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queenie-ofthe-void · 2 days ago

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Tainted

Steddie || wc: 6k || rating: E || cws: DEAD DOVE DNE, steve harrington whump, Vampire!Eddie, post break up second chance, sexually explicit, blood (like a lot of blood), chronic pain and illness, recreational and prescription drug use/abuse, heavy angst, EVENTUAL HAPPY ENDING THE COMFORT IS COMING!! || ao3

Steve pulls the needle from his arm, long since used to the sensation. He expertly applies a cotton ball and bandage over the puncture wound he'll remove as soon as Robin leaves.

She's giving him that look again. The one she always gives him when he's draining. Her lip is swollen from biting, and she won't meet his eyes as he wraps the tubing up and seals the heavy, red medical bag.

He knows she won't say anything. She's done arguing with him about it, mostly because she knows he's done caring what she has to say. So he heads to the garage, where the lone, tall, white freezer stands with a sharpie taped to the side and a log sheet hanging next to it.

It's only logged a few months back to January. The rest of the monthly sheets are meticulously filed away in his office, going back nine years now.

Robin's good at bookkeeping, took it upon herself so he could drain at home without having to go into The Lab. She's even better at scheduling his monthly check-ups at the clinic, coordinating his medications, and all-around keeping him upright and arguably functional.

All Steve has to do is bleed, log, and ship.

He doesn't even have to pay for shipping. Eddie takes care of all of those little details– well, Paige does.

Which is nice, since apparently shipping bodily fluids like blood requires a shit ton of caveats for a civilian. But it was pretty easy to heap the exorbitant costs his way, since Eddie's got enough rockstar money and guilt to spare.

Not that Steve blames him. How was Eddie supposed to know that every time he sunk his fangs into Steve's neck, it boiled his blood with a cocktail of toxins? There's no way they could've predicted that their first feeding would doom them both. A love ruined before it even started.

It wasn't a problem for Steve. He tries not to dwell after so many years, but when the nights are long and the pain thrums in his limbs, Steve thinks they could've made it work.

Everyone told him it was the venom, like Eddie was pumping some kind of stupid fucking love poison into his veins, that Steve didn't have real control over his emotions. Eddie was bad for Steve, and everyone agreed– even Eddie.

Steve didn’t, but that didn’t seem to matter in the end. He fell in line, like he always did. Still does.

Steve grabs a styrofoam box from the stack and fills it with dry ice Robin bought at the grocery earlier today. He adds the fresh bag to the "new" shelf, and puts the two bags on top of the "old" shelf into the box, sealing it shut with packing tape and sticking a prepaid shipping label on the top.

According to Robin, it's all monitored by the government and Owens’ team. Steve’s not sure the man's very involved in the whole Hawkins used to be actual hell bullshit anymore, since there's not much left. Beyond his and El's– and presumably Eddie's– annual appointments, there's not much left for him to do.

The world fell apart. Monsters decimated the town. They won, eventually. So Owens and the government fucks off like everything’s back to normal. Except El murdered a man she had once considered a brother, and then unraveled with grief. Max lived, but refused to use her wheelchair, refused to admit she’s blind, refused to get out of bed. And Eddie...

Eddie was the one good thing to happen in the aftermath– once they purged him of Kas. Steve thought he saved Eddie when he captured Kas stalking around in the woods at night. He locked him in the basement, tossing down raw meat and boxes of live rats until Kas became little flashes of Eddie.

Until Steve could figure out what he really needed to become Eddie again. What's a little blood when he's risked so much more in such worse circumstances?

Apparently a lot. Because it fucking ruined his life.

“Wait–” Eddie interrupted Owens’ speech about unknown variables and additional testing– “you’re telling me that his weird bruises and the aches and the awful fucking migraines are because I poisoned him?”

Owens sighed, looking between the floor, Steve tucked into the hospital bed, and Eddie perched next to him, like he could come up with a better answer other than a simple ‘yes’. He couldn’t.

Eddie tried and failed not to cry as Owens explained how the venom in Eddie’s bite wasn’t an aphrodisiac, like they had childishly chalked it up to be. It permanently altered Steve’s kidneys, fucking up some shit in his bones to make him produce too much blood. “Most likely evolved as a permanent, reliable source of feeding–” Owens rambled, until Eddie vomited right onto the floor.

On the plus side, it turned out it was a condition pretty similar to one that already exists, which meant other than his annual appointment with the lab, Steve could do his normal check-ups at the hospital. “You’ll have to take a rigorous schedule of medications, along with at least one blood draw a week– unless Mr. Munson is around to, ah… assist.”

The blood disorder, according to Owens’ results, was a lost cause after the first bite. The bone-deep pain, however, “could’ve been mitigated had Mr. Munson not continued his feedings,” with an unsaid ‘like I suggested’ hanging off the end of his accusation.

When they’d first brought Eddie in to be checked out, they’d been warned about continuing to feed, something about unknown prognosis, and possible long-term side effects. Steve had fought Eddie hard, and eventually convinced him that it didn’t matter. As long as it meant they kept feeding.

“How could something that feels so right be bad for us, Eds?” Steve whispered into the quiet dark of their room, Eddie curled up naked next to him. He didn’t respond.

Steve should’ve known it was the beginning of the end. Almost two beautiful years together, until the guilt ate Eddie alive. He saved Steve by leaving him and ran as far away as he could.

They haven’t spoken since.

Steve sets the box down on the coffee table only for Robin to scoop it up, with boots on and keys in hand. "It's only two bags this time," Steve says, "Owens took–"

“– the rest for testing. Yes, they already know." He knows she's not irritated, but the pity in her eyes grates on his nerves even though she’s still not looking at him. He knows it's there. The smell of pity is as ripe as the metallic tang in the air.

He walks her to the door. She spins back around to face him, lips pursed with a finger in the air. "I forgot to mention," she lightly taps him on the nose, and she giggles when he shakes her off like an annoyed dog, "I put the new bottle of serum Paige sent yesterday in the fridge for you. I saw you were low and figured it'd save time on thawing a new one."

She turns back towards the foyer, on her way out the door when Steve calls out "The fresh one? What about the one from last week, won't that expire?"

His concern is waved off with a shrug and not even a glance over her shoulder. "Christmas is only three days away, you deserve the good stuff." Steve's thin laugh barely has time to sour when she shouts, "I'll be back with Vickie in a few hours for dinner," as she closes the door behind her.

Steve considers holding off on his next dose until Robin and Vickie leave for the night. Instead, he heads into the kitchen, pulling the small, brown, glass vial out to warm in his hand. Steve hasn't dosed venom– serum, as Robin calls it, like a name means all the difference– cold since the first time, and he'll never do it again.

The chronic pain of withdrawal from Eddie's toxin isn't nearly as bad as the permanent blood disorder because of it, but it's not easy. On the best days, it's an annoying ache in his limbs. The worst days leave him immobile in bed, burning from the inside out.

Steve misses the heavy blossom of euphoria coursing through him with each bite, almost two bottles worth of doses equal to one feeding. He misses the sudden relief of tension, leaving his body molten, unfiltered lust filling out his cock so fast he almost passes out.

Except nine years ago today, Eddie curled up next to him in the back of Steve's new pick up. The sky was dark but clear, the air frigid with a light snowfall. Hot little puffs of weed smoke poured from between their lips. It was one moment of a thousand between them where the electricity was so palpable it left him buzzing. The only difference, however, was that Eddie finally closed the distance with a kiss.

His lips felt like coming home. The slide of his soft, warm tongue against Steve's was a claim of not just hunger or desire. It was love, companionship. Life.

They lasted five minutes before they fed and fucked. But then later Eddie crawled into his bed, moved all his stuff in the next day, and never left.

Until he did, of course.

Steve calls Robin to tell her he's tired. She must know he's lying, but Steve argues and she caves, agreeing to see him tomorrow instead. Robin knows what today means to him. Normally, he’d be thankful for how much she cares, how much she worries about him. It’s still nice to finally spend today, of all days, alone.

Steve props the small bottle, now warmed to room temp, on the coffee table in front of him as he settles into the couch. He did as much as he could to change out everything in his apartment when Eddie left. Not that it was contaminated, just tainted– like everything they once shared is now.

The couch is Steve's favorite by far. Nothing fancy, only a simple blue sofa with fluffy armrest for him to lay his head on. He sleeps better here than his own bed most nights. It's a love seat, but he's always slept curled up anyway.

There are two little drawers in the old, wooden coffee table—the one on the right holds just enough storage for remotes and other small trinkets. Steve opens the one on the left. He sets a black box next to the large rubber tie next to the syringe next to the unwrapped needle next to the little brown vial.

But Robin's right. It's almost Christmas. It's his ex-anniversary. He's doing so well at the firm that his dad clapped him on the shoulder and offered him a glass of his personal whiskey. And he hates all of it.

Steve doses half the vial. It's not lethal, not even dangerous. The venom can't do more damage than it already has. It only layers more and more blankets of relief over him until he’s lulled back into the euphoria-filled lust he's craved for years.

The buzz hits him instantly. Steve knows what's coming, so he strips off his clothes and moves to the floor. His skin glistens with sweat before he pulls his last sock off, tossing it on the couch. Desperate heat rolls through his chest, settles in his gut.

Steve’s cock twitches, untouched, as he fumbles to open the black box. A pathetic whine escapes him looking at the set of homemade toys inside, nothing like the basic dildo and cockrings upstairs in his nightstand.

You always were a sad little slut for me, sweetheart.

He moans in the quiet of his living room. Fingers trembling, he sets the box down and pulls out his first indulgence. An oversized dildo, almost an exact replica. Pale, matching skin-tone at the balls and base, fading up into a dark black at the swollen tip. It even includes the silver, metal ball pierced just under the head.

A gift. Steve tries not to cry just looking at it.

One of the first things Eddie spent his big-time rockstar money, having his giant fucking monster dick molded just for Steve. It was one of the last gifts he ever gave him. Except the weekly shipments of venom, which Steve doesn't count.

It's a toy he rarely uses but fails to forget about.

He mounts it on the side of the coffee table before he preps himself. It taunts him, mocking his desperation as he hastily shoves two fingers into where he’s hollow. The angle’s all wrong, lube spilling over his wrist, dripping down his forearm and onto the carpet beneath him.

He should get comfortable, lay down on his back instead of staying on all fours, but Steve’s skin is too tight for his bones. He’s shaking, sweating with lust and he just needs some fucking relief. Just needs something for once in his fucking life to feel good again, to go right again, after everything went so fucking wrong.

A tear slips free as he lines up and spears himself on a toy that isn’t Eddie, but feels so painfully close. Rocking himself back until he feels the balls pressed against him, he rides the toy hard enough to jostle the table with each thrust.

It’s not the easiest position. He should’ve pushed the table up against the couch next to him, or laid a soft blanket on the floor to protect his now burning hands and knees from the carpet. Steve knows he should slow down. He's not relaxed enough, hasn’t prepped well enough if the pain means anything.

It doesn't. Pain means nothing when drops of Eddie course through his veins.

You're so tight, baby. Feel so fucking good on my cock. Look at you Stevie, crying, you're so desperate for me.

Steve swipes the back of his hand across his damp cheeks. It leaves a streak of lube he hadn't seen through his blurred vision, but he doesn't care. Better than tears, anyway.

Frustrated, Steve rummages the box again and pulls out a similarly colored fleshlight. Fingers shaking, he barely manages to keep hold of the bottle as he coats the inside with an excessive amount of lube. He closes his eyes, slows his fingers into a firm roll.

Fuck Stevie, love your fingers deep inside me.

Steve tries to remind himself this isn't real. It's all plastic and silicone and a ghost of a voice in his head.

The sentiment is lost as he slips the swollen, red tip of his cock inside. He curls forward, bracing his weight on his head and shoulder. Steve screams as the dildo finally punches his prostate. Lightning sparks down his spine, sending him into a frenzy.

It's everything he denies himself because no one feels like this. How can anyone ever wonder why Steve's relationships always fail when this pathetic display is better than any fuck he can find? Because there is no moving on from Eddie, not really.

So Steve revels in Eddie's name on his tongue and the metal ball driving into his prostate and the wet, slick sound of fucking into what he pretends is Eddie's tight little hole until he's sobbing. He's close. Tension coils deep in his gut. Snot drips from Steve’s nose as his sobs echo in an empty home, but it's no use. It’s not enough. He needs more, knows exactly what he needs, and he hates himself for it.

Relief still sits in the box. A small metal contraption Steve managed to create all on his own, lost in the worst of his depression. It looks back at him with the same disappointment it does every year.

Two old mouth guards he wore for football, wired together at the back and molded just big enough for Steve to slip his fingers into the teeth-shaped grooves. He rubs the pads of his fingers over the smooth, metal nail heads, sharp tips pierced through the other side.

He keeps trying to remind himself it's not real. They're not his fangs. There's no swipe of a tongue across his skin or lips suckling at his neck. It's not Eddie. But he can pretend it is, just for tonight.

Writhing with anticipation, he pours a bit of the venom in the bottom of the box. Steve opens the fanged-jaws wide and coats the two nails fused into the top and the two on the bottom. He jostles the box as he fucks Edd– the dildo– faster, drops of venom splashing the carpet. Tension coils low in his gut and it takes all of Steve’s willpower to wait. Wait until the nails are completely covered, dripping fat, clear drops into the box.

Tongue lolling out of his mouth, Steve holds the fangs above him, head tipped back as the venom drips down into his mouth. Another sob morphs into a guttural moan and he knows he’s out of time.

It’s been almost a decade but Steve still knows where his favorite place to feed was, so he lines up the bite. Except just the tips of the nails against his skin sends Steve careening over the edge.

The empty house is filled with Steve's screams as he comes . With his last remaining brain cells and a firm grip, he closes the metal contraption into his throat, plunging the nails inside.

Mine to bite, to drink, to love. Only mine, forever.

"Fuck, Eddie, yes. Only yours. Fuck–"

The injected venom rips out another orgasm, almost painful in its intensity. Come spills out of the warm, hollow toy that isn't Eddie and onto the floor, adding to the mess of lube that drips from his throbbing hole as he pulls out the other toy that also isn't Eddie.

Exhausted, Steve has just enough of mind to grab the blanket draped across the couch behind him before he passes out.

~~~

Part 2 coming soon! ao3

Header graphic kudos!

#THIS IS MY FIRST SMUT EVER!#I'm pretty happy with it #steddie fic #steddie smut #minors dni #dead dove do not eat #heavy angst #steve harrington whump #platonic stobin #steve harrington #eddie munson #vampire eddie munson #blood and injury #if anyone knows where I can find a DD:DNE or Minors DNI banner for this fic please rec I would appreciate it <3 #queeniewritesstories

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happy74827 · 7 months ago

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A Smile From Hell

[Homelander x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Despite the amount of unpredictability The Homelander has, he still catches you off guard with something as small as a smile.

WC: 3576

Category: Angst, Supe!Reader {TW — Homelander for obvi reasons}

In honor of Season 4’s weekly releases, this one is for the Antony Starr girlies (and you @summerrivera777777)

『••✎••』

John fucking terrified you.

He terrified everyone, really.

He had the power to level an entire city block with a glance. He was strong enough to crush a man's skull with one hand and fast enough to catch a bullet. He was an unstoppable force of nature. He was The Homelander, and he was a threat to anyone who stood in his way.

But, the thing was...

You knew everything about him. Everything.

And he absolutely despised that, but there was nothing he could do to change it. You had seen him at his most vulnerable and pathetic. You had seen his humanity, it’s amazing he still has any after the way Vought has abused him, and you had seen his inhumanity.

Jessica, or Sister Sage, had confronted you on several occasions, trying to get you to tell her your secrets. She wanted the upper hand on her arch nemesis, the only one in the world who was a threat to her. It was her mission to end the reign of the superhero she hated most, and she was willing to do anything for it.

You could see right through her, and you didn’t need magnificent amounts of intelligence to do so. You could see the fear in her eyes. You could see the doubt in her face, hear the strain in her voice, feel her uneasiness when she was near him.

John knew it, too. He just simply chose to ignore it. He had grown used to being the scariest man in the room. It’s been that way his whole life, and it seemed it was going to stay that way.

But, despite all that fear, she came to you for answers. Again.

And this time, the question was a simple one. It was so simple, yet completely understandably complicated.

How are you allowed to live?

That was a question that stumped you. It took you a long time to grasp the meaning of it, the specific answer she was looking for.

After a few clarifications, you finally understood what she meant.

She wanted to know why John allowed you to live. She wanted to know why he hadn’t killed you. She wanted to understand why you were the only person alive after calling him by his name.

Not his stage name, his real name.

For being the most intelligent person on the planet, you’d think that she’d be able to understand it. I mean, the answer was right there, in front of her face. She didn't need to be a genius to figure it out; all she needed was a little more insight.

A little bit of understanding.

"Respect," you said, your voice soft. Your words were clear, though, and she heard them perfectly.

The confusion on her face was evident, as was her disbelief.

"What?"

"It's respect. Anyone I respect is someone that deserves my respect."

She snorted.

"Right," she said. "Like he could actually respect anything other than himself."

"He's capable of it if that's what you're thinking," you told her. "And this isn’t about him respecting me; it's about me respecting him."

She narrowed her eyes at you, her suspicion rising.

"Why would you respect him?" she questioned. "You're not blind; you know exactly who he is."

Yes, you did. You knew more than most, and compared to The Seven now, you probably knew the most. His actions? Completely unredeemable. He was, in fact, a monster; there was no arguing that. He was a horrible, twisted, monstrous individual; no one would deny it.

His actions weren’t excusable, but he had an explanation. A reason for why he was the way he was.

He wasn’t born a monster; he was turned into one. That… that was the respect part. You respected him because you respected his story. You respected his pain. You respected his anger.

You respected his past; anything after that was on him.

"I don’t like using stage names to those I respect enough, so I call him John. He allows it because he knows I don’t mean it the way others would if they used his name; it doesn't hold the same power with me."

She rolled her eyes at you.

"Same goes for you, Jessica; I have no desire to call you Sister Sage."

Her flinch was barely visible, but you still caught it. Again, what is intelligence if not knowing the chances of a particular outcome?

"I’ve noticed you don’t call Deep or that fire chick by their real names."

You just smiled, leaving her to solve that answer for herself, and it didn’t take long at all. You knew the exact moment she came up with a conclusion. She was quite predictable, in that regard. Maybe you should’ve been the big-brained hero instead.

And now, you really should’ve been because when you turned down the hall, catching wind of the elevator doors opening, you knew he had listened to it all.

But you didn’t say anything, and you really didn’t say anything after a simple glance at him.

He was completely drenched in blood, a look that would terrify even the toughest of men. But not you, oh no, you were very used to that. He’s done a lot worse.

Besides, you were too distracted by the fact that the blood wasn't his. Too distracted by noticing how this time was different. He was smiling, but it wasn’t his usual cruel smile. This time, it was genuinely happy.

Relief, almost.

It reminded you of the night you two bonded. No, not that type of bond. The bond that told you both that you weren’t alone.

He had a friend, but he wasn’t really your friend. You don’t believe you could ever consider him one. Not really, not with the things he has done.

But, still, you were the closest thing he had to a friend. You were the closest he had to an equal, a person he could relate to. Jessica carried the same intelligence (obviously a lot more), but the similarities between the two of them stopped there.

You had a similar history but different outcomes.

And that reveal between the two of you happened that night. This was way back, even before Starlight joined. Back when The Seven was in its prime.

Stillwell threw a party, something she always loved to do before Teddy became her focus. It was the usual: people in fancy dresses and suits, lots of champagne and liquor.

The difference, however, was the main focal point. Usually, given Vought’s status, all of The Seven members were the main event. Everyone was mandated to wear their hero outfits. It was a great way to advertise and get people to buy more of the products.

The theme this time, however, wasn’t about the group. It wasn’t about any of you. For the first time in a long while, John wasn’t in the spotlight.

Due to this, Stillwell banned everyone from wearing their costumes. No capes, no spandex, no leather, no masks. Just suits and dresses.

It was nice, actually. A little break from the norm. It felt good to go a night without the tight leather on your skin. You were actually surprised at how well it was received.

The rest of the members of the group seemed to be having a wonderful time as well.

Except for one.

He was standing in the corner, glaring at everyone. Madelyn had an entire argument with him about the suit. You weren’t there, but you knew exactly how it went.

His costume was a part of him. It was a symbol. It was a mask. A representation. An embodiment of who he was. Without it, he was a naked target.

Madelyn clearly did not give a single shit. In the end, the argument resulted in the two of them getting into a screaming match, causing him to storm off in a fit of rage.

So, there he was, standing alone, seething at anyone who passed him. Madelyn won; of course, she did, and she didn't even bother trying to apologize. She wasn't sorry.

She was just mad that he refused to listen in the first place.

But, hey, that wasn’t your problem. You were enjoying yourself. The night was going pretty well; the alcohol was flowing nicely, and the music was just right. You were dancing and laughing and having a great time.

But, of course, things weren't always easy for you.

You weren’t expecting it to last long; you weren’t one to have good luck. You knew, deep down, that the night was going to come crashing down on you. You were just waiting for the ball to drop.

The ball dropped the moment you decided to go cheer up the sourpuss.

It was obvious the way his shoulders tensed, and his head tilted ever so slightly. He knew you were approaching. He was aware.

"Don't," he said.

He was clearly angry, and you weren’t smart enough not to push. This is where Jessica’s powers would have benefited you greatly.

You ignored his warning, walking up beside him, mocking his stance.

"You okay?" you asked, your tone soft and light, a hint of playfulness.

His eyes flicked over to you, and the glare he gave was terrifying. His eyes were so intense, and his teeth were clenched. You could see his jaw tensing.

He was a volcano, ready to erupt.

You could practically see the steam coming out of his ears.

"I'm fine." Humorously enough, it sounded like the opposite.

"Really?"

He turned his head to look at you, his anger increasing by the second.

"Don’t you have anything better to do?"

You shrugged. "Yeah, but I'm choosing to talk to you."

He looked away from you, grumbling, "And why's that?"

"Because you’re ruining the party," you answered. "Miserable face and all."

He rolled his eyes. He actually does this a lot, believe it or not. It's the only expression he has besides anger that isn’t fake.

"And why do you care?"

You shrugged again. "I care about enjoying myself, and I can't do that when you're moping."

He turned his head towards you. He was not amused.

"Go find someone else to entertain yourself with.” He pointed behind him. "I’m sure Deep will be glad to show off his fish facts."

That one caused you to make the same face he had moments ago. The absolute look of disgust on your face was enough to bring a smug grin to his own.

He knew exactly what he was doing.

"Don't make me throw up, John."

The name.

It was a simple slip-up, nothing more. But, of course, it meant so much more. This was before everything, so it doesn’t seem likely that a slip-up like that wouldn’t result in consequences, but it secretly was a turning point.

He could've killed you.

He could've easily grabbed you and thrown you across the room, and no one would be able to comprehend what had happened until after you were unrecognizable.

He didn't, though.

No, instead, he stared at you, his face blank, and his mind processing. You were nervous, of course. You had no idea what was going on in his head.

After a minute, a look of realization came upon him, and you could see the exact moment the gears started turning.

Then, a simple hum fell from his lips. One said he wasn’t expecting it but was deciding whether to accept it.

Then, after a few seconds, his face relaxed. His jaw was unclenched, his eyes softened, and his eyebrows relaxed.

"Let’s have a chat."

Uh oh. That’s a code red—a sign of danger.

You were so done.

And yet, for some odd reason, you followed him. You don’t know why. It was a stupid move, in your opinion. You should've run while you had the chance. You should’ve listened and just punched fishlips or something.

You didn’t, though.

You followed him, allowed him to fly you somewhere private, and just waited. You waited for your imminent doom. You were going to die; you were sure of it.

But, for some reason, your death never came.

Instead, the two of you landed on the tower’s roof, the cold New York air hitting you hard. He had set you down on your feet and went all the way to the railing.

You stood awkwardly, waiting for him to turn around with those beams in his eyes, but they never came.

He was just looking out into the city, his back turned to you, his hands on the railing.

After a few minutes of silence, he turned his head, looking at you through the corner of his eye.

"Aren't you going to ask?"

Ask what? What was there to ask?

There were plenty of things to ask, actually, and yet you had no idea what the right thing to ask was. Because, again, even here, he was unpredictable and unreadable.

You didn't want to anger him; you knew that for sure. But you were also tired of his mind games. It was a constant battle of wit, and you were sick and tired of being left in the dust.

So, you chose something simple to say. Something easy, yet not so simple to answer.

"Are you going to kill me?"

You wouldn’t be surprised if he turned around with a smile and answered yes.

He didn’t, though. Oh no, he stayed turned, staring into the city, his eyes searching. Searching for what you didn't know.

"No."

Simple and clear.

You didn't respond, and he didn't elaborate. It was silent, and it was cold, and it was a tense moment.

But you didn't leave. You just watched him, watched his movements. The way his shoulders hunched over, his head tilting down, the grips on the railing, the way his hair slowly became unstuck due to the wind.

You always thought his hair looked better when it wasn't slicked back, but this is the first time you've ever seen it that way. It was… it was nice.

Then, his shoulders relaxed, and his head straightened. He didn’t turn around, and he didn’t speak. He just looked over his shoulder at you, his eyes piercing yours.

Even with a few strands of hair on his face, his eyes were so sharp and clear. So blue. So cold.

It felt like they were reaching deep into your soul.

It was terrifying. He was terrifying.

"Do you remember your parents?"

The question took you by surprise. It wasn’t what you were expecting, but then again, this whole encounter was the definition of unexpected.

"Yes. Why?"

His eyes scanned yours as if looking for a lie. Then, he turned back around, leaning on the railing.

"I can't remember mine," he said. "Sometimes I wonder if I even had them."

Oh. Oh. This was huge. This was a big one. You had to search deeply even to find out his actual name. Now, here he was, telling you of his past.

Of all people, he chose to tell you.

You didn’t know how to feel about that.

You were honored, yes. You were excited, definitely. But, most importantly, you were worried. Is this him letting you in? Or is it him preparing you for your demise?

It was an unknown territory, a field of landmines. You knew a lot about his past already, but now he was aware of the fact that you knew. He knows, and yet he is still giving you the information.

Why?

"I mean, it doesn't make sense. Everyone has parents, right? And I couldn't have been born out of nowhere. So, I must have had parents. A mom, a dad, some form of guardians."

His face was scrunched, and his eyebrows were furrowed. You could see the way his brain was working. He was really thinking about it, wondering how the pieces fit together.

He was struggling to make a connection, and he was mad at himself for not having it.

"I'm assuming your childhood wasn't the best," you said. You knew it was a risky move, joking about his past, but so far, he seemed to like the boldness and humor.

And he did, in fact, let out a snort.

"Understatement of the year."

You smiled but quickly stopped. It was a serious conversation, and smiling probably wasn’t the appropriate reaction.

Silence filled the space again, and he was back to thinking. He was trying; he was really trying. But he just couldn't.

It wasn't the fact that his parents were a mystery; he's come to terms with that. It was the fact that he couldn’t remember anything.

All he remembered was the torture, the pain, the experiments… nothing about how he got there. Nothing about the people before the scientists. Nothing about a home. And the fact that they were currently building a fake one for him made him so angry.

It was a mockery—a complete joke.

He felt all of these emotions and yet couldn't express them.

And he was frustrated. He was pissed off and tired and angry and sad and empty and-

"Did you rip off your tie?" Your eyes had caught sight of his bare neck, the black fabric missing.

It was the only way to pull him out of his head, and, to your surprise, it worked. You could see the moment he snapped back to reality, the moment he was pulled away from his mind.

"Yeah," he answered. "It was suffocating me."

You could tell.

His hair became more unkempt due to the wind. The strands of hair on his forehead were getting in the way, and it was getting annoying. Not for you, no, but for him.

For you, it was… humanizing. It made him seem a little less like a god.

He lifted his hand, his fingers gently combing through the locks. It was a struggle, a normal struggle that you've had with your own hair.

Plenty struggle with deviating the locks away from their desired location. You've had your own fair share of moments.

But this was the first time you'd seen him experience it. The first time witnessing him do something so simple and basic.

Such a human thing. It had you wondering what else he was capable of.

He sighed, his hand dropping back to the railing. Again, it is a normal thing to happen. But, it had you smiling, the corners of your mouth curving ever so slightly.

The action did not go unnoticed.

"What?" he asked, not even bothering to turn around.

You shrugged. "I've just never…"

Your mind kept changing images. His hair, his eyes, his shoulders, his jaw, his nose, his ears, his neck, his hand, his lips, his chin, his cheekbones, his eyebrows, his skin…

Everything is listed in your mind, including the little imperfections and details that make him, well, him. This was the first time you saw him anything other than perfect.

The perfect monster he was, the god of all men. The man of the century, the one to take the world by storm. The strongest, the smartest, the best.

The symbol, the image, the mask.

The facade.

This was the first time you saw him as just a person. A human being. Just a regular guy.

"Sometimes I wonder how different life would be if you were…"

Normal.

The word was at the tip of your tongue. You could've said it; you should've said it. It was the truth. It was obvious.

But you couldn't.

He knew where your sentence was going, though. Of course, he did.

"If I was… what?" He still wanted to hear it. He was looking for validation, and he wanted it from you. His eyes were on you, his body turned, but there was this one odd thing.

A smile.

It wasn't his usual one. The one you were used to. The one that made everyone scared and uneasy. No, this was a real smile.

A soft, small one, but still a real smile.

A true smile. As if he knew the words you were going to say, as if he knew your thoughts, and he found them amusing.

You found him amusing.

And just because of that, you didn’t give him the validation.

"It’s fucking freezing out here," You coughed in hopes of successfully changing the subject. "I’m gonna get a jacket."

He was going to argue, but you were already walking off, telling him you’d take the emergency ladder down.

Nothing was spoken about that night. No words were exchanged.

But something had changed. Something had shifted. You weren’t quite sure what it was, but it was something.

So, seeing that genuine smile again in that elevator was a shock.

He had the same face as he did on that roof. It was that smile. That one specific smile.

Capable.

That's what it was.

He was capable.

He was capable of feeling and being human. He was capable of being something other than a monster.

He was capable.

All he said to you when you walked by was a simple goodnight. Something so small, yet so big. This time, those words seemed to have a little more meaning.

So, just to raise his unsettling mood, you winked and said, "Goodnight, John."

Again, a smile.

The smile.

It was hard to continue walking, and it was even harder not to turn around. But you did.

You did it knowing you were going to have a hard time sleeping. Knowing that, no matter what, you weren’t going to forget that smile.

The demon that still had a little bit of humanity in him.

A demon that was capable.

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milawritess · 22 days ago

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what cannot be said will be wept – gojo satoru

pairing: Gojo Satoru x Reader synopsis: following the events from wherever you go, that's where i'll follow, the reader becomes incredibly sick. Satoru drowns in his guilt and reader struggles to grapple with the loss of her cursed technique. tags/warnings: angst, fem!reader, swearing, depression, guilt, dark thoughts, loss of identity, loss of powers, descriptions of gore/horror, tragedy, mentions of blood, breakdowns, reader is sick, Satoru doing everything he can to keep you afloat word count: 3.3k next entry: ii series mlist

The first few nights were unbearable. You made it—you survived, but you weren’t the same. Not even close. You were a fragmented, splintered hallow. You were nothing but a ghost haunting your own body. The weight of your fragility sat heavily in the corners of your home, creeping into the space where laughter once lived.

At night, you’d become so still, so quiet of breath, that Satoru would have to put his finger under your nose to see if you were still with him. There were nights when your heart betrayed you, skipping several beats or stilling altogether, long enough to drive him to the edges of panic.

Baby, baby, wake up, Satoru would whisper in dread. It was only when you groaned that he sucked in a breath, drawing in the air his lungs were burning for.

What? You would murmur, confused and disoriented. He’d suddenly pull you close, resting his head between your breasts as he listened to the only rhythm that brought him solace.

Satoru found himself waking you up often. Soft kisses graced your face—your eyes, cheeks, and brushes against your lips. Other nights, he’d shake you awake in fear and trepidation. Your heart was too weak. The second sleep found you, it began to give.

He could hear it, see it.

Sleep was lost on him. He couldn’t risk it—could grapple with the chances of waking to find you—his entire world gone. You had come back to him, yet, for weeks, you straddled the line between being alive and moving to a place he couldn’t reach or follow.

He couldn’t grasp, couldn’t fathom that even now, he was on the verge of losing you.

“There are just some things I can’t heal,” Shoko told him one night. She arrived at his estate after he called her in a panic. You were cold as ice, and you struggled to draw breath. “There’s scarring in her frontal lobe… and there’s other damage that looks like it’s been there for a while. Maybe if I had caught this sooner-“

The damage was too great. He knew that’s what Shoko really wanted to say.

There was so much more he needed to say to you, so much more he needed to make up for.

Some nights, he grew bitter. You couldn't leave him—you wouldn’t dare. Not after everything you’ve been through together, not after loving him and making him feel love's perfect ache; not after you stripped him bare as you deprived him of pride and all resolve, rendering him down to nothing but a man on his knees, worshiping at the gates of your light.

You undo him so wholly and completely.

This wasn’t fair. Even with the powers most gods craved, he couldn’t protect you from this. What good was all this power if he couldn’t keep you? The best parts of you, the dark and wretched—all of it, everything—belonged to him. He loved the darkest shades of you, the brightest, and every color in between.

When you were consumed in an unholy flame, one only he could ever reach beyond, he was housed by your warmth—reborn into something more glorious than the last.

When had you fallen so cold?

You had ascended onto him like nightfall, only to ignite and burn his world to ash. Yet, you sparked something within him in the echo of oblivion—a fire born of devotion was marred to his heart.

He wasn’t going to let you off that easy. Death wouldn’t be enough for you to escape him.

”You don’t get to leave me,” he whispers against the shell of your ear. “You’re not going anywhere. Not from me.”

It was a rare moment of wakefulness. Your eyes flutter open, a dopey smile gracing your lips. You say his name. “Satoru,” you murmur. ”what are you talking about?”

He brushes the hair from your neck, kissing your cold skin. “I’m talking about you, sweets,” he moves up, kissing your cheek. “I need you to get better. We’re not out of the woods yet.”

You take in a long, shuddering breath. You couldn’t deny what you said now when you felt it in your bones. “I won’t leave,” you promise him gently, breathing slowly as sleep tugs at the corners of your consciousness. “Where else would I go?”

He takes time off from work shortly after. Well, he more or less just stopped going to work. He kept your condition close like a secret. Outside of the kids, Principal Yaga, and Nanami, no one knew what happened to you, and he would keep it that way. He didn’t need the higher-ups catching wind of this.

It was just a precaution, his way of protecting you when you couldn’t protect yourself. You had enemies just as much as he did. He thinks he’d break the world in two if they ever touched you.

However, Gojo couldn’t just wait and do nothing. He had to keep you comfortable, keep you warm. After cranking up the central heat and lighting a fire, he noticed you responded positively. It was far from comfortable for him, but it wasn’t about him, even if, most nights, sweat beaded on his chest and forehead. It was about your recovery and giving your body what it desperately needed. Heat. A heat, he fears, even as he eases you into a tub of the hottest water he could get from the faucet in his master bathroom, wasn’t enough.

However, this was a start in the right direction. Your eyes fluttered open as your body sank into the steaming water. “This is nice,” you utter. “Really nice…”

“Hm, good,” Satoru says, grabbing the shampoo bottle. “Glad to be of service.”

You hum pleasantly as he starts massaging shampoo into your hair. “How many days has it been, Satoru?”

“Not sure what you mean, sweets.”

“Satoru,” you sigh softly. “How many days since the incident?”

He pauses for a moment before his fingers continue rubbing the suds into your hair. “Fifteen days.”

“And yet, I don’t have a lick of cursed energy…”

“Hey, easy there,” he wipes the subs that threaten to fall into your eyes with his hands before grabbing your face and pinching your cheeks together. Just as you were about to swat him away, he kissed the pout off your face with one long smooch. “Take it easy, grumpypants. You’re still recovering.”

“Yeah, but for how long,” you mumble. “It’s never taken me this long to recover my cursed energy before. I just– I don’t feel the same.” Satoru takes a deep breath, watching as you stare down at the water, your fingers mindlessly fiddling with the necklace around your neck. “You shouldn’t have to be taking care of me like this or taking time off from work. They need you, the kids need you–”

“You need me,” he gently corrects. “The kids are fine, and Nanami has been covering for me.”

“Yeah, but–”

“You act like this isn’t something you’d do for me if I needed you.”

You look at him, eyes misting over. You reach for him, your arms wrapping around his neck. He didn’t care if he got wet as he held you, his hands rubbing softly at your damp back. “I really love you,” you tell him, burying your head into his neck. “I really do. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, silly girl. I’m here. I’m with you.”

Weeks pass, and things only seem to get worse.

You could hear their whispers, see their pitiful glances, and see how they all tiptoed around you. It made you furious. It wasn’t a loud, fiery rage that once fueled you. It was quiet and insidious—burning cold and cutting deeper than any wound you’ve experienced. You hated their pity, their careful steps, and how they looked at you as if you were a ghost.

You had once been a force that could not be ignored or buried away—a wild inferno in a world that always tried to snuff out the smallest of embers. Your power was born of defiance, a testimony of your will, even vengeance.

You weren’t always good. At times, you think Satoru forgets that.

Yet, against all odds, every attempt to diminish and erase you from the annals of time, you remained unbridled, unbroken. You bore no titles and came from no golden lineage; it was your strength alone that helped you carve your place in the world and carve your name into the sun. You were powerful. Unforgiving. You weren’t something to be protected and admired; you were destruction, born of dark weather and chaos.

And yet, you fell.

A part of you wonders if this was the price to be paid for your transgressions—a quiet, unrelenting suffering that hollowed you out from the inside. It was almost poetic in it's cruelty, as if the weight of your sins could only be balanced by the weight in your chest.

Your flames, once roaring and defiant, sputtered and dwindled. For a while, you believed it was exhaustion, but you knew, deep in your bones, you weren’t the same. At first, you told yourself that you had endured far worse. You strappled the line of death more times than you could count. Sometimes, it was fury that had you crawling from your grave. Others, it was vengeance fueled by the fire meant to burn the pyre of your enemies and all those who wronged you.

But, your fire hadn’t just dimmed and weakened. It was gone. The power, once flowing through your veins like lava and liquid gold, was replaced by a cold and suffocating emptiness. Even if the taste of ash lingered and the scent of black smoke permeated your nostrils, you weren’t the same.

You were only six when your cursed technique appeared. You’re incapable of remembering what led to such depravity, such evil, or maybe you couldn’t bring yourself to remember why the people of your village tried killing you. You didn’t remember much of your childhood, but you remember those laughs that still haunted you in your dreams—the same laughs you heard as you were thrown into a ditch your small hands and feet couldn’t have hoped to crawl out of.

They doused you in rum and lit a match. When the fire ignited, you were left to burn into nothingness. You remembered the feeling of each nerve ending igniting, the excruciating pain that consumed you. You remembered how your scream became a soundless cry as your vocal cords were scorched. You remembered the smell of your burning hair and flesh, the way flames licked at your eyeballs until you were blind. You remembered the end coming suddenly, but not quick enough. You remembered crying for a mother you couldn’t remember, a father that never protected you.

Then, you remembered how suddenly the word came back. The flames became nothing but a gentle sting. Your flesh mended, and when you drew breath, a black smoke filtered into your lungs, giving you strength. You could taste the ash, and the blood in your veins began to boil. You were born again amongst the flames that once brought you so much agony. You ruled them—fire incarnate: destructive, yet devastatingly alive.

You hadn’t just lost your technique. You were stripped away of everything you had ever been. Perhaps what stung the most was how the world kept spilling. You were a woman of no renown, no legacy to speak of. And now, you had no fire to prove you had ever been worth anything at all.

You wonder—had you ever been as strong as you truly thought? Or were you a flame burning on borrowed time, destined to extinguish into nothing?

You wanted to be forgotten. You wanted to disappear, to return to your flames. You had once despised them; you thought they cursed you with the wickedness they were born from. But, even so, it had been yours. Even if the world always thought you were more of a monster than a sorcerer, perhaps one more terrifying than the curses conjured from the worst parts of mankind, they were yours. And yet, you were lost without them.

You had survived because you had felt the touch of love, came to learn to accept it, and nurtured it with a darkened heart and two hands. Love yanked you back to the surface, yet a bitter and selfish part of you wondered at what cost?

You wondered if he thought of you differently, if his love was slowly fading along with you, but you were too afraid to look. He had already told you once that you weren’t nearly as strong as you thought. He was right. You were a failure.

You still loved him. You don’t think you could ever stop loving him, but that love became so twisted—tangling with your hurt, your pride, and your inability to forgive everything but yourself. His kindness became suffocating; his attempts at assurance only ever reminded you of what you lost. Every look of concern or sympathy—real or imagined—was a dagger to the chest. He would leave eventually. He’d grow tired of your ups and downs and how your sweetness could so quickly transform into bitterness.

Even as your strength slowly returned—enough to move without sleep constantly tugging at your consciousness or being teethed to IV drips—the hallowed absence of your cursed energy remained. It had become stagnant, hitting an invisible barrier you couldn’t push or break, no matter how hard you tried.

“Baby?” Satoru whispers out for you one night. You don’t respond, but he knows you can hear him. “Can I come in?”

You make no effort to move or stand. You were frozen, lost in a grief you don’t think you could ever escape. You were on your bathroom floor, heaving over a toilet with a hand pressed to your chest as if it were the only thing keeping it from caving in. He wonders if you still have the ability to sense his presence—if you could sense that he was there waiting for you.

“Go away,” you told him. You didn’t want him to see you like this, not with blood poring from your nose and dripping from your lips. You were sick. You were scared, angry, and so fucking confused. You didn’t know what was happening to you or how to make it stop it.

“You know I can’t do that…”

He wouldn’t leave you—not when you needed him; not when the love remained, even if it was buried under mounds of hurt and pain. It would be the greatest betrayal, even if you begged for it.

However, he wouldn’t push you. So, he lies on the cold wooden floor, his back pressed against the door. Even with five feet between you two, he felt as if you were going somewhere far, somewhere he couldn’t reach. Again.

He goes silent for a moment, searching for the right words that seem so out of reach. He doesn’t think there is anything he could say to make this better, but he could try.

“I used to think for a while that my life had no happy ending,” he says, voice low and steady. “But, then, I met you. Your power drew me in, yeah. But do you know what else did? Those rare smiles. I wanted to be responsible for them—all of them.” Even as you remained silent, there’s no shying away from the emotions his words sturs. There's no escaping him.

“It was how you demanded a whole room with just your presence. I admired how you loved and hated in equal measure. I loved your wickedness and cunning wit. You dared to challenge the world, and I–” His voice dips lower. It's only to you that he reveals these fragile, intimate parts of himself. “... You made me believe in something more than myself.”

“I’m not the same,” you swallow hard, throat tightening as tears threaten to spill once again. “I’m not… I’m nothing like the woman you met.”

“Good,” he says simply, voice firm. “Because I don’t need her. I need you. Even when you’re angry and hurting or think you’ve lost everything, I’ll still need you.”

You turn your head to the door, his words settling over you like a blanket, heavy and warm. Your gaze falls to the floor, finding the faint shadow of him waiting for you.

“I’ve hated myself for so long for not being able to stop what happened to you. I feel like I failed you—failed you in every way that mattered.” His head falls back, thumping against the door. He loved you. He knew he did because he could feel it in the way his heart ached for you—in the way your pain became his pain. You’re still the woman he admired; you were still the woman he longed for. You’ve never needed power to rule over him, yet he doesn’t know how to make you believe that. All he has is his heart, which he bears to you with two trembling hands. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

And finally, as tears gather in your eyes, you realize he wasn’t here because he pitied you. Satoru wasn’t conditional—he didn’t know how to love in halves. You had always felt it, the lingering truths caught between two hearts. But now, he was here, baring it all��leaving no room for doubt or space for denial.

He loves you.

“Your fire isn’t just in your technique—it's in everything you do, angel. It's in the way you look at the world, how you fight for what you believe in, and even the way you love… it used to scare me,” he chuckles gravely. There wasn’t ever a moment, he thinks, that he wasn’t enraptured with you. He can’t recall a time when he hadn't been caught in your obit and seized in the invisible weight of your gravity.

Your eyes fluttered close, your breath catching as his words settled over you. For the first time in a long while, you feel something other than the crushing burden of loss. You feel him, steady and unwavering. You don’t know if you should cry or let yourself fall into him entirely.

“Satoru,” you trembled. “What’s happening to me?”

One thing Satoru could never do was lie to you. Not even about this, as his heart nearly fails him. “You're displacing more cursed energy than you’re retaining. It’s making you sick.”

A shuddering cry slips past your lips. “... Am I dying?”

You hear him move behind the door. His voice, steady but tense, cuts through your panic. “I’m coming in.”

“No, don’t–”

But it was too late. A locked door wasn’t enough to stop him. The knob crumbles under the force of his grip, a deafening crunch filling the room. Yet, despite the raw display of his strength, he pushes the door open with a gentleness that makes your chest ache.

You were terrified, your hand pinching harder against your nose that refused to stop dripping blood. It was everywhere—soaking your shirt, trickling down your arm, dripping to the floor, and piling between the cracks of the tiles. You tried to clean it up, but it just wouldn't stop.

His eyes are a bit wide as he takes you in, but he doesn’t reveal much. His expression is unreadable as he drops to his knees. You crawl backward until your back meets the tub. “No, no, no, stop–” but it was futile.

Blood stains his shirt, his hands, and smears across his cheek as he drags you into his arms. He doesn’t seem to notice—or maybe he doesn’t care.

“Satoru–”

“I don’t care,” he says sharply. His hands cup the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair as he presses you to his body. “I don’t care about that. Just… stay still. Breath,” he murmurs. “In and out. That’s all you have to do right now.”

You cry with such an unalloyed and raw pain that robs you of breath. It starts low, guttural, crawling from the deepest parts of you. It carries jagged edges, and swells into a sound so consuming, it drowns out everything else. Shaking, shuddering, choking—you fall apart, gasping for air between waves of anguish.

Satoru loses track of time suspended in the purgatory of your suffering.

“I’m not leaving,” he promises, trembling against you slightly. “And neither are you. I already told you before that you’re stuck with me.”

a/n: since my first fic did so well, i decided to make a mini-series depicting readers recovery :) feel free to send requests if you have any. i can either make a small blurb, a headcannon, or even make an entire chapter out of it. also, sorry if there are any typos its getting late lol

on a different note, i sincerely hope you enjoyed this chapter. my goal was to capture the readers suffering and Gojo's guilt, and i truly hope i did it justice. i also added a little bit backstory for the reader! i wanted to add layers and reveal that she's an imperfect character. regardless, i sincerely hope you enjoyed. please let me know your thoughts!! I would love to hear them :)

also, i know the kids weren't in this chapter but don't worry! they'll be around very soon!

lastly, thank you all so much for the overwhelming love and support on my first fic. i'm beyond grateful that so many of you enjoyed my writing. it genuinely means the world to me! your encouragement and kind words warmed my little heart.

as always, likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated <3

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reimaybe · 1 month ago

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🎧: ‘cause you have to — lany

“wait for me, okay?”

those were the last words you heard from sae. honestly, it seemed like he wanted to say more, but he held back. with a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure his parents weren’t watching, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead before walking away. you could’ve sworn his ears were tinged pink.

rin nudged you with a smirk, the kind that screamed mischief. “i saw that,” he muttered under his breath, grinning annoyingly. you rolled your eyes in response, brushing off his teasing.

still, those unsaid words lingered in your mind. you hoped they were what you thought they were. the three words that would have secured his spot in your future, the spot next to your bed, and the spot on your left ring finger. but even without saying them, you felt like you were already his. that kiss said enough.

a few years. that’s not too bad, right?

your relationship with sae during his early months in spain was great. though he wasn’t the type to communicate much, you could tell that he was actually trying. every few days, you’d get a call from him. one time, when you asked why he always opted to call instead of text, he simply responded, “typing is annoying.” in truth however, he just wanted to hear your voice.

but as the months passed, the calls grew less frequent. rin complained (and teased) especially, since you were the only one sae kept in touch with. you bribed rin with the popsicle sae used to buy to shut him up, and he immediately stopped sulking.

the turning point in your relationship came about a year after sae left. the calls turned into texts, reserved only for special occasions.

sae: happy birthday

[name]: i miss you

he left you on read, no response. after that, sae stopped reaching out entirely. your attempts to contact him went unanswered. you were his, but was he still yours?

no. was he ever yours to begin with?

in the three years without sae, you often felt like something was missing. the ache was subtle but constant. those years were especially hard: dealing with your studies, fending off a few persistent suitors, and enduring rin's teenage phase. honestly, you managed just fine. rin was great for scaring off suitors with a single glare, and you threw yourself into studying as a distraction. but the hardest part, the part you could never quite get used to, was the feeling of longing for someone halfway across the world.

once, you even tried to let someone else in, to open your heart just a little. and then you saw one of sae's interviews—calm, stoic, untouchable. that was all it took to slam your heart shut again. you felt sorry for the person you'd rejected, but not as sorry as you felt for yourself. you knew how pathetic it was to yearn for someone who probably didn’t even think of you.

now, at seventeen, you’re packing your life into boxes, shoving them into the back of a car. you hug your parents goodbye as they tearfully remind you to call often (which brought a dagger to your heart as you remember a specific someone), their voices cracking with pride and sadness. you’re not just leaving for university. you’re leaving behind everything—this house, this town, and the memories that haunted you.

and then, in a heartbeat, everything changed.

as you pulled out of the driveway, your thoughts consumed by all that you were leaving behind, the world outside blurred into an indistinct haze. a momentary distraction—a glance at your phone, a message from sae.

sae: i'm here. can we talk?

your heart dropped. why was he here, now of all times? you couldn't help but feel a spark of hope. you believed that he loved you—at least, the younger sae did. a part of you longed to believe that he still loved you like he did back then.

you loved him in that spring, and as much as you hated to admit it, you still loved him in this winter. but what about him? doubts began to creep in. maybe you had outgrown each other. maybe sae had outgrown you. maybe you’d become a distraction to him, dead weight—nothing but a reminder of a past he could no longer hold on to. perhaps this was just his way of giving you closure.

the questions lingered in your mind: “did you only love me because of that kiss? did you only love me because of the promises you made? does some part of you feel like you owe it to the boy you used to be? do you only love me ‘cause you have to?”

the screech of tires, the crunch of metal against metal, and then the darkness swallowed you whole. in those final moments, as the realization of what was happening crashed over you, the last remnants of sae’s voice echoed in your mind, blending with the chaos of the moment. you had been ready to leave it all behind, but now, it seemed, the goodbyes you gave would be your last.

“i’ll leave you two alone,” rin whispers, taking one last glance at your tombstone before walking away.

“sorry,” sae whispers. though there are a million things he wants to say, that's all he’s able to let out. afraid that if he talks any more, his facade will break down, and the carefully constructed walls he built around his heart will shatter under the weight of his grief. he wishes he could have been the one to love you more. he clenches his fists, feeling the sting of unshed tears burning at the corners of his eyes.

it hurts to know he will never hear your voice again, never be able to kiss your forehead again, and the crushing weight of it all leaves him hollow. a shell of the person he used to be, forever haunted by the knowledge that he let you slip away when he should have fought to keep you close.

“i'll take my leave now,” he whispers to rin, hands in his pockets with the coldest expression rin has ever seen.

the younger itoshi wanted to say something. fight in your stead for all the pain his elder brother had caused you, but he understood that causing a scene here wouldn’t be good.

plus, the tears on sae's face spoke enough.

#bllk #bllk x reader #bllk x you #blue lock #blue lock x reader #blue lock x you #sae itoshi #sae itoshi x you #sae itoshi x reader #itoshi sae #itoshi sae x you #itoshi sae x reader #angst #heavy angst #blue lock angst #bllk angst #sae itoshi angst #itoshi sae angst

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simp-ly-writes · 2 months ago

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To Forgive, Is to Regret

─────── · · Hate the Love That Drives Ambition (pt.2)

Pairing: Father!Silco x Mother!Reader, Jinx & Reader

─ · · SUMMARY: When you thought to have rid yourself of Silco once again, he somehow always finds a way to come back and this time in the form of a blue-braided girl who is more determined than ever to have you all together.

─ · · TAGS: female pronouns used, reader called 'mom/mother,' angst, groveling, found family, fluff, miscommunication, blood and violence, hurt/comfort, alcohol and suicidal thoughts mentioned, swearing, happy ending, not beta read.

─ · · MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 4,185 | PART ONE | PART THREE

─ · · A/N: so proud of this fic, let me know if you enjoy! :)

─────── · ·

When Silco returned back to Zaun most people that saw him walking back to the Last Drop thought nothing of it with his long calculated steps and hardened glare. His coat flaps flying behind him in the wind as wisps of his breath exited his nose and rose up with the smog. But it was when he sat at his desk, cigar in one hand, knuckles turning white around a amber filled glass in the other, that Sevika could tell something was most certainly wrong with the man.

Sevika opened and then closed her mouth, thinking it better not to say anything in that moment. She listened as his foot tapped underneath the desk as he wore underneath his breath before flinging everything off his desk with the back of his hand, glass shattering against the floor.

The table groaned by the force in which he gripped the wood afterwards, hair falling down onto his forehead as his yellow eye twitched in pain.

Silco's mind raced with the image or your eyes burning hatred into his own, the unshed tears welling in your eyes before they couldn't stop. He felt the knife pushing past his skin, its cold exterior finding the warmth of your arms circling around his shoulders as you welcomed him before it became twisted, digging and scraping, he was bleeding, Silco felt sick as you shoved him away, kicking and yelling like he was the devil in everyone else's sight.

He remembers the feeling of your cheek in his palm, his fingers brushing past your quivering lip. He wanted nothing more than for you to grip his vest and wrap your legs around him with the same force you pushed him away with.

He wanted nothing more than to explain if he could have you physically but you did not even give him that. You shook your head, your son, our son, Silco corrected himself, his heart gripped so tight he felt sick, hunching over himself as he groaned. Cigar burning his fingertips as he closed his eyes tighter, no, you spoke so softly.

Yet such a simple word that he heard on the daily did nothing to compare when it came from between your lips as Silco's parted, murmuring what echoed through his head, no...

"No!" Silco yelled into the room as Sevika took a step back, trying to push herself into the darkness. lies- would love me, would protect me- lies!

I never meant to lie to you, if I had known a minute earlier... If I had known a minute earlier. Silco shook his head, trying to rid himself of the thought of seeing only your blood left on that sewer grate and the years of torture his imagination put him through thinking that his henchmen that turned to be rivals had done to you...

How your skin must have split, shattering its radiant glow. How your smile must have been cut by your screams, your bones broken alongside your hope, you disgust me. Silco groaned, hands shaking as he struggled to breathe before going into a fit of coughs.

Jinx sat upon open the rather's, her shoulders tense as she looked down at her father-figure in what looked to be a deep pain; something she understood deeply as she picked at the skin by her fingertips leaving just enough skin before they bled.

She had never seen Silco like this... so far gone and removed from himself. He was acting like a completely different person, muttering to himself, and is that a tear running down his eye? Jinx was concerned, the wood beam she sat upon groaning as she shifted her weight in contemplation of going down to greet he struggling man yet a knock at the door told her else wise.

The oxygen becomes thin in the room as the seconds tick over not slow enough. Silco nods his head towards the door, falling back into his chair and reigniting his cigar before looking up towards the ceiling where he catches a hint of blue.

Sighing he looks down to see who arrives seeing his contracted hitman turn in the men who had hunted you through the streets he had thought to have scared in order to keep you safe, you disgust me.

The scaled hitman opens his palm, demanding his payment as Sevika throws him a dufflebag of cash before the heavy oak doors slam closed. And with a calmness both women hadn't seen earlier, Silco stands up from his chair, tapping his cigar out before unbuttoning and rolling up his sleeves.

The ex-henchmen's eyes go wide with panic, they move their bound feet and hands frantically, trying to flee from Silco as he slowly walks over and stands before them both at his feet.

They watch as his head tilts, neck cracking with the side-to-side motion. A band over their mouths blocks their screams of their impending doom as Silco leans forwards, hair covering parts of his eye yet his yellow one glows through the darkness as he chuckles.

"You took everything from me," Silcos words echo throughout the room, softly spoken to hide the pain fluctuating in his words. He lets his words sit heavy in the room, falling and engraving themselves into their ears before all that can be heard his their screams calling out to Silcos heart.

Sevika shifts her footing, looking up to Jinx who blankly stares at the two dead figures in the office, her eye twitches before she jumps down watching as Silcos back tenses, shoulders rising and falling with his ragged breaths.

Grabbing a towel set down on an armchair, Silco cleans off the blood from his fingers tips slowly, watching them get clean before interlacing his fingers and closing his eyes, "one minute quicker, hm," he whispers underneath his breath before looking over his shoulder.

"Sevika?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Dispose of these corpses, burn them, throw them into the bay, I do not care- just be rid of them, " Silco demands, stepping over one of their legs before standing before Jinx who opens her arms in a silent ask before Silco sighs and gives her a hug.

Jinx can feel his tremors, his fingers shaking as they pick up a braid, "you know that I will protect you, always," Silco whispers into her hair and all Jinx can do is nod, her mind racing with scenarios to explain what just happened but she decides to save those questions for another moment as she waits for Silco to calm.

─────── · ·

"Let us take a walk," Silco says, appearing suddenly in Jinx's space a few days after the... event. She stands up abruptly, shutting down the music and nods violently before jogging after the man.

Silcos hand stay in the pockets of his jacket as he walks down through the streets and through the mist before standing above a drain cover. Jinx raises a brow, looking around the alleyway confused.

"Why are we here?" she asks, turning with a whistle as she kicks an empty trashcan, a rat scurrying away between her feet as her lip moves up, showing her teeth in disgust.

"Here is where I lost another part of myself, here it died," Silco states before crouching down to feel where he remembered your blood to have settled between its grooves. "But I though Vander tried to drown you in the bay?"

"That he did but he only killed a weak man then. Here is where I don't identify with the living any longer," Silco explains before standing to watch the confusion cloud over Jinx's features.

"I don't get it... are you like a cat with nine lives or some shit?" Jinx asks, taking a step closer to poke at the man with a smile yet all she receives is a bitter chuckle and dead stare forwards.

"Hm, no. You could have had a mother, you do have a mother, before the world had to take that away from us too. See that we can only trust in one another and if you were to kill me for whatever reason know that I would not blame you for there is little I could want now, even my own life," Silco spits out that last word with distaste as Jinx panics, hands stopping just before giving the man another hug.

"Why- why would you say something like that?!" Jinx cries, stepping back as she shakes her head. "I could have had a mom, how, what? Silco- I'm so confused..."

"I loved a woman- love a woman ever since I had known Vander. She reminds me much of yourself, bright, cheerful, intelligent and holds a wicked sense of humour. She could just stand there and you couldn't help but want to be near her... and then I... I killed her unknowingly... the men I had hired to protect her took her from me. Took the life away we could have had together as a family..." Silco turns around without another word, storming back to the Last Drop in need of another drink as Jinx watches him leave with a huff before reaching down to feel here Silco just touched.

"I'll find you," Jinx says with a determined tone to herself before standing back up and jogging to catch up with Silco.

─────── · ·

You stood in your apartment, a pot of stew boiling on the stovetop as you danced around to a record you had just bought. Your cat was sitting in their window box, tail swaying side to side with the beat as the setting sun illuminated the space in a golden glow.

A sudden turn of the front door had you smiling as you moved underneath the kitchen sink to dispose of your vegetable offshoots, "welcome back hun! I folded your laundry and dinner should be ready in five!"

You had heard no response, moving up swiftly and knocking your head against the countertop as you cursed, rubbing your scalp. To your surprise, your son, Rhyker was not there waiting for you at the dining table but a young woman around his age with two long braids that dragged across the floor.

How the fuck do people keep getting in? You ask yourself, picking back up that kitchen knife as you point it towards the younger woman. "And just who the fuck are you?" you question, the blade glimmering in the sunlight through the sheer blinds.

"I'm Jinx, pleasure to meet ya!" she says with a smile while opening her arms before stepping up to stand on the table, bending down to grab the knife out of your hand and to shake your other. "And now I'm gonna politely ask you to break-up with whatever 'hun' you have and come back with me!"

You stare at her, blinking and unmoving before furrowing your brows and tilting your head, "Is that a threat?" you ask in a calm tone, your patience reaching its breaking point after the week from hell you had experienced since Silco had decided to make a reappearance into your life. Rhyker had non-stop been asking questions every time he came home and every time you refused to answer he threatened to go and find his father and ask him himself.

You pinched your brow, trying to remove the oncoming headache as Jinx through the knife across the room without a second care and you did not even budge that had Jinx smiling. "I'll make it one if you don't start moving your top-side-ass to the door. I really need you to come with me, I mean I was used to his brooding and off-putting nature but now? Its a step to far, I mean, asking me to kill him? God, whatever you two must have done together must have been important for him..."

The door opens as Jinx's speech dies on her lips once seeing a younger Silco enter the door, "no fucking way," she mutters underneath her breath before leaving you in the dust to pick at your sons features and walk around his form.

"You look so much like him, holy shit!" the blue-haired woman says as you roll your eyes. "If Silco want anything to do with us, tell him this again for me, maybe it'll finally get through his thick skull, we are never coming back- not after what he did to me- to us!" you shout, picking up the knife once more as Rhyker rolls his eyes before setting down his bag. Not even sparing Jinx a second look before serving enough bowls for all three of you at the table.

"If you want answers, you might as well stay for dinner since I don't think my mom is letting us out of Piltover except in a bodybag," Rhyker explains without looking up from the pot as you and Jinx look between one another. This was going to be a long night...

─────── · ·

"So wait, let me get this straight, you and the old man were running Zaun and what? A little life or death scare and your out of it? I mean I at least die one a week, no wonder you are in Piltover you weak ass," Jinx says with a scoff before downing the rest of her second bowl of stew, "Great cooking by the way."

You return a scoff, picking up everyone's plates before moving back towards the sink. "When you get older... have a child... you tire more easily from that line- that at times, all you wish is to cross over rather than ride it," you explain.

"You sound just as depressing as Silco is, you two I would say are fucking perfect for one another," Jinx retorts, giving Rhyker a shove as he glares at her.

"No, that man has caused my mother nothing but pain. It was a mistake on my part going to look for him," Rhyker says, giving Jinx a shove back of her own as she miles wildly at him. "Well tinker-boy, know that me and your mom are heading back to Zaun tonight if you like it or not! I really need her, I mean Silco is ruining the business after he returned from whatever happened topside!"

"What? Did he finally feel the weight of his choices then? Good, then let him suffer as I did raising my boy by myself on the run and exhausted. If he can't last a few days then what good is he to me?" you retort, "I think it's time for you to leave."

"But!"

"No," Rhyker stands, looking down upon the blue-haired girl with a hardened glare. She can see Silco flashing in and out of her vision as she shakes her gaze clear and next thing she knows, she's being thrown out into the hall, the door locking behind her.

─────── · ·

Jinx stares at the closed door, giving it a solid kick before heading back to the Last Drop where Silco was already waiting for her in the lobby. "And where have you been, young lady?" Silco demands, kicking a shard of glass with his boot as both watch the pice shatter some more and scatter across the uneven floors.

"I went to go see, mom. She's really pretty, Silco! I have no idea how you pulled someone like her back in your days, I mean even her neighbour looked interested," Jinx says with a wide smile watching as Silcos eyes widen before hardening.

"What. did. you. just. say?" Silco asks again, annunciating every syllable.

"I. went. to. go. see. her." Jinx responds back before reaching over the bar to pour herself a glass of juice. "And just so you know, you son says 'hi'" With a echoing slurp, she sets her glass back down before giving Silco a pat on the back and running out the doors, "They're serving roast tomorrow!"

─────── · ·

Like clockwork, every night the blue-haired girl who you learned to be 'Jinx' shows up at your door and invites herself in for dinner. It takes weeks for you to finally warm up to her as Rhyker struggles with the concept of not having all your attention yet at the same time enjoys how much she seems to know about Silco without having to annoy you any longer.

You start to see her like your second child by the end of the mouth, making sure to buy foods she likes in the fridge and her favourite juice prepared as well for dinner. She helps you with the dishes afterwards, chatting to you (or sometimes at you), about how things are going in the Undercity as you nod along.

Her stories make you smile as she using her whole body to tell them, you love watching as Rhyker and Jinx share their sketchbooks and tech with one another on the living room carpet as you lean against a doorframe and observe them both, "do you two want some snacks?" you ask, looking at the time to be early morning hours yet nobody seems ready or really wanting to leave just yet- not even yourself from this moment.

Jinx nods enthusiastically as you laugh, her smile only growing from the sound as Rhyker throws a pillow at her before they both are play-fighting and tossing the couch contains everywhere before settling down for cheese and crackers. You nibble on some yourself, nodding along as they present to you their newest findings and next thing you know, you all are asleep in front of the fire that burns through to the next day.

When your eyes reopen you see Jinx staring down at you her hand hovers over your head as you reach up and hold her hand with a smile, "you are welcome to move in with us," you speak softly, not wanting to wake Rhyker up.

Jinx's eyes well with tears as she gives no reply but hugs you, gently before tightening as she sobs. You rub up and down her back, humming in her ear and rocking back in forth, "thank you," she whispers, closing her eyes to savour the moment as do you.

─────── · ·

Silco paced around his office, Jinx had not come back in days and every-person he hired to scout the undercity turned back without answers and empty handed. Sevika rolled her shoulders, "I could always look topside-"

"No. she wouldn't be there still, not unless..." Silco trails off before shaking his head and standing, Sevika beings to follow after him before he pauses, looking over his shoulder. "I should be good on my own, take the day off, If I do not return... know that you are left in charge-"

"Boss! I-" Sevika begins to plead, a part of her knowing how everything would turn tits up if he left.

"No, this is something I must do on my own for myself." And with that, he was gone from the shadows and emerged into the daylight, awaiting at your doorstep and surprised to see Jinx opening the door in fluffy pyjamas.

Silco glared, about to tell her, what if an officer was here instead? what if- "Don't worry, I knew that it was you at the door. Wouldn't have opened it otherwise, I know I'm still hot stuff up here now come in!" jinx opened the door that bit wider and Silco looked around the space in search for you.

"Mom-" Jinx's eyes widened alongside Silcos as they sat there in silence at the call of the title before Jinx continued, "Mom, won't be home until tonight. She's helping with one of Rhyker's school events."

Silco nods, closing the door behind himself and locking it before observing the various photos on the walls he didn't have a chance to the first time he visited. Only a visitor, Silco reminded himself as he set down a picture of you with a younger Rhyker in your arms with flowers in your hair.

You smiled widely in the photo as you did in each image, Silco watched as Rhyker grew up through them all before pausing at a smaller on on the mantel. It was you standing behind Jinx and Rhyker, your hands on their shoulders as they both looked up to you with smiles. Silco's heart ached, his fingers twitching to caress your face through the glass before falling back down to his side.

Jinx watched while rubbing her arm, "We hide that too anytime anyone comes over, I hide with Mr. Whiskers over here," Jinx explains, pointing to the cat now resting on her shoulders between her braids with a smile.

Silco observes how calm she appears, walking around the apartment and pouring out two glasses of water, "You know, I don't think I've ever been happier here. Sure I like walking around and shit and I do miss my stuff, and that drawing from Vi... and you and I guess Sevika couldn't give a shit but I miss her too and I just... I don't know."

Jinx can't explain what she feels when in the comfort of your home, of having a sibling that does annoy her yet also protects her, speaks with her and you... offering unconditional love, opening your home up to her even when she was connected with Silco. And maybe that was what made you offer it in the first place, that vision only your heart could see through its pain and torment just as Silco stood there in the Silence. Listening to how the tap dripped and the cat purred.

"I can see how it would be hard to leave, I do miss you back at home," Silco says yet hating the look of guilt that washes over her face. "Do not feel guilt, child, for living through happiness."

Jinx nods, "I have been having less... thoughts as well. I just, I don't want anything to ruin this."

"I know how you feel," Silco says, taking a seat at the table as Jinx does the same opposite of him. "Moms, not going to be happy when she see's you here," Jinx says watching as the cat hops down from the table to return to the sunlit windowsill.

Silco hums, disregarding Jinx's last words, "To love, is to hate. To forgive, is to regret, and when we face our reflections, we live wanting the past."

"Don't go speaking poetry on me again, old man. No wonder mom can't figure her feelings over you when you constantly speak in riddles!"Jinx ridicules, pointing a finger across the table as Silco shifts in his seat.

"I regret not following after your mother... of not taking a step away from my work to prioritize her. I was so focused on building our future, something I thought we both could be proud of. Yet my ambition drove through it all and now we are stuck here. It is no longer if Sevkia would have told me a minute earlier before the enforcers came- no. It was always me..." Silco sentence slows as he hears footsteps nearing. He is surprised to have not noticed the two people entering the room as Jinx smiles. Taking Rhyker by the arm and heading to his room as he shows her his newest robot.

Silco moves to stand before you place a hand on his shoulder, thumb rubbing at his back in a soothing motion. Silco reaches up, placing his hand atop your before picking it up and pressing a kiss to the back of it.

You both sit there in the silence that speaks greater than any words you both could come up with. Both of your life lines meeting at an intersection once more. You toy with us, picking up your other hand to feel the softness of his hair going through your fingers as Silco leans back so his head rests upon your chest.

"I don't know if I have it within myself to forgive the past you, Silco. But maybe I will be able to live with the new one," you explain, watching with a small smile how his eyes close from your touch as he murmurs back, "the old me died when I saw only your blood in that alleyway but my love will remain throughout the ages."

"I hope that love is something I don't have to count on again, Silco."

"You won't need to but only count on my actions."

"I hate that I have always loved you, Silco," you chuckle, beginning to pull away before Silco stands, stopping you as he pulls you into a hug, your head resting upon his chest, listening to how his heart beats in time with your own.

"Hate, love, all are the same at the end of the day as they both share passion at their core. All I want is you, your lips or your words placing stakes into my heart. Nothing of that matters as long as I have you. I love you, darling," Silco says, one hand cupping the back of your head, the other resting upon your lower back as you let out a breath.

"I love you too."

─────── · ·

─ · · A/N: who doesn't love a happy ending 🥰

─ · · PART ONE | PART THREE

740 notes · View notes

thesilmarillionblog · 4 months ago

Text

WASTE ── series masterlist. (COMPLETE.)

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 61.102

Warnings: +18!, SMUT!, loss of virginity, unrequited love, heavy angst, hurt, drama, jealousy, sexual tension, painful, confessions

Trope: Friends to Lovers Ao3 Link is here.

♱ Waste: Chapter: 1 ♱ Waste: Special Chapter 1

♱ Waste: Chapter: 2 ♱ Waste: Special Chapter 2 (Soon)

♱ Waste: Chapter: 3 ♱ Waste: Special Chapter 3 (Soon)

♱ Waste: Chapter: 4

♱ Waste: Chapter: 5

♱ Waste: Chapter: 6

THE PLAYLIST 🎧

1- Waste by Kxllswxtch

2- It Takes A Lot to Know A Man by Damien Rice

3- Honeythief by Halou

4- Now the One You Once Loved Is Leaving by Lydia

5- Deathbeds by Bring Me the Horizon

621 notes · View notes

madebycloud · 10 days ago

Text

What Would I Do Without You?

jinx/powder x reader — 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

summary: you've been through hell and back with jinx, and despite it all, you couldn't leave her behind. (requested by anons) warnings/themes: HEAVY ANGST, character death (reader), blood, hurt no comfort harhar words: 2.6k notes: first time writing something so angsty like this haha i hope this is angsty enough... (this takes place when jinx rescued isha in prison) a repost cz tumblr is shti!

You could run.

You could run right now, escape with Isha and Sevika.

But-

How can you? You can't just leave Jinx alone—not now. Not after everything. Not when she's facing off against this monster.

Why didn't you listen?

Why did you have to play the hero?

Why, why, did you choose to stay?

“What are you doing?!” Jinx screams.

And that's the last thing you hear before you face off against the beast, watching as it launches itself at you-

At the last minute, you duck.

Too slow.

Too slow and too late.

In one quick motion, the beast tears into you.

It claws straight at your stomach-

You can feel the air leave your lungs.

You hit the ground.

Blood blossoms on your shirt.

But… it worked. The beast backed away. It fled.

You managed to scare it. You've saved Jinx. You've protected her. This is a victory.

Yet-

Why do you hurt so badly?

You look down, and your stomach is-

Oh.

Oh no...

Everything is red.

There's blood. There's blood everywhere.

Your blood.

You hear the sound of running footsteps. “NO!”

It's her voice.

“PLEASE, NO!” Jinx kneels next to you.

Your mind goes hazy, clouded by pain.

Arms grab you and move you into a sitting position. She's holding you. “Please, please,” she's sobbing as she puts pressure on the wound. “You're going to be okay. You're going to be fine.” You know that's a lie.

You cough. Red bubbles on your lips and slides down your chin.

“No, no, you're okay,” she repeats. “Don't go,” she sobs. “Don't you dare go. Look at me. Look at me.” She grabs your face, trying to angle your face up towards hers. “Please, stay with me. Stay. With. Me."

You feel so tired. You want to sleep.

But she needs you to stay here.

“Sevika!” she screams into nothingness, holding you tighter. “I need help, please come over here!”

The pain is still there, but the adrenaline is starting to wear off.

Your body hurts. Your eyelids flutter, but you force yourself to focus on her face.

She's crying. Her whole body is shaking. She's a wreck, but even like this, she's the most breathtaking you've ever seen.

You think that if you were to die, you'd want the last thing you ever saw to be her face.

She's still holding your head as she screams for help. “SOMEBODY—SOMEBODY PLEASE GET OVER HERE!”

Your body is getting cold. You can hear your pulse, thump, thump, thump, thump, in your head.

There's an arm around your back, supporting you as you slowly slump against her. Your head rests on her chest, and you can hear her heart beating loudly.

“I'm scared,” she whimpers. “I'm so scared.”

She is scared.

She's scared that she'll never taste your lips, never feel your breath on her neck.

She's scared that she'll never again feel your fingers on her hip, or your hands on her waist, or your face in her hair.

She's scared that you'll never hold her close, or tease her, or say her name in a way that makes her heart flutter.

She's scared that this is her last moment with you.

“Jinx.” You call her name one last time, her heart breaking when she hears how labored your voice is. It sounds so unlike you.

“No, no, don't say my name like that,” she begs. “Don't say my name like that—it can't be. Please, it can't be.”

She's crying, her tears fall onto your face. You taste saline and sweat and sadness.

You look into her eyes. Those beautiful eyes, full of tears. The eyes that made your heart pound faster and faster whenever you met her gaze.

You think of her face, her laugh, her smile. You think of her hand in yours and the way she looks in the light of dawn. You try to remember her smell, her voice, her skin.

You know this is probably the last time you'll ever be this close to her.

You love her so much.

You try to reach up and touch her face, to wipe away her tears. Your muscles protest and scream at the movement. But you try, anyway.

She catches your hand, presses it against her cheek. Her skin is warm and soft, and you memorize the feeling of it. You hope you'll always remember how her face feels.

“I love you,” you manage to say.

Her lower lip trembles. “What?”

“I love you.”

“No, no, no… don't say that,” she cries. “Don't say that. You're staying right here. You aren't going anywhere.”

She can't let you go. Not like this. Not after she just got you. Not after being so close to a life together. Not after finding someone who loves her so much.

You'd give anything for a few more minutes together. An hour, a day, a week.

You want to stay with her.

You want to stay and be with her and see her grow into the woman you know she'll be. You want to watch those eyes light up at a joke and see her smile. You want to sit by her side as she laughs and talk to her for hours. You want to hold her, for as long as you can, and tell her you love her.

You try to muster a smile. “It's okay,” you whisper. “I'm here, right now. I'm… I'm not going anywhere,” you lie.

She nods. She tries to wipe away her tears.

“Please don't cry. You're too pretty to cry.”

She scoffs as she smiles through her tears. You love her like this. Even just hearing her scoff, even if she's upset, makes you happy.

“I'm a mess,” she says. “I'm a crying, snotty mess.”

“I'll love you anyway.”

“Don't say that,” she pleads. “Don't say that, please.”

“Why?”

Her voice breaks. “If you keep saying things like that, I'm not going to be strong enough to let you go.”

“You won't have to.”

“Don't say that either,” she whispers. “Don't make promises you can't keep.”

“I'm right here.” You try to speak louder. “I'm not going anywhere.”

“Stop. You don't know that.”

And you don't. But you want to believe it. Oh, god, if anything, you want to be right.

You reach up again, brush the hair from her face. You try to be gentle so she won't notice how much it's hurting you to move at all.

“Please tell me a story,” you breathe. “Please. I want to hear your voice.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Anything… anything at all.”

She takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly, and bites her lip in thought. “Okay,” she says after a moment. “I… I have an idea. Do you want to hear it? It's a story, if—if that's okay.”

You slowly nod and take her hand. She's shaking so hard. You run your thumb over her knuckles.

“When I was a little girl,” she starts quietly. “I used to watch the stars. They were so pretty… I'd stay up past my bedtime, just sitting by the window and trying to find the brightest ones in the sky. I always looked for that one star, and I knew I could find it no matter what time it was. I know it's silly…”

It doesn't feel silly to you. You like that she's talking, and even if it's a dumb story, just hearing her is making you feel better.

“I—I wanted to know if there were worlds up there. I didn't know about planets and stars yet, so I'd sit there in my room and imagine all these worlds, full of people who had entire lives I couldn't dream of.”

Closing your eyes, you focus on the sound of her voice.

This is the last time you'll get to hear her talk. The last time you'll get to see her. The last time you'll get to hear her voice. The last time you'll feel her touch. The last time you'll get to be with her.

You smile.

Despite the pain.

You smile.

Even as things start to grow dark.

You smile.

Because even though it won't be for much longer, you know she's still out there.

And she will find her way through this, because you know she can.

Even without you.

“Whenever I couldn't fall asleep,” she continues, “I'd look at the stars and imagine what it was like to live there and what people there were like. I liked to think people on the other worlds would look up and see the same stars and wonder the same things, just like I was. I wanted to see those stars and know that, even if I was by myself in my room, I wasn't really alone.”

“I wanted to know what it was like to explore those other worlds,” Jinx murmurs. “What it was like to be one of those people, with real adventures and fun and families. No rules, just… freedom.”

She keeps talking and talking and talking and-

She notices your hands. Cold. No.

Her hands are shaking, but she reaches out. She reaches for your cheek, caressing it as her fingers tremble. Her hand trembles, and she can't focus on anything but the fact that she's touching your skin, that she's touching you-

She feels the blood on her fingers, trickling down her hand, but she pushes that out of her mind. She doesn't care. You're the most important thing. Always.

She watches your chest, your stomach, waiting for a twitch, a breath, anything to show her that you're still here. That her worst nightmare isn't happening right in front of her eyes.

But there's nothing.

She presses her ear to your chest. Come on, she thinks desperately. Come on, please.

Silence.

Her fingers fumble to find your pulse on your neck.

Nothing.

Her world collapses around her.

No.

No, not like this.

Tears blur her vision. She blinks them away, trying to fight off the tears so she can see you. Can't see you. She doesn't want to. She can't. Not now.

One minute.

Just one more minute, that's all.

Just a few more seconds.

Please.

There's a pressure growing in her chest. It's so tight, it's hard to breathe. She can't breathe. Why can't she breathe? She needs to breathe. She needs to breathe, she needs to breathe, she can't stop crying, she can't stop because you're-

No, no, no. Don't think it, don't think it, don't think it-

“Hey, c'mon,” she says. “This isn't funny. Wake up.” She grabs your shoulders, shaking you. “Wake. Up.”

You're not moving. You're not talking. You're just-

Cold, limp. Nothing's different.

Please, not like this.

“You can't do this.”

Please.

“You have to wake up.”

Please!

“You have to wake up.”

Please, please, please, please.

“You don't just—you don't just get to do this to me!”

This isn't real.

It can't be real.

She closes her eyes.

She reopens them, looking down at your body.

It's real.

“Please wake up! I need—I need you, please.”

She's begging you, to the wind, to the moon, to the stars, that maybe if she pleaded hard enough, hard enough to the whole universe itself, maybe fate would be on her side just this once.

But fate was never on her side.

Life did this to her, it took everything she had and loved and was precious, it took away the only person she knew loved her. Life wasn't good, it was cruel and cold and harsh, and it was taking away everything she had. It was taking everything.

She hates this.

She hates what life was doing to her, what it had done to her. She wants to scream and pull her hair out. She wants to burn the world down and scream at the top of her lungs, at life, at the whole universe, begging it to bring you back.

Just. Bring. You. Back.

How many times had she watched you laugh, watched you smile, and done something as simple as breathing? How often had she watched you speak and talk and joke about something?

How many times had she told you she loved you, how many hours had you lost track of just the two of you talking? How many good moments had the two of you had that she would never be able to experience again?

It had been taken away from her.

You'd never laugh or smile again, that beautiful voice of yours is only a memory now.

And it hurts.

It hurts so much to think about how she's never going to hear your voice. How she's never going to see you walking around the hideout again. She'll never be able to see the smile you give every time she says something stupid.

She'll never be able to hold your hands, to kiss you, to lay her head on your lap. She'll never get to hear you laugh or feel your hands on hers.

She loved you. Every piece of you.

Every smile.

Every laugh.

Every word.

Every tear.

Every kiss.

Every touch.

Every moment.

Every single time.

Every single time you were there for her.

Every single time that you'd given her the best hugs when she'd cried on your shoulder.

Every single time the two of you slept on a small couch just so she could feel safe.

Every single time you'd hold her in your arms.

Every single time you talked her out of a bad mood.

She'll never get to have those again.

She'll never get to experience all of those wonderful, beautiful things again.

And she wants to do it one more time.

One more time to hear you laugh. One more time to feel you put your arms around her. One more time, she wants you to tell her everything is going to be alright. To take her face in your hands, look into her eyes, and say that.

Just one more.

Because what would she do without you?

How would she go on living without you when you were the person who had kept her going for months?

For the longest time, you were the one person that she trusted. The one person that she felt safe with.

Without that, what was the point?

She can still remember the first time she met you. She can still remember the butterflies in her stomach each time she saw you, the way her heart raced whenever you spoke to her. She can still remember that first, awkward kiss, how you held her close in your arms afterwards and didn't let go.

She can still remember the first time the two of you had said, “I love you.”

It was so hard for her to say it because she hadn't felt loved in a long time. And she's nervous, she's scared. But you spoke first, you pulled her close.

It was a whisper, a quiet “I love you” spoken in her ear. And then she started crying, she turned and buried herself in your arms.

I love you.

She'll never hear those words again.

But she can still remember what you sounded like.

That had to be enough.

That has to be enough.

Those three words have to be enough for her.

They have to be.

But they weren't.

Because now, you are gone.

“I love you too,” she murmurs. “So much-”

But there's no one to hear it.

She closes her eyes again, letting the tears roll down her face.

This is what love is, she thinks.

This is what loving someone does to you.

She'd never hated something so much in her life.

“How am I supposed to live without you?”

notes: forgot that singed is literally right there… (might write pt2)

#arcane #jinx #arcane jinx #jinx arcane #arcane x reader #arcane x gender neutral reader #arcane x female reader #arcane x you #jinx x reader #jinx x gender neutral reader #jinx x female reader #jinx x you #jinx x y/n #jinx imagine #angst #heavy angst

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chris-in-the-headlights · 2 months ago

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I want you to imagine that Charles and Erik dated during First Class.

I want you to imagine that everyone in the team knew and had no problem with it. That after the satellite dish scene, they kissed.

I want you to imagine that someone in the team (let’s say it’s Sean) had a knack for photography. That he took a picture. That Erik, in a stroke of romanticism took it and wrote on its back.

Now I want you to imagine that, many decades later, Charles has a photograph on the far back of the drawer of his nightstand. That it’s a picture of two young men kissing tenderly with the flora of Westchester on the background. That the words “The point between rage and serenity” are written on its back. That he only takes it out in his worst moments. A reminder that even the worst of sinners have the potential to be God’s favourites.

Why are you imagining this? This never happened. No one had a knack for photography. They never kissed. They never said “I love you”.

If you’re a writer or an artist , this is a petition. Do something with this before I explode. The clock is ticking.

#cherik #erik lehnsherr #charles xavier #charles x erik #fanfic #fanfic rec #xmen #getting together #lgbtq #angst #reeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaalllllllyyyyy heavy #heavy angst #fic #suffer

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whorediaries-09 · 4 months ago

Note

Sirius Black with a breeding kink where he goes 'spread your legs wider.' ???? For kinktober!!!

hello i'm foaming at the mouth??

i'll hold my breath;

pairing- sirius black x reader warning(s)- 18+ content, mentions of injury. a/n- i wrote this with older sirius in mind. ya'll can think whatever you want to.

prompt- breeding + 'spread your legs wider'

the diner. kinkotober masterlist. kinkotober rules

it feels like there's no one in the world. it feels like the world is silent. and you appreciate it. you don't want this moment to be gone. you want to stay in this state forever, his arm wrapped around you. his touch serene. the touch that lingers, crawls under your skin. it kisses your soul from the inside.

it's intimate.

he's got you as close as humanly possible. you like to think it's because he doesn't want to lose you. and maybe it's true. you had seen the sheer panic in his eyes when you'd knocked at his door, bloodied, defeated and escaped from endless hours of copious torture from your captivators.

he held you as you cried. he held you, bandaging up your wounds. his usually stable hands shaking as they held you. he kissed you for the first time. he told you he was afraid of losing you.

you'd held his hand, nudging his forehead with yours, breathing heavy against his mouth. you told him that he wasn't going to lose you anytime soon. you intended to stay.

he told you he loved you. he told you he loves you.

you drew circles on his cold palm. truth be told, the idea of losing him was just as haunting. the idea that you could've lost him before you even had him haunted you. you needed to feel that he'd be by your side. you needed to know that you weren't going to lose him anytime soon.

you turned around under the sheets, cupping his face with your bandaged hand. you stared at his pale, porcelain skin. the stubble on his cheeks. the soft dimple on his left cheek. under the glow of the shattered moonlight you saw him glow.

'sirius,' you whispered, the sudden covet too deep. you yearned for him, you yearned for his assurance. that he was there. that he was going to be there. that you weren't going to lose him anytime, ever.

his eyelashes fluttered before he opened his eyelids.

'yes, my love? are you hurt?' he asked, feeling the coarse fabric of the bandage with his fingers.

'no,' you said. you weren't. how could you be? he was finally yours. but you needed to know he was yours.

'i just...' you sighed, stopping mid-way.

'yes?' he asked, tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear. you couldn't say it. no. you needed to spell it out on his lips. so, you kissed him.

furious. hot. like a starved person. desire fueled inside you as you kissed him hard and deep. as you felt the notes of malt whiskey on his tongue. the scent of his aftershave and the cigarettes he smoked on his breathe. the slender fingers tangling in your hair, pulling you closer. not like the first time you'd kissed him earlier in the night.

he pulls away, gasping for breath. in the iridescent light, he sees your swollen lips. he feels a warmth rush down to his nether regions. it feels like a incentive. but he's not sure. he decides to test the waters by running his fingers down your waist. you shiver. his touch is cold.

but you like the cold. you like the contradictory feel of your warm skin against his cold one. you almost beg for it. it's comforting. it's the beginning of something you know you want.

then, like the snap of a finger, he's straddling you. and sliding his t-shirt up, as he's kissing you. you feel his erection grow, hot and big as you touch him. you're trailing your fingers down his sides. his breathing goes erratic. his lips are all over your heated skin, kissing every portion it possibly can.

his fingers trail down to the elastic of your shorts. he's pulling them down. but you're shy. even though you're bucking your hips, telling him to touch him, you're shy. you've got your thighs pushed together.

he sits between your calves, holding his cock in his hand.

'spread your legs wider,' he says, voice stern. it's not a request. it's an order. as if he knows what you want. as if he knows that you crave him. as if he knows he's been your drug even before he'd been yours. but the truth was, he'd always been yours. you whimper under his stare. he slides his finger between your inner thigh, softly pinching the skin.

you jerk open your legs for him, barring your wet, aroused core. it's vulnerable. it's intimate. he slides between your legs, lining his cock with your cunt. he gasps, pushing into you. it's a wonderful burning stretch that you feel as he slides into you. as if you'd been waiting for this your whole life.

but you're greedy. you want more.

you pull him closer by his neck, as he pushes himself deep, so deep. he gasps, a broken moan escaping his lips. you smile, pulling him closer.

'fuck,' you whimper. he stays. you feel him like the way you'd always wanted to. you're never going to lose him.

he pulls himself out, before pushing himself into you again.

'what a pretty cunt,' he says, wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling you closer. your sweaty chests touch, and he buries his neck within the nape of your neck.

'thought i'd almost lost you tonight, sweetheart,' he says, thrusting, more erratic with each passing minute. it's as if he's trying to get out all those years' frustration he couldn't feel, touch you, hiding behind the veil of friendships.

'you're never going to lose me,' you manage out. you feel him so deep into you. it's as if he's always belonged there. 'i thought i was going to lose you before i could ever have you,'

the tip of his cock touches your g-spot and you're seeing stars. your toes curl. your breathe eradicates. your chest heaves as he thrusts and fucks you, stimulating the core tightening of your orgasm. your walls flutter around him. your nails dig into his inked back.

'fuck,' he groans, feeling you gripping him tight. 'gonna cum sweetheart?' he asks. your eyes shed tears of pleasure.

'y-yes, sirius, right there,' you say, chained with profanities and his name as your orgasm breaks away from your body and onto his stomach.

he fucks you through your release, his own thrusts growing sloppy. he grips your chin, maintaining eye-contact with you.

'i'm gonna fuck my babies into you, darling,' he says. you nod vigorously.

'and you-' he moans, biting his lip, as your walls clench around him at his words, 'you're going to look me in my fucking eyes as i do so,' he manages out.

he releases thick, hot ropes of cum into you. you feel it filling you up, satiated. he doesn't pull out. you feel him soften inside you. he kisses you.

'you're gonna look so pretty with your stomach swelled up with my babies,'

****************************************

taglist - @reggieisfit @siriuslycaptainofthedawntreader @jamespottergf @eternallybipanicking @fictional-magic @iamgayforyourmom1510

(if you want to be tagged please send a request through my inbox.)

****************************************

©whorediaries-09, 2024.

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cocoafloodsthemetro · 6 months ago

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So apparently birds pluck out their own feathers when they're rlly stressed, so I got this cursed idea and totally didn't cry while drawing this...

But it's okay I drew a happy ending

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ghost-bxrd · 6 months ago

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You guys ever think about Dick or Bruce recording silly videos with Jason where they’re all like “omg Jay stop wait til you see this when you’re all grown up!”

And Jason just brightly exclaiming “I’m never gonna grow up!”

And them just watching it later and—- breaking down.

#oops #jason todd #batfamily #dick grayson #bruce wayne #batfam #robin #tim drake #red hood #musings #batdad #jaybin #angst #heavy angst #jason and bruce #Jason and Dick #Batman

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charlesxavierthirster3000 · 4 months ago

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Burdened — L. Howlett

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader

Summary: Based on this request!!!!

CW/Tags: not proofread bc I literally finished this at 5am 😭, Logan is an ASS, a lot lot of feelings, lowk heavy angst I THINK, no use of Y/N, don't like don't read.

A/N: @rambosgirl Ily girlie I really enjoyed writing this :33 I AM SO INSANELY SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG !!!!!!! Also while writing the ending of this my Spotify Smart Shuffle fucking played First Love/Late Spring by Mitski and I swear it knows how fitting it is bro wtaf ok LAST statement but like this is my first 1K+ word fic are you guys proud of me :33 I'm starting this at like 3am so don't bully me if the ending doesnt' make sense ok byeeeeeeeee

WC: 1.6K (get comfy guys) / Navigation

It was unnecessarily irritating. And frankly really, really fucked up.

Anytime you turned your back from a seemingly butterfly-inducing interaction with Logan, you found him all over Jean as if he wasn’t just chatting you up four minutes ago.

Jean Grey was—from what you’ve surveyed over your time at the mansion—not really phased, despite her somewhat established relationship with Scott. She was intelligent and good-natured, flashing you sickeningly sweet smiles in the corridors and occasionally complimenting your outfits as if hers weren’t twice as stunning.

But every time you spotted Logan gazing down at her with the look you thought he’d reserved for your eyes only, the image of perfection the redheaded telepath had materialised in front of you dissipated like a glass of ice left to liquefy under the scorching sun.

Because she never pushed him away, and she was so clearly inevitably attracted, whether she displayed it or not. It was virtually written all across her sharp features, and you knew the same was scripted all over your own when speaking to Logan.

That dip your heart made every time you saw the two’s chemistry from afar; it wasn't just blatant jealousy.

It was deeper.

It was nastier.

It clung to your insides like a weight you couldn't possibly shake off. The constant sense that you were just a swift distraction, a momentary diversion from the real object of his desire.

It ate you up from the inside out and exhausted you to no end.

When Storm or Rogue cautiously approached you and tried to console you, you shrugged it off as if it was some uncomplicated highschool sweetheart drama. They knew damn well it wasn’t. Your conflicting feelings for Logan were gradually making you lose yourself— your well-built dignity. You were slowly but surely morphing into someone you didn’t even recognise. Someone who accepted being second best without any contemplation.

All for a man who was immortal. All for someone who presumably considered you a fleeting paragraph in his primitive life while he was an entire novel in yours.

You wanted— needed to locate yourself in the vast body of water which was your feelings. You needed your sense of self-worth to reappear by a miracle, nevertheless, you knew it would take immense time and exertion to track it back down.

But in a wretched attempt to do so, you settled on a fairly elaborate plan and started disregarding each one of Logan’s advances. Suddenly, you conveniently had somewhere else to be every time he approached, you pulled back and overlooked his easy smiles along with the playful banter you practically used to feed off of.

At first, it felt as if you were reclaiming some of your power, spotting his perplexed looks in your peripheral vision as you wandered off to God knows where. But of course, everything you did came back to bite you in the ass. If anything, it only made the truth clearer. He barely even noticed, and if he did, he didn’t give a single shit.

And Jean? She remained unbothered, untouchable— flawless, even. You were the mastermind of this whole game, yet you were the only one losing.

After a particularly humiliating stretch of witnessing Logan and Jean’s shared giggles and stolen looks from across the table, you ultimately found your resolve. Alcohol really was liquid courage, because after a few drinks and several stabs of food, you closed in on them lounging on the couch post-meal.

Logan’s bare arm was extended across the back of the grimy cushions behind Jean like some kind of cheesy rom-com, cowlicks a prominent silhouette against the weak flickering of the television. But no matter how much you resented them— her, you would never even come by the opportunity to be in the redhead’s position.

“Howlett,” you enunciated, voice sharp enough to slice through the ambient noise like a shard of glass.

Howlett. No other soul could call him that without repercussions. Aside from you. That was why you felt so unique, so distinct from the others, that was the crumb of specialty you were desperately clinging on to.

He shifts to glance over his shoulder, a spark of recognition igniting within him at the sound of your voice—not missing the shred of urgency concealed beneath it. “Hm? What's up?”

You hesitate with your next words, intently but subtly taking in his scruffy features in the dimmed lighting for what felt like it could be the final time. Because after this, you knew for a fact neither one of you could view each other in the same way. You were the one who let him under your skin, you were the one who had to tear him out, and it unfortunately was an agonisingly slow process.

“We need to talk.”

Four words. Yet, it still gave you the sensation of several weights placed upon your back; the unavoidable impending argument, manipulation spat right into your face, and the most dreaded of all, how circumstances would be after tonight.

His expression stiffened mildly as he reluctantly got up from the couch, aged leather groaning beneath his weight. The sensation of Jean abruptly invading the back of your mind was extremely unsettling and even though she appeared unphased, she, without a question, detected your abnormal uneasiness and was gingerly flicking through your thoughts.

Which was apprehensive, to say the least.

Logan fell into step with you as you departed from one of the many doddering living rooms, proceeding to a more secluded space nearing the obnoxious stairs in front of the grand entryway, mansion almost bizarrely silent with all the kids asleep. Jean wasn’t in your head anymore, but she undoubtedly already knew your objectives to the script.

You halted and so did Logan, weight finding its position set upon the auburn wood of the stairs.

He eyed you with undivided attention. Your stomach threatened to do a fucking flip despite the conditions, the look nearly making you scrap all of this and go right back to being his side piece regardless of the anguish it put your mind through. But you dug your heels in, the clearing of your throat echoing sharply off the vacant walls.

You square your shoulders and tilt your chin up boldly, aiming to stand your ground. “What the hell am I to you? Because from what I see and a whole lot of other people do, I’m just an afterthought. Filler for the gaps Jean left open. Care to elaborate on that, Howlett?”

He sighed, glancing at the wall behind you as if he was already fed up. “It’s not like that, bub. You’re makin’ it bigger than it is.”

Your blood scorched at the casual dismissal. Your voice inevitably rose but doesn’t go over a whisper, “Don’t patronise me, Logan,” you scoff. “I’m not some stupid kid with a stupid crush, so don’t let your ego get out of hand. I’ve watched you get all up on her, and then come to me when she’s got a class. Do you even fucking hear yourself?”

His jaw stiffened, his own frustration growing. “You really think it’s that easy? I never asked you to get involved. You know how it is with me and her. You don’t get how fucked my life is, it’s your own fuckin’ fault things got messy.”

“Yeah, yeah. Go sulk somewhere else, I don’t give a shit how crappy your life is. It doesn’t take much to be a decent fucking human!— mutant, whatever. I’m not gonna let you come crying to me when things don’t work out with Jean. I’m worth more than that. You can’t see that, it’s your damn problem, not mine.”

He was visibly trying to find his footing, and you took it as an opportunity to carry on, “It’s not my fault this got sloppy. You can’t just invite a woman for a nice drive and end up throwing her out the door a moment later. You knew damn well what you were doing to m—”

“You don’t know what I gotta deal with every day. It’s difficult. I never wanted it to get like this. You were the one overthinkin’ it.”

You shook your head forcefully, exasperation boiling over. “I don’t give a fuck, Logan— stop hiding behind that, you don’t even remember half of your damn life! It’s not messy, it’s cruel. I’ve had my own trouble, but I don’t use it as an excuse to hurt people who care about me. Don’t put all of it on my back.”

He opens his mouth to retort, but you cut him off. “Don’t. Don’t say anything. I’ve dealt with you for half my time here. I’ve had enough of your bullshit.” A flash of remorse graced his eyes but it didn’t do a thing.

“I’m not your backup plan. I’m not waiting for you to look at me the way you look at Jean. I deserve someone who doesn’t just act like they give a shit. I’ve made my choice and you’ve made yours. I’m done. Goodnight, Howlett.”

With a harsh turn of your heel, you walked away with a heavy heart. But your head was clear for the first time in months, your shoulders were lighter, and the clarity you felt nearly blew your veins out. It would be painstakingly tough to face him tomorrow morning, but you knew you would get over it eventually.

Also i just realised in the morning Washing Machine Heart works WAYYy better but it's whatever I guess 😮‍💨

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fvsm4x · 1 year ago

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✧RE(G)RET ; GOJO SATORU . . . . . CHAP 1.

✧SUMMARY: Pregnancy, usually a positive outcome of love between two partners that love each other deeply. But Pregnancy resulting from someone using you for their own pleasure is far from a positive outcome

— C.W: bully Gojo Satoru x female reader , pregnancy , sexual assault & harassment , mentions of abortion , mature themes/MDNI , bullying , angst , gojo is a dick , 18+ , fingering , sucking , nsfw , mature themes , dirty talk , dubcon

— WORD COUNT: 4.7k+

—A/N: I SWEAR GOJO WILL GET A CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT PLEASE DON‘T COME ATTACKING ME IF I WROTE HIM BEING A DICK

— TAGLIST: @watyousayin @zukowantshishonourback @wiqxx @jhutchlover67 @xxemmarldxx @sadmonke @chilichopsticks @neptunieesworld @sodoney @nessielovesfood @polarbvnny @mwtsxri @mynahx3 @coffee-on-a-rainyautumn @reader69sviewpoint @emryb @starlightanyaaa @kiramdd @promiseofeywa @xuxieroll @tqd4455 @wateronlyhaha @stillpanicking @starrylibras @latorsgatorz @melancholysanatomy @cherryblossomly @littledemoness15 @thatsopanu @throwmethroughawindow @xkittiecatx @yihona-san06 @aikuoliverswife @mellow-mewow @r0ckst4rjk @virtuapicklequirkreader @heijihattorisgf @meoneee777 @ih8erika @haitanibros0007 @certainduckanchor @alisonyus @nothisispatrick300

NEXT | SERIES MASTERLIST

"No," you whispered, your voice trembling,"No. No. No."

You stared at the pregnancy test in your hand, your breath catching in your throat.

The room seemed to spin around you as you tried to process the reality of the situation. Your hand began to shake uncontrollably, and tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision.

Your heart pounded in your chest, its rhythm erratic and chaotic. Each beat seemed to echo in your ears, a constant reminder of the profound impact this revelation would have on your life. Slowly, your legs gave way beneath you, and you slid down the cold, tiled walls of the bathroom. The coolness seeped through your clothes, grounding you in the midst of the emotional storm raging within.

You glanced at the test again, desperately hoping that it was all just a mistake. But the reality of the situation sank in, causing your lower lip to quiver and tears to stream down your face. In a fit of frustration and despair, you threw the test across the room, its plastic casing clattering against the tiles. The sound seemed to reverberate through the silence, punctuating the gravity of the moment.

Your hands instinctively flew to your face, covering your mouth as you sobbed into them. This couldn't be happening. You weren't ready to become a parent, not yet. You were still in college, still young, and this felt like a cruel twist of fate. But deep down, you knew it wasn't a mistake.

The constant bouts of nausea, the missed periods, and the frequent trips to the bathroom left no room for doubt. You had suspected for a while now, but seeing the positive test confirmed your fears.

Thoughts raced through your mind, each one more frantic than the last. How would you manage your studies and a baby?

You couldn't afford to bring a child into the world right now. You were just 18, still trying to navigate your way through your studies, and you still lived with your parents.

To make things even more challenging, the baby you're carrying is from Gojo Satoru, your bully who took away your virginity without your permission.

—

The room echoed with the unmistakable sound of spurrrr, followed by a sudden splashh. A cold sensation enveloped you as something was poured over your head, and a sticky white liquid began cascading down your form, saturating your hair, uniform, and face. The wet strands of your hair clung to your face, covering your eyes in a veil of dampness.

The once pristine white dress shirt of your uniform became a translucent canvas, revealing the contours beneath as it absorbed the relentless flow of the liquid. A chill ran down your spine as the dampness seeped through the fabric, making you shiver involuntarily.

The table before you, once holding neatly arranged notes, became a collateral victim as drops of the liquid found their way onto your meticulously written papers. The carton responsible for this unexpected deluge was carelessly tossed into the midst of your notes, creating a chaotic scene as the remaining contents gushed out, further drenching everything in its path.

It was milk, strawberry milk.

Your gaze fixated ahead, a mixture of confusion and disbelief clouding your eyes as you attempted to process the unexpected deluge of strawberry milk.

As you stood there, momentarily lost in the aftermath of the incident, the air around you resonated with the muffled sounds of laughter. The echoes of amusement began to pierce through the disorientation, pulling you back to the stark reality of the situation. Laughter, a mocking symphony, surrounded you from all directions, each chuckle and giggle magnifying the embarrassment of your saturated state.

Laughter, laced with mockery, sliced through the air as a voice from behind you jeered, "Man, a pink bra, seriously?", you shifted your gaze downward, only to be met with the sight of the pink bra that had become inadvertently visible through the now translucent fabric of your wet shirt, courtesy of the strawberry milk shower.

A blush crept up your cheeks, and your immediate response was to instinctively raise your hand, hastily covering the exposed upper part. Fumbling with the wet fabric, you desperately scanned your surroundings, searching for your jacket to shield yourself from the prying eyes.

However, before you could make a move, an unexpected force gripped your wrist, tugging you forward. The sudden pull exposed your bra once again, and your eyes shot up to meet the person responsible for the intrusive gesture. Piercing blue eyes and a shock of white hair revealed the identity – it was Gojo.

His gaze lingered, assessing the situation with a faint smirk. "I think it looks cute," he remarked, his eyes lingering on you,

"Your taste is seriously something else..." The voice behind Gojo murmured with a hint of incredulity before retreating into the background, leaving you alone with the enigmatic figure.

Desperation edged into your voice as you muttered, "Let me go," attempting to free your wrist from Gojo's firm grasp. However, your pleas were met with nothing but Gojo's lingering smirk, his piercing blue eyes still focused on you as if savoring the discomfort he'd stirred.

His response, a nonchalant, "No, I don't want to," only tightened his grip, compelling you to raise your hand even further, inadvertently granting him an unimpeded view. The smirk deepened as Gojo's other hand encircled your waist, drawing you closer until your body was flush against his.

The proximity left you feeling exposed and vulnerable, the lingering scent of strawberry milk and the dampness of your clothes creating an uncomfortable backdrop. Gojo, seemingly indifferent to your discomfort, leaned in, his voice a low murmur against your ear. "I wonder if your panties are also pink," he teased, his words sending a chill down your spine, widening your eyes in disbelief.

"Wait..." you stammered, attempting to push yourself away, but the maneuver only seemed to pull you closer to him.

A low, contemplative hum escaped Gojo's lips as his hand, previously resting on your waist, began to go down. The touch trailed down your back, skimming the curve of your waist before settling on the contours of your ass cheeks, positioned above your skirtt and then slipping beneath the fabric.

A hushed protest escaped your lips as you whispered, "Stop," the warmth of a blush creeping up your face as his hand delved further, finding its way under your panties, intimately resting on your bare skin. The audacity of the intrusion left you breathless.

"C'mon, don't get shy on me now," Gojo chided with an unsettling nonchalance. "No one's here." His words echoed in the room, and you glanced around, realizing with a sinking feeling that everyone who had occupied the space before had dispersed, leaving you alone in the confined space with Gojo.

"I'm busy, please let go," you pleaded, attempting to push Gojo away, the urgency in your voice belying the embarrassment and discomfort that churned within you.

His response, a taunting, "Don't be shy, I know you want it,"

You felt a shiver as Gojo pressed himself against you, his bulge uncomfortably noticeable against your stomach. His hand, previously holding your wrist, ventured under your dress shirt, revealing the pink bra. Instinctively, your hand moved to intercept his advance, wrapping around his invading hand.

"Please stop," you pleaded, hoping he'd respect your discomfort.

A dismissive "Shut up" escaped Gojo's lips, his grip tightening as he continued, "I know you want it, so let me give it to you." His audacious words hung heavy in the air, making your vulnerability more palpable.

With a furrowed brow, you tried to resist, but the unwelcome touch persisted, leaving you feeling trapped and violated.

"I noticed the way you looked at me," Gojo asserted, "Always in those little skirts, clearly trying to grab my attention~. You wanted me to notice you, and now you have it, so don't act like you didn't ask for this."

His hand, previously on your exposed ass cheek, ventured downward, slipping into the delicate crevice between your cheeks, reaching the wetness at your folds. With a deliberate touch, he pressed two fingers between the folds, skillfully massaging the sensitive flesh, coaxing a whimper from your lips.

"So wet~," he murmured into your ear, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. His fingers traced slow circles around your sensitive bud of nerves, his words a seductive whisper, "Just for me, right?"

A whimper escaped your lips, your hand finding its place on Gojo's arm as you attempted to pull him away. In response, Gojo pressed into your clit, evoking a cry from your lips, the sensations tingling through your body.

"Don't try to stop me, sweetheart," Gojo murmured into your ear, his voice a sultry promise that heightened the intensity of the moment. He continued his relentless touch, coaxing more desperate sounds from you, his lips gently kissing the sensitive skin of your earlobe.

"You love this, don't you?" he teased, his words dripping with confidence. "You can't resist me," he continued, his fingers exploring every sensitive inch,

Your attempts to resist only seemed to fuel Gojo's determination. He increased the pressure on your clit, each touch sending waves of pleasure through your body, making it harder to focus on anything else.

"Don't fight it," Gojo urged, his voice a seductive whisper against your ear. His fingers danced skillfully, exploring your most intimate areas. "You're mine, and I know exactly what you need."

He punctuated his words with teasing strokes, a wicked grin playing on his lips as he reveled in the effect he had on you. The room seemed to spin as your defenses crumbled under the skillful touch, and your hand, once attempting to pull away, clutched onto Gojo's arm, seeking support in the escalating whirlwind of sensations.

"You're so responsive," he commented, his breath hot against your skin. "I can feel you clenching around me." His fingers continued their dance, the rhythm building, pushing you closer to the edge.

As you whimpered in response, "Let go, sweetheart. Embrace the pleasure. You know you want it," Gojo urged.

"I wonder what your brother would think about this," he mused, a sly grin playing on his lips. "Imagine the expression on his face when he discovers his little sister being fingered by his best friend. You truly are a slut..“

A feeble "S-shut up," escaped your lips, the whispered plea laden with a mix of vulnerability and desperation. Your eyes fluttered, slowly rolling back as Gojo inserted a finger, the intimate touch sending a wave of conflicting sensations through your body. A trace of your juices glistened on his hand, a tangible testament to the overwhelming desire that filled the room.

"You're so wet, literally dripping," Gojo observed, his voice a low murmur that echoed the satisfaction in his growing smirk. His free hand went to the cups of your bra, pushing it down and exposing your breasts. Your right breast became the focal point as his hand gripped into its softness. As he descended to an eye level with your exposed breast, his mouth opened, and he latched onto it with an undeniable hunger.

As Gojo's mouth covered your breast, he started sucking on your nipple with evident hunger. His lips sealed tightly around it, and his tongue began teasing circles, sending shivers through your body. The sensations grew more intense as the rhythmic sucking continued, prompting involuntary moans.

In an attempt to resist, you tried to push Gojo away, but he only intensified the suction.

You whimpered as the conflicting sensations of pleasure and resistance enveloped you. Gojo, undeterred by your feeble attempts to resist, continued his relentless assault on your senses. His fingers skillfully worked, dancing over the intimate areas, amplifying the intensity of the encounter.

"Such a good girl, letting yourself feel what you truly desire."

—-

You found yourself seated on the floor, bathed in the dimming sunlight that filtered through the window. The room had taken on a languid hue as the sun descended, marking the culmination of an encounter that seemed to leave more than just physical traces.

Your shirt hung open, showing a pink bra struggling to keep it together after the heated rendezvous. The smeared lipstick and mascara were clear signs of the passionate escapade. As you sat there, your legs trembled, and the lack of panties beneath your skirt hinted at the intimate moments that had unfolded.

The room felt both intimate and lonely as everyone, including Gojo, had left, leaving behind the aftermath of a liaison that blurred the lines between pleasure and regret. The echoes of your recent escapade and the missing panties were the only remnants of Gojo's presence.

At first, you hesitated, reluctant to lose your virginity to someone like Gojo. But eventually, you caved in, and you can't deny it felt good. You shoulder the blame for giving in – you enjoyed it, just like Gojo did.

Gojo is – a jerk, a player, who engages with women, gets what he wants, and then moves on. You unwittingly became one of his victims, transitioning from being bullied by him to being involved intimately with him.

You deeply regret giving in to the situation, feeling an overwhelming sense of remorse. If only you could turn back time and take action to prevent it from happening. But unfortunately, it was too late.

Slowly rising from the cold floor, you hastily grabbed your jacket and tied it around your waist, desperately hoping it would conceal the fact that you were not wearing any underwear at the moment. With your backpack slung over your shoulder, you began to make your way towards the exit, your legs trembling and unsteady.

Every movement you made caused a sharp hiss of pain to escape your lips. Your legs were sore from the intense encounter with Gojo, the person who had taken advantage of you. You couldn't help but wonder if he even realized that you were a virgin.

As you retrieved your phone from your backpack and turned it on, you were met with a flood of missed calls and messages from your brother, who happened to be Gojo's best friend. Glancing at the time displayed on the screen, you realized it was already 6 pm. You were supposed to be home by 3 pm, but Gojo had held you captive, causing you to be late. While you doubted your parents would be concerned about your tardiness, your brother certainly would be.

Just as you were contemplating your next move, your phone began to ring, displaying your brother's caller ID. Despite the pain and emotional turmoil you were experiencing, a weak smile formed on your face as you answered the call. The sound of loud shouting immediately filled your ears, a clear indication of your brother's worry and concern for your well-being.

"Where are you?" he shouted anxiously, causing a mixture of emotions to stir within you.

"Don't worry, I'll be home soon," you reassured him, your voice barely above a whisper. With your free hand, you carefully wiped away the smudged makeup on your face, attempting to regain some semblance of composure.

"I'm asking you where you are!" he yelled once again, his voice filled with frustration and fear.

You couldn't help but let out a soft chuckle, a bittersweet response to his genuine concern. "I got held up here, but I'm fine. Please, don't worry about me," you replied,

„Should I come pick you up?“ he asked, his voice calming down.

You thought for a moment before replying with a short,“yes“

You figured it was better to wait for your brother then walk home, with no panties and sore legs.

Your brother replied,“Okay, I‘ll be there soon, wait for me, yeah?“ before hanging up.

After your brother hung up, you stepped out of the building, greeted by the gentle tones of the setting sun casting its warm glow. The wind played with your hair as you settled down by the stairs, patiently waiting for your brother to arrive and pick you up.

The events of the day echoed in your mind, and the weight of both regret and discomfort lingered. The building's facade cast long shadows as the sun continued its descent, creating a tranquil scene that contrasted with the turmoil within.

As the sound of approaching footsteps reached your ears, you couldn't help but feel a mix of relief and apprehension. It was your brother, finally arriving to pick you up. His concerned expression softened as he laid eyes on you, and you mustered a smile in response.

"I hope you didn't wait too long," he spoke, his gaze lingering on your figure, perhaps noticing the slight dishevelment.

"Don't worry, Suguru," you replied, trying to sound more composed than you felt. Walking together towards his car, the setting sun cast a warm glow over the world, signaling the end of a tumultuous day.

Just as you reached the car, your brother paused and turned to face you. "Oh, before I forget," he began, opening the door for you to get in. "You wanna come with me and Satoru to the bar today? It's your—"

"No," you cut him off abruptly, causing him to look at you with a questioning eye.

"Are you sure? I mean, it's your favorite place," he asked again, genuinely perplexed by your sudden refusal.

"I'm not feeling well. I just want to stay home," you lied, your voice betraying the mix of fear and shame that consumed you. The truth was, you couldn't bear the thought of seeing Gojo again. The fear of facing him, coupled with the overwhelming shame of what had transpired between you, made the idea of going to the bar unbearable.

"If it's because of Sat—" your brother started, only to be interrupted by you once more.

"No," you replied firmly, cutting off any further discussion. Your brother was aware of the constant bullying you endured from Gojo, how he treated you with cruelty and spite. However, he always brushed it off as his best friend's way of dealing with you, believing it to be harmless banter. Little did he know the true extent of the pain you endured.

The weight of the day's events hung heavily in the air, overshadowed by the looming apprehension of your brother discovering the truth. It was a delicate and complicated situation, as your brother shared a deep bond with Gojo, forged through years of friendship. Their connection was akin to that of siblings, and they had been inseparable for as long as you could remember. Both a year older than you.

This closeness only intensified your anxiety about how your brother might react if he were to uncover the events of the day. It wasn't just the fear of his disappointment or anger towards you, but also the possibility that he might side with Gojo, potentially jeopardizing their friendship. The thought of losing your brother was a heavy burden to bear.

You were scared. Scared of the repercussions, scared of the judgment, and scared of the uncertain path that lay ahead.

As you sat in the car, the soft glow of the streetlights illuminated the night sky, casting a darker hue of blue. The stars twinkled above, creating a mesmerizing backdrop for your thoughts. Lost in your own world, you barely noticed the car coming to a stop until a hand gently rested on your shoulder, bringing you back to reality.

"We're here," your brother muttered, stepping out of the car. You followed suit, opening the door and stepping out into the crisp, chilly air. Suguru closed the car door, and together, you made your way towards the apartment building where your family resided. Each step felt heavy, weighed down by the events of the day.

Entering through the front door, you kicked off your shoes and made your way towards your room. However, before retreating to the solace of your own space, you stopped by the living room where your parents sat, their attention fixated on the television.

"I'm back," you muttered, hoping for some acknowledgment or perhaps even a warm welcome. But your words seemed to fall on deaf ears as your mother barely glanced in your direction.

Feeling a pang of hunger, you mustered the courage to ask for dinner. "Do you have any food for me? I'm kind of hungry," you spoke, placing your backpack by the couch.

"We already ate, and there's nothing left. Go make your own," your mom replied dismissively, her attention still fixated on the television screen.

Desperate and feeling unwell, you pleaded with her. "Could you please make me something? I don't feel well and just want to lay down."

Her response was cold and unsympathetic. "No, we're busy."

Resigned to your fate, you sighed and picked up your backpack, making your way towards your room. The hunger gnawed at your stomach, but the exhaustion from the day's events weighed heavily on you. You threw yourself onto the bed, feeling drained, both physically and emotionally. A throbbing headache pulsed through your temples, and the pain in your lower body served as a constant reminder of what had transpired earlier.

Though your hunger persisted, you couldn't bring yourself to do anything about it. The thought of mustering the energy to cook or even eat felt overwhelming. All you wanted was to escape into the solace of sleep, hoping that tomorrow would bring some semblance of peace and healing.

"Are you okay?" a concerned voice murmured from behind the closed bathroom door. "You've been in there for a while now. I just want to make sure you're alright."

You glanced up from the positive pregnancy test that lay on the bathroom counter, your eyes meeting the door. The weight of the situation hung heavy in the air, and you struggled to find the words to respond. Instead, you simply stared at the door in silence.

"Are you okay?" your brother's voice came again, filled with worry.

"I'm okay," you managed to choke out, your voice trembling as you fought back tears. "I'll be out in a few minutes."

"Alright," your brother replied, his voice filled with understanding. "I'll wait for you in the living room. If you don't feel up to going anywhere, just let me know. I can go alone."

"No, don't worry. I'll come out in a few and get dressed. Then we can go," you replied, wiping away your tears with your sleeve and slowly getting up from the bathroom floor.

"Alright," your brother's voice drifted away as he walked back towards the living room, his footsteps fading into the distance.

As you looked at yourself in the mirror, the evidence of your emotional turmoil was apparent – red eyes, swollen cheeks – you looked like a mess. But how could you not, discovering you're pregnant with someone you never wanted to be involved with? Sure, you played a part by giving in three weeks ago, but it was his fault too.

As a university student, you had limited financial resources, relying mostly on the support from your parents. However, they were not particularly generous, and it was Suguru, your brother, who provided the love and financial assistance you needed. Without him, you didn't know how you would have managed. He was the only person who truly cared for you.

You turned on the water tap and cupped your hands, splashing the cool water onto your face in an attempt to calm yourself. It helped, if only momentarily. Drying your face with a towel, you left the bathroom and made your way to your room to get dressed.

What were you supposed to do now? You were barely an adult, and the realization of your pregnancy left you feeling lost and overwhelmed. Without your parents and brother, you had nothing. The thought of them finding out filled you with dread. You couldn't blame them for being disappointed in you. In fact, you were disappointed in yourself too.

What would your brother think? The thought of his disappointment weighed heavily on your heart. You couldn't bear the idea of letting him down. And what if your parents found out? There was no doubt they would be upset. The fear of being kicked out of the house loomed over you, but you pushed those thoughts aside. Dwelling on them would only make them more likely to happen.

And then there was Gojo. How would he react when he found out you were pregnant? Given his track record of casual relationships, it was unlikely he would be thrilled. Would he tell you to get an abortion? Would he offer any help at all? Or would he simply mock you and tell you to deal with it on your own? You knew he wouldn't be happy, and the thought of his potential humiliation and disbelief made you shudder. It was best to keep it a secret, you decided.

As you turned around, ready to face the day, you were met with the stern gaze of your parents. "Explain this to me right now, young lady!" your mother yelled, throwing something at you. You caught it, only to realize it was the forgotten pregnancy test. The room filled with tension as your heart sank,

"I can't believe my daughter is like that. A whore." The accusation hung heavy in the air as your mother's words sliced through the tension. The pregnancy test in your hands became a damning piece of evidence, and you felt the weight of their disappointment.

Your mother's face contorted with a mixture of anger and disbelief. "We've been giving you everything – money, food, and a roof under your head – and this is how you repay us? By getting pregnant?"

You struggled to find words, to explain the complexity of the situation, but the lump in your throat made speech nearly impossible.

"What were you thinking?" your father interjected, his voice a mix of frustration and disappointment. "We trusted you, and you've thrown it all away."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you attempted to form an explanation. "I... I didn't plan for this. It's not like I wanted—"

"Don't give us excuses," your mother interrupted, her anger unabated. "This is a disgrace to this family. How could you bring such shame upon us?"

Your brother, having heard the commotion, entered the room. His eyes widened as he took in the scene. "What's going on?" he asked,

Your mother pointed at the pregnancy test, her anger not subsiding. "Look at what your sister has done. She's pregnant. Pregnant!"

Your brother's eyes flickered between you and the pregnancy test, an unspoken question etched on his face. The air grew thicker with tension as you struggled to find the right words to explain. Your mother, however, seemed past the point of understanding.

"Get out," she declared, her voice cold and unyielding. "You've brought enough shame to this family. I won't have you tarnishing our reputation any further."

Shock and disbelief painted your brother's face as he tried to interject, "Mom, maybe we can talk about this."

But your mother's anger prevailed. "No more talking. She's made her choice, and now she needs to face the consequences."

As the reality of being kicked out settled in, your heart pounded in your chest. You pleaded with your family, "Please, I didn't plan for this. I need your support now more than ever."

Your mother's expression remained unforgiving. "Support? After what you've done? You're on your own now. We won't enable your irresponsible behavior any longer."

Your brother, torn and unable to defy your mother's decision, could only meet your gaze with a pained expression.

With a final, stern look, your mother declared, "Pack your things and leave. You're no longer welcome here."

Numbness spread through your limbs as you realized the irrevocable shift in your life. Your mother's command hung in the air, and the reality of being disowned by your own family was a crushing weight on your chest.

Staring at the pregnancy test still clutched in your hand, you felt a mix of shame, regret, and desperation. The room, once a haven, now seemed like a foreign place ready to expel you.

1K notes · View notes

vxsellie · 23 days ago

Text

𝔩𝔢𝔱𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔤𝔬. — E.W

summary. ellie slipped between your fingers, falling right out of your grasp as though she were liquid. it was better for you both, sure, but that doesn't make losing her any easier. ⌇ 4.7k wc.

notes. i posted a poll a few weeks ago asking what u guys wanted to see & this was ur answer so here she is! i hope it lives up to ur guys standards! anyway,, first and foremost, this is based off of the songs 'your needs, my needs' & 'call your mom' by noah kahan. he does a fantastic job depicting addiction and the impact of its severity. i heavily suggest listening to those songs in order to grasp the depth of what i'm trying to portray here.

second, i want to preface this by saying that i am not romanticizing or promoting addiction in any way whatsoever. drugs & alcohol are horrible coping mechanisms. as someone who has lost many loved ones to such horridly, i'm writing this in an attempt to shine light on the raw, dark side of what this can lead to. if u or anyone u know is struggling with something similar to ellie in this story, my DMs are always open!

warnings. graphic depictions of death and grief, substance abuse, alcohol & drug addiction, brief toxicity, intoxicated arguments, flashbacks, mentions of vomit, unintentional suicide attempt, angst angst angst

FEBRUARY.

cold fingertips brush the skin of your cheekbone, rousing you from slumber. you know who it is without having to open your eyes, her voice proof of that. ellie's breath still smells of her minty toothpaste as it fans across your face. she leans down to press a kiss to your nose. "good mornin'."

you groan, draping an arm over your eyes. ellie chuckles, her footsteps padding across the hardwood flooring of your shared bedroom. metal scrapes against itself as she pulls the curtains back, allowing sunlight to file through the space. your groans only grow in volume at this, pulling the duvet over your head.

"it's too early." you grumble, voice muffled beneath the pleated fabric.

"baby," she crosses the room back to the bed. you feel the mattress dip under her weight as she sits down on the edge, one of her hands coming to massage the calf of you leg. "it's almost noon."

begrudgingly, you peel the blanket away from your face and frown at her. auburn hair glows like a halo around the crown of her head, her freckles catching the light against her fair skin. oh and those eyes. god, you could look into them until the world came crumbling around you — which it technically has, considering the apocalyptic milieu that encompasses jackson.

"it's saturday, els." you tell her. "we can sit around and do nothing all day."

a smile tugs at her lips, dimples adorning her skin. "actually, maria wanted our help in the gardens today, remember? you got drunk a few weeks ago and agreed."

"oh. i was really excited to be unproductive." you sigh, expression falling. "we could've made breakfast, cozied up on the couch, watched a few sad movies, have sex. y'know, the domestic crap that elderly couples do?"

"first of all, i already made you breakfast." she says, nodding her head in the direction of the opened door. you turn toward it, craning your neck to peer through the doorway. sure enough, there's a plate of eggs and bacon sitting untouched on the countertop in the kitchen. "second, we can still cuddle and watch movies after helping maria. third, we can have sex whenever we want. we don't need to plan it out like teenagers anymore."

you grin at her, "yeah, but where's the fun in that?"

she laughs, the sound melodic. it carries through the air like a hymn, alighting the nerves within you like an ignited flame. if you were a wick, ellie would forever be the match. she lights you up, acting as apollo to your icarus. well. without the harsh fall, of course.

"c'mon, stupid." she says, grabbing you by the wrists and pulling you into a sitting position. you allow yourself to be pulled, dramatizing ellie's haste as you flop forward, leaning against her chest. it shakes with laughter as she removes a hand from your wrist to run her fingers through your hair.

it's matted and unbrushed, though she loves it just the same. loves you just the same. no matter how bad your breath smells in the mornings or how tangled your hair, ellie would never dream of complaining. why would she? to be given the chance to wake up next to you each day, she'd do anything. even if that includes putting up with your silly jokes and your dysania.

domesticity is irrefutably ellie's absolute favorite thing in the world. to make breakfast for you, moving about the kitchen you'd decorated together. to brush her teeth beside you. to give you a gentle kiss before leaving the house. to spend the day longing for your embrace. to come home to you warming dinner over the stove. to listen to you ramble on about your day over the meal. to take a shower where your shampoos sit side by side, her having to use yours when her own runs low. to return to bed to see you dressed into something cozy. to latch onto you under the blankets, limbs tangling together. to smell your hair and know hers smells the same. to fall asleep in the proximity of the girl she loves.

that's her favorite. that's what she'd rather eat glass than live without. and she'd never fathom the idea of doing it with anyone else.

MARCH.

the day joel dies is hard on everyone. he was a glue to the town of jackson, his country drawl and greying hair fading together into a soft presence that was adored by all.

especially by ellie.

and you knew this better than anyone. she loved joel like a father, perhaps even more so. she looked up to him as though the man had hung the stars in the sky. when he died, everything good and right in the world died alongside him. including ellie's gentility. her green eyes hardened, her smiles thinned, her hair matted. she was a wreck.

she doesn't do anything, though nobody in town expects her to. you've picked up on all the chores around the house, refusing to make her do anything in such a state of grief. she holes up in the bedroom all day, never leaving bed. not even to eat.

the first few days of this, you had to force her to eat, coaxing her into opening her mouth and having to remind her to chew. she claimed it tasted like chalk and she needed to spit it out. she cried when you refused to let her. "i don't want it." she'd repeated over and over between sobs, despite only having taken a bite of the stew you made. she leaned on you, her greasy hair falling over her face. you rubbed her back, the vertebrae of her spine poking through her skin.

"i know baby, i know." you whispered. it took everything in you not to start crying at the sound of her sobs, but you knew that would only make things worse. so you stayed beside her until her cries ceased and her limbs fell limp against you. you then laid her back against the mattress, making a mental note to approach this better next time.

she eventually got better at eating, though progress was slow. she's now currently able to eat one meal a day without puking it back up from nausea. the amount of times you've held that poor girl's hair back for her is immeasurable. she's not herself. and it pains you to see her like this, but you haven't a clue how else to handle it.

it's been two weeks since joel's death. ellie has still yet to leave the house and rarely leaves the bed, though she goes to the bathroom now. so thats good. you think it is, at least. she still needs to be reminded when to eat and needs help in the shower sometimes, or she'll stay in there for hours without even touching the soaps. her mind is a plethora of nonsense, malarkey acting as the puppeteer to her every waking thought.

"here," you speak softly, reaching across the tub to grab her shampoo. when you pick it up, you register that it's barely been used. you frown at this. "ellie, why—"

"i like yours better." she mutters, so quiet you can barely hear her voice.

"what? you never liked mine better." you say with a frown, though you don't hesitate to oblige her request. you place her shampoo down and grab your own. "you've always insisted that we buy that specific brand for you."

"yeah, because it's the brand joel uses- uh, used."

your movements cease, heart clenching. her voice cracked as she spoke, eyes burning as she swallowed harshly. you take a deep breath to ground yourself, blowing out through your mouth. you can not cry right now. not in front of her.

you'd made that mistake last week. you started crying when you saw her journal and all the crossed out drawings of joel. she frowned, appearing genuinely confused by your sadness. she comforted you, which only made you sob harder. you felt so, so guilty for it because she's the one who should be comforted, not you. but she's so loving that she can't even stomach seeing you upset.

as you apply your own shampoo into ellie's scalp, massaging it to bubbles, you decide that you'd do anything for her. for your light, your apollo.

MAY.

it's like living with a ghost. two months since joel's death and ellie has begun to change. drastically. she's never home anymore, always hanging out with her friends or busying herself with work. you have the sneaking suspicion that it's her way of keeping her mind from succumbing to that aching grief that embodied her in march. so you say nothing, deciding to let her be.

though, admittedly, you begin to wonder what she does when she doesn't come home. when she stays out for three days without telling you where she's going nor been. when you cook dinner for two, only to eat for one. when your shampoo sits in your shower only used on one scalp.

you've found it hard to fall asleep alone after living with ellie for so long. you'd grown dependent on the comfort her presence provides. tangling your legs together under the blanket while her arms wrap around your waist. now, in her stead lies an empty mattress and unwrinkled sheets.

it's currently been three days since you last saw ellie. you're sitting at the dinner table alone, picking at your pasta when you hear a rapid knock at the door. you instantly perk up.

you hope it's ellie, though you wonder why she doesn't just let herself in. she has her own set of keys, so why knock?

you stand from your chair, the legs scraping against the wood flooring as your push to your feet. the door creaks on its hinges when you pull it open. just as you'd thought, ellie stands on the porch. her head is lowered, auburn tufts covering her face like a veil. or perhaps a mask.

you open the door wider to allow her entry. the light pools out onto the porch and across the tops of her converse. she notices the shift and begins to enter, though she's acting strange. she's stumbling over her own feet, refusing to lift her head. your brows furrow as you lock the door behind you.

when you turn around, ellie is sitting in your chair as she begins to eat from your plate of pasta. you frown, "i can get you a serving, if you want. i made enough for two. i always do."

she lifts her head and you realize why she's acting so weird. between her lidded eyes and bloodshot scleras, it's clear that she's not sober. she raised a brow at your staring, "what?" her tone is sharp, unlike herself.

"nothing, baby. it's fine." you sigh, turning to grab her a plate from the cabinets above your head. you pull one from the shelf and begin to add pasta onto it. however, by the time you reach the table, ellie's passed out atop it. her face is smushed into the tabletop, hair getting all in your food.

you huff out a breath, shifting to hold her plate in one hand before lightly shaking her shoulders with your other. she doesn't rouse so you shake her even harder. eventually, she snaps awake. perhaps too quickly, because she thrashes out. her arms flail, knuckles colliding with your cheekbone.

the plate in your hand falls to the floor, glass shattering against wood. ellie's eyes widen, her gaze trained on your face as yours remains trained on the broken dish below your feet.

she begins to stand, "i didn't mean—"

"it's okay, els." you assure her with a small smile, urging her to sit back down. the last thing you want is glass in her foot.

"no, i—" she shakes her head, clearly fighting her own mind as she combats for ascendancy over her inebriation. "i hit you.. i never meant to— to ever—"

"ellie." you interrupt, voice hard. "it's fine."

her lips thin as she gives you a curt nod in response. you walk into the kitchen to retrieve the broom. when you return, ellie is out of her chair and walking toward the door. you frown at her and she gives you a pitying look before exiting the house without another word.

AUGUST.

"drugs, ellie?" you shout, hands flying up in emphasis. "you're taking fucking pills now!?"

"don't snoop through my shit!" she shouts back.

your voices bounce off the walls of your home. once such a cozy, quiet place of solace. now only visited in short increments when in need of food or a bed. the light of the candle you'd lit this morning glows a soft orange, almost taunting you with its clashing softness.

ellie hasn't been home all month. she finally came back last night, kissing you gently as she apologized for acting so strange. she confided in you, explaining how she's been having a hard time but intends to make up for it. her hands were benign as she ran them over your bare skin last night. oh so kind, she was. her words were like music, playing the exact lyrics that you'd coveted for months.

only to wake up this morning and find out the truth. you'd come into the kitchen to prepare her breakfast, a soft smile on your lips as you lit the candle. you'd noticed that she left her coat on the counter and reached to grab it for her. you hadn't meant to snoop, just to clean up behind her. as you've been doing since march.

but then you heard an odd sound from within the pocket. you reached into it, thinking she'd left her keys. and you knew ellie long enough to know that she'd freak out, thinking she'd lost them if you didn't put them on the table for her.

but they weren't her keys. they were pills.

"i didn't snoop, you asshole!" you exclaim. "i was trying to help you!"

"i don't need you controlling my fucking life all the time!" she shouts, features contorted into an expression of rage that you'd never seen her wear. it was disquieting.

"controlling?" you shake your head in disbelief. "i'm trying to keep you from doing shit you'll regret! i'm sorry for caring!"

"oh, don't fucking turn this on me." ellie scoffs.

you watch her with furrowed brows. is she serious? turn this on her? you're genuinely unsure on what you did wrong. you let her back into the home, slept with her, made her favorite breakfast in bed. then found out that she fucking lied. she was keeping shit from you.

your tone is much softer when you ask, "..were you even sober last night?"

her jaw clenches, but she doesn't respond. tears well in your eyes at the thought.

you'd never been more excited than you were last night. to finally have her back. your ellie. to have her coming back to you, for you. you'd fallen asleep last night studying her features. your fingertip traced the slope of her nose down to the cupids bow of her lip.

your chest aches as you say these next words. "get out of my house."

"your house?" she asks.

you feel like your drowning. or perhaps you're choking. or falling. but whatever it is, you're sure it's irrevocable. your throat is so tight you can hardly breathe. "i want all your shit packed and out of here by the end of the month."

ellie's eyes widen. "you're not serious."

"i've never been more serious in my fucking life." you say. "you can't storm in here whenever you want, use me like some whore, then leave when you feel like it. i'm tired of your bullshit ellie, that was my final straw."

her eyes are glassy as she grabs her coat — which is still full of pills — and leaves.

the moment the door slams shut behind her, you fall to the floor. your knees give out beneath your weight, the tile flooring cold against the palms of your hands. so this is what it is to fall. to chase the sun and get burned. to melt your wax and plummet. all you can thing, as you hear ellie's muffled cries outside the door, is how much you empathize with icarus for being foolish enough to reach for apollo.

OCTOBER.

jesse is throwing a party for his twenty second birthday. it's not a huge party, but large enough that you're sure ellie will be there. it's only been two months since you broke things off with her.

nothing, since then, has felt real. the length of your hair, the shape of your bones, the height of your spine. nothing is right in the world. in you.

but this is for jesse, not for ellie. if she's here today, that's her problem. not yours. for once, it's ellie's turn to regret. you're sick of being the one crying at night when you can hear her unlock the door to retrieve her things when she thinks you're asleep. you're fucking tired of it. she's the one who ruined everything.

you knock one, two, three times before the door swings open. dina smiles at you kindly as she widens the door to allow you inside. you thank her, though you know she's not your friend. you two aren't on bad terms necessarily, she just doesn't seem like you all that much. which is fine.

you enter the home to see that most guests have already arrived and are already drinking. jesse is in the living room, a goofy party hat atop his head as he shouts at the television. behind him, people laugh from the couches. one of those people is ellie. her legs are spread, an empty beer bottle hanging from her loose fingers. she doesn't seem to notice you, engrossed in whatever is happening on the tv. dina's gaze lingers on you for a moment before she leaves.

you walk to the kitchen to place your belongings down, pulling out the gift that you'd bought for jesse. the kitchen is empty, everyone else having crowded into the living room. though, it doesn't stay empty for long.

"what're you doin' here." ellie's voice speaks from the doorway. you don't look in her direction, not daring to.

"jesse's my friend too, ellie." you remind her with a sigh, placing the gift on the counter alongside all the other gifts.

part of you yearns to run to her, to pull her into your arms out of pure instinct. but you're not able to do that anymore because she's not yours. you spent over five months trying to comfort her into sobriety, only for your efforts to be in vain. so, instead of acting on foolish impulse, you keep your feet planted in place as you refuse to face her.

"you can't even look at me?" she slurs, voice tinged with annoyance.

"you're not yourself, right now." you say, eyes remaining pinned to the countertop in front of you. "i don't want to see you like this."

in truth, you know the sight of her so intoxicated would only ruin you further. it'd make you yearn for her even more as your mind reminisces on all that's been lost. all those wasted months you could have spent with her. all those nights you took for granted. those smiles. those eyes. seeing her like this would tarnish the few good memories that prevail.

"right," she scoffs, "'cause you're such a fuckin' saint yourself."

"i might not be a saint, but at least i'm still me." you say. "i haven't changed into some pathetic shell of a person."

her jaw clenches, "i'm still me, too."

"no, ellie, you're not." you finally lift your head to face her. your brow is knitted, concern painting your features with something akin to sorrow. it shoots through ellie's chest like a dagger, the sight of your saddened expression. she swallows, burying whatever sense of guilt she feels deep under a facade of vexation. "you're not the woman i fell in love with, you—"

"yes i am!" she shouts, slamming the empty bottle onto the countertop. a long clang rings through the space between you. "i'm the same fucking person!"

"ellie, dont—"

"y'know, back in april, you told me that grief comes in all different forms. you told me that what i'm feeling is normal! you—" her words are cut off by the sound of her voice cracking. your heart cracks along with it.

"that was before i knew how bad this would get." you say. "i thought it was just alcohol."

"it was!" she exclaims. "for a while, it was!"

"it doesn't matter what it was." you snap. "it's no longer just alcohol anymore. you're into pills and drugs and—"

"you can't fuckin' blame me for that!" she yells. you're sure everyone can hear her now. though, due to how drunk they are, you doubt they care enough to eavesdrop. "i was going— i am going through a lot!"

"i get that, ellie. i do." you argue. "but you can't ruin yourself like this! joel wouldn't want this from you and neither do i. you aren't thinking!"

her fists clench at her sides, voice lowering. "don't bring joel into this. he has nothing to do with it."

"he has everything to do with it!" you shout. sucking in a deep breath, you pinch the bridge of your nose in exhaustion. when you continue, your voice has dropped back down to a calmer tone, something you've learned to do during those on-and-off months with ellie. yelling at her only makes her grow more defensive and elongates her next expedition. "he's dead, ellie. he's gone and you're struggling with that. and that's okay. but turn to your friends for comfort. turn to people who love you, not drugs. they don't help you, els."

"turn to my friends? turn to people who love me?" she shakes her head, scoffing incredulously. "i tried that. i turned to you, i leaned on you. i tried and tried and tried and you left me."

"i didn't—"

"you left me when i was at my lowest. what else was i supposed to do?" she says, bottom lip quivering. you can't tell if it's from rage or sadness. a few months ago, you'd be able to read her like a book. not anymore. "you did this to me."

oh. that did it. tears well in your eyes embarrassingly fast. ellie's expression falters for a second, just long enough for you to respond. "fuck you, ellie. if you want to act like an asshole, go ahead. but if you think i'll just sit idly by while you kill yourself, you're painfully fucking wrong."

NOVEMBER.

someone's knocking at your door. it's well past midnight and you're in the middle of brushing your teeth. you curse under your breath, spitting before rushing to the front door. they continue to bang on the wood. "i'm fucking coming, calm down!"

you swing the door open, the chilly air sweeping inside. your eyes take a second to adjust to the light before you recognize ellie's silhouette. your eyes widen as she staggers inside. she leans against you instinctively, hands bracing your shoulders as she trips over her own feet. you hold her around the waist, guiding her toward your couch. the one she'd picked out three years ago.

"didn't know.." her words trail off and you shush her, rolling her onto her side in case she needs to vomit. she continues to mutter incoherently as you pace the room, not knowing what to do.

"fucking hell, els." you breathe, watching as her blinking slows and her mouth begins to drool. the black of her pupils take up more space than her irises, worryingly so.

"e'ryone else 's asleep," she murmurs.

you come forward, casting her hair out of her face. "shh, don't speak, baby, you're fine. no need to explain, 'kay?"

"mmm," she hums, eyes fluttering, "m'kay."

you nod, pushing to your feet as you continue to think of what the fuck you're supposed to do. what did she even take to get this bad? who the hell is selling it to her? everyone in jackson knows that she just lost joel earlier this year. god, if you could get your hands on them..

she begins coughing, though it sounds closer to gagging than anything. your heart rushes in your chest, "fuck fuck fuck."

without thinking, you grab your phone from your wall and dial tommy's number. it rings thrice before his voice comes through the line. he barely has time to ask who you are before you're explaining everything between sobs.

tommy, maria, and a few medics arrive within ten minutes. they haul ellie away on a stretcher, speaking too fast for you to pick up on anything. you stand in your living room as tommy follows them out. maria walks over to you as you're rubbing harshly at your eyes.

"you did the right thing, kid." she assures you, voice so soft that it only makes you cry harder. she frowns, humming sadly as she pulls you into a hug. "i know it's hard. grief always is."

you pull back, looking at her through teary eyes, "how'd you handle tommy? after joel passed."

"i hardly did." she admits. "we're not on the best terms, even now. that's just was loss does to people. it drives them apart until there's nothing left to drive apart."

"i don't..." you frown. "i don't think ellie and i have anything left."

APRIL.

you haven't spoken to ellie since november. after she awoke in a medical cot, she was more sober than she's been in months. her withdrawals were horrid, tommy said. he kept you in the loop with everything because ellie refused to see you, claiming to loathe you for having called tommy.

you can't lie, your heart definitely broke when you heard that. to imagine ellie from last year, kissing you awake with breakfast in bed, and comparing her to the ellie from now, claiming to never want to see your face again? the thought makes you feen genuinely ill.

snow sticks to the ground as you walk through the town of jackson. you're on your way to the grocery store when you see her. well, them. dina walks beside ellie as they saunter down the sidewalk, hands clasped together. she has that look on her face, the one she used to only ever give you. the one nobody else was lucky enough to see.

you huff breath, turning to look in the other direction as you pretend to not have even seen them together.

ellie seems to be getting better. and that's all that matters.

her eyes are bright, her nose is red from the cold. you can see her freckles from here, and you know the exact amount that coat her cheeks. you've counted them, memorized them as her fingertips traced your skin. as her viridescent gaze bore into your own with nothing but the same love she's currently looking at dina with.

you quicken your footsteps, forcing yourself to walk faster before you act on the biting pain in your stomach. the tangible agony that writhes within you.

FEBRUARY.

jj. that's his name.

no, you didn't stalk your ex girlfriend surrogate. you're not that crazy. maria actually came to you, explained that dina had a child and was raising him alongside ellie. she showed you a picture of them, a perfect family of three.

you instantly broke down into tears the moment you saw his gummy smile and fatty fists. dina held him tightly, having the same eyes as he. ellie had an arm draped over her, one hand on jj's shoulder as she beamed at the camera.

ellie is a mom. she has a baby. she has a baby boy who never would have gotten the chance to know her if she'd died that november night two years ago. and yet, she still refuses to speak to you. not a word has been uttered since that night. since she was dying on your couch from an overdose.

but it doesn't matter. who ellie is with and what ellie is doing doesn't matter at all. she's happy and that's all that matters.

you're perfectly content with watching her from afar with wax wings that are sure to burn under her brilliance. you'd tried it once and only ended in scorched flesh and the corpse of letting go.

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