#unhappy ending

[imfinereallyy]

some of us, and I’m not naming names, need to start being properly tagged on fics.

Angst: Is it me?

No.

Unhappy Ending: Is it me?

……it’s not Angst.

[cissyenthusiast010155]

Not Without You ~Casey Novak xFem Wife!Reader (Alex Cabot x Olivia Benson)

Summary— Casey Novak angst. No more spoilers than that! Approach at your own risk!!!

Mommy… Master List

Requests & Prompt-List

Warnings: MATURE AUDIENCES, 18+!!, death, angst, really sad shit, murder, blood, gore, multiple suicides, unhappy ending, grief character death, crying, mentioned suicidal tendencies, etc.

Enjoy (:

The precinct room was tense. Nobody was moving a muscle. Everyone frozen. You stood right under the doorway. Everyone’s eyes were on her, on Casey.

It was crazy how wrong this had gone so quickly. The perp was holding Casey in front of him with a knife to the ADA’s throat. Her eyes were bulging in fear and you could see her body shaking.

You had walked into the situation, unintentionally, showing up to surprise your wife for lunch. And you had walked in to the precinct to find everyone with their hands up and staring at Case.

Your heart was racing and your breath was bated. Your mind started to spiral, as Elliot started to try and talk the perp down.

The man’s words blurred in and out of your understanding, you were too busy relieving your entire life with Casey. It was too fleeting. It wasn’t enough. This couldn’t be it. You and her had barely had anytime together.

The perp started to get more agitated. It seemed that anything Elliot was saying was only making it worse…

Before you knew it, you heard a sudden slice followed by a squelched scream… and blood splattering across the room…

your heart dropped. Then another slice, no scream this time. Your eyes fluttered heavily, you started to feel dizzy…

Your legs collapsed on themselves and you feel tumbling to the floor. Nothing made sense. How did it all go so wrong, so quickly…?

Tears started to flow from your eyes. You looked up toward the bloody scene, your vision was blurred and hazy. EMTs were rushing to the two bodies that lies laying on the floor.

Everything began to muffle, the sounds fading into the background. You got the sudden urge to throw up, and you couldn’t stop it, vomiting across the precinct floor in front of you.

You jolted as you felt someone’s hand on your back. You looked up to your left with sobbing eyes to see Olivia trying to talk to you. But you couldn’t hear her.

She tried to pick you up and turn you away from Casey, but you fought back. You fought with your life and soul to get to Casey. Olivia’s hold tightened, not letting you move, so in desperation, you began to scream.

“No! God please no!” as you collapse to ground again and scream in agony.

She picked you up from the floor again and quickly filed you out of the main room and into a separate office. You fought and fought but you just didn’t have it in you anymore. She sat you down, sitting next to you, still trying to tell you something.

This was when you noticed how much you were shaking. You couldn’t stop it. Your breathing was shallow and you felt like you were being blocked from the air in your lungs. This realization only brought more tears. Shock and adrenaline were now in full course and running rampant in your system, and you were really starting to feel the overwhelming effect.

Your eyes started to feel heavy and it all became too much. The last thing you remember is leaning against Olivia’s shoulder before shutting your eyes indefinitely.

~~

When you woke up, you were in Olivia’s apartment. You jolted upright with wide eyes.

Olivia was in her kitchen, but as soon as she heard your gasped breathing, she came into the living room where you laid on her couch. She immediately sat down next to you, bringing her hand behind your back.

“Hey, hey… sweetheart, it’s okay. You’re at my apartment. I didn’t think… it would be appropriate to go to yours…” Olivia explained softly.

For a moment, for a nanosecond, you felt at peace. And then it all hit you.

Her dead body, the life leaving her eyes as blood spilt everywhere, her twitching hand as she bleed out, her mouth which you swore was whispering I love you…

You started shaking again, and your breathing went shallow and spiked. Tears flowed freely and violently as you rocked back and forth on Liv’s couch.

“Oh god Oh God Oh God…” you choked out, your lip trembling as you tried to stifle your violent sobs.

“It’s okay, let it all out…” Liv comforted you.

You suddenly felt the rage in your body kick in. You swatted Liv’s hand away and stood up, filled with anger.

“Y/N?” The brunette asked.

“I… I need to go…” you mumbled, “W-where’s my stuff?”

“At the precinct still… Wait Y/N?!”

Before Liv could say another word, you were out the door.

~~~

You walked into the SVU precinct for the second time in twenty four hours that day. The first thing you saw was the blood stain straight in front of you as you walked in. You gulped.

More feelings came bubbling up but you shoved them down.

You marched into the Captain’s office and demanded your things. Cragen looked at you sympathetically and asked if you were alright.

“I’m fine…” you grumbled, “now please give me my shit back.”

Cragen obliged and you were quick your things and leave. You made it all the way home and to your apartment hallway.

But then you saw your apartment. The one you and Casey had gotten together. The one you had planned to raise kids together in.

You shakily placed a hand over your mouth before letting out more uncontrollable sobs. Your legs were threatening to give out on you, but you managed to stumble your way to the bedroom, collapsing on the bed and losing consciousness again.

~~

You couldn’t get out of bed for the next couple of days. You were in and out of either feeling completely numb or being it with all the grief at once. You were questioning reality.

Was this even fucking real…? How could this have happened…? What the fuck were you going to do…??

Throughout those days, you heard many people knocking, coming and going. Not much on your phone anymore, because you had let its battery run out, but when it was on, everyone on the team was calling and texting.

You knew they only wanted what’s best for you and that they wanted to make sure you were okay… But you couldn’t face them. If you faced them, that would mean it was real. And you couldn’t risk that. That would break you. More than you are already, it would shatter you into the abyss.

~~

Months had passed and you had gone from your bed to your couch. Nowadays, it was mostly the numb feeling. You’d gotten rid or moved any and all reminders of your late past wife.

You spent your days sleeping and crying. People always said it got better, but your pain when you felt it, was like the day you lost her. People were bullshit. You didn’t want anyone ever again. You didn’t want this. Didn’t want life.

On a good day, you had just enough energy to make it to the bathroom. Today, you had been in the bath for hours, already having refilled it twice. You had your head laid back as your line of sight hit a bottle of pills on your counter. Your gut tugged at you.

You could be with Casey again…

You leaned far with your arm and grabbed the pill bottle. You spun it in your hands and thought about it all.

She’s gone… never coming back… why not just skip the torture and be with her again…?

~~

“Alex…” Olivia breathed out with a light smile as the blonde ADA strutted down the street and towards the brunette detective with her signature smirk.

Liv, Elliott, and Alex then walked the crime scene and got themselves familiarized with this new case. And when they had a second at the precinct, she pulled Liv aside.

“Hey Liv, I heard about Casey Novak, Y/N’s wife… How is Y/N…?” Alex asked with light concern.

You and Alex went to law school together. You had been really close. Until she went into Witness Protection. Since then neither of you had heard from each other.

“I… Alex…” Liv sighed, rubbing her temples, “I haven’t heard from Y/N in months…”

Alex’s jaw nearly dropped.

“What…??” She exclaimed, “Liv that’s… that’s…”

“I know, I know… I just got caught up in cases and I thought she didn’t want me there by the way it went down and—” Liv rambled.

“No Liv…! It’s— Where does she live…??” Alex said in a panicked and concerned tone.

Liv quickly gave Alex the address, Alex stopped by Cragen’s office to let him know she’d be gone for some time, before the blonde practically ran out of the precinct.

Olivia was quick to follow, having trouble keeping up with how fast Alex was going. But she got to the blonde in the parking garage, stepping in front of Lex’s car before she could drive away.

“Alex! What is happening…??” Liv exclaimed.

“Get in the car!!” Alex called out.

Liv quickly got in the passenger seat and sped away.

“Lex… talk to me please…” Liv softly spoke, interlocking her left hand with her girlfriend’s right hand.

Alex took a deep breath as she sped down the roads to your place.

“Liv… When Y/N and I were in school, she got really close to a professor, she was like a mentor to Y/N… In our last year… that professor died…” Alex breathed out.

“Oh… I’m sorry…” Liv gently said.

“No Liv that’s not it. What’s it is what happened afterwards… Y/N started behaving oddly, becoming more reclusive and anti social… and then…” Alex gulped, and flinched a little at recalling these harsh memories, “Liv, she tried to kill herself.”

Liv’s whole demeanor changed, her eyes going wide. She felt guilt wracking her body.

How could she have been so stupid…? How could she have left you alone for so long…? What if..??

The car screeched to a halt just outside the apartment, and the two women rushed into the building. They ran up the stairs and Olivia had absolutely no hesitation in barging down the door. The women rushed into the room and looked around frantically.

Alex listened for you, and she faintly heard the sound of water running. Her eyes widened and she exclaimed,

“Bathroom, Liv, bathroom!!!!” Alex cried out.

Alex stumbled the bathroom door open and stepped into the overflowing water from the bath that was everywhere. She yelped desperately in distress. Tears started to run down Alex’s cheeks, as she placed a hand over her mouth, the other hand still on the doorknob.

Liv came rushing behind Alex and was just as horrified at the sight as Alex was.

The overflowing water… the empty pill body… your lifeless body..

“We-we need a bus…” Liv stammered into her radio, taking ahold of Alex.

Hell knows they both needed the support…

“It’s not your fault, Liv. Not your fault…” Alex whispered.

“Like hell it isn’t…” Liv breathed out.

~~~

Casey Novak Masterlist

Olivia Benson Masterlist

Alex Cabot Masterlist

[mylifestylearedilfs]

⇢ ˗ˏˋ cillian murphy x daughter!reader ࿐ྂ

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ WASHING MACHINE HEART : angst ; imagine ; all is fictional ; cillian is a bad parent here (probably a great father irl)

, , ,

_________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ BEING THE OLDEST childnever had been easy. y/n was cillian & his wife's first child, but she wasn’t wanted by them; she wasn’t in their plans. they were just before marriage when y/n was born, and she totally ruined all of their plans. unfortunately, she wasn’t this kind of child who was unexpected but loved anyway. maybe her mom paid attention to her when she was a newborn because she has this maternal instinct. but everything has changed since her brothers were born; they were the apple of her parents' eyes. they have always had the attention and affection of both of her parents; even if cillian was filming a new movie and didn’t have time for anything, he had time for his boys.

her parents always wanted the best for their boys; they have everything they asked for, and she was in the shadow of her brothers. she never heard her parents say ‘i love you’ to her. her childhood was full of crying and wondering, ‘why don't my parents want me?’ she was jealous of her younger siblings, she wanted to be loved like they were.

but the worst part of this came when she started to be a teenager. she started to understand more than she could as a child, but the nightmare didn’t stop. she started to be aware of the fact that her parents never really wanted her, and she could not do anything to make them love her. she was trying her hardest to get her parents' attention. she even signed herself up for a drama club because she wanted to have common interests with her dad and make him proud. but he never showed up for her performance because one of her brothers always had his own performance in theater, and he chose him, just like always.

she remembered, like today, her play where she was playing the main role, and after the show, she was looking for her parents in the audience, but nobody was there. she was still a kid, crying at the scene because her parents didn’t care about her, even on an important day like this one. she was doing all of this acting because she thought that her dad would be proud of her, and she wasn’t even enjoying it. she wasn’t happy doing that; she just thought her dad would be happy.

seeing other people her age having the best time with their families makes her wonder why her parents hate her so much and what she has done for this type of life. watching happy families makes her suddenly feel like a child who begs her father to pay attention to her.

, , ,

years passed, and she had her eighteenth birthday. it was supposed to be her happiest day in life because she started to be an adult, but of course nothing can be perfect, even for one day in the year. she wanted to celebrate this day with her family, but when she came to the living room, everyone was acting like they forgot what day it was.

she was mad. she had enough of being ignored all her life; all she wanted was to be loved by her parents and have a bit of attention this day. without thinking, she grabbed the family photo she wasn’t even be at and threw it on the floor. watching as the glass broke into small pieces.

“what is wrong with you y/n?!” her dad snapped at her, didn’t understanding what she was doing.

“what is wrong with me?! you-” she didn’t realize that tears were streaming down her cheeks. “you don’t care about me; you don’t give a shit about me” cillian wanted to say something, but she interrupted him. “you shouldn’t just make people if you are going to treat them like shit and make them think they do something wrong their whole life.” at this moment, she just broke into tears as she looked at her father’s face, and without saying a word, she came back to her room.

she didn't deserve it. she didn't deserve it at all.

, , ,

⇢ ˗ˏˋ thank you for attention! and im sorry for any mistakes. and remember it’s all fictional, cillian is probably great father but i wanted to write something like this. take care!

[profoundbondfanfic]

hi there just wondering what is the angstiest fics you guys have collectively read? I’m in search for the angstiest angst to ever angst

Hey there, sorry for the delay, but here are a few of our fav angstiest fics!

A Complete Kingdom by komodobits [Explicit, 85k words] #major character death

The sea; it swallows me. It comes up to my knees and it swallows me. The boys owe Jody a few dozen favours, and so when her niece goes missing near an old fishing village on the coast of Maine, Dean, Sam, and a newly human Castiel agree to take the case on. They settle into an old abandoned lighthouse-keepers' cottage, and slowly the tide comes in. (post-s8)

Angels Don't Fear the Reaper by you-cant-spell-subtext-without (ayreisha) [Mature, 144k words] #angst with a happy ending

"When his eyes first open, there is nothing but darkness. Not the velvety, deep black of night, but the steely, thin murk of nothingness. Of cold. Of death. Of Death. Somehow, it feels like coming home."

Every Part of the Animal by Askance (doomcountry), komodobits [Mature, 47k words] #major character death

It’s their first case after the Trials, after Heaven has collapsed: playing back-up to another team of hunters taking out some werewolves in the mountains. It's a routine job, an easy job - at least until the radio goes silent. Sam, Dean, and Cas follow after, but the caves into which the hunters have vanished wind deeper and darker than they could have expected, and something is wrong. Cas can feel it. The Winchesters may not believe what he’s hearing, but there's something down here with them—and it's not the people they came here to find, and it's not the werewolves they've been tracking. It's something else, something older, something violent, and it knows they're here.

Grey by Valinde (Valyria) [Explicit, 65k words] #angst with a happy ending

In a world where people don't see in color until they find their true mate, the first thing Dean sees when he pulls himself out of his grave is the blue sky. When Castiel raised him from the Pit, he inadvertently claimed Dean as his mate.

Man in the Wilderness by OneHundredSuns [Explicit, 68k words] #angst with a happy ending

Dean Winchester is fresh out of Purgatory along with every other Tom, Dick and Wendigo that called the cesspool home. As the monsters lay waste to the Earth and eat anything they can get their hands on, Dean sets out to find his only remaining family so that they can hunker down and fight the assholes head on. He doesn’t mean to stumble upon Castiel Novak and his adorable twins in the middle of the apocalypse and he sure as hell doesn’t mean to offer them a ride to wherever they are trying to get to. But the world is a dangerous place now and he’s always been a sucker for blue eyes and cute kids. So he’ll help them out and just hope it doesn’t get him or them killed in the process.

Ninety One Whiskey by komodobits [Explicit, 401k words] #angst with a happy ending

In the spring of 1944, the 104th Medical Battalion of the United States Army is disbanded, and its men reassigned to various infantry companies in preparation for their invasion of occupied France. For First Lieutenant Novak, this is less than helpful, as he has so far met his platoon’s designated medic a grand total of twice, and has both times found Sergeant Winchester to be the optimum combination of reckless, arrogant, and downright insufferable so as to make cohesive platoon function near impossible. When the time comes to move out, however, Castiel has to reconcile himself to the fact that men are going to go down and trust that Dean Winchester may well be the only person who can put them back together again. WW2 ETO infantry AU.

Right Where You Left Me by outdean [Explicit, 93k words] #angst with a happy ending

Ten years after the empty swallows Cas up, it spits him right back out—but a lot can change in a decade. OR The "Cas comes back from the empty to find that Dean is married" fic.

The Benjamin Franklin Key-and-Kite Experiment by beerenee [Explicit, 122k words] #angst with a happy ending

“Thank you for stopping by, Dean,” Emmanuel says, holding out the jacket. “I hope to see you in church on Sunday.” The tips of Dean’s fingers accidentally brush over the back of Emmanuel’s hand when he reaches for the jacket. “Probably not,” Dean laughs as he pulls Dad’s jacket around him. “Like I said before, I’m not exactly a believer. You?” Emmanuel doesn’t answer immediately. Then, without really looking at Dean (more like looking through him,) he whispers, “I will be.” Or 1.12 but Dean's faith healer is Emmanuel!Cas

the inexhaustible silence of houses by Askance (doomcountry) [Teen, 31k words] #unhappy ending

Almost two years after the world doesn't end, Castiel falls from grace—and loses his voice in the process. It is the impetus for confession and change; before long, he is settling into a loving relationship with Dean, the Winchesters are tired, and hunting for a place to land has taken precedence to hunting anything else. Dean and Castiel fall in love with the strange little house on the end of Swallowtail Drive, and for a little while life is as it should be—sweet, affectionate, and beginning afresh. But more and more Castiel sees and hears things in the house that beg the question of whether or not a place itself can be alive. The walls and rooms seem to shift and grow and breathe, and one night, Dean comes home from a hunt changed in a way that Castiel cannot explain. In the months that follow, their domestic bliss takes turns for the dark and sour, and the confusion of their circumstances will ultimately test everything Castiel knows about the man he loves, and everything he believes to be true.

The walk by Persephoneshadow [Explicit, 196k words] #angst with a happy ending

Dean's been living on the streets and turning tricks for a while. Most of the time clients just find him. After a job goes wrong he goes looking for work and finds more than he expected with a married man of faith with blue eyes and a trench coat.

To build a Home by intothesilentland [Mature, 383k words] #angst with a happy ending

Twenty-three years of head-over-heels, devastating devotion and love, love, love for the man with bright eyes and dark hair. Fourteen years of friends, best friends, of always together. One moment of rejection. Nine years of apart. Nine years of heartbreak, nine years of continents away, of not speaking, of no acknowledgement, no interaction, no closure, no peace. No happiness. Nine years of Dean’s life entering motions, going through them, constant, cold and mechanic, like clockwork. Nine years of alone. God. Nine years. A lot has changed. And yet Dean still loves Cas just the same. Even if his heart hurts all kinds of different. On the day of Jimmy Novak’s funeral, Dean sees Cas for the first time in nine years. He adored Castiel the moment he met him, at only four years old. But after fourteen years of friendship destroyed by one moment of heartbreak, and after nine years of silence, Dean is convinced Cas will want nothing to do with him. And it’s killing him.

Twist and Shout by gabriel, standbyme [Explicit, 97k words] #major character death

What begins as a transforming love between Dean Winchester and Castiel Novak in the summer of 1965 quickly derails into something far more tumultuous when Dean is drafted in the Vietnam War. Though the two both voice their relationship is one where saying goodbye is never a real truth, their story becomes fraught with the tragedy of circumstance. In an era where homosexuality was especially vulnerable, Twist and Shout is the story of the love transcending time, returning over and over in its many forms, as faithful as the sea.

What Is Tomorrow Without You by sobsicles [Explicit, 93k words] #angst with a happy ending

Cas is dead, and Dean is living through hell all over again. Experiencing hell as he'd first lived it, Dean aches for peace. When Jack enters his life, it only brings him a purpose. A mission for revenge sends Dean spiraling out of control as Jack does everything in his power to help Dean, going as far as to using his power to let Dean visit Cas where he resides after death. But when Dean depends on these visits and learns a few things about how he truly feels for Cas, the line between what's real and what's not starts to blur. Dealing with grief and his need for revenge, Dean struggles to find a way to get his family back together while also coming to grips that he might have to find a place in a world without Cas in it. Fortunately, Cas comes back, and Dean has to learn to navigate through the life he'd been wanting. But things aren't quite what they seem as their relationship blooms, and Dean realizes he's the reason Cas is slowly changing, and not for the better.

What Used to be Mine by someonetoanyone [Explicit, 48k words] #angst with a happy ending

“There is…” he starts; he licks his lips and glances away; his fingers twitch and fiddle, “... there is one thing she's afraid of. There's one thing strong enough to stop her.” That sounds too good to be true, so Dean waits for the other shoe to drop. It doesn’t take long. Cas at least has the wherewithal to look Dean in the eyes when he says, “when Jack was dying, I made a deal to save him.” ___ a terrible, evil AU that posits; what if the divorce arc was even worse, what if Dean never apologized in Purgatory, and what if Cas internalized all of that, making his ultimate confession less confident, though no less heartfelt, and he died thinking Dean hated him?

You Can Keep Holding On by NorthernSparrow [Explicit, 352k words] #angst with a happy ending

Hiatus fic set after the S11 finale. Dean's alive, Sam's alive, they're going to get Cas from wherever he got zapped to, and everything's finally gonna be all right. Dean's on top of the world. A little voice in the back of his head is whispering "It's never that easy," but Dean ignores it.

[sunflowersteves]

sacrifices || e.m.

request || was wondering if you could do an imagine in which the reader sacrifices themself instead of eddie and it has all the reactions of the characters including eddie. 

pairing || eddie munson x fem!reader

author’s note || wowow this is hella sad!! 

warnings || reader dies instead of eddie, gore, blood, upside down, unhappy ending

“No, no, no!” 

Eddie screamed as his limbs ached with each movement of his muscles as he tried to run. All he could see was you, vision becoming blurry while trying to get closer.

He needed to get to you.

He hoped, to whatever deity was out there, that he wasn’t too late. 

You and the rest of the gang were all in the Upside Down to take down Vecna and hoped that your plan was going to work. It had, at first. 

You, Dustin, and Eddie distracted the demobats with Eddie’s guitar before leading them into his trailer. You three let out a breath, thinking you were safe for the time being until realizing none of the vents were covered. 

As they flooded his trailer, the demobats pounded and clawed against his bedroom door, downright bloody thirsty for the three of you. Eddie had already pushed Dustin back into the gate and was about to push you in.

You started to step back, confusion clouding his features. You placed one hand on the front door to his trailer, taking a deep breath as you prepared yourself. 

“Baby?”

You shook your head, “I'm sorry, Eddie.”

You took a part of the trash can lid, slashing your arm with the spikes. Blood trickled down your arm–the feeling of it was warm.

“What the–” Before he could even react, the wooden door shattered, and the democrats crowded his trailer. You saw some of the bats start flying towards you with Eddie and Dustin screaming your name at the top of their lungs. 

You rushed out of his trailer, almost tripping down the stairs. You ran in success as they followed you. The scent of fresh blood sent them into a frenzy. Good, be thirsty, you thought. 

You would sacrifice yourself ten times over if it meant that Eddie and Dustin could live on. 

“Come and get me, you little fuckers!”

You picked up one of the kid's bikes, throwing yourself on top before pedaling as fast as you possible could. You could hear the whirring sound of their wings getting closer and closer.

Your heart pounded against your ears as your hands tightened around the handlebar. God, your arm hurt like hell, but the rushing of emotions seemed to defer some of the pain. Your eyes locked on another trailer not that far ahead. You could do this. You could make it. If you could just get there in time–

Out of nowhere, a bat rams into your side and unsettles your balance. You fall off the bike, yelping in the process. You start to roll down a small hill, pain rumbling over you with each movement. 

You let out a huff, trying to get yourself up as the demobats never altered their speed. They were catching up and man, were they catching up fast. 

You grabbed the spear and the sheild that was tied to your back, jabbing and ramming the thing into any of the bats you could. Before you know it, they formed a storm around you.

Their screeching was loud—almost tormenting—as you could barely see the upside down around you. You then screamed in pain, forcing you to drop the weapons that were in your hands. One of the demobats had latched onto your back, setting a deep bite into your skin. 

You could feel the blood rushing down your back, almost making the small demon thing hungrier. 

~~

“Henderson, hurry the fuck up!”

Eddie was bouncing with anticipation and adrenaline as Dustin was taking his sweet, sweet time getting back through the portal. He knew that if he left the kid to go after you, you would definitely kill him and never forgive him.

“I’m trying!”

Eddie couldn’t help but outburst, “Well try faster!”

Dustin finally plopped down onto the mattress, groaning at the long fall from the ceiling. Eddie helped him up before grabbing all their weapons. He burst out of the trailer, screaming your name. 

His eyes searched around until they found your body, the demo bats littered around you as they screeched in pain. Something else must have been hurting them, and he assumed it was Nancy blowing Vecna's head off. 

You were on the ground, still. Very still. 

The two shared a look, their heart plummeting deep down into their stomachs before running as fast as they could. 

“No, no, no!” 

Eddie screamed as his limbs ached with each movement of his muscles as he tried to run. All he could see was you, vision becoming blurry while trying to get closer.

He needed to get to you.

He hoped, to whatever deity was out there, that he wasn’t too late. 

He fell to the ground on his knees, scooping you into his lap. His eyes raked over your body, almost choking at the large wounds that littered you. He could feel your blood seep onto his hands, wet and sticky, as he tried to pull you closer.

“Hi, Eddie.” You coughed, blood dripping slightly down your mouth. 

“Baby, I’m here, okay? I-I’m here now.” He brushed some blood off of your face. “I’ve got you.”

Dustin wasn’t too far behind Eddie, and he gasped when he saw your state. “Dustin! Go get help, okay?” When Eddie looked back down, you were shaking your head. 

You knew that you were a goner. The loss of blood was too much. You wouldn’t even make it to the hospital. You knew that you were going to die here in the Upside Down with Eddie and Dustin.

Tears cascaded down Eddie’s cheeks while he shook his head back at you, “N-No, we need to get you help, we–”

You decided to ignore his pleas, turning towards the kid next to you. “Dustin, y-you take care of him, okay? Don’t l-let him be sad for long.”

Dustin shook his head, “No, no, you’re gonna make it. Y-You’re–” He choked on a sob, grabbing your hand and squeezing it tightly. 

“I-I love you, Eddie, you know that?” Your own tears ran down the side of your temples, the copper taste in your mouth becoming stronger. 

“I know, baby. I know so much. I love you, okay? Know that I-I–” You were becoming increasingly tired like your body was going into a sleepy trance. As if he could sense that, Eddie started to panic. 

“B-But I promised you a date on Saturday, yeah? C’mon, y-you can’t–you have to—” His words became garbled together as the sobs raked over his body. 

Your hands squeezed the two of theirs, “I love you, Dustin.” 

You looked over to see him sobbing, as well, weakly saying the three words back to you. They both felt like cowards—like if they just did things differently then maybe it would all be okay. 

“Baby, I—”

“I-It’s okay, Eddie, let go.” You interrupted. Your strength of fighting was hanging on a thread. Your hands would’ve fallen out of their hands if they hadn’t had such a death grip. 

“I love you so much.” Your eyes were slowly closing, Dustin and Eddie yelling at you to stay awake, but everything was slowly fading. You were fading. 

And you let the fading take you into a long slumber. 

Not even a beat later, footsteps can be heard coming up to Eddie and Dustin. They didn’t hear it, though, too focused on you. 

“What’s going on?” Steve's voice rang in Eddie’s ears, but he still didn’t hear him. He didn’t hear anything but the repeating sound of your voice getting weaker and weaker. 

“No…” Nancy gasped and clasped her hand onto her mouth. Her eyes began to water, all of theirs did, as they saw you covered in blood and your body seeming so…lifeless. 

“Is that—” Before Robin could finish, Eddie started to scream. His face was planted onto your chest, and his grip on you became increasingly tighter.

“Wake up! You have to wake up, please!” He was shaking your body, over and over, while Dustin's sobs were loud. 

Robin and Nancy were full-on sobbing now, with Dustin and Eddie, as they couldn’t help but continue to stare at your body. Just an hour ago, they saw you so determined to kill Vecna, so full of courage. And now?

Eddie had continued his attempt in waking you up as Steve had to rip him off of you, but he wouldn’t let Steve. He couldn’t leave you. Not again.

“Why did you do that, Steve! Why–” His anger started to calm as he saw the tears that had shed down Steve’s face. Steve wrapped his arms around Eddie in a bone-crushing hug. Eddie’s eyes were wide in surprise but slowly wrapped his own arms around his. 

They sobbed, Eddie’s hands gripping Steve’s shirt so tight. Dustin ran up to them and hugged the two of them, then Robin and Nancy did the same. 

“We’re not leaving her here, okay? I refuse to leave my best friend in this shithole. Come on, Munson, help me pick her up.”

He nodded, the two of them carefully picking you up and walking towards the portal. He wanted you away from the Upside Down and away from those fucking bats. 

“Thank you, Steve.”

He sniffled, “Of course, Munson."

[britany1997]

Nightmares and Day-dreams

Peter Ballard x GN Reader

Note: I hope y’all enjoy this! This’ll be my last fic till May. I thought it would be fun to dip into some horror and angst for this one. (The next one will be fluffy I promise haha)

Comment to be added to my Peter/Henry Taglist

Warnings: Horror, dark themes, blood and gore, dead bodies, manipulating (reader’s innocent and a little lonely and this gets taken advantage of), psychic abilities, a tiny bit of mind control, unhappy ending

A soft knock on the door of your clinic woke you from your light slumber. You jolted, combing your fingers through your hair and wiping the drool from the corner of your mouth.

You smiled as you walked to the door. Only one person ever knocked, the same person who’d occupied your dreams a today and every night for weeks.

Since you’d started working at Hawkins lab, you hadn’t been able to get him out of your head. Sure he was attractive and all, his blue eyes alone would have anyone falling all over him. But there was something about him, something more than just his good looks.

Peter was so…sweet. He was patient with the kids, he was attentive and considerate of you and all his coworkers, God you’d rarely ever seen him without a smile on his face.

He was a genuinely good guy, sort of a rarity for you these days.

So when your day time fantasies had followed you to bed, you hadn’t been all that surprised. Peter was…the perfect man.

When he knocked again, you snapped back to reality. You realized you’d been thinking about his soft smile for much too long, once again.

You yanked the door open, only to be met with the sight of the sheepish, blond man, holding his hand against his chest and staining his all white clothes a deep red.

“Peter!” You gasped, your hands flying to cover your mouth as blood dripped down his wrist. Without Peter’s accident prone nature, you were certain you’d be out of a job.

“Hi,” he grimaced, wincing just a bit in pain.

“Oh my God Peter please get in here,” you grabbed his uninjured arm and pulled him inside.

He stumbled in behind you, more boy than man, blushing profusely.

You pulled out a chair, “sit,” you ordered before rushing to grab bandages and antiseptics.

Once you’d gathered supplies you knelt in between his legs. “Show me,” you ordered.

Reluctantly, he pulled his arm away from his chest to reveal the massive gash. It was worse than you could have imagined.

“How’d you even do this!?” You half asked and half scolded.

He cringed, “oh you know…” he trailed off but you hadn’t really been listening, too invested in stitching him up.

You sighed as you finished. “You can’t keep doing this,” you told him.

He gazed into your eyes, that sweet smile you loved so much brightening his whole face. “But then I wouldn’t get to enjoy the pleasure of your company.”

You blushed, trying to hide it as you stood to put away all of your first aid supplies.

“Don’t you have work to get back to?” you asked, flustered out of your mind.

He chuckled, “yeah I’d better get going.”

As he slipped out the door, you wondered how you managed to get anything done with him around.

You propped your head up on one hand, fighting sleep and losing as you glanced at the clock to read 10:42am. You sighed.

You couldn’t figure out what had you so tired these days. You’d been getting a full eight hours! And damn, you figured with your dreams filled with the face of your favorite blond man you would have slept a lot better.

You rubbed circles into your temples. You felt a wave of the same ‘head in a trash compactor’ feeling you did when you got no sleep at all. What was wrong with you?

Suddenly, you were roused from your thoughts by a familiar knock on your door.

Your pained face morphed into a bright smile. Peter.

When you opened the door he was standing before you, all white uniform, mug in hand.

“Good morning,” he smiled.

You returned his grin, even though your morning had been anything but good, it was much better now.

“No more injuries I hope?” You teased.

He laughed. “Not yet, but it’s still early I suppose.” He opened two creamers and poured them into the mug, stirring absentmindedly.

“Arm heeled up pretty nicely,” you noticed, coming around to touch the small mark where the giant gash had once been.

“Oh yeah,” he flexed a bit, “just needed a couple weeks and some TLC from my favorite nurse”

You giggled at his flirting, wondering what his curls would feel like if you ran your fingers through his hair.

He handed you the mug, “brought this for you.”

You gasped just a bit before taking a sip of the steaming liquid.

“Thank you so much,” you were touched.

“Don’t mention it,” he winked as he slipped out the door.

You smiled to yourself, he was so thoughtful, so considerate. You figured he must have been paying attention to you to notice you’d been so lethargic.

But…then again you hadn’t seen him this morning, not until now.

You shrugged, maybe he brought everyone coffee.

You pushed the thought out of your head, if that was the case, you didn’t want to know. You’d rather believe he thought you were special.

You took another long sip.

You startled awake at the feeling of someone nudging your arm softly. As you scrambled to collect your thoughts, still half asleep, you were met with Peter’s concerned face.

“Are you alright,” he asked.

“Yeah! Yes, I’m fine,” you babbled, blushing profusely.

“I knocked four times, I thought it would be ok to come in…” he trailed off, then frowned. “You’re really ok?”

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “Yeah um, I haven’t been sleeping well.” You told him.

But you had been sleeping well. For the past few days you’d been sleeping for ten hours instead of eight. Yet it seemed to be doing absolutely nothing, you were still exhausted. Past the point of struggling to stay awake, you were fully napping at work now.

“Oh that’s awful,” you could feel Peter’s concern, his gaze trained on your drooping eyes. “That’s how they torture people you know…lack of sleep.”

“Really?” you yawned, not processing a single word he said.

“You should get some rest,” he told you.

“What? No! I can’t sleep here,” you protested, “didn’t you need something? You must have come here for something.”

“Just a band aid,” he tugged your hand until you were standing, leading you towards the cot in your tiny clinic. “I can get it on the way out, why don’t you lie down?”

The more you mulled it over, the more that measly cot began to look like a king bed at the Ritz Carlton.

“Well…maybe I could for a little…”

He nodded, “you’re of no use to anyone if you’re tired,” he rationalized, “besides, you deserve it.”

“I deserve it,” you repeated as you climbed onto the cot.

“That’s right,” he smiled as he crept towards the door, flicking off the light switch on his way out.

You barely even noticed him leave as you drifted off.

You awoke abruptly to the sound of an alarm blaring. You stumbled off the cot. Of course something happened during the few seconds, you checked your watch, hours you’d been asleep.

You grabbed your first aid kit and rushed into the hallway, but the sight you were met with chilled you to your core.

Your hands covered your mouth as you slumped against the wall in shock. Corridors you’d walked down every day were now stained with blood. Children you’d tended to when they were sick, held when they were crying, now littered the linoleum floor.

Fear coursed through you. You slid down the wall until you were crouched in a ball, defeated, all but waiting for whatever monster had pillaged the lab to take you too. You couldn’t help but think of Peter, wondering if your perfect boy had escaped, if he was ok.

As tears began to prick your eyes, Peter crept around the corner, covered in blood yet, more serene than you’d ever seen him.

Your heart leapt in your chest. Peter had evaded the murderer, maybe there was hope for the two of you after all.

But as he stalked closer, any semblance of hope left within you shattered.

Peter wasn’t just calm, he was…pleased.

As he stepped over the corpses of discarded children, he smiled down at their youthful faces. He nudged them to the side with his feet.

You could feel your heart pounding out of your chest as you realized the blood splattered on his face wasn’t his own.

He knelt down in front of you, smiling softly and brushing your hair behind your ear. “Hello sweetheart,” he cooed.

You recoiled, his soft touch might as well have been a stab. Any fondness you’d had for him melted away.

“Ah ah,” he chided, gripping your chin and pulling you close. “Don’t shy away from me.”

If you moved to escape his touch, he gripped you harder. His head followed your movements like a snake, waiting to strike.

“Please,” your voice broke, “don’t kill me.” You begged, trading your pride for a chance at survival.

“Kill you?” Peter looked hurt, “no darling I would never kill you,” he moved to cup your face.

You squeaked.

He smiled, “I’d rather keep you.”

Peter was a deadly spider and he’d entangled you in his web. As much as you squirmed and struggled to escape, it was already much too late.

“K-keep me?” You felt a slimey feeling overtake you, “like…you want me to be your…partner?” The dream you’d had for so long had dissolved to a nightmare.

He chuckled as he stroked the back of his hand down your cheek.

The gesture made your skin crawl.

“Silly human, you’re adorable.” He pinched your cheek cruelly, “how do I say this you’re… beneath me.”

You hated that his words could hurt you.

“You’re more like a…hmm how should I say this,” his brow furrowed, “ah, you’re more like a pet to me, a bunny or a kitten or something.”

You felt like you’d been punched.

“Your mind, it’s so fun to play with,” his smile was sinister, “I could never let you go.”

Your face twisted in disgust, you couldn’t imagine a worse fate for yourself.

Peter sensed your discomfort. “You’ll come around,” he decided, “but for now, you’ve had a rough day and you need your rest.”

He threw you a mocking pout as he placed a hand on your forehead.

Your eyes began to flutter closed, as much as you tried you couldn’t fight whatever Peter was doing.

“Sweet dreams,” he whispered as your world faded to black.

Taglist🖤:

@6lostgirl6 @misslavenderlady @sad-ghost-of-garbage @bloodywickedvamp @lostboys1987girl @crustyboypix @gothamslostboy @arbesa-mind @dwaynesluscioushair @anna1306

[discodeviant]

Rating: Mature Warnings: Major Character Death, Suicide and Ideation, Unhappy Ending Category & Ships: M/M | Harringrove Summary: Billy, throughout his life, has experienced pain so great that he thinks it’s all there is, suffering at the hands of an authoritarian father and the inner workings of his own bleakened subconscious. It's a long, slow walk to the gallows when Hawkins, Indiana becomes his new home—until Steve comes along and opens his eyes to a kind of love that lasts forever and far beyond.

Read Highway Star: Act I on AO3 (requires login)

IT'S HERE!!!!!!

And I'm so honored to have been paired with @cuepickle who created some lovely art to go with the fic (and more to come 👀), so please please please go check it out and give her all the love 💙💙💙

As seen above, this fic contains lots of heavy subject matter, so please proceed with caution if you're sensitive to anything in the tags.

Thank you to @bigbangharringrove for hosting the event and finally pushing me to write Highway Star!

[marvel-ous-m]

Thinking about Steve after the fight.

(When am I not) (please be mindful of the tags)

Steve who goes home alone after making sure that everyone else is taken care of.

Steve who falls face-first onto the couch in his living room. Doesn’t have the energy to make it up the stairs, doesn’t have the energy to tend to his wounds, doesn’t even have the energy to fucking cry.

Steve who wakes up twenty hours later with a nasty headache and his stomach burning like there’s no tomorrow.

Steve who knows he should call someone to help, but doesn’t want to burden anyone with his problems.

Steve, who doesn’t even know who he could call.

He’s been fine before, right?

Steve who strips off his clothes and takes a shower to clean off the Upside Down, barely able to hold himself up on shaking legs.

Steve who almost vomits at the sight of his wounds, wounds that stare back at him angry and bright red and painful.

Steve who blacks out in the middle of disinfecting a particularly deep gash, who wakes up on the floor and lets the tears flow freely.

Steve who finds himself alone in the aftermath.

Steve who knows he shouldn’t be alone, but doesn’t want to seek the help he needs, doesn’t want to admit to his weaknesses when his weakness was the reason Eddie died, the reason Max was on life support he’s supposed to be the strong one.

Steve who eventually passes out on the tiled floor of his bathroom, his wounds gaining some relief pressed against the cool porcelain underneath him.

Steve, who doesn’t want to wake up alone.

Steve, who’s not sure if he wants to wake up at all.

[aziraphales-library]

TW - suicide

Hellooooo, hope you're doing well~

I needed help finding a Human!AU fic that I'm pretty sure I found it from your recc list only. The plot is like, Aziraphale divorces Crowley very ubruptly and without any reason to get married to lucian/lucifer? He writes Crowley letters tho over the course of 6 years. Crowley reads them but never responds. Eventually Aziraphale kills himself (?) because he thinks Crowley has fully rejected him.

I've searched everywhere I can't seem to find it 😭😭 I'd be really grateful if you could help me out please 🙏

I believe you're looking for...

Quinquennial by iamanidhwal (M)

Quinquennial (adj.): lasting for, or relating to, a period of five years. -- Crowley has received letters from his estranged husband -- on the fifth of December, on the dot, every year for the last five years. He never replies. After the divorce, he didn't really see the need to.

- Mod D

[cozy-gh0st]

No but think of Chiron finding out

Imagine it

He knew it could happen but he had heard the echoes of Thetis hiding him, how reluctant he knew Patroclus was.

He later heard of Achilles’ temper and his hatred of all of it

He allowed himself to hope

But he heard the screams of anguish across the Aegean, smelt the fury, felt the shakes the boy he loved created in the line between mortal and immortal.

And he knew, he knew only one person could create this in him.

Later, when the time of the younger gods ended he would travel across and see the monuments, fold his great legs and his gut would shake the sky with the shape of the fury.

Because these gods took all of his sons, every single one of them. These gods who created them for battle, torture and entertainment knew nothing of their smiles, echoing laughs, their blooming loves, their scrapes, their hatred, the way every single one of them were good and kind and the very best of men.

There is nothing more tragic

[minimallyminnie]

I figured out that, a majority of PJSK x reader readers like Akito most. (I’m a Toya lover forever <333)

In that case, I’ll give them some pain. This fic is basically Akito breaking up with you.

I wrote this back last year when I started as a pjsk writer…

Break up, No make up.

In all factors…he loved you very much when you guys started out but…

Everyday now…he felt like you two were drifting apart with your own personal things

See, you supported him in everything he did but you,

You couldn’t deal with the fact that if Akito was going to move forward with his singing career with VBS afterwards when they surpass Rad Weekend

It was the source of his problems

He knew how much you wanted him to just quit after surpassing so you both could focus on school and hopefully live together

But he couldn’t stay in one place. He wanted to reach his dreams…

This caused a wedge in your relationship, making Akito fall out of love everyday, despite how much you tried to keep it together.

Eventually he just cracked

“I’m sorry about this [Name], but I want to reach my dreams of surpassing Rad Weekend and go beyond that. I know how you want to settle down but I can’t do that. You’re a really wonderful person…but we have to break up. This isn’t working out between us and it’s going to end either way, worse in the future. We can stay friends but…I think we both need time apart for now. You’ll find a better person to love in the future.

[beauleifu]

Can you write full angst, with a bittersweet ending or almost no comfort ? If so, I would love a one shot with LBD, Mayor (In his war chief era), Macaque or any characters who you seem inspired to write for. A one shot that has a major argument between the s/o and the character, for only the reader to leave their lover behind after hearing hurtful words? At first the character doesn’t mind, but when they need their s/o helps weeks after, they refuse, telling the character they wish they’d never met. I’m sorry this is detailed lmao its alright if it’s too much

Ahhh yes, good old angst. I got you dearly anon, Macaque is gonna suffer big time in this here oneshot. Macaque, I apologize for any trauma this scenario might induce, I was held at gunpoint (JKJK ILY). We going full angst, my bois.

Anyways, hope you enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

MACAQUE X READER PT 1

Lego Monkie Kid

Context: You're done. The King's Shadow has chosen, and he didn't choose you. Again, and again. It pains you deeply to accept the things he's told you; you loved him too much. You didn't care about anything he did to you. But the tide always changes, and you won't return this time.

CW: Language, breaking up, physical abuse (just pushing and hitting each other, not very often), hurtful words

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

"Oh. There you are."

Macaque doesn't turn at the sound of your voice.

He sits at the edge of a cliff overseeing a beautiful landscape. Mountains, rivers, the city of Megapolis further down. He's got one leg hanging over the cliff's edge and the other bent so he can prop an elbow on it. He hadn't moved from that spot for hours; it was a wonder you found him.

But he doesn't care for your visit.

"(Y/N)," he growls softly.

No response. The monkey was hoping you'd just ask if he's all right, he'd tell you he's fine, and you'd walk off. Not something you'd usually do, but here's hoping.

"Didn't I tell you I wanted to be alone," he continues, not caring to hide his frustration.

Your footsteps edge closer, voice soft. "I was worried about you."

He sneers to himself, eyes on the city. Claws curling into fists, the dark monkey imagines his significant other, the yin to his yang, out saving the world with the Monkie Kid.

Sun Wukong.

Even the thought seems to taste terrible.

"What are you thinking about?" His lover pipes up.

Even though you'd spoken it innocently and warmly, Macaque feels attacked. Like you want to weed out the answer and crush him with it.

"Nothing."

He hears your soft exhale. A sigh worthy of a thousand apologies, but he feels no guilt. He just wants to be alone.

To plan his next move.

But you decide to sit down next to him, kicking your feet out beyond the cliff's edge. It's slightly uncomfortable that he feels no fear at the thought of you slipping and falling off - he doesn't even spare you a glance. All he can think about is his next offensive maneuver. One that will surely make Monkey King feel the same pain he inflicted on Macaque. Then, the lord of the shadows will finally be at peace.

Maybe.

Your breathing suddenly fills his ears. He doesn't like it.

"(Y/N)? What are you . . . doing, here," he grunts, finally gracing you with a piercing look. "Can't you see I need some time?"

You blink, features once something that filled him with butterflies. Once, you were a lovely distraction from his kingly obsession, but now, he just finds you rather . . . annoying.

"Mac, if you're suffering . . . maybe I can help."

"Tch. I don't need your help."

Another sigh from you, and it makes Macaque scoff at your pettiness of it. Your eyes slide to the scenery, a soft frown on your face. "You just seem so miserable. If you're in pain, or if there's someone out there-"

Macaque glances sideways, and you reconsider. "There is, then. MK? Some old nemesis? The Monkey King?"

He stiffens reflexively at the name, eyes sharp.

You smile sadly. "So it's true, then."

"Oh?" A harsh laugh, yet his glare shackles you to the ground. "What's true?"

He's impatient for your reply, but you merely keep your gaze on the city below, watching the sun set a little ways beyond. At first, your demeanor was calm and collected, but Macaque noticed the way your hands clenched, the way your body was stiff and your breath was a forced calm.

Something is wrong.

"You're different, Macaque," you murmur, voice tight. "You don't smile anymore, you don't take me out to dinner. You refuse anytime I try.

"Now I realize . . . it's that Sun Wukong," you spit bitterly.

Macaque decides to stand up, finally done with your bullshit. He, pushing you away in favor of his nemesis? How dare you even accuse him of such a thing!

But you're suddenly on your feet, blocking his path. "He's ruining you! He's ruining us."

"You're wrong," Macaque snarls, lip curling.

He watches you look away, frown deep and fists curled.

He's smirking, suddenly. "Oh, darling. Are you jealous?" A mean laugh. "Don't be. He's way out of your league."

It's the final straw.

"Out of my league?!" You snap, launching forward and shoving him backwards. Your eyes are lit up with a fire Mac's never seen before. Like pain and anger, mixed into one burning flower of pent-up emotions. You don't relent, stalking forward. "How is that fair?! It's been days, Macaque, days! Since you've smiled at me. Since you've even been in the same fucking room for two minutes! You're always out there, always stalking and plotting and now I know why! You're obsessed! Fucking obsessed!"

Oh. Ho.

Now we're getting to the center of your rage. Macaque's cockiness vanishes, fists curling as he stands his ground. "You're wrong!"

"Lie to yourself all you want, Macaque, but you can't lie to me."

Your harsh words tear at something within Macaque, making him reach out as you turn away to grab your arm, preventing your leave. But his grip is anything but gentle, and you wince.

"You think I'm obsessed? Might I remind you that you're the one obsessing over me. How daft can you get? You'll only get yourself killed pulling a crap stunt like that, (Y/N). I'm only looking out for you and your sorry ass," Macaque finishes in one breath, tone lowered to reflect his frustration.

You're quick to rebut. "Is it so wrong to care about you? To wonder if you value something over me?"

"Is it wrong to value myself over you?"

"Of course not! I feel the same way!" You flash, trying to wrench your arm from him. It's hopeless, and you can see bruises in the future. "Your significant other should be your second, or even your third! But you act like Sun Wukong comes before all else. Before me."

"I don't!" Macaque spits.

He does.

He does.

He does.

Say it.

"Then why do you care about him so much?!"

He pulls you closer, breath hot on your face. He's pissed, remarkably so, at your accusations. He doesn't even notice when you gasp in pain when he grips your arm tighter.

"Shut the fuck up. You know nothing about me."

Sadness reflects in the cold sheen of your withering gaze.

He'd hit a sore spot.

"You're right, I don't," you grit out; "You never open up to me. Do you know how hard that is? To love someone without even knowing who they are??"

"Don't act like you're the victim here. You never tried."

A scoff is your reply. "I did try, Mac. But you never reciprocated."

Unjust.

He did, for a little while.

Say it.

SAY IT.

He laughs harshly. "Oh-ho, that's a little ungrateful of you, considering I took care of you and wasted my time to entertain your dull little human needs. You're just holding me back! You never let me take care of my problems, take care of the Monkey King! Had you let me, maybe we wouldn't be here!"

Your jaw drops at the accusation.

"Well if the Monkey King is sooo important to you, why do you burden yourself with me?"

Say it.

SAY IT, COWARD.

"YOU WERE A DISTRACTION!" Macaque blurts, eyes scorching through your own, which widen in shock.

In one quick movement, you wrestle your arm out of his grip.

"What?"

Macaque flashes you a wicked, rage-filled grin, the truth spilling from his lips like wine from a bottle. Poisoned wine. "You were a fucking distraction. Sun Wukong, golden savior who ruined my life, was all I could think about. I wanted - no, I needed - my revenge. But it was so fucking pointless and all I was hitting were dead ends-"

He pauses for a brief moment. "But then I met you."

He looks at you.

The human who'd fallen in love with him. Oh, how awful. "But then I met you," Macaque repeats, venom and spite lacing his tone.

A flinch is your only reaction.

"You helped me forget about my mission, if only for a brief while," the shadow lord continues, lip curling at you as he admits the truth. He is obsessed. A wicked chuckle rumbles in his throat. "But of course, nothing lasts forever."

The monkey stalks towards you, placing a hand on your chest.

You're suddenly shoved backwards, landing on your rear. Macaque towers over you as he speaks. "You failed me, (Y/N). You're the one at fault. Can't even do your job right."

"Love isn't a job!" You snap, but your voice trembles.

Macaque cares not.

"Love?"

He throws his head back, emitting a loud, harsh laugh that makes you inhale sharply. Then, he's looking at you, smugly pitying. "Oh, (Y/N). I never loved you. How could I? You're a human, a mortal, the Monkey King and I are destined to live for much longer than you."

His foolish lover bites their lip, tears welling in their eyes.

You shakily stand up. "I-I knew it. You're obsessed. Obsessed with someone you don't even want in your life anymore."

"I want him in my life to destroy him!" Mac roars.

Tears fly from your eyes as you whip your head up to glare at him, voice breaking. "And you're ignoring me in the process! You don't even trust me! The one person who actually fucking cares about you, who wants to see you smile and move on from that monkey bastard - but NO! You always choose him! To stew away in your own emotions and ignore me!"

"I never-"

Macaque's retort is cut off as you lash out with your hand. A sharp, painful slap echoes in the wind as your hand collides with Macaque's cheek.

He stumbles back, cupping the area with one hand.

Wide eyes stare at you. Glaring.

Your expression is contorted, cheeks wet and teeth gritted. Scorching eyes sear through the monkey's own, knowing that he'll never change.

That you were just a distraction.

"You did!" You gasp, choking on sobs. A hand is raised to deliver another smack, but when seeing Macaque's lip curl, you hesitate. "You ignored that I love you. What . . . how could you do that to me? Don't I mean anything to you?"

Macaque takes deep breaths in, forcing them out.

Slowly, his claws dig into his palm.

The scenery is no longer beautiful, no longer offering him a solitary place to think. You ruined it for him, just like you ruin everything. And, well.

That's what you do best.

Straightening, Macaque regards you coldly. "No. You're nothing to me, (Y/N). I don't need people who fail me."

You stiffen, eyes going wide with dismay.

The monkey stalks forward wordlessly. Step by step, his silent assault tearing your wall down. Yes, you know what he's capable of. Macaque relishes in your brief moment of fear.

Then, he stops in front of you, gaze contemptuous.

The human in front of him is a stranger.

He doesn't know you.

In one, sharp movement, he lashes you with the back of his paw, the force of it sending you stumbling back with a gasp of pain and shock. One of your hands flies north to cup the area, already red and raw. Your choked words go unheard by Macaque, who closes the distance, baring his fangs.

He feels no remorse, no guilt, for what he'd just done. It's justice, an eye for an eye.

"I'm sorry."

Macaque stops at your words, frowning with disinterest.

Those two words, laced with pain and white-hot anger echo in his ears. You don't bother to look at him when you take another deep breath, still on the ground.

"We're done, Mac."

He blinks.

Something in his chest gives rise to panic, yet he tamps it down. He glares, gesturing around. "You think I care? You don't think that's what I want? Good!"

You finally regard him sadly. "Fine. Goodbye, then."

"Fine," he hisses.

Shadows begin to morph underneath him.

He pauses, if not to capture this moment into his memory, to seal your expression of utter misery and pain into his mind. Of the true dismay behind your icy glare. He feels nothing, does nothing to ease the situation.

With that, he descends into the shadows.

~~~

Months.

It's been months since his grave, terrible mistake.

He lays awake in bed, bloodshot eyes glued to the ceiling. His tail twitches with anxiety and frustration.

Macaque replays the scene over and over, contemplating the various emotions he feels regarding it. And now that he's been burdened with a problem and needs your help, you're not around. And people never notice what they have until they lose it.

He lost you.

He wants you back.

God, did he really say you were a distraction? When really, you were his savior, up until his obsession took over again . . . Damnit, he has a stupid way of wording things. He really does did love you, to the point where it hurts.

But it's the middle of the night.

He can't just call you . . .

He has your number.

A paw instinctively goes to his phone, the one that you'd given him to help get accustomed to city life. Now that he thinks about it, you really did help him.

Slowly, he takes it out, anxiety tearing through him.

"You're nothing."

"Love? I never loved you."

His words echo in his mind, ghosts of the guilt rippling through his heart. His eyes narrow in frustration.

"They'll help me," he tells himself, huffing. "They're probably desperate to get back with me."

His ego thoroughly boosted, he dials your number and waits.

And waits . . .

Waits . . .

Beads of sweat form on his forehead. What if you-

Beep.

"Hello?" Your groggy voice fills his ears, and his poor little heart jumps with surprise. Stars, he didn't realize how much he missed hearing you until now. The brewing conversation afoot has his throat drying up, jaws opening and closing wordlessly.

But you're patient.

"(Y/N)?" Macaque attempts, tone nervous yet trying. "Um . . . hi. It's Macaque."

Your voice cracks over the phone. "Yeah. I recognized your number."

How awkward.

Tail tying in knots, Macaque clenches his paw around nothing and clears his throat. "Look. I-I know it's late. I know . . . you probably hate me-"

"I don't hate you," you say monotonously.

Words cutting short, Macaque blinks and sits up. "You don't??"

"No. I don't think I could ever hate you," you say, voice quieter the more you speak. Like the moonlight dancing off Macaque's bed, becoming fainter and fainter as it descends across the night sky. "Why did you call, Macaque?"

His name. It sounds so sweet on your tongue. But his own is dried and tied up. "I-I . . . I mean . . . I wanted to-to apologize."

Your voice is but a whisper. "What for?"

"For- for the things I said, last time we talked," Macaque says, stumbling blindly over words that seem to come naturally. Panic seeps into his chest. "I-I didn't mean them. You know I didn't. And I'm saying this now because it took me months to realize how much I need you, especially right now, I've got a-"

"Problem? You handle things alone, though," you say cooly.

Macaque winces at the inclination. "(Y/N) . . ."

"You're sorry?"

"Yes. Truly. Terribly. I admit it. Please, I want you back, I'd like to start over, try again," Mac whispers frantically. "Please give me another change."

A beat.

"You broke my heart."

Those four simple words chink away at Macaque's mental armor. He broke your heart.

"(Y/N)-"

"'You're nothing to me, (Y/N). I don't need people who fail me'," you quote, tone sad yet cutting. A deep, shuddering breath, as though you're reliving the pain those words put your through. His words. "Do you remember that? I do. I may not hate you, but I won't ever forgive you, nor forget the things you said to me."

Macaque inhales sharply, paws trembling with guilt.

"Yes, and I'm sorry, but if we can just-"

"No. I'm sorry." A sad smile seems to carry through the phone, tearing Macaque apart. "But it's for the best that we don't talk again. I hope you get what you want this time, without me there to hold you back."

Panic.

Macaque reaches out, as though to grasp what still remains of your love for him. But you're not here.

"Wait! Please. I-I'd turn back time if I could-"

"I wouldn't."

The monkey chokes on his words, eyes wide with fear. "What?"

"I'm glad you said those things," you say quietly, your voice soft and yet cold, hard blocks crush Macaque's heart and soul. "You showed me your heart that night. The real you, and the real you never loved me. You hate Sun Wukong too much for that. So really, I should be thanking you, Mac. For opening my eyes. Leaving you was the best thing you could've done for me," you finish, voice but a whisper.

Macaque's vision blurs. "(Y/N), don't-"

"Goodbye."

You pause, considering your last words carefully. ". . . Forever."

Beep.

The phone slips from his trembling hands.

You're gone. You're gone.

What has he done?

[temozarela]

-> oh, banana co.

GOJO SATORU X GETO SUGURU referenced self harm, suicide, heavy angst, established relationship, hurt no comfort, unhappy ending

geto is misdiagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia and everything goes downhill from there

WORD COUNT: 5k

ao3 version

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Drip, drip, drip.

Satoru treaded into the bathroom hesitantly, knowing it was the one place he hadn’t looked. As the yellow, artificial ceiling lights flickered on, he paused.

Drip, drip, drip.

Satoru scanned the row of empty cubicles until his watery gaze settled on the last one. 

He swallowed, his six eyes immediately picking up on the residuals smeared all over the cubicle walls. Satoru walked towards it slowly, trepidation weighing his feet down like bricks of ice. 

Drip, drip, drip.

Step, step, squelch. 

At the sound of his shoe landing in liquid, Satoru startled. He hesitated, praying that was just water, or fuck, even Suguru’s piss or diarrhoea would be a best-case scenario. Instead, when his icy stare assessed the puddle beneath him, tears pricked at his eyes like needles. His throat began to burn as if he had swallowed the sun, its core stuck in his oesophagus as he tried to repress the pain which wanted to be puked. 

Drip, drip, drip.

The crimson liquid screamed at him from the white tiles, showing the reflection of the man who had failed as a friend, lover, and shaman. The blood on the lower ledge of the cubical had dried, yet it still dripped as more of the metallic liquid leaked onto the other side. Blood. Satoru was filled with dread. 

Drip, drip, drip.

Satoru knocked on the door. 

“Suguru?” He murmured, his voice cracking despite himself. 

No answer.

He pushed at the door, only to find it locked and Satoru cursed. 

No, Satoru screamed, his head pressing against the door with a harsh thud. His anguish shattered the quiet buzzing of the bathroom like glass being savaged by a sledgehammer, his blunt fingernails scraping at the off-white, plastic door. Both weakened and fuelled by his anxiety, he pulled the door of the cubical off its hinges, completely unprepared for what lay beyond it. 

Drip, drip, drip.

He froze. 

His mouth opened. 

Then closed.

His hands fell by his sides as if his arms were lifeless. 

He was too late.

How could he have let this happen?

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  2001

The last time Suguru cried, he was 15. 

His parents stood outside their home, waving him off as he left for Jujutsu Tech. Suguru hated how he didn’t want to leave them, as if they hadn’t been convincing him that he was insane since he was able to speak. 

When Suguru started crying as a child, his parents would get angry. It was then the monsters emerged, crawling out from his mother’s mouth. Their inky fingers would latch onto her sloped nose and push at her olive skin. Another would already be leaking out his father’s eye sockets like hot tar, dripping onto the kitchen tiles to create a snarling mound of toxicity and regret, their empty eyes fixed on the child before them. The room would fill with the stench of vomit, later accompanied by the smell of urine as Suguru could no longer contain his fear.

They tried to fill him with antipsychotics, ‘paranoid schizophrenia’ is the label they pushed onto Suguru, but of course that didn’t work. At night, he would hear his mother cry, mourning the fact she was cursed with an inconsolable child. As the drugs didn’t work, the dosages became higher and higher. It was for this reason, his memories of his childhood felt like a nightmare, the small bubbles of what he could recall felt like he was underwater, drowning in nausea.

At 12, Suguru begged his mother to save herself. The woman, only standing at 5’1”, had curses gnawing at every inch of skin, sucking and twisting the wrinkling flesh. As always, he was dismissed and chastised for being so childish, so difficult, such a burden to her. He only watched in horror as her fingers would drip in black sweat, the all-familiar hue of vomit encompassing his senses. 

At 14, a strange man turned up on their doorstep. He had heard rumours of the child who could see monsters, and assured his mother that Suguru was sane. 

At 15, he was finally whisked off with the promise of a better life. Suguru let fate drag him from home, tears filling his vision despite himself. It was then that he quit taking antipsychotics, causing a rare side-effect called akathisia to consume him. It forced Suguru to keep moving, his legs and fingers shaking in order to scratch a non-existent itch. An itch which made him want to vomit and cry, an itch which made him scratch and tear at his skin as it colonised every lobe and cortex of his brain. An itch which made Suguru question if life was even worth the pain it caused him.

  ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

  2006

  “Dude, get up! Our lesson starts in one minute.” Satoru’s fists impatiently rapped on Suguru’s door, with a disturbing lack of rhythm. 

“Tell Yaga that I’m sick.” Suguru called from where he was hunched over, perched on the edge of his bed. His fingernails tapped against the metal frame, his legs exchanging different amounts of pressure where they pushed against the creaky springs of the mattress as he restlessly shifted his weight.  

“Huh? Like hell I’m doing that!” Satoru’s muffled protest came from the other side of his door. 

“You should go, it’s not good to skip lessons.” Ensued Suguru’s always-moral reply, his voice silky despite the gritting of his teeth. He needed to throw up, or cry, but Suguru never cried. Vomit, it is. 

“Says you!” 

“Fine.” Suguru sighed, standing up to unlock his door. As soon as the door opened a crack, Satoru came bursting in. 

“Finally!” He groaned, dramatically throwing himself into Suguru’s unmade bed. “Shoko’s gonna kill us.”

Suguru yawned, grabbing his sports gear. “You shouldn’t bother yourself with my timing, Satoru,” He said as he stripped, chucking his sweat-drenched pyjamas atop his heap of dirty clothes which grew like a tumour behind the door. Appearances had always mattered to him, first impressions and self-preservation were two priorities he lived by in first year. Before second year, the only mess in Suguru’s room would be Satoru’s belongings- hastily thrown to the side during spontaneous visits or sleepovers, or his book collection, which had quickly outgrown the modest shelf by the bed. “Who’s going to fill me in if you’re not there?” 

Satoru pouted in response, cocking his head to watch the digits of the digital clock on the bedside table change, signalling the lesson’s start. As Suguru dressed himself, he shifted from side-to-side, desperately trying to repress the discomfort scratching at his skin without causing concern for Satoru. 

Suguru and Satoru started dating during their first year, though it was all preceded by countless fights and petty arguments. When Suguru saved Satoru’s life, from an accident entirely caused by Satoru’s ego, he was indulged in a kiss. After that, they moved quickly- kisses rushing into making out, then blurring into sex. It was nice at first, the intimacy and raging hormones. Summer was dream-like, everyday spent with each other, not a moment apart. However, when Autumn rolled over, Suguru pulled away. He blamed it on seasonal depression, but he and Satoru hadn’t kissed in days. Shit, Suguru couldn’t even remember when they last had sex. Satoru- loveable, daft, nonchalant, strong, so strong- Satoru had probably passed it off as Suguru being ‘moody’ again. Suguru couldn’t really blame him for it, he never let Satoru in on any more than that. He knew that as long as he was present, Satoru wouldn’t complain.  

“I’m going on a run.” 

Satoru frowned, “Again?” He whined, “What am I supposed to do?”

“Go to your lesson, I’ll be back soon.” Suguru told him, tying his hair up, repeating a mantra of  ‘I am fine, I do not feel sick, I’ll feel better after a run’ in his head. 

Leaving Satoru to sulk in his room, Suguru left the school grounds. With the physical demand of being a shaman and his constant need to move, running had always appealed to him. Sometimes he would run for hours until every muscle ached, despite the itch in his limbs still screaming at the back of his mind, begging him to keep moving. As always, his run started at the steps, leading him to the mountainside. The fresh air whipped against his tanned skin, leaving a faint, and not unwelcome sting as he moved. Despite a quick break to hurl the contents of his empty stomach into a bush, the run was somewhat tranquil. Suguru’s mind felt calm, his thoughts only consisting of observations such as ‘tree’, ‘rock’, ‘flower’, ‘tree’, ‘another tree’, and ‘ bush’  as he moved through the scenery. It was nicer than the alternative.

When Suguru finally returned, three hours had passed and he was due to miss his next lesson. 

Does it really matter anymore? 

Suguru crept to the dorms to pick up a change of clothes, noting with slight disappointment and pure disbelief  that Satoru might have actually listened to him. He made his way to the bathroom, unable to ignore the stench of sweat on his skin. Admittedly, it was the first time he had showered in a while. Carefully, Suguru took off his clothes, leaving them on the bench. Picking up soap and a towel, he walked into a stall, stepping under the spray of the shower. He hissed as the cold water splashed over the sores and scratches littering his skin. Suguru’s fists clenched as he started to wash his hair, the soap dripping into his eyes and onto his sensitive skin. The pain wasn’t unpleasant, and Suguru knew that was the problem. When crimson blood dripped down his arm, the internal demand for constant fidgeting was drowned out, replaced by the hot burning of the nerves in his forearms and thighs. 

After showering, he dried off, changed into his uniform and made his way to the training rooms, his legs moving as if on autopilot. 

Not long after enrolling at Jujutsu Tech, he had familiarised himself with the training rooms, which soon became his safe haven. The large, sealed-off rooms allowed privacy for Suguru to pace under the excuse of combat practice. Often, he would lose track of time as his feet never ceased their restless rhythm against the tatami floor. 

Despite his calm nature, frustration perpetually brimmed Suguru’s brain. He envied those his age who worried about homework and relationships, the insignificant woes of life which cowered under the curse of his akathisia. He hated that he was raised by non-sorcerers who gave him this burden, unlike Satoru who was treated like a blessing instead of a curse. 

His pacing continued furiously as he sunk into deep thought. Suguru wanted to crawl out of his skin. He couldn’t keep up with his body. It was as if he was in a constant battle with his biology. 

Develop a condition because of the mistakes made by your parents.

Check.

Fall in love with the most emotionally unintelligent man alive. 

Check.

Keep moving. 

Check. 

Keep moving.

Check.

Keep moving.

I’m exhausted.

Keep moving.

Keep moving.

Keep moving.

Keep mov- 

It must have looked like Suguru was in a trance. It reminded him of a case he had read about, of which took place in 1500s France. Suguru had read of people dancing until their feet bled, and inevitably until they passed out and died. It had all been part of some religious-rage-encouraged mass mania which caused people to dance perpetually until it killed them. And its cure? Prayer. It was laughable, but then again, there he was. 

When things got bad, Satoru would always offer to run with him or train with him, but recently things had been getting worse. With the impact of Toji Fushiguro’s attack buried beneath missions and lessons, Satoru had been growing distant. Suguru tried his best not to blame him for it, but resentment bubbled deep inside of him, despite reason. 

Things were changing rapidly, and Suguru had no idea how to handle it.

When Satoru entered an hour later, Suguru finally stopped. 

“Yo!” Satoru grinned, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose to reveal his wide eyes, his irises resembling glaciers thawing in spring. He perched on a box of training equipment, stretching his long legs out  in front of him. 

Suguru smiled wryly, “How was class?”

“Class…?” Satoru furrowed his eyebrows, bringing a hand to pinch his cheeks in thought, “Oh, right! I didn’t go.” He shrugged, “No use in going if you’re not there.” 

Suguru sighed, guilt gripping his heart with sharp talons. Sitting on the ground slowly, he winced slightly at the ache in his legs. “Where did you go, then?” he asked, starting to rock in place as restlessness caught up to him once more. 

“I went to see Toji’s brat.” Satoru said, letting his arms dangle by his side, “They look so similar, it's creepy as fuck!” He emphasised with an exaggerated grimace, slouching where he was sat. 

Suguru’s eyes widened as a harsh realisation set in, “Seriously?” 

“Yup.” Satoru replied, popping the ‘p’ , “I  guess he’s my responsibility now, huh?”

Suguru hummed, his gaze dark and cold, “Sure, I guess so.”

Bitterness, worse than the taste of a curse, burned on Suguru’s tastebuds. Satoru was like a weight that only grew heavier, no matter how much Suguru trained himself to lift. Satoru was a dock leaf to relieve his sting, forever dangled in front of him, impossible to reach. There was always another responsibility, another brick in the wall between them. Clan, missions, higher-ups, infinity, being The Strongest™, and now a child. 

Infinity, as a value, cannot technically grow or shrink. Yet, the infinite space between them suddenly became more daunting, and Suguru felt further away from him than ever. 

“When will I see you again?” Suguru asked, his voice low and upset.

Satoru took a sharp inhale as he furrowed his eyebrows, his hand reaching to push back his albino hair. “I dunno… maybe a week?” He mumbled, “It’s hard to say, they barely give me twenty-four hours notice before a mission anymore.” Satoru lowered his gaze to meet Suguru’s eye, a lopsided grin stretching on his face. “Why? You gonna miss me?”

Fall in love with a man you can never keep up with.

Check.

Suguru groaned, acting as if Satoru hadn’t just read his mind. “Whatever…”

Oblivious, Satoru barked out a laugh, “Don’t cry while I’m gone, yeah?” He taunted, though his voice was affectionate, “I won’t come back empty-handed, I promise.” Satoru’s voice softened as he leaned over to squeeze Suguru’s shoulder. 

With a dramatic kiss to Suguru’s forehead, Satoru waltzed out, leaving him with dread bubbling in his stomach.

  ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

  “Satoru’s gone again.” 

Suguru sat in one of the metal chairs in the morgue, hunched over, as Shoko tended to a victim of a recent curse attack. She hummed sympathetically. “How are your symptoms?” 

“Worse than ever.”

“1-10?”

“Last week I said 10, Shoko.” Suguru’s voice shook.

Shoko turned to look at him, a cigarette dangling from her lips, “So now?”

“Shoko,” His voice started climbing with desperation, “I want to kill myself.” 

Suguru had never admitted it, not even to himself. And just like that, the civil war in his brain turned into World War 3; muskets becoming atomic bombs. 

Shoko’s neutral expression fell as she paused, the cigarette falling from her mouth almost comically. “You shouldn’t joke about that.” She stared at him, her expression the most appropriate it had ever been for someone standing in a morgue. 

“Shoko…” Suguru‘s voice was pleading. 

“I don’t want to dissect you, Geto.” 

“Shoko-“

“I don’t want to cremate you.”

Suguru fell silent, his hands beginning to tremble. 

“I don’t want to ask Gojo where we should spread your ashes-“

“Okinawa-” Suguru interrupted quietly, his voice brittle. 

“Geto.” 

Suguru froze.

Shoko turned away, bracing herself against the table and hanging her head.  Suguru wrapped his arms around his torso, his eyes stinging as he tried to swallow the lump in his throat. His legs began shaking. The air was tense as Shoko stood up straight as she attempted to compose herself before turning around. “What can I do to help you?” She said slowly, watching him carefully. 

Suguru shook his head, not trusting himself to speak. 

If he spoke, he would throw up.

Or worse, cry.

“Geto.” Her voice dropped to a murmur as she walked towards him. “Talk to me.” 

Suguru stood up abruptly, the screech of the metal chair against the floor making Shoko flinch. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.” Suguru pulled a face, praying it was a convincing smile before he left, hurriedly. The door violently swung behind him, leaving Shoko to stare after him. He felt like he was in a daze, the lights blurred and his rushed footsteps became muffled. Suguru prayed that he would wake up, he prayed that his mind was taunting him in his sleep like usual.

As he strode out, his limbs felt like they could collapse in on themselves at any moment. Every part of him felt weak, his eyelids felt heavy, his nervous system was clawing at him, his mind was drained. 

Once he dragged himself  into his dorm, Suguru fell into a dreamless sleep as soon as his head hit his pillow.

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  Ring. Ring. Ri-

  “Hm?”

“Suguru! Guess what?” Satoru’s cheery voice answered. 

“…Huh?”

“…Suguru?”

“Sorry…” He winced as he sat up, his head spinning. “What was it?”

“I’m coming back for a while… Apparently Yaga argued with the higher- ups over it.” 

“How come?” Suguru muttered absentmindedly, climbing out of bed, shakily. It was all real. He felt sick. 

“Something that Shoko said-“

“What?” Suguru froze, his voice harsher than he had intended. He knew. He knew he shouldn’t have said anything. Now he was going to face the consequences.

What would they do? Would they even care?

It was conflicting, how his best-case scenario was also his worst. 

“Um… yeah. I dunno what it was, but I guess it’s important.” Satoru hummed. 

Suguru stood up quickly, “What did they tell you?” He asked, panic beginning to seep into his voice as he willed the acid in his stomach to stay on the right end of his oesophagus.

“Just that it was important enough for my missions to be deprioritised… why? Suguru, are you ok?” Satoru murmured, his voice sounding unsure over the muffled phone speaker. 

“Fucking peachy, Satoru.” He snapped, running his hand through his hair. “Look, I gotta go, ok?” 

“Sure, but-”

“See you.” 

  Beep. 

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  “Shoko!” Suguru hissed as he approached the woman, hunched over some paperwork. She froze. 

“What did you tell-“ 

Shoko stood up, glaring at him, clearly expecting this reaction. “Nothing.” She scowled, “I should’ve, but I didn’t.”

Suguru paused, his shoulders slumping. Short-lived relief washing over him like icy water. “Satoru said…” 

“I told Yaga that it was vital, and he believed me.” She said, “That’s it.” 

“But who will-”

“Me.”

“Oh.” 

Shoko looked at him pitifully, “Can you last two days until he gets here?”

Suguru nodded numbly. He hated it. He hated how Shoko looked at him like he was a child acting out, like he was some sort of temperamental stray dog.

“Atta boy.” She replied, brushing past him to collect various files, deliberately avoiding making eye contact. 

He sighed slowly, composing himself. “I’m sorry.” He said, his voice cracking as if he were some prepubescent child. 

“For what?”

“I shouldn’t have said anything.” Suguru replied sombrely, shifting on his feet. Shoko turned around slowly, her hands clenched by her sides.   

“Geto,” She whispered, “is that why you think I’m upset?” Shoko’s voice shook as she moved to pull Suguru into a hug. “You idiot.” 

Suguru froze as Shoko’s arms tightened around his torso, the warmth of another body so unfamiliar since Satoru had made himself more distant. He swallowed, his unsteady hands resting on Shoko’s back, pushing her small frame closer to him. “I’m losing both of you.” Her voice shook, each jolt of her trembling body sending a needle-sharp pain into Suguru’s heart. Guilt flooded through him, shrivelling and curling unpleasantly inside of him like a dead spider. Suguru leaned down, pressing his nose into Shoko’s chestnut hair. The smell of coconut shampoo invaded his senses and he reminded himself to store away the smell, right next to the vanilla-sandalwood-tainted sweat of Satoru’s inner thigh. Suguru rubbed Shoko’s back slowly, soothing her through her reluctant tears, which slowly started to soak through his shirt. “Don’t you dare go… Not you… Not you too…” She bit in-between gasps, her hands clawing the front of his shirt. 

“Hey...” Suguru managed, swallowing down his emotions with difficulty. “You don’t need us. You have Utahime, right?” He smiled painfully, hoping to reassure her. 

“Fucking bullshit!” Shoko spat, her voice muffled as she buried her face in his chest. “Stop trying to find people to fill your place.” 

“I’m n…” Oh. 

“I’m not going anywhere.” He corrected himself, cradling the back of her head as she furiously sniffled. 

Shoko snorted tearily, “You better not.”

Suguru nodded with a soft smile. It was nice to know that he would be missed.

  ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

  “Satoru gets back tomorrow.” 

Yaga stared at Suguru sternly, who was sat in his office. Suguru hummed, the floorboard beneath his foot creaking with every bounce of his leg.

“Shoko told me it was more important than a hundred civilian lives.” He continued, raising an eyebrow at the teenager before him, pupils blindly glancing over Suguru’s dark circles and cuts. “Explain why I risked my position to bring Satoru back.” 

Suguru shrugged, eyes tiredly assessing the man in front of him. “It was Shoko’s idea.” He muttered, “Doctor’s orders, right?” 

“Suguru.” Yaga scolds, “Explain.” 

Silence filled the room, bottom to ceiling, and Suguru was sinking like the Titanic. He studied his fingernails carefully, noting each and every speck of dirt underneath, and every peeling cuticle on either side of his outgrown nails. His eyes then flickered to the blank walls, counting every chip in the paint. Yaga coughed and Suguru inwardly cursed as he lost count. Shit. He started again, probably going cross-eyed as he examined the ugly beige paint. 57, 58, 59… The tempo of the clock ticking was starting to remind him of the beginning of a song, the one that went-

  “Suguru.”

Oh.

  “I don’t know.” Suguru offered, trying to keep his voice even. 

If Suguru acted coquettish and nonchalant, he found that most people dismissed his antisocial behaviour as him being ‘an asshole’ or ‘being insufferable.’ It was no longer concern and pity he received from Yaga and Shoko, but scoldings and blunt retorts. This way it was easier. It would be easier for everyone, he told himself.

Yaga scowled, which seemed to be a common reaction to him nowadays, “That’s not good enough.” 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t supply a better explanation for Shoko’s actions.” He smiled with fake politeness, his jaw aching. 

“Don’t play coy with me.” 

Suguru’s smile didn’t falter as he faced Yaga. With absolutely no plan for what he’d say next, he opened his mouth. 

Ring.

Ring, Ring.

Infuriated, Yaga shot him a final glare before he turned to answer the call. 

Suguru slithered out of his office.

  ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

  The countryside blurred into a green smudge as the bullet train sped through the outskirts of Tokyo. Satoru sighed, his head resting against the window, upbeat music humming through his earphones. 

“Excuse me, sir.” 

He pulled one of his earphones out, turning his attention to a young woman in uniform. 

“May I see your ticket?” 

Satoru handed it over absentmindedly, his vision beginning to blur as his tired eyes threatened to close. 

“Thank you!”

He felt the lady press his ticket into his open palm, and he pulled his fist into his lap as her footsteps faded away. 

The hours of the train journey had started to bleed together, his under-eyes aching more with every passing tree. Satoru sighed, his eyelids fluttering shut behind his glasses. Life had become suffocating. He envied when he had time to pick fights with Suguru and pull all-nighters playing Digimon. Now he spent endless days exorcising curses, rescuing civilians, arguing with high-ups. Life was a broken record: exorcise, rescue, argue, exorcise, rescue, argue, exorcise… Satoru hadn’t slept for weeks, and that was ok. Well, Satoru didn’t need to sleep, right? 

Admittedly, he had no idea why he was suddenly whisked onto a train. A lot of authoritative decisions about his schedule passed through Shoko since she was the only one who rooted for his psychological and mental health. She had never demanded he return half way through a mission, though. Sure, missions were prioritised and deprioritised all the time, but this was different. Satoru felt dread crawling up his spine and eating at him like termites, despite him having no logical reason for feeling so. 

  Something was wrong.

  He tried not to think about the other reason he was so busy now. Besides Toji’s kids and clan politics, another burden had been eating away at him. It was unheard of in their first year for Satoru to take over Suguru’s missions. They were competitive, and they fought to do the most missions by the end of the month. The first time Suguru asked Satoru to take one of his missions, Satoru was ecstatic, taunting him for days. The second time, Satoru accepted smugly. The fifth time, Satoru was concerned. 

And now? 

Suguru hardly went on missions anymore. Maybe a few grade 1 or 2 curses per month. Shoko said something about medical issues. 

Satoru noticed, of course he had, the constant shaking and fidgeting. He also knew that Suguru was depressed. Satoru saw the containers of Prozac on his bedside table and he recognised Suguru’s unexplained disappearances from 15:00 to 17:00 every Thursday. 

Oh, he knew. Satoru just never knew how to address it. 

The automated feminine voice over the speakers announced the train’s arrival at Shibuya, and Satoru shifted in his seat, stretching his arms above his head. 

It would be fine. Suguru could handle himself. 

If not, Satoru could handle whatever Suguru couldn’t. They worked well like that. It was fine, they always pulled through in the end.

As the train rolled to a stop, Satoru picked up his small bag of belongings. He only brought hygiene products and sleep-wear, clubbing and exploring had lost its appeal to him a while ago. 

Satoru stepped off the train and took a deep breath, walking over to the assistant waiting for him. 

“Yo.” He greeted her with a wave. 

It would be fine.

  ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

  It was not fine. 

  “You’re telling me this now?” Satoru spat, the cogs in his brain sparking and groaning as they twisted and collided, his brain catastrophically rewiring itself as he attempted to process Yaga’s words. 

Yaga’s jaw clenched, “We didn’t think it would get… like this.” He said, sombrely. Satoru’s eye twitched. 

“And now what?” Satoru’s voice was harsh, unbothered by how Yaga looked away and Shoko walked out, hand shielding her mouth. 

Yaga looked helpless. “His therapist contacted us saying he didn’t turn up to his session today,” He muttered, “we thought you could talk to him.”

Satoru scoffed, turning away. He walked out the room. Just like that, every gap was filled. Every run, every day spent in the training rooms, every scratch and bandage… He wanted to vomit. 

  “Gojo!” 

  Shoko caught him by the hand. 

“If it helps, Yaga didn’t know until recently…” She murmured, “Well, he didn’t know the severity of it, anyway.” He turned to look at her slowly. 

“When did you find out?” Satoru asked, his voice quiet. Almost fragile. 

Shoko grimaced. “The day you were called back.” Satoru nodded, beginning to walk away from her. 

She swallowed. “No, that’s not right.” Satoru stopped. “He told me a week before that. He’d been telling me for weeks that it was getting worse.” Shoko admitted, her expression stoney. “I didn’t know what to do.” Her voice grew hoarse. “I’m sorry, Gojo.” 

Satoru swore under his breath. “It’s fine.” He said, dismissively. His head hurt, and if he took his hands out of his pockets, they would probably start shaking. “I’ll go find him.”

Shoko nodded, watching him warily. “Ok.”

Wordlessly, Satoru started walking again, his legs moving on autopilot as he numbly stared off into the end of the corridor. 

  What the fuck.

  Satoru’s feet led him to the dorms, he could picture Suguru curled up in his bed, nose buried in some stupid philosophy book.

  What the fuck.

  Everyone knew except for him. Suguru had been saying for weeks that things were getting worse, and Satoru didn’t know a thing.

  “What the fuck.” 

  Satoru swung his door open.

His room was empty. 

  He paused. 

  Maybe he was in Satoru’s room.

Empty.

  Satoru’s feet moved manically, causing him to trip over himself as he stumbled to the training rooms.

Empty. 

  Empty, empty… 

He checked the showers. 

Empty. 

  Door after door was thrown open, handles slamming into walls and scratching off paint, some coming off their hinges. 

Empty. 

Empty, fucking empty. 

  Satoru wanted to scream. 

  At last, he turned to the boys’ bathroom, slamming the door open. Anxiety pumped through every vein in his body, overflowing his arteries and beginning to bubble over. 

Drip, drip, drip.

Satoru treaded into the bathroom hesitantly, knowing it was the one place he hadn’t looked. As the yellow, artificial ceiling lights flickered on, he paused.

Drip, drip, drip.

Satoru scanned the row of empty cubicles until his watery gaze settled on the last one. 

He swallowed, his six eyes immediately picking up on the residuals smeared all over the cubicle walls. Satoru walked towards it slowly, trepidation weighing his feet down like bricks of ice. 

Drip, drip, drip.

Step, step, squelch. 

At the sound of his shoe landing in liquid, Satoru startled. He hesitated, praying that was just water, or fuck, even Suguru’s piss or diarrhoea would be a best-case scenario. Instead, when his icy stare assessed the puddle beneath him, tears pricked at his eyes like needles. His throat began to burn as if he had swallowed the sun, its core stuck in his oesophagus as he tried to repress the pain which wanted to be puked. 

Drip, drip, drip.

The crimson liquid screamed at him from the white tiles, showing the reflection of the man who had failed as a friend, lover, and shaman. The blood on the lower ledge of the cubical had dried, yet it still dripped as more of the metallic liquid leaked onto the other side. Blood. Satoru was filled with dread. 

Drip, drip, drip.

Satoru knocked on the door. 

“Suguru?” He murmured, his voice cracking despite himself. 

No answer.

He pushed at the door, only to find it locked and Satoru cursed. 

No, Satoru screamed, his head pressing against the door with a harsh thud. His anguish shattered the quiet buzzing of the bathroom like glass being savaged by a sledgehammer, his blunt fingernails scraping at the off-white, plastic door. Both weakened and fuelled by his anxiety, he pulled the door of the cubical off its hinges, completely unprepared for what lay beyond it. 

Drip, drip, drip.

He froze. 

His mouth opened. 

Then closed.

His hands fell by his sides as if his arms were lifeless. 

Drip, drip, drip.

Satoru could have tried to convince himself that the mutilated body before him wasn’t Suguru, but his six eyes spelled it out in capital letters. He silently cursed himself for acting without thinking.

Suguru’s skin was grey. He died staring up at the ceiling, his pupils now blown, leaving only a sliver of evidence of the bronze irises which Satoru once adored, now barely visible in his empty eyes. The raven hair which fell to Suguru’s shoulders was now matted with blood, each strand glued to the contours of his hollow face. Various shreds of his intestines slid down his hair and blood-splattered cheeks, landing with a plop in the rancid puddle of his fleshless lap or on the floor where most of Suguru’s innards appeared to have been dumped. His body had seemingly been turned inside-out, only bones and muscle remained within the body. Suguru’s disfigured ribs poked out of his skin like the branches of a tree, withered by winter. His legs had been twisted unnaturally, his feet, or what was left of them, pointing in erratic direction. His grimacing lips were parted, vomit and blood dripping from his chin like a leaking faucet, the acidity burning Satoru’s nose. 

The stench of blood, shit and puke should have made Satoru back away and gag, but he didn’t. He stood and stared. 

He stared for so long, the gruesome scene burned into his retinas. 

He was too late.

How could he have let this happen?

[someghostwriter]

so im writing a fanfic with vox from hazbin hotel as the main character, and i was wondering if anyone would like to read it and if i should actually post it..

its basically about vox's rise to power and his and alastor's relationship precanon. I may come out with a fic afterwards that continues for during canon and after, but for now this is all thats planned!

Its going to be angsty, and Vox is a bad person because i mean hes in hell, but he has good qualities despite it. Also there will be homoerotic undertones because i cant stop it.

[dontfindmerain]

um-

What about-

What about some angst? Like- anything you wants, just angst

ohohoho

you have no idea what you've done >:)

"Hey, it's Wil, can't answer the phone right now, so leave a message and I'll get back to you when I can. BEEP." You hang up the phone without bothering to leave a message.

He’s been on tour with his band for weeks now and hasn’t messaged you or called you once, which was extremely worrying after you had met at the local coffee shop at least once every week for the past year. Maybe you were just being unreasonably worried, but you shot him a text anyway.

‘hey im sorry ive been calling u so much

just worried cus we havent talked since u left

hope u r doing ok :)’

He opened it. He opened it. Your heart beat quickly when the typing bubble popped up, grateful that he was finally responding.

And it sunk to your stomach immediately when his response glared back at you from your screen.

‘ok’

What? That’s it? After all that concern, all the pacing, all the tears, that was what he had to say? ‘Ok’?

What the fuck?

You were furious, and saddened but that didn't matter. How could he ignore you for so long and then respond like that? You had been considering surprising him by flying out to see the last leg of the tour tomorrow, but now…

No. You would still go, maybe he was just busy and exhausted from the constant moving around.

When you get to the barricade, waiting for Lovejoy to come on stage, your heart is racing. And when Wilbur walks out? You swear to gods there is no one else in the world.

He is incredibly happy, glowing in the wave of cheers radiating from the crowd. The only thing you can do is stare in awe the entire concert. You can barely hear the music, only a faint buzz as your mind is filled with him.

When it’s over and Mark leads you backstage to visit Wil, you run up to him, spilling out congratulations and praise for how great he is at this. Sorries falling from your lips for not going to every show. You stop when he gently grabs your wrist and takes you to a private room.

“What are you doing here?” he mutters, his face a mixture of confusion and… annoyance? What?

“I came to support you, Wilbur! And I’m so glad I did because you guys were fant-”

“Okay, okay, stop.” His tone was too firm. Too angry.

Silence washed over you and mingled with fear. Did you really upset him?

“I get that you want to support me and that we’re friends and all but did you have to come here? Especially backstage? I mean, for gods’ sake, you couldn’t have waited until I got back to england?”

You didn’t know what to say, you wanted to see him, to tell him…

“I came here because…

because I love you, Wilbur.”

He just looked at you for a moment, and then sighed. “Goddammit, darli- Y/n. I should've known,” he brought his hands up to his face and dragged them down in exasperation, “Y/n, I don’t… you’re like a sister to me, yeah? I don’t know where this,” he gestured wildly at you, “infatuation came from, but it needs to stop. You’re a great friend really, but I don’t feel that way about you.”

Your heart dropped to your stomach, the evidence of your hurt painted across your face and his annoyance resting on his.

“I… I think I’ll go now,” you whisper quietly, needing to leave before the tears began.

“No- come on now, darling- Don’t go, lets talk about this-” but you were already walking, no, running away from him. You ran out into the dark night, the streets were busy and you didn’t know where you were, you just kept running and running and running-

And you didn’t see that car. It didn’t see you either.

[dasphinxone]

SUPER ANGSTY Relationship Dynamics where no one ends up truly happy 😒

I blame the weirdly hot chemistry of how Attuma put his rebreather on Shuri for this weird-ass, rare pair of them.

Namor hurt Shuri far too much for them to ever be in a relationship. The alliance holds but Shuri is extremely formal and distant with him. Namor regrets for the rest of his long-ass life how he killed her mother and waited far too long to make amends...if he ever truly even tries to do so in the first damn place.

Okoye feels the same about Attuma. He humiliated her on that bridge. As far as she's concerned, he contributed to directly setting in motion everything that led to the murder of Ramonda and herself being stripped of her command. Okoye will never forgive Attuma and he's dead to her. She leaves Wakanda to wander and find herself, doling out justice.

This results in Shuri and Attuma hooking up. It's just sex. It's physically satisfying but there's no love. They're both incredibly honest with each other in that and come to eventually realize there is no way they can be with the people either pursuing them or who rejected them.

Meanwhile, M'Baku remains king and Shuri refuses to take the throne until some years later. By then, Nakia moves back to Wakanda when T'Challa Jr. is an older teenager. Shuri formally introduces him to Wakanda and officially makes him heir to the throne.

In order to get the Tribal Council off her back about her marriage prospects, she proposes marrying Attuma. Again, they don't love either and are in mourning for what their lives could have been since it could have been different. But they respect each other. Marriages, especially royal ones, have been made on far less. Plus, the union will bring Talokan and Wakanda closer together.

They invite Namor and Okoye to the wedding. Neither shows up, though Namor gives his blessing and an incredible wedding gift. Okoye sends her regards as well but stays abroad and finds a happy marriage. She is truly content and all goes well for her.

Shuri rules as Queen while Attuma refuses to take a title beyond Prince Consort since he has zero desire for any sort of political power. He is content to remain a general and protect his wife from harm.

It is not love, nor does it ever blossom into it. But it is enough for both of them since they will never have their true loves. For Namor destroyed any chance of that with his initial aggression.

They end up having one kid and then twins. T'Challa Jr. loves his cousins and there is never any strife over the throne since Shuri makes it extremely clear that he is heir.

Wakanda and Talokan become true allies and never go to war. They protect each other against the colonizers and the rest of the world.

Attuma outlives Shuri. When she passes, their children are fully grown and they have great-grandchildren. Attuma returns to Talokan full time but passes away soon after, he and a shark killing each other during one of his hunts. There are whispers that he purposely chose to go out that way and on his own terms due to his broken heart.

Okoye lives a natural life span and passes away. She has no regrets leaving Wakanda to find herself. She had a good life.

Namor continues to live on. While he destroyed his chances with Shuri, he makes an oath to always guard her progeny as well as T'Challa Jr. He never breaks his promise, the descendents of the Golden Tribe granted a legendary protector through the ages.

Shuri meets Attuma at the crossroads to their respective ancestral planes. She's the happiest he's ever seen her. She asks him where his spirit will go.

He gives her a sad smile before thanking her for her grace in the relationship they shared. He's glad they were honest with other about how it wasn't true love. He respects her and did indeed love their children. He is proud for his part in bringing their kingdoms together and keeping them safe from the wretched colonizers.

However, he vows he will find his soulmate in his next life. And this time, he will fight to have his warrior by his side, no matter the cost.

Shuri grants him her full blessings before she turns to join her ancestors while he heads towards another life cycle.

That night, Namor happens to visit the surface world and witnesses two falling stars. He sends up a silent prayer to his gods to protect those who have moved on from this life. All while he continues to suffer the consequences for what he's done in his current one for ages to come.

A king with a crown who continues to rule one of the most powerful nations on earth. Yet truly, a man sin amor.