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heavenbloom · 2 months ago

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🇵🇸 BEFORE YOU READ: BOYCOTT TLOU • HELP TODAY • DAILY CLICK.

𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐬

𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒊𝒊: 𝒖𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒑𝒆𝒓

knight!abby x princess!reader

you can find chapter one here! and the series masterlist here

songs: (act one) main yeh sochkar uske dar se utha — mohammed rafi, (act two) ang laga de — aditi paul, (act three) sealed in fire and blood — ramin djawadi

summary: in the aftermath of your crime, one is eaten alive by regret and the other is consumed by vengeance. the innocence of a blooming love lies dead and from its ashes rises something raw and sweltering.

warnings: 18+ mdni, smut and angst, fingering (r!receiving), grinding (?), betrayal, typical fantasy and monarchal political themes, typical period-piece misogyny, mentions of death and a funeral, extensive descriptions of blood, violence and death, nightmares, enemies to lovers, threats made with both words and a weapon, side character deaths, profanities, derogatory language used, please read at your own discretion. semi-proofread

wc: 6.3k

a/n: sorry for the wait!! i hope y’all enjoy <3

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐎𝐍𝐄

The turned over soil was dark with its upheaval. The drag of earth, the thud of it, was the rhythm of a drumbeat, one that called for grief and received no answer in turn. The only ones to mourn poor Asha were the other servants. Her mother’s wails cut through the air, a skull-rattling cry of anguish. The others did not allow themselves to weep. The workers of the Palace had seen enough bloodshed within its cold, white walls, now numbed to its horrors. Only exhaustion engulfed their features. Another one…

Asha understood this pain as much as she did the thump of her own heartbeat. That was why she decided to work with you, to be a gatherer of secrets. You could still remember the lightheartedness that graced her features, her lopsided smile when she said, whose eyes are all-seeing if not a maid’s?

You were the reason for this girl’s demise. It may have been that nobleman’s blade that sliced to the bone, but it was your promises of hope and security that led her to an untimely grave.

You, a coward. You, a murderer.

You slipped back into the Palace as the rosy shades of dawn swaddled the figures of the grieving, before the welling of tears threatened to fall. Your weeping would have been a mockery, something disingenuous to those who would bear witness. Did you have the right to wear mourning white and feel emotions strong as the beating sun, throat dry and body weak?

Another face flittered into the forefront of your mind, freckled and sharp-lined. Grief clung to the inside of your ribcage. If only you could crack it open and pour this ugliness of yourself out, become pure and benign. Become something worthy of any of the graces you had been given.

You could taste bitter salt on your tongue, feel warmth drip from nose to lip to chin. You could pray and cleanse yourself of your sins all you liked, but it would never be enough. She would look upon your heart with fondness no longer. She saw you as you were, now. Treacherous, rotten, worm-eaten.

☾𖤓

You still adorned funerary attire when you arrived at the Palace’s holding cells. It was located deep within its bowels, lacking its upper cleanliness. The bricks here were haphazardly laid, and an oppressive dampness had seeped itself into each nook and cranny of the place.

The guards had sputtered at your presence, choked words of you not being allowed down here falling from their lips in a weak attempt to deny you entry. But you knew them well. Their loyalties lay at the feet of the Crown’s coin, not at the throne of the King. All you needed to do was shove a necklace and a few bangles their way, and their lips were sealed.

The soft leather of your soles caught slightly with each step, made for marble floors and not the rough and dusty ground beneath. The only sounds present were that of your jewellery chiming with each step and a distant drip, drip, drip.

There were no other prisoners within the holding cells, long since shipped off and never to be heard from again. Icy tendrils ran up the length of your spine as you made your way down the cramped hallway, eyes frantically searching.

She was in the cell at the end. Her back was turned, silhouetted from the little light that encompassed the space. Her outline looked equally defeated and taut, as if she was grappling with what was and what should have been.

You stepped closer, an exhale forcing its way past your trembling lips.

”Abigail.” Relief tapered the ragged edges of your voice. Your intricately stained hands clasped around the rusted metal of the bars as your entire being lurched forward.

Her body snapped tense, bowstring-tight, the set of her shoulders alone divulging the bitterness that simmered just beneath the surface. There was a moment of palpability as you let your presence hang over her, as unwelcome as pelting rain.

”Abigail,” you said more urgently when she remained unfacing. Softer, “Look at me, please.”

At your coaxing plea, she turned her head to the side. Her familiar profile was illuminated by the weak, flickering flame upon the wall. The sight of her was faint, but there was a certain fatigue about the set of her brow, something restrained in the pinch of her lips.

”You...” The word was pushed out on a weak breath, hazy as if pulled forth from a dream. Then, she gathered her bearings, shoulders rolling back and straightening so her broad frame swallowed up more space. Acrid venom coated her vocal chords as she squeezed the word, again, through the grit of teeth. “You.”

“What are you doing here?”

You crouched to your knees with the hesitance of somebody trapped at the whims of a beast. Her sclera shimmered violently in what little light there was. Those eyes had always been a weapon against your resolve. Each glance of hers was a nocked arrow aimed at the fortified centre of your heart. Now, it was as if she had dipped the arrowheads in oil and set them ablaze.

Your voice tumbled, an unfamiliar bubble of uncertainty rising within it. Carefully chosen, sweet words would not work on Abigail. You were disarmed by her, at the mercy of your own foulness that had been laid so bare before her.

So instead you decided to speak a truth, one that would not gut either of you so quickly. “Asha, my… the handmaid. She’s dead. She was killed by that nobleman.”

You waited for a response but Abigail remained silent, eyes pinning you in place and searching for any sign of trickery. Your fingers tightened around the bars as you stared back, seeking any crack that she bore, any fissure you could slip through and work to your will, but none sifted to her stony surface. Perhaps she just relished in watching you squirm.

“Her burial was this morning,” you spoke gently, the image of the lively girl flickering across your mind, seared there forevermore. “I came here immediately after. I knew that— I was overcome with an urgency to see you.”

Her eyes drifted to your white clothing. A hateful, bitter smile split the plaster of her features.

“Will you blame that poor girl’s death on me as well?” she asked in a mocking tone, voice laced with amused contempt. “Oh, I can hear it now, what they will say about me. Abigail, so faithful a knight that she struck down feeble noblemen and maids alike for her princess.”

Heat crept up your neck as you bristled at her mockery. There it was, the stinging lash of the truth coming to strike once more.

“If I recall correctly, you were the one who took the fall for the crime. This is on you, Abigail, and your own foolishness. You have… you have no right to scorn me for it.”

Her body dipped forward, closer, and it was the first time you heard the weighty rattle of chains. They were fastened onto her ankles. Normal conduct for an alleged killer, yet they looked so misplaced now. Such a far cry from the shining knight she was only days ago.

The derisive tone she had moments ago slipped away to reveal a nakedness, a rubbed-raw thing that clawed its impatient fingers up her aching gullet. “And you did not fess up to your crime. You watched like a helpless little lamb as they dragged me away, all the while you were bathed in that man’s blood.”

Her voice shook with the vulnerability of leaves caught within a storm, but it was not tears that she tried to reign back. It was rage, pure and sharp as the edge of a diamond.

“Where is your honour, princess?!”

The same dormant fury that she held close to her sparked to life in your chest. If it were anybody else, you would have shoved the vile emotion down, but it was her. She had already seen the violence, the pulsing and ever-malleable wrath, that consumed your entire being. For once, you could be outwardly wretched. You could be honest.

Honour this and honour that. The blood of a hundred monarchs shaped the very drum of your heartbeat and she wished to speak of honour? You would laugh if it weren’t for the tightening fist around your lungs.

The colour seeped from your knuckles as you pressed yourself closer to the iron bars, as if you could melt into them with the very ferocity racing within you. “You forget yourself,” you reprimanded firmly. “If you dare question my honour again I’ll—”

“What will you do?” Her chin jutted out, mouth pressed into a thin, stubborn line. The possibility of challenge hardened her features. “My title has been stripped, my morality brought into question– all on the basis of a lie. There is no worse pain that you can inflict upon me.”

Yet your life remains intact, you thought viscously. Yet I let you sit here and lick your bloody wounds, unharmed.

“You should know my capabilities well by now,” you whispered, your words drifting to her like opiate smoke; low, heady, perilous. You were not subtle in the ribbon of a threat you wrapped around your words, tightened noose-like in the way your eyes pinned her in turn.

She rose to her feet then, the clank of iron ringing in the air as she dragged herself closer to the bars. She stopped just out of arm’s breadth from it as the chains screeched in protest.

You had never felt threatened by her presence, but now you could at last understand the notoriety of her legacy that followed her like a shadow. As she looked down her nose at you, you felt a dull pang of sympathy for the long list of her opponents on the battlefield. Even restrained, she was a formidable sight.

“And you remain ignorant of mine…” she spoke lightly despite all things. “You would do well to remember them, princess.”

There was a pointed promise in the way her lips shaped around each word, as if each one was loaded with the very essence of vengeance.

You lifted yourself from the ground, elegant as ever as you straightened your back and met her eye, drawing the veil that had slipped onto your shoulders over your hair once more. A princess. Her superior.

A smile curled on your lips, the cloying quality of milk beginning to sour. “We shall see, then, how… proficient you are from within a cell.”

Your head dipped forward slightly, a hand pressed to your left breast. There was a taunt in how respectful the gesture was. It was one only exchanged between equals.

“May the gods smile upon your determined spirit, Abigail.”

𖥸 𖥸 𖥸

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐓𝐖𝐎

You were dreaming of it again. Metal in your hands, metal in a gut. The bubbling groan of a man mere moments away from death. And, oh, the crimson, everything red-slickened and raw. His eyes were no longer his own, but rather beads of boundless contempt, staring and staring and—

Reality slammed its fists into your chest, awakened with a choked gasp squeezing its way out of your throat. Your eyelids flew open to the deep blue near-dawn. The crooning of first birdsong flitted through the arched doorway, eerie in its solitary note. You blinked up at the roof, the carvings of deities and flowers shifting and mingling, one and the same, in your unfocused vision.

The man you killed was not owed any sympathy. He was egotistic and wished to be as close to your brother as a cat curled on its owner’s lap. He would have done anything to garner the love of a tyrant, and you felt a nauseating amount of hatred for him even in his demise. There was no remorse for killing him, and you reminded yourself that it was an act of rooting out bad weeds before your reign, but your subconscious disagreed.

It was still taking a life and it was a defiling rake of nails beneath your skin. No matter who the man was, he was still human.

You wanted to be ruthless, to cleanse yourself of any feeling and barrel towards your goals with cold, uncaring resolve. But then you would be the spitting image of your brother. The thought of it made your stomach turn.

You sat up then, the sheets slipping off of your torso and heaping onto your lap. You dragged your shaky hands down your face until your fingers traced the soft outline of your lips.

Your thoughts parted then drifted back to Abigail. At this hour, they seldom didn’t

You recalled the strength in each of her actions even as she moved about with an easy fluidity. The glimpses of raised white scars that littered her body, one that you had never known the complete bareness of.

What were her feelings when she first killed someone? Was she now plagued by a thousand phantoms in the world of her dreams, still bleeding from the wounds she inflicted upon them? Did she feel nothing at all?

Your rumination was cut short when a faint breeze wafted through the curtains, fragrant from the foliage below. You lifted your head to it as it stirred the loose hair that brushed against your forehead. The action should have been soothing, but what you spotted turned the blood in your veins glacial.

You had no idea how long Abigail had been here. She was sitting on top of a floor cushion in front of the balcony doorway, one knee propped just beneath her chin and the other leg stretched outwards. The position would have looked regal, akin to the uncaring languidness of a ruler, if not for the way she watched you. Chin pointed towards her chest, a blue glare slicing through long brown lashes.

She was motionless in the purpling hues of morning, more beast crouched in wait than leisurely empress.

The fear you felt seeped marrow-deep, but something else lurked beneath it. swirling in the pit of your gut. It had been months since you had seen this face last, yet it was stitched into the seams of your every thought, conscious or dreaming.

Something within you lurched.

For once, words eluded you. Ambition was a potent drug, you knew, and paired with vengeance it became absolute. How could you placate such a resolute mind?

Your throat dried as you watched her stand. There was no preamble as she crossed the room in a few long strides. This time, there were no chains and bars to keep her sequestered. The truth of this should have sent you scrambling, but astonishment buoyed you to the bed, quiet.

Her freckled cheeks were awash with a rosy red, almost cherubic despite the face that she wore. A hateful expression. A hate so powerful, it teetered on a look of pain.

Your thumb twitched as she stopped mere inches away, the desire to smooth out the uneasy crease of mouth and brow shoved back into the depths of yourself. Why did her presence, the mere concept of her, steal away all reason and substitute it with something so sickly vulnerable?

You opened your mouth to speak, but the words wilted on your tongue when you felt the cool press of steel against your neck. There was no tremble in the blade. Her grip on the hilt was certain.

Understanding came as steadfast as the morning unfurling itself to the earth beyond your chambers. You, lovesick. Her, loathing you for it. For all of it.

“If you utter a single word…” she warned through gritted teeth, pressing the tip of the blade closer to your skin, the pressure of its presence imminent.

Her eyes drifted down to the column of your throat, eyeing the stable heaving of your chest. A scowl fractured her features. “I should end your vicious little life right here and live up to the title you've cursed me with.”

You could sense it, the unspoken however. The wraith of the word settled over you like the gauze of a veil. If she wished to kill you so badly, she could have left you gutted on the fine sheets and fled before buttery sunlight engulfed the room.

Why hadn’t she?

“I expected the same amount of goodness in response to my sacrifice. I expected you to come clean or… or to at the very least free me from that miserable cell!” Her features contorted at the remembrance of the dark, cramped space, the stifling silence, the numbing solitude.

Then, the more chilling memories. Your face, flitting behind each blink. Your laugh, heard in the heavy rhythm of her own breath. Your lips, whispers and kisses and bites, felt only in the slumbering hours of a place that remained in stasis. Her hand flexed around the weapon.

Her voice took on the timbre of fervently plucked sitar strings. “The very thing I pledged my life to, the very thing I killed for, left me to rot. My King and his supposed sweet, saintly sister… how do you think such a wound festers, princess?”

You could not dignify her question with an answer. You had known no such discomfort, no such betrayal or ache.

“Abigail…” Her name, spoken again with the quiet of a clandestine prayer. What else was there to do but acknowledge her through these three sweet syllables?

A prick of pain. The warmth of lifeblood trickling down the length of your throat. Just a nick, a rivulet. Abigail drew in her breath. Her irises seemed to shiver in their anger.

“I told you to be silent,” her voice sank into an exacerbated whisper. “Or would you rather I skewer you now?”

Gone was the radiant, gentle-hearted knight, eclipsed by the moon of this new vindictive creature. You were enraptured by the jaggedness of her being. Hair uncharacteristically dishevelled and loose around her shoulders. Dilapidated sleeves rolled up to the elbow.

“How angry you are…”

“Insolent–”

“Your beauty shines like this.”

Silence, thick and saccharine as flowing honey, settled over the moment.

Abigail looked as if you had snatched the dagger from her and plunged it bone-deep. The first tremors of uncertainty twitched beneath her sure, calloused fingers.

The wanting, besotted thing within Abigail gnashed its craving teeth. No. She would not let you disarm her of this, the one vein of conviction that pumped purpose into her battered heart. I will not waver.

But it was another thing entirely, to resist the beckoning call of surrender when you reached for her.

The moment your sleep-warmed hands came in contact with her own, she knew that fighting was futile. Her grip loosened, the blade slid from between her palms and into your own grasp.

It was without a doubt stolen. It was weighty and intricately engraved with motifs of the sun and moon. The crest of your kingdom. How ironic.

Your gaze flickered from it to Abigail, whose eyes chased every movement of yours. She was waiting for you to return the favour, to press the blade to her own throat.

It never came.

The blade was placed on the low, wooden bedside next to the bed, its mass clattering against the varnished surface. Surrender.

“Why…?” she breathed through the constriction of her lungs. Where was the familiar fire, that arrogance she came to despise?

“We were not destined to be adversaries.” Spoken as if this rivalry was something you alone could decide.

Your features were aglow as first rays of dawn crept its way into the room. Brilliant eyes, straight spine, parted lips. In the liquid, shifting gold, you looked incorporeal. Coaxed from the most bereft parts of her mind.

A large palm cupped the softness of your cheek, a thumb running over the bending bone of your jaw and leading up to the bridge of your nose. She had to remind herself, sometimes, that you were flesh and bone beneath the title and crown.

They say that the royal blood carried on the legacy of a fallen deity, who perished for nourishing this very kingdom. She never considered herself a particularly pious person but it rang true to her, especially now.

“Then, enlighten me, princess,” she spoke softly. “What path have the gods carved for us?”

“The gods have no hand in this.” Blasphemous words that cut into her. “No, I won’t accredit this to divinity.”

Your eyes fluttered shut, and you let yourself melt into the coolness of her touch. “I want you, Abigail.”

A litany of pleas that danced, unsaid, on your tongue. Love me, love me, love me.

Begging was unnecessary, for the same thrill of need sang in her own bones. She tilted your head up slowly, admiring the way grandiosity slipped from your being as swiftly as it came.

Her lips against yours were a beckoning. They moved with a sure rhythm, gentler than the last time. Her kiss told you to unveil yourself to her. Give me sincerity, it whined. Give me an honest place to lay this love.

You fell back against the plush pillows, pulling her down with you. Her weight crashed against yours, hefty and unknown, yet comforting in its corporeality. She smelled faintly of mildew and rain, a scent splintered with the sharp tang of rust.

Your tongue ran across the bottom of her plump lip gently, asking for entrance. If she wanted the truth, you would offer it in its entirety.

Your searching fingers found her blonde tresses while hers skimmed down to the hem of your nightgown. She slowly drew the airy fabric upwards from your ankles to your knees and then the middle of your thighs. The contact of the calloused drag of skin sparked something within, warmth coiling in the pit of your belly like a slumbering dragon.

You broke away from her to sit up, pulling the piece of thin cloth up and over your head. Abigail watched, sitting back on her haunches, as each inch of your skin was bared to her patient gaze. The softness found in each curve was a marvel to her, a body unmarred by the outside world. She observed you like one would an intricate tapestry, each whorl and knot revealing more depth with each second passed.

A hum of appreciation reverberated through her chest as she began to focus on discarding her own threadbare clothing. First, the tunic and then the tight hose that stuck to her skin.

Her body was a thing conjured from epic poems and scriptures. Robust and sunkissed, with the new dawn melting over her back and haloing the outline of her body. A hero, draped in the splendour of victory… a god, blessing the mortal realm with its incomprehensible presence.

You reeled Abigail back towards you, the searing heat of her heaving chest pressing against yours. Her lips trailed dulcet kisses along your jaw as her fingers splayed against the flesh of your thighs.

Your bodies melded together, pressing as if through the sheer force of passion, you could become one. Your bodies sang with pleasure, thrumming out an ancient and gasping melody.

Hands and eyes, dilated with velvet-black pits of ecstasy, explored. You traced over the scars that ran down her body, transforming them into rivers and pathways, her body an entire world that they occupied.

Her fingers grazed over the wet, sensitive flesh between your legs, silky and petal-like. They found the sensitive bud there, rubbing gentle circles upon it with her thumb while two of her other digits prodded for entry.

You arched into her, a sweet noise dancing off of your parted lips as she slid them in knuckle-deep. She lured bliss from your body with each thrust and curl, each sweet word and absentminded, drunken press of her lips against yours.

Your writhing figure against hers was enough to make her own cunt throb with pure need. You felt, even through the haziness, her broad body rocking against yours, her pelvis gently seeking friction against the plushness of your thigh.

A symphonic crescendo of moans swelled in the morning air as you both neared shivery climax. Her ministrations grew more frenzied, eyebrows knitted together and bottom lip drawn tightly between her teeth.

The pressure snapped, swift and blinding. You held onto Abigail tightly as she shook along with you, shallow breaths mingling together. The hard planes of her stomach were now sweat-slicked and she felt almost feverish against you.

As the throes of orgasm subsided, you raked a hand through her hair and pressed a dry kiss to the junction between her neck and shoulder. She was still panting, slumped on top of you.

This was a first, this contentment that wound itself through her being. There was not an ounce of tension in the sculpted divots and muscle.

You pressed another kiss to her temple and you exhaled as she buried her nose further into your collarbone.

Vulnerability rose up within you, and this time you loosened your grip on its reigns. Insatiability had always been your greatest weakness. You wanted her, you realised, not just in passing but always. You wanted to wake up to golden hair fanned across your pillows and a freckled nose pressed up against yours. You wanted the surety she guaranteed and the devotion that it promised.

You wanted to love with all of yourself, and not just through the confines of the mould that you had been trapped in since birth. You wanted to be loved, no matter how many times you were forced to bloody your hands.

For that, however, you would have to peel back one last layer.

☾𖤓

Abigail was turned away from you as you told her your plans of usurpation, her face tilted up towards the heat beating in as she gathered up her scattered clothing. She pulled each piece on with a languidness, the nape of her neck still flushed beneath curling blonde baby hairs.

The lack of reaction turned the sweetness of your post-lovemaking haze sour. Your thoughts raced and tangled together in an incessant bundle as you forced the words leaving your mouth to remain a steady stream.

Would this revelation swing the pendulum of rivalry into motion once more? With your prior actions, you could sympathise, but this… this was grander than her. It was the ember that would flare the kindlings of hope; a prosperous future assured.

No remorse could be felt for that.

“Abigail…” you spoke slowly, the shape of her name dripping with solemnity. “My conviction is stone.”

You drew breath into your lungs as you watched her drag her bottoms up her legs, as if you were whispering sweet nothings and not outright treason.

“If you are not my ally… if your heart's not in this, I will declare you my enemy.”

You touched the dagger still resting at your bedside, precious and half-forgotten. “Do we have an understanding?”

She turned to face you then, absentmindedly fastening the ties of her tunic. Tousled but bright as noonday, she was beautiful enough to crush the new bloom nestled in your heart.

She gazed at the weapon before looking at you directly. Clear blue and milky white, unwavering and unreadable.

Not so much an arrow now, her eyes were a roaring blaze, and your resolve was the aftermath of something swallowed whole.

𖥸 𖥸 𖥸

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄

The wind wailed into the silence, crashing its invisible body against the looming Palace and whistling in the gaps of the sun bleached stone. Chaos roiled in the underbelly of the night, the closing notes of summer felt in the lashing heat that lingered.

Despite the late hour, the oil lamps in the throne room and surrounding hallways burned low and perilous. Servants scurried out of the way, prostrating themselves on the ground as a cloud of white and gold glided past them.

The tremendous, ancient doors opened with a loud groan, making you swivel around. Encased in the rigid formation, like an egg warmed by a hen, was your brother. He spared you so much as a glance as he climbed up the stairs leading to the throne, his footfalls muffled by the plush, richly coloured carpet. The knights dispersed to their positions as he did so, silent and armed witnesses.

“My King…” You knelt low to the ground, your head centimetres from the cold marble. You were his subject first, his blood second.

You heard the rustle of fabric and the sigh of a feather-stuffed cushion being squashed beneath weight.

“Rise.” His voice was clear and authoritative. You lifted your head to your mirror. The same eyes beneath a cruel set of brows. Same mouth, pressed into a thin line. The same hands, enclosed around the sheath of a sword, merely ornamental. A dutifully polished thing that had never tasted violence.

You stumbled onto your feet, and noted his clothing; a plum-coloured robe and a necklace of pearls and rubies dripping down his throat, like bone and blood congealed. Ever opulent, ever the lavish King, even in the privacy of nightfall.

“State your business,” he spoke with a now bored inflection. “Tell me why you have disturbed me at so late an hour.”

There was a hum of warning beneath his tone. If the reason for this disruption was frivolous, you knew he would not think twice about spearing you through.

After all, what was an imperial daughter? Your value was held in your capability to be married off, to secure alliances, to fawn and charm and pamper. You had proven long ago that you would not be a bargaining chip in the game of monstrous men.

You may have been worthless in that regard, but perhaps there was a way to regain his favour…

Eyes wide and lips quivering, you huddled your arms to your chest. Weak, small, inferior tohim in every way.

“I caught her, Your Grace. The knight that escaped her cell,” you spoke through the warbling tones of fear. “She… she made an attempt on my life, but, blessed by the gods, I was saved.”

This piqued his interest. Your brother rested his chin on a thickly jewelled hand, his body leaning forward. Frankly, there was no love in his heart for the nobleman that lost his life, nor was there a thirst for vengeance because of it. Nonetheless, Abigail’s escape had tarnished his punitive, unbested reputation.

For that alone, her head deserved to roll.

“Ah… finally a useful word you speak.” He smiled, his lips still wrapped around his teeth. Its mirthfulness stopped short of his eyes, still as shrewd as ever.

You watched as he gestured around the room, turning his head this way and that in mock confusion. “Well? Where is the unloyal cunt?” Joy trickled down into his demeanour now and, like a child anticipating gifts, his body straightened and his eyes shone. Only in his cruelty did the more human parts of himself show from within.

You turned to the guard standing beside the entrance, and inclined your head deeply.

There was a whirl of feather-white silk as he left the throne room, and mere moments later, the clang of metal against the marble floors reverberated through the vast space. It was different from the cheerful, jingling song of the anklet bells of dancers that typically graced these halls. This was weightier. It held no rhythm or reason.

Abigail was dragged in hastily, adorned from waist-to-toe in chains. The men who pulled her along dumped her onto the ground unceremoniously and her form sprawled with no resistance. The dry scratch of her voice, pain, left her lips. Her golden, knotted hair clashed with the deep red of the carpet, spilling across it as she tried to right herself. It was one last shred of dignity, to rise upon trembling knees.

A low, appreciative whistle shot through the air, drawing your attention back to your brother. A grin now split his features, a thing with too many teeth. Each gemstone shimmered as he stood, a wave of light as he clutched his sword tightly by his side.

“You’ve done well, sister,” he praised as he descended the stairs slowly. His eyes were trained on Abigail as he spoke to you, his steps were punctuated with the chime of finery. He had a likeness to a predator in this moment, something feline slinking towards its prey.

“Very well, indeed.” Deep purple pooled at his ankles, his finely crafted shoes just centimetres from Abigail’s form. He looked down his nose at her, undeterred by the glare she shot up at him.

There was a hiss of steel being drawn. Your brother’s sword was an elegant thing passed down to the new King when the old died. Golden hilt and flowering carvings that twined up the blade, it gleamed prettily in the lamp light. Despite its deadly point, it had never been used for battle, only a symbolic cementation of status.

What was he…

He tossed the sheath away and its impact rang hollow across the cavernous room. Then he turned away from Abigail, his attention on you.

Instead of blinding pain, you were met with the handle being held towards you. His eyebrows softened, you supposed, in an act of what he believed was familial fondness. If I cannot exploit you as a flower, I will make use of your thorns.

“I believe this victory is yours.”

You had no choice but to take the sword in shaking hands. The surprisingly lightweight hilt felt like fire, burning in your grasp. In all your years, you had only ever gazed upon this ancient relic.

Your brother rested a hand on your shoulder, as if to soothe your nerves. You were a skittish animal, always, in his mind.

“Even a fool can do this if the blade is sharp enough,” he whispered, lullaby-soft. “Get your vengeance, my sweet sister. Honour our blood and let the final image of her life be the throne that she betrayed.”

Your fingers pressed into the cool metal. Abigail’s eyes were trained on you, her mouth parted ever so slightly. You watched as her body shifted. Lungs expanding, throat constricting.

“Now!”

In an instant, disarray seized the room. The clang of armoured bodies sounded everywhere and so too, the squelch and roar of men dying. The resounding whine of the doors being closed and barred. Trapped in the midst of massacre.

You kept your gaze trained on your brother’s face. First, you watched as he recoiled with shock. The curtain-lift of realisation.

Finally, anger.

The hand on your shoulder tightened and bunched the fabric of your nightgown. His teeth were bared and the veins in his throat protruded with rage.

“What have you done?! You spineless little bitch!”

Your brother was wrenched away from you with full force, curses and spittle still flying from his mouth as he was forced onto his knees. Abigail was out of her chains, never completely restrained to begin with, and she eyed you with a tight expression as she held him down.

“What have I done, brother?” Your voice now trembled with the venom of restraint snapping. “I have done what is right. Our people deserve a true ruler, not a coddled man who plays at one.”

A wet laugh bubbled from his mouth, hysteric over the symphony of steel around you. “And you think you have what it takes to be a ruler?” His eyes were open, drinking in the light, wide pools of disdain. “If I am so coddled, what does that make you? Tell me, what do you know of history? Of warfare?

“What are you but a woman? You were raised for marriage,” he continued, his amused mask slipping to reveal the undercurrents of fear that roared within him. “I was raised to be King! This is my birthright and you cannot simply snatch it away!”

“Princess.” Abigail’s voice was stern over your brother’s prattling. A simple reminder.

You stepped closer and watched as he faltered.

“W… Wait and heed my words. There is an order to these things,” he spoke desperately. “Disposing of me won’t alter it. Do you think the masses will warm up to you just because you are soft-hearted? They will still starve and slave their lives away, and they will hate you all the more for your gentleness. See things as I do, sister. When their hunger grows, will they look upon you kindly? You struggle, even now, to hold a sword.

“They won’t view your weakness as benignity.”

Even in the act of begging for his life, he managed to crush you beneath him, like wilted petals in the palm of an enclosed fist. You brought the blade close to your face and inspected each silver bud of jasmine and rose.

“Should I care about whether they view me as strong?” you asked, the cadence of your voice sounding distant and foreign to your own ears. “You forget that within the hour, I will control your army.”

You held out the sword in front of you then, the steel glinting. Your ancestors were right not to use it. It felt like a sin to have to dirty it.

No matter, you supposed. Today, history will be rewritten. With its rebirth, it was inevitable that some traditions would rot. Best to start with this one.

“What was it you told me before? ‘If the blade is sharp enough…’”

The wailing of a man defeated pierced your ears. His eyes were unseeing and yet so filled with despair. He slumped against Abigail’s grip and she let him fall to the ground with a thud.

You loomed over your brother, sword raised over your head.

“Goodbye, dear brother. We will meet again, I’m sure, in the land of the damned.”

It was as clean as the business of death could be. A splash of vermillion against the desolate white. A whimper, followed by cloying silence.

The deed was done.

#gold star reward if u spot the princess mononoke reference #knight!abby #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x you #abby anderson angst #abby anderson smut #abby anderson #abby tlou #abby the last of us #tlou writing #tlou fanfiction #abby anderson fanfic #tlou2 #tlou #the last of us #aeot

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humanitysstrongestsoldier1 · 1 year ago

Text

𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒. | 𝐺. 𝑆𝑈𝐺𝑈𝑅𝑈 x Reader

TW: cursing, explicit sexual content, death

AO3 LINK!!!

Summary:

अभी ना जाओ छोड़कर कर दिल अभी भरा नहीं (Abhee na jao chhodakar kar dil abhee bhara nahin): "Don't leave now, your heart is not full yet." - Asha Bhosle and Mohammed Rafi, Abhi Na Jao Chhod Kar, RRKPK Ver.

Regret.

It's a powerful thing that can tear a human down.

My regret? I was not able to save my best friend, my love, from the darkness that threatened to consume him.

He came to me in the night, claiming the very thing he had a grasp on since the moment I met him.

I just wish I could have stopped him then and there before he left me for good.

I wish I could have told him that there was no need to build a new world when he himself was my world, my home.

~~~~~

Notes:

Yokoso, watashi no Tumblr society...

i literally forgot this existed until i opened my google drive lmfaoo

yeh i had to use that song lol

translations will be in parentheses

~~~~~

“(Name)! You have to eat this cake; it's literally so good!” Gojo shouts from across the room, a beaming smile on his face.

“I will! Later, I promise.” I yelled back, and I got a happier smile from him again.

Satoru and Shoko had planned a little farewell party for me because of the fact that I was going to continue my studies in England. Nanami was also here, but like me, he chose to sit in silence, lightly sipping from the champagne in his glass. Other people that I knew from college and Jujutsu High were present as well. Even though my home was bright and lively, something was missing. Or, in this case, someone.

Suguru Geto. The calm to my storm.

I had the fattest crush on him in high school, and I'm sure he knew. That's why he flirted and teased me a lot. But beyond that, he was always there to listen to my little nerdy talks. Or even my rage talks. He would just sit there with a gentle smile on his face, ready to digest some random information about astrophysics. Hell, he would even ask questions afterwards. He was the peace in my chaos. Until he became chaos itself. The news of his massacre and defection did not shock me as much as I hoped it would. After Riko and Yu's deaths, he was slowly falling into a pit of darkness. With Satoru out on solo missions and me being busy with college applications and entrance studying, we weren't there to give him a hand to pull him out of that abyss. To this day, that is still Satoru and my greatest regret.

I thought our bond was unbreakable; he himself told me so.

One night, I was woken up from a nightmare at Satoru’s house during a sleepover. In that god-horrid vision, Satoru and Suguru had left me dead. I still remember the words Suguru said in the dream: “Leave her; she's no good for us.”

It was really hard for me to sleep after that, so I headed to the kitchen and found Suguru drinking a glass of water. I explained to him what happened, and he held me, his arms around my body and legs tangled for the entire night. He helped me sleep and promised that he would never leave me. Now that “promise” turned out to be futile. That unbreakable bond that tethered our souls was split, yearning to be joined again.

“You're thinking about him, aren't you?” Nanami said, lightly tapping my knee with his, gaining my attention.

I looked at him with blank eyes and said, “I don’t know what you're talking about, Kento.”

“It's okay to miss him; we all know how close you two were.”

“Leave it. Don't speak of him.”

He hums, acknowledging my privacy on the matter, before whispering with a gentle voice, “Even though you are miles away after today, know that I'm here for you. Because I know how much of a hassle it is to talk to Gojo, please never hesitate to speak to me if it's a serious matter.”

A small smile came upon my face, and I gently bumped into his shoulder with mine, an act of gratitude. “Thank you, Kento.”

“(Name)! Nanamin! Get the hell over here! We're starting cards against humanity!”

The two of us headed over to Satoru’s excited ass, who was reading the manual. That night was going to be my last night with them. 5 years is a long time without my closest friends, so I would cherish this night without any regrets.

—

“But (Name), I don't want to leave you. Even though I'm going to see you in the morninggg!” A drunk Satoru whines, hugging me so tight that it felt as if my lungs were going to pop.

“Sa-To-Ru.” I said, struggling to put his name together with the lack of air. I slowly pushed him to the threshold of the front door, trying to get him out. Unfortunately, his 6’3 ass would not budge.

“I got him (Name), don't stress.” Shoko says this from outside. She grabs the back of his shirt, pulls him the fuck out of my house, and waves good-bye.

Laughing lightly, I close the front door and head to my room for a quick shower. As I entered my room, the aura of it felt off. It was as if something that wasn't supposed to be there was present. Ignoring the feeling, I headed over to the closet to pick out some clothes, but before I could, a large hand grabbed me by my waist and pulled me flush against their chest. I realised it was a very tall man, around the same height as Gojo; it would be hard to escape. I thought of screaming, but it was as if he read my mind and put his other hand over my mouth. The arm around my waist forced me to turn around, and I was met with the very eyes I fell in love with.

Suguru Geto.

His hand fell from my face, and he took two steps back, allowing me to truly see him after so long.

“What are you doing here, Suguru?”

“Can’t I see my girl before she leaves?” He says this, smirking and tilting his head.

“I’m not your girl. I could have been, but you lost that right after you committed mass murder and betrayed your friends.”

“It was necessary. For the world I'm trying to make for you and for us, it damn well must be necessary.”

“Tsk, get yourself and your twisted philosophies out of my house.” I gritted my teeth at his response.

“Please, you are going to be gone for a long time. Let me hold you as I once did.”

“Out of kindness and the love I held for you, I won't tell Satoru or Yaga about this little visit. It's best if you leave; I would like my last night here to be in peace.”

“Held? The love you ‘held’ for me? Darling, I think you mean ‘hold’ for me,” he grins.

“I don't love you, Suguru, not when you left me, craving your touch.”

“Is that so? Then surely your heart's rapid pace and the blush on your cheeks are just my imagination, right?”

I take a step forward, raising a finger at him. “Listen here, you bastar-”

I was interrupted by his arm pulling me from my waist into his chest. I gazed into his dark eyes, and somewhere in there I found desperation.

“You're mine, (Name). You always have been. No matter where you are—two miles or even countries away—you are mine. I’m here to claim what is left of you, the part that I always held a right to.”

I shuddered against him, my fist curling around his white button-up shirt. “And what's that?”

“Your heart.”

In a flash, his lips were upon mine. Cold but dominating enough to envelop my warmth with his. He took the entirety of me in, his tongue clashing with mine. Small moans drifted from my voice, disobeying my heart's call. As much as I tried to push myself away, subconsciously, this was where I was meant to be.

My swollen lips finally pulled away. “Sugu, please.”

“Let me have you tonight, please. Let me revel in your touch; our bodies as one.”

“I can't, Sugu. I would be betraying my righteousness.”

“Virtuousness is fleeting. Love is eternal. We are eternal. Please (Name), let me show you the pleasures of this world. Let me make you mine, so no one in this world can ever lay a hand on you.”

If my friends could read my mind at this time, they would label me a selfish sociopath. But tonight was my last night, and if I come back five years later and he's not here, then saying no would be a mistake. Plus, high school me would be begging to say yes.

“Fuck it.” I whisper, quickly pulling him by the collars of his shirt and smashing my lips on his.

His hand made it to my ponytail and took off the band, making my hair cascade down my backless dress. His hands tangled in my tresses, pulling my hair back and breaking the kiss. His wet lips sucked on my neck, leaving dark bruises that would take weeks to disappear. As he continued his ministrations I made my way to his button-up, opening and taking off his shirt. Gliding my hands over his pecs, I could feel his intense heartbeat, saying one thing: my name.

“Hold on to me.” He whispers against my skin, grabbing my hips and wrapping my legs around his waist. He made his way over to my bed and gently placed me on it, hovering over me. He gazed into my watery eyes.

“If I had just told you that I loved you earlier, maybe, just maybe I-”

“Sugu, right now, it's just us. Don't focus on what could have been; focus on what can be.”

He blinked his thoughts away and dragged the chain of my dress down, my bare form meeting his eyes. The dress was thrown to the side of the room by him, while his eyes never left my body. His lips went towards the middle of my breasts, to where my heart was.

“Mine.” He whispered against my skin, feeling my heart. He continued kissing down my stomach, leaving hickeys behind. His hands curled around the band of my underwear and pulled them down.

"Suguru, please be gen- oh my god." I was cut off by the feeling of his wet lips sucking on my clit.

I took off the rubber band holding half his hair up and ran my hands through his black locks. His lips unlatched, and his tongue replaced the actions. Small whimpers released from my throat, and I yanked his hair by mistake, causing him to groan and sending the vibrations through my lower body.

“Fuck Sugu, just like that baby.”

He didn’t stop; he didn't even go faster; he was making me writhe under him because he knew that he couldn't stay for long, so his first priority was to embed memories of this night in the best way possible. Slowly and agonisingly, he licked a stripe up my slit and came up to look me in the eyes.

Tears fell from my face, and I was blushing profusely. “You look so pretty, like this baby. You wanna tell me what you want?

I bashfully turned my head to the side, and he chuckled at my antics. Suguru hooked a finger under my chin and ushered me to gaze into his eyes.

“Don’t be shy now; I want to hear you say it.” He whispers. His beautiful lips curled into a smirk.

I blink away my tears, and with a shaky voice, I say, “I need you in me, Sugu.”

“That's it, my love.” His lips meet their way back to mine, and I moan into his mouth, feeling his tongue toying with mine. His hands make quick work of removing his pants and underwear, leaving us both bare in the dark room.

Breaking the kiss, I move my hand down to his seeping cock and smirk while looking into his wide eyes. “My turn."

I slowly move my hand down his shaft, feeling his slick moisten my hand. My thumb grazes his tip, which is leaking precum and he whines into my neck.

“ Fuck , (Name) please, I need-”

“Go on,” I interrupt, smiling at him.

Suguru gives me a quick peck on my lips and aligns his cock to my sopping cunt. His tip moved up and down my slit, gathering the spit and cum to make his way into me. He slowly thrust into me, letting me adjust to his girth. My nails clawed at his toned back, and I moaned at the filling feeling. He hooked his hands behind my knees and pushed them flush against my chest. His cock went even deeper, reaching places that made me see stars. He started moving faster, his balls slapping against my ass, and the squelch of my cunt echoed throughout the silent room. Suguru’s quiet whines and my moans created a harmonic melody that was pushing me to bliss.

“Y-you hear that, baby? F-f-fuuckkk! You take me so well, gods .” He says this as his lips kiss all over my neck.

“Sugs, I can’t- hold- oooh fuck baby pleaseee. ” I couldn't form words as he went even deeper, stretching me out completely. My back arched off the mattress, and he growled at my cunt clenching around his cock. His thrusts became more erratic, and he was reaching his end, as was I.

“Fuckk (Name), cum with me, please; I need to fill you up.” He groans into the crook of my neck.

My pussy clenched at his words, and he took note of that: "Oh, you like that? Wanna be stuffed full of my cum?”

I meekly nodded, unaware of the consequences that may show up later.

"Oh, sweetheart, imma pump you so full of my kids, gonna see you get all swollen and cute, yeah?”

"Ahh, Suguru, fuck, I cant-” I moan, unable to construct sentences.

His body curved and pushed further, and his hips pressed hard against me, shooting his load inside my gummy walls. The sensation of his cock and the warmth of his cum just added to my orgasm, and I came hard around his cock.

Suguru slowly pulled out, and I whined at the empty feeling: “I’m not going anywhere, sweets; I just gotta get you cleaned up.” He whispers against the skin of my forehead, placing a kiss on it.

I hum lightly and smile into his warmth. Fatigue was slowly crawling over me, and I wanted to fall asleep in his arms.

In a minute, he quickly went to the bathroom and grabbed a fresh towel, wiping my thigh and sensitive folds. He walked over to the hamper and discarded the towel into the laundry.

“Suguru?” I said, reaching out to him. “Don’t leave me like this.”

He gently smiles, walking over to my bed and crawling under the covers. His arms pulled me closer to his warm body, and he wrapped the huge blanket over our bodies.

I tucked myself under his chin, and he kissed my head before whispering, “I would never.”

“I love you, Suguru.”

“I love you too, (Name).”

That night was the most peaceful rest I had in a long while. The gentle beating of Suguru’s heart and the warmth from his body lulled me into tender sleep, where the stars watched over our resting forms.

(In the Morning, at Airport)

“(Name) don’t go, pleasee.” Satoru says, tightly hugging my body, which was very sore from last night.

Suguru had stayed for breakfast and headed out when he saw Gojo and Shoko’s cars. He left with a kiss that I would remember for lifetimes.

Gojo and Shoko helped me pack all of my clothes and drove me to the airport. Throughout the entire car ride, Satoru was whining about me leaving. It was cute, to be honest. Satoru is my best friend, and I would miss him so much, so I just held his hand, calming him down.

“Satoru, we talked about this in the car. I'm coming back! And I promise to call you when I’m free!” I say this while pushing him off of me.

“It’s not enough! Who is gonna make me rasmalai when you are gone?" He proclaims, grabbing hold of my shoulders. Satoru loved my native cooking; Indian food was his new obsession, and the sweets? God. He was obsessed with Rasmalai and Gajar ka Halwa. And he only used to like it when they were made by my hands.

“Bro, the ones from the store are not as good as yours.”

“I’ll facetime you and teach you to make it, okay?” I sigh, caressing his face and smiling.

I move over to Shoko, who grins brightly when I hug her.

“I’m gonna miss you girly.” She says, pushing my glasses (Gojo’s gifted sunglasses) up my nose playfully.

“Me too, Shoko.” I whisper, kissing her cheek and pulling her in for one last hug.

The overhead speaker buzzed, and the announcer declared, “Flight GS831 is boarding; passengers, please head to the gate.”

I sigh and look at both of my friends for one last time. “I love you guys.”

At the same time, Satoru and Shoko both said, “We love you too.”

I smiled as tears welled up in my eyes and turned around, dragging my suitcase behind me and carrying my backpack.

In these 5 years, I will make a name for myself in England and when I come back, I will convince Suguru to start anew with me. To a new future.

And when I set my mind to something, I was hellbent on getting it fulfilled.

(Year 4 of Study, Oxford, England)

I was heading home after a long day of researching Kerr black holes at the astronomy observatory, and my neck was absolutely killing me. These past three days have been hell on earth. With finals coming and my thesis paper coming to a conclusion, life hasn’t been exactly easy.

I have been getting calls from Satoru, which really helps bring a laugh to my serious lifestyle. Shoko calls every now and then; she has been interested in the process of getting a biology degree to help with her role at Jujutsu Tech. Kento also calls every now and then. He goes on about Gojo’s annoying ass and how he misses my scolding towards him. He kept his promise of being there for me when I needed it and truly helped me ground myself on the most stressful days. and, of course, Suguru. He doesn't call as often as Satoru, but when he does, we go on for hours. He loves listening to my research and the things I find. It reminds both of us of our high school days, when we used to stargaze.

He had called me a couple of days ago, sounding more serious about his “new world.” I didn't say much about it because I knew that he wouldn't listen. But for some reason, the days after that call, were full of unspoken caution–or fear…

I opened the door to my apartment and headed to my study, dropping my backpack off before heading to my room for a hot shower. The winters in Oxford had their bite, and today was no exception. The feeling of the hot water on my body calmed my stressed muscles, and the tension in my head dimmed down. Stepping out, I did my skincare and moisturised my body thoroughly, especially in this winter. I headed to my bed and plopped down on it before opening my drawer and getting my iPad out to read The God Delusion by Richard Dawkins. I was deep into the book until I felt the buzzing of my phone underneath the blanket. Checking the caller, it was Satoru. He always face-timed, so I was confused as to why it was a normal call.

A feeling of foreign dread washed over me for no reason at all. I didn't even know why he was calling, but I knew it had to be something bad.

Hesitantly, I swiped over the button and picked up the call.

“Hello? Satoru?” I asked quietly.

I heard a sharp breath being taken by him. “Hey sweetcakes. Are you doing alright today?”

Satoru’s voice sounded so tired. It lacked his charm, and he was unusually calm.

"Yeah, I'm doing fine, you?” I ask.

“I want to say that I'm doing okay, but I'm really not.” He says, his voice breaking.

“Hey, hey. What's wrong?”

“It’s Suguru.”

There it was—that dreaded news.

“Wh-what about him, love?”

“H-he.” Satoru took a deep breath before continuing. “He tried taking one of my new students. It ended badly (Name).”

“How bad?” I ask.

“He’s gone (Name). I had to kill him…”

A chill passed over my body, and I froze in shock. My brain shut down, and I couldn't hear Satoru’s voice. His words floated around me, and I couldn't move. Not even a limb. My jaw clenched, and my tears blurred my eyes. A sob left my trembling lips, and Satoru stopped talking. Fat, warm tears dropped down my cheek and onto the screen of my iPad.

“(Name)? Hey.” Satoru said, sounding more concerned. “I'm here, okay, I'm here. I’m not going anywhere.”

I shook off my tears, and I focused on telling Satoru the truth.

“I-I’m okay, ‘Toru. I need to tell you something.”

“Take all the time you need.” He says, assuringly.

I sighed, wiping my tears, and sat up straight to tell him about the night before my flight.

“That night. After the party, he was there.”

"What?" He was taken aback.

“I tried to tell him to go away, but he wouldn't listen. I ended up having sex with him that night. He left the next morning before you two came. He has been calling me for some years, but rarely. I’m so sorry I didn't tell you sooner. ‘Toru, I really am."

There was some silence on the other side.

“Satoru, please. I’m so sorry, I can't explain-" My voice cracked as tears started building up again.

"(Name), I'm not mad. How could I be with my favourite girl? I trust you. I always will. No matter what, okay?” He declares, calming my racing heart down.

I sigh, the pressure dissipating from my body.

“Toru?” I ask.

“Yeah?”

“I love you, you big man child,” I laugh, trying to distract myself from the pain of his death.

Satoru chuckles, understanding my way of distracting myself. “I love you too, sweetcakes.”

I giggle lightly and look towards the window, where a full moon looks at me.

“Hey, tell me about that time travel thing you texted me about.” He questioned.

I get up off the bed and walk over to my window, opening it to let the cold breeze in to cool off my body. I sat down on the long chair in front of it and put the phone on speaker, setting it down on the sill.

“What do you want to know about it?"

“Everything. Tell me everything," Satoru remarks.

“Tu pagal hai.” (You’re crazy) . I laugh, knowing he won't understand what I say. “How are you going to possibly..."

“Hey! Main pagal nahi hoon!” He says, shocking me with his Hindi. (I’m not crazy!)

“...Gojo Satoru… How the hell do you speak Hindi…?”

“I've been learning since you left; I even have a tutor online.”

“Holy shit…what's your CEFR level?"

“A2!” He bragged. “I’m trying to become fluent so we can gossip. I even learned some curse words hehe~.”

“Gojo Satoru. You never fail to surprise me. Although you do have an accent, I’m honestly really proud. But you still have 3 more Indian languages to learn and 5 more other ones before you can brag about how many you speak. And darling, Hindi ain't even my mother tongue.”

He gasps, “I know, but Guju is so hard, I would have started with your mother tongue but shit, it's deadly! I can’t read or write Hindi that well either. I still can’t believe how you speak nine languages! At least I'm trying you chudail (witch) !”

“CHUDAIL? ABE KAMINE, TERI AUKAD ME REH!” I yell, stunned by his words. (Witch? Hey you bastard, stay within your limits!)

Satoru makes his little devil laugh and continues teasing me. That night was calmer with him.

If he hadn't stayed and talked, I would have been destroyed by the news of my beloved’s death.

But I knew that when I returned home, I would have to come to his resting place. I knew that I would have to say goodbye. But it didn't mean that I would have to do it alone.

(Post PhD. Back Home, at Suguru Geto’s grave)

Satoru and I stood in front of Suguru’s grave, holding each other close. I had made it home and ended up staying at his condo because I dropped the lease on my apartment. We both needed each other, so we thought it was a smart decision to stay close.

I looked at the name on his stone and the epitaph below it. It read, “Astra inclinant, sed non obligant.” Latin for: “The stars incline us; they do not bind us.” I remember when I told him that. It was the first time we went meteor gazing for the Perseids shower. He liked that quote so much that he had it tattooed on his collarbone.

The warmth in my ears increased, and tears fell from my eyes. Satoru took note of this and pulled me closer to him by my waist.

Satoru kissed my temple and murmured into my ear, “I’ll be in the car. Take as much time as you need.”

I nodded stiffly, and he walked away, leaving me alone with Suguru.

All the memories of him and me came flashing before my eyes, and I fell to my knees, clutching my heart that belonged to him. The heart that he claimed.

“Suguru." I whispered to him, the wind carrying his name.

“How could you leave me like this?”

End Notes:

ehehe ehehehe~

i just love the idea of gojo's dumbass speaking hindi, i bet he learned all the curse words and says them to random ppl 💀

okay bye madarchods, love you guys 🤍🩵

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk fanfic #geto suguru #gojo satoru #geto x reader #indian oc/reader #suguru x reader #geto suguru x you #geto x you #suguru geto smut #geto suguru x reader

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