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lightseoul · 2 months ago

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HOLD ME CLOSE (HOLD ME TIGHT) (3.8k)

pairing. k. bakugou x reader

synopsis. masaru has a stroke that nearly kills him. bakugou handles it well—until he doesn’t.

cw. pro-hero!katsuki, aged-up (32), established relationship, mentions of illness, themes of grief, discussions of past trauma (bkg's)

a/n. i hope y'all cry because this made me cry lmao. writing really is easy if you take heavy inspiration from your personal experiences lol. this is written from bkg's pov, and serves as a mini character analysis as well ig?

bakugou remembers it clear as day.

it was only a few weeks after the two of you celebrated his 32nd birthday in a secluded resort out of town when he got the call.

he was in the middle of chastising his klutz of a sidekick’s ear off for forgetting to submit an important case report when his phone started ringing, and the very fact that it wasn’t your ringtone further soured his already worsening mood.

with a final reprimand laced with an hr-appropriate amount of expletives, he dismissed the rookie, leaving him alone in his pristine, corner office.

he recalls sighing in annoyance upon seeing the caller id, as well as his clipped tone when he greeted the old hag with a curt, “what.”

that annoyance was immediately replaced with alarm, however, when his usually bright mother spoke into the microphone, her typically level voice shaking with unmistakable fear.

“it’s your father, katsuki…” she started, and he instantly braced himself for the impact.

mitsuki takes a shaky inhale. “…he’s having a stroke. we’re on the way to the hospital. please, come here.”

he didn’t need to be told twice.

he remembers being on autopilot—the entire way to the suburban peripheries of musutafu where his parents decided to move after he got his own place at the age of 22. he’s not entirely sure—the journey over now a hazy blur—but he might’ve sent you the link to his location, because you magically arrived at the local hospital around fifteen minutes after him.

the moment he saw you burst into the entrance of the emergency room, a huge, tidal wave of relief immediately washed over him, he thought he could’ve collapsed. the second you lock eyes, he witnessed a whirlwind of emotions dance across your beautiful features, before you ran over to where he stood near the vending machine, unceremoniously crashing into his arms.

at that point, he had no idea what made you drop everything—including the precious work that you do—and just follow him based on an ambiguous gps locator he sent you without context, but he was glad you did.

because it was only as you held him so close to you all the while soothing his back and chanting soft ‘it’s okay’s’ in his ear did it hit him.

the fact that he’s fucking terrified.

it must’ve been at least three hours of stewing in tense silence in the emergency room’s waiting area before the two of you finally saw mitsuki.

he remembers the way his heart ached when he first laid eyes on his mother, someone who’s typically radiant and spirited and happy, now looking too frail and painfully vulnerable.

words weren’t exchanged as the three of you walked towards each other, and he promptly engulfed his mother into a tight hug before he could talk himself out of it.

“how is he?” he whispered into the side of her head, choosing to ask then, in the middle of a hug, because he didn’t know if he could stand the look on her face when she answered.

“he’s alive,” she managed to get out, but she said it so tentatively that he knew it was too soon to feel any sort of relief.

“but…?” he recalls asking with bated breath.

“it was a hemorrhagic stroke. it’s… it’s bad, katsuki.”

it wasn’t until a few more hours later, when the two of you were finally granted permission to enter masaru’s hospital room together with mitsuki, did he realize what bad meant.

some parts of this story are blurry now, but the way his stomach dropped at the sight of his father remains to be unforgettable.

the sight of him paralyzed, head to toe.

masaru remained confined in the hospital for a few weeks more after that. the three of you took turns—one would go home to clean up and catch some sleep while the remaining two kept watch and assisted the man.

you almost got booted out of there on the second day, with the nurse saying only immediate family was allowed due to overcrowding in the hospital, but bakugou was quick to step in and say you were practically married.

when the nurse politely pressed for more details while looking pointedly at your ring finger and the lack of a wedding band, he lied and said you forgot to wear it in your rush to get there.

she didn’t seem too convinced, but she thankfully let it go, probably because it was #2 pro-hero dynamight who said so, eventually exiting the room after checking masaru’s vitals.

he remembers you heaving a sigh of relief once the three of you were left alone, tossing him a small smile that sent a familiar shot of longing straight to his veins.

one day, he recalls thinking to himself, you will be married.

just—not now.

the first day home was as much of a nightmare as he expected it to be.

growing up, and until that moment, he never really found himself wanting siblings.

sure, it got pretty lonely during his childhood, but he almost always had kids following him around what with how flashy his quirk is, and he had izuku, which he can now admit was (and still is) his best friend.

plus, you always said you loved how he’d roughhouse you, which you chalked up to him being an only child and not having had the opportunity to do that with anyone else.

but, as the three of you struggled to lift masaru out of the car and into his newly minted wheelchair, he remembers wishing for a brother or a sister who could lend a helping hand and make sure all of masaru’s numb body parts were carefully looked out for.

it’s fucking hilarious, how he didn’t just lift his father all by himself with his pro-hero muscles, but the fear of accidentally hurting him even more turned out to be more paralyzing than he anticipated.

not that he would ever admit that to anyone.

not even you.

but as he watched you and his mother fluttering around, tending to masaru’s needs not even a minute you get in the house, it struck him that maybe he should.

you might not be his sibling (thank god, no), but you will most likely become his parents’ daughter if things go his way.

and, whether he liked it or not, he’s got to do something about the growing ache in his chest that’s only growing wider by the second.

the next few weeks he spent busying himself with the stuff that came with looking after a stroke patient.

mitsuki, who’s done nothing but throw herself into caring for her husband, insisted on helping him find the people they needed, but bakugou didn’t even let her get a word in.

when he tucked himself into bed right next to you later that night in his new bedroom (you moved in with him to his parents’ despite his protests), he recalls ranting about how the old hag was getting on his nerves with her inability to just let him handle shit.

“have i ever been incompetent?” he huffed, turning on his side so he could lie facing you. “it’s like she doesn’t even trust me.”

“i think the two of you just want the same for the other, kats,” came your steady yet gentle voice, not missing a beat and totally unfazed by his petulant behavior.

“…waddya mean?”

you reached out to caress his cheek, and he remembers how soft your fingers felt and how his eyes momentarily fluttered close at the warmth.

at the sight, you flashed him a sad smile before pressing on.

“you’re both hurting, but the two of you would rather carry the weight by yourselves instead of burdening the other. it’s how you and mitsuki show you care.”

he didn’t say anything after that.

at least, for a while.

finally, he spoke up. “…i just don’t like to be bossed around, is all.”

to that, you only tossed him a knowing look. “yup, just that. definitely. never mind your immense sense of responsibility and the stubborn yet admirable way you carry everybody’s bur—”

“yeah, yeah,” he cut you off before you could ramble any further. “i get it.”

seemingly satisfied, you grinned up at him before pulling him close, cradling his head by your chest.

with the new position, he could feel your familiar, rhythmic heartbeat.

your heartbeat that he liked to listen to for reassurance—telltale evidence that you’re alive and right next to him, and that no villain has wrestled you out of his firm grip.

and as he lay there snuggled into you and listening to the consistent pulse, he found his frantic, loud thoughts slowly but steadily being lulled to a hum.

thoughts that he knew you’d kick to the moon if you found out he’s been thinking them.

thoughts like maybe he’s just selfishly gatekeeping all the tasks so he could distract himself from the pain that’s threatening to swallow him whole.

thoughts like maybe he deserved this for all the wrong he’s done growing up.

thoughts like maybe his mother would be in far less pain if it were him instead of his saint of a father who had to go through this.

he fell into a fitted sleep that night.

after a few more weeks of searching for and screening applicants, and with your and mitsuki’s approval, he finally settled on a stay-in caregiver and physical therapist.

it took quite a while for the two to learn the ropes and master how he wanted things to be done around here, but they eventually got there, and when they did, they cleared a lot of stuff that has been on everybody’s plates ever since masaru had the stroke.

with that, mitsuki insisted the two of you go home to your shared condominium and get back into working full-time again, but neither of you relented. he tried to get you to return, not wanting to hold you back from the important things that you do, but you were quick to dismiss him.

he didn’t tell you then and there, but he secretly wished you would.

he’d never confess this to anybody, but he’d definitely crumble without you around.

he remembers one specific thursday, when you first started getting masaru into exercising his left, albeit non-dominant hand, by drawing.

it was silly, but he recalls not even being able to look his father in the eye as the two of you sat across from him who was plastered in his wheelchair, a small coffee table between you, on which sat a piece of paper, a pencil, a box of crayons, and an all might plushie you swiftly grabbed from his bedroom.

and as he sat there avoiding his father’s gaze, he watched you as you talked animatedly to the man, explaining the deceivingly simple activity: he just had to try and draw the plushie, after which, if he still had the energy, he could color in using the crayons you dug out from bakugou’s drawers.

but masaru wasn’t having it.

the man only stared at you in disinterest as you tried your best to engage him. despite himself, bakugou felt indignation creep up his spine.

he knew. fuck, he really did. after he made sure you’ve fallen asleep, he had spent nights researching his father’s condition, poring over mountains and mountains of information all in the name of being able to better understand and help him.

so he knew—he knew that strokes, especially severe ones, can cause noticeable changes in one’s personality, at least in the short term. it can turn someone sensitive and in tune with others’ emotions into someone who’s apathetic and seemingly self-absorbed.

still, that knowledge doesn’t stop him from jumping on his feet when masaru, his kind, sweet father, angrily wiped off the table with his left arm, sending the materials you worked hard to gather scattered all over the floor.

and, before he could stop himself: “hey!”

you were onto him in an instant, a soothing albeit restraining hold on his shoulder. “katsuki, it’s okay.”

he was about to open his mouth to spit venom when he felt you tighten your grip. he didn’t have to glance at you to know you were looking at him the way you always did when you were begging him to stay quiet.

and because he loved (loves) you, he did.

and as he wordlessly picked up the papers and pens in silence, he couldn’t help but mourn over his father, and the patience and calmness that characterized his being.

the very patience and calmness that he always wished he had, instead of his temper and aggressiveness, because that’s what you, of all people, deserved.

and then the all-too-familiar guilt hit him again.

because why was he acting like his father died, when he was still very much alive?

simple, bakugou thought to himself.

it’s because it feels like he has.

his relationship with masaru didn’t get better after that.

he’d been trying, he really had been. if not for you, who’d been tending to his father like he was your very own, then for his mother, whose fatigue and sadness have been chipping away at her by the minute.

he was washing the dishes in the kitchen after you’ve had dinner—all the while his parents watched tv in the living room—when you walked in, a couple more dirty plates in tow.

he wouldn’t have noticed he was glaring down at the brick of butter on the shelf if you didn’t point it out.

“a few more seconds and that’s gonna melt,” you quipped.

he looked back at you, gears in his head turning for a beat, before he chuckled half-heartedly and turned back to the sink.

behind him, he recalls hearing a click, which he now identifies as you putting down the plates on the kitchen island, before he felt your arms wrap around his middle, encasing him in a hug.

your voice was smooth when you drawled out, “what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours, baby?”

still, and despite all the shit that’s been going on in his life, he still found himself shuddering at the pet name.

“nothing.”

“really?” came your immediate response. “because i was getting kinda jealous with how hard you were staring at that butter.”

at that, bakugou couldn’t help but snort. you followed suit, that delightful laugh echoing across the small room.

“stupid,” he simply retorted, although both of you knew there was no bite to it.

you didn’t press him for more after that, choosing to just hold yourself against his back in comfortable silence—which he now knows he’s grateful for.

because at that time, he couldn’t have told you he was feeling nothing but resentment for his pitiful father.

his pitiful father who loved to put butter in virtually every dish he whipped up.

his pitiful father who probably wouldn’t be pitiful if he just led an active lifestyle, monitored his health, and made better choices so that his poor mother wouldn’t have to go through all this.

his train of thought was interrupted, however, when a pang of that same old guilt hit his chest, and then he was once again flooded with scalding shame.

because what else should he be feeling for his father aside from empathy, as someone who has had far too many brushes with death itself?

“…katsuki?”

he recalls jolting ever so minutely, before turning his head to look at you, who, by then, was already standing behind him, apparently already having released him from the hug.

“huh?”

“i was just asking you,” you continued as if he didn’t just zone out. “our friends want to come by and visit, if you’re okay with it. is that alright with you?”

the last thing he needed was for his nerd-ass friends to visit and witness his family’s dirty laundry, which would inevitably be aired out for them to see given the circumstances. his entire life, he always, always, kept those from prying eyes, even if they were his closest buddies’.

but, at the mention of his friends, he found his heart clenching in yearning despite himself.

and so, before he could talk himself out of it, he nodded in approval.

“…and so that’s how i saved the little girl who was convinced i was the bad guy!”

he remembers everyone in the room erupting in laughter at kirishima’s story, even masaru, who’s been steadily gaining control of the left side of his body back.

his right has seen little to no improvement, but you and mitsuki have been making it a point to celebrate every win, no matter how small.

at kirishima’s gag, bakugou himself couldn’t help the somewhat imperceptible smirk that encroached on his face, which izuku, unfortunately, caught sight of. the #1 pro-hero beamed at him, and it took bakugou every ounce of self-control not to roll his eyes at the nerd.

“what about you, midoriya-kun?” asked mitsuki, who’s seated on a stool right beside her husband, who’s nestled comfortably in the reclining chair you got him about a month ago.

at the call out, the green-haired man shifted his attention to the lady, before sheepishly retorting with: “oh, i just try to be funny.”

that granted him his round of laughter, and this time bakugou finally allowed himself to give into the visceral urge to roll his eyes.

he must’ve been being so obvious with his expressions, because it’s you who managed to catch him again, shooting him a chastising but nevertheless playful look.

before he could wink at you or do anything in response, though, he recalls mitsuki standing up quite abruptly, startling the five of you.

you shot her a question before anyone else could. “what is it, mitsuki-san?”

“i didn’t notice! we’ve run out of tea and snacks. sorry—” she leaned down to get the trays, “—let me get some mo—”

“i’ll do it!” volunteered the ever-good-natured izuku, who moved so fast the plates were on him before the rest could blink.

“i’ll help the nerd,” bakugou added, standing up before taking some of the cups from his rival lest the latter drops them.

at the uncharacteristically generous offer, izuku once again beamed at him, which bakugou immediately dismissed with a wave of a hand.

the short trek to the kitchen was quiet amidst the background noise, which has been brought up a notch thanks to kirishima’s vivid storytelling.

without a word, bakugou gestured where to get a refill on the snacks while he busied himself with brewing more tea.

the silence that engulfed them was comfortable—familiar—that was, until, izuku broke it.

“thanks again, kacchan.”

bakugou felt his eye twitch at the nickname. “for what?”

izuku turned on his feet to regard his best friend, a grateful smile gracing his boyish features. “for letting me and ei visit. i just wanted you to know i appreciate it. i’m sure it’s not easy having guests around while, you know…”

he wasn’t about to tell the nerd he and kirishima were the only ones he felt comfortable enough to visit at the moment, so he merely nodded.

(un)fortunately, the greenhead took it as a sign to continue.

“she’s been amazing, huh?”

bakugou met the man’s soft gaze, which was directed toward you.

“yeah,” came his sure reply. he remembers not even knowing where to start, so he just simply left it at that.

a pregnant pause.

“you’ve been doing great, too, kacchan.”

that caught him off guard.

he must’ve looked stunned, because izuku shrugged quite timidly, before: “we all see how hard you’re working.”

the #1 pro-hero hesitated for a moment, as if debating whether or not to say the next thing, ultimately deciding for it.

“…but don’t forget to take care of yourself, too, alright?”

and just as fast as he scooped the trays back in the living room, izuku patted him on the shoulder before taking the cups from him and waltzing rather clumsily out of the kitchen.

later that night, bakugou found himself unable to fall asleep.

it’s been ages since you both got into bed, and you were now on your side with your back turned against him, probably already fast asleep.

he recalls just staring up at the off-white ceiling, playing back in his head the earlier conversation he had with izuku again and again and again.

“you’ve been doing great, too, kacchan,” was what the nerd said.

if he only knew.

if he only knew the terrible thoughts that had been plaguing his mind since shit went down.

there’s a reason why he hasn’t said a single word about the things he’d been thinking since day one.

there’s a reason why he’s kept all of this shit to himself even though they were fucking heavy to carry all on his own.

it was because he was scared of them, and even more scared of what people would make of him when he finally verbalized them into existence.

what you would make of him.

he’s spent most of his life running away from who he used to be, that the mere thought that he might have just always been that guy this entire time is like a fucking 100% detroit smash to the gut.

he didn’t even notice he was crying until he felt a single tear go down the side of his face.

he quickly reached up to wipe it away.

to his horror, he felt you shift beside him, and he found himself frozen in fear as he waited for you to settle into another position in your sleep.

but that didn’t come.

instead, he remembers so, so clearly how you turned to face him—absolutely, evidently wide awake—with such a worried expression on your gorgeous face, and how he just completely lost it at the sight of you.

he remembers how you scooped him into your arms as ugly sobs finally wracked his body, how you led his arms to wrap around your waist to help anchor him as he cried into your chest.

he remembers the soothing circles you rubbed on his back as you started to cry with him, your sniffles the only thing he heard aside from his own weeping.

he remembers the way your voice cracked when you started whispering ‘i’m here’s’ in his ear. and, he doesn’t know if it’s because that line carries a massive fucking weight for him, or that it’s you—the love of his life—who’s saying them, but the words wash over the entirety of his exhausted body like a violent storm, leaving him shivering in its wake.

he remembers deciding then and there, that he was going to tell you everything.

maybe tomorrow, but not now.

for now, and in the safety of your arms, he finds himself finally allowing the grief—the grief that he’s unknowingly been trying to tamp down—to come forward and make itself known.

tagging. @bunnysaursushii @yawnzzzzzzzz @cholios @kashee-h @iluv-ace @lotuslovers @elarakive @sugurusmoon

˖⁺‧₊ as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are appreciated <3 have a nice day!

#bakugou x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou imagines #mha imagines #bnha imagines #mha scenarios #bnha scenarios #mha x reader #bnha x reader #bakugou x you #bakugou imagine #bakugo x reader #bakugo x y/n #bakugou drabble

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rapplesart · 7 months ago

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Random fic idea

Tim drake but instead of loosing his spleen he lost part of his leg.

Tim thought it was obvious he was missing his right leg from the knee down. It was a whole leg that was missing after all. Sure he was wearing a prosthetic made by Ra's' best people.

One he painfully earned after that crazy fucker made him fight a bunch of his assassins one legged in order to "proof himself as the true heir of the bat he saw in him" or something. So sure, the leg might be more advanced than most, and it imitated natural steps a lot easier and even made it possible to easily run without switching to a different leg. Truly it was a perfect leg be vigilante with. But he never even bothered to give it human like appearances.

But apparently the Fam didn't notice. When he returned with Bruce everyone was too reliefed to give Tim a closer look and it just never came up afterwards.

Tim thought they just didn't want to ask about it in a weird attempt of being polite or even caring. Bruce surely did enough research on how it happened on his own. The man spend the whole travel back to Gotham with Tim after all. Tim truly believed the world's greatest detective would have noticed his missing leg.

Except he didn't. Not if he interpreted the way they looked so incredibly disturbed by is nonchalant way of handlinh the boiling hot chemicals that landed on his metal leg. He just brushed it off, the battle continued and since nothing seemed to be injured no one pressed him when he said "Must've missed me after all"

Now, how do you deal with a family that didn't notice you're missing a leg? That's right you fuck with them.

First thing he did was buy himself a few more realistic looking prosthetic leg. It had to be custom made to fit his stump so it took a whole but it was a worthwhile investment.

The first one was Jason. Call it a twisted revenge for trying to kill him but Tim just really wanted him to be messed with the most. So one day when he knew it was only Jason and him on patrol he strategically set himself down to fall. Crunching some spaghettis to ass in a sickening way only to stand up and walk away as if nothing ever happened.... With his foot toned the wrong way around. Insisting on nothing being wrong and Jason being delusional whenever the older boy tried to get him to get medical treatment. He switched it up the whole evening, whenever he was out of sight he turned the fool right and wrong. Driving the guy insane.

Jason did not sleep well that night. He was also top weirded out and unsure if what he saw was real to talk about it with anyone else.

Then, he challenged dick to a flexibility contest seeing how far they han bend their knees and feet. Even Mr bones are a social construct gymnast Richard Grayson looked horrified as Tim stood there, food bend almost in half, knee twisted to the impossible and what looked lihe a bend in the middle of his leg. Dick claimed cheating except the thing that greeted him when he demanded Tim to puch up his pant leg to expose his trick was a normal looking leg. The first Robin did lots of stretches in the following weeks. His pride was hurt after all.

Finding a way to mess with Damian was a bit more difficult. The brat still made a bunch of harsh comments again and again and he really wasn't close enough with Tim to be easily gaslit. The kid was a trained assassin and was probably used to a bunch of weird shit considering everything Ra's. So Tim decided he could go a bit more gory on Robin than the others. So one night he sat in front of Damians room, in the dark hallway and waited till one of his pets passed him. Once Alfred the Cat came along he made some louder coping noise that would Definetly make the kid look out to check on his animals. It worked just as planned, Damian peeked out his door to see Tim, crosslegged and barefoot on the floor, seemingly cutting off his toe to feed the cat. In reality it was nothing more than a cat treat and carefully picked, animal safe food coloring.

The kid scremed at him, threatened to stab him, punched him real good for harming his cat and took off with said cat to find Alfred so the older man could check on the poor kitten. Of course not beforeaking sure Tim was in an adequate amount of pain on the floor, with his 'injured' food secured to the floor with another knife. Only to return with a worried Alfred on tow to see Tim, standing two whole bare feet with a confused expression and a bag of cat treats in the hall.

Tim got a broken nose for it but it surely was worth it. Especially once he quietly whispered a 'no one will ever belief you' to the kid in passing. He might have traumatised the boy a little but Tim fought it justified for all the attempted murder he suffered.

#batman #batfam #tim drake #red robin #fic drabble #dick grayson #jason todd #damian wayne #crack fic #fanfiction #fic draft #brain fart

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sonolynn · 6 months ago

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The Aftermath-Blood and Cheese part two

summary | The after math of blood and cheese.

pairing | Aemond x Wife!Fem!Reader

tags | mentions of death, grief, swearing, infanticide, murder, talks of pregnancy and birth. Not proof read.

w.c | 2.0 k

note(s) | please ignore my lack of political or architecture knowledge in regards tp the rooms in Kings Landing or Driftmark. also! Fuck you Criston Cole.

____________________________________________

“Have any of my letters to my daughter been answered?” Rhaenyra asked calmly. The messenger anxiously shifted from his heels. “No, your grace.” Rhaenyra nodded solemnly. Within the past couple weeks, her daughter had not responded to any letters that she’d had sent. Of course, Rhaenyra felt that something was wrong, “motherly instinct” Daemon had so gracefully commented when she had confided in him one night about her fears.

“Do tell me if anything comes?”

“Of course your grace.” With a bow, the servant moved out of the way so that Rhaenyra could make her way downstairs.

____________________________________________

The looks Rhaenyra got when she entered the meeting room were nothing short of sympathetic. Daemon sat in his chair, his legs crossed and a look of boredom on his face. Jace stared at his mother as she walked, as if words had been stuck on his tongue. Rhaenyra looked between everyone until she couldn’t handle the prolonged stares and discomforting silence for much longer.

“What is this…silence? Has Aegon struck?” Rhaenyra asked, slowly making her way to her seat. When no one answered, she turned and looked towards Rhaenys, who, at eye contact, quickly looked towards Daemon. “Well?”

“It’s troubling news, your grace. The princess’ son, Baelon, was murdered in her arms not but a few weeks ago.” Rhaenyra smiled slightly, disbelief coursing through her mind as she laughed.

“Murdered? He was only six months old! He had no enemies-” Rhaenyra stopped, seeing the solemn looks everyone held. Her face dropped, and she breathed out slowly as the smile faded from her face. “My…grandson is..dead?” Rhaenyra asked, her voice slightly shaky.

“Yes. Murdered, your grace,” Rhaenys stopped, looking up towards her queen. “The greens think that you were behind this heinous crime.”

Rhaenyra paused and a disbelieving glare settled on her face. Her? Her?!

“Me? They think me responsible? I have not but lost my own son! And to think I would inflict such a grievous pain on my daughter-” Her voice cracked, and suddenly she found herself too weak to stand. She slowly sat down, holding a hand over her stomach as the realization set in.

Daemon looked down, his jaw clenched, his own gaze set away from Rhaenyra. He had not meant for this.

____________________________________________

“You did this?!” Rhaenyra yelled, slamming her hands on the table where Daemon sat. The room had cleared, and now, Rhaenyra stood, barding her husband as she held back tears.

“As I have said-”

“I said I wanted Aemond! Not my grand-” She stopped, her voice breaking as she turned away from Daemon. Daemon rolled his head to the side before he spoke, too calmly for Rhaenyra’s liking.

“It was an accident.”

“An accident that cost me yet another loss!” Rhaenyra yelled, her glared piercing into Daemon. Once her eyes locked with Daemon's, a deep seated feeling of dread and anxiety fill her. How could he be so careless, so calm about the matter of her grandson’s death?

“You barely know the child!” Daemon refuted. Rhaenyra stopped, and she breathed slowly to ground herself before she spoke. Though it did not help. Daemon spoke softer, and he looked at her with a hard gaze. “It was an accident.”

“Accident or not you killed an innocent child, Daemon! My sweet girl-” Rhaenyra stopped, placing a hand on her mouth as she felt the tears start to bubble up in her eyes. She turned, holding back a sob as she tried to imagine how her innocent, sweet daughter could have possibly felt and reconciled with the death of the babe she worked so hard to conceive.

“I may not have known the babe personally. I may have only held him perhaps once but it is not the boy that I am sad for! This-This mistake that you made has not only cost me lost support from the great houses, utter humiliation, and grief…but you have cost me my first born daughter!” Rhaenyra took a breath, and when Daemon said nothing she wiped the tears from her eyes and spoke slowly, turning back to face him. “My daughter thinks that I have done this. That I ordered the murder of an infant boy, Daemon!”

“Your daughter knows you better then-”

“My daughter may know me better than the ground that I walk on, Daemon but you underestimate a mother and her grief. You cannot possibly understand the conclusions that will be drawn from her mind when she hears that this happened in my name.” At this Daemon goes quiet. He looked away from Rhaenyra as she continued.

“My daughter is grieving. And in her grief she will blame no one but herself. But the moment that she hears of the hideous rumor that I did this? Her grief will be overcome with anger and she will resent me!” With no more words left to say, Rhaenyra quickly turned and walked away.

In the solace of the castle halls she broke down, sobbing heavily. She leaned against the nearest wall for support as she shook her head. Rhaenyra was unable to wrap her mind around how her precious little girl could be grappling with this grief. ____________________________________________

You were in the nursery, as you always were these days, when Crison Cole passed by. When Rhaenyra had given birth to you all those years ago, he felt a mix of emotions, but the top one was anger. He had let himself go, a moment of weakness in his own words. When Rhaenyra spoke your name, the anger grew even more.

As you grew the relationship between you and Ser Criston grew apart. You held no resentment towards him for a while, trying to be an understanding “daughter”.

Criston stopped, seeing you on the floor next to the crib. He felt sadness, of course he did. But more than that he felt guilt. Perhaps if he had been there, perhaps if he wasn’t occupied he could have saved your innocent son.

And in truth you blamed Criston more than anyone. He was the head of the Kingsguard, but more than that he was your father. Even though he stayed up at night trying to deny you as his own, biologically you were his and no amount of self inflicted drunkenness or denial could change that.

Criston stood at the door, opening his mouth to speak, before you interrupted him.

“Where were you, Ser Criston?” At the sound of your harsh, irritable voice, he stopped. The words he meant to speak suddenly lost in his throat as he cleared throat with a cough. He spoke your name softly, taking a step forward but you picked up a nearby book and threw it at him. “My son would not be dead if you had not been fucking my mother-in-law!”

“Princess-”

“No!” You stood, walking towards him fast as you glared at him. He had never seen you so angry, with such a look of pure hatred in your eyes. “If you had done your fucking job I would not have lost my son!” You went to hit Criston’s chest, but Aemond came quickly, holding his arms around you tightly as he pressed a soft kiss to your head, as if the anger you felt in your chest could be resolved with the feather light weight of a kiss.

“Take your leave Ser Criston.” Aemond spoke harshly, and Criston went to speak, but Aemond looked up at him, glaring with his one good, tear filled and red eye. “I said leave, Ser Criston.”

Criston Cole bowed, and he left quickly. He was willing to blame anyone but himself for his grandson’s death. Anyone but himself.

____________________________________________

Two years. It took you two years to fully grasp your mind around the fact that your baby was truly gone. It took Aemond a matter of months, but he still felt the loss, deep within his heart. He would stand outside of the nursery as you laid by the crib and sobbed. He would stand outside of your chambers and listen as you screamed and cursed your mother, Criston, anyone you could verbally blame.

You couldn’t even be intimate with him without breaking down into sobs. And truly, Aemond did not wish to be intimate. He wished to be there for you, a supporter that you needed and not just some mindless lustful husband. So he waited, and he waited patiently. Holding you while you cried, escorting you out of the Red Keep when the court’s children would run about.

By the third year, long after you had let your husband back into bed, you became pregnant. A gift from the gods, you were sure. And when you finally gave birth to twins, a boy and a girl whom you named Viserys and Visenya.

Aemond loved the twins, with his every breath he loved them. But, he felt some disconnect from you. You seemed more connected to your daughter than your son. When Visneya would cry you would go running, but if Viserys cried, you would hesitate, before ultimately having Aemond go to the boy.

____________________________________________

You were in the nursery, staring down at Viserys as the babe slept. He had such an uncanny resemblance to Baelon that it made you physically sick. You could not hold the babe, much rather opting to hold his sister than him. Holding Viserys felt like holding Baelon, and when you thought of holding Baelon, all you thought about was the night that he was taken from you.

Aemond knew this. How could he not. He himself had a hard time with Viserys. Viserys reminded him of his failure to protect his first son. At first that is. Sooner than later Aemond would grow fond of the babe, promising himself, and both of his children, that he would never fail them. That he would come to them every night and bid them a goodnight.

On the night that you stood in the nursery, staring at your son, Aemond came. He leaned against the frame for a while until he heard the boy start to whimper. He came closer to the crib, and he saw the baby boy reaching out towards you, seeking the neglected embrace of his mother.

“He wants you, my love.” Aemond spoke gently, knowing that if he raised his voice too much, he’d accidentally frighten you. He watched you closely, watching your conflicted face as you shook your head.

“Perhaps you could-”

“My love, please. I cannot take him forever.” You nodded at his words, knowing that it was true. You took in an uncertain breath before you shakily reached down into Viserys crib and picked him up.

You felt like a new mother, holding a babe you barely even knew even though you carried him for eight months. You stared down at the squirming babe, and all you saw was Baelon. Baelon, Baelon, Baelon-

Aemond came behind you, wrapping his arms around you and supporting Viserys under your own arms. Your breath stopped, tears filling your eyes as you felt the embrace.

“You’re okay, my love. I’m here.” Gods you relished in those words. For the past three years Aemond had been your rock, your anchor, taking you back down from your swirling thoughts and telling you that you were okay.

Taking a deep breath, you looked down at your baby boy, and for the first time in three months you saw Viserys. You saw Viserys. The thought almost made you sob; All these months, being detached from the very human you created made you feel like the worst mother in the world. But then, he smiled at you. You felt your whole resolve weaken at the sight of your son’s smile.

You resented Criston Cole, for not being there as a father, for not being there the night Baelon was murdered. However, this innocent little creature didn’t resent you, he simply missed you. He could feel no hate, no resentment for your own trauma. The thought of being so easily forgiven by this little innocent life made your heart swell and your eyes tear up.

Instinctively, you pulled away from Aemond and you started to rock the boy. Viserys smiled, the same, lopsided smile Aemond had. Your heart swelled and you smiled down at the boy as tears filled your gaze. Viserys reached up, holding his tiny hand to your nose as he giggled. You looked at this boy, no longer thinking of the life you had lost, but the ones that you had gained.

____________________________________________

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lostfracturess · 2 months ago

Text

LAST DECEMBER MORNING — SATORU GOJO

pairing — satoru gojo x sorcerer!reader

summary — on a frost-bitten december morning, you watch satoru gojo prepare for his fated battle with sukuna with infuriating calm, like he isn't planning to sacrifice himself for the greater good. you've spent years being his secret, clearing battlefields for him and stealing kisses between missions, but now you're faced with the most brutal truth. that sometimes the cruelest curse isn't the one that kills you — it's loving someone who belongs to the world before they belong to you.

word count — 5.4 k

warnings — heavy angst, hurt/no comfort, mentions of blood and violence, implied death, unhealthy relationship, sad ending

author's note — this has been rotting in my drafts since the final jjk chapter dropped, and i finally dragged it out into the light bc i'm procrastinating uni. fair warning, this is pure angst with zero comfort, just two people breaking each other's hearts because sometimes love isn't enough. anywayys, happy reading <3

masterlist

Winter had never felt so much like an ending.

You watched frost creep across the windows of your shared apartment, each crystalline pattern forming like cracks in glass, spreading slowly but inevitably.

Outside, the world lay hushed under winter's blanket, everything soft and serene. Birds traced lazy patterns against a sky so blue it hurt to look at, and fresh snow made everything clean and new.

It was the kind of morning that belonged in fairy tales, the kind poets write about when they want to capture peace in words. Strange, how you'd never imagined death would choose such a beautiful day.

You watched Satoru move through his routine, each gesture precise and unhurried. White hair caught the pale sunlight as he smoothed it back, his reflection in the mirror handsome as ever before he adjusted his clothes, and put on his blindfold.

You'd watched him prepare for countless missions before, but this felt different. This felt final.

The normality of it all was almost cruel — how he could stand there, getting ready like this was just another day, just another fight. Like the sun wasn't rising on what could be your last morning together.

The clock on the wall ticked steadily forward, each second falling like a stone into still water. Time felt strange, both rushing too fast and moving too slow. You wanted to grab the clock's hands, force them to stop, to give you just a few more moments in this morning that felt like borrowed time.

"You're staring," he said without turning around, a slight smile playing at his lips.

"Can you blame me?" You were curled up in the window seat, tea growing cold in your hands. "It's not every day your— whatever we are goes to fight the King of Curses."

He turned then, and even through the blindfold, you could feel the weight of his gaze. "Whatever we are?" There was amusement in his tone. "After all this time, you still don't know what we are?"

"Well, we're not exactly big on labels," you pointed out, trying to keep your voice light despite the heaviness in your chest. "Secret relationship and all that."

"Ah, but that's what makes it fun, isn't it?" He crossed the room to where you sat, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face. "The sneaking around, the secret meetings—"

"Satoru." You caught his hand. "How are you so calm about this?"

He tilted his head, considering. "Would you prefer if I was panicking?"

"I'd prefer if you showed any emotion at all about the fact that you're about to fight Sukuna." You stood up, setting your tea aside. "You've been acting like this is just another day, just another fight, but it's not. You know it's not."

"I think I've shown plenty of emotion," he said, pulling you closer with a playful smile. "Just last night, if I recall—"

"Don't." You pressed a hand against his chest, keeping him at arm's length. "Don't deflect. Not today."

The smile faded from his face, replaced by something more serious. "What do you want me to say?"

"I want you to tell me why you're so calm. I want you to tell me why you're not worried." Your voice cracked slightly, but you pushed on. "I want you to tell me why it feels like you're saying goodbye."

He was quiet for a long moment, his thumb tracing patterns on your wrist where he still held it. Finally, he spoke, his voice softer than before. "The world needs to move forward. It needs to find someone stronger."

"What are you talking about?" You pulled back slightly. "You're the strongest there is."

"Am I?" His smile was gentle, almost sad. "Or is that just what everyone needs to believe?"

"Satoru—"

"The world has relied on me for too long," he continued. "They've made me their symbol, their savior, their stupid hero. But what happens when I'm gone? Who protects them then?"

"You're not going anywhere," you said. "You're going to win. You always win."

He cupped your face in his hands, thumbs brushing your cheekbones. "Sometimes winning isn't about surviving. Sometimes it's about making sure what comes after is better than what came before."

"That's not funny."

"I'm not trying to be funny." He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against yours. "I'm trying to tell you that whatever happens today, the world will keep turning. It will find new leaders, new protectors. Maybe even better ones."

"I don't want new protectors," you whispered. "I want you."

"Ah, but you've always had me," he said softly. "Ever since that first mission together, when you told me my head was too big to fit through doorways. Do you remember?"

You huffed. "You were showing off, making everything more complicated than it needed to be."

"I was trying to impress you."

"You're always trying to impress me."

"But it's working, right?"

You pressed closer to him, breathing in his familiar scent. "You know it is, you idiot."

He wrapped his arms around you, holding you tight against his chest. For a moment, you both stood there in silence, listening to each other's heartbeats. The familiar rhythm brought back memories of how this all began, of the first time you'd been close enough to hear his heart race.

For loving Satoru Gojo had always been the most beautiful and dangerous thing in your world.

It started in blood, as most things in your world did. A mission gone wrong, cursed spirits thick in the air, the metallic taste of death sharp on your tongue. You’d seen him fight before—who hadn’t?

But that night was different. That night, you saw him bleed.

A special-grade curse caught you both off guard. One moment, he fought three curses at once like some untouchable god, and the next, he was crashing through three buildings, blood gushing from his mouth.

Something in your chest cracked at the sight — not from the impact of being thrown back yourself, but from seeing him, the strongest sorcerer alive, look so terrifyingly human.

You remembered how his blindfold had been torn, those devastating blue eyes meeting yours across the wreckage. Blood trickled down his chin, his usually perfect hair matted with debris, and yet he smiled. That damn smile that made your heart stutter even as cursed spirits attacked you from all sides.

“Trying to steal my spotlight?” he’d joked, wiping blood from his lips as he stood. “I’m the only one allowed to look cool here.”

You wanted to strangle him. You wanted to kiss him. You wanted to scream at him for making jokes when he could have died. You did none of those things. Instead, you cleared the area, giving him the perfect opening he needed to obliterate the special grade.

Later, after the dust had settled and the reports had been filed, he cornered you in the darkened hallway of Jujutsu High.

“You’re angry,” he said, not a question but a statement.

“I’m not angry.” You were furious. “I’m just wondering how someone who’s supposed to be the strongest can be so fucking reckless.”

He stepped closer, backing you against the wall. “Worried about me?”

“You wish.” But your voice shook, betraying you. Because you had been worried. Terrified, actually. The image of him lying in that wreckage, blood staining his white hair red, had burned itself into your mind.

“Liar,” he whispered, and then his lips were on yours.

Everything they said about Satoru Gojo was true — he was overwhelming, all-consuming, impossible to resist. Kissing him felt like being struck by lightning, like being unmade and remade in the space between heartbeats. You broke apart, both breathing hard, and reality came crashing back.

“Fuck,” you summarized eloquently.

He laughed, the sound low and rich. “That could be arranged.”

“Satoru.” You pressed a hand against his chest, feeling his heart race under your palm. “We can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re you. Because I’m me. Because there are a thousand reasons why this is a terrible idea.”

“I’m only hearing excuses.” He caught your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm. “Not actual reasons.”

And that was how it started — with blood and curses and kisses in dark hallways. With terrible ideas that felt too good to resist.

Keeping it secret was both easier and harder than you expected. Easier because everyone already knew how Satoru was — flirtatious, tactile, always pushing boundaries. No one questioned when he draped himself over your desk during meetings or appeared uninvited in your office and stayed for hours.

Harder because every moment felt like a lie of omission. Harder because you had to watch him walk into danger again and again, had to maintain professional distance when all you wanted was to grab him and never let go.

You stole moments where you could find them. Quick kisses in empty classrooms, heated encounters between missions, quiet nights in your apartment when the world thought he was somewhere else entirely.

It ate at you sometimes. Not because you wanted to announce it to the world, but because each moment felt borrowed, stolen from a future you might never have.

Every time he left for a mission, every time he faced another curse, you wondered if this would be it. If this would be the time your last memory of him would be a secret smile across a meeting room, a cryptic message that no one else understood. But then he’d come back, always with that insufferable smile, usually with some ridiculous story about how amazing he’d been.

He’d find ways to touch you in public that looked casual — a hand at the small of your back during briefings, fingers brushing as he passed you documents, his body angled toward yours in crowded rooms like a sunflower seeking light.

And the worst part? The absolute worst part was how good he was at pretending. How easily he maintained his public persona — the untouchable, unbeatable Satoru Gojo, who flirted with everyone and meant it with no one.

Sometimes you’d catch him looking at you in meetings with the same expression he gave everyone else, and for a moment, you’d wonder if you’d imagined everything between you.

But then night would fall, and he’d show up at your door with takeout and that soft smile he saved just for you. He’d kiss you like he was trying to apologize for every moment he had to pretend you were nothing special, like he was trying to prove that this, the two of you, was the only real thing in his world.

You never talked about the future. How could you? In your line of work, tomorrow was never guaranteed. Each mission could be your last, each kiss could be your goodbye. The closest you ever came to acknowledging it was in the desperate way he’d hold you after a close call, in the way you’d trace his features in the dark like you were trying to memorize them by touch.

Some nights, when sleep eluded you both, he’d tell you about the weight of being the strongest, about the exhaustion of being everyone’s last hope.

He’d whisper his fears into your skin — not of death or defeat, but of failing those who believed in him. Those were the moments when the great Satoru Gojo disappeared, leaving just Satoru, just a man who carried the world on his shoulders and made it look easy.

You lived for those moments. The quiet ones, the real ones, the ones where he wasn’t the strongest sorcerer alive but just yours. Just as you were his.

You carved out your own little infinity in the spaces between battles and duties. A secret world where his laugh wasn’t for show, where your touch wasn’t professional, where you could just be the two of you without the weight of expectations and reputations.

But infinity, as it turned out, had limits. Even his.

Looking at him now, preparing to face Sukuna with that same causality he brought to everything, you wondered if this was how your story was always meant to end. If all those stolen moments were just preparing you for this — one last morning, one last smile, one last chance to pretend tomorrow might come.

The world needed someone stronger, he said. But you needed him. And maybe that was the cruelest curse of all — loving someone the world needed more than you did.

"Promise me something," you said then.

"Hmm?"

"Promise me you won't just give up. Promise me you'll fight to come back."

He pulled back slightly, reaching up to remove his blindfold. His striking blue eyes met yours, intense and clear.

"I promise," he said, "that everything I do today will be for a better tomorrow."

"That's not what I asked."

"It's the only promise I can make."

"Stop." Your voice turned sharp, anger finally breaking through. "Stop talking about tomorrow. Stop talking about the future and the next generation and whatever noble sacrifice you think you need to make. I don't care about any of that."

"Don't you?"

"No, I don't." You grabbed his jacket, fingers twisting in the fabric. "I don't care if the world needs someone stronger. I don't care if the next generation needs to step up. I care about you, you impossible man. I want you here, alive, with me. Is that so wrong? Am I not allowed to be selfish when it comes to you?"

"Huh." He caught your hands in his, but didn't pull them away from his jacket. "And here I thought you understood me better than anyone."

"Don't." You tried to pull away, but he held firm. "Don't you dare try to make this about understanding. I understand perfectly. But you're wrong. You don't have to do this."

His smile faltered slightly. "It's not that simple."

"It is that simple!" Your voice cracked. "You're choosing to make it complicated. You're choosing to walk away, to... to what? Make some grand statement about the future? Prove that the world can survive without the great Satoru Gojo?"

"Someone has to."

"But why does it have to be you?" The words burst out of you, raw and desperate. "Why do you have to be the one to show them? Why can't you just fight to win, to live, to come back to—" You cut yourself off, biting back the words that wanted to follow.

"To you?" he finished softly.

"Yes," you said, dropping your forehead against his chest. "To me. Call me selfish, call me short-sighted, I don't care. I want more mornings like this. More everything. More of you, being insufferably calm and making terrible jokes and acting like the world isn't ending when we both know it might be."

He was quiet for a moment, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head. When he spoke, his voice was gentler than before.

"I can't promise to come back." He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "But know this, every moment with you has been worth fighting for. Worth living for."

You pulled back enough to look at him, really look at him. "Then fight for more moments. Fight to make more memories. Fight to come back to me, not for some greater purpose or stupid sacrifice, but because you want to."

"And if I told you that wanting isn't enough?"

"Then I'd call you a liar." Your voice turned cold. "Because you're Satoru fucking Gojo. When has anything ever been impossible for you? When have you ever let anyone tell you what you can't do?"

"This is different—"

"How? How is this different? Because it's Sukuna? Because it's the fate of jujutsu society? Or because you've already decided how this story ends?"

His hands tightened on you, and for a moment, just a moment, you saw something flicker behind those blue eyes — doubt, fear, longing, you couldn't tell. But then it was gone, replaced by that same calm certainty that made you want to scream.

"Because I can't protect everyone—can't protect you if I allow myself to believe in a tomorrow," he whispered.

The gentleness in his voice, the soft way he delivered words meant to cut, made you want to tear the world apart. It was so perfectly Satoru — to break your heart like he was doing you a favor, to wound you with a tenderness that felt more cruel than any violence could be.

"I never asked you to protect me," you said finally. "I asked you to stay. There's a difference."

"Is there?" His hand came up to cup your face, shaking ever so slightly, betraying the calm he fought so hard to maintain. "Because every time I look at you, all I can think about is how many people would use you to get to me. How many would hurt you just to prove they could touch something I care about."

"So your solution is to what? Die nobly? Make sure there's nothing left for them to use against you?"

"My solution is to make sure the world doesn't need me anymore." His thumb brushed across your cheek, catching a tear you hadn't realized had fallen. "To make sure you don't need me anymore."

"That's not your choice to make. You don't get to decide what I need. You don't get to martyr yourself for some greater good and pretend it's for my protection."

"Then what would you have me do?" For the first time, there was a hint of frustration in his voice. "Ignore my responsibilities? Pretend I'm not who I am?"

"I would have you fight like you want to come back!" The words ripped from your throat. "Fight like there's someone waiting for you after. Fight like you love me as much as I love you!"

The confession rang out between you, and the moment it left your lips, you realized you'd never said it before. Through all the stolen moments, all the secret touches, all the nights you'd spent memorizing each other's bodies — you'd never actually spoken those words aloud.

You'd both danced around it, implied it in every action, every look, every unfinished sentence, but neither of you had ever dared to make it real with words.

Until now. Until you were angry enough, desperate enough, terrified enough to let it slip from your heart straight past your defenses.

"Love?" His voice was barely a whisper.

"Of course I love you, you idiot." Your voice equally quiet. "Why else would I be standing here, begging the strongest sorcerer alive to be selfish just once?”

He made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, maybe a sob, his fingers tightening on you. "Don't," he whispered, and for the first time that morning, his voice was shaking. "Don't make this harder than it already is. Don't say things that make me want to—" He cut himself off, jaw clenching. "That make me want impossible things."

"Impossible? Since when does Satoru Gojo believe in impossible?"

"Since I realized being with you means putting you at risk." His thumb brushed your cheek, the gesture achingly gentle. "Since I understood that staying alive isn't the same as keeping you safe."

"I hate this." You shook your head. "I hate how calmly you can stand here and talk about sacrifice like it's inevitable. Like there's no other way."

"Would you prefer if I fell apart?" His smile turned sad. "If I raged and cried and promised things I might not be able to keep?"

"Yes," you admitted, your hands coming up to cover his where they still held your face. "Because at least then I'd know you want to stay as much as I want you to."

"Oh, my love." The endearment fell from his lips like a confession. "Wanting to stay has never been the question. The question is whether I can live with myself if I do."

"And what about whether I can live with myself if you don't?" Your voice broke. "What about whether I can forgive myself for not fighting harder to make you stay?"

"This isn't your fight."

"Like hell it isn't." You pulled back. "You think I spent months learning to clear battlefields just so you could take center stage? You think I perfected my technique to complement your infinity because I had nothing better to do?" You dug your nails into your palms, throat tight with fury. "I've been fighting alongside you since before you ever kissed me in that hallway. Before you ever decided I was worth protecting. Don't you dare tell me this isn't my fight when I've spent years making sure you had the space you needed to be great."

He was quiet for a long moment, studying you. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft, almost reverent. "And that's exactly why I need to go. The world doesn't need more people making space for me. It needs people who'll fill that space themselves."

You recoiled like he'd slapped you, hurt burning in your chest. "Is that what you think I've been doing? Making myself smaller for you? Made space for you because I was afraid to reach higher?" You stepped closer, deadly calm now. "I made space for you because that's what you do when you love someone."

His lips twitched into a smile. "So you do understand me."

"Don't pretend those are the same thing."

He was quiet for a moment. Then, instead of answering, he pulled you into a kiss that tasted like goodbye. Like all the tomorrows you'd never have, all the moments you'd never share, all the promises neither of you could keep. You kissed him back with everything you had — all your fury and fear and love condensed into this one perfect, terrible moment.

His hands tangled in your hair like he was trying to memorize the feeling, yours gripping his jacket as if you could keep him here through sheer force of will. When you finally broke apart, hearts pounding, foreheads pressed together in the space between one heartbeat and the next.

"I'll hate you," you whispered against his lips. "If you don't come back, I'll hate you for the rest of my life."

He pulled back just enough to look at you, and for once, his smile held an edge of something raw, something that looked almost like pain. "No, you won't."

"I will." Your fingers tightened in his jacket. "I'll hate you for making me fall in love with someone who was always planning to leave. I'll hate you for every morning I wake up alone, for every mission briefing where someone else stands in your place, for every year I have to leave flowers on your grave."

"You'll move on. You'll find someone—"

"Fuck you," you cut him off, the words sharp enough to draw blood. "Don't you dare tell me how I'll feel. Don't you dare stand here and plan out my future without you in it."

"I'm just trying to—"

"To what? Prepare me? Make it easier? There's nothing easy about loving you, Satoru Gojo. There never has been. But I chose it anyway. Every day, knowing this moment would come."

"What do you want me to do? Do you want me to say goodbye? Make it messy and painful and real?"

"I want you to stop pretending this is just another mission and show me something that tells me this is killing you like it's killing me."

The silence stretched between you like a chasm. For just a moment, beneath his careful composure, you caught a glimpse of the man behind the name — vulnerable, conflicted, maybe even afraid. But he buried it quickly, like he buried everything that might make him waver from his chosen path.

You'd always known this about him, hadn't you? Known it from that first bloody mission, from every fight where he'd put himself between the world and destruction.

Satoru Gojo was a man built for sacrifice, shaped by duty and power into something that could never truly belong to just one person. You'd fallen in love with him anyway, foolishly hoping that maybe love could be enough to make him choose differently.

But watching him now, seeing the gentle finality in every movement, you understood with crushing clarity that this was always how it would end. No amount of pleading or anger or love could change what he'd already decided.

He'd made his choice long before this morning, probably before he'd ever kissed you in that darkened hallway.

"Keep the tea warm for me," he said finally, stepping back. The words were casual, almost playful — exactly the kind of thing he'd say on any other morning. But that's what made it cruel. Even now, he was trying to soften the blow, pretending this was just another goodbye, just another mission.

You didn't say anything as he walked to the door. Didn't wish him luck or tell him to be safe. The time for those platitudes had passed.

Instead, you watched him pause in the doorway, his hand resting on the frame. For a moment, you thought he might turn around, might drop the act and let you see something real. One last true moment before the end.

He didn't fully turn, but his voice carried back to you, soft and achingly sincere. "I love you. More than anything." A pause. "That's why I have to go."

The words hit you like a physical blow, knocking the air from your lungs. You'd never expected them, had made peace with the silence between heartbeats where those words should have lived.

You'd imagined them differently, in all the quiet moments you'd shared — whispered against your skin in the dark, laughed into your mouth between kisses, murmured sleepily on lazy mornings. Not like this. Never like this.

How cruel, that he would finally say them now, when they felt more like a funeral rite than a confession. A parting gift from a man walking towards his own chosen end, making what should have been beautiful feel like another wound. The words you'd never dared hope for now hurt more than a lifetime of silence ever could.

Your throat burned with all the things you wanted to scream at him — about how love should mean staying, about how he was breaking your heart while trying to save it, about how dare he make those words sound like goodbye when they should have been a beginning.

"I hate you," you whispered.

He made a sound that might have been a laugh or might have been something more broken. "No, you don't." The certainty in his voice felt like another wound. "You love me. You said so yourself."

"I'll hate you." Your voice hardened with each word. "I'll hate you so much it'll make you wish you'd stayed."

His hand tightened on the doorframe, knuckles white with tension. For a heartbeat, you thought you'd finally cracked his composure. That he might turn around and choose you over duty, love over destiny.

He didn't.

The door closed behind him with a soft click that sounded like an ending.

"But I'll wait for you anyway," you whispered to the empty room, hating yourself for the truth in those words.

The truth was, you'd always known it would end like this, known that loving Satoru Gojo meant loving someone who belonged to the world before he belonged to you.

But you'd been naive enough to hope. Foolish enough to think that maybe, just maybe, love could be enough to make him choose differently. That your selfish desire to keep him alive and whole could outweigh his selfless need to reshape the world.

The morning light cut across the empty room, highlighting the space where he'd stood moments before, and you wondered about the cruelty of it all.

Was it wrong to want to keep him here? To ask the strongest sorcerer alive to choose personal happiness over humanity's future? How many would suffer because you'd asked him to be selfish just this once?

But then again, how many had already been saved by him? How many times had he bled and broken and pieced himself back together for a world that only saw him as a shield, never as a man? Didn't he deserve the chance to live for himself, just once?

If love died today, buried six feet under noble intentions and greater goods, then maybe hate was all you had left. And wasn't there something pure in that? In hating him with the same intensity you'd loved him? In letting that hate fill the spaces he left behind, burning away the softness until all that remained was sharp edges and bitter truths?

The world needed Satoru Gojo the symbol, the untouchable god of jujutsu. But you'd needed Satoru, just Satoru, the man who brought you tea exactly how you liked it and kissed you like you were his everything. The man who was walking away, leaving you with nothing but memories and the taste of hate on your tongue.

Was it selfish to think your love was worth more than the world's need? Was it cruel to measure the weight of one heart against humanity's future?

Love and duty were never meant to be weighed against each other like this, weren't meant to be choices that tore a person in two. And perhaps that was the real tragedy — not that he was walking away, but that you'd let yourself believe he wouldn't.

You'd known how this story would end from that very first kiss. Had tasted it in every goodbye before a mission, felt it every time you waited anxiously for his return, seen it lurking behind every smile that never quite reached his eyes.

Loving Satoru Gojo meant loving someone who was always meant to be sacrificed. You'd just been naive enough to think sacrifice could look different, that it didn't have to end with you here, choking on love turned to ash in your mouth.

Your fingers traced your lips where those three words still lingered like a curse. The tea was getting cold on the windowsill. You should pour it out, make a fresh cup. Should start preparing for a world where Satoru Gojo was just a memory, a legend, a story of sacrifice and strength. Should learn how to breathe around the thorns growing in your chest where love used to live.

Instead, you stayed frozen, caught in the space between what was and what could have been. Because maybe he was wrong. Maybe the world didn't need someone stronger. Maybe it just needed him to come back. You certainly did.

But it was too late for maybes now. He was already gone, walking toward a destiny he'd chosen long before he'd chosen you. And you were left here, caught between hating him for leaving and loving him for exactly who he was — a man who would always choose the greater good, even when it shattered both your hearts.

But perhaps the cruelest irony was that in trying to protect humanity, he'd forgotten he was human too. That in becoming everyone's shield, he'd forgotten shields could break. That hearts could break. That yours was breaking.

The sun climbed higher in the sky, indifferent to your pain, indifferent to the way your world had just walked out the door with a smile and a promise he might not be able to keep.

You'd wait anyway. Even knowing how the story was meant to end, you'd wait. Because that's what love was — not just the beautiful parts, but the ugly parts too. The waiting. The hoping. The hating.

The choosing to love someone even when they choose something else. Even when that love turns to poison in your veins.

Even when they choose the world over you.

The tea had long gone cold when you finally moved, muscles stiff from standing still for so long. You'd sworn you wouldn't watch. Had promised yourself you wouldn't be there to see him die for his greater tomorrow.

But your hands were already reaching for your jacket.

Because that was the thing about loving Satoru Gojo — even when it turned to hate, even when it felt like acid in your throat, you couldn't look away. You'd watch him fight Sukuna. Watch him smile that infuriating smile as he chose the world one last time.

After all, you'd already promised to hate him if he didn't come back.

The least you could do was be there to keep that promise.

author's note — thank you for reading this little piece of heartbreak. i was very unsure if it will ever see the light of day but i finished it now bc i was in the mood for pain. if you enjoyed, i would greatly appreciate a reblog or comment. hope your heart isn't too broken <3

ps: if you want to get notifications for future updates, you can join my taglist here!

tags — @fayuki @starmapz @saurondriell @starlightanyaaa @sxnkuna

@cocomanga @nanamis-baker @rosso-seta @shervinss @chiyokoemilia

@janbannan @bloopsstuff

#satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x y/n #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo angst #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jjk angst #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #gojo angst #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujustu kaisen x y/n #jujutsu kaisen angst

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keicordelle · 5 months ago

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A snippet from the tail end of my yukimomo fic All That Softly Echoes, because I'm actually really pleased with how this novelization of that one scene from 2.10 turned out. It was kind of challenging to do, considering the complete lack of dialogue and the fact that I don't know music terminology to save my skin, but I think it pulled together quite nicely!

Music swelled through the silence. It beat through Yuki’s veins, the familiar melody settled into his bones with the steps and the emotion to match. At his side, Momo waited for his cue. Right where he belonged.

The music lifted and Yuki moved, lyrics on his lips. Five years. Five years standing at his side. It wasn't nearly enough time. A hundred years with Momo wouldn't be enough. He’d be sure not to let Momo forget that again. He should plan something, for after their fifth anniversary concert. Something for just the two of them, not for the fans. Perhaps something involving whipped cream and chocolate and cherry red bite marks on Momo's flushed skin...

Yuki drew to a halt, listening to the thrum of the music and Momo's voice rise—

Silence.

What? The rush of his own heart filled his ears where Momo's voice should have been. Like a puppet on a string, his head jerked up. Twisted. But we—

Momo's eyes met his. Silver muddied their familiar pink, dripping free to stain his cheek. And in the end, what could he do but smile?

Around them, the music continued to play.

#reusing the gif because this is what I actually made it for and also it's my gif so why not #that smile just kills me every time. the lip tremble. the slide of the eyes to the side.#the pause before he turns as he sees Yuki standing there staring at him in concern. and then-- the smile. oof #idolish7 #i7 #yukimomo #yukito orikasa #momose sunohara #my writing #~k

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nesmamomen · 2 months ago

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The most ethical army in the world is making lingerie shows with stolen pieces from destroyed homes‼️

Imagine that people’s suffering is being exploited through fashion shows using pieces of their destroyed homes. This is not just a disregard for humanity, it is a blatant expression of the moral corruption that dominates some powers. Children, who are supposed to be the focus of hope and the future, are being killed daily in merciless bombing, amid international silence and false images of morality.

We must raise our voices and demand justice, to remind the world that every child killed is a crime that must be punished. It is our duty to expose these violations and call for an end to the suffering in Gaza. Hope is not bought with pieces of furniture, it requires all of us to stand up against injustice

Israel killed more than 30 members of my family without mercy and I can't bear to lose more of my family. Please help me raise money to get my family out of Gaza (most of my family is individuals).

Every dollar will be used to get my family out of the war zone

@fancysmudges @brokenbackmountain @aleciosun @fluoresensitivearchived @khizuo @lesbiandardevil @transmutationisms @schoolhater @timogsilangan @appsa @buttercuparry @sayruq @malcriada @palestinegenocide @sar-soor @akajustmerry @annoyingloudmicrowavecultist @feluka @tortiefrancis @flower-tea-fairies @tsaricides @riding-with-the-wild-hunt @visenyasdragon @belleandsaintsebastian @ear-motif @kordeliiius @brutaliakent @raelyn-dreams @troythecatfish @theropoda @tamarrud @4ft10tvlandfangirl @queerstudiesnatural @northgazaupdates2 @skatezophrenic @awetistic-things @camgirlpanopticon @baby-girl-aaron-dessner @nabulsi @sygutka @junglejim4322 @heritageposts @chososhairbuns @palistani @dlxxv-vetted-donations @pstforinvite @imjustheretotrytohelp @freetyphoonfire

#free gaza #free palestine #gaza #gazaunderattack #gaza genocide #gaza strip #palestine

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evera-era · 1 year ago

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f**k you.

ellie williams x afab!reader

warnings: hate sex, ellie’s rude as shit in the first half, alcohol use, some name-calling, aggressive kissing, fingering, scissoring, brat taming, spanking, edging/overstim… i think thats it

a/n: kinktober’s here! ik im a few hours late guys im sorry. but hopefully this juicyness makes up for it !! wc 3.4k

Ellie couldn’t stand you.

She found you so incredibly annoying, and yet you shared the same friends. Which was the biggest problem, ever.

She never failed to make sure to let you know what she thought of you.

“Hey, idiot. We’re trying to have a conversation. Shut it for once, yeah?”

And you made sure to let her know that the feeling was mutual.

“Suck my dick, Williams.”

And like clockwork, she’d say something along the lines of “Sorry babe. Not into that.”

Truthfully, the two of you had been doing this for a while. This was nothing new. You’d go at eachother back and forth until one of you gets genuinely pissed off. Rinse. Repeat.

Dina hated it because she loves the two of you; she just can’t handle being in a room with both of you at once. Jesse would find it amusing until you and Ellie wouldn’t shut up during a movie.

It didn’t matter what you said or did. Ellie would either laugh, mock, or straight up disagree with you. Even if you stayed quiet and said nothing at all.

“Looks like someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed today.”

She’d wait for your response, and when you didn’t have one, she’d keep going.

“No seriously. You look like dogshit.”

“Ellie please shut the fuck up.”

It was like she couldn’t ignore you. As if your presence was so incredibly overwhelming, that she just had to react to everything you did. You didn’t get it.

If you met up with the friend group to eat, Ellie somehow “forgot” to get you something. She’d make plans and purposely exclude you. And if you brought it up, she’d tell you to “chill the fuck out, it’s not that serious.”

You hated Ellie. And yet here you were, six feet across from her, sitting on the rug of her living room floor. Dina had insisted on a friendly get-together at Ellie’s, specifically requesting that “you don’t kill eachother.” You told her you’d try, but made no promises.

“Hey, Jesse.” Ellie said. “Could you grab me and Dina another beer?”

“Ellie,” Dina says. “You didn’t even ask if Y/N wanted one.”

“So?” She replies. “She’s a big girl. If she wants another she can get it herself.”

You rolled your eyes. She always did this — talked about you as if you were the dumbest person to ever exist.

“I’m right here, Ellie.” You snap. “I can hear you.”

“I know.” Ellie says. “That’s why I said it.”

“Guys, please.” Dina groans. “Just one night. One good night is all I ask.”

Jesse brings over more bottles. He cracks one open before handing it to you. Ellie stares at you, waiting for Jesse to hand out the rest before speaking.

“It would be easier if I didn’t have to look at her fuckin’ face all night.”

You scoffed. “You know, you’re really cocky for someone who lives in a fucking garage.”

“You’re lucky I even let your ass in this garage.” Ellie mutters. “Probably tracked in a shitton of dirt.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” You ask abruptly.

Dina rubs her temples. “Guys—“

“You that stupid?” She questions. “It means I’m gonna have to sweep once you leave. Don’t want your germs gettin’ on my shit.”

“Fuck this. Nope. Not doing this.” Dina says, getting up from the floor. She whips around to face you and Ellie.

“I have tried to ignore the two of you in hopes of having a good time. I have begged you to get along for once. But clearly, none of it’s fucking working!” She throws her hands up. “I’m done. Seriously — come on, Jesse, we’re leaving.”

Jesse thinks for a moment, then shrugs. He begins walking towards the door with his beer in hand.

“Wait, what?” Ellie asks.

“You guys are gonna sit here and sort this shit out.” She says, throwing on her coat. “Until then, me and Jesse are going somewhere else.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Dina—“

“Don’t wanna hear it.” She states as Jesse opens the door for her. “The two of you are smart, figure it out. You can come find us when you’re done.”

“See you,” Is all Jesse says, before pulling the door shut.

You and Ellie look straight ahead.

What the fuck.

Heat rushed to your cheeks. You didn’t know what to do. Dina was obviously pissed, but being left alone with Ellie was the last thing you wanted.

It’s as if she could read your mind.

“Get out.”

You raise your brows. “Excuse me?”

“They left because you don’t know when to shut your mouth,” She says. “And I don’t wanna keep hearing it, so get out.”

Your previous desire to get up and walk out of the door suddenly disappears. You set your drink down.

“No.”

“What?”

“You don’t like me? Great.” You say, kicking your feet back. “I don’t like you either. But I’m not gonna do what you say, when you say it, every single fucking time.”

“Wow.” She takes a sip of beer. “You know, you can be a real bitch sometimes.”

Your eyes flash over to the brunette in less than a second. But she doesn’t budge. Just leans into the couch, legs spread.

“Ellie—“ You begin. “What the fuck is your problem with me?”

She smirks as if you said something funny.

“I’m serious. What the fuck is it?” You repeat, staring intently.

“Are you that dense?” She meets your gaze. “Your attitude. If you couldn’t tell, you have a serious attitude problem. Should really get it checked out.”

It was your turn to laugh. “Like you don’t have an attitude problem.”

“Yeah, but that’s me.”

“Oh,” You nod sarcastically. “Okay. Sure, yeah. Because that makes sense.”

“See? Again with the attitude.”

Silence fills the room as you bite your tongue. The fact that you felt the impulse to respond immediately kind of proved Ellie’s point.

It pissed you off that she was right. You did have a bit of an attitude problem with her. In your defense, she never leaves you alone. You get along just fine with everyone else.

You had given up. You were ready to just go home and tell Dina the truth later. But as you stand up, out of absolutely nowhere, Ellie says:

“It sucks, ‘cause you’re hot. It’s a shame you’ve gotta act like such a fuckin’ brat.”

Were your ears deceiving you? Did Ellie fucking Williams just say that?

You laugh it off and shake your head. “You are truly something else.”

“I’m being serious.” She replies. “You could just sit there and look pretty. Don’t know why you choose to be so damn annoying instead.”

“It would be so nice if you just learned when to shut up, Ellie.”

“You gonna make me?” She says, watching you. You sigh dramatically.

“Didn’t think so.”

The way she was toying with you made your skin run hot. You weren’t sure if she really meant what she said, or if she was just trying to get a rise out of you. Either way, her sweatpants and sports bra combo wasn’t helping; you could feel yourself getting worked up.

“What are you getting at?” You blurt out. “What are you trying to do?”

“I’m not trying to do anything,” She murmurs, looking down then back up again. “Are you?”

You laugh harshly. “What the hell makes you think that?”

“You’re an attention whore,” She answers. “It wouldn’t surprise me.”

The way ‘whore’ rolled off of her tongue was so incredibly casual. And yet, you enjoyed the fact that she was saying it to you. Pigs must be flying. There was no way this was happening.

“I’m not a whore,” You stated.

“Oh?” She says coyly. “I didn’t call you a whore, I called you an attention whore. But you were quick to argue, so now I’m curious.”

You shift your weight to one leg. “I’m not gonna fuck you, Ellie.”

“Yeah? Then why are you still here?”

You felt your neck and ears become incredibly hot. Ellie leans forward, pushing herself up from the couch and faces you.

“I’d be flattered if you said it’s ‘cause you like me as a person, but we both know that’s not true.”

Her eyes were dazed and unwavering. It could’ve been the alcohol, but it also could’ve been the fact that your mini skirt had been riding up your thighs all night.

And as for you, you surprisingly weren’t repulsed. In fact, you liked seeing Ellie like this. If you were sober you might have dipped already, but your legs were heavy and your panties started to feel very constrictive.

“I think…” She begins walking closer. “That you want the exact same thing. You just act like you’re too good for it.”

You could feel your inhibition weakening. You drunkenly stare up at her. “You think I’m not?”

“I know you’re not.” She takes another step. You go to step back, but your heel hits the wall.

“I don’t blame Dina for trying, but we both know we’re not gonna make up.” Another step.

“No?” You whisper.

“Mm-mm.” Her nose was almost brushing up against yours, now.

The eye contact was unmatched. Ellie wasn’t budging, and neither were you.

“I fucking hate what you do to me,” You whispered against her lips.

She smirks. “I fucking love it.”

Immediately, her lips are engulfing yours, with so much damn fervor and need. You curled your fingers in her hair, and tugged down hard. You didn’t care if you hurt her — after all, she deserved it.

Ellie smiles into the kiss, pulling you in closer as a small grunt leaves her lips. Her legs cage you in against the wall as she forces her tongue into your mouth.

You hated her. You hated her. You hated her.

So how was it possible for her to make you feel so goddamn good?

Her hands begin grasping at the hem of your clothes with frustration.

“Fuck, baby.” She moans. “Take this shit off.”

You were compliant at this point; you merely slid your hands under your shirt and did what she said. Ellie presses her head against your chin, whispering a few more curses as she looks at your exposed breasts.

“So fucking hot,” She groans, pressing her lips to your neck. You whined out of pleasure as you pulled her hips closer to you.

“This is so embarrassing.” You mumble, shutting your eyes.

“Mm,” Ellie hums. “Seem to be handling it quite well, though.”

The brunette begins trailing her kisses downwards. You jump at the new sensation.

“Ellie—“

“Shh.” She murmurs, teething dangerously close to your nipple. “Gotta focus.”

When she latches on, your head immediately falls back. You’re practically speechless as she sucks and swirls her tongue around the hardened bud.

You wanted her to keep going, but you were worried. If Dina and Jesse caught you like this…

As for Ellie, she is absolutely shameless in the way she’s going in on your tits. It was clear that she had wanted to do this for a very long time — she was just being a complete ass about it.

She pulls away with a hard ‘pop’ before looking up at you with her green eyes. “Come here,” She says, grabbing your waist and pulling you down with her.

You gasp as the two of you land on the couch. Her hand quickly finds the back of your neck as she kisses you again, bucking gently against you. A soft moan escapes your lips as you pull back.

“What if Dina and Je—“

“Y/N,” She whispers, pulling her shirt over her head. “I’m in front of you, and I wanna fuck you. Please just shut up for once. Alright?”

You blush, looking down at her chest. Her nipples were poking out, hard as rocks. “You’re so fucking mean.”

“You’re fucking mean,” She says, smirking. “Depriving me of this for so damn long.”

“Didn’t think you wanted me,” You slur against her lips.

“Yeah, well… you are pretty fuckin’ annoying.” She huffs, as you lean in to kiss her again. As the minutes pass, you find yourself rolling your hips against hers.

“More,” You say quietly.

“Hm?”

“Want more of you, Ellie.” You sighed, nudging your fingertips under her waistband. “Please.”

She grins before sliding her sweatpants and underwear off. “Only because you said please.”

When your fingers drag down against her clit, she’s wet, and you absentmindedly moan. She sneers, staring up at you.

“What?” You ask.

“Nothing, just… that was the sluttiest thing I’ve ever heard in my life.”

You hum against her skin, gently rubbing your thumb against her hood. “I could be sluttier.”

“Oh yeah?” She responds, grazing her teeth against your jaw.

You drag your fingers from her pussy to your lips, gently engulfing them in your mouth. You keep your eyes on her as you suck her juices off, groaning at the sweet taste.

Ellie’s face becomes that of a pornstar. Her eyes are half-lidded, nearly rolling back as she stifles a moan.

“Holy fuck,” She says, biting down on her lip. Her gaze drops to your lower body, and she begins shoving the fabric of your skirt up.

“What are you doing?” You murmur, watching the skirt bunch around your waist.

“Not gonna waste anymore time,” She explains, tugging at your panties. “I fucking need this pussy.”

You help her remove the undergarment, letting it drop onto the floor. Her hands settle on your ass as you gently lift her leg, lining yourself up against her.

“Fuck yes,” She whispers, watching carefully as you gently slot your cunt against hers.

Her cunt was soft, and incredibly slick and sticky. It takes you a moment to get the right angle before you begin to get a rhythm going.

Once you start speeding up, Ellie practically loses it. She’s breathing like she can’t get enough air.

“Fuck yes.” She repeats, bringing her hand down onto your ass with a hard slap. Her eyes are closed as she scrunches her brows in pleasure. “Holy fucking shit.”

“God,” You moan, sloshing your pussy up against hers. “You’re so wet, Ellie.”

The room becomes one filled with wet noises and moaning. Ellie’s hands are grabbing at everything — your ass, your tits, the couch. She’s in euphoria, seeing stars as she tries not to black out.

“Goddamn,” She mutters. “So fucking good, baby. Doing so fucking good.”

You whimper at the praise, still trying to wrap your head around what was happening. Ellie had been your worst enemy for months, and here you were, bumping clits with her like a fucking slut.

“Shit—“ She grunts, pushing her head back. “I‘m close, ‘m gonna cum.”

“Already?” You joke. “That’s quick, don’t you think?”

She quickly opens her eyes and looks at you. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” You say slyly, slowing down ever so slightly.

She smacks your ass, hard. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

You slow down even more, grinning proudly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Ellie.”

“Y/N, you better fucking finish me off.”

“But… ” You whisper in an innocent tone. “We’re having so much fun, right?”

“I swear to—“ She exhales vexedly before sinking her nails into your hips. “Fuck it.”

She sits up, grabbing you forcefully before pushing you down so you’ve switched places. Ellie props your leg up on her shoulder.

“Wanna be a fucking brat? Hm?” She whispers, bringing herself down on your cunt harshly.

You moan in response, goosebumps beginning to form on your arms. You place your hands on her abs, pushing slightly in an attempt to get her to let up.

“Ellie, ‘s too much.” You mewl, as she ruts her pussy against yours.

“Shut up,” She mumbles. “You can take it.”

She keeps you down as she fucks you, ramming herself against your cunt. The sloshing of your clits sends you into a spiral.

“Oh my god, Ellie,” You murmur. “Feels so good.”

“Yeah?” She grunts. “You like this?”

You nod, but Ellie places a sharp slap on your boob.

“Answer me.”

“Y-Yeah,” You stammer, trying to grasp reality as the only thing going through your mind is how good her pussy feels on yours.

She uses her hand and grabs your chin, tilting your head up. “You better not fucking cum until I do, you hear me?”

You nod again. “Y-Yes, Ellie.”

The way Ellie scissors is ruthless. She’s concentrated, hair sticking to her forehead as she stares down at you. She watches the way your tits bounce as she fucks herself on you, watching as you beg her to slow down.

Her teeth clench as she nears her orgasm. She looks up at the ceiling before dropping her head back down.

“Fuck, I’m, shit— ‘m getting close.”

“Yeah?” You murmur.

“Uh-huh.” You bring your hand up to her cheek as she maintains her rhythm.

“Wanna cum with you, Ellie. Wanna cum all over your fucking pussy.”

“Fuck,” She says through gritted teeth. “Fuck yes. Keep talking, just like that.”

Ellie knew she wasn’t very far off. But she figured she’d make the most of it, in case this was the last time she got to see you like this.

“So good, Ellie,” You say softly. “Your pussy feels so fuckin’ good.”

“Yeah?” She exhales.

“Mhm,” You murmur. “Best I’ve ever had.”

Ellie’s eyes roll into the back of her head, her moans becoming choppy. She gently holds your foot as she grinds her hips down faster.

As Ellie becomes wetter, you stiffen and feel your stomach tightening. You were getting really close, and she could feel it.

“Y/N,” She says. “I’m—“

“Me too—“ Is all you can say, before drawling out into a moan. Ellie rides you deep into your high, breathing sporadically as she cums, herself.

For a second, the two of you barely move, merely catching your breaths. But eventually your leg starts cramping, and you slide it off her shoulder.

“Holy fuck.” You whisper. “I can’t believe we just did that.”

“I can.” Ellie says, slowly hopping off of you.

“You’re a liar.”

“How?” She says, leaning against the opposite end of the couch. “It was only a matter of time ‘til I got into your pants.”

“Oh,” You scoff. “So it was easy?”

“It was so easy.” She says, smiling. You look at the floor.

“Shut up.” You grin, reaching over to grab your clothes. You slowly put them back on as she copies you.

“Wanna go find Dina and Jesse now?” She questions, pulling her shirt over her head.

“I thought you said we couldn’t,” You say. “Since we weren’t gonna make up.”

“Mm, ‘cause we didn’t.” She states, cocking her head. “I need about three more rounds of this before we re-visit that topic.”

“Oh, fuck off.” You giggle, tossing your jacket at her. She laughs, putting her hands up to shield herself as it hits her.

“I’m kinda serious though,” She says. “You wanna give me head next time? Or…”

You smooth your hair down. “In your dreams, Williams.”

She looks around, contemplating for a moment. “Does that mean I give you head instead?”

“Ellie please shut up now.”

#ellie williams #ellie tlou2 #ellie williams x reader #ellie x fem reader #ellie williams smut #tlou2 fanfic #kinktober 2023 #kinktober #kinktober day 1

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