and fought and screamed and stabbed. and then, when he realized there wasn’t anything he could do, he got down on his knees and begged kim dokja for his life

thinkin bout how kim dokja just stood over him, held him in place, and looked at him in silence as the clock ran out

thinkin bout kim dokja at the beginning of his story and at the end of his story. in a subway. looking down at a teenage boy.

making a choice. the same choice, both times.

the first time: an explosion, a blood splatter on his reflection, and a confused and wary protagonist who has lost one asset and gained another

the last time: arms holding him back, a family hugging him tight, and another protagonist who steps in front of him. holds the child close. forgives him everything. offers up anything more he could need. and kim dokja watches as the person with the strongest claim to vengeance upon this younger facsimile of himself instead gently gathers up the most ancient dream, tucks him close against his chest, and walks away with him safe and sound in his arms.

#orv #omniscent reader #omniscient reader's viewpoint #omniscient reader novel #orv spoilers #omniscient reader spoilers #kim dokja #kim namwoon #most ancient dream #secretive plotter #LISTEN. listen.#I JUST THINK ABOUT KIM NAMWOON A LOT OKAY #literally there was like #one line in the 1863 arc where kdj was like #lol yeah I used to imagine replacing kim namwoon in the squad bc I thought I could do him but better #and then my brain short circuited #literally changed everything I felt about kim namwoon in like .02 seconds #cuz like yes kdj unreliable narrator #but I had not unlocked the kim namwoon mystery until that moment #anyway justice for kim namwoon my bby boy deserves better #he was a C H I L D #lee jihye also killed someone day one and kdj doesn’t hate her for it #anyway I’m just sayin that everything we see is through kdj’s eyes and if he thought Kim namwoon was cringe af #BUT ONLY BC teen kdj thought the edgelord thing was kinda badass #obvs we only get the bad vibes #I mean also there was an attempted stabbing #but only after kdj stopped him from doing old lady crimes specifically with the intent to make sure he didn’t make it thru scenario 1 #no old lady saving desire present

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