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kthologue · 3 months ago

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𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧 – 𝐠𝐨𝐣𝐨 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮

synopsis. two weeks have slipped by since you disappeared from the emperor’s life. the palace whispers of his unraveling, but no one dares to name the madness consuming him.

contents. period piece, forbidden love, ooc, angst (eventual comfort), yandere emperor!gojo, lovesick!gojo, servant!reader, obsessive behavior, lowkey unreliable narrator, time skips

notes. not proofread once again, but at least all 8k words are finally done. until the epilogue!

series masterlist | chapter 2/2

It has been two weeks since your disappearance.

Nobody knows where you’ve gone to. Or why.

Synchronously, the palace had fallen into a hush. The kind that stretched beyond walls and courtyards, embedding itself in the bones of the imperial court. Servants whispered behind their sleeves. Nobles watched the throne with cautious eyes. The emperor, Japan’s strongest man, was unraveling. And nobody knew why.

The stench of alcohol clung to Gojo Satoru. Expensive sake pooled in ceramic cups, the scent sharp and sickly, mixing with the musk of sweat and silk. The chamber was a mess, toppled dishes, shattered glass, the remnants of a feast he hadn’t touched. A single candle flickered on the lacquered table, its wax melting into a slow, steady pool. The shadows cast by the flame twisted along the walls, stretching long and jagged, like ghosts reaching for him.

Gojo slumped against his seat, his white hair, usually snowy white, now fell in wild, overgrown tufts, obscuring his vision in uneven strands. His ceremonial robes, woven in silk and embroidered with the insignia of the Gojo Clan, hung loose around his frame. His fingers twitched over the rim of an empty goblet, a silent tremor betraying the rage simmering beneath his skin.

His breath was slow, methodical.

Himiko entered without announcement, the sound of her embroidered slippers tapping against the floor. Her robes shimmered under the candlelight, crimson and gold, a deliberate echo of the imperial crest. She was the picture of regality: poised, calculating, her scent perfumed with jasmine.

“You’ve been drinking again,” she observed, her voice smooth yet edged with unspoken frustration.

Gojo didn’t bother lifting his head. Instead, he chuckled, the sound devoid of mirth. He tipped his goblet back, only to find it empty. A scowl twisted his lips as he tossed it aside. The metal clattered against the floor, rolling to a stop against shattered glass.

“Would you like a prize for your deduction?” His voice was hoarse, his throat burned raw from drink.

She ignored his bitterness and stepped closer, fingers trailing along the lacquered table, grazing over his discarded robes. The action was slow, deliberate.

“Tell me, Satoru…” she murmured, her voice as soft as silk, as sharp as a blade. “Why do you waste yourself like this?”

His fingers curled into a fist.

Himiko’s eyes flickered, catching the movement. She stepped closer, her presence heavy in the candlelit chamber. “You were born to rule,” she continued, her words laced with honey and venom alike. “And yet, you let yourself fall into ruin over a woman who no longer wants you. A personal servant, much less.”

A muscle in his jaw ticked.

“She has severed all ties with you,” Himiko pressed, her tone almost pitying. “After your stunt in the ceremonial hall she will never bat an eyelash at you again. And now, her clan whispers of rebellion in the capital. The elders demand retribution.”

Gojo’s breath was slow, methodical.

“The Gojo and Zenin clans must unite,” Himiko continued, watching him carefully. “For the first time in history, we will restore order. We will fulfill your destiny.”

She leaned in, her touch featherlight as her fingers trailed down his chest, the brush of her nails just barely felt through his robes.

“And,” she whispered, voice dipping lower, “you will have me.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

The candle’s flame flickered, the shadows shifting along the walls.

Gojo let out a slow, shaky breath. His head tilted back against the chair, his gaze hooded, unreadable. The weight of something unseen pressed against him, pushing him deeper into his own destruction.

Finally, he spoke.

“Fine.”

A victorious smile curled on Himiko’s lips.

But then, the doors burst open.

The impact sent a gust of air through the chamber, causing the candle to flicker wildly.

A new presence entered, stepping through the threshold like ink spilling across the pristine floors. Dark robes trailed behind him, blending into the shadows. His expression was unreadable, but his golden eyes gleamed with something knowing.

“Your Majesty,” Geto drawled, his voice smooth, stepping forward. “You called.”

Gojo frowned, his gaze shifting. “Suguru.”

Geto gave a short, practiced bow, the movement fluid.

The Emperor stares at him, “You are my most trusted ally.”

“A honor that I hold dear, yes.” Suguru’s head is still ducked, waiting for permission to be lifted.

A strange tension filled the air. The kind that was razor-thin, ready to snap.

Gojo’s fingers drummed against the armrest of his chair, the sound slow, calculated. Then, his foot lifted, pressing beneath Suguru’s chin, forcing his head up until their gazes met.

A pair of icy cerulean orbs bore into plum ones.

“You would never do anything to betray my trust, no?”

The room turned frigid.

Suguru’s entire body tensed, though his face remained still. The weight of those words pressed down on him, heavy and suffocating. The deadly tone, Gojo’s battle tone, was one Suguru had only ever heard on the battlefield, when his friend was overtaken with bloodlust.

He felt his blood go cold.

“No, of course not.” His head remained low, eyes staring at the spilled wine pooling along the floor, the blood-red liquid almost taunting him. A warning.

“Then tell me that the rumors are false, dear friend.”

Suguru’s eyes flickered.

Gojo pressed harder with his foot. “Tell me that you did not let my [Name] leave.” His voice trembled, cold and sharp. “Tell me that you did not send her a carriage.”

Silence.

“Tell me that you did not leave her in the hands of another man after I had worked so hard to bring her back.”

Suguru said nothing.

And that was the confirmation Gojo needed.

His hands clenched. His chest heaved.

And then,

“I TRUSTED YOU!”

The chamber shook as Gojo kicked Suguru back, sending him crashing into a wooden table. Artifacts shattered, glass shards scattering across the floor.

Himiko shrieked at the violent display.

Suguru groaned, coughing as the pain tore through his ribs. He barely flinched at the glass buried in his side. Instead, he tilted his head, wiping the blood from his lip.

“She made her choice.” His voice was eerily calm.

Gojo froze.

His breath hitched, stomach twisting

“You don’t know that.” His voice was hoarse, cracking beneath the weight of his own grief. The emperor grabbed a dagger, well hidden in his garments and held it in Suguru’s direction.

Himiko scoffed.

“Why does it matter?” she demanded, stepping between them, fury flashing in her gaze. “She is nothing now! She abandoned you. She left you for another man–”

“Shut your mouth,” Gojo snapped.

Himiko stiffened, stunned by the venom in his voice.

“You chose me!” she shrieked, her voice cracking. “You made your decision.”

“Because I had no choice!” His roar was thunderous, shaking the very foundation of the palace. His breath was ragged, vision tunneled. “But if I did,” He swallowed hard, the taste of regret thick in his throat.

His voice wavered, quieter now.

“If I did… it would have never been you.”

Silence.

Suguru exhaled, tilting his head. “I told you,” he murmured, watching the scene unfold with mild amusement. “You should have let her go when she asked.”

But Gojo Satoru, Emperor of Japan, the strongest man alive, had never known how to let go.

“If you want to live, you will follow my next command carefully.”

The village was quiet in the way only forgotten places could be, tucked away between rolling green fields and a quiet forest.

Unlike the grand palaces and bustling cities, this place moved at its own pace, undisturbed by the heavy weight of politics and war. Here, the air smelled of damn earth and fresh rice paddies, of firewood burning in stone hearths, of crisp morning dew that clung to thatched roofs, mingling with the distant sound of laughter from children playing. The dirt paths were lined with modest homes, their roofs sagging under years of wear.

It had been two weeks since your disappearance. Two weeks of living as someone else.

Gone were the weight of expectations heavy upon your shoulders. Your hands, once unblemished and soft, now bored faint callouses from work you were never meant to do. And you didn’t mind.

“[Name].”

A familiar voice, steady and unmistakable cut through the quiet morning. You turned, catching sight of Nanami standing near the well, sleeves rolled to his forearms. A basket of vegetables hung from his grasp, the crisp greens contrasting against his neutral-toned kimono. His expression, as always, was measured.

A quiet sigh left your lips, “You’re back early.”

Nanami stepped forward, his glaze flickering down to your hands, observing the red marks on your palms from the rough mortar and pestle. He frowned.

“You shouldn’t be doing this kind of work,” he said, voice low but firm. “You’ll only injure yourself.”

“I’m fine.”

He didn’t seem convinced. But instead of arguing, Nanami placed the basket down and gestured for you to follow him back towards the small house you shared. The villagers were already accustomed to seeing the two of you together, and while they didn’t openly question your presence, there was an unspoken distance between you and them.

As you walked beside him, you caught glimpses of their gazes, wary, guarded.

You adjusted the strap of your bag, “They won’t even look at me in the eye,” you muttered as the other villagers brushed past you without a second thought. “Why?”

Nanami didn’t look at you immediately, instead adjusting his grip on the basket. “They don’t know who you are.”

“That’s exactly why they don’t trust me.” You exhaled sharply. “I don’t blame them.”

A pause.

Then, Nanami glanced at you from the corner of his eye. “It’s not just that.”

You blinked up at him. “What do you mean?”

His steps slowed as the two of you reached the wooden house, a modest structure, small but well-kept. He set the basket down on the porch, and after a beat of silence, he gestured to you.

“Look at yourself.”

You frowned but obeyed, glancing down at your clothes. “And what of it?” You eyes trail down to the garments. The robes you worn, though simple, were still of a higher quality than the villagers. The stitching, the cut, the deep indigo dye that refused to fade even after days of wear. The silk made you stick out like a sore thumb, but surely it was not envy that caused the entire village avoid you like the plague. These fabrics were a gift from your former mentor Yaga, after all. You couldn’t simply dispose of them.

“The embroidery on your robes, the color… no one other than those of the Imperial Royal Family may be adorned in it.” He exhaled, voice lowering. “It all says one thing: you belong to the emperor.”

A chill ran down your spine.

You swallowed.

Nanami studied your reaction before exhaling, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “It was always him,” he murmured.

You looked up. “What?”

“He never let you out of his grasp.” His voice was quiet but weighted. “Even now, when you’re here… Gojo still lingers.”

The name alone sent a shiver down your spine.

Your fingers clenched at the fabric of your robes, suddenly feeling suffocated by it. You had spent so long trying to distance yourself from him, from the golden cage he had kept you in. And yet, here you were.

Still marked by him.

“Well then I need to get myself new clothes,” your hands fidgeting with the rich fibers of your clothing.

“No need,” Nanami pauses his ministrations to look at you. “I’ve already talked to the local seamstress and requested a much more appropriate wardrobe for you.”

For the first time in weeks, you feel a smile form on your face, “Just what would I do without you, Nanami?”

“I wonder the same thing,” he mutters, but you can hear the jest in his voice. He turns away to hide the small smile on his lips.

“Oh, you!” You point straight at the curve of his lips, disregarding the dirt on your hands. He tries to wave them away. “If it wasn’t for the fact that you are an eunuch you would make a damn good husband.”

“That’s… highly inappropriate for you to say,” a flush of pink makes its way to his face.

“Loosen up,” you shrug. “We’re not in the palace anymore.”

“There could be listening ears.”

“Here?” You scoff. “No way. They’ll never find us.”

A gust of wind passed through, rustling the trees. The scent of rain hung in the air, thick and heavy.

You followed him onto the porch, sinking down onto the wooden steps. A comfortable silence stretched between you both.

Nanami turned his head slightly. “Did you ever love him?”

The question wasn’t unexpected. But the answer…

Your hands tightened in your lap. Your chest ached.

“Yes,” you whispered. “I did.”

Nanami hummed, as if he already knew.

You bit your lip, gaze distant. “And that’s what makes it so hard.”

Nanami nodded, his usual sharp demeanor softening. “Love is never simple.”

You turned your head, looking at him with something close to curiosity. “Have you ever been in love, Nanami?”

For the first time that morning, you saw the corner of his lips twitch upward in something resembling amusement.

“I wouldn’t call it that.”

You raised a brow. “What would you call it, then?”

Nanami exhaled, resting his elbows on his knees. “An unfortunate attachment.”

That made you laugh, genuinely. The sound was warm, familiar, a reminder of a life before everything unraveled.

The tension in your chest eased, just slightly.

The wind blew again, carrying with it the distant laughter of children, the sound of a woman calling her husband home, the rustling of bamboo trees swaying in the breeze.

For a moment, just a fleeting moment, you allowed yourself to believe that this could last.

That this small, quiet life could be yours.

The village was peaceful that evening.

The last remnants of sunlight bled into the horizon, painting the sky in hues of deep amber and violet. The rice paddies stretched far into the distance, their golden stalks swaying gently with the breeze. Smoke curled from the thatched roofs of houses, the scent of simmering miso and fresh grain filling the air. Children ran through the dirt paths, their laughter ringing out like wind chimes, their innocence untouched by the quiet storm that lurked on the horizon.

You stood at the entrance of your small home, eyes trained on the fading sun. A cool wind brushed against your skin, raising goosebumps along your arms. Something about the stillness of the evening set you on edge, like the world itself was holding its breath.

Behind you, Nanami finished setting the table, his movements practiced and efficient. “Come inside,” he called, his voice steady as ever. “It’s getting cold.”

You hesitated, something in your gut twisting.

You had felt this before. A warning. A shift.

Slowly, you stepped inside, closing the wooden door behind you. The candlelight flickered, casting soft shadows against the walls. Nanami had prepared a modest meal, steamed rice, pickled vegetables, miso soup with tofu. You sat across from him, but the unease in your chest remained.

Nanami noticed. He always did.

His gaze flickered up, studying your expression. “You’re unsettled.”

You exhaled, pressing your palms against the warm ceramic of your bowl, seeking comfort in its heat. “It’s… too quiet.”

“The village is always quiet at this hour,” he pointed out.

You shook your head. “Not like this.”

A pause. Then, Nanami set down his chopsticks. “You sense something.”

You swallowed. “Don’t you?”

Nanami didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leaned back slightly, his fingers tapping against the wooden table in thought. Finally, he spoke.

“There have been whispers.”

Your breath hitched. “What kind of whispers?”

He looked at you then, and something in his gaze was heavier than before.

“The kind that don’t reach villages like this unless they are meant to be heard.”

The food in your mouth suddenly tasted like dust.

Nanami continued, voice even but firm. “Travelers passing through have spoken of movement in the capital. The Zenin and Gojo clans are consolidating their forces after rumors of resistance in this region.”

Your stomach twisted.

The Gojo and Zenin clans consolidating must only mean one thing.

Your fists clenched beneath the table. “It’s him, isn’t it? He married Himiko—and now they’re coming for us, calling it treason.” No matter how powerful Suguru was, you knew his silver tongue and lofty rank could only shield you for so long.

Nanami studied you for a moment. “There’s no confirmation.”

You let out a hollow laugh. “It doesn’t need confirmation.”

Because of course it would be him.

Who else could unite the two most powerful clans in Japan? Who else had the power to move an entire army without resistance? Who else had enough obsession to still chase you after all this time?

Nanami sighed, his expression unreadable. “If it is him… then this village may not be safe much longer.”

The air around you grew suffocating.

He was coming.

The weight of that realization settled deep into your bones, into the very marrow of your being. The small, fleeting life you had begun to carve out here, the quiet mornings, the warmth of the village, the laughter of children, the routine of simple tasks. It was all temporary.

Because Gojo Satoru was coming.

And he would burn the world to the ground to take you back. Out of cruelty.

You pushed your bowl aside, suddenly losing your appetite. “We should leave.”

Nanami’s gaze darkened. “Not yet.”

Your brows furrowed. “Nanami–”

“If we leave now, we confirm the suspicions of anyone watching,” he said, voice low, calculated. “We need to be smart. We need time.”

You hated that he was right.

Silence stretched between you both, filled only by the distant sound of the wind rustling through the trees.

Then, Nanami did something unexpected.

He reached across the table, placing a hand over yours.

The touch was brief, steady, grounding. “We will figure this out.”

You stared at him, at the sharp angles of his face, at the unwavering certainty in his gaze. And for the first time since the unease settled into your chest, you believed him.

But still, deep in the back of your mind, you knew this was only the calm before the storm.

The night, you dreamt of him.

Not the kind of fleeting, disjointed dream that dissolves like mist upon waking, but the kind that wraps around your very soul, warm and golden, refusing to let go. It was the kind of dream that felt real, so heartbreakingly vivid that, for a moment, you were no longer lying in a modest village home with the scent of burning wood creeping in from the outside world, no longer burdened by the weight of the choices you had made. You were home.

Not the home you had made for yourself in exile, but the home of your past, a home gilded with silken screens and quiet whispers, with polished floors that gleamed beneath lantern light, and with delicate tapestries woven with the history of an empire you had once believed could be yours. The place where you had once walked with the quiet assurance of someone who belonged, where your voice had been heard, where your name had been spoken with reverence rather than secrecy.

It was spring. The season of renewal, of beginnings, of hope.

You found yourself beneath the vast expanse of the sky, the air thick with the heady perfume of blooming wisteria and the faint, refreshing scent of the nearby stream that wound through the imperial gardens. The cherry blossoms were in full bloom, their pale petals drifting lazily through the air like whispered promises, catching in your hair and dusting the ground in a carpet of soft pink. The wind carried the sound of distant laughter, the gentle rustling of leaves.

And above you–

Satoru.

His silhouette was bathed in the afternoon light, the golden hues catching in his white hair, making him look almost otherworldly. He leaned over you, one arm braced against the soft grass, shielding his eyes against the sun’s glare, the other resting lightly beside your shoulder. His robes, though still of the finest silk, were simple today, stripped of the heavy embroidery and rigid embellishments that marked him as the heir to the most powerful clan in the land. The imperial crest was absent from his attire, and for once, he was just Satoru.

And his eyes.

Brilliant, piercing cerulean, sharp and knowing yet warm in a way that only he could be. You had spent so much of your life searching for the ocean’s reflection in them, for the endless sky in the depths of that unrelenting blue, and now, after all this time, they looked at you like you were the only thing that had ever truly mattered.

He studied you for a long moment, his expression unreadable, the shadow of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“You’re staring,” he mused, his voice smooth as silk, his amusement evident in the lazy drawl of his words.

You huffed softly, turning onto your side, the grass cool beneath your palms. “I’m admiring,” you corrected, your tone just as light.

Satoru chuckled, his laughter as rich and effortless as it had always been, a sound that made the world feel lighter, that made you feel lighter. “Is there a difference?” he asked, feigning innocence, though the mischief in his eyes betrayed him.

You sighed, exasperated but fond. “One makes you sound less arrogant.”

He grinned at that, finally shifting to lie beside you, stretching out as if the entire world belonged to him. And in a way, it did.

But in this moment, he belonged to you.

“Pft,” he blows a raspberry into the air. “Let me bask in it, will you? You never give me this kind of attention.”

The wind stirred the branches above, sending another cascade of petals drifting down around you, a few landing in the silver strands of his hair. Without thinking, you reached out, brushing them away, your fingertips barely skimming the silk of his robes as you did. He didn’t move, didn’t flinch, only watched you with that same unwavering gaze, as if he were committing you to memory, as if he were terrified you might disappear before his eyes.

“You know,” he murmured after a moment, his voice quieter now, as though he, too, did not want to shatter the fragile peace between you, “I wish we could stay like this.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Because so did you.

More than anything, you wished for a world in which this moment, this feeling, this love could exist without consequence.

But you were not foolish. You had always known the truth.

This was never a love that could be without suffering. You were only a concubine, after all. A spoil of war. Not fit to be made an empress.

You swallowed, willing yourself to keep your voice steady. “We can’t,” you said, though you hated the way the words tasted on your tongue.

Satoru turned his head to face you more fully, his expression unreadable at first, before something flickered across his features, something softer, something pleading.

“Who says?” he asked, and his tone was so quiet, so unlike the brash, overconfident man you had known, that it made your heart ache. “Tell me who says we can’t, and I’ll destroy them.”

You laughed then, a small, sad sound, because you knew he meant it.

“Satoru.”

“I’m serious.” He propped himself up on one elbow, his free hand coming to rest just beside your wrist, close enough that you could feel his warmth but far enough that he wasn’t touching you. “What’s stopping us? The court? The elders? The weight of the empire? Let them have it all. I don’t need any of it.”

You turned to look at him fully now, your chest tightening at the raw honesty in his face, the way he looked at you as if you were his entire world.

And maybe, once upon a time, you had been.

But the world did not belong to you and Satoru alone.

You reached out, letting your fingers trail lightly over his knuckles before pulling away. “You don’t mean that,” you whispered, though a part of you desperately wanted to believe that he did.

Satoru’s jaw clenched, his fingers twitching as if resisting the urge to grab your hand and never let go. “I do.”

And maybe, for that moment, he truly believed it.

But deep down, you both knew better.

The empire would never let him go.

Just as it would never let you be his.

The breeze picked up again, scattering more petals through the air, the scent of cherry blossoms thick and sweet, overwhelming. You wanted to stay here, in this moment, forever. You wanted to pretend that this could last, that you could stay in his arms and never worry about what came next.

But the moment began to waver, the edges of the dream blurring, the sunlight dimming.

And then, suddenly, the gardens were gone.

The warmth, the laughter, the scent of cherry blossoms… all of it melted away into smoke.

Your dream had shifted to another scene.

It was of the familiar scene of the bustling city just outside of the Outer Palace. The capital city had always been lively, but today it seemed to hum with an extra spark. The streets bustled with merchants peddling fragrant spices and embroidered silks, laughter echoed from the open-air teahouses, and the golden rooftops of the imperial palace gleamed under the afternoon sun like something out of a story.

You had just returned from your weekly errand, fetching a fresh batch of pastries from the emperor’s favorite bakery. The baker’s son had been in high spirits as usual, teasing you for being the only person in the city who could make the imperial kitchens jealous with how often you snuck in outside food.

But it wasn’t just the pastries you carried today.

A tiny, delicate flower rested in the palm of your hand, given to you by a child, a sweet little girl who had tugged on your sleeve just as you were leaving the marketplace.

"For you, miss!" she had chirped, eyes bright with admiration.

You had accepted it with a beaming smile, ruffling her hair before she scurried back to her group of friends, giggling and chattering about how pretty the imperial concubine was.

The city loved you.

Perhaps it was because you were one of them, despite the palace silks and the golden embroidery of the Gojo clan stitched into your robes, you had never let your status turn you into something untouchable.

So there you were, practically glowing, a flower twirling between your fingers as you strolled through the palace gardens, utterly unaware that your mere existence was about to ruin the emperor’s evening.

Because at that very moment, Satoru Gojo was staring at you with the expression of a man moments away from declaring war. He had been waiting at the gates of his own palace unceremoniously, counting down the seconds until you made it back, only for his bright spirits to be crushed.

By a flower.

A single, wretched flower.

In your hand.

And you were smiling.

Satoru didn’t even realize he had stopped in his tracks. His mind, sharp and dangerously quick, was already cycling through the list of punishments he could bestow upon the unfortunate soul who had given it to you.

Banishment? Too lenient. Public humiliation? Getting warmer. Immediate execution? …No, too messy. Forced labor in the outer provinces? Perfect.

His hands flexed at his sides. His jaw ticked. His vision tunneled.

He was going to make an example out of whoever had dared…

And then, you turned, your eyes meeting his.

And you smiled even brighter.

"Your Majesty!" you called, voice light with amusement, as if he weren’t currently five seconds away from storming the dungeons and demanding names.

You all but skipped toward him, the flower still twirling between your fingers, completely unaware of the absolute existential crisis you had just caused.

Gojo’s icy blue gaze flickered between your face and the flower, as if trying to determine which offended him more.

"What," he began, his tone deceptively casual, "is that?"

You blinked. "A flower?"

His eye twitched.

"I can see that," he muttered, before stepping closer—close enough that the sheer heat of his presence sent a shiver down your spine. "I meant, who gave it to you?"

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. "Why do you assume someone gave it to me? Maybe I plucked it from the fields myself."

Satoru let out a dry, humorless laugh. "Ha." He leaned in, lowering his voice. "Try again, sweetheart."

Your lips twitched, but before you could answer, a voice piped up–

"It was me!"

Both of you turned to find a child, the same little girl from earlier, standing at the edge of the gates of the Outer Palace, her face alight with pride.

"I gave her the flower!" she repeated, puffing out her chest. "Because she’s the prettiest lady in the whole city!"

Silence. A long, long silence.

Gojo stared. You suppressed laughter.

His entire body visibly relaxed.

The tension in his jaw disappeared, the storm in his eyes cleared, and for a single, fleeting moment, the Emperor of Japan looked genuinely speechless.

And then, he scoffed.

"Well, I suppose I can’t punish a child," he muttered, crossing his arms with a dramatic sigh. "What a shame."

You finally let out a laugh, shaking your head as you knelt beside the girl. "Thank you, little one," you whispered, tucking the flower into your sleeve.

The girl giggled before scurrying away, leaving just the two of you standing in the palace once more.

Satoru watched you carefully, his arms still crossed, his signature smirk just barely returning to his lips.

"You looked like you were five seconds away from passing a death sentence," you teased, eyeing him with amusement.

His expression didn’t waver.

"Oh, I was."

You rolled your eyes. "And what would you have done if it wasn’t a child?"

Gojo hummed, tilting his head as if considering. "Well…" His smirk sharpened. "Let’s just say the baker’s son would have found himself mysteriously exiled to the coldest province in the empire."

You froze.

Your stomach dropped.

Because oh– oh no.

He knew.

Satoru watched, relishing in the way your posture stiffened, the way your gaze flickered just slightly, as if calculating whether it was worth denying it.

"Your Majesty, I–"

"You what?" He raised a brow, leaning in once more, his voice dipping into something dangerously sweet.

"You think I wouldn’t hear about the little romance rumors floating around the palace?" He chuckled, voice laced with something possessive, something undeniably jealous. "You think I wouldn’t know about the way the baker’s son looks at you?"

You swallowed. "It’s just gossip."

"Is it?"

Gojo’s voice was far too amused, far too smug, because he already knew the answer.

And then, just because he could, he lowered his voice even further, leaning in until his lips were barely a breath away from your ear.

"Promise me you won’t leave me."

Your heart stopped.

You turned to him, but the moment you did, he pulled back, flashing you a grin that was far too pleased with itself.

"Don’t look so surprised," he mused, turning on his heel and walking away, hands tucked into his sleeves.

Then, over his shoulder.

"After all, I won’t let anyone take you away."

And then you’re awaken.

Your chest heaved, your skin damp with sweat, your heart pounding so violently against your ribs that for a moment, you couldn’t breathe.

The room was dark. Cold.

How cruel your mind was to remind you of such warm times.

The early morning light filtered through the wooden shutters, casting long golden streaks across the small room. Outside, the village was already stirring with women gathering water from the well, the rhythmic pounding of rice in wooden mortars, the occasional laugh of a child running past. The scent of damp earth and fresh grass filled the air, mingling with the faint aroma of dried herbs that hung from the ceiling.

Inside, you sat on the floor, weaving together dried reeds into a basket, fingers moving deftly despite the lingering morning chill. Across from you, Nanami was sharpening a knife, the slow, deliberate drag of steel against stone filling the quiet space between you.

It was a comfortable silence, one that had settled between you both over the past two weeks, a rhythm that neither of you spoke of, yet understood nonetheless.

“You’re getting better at that,” Nanami remarked, not looking up from his work.

You snorted softly, twisting another reed into place. “You sound surprised.”

“I am.”

You tossed a loose strand of reed at him. He caught it midair without even glancing, setting it aside with a faint huff of amusement.

Nanami tilted his head slightly, observing you from the corner of his eye. “What?”

You blinked, realizing you had been staring. “Nothing.”

His brow arched slightly, but he let it go, returning to his blade. The light glinted off the edge, sharp and lethal. You watched the way his hands moved steady.

Something in your chest tightened.

“You don’t think this is going to last, do you?” you asked suddenly.

Nanami paused.

The scrape of the whetstone against steel stopped, leaving only the distant sounds of the village outside. Slowly, he set the blade down, his gaze meeting yours, level and unreadable.

“…No.”

A lump formed in your throat. You nodded, looking away. “Neither do I.”

Silence.

Then, a sound.

Distant, almost imperceptible. A strange sort of rumbling.

Your fingers stopped weaving.

Nanami was already rising to his feet, his entire body going rigid. His hand went to the knife on the table. His sharp gaze flickered toward the window, toward the thin slit between the shutters. His breath was slow, measured, but you could feel the shift in his presence, the quiet kind of alertness that came before a storm.

And then a scream erupted.

Distant. But close enough.

Your blood ran cold.

Nanami moved.

He crossed the room in two strides, yanking the shutters open. And what you saw fire.

Distant but spreading.

Smoke rising in thick columns from the edge of the village, black against the early morning sky. The distinct sound of hooves against dirt, of metal clashing, of doors being kicked in. Then, through the haze of rising flames, you saw banners. Not just any banners.

Gojo’s crest.

Your breath hitched.

Nanami didn’t hesitate. He grabbed your wrist, pulling you toward the back entrance. “We need to move.”

Your heart was hammering in your chest, feet stumbling as you let him drag you forward. This was happening.

He had found you.

Gojo had found you.

Days before the raid, the palace pulsed with restless energy. Servants flitted through the corridors, their hurried steps echoing against the lacquered floors as they fastened armor, sharpened blades, and prepared provisions. The campaign was supposed to be routine, a small raid to quell rumors of insurrection in a remote village. Yet, the Emperor himself was leading the charge.

No one questioned it aloud. But the whispers wove through the palace like smoke.

In his private chambers, Gojo stood at the window, watching the courtyard below as soldiers mounted their horses, their banners snapping in the cold wind. His reflection stared back at him in the glass. His grip tightened behind his back.

"You’re awfully tense for such a minor skirmish," Himiko mused, lounging on the divan behind him. The golden silk of her robes pooled around her like a shimmering snare. She lifted a cup to her lips, watching him over the rim, her gaze sharp. "One might think there’s more at stake here than a simple village purge."

Gojo didn’t turn.

"One might."

Silence stretched between them, heavy with everything left unsaid.

Himiko hummed, setting her cup down with a delicate clink. "You’ve always been so stubborn. So unwilling to accept the order of things." She rose, crossing the room with slow, deliberate steps. "It’s a shame, really. You could’ve been content. You could’ve let go."

Her fingers brushed his sleeve. A touch meant to soothe. To remind.

His hand snapped up, catching her wrist before she could go any further.

Himiko stilled, lips parting in the slightest gasp. Not from pain, he wasn’t squeezing hard enough for that. But his grip was firm, unyielding. The weight of it said more than any words could.

A muscle flickered in Gojo’s jaw. "Do you think this is forever?" His voice was quiet, but there was something in it that made the candlelight tremble.

Himiko’s smile didn’t falter, but something in her gaze shifted. "I think," she murmured, tilting her head, "that you’re still bound by the same chains as always. No matter how strong you are, some things can’t be undone."

Gojo released her. The moment stretched, brittle as ice. Then he turned, striding toward the door, his long robes whispering against the floor.

Outside, his men were waiting. His horse was waiting.

And somewhere beyond the mountains, the one thing he had ever truly wanted was waiting.

He had wasted enough time.

The streets were already chaos. Villagers running, shrieking, clutching their children as armed soldiers stormed through the narrow paths. Houses were being torn apart, doors broken down. Soldiers clad in imperial armor barked orders, swords flashing as they cut down those who resisted.

Your breath came short, panic clawing at your throat.

Nanami’s grip on your wrist was firm. “Stay close.”

You barely nodded, your body moving on instinct as he guided you through the chaos. You ducked behind a stack of crates, pressing yourself against the wood as two soldiers passed by. Nanami’s body shielded yours, his presence grounding you even as your hands trembled.

A sharp whistle.

Nanami cursed, shoving you aside just as an arrow embedded itself into the wood where your head had been a moment ago.

You gasped.

Another whistle.

Nanami moved. He spun, his knife flashing, a throw, a sickening thud, a body crumpling.

Blood.

It hit the dirt in a slow, steady stream.

You stared.

Nanami grabbed your face, forcing your gaze back to him. “Focus.”

Your lips parted, breath shuddering. But you nodded.

He pulled you forward, weaving through the panicked masses. The exit. You needed to get to the forest to escape before it was too late.

A tall figure clad in white and blue, standing at the center of the destruction, untouched by the chaos.

Gojo Satoru.

Your feet froze.

His eyes locked onto yours instantly. Even from across the village square, even through the haze of smoke and bodies, you could feel the weight of his gaze. The way his body shifted the moment he saw you.

For a moment, nothing else existed.

Nanami saw him at the same time. His entire body went rigid.

Gojo took a slow step forward. His imperial robes billowed slightly with the movement, the embroidery glinting under the firelight, his armor forged from precious metals glistened in the sunlight. His sword hung at his hip, untouched, as if he hadn’t even needed to lift it.

Nanami’s grip on your arm tightened.

Gojo’s expression darkened. His gaze flickered between the two of you visibly irked by the domestic dynamic that had recently developed.

His lips parted, his voice cutting through the carnage like a blade. “Found you.”

Your stomach twisted.

Nanami moved.

But Gojo was faster.

Before either of you could react, a blur of motion, a gust of force, unstoppable. Nanami was on the ground. The blond man coughed out blood.

Your scream barely had time to leave your throat before Gojo was in front of you, too close, too fast. His fingers wrapped around your wrist. Unyielding.

The air was thick with the scent of smoke and blood, the distant wails of the ravaged village melding into the wind. Your hands trembled as you clenched them at your sides, willing yourself to remain still. The weight of the past, of every wound he had inflicted upon you, settled deep in your bones.

“Running from me again?” His voice was a whisper of thunder, low and dangerous. “I thought we were past that.”

You had been running for so long, but had you ever truly escaped him? Every step you took away from him, every sleepless night, every whispered prayer for his absence, and yet here he was, a specter that refused to fade.

Your heart leapt to your throat as his fingers clamped around your wrist, tightening as you attempted to yank yourself free. His other hand rose, tracing the curve of your cheek with deceptive gentleness, the callouses rough against your skin.

“Did you truly believe I wouldn’t come for you?”

Your breath came shallow. “Gojo–”

His fingers curled against your jaw, forcing you to meet his gaze. His expression was unreadable, but his unrelenting grip told a different story. He had always been relentless, hadn’t he? No matter how much you tried to pull away, he found his way back, like a tide that refused to recede.

“Nanami,” he said coldly. “Do your job. Lead the men back.”

A moment of hesitation, a flicker of something like pity in Nanami’s eyes before he turned away. You were glad he did. Gojo had spared him enough not to strike him down on the spot.

Soon, only the two of you remained, locked in a battle more ferocious than the ones fought with swords.

His forehead pressed against yours, his breath mingling with your own. Your attempts to struggle were fruitless; his body caged you, muscles honed by years of war making it impossible to flee. The warmth of him, the sheer familiarity of his presence, made something inside you ache against your will.

“Why do you run?” His voice was softer now, coaxing.

Your lips curled in a bitter smile. “Are you nothing more than a brute?”

His grip faltered, a shadow of hurt flashing in his eyes. But you didn’t care. His pain was nothing compared to the agony he had inflicted upon you.

“You claim to care for me,” you spat, voice shaking with fury, “yet you cast me aside like a discarded pawn. You chose another, again and again, and then have the audacity to crawl back to me.”

Your voice cracked, but your anger did not waver.

“You humiliated me. You shattered my world and toyed with my heart like it was nothing more than a trinket. I hate you, Gojo Satoru. I hate you so much it consumes me.”

The tears spilled unchecked, your body trembling as the dam within you finally broke. You were certain you looked wretched, but dignity was a luxury you had long since abandoned.

His silence was unbearable. The weight of his guilt pressed between you, thick and suffocating, but you refused to let it soften you.

“You have hurt me beyond repair,” you whispered. “I always knew our love would bring pain, but I never thought it would be at your hands.”

Satoru swallowed hard, his large hands wiping away each tear as they fell.

“You lied to me,” you murmured, fists weakly beating against his chest. He lets you.

“I did.”

“You banished me.”

“I did.”

“You told me you loved me.”

His grip tightened. “I do.”

Your breath hitched. “I hate you.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do,” you insisted, though the conviction was waning. Did you? Did you truly?

His lips brushed against your temple, his hands cradling your face with unbearable tenderness, “Don’t you know that you’re killing me? That your words pierce me like no other blade?”

You exhaled shakily. “Then why aren’t you dead yet?”

A broken sound left his throat as he pulled you impossibly closer, until your bodies were melded together, until his warmth became a prison of its own.

“Take it back,” he pleaded, his voice hoarse. “Please.”

But you said nothing, staring past him to the charred ruins beyond. Nanami had rallied the men, but the damage had already been done. And so had the damage to your heart.

“Your army is leaving,” you said numbly. “Why don’t you go join them, General?”

His face was flushed, his eyes bloodshot. And yet, as much as you wanted it to, the sight did not disgust you. Instead, a sick sense of satisfaction curled within you at his suffering.

“Not until you come back,” he declared. "Until you let me explain myself."

You laughed, sharp and humorless. It did not deter him.

He continues his plea, “You can humiliate me in the palace. You can strip me of every last shred of dignity. Do whatever you wish."

He pauses.

"Just come back.”

You tried to put distance between you, but his hold remained firm.

“You still don’t understand, do you?” Your voice wavered. “I am not yours anymore. I haven’t been yours since you chose her. Since you cast me aside for the sake of your kingdom.”

By now, Satoru’s trembling lips had given way to the relentless shaking of his entire body, “I never touched her. My hand was forced. Nothing happened.” Somewhere amid your onslaught, Satoru had forgotten how to breathe. His chest rose in shallow, uneven gasps, his shoulders trembling beneath the weight of words he couldn’t take back. His fingers curled into fists so tight they trembled, knuckles drained of color. He was unraveling right in front of you.

“Everyone around me speaks of my destiny, as if it were carved into the heavens themselves. They whisper that I was born to rule Japan, to claim a throne, to take a noble wife like Himiko and secure a legacy of power.” Satoru’s voice trembles, raw and desperate, as he buries his face in your hair, inhaling deeply like he’s trying to commit you to memory. His hands clutch you tighter, as if you might slip through his fingers at any moment.

“But none of that means a damn thing to me. My destiny isn’t a kingdom—it’s you. It always has been. My place is by your side, not on a throne. I would spend a thousand lifetimes serving you, worshiping you, loving you. We were made for each other, meant to grow old together, to laugh and fight and dream until the very end. To pass down our love, our story—not to this damn empire, but to our grandchildren.”

His breath is shaky against your skin, his grip unrelenting. “Please,” he whispers, voice breaking, “don’t take that from me.”

You wanted to. Wanted to reach for him, to piece him back together, but the raw ache in your chest held you still.

How many times have you stood here, waiting for him to say something, anything, that would make the hurt go away? How many times have you let yourself believe that his silence wasn’t a choice?

You swallowed hard, throat burning. “You don’t get to do this,” you whispered.

His head jerked up, eyes wide, pleading.

“You don’t get to shake and break down and expect me to forget everything,” you continued, voice cracking. “You left me. You let me believe I didn’t matter.”

Satoru exhaled sharply, like the words had physically struck him. “I never–”

“Don’t.” You shook your head, stepping back when he tried to move closer. “Just don’t.”

The silence between them was thick, heavy with unsaid things. Satoru’s breaths came fast and shallow, his entire body vibrating with something between anguish and regret.

Still, you held on to the hurt. Let it press against your ribs, let it remind you that you weren’t just here to be broken all over again. You weren’t ready to forgive him. Not yet. But damn it, you wanted to.

“If it will ease your doubts, I’ll have her head in glass by morning.”

You shuddered. “I don’t want her dead.”

“Then she lives to see another day.”

“And the Zenins?” Your teeth clenched, voice shaking with restrained fury. “I tried to warn you about them, tried to protect you, but you chose to humiliate me instead.”

His fingers traced the curve of your jaw, deliberate and lingering, as if etching you into his memory. “I am truly sorry,” he murmured, his voice softer now, edged with regret. “It was a foolish attempt to keep you safe from those damn elders. I may be the ceremonial head of this country, but their power is undeniable. Your banishment was my own foolish doing to protect you after my mistress was forced upon me. I knew I was lost when I couldn’t breathe without your presence in the palace. The days blurred together, and my duties felt like nothing but a slow death. So, I tried to bring you back as my servant. It was safer that way. You were close, within reach, but still out of grasp. At least you were there. But then... I ruined it all. ”

You hadn’t tried to bite his finger off yet. He took it as an unspoken truce, leaning in, his presence overwhelming, his warmth sinking into your skin. “Not that it matters though. I'm going to kill those geezers and have their heads strung in front of the palace.” A flicker of a smirk ghosted his lips, but his eyes held something far more dangerous.

“I may be a fool,” he admitted, his breath brushing against you, “but I am not weak. So don’t waste a single thought on them.” His fingers curled under your chin, tilting your face toward his. “No one, not them, not fate itself, will take you from me.”

A cruel part of you savored the power you held over him. But you wanted him to suffer longer before you gave the satisfaction of knowing that your heart had softened. “I haven’t forgiven you.”

His hands trembled. “We have a lifetime for that.”

"How arrogant of you to assume I’d ever choose to spend a lifetime with you." Your voice was quiet, but the weight of your words struck like a blade.

You shouldn't feel as satisfied as you did when you watched Gojo Satoru, the strongest man alive crumpled. His breath hitched, his knees buckling beneath him as if the sheer force of your rejection had stolen the ground from under him.

Still, he reached for you. Desperation bled into his touch, fingers digging into your sleeves as though letting go would mean losing you forever. His voice, usually laced with arrogance and ease, was stripped raw.

“Then I don’t see a point in living.”

The weight of his confession clung to the air, thick and suffocating, and yet he only looked at you, as if the universe itself had been reduced to the space between his hands and your skin.

“And what of your crown?” you finally whispered.

His laugh was hollow, almost broken. “I’d throw it away if it meant keeping you. If it meant you will let me be yours.”

Then, as if surrendering himself entirely, both knees met the dirt. His hands, once accustomed to wielding absolute power, clung to your waist, not as an emperor, not as the strongest, but as a man begging to be allowed to stay.

His eyes burned into yours, pleading, unraveling.

And for the first time, you let him hold you. This time, you didn’t pull away.

A shuddering breath left his lips against your skin, as if he couldn’t believe you were real, as if he feared you might slip away the moment he let go. His grip tightened, not in possession, but in reverence.

The wind whispered through the trees, carrying the scent of rain, of earth, of something on the verge of breaking.

"I expect you to kneel at my feet and beg for years to come." You murmured, fingers brushing against the strands of his silver hair. A handful of hair is gripped tightly, fingers digging in with purpose. "Perhaps then, I might even consider you once more."

His throat bobbed. "If that is what it takes."

This was not just an apology, nor was it a confession. It was surrender in the purest sense. The weight of his kingdom, his sins, his power. All of it, cast aside for you. It was the justice you deserved after all the pain you endured.

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#kt.writes.·:*¨༺#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojou x reader #gojou satoru x reader #jjk fluff #gojo fluff #gojo satoru x you #gojou satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk x reader #yandere!gojo satoru #royal!au #jjk angst #gojo angst #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x you #im not going to lie i wrote this w/o reading the other two chapters so if there are plot holes... sorry!#i js had to get the story done ASAP

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tfatwsbarnes · 2 months ago

Text

male bird courting | tlou jesse

summary: 3 times jesse embarrassed himself acting tough +1 time it worked

pairing: au beefcake!jesse x sunshine fem!oc — oc has no name, just referred to as ‘pretty girl’. more of jesse’s POV!

word count: 4.7k

warnings: mentions of violence, blood, death and sexual themes (no smut), romance, kissing and jesse being somewhat of a meathead. this is meant to be silly and cliche!

a/n: this will have inaccuracies of characters everywhere bc this is purely self indulgent. also the horde that happened on the show has been changed bc i said so. CALL IT AN AU IF YOU WILL. I have an oc locked IN but obvs imagine whomever as there’s minimal description! this idea came to me from the one scene of jesse in his slutty black t-shirt hammering away. mhm.

gif credit @pedgito

The first time was when Tommy Miller brought her to the stables whilst Jesse and Ellie were tossing hay bales for the stables.

"This is where our livestock are kept. The Jackson community — established and taken in by Maria and her father — helped build this from the ground up." His gravelled voice travelled far enough for Ellie Williams and her friend, Jesse, to halt their hauling of hay bales.

"Who is that?" Jesse asked as he watched the backs of Tommy and the new stranger tour around the stables, hands patting a few of the horses hoofing at the dried mud for some treats.

Ellie shrugged, "Haven't seen her before."

As the pair disappeared round the corner, Jesse caught a glimpse of her side profile, dimple so apparent as her eyes crinkled whilst speaking with the younger Miller brother. He didn't need an up close inspection to deduce that whoever Tommy was touring around the Commune; she was an outstanding level of beautiful.

Ellie swatted him to get back to her least favourable task, hoping Jesse would take the brunt of it so they could finish early and head back so she could stop by Dina's to smoke.

As they resumed, talking amongst themselves in between grunts of throwing the heavy stacks of hay, Tommy and the new resident rounded the stables and made a direct bee-line to where they were finishing up.

"Jesse, Ellie." Tommy called, "I want you to meet our new resident of Jackson." He gestured toward her, both of them halting their competitive hauling of the last of the bales. Tommy smiled, "I was jus' giving her a tour of the Commune before setting her up. This is Ellie Williams, she came here with my brother Joel, that you jus' met back there."

She nodded to confirmation before smiling and reaching a hand out to Ellie to shake as she announced her name. It took Ellie by surprise, nobody of their age really shook hands as a formal introduction. Also, most physical contact was limited since the Outbreak; people were suspicious of transmittable viruses.

"And this is, Jesse, uh—Jesse." Tommy internally cringed, not knowing the younger male's surname.

"Jesse Jesse, huh?" She teased as she went to shake Jesse's hand, "I won't forget that."

Jesse made quick work to rub off the majority of the clammy sweat on the palm of his hands, "Aha—" I won't forget you, he thought to himself, "—You just arrive here?"

"Just last night." She didn't go into further detail as she stepped back in line with Tommy Miller, her confidence shrouded by whatever history she had beyond the walls of the Jackson Commune.

Jesse nodded with a little more vigour than expected, flicking his hair from his eyes as he wanted to encourage her to speak more for his own self indulgence. Her voice was honey-coated, her tone dripping with an essence that enticed him in a Siren-like way. He was already stuck.

As Tommy, Ellie and the new girl continued the conversation, Jesse blinked a couple of times as he stared so obviously at her. The Spring Sun beaming on her skin, although, he thought, the glow was radiating from within her. Her doe-eyes scrunching as Ellie made a crude joke, that dimple he had noticed in full effect making him almost whimper like a kicked dog.

She spared him a glance with a friendly smile, and he felt himself turn to goo, a lopsided smile showing on his face.

Get it together, Jesse.

He straightened up, his chest puffing outward, arms crossing over his torso as he made an effort to pronounce his biceps. The cuffs of his black t-shirt straining against his muscles. Immediately, he rid of the grin on his face, tightening his jaw and pulling his brows into a sultry furrow. Eyes narrowed, although the sun was beating on his back — minor details, really.

Suddenly, Jesse was attempting to make himself three times bigger than he was, nodding along to Ellie who spared a second glance at him; her brows furrowing for a separate reason to his.

"Well, hate to cut this short—" Tommy cut in as Ellie mouthed a 'What the fuck are you doing?' to Jesse. The Miller male clapped his hands together, "—I gotta show her where she will be stayin'."

"It was nice meeting you both." She was genuine in her statement, both Ellie and Jesse catching the subtle lisp in her speech.

Jesse remained stoic and, well, large as he nodded, his lips pressed outward to give off a pout — it was then Tommy's turn to side-eye the guy.

"Likewise. If you like the horses, I can show you more of them. Maybe, even ride me—" The incidental sentence was out before his brain could compute to filter it. Eyes going wide, Jesse felt mortified as all sets of eyes stared at him, exasperated by what his sentence insinuated so soon after meeting the new resident. Knuckles going white as he dug his fingernails into the palm of his hands, Jesse huffed out a nervous laugh, "I meant, I meant ride them with me."

He had fumbled. He knew it.

It was only when a small, knowing smile crossed her face that Jesse let out a breath he had been holding. His broad shoulders deflating as the heat of embarrassment reached the top of his ears. He couldn't recall being this fucking sloppy with his game when he first met Dina. Even then, he had just met this girl, there was no immediate intention of scoring her in bed.

"Alrigh. . ." Brows furrowing for a moment, Tommy let a chuckle escape his lips as he watched Ellie press her lips into a thin line to prevent any laughter escaping. "Well, we'll be goin'. Thanks for y'all's help with livestock — Ellie, Joel was askin' for ya to swing by for some food later tonight." He tipped his head as a goodbye and guided the new girl away from the stables.

As they left, Ellie scoffed the request from Joel, soon ridding her thought of it as she turned to Jesse.

"What?" Jesse didn't want to know what. Actually, he wanted his question to be rhetorical.

"You were like a fucking male bird." Ellie stated making Jesse raise his brows. She dropped the string that held the hay bale together before hunching her shoulders, emphasising her arms as she mocked his pout, "Save a horse, ride me! All you needed was a couple of bright feathers sticking out of your ass." She laughed.

Jesse stared at her blankly as she mocked him further.

"Shut up and get the last of this bale on the trailer, so I can go get a drink." He picked up the penultimate bale with ease, cursing himself for how he acted as he watched her frame becoming smaller in the distance side by side with Tommy Miller.

Ellie, in fact, did not shut up that night.

The second time was a handful of weeks into Spring later. He had been watching Ellie spar with another Patrol member in the barn, offering her insight in how to retaliate in an appropriate manner towards her sparring mate. Back leant against a wooden pillar, and arms crossed as his eyes watched for any faults as they resumed their sparring, the door to the barn slid open; earning a turn of his head in interest.

He would've chastised whoever it was, if it weren't the leader of their Community and the whole reason they could spar so openly and loudly without the infected blitzing through.

Maria Miller watched as Ellie and the male continued their fight, Ellie happily pinning her component down with his arm twisted behind his back. Next to her stood the whole reason why Dina and Ellie nicknamed Jesse "Captain Male Bird" for a week after his incident upon meeting the pretty girl.

Immediately, Jesse pushed himself off of the pillar and walked toward them with a big grin on his features. He had seen her in passing a couple of times after their first introduction, most of the time he had been solely focussed on leading Patrol as she passed in the street with a wheelbarrow, or a horse on rope.

"Hey, Maria." Jesse spoke, acknowledging pretty girl also. He could feel it coming before he could prevent it from happening. As Maria greeted him, he crossed his arms across his chest, hands beneath his biceps to push the meat of his muscles out. Chin slightly tucked as he clenched his jaw, his eyes darting to the female who was staring past him at the pair fighting.

OK, he almost felt offended. But, then she looked back to him and offered another one of her smiles — dimple present — and he forgave her. No questions asked.

"Ellie is coming along in her sparring." Maria complimented, "Jesse, you'll now have this one in Patrol starting two weeks from today. She will be under your watch so I need you to put things in place for her to be prepared for Patrol in fourteen days."

Jesse didn't miss a beat, "Of course." He looked in her god damn pretty eyes, his tongue going fat, "You'll be under me—I mean, under my watch. I'll look after her, Maria."

The heat of embarrassment scorched in the tips of his ears, but neither women paid mind to his minor slip up as Maria bid farewell; leaving them to stand together. Partially alone for the first time.

Think of something. Anything! Jesse clambered at ideas to talk about, being mindful not to present a topic where he would trip over his tongue the minute she looked him directly in the eyes and entranced him with her tone. Speak about the fucking wheelbarrow, how good she looked wheeling it away — no. Scratch that.

"Is this part of training?" She asked before Jesse could finalise a topic to talk about with her.

Thankful, Jesse hummed, "Yeah. Sort of. A slim chance, but if you come toe-to-toe with a Raider, it's best to have some quality fighting skills under your belt. We try not to play dirty together, but it doesn't matter out on the field."

"A raider is a raider, right?"

"Right." Jesse affirmed, "You won't have to worry about all that though."

She looked up at him, "How so?"

"Well—You'll be with me."

"Oh, they go running when they see you?" She teased and Jesse let a smile slip past his brooding facade. She hummed, rolling onto the heels of her feet, "Can I try?"

"Ellie and Karl are done." Jesse watched the pair shake hands, wiping their noses of blood, Ellie quick to throw a wave to the girl standing next to him.

As Ellie approached, pretty girl quipped, "I could spar with you?"

Jesse and Ellie shared a laugh and the girl questioned their humour. She was smaller in frame compared to Jesse, in height and weight. Presumably, he had years of experience on her head even when they were similar in age. It would be out of the question, a record breaking fight that lasted a second.

There was a shine of disappointment in her face and, well, Jesse didn't like that he caused the wrinkle between her brows.

"OK. One round." Ellie gawped at Jesse as he casually put his hands on the pretty girl's shoulders, guiding her to the middle of the barn. He craned his neck to look back at Ellie, who began shamelessly flapping around like a bird. His middle finger went up.

Pretty girl turned around as they reached the middle of the barn, her eyes shifting to the horses pulling at the Play & Hay ball she had tied up for them in their pens that morning. Jesse watched as her face filled with glee, excited they were playing with them after she begged a few of the farmers to let her use them.

How could he possibly fight her?

Regardless, this was a chance to impress her. Gently. He didn't want to break any bones in her body, but he wanted to reaffirm that he could protect her against Raiders with his fighting skills.

"OK." He started, feet parting as he took his stance, "We'll take it slow, I'll go easy for you. Assess my movements and counteract them, if you can."

"Got it." She straightened up, her arms swinging back and forth to warm herself up for their spar. Ellie gave her a thumbs up from behind Jesse and she gave a playful wink.

Jesse wasn't jealous of that. No. But, he wouldn't let it slide as he took the opportunity of her distraction to advance toward her, he wouldn't be aggressive but he would prove a point that distraction could result in fatality on Patrol. No matter if he found her attractive or not.

As his stronger arm came out to grab her, Jesse's vision of the barn went from upright, to upside down, to finally staring up at the wooden slacks of the roof as the wind got knocked out of him; the dust between the hay unsettled and puffed into the air from the sheer force of his body landing in it.

He let out an 'oof' on impact, attempting to lift his head, before he saw a fist strike down like thunder. The sheer force knocking his head back into the concrete beneath the hay and his vision knocked black as he laid unconscious.

When he woke, he could hear the commotion around him, his eyes still bleary as he groaned out.

"Oh my god!" Her voice filtered through and Jesse furrowed his brows, hands coming to his chest, "Oh my god—I'm so sorry, I—I just got a fright, oh my god, Ellie, what do I do?"

Ellie's laughter came in thick, "That was fucking amazing!"

Jesse scrunched his eyes shut, before blinking a few times to get his vision back, two figures knelt above him. He went to sit up, only to feel the severe ache throb at the back of his head, stars shining vividly in his vision allowing him to gently be pushed back down. His head cushioned by a jacket.

"Jesse, I am so sorry." She whined, "Just lay there for a minute. You might have a concussion."

"Go slow and easy, he said." Ellie threw her head back, clutching her stomach as she found hilarity in the situation. She huffed a few breaths as pretty girl tended to the gash on the bridge of Jesse's nose.

Recollection from his short-term memory began, "What the fuck."

"Where did that even come from?" Ellie questioned, sitting on her backside, watching Jesse slowly come to his senses.

"Well. . . Before the outbreak, my dad had me going to self-defence classes the minute I could walk and talk, really." She mumbled an apology as Jesse hissed from the ache in his nose, she looked to Ellie, "I guess, reflexes never really go away."

"Reflexes? You threw a man twice your size over your shoulder! You have got to show me some moves." Ellie pleaded, her cheeks flushed with giddiness.

"Of course. . . Are you OK, Jesse?"

From the floor, Jesse tried to keep a cool composure, finally zoning back into the situation. The concoction of the dull throb from his brain being rattled against his skull and the pure mortification of being knocked unconscious so suddenly after claiming subtle bragging rights to being the winner of the spar even prior to beginning made Jesse link his fingers together, resting on his stomach as he silently processed his defeat.

He pulled an expression of coolness, pretending to shrug off his ego being bruised.

"I'm good." He shrugged.

"I am so sorry, again." Her fingers carefully brushed his hair from his forehead, a playful smile reaching her lips, "I'll go slow and easy next time."

"Help me up."

The third time was almost a sign for Jesse that pretty girl was a bad omen to his usual calm and collected cool nature.

The fourteen day window of training and education on their Patrol logistics had come to an end and Maria was satisfied enough with pretty girl's knowledge and understanding in depth for her to branch out on a Patrol day. She had gone with Jesse to see Maria, fist pumping as she walked out of her office, her hands shaking Jesse's bicep from glee at her green light to patrol.

There was a naivety to her excitement. He could count on one hand how many people were eager to go on patrol missions. Ellie and Joel, and him. The people tending to the other aspects of the Jackson Commune, tended not to stray far from the confides of their sector, understandably warranted, of course.

Albeit nervous as he felt a great responsibility to keep her safe, Jesse fed into her excitement, praising her for her hard effort; also offering gratitude for lending a helping hand with the sparring.

Their encounter kept between him, her and Ellie. And, Dina. Not that he knew about that.

"You’ll attend the brief with the other patrollers before heading out tomorrow." He advised to her.

"OK. Wow—This is kind of exciting, right?"

"If you like this kind of stuff, yeah." Jesse shrugged, "You're not nervous?"

She nodded, "Yeah. Last time I came face to face with an infected, I almost died." She shivered at the memory, "And, I've met some Raiders. They gave me a nasty scar, the width of my shoulder to my belly button. It's pretty ugly."

"I don't think there could be a correct sentence where you and ugly related." Jesse spoke confidently, without fumbling over his words. They had, had enough time together for Jesse to relatively overcome his bad case of 'fat tongue' around her.

Especially after the barn incident, pretty girl had whipped up a cake with icing that wrote 'Haven't had any complaints yet.' referring to her running joke asking about how his head was after it being smacked so viciously against concrete. They had shared the cake together, their conversation flowing effortlessly meaning Jesse could feel himself falling harder for her.

They had spent a good amount of time together over the fourteen days, so, Jesse felt more at ease and less male bird courting female bird poorly.

Pretty girl blinked at his compliment, "Thanks, Jesse." He smiled down at her, finally feeling a win was on his side as he held the door open for her to the Tipsy Bison for a celebratory drink.

The bar was relatively busy, it was a Friday night and most of the Commune had fulfilled their duties to the community, leaving them some wiggle room of two rest days. Thus meaning, their bellies would be full of whatever alcoholic beverage of their fancy to wash away any wandering thoughts back to times they prayed to forget.

It was pretty girl's first time there. She wasn't particularly a heavy drinker, but she had her fair share of hangovers throughout the years. There was no initial plan to get that drunk, seeing as her first ever patrol was the next day and, although she was aware of Jesse's state of the obvious soft spot for her, she didn't take advantage of the fact that he would easily take that 'Patrol Privilege' away.

A few heads turned upon their entry, mostof them turning back to their conversations, aside from Ellie and Dina who were waving at the pair from a corner far into the room. Hadn't it been for their relatively vigorous hand waving, Jesse and pretty girl may have not seen them for how dimly the scene was lit.

As she averted her gaze elsewhere, Jesse watched on as both Ellie and Dina frantically pointed at his hair, incoherent with their mouthing. Nevertheless, Jesse's confidence fell short as he snatched a spoon from the table adjacent to him, inspecting his appearance through the convex mirror. Nothing out of the ordinary, Jesse shared his expression of lack of patience with the two — now snickering — girls.

"Find us a seat. I'll grab the first round." He meant all the rounds that she would like, not that she needed to know that. He caught her feet turning in the direction of Ellie and Dina and he was quick to guide her in the opposite direction with one palm to her waist, "Preferably away from those two."

Heading to the bar, Jesse slipped between two older men finding their sorrows at the bottom their whiskies, waving down the bartender, Seth, to order drinks. Elbow leant, regrettably, against the sticky surface, Jesse turned his attention to where pretty girl had chosen their seats.

She sat, a polite smile on her face as a man towered above her. Whatever the conversation was, her body language was reading anything but comfortable.

Immediately abandoning his position at the bar, Jesse bee-lined for her, his chest puffing and jaw clenched for the opposite reason in which he's used to doing so. His large palm came into contact with the other male's arm, firmly turning him on the spot away from pretty girl, and in the direct pathway of Jesse.

"Hey, buddy. My girlfriend isn't interested." He deepened his voice an octave and pretty girl's eyes went wide, her hand pressing against her forehead as Jesse mean-mugged the stranger.

"Girlfriend? You didn't tell me you were dating?"

". . . Jesse—This is my brother."

The horde came in with little warning. Fingers splintered as they desperately clawed themselves entry into the Commune, jaws snapping at the hunger for flesh. Bullets ricocheted off the surroundings, some hitting a few stragglers but not enough to keep them at bay as they broke through the barrier that separated the living from the dead.

Eager to protect and maintain the quality of their Commune, all hands were on deck, aside from the obvious candidates that didn't fit the role of protectors of Jackson. Guns in hands, the walls and streets were manned as the residents shot from all angles to prevent the horse from advancing within their home.

It was no easy feat, as all kinds of infected clambered in, taking down people whose guns didn't protect them enough against the onslaught occurring. In amongst the chaos, Jesse was shooting down what he could, his knife unsheathed as he took on some Clickers that were feasting upon defenceless residents that had been knocked over.

Kicking the deceased Clicker down, making a point to put a bullet through its head as it hit the concrete beneath it, Jesse assessed the situation around him; his breath wavering as he watched the people he had grown close to be mowed down.

Their training had prepared them for this. It had been expressed as a rarity, if not, completely out of the question that an infected horde would breach their safe haven in Wyoming and they'd be left to fight for all their livelihoods that was meticulously built for years and years. Regardless of their preparation, the ultimate shock of these creatures making an appearance was a hard pill to swallow. Even for the likes of Jesse.

Gun lifted, Jesse popped a few Runners, grunting as he reloaded, his ears ringing with the cacophony of wails of the dying members of their community. He could feel the bile scorch in his throat, stepping over dead bodies to get a cleaner shot at the infected.

Exhaling through his nose, he shot down another Runner, his aim faltering as he spotted pretty girl amongst the moving bodies, the butt of her gun being brought down on an already confirmed dead infected. Her face sprayed with human blood, eyes widened with fear as she stumbled away from the corpses.

He took a step forward, calling her name out making her snap her head towards where she heard the faint call. Lips parted and chest heaving, she waved casually at him as if they were crossing paths on an ordinary day in the Commune. For a moment, he chuckled at her gesture, waving back before locking back in — bullets flying through the air as he made his way across the street to her.

Continuously delayed getting to her, the fight continued for longer than anticipated. It seemed there was an endless amount of infected bustling through the broken gates, a Bloater spotted feet above the rest. This had sent a few people reeling, the shooters from above doing their best to take it down to no avail.

Tommy Miller took that task on the moment he saw the Bloater heading his wife's way.

Bloater distracted, Jesse lost sight of her, his head snapping in all directions, anticipating the worst. There was a moment of turmoil, before he spotted her further away, helping the injured but not bitten people up by the arms whilst she shot in the opposite direction.

Amidst the carnage of the bloodbath, pretty girl looked angelic to Jesse, although slick with mud and blood, her gritted teeth bared as she released an unquenchable anger on the infected close by. If they made it out of it alive, Jesse ought to ask her on a proper date. What else has he got to lose?

Her back turned for a moment, kneeling to help a woman up, and Jesse watched in real time as a Clicker advanced to her defenceless body, her name leaving his mouth in sheer panic before he broke out into a sprint; feet pounding against the ground to get to her.

The Clicker had managed to catch her off guard when she turned, a scream escaping her throat as it slammed her into the ground, its fungal blossomed head inches away from hers as she fought hard against it.

She closed her eyes shut tight, a cry replacing the scream as her arms became tired from holding the heavy body away from her. Nobody particularly wanted to die when the time wasn't right, but the odds didn't look to favour her as she grew weaker.

As her hands slipped, she braced for impact of the infected sinking into the meat of her neck, her breath caught at the back of her throat as she watched Jesse throw the Clicker off of her body, his face thunderous as he took his steel-toe capped boot and brought it down on the Clicker's head. The sheer force of the stomp killed the Clicker, but he didn't stop.

Boot squelching in the residue of the innards of the Clicker, Jesse cocked his gun and put a bullet through its chest for good measure. He was seething, the muscles in his arms flexing as he continued his battery on the singular — what once was — threat.

The heels of her hands pressed into the ground to hold her weight, pretty girl watched Jesse with her mouth agape. Her eyes trailing over his body, he could've been a sculpture carved out of marble. She blinked a couple of times, brought back to the present as Jesse turned to her, broad chest heaving as he offered a hand out to help her up.

As he helped her up, he rattled out, "I thought I told you to watch your back during our training."

"You told me not to worry." She stammered over her breathlessness, "Because I had you."

Jesse mulled it over and shook his head, "I did not mean—"

"—Will you shut up and give me a kiss."

Jesse didn't even hesitate. Feverishly, he pulled her in by her hand, throwing it over his shoulder as his hands pressed firmly across her back. Lips pressed against each other as their chests met, Jesse smirked into her lips, the idea of her feeling his toned muscles beneath his clothes. Despite his warranted cockiness, if pretty girl concentrated hard enough, she’d be able to feel the immense pounding of his heart. The endless amounts of showing himself off in front of her, resulted in a desperate anticipation to see if she felt an ounce of the same as he did. Even if she didn’t have half of the feelings, Jesse had enough to spare for the both of them.

Her delicate hands slipped from behind his head and onto his pecs, Jesse flexing them as the palms of her bloodied hands pressed against the fabric of his shirt. He was in such a state of euphoria, he couldn’t hear Maria Miller shouting harshly at them from the tops of the walls — pretty girl neither.

She pulled away slightly, their lips still brushed against each other, “I felt like a female bird being courted just now.”

“Shut the fuck up.” He pressed another kiss to her lips as she laughed.

Jesse was going to kill Ellie Williams.

#🔖 koolie writes #this is so pathetic #i couldn’t help myself #even w/ bad writing and plot #the last of us #tlou #jesse tlou #jesse x fem!oc #jesse tlou fic #jesse tlou imagine #joel miller #ellie williams #pedro pascal #young mazino #gabriel luna #jesse jesse lmao

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