#“you said you’d never leave.”
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Whumptober 2023
No. 10 “You said you’d never leave.” | No. 13 “I don’t feel so good.”
Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader
Setting: Alexandria (Saviors War)
Warnings: Illness, Descriptions of injury
It had taken you all day to get ready. The war with the Saviors was coming and you, as well as everyone else, were prepared to end it. Rick had a plan, one you knew your partner wasn’t willing to follow. Still, you had tried to reason with him.
He wasn’t okay after what he had been through. He was lost in his lust for revenge. He wouldn’t let you be there for him, pushed you away harder than you were willing to allow. You were trying to pick up his broken pieces and cradle them until you could help him put them all back together. But he had slapped them from your grasp with venomous outbursts before cold silence.
He was your everything. He was hurting in a way he hadn’t since he was a child, and no one could reach him. Not even you. You knew you’d be there when he was ready, but you were done begging. If the both of you lived through this, you’d catch him when he fell. There was no sense telling yourself otherwise.
Right now, though, you were angry. You were angry and you were tired. And it was time to end this and give Daryl the peace he needed to heal. You would do this for him. You would single-handedly raze your way through each and every Saviour to get your hands around Negan’s throat and rip it out. For Daryl.
You threw your pack onto your shoulder, packed full of supplies that you never normally carried but still not as heavy as your heart. With a glance around your home, the one you had hoped to share with your archer when he was back, you were ready and you opened the door.
Daryl was there. He was standing on the porch with his back against the support post, nervously tapping his fingers against the wood. His head immediately snapped up, your eyes locking.
“Y/N.” It came out as an almost whimper. There was more on the tip of his tongue, his mouth moving but no sound emerging. You remained stoic as he began to approach you, a slight wobble to his gait. When his arms encircled your shoulders, your anger couldn’t withstand the tremble you felt in his embrace.
The bag slipped from your shoulder to fall heavily to the floor just inside the doorway, your own arms weaving around his middle. When your small hands splayed open on his back, you could feel the heat radiating beneath his shirt.
“Daryl?” You tried to pull away, just enough to look at him, but he wouldn’t allow it. If anything, he held tighter.
“Ya said ya’d never leave.” God, he sounded tired. Resigned, even. Your heart shattered. Had you really given him that impression? With careful steps, you led him over the threshold without separating, grateful that the action hadn’t spurred him into retreating.
Using your foot, your bag was pushed aside and the door closed. You carefully released him and gripped his forearms to encourage him to do the same for you. He let you without a fight. During the process, his expression was pained, as if you were denying him the comfort he was finally seeking.
“I’m not going anywhere. It’s okay.” Slender fingers still loosely held his arms and guided him to sit on the couch. The coffee table became your perch. With the looming war all but forgotten, you needed to get a good look at Daryl.
The two of you hadn’t spoken in days but you’d received reports that your friends had seen him during all hours of the day and night. He wasn’t sleeping. If the intel hadn’t confirmed that, the discolored circles under his eyes would have. There was a sickly pallid to his skin under the thin sheen of sweat. The archer continued to tremble, the damp strands of hair covering his fever-flushed face seemed to vibrate.
“Can you tell me what’s wrong?” Your voice remained steady, though you felt anything but inside.
“Yer pissed… gon’ leave me.” He was slurring, his gaze almost vacant. “Ya are, aren’tcha?” His brow furrowed, dull blue eyes searching for a moment before finally locating your worried ones.
“Pissed? Or leaving?” You could answer both with certainty, but keeping him distracted allowed you to brush back his hair and press a palm to his forehead. Definitely feverish.
“Gon’ kill ‘em. Me an’ Tara, we got us a plan.” The bowman carried on like you hadn’t even spoken. “Gon’ kill ‘em all.”
“We’ve talked about your plan, Daryl.” The attempts to coax his eyes back failed. There was a twisting in your gut that something more was happening. He was sick, that much was obvious, but since when did Daryl get sick. Perhaps the trauma he’d experienced had impacted his immunity? No, that wasn’t it. You could feel that there was more. “Don’t you remember?”
“I kept tha’ picture.” His tone had changed, almost void of emotion. “They made me look. Kept it so I don’ forget.”
“Daryl, baby, you’re not making any sense.”
His head turned toward you at the pet name, eyes looking clearer than they had even mere seconds prior. You found yourself almost leaning away, lest you drown in the high tide of raw emotion in those azure pools.
“Daryl?”
“Y/N, I—” His brow knitted but he didn’t look away. You nodded for him to continue, watched him take a deep shuddering breath. “I don’ feel so good.” There was no time to interrogate him about his symptoms. The words had no more than slid off his tongue when his eyes rolled back and he slumped toward you.
“Shit!” You caught him under his arms, only remaining off the floor because of the close proximity you had taken in front of him when you had sat down. “Daryl?” Your left hand moved to cradle the side of his head as you stood and guided his descent across the couch. Lifting his legs up was difficult but you managed, caring little for the effort it required. Your hands hovered over him, not sure where to begin, but the symptoms: fever, weakness, sweating, confusion. Had he… was he bit?
You grabbed his arms, lifting each to examine up to the rolled-up sleeves. You couldn’t see his biceps, so you’d have to remove the shirt. Grasping his chin, you turned his head toward you and then away, checking his neck. When you started on the buttons of his top, the corner of the gauze that covered his gunshot wound peeked out from beneath the fabric. What should have been a clean, white dressing was dirty and yellowed.
“Oh, Daryl.” You knew before you even pulled back the taped edge. While you were relieved it wasn’t the death sentence of a walker bite, infection in these times was nothing to play with. His shirt was wrestled off and pulled from beneath him, tossed somewhere. You’d find it later. “Jesus.” You whispered, removing the bandage completely and tossing it aside. The skin around the wound was angry, such a deep red that it appeared nearly purple. The poorly sutured wound was leaking puss, both yellow and almost green. Had he been to the infirmary at all since his escape?
“Goddamnit!” If he wasn’t in such a poor state, you would have shaken him awake just to knock him out again. You shoved yourself from the floor and began to pace. What could you do? Nearly everyone had left the walls to go fight. Shit! The war was happening without you.
Daryl groaned behind you, bringing your steps to a quick halt. The battle was suddenly absent from your thoughts. He didn’t wake, only turned his head back and forth before settling again. His breathing wasn’t labored. He hadn’t coughed. Maybe if you opened, cleaned and debride, and restitched the wound, you could buy some time to find antibiotics in the infirmary. Luckily, everything you needed for this was in your bathroom upstairs.
You began the ascent to your room. “Oh my god, Daryl Dixon, I’m going to murder you when you wake up.” Oddly enough, the threat came out in more of a high pitched whimper than an actual promise of bodily harm. Items in your cabinets and drawers were meticulously organized for this very reason. You had all you needed in less than a minute and were back at his side and placing things on the coffee table.
You could only pray he’d remain unaware. You’d given Daryl stitches before and he’d barely grunted at you. His tolerance for pain was incredible, hence the terrible mess in front of you. You just weren’t sure how a fever-ridden Daryl would handle having his skin cut open and away while it was so terribly inflamed.
“Okay.” You situated yourself on a chair from the dining room, bringing it with you after washing your hands. Daryl was still fully unconscious but you leaned in to press a kiss to his cheek anyway. “Here goes nothing.”
Over an hour later, you had done all you could. You had cut away any tissue that appeared necrotic, cleaning out the yellow with some vodka before suturing the wound. It was significantly larger now but the stubborn asshole would just have to deal with that. At least it looked cleaner than the disaster made of it at Sanctuary. The mess had been cleaned up and the wound wrapped. A pillow had been placed beneath his head, his boots removed, and a blanket spread over him. You sat on the floor now, your back against the couch and your head in your hands.
The streets outside were so quiet. It was unnerving. The sky was darkening and you found your thoughts wandering to the war you had missed and how many people’s deaths your absence had been responsible for. Would the Saviors come barging through the door to drag you and Daryl to Sanctuary? Maybe they would just shoot you both on the spot. Or would Rick come yell at you for ditching them before telling you of their victory?
Either way, you couldn’t have been there. There was no way you’d leave Daryl like this, even if it was the most cooperative he had been since breaking out of that hell.
“Y/N?” His gravelly voice rasped out behind you.
You twisted onto your hip and then onto your knees, one hand wrapping around his that lay on his chest and the other smoothing back his hair. “I’m here.” His eyes were barely open and he was still hot to the touch, but he seemed calm and lucid enough. “Just waiting for everyone to get back and we’ll get some antibiotics for you. Have you back on your bike in no time.”
“Wha’ happened?” He blinked slowly but didn’t appear to be struggling to stay with you.
“You didn’t take care of yourself, dumbass.” You admonished gently even when you wanted to yell and throttle him for scaring you. “Your wound was infected. Had to do some fancy field surgery.”
“Oh.”
Your eye twitched at his flippant response but you sucked in a deep breath through your nose and got yourself under control. “Think you could drink some water for me?” He gave an almost imperceptible nod. Your water bottle was beside your leg, and you were much too tired to get up so sharing was caring. Cap off quickly, you wiggled a hand behind his head and pulled him up just enough to drink a few swallows. Once he was settled again, you brought his hand to your lips, kissing the too warm skin stretched across his knuckles. “You know I’m not leaving, right? Not now, not ever.”
“I didn’ know.” He admitted, his eyes slipping closed.
“Well, now you do.” You smiled even though you had forty different emotions warring inside your head. “We have to start working through this, Daryl. Together. You have to let me in.” That pretty blue peeked out from behind his heavy eyelids again.
“I don’ know how.”
Your heart twisted inside your chest, an invisible vice squeezing and squeezing until there was no more room to beat. So much progress since the quarry and Negan had taken it all away.
“You just talk and I’ll listen. I don’t understand how it feels to survive what you have but I can try. I want to try.”
“Then I’ll try too.” He lifted his left hand to your face, fingers tracing down your jaw. “M’tired.” You already knew he was losing the battle to keep his eyes open. The rest would do him a world of good.
“Just rest.” There was cheering outside, but you couldn’t be sure who had come through the gate. Until Carol threw open your door, panting and concerned eyes wide. Her gaze flittered between you and Daryl. You jerked your chin toward the porch, sending her there until you could step out for a moment to give and receive updates as well as tell her what was needed from the infirmary. When the latch clicked, you looked back to Daryl, his eyes slipping shut once more. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”
#whumptober2023#no.10#no.13#“you said you’d never leave.”#“i don’t feel so good.”#the walking dead#fic#illness#major injury#daryl dixon#daryl dixon x reader#daryl dixon fanfiction#daryl dixon x y/n#daryl dixon fanfic#daryl dixon x you#daryl dixon x female reader#daryl x you#the walking dead daryl dixon#twd daryl dixon#daryl fanfiction#daryl x y/n#daryl dixon drabbles#daryl twd#daryl dixon imagine#daryl dixon twd#daryl dixon the walking dead#the walking dead daryl#twd daryl#daryl x reader#sick!daryl dixon
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day 10
Each sat on either side of a long conference table, the likes of which were a common sight in the Sixth, proving ground for thesis defenses and ontological arguments and archival turf wars alike – and now, an unlikely sight: the Master Warden and his Hand, with a meticulously marked-over official document between them at the very midpoint of the table, more highlighter and red ink than flimsy at this point, out of both of their reaches but unnecessarily so – they both had the document memorized.
The ink was dry. Mediation had just ended. After thirty years of groundbreaking reforms and progressive decisions, they watched the dust settle around one last unexpected invocation of policy.
“So,” he said.
She waited.
“I took you for granted,” he said.
She waited.
“I’ve led you on merry goose chases. I’ve made you promises I never kept. I’ve wrung you dry in the name of respecting our bond on one level, completely within parameters, and you’ve broken it, completely within parameters.”
She waited.
“I know this is all too little, too late.”
She looked down.
“Why are you doing this?” he asked.
“I don’t want to,” she said. He took off his glasses and put his head in his hands. The familiar gesture would have moved her to his side, once. Even now, after everything, something in her mind twitched.
She didn’t know when they’d both started to look so weathered. What a marvel, that they’d made it to middle age. The sight was somehow unfamiliar; in her heart of hearts, she only knew both their faces frozen at 20. She wanted to press the creases out of his forehead. She wanted to put more there. She wanted to take a meticulous topography of them and commit them to memory.
She didn’t know what she wanted any more.
“How did we end up here, like this, Cam?” he said, hand falling to the table with a thump, glasses clattering out of his fingers.
“You said you’d never leave,” she said, and then she woke up as the shuttle landed.
#whumptober2023#no.10#line of dialogue#“You said you’d never leave.”#the locked tomb#fanfic#fanfiction#tlt fanfic#tlt fanfiction#the locked tomb fanfiction#lira does a thing#camilla hect#palamedes sextus#these codependent motherfuckers#i am sad and so is camilla hect#the sixth house#campal
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No. 10: “Can’t you see that you’re lost without me?”
Broken Phone | Stranded | “You said you’d never leave.”
He’s stranded, adrift at sea, his safety net is gone, all his anchors are lost.
His family was gone, not all but Ryuuken refused to put anything more onto his son. His son had been with Kanae when she collapsed, had run to his grandmother for help to find her dead, and called him expecting him to fix it.
Who, Ryuuken kept finding, wandering around the halls of the house looking for Kanae or curled up on the loveseat where Izumi used to read to him, next to the chair he had found her in.
Uryuu, who Ryuuken had to watch, relived the events over every time he realised it wasn’t a nightmare.
Souken wasn’t family anymore, Ryuuken had long though he had outgrown the ability to be betrayed and disappointed by his father after a childhood of watching him let down his mother, after coming to realise that Souken would always put the Quincies before his family, turns out Ryuuken was wrong, because Souken had known it was going to happen.
Souken had returned a week after his wife’s death and the death of his ‘niece’ and looked weaker than Ryuuken had ever seen him but he had seemed already resigned at the losses their family had faced, he was only surprised when Uryuu had entered.
Uryuu had launched himself at his grandfather with a cry, since he had somehow thought he had died as well and Souken had looked down at the head buried in his torso with disbelief and confusion.
As if he hadn’t expected Uryuu to still be with them.
He had tried to keep his voice even when he told Uryuu to go back to sit with Kanae he doubted he quite managed it given the wide eyed look his son looked at him with, it made him miss Kanae, who had always managed to soothe any unplanned for hurt he caused.
But Kanae couldn’t do that now and Uryuu was left with a distant grandfather and an emotionally stunted father, thankfully he was a smart boy and left without another word.
He ordered his father to explain everything while the man had still been watching the door where Uryuu with a look of awe, then Souken did and part of Ryuuken wished he hadn’t.
The phone was still broken in his office from where he had thrown it at Soken, refusing to use the powers that had cost him his family, birthright he had been brought up believing, curse it truly was.
Auswachlen, Kanae had been doomed from the beginning and for all mother’s concerns of their blood purity it had taken her the same, Masaki was just bad timing.
It suddenly made sense to Ryuuken when Souken had been relieved that Kanae could only have Uryuu.
Less mixed blood grandchildren to bury.
It also explained Souken's sudden frailty, the Auswachlen had taken back from him what the king had given him, because Souken had served the thing that had just taken the best pieces of Ryuuken’s life, that would have- should have taken Uryuu as well.
And that was the worst part because it was meant to have taken Uryuu and they had no idea why it hadn’t.
Ryuuken had new nightmares where Uryuu hadn’t phone that day and he gone home to find them all gone, where Uryuu wouldn't wake up when he fell asleep at Kanae's bedside.
At least he wasn’t alone in those as in the days after Souken had returned to the house he’d find his father standing at Uryuu’s door watching him sleep on his own way to check.
Since now with most the rest of the Quincy race dead, and the few other pure families hiding, dealing with thier own losses, Souken had no where else to be and as much as Ryuuken hated the man now he wouldn’t take what little Uryuu had left so he let the man who had spent most of Ryuuken’s own childhood absent to play doting grandfather.
And Ryuuken buried himself in work when he can or sits by the bedside of the woman who had been with him all his life and pleads uselessly for her to wake up even when part of him knows it’s too late.
“You said you’d never leave.”
#whumptober2023#no.10#Broken Phone#Stranded#“You said you’d never leave.”#Bleach#fic#ishida ryuuken#Ishida family#Based on my Headcanon#AU-Shared custody
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WHUMPTOBER 2023 no.10
Ilierivier & ???
Tags: panic attack, mention of imprisonment,
MASTERLIST
CHALLENGE MASTERLIST
Year 115X
Couple of weeks have passed since they started traveling with the human.
They get to know her through that time.
She was a mage that traveled the world in search of rare artifacts and resources.
Her name was Ilierivier but she told them to call her Vier.
She was nice.
They were suspicious at the beginning, after all she was the second person they interacted with in their life. Outside of the Teacher Vier was their first interaction.
But Vier let them travel with her, didn't abandon them and gave them food.
After a while they got used to it.
Right now they were both traveling through the vacant steppe. It was old werewolf territory, they were on their way to get more mana disrupting crystals.
And so happens that they were only found in two locations. Both on dangerous territory and only one where they could actually travel to.
It was the same cave they were trapped in when Vier found them.
They were going back there and it made them uneasy.
Viar actually talked with them before they departed, asked them if they were alright with that and if they wanted to stay back. She was really nice.
Still they decided to go with her.
Inside they were panicking.
It brought up the most unpleasant memory.
That they were abandoned.
Left to die without explanation.
Next day they finally arrived at the cave entrance, and they felt like vomiting.
The discomfort must have been visible on their face as Vier looked at them with pity.
"Stay here if you want, I won't force you to come down there."
And with the swing of those blond hair she disappeared in the cavern.
Leaving them...
No, they shouldn't think like that, but the uneasy feeling didn't vanish.
So they waited, in that same spot where she left him.
They couldn't move.
They wanted to run away from all of this, yet behind them was a cliff they climbed to get here.
Their hands were shaking.
"Hey are you alright?" Gentle but rough hands embraced their faces.
She was back, Vier was back.
"Y-you s-said- y-y-you won't-" they couldn't take a breath.
"Don't worry I won't leave you, I promised to take care of you."
She didn't leave them- of course she didn't.
They were stupid for panicking.
At last, they moved closer to the warm human body. Vier accommodated them and started to pat their back.
Special:
Ilierivier stood at the cave entrance, in the shadows to be sure that the dragonkin won't see her.
They looked so pitiful, shaking but still standing there.
She wondered if they would collapse if she left them alone for a bit more, but she discarded that idea.
Finally she stepped out and closed the distance between them.
"Hey are you alright?"
#whumptober2023#no.10#lyric#stranded#“you said you’d never leave.”#OC#fic#whump#whump writing#Lament (Puppeteer)
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Hold Me Tight
WHUMPTOBER 2023 DAY 11 - prompt - stranded/ “You said you’d never leave me.”
Fandom: The last of us.
Summary: Surrounded by clickers, you are forced away from Joel, leaving you to navigate the dark tunnels on your own. When you finally reunite, you realise how much Joel really means to you, so your unwanted fears and emotions resurface.
Warnings: Canon typical violence/death, fear of abandonment, fear of being alone, minor mention of claustrophobic spaces/confinement, minor injury.
Word count: 1.3k
MASTERLIST ⛤ WHUMPTOBER WORKS
🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸
“Go!”
Joel shoved you forwards as you through the gap in the wall as the room filled with an earful of clicking and distant groaning. The clickers limped into the room, their disfigured limbs trailing across the floor. Joel craned his head, backing away from the creatures as he urged you out of the room. You had no choice but to inch back into the tunnel, ducking under the wooden beam which Joel was struggling to keep aloft.
The mud on the ground from the dripping pipe caked your clothes as you scrambled back to make room for the man in front of you to escape.
“Come on Joel! Move!” You exclaimed.
He turned to you with sad eyes. Then he dropped the beam, trapping you within the tunnels.
“Joel…” You cried, shoving your body into the beam and trying to shift it, but to no avail.
He cocked his shotgun and readied his stance as the creatures edged closer. “Go.”
Trembling, you turned and pulled your pistol from your jean pocket and ran down the tunnel. You had to bite your lip to keep the tears from spilling from your eyes as you listened to the gunshots that echoed around you.
Your feet slapped against the cracked stone as you tried to navigate the winding passageway. You were ankle deep in water by the time you stumbled upon a fork in the road. You cursed to yourself, peering down each passage but they each looked the same. You stilled your movements to try and listen out for any indication of a safe passage but you couldn’t decipher anything besides the dripping of water from a crack in the ceiling.
You turned around, shining your light back on the narrow pathway you had just taken. You could turn back. You could go back and hope that you could find Joel…
You shook your head firmly. No. Joel would want you to push on. He would want you to meet him on the other side. If he made it. No. he’ll be fine. You told yourself.
Deciding to take the right passage, you continued to trudge painstakingly through the water, until you came to a dead end. Light billowed through the cracks from where the rock had collapsed, which meant there had to be a way through.
Pocketing your gun, you grabbed onto one of the chunks of rocks, pulling on it until it became dislodged. The rocks surrounding it came tumbling down then scattered on the floor at your feet. Slowly, you managed to create a gap large enough for you to slip through.
When you emerged, you were on the other side of the mountain, surrounded by a large lake and a forest. In the distance, you could see the small wooden buildings belonging to the lakeside village.
The village. That’s where you and Joel were headed. If the village was there then there must be another way out of the sewers. You began to trek around the side of the mountain, until you stumbled upon an entrance boarded up by rotting planks of wood and plastered with faded yellow warning signs. You could hear the shrill screeching of more clickers as you worked to pull away the wood. It splintered with ease as you tugged on it as a result of the decay. Then you heard the scream.
“Joel?!”
You moved faster, tugging at the barricades until they all snapped free. The sudden shift sent you staggering backwards. When the opening was big enough, you squeezed your way through, treading lightly as you moved with haste towards the sounds. The ground was much drier here, so it was much easier to keep quiet without the sloshing of the water as it seeped into your worn shoes. When you reached the open room, your blood froze.
Joel was lying flat on the floor, blood dripping from a deep gash in his thigh. Spores danced across the room as the last of the clickers loomed over him. It was tall with thick plates beginning to form on its body. It squealed at him, jolting back as the man fired his weapon again, but the creature still advanced. Joel’s shot had missed the clicker’s head by a few inches. His vision was obscured by the mask which he had secured tightly over his face. When he went to fire again, nothing happened. There was no loud bang or burst of blinding light from the tip of the rifle, just a gentle ‘click’ as the empty chamber shifted.
The monster shrieked, inching over Joel as he backed away. Then, your pistol was in your hand and you took aim, sending a bullet careening into its skull. It dropped to the floor. Joel took shaky breaths as his eyes landed on you.
“Kid?”
“Joel?”
You dropped to your knees beside him, examining the wound.
“It didn’t get you? Did it?” You asked. Your words were fast as you studied the gash in his thigh. It was deep, raw and angry and would need stitching.
When he shook his head, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.
“No. Scrap metal. There was a piece jutting out from one of the beams.”
You slung your bag off of your shoulder and began to rummage around inside it. After pulling out a roll of bandages and wrapping it tightly around his wound, cringing at his sharp intake and stifled cries, you eased him up onto his feet.
~~~
It was only once you had surveyed the village to ensure that it was empty that the tears threatened to spill from your eyes. It was only once the madness had begun to die down that you began to cry.
Hot, heavy tears cascaded down your face, pooling on your chin and falling onto your lap. You tried to wipe them away with the hem of your sleeve, but they had begun to fall faster than you cared to do so. So, you let them fall freely.
“Kid?” There was a gentle squeeze on your shoulder.
You refused to look at Joel, who had hobbled out of the small house to join you by the lake because you knew that his face would only make the tears fall faster. You knew that the pity on his face would only make you want to hurl. His stomach dropped at your sniffles.
“What’s going on kid?”
You stood and moved away, but in typical Joel fashion, he trailed behind. You knew that he would keep pressing unless you told him, so you spoke.
“You left me.” You choked out. “You…”
“I- I had to protect you…”
“No.You don’t understand” You gave him a shove to the chest. “Everybody leaves.”
Joel was stunned. Lost for words.
“Everybody I've ever given a shit about leaves. And I thought… I thought you were gonna leave me too.”
“Kid…”
“You said you’d never leave…”
“Oh baby girl. I will never leave you.” Joel brushed away stray tears as he cupped your face before pulling you tightly to your chest. “And even if I do, even if we get separated, we will find each other. I will find a way back to you.”
You sniffled into his chest, pulling him impossibly tighter to you as though you were afraid that if you let go he would be forcing you away again. You felt comfort within his presence. The warmth of his body and the thrumming of his heart eased you.
“I promise you kid. We will find each other. Always.”
🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸
<- DAY NINE ⛤ DAY ELEVEN ->
🏷️ Taglist
@senjoritanana
@deans-spinster-witch
@amaryllis23
#whunptober23#whumptober#whumptober2023#no.10#trapped#abandonment#you said you’d never leave.#the last of us#the last of us x reader#tlou#tlou x reader#Joel x reader#joel the last of us#fear of abandonment#blood#minor injury
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the language of flowers and silent things
Whumptober 2023: Day 10: You said you’d never leave
Warnings: nightmares, discussions of time in the red room (and all that entails)
Word Count: 1.8k (gif not mine)
Summary: Natasha and Clint discuss finding Yelena (and all the ways it could go wrong).
A/N: The set up for tomorrow. For everyone who’s kept up and comments, my love for you is tenfold. It’s what keeps this going. Thank you.
Masterlist
Whumptober Masterlist
.
2014
BUDAPEST
Isla sits and waits.
She’s going to give Natasha ten minutes.
The black widow scratches at her thigh and takes a sip of her Italian coffee.
Budapest is chilly, but not what she would call cold. It makes Isla smile that the city where Natasha made her escape, is the one she had chosen to reconnect in.
Nevertheless, it had given her an opportunity to go shopping and purchase a new identity and set of katanas.
She sees Natasha, her red hair tied back framing her face, a single braid.
Isla knew what that meant, someone is watching.
If more braids, a different communication system, one that only the Red Room girls knew.
A French braid vs a Dutch one, could mean the difference between safety and danger, but she didn’t think that Natasha still trusted that.
Still, Isla focuses on the world around her, the sounds of people talking, idle chatter, cars and then… tunes it all out, focusing on the widows approach.
Natasha had, of course, seen her.
Isla wonders what language she will approach her in and is unsurprised to hear the Russian safe words flow out of her mouth.
She nods, and answers appropriately.
“You wouldn’t prefer English? Hmm? Your new language and lack of accent are impressive, but I suppose that is what happens with immersion.”
The dig rolls off Natasha as she responds in Russian again, smiling and crossing her legs.
“Still as pernicious as ever.”
Isla rolls her eyes, not understanding the word, thinking she will have to look it up.
“The money is deposited,” Natasha nods, “tell me what I want to know.”
Isla looks around.
“You have a sniper trained on me?”
She waves to the right, a movement of her fingers.
Natasha looks around and sees the slight glisten off mirrors under the table.
“Of course,” she nods, “and I suggest you don’t move from your seat until twenty minutes have passed after I go, otherwise…” she makes a sign for explosions using her mouth to puff out sounds.
Isla laughs.
“I didn’t even feel it underneath me.”
Natasha leans forward.
“Tell me, where can I find her?”
Isla laughs again.
“Straight to the point. I’m surprised you didn’t look sooner. She won’t want to come with you, you know? She’s the Red Room’s heavy hitter, a killer with skill and style, no conscious, no remorse, the perfect assassin.”
“Much like you were, little Natasha, before you became a traitor,” she finishes.
She leans back.
“Do you think the Red Room went easy on her after all you did? Anyone attached to you was reprogrammed, sent to the hole, the scientists and to Odessa.”
“Do you think we didn’t get punished? They wondered where they went wrong when their best efforts resulted in a traitor.”
She rolls up her sleeves, showing acid burn marks that makes Natasha look away.
“Those closest to you, of course, got it worse, and Yelena? Well, even though she hadn’t seen you or known you for years, well, let’s just say, they made her stronger, performed more experiments on her.”
The words hurt the way Isla wants them too.
Even though Natasha’s posture doesn’t change, there’s a subtleness in the air, and no longer is Isla on the defensive.
“You want to know where your sister is?” she laughs, easily.
“She’s where she’s always been; where you’ve never wanted to go.”
She shrugs.
“The question is; will you do to get her back?”
Natasha regains composure. Subtle as it is, Isla feels the shift and focuses on her.
“As agreed, as paid for,” she says, voice low, “tell me where she is.”
Isla produces a piece of paper.
“How does it feel to know that despite your best efforts to get rid of the Red Room, it just moved to a new location with a new figurehead. Do you really think Dreykov was the puppet master? Killing him did nothing.
It just made them stronger, more malicious, more deranged. And we? We got caught in the crossfire. He was a buffer, using the Red Room more for his personal gain; when they came in, they used it how it was intended. For war.”
She takes a breath, feeling the vitriol pounding through her.
“Little girls doing the bidding of wealthy men. Trafficked and sold as good little soldiers. You sister. Me.”
She snarls.
“But it doesn’t matter to you, fighting aliens, fighting Hydra, what does it matter to the great Natasha Romanoff, the black widow of Russia; defector to America?”
Isla wants to stand and move but is aware of the pressure plate under her.
Natasha is right, they gave her money and they have her at cross hairs.
She makes her heart rate slow, realising how much composure she had lost in her tirade, and Natasha, just absorbing it with her sunglasses on, face neutral and legs still crossed.
“Yelena is currently on a mission in Singapore, she’s collecting information on the G8 summit being held.”
Isla finally passes her the piece of paper.
“You’ll find her there, but don’t expect to be welcomed back.”
Natasha takes it and stands.
“The second transfer will come when you leave,” she tells her, looking down.
“Oh, Natasha?” Isla holds her drink up.
“It’s been good to see you.”
Brows furrowed, Natasha holds up the piece of paper and leaves, disappearing into the crowd.
Isla sips her coffee, then picks up her phone.
“It’s done,” she says into it, then snaps it in half and throws it under the table.
.
“It’s a trap,” Clint says, his voice raising slightly, “she gets you riled up and wanting to go after them, and you go because you want to help her.”
He gestures to the hotel map and points.
“This has got to be the worst access, even if I sit on the tower across here, and watch any extraction, we’d need a whole team to get her out; and if we take a whole team; it’s an international incident - even if it has nothing to do with the G8 gathering.”
Natasha hums.
“But we have to try, she’s there? Maybe even if I can talk to her-“
“What? Convince her to do that? Defect?”
Natasha frowns at him.
“Yes? I mean isn’t that the end game? Saving her?”
Clint crosses his arms over his body, then raises them up in surrender.
“We can’t take a team, even if Tony or Steve go, they’d create publicity, and we can’t afford that, we need to go-“
“Not as ourselves,” Natasha finishes.
“It’s a trap,” he starts again, “what would be protocol, if they wanted to pick you up?”
She looks at the map and the surrounding areas.
“I don’t know, I can’t tell you what I would do, but who even knows if they were telling the truth.”
Pausing, Clint calls Tony.
He picks up on the second ring.
There’s a crash and he swears.
“Hello,” he says finally.
“Can you screen entrants into a country,” Clint asks, “that have come through in the last week and in the next two days?”
Tony scoffs.
“Of course I can.”
They hear him walking and a low hum of a machine.
“This is about her, isn’t it?”
Natasha sighs.
“Yeah, it’s Yelena. How long do you think it will take you?”
Tony starts typing, and they assume he’s setting up a program. He’s silent before he answers.
“Give me twenty four hours.”
Natasha nods and thanks him, then hangs up and sighs.
“What now?” Clint asks, looking at the map.
“Make a plan then try and sleep I guess,” she replies.
.
She lets Clint go to bed, her mind still swirling with a question to no solution.
If it’s a trap, if Yelena will come, if she will defect, if it really is all her fault, how the red room is still standing, what happened after she left.
Her mind is a mess of questions and she makes herself focus on one.
How to get in and out with Yelena.
Everything else, all the other questions can wait.
Into the hours of the morning, she goes over everything, the way in, the way out, getting in and out of the country.
Her back up plans have back up plans.
Somewhere around 3am, Clint pads out, eyes bleary.
“Come to bed,” he asks, “we have some big days ahead.”
Natasha knows it’s true. Her eyes have been closing for the last twenty minutes and she knows she needs to rest.
Brushing her teeth, she wonders if it will work, then follows Clint into bed.
Mind heavy, sleep consumes her, followed by dreams and then nightmares.
.
Yelena sits in a chair, she’s 5 and Natasha covers her mouth with duct tape.
“Shut up,” she tells her.
Scared eyes watch her.
The dream morphs and there a dead girl on her left.
Yelena is holding a knife, blood on her hands.
“Did I do it right?” she asks, and looks up to Natasha who looks down on her, horrified.
It morphs again.
Yelena chases Natasha, she catches her and pushes her down, hitting her as Natasha protects her face.
“Why?” she screams.
“Why?”
“You said you’d never leave!?”
Natasha drops her guard and lets her hit her.
She did promise, she deserves the pain.
The third hit she feels herself being shaken.
“‘m sorry,” she moans.
“Nat? Natasha?”
Light fills the room.
Then a cold breeze.
Natasha shakes the dream.
Feels it fade away.
Clint sits on the edge of the bed, waiting, but she has no words for the dreams that plagued her.
“Bad dreams?” he says redundantly, handing her water.
She takes it and nods, not elaborating.
He switches off the light and turns off the fan.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks in the dark.
Reaching across, he takes her hand and places it on his chest.
“I promised her I wouldn’t leave,” she whispers.
“But then you got ripped apart,” he says softly, “that wasn’t your fault.”
“I didn’t go looking for her, that is my fault,” she continues.
“Natasha,” he admonishes, “you did your best with the capacity you had.”
She’s not ready to hear it, rolls over and backs into Clint’s arms.
“You always thought Barney would come back,” she whispers.
“But he couldn’t, and he didn’t,” he whispers back, “and sometimes we can’t change the things that have happened and we can’t go back.”
Natasha sighs deeply.
“I know.”
“Doesn’t make it better though, does it?”
Natasha feels silent tears fall.
She shakes her head against the pillow.
“We’ll get her Nat. It’s not your fault, okay? We’ll get her.”
.
#whumptober2023#no. 10#you said you’d never leave#nightmares#red room#natasha romanoff#clintasha#black widow#clint barton#my fic#hawkeye#natasha romanoff fic#clintasha fanfiction#clintasha fanfic#marvel fic#avengers fic#yelena belova#natasha and Yelena#Yelena fic#clint barton x natasha romanoff#natasha Romanoff x Clint barton#Tony stark#Steve rogers
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You Promised
By KyberCrystals94
Read here on Ao3!
Whumptober 2023|Day 10|Prompt 10: “You promised you’d never leave.”
Rating: T
Words: 1409
Summary: Prequel to “I Miss You”, Fives goes to collect Echo’s effects from Kamino.
Kamino is always dark, always stormy, but as Fives walks past the yawning panes of glass overlooking the turmoil of waves against the gloaming night, he feels a kindred connection to its anguish. This is his first time on Kamino without Echo.
It’s been weeks since his death, and Fives is about sick of the questions, the looks, the reassuring squeezes of hands on his shoulder. Because not a single word, expression or touch will bring Echo back. Empty condolences are useless. He doesn’t need to be coddled or sympathized with. Fives is as strong and capable as the best of them.
And yet, he’s never experienced life without Echo until now, and the resounding emptiness of his absence burns with the intensity of a blaster bolt right through the heart.
When Rex suggested that Fives be put on a troops transport assignment to Kamino, the ARC leapt at the chance. He’d been quietly looking for any excuse or reason to return to his home planet to collect Echo’s personal effects; however, outright asking would mean admitting…something. That he was weak? Devastated? Heart broken? Clones are supposed to withstand the stresses of warfare, to have unbreakable resolve in the face of death, no matter whose death it was. It is literally bred and cultivated into their DNA. Maybe the Kaminoans aren’t as smart as they think they are…and maybe clones can’t be programmed because they are actual human beings.
Fives shoves away the wandering thoughts, focusing on navigating the halls to their barracks. He thanks the force that most of the troopers assigned to this barracks are off-world, and he’ll have the space mostly to himself. Activating the lock, he wastes no time making his way to his and Echo’s bunk cell. He goes to the storage shelf and pulls down the box with Echo’s CT number. Clean, cold letters.
Fives sits down on what used to be Echo’s bed and opens the box. He isn’t surprised that it is nearly empty. Practical and by-the-book Echo didn’t find much use for sentimental trinkets or useless collections. Which means the things he did keep are — were — invaluable to him. Inside is his graduation medal, his cadet data pad with all the manuals he’d memorized still downloaded, and the deck of cards he had stolen after the rest of the squad had teased him relentlessly for being boring.
Fives remembers when Echo came into the barracks that night. It looked like the kid had murdered someone by the look on his face, awash with guilt and a sheen of nervous sweat.
Echo grabbed Fives’ arm and practically dragged him over to the bunk.
“Who’s boring now, huh?” he whispered, the tremor in his voice betraying the bravado of the words. Echo shoved the deck of cards into Fives’ hands. “I took these off a trooper outside the rec hall.”
“You mean you stole them,” Fives clarified.
Echo frowned. “He wasn’t even supposed to have them. I think he stole them.”
“So, what, that cancels out the fact that you stole them from him?” Fives asked, trying so hard not to smile. It made his whole face hurt suppressing that stupid grin. “What’s the regulation against that, huh?”
Echo looked like he was actually about to answer him when the rest of Domino Squad appeared.
“What are those!” Droidbait crowed, snatching them out of Fives’ hand.
Echo protested indignantly, “Those are mine!”
“Yeah, but you can’t play sabaac by yourself, di’kut,” came Hevy, lightly smacking Echo on the back of the head.
Echo ducked away and tried to get the cards back from Droidbait who immediately tossed them to Cutup. “Hey, give ‘em back!”
“Is there nothing in the manuals about sharing?” Cutup laughed and went to toss the deck back to Droidbait when Fives intercepted.
“I’ll take those,” Fives said, giving Cutup an extra shove for good measure. He handed the deck back to Echo with a wink. “Fine. I guess you’re not so boring after all.”
Fives opens the tin and begins to lay out the cards, chuckling over the matching folds. That was the day he’d decided he never wanted to be on Echo’s bad side. Cutup had barely survived the verbal lashing he’d gotten for damaging Echo’s prized possession just to cheat at a game he was kark at anyway.
The cards are soft and almost pliable, worthless by any sort of functional standard. Shuffling had become too difficult, and they’d resorted to sifting them manually, which in turn led to arguments about stacking the deck, which – depending on the dealer – was often true. After the Risha Moon Outpost, Echo had become even more protective of the deck, grudgingly allowing Fives to use them occasionally. Ironically, it was Echo that caused further damage by dropping a card in his cup of caf one morning.
Fives bit back the laughter that bubbled up, the compulsive need to make a sarcastic comment at his brother’s expense almost overwhelming. But desire was snuffed out the moment he saw Echo’s face as he held the dripping card gingerly between his thumb and index finger.
The man’s eyes had misted over, and if he weren’t a war-hardened ARC trooper, he might have burst into tears.
“Here,” Fives said, taking the card carefully. He laid it flat on the table and patted it dry with his sleeve. “Just a little stained. We could stain the rest of them, and we’d be none the wiser.”
Echo swallowed and blinked. Hard. Fives pretended he didn’t notice. “No. I think I’ll just put this deck away. I can get a new one next time we’re in town.”
Fives picks up the offending card. Even months later, it has the faint smell of caff. “Why’d you have to go be a hero?” Fives asks. “Turns out we didn’t even need that kriffing shuttle.”
Echo doesn’t answer. Echo will never answer him again.
Fives glares at the card, refuses to acknowledge the burning sensation behind his eyes. “You said you’d never leave,” Fives growls to the void where Echo’s presence used to be. “You promised.”
After Rishi Moon, the first time they’d lost brothers, the first time the war was more than just a distant promise of action, they had sat in this room, on this bunk, and Echo tried to comfort Fives from the depths of his own mourning.
“We’re next, aren’t we?” Fives had asked, voice still hitching on exhausted sobs. “What if you die, Echo? I don’t want to be alone.”
Echo is quiet for a moment, an arm wrapped around Fives’ shoulders. “You won’t get rid of me that easy, vod,” he whispers.
“Don’t you dare make promises you can’t keep,” Fives insisted.
“I’ll keep this one,” Echo said.
Like a fool, he’d sounded like he meant it. And in the same foolish vein, Fives had believed him.
Another memory approaches uninvited. Just before they’d become ARC troopers, before the Battle of Kamino, Echo had been driving Fives absolutely crazy, following him around reciting regulations and protocols.
“Force, Echo! Sometimes I wish we’d been assigned to different units,” Fives groused irritably.
Echo smiled, unperturbed. “Give it a day, and you’d miss me.”
Fives stares at the caff stained card. What he’d give to have the culprit back, to hear another recitation of another reg manual, to goad Echo into participating in another inappropriate prank.
Fives stands abruptly and snatches his own box off the shelf. Unlike Echo’s, it is crammed past capacity with whatever junk Fives found remotely interesting. He digs through it until he finds the ink pen Echo said he’d never use because they never use paper. Gripping the pen in his hand, ignoring the way it shakes, he presses the tip into the stained card’s backing and writes: I miss you.
“There,” Fives says out loud, anger disguising grief. “Are you happy? You were right. I would miss you. I do miss you. You didn’t have to go and prove it to me, you kriffing idiot.”
He throws the pen in his box, shoves it back in its slot. He turns to Echo’s bunk, his meager belongings strewn across a regulation blanket that Echo will never use again. He gathers them up, puts the cards and the medal in his pocket, and clips the data pad to his belt.
He tries to leave the memories behind, but they trail after him like echoes of lost voices against cold, empty walls.
END
Author’s Note: I didn’t intend to write a sequel (prequel) to I Miss You, but inspiration struck and refused to be ignored…so here we are, and here it is! **There’s a little hidden Easter Egg somewhere in this post (and on my post on Ao3), so I’m excited to see if anyone finds it!
Tag List: @isthereanechoinhere96 @followthepurrgil @amorfista
✨Let me know if you’d like to be added to my Tag List ✨
#Whumptober 2023#day 10#prompt 10#You said you’d never leave#the clone wars#sw the clone wars#the bad batch fanfic#the bad batch#sw cw#sw clone wars#clone trooper fives#fives#fives clone wars#fives and echo#arc trooper fives#clone trooper echo#echo#star wars#fanfiction#ao3 fanfic#ao3 writer#star wars tbb#hurt no comfort#angst#mourning#fics by kyber
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me when to someone from a warm climate (uiscefhuaraithe)
#ITS SO INTIMATE#ITS SO DISGUSTINGLY PERSONAL#I FEEL LIKE IM INTRUDING IN ON SOMETHING#god. you’d press your body to the concrete when you were small#THE RAINS OF WINTER SEEMED TO NEVER LEAVE THE WALL#he said in an interview he wrote this for his partner at the time and he would send them snippets through voice messages and stuff#and like. oh. wow#FUCKKKKK#there are some things that no one teaches you love. that god IN HIS AWFUL WISDOM JUST PROGRAMS IN#not ok#to someone from a warm climate#she likes hozier#hozier
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Promise
“No!” Alan’s shout rang through the house, causing several heads to peek out from their respective rooms. “You can’t leave. You promised me you wouldn’t!”
The door slammed behind him, leaving a stunned eldest brother staring blankly at nothing. Virgil appeared from his room, hair rumpled and paintbrush tucked behind his ear. “What was that about?”
Scott startled. “I was just telling him I was going to be leaving for college in a few weeks. I didn’t think it would be such a big deal. I’ll be close enough that I can come home on weekends and breaks, so I won’t even be gone for that long. He’s just overreacting.”
Virgil shook his head at his brother. “Scott, of course he’s overreacting. The last time someone in his family left, she didn’t come back. And now you’re saying you’re going to leave him too. He doesn’t understand. All he knows is you promised you wouldn’t leave him, and now you’re breaking that promise.”
Scott sighed. Memories filled his mind of a hysterical baby brother, desperately calling for his mama. A promise made to calm the tears, a promise that Scott had no intention of breaking.
“I have to go after him! He’s right. I did promise. I’m not trying to break my promise, but I do need him to understand. I’m not leaving him, not truly.”
Virgil nodded, clapping his brother on the back. “Sounds like you’ve got this handled. Go fix it!”
Scott jogged out of the house, heading towards the most likely place for Alan to have fled. The barn had been the hiding place for upset Tracys for generations.
As he entered, he had to squint to see in the dim lighting. “Alan?” He called softly.
His brother didn’t answer, but he could hear muffled sobbing coming from the hayloft. The ladder was old and rickety, and Scott clung tightly to the rungs as he climbed up after his baby brother.
“Alan?” He could see the bright red sneakers sticking out from behind the hay, but wanted to give his brother the chance to initiate the conversation. If Alan wasn’t ready to listen, he wasn’t ready to talk.
He sat there silently for a while, counting the spider webs hanging from the beams to keep himself from fidgeting. It took a long time before Alan came scooting closer, silently tucking himself beneath Scott’s arm. Scott drew him closer, letting him rest close for a few minutes before he spoke.
“You promised you wouldn’t ever leave me.” He whispered.
“I know, Squirt. And I know this feels like I am leaving you. I’ll come home every weekend, and whenever we have a holiday, and if you ask nicely, I’m sure one of your brothers will fly you down to visit me. And you can call me whenever you want.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.” Scott stood, wrapping his arms around Alan. “I love you and I always-“
Scott had forgotten to watch where he was standing, and stepped backwards off the edge of the loft, sending them both tumbling down off the ledge.
The impact knocked the wind from both of them, and it was a moment before either of them were able to move. Alan recovered first, sending up a piercing cry.
Startled from his work for the second time that day, Virgil came running out of the house. He scooped Alan off the ground, checking quickly for any injuries. After he was satisfied that the boy was unharmed, he turned to Scott.
Scott had taken the brunt of the fall, twisting midair to ensure he hit the ground first. Blood was running from a cut on his forehead, and his leg was bent at a weird angle.
Virgil sent Alan running to the house for Grandma while he attempted to stem the bleeding. “What were you thinking?” He demanded.
“I wasn’t thinking about anything. I was just trying to make sure my brother didn’t hate me. I wasn’t worried about anything else.”
“Well, next time you’re climbing around in the barn, please save a little part of your brain to watch your step.”
“I think I can do that.” Scott forced a smile, although it looked more like a pained grimace. Grandma arrived, quickly taking command of the situation and getting Scott moved into the car. A quick trip to the hospital later, and Scott was home, leg secured in a bright blue cast and with strict orders not to walk on it for at least a week.
And as much as he chafed at the forced inaction, the ability to spend some more time with his brother was taken full advantage of.
#whumptober 2023#no. 10#you said you’d never leave#thunderbirds are go#scott tracy#alan tracy#thunderbirds fanfiction
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#idk i’ll probably just take an unofficial break#bc that’s basically what i’m doing anyways#idk i’m kinda just popping in and out currently so idk if i wanna just leave for a while again?#idk my last few breaks didn’t really work soo idk 🤷🏻♀️#idk ignore me i’m attention seeking 💁🏻♀️#i don’t think ppl actually care either way tho imao#i’m just bored of everything imao#and i just can’t be bothered with this acc at times#it’s just sitting here and i never use it properly so ehhh#could restart and make a new one but cba bruh#i have like a million accs that i don’t fucking use so there’s no point remaking my main tbh#if i don’t use my sides i keep making i’m not gonna use my main imao#unless someone can convince me of a reason to stay then idk i’m thinking of just disappearing#no im not isolating myself what are you talking about??#not that i even talk to ppl when i’m not isolating myself so it’s all the fuckin same#you’d never know the difference#idk i need to fix my life bc all i do is fucking doomscroll and i’m reallyyyy trying to cut back on that#so therefore a break#but again every time i take a break it’s just not enough? idk#i’m also not using tumblr as a metaphor for something else like what who said that 🙂↔️#anyways whatever#shutting up now 🤐#delete later?
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And Each Regret, And Each Goodbye
…was a mistake too great to hide.
Day 10 (a little early): “Can’t you see that you’re lost without me?”
Prompt 10: “You said you’d never leave.”
Alternate Prompt 13: Miscommunication
Aren’t you just ITCHING to find out how this applies to our favorite rarepair???? *evil cackle*
I had a lot of “would he f—-ing say that???” anxiety about this story 😂 It’s a lot more straight-up angst than I usually do and I had to cut several quality parts because they made the fic too long and the high emotion got exhausting. And because he would not f—-ing say that 🤣
Hope I did the Whumptober tags right.
@ageless-aislynn @sarnakhwritesthings @mrtobenamedlater @rainintheevening @christian-latte-anon @writeforfandoms @naranghim @thearbiterthel
#whumptober 2023#no.10#can’t you see that you’re lost without me#you said you’d never leave#miscommunication#halo#fanfiction#halo fanfic by atbnl#married with a supercarrier au#halo fic#thomas lasky x chyler silva#altprompt no.13#fanfic by atbnl
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WHUMPTOBER DAY 10
Pairing: Johnny Cruz x Archie Cruz
Prompt: “You said you’d never leave.”
Word Count: 593
Summary: Archie shows up drunk on Johnny’s doorstep, looking for a fight.
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No. 10 “Can’t you see that you’re lost without me?” (“You said you’d never leave.”)
~
The rain fell heavily onto the man’s head. And Dr. Leonard McCoy was very glad about that for the raindrops hid the tears running down his cheeks.
It was not fair. He shouldn't be standing here. He should be at home, in their little house in the country. He was supposed to be taking care of his patients who came to the practice every day. And then he was supposed to be cooking and eating and watching a movie with Montgomery in the evenings. He was supposed to live the perfect life he had always imagined.
Instead, he was standing in this cruel place where everyone was supposed to find peace one day. But why did only the dead find their rest here? Why wasn't it also a place of peace for the people who were left behind?
"You said you'd never leave."
He had promised him. On the day they were married, and so many times before and after. But it had been a lie.
Montgomery Scott was a liar!
Why hadn't he been more careful? Why had he attended the Starfleet mission? Why had he allowed himself to be mortally wounded?
McCoy suppressed a sob. It was just too cruel.
"I... I still need you, Monty."
He didn't know how his voice managed to force its way past the huge lump in his throat. How could he get even one word out?
"I don't know how I'm supposed to go on without you."
He knew he wasn't going to get an answer. He knew Scotty probably couldn't even hear him. But McCoy didn't care about that. He just had to tell him.
"Nothing makes sense without you."
He got up every morning and went to bed every night, but he didn't know what for. What was he supposed to get up for if not Scotty? What was he supposed to eat for, work for, live for?
It all made no sense without the person by his side who had taught him to love and laugh again. Without Scotty... he was nothing.
But he knew that his beloved could not return to him. He was gone. He had crossed a bridge that could only be crossed once.
And there was only one way to get to him.
McCoy's hand slipped into his coat pocket and carefully he pulled out the hypospray he had brought with him. It was filled with a transparent liquid that sloshed back and forth with the slightest movement.
Just a single, tiny prick.
Just a wave of his hand and McCoy could do it. He could walk the way Scotty had walked. He could finally be with him again.
With a blank stare, McCoy moved the hypospray to his neck. He stared solely at the tombstone before him.
'Montgomery Christopher Jorgensen Scott
Beloved son, brother, husband, friend'
McCoy was surprised to find his hand shaking and he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. Then he counted down quietly.
"Three... two... one..."
#whumptober2023#no.10#lyric#Can’t you see that you’re lost without me?#You said you’d never leave.#star trek#fanficfion#major character death#tragedy#suicidal thought#ambiguous ending#dr. leonard mccoy#montgomery scott (mentioned)#scones#mega_whumps_characters
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I was working on continuing the vo n ginter comic, then I had an 8 hour a day, week long class that started on Monday, and in that time I started. Another fucking comic. So here’s the first panel for that, frankly idk how/if I’m gonna finish it, but we shall see I suppose lmao
#my wips#return of the brothers. if I do post this I’m not tagging them at all tho lol I do not CARE for their fandom…#I can appreciate them but only as a separate entity from their weird cult following#anyway I’m hazmat certified now so if you ever have a hazmat disaster lemme know I guess BDBSJSJ#for legal reasons that’s a joke call your country’s emergency number and also maybe get the fuck outta there if you see ‘smoke’#time to be sleepy this weekend then I have an essay to knock out next week so. fuck me WHEVDJSB#comic is mainly focused on valerio n ingo btw. emmie’s there to whine about his brother leaving him BDBDJSB#emmie: ‘you said you’d never leave me again 🥺🥺’ gogo: ‘I Am Taking A Fucking Phone Call. Arceus Above’#also feel the need to say it’s not meant to be ship but also interp however you want idc lol 🤷🏼♂️
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NOT SO INVISIBLE STRING — GOJO SATORU
synopsis: the universe has a funny way of working. gojo always knew he was destined to be with you and so did others. it just took some time for you to figure that out as well.
content warning(s): FLUFF! eventual smut so 18+ mdni, fem! reader, pining gojo (sooo cute), mutual pining, friends to lovers, unproetected sex, gojo calling you baby multiple times while going innn.
word count: 6.8k zoo wee mama... pls read anyway or i'll d—
SPRING 2008
“So, you’re not gonna miss me? Not even a little?”
An arm was suddenly thrown across your shoulders, leaving you to bear its weight. The press of his uniform stuck to your nape, making his presence all the more difficult to ignore.
Fellow students bustled and sidestepped their way around you two, some even falter in their steps to ogle briefly at the scene unfolding before them.
“Satoru, move!” Shoko— your saviour— jabs Gojo’s side, urging him to budge, but to no avail.
He’s still tethered to your side, twirling around his diploma in his unoccupied hand despite your best efforts to create space between you two. “You’re literally blocking people’s way toward the gates,” she says.
It’s graduation day and the last day of school for the spring semester, bringing the school year to yet another successful end. It also meant that today would be the last time your upperclassmen would walk on school grounds as students.
The sun was beginning to dip behind the many trees surrounding the school, and its marvellous glow cast warm hues of pink and orange that stretched across the sky. Its rays descend onto the school’s campus; setting for a brilliant, comforting atmosphere.
Answering Gojo’s initial question about whether you’d miss him, you avert eye contact with your persistent senior. “I never said that,” your voice teeters between a grumble and a groan riddled with exasperation.
Your eyes sweep the courtyard and you spot a few familiar faces in the crowd. Some are gathered along the steps leading up to the school taking photos to commemorate today. Others linger on campus chatting amongst themselves, and some whack each other with their diploma scrolls while others treat theirs delicately.
And not too far off from where Satoru holds you hostage stood a small crowd of his classmates—specifically, his female classmates— waiting for their chance to bid their goodbyes...
Or stumble out an unprepared confession thrown out in the heat of the moment before they may never see Gojo Satoru again.
Who knows.
All you’re sure of is that they are most definitely throwing you shady death glares from your peripheral.
“Y’know, I’m gonna miss you,” Gojo says, arm still looped around your shoulders. He has half a mind to drag you away from standing right front and centre in the entranceway and shuffles you off to the side. “All the years we’ve spent together—”
“Two years, by force.”
“— and now we’re being split apart,” he finishes, paying no mind to your sardonic comment. The infliction in his voice prompts you to turn to look at him, only to wind up and see a slight pout tugging at his soft, pink lips. “How ever will we manage?”
You smother down the urge to heave a loud and heavy sigh at the clingy characteristics he’s displaying today and decide to play nice.
Gojo’s always been one to be playful, perhaps even a bit pushy at times but it was all in good nature. However, for some reason, his antics have reached a whole new level today.
Emotions were running high among staff and students alike. Some are more potent and… persistent than others.
“You’ll be fine,” you assure, patting his arm half-heartedly, “and I will certainly be fine. Everything will be just fine.”
In the middle of your sentence from the corner of your eye, you spot another one of your seniors— Geto Suguru. You watch him step out from a conversation with two classmates of yours (Haibara and Nanami) and is now trekking his way over to where you and Gojo occupy the front steps.
“Geto-senpai!”
Geto greets you warmly by placing a comforting hand on your head and gives you a reassuring pat once, then twice. The action leaves your hairstyle a little dishevelled, nonetheless, there’s a small smile tugging at your lips.
You’ve only interacted with Geto a sparse number of times outside of class or at the end of the school day. Whenever you both would cross paths you appreciated how he would regard your presence with temperance. It always left you feeling at ease. You’ll miss him.
You’ll especially miss how he was so quick to offer you and Haibara snacks from the vending machines on campus.
Gojo emits a pathetic squawk at the special name drop.
Pale, white brows are pinched tightly together with faux betrayal. “How come he gets honorifics but I don’t?!” he complains once Geto’s within earshot.
“I see that Satoru's already started…”
Though Geto was talking to no one in particular, Shoko chips in given that she bore witness to Gojo’s incessant pestering toward you ever since the home bell rang. “You missed the part where he blocked her from getting to the lockers for a good several minutes.” Unzipping her bag, she carelessly shoves her diploma into it.
“Anyway, I’m gonna head out for a smoke. I’ll catch you guys later.” Before departing, Shoko stretches her hand towards you and gives your arm an affectionate squeeze. “Get home safe, ‘kay? Don’t let these guys keep you out too long.”
Which reminded you…
“Gojo, this has been fun and all…” Being rag-dolled around by your upperclassman across campus has been anything but fun. “But I really should start heading home now.”
You wanted to beat the rush hour of students and working-class alike trying to go home on a late Thursday afternoon. Looking for empty seats on the 4:25 PM train was brutal and you did not have the energy to stand the entire ride home.
Sensing your air of urgency, he eventually relents. Heaving a dramatic sigh, Gojo steps back a few and gives you some space.
“Gimme a second, yeah?” He rummages around in his uniform pocket, searching for something. It only lasts about a second before he pulls out his flip phone.
“Suguru!” A curt upward nod of Gojo’s head is the only warning Geto gets before he tosses his cell toward his best friend to catch. You’re appalled that he catches it so easily with the little to no notice that was given. “Take a picture of us.”
…Huh?
Your brows drew close-knit together with confusion. “What are y—?!” Before you can even finish your question, you’re pulled tightly into Gojo’s side.
His arms circle your neck once more, but this time, he uses the opportunity of your close proximity to tip his head to the side and knock it against your own.
“Smile,” Gojo murmurs into your ear, his slender fingers pinching at your cheek prodding for you to plaster on a sugary smile for the picture.
You don’t have enough time to register, let alone recover from how his lips faintly brushed against your skin, Gojo’s already obnoxiously yelling “Cheese!” towards the awaiting camera.
Snapping the photo Geto sports a lazy grin admiring his work. “Looks good,” he says before he tosses the phone back to its owner.
You’re still reeling over the gentle graze of Gojo’s lips against your cheek, too dazed to digest what’s going on around you. What. In. The hell. Just happened???
Sputtering out a laugh, Gojo grins down at the image on his phone. “What’s with that face you’re making, huh?”
Eyebrows furrowing, you look up at Gojo curiously. Whatever was in that picture that made him smile that wide couldn’t have been good. “What do you mean?” You question, stepping closer to see what he was referring to on his screen.
Gojo tips his cell over and shows you the photo Geto took. There you both are in grain, Gojo looking the most lively out of you two. Despite the quality of the camera, you can see the proud and happy smile he wears compared to your frazzled and confused expression.
If anything, it looked like you were the one who was graduating and he so happened to snag a photo with you before your big send-off.
“I wasn’t ready…” you grumbled, looking away from his phone.
There’s a faint smile lingering on his face, blue eyes still trained on the screen. His voice's cadence grows warm and carries a small hint of affection.
“That face of yours is what I’m gonna miss the most.”
SUMMER 2009
To no one’s surprise, you and Gojo kept in close contact, even after graduating high school.
Well… More so Gojo kept in contact with you. Consistently.
Whenever he can.
He was there during your spring graduation (shocker), much to the elation of the entire female population from your graduating class. Looking back, the number of times he stopped to pose with random students around the school when he came to greet you was absurd.
You’ll also never forget how loud he cheered when your name was called despite Principal Yaga telling the audience to hold their applause and hollers until after the ceremony.
Fast forward to the summer of ‘09 where Gojo consistently seeks your presence to go and hang out with him now that you have a freed-up schedule. Whether it's with him alone or with Geto and Shoko, you can always rely on him to shoot you a ‘u busy?’ text an hour before dragging you out for the rest of the day.
“Sooo,” you start slowly.
Your eyes skim across the playground, watching the few children who were there amble and climb on the jungle gym before you. The sun was beginning to descend below the skyline, and hues of warm orange press onto your features casting you and your surroundings in a soft glow.
“You’re a… guardian now,” you state, eyeing how Gojo stretches his legs out beside you.
You both sit at a park bench, the chorus of laughter and playful shrieks surround you as you watch Megumi— a kid Gojo now supposedly looks after— poke mindlessly at something buried beneath the playground’s sand.
“Yup!” he chirps, but then it’s swiftly followed by a hesitant, “Well, sorta kinda…”
There’s a mental warfare going on in his mind as he combs through the various explanations he can give you, searching for one that would be both concise and easy for you to digest.
“To put it simply, from here on out I’m going to be a constant in Megumi and Tsumiki’s life.”
You think of the step-sibling duo. They’re the sweetest pair of children you’ve had the delight of coming across, and now…
“They’re doomed,” you say with pity, your gaze still focused on the youngest Fushiguro.
Gojo gasps in disbelief at your bold accusation with his hand flying to his chest, clearly having taken offence. “What’s that supposed to mean?!” he asks.
But before you could give him a smart alec answer, the cheerful exclamation of your name pulls your attention elsewhere. The soft thump of Tsumiki’s shoes approaching prompts you to smile brightly. With open arms, the girl practically throws herself at you and giggles.
You give her cheek an affectionate squeeze. Despite her being in the second grade, you couldn’t help but coddle her. “Why hello, Tsumiki!”
It takes her a few moments to finally release you from the hug, backing up a bit she glances up at you. “Where were you? I missed you on Tuesday, the swings weren’t fun without you!” she says, pouting.
“I wasn’t feeling the best, so I had to turn down Gojo’s invite to meet you guys at the park that day.”
Upon hearing all the commotion, Megumi spots Tsumiki talking to you a few steps from the play area. It prompts the young boy to walk over and join you three at the bench. He nods his head over at his step-sister and says, “She thought you guys broke up.”
Huh?
You blink rapidly. “Broke— Broke up!?” You squawk, the inflection of your voice rising at the ‘up’ part.
Where could she have possibly gotten that idea from? You and Gojo weren’t even dating!
Gathering your composure you plaster on a sweet smile, ready to explain to the young pair that you and Gojo weren’t together like that before a heavy arm comes hunkering down onto your shoulders. “Even if she tried, she can’t get rid of me that easily,” Gojo comments.
Christ.
Tsumiki claps her hands together in glee at this revelation. “Yay! ‘Cause I like you!” she confesses. “I thought I’d have to deal with Gojo and his friend with the big ears pushing me on the swings forever.” And with that, she’s already off running to the big yellow slide, pulling Megumi along in her wake.
The sweet smile you wear grows more and more strained the longer you two sit there on that damned bench with Gojo’s arm still lodged around you like it belonged there.
Long delicate fingers drum themselves along your bare shoulder which leaves a tingling sensation that lingers against your skin.
“Gojo Satoru…” you hiss between clenched teeth.
Your hand creeps up to give his knee a mean pinch, but as always, Gojo reads your movements like a damn book and catches your hand in his before that could happen. “Hm?”
“What do you mean ‘Hm’?” You gesture in the general direction of where the kids are playing. You feel your brows start to pinch together. “Why would you tell them that?!”
“It’s true though, no?” Snowy white wisps of hair fall in front of his eyes shaded by his signature round sunglasses. “We haven’t ‘broken up’ and we’re still together. Just not in their understanding of it.”
“You—! That’s not—” You flounder for words, trying to spit out why he can’t go around inadvertently feeding into the imagination of whatever relationship Tsumiki and Megumi thought you two had. But you come up blank.
“You’re irritating, you know that?” you say, as you try (and fail) at removing his arm which still rests comfortably around your shoulders, pressing you tight against him. “You’ll wind up confusing them.”
An easy smile slips onto his lips as he observes Tsumiki and Megumi scramble up the slides. “Relax,” he responds. “They’re smart kids.”
And until it was time for the Fushiguros to go home, there you two sat underneath the thinning ochre sky. Stuck under the guise of an unspoken relationship.
WINTER 2011
Being the “middleman” between two people who are so obviously into each other but cannot figure out how to hang around each other normally was all too common for Shoko.
It’s a shame that Geto wasn’t available to come down and hang out with the three of you tonight, he would’ve revelled in getting a kick out of this expected yet unexpected… turn of events.
Brought in as a buffer between you two, with an unlit cigarette dangling loosely from her lips Shoko leaned back in her chair and watched the buzzing scene before her unfold with bemused eyes.
Underneath the comforting golden glow of the restaurant’s hanging table light, Gojo picks at the cookie dough chunks that litter your plate to which you turn a blind eye. Now, Shoko could’ve easily brushed this occurrence off, seeing that friends often eat from each other's share of food all the time.
But something was... different.
With Gojo seated to your left inside the booth, he neatly cuts up a piece of his soft, creamy cheesecake and leverages the small serving on his spoon. “Here, try some of mine,” he says.
Harmless, right?
So, you reach for your own spoon to retrieve the sample of dessert that he was offering you. But without any hesitation, Gojo lifts his cutlery to your lips and prods the food toward your mouth.
There was no way that he intended on doing this right here, right now. In front of Shoko especially.
“Say, ‘Ahhh’!”
Concern creases your brow when Gojo continues to press the spoon against your lips, idly humming as he waits for you to open your mouth so he can spoon feed you as if he were your mother. A delicate, yet sure hand cupping your chin and everything.
He was being serious.
From your peripheral, you catch the slow spread of a Cheshire-like grin creeping onto Shoko’s face.
You press your fingers onto Gojo’s wrist and frown. Trying to retreat from his hand, a peal of nervous laughter bubbles out from you at his display of reckless affection at the table. “Give me a br—”
Gojo uses the opportunity of your uncertain state to slip his sharing of the Japanese cheesecake into your mouth in the middle of your sentence. Your eyes widen a small fraction at its creamy taste, prompting him to comment, “It’s good, right?”
The cigarette threatens to slip from Shoko’s mouth, as her lips slightly gape at what just happened before they curve into a soft smile. Her brown eyes are warm with… something. It’s as if she knew something that you didn’t.
“Ehhh…” Is all she says before you’re already jumping down her throat to clear up any misunderstandings.
“It’s nothing!” you supply in a rushed manner. Your main objective was to simply imply that this was nothing for her to lose her head over. Hell, even the friendliest of friends feed each other all the time! Right?
But at your remark, Gojo’s mouth downturns into a cute little pout. “What do you mean, ‘nothing’?” From the corner of your eye you glance at how he’s fixed another spoonful of the dessert, and it's hovering in your direction.
“Sato—” Fuck.
You quickly correct yourself on your mistake, and school your voice to have a bit more edge to it. Despite that, you don’t overlook how hard Gojo’s beaming at you. “Gojo, not now.”
“Ehhh?” Shoko exclaims once again, but this time the cadence of her voice has changed. It’s gained an amused note to its tune. “You call him Satoru now? Since when?”
“I’ve been begging her to use it for the longest time ever,” Gojo answers on your behalf, and he ignores your mutter for him to please stop talking in favour of jabbing an accusatory finger at you. “You know how painful it was to see you be all chummy and on a first-name basis with everyone but me?”
Lord. You’ve forgotten how dramatic he could be.
There’s a teasing glint in Shoko’s eye that you quite don’t like, and her lips purse heavy with consideration at his comment. “You make him beg?”
Groaning, you cross your arms against the table and bury your face. You can’t with them. Your two former upperclassmen were the bane of your existence right about now.
“I’ll kill you both,” you mutter, your speech muffled by the fabric of your sweater.
A FEW YEARS LATER
A calming blue nightly glow ripples through your curtains, casting your room in nothing but moonlight. Amidst the serene silence, you idly stare at your screen and read the text Satoru sent you right as the clock struck midnight.
Satoru: Are you home?
What an ominous question. Your eyes skim over his message again. And then again.
…And again.
Thumbing through your phone, you glance at the time displayed on the top of your screen. It’s been five minutes since you’ve opened his text. You should probably send something back soon before he quintuple texts you.
As you’re about to respond right when Satoru immediately shoots you another.
Satoru: I KNOW you see this!!! ( `ε´ )
Satoru: Hurry hurry hurry
You: yes... why?
Now it’s his turn to take a while to respond. First, it takes a couple of minutes for you to receive that pinging chime; indicating that he’s texted you back— which isn’t too bad because you like to consider yourself a pretty patient person.
But then five minutes slowly turn into ten, and that ten becomes a whopping fifteen until finally he answers.
Satoru: Open your door.
What the fuck.
Satoru: Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepl
So that’s why he took so long to reply. The man was coming all the way down from his place to come and visit you!
You: you're actually insane.
You: hold on!
Rising from your seated position on your bed, you stalk over to your bedroom door and are about to exit when you spot yourself in a nearby mirror.
“Oh!” you exclaim to no one in particular. You can’t open the door for him looking like… this.
Wait, why do you care about what Satoru thinks of your clothes?!
He’s seen you wearing much worse. Like that one instance in first-year, when you had to borrow Geto’s spare parachute pants because Haibara accidentally spilt his soda all over your lap during an informal outing with everyone.
Yeesh.
Shaking your head, you slip out of your room and pad down your apartment hallway wearing your discoloured oversized band tee and shorts. Upon reaching your door, your hand hesitates on the doorknob.
It stays like that for a few seconds until the doorknob is rattled in a fashion that’s all too persistent, annoying, and all from—
“Satoru!” you hiss, swinging the door open. You’re ready to chew him out on how much of a nuisance he may be for your sleeping neighbours a few doors down. But your looming reprimand falls short on your tongue once your eyes take in the man facing you.
“Happy birthday!”
In the darkness, the soft glow of sparklers illuminates your features and highlights the exquisite details of a beautifully decorated cake held in Satoru’s hands.
Wordlessly, your hand aimlessly searches for the light switch to brighten up your hallway so that you may get a better look at what’s on the cake.
Something trembles in your chest and it hurts a little to breathe. But not in the way that you detest.
He’s cute.
Gojo Satoru is so heartbreakingly cute.
On the cake, you see that damn grainy photo you two took on his graduation day back in ‘08. The photo you love to hate.
Wetness springs to your eyes from the entire gesture, from the fact that he ensured he was the first one through text and physically to wish you a happy birthday, and from the fact that he’s here right now.
“Hey…” There’s concern creasing Satoru’s expression as he pokes his head down a little to get a better read on you. “Are you crying?”
You sniff back your tears and grunt out a watery, “No… Shut up and come in already.”
Ushering him inside, Satoru hands you your cake, toes off his shoes and heads straight to your living room. Good to see that he’s already making himself at home.
Plopping himself down onto your couch you hesitantly follow behind him, suddenly feeling like a stranger in your own home. “Come, come!” He waves a welcoming hand at you and pats the seat beside him, insinuating that you should sit.
With immediate interest, you do as he says and take a seat beside him after you position your cake in the middle of your coffee table. The couch feels so small now, with him spread out like that.
Pulling out something from his pocket with one hand and tugging off the party hat from his head with the other— had he been wearing that the whole time?— Satoru clears his throat. “Before you cry again, I gotta make sure you’re able to see your present first.”
He takes your head in his hands, and you realize his fingertips are a little cold as they press on your warm cheeks. Stretching the string down from the party hat a bit, he places it under your chin and snaps the cardboard cone into place on your head.
Breathing a noise of satisfaction seemingly content with how you look, a cheeky grin dances across Satoru’s face. “Perfect. You can now go ahead and open your gift,” he says, handing you a small black velvet box with the company logo HW scrawled across it.
“Wait, what,” you deadpan.
This can’t be what you think it is.
“It’s not a ring!” Satoru blurts. But composes himself seconds later with a quip of, “Unless you want it to be?”
Har. Har. Very funny.
You disregard what he’s said and peel open the box with caring hands.
Inside was the most extravagant necklace you’ve ever laid eyes on. A diamond pendant laid bare inside the box in the shape of a forget-me-not with your birthstone at the flower's centre.
That could’ve easily cost him a little over one million yen if you think about it deeply.
“Satoru!” you squeal.
Without thinking, you throw your arms around his neck and squeeze your longtime friend into your loving embrace. Satoru’s gift to you almost topples and sinks into the crevice of your couch had it not been for his quick hand to catch the necklace.
Your heart’s racing, and initially, his body goes rigid until he gradually relaxes under your hold. “You’re crazy, ’s too expensive!” you sparingly chastise him.
Satoru swallows hard and brings a careful arm up to reciprocate the hug. You feel the warm press of his arm against the thin material of your shirt.
“Nothing’s too expensive if you’re involved,” you hear him murmur into your ear. “So, don’t worry ‘bout it.”
You give him one last bone-crushing squeeze, hoping that your rare show of physical touch does not go unnoticed and exemplifies how grateful you are. Pulling away from him you look him dead in the eyes. “Thank you, seriously.”
Shrugging you off like it was no big deal as if he didn’t blow double, maybe even triple the money the average Japanese businessman earns on a singular paycheque toward your necklace, Satoru casts you a gentle smile and changes the subject.
There would be no need to dwell on it any longer with what’s to come.
“Now…” He gives your lower back a soft pat. Once, and twice. “A birthday kiss from the birthday girl.” Satoru puckers out his lips and shuts his eyes real tight, making a huge show out of it.
For extra effect, he even hums a prolonged Mmm-ing sound to emphasize him waiting for you to initiate it.
It’s a joke; you know he’s joking. He has a ridiculously long history of being overly affectionate with his teasings and whatnot.
But this time, you really do lean in and take said kiss from him.
There’s something incredibly adorable about this kiss that has your heart surging in your chest. Partly because it’s the first time that you’re kissing each other, but mostly because of how frigid and careful it is. It made you feel as if you were in high school all over again, trying a plethora of new things for kicks and giggles.
The tension was almost palpable, thick enough to suffocate the air he breathed. Even when you pulled away creating space between you both, Satoru still felt a lingering lump in his throat.
Cracking your eyes open, you see that Satoru’s own are blown wide. Piercing cerulean eyes stare unblinking at you. Normally, you would’ve found that to be off putting as hell, had it not been for the slow rise of a blooming pink crawling up his neck.
“Sorry,” you offer weakly. Sensing that you may have gone too far, you make an effort to scoot off his lap. But a determined arm holds you in place.
“Again.” He swallows thickly, and your eyes follow that mesmerizing movement in his throat. “I… I didn’t do it right. Please.”
And who are you to make him beg? So, you do as he says.
Leaning in, your lips press against Satoru’s once more. And this time, he has the sense to close his eyes and bask in it, not daring to let his nerves get the best of him (though he’d never admit it).
Slotting yourself to be more flushed against him, the tips of your noses brush and you feel Satoru’s hand smooth down your spine. The pads of his fingertips press onto your exposed skin peeking out from underneath the hem of your shirt bunched around your hips.
God, you wanted him bad.
It’s abrupt, the way you push yourself off him and force yourself to stand on your feet, breaking the kiss. The rise and fall of your chest is a bit staggered and Satoru’s is too. He’s all red-faced and his snow-white hair is a bit dishevelled, considering how many times you’ve combed your fingers through it.
“Did I do something wrong?”
Cute.
That alone made you want to jump his bones even more.
You shake your head and get one good look at him before you leave him to head down your hallway. He looked perpetually enraptured by you, eyes hyper-focused on your every movement. “Come to my bedroom.”
Satoru’s stunned, the implications of your remark not lost on him.
And like a keen lost puppy, of course he follows. He joins you in your bedroom seconds after you and stands in the doorway, just kind of hovering there. Not sure of what to do.
Wait. Did he come here too fast? Did that make him look overly desperate? A million and one questions rush through Satoru’s mind as his neck grows red, stained with embarrassment, want… arousal.
Seeing how he seems to be short-wiring at your doorway, you beckon him to join you on the bed with your hand. Once he does, he sits extremely close next to you. His clothed thigh brushes against your bare one, which sends a jolt of electricity through you.
Your fingers find his nape once again and they stroke up on his fresh undercut, prompting him to shiver a bit. “Why’re you so shy all of a sudden?” you question, your voice going gentle with a provoking edge to it.
Gaining some of his personality back, Satoru pinches your cheek. “‘Cause I didn’t think you’d want to kiss me!” But his mean hand then turns soft and slides along your jaw, his thumb rubbing smooth circles into the skin just below your ear.
“Well, I’m here,” you say, scooting impossibly closer to the man beside you, “and wanting.”
Message received.
Hauling you onto his lap, Satoru cradles your face in both hands and kisses you deeply. It’s full of emotion, expressing all the things he’s been wanting to say for the longest time. A trembled exhale escapes you, and it’s through that that Satoru uses the opportunity to slide his tongue alongside yours.
The kiss is frenzied, but so filled with love.
“So you like me?” he asks, his breathing laboured.
“Yes,” you bite, pushing him away from you and onto the mattress. “As if swapping spit with you wasn’t enough.” You guess you’ll have to show him how much you undoubtedly like him, love him even, through other means.
He huffs a breath of laughter and drops his back onto your bed. Underneath you, you see Satoru’s eyes sparkle as he watches you have your way with him.
But something’s up.
His eyes climb up a little higher and this time, he barks out a real laugh.
You still have that piece of fuck sitting on your head. You probably look stupid as hell right now.
Discerning that you’re about to raise your hand to your head, Satoru holds your wrist in his palm. There’s something bright that gleams behind those alluring pools of blue, warm and tender. He bites back a smile. “The birthday hat stays on during sex.”
You scrunch your nose at him. “You’re so dumb,” you growl with artificial frustration and tear off the cone-shaped hat from your head, tossing it into the depths of your room. He whines at its loss, but you’re quick to placate him with a slow roll of your hips into his lap.
Satoru’s jaw clenches and his hands fly to your waist, gripping you tightly as you continue to grind yourself down onto his erection. Your ministrations pull a wanton whimper from his lips, one that has you grinding with more purpose— the purpose of hearing that sound again.
“Do you like that?” you ask.
He nods, not trusting himself to speak, else he’ll let out a pathetic string of moans.
“I know, me too.” Satoru’s dick lurches in the confines of his pants as he watches you dry-hump him into the mattress slowly, your eyes shining with lust. Fuck, he could get hard just off your expression alone. “It feels reeeally nice being up on you like this,” you continue.
You have a fucking dirty mouth. One that Satoru’s growing more and more addicted to the more you speak.
There’s an incessant throbbing between your legs that you can’t quite alleviate. While rolling your hips into Satoru’s lap— with his occasional thrust to match your movements— felt good, it can only do so much. You wanted and needed more.
And so did Satoru, because he’s already pulling at the waistband of his pants. His thumb loops two layers and tugs both his pants and boxers down, revealing his toned V-line.
Fuck.
You fall victim to Satoru’s enamoured gaze from below, which makes you squirm hot with arousal. “Take it off,” he commands.
He wants you to strip him of his clothes.
Caught taking a startled breath, you ignore the wicked, handsome smile that slinks onto his face as you slip off his lap so you may curl your fingers around his waistband and pull. Your pussy clenches when his erect dick springs into view, and the heat pumping through your veins runs a little hotter.
You shiver at how pretty and filling his dick looks. After a few seconds of openly ogling at his lap, Satoru clears his throat which successfully gets you to drag your eyes back up to his face.
“While that was nice,” he starts, leveraging himself up onto his elbows and grins at your cute error, “I meant you, baby. Take it off.”
“Oh.”
Seriously? Just ‘Oh’?
Mentally facepalming, you shimmy your shorts down your legs along with your panties. They pool down at your ankles and you step out of them to stand between his legs.
Fully sitting up, Satoru pats his lap; encouraging you to sit on him again. “C’mere.”
You crawl onto his lap, but you don’t sit down fully. Hovering a few inches away from his cock, your knees press on each side of his thighs, trapping him in.
There’s no way in hell you were gonna sit down right now, knowing that if you do, you’d be pressing your bare pussy onto his naked thigh and he’d feel everything. Exposing how wet you are.
Humming, Satoru lifts the hem of your oversized top to your breasts and sighs. “Pretty,” he murmurs before he leans forward and captures your nipple into his mouth.
You gasp harshly at the titillating feeling. Your hands balance on his shoulders for support, as he rolls your nipple on his tongue.
“Sa— Ah!” You cry out. The hand between your legs startles you and has you whimpering in the open air.
“You’re wet,” he comments, slipping a finger against your slick pussy.
“Shut up about it…”
But he doesn’t. Another finger joins the first and delves down between your lips, gradually easing them inside you. They push against your walls, curling in a way that has you gasping into his neck. “You got wet from grinding alone, huh?”
A breath stutters out of your mouth and you rock yourself against his hand. You can’t take this anymore. You want more. “Do you have a condom?” you ask.
“I—” he groans when your hand slides between you two, your fingers curl around his dick and stroke his tip along your leaking slit. “I didn’t bring one, because I didn’t think we’d—”
Oh.
Biting your bottom lip, you sling a heavy arm across Satoru’s shoulders. You meet his hungry gaze with one of your own and inch closer toward his dick that rests against his stomach. What you’re about to do could be risky, but at this given moment you couldn’t find it in you to be overly stressed about it.
“No worries,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper, “I trust you enough to pull out in time.” And like that, you push down on him and ease Satoru’s cock into your aching cunt, making him bottom out inside you completely.
You’re so wet and slippery that it took little to no effort for him to slide inside. The noise of your slick sticking to where you two meet at the hips has you two moaning softly in unison.
The harsh mutter of your name echoes off your bedroom walls and goes straight to your cunt. “So tight,” he grits out behind clenched, white teeth.
Each time you slide up and down on his cock, Satoru grows more unrestrained with his vocal appreciation of how well you take him. Desperate little moans escape him each time your sweet cunt squeezes him of all he’s worth.
You were no better. Choppy, broken whimpers can be heard from you, loving how he stretches your walks with your length. He fits perfectly inside you like your cunt was destined for this moment, for him alone.
“Let me fuck you,” Satoru blurts out. He was losing it, and he could feel him tipping closer and closer to the edge of release.
“You are— Ugn!” you say weakly when his hands grab your ass and he stands, lifting you with him as if it were nothing. Kicking off his bottoms, Satoru props you on your back against your mattress.
Crawling between your legs, he positions the crown of his cock to press against your opening. “No,” he drawls, with one hand on the base of his shaft and the other propped beside your head. “Let me fuck you.”
He pushes in and you swear you see stars.
Satoru pistons himself faster and faster inside of you, rocking your bodies against the mattress which makes your wooden headboard tap noisily against your drywall.
You fear your neighbours may have some… less than pleasant words to share with you about the noise tomorrow morning.
“Ah! Fuuucking— shit!” You wail. Euphoric tears start prickling at the corner of your eyes. “Don’t stop, please!”
The pleasure melts through you when Satoru presses down harder into you, his hand finding the back of your right knee and hikes your leg around his waist so that he can fill you at a new angle.
“Baby,” he murmurs into your neck. He says it like you’ve been his for years. “Say my name.”
“S—Satoru!”
Laughing a little, probably too fucked out of his mind, Satoru removes his face from your neck and presses a hot, searing kiss onto your lips.
You yelp when he drives his cock more harshly into you, growing more desperate with the urgency to come inside you.
Riding his high, Satoru says the first thing that comes to mind, which is a long drawn-out, “Haaa…”
What Satoru meant to accomplish was to wish you another ‘Happy Birthday’, but of course, it all gets garbled up in his throat due to his approaching orgasm and comes out sounding fucking obscene.
That’s what gets you.
You come hard, your back bowing off the bed. Satoru, remembering your initial statement about how you trust him to pull out, does exactly that. Albeit, he did it at the very last second, but you avoided a pregnancy scare. So you can’t be mad.
Thick ropes of his cum splash across your bare belly and some get on your top. You’re hyperaware of how it trickles down your abdomen, some dipping into your belly button.
Wow.
Breathing hard and heavy, both coated in sweat among… other sensual fluids, Satoru rolls onto his back.
“Stuck with me for life, huh?” he asks, delicate fingers intertwined with yours.
You hum. “Seems so…” you agree quietly.
Now that you think about it, there hasn’t ever been a moment where Gojo Satoru hadn’t been present in your life, ever since meeting him during your high school days.
You two lay like that for some time, soaking in each other’s company until the early traces of morning light ripple through your curtains.
You’re about ready to shut your eyes until your thoughts are accosted by something you offhandedly forgot.
“Satoru?” you begin, tone nice and sweet.
“Hm?”
You sit up slowly so you can peer down at his blissed-out face. “By chance, was the cake you got for me made out of ice cream?”
You know how deep his love for sweets goes. You just pray and hope to whatever higher power that he chose the safe route and chose a normal ca—
“…Yeah, why?”
Jumping out of bed, you rush to the living room where the cake is probably spilling its guts out all over your expensive, mahogany coffee table. “You IDIOT!”
A string of curses follows you out into the hallway, as Satoru sits on your bed confused.
“What’d I do?!”
Whether you liked it or not, you were stuck with this bumbling idiot if he had any say in the matter, an invisible string keeping you two bound.
And maybe it wasn’t that bad.
Even if it’s at the cost of your ¥20,000 table.
if you read this far, we're fucking making out.
#gojo x reader#gojo satoru x reader#satoru x reader#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#gojo fluff#gojo smut#jjk smut#jjk fluff#divider by cafekitsune#sahkuna!
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i still miss you. i don’t think i’ll ever stop.
#i can’t ever get you out of my head#but you seem to have forgotten me completely#and i don’t know what to do anymore but just to go on living with all these feelings and suffer silently#i used to have so much hope that you’d comeback#but now i wonder if anything you said was even true#how could you say all those things to someone and just leave without a word?#did you ever even care? or was i just a toy to you?#did you just lie the whole time?#i’ll never know#but all i know is it hurts#and i cry everytime i think of you#which is constantly#i just wish you were back in my life#i wish we could talk again#i wish i would’ve done things differently#everything reminds me of you
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