#Amplified Specter

[xyywrites]

How to use weather as a mood enhancer in scenes

Weather is more than a backdrop—it’s a tool that can subtly amplify the mood, tension, or theme of your scenes. Done well, it can evoke emotions and foreshadow events without being heavy-handed. 

Melancholy:

The rain tapped against the window, steady and unrelenting, much like the weight pressing down on her chest. She pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders, wishing the storm outside could drown out the one inside.

Restlessness:

The wind howled through the cracks of the old cabin, rattling the loose shutters. It wasn’t the kind of wind that swept things away—it was the kind that stayed and gnawed, a restless echo of her own unease.

A Happy Scene with Gloomy Weather:

Rain poured down in sheets, soaking her to the bone, but she didn’t care. She laughed, spinning in the middle of the street, her soaked dress clinging to her legs. For once, the world’s misery couldn’t touch her.

A Tragic Scene on a Bright Day:

The sun was too bright, its warmth mocking the cold numbness spreading through him. People bustled past, smiling under the clear blue sky, while he sat on the curb, clutching the letter that had just ended everything.

In a Chase Scene:

Fog blanketed the forest, turning the trees into looming specters. Each snap of a branch or crunch of leaves felt amplified, like the forest itself was working against him. He couldn’t see his pursuers, but he could feel them closing in.

During a Confrontation:

The wind picked up as they stood in the open field, her hair whipping around her face like a fury she couldn’t contain. Lightning cracked in the distance, illuminating the raw anger in his eyes. Neither of them would back down.

Redemption Arc:

The first snow of the season fell gently, covering the world in white. It felt like a fresh start, even if he didn’t deserve one. He reached out a hand, watching the flakes melt against his skin, and wondered if he could ever be that clean again.

Grief:

The fog rolled in every morning like clockwork, smothering the town in its heavy embrace. It had been that way since the accident, as if even the weather couldn’t bear to let go of what had been lost.

Loneliness:

The snow piled up around the cabin, burying the path and muffling every sound. She’d never felt the silence so keenly before, as if the world had decided to forget her existence entirely.

Isolation:

The heat hung heavy in the air, making it hard to breathe. The cracked earth stretched out in every direction, offering no shade, no solace. She was utterly alone.

Subtle Anxiety:

A bead of sweat slid down her back, but she wasn’t sure if it was from the heat or the unease that had settled under her skin. The humidity pressed in, making the air feel heavier, like it carried secrets she didn’t want to uncover.

Lingering Sadness:

The drizzle wasn’t enough to drench anyone, but it clung to her skin, a persistent chill she couldn’t shake no matter how fast she walked.

Weather isn’t just a backdrop—it’s a storyteller in its own right. Whether it mirrors your character’s emotions, foreshadows danger, or contrasts with the scene’s tone, it can elevate your writing when used thoughtfully. Just remember: subtlety is key. Let weather enhance your story, not overshadow it.

[sanguinesmi1e]

A Round Door Like a Porthole, Lazarus Green Pt. 1 Pt. 2 (you're here) Pt. 3 Pt. 4

Art of LBM

Danny was still lying under the Specter Speeder, mind reeling as the words “they opened this portal with a child sacrifice, and bound his death and all the lost life potential to their bloody machine to create a perpetual gateway to the Infinite Realms” ran in a loop through his head. Could that really be true? Is his death attached to the portal, forever lodged in the doorway, preventing it from closing?

The guy clearly knew what he was talking about. The bit about why his ghost friends and frenemies caused so much chaos as they unleashed their obsessions on Amity Park made so much sense. It would certainly explain a lot of his interactions with ghosts after he died. 

 Danny silently cursed himself for not destroying everything in the lab before they got here. He and Jazz hadn't worried about the portal schematics, because they honestly didn't have any way to open a portal, only cycle energy in a recursive loop that shouldn’t have done anything. No one, not he and Jazz, not their parents, not Tucker or Technus, had been able to figure out why it had worked when Danny was inside. But if the machine was able to sustain a portal that was already opened. . . He wondered idly if he could light a fire that looked accidental and would both destroy the lab and leave the two men enough time to escape. It’d probably be too risky. And who knew what destroying the portal would do to him. Fully kill him? Destroy him completely and shatter his core? It might be worth it to prevent anyone from gaining this knowledge. 

No wonder Lex Luthor was interested in this business. A child was murdered in this basement, and for all Tim knew, the child’s soul could still be trapped here fueling a Lazarus Pit that connected the world of the living to the afterlife. What Luthor could do with an interdimensional portal or even a single sample of Lazarus water. . . Tim shuddered to think.

On the one hand, he was grateful that Wayne Enterprises secured the business before Luthor had the chance. On the other hand, he felt rather ill to think his family had directly enriched mad scientists who performed child sacrifices. At least he had full faith that between him and Oracle, they’d hunt the Fentons down and make sure justice was served.

“What is to be done for the child?” Tim asked Constantine. “Is his soul tied to that machine?”

“I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure it’s just his death.” 

“You’re gonna have to explain the difference to me, ‘cause I’m not sure I see the distinction.” Tim said wryly. 

“I guess. . . Hm. You could think of it as the moment of transition drawn out endlessly like a plucked string whose note never stops vibrating. Like life is the anchor point of one end of the string, and the afterlife is at the other end, and the child’s death is the note created when his soul crosses from one side to the other. The soul is the bow causing reverberations, but the reverberations are the actual death itself. The effect of the soul’s passage. And in this case, the portal is amplifying the death so it doesn’t end like a normal death ‘note’ would.” Constantine leaned in to examine some of the runes that were part of the array. “Not a perfect metaphor, obviously, since you bow perpendicular rather than parallel to the string, and death and souls are nothing like music, but you get the idea, right?”

Tim was still caught on John Constantine saying the words “death note” together unironically in a sentence. He was going to have to share that with Steph later. Maybe with the whole family group chat, even. “Yeah, the metaphor makes sense, as much as any of this occult stuff does to me.”

“Whatever. As for whether there’s anything we can do for the child, I think we’ll have to try and summon him if we can.” The Brit started pulling items out of his trenchcoat’s inner pockets. “We need to ask what the spirit wants done, before we go messing with things we don’t understand.”

“Alright, need anything from me?”

“Yeah, move this stuff out of the way so I can draw a circle.” Constantine directed Tim to shove aside a few stacks of boxes, something called a Fenton Ghost Weasel, and together they shifted a coffin-shaped iron maiden that for some reason was labeled Fenton Stockades. Then he set to work chalking a circle and runes on the ground.

Finally he sat back and dusted chalk off his hands. “That should do it.”

“Will this be bright too?” Tim asked warily.

“Eh, might be? Shouldn’t be too bad.”

Tim grabbed an auto-darkening welding helmet with a green “Fenton” sticker on it off the workbench and slipped it on.

“Alright, here goes.” Constantine began the summoning ritual.

While Danny debated arson, the other two had finished clearing a space and chalked some kind of circle onto the floor. He tuned back into the conversation when he heard the trenchcoat guy begin a traditional incantation for a summoning. Were they trying to summon him? Danny really hoped it wouldn’t work. 

When people tried to summon the Ghost King he could almost always ignore the pull. This pull, however, was very strong and immediate. It seemed proximity made a difference, or this guy was just better at summonings than the average cultist. Before Danny could accept the inevitable, he was pulled bodily — literally! — out from under the vehicle and across the floor, still flat on his back on the Fenton Under Car Creeper, with the Specter Speeder’s ecto-engine hugged tightly to his chest. The wheels of the Fenton Creeper (not to be mistaken with the Fenton Anti-Creep Stick) sped him straight to the summoning circle. Still very much in human form. 

This was his first real look at the guy called Constantine, and he couldn’t help a horrified yelp. “Eugh!! What the fuck is wrong with you, dude!?!!” 

His lapse in attention made him lose the battle with the summoning spell, and it gripped him, pulling him through the convolutions of the spellwork even though he was already lying half across the circle, and forcing him to change into Phantom in the process. It was such a disgusting sensation, like he was one of those squishy water filled tube snake toys that look like a fleshlight, and someone squeezed really hard and abruptly so he turned inside out and went flying to go splat against a wall (or in this case, against the ground inside the circle of chalk). He tried and failed not to retch.

The younger man in the crisp suit whom he’d already identified as Mr. CEO-Timothy-Drake-Wayne looked at him in startled bafflement, while the older blond, still smoking his cigarette, (gross, and was that thing never ending?) was probably looking at him. Maybe. It was really difficult to tell, because he was a frankly vile sight. Danny winced and swallowed down nausea. “What have you done to your soul?”

“I — what?”

“Trypophobia central, man! Ugh that’s gotta be the grossest thing I’ve ever seen. Can’t you cover it up?”

“Who are you?” Timothy Drake-Wayne interjected.

“I’m the dead guy? You literally just summoned me.”

“Constantine said you were a child”

“I mean, I was?” Danny looked down at his obviously twenty-something year-old self and rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s been a while since I was fourteen though. These things happen.”

“Not typically, no. The dead tend to be pretty unaging.” Constantine said. 

“Dude I’m not having a conversation with you while your soul looks like Escher’s swiss cheese nightmare. Anyways, some of us do. Heck, I know a guy who constantly shifts from infant to old man and every stage in between. It’s pretty distracting when you’re trying to get him to let you fix the timeline again.” Danny continued to look anywhere but at the blond man. “But if it’s so important to you, I can —” He got an abstracted look, and slowly de-aged himself until the two men stood over a fourteen year old boy with snow white hair and glowing green eyes.

“That does not help. No.” The guy whose soul looked somewhat like a bleeding tooth fungus said. He turned away and started doing something magical. Danny hoped it would mask his soul in some way, but so far all it did was make Danny feel like he needed to pop his ears.

He also felt particularly uncharitable, so he didn’t revert to his natural age, and instead tried to see how young and cute he could make himself appear.

“So are you just haunting this basement? Seems hazardous, given the former proprietors.” Timothy tried to redirect the conversation. He didn’t seem nearly as distressed to see the ghost of a child, but his eyes darted surreptitiously to the Lichtenberg figure Danny used to always hide under gloves.

“Nah, haven’t been back here in years. I mostly live in my Infinite Realms haunt these days.”

“You . . . live? Is that just a figure of speech?”

“It’s rude to ask about a ghost’s nonliving status, you know. Highly taboo to ask how a ghost died or poke into the circumstances of our deaths without permission.” Danny admonished. Making himself younger than fourteen took more effort than he expected.

“Alright, I’m sorry,” Timothy raised his hands placatingly to the boy who now looked younger than Damian. “What brings you back to Amity Park?”

“Uh, you summoned me? Are we still not clear on that?”

Tim looked pointedly at the Fenton Creeper and the engine Danny still held. He’d shrunk down to the size of a four year old, and the engine really should be crushing him given it was bigger than his torso now. He quickly set it aside, and turned his biggest puppy dog eyes on Tim.

“You were in here already, and you looked pretty alive for a moment there.”

“I can look lots of ways!” Danny focused really hard on looking as cute, small, and nonthreatening as possible. He thought it was working when all of a sudden there was a pop! and he was smaller than he’d ever managed before. 

Timothy Drake-Wayne looked like a giant. The other guy, who had thankfully managed to put away his soul somehow, wore scuffed oxfords bigger than Danny. Hell, he could probably fit his entire self into one of Constantine’s shoes if that wasn’t a bizarre thing to do, and they weren’t already full of stinky feet. Holy shit what happened to him!?

Tim blinked down at the cat? Snake? Ghost. . . thing at his feet. What the fuck. A moment ago he was talking to an adult man whom he’s pretty sure was dead and he’s very sure was trolling them. Now his interlocutor had turned into an adorable creature with soft white paws, a long twisting tail, big pointed ears that swiveled like a cats, and a humanoid face that should’ve been creepy but was actually eliciting cute-aggression in him. Tim blinked again. The little baby ghost creature blinked enormous green eyes back at him. Then it yawned, revealing three rows of needle sharp teeth that looked like a cross between what you’d find in the mouth of a shark and a cat. Yikes.

“Does that mean the interview is over?” Tim asked him.

The creature just blinked up at him again, then zeroed in on his shoelaces, pupils expanding until only a narrow band of green ringed them.

Yup. The interview was over. Those paws hid some wicked claws which could apparently slice through leather with ease. Oh, Tim really hoped ghost scratch fever wasn’t a thing. At least the ghost looked sufficiently contrite after he yelped, and it waited while he removed a shoelace to sacrifice as a toy.

If Damian ever met him, there would be a new member of the family. Maybe he should name the creature preemptively so they didn’t have a cat-snake named Bat-Ghost in Wayne manor. 

“Do you have a name, little baby cat-snake ghost? Little baby ghost man?” He cooed as the miniature monster dashed back and forth, intent on shredding his shoelace.

The ghost paused long enough to chirp, “Li’l baby man!” before launching himself at the string. Even shocked, Tim’s reflexes had him whisking the toy out of the way, and the ghost went careening under a cabinet.

He wedged himself in the gap, landing face first in a dust bunny, and quickly wriggled backwards with an indignant squall. His wordless protestations cut off as he fell into a violent sneezing fit that thankfully dislodged him from beneath the cabinet.

Tim suppressed his laugh, and asked, “Little Baby Man? Is that what you want to be called?”

The ghost pawed most of the dust away from his nose, but spider webs covered his face and a big dust bunny perched atop his head like a fascinator with a cobweb lace veil. He looked Tim right in the eyes and nodded, dislodging the dust in his hair and setting off more sneezes.

“Li’l Baby Man” he confirmed. He placed a paw on Tim’s shoe and chirped, “Tim!” Then he pointed his tail at Constantine and said, “Gross!” with narrowed eyes.

[esthercore]

Genshin Men & Their cum ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡

The 3 am horny strikes again | HSR Version

Albedo - Oh, quite controversial if I may. It's a bit chalky, not in taste, taste is just fine but in texture. A bit grainy, with a consistency on the thinner side. Even the color is bit too translucent. Definitely something that take to time to grow on your, if you're picky with textures like me. Maybe try and compare his cum with his clone's for scientific purposes...

Al Haitham - It's...cum flavored, but the taste is a bit amplified, strong. And it's thick and globby too. The scholar isn't a big fan of jerking off, since it's too much work and too unproductive, so full balls just for you <3

Ayato - The taste is quite pleasant, fresh, and smooth in texture. It falls in the can't complain category, it isn't the best, but there is also no bad features, though the quantity is a bit low due to constant work stress.

Baizhu - Same as blade, his body is working overtime, and his health is fucked, it's very thin, but don't tell him, it break his poor heart.

Childe - Thick thick, really like seeing you struggle to swallow his load, patting your head as you choke a bit. It takes just fine, though leans a bit on the bitter side.

Diluc - Sweet and delicious! Grape fruit really do wonders, he easily top in the taste specter. The consistency is average not to thick or thin, and quite a pleasurable amount. Nice and warm, thick gooey cum.

Itto - The taste is slightly addictive, and metallic. Also has some thick globs. It's quite distinguishable if you ask me. Perhaps a hit or miss for some people, but you should definitely give it a taste, especially for that shy grin he pulls, quite pleased with your actions.

Kazuha - He has the a healthy amount globs in between, the taste, the texture, the amount all are satisying. Especially the way he refuses to look you in the eyes, getting all shy after you swallow.

Kaeya - The most amount in Tevyat, and the best texture, and he sure as hell knows it. Gets so smug at your cock drunk face, a bit of his cum dripping down your neck, a bit spilled on the

Neuvilette - Fresh, like water from a mountain lake, very cold too, so good on a hot summer evening. Plus this man is a 500 year old virgin so you get a glorious amount. The only downise is the consistendy running on a bit thinner side.

Thoma - It's cum, plane, basic, average everything. Unless you're talking about his flustered expression, as you lap up his cum, that's a solid 10/10

Wriothesley - Another one that likes to see you choke trying to swallow, he loves the humiliating aspect, calling you names while tenderly petting you. His cum itself is pretty normal but makes up with the foreplay. Loves bukkakke.

Zhongli - Thick and creamy, taste sweet too! He gets so shy when you swallow, he's to old and modest for this, so grandpa's pulse immediately go haywire.

Bonus!!!

Dottore - Thick and the amount is in excess. He's so perverse during the foreplay, intentionally making sure to drench you, making you open your mouth and inspect it after you swallowed, and making you lick the cum you spilled on the floor

Capitano - The best overall in Tevyat, thickest, most yummy, the most amount, yet he's modest regarding everything. He simply likes you doing your own stuff, and indugle yourself in him. Will pet your head when you swallow, happy you're enjoying yourself. Maybe give you some sweet pecks if you tell him, his cum is the best.

(Reminder, Genshin is a fictional game, hence the unrealistic descriptons. If i missed any of your favs, which i probably did, just tell me and i do a part 2.)

[aventurineswife]

Ok.. NOW THR OPPOSITE OF THAT REQUEST! the reader is the one waking up from a horrible dream and is shaken up from it!!! (With the same characters.)

“No Nightmare Shall Part Us”

Tags: Kaveh x Reader, Sunday x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Feixiao x Reader, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Nightmares, Fluff, Established Relationship.

Warnings: Mentions of Death (in dreams), Emotional Distress, Themes of Loss and Fear.

You woke with a gasp, your body jolting upright in the darkness. The dream lingered, a vivid and haunting specter of Kaveh, crumpled beneath the weight of a crumbling palace—his palace. You could still hear his voice, soft and full of regret, whispering your name before the silence swallowed him whole.

Heart pounding, you pressed your hand to your chest, trying to remind yourself it wasn’t real. But the ache of the dream felt too sharp, too visceral. The bed beside you was warm, but empty, amplifying your fears.

“Kaveh?” Your voice was a tremulous whisper as you turned.

The faint shuffle of fabric reached your ears. The dim glow of Sumeru's moons filtered through the window, casting gentle light on the figure curled up in a chair by the desk. Kaveh sat hunched over, his hair catching the moonlight like threads of gold, an open sketchbook in his lap.

At the sound of your voice, he stirred, rubbing his eyes before offering you a tired smile. “You’re awake? I didn’t mean to fall asleep here. I was just working on something for a client.”

Your chest tightened with both relief and lingering fear. In three strides, you were by his side, arms wrapping tightly around his shoulders before he could say another word.

“Hey, hey,” Kaveh murmured, startled. “What’s wrong?”

“I thought I lost you,” you choked out, tears spilling freely now.

His hands rose instinctively to rest on yours, his touch warm and steady. “What? Lost me? What are you talking about?”

You buried your face against his shoulder, the scent of parchment and ink grounding you. “I had a dream. It was horrible. The palace was collapsing, and you… you didn’t make it out.”

Kaveh froze for a moment, his sharp eyes softening as he turned to face you fully. “Oh, my love,” he whispered, pulling you into his lap. “I’m here. I’m fine. It was just a nightmare.”

“But it felt so real.” Your voice cracked, and his thumb gently brushed away a tear from your cheek.

“Shh,” he soothed, his own heart aching at the sight of your distress. “I promise you, I’m not going anywhere. I’ve faced setbacks, sure, but as long as you’re with me, I’ll always find a way to keep going. And if anything does happen to me, well…” He hesitated, then chuckled softly, his humor a balm for your nerves. “Alhaitham would probably find a way to annoy me back to life.”

A shaky laugh escaped you, and Kaveh smiled, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. “See? No need to worry. Now, how about we both go back to bed? You’ll need your rest if you plan to keep scolding me about overworking tomorrow.”

You let him guide you back under the covers, his arms encircling you as you rested your head against his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat lulled you into a peaceful sleep, the nightmare banished by the warmth of his presence.

The dream was a storm of golden light and ash, tearing Sunday from your grasp. His wings, once radiant, crumbled under the weight of his own guilt, and you could only watch as he fell into an abyss of shattered stars. His voice, calm and resigned, echoed: “You’ll do better without me…”

“No!” you screamed, bolting upright, the darkness of the train cabin pressing in around you.

“Is something wrong?”

The soft, airy voice brought you back to reality. You turned sharply, finding Sunday perched on the edge of the bed, his hair glowing faintly in the ambient light. His eyes, tranquil yet filled with concern, studied you.

Without thinking, you reached out, your fingers brushing against his cheek. “You’re here,” you whispered, tears streaking down your face.

“Of course I am,” he replied, his brow furrowing slightly. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Your chest heaved as you tried to steady your breathing. “I… I had a dream. You… you were gone, Sunday. You left me.”

His expression softened, his hands enveloping yours. “Oh, my dear,” he murmured, his voice a soothing balm. “I’m sorry my presence in your dream caused you such pain. But I’m here now, and I won’t leave you willingly.”

You clung to him, his warmth and the gentle rustle of his clothes against your skin chasing away the remnants of the nightmare. “I can’t lose you,” you whispered, burying your face against his chest.

“And you won’t,” he promised, his fingers lightly tracing patterns on your back. “Even if the world crumbles around us, I’ll find a way to stay with you. You’re the anchor that keeps me from losing myself.”

The two of you stayed like that, the hum of the Astral Express a comforting backdrop. Eventually, Sunday shifted, guiding you to lie back down. He wrapped his arms around you, his halo casting a faint glow over the room.

“Rest now,” he whispered, his voice like a lullaby. “No dream, no nightmare, can touch us when we’re together.”

And as his steady breathing lulled you to sleep, you knew his words were true.

The sound of battle lingered in your ears as you jolted awake, heart racing, breath hitching. In your dream, Feixiao stood alone amidst a sea of abominations, her swords flashing with desperate precision. You screamed for her to retreat, to run to safety, but she wouldn’t—she couldn’t. When she finally fell, her blood staining the ground, the anguished cry you let out was enough to tear you from sleep.

You sat up, your chest heaving as you struggled to remember where you were. The familiar room of your shared quarters slowly replaced the carnage of your dream. Beside you, Feixiao lay peacefully, her hair spilling across the pillow like moonlight on water. The steady rise and fall of her chest confirmed she was alive.

A shaky sob escaped you, and without thinking, you reached out, clutching her arm as though she might vanish if you let go.

“Feixiao...” you whispered, voice trembling.

Her eyes opened instantly, sharp and alert even in her half-asleep state. She shifted toward you, her expression softening when she noticed your distress.

“Another nightmare?” Her voice was low, steady—a soldier’s voice, but gentle enough to soothe your panic.

You nodded, unable to form words as the tears began to fall. She pulled you into her arms, letting you bury your face against her shoulder.

“It’s alright,” she murmured, stroking your hair. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Her scent—clean and metallic, tinged with a hint of jasmine—grounded you. You clung to her tightly, your fingers tangling in the fabric of her pajama as though anchoring yourself to reality.

“I dreamed you… you didn’t come back,” you finally choked out.

Feixiao cupped your face, her thumbs brushing away your tears as she leaned close. “I fight for you, yue liang. I’ll always come back. Even if the stars fall, I’ll find my way back to you.”

You believed her. How could you not, when her gaze held such fierce determination?

The cold void of space haunted your mind as you bolted upright, your heart hammering against your ribs. The dream had felt so real: Ratio, standing alone before a collapsing star, his hair whipping wildly in the heat of destruction. He smiled, his voice calm and calculated, even as the flames consumed him.

“No!” you gasped, turning toward him instinctively.

There he was, lying beside you, his alabaster mask discarded on the bedside table. His hair spilled across the pillow, his face relaxed in peaceful slumber. You reached out with trembling hands, needing to feel his warmth, to confirm he wasn’t just a figment of your imagination.

Your fingers brushed his shoulder, and he stirred, his eyes flickering open.

“Ah, lumen,” he murmured groggily, his voice rich and smooth even in sleep. “What troubles you?”

You didn’t realize you were crying until his thumb gently wiped a tear from your cheek. “I… I dreamed I lost you,” you admitted, your voice cracking.

Ratio sat up, his brows furrowing slightly in concern. He reached for your hand, his grip firm yet comforting. “Dreams are but shadows, distortions of the mind,” he said, his tone softening. “But I am here, tangible and alive.”

You nodded, though the residual fear still clung to you. Sensing your hesitation, he tugged you closer, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

“I am far too stubborn to let fate claim me,” he said, his usual confidence tinged with warmth. “I still have much to do—and much to protect.”

His words eased the ache in your chest. You nestled against him, his steady presence chasing away the remnants of your nightmare.

The roll of dice echoed in your ears as you woke, gasping for air. In your dream, Aventurine had gambled everything—his fortune, his freedom, even his life—and lost. His carefree smile had faded as the odds turned against him, and his final words to you, “Don’t cry, my gem,” still rang in your head.

You turned sharply, desperate to find him. There he was, lying on his side, his hair falling messily across his eyes, closed in peaceful slumber. His soft smile remained, as if he were dreaming of something pleasant.

Your hand trembled as you touched his cheek, unable to hold back the sob that tore from your throat. “Kakavasha,” you whispered, your voice breaking.

His eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first, before they landed on you. “Hmm… Did my gem have a bad dream?” he asked, his tone light yet laced with concern.

“I… I thought you—” The words caught in your throat as tears spilled down your face.

He sat up instantly, his expression softening as he cupped your face in his hands. “Shh, I’m here,” he murmured, brushing away your tears with his thumbs. “I’m always here.”

You clung to him, burying your face in his chest. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close as he began to hum softly, the familiar melody grounding you.

“Life’s a gamble, my love,” he said after a moment, his voice low and soothing. “But I’d never wager something as precious as you. No odds in the universe could make me leave your side.”

His words brought a shaky laugh to your lips, and you looked up at him, your fear slowly dissipating. “Promise?”

“On every card in the deck,” he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Now, come back to bed, my gem. The night is still young.”

"Yue Liang" means "Moon" in Chinese.

Feixiao acknowledges you as her anchor and a source of light amidst her personal struggles.

It also conveys affection and intimacy, showing that she cherishes you as someone irreplaceable and vital in her life.

"Lumen" is Latin for "Light."

It signifies you as Ratio's guiding light, someone who illuminates his path amidst the darkness of ignorance or isolation.

The nickname also mirrors Ratio’s respect and admiration for your importance in his life, showing that your presence brings clarity and purpose.

[ddarker-dreams]

mini love report — gojo satoru

relationship health diagnosis — 70%*

symptom one — permanent honeymoon phase

he's obsessed with you an (ab)normal amount and makes it everyone else's problem. satoru loves seeing how many compliments he can get in before you're swatting him away from embarrassment. he'll capture your wrist, smother your pulse in kisses, then continue his praise. it's not always suave either. he alternates between having decent game and coming off as cringe. you have no idea how he says half the things he does.

satoru gushes about you to everyone. poor ijichi, mortified higher-ups, the elderly lady sitting next to him on the train; no one is safe. his chest swells with pride every time he remembers that he managed to pull you. it doesn't matter if you're teenagers sharing your awkward first kiss or if you've been married for decades, he'll be singing your praises until the end of time.

symptom two — weirdly possessive

satoru isn't possessive in the traditional sense. when others encroach on you, what troubles him runs deeper than simple jealousy. his smile becomes strained and he physically inserts himself between you and the offending party. you're then whisked away, regardless of how rude the abrupt departure comes off. this isn't limited to instances where you're being flirted with outright.

it's actually amplified when the other person holds some unique position in your life that's exclusive to them. satoru prides himself on the fact no one knows you better than he does. so it's disconcerting when another person has access to information and memories entirely detached from him. he's overwhelmed with the urge to prove you belong to each other — no one can come close to the bond you share. this acrimony lingers even after the interaction ends.

gojo satoru is a greedy man. he might not be the type to insist you cover up if your outfit is revealing, but he does experience this antipathy toward people who fulfill a niche he can't.

symptom three — obnoxious

you deserve a reward for putting up with him honestly. he wasn't wrong when he described himself as having a terrible personality. while it's rarely malicious, he isn't the most considerate person when it comes to others. he'll speak what's on his mind without a second thought. zero filter. if you're around, he's a stunning 10% nicer so you'll chew him out less. the number could be higher but he finds that disciplinary side of you hot. this is a direct admission from him.

he likes your attention and will pursue it relentlessly. as he grows up, he slightly improves this habit. or, to be more specific, he hides it better. he feels he's way more interesting than whatever book or video game you're playing. shooing him off so you can get stuff done is a commonplace occurrence. on the upside, when trudging through chores, he helps with the passion of a thousand suns if it means having you all to himself sooner.

primary area of concern

satoru's seemingly infinite (heh) supply of pep often doubles as a shield to deflect uncomfortable emotions. he isn't one to linger on negative events, the pace in which he seemingly moves on is concerning. the innerworkings of his mind are shrouded in mystery for such an open individual. getting him to open up about his fears or past hurts is almost impossible. he won't dodge your inquiries outright, that'd prove too suspicious. he'll throw a few crumbs your way and hope that's enough to satiate your worry.

the word vulnerability isn't in his vocabulary. this isn't owed to a lack of trust on his part — if anything, the care he holds for you makes it tempting at times. however, taking that first step toward opening up is daunting. you'll have to be patient with him. if it doesn't pertain to your relationship, it's unlikely he'll have an extensive heart-to-heart about the specters haunting his mind. rather, those aforementioned crumbs become more substantial. a late-night conversation will unexpectedly veer toward a sensitive subject.

it'll be fleeting. you don't have to shower him with platitudes, simply grab his hand and squeeze. it's an unspoken message that he isn't as alone as he sometimes feels.

prognosis

gojo satoru can be too blunt, he struggles with emotional intimacy, and he's shameless in getting what he wants from you. he's a mess but he's your mess. you don't revere him like a god among men, you make him feel human. you're his best friend, his soulmate (he keeps the latter description to himself, it's one of the few sentiments that embarrasses him). he'd do absolutely anything for your sake. when you enter the room, it's like everyone else ceases to exist. he brightens up and chases after any laugh, smile, or flustered expression he can get.

he believes meeting you altered the balance of the world more than his own birth.

*the universe has tried (and failed) to wrench you apart (0-20) your friends are praying that you'll break up (21-40) 'well it could/has be worse' bargaining mindset (41-60) a lil messiness as a treat (61-80) pure and wholesome (81-10)

[mononijikayu]

ghost of you — geto suguru.

In his dreams, he would see you adorned in your Jujutsu uniform, the epitome of elegance and grace as you moved with a fluidity that mesmerized all who beheld you. Each time, it’s like that day he met you, Shoko and Satoru all over again. How kindly you smiled at him. Greeting him with every sense of wonder. Nothing could compare to the way your face lit up with a radiant glow whenever you caught sight of him and Satoru, your eyes alight with an adoration that spoke volumes of the love you held for them both. The adoring gazes of those who surrounded you, drawn to the magnetic allure of your presence, only served to amplify the aura of warmth and joy that surrounded you wherever you went.

GENRE: Hidden Inventory Arc - JJK 0, 2006/2007 - 2017;

WARNING/s: Angst, Romance, Pining, Grief, Mourning, Death, Depiction of Trauma, Depiction of Death, Depiction of Grief, Depiction of Blood, Depiction of Corpses, Depiction of Injury, Depiction of Curses, Depiction of Dreams and Nightmares, Reminiscing, Language;

masterlist

listen: ghost of you by my chemical romance

note: this is how im dealing with my failings in class. im sick too but i wanted to cry, so i wrote this!!! ramadan mubarak to those celebrating!!! i love you all!!!

HE THINKS THAT HE’S ABOUT TO LOSE HIS MIND. Night after night, Geto Suguru found himself ensnared in the clutches of a restless sleep, his subconscious a battleground where turmoil reigned supreme. Sleep, once a sanctuary from the trials of the waking world, had become a rare and fleeting commodity for him. Each night, he descended into the depths of slumber with a weariness that weighed heavily on his weary soul.

But even in the refuge of sleep, there was no respite from the torment that plagued his restless mind. As he drifted into the realm of dreams, he was met with a relentless onslaught of visions that offered no solace, no reprieve. The awakening, when it inevitably came, was always abrupt, tearing him away from the illusory tranquility of his dreams with a merciless force.

With each night that passed, Suguru's weary eyes would flutter open, revealing puffy lids stained with the remnants of tears shed in the throes of sleep. The contrast between the serenity of his dreams and the harsh reality of his waking world was stark, a cruel reminder of the tumultuous nature of his existence.

His heart, a relentless drumbeat in the silence of the night, served as a constant reminder of the vivid images that lingered in his mind long after the dream had dissipated. The dreams felt real, tangible, as if he could reach out and touch the ephemeral figures that inhabited them. And you, in particular, felt more real than ever before, a spectral presence that haunted his every thought.

In his dreams, you were within his grasp, your presence a beacon of warmth and vitality that seemed to defy the confines of mortality. Your smile, so vibrant and alive, illuminated the darkness of his subconscious with a radiance that pierced through the shadows of his restless mind.

But alongside the fleeting moments of solace came the nightmarish visions that haunted him without fail. The memory of Toji Fushiguro, the man who had wrought untold devastation upon your life, upon his life, lingered like a malevolent specter in the recesses of his mind. It was that man that had robbed him of life. The image of Toji's vicious gaze as he looked upon your lifeless form, a cruel reminder of the brutality of fate, haunted Suguru's dreams with an unrelenting intensity.

He called your name over and over.

He watched you turn your back at him.

Each time, his heart seeps with horror.

“Suguru, get out!” You rush from the entrance, getting his attention. His eyes blinked before he could even react. He looks at you, with your disheveled look, exhausted from keeping the entrance safe. “Now!”

Your desperate cry pierced through the chaos, urging him to run, to escape the impending danger. But he was frozen in place, his muscles refusing to respond to the command of his racing mind.

He could see the determination etched into your features as you rushed towards the young girl, summoning your own cursed creatures in a futile attempt to protect her. But in the face of the Sorcerer Killer's relentless speed, your efforts seemed futile.

Time slowed to a crawl as Suguru's heart pounded against his chest, each beat echoing the terror and helplessness consuming him. He screamed your name, reaching out to you with a desperation he had never known before. But his movements were sluggish, as if he were trapped in a nightmare from which he couldn't wake.

Amanai Riko's screams echoed in the air as you wrapped your arms around her, shielding her from the impending danger. Suguru's breath caught in his throat as he watched in horror, knowing that he was powerless to stop the inevitable.

The sound of gunfire shattered the silence, the bullets tearing through the air with deadly precision. Two shots rang out, each one a death knell that reverberated through Suguru's soul.

Blood sprayed into the air, painting a macabre tableau of violence and despair. Your body convulsed as the bullets found their mark, your once-vibrant eyes now vacant and lifeless. You choked on your own blood, your ghostly visage haunting Suguru's nightmares for years to come.

Even in your final moments, you clung to Riko, offering what little comfort you could in the face of such senseless brutality. But it was a futile gesture, as both your bodies crumpled to the ground, lifeless and broken, a stark reminder of the cruel reality of their world.

“Okay, job’s done.” The dark haired man retorts, walking towards Suguru with a nonchalant look on his face. Nothing made him more angry, he thinks. Nothing in him was more devoid of life than in that moment. 

He stares at both of you and Riko.

He takes a breath. 

He turns to the man.

“Why are you here?” was all he could muster out of him, his dark purple pupils dilated in bitter anguish as you laid there, lifeless, the girl you were so desperate to protect, still wrapped around your cold, blood arms. 

“Oh, that.” The man grinned back at him, scratching his head with his armed hand. “That’s simple. Because I killed Gojo Satoru.”

He wasn’t sure what else to do. 

His rainbow dragon summoned.

His cursed energy bursted out of him.

His glare was pulsing with hatred.

“I see.” He says ever so bitterly, coldly. “Then die!”

Each dream began with your warmth enveloping him, igniting a fire within his soul that burned with a fervor unmatched by anything in the waking world. Your vibrant presence, etched into the very fabric of his being, illuminated the darkness of his subconscious with a radiance that defied the confines of mortality. Every detail of your existence was etched into his memory with an indelible permanence, a testament to the profound impact you had on his life.

In his dreams, he would see you adorned in your Jujutsu uniform, the epitome of elegance and grace as you moved with a fluidity that mesmerized all who beheld you. Each time, it’s like that day he met you, Shoko and Satoru all over again. How kindly you smiled at him. Greeting him with every sense of wonder.

Nothing could compare to the way your face lit up with a radiant glow whenever you caught sight of him and Satoru, your eyes alight with an adoration that spoke volumes of the love you held for them both. The adoring gazes of those who surrounded you, drawn to the magnetic allure of your presence, only served to amplify the aura of warmth and joy that surrounded you wherever you went.

You had a gift, a rare ability to make everyone around you feel like life was worth living, each and every time you graced them with your presence. You breathed life into every room you entered, infusing it with a sense of vitality and purpose that was as intoxicating as it was irresistible. And to Suguru, you were the embodiment of that beauty, a vision of unparalleled grace and elegance that left him breathless with longing.

But beneath the surface of this idyllic tableau of love and adoration lay a deep well of sorrow and longing that threatened to engulf Suguru's fragile heart. Because every dream ended with the same way. His guilt eating up and him. Every dream ended with you losing your life, with him losing you. And him, being too slow, too useless, too careless. The pain in his chest was palpable as he watched you over and over, knowing that you were no longer his to cherish. You haunted him, continually.

But he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Because you weren’t here with him.

All he could do was let him be haunted.

All he could do was let himself mourn.

All he could do was see the ghost of you.

HE DIDN’T REALIZE THAT HE HAD CURSED YOU. In the depths of Suguru's heart, a relentless denial gripped him with an iron fist, refusing to accept the crushing reality of your absence. He couldn't comprehend how he managed to carry on, nor could he grasp the reason behind his persistent refusal to acknowledge the truth. Yet, in the recesses of his soul, he harbored an unwavering certainty that you were still with him, your presence lingering like an indelible imprint on his consciousness.

The mere thought of your demise was inconceivable to Suguru, a notion he vehemently rejected with every fiber of his being. Even as he cradled your lifeless form in his arms, the weight of your absence pressing down on him like an insurmountable burden, he couldn't fathom a world without you breathing, without your laughter filling the air.

The memory of that fateful moment, when the sound of clapping mingled with the echo of your blood staining the pavement, haunted him relentlessly. It was a nightmare he couldn't escape, a grim reality that overshadowed every waking moment, gnawing at the edges of his sanity.

Even when he stood before Satoru, who held the lifeless body of Amanai Riko in his arms, the juxtaposition of death and despair surrounding them like a shroud, Suguru's mind rebelled against the notion of your absence. The image of your mangled face, revealed to Shoko as she trembled with unspoken grief, pierced Suguru's soul like a dagger, a stark reminder of the cruel fate that had torn you away from him.

But amidst the suffocating grip of denial, there lingered a beacon of solace – the memory of the day before, when both of you stood by the sea, basking in the warmth of each other's company. That precious moment played on an endless loop in Suguru's mind, a sanctuary of peace amidst the chaos of his shattered reality, a reminder of the love and joy you brought into his life.

In the tumultuous depths of his soul, Suguru clung to that memory with unwavering resolve, refusing to let go of the hope that one day, somehow, you would return to him, breathing life back into his shattered world.

That serene afternoon spent in your company felt like an eternity, a timeless moment etched into Suguru's memory. He could still recall the sensation of the sun's warmth enveloping his skin as he lay with his head nestled in your lap, the rhythmic motion of your fingers gently combing through his hair like a soothing melody.

The gentle caress of the wind against the backdrop of the sea created a symphony of tranquility, a scene of unparalleled beauty that seemed to exist outside of time itself. In that moment, there was no past or future, only the present, filled with the warmth of your love.

"You know," You teased, your playful grin lighting up your features, "You're lucky I'm not like Satoru. Otherwise, I might just shave your head when you fall asleep like this."

Suguru chuckled, his eyes still closed as he basked in the comfort of your presence. "You wouldn't dare. You love my hair too much."

Your laughter was like a sweet melody, a harmonious blend of joy and affection that resonated in Suguru's soul. "You caught me," You admitted, your fingers continuing their gentle movements through his hair. "I couldn't bear to part with those luscious locks of yours."

“Hm, it's why I maintain it for you.”

“Liar, you maintain it for yourself.” You retorted back at him, teasingly. “Well, other than that, for your boyfriend, Satoru.”

Opening his eyes, Suguru met your gaze, captivated by the love and warmth that radiated from your eyes. "You're one of a kind, my love," he murmured softly, reaching up to intertwined his fingers with yours. His chest rambling with laughter. “Satoru wouldn’t oppose those words, I like to think.”

You grinned back at him. “No, he’d be very flattered.”

He smiled, squeezing your palm. “Too bad you already captured me, my love.”

"And you're stuck with me," You replied with a mischievous grin, gently squeezing his hand. "For better or for worse."

"And for bitter or for worse, too," Suguru vowed solemnly, his voice filled with unwavering determination. “You and me.”

Your laughter echoed in the air, a symphony of happiness that danced around them. "That's a promise, hm?"

"It is!" Suguru affirmed, a smile spreading across his face as he felt a surge of warmth fill his heart. In that moment, surrounded by the warmth of your love and the echo of your laughter, he knew that he’d fall in love with you, over and over again.

In the aftermath of the tragedy that had torn you away from him, Suguru clung to your lifeless body with a tenacity born of desperation. He couldn't bear the thought of surrendering you to the authorities, not even to Shoko, who trembled with sorrow as she stood before him, her eyes filled with unspoken grief.

Instead, Suguru laid your body down gently on your dorm bed, heedless of the blood stains that marred the once-peaceful sanctuary where you had shared countless intimate moments together. "You belong here," he murmured softly, his voice choked with emotion, "Safe and far from harm."

For days, Suguru remained by your side, tending to your lifeless form with a tenderness that belied the anguish raging within him. "I'll take care of you," he whispered, his fingers tracing the contours of your face as if trying to etch your features into his memory forever.

As Satoru arrived, his usually jovial demeanor replaced with a heavy cloak of grief, Suguru's facade of stoicism cracked under the weight of his anguish. His heart, already battered and bruised, seemed to shatter into a million pieces as he watched Yaga and Shoko carry your lifeless body away, leaving him alone with the echo of his torment.

"How could you let this happen?" Suguru's voice rang out, filled with a rawness that cut through the air like a knife. Each word was laced with a pain so profound that it seemed to reverberate through the room, echoing the depths of his despair.

Satoru's response was a whispered apology, his voice heavy with guilt and sorrow. The weight of his words hung in the air like a tangible presence, a silent acknowledgment of the mistakes made and the lives lost as a result.

“Suguru,” Satoru began, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes reflecting a myriad of complex emotions. But amidst the sorrow and regret, Suguru could see the unmistakable glimmer of guilt that lingered in his best friend's gaze. It was a guilt that cut deeper than any blade, a burden that Satoru carried with him like a heavy chain around his neck.

The apology hung in the air, a fragile thread that seemed to stretch and strain under the weight of their shared grief. Suguru's heart ached with the weight of it all, the pain of loss and betrayal mingling together in a tumultuous storm of emotions.

In that moment, as they stood amidst the wreckage of their shattered lives, Suguru realized that forgiveness would not come easy. The wounds were too fresh, the pain too raw. But buried beneath the layers of grief and anger, there remained a glimmer of hope – a flicker of light in the darkness that threatened to consume them both.

Satoru's shoulders sagged under the weight of Suguru's accusation, his usual confidence crumbling in the face of his friend's anguish. "I... I don't know, Suguru," he admitted, his voice wavering with emotion. "I thought we had everything under control. I never imagined..."

Suguru's gaze bore into him, a mix of disbelief and sorrow etched into his features. "You never imagined?" he repeated, his voice hollow with pain. "You promised me you'd keep my love safe, Satoru. You promised."

Gojo Satoru's eyes mirrored the grief that threatened to consume Suguru. "I know," he whispered, his voice choked with sorrow. "I know, and I'm sorry. I never meant for any of this to happen. I would give anything to go back and change it, Suguru. Anything."

The room fell silent, the weight of their words hanging heavy in the air like a thick fog. Suguru's heart ached with a longing for the past, for a time when you were still alive and everything felt right in the world. “Apologies....it wouldn't bring Riko-chan....it wouldn't bring my love back. It wouldn’t bring them back.”

“I know.” His best friend responded back to him, his eyes lowering down to the pavement. “I know.”

He just let Suguru cry.

And he just held him.

But he knew it wasn’t enough.

It would never be enough.

As the days turned into weeks, the weight of grief and loss pressed down on Geto Suguru like an unrelenting force of nature. Surrounded by the very space that bore witness to a lifetime of shared memories between him and you, Suguru found himself drowning in bitterness and despair.

But his anguish only deepened when he discovered the truth – that your death, and the death of Amanai Riko, had been in vain. The realization that your sacrifices had been rendered meaningless, that another Star Plasma Vessel existed and remained to be found, fueled the flames of his anger and resentment.

Your deaths were not just tragedies; they were senseless, cruel acts of fate that left Suguru grappling with the unbearable weight of injustice. The quiet anger that simmered beneath his grief now boiled over, consuming him with a fiery intensity that threatened to consume everything in its path.

He was angry – angry at the world, angry at fate, angry at himself for not being able to protect you. He was bitter – bitter at the cruel twist of fate that robbed him of a future with you, bitter at the injustice of a world that could take away something so precious with such callous disregard.

In the midst of his despair, Suguru found himself grappling with a profound sense of loss – not just the loss of you, but the loss of the life they could have had together. It was a wound that cut deep, leaving him scarred and broken, forever haunted by the specter of what could have been.

"I can't do this without you," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, as he traced the outline of your bed with trembling fingers.

Amidst the suffocating darkness that threatened to consume him, Suguru clung to a memory that flickered like a solitary flame in the blackness of his despair. It was a memory of a night shrouded in chaos and bloodshed, a night when he had unleashed the full force of his cursed power upon a village that dared to defy him.

In the midst of the carnage, as screams echoed through the air and flames licked at the sky, Suguru found himself face to face with a man brandishing a dull blade, his eyes filled with a murderous rage. It was a scene straight out of his nightmares, a reminder of the violence and destruction that had become his reality.

But then, amidst the chaos and despair, he saw you – a specter of the past, with eyes as cold and dead as the winter night itself. In that fleeting moment of recognition, Suguru reached out to you, his hand trembling with a desperation he could not conceal.

"I need you," he whispered into the void, his voice thick with emotion. In that moment, he realized that even in death, you would always be there to defend him, to stand by his side through the darkest of times.

In the depths of his despair, Suguru's mind replayed the events of that fateful night with agonizing clarity. The memory of your sudden appearance, like a specter from the past, haunted him relentlessly, its impact both comforting and terrifying in equal measure.

As the man raised his blade, a glint of malice in his eyes, Suguru watched in stunned disbelief as you intervened, your ethereal form moving with an otherworldly grace. Tears streamed down your face, a silent testament to the grief and anguish that engulfed you both.

In that fleeting moment, as your cold hand met his trembling one, Suguru was overcome by a torrent of emotions – grief, longing, and a profound sense of loss. But amidst the chaos and turmoil, there was also a glimmer of hope – a belief that even in death, your presence would guide him through the darkness, offering solace and strength in the face of unimaginable hardship.

You couldn’t speak, your voice silenced by the cruel hand of fate. Yet in that moment, words were unnecessary. Your mere presence was enough to soothe Suguru's tormented soul, offering him a lifeline amidst the darkness that threatened to consume him.

Because you were here, tangible and real, your touch and gaze a balm to his wounded spirit. In that moment, nothing else mattered – not the burning village, nor the screams of the innocent, nor the sorrow that engulfed them both. Only you, alive and with him, mattered.

"Welcome home, my love," Suguru whispered to you, his voice barely above a whisper, his touch gentle as he brushed your hair out of your face. In that moment, surrounded by the remnants of their shared past, Suguru found solace in the simple act of being with you, his anchor in a sea of chaos and despair.

He regretted nothing.

Not this moment.

No, not even you.

Never you.

HE HAD NO REGRETS, NOT EVEN BY THE END.You watched from the shadows, your ethereal presence a silent observer in the midst of the unfolding drama. Suguru had never wanted you near the battle. He had kept you out of it. But he supposed, as you dwelled through the walls, familiar to the cursed echoes of your mind—you were just returning home.The moon hung low in the sky, its pale light casting long shadows over the desolate landscape. As the first rays of dawn began to paint the horizon with streaks of gold and orange, the world seemed to hold its breath in anticipation.

Your eyes, cold and ghostly, flickered with an otherworldly intensity as you surveyed the scene before you. Two figures stood facing each other amidst the quiet stillness of the night – one bathed in the soft glow of the moon, the other shrouded in the darkness of the shadows. Geto Suguru leaned against the familiar wall, his form hunched over in pain as he clutched his armless shoulder, blood seeping through his fingers in a steady stream. Despite the agony etched into his features, he remained steadfast, his resolve unyielding even in the face of death.

You blinked, your expression inscrutable as you watched Suguru's suffering unfold before you. There was a sense of detachment in your gaze, as if you were merely a spectator to the tragic spectacle playing out before you. The sun began to lower, its golden rays piercing through the darkness with a gentle warmth that belied the chaos of the moment. The world seemed to slowly descend to the slumber, the birds flying past as they chased against the shadows eating away into darkness.

And yet, amidst the beauty of that blue hour, there was an undeniable sense of foreboding in the air. This was not how he was expecting to go, but he supposed he had no other way but to live through it, with what he had left. The silent standoff between the two figures spoke volumes, a silent testament to the turmoil and conflict that raged within their hearts.

You stood silently, your presence a silent sentinel amidst the chaos, your eyes never wavering from the scene unfolding before you. As Suguru and the other figure faced each other in a silent battle of wills, you remained a silent witness to the unfolding drama, your ghostly eyes reflecting the weight of the world on your shoulders.

"You're late, Satoru," Suguru let out a voice tinged with resignation and a hint of bitterness.

Satoru Gojo stood before them, a towering figure even in the midst of turmoil, his usual blindfold gone to reveal the intensity of his gaze. His eyes, unobscured by the fabric that usually concealed them, bore into Suguru and the ethereal figure standing beside him, a silent testament to the gravity of the situation unfolding before them.

As Suguru and Satoru faced each other, a silent exchange passed between them, Satoru's expression remained stoic yet filled with an unspoken sorrow. It had been so long since he had last seen the figure beside Suguru, and this was not the reunion he had envisioned. But there was no surprise in his gaze, no hint of shock at the sight before him. He had long ago come to accept the unexpected twists and turns of fate, the unpredictable nature of love and loss.

Every essence of love, Satoru knew, carried with it a burden of its own – a weight that could either uplift or crush the soul. His love for Suguru, his steadfast friendship that had endured for nearly a decade, had been his anchor in the storm, the guiding light that had sustained him through even the darkest of times. And he was certain that Suguru's love for the figure beside him, ever-present yet so tragically unfulfilled, had likewise kept him tethered to this world, even as death loomed ever closer.

As Satoru turned his head to look at the figure beside Suguru, a wave of bittersweet memories washed over him. It had been too long since he had last seen you, too long since they had last stood together as allies in the fight against darkness. And now, as he gazed upon your lifeless form, he couldn't help but feel a pang of regret – regret for all the lost time, all the missed opportunities, and all the words left unspoken. You were chained to this life, out of love. And you probably knew that too well. 

Amidst the sorrow and regret, there remained a glimmer of hope – a belief that even in death, their love would endure, a beacon of light in the darkness that threatened to consume them all. Yet he wouldn’t want it to continue. This was already a nightmare. These moments were already haunting ghosts. And as Satoru stood before them, his heart heavy with grief yet filled with a quiet determination, he knew that he would do whatever it took to set them free from the chains of their past, to grant them the peace and solace they so rightfully deserved.

"To think you'd be the one here at my end," Suguru replied, his voice betraying none of the turmoil swirling within him. Yet he smiled, a genuine expression of warmth and understanding that seemed to contradict the gravity of the situation.

Suguru Geto, his expression stoic and unreadable, met Satoru's gaze with a steely resolve. There was a time when closeness existed between them, a bond forged through shared experiences and unwavering trust. But now, that bond lay fractured and strained, buried beneath the weight of their conflicting ideologies and diverging paths.

"Is my family safe?" Suguru demanded, his tone tinged with a shallow breath of concern. He glanced at the figure standing beside him, your dead, cold eyes betraying a silent worry that mirrored his own. Nanako and Mimiko, the twins who had become like family to them, were undoubtedly on both your minds. Suguru knew that your concern for their safety mirrored his own, even if you couldn't voice it aloud.

Satoru nodded solemnly. "Every last one of them managed to escape," he confirmed, his voice tinged with regret. "The ones in Kyoto were under your orders, too, right?"

Suguru's lips curved into a bitter smile. "Yeah," he acknowledged. "Unlike you, I'm a kind man."

The tension between them hung heavy in the air, suffocating and palpable. Suguru broke the silence once more, his voice steady and unwavering. "You sent those two assuming that I'd defeat them, didn't you?" he questioned, his tone accusing yet tinged with resignation.

Suguru's gaze hardened, his eyes narrowing in response. "To set Okkotsu off," he whispered, his voice laced with bitter amusement. Satoru's eyes remained steadfast, reflecting the resolve of a man driven by his convictions.

"I trusted you," Satoru interjected, his voice tinged with a note of disappointment. "Trusted that a man as principled as you wouldn't kill off young sorcerers without a reason."

"Trust, huh?" Suguru mused, his smile tinged with wistfulness. He glanced at the figure beside him, your cold, dead eyes mirroring his own emotions. "I didn't think I still had any of that left… after everything I’ve been through."

With a resigned sigh, Suguru retrieved a small object from the folds of his clothes and extended it towards Satoru. "Return this for me, will you?" he requested, his voice tinged with finality.

Satoru accepted the object, his fingers closing around it with a sense of inevitability. "Was the elementary school your doing, too?" he asked, his voice tinged with curiosity and disbelief.

Suguru met his gaze, his expression inscrutable. "Yeah," he admitted quietly.

Their eyes met in a silent exchange of understanding and regret, the weight of their shared history hanging heavy between them. Satoru took a step forward, his gaze piercing through the darkness to meet Suguru's gaze head-on. 

"Do you have any last words?" he inquired, his voice soft yet tinged with melancholy.

Suguru's lips twitched into a bitter smile, his gaze unfaltering. "No matter what anyone says," he began, his voice tinged with resignation. "I hate those monkeys. But I never held any hatred for those in Jujutsu High. I just couldn't wear a heartfelt smile in this world. Not after…"

He turned towards you, his expression filled with an unspoken longing and regret. You looked back at him, confusion etched into your features. But he smiled at you, urging you closer with a silent gesture.

"I hope you can forgive me," Suguru whispered to you, his hand reaching out to touch your face gently. A tear fell from your eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the pain and loss they had both endured. "And I hope you will meet me soon. The real you. Wherever this death leads me. I hope you can love me again. Like you used to.”

"You need to do it, Suguru," Satoru urged, his voice filled with a sense of sorrow. One that Suguru cannot comprehend. One that was buried for ten years. “Now.”

Suguru wiped the lone tear away, his expression solemn yet resolute. "I know."

"Suguru," Gojo Satoru called out, his voice echoing with the weight of their shared history and the unspoken promise of redemption. "We'll meet again someday, right?"

His words were a whispered prayer, a plea for forgiveness and understanding that he never thought he'd utter. Each syllable hung heavy in the air, pregnant with the weight of their past and the uncertainty of their future.

Suguru looked at him with surprise, his expression a mixture of disbelief and resignation. And then, as if released from the shackles of his own sorrow, a laugh bellowed from him, echoing through the desolate landscape like a beacon of hope amidst the darkness. He smiled at Satoru, a genuine smile that reached his eyes despite the pain and regret that lingered there.

"At least curse me a little bit, in the end," Suguru teased lowly, his voice tinged with a sense of camaraderie that belied the gravity of the moment. It was a moment of levity amidst the heaviness of their shared grief, a fleeting glimpse of the bond that had once united them in friendship and camaraderie.

And then, as if on cue, your voice pierced through the silence, your words whispered softly yet audibly into the night air. "Go...od...bye," you murmured, your lips forming the words with a sense of finality that hung heavy in the air like a shroud. It was not strangled. But rather, warm. As warm as it used to be when you were alive. 

They both looked at you, their hearts heavy with sorrow and regret, yet filled with a quiet understanding and acceptance. Your smile, though fleeting, filled the space between them with warmth and reassurance, a silent reminder that even in death, love endures.

As your body started to fade into the ether, a silent farewell etched into the depths of your soul, Suguru reached out to them one last time. His hand extended toward Satoru, a gesture of farewell and gratitude for their shared moments of joy and sorrow. And in that fleeting moment, surrounded by the echoes of their shared past and the promise of a brighter future, they reached back, their hands intertwined in a silent vow of eternal remembrance and love.

Satoru watched as your body disappeared, wisps of what had been blowing into the wind like cherry blossoms in the summer breeze. His gaze shifted to Suguru, a bittersweet smile playing at the corners of his lips. It was a smile of contentment, of freedom finally achieved. Because he knew, deep down, that he would meet you soon. And in that moment, he felt no regrets, no sorrow, only the quiet acceptance of what was to come.

“I’ll do it once,” Satoru whispered to Suguru, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry.”

Suguru's smile widened, a sense of peace washing over him as he closed his eyes. He resigned himself to his fate. “Between you and me, Satoru,” he whispered back, his voice filled with a sense of finality. “There was never any need for thanks or apologies. I’m ready to go. I’ve been ready for ten years. All I want is to smile genuinely again.” 

And with those words hanging in the air like a silent promise, Suguru took one final breath, his spirit soaring free from the shackles of his earthly existence. He didn’t need to use his powers, Satoru thinks. He was already gone. Far too gone. And as he faded into the unknown, a sense of tranquility settled over the desolate landscape, one that had ever been so familiar. So full of memories of the four of you in your blue summer. It was now his turn, he supposed. To live with the ghosts of you and Suguru, for as long as he lives. 

As Geto Suguru's spirit faded into the unknown, Gojo Satoru stood in the quiet stillness of the brisk sunset turning deeply into the darkened night. He stood before his best friend’s body, letting a sense of peace settle over him like a comforting embrace. He watched as Suguru's essence dissipated into the ether, a gentle smile gracing his lips as he whispered a silent farewell to his dear friend.

In the moments that followed, Gojo Satoru felt a profound sense of closure wash over him, a weight lifted from his weary soul. For so long, he had carried the burden of their shared past, the guilt and regret weighing heavily on his heart. But now, as Suguru's spirit ascended to a higher plane, he knew that their journey together had come to an end. And now Suguru's journey began. You both were together now, that’s what he hoped for. Suguru was smiling beside you. That you both were waiting for him and Shoko. That’s what he wants to believe.

As the last traces of Suguru's presence faded from the air, Satoru closed his eyes, allowing himself to bask in the quiet tranquility of the night. In that moment, he felt a sense of gratitude for the time they had shared, for the laughter and tears, the joy and sorrow that had defined their friendship.

The tears fell from blue eyes easily.

He choked on his sobs, his head down.

It was never going to be easy for him.

He had to move forward, all he could do.

He had to live, for you and Suguru.

[elryuse]

Fuck It, You're Ours Now

Yandere Bae & Lily X Male Reader

I was a mere speck in the cosmic expanse that was K-pop, a solitary planet adrift in a galaxy of stars. Then came Bae and Lily, twin suns igniting my celestial existence. Their performances were a supernova, a cataclysmic event that consumed me entirely.

Their Seoul concert was the Big Bang that created my universe. As the stage transformed into a cosmic canvas, their eyes, twin black holes, pulled me inexorably into their orbit. In that moment, I became a satellite, forever bound to their gravitational pull.

After that night, I became a cosmic stalker, charting their every move with obsessive precision. Their concerts, their public appearances, became my pilgrimage, a desperate attempt to satiate the insatiable hunger they had ignited within me. I studied their laughter, memorized the timbre of their voices, and their smiles were the constellations by which I navigated my nights. I was a ghost in their world, a silent specter haunting their dreams.

Unbeknownst to me, I was far from invisible. Backstage, in the twilight zone of their dressing room, Bae and Lily whispered about me, their voices a cosmic symphony of desire. Their eyes, twin quasars, held galaxies of obsession as they dissected my every reaction, my body language a map they were desperate to explore.

“He watches us with such hunger,” Bae breathed, her voice a nebula of longing, a cosmic ache.

Lily, her eyes twin black holes, replied, “He is ours,” her voice a low, possessive growl.

I was their black hole, a cosmic anomaly that consumed them entirely. With each concert, their desire for me grew, a supernova of obsession building within them, a force of nature that threatened to consume them both. They began to anticipate my presence with a desperation that bordered on madness, dressing to impress, hoping to ensnare me in their gravitational field.

One night, after a performance that shook the very foundations of reality, I found myself backstage, pulled by an invisible force, a cosmic tether that bound me to them. The dressing room door creaked open, revealing two goddesses, their cuteness amplified a thousandfold by the soft backstage lights.

“You,” Bae breathed, her voice a cosmic whisper, filled with a desperation that chilled me to the core.

Lily's eyes were twin black holes, sucking me in with an intensity that was both terrifying and exhilarating. “Ours,” she corrected, her voice a low, possessive growl.

The room contracted into a singularity, the outside world a distant memory. I was trapped in their event horizon, a cosmic prisoner in their celestial cage.

“You’re cuter than we imagined,” Bae purred, her voice a velvet caress, laced with a hint of madness.

Lily stepped closer, her hand a comet brushing mine, her touch sending shivers down my spine. “Ours,” she repeated, her voice a low, insistent demand.

The room crackled with static electricity, a supernova about to erupt. Desire, a black hole of its own, consumed me, a cosmic tempest raging within me.

“You’re both incredibly cute,” I managed, my voice a distant echo, a feeble attempt to assert my own reality.

Bae's lips curved into a cosmic smile, but her eyes held a predatory glint. “Ours,” she corrected again, her voice a low, menacing growl.

Lily moved closer, her eyes twin pulsars, boring into my soul. “Closer,” she demanded, her voice a hypnotic command.

I hesitated, a cosmic battle raging within me. Fear, excitement, and an undeniable pull warred for dominance.

“Don’t be afraid,” Bae assured me, her voice a soothing nebula, but her eyes held a predatory gleam.

With trembling hands, I reached out and touched Lily’s face. Her skin was like stardust, warm and inviting, but her eyes held a possessive fire.

“You’re so cute,” I whispered, a satellite lost in her orbit, but my voice held a tremor of fear.

Lily’s eyes flashed triumph, but there was a darkness lurking within them, a cosmic void that terrified me. “Ours,” she repeated, her voice a final, irrevocable claim.

Before I could react, Bae’s lips met mine. Her kiss was a supernova, consuming me in a celestial explosion, but there was a desperation in her kiss, a hunger that went beyond mere desire. I responded instinctively, lost in the cosmic dance, but a cold dread crept into my heart.

Lily’s kiss followed, deeper, more demanding. Her tongue explored my mouth with a cosmic hunger, but there was a possessiveness in her kiss, a mark of ownership that chilled me to the bone.

We kissed for what felt like eternity, our bodies entangled in a cosmic embrace, but a growing sense of entrapment consumed me. When we finally broke apart, we were breathless, our eyes locked in a gravitational pull, but the darkness in their eyes had deepened.

“Ours,” Bae whispered, her voice a possessive echo, filled with a chilling intensity.

“Forever,” Lily added, her voice a deadly serious cosmic promise, but her eyes held a promise of something far more sinister.

I looked into their eyes, galaxies of obsession and possessiveness swirling within them, but there was a darkness at the core, a cosmic void that terrified me. I knew in that moment that my life would never be the same. I was a planet captured by two black holes, and I was theirs to consume, to possess, and ultimately, to destroy.

Time warped into a surreal dimension. Days bled into nights, and reality blurred at the edges. Bae, Lily, and I existed in a secret universe, a hidden constellation amidst the glittering chaos of our public lives. Our rendezvous were clandestine, stolen moments in ordinary places - a cozy café, a dimly lit restaurant, any space that offered a semblance of privacy.

These were our sanctuaries, our cosmic refuges. We’d slip into these worlds, shedding our public personas like discarded skins. In these moments, we were raw, vulnerable, and utterly consumed by each other. Their eyes, twin black holes, held galaxies of obsession, a cosmic hunger that never seemed to satiate.

Their touch was an electric current, a shock to my system that both terrified and exhilarated me. Their kisses were supernovae, consuming me in a celestial inferno. And yet, amidst the passion and the obsession, there was a fragile tenderness, a vulnerability that surprised me. They would confess their deepest fears, their wildest dreams, their darkest secrets.

"I can’t stop thinking about you," Bae would whisper, her voice a trembling nebula. Her eyes, usually filled with a predatory glint, would soften, revealing a vulnerability that was both heartbreaking and intoxicating.

Lily would nod, her eyes filled with a silent storm of emotion. "Every moment without you is an eternity," she would say, her voice a low, mournful melody.

My heart would ache with a bittersweet longing. I loved them both, a love that was as vast and complex as the universe itself. But their obsession, their possessive nature, cast a long shadow over our paradise.

Our nights were a continuation of our days, a descent into a world of shadows and desires. In the hushed intimacy of our shared spaces, our inhibitions melted away, revealing the depths of our obsession. We were a cosmic triangle, a dangerous and intoxicating equation.

Their bodies were constellations I longed to explore, maps I was eager to memorize. And yet, amidst the physical ecstasy, there was a growing sense of unease. The lines between love, obsession, and possession were blurring, and I was losing my grip on reality.

One night, as we lay entwined, the weight of our secret world pressed down upon me. I looked at them, their faces illuminated by the soft glow of the nightlight. They were beautiful, terrifying, and utterly consuming.

“I love you both,” I whispered, my voice a mere echo in the vastness of our shared universe.

Their eyes widened, a flicker of surprise and vulnerability crossing their faces. And then, as if in unison, they leaned in, their lips meeting mine in a passionate, possessive kiss.

In that moment, I was lost, a planet adrift in a sea of desire, fear, and obsession. Our love was a cosmic anomaly, a beautiful and terrifying force that threatened to consume us all.

[cipheramnesia]

We watched season one of Our Flag Means Death. Something I think is interesting about the theme of the first season is how generally antagonists take the form of Unable To Accept Change and Missing The Good Old Days. Wanting to change, to grow or be different or try new things, is usually a force for good - and it also uses acceptance of changes and differences as a shorthand for people who are meant to be friends or protagonists or seen as helpful. The cruelest mockery and worst fates are turned on characters who themselves mock the idea of change, who see anyone different or new, or trying something difficult, as ridiculous. But the beautiful absurdity of it all is those seemingly ridiculous people looking foolish in their first attempts to be more than they are, their bizarre and apparently foolish choices are met with success in some measure. When you try something new, and make mistakes or look foolish, the show says this is okay, and treats you gently, and promises that it was worthwhile looking silly in the end.

I think the reason Izzy is the one character that seems terrifying and genuinely dangerous is because what he wants is the worst thing of all, for nothing to ever change, eternal stasis. He is a figurative heat death of the universe, and cannot be drawn into any of the absurd humor because what he stands for is reminder in the corner of death, of cessation of movement. He is a specter of seriousness and a straightman providing contrast to amplify the humor and to brighten the joy of living.

[melanchol1cs]

LAMBS TO THE SLAUGHTER, ii

leon kennedy x religious f!reader

word count: 3k summary: realizing parents don’t always know whats best. masterlist | taglist | ko-fi

previous chapter | next chapter

18+ MDNI. DEAD DOVE. religious themes, religious trauma, neglectful/abusive parents, physical abuse(not by leon), mentions of bruises and physical injury, age gap(reader is 19, leon is 27), reader tries coffee for the first time. there will be smut in future chapters.

a/n: sorry for making you guys wait, i wasn’t really contented with the first version i made of this so i decided to redo most of it, which didn’t turn out that good either. anyway, i hope you guys enjoy, likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

you had returned from leon’s house, the familiar scent of home enveloping you. the floral aroma of your mother's cleaning products mingled with the rich scent of your father's coffee, yet neither could dispel the unease that clung to you. the house was empty, amplifying the loneliness that settled like a weight in your chest.

of course, the chores. you still needed to finish them before your parents returned. you rushed to sweep the kitchen floor, hastening to the laundry next. the clock ticked ominously, each second a reminder of how little time you had.

but leon’s image haunted you, an uninvited specter in your mind. you tried to forget, to focus on your tasks, but your hands trembled as you attempted to fold a shirt, the fabric slipping from your grasp. frustration welled up within you, a sigh escaping your lips, as you envisioned his eyes, his smile, the warmth that seemed so foreign in your own home.

you moved onto the dishes, hoping the mundanity of the task would distract you. but the clattering plates only evoked memories of leon’s chuckle, his voice echoing in your thoughts, a gentle reminder of the fleeting moments you shared.

and despite your efforts, the chores remained unfinished. the broom leaned against the wall, dishes piled high in the sink, and the laundry lay untouched on the living room floor. the weight of your failure pressed down on you, a physical ache that matched the emotional turmoil.

you couldn’t recall how it happened, your mind always foggy afterward. one moment you were rushing to complete your tasks, the next you were lying on the floor, pain throbbing in your head. vision blurred, you struggled to sit up, the room spinning around you. you reached out, steadying yourself against the coffee table, the cold surface grounding you in reality.

that's when you noticed them — bruises blooming on your arms, smaller ones on your knees, cuts shallow but jagged on your knees and elbows, and tiny splinters embedded in your fingers. each mark a testament to the chaos that reigned in your home.

your parents towered over you, a sight you'd grown used to. their faces were contorted into rage, though you weren't entirely sure what you had done to deserve it. their anger was a constant companion, an ever-present threat.

your father grabbed you by the hair, yanking your head back painfully. "ain't this all you had to do before we came home? 'ts not so hard, is it? don't get what you had to do that's so much more important than what we tell you." you opened your mouth, but only a groan emerged, the pain throbbing in your head, each word a dagger to your heart.

your mother knelt down, roughly grabbing your chin to force you to look at her. "don't you dare act like you're hurt, missy. ain't nothin' hurt. you just want an excuse not to do your chores." her grip tightened, nails digging into your skin.

"we'll give you an excuse, you spoiled brat."

your mother kicked you hard in the side, a shout of pain escaping your lips. your father dragged you to your feet, his grip iron on your upper arm. he wrenched you toward the staircase, each step a reminder of your helplessness.

"up to your room, young lady. don't wanna see you down here till morning." you stumbled up the stairs, each step sending jolts of pain through your bruised body.

you remember it vividly, collapsing onto your bed that night, tears pricking at your eyes, attempting to sob quietly in the darkness of your room.

a storm brewed closer, and you sat in your disheveled cream-colored dress, swinging your legs from the trunk of a tree that stood between your house and his. your face was streaked with dirt and wind-blown hair. you gazed into the distance, fingers tracing lazy patterns on your thigh, oblivious to the world around you.

the front door creaked open, but you remained unaware, lost in your thoughts.

"hi, neighbor," you heard. your head snapped down, eyes meeting his, a flicker of surprise crossing your features.

"hi," a small peep escaped your lips, your voice barely above a whisper.

he stood there, looking up at you, concern etched on his face.

"everything okay up there?" he gestured vaguely at the branches surrounding you. you opened your mouth, but no words came out. just gasps and wheezes. your lungs felt like they were on fire. and all you managed was a quiet hum, just enough for him to hear.

his attempts to climb the tree were futile, making it halfway before he stood on the ground. "you know, there's a perfectly good porch down here. the grass is really nice this time of year too." his voice was gentle, a stark contrast to the harshness you were accustomed to.

you awkwardly shifted on the branch, attempting to cover your legs, the bark digging into your thighs through your dress. "how'd you get those?" his eyes lingered on your bruises, concern deepening.

"i— i'm not supposed to talk to you," you try to avoid eye contact. "sorry."

his brow furrowed slightly at your whispered response. "oh, come on. don't be like that," he leaned against the trunk, looking up at you with intense blue eyes. "talk to me." his voice was low and gravelly, sending shivers down your spine, a strange comfort in his persistence.

"i can't," your voice barely reached his ears, but he caught it. "i'm not supposed to tell."

"not supposed to tell what?" he sounded genuinely curious and a little amused, like he thought you were playing a game. his gaze drifted over your face, taking in your flushed cheeks and glassy eyes. "honey, you can tell me anything. i'm your neighbor, remember? you even bought me cookies. we're friends now."

you glanced down, then back up, then down again. your eyes darted around, worried someone might be watching. when they flicked back up to him, your brows furrowed, eyes frightened. "please, you can't tell anyone, okay? i'd get in so much trouble if my parents found out i told you..." you trailed off, biting your lip. your hands curled tightly around the branches above your head. you trembled slightly, the fear palpable.

"i promise, i won't."

"you gotta tell me why you're so scared to talk. what's going on at home?" his eyes... they just kept looking at you, seeing right through you. you swallowed hard, mouth suddenly dry. how could you explain? they'd hate you more if you told. and leon... he'd probably think you were weird. or broken. or worse.

but he asked. and he seemed like he wanted to know. and you really didn't want to cry in front of him. so you took a deep breath and told him the truth. "my parents... they hit me. only sometimes. when i don't do what they want." tears pricked your eyes, and you bit your lip hard, trying to hold them back.

you weren't crying. you weren't crying. you weren't... a sob escaped your throat, and soon you were hiccuping and sniffling, clinging to the branches as you cried. he just looked at you as you cried. "sorry."

he didn't say anything. didn't move. just kept looking at you as you cried. this was so embarrassing. but it also felt like a relief, finally telling someone the truth. even if that someone was a boy from next door you barely knew. after a few moments, he finally spoke.

"you know i'm here for you, right? you can talk to me, about anything." his voice was gentle now, not gravelly and teasing like before. "care to come down now?"

"can't," you timidly shook your head and turned away slightly. "it's almost dinner."

the wind whipped through the branches, the only sound echoing through the neighborhood. you looked down at him, his gaze fixed on you. the tears wouldn't stop. "please don't look at me like that," you sniffled, wiping your tear-streaked face with the back of your hands, wishing the ground would swallow you whole.

his lips parted as if to say something, but he was interrupted by the door squeaking open, your mother calling out.

"dinner's ready!” the sternness in her voice made you go rigid. your eyes widened, and your hand quickly slapped over your mouth to hold back a whimper. there wasn't much time left. you clambered down the tree, wincing with each bruise pushed to its limit.

halfway down, he reached up to help, his hand grasping your arm to steady you. your feet planted on the grass, you were met with a reassuring smile. "i'll see you later, yeah?"

"okay."

you turned back to your house, swallowing the dread building in your stomach. your mother stood at the front door, arms crossed, a stern look on her face.

"where've you been?" she snapped as you approached. "dinner's been waiting, you know."

"sorry," you swallowed your words. "i— i was outside. in the garden."

"in the garden," she repeated, a hint of suspicion in her voice, masked behind false care. she scrutinized you with her piercing gaze, taking note of your messy hair, dress covered in twigs, dirt stains. the evidence was all over you, each mark a silent accusation.

"well, c'mon then. no point in standing out here all night," she snapped. "go clean up. you're filthy."

later that night, after dinner and chores, you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. thoughts fixated on leon. the way he looked at you. the way he listened. the way he didn't judge. his presence was a balm to your wounded soul, a flicker of hope in the darkness.

hours ticked by, sleep eluding you. every time your eyes shut, images of him popped into your head. his intense gaze, the small quirks of his expression, the timbre of his voice, and that slight, warm smile. each memory a lifeline, a reminder that someone cared.

you rolled over, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself, trying to push away the strange feelings stirring within. the uncertainty gnawed at you, a constant companion.

eventually, after hours of tossing and turning, sleep came at last. but it did not bring peace. your fears came to life in your dreams, the pain and dread all too real, haunting you, a relentless reminder of your reality.

the following morning, rain pelted against your window, the sound echoing through your small room. the weather matched your mood, a reflection of the storm within. groggily, you lifted yourself off the bed, body covered in aches and bruises from the previous day.

the rain continued, drumming against the roof. you stood at your window, staring into the gloom, mind wandering back to yesterday. to leon. to the way his presence had offered a momentary respite from your suffering.

a flash of lightning illuminated the sky, followed by a clap of thunder. you flinched, heart racing. the pain in your body faded as unease washed over you, the storm outside mirroring the turmoil within, each rumble a reminder of your unrest.

your groggy mind struggled to shake off sleep's haze. you sat up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. the nightmare's memories lingered like a bad taste. rain lashed the window, creating a steady rhythm that filled the morning air, a symphony of sorrow.

carefully, you climbed out of bed, feeling the throb in your body, and pulled on the first outfit you found, not bothering to change into something clean. your hair was a mess, eyes heavy with unshed tears, the weight of the previous day still hanging over you.

you hesitated at the door, the rain's sound intensifying. but something pushed you forward. maybe it was the need for distraction, the curiosity of seeing leon again, or just the need for human interaction. the need to feel less alone.

you made your way to his house, shivering as cold droplets soaked through your clothes. the front door creaked open at your knock, revealing leon in all his disheveled glory. he looked as tired as you felt, but seeing him lifted a weight off your chest, a small comfort amidst the chaos.

"hey," he greeted, voice rough from sleep, his eyes warming as he took in your bedraggled appearance.

"hi," you smiled awkwardly. "i hope you don't mind, i was hoping we could kind of..."

"i don’t know, talk… i guess."

he blinked, slowly registering your smile. he stepped aside, allowing you in, his presence a silent reassurance.

"mind? are you kidding me? you're soaked. come in." he led you into the living room, closing the door behind you, the warmth of his home a stark contrast to the cold outside.

you shivered again, and he noticed, throwing you a towel. "here, dry off a bit." as you wrapped the towel around your shoulders, you noticed his eyes lingering on you, his gaze seeming to strip you bare. it made you shiver for an entirely different reason, a strange warmth spreading through you.

"i was just about to make coffee. want some?" he asked, gesturing to the kitchen, his voice a gentle invitation.

"no, thank you."

"are you sure? i just brewed a fresh pot," he stands there expectantly, hands resting on his hips. his gaze bores into you, studying you. like he's trying to figure out what's going on in that head of yours. you shift uncomfortably, feeling self-conscious under his scrutiny.

"okay," he eventually drops it. "so, what're you doing here this early?" he gestured, his curiosity evident.

why did you come here? oh right. to distract yourself. and also, because you sort of wanted... to see him. "i just... i had some free time, and i thought..." you trailed off, unable to meet his eyes. this felt so awkward, so vulnerable. he filled the silence with his understanding.

"no need to explain," he said. his voice was casual, but his eyes held concern. he studied you for a moment. "i get it."

the way your hair stuck to your face, the slight trembling in your fingers, the faint tinge of pink on your cheeks. you were vulnerable, and he sensed your deep troubles. he crossed his arms, leaning against the wall, his presence a silent support.

"you're shivering," he pointed out, voice concerned. "are you sure you don't want coffee?"

you shook your head. "i don't drink coffee," you cleared your throat. "my parents don't let me."

he quirked a brow, confusion and disbelief washing over his features. but his response held no judgment, just a matter-of-fact tone, his concern evident.

"your parents don't let you?" his voice was calm, yet his words carried a subtle bite.

you nodded. the tension was palpable. the silence that followed was filled with understanding, deeper than words. he saw through you, understood what you weren't saying, his gaze a silent promise.

"you're kidding,” he continued. "what kind of parents don't let their kid drink coffee?"

he said it half-jokingly, but not to tease. he was genuinely surprised at your strict situation, an absurdity to him, his disbelief a reflection of his concern.

"it's just coffee," he muttered. "not like its hard drugs or anything,"

"yeah," you chuckled uncomfortably, the sound a weak attempt to lighten the mood.

he stepped closer, leaning down to get a better look at you, eyes searching your face. "your parents... they don't let you do a lot of things, do they?"

"no," you mumbled, eyes shifting away. "but they say it's what's best for me."

his jaw clenched, eyes narrowing as you confirmed his hunch. your relationship with your parents wasn't healthy, a truth that weighed heavily on him.

he scoffed softly, pulling back. "right," he said, voice dripping with cynicism. "because your parents clearly know what's best for you, huh?"

"of course they do," your voice cracks. "they're my parents—“

"so what? being a parent means controlling your kid’s life?" he scoffed. "bullshit."

despite his bluntness, he didn't raise his voice. he wasn't angry, just frustrated. he wanted you to see the fallacy in your logic. it was difficult for him to witness your treatment, his concern a silent plea for you to see the truth.

he paused, gaze softening. he saw how much you held back, the tension in your shoulders, the nervous fiddling with your shirt's hem, each movement a silent cry for help.

"i—" you wanted to say something, but your voice was strained, just quiet squeaks, the words caught in your throat.

his face softened, realizing pushing further wouldn't help. his concern a gentle reminder that he was there for you.

"how about that coffee? i'll even make it decaf, so you don’t get those caffeine jitters," he smiled. "sound good?"

you nodded. "yeah, okay."

satisfied, he headed to the kitchen, returning with a steaming mug. placing it in your hands, he ensured your fingers were securely wrapped around it before letting go. his actions were gentle but firm, fearing you might crumble if too rough, his presence a silent comfort.

"careful," he cautioned. "it's hot."

the rain had stopped, replaced by a gentle patter of raindrops on the windowpane. finally, you broke the silence.

"thank you," you said softly. for the coffee, yes, but for everything else too.

tags: @lottiies @arcane5019 @crowleyco @catnipchannie

[saltywritings]

Bend The Knee | Aegon ii Targaryen x Reader

Summary: You have been called upon at court to bend the knee to the newly crowned king, however, a surprising turn takes place when you bend the knee.

Warnings: Smut, Minors do not interact, male oral receiving, oral as a demand, adult content, slight female receiving.

A palpable undercurrent of terror unfurled its tendrils within you as you ventured through the hallowed halls of the red keep. The subtle cadence of your heels created a delicate patter, resonating against the stoic stone floors, each step echoing the rhythmic pulse of your heart, which had quickened its tempo within the confines of your chest. The ominous ambiance of the surroundings enveloped you, casting shadows that danced in eerie tandem with the disquiet settling in the air. The very essence of the fortress seemed to be imbued with an unspoken tension, as if secrets whispered among the walls, and the weight of history bore down upon you, amplifying the sense of foreboding that clung to the atmosphere like a shroud.

How could one not succumb to an overwhelming sense of terror while traversing the path leading to the throne room? The ominous summons from the king, directed specifically at you, added a layer of apprehension that hung heavy in the air. This unsettling journey unfolded in the aftermath of the harrowing executions, where both your brother and father met their demise for adamantly refusing to yield before the might of Aegon Targaryen.

The weight of grief and defiance still lingered, casting a somber shadow over your steps. The very air seemed charged with a palpable tension, the echoes of the recent tragedy reverberating through the corridors. Each footfall echoed with a haunting resonance, a morose rhythm that mirrored the throbbing ache in your heart. The throne room loomed ahead, its imposing doors a portal to an uncertain fate.

As you approached, the memories of your fallen kin and their unwavering loyalty to their principles pressed upon your consciousness. The foreboding atmosphere intensified, a testament to the gravity of the situation. The iron grip of fear tightened its hold, fueled not only by the formidable presence of Aegon Targaryen but also by the specter of the irrevocable losses suffered in the name of steadfast allegiance.

As the grand doors swung open, revealing the regal spectacle of the throne room, your gaze fixed upon the newly crowned king. Adorning his head was a formidable black crown, adorned with a radiant ruby at its center, a symbol of authority that seemed to cast a profound weight upon his brow. His dark, penetrating eyes met yours as he beckoned you forward with a commanding yet composed presence.

"Lady Y/N, come closer," he declared, his voice unwavering and devoid of menace. The resonance of his command held a magnetic power, drawing you toward him. The air in the throne room seemed to pulse with a peculiar intensity, as if the very fabric of destiny hung in the balance.

Complying with the regal summons, you gracefully approached the throne, your steps measured and deliberate. Standing before him, the gravity of the moment became palpable. The ruby at the heart of his crown gleamed like a beacon, a testament to the authority he now wielded. The silence that enveloped the room spoke volumes, punctuating the significance of your presence in Aegon's gaze.

"I ask of you what I have asked of all my subjects. Prove yourself loyal." Aegon notified you, his voice hung with authority with each word that echoed through the throne room. You stood before him; despite the loyalty that your father and brother had put their life on the line for you were not willing to die. they made their choice and you could be nothing but proud based on the honor they were willing to die for. therefore, you made your own choice.

You sunk down to your knee and looked to the ground as you pledged yourself loyal to his crown. However, a great confusion managed to overcome you as you heard a small laughter come from the king.

"Both knees, lady y/n." Aegon spoke with a certain chuckle to your tone. A great confusion engulfed your senses by his sudden amusement. Still, you complied wanting to ensure that you made it out of this room with your life. You now rested before him with both your knees flat on the ground.

"Come closer," he urged as you gave a small slide on the ground. Remaining on your knees he let out a groan in anticipation. "Come here," he let out an eager demand grabbing onto you by your waist and sliding you so close to him that your knees were touching the iron throne. You were between his legs, looking up at him with pitiful eyes as he smiled. It was only now that you had noticed the growing erection in Aegon's pants and the sudden blush that covered your cheeks.

"Open my pants and use your mouth to show me how loyal you are to your king." Aegon demanded of you, sitting back as he looked to you waiting for you to make a move.

"B-but your grace . . . "you attempted to struggle. "I am a maiden I do not know how to do such a thing." you suggest your voice stuttering in tear unable to look up to meet his eyes.

Aegon let out a sigh as he took your hands. "It is not hard to do. I will show you," he insisted grabbing onto your hands and pulling them to his pants.

He helped you open the button holding them together and brought your hand to the inside of his pants. His cock felt soft against your hand and was throbbing from the very contact you offered. Aegon guided your hand to pull it out and your eyes widened at the sight of his cock before your face. Aegon could not help but to smile at the way your eyes looked to bewildered at the sight of him.

"Now open that sweet mouth of yours," Aegon demanded, you complied without hesitation. You knew what was to happen next and you worried any lack of performance would result in the end of your life and therefore.

With your mouth open wide he grabbed you by the roots of your hair and sank you onto his cock. It was a strange feeling, to have one in your mouth. It tasted slightly salty and you could not help but notice the vein that was pulsing against your tongue as he sunk you onto him. He let out a loud groan of pleasure begun to sink back into the throne.

With this gloved leather hands rooted into your hair he looked at you with his cold eyes, biting on his lip as he begun to force your head up and down on his cock. You complied with the action, however, begun to gad the further he forced your head down. It was perhaps for a moment you attempted to wiggle off a bit to ease from the gagging but Aegon only took efforts to force you down further.

"Hush, Hush. Relax sweet thing that's part of it." He insisted to you as he continued to force your head up and down on his cock until he had balls deep, forcing your lips to swallow his entire length.

"Fuck- Fuck, you're so beautiful when you're swallowing my cock like that." Aegon let out in a groan, still listening to the wet sounds your mouth made as it engulfed his cock. His boots sliding across the floor as he attempted to hold out. But there had been something too good about the feeling of your mouth around him.

Aegon soon pulled you off his cock, watching as the spit that trailed from your mouth and down your chin connected to his cock. Aegon stood before you, his hand in your hair still as he forced you to look up at him. "Fuck, yes-" he let out in a moan again as his cold eyes remained on yours.

Aegon kept you looking up at him as he began to release. The only thing you could do was look up helplessly at your king as he begun to release his seed across your face, watching as it dripped down your cheeks and onto the fine lace of your dress. "You look so beautiful with my cum ruining your innocent face." He said with a smile. "Good little loyal subject," he took a second to praise you while he stuffed his cum covered cock back into his pants.

"Rise," He remanded and you complied standing to your feet, his cum covering your face, you dared not move. However, you were met with sudden shock when Aegon went to his knees, the king before you on your knees was certainly not what you were expecting and he lifted up your dress. Aegon was now before your clothes womanhood and he soon pressed his face against it, taking in a deep breath as his other hand held your back steady. You let out a small yelp and could not help the involuntary struggle.

"Hold still- you are still proving yourself." Aegon reminded you and you attempted to so, looking as his nose pressed into your cunt and he took deep breaths in. He let out a hum of approval as he pulled his face away and begun to pull your underwear down just far enough to expose yourself to him. Aegon did not hesitate, his tongue managed to do a swipe across the inside of your cunt and he soon let out another hum.

"Gods, you little whore. You fucking loved that. You're dripping wet, like a ripe peach." Aegon said, with his hands holding onto your waist his tongue went in again. it licked and sucked and while you found pleasure in it that was not his intention. No, Aegon was trying to suck out every drop he could. However, after a few moments he pulled away, pulling down your dress but leaving your underwear exposed.

"You are expected at my chambers at nightfall. I believe I know a few others ways to test your loyalty."

[reveryfics]

Drunk Confessions

Parings: Bucky Barnes x Male reader

Summary: After a night of drinking, Bucky shows up at your apartment soaking wet and drunk, determined to speak his mind.

A/n: Somewhat based off the lyrics "Slurring all your words not making any sense" and "cause I got hella feelings for you, I act like I don't fucking care. Like they ain't even there."

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Bucky, a shadow of his former self, slumped against the sticky bartop. His head lolled to one side, a victim of the relentless pull of gravity. The neon hum of the bar blurred at the edges of his vision, a distorted symphony of light and noise. A half-empty whiskey glass, a testament to his descent into oblivion, sat neglected in front of him. A dark puddle, spreading like a malevolent stain, marred the bar's polished surface.

With a feeble effort, he fumbled for his wallet, extracting a crumpled bill. He tossed it onto the counter, a careless gesture that belied the turmoil within. The bartender, a seasoned observer of human misery, offered to call an Uber. Bucky waved him off, a silent plea for solitude.

The rain, a relentless tormentor, lashed down, transforming the quiet street into a raging torrent. Bucky, drenched and disoriented, stumbled forward, each step a battle against the elements. His mind, clouded by the intoxicating embrace of alcohol, clung to a singular, desperate purpose. He had to see his friend, to unburden himself of the weight that had been gnawing at his soul.

Twenty minutes later, he stood before his friend's apartment, his knuckles rapping against the weathered door. It creaked open, revealing a figure shrouded in a robe. The man, shorter than Bucky, blinked sleepily, his face etched with surprise. "Bucky?" he questioned, his voice thick with confusion.

"Yeah, it's me," Bucky replied, his voice barely audible over the roar of the storm. "Can I come in?"

Without waiting for an answer, he stepped inside, water dripping from his clothes onto the worn carpet. His friend, clearly startled, ushered him towards the entrance, "Wait there. I'll get you a towel."

A few minutes later, Bucky emerged from the bedroom, now dry and clad in borrowed clothes. He sank into a chair at the dining table, a steaming cup of tea clutched in his hands. His friend joined him, a concerned expression etched on his face.

"I gotta tell you something," Bucky began, his words slurred. "Something important."

Something was clearly gnawing at Bucky, a darkness eating away at him from within.

“Is everything alright?” he whispered, his voice barely audible. Even without words, he knew Bucky was struggling, his mind plagued by the specter of the Winter Soldier.

The cozy, familiar setting seemed to amplify Bucky's unease. A glance at the framed photo from last year's birthday party—a snapshot of shared laughter and genuine warmth—sent a pang of longing through him. This man, who saw beyond the horrors of his past, was everything to Bucky. Yet, a shadow loomed over their connection.

Bucky's metallic fingers drummed nervously against the mug, his gaze darting around the room, avoiding direct eye contact. “No, everything's fine,” he murmured, his voice strained. “I just... need to get something off my chest.”

Bucky took a deep breath, the warmth of the tea doing little to soothe the turmoil within him. "Look," he began, his voice barely a whisper, "I've been... I've been thinking a lot lately." He paused, his gaze flickering towards the framed photo. "About us."

A beat of silence hung in the air, the only sound the crackling of the fire in the fireplace. Bucky's friend leaned forward, his eyes filled with concern. "Bucky, whatever it is, you can tell me."

With a surge of courage, Bucky blurted out, "I... I love you. I've been terrified to say it, because of... well, you know. But I can't keep it bottled up anymore."

His confession hung heavy in the air, the weight of his past threatening to crush the fragile hope it carried. Yet, to his surprise, his friend's face broke into a gentle smile. "Bucky," he began, his voice soft, "I love you too. Your past doesn't define you. It's part of who you are, but it's not all of you."

Relief washed over Bucky, a wave of emotion so intense it threatened to consume him. He leaned forward, their hands brushing against each other. "Really?" he whispered, his voice filled with disbelief.

His friend nodded, his eyes unwavering. "Really. And I'm not going anywhere."

In that moment, all the fear and doubt that had plagued Bucky melted away. He pulled his friend into a passionate kiss, a kiss that was years in the making. It was a kiss filled with love, longing, and the promise of a future together.

[cherbii]

BEHIND CLOSED DOORS | Gojo Satoru & Geto Suguru [pt. 2]

summary ➜ dwindled on what you did, you silently agreed to avoid Gojo at all costs, well, that was until he asked you to go out for drinks with him, and Geto, oh, if only you knew.

warnings ➜ language, smut! p in v, unprotected sex, degradation, DOUBLE PENETRATION, as in one hole two cocks, Eiffel Tower, oral (M), fingering, voyeurism, multiple orgasms, hand-jobs, nipple play, exhibitionism, public sexual acts. mdni

[part 1]

You let out the breath you didn't know you were holding when the footsteps passed. You counted to ten before peeping your head out of the door to find the passageway empty. You stepped out and began to walk, walk away from Gojo who was still your boss.

You didn't want to turn around and feel guilty for what you just did after swearing you wouldn't do it again. As you walked, your thighs begun to feel sticky and your head sweaty, you felt gross, and not just on the outside.

You drove home, the events of the evening replaying in your mind like a broken record. The streetlights flickered past, casting intermittent shadows on your car's dashboard. The familiar route felt alien tonight, as if the very streets were whispering their disapproval.

As you pulled into your driveway, the weight of your decision settled upon your shoulders. You turned off the engine and sat in the dimly lit car, engulfed by silence. The sound of your own breath seemed magnified, echoing the conflict within. Closing your eyes, you tried to shake off the discomfort that clung to you. The sensation of sweat trickling down your back had become a metaphor for the choices you'd made, leaving you feeling tarnished both inside and out.

The silence enveloped you like a heavy shroud as you sat there in your car, the events of the evening replaying in your mind like a broken record. The streetlights outside cast intermittent shadows on the dashboard, their flickering light dancing across your thoughts. The familiar route home felt foreign tonight, as if the very streets were whispering their disapproval of the choices you had made.

With a heavy sigh, you turned off the engine, the sudden absence of noise amplifying the turmoil within you. The weight of your decisions settled upon your shoulders like a leaden mantle. You remained in the dimly lit car, eyes closed tightly as you tried to shake off the discomfort that seemed to cling to your every pore.

The memory of what you did was vivid, like a haunting specter that refused to fade. It had been impulsive, driven by a mix of emotions that you struggled to comprehend. The sensation of your lips against your toxic ex's and then your boss's had been electric, a collision of past and present desires that left you both exhilarated and utterly conflicted.

Your heart raced as you recalled the moment—the warmth of his mouth pressing against yours, the taste of familiarity mingling with the bitterness of regret. It was a dangerous dance, a reckless waltz that blurred the boundaries between right and wrong. The sensation of his lips on yours, the skin on skin contact, the breathy sounds that left his lips, had all been intoxicating, a fleeting escape from the complexities of your reality.

You clenched your fists, frustration and self-reproach warring within you. How had you allowed yourself to be swept up in such a reckless moment? The answer seemed to elude you, lost in the jumble of conflicting emotions that swirled in your mind.

In the darkness of the car, you made a silent vow—a promise to confront the aftermath of your actions head-on. It was time to untangle the mess you had created, to face the reality of your choices and their potential repercussions. The road ahead would be treacherous, fraught with difficult conversations and uncomfortable truths, but you were determined to navigate it.

Opening your eyes, you took a deep breath, the cool air filling your lungs and grounding you in the present. With newfound resolve, you stepped out of the car and walked toward your front door. The weight of the evening's events remained, but you carried with you a glimmer of determination—a determination to confront the tangled web of emotions you had woven and to find a way to emerge stronger on the other side.

The day after, back at the office had been eery. You refused to acknowledge you boss. He'd call for you, you pretended not to hear. He'd hold the door open for you, you'd brush past him, not even uttering a thank you. This went on for a total of two days before he caught on.

So on one lonesome trip to your desk, he caught you by the wrist and dragged you into the printing room, which for such an expensive building, was so small and stuffy, smelling of soggy wood.

"Gojo, what the hell?" You proclaimed, your back was against the wooden door while your ribs was protruded by the table that the printers were on (yes the room was that small). Your hand found the metal doorknob and with a twist, it...didn't open. "Gojo I swear, just let me o—."

"Shh, shh. I just wanted a chat, you've been ignoring me for so long now, baby, I could have thought I did something wrong,” he mumbled, his hair wasn't held up, it dropped over his marine eyes that were so close to yours, his minty breath brushing your lips to the point where you couldn't taste his words. "Tell me, did I do something?"

"Yes! No! Yes! You made me have sex with you!" You jabbed a finger in his chest, your hand was caught in a vice grip, one you failed to even as much wriggle a finger let alone get loose. Gojo pushed himself further into you.

"I didn't make you do anything,” his voice was vacant of any cheerfulness. "Got that? You fully consented to what we did, and you damn well know it. You also know that if you didn't consent then it wouldn't have happened in the first place,” Gojo finally stepped back from you, his hand went for the door and you heard it unlock. "I guess this is why you were ignoring me. Hmph, at your big age."

He opened the door and you almost fell. "Hey now—wait a damn minute! Did you just call be immature?!" Your yells fell on deaf ears. You let out a grown. You with a sigh and a stomp to your step left the room.

On Gojo's way to the kitchen to pour himself a cup of coffee, a black haired male caught his wrist. "Satoru, mind if we talk?"

"Oh sure thing, Suguru. What's up?" Gojo turned to face his best friend and favourite colleague, who was a CA. Geto crossed his inked arms that was well hidden by his black shirt. Geto and Gojo would often talk about quite literally anything with one another.

Geto's voice dropped to a deep whisper. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but yesterday I had some last minute documents to fill out, and I was walking past your office when I happen to overhear that you were...occupying yourself. Who was she?"

Gojo blinked before a wide smile stretched on his face. "Geto, Geto, buddy ol' pal, I have no clue what you're talking about."

"No? Gojo are you going to make me spell it out for you?" Geto craned his head and his eyebrows drew closer. "Who did you fuck in your office yesterday?"  Gojo cleared his throat, giving up the act. He admitted to Geto that it was you who he spent his time fucking.

"Don't tell Nanami, though. I could get fired or worse." Gojo pleaded with the unnecessary addition of giving Geto wide, puppy eyes.

An evil grin spread across Geto's face. "Oh no, I won't tell, unless..."

"What? What is it?! Unless?! Ugh fine!” Gojo blurted out your name before he flushed pink.

"Unless you let me join next time. It been a while since I fucked her, and God, do I miss her sweet pussy,” Geto growled at that. "What do you say?"

"Oh, sure. As long as she doesn't mind."

The next day, Gojo cornered you again, this time in the pantry when you were trying to get another packet of sugar to refill the empty jar. "Gojo, I swear if this is some dumb bullshit—."

"No, no. Not at all,” a Cheshire smirk made way to his pale pink lips. "I've been thinking a lot. About you, about us, and I was wondering if perhaps you'd like to go out with me, maybe this Sunday at eight?" He had his arms spread out either side of him, blocking you from leaving unless you ducked underneath them.

"Gojo, this is unprofessional. You're my boss and—."

"Oh! It won't be just us. Geto will be there, there's this new club that we wanted to try and was wondering if you'd join?" Gojo dropped his arms and smiled radiantly.

Well if someone else was going to be there, then sure. "Fine." You sighed.

"Great, I'll pick you up on Sunday. Until then, sweet thing." Gojo practice zoomed out the pantry and was comically sprinting towards his beat friends office, the flapping as he ran.

Then it clocked. "Hey wait! Do you even know where I live?!" But it was to late, Gojo was far gone.

Sunday evening arrived, and you found yourself nervously waiting for Gojo to pick you up. The sun had already dipped below the horizon, casting an orange glow across the city. You tried to shake off the unease, reminding yourself that it was just a night out with colleagues.

As the doorbell chimed, you opened it to find Gojo dressed in a sleek suit, his trademark white hair slicked back. "Hey there, beautiful. Ready for a night to remember?" He grinned, offering you his arm. You hesitated for a moment before taking it, trying to ignore the flutter in your stomach.

The trio, consisting of you, Gojo, and Geto, made your way to the new club that had piqued their interest. The neon lights and pulsating music welcomed you as you entered, the atmosphere charged with excitement. The club was dimly lit, concealing its interior and adding an air of mystery.

As you navigated through the crowd, you couldn't help but notice the subtle glances exchanged between Gojo and Geto.

Something seemed off, but you couldn't quite put your finger on it. The three of you reached a secluded area with a reserved sign, and you wondered what awaited you in this exclusive spot.

To your surprise, the reserved section revealed a hidden entrance leading to a private strip club. The realization hit you like a ton of bricks, and you shot a disapproving look at Gojo and Geto. "Seriously? A strip club!? You brought me to a strip club!? What happened to professionalism?"

Gojo chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his head. "Well, it's a unique way to spend the evening, right? Besides, it's all in good fun!"

Despite your initial reservations, you found yourself being led into the club. The atmosphere inside was sultry, with dim lighting casting shadows across the room. The pulsating music from the main club area resonated through the private space, creating a peculiar blend of vibes.

As you settled into the plush seating, a waitress brought over a tray of drinks. Throughout the evening, you observed Gojo and Geto exchanging glances and subtle gestures. It became increasingly clear that this wasn't just a random night out – there was a hidden agenda.

You felt like a pawn in their orchestrated game, unsure of their motives.

At some point, Gojo excused himself to go to the bathroom, giving Geto ample opportunity to slide over next to you. His dark, woody and dangerous scent flooded your senses, the hot night's memories flooding to your senses of the fun you used to get up to. It was even worse when his steering hand slipped onto your thigh.

"Having fun, Princess?" He asked you, as you were previously admiring the dancers on stage, watching how they'd sway and saunter.

"Hmm? Oh yeah." You turned to look at him, nosed bumping into each other, a gasp caught in your throat. His dark, obsidian eyes that had the clubs purple lights bouncing off them stared into you, not your eyes, but your soul.

"Look at them, baby." You felt yourself willing to oblige to his husky command, his breath warm on your neck. Your eyes found the dancers again who would run their hands over their body, and squeeze their plump areas, one performer had her hand over her breast, her back sliding down the pole as she squatted, legs opening.

Her eyes found yours, it was rare to have a female in the club to watch the strippers. She sent you a flirtatious wink as her other hand slipped over to cup her clothed heat, you were sure they weren't meant to touch themselves like that.

Involuntarily, heat zipped down your spine and settled between your legs, the performer touched herself to you, your thighs squeezing shut at her action as her hips swayed before she stood and left, you watched her hips danced.

"Oh, you are enjoying this, minx." You didn't even notice that Geto was prying your legs open, or how his hand slipped under your dress until you felt the pad of his forefinger run along the crevice where your leg joined your mound.

You gasped, snapping out of whatever fixation you were in. "Geto, what a—."

"Shh, you know I used to fuck this pretty pussy. I missed it so fucking much, you know how many times I'd fist my cock to you? So many baby. So, so many. And don't even tell me you don't want this, I can smell you from here, but if you don't want this, then tell me and I'll stop."

You closed your mouth, before shaking your head, allowing him to continue. He smirked, fingers moving your thong to the side, fingers curving against your now swollen clit before sliding down to your hole, dipping into its confines. You gasped when his two of his fingers sunk further into you.

"So wet. Didn't know watching her would get you so turned on." His teeth sunk into your shoulder as his fingers pivoted into your sopping cunt. The bottom of his palm would nudge your clit, so you sneakily hiked your dress up so you were able to grind yourself onto him, making a mess on him.

"Aw, you guys started without me." Gojo huffed. You registered what he meant but you were too far gone to care. Geto's fingers curled into you, making one rather loud squelch and moan be elicited from you.

Tucked away at the corner of the club was you three, all turned out, committing acts of sin. Gojo noticed how you tried to hold back whimpers but could barely contain yourself. So he brought two fingers to your lips and shoved them in, groaning when you immediately started to suckle on them.

Drool pooled at the corners of your mouth as you raised your hips to fuck back into Geto's hands.

It was a miracle no staff had kicked you out, if any noticed. Gojo was palming his cock through his tight pants. Geto was far too needy, with his other hand, he gripped the top of your dress so at least one of your breasts spilt out, bouncing with each thrust you made. His lips caught your aching nipple and sucked on the sensitive skin, causing you to moan around Gojos fingers.

Your hole puckered around Geto's fingers before gushing around them, your juices spilling onto his palm and the seat below you. "Fuck, what a mess you made,” Geto commented, pulling his fingers out your hole to lick your arousal, moaning at the taste. "Taste as sweet as I remember."

"Now I wanna taste." Gojo complained.

"Later, I gotta fuck this pussy." Still shaken, you were ripped from your seat and rushed out the club without being able to make sense to what was going on. You were shoved into a car that was going double the speed limit, your feet met pavement then the tiled floor of someone's home, Geto Suguru's home.

The boys made haven on the couch while you kneeled on the plush carpet. "Need you so bad." You whined, to no one in particular. Your hands couch each of their zippers before pulling them down, they helped you to free their aching cocks.

Both pulsing with weeping tips. You took each one in your hands, lips first going to Gojo's pale cock. Sucking hard on the tip making his hips buck into your mouth, head lolling back on the couch.

You removed your lips from Gojo who whined at the loss of contact before attaching your lips around Geto, whose hand went to your hair and shoved you down onto his cock, making you gag loudly. With your other hand, you pumped Gojo. "You look fucking hot, gagging on my dick." Geto formed a loosing ponytail with your hair to use it as leverage, forcing your head up and down his shaft.

You removed the hand that was on Gojo, and stood up on wobbly legs, lips removing from Geto, in order to lay over their laps. Gojo moved away to position himself behind you, while you returned to your previous task of sucking Geto off. At this new position, you had no choice but to choke on Geto's dick. Your ass high in the air, pussy on show as Gojo was aligning himself with your entrance, arms not holding your upper body up, with Geto deep in your throat.

A loud gurgle from you, reverberating around Geto as Gojo sunk himself into you, hands holding your hips as he snapped his back and forth. Your dripping pussy making his balls soaked. "Hmm, hah, got this pussy before you, Sugu,” Gojo moaned as you clenched around him, gripping him tightly as he fucked you. "And it feels so fucking good."

Geto glared at his friend, removing your head from his cock, your throat fucked raw and sore. He stood up, letting your head fall onto the couch and went over to Gojo. "Move over." Geto demanded.

"What? But there's barely any—okay, okay damn." Gojo got shoved to the side, still thrusting into you. Geto took his own cock in his hand, watching how you sucked Gojo in, moving his hips so the tip was running against your hole.

"Sugu, c-can't take you both." You whined, trying to turn your head to look at the male who ignored you, when Gojo thrusted back, Geto slammed himself forward and into you.

You moaned loudly, it hurt, having two, massive cocks inside your bruising pussy, yet it made you wetter and noisier, it was filthy and such a sight. Two men fucking you into oblivion. Forced to share one, aching hole.

You weren't gonna last much longer.

"F-Fuck, I'm gonna cum! I g-gonna—." You mewled as you absolutely covered their cocks in your cum, you huffed and puffed when they didn't stop, Gojo was the first to climax, shooting his load deep within you with a loud moan, both your juices now on Geto who got to fuck your hole alone, and he was going to savour it.

Gojo sat slumped on the couch while Geto fucked you more. "Not gonna stop until you cum again,” he pounded away into you, and decided to switch up the position. He hooked his arms under you and lifted you, taking a seat for himself to fuck up into you. "Shit, baby. Taking my cock like a slut, while your boss is right next to you. Filthy bitch."

You let out lewd, pornographic noises, fucked out of your mind as a third orgasm was being reeled out of you. Gojo's cock began to harden again, he stood up and walked over to you, hand jerking away at his cock, his long fingers found your puffed out clit and rubbed it at an alarmingly fast rate. You were seeing stars.

His mouth wondered around your skin, planting dark, saturated sports and coating your pebbled nipples in his saliva. They moved up until he was shoving his tongue inside your mouth, silencing the mewls you let out, with no warning, gushing onto Gojo's legs, clear liquid ejaculating from you. "Fuck, squirted all over me."

"Atta girl." Geto praised, hip thrusts sloppy as he filled you with his cum, you had never felt so full before. He removed himself from you as you spilt the remanentes on his lip, hold puckering around nothing.

Curse words were exchanged as they cleaned up, then ran you a relaxing bath and tucked you into bed.

Both men left, Geto with your thongs buried deep in his pocket.

The two formed a silent agreement, you were now going to be the pretty, little office slut.

[causeimhappinesss]

His baby mama, part 2 (Corey Cunningham x reader)

PART 1

Pairing: Corey Cunningham x reader Warning: kidnapping Disclaimer: English isn’t my native language (I’m french), so you can correct me if you spot some mistakes :) + it’s gonna be a short story, so don’t seek a full development as you would in a novel

---

When you open your eyes, a thick veil of unconsciousness dissipates, revealing a dark room. Your head spins and your limbs feel numb with a strange sensation that sends shivers through your whole body, amplified by the coolness of the surroundings. Suddenly, you realize you’re in your basement. You try to move, but your movements are hindered by tight restraints that hold you to a dusty old mattress in a sea of forgotten boxes. Your hands are tied with a thick rope. Actually, it’s not tight enough, you can move a little, but it’s still reassuring.

What happened...?

Memories of yesterday come flooding back. Terror wells up inside you, a venomous snake wrapping itself around your heart and choking you. Why are you here? Where’s your baby? Panic overtakes you as you frantically search for answers, your eyes feverishly searching the dark corners of the cellar for a clue, a way out.

And then, like lightning in a storm, you see it. Your daughter, your precious treasure, sleeping peacefully in her crib beside you, oblivious to the threat in the air. A sigh of relief escapes your lips, though your anguish continues to clench your throat and twist your stomach. You lean over her and slide a hand over her soft tummy. She seems to be doing just fine. He hasn’t hurt her. More surprisingly, he didn’t kill you... That’s not Michael Myers modus operandi. So… why are you here? What does he want with you? The questions swirl around in your head and gnaw at your insides, without you understanding what’s going on.

Your trembling fingers slowly move up to touch the soft skin of her little hand. A shiver runs down your spine as you realize how vulnerable she is, how you’re both at the mercy of the surrounding darkness... At the mercy of a madman. You’re not stupid enough to believe that if you open the basement door, it will open and you’ll get on with your life as before. As if reading your mind, the creak of the sinister door pierces the silence. Your hair stands on end. Your heart misses a beat. The door opens slowly, revealing a menacing shadow. Your breath freezes in your throat and acid reflux surges up your throat, burning your windpipe.

And there, in the doorway, you see him. Michael Myers. His empty, dark gaze pierces you. He represents a silent threat that chills you to the bone. Fear paralyzes you and your limbs are refusing to answer to your desperate orders to flee.

You’re a prisoner in your own home, at the mercy of a faceless monster bent on your destruction. You feel your strength ebbing away, hope flickering in the darkness as you realize that you’re alone, powerless against the unspeakable horror befalling you.

The flickering light from the basement illuminates a strange figure, a man in a boogeyman mask standing there motionless, like a specter straight out of your darkest nightmares. You don’t understand, none of this makes sense. Your heart pounds in your chest as you instinctively step back, your baby in the crib next to you, a fragile barrier between you and this terrifying intruder.

"What do you want?" Your voice slightly shakes and you’re certain he can sense your fear... Like the wild animal he is.

The man doesn’t respond immediately, his gaze hidden behind the inexpressive mask of a boogeyman. He slowly moves in your direction, as his footsteps sinisterly echo in the room. You stand over the cradle, protective, ready to do anything to defend your child from this unspeakable threat... If you have to be stabbed 15 or 16 times like he did Judith to save her, you’ll do it. She’s the most precious thing in the world to you.

"What do you want?" you asked again, in a sharper tone.

Silence.

Annoyed, you grab the first thing that comes to hand – a box of condoms forgotten on a dusty shelf – and throw it at the masked man. He barely catches it before it hits his latex mask. He drops the condoms to the floor and slowly removes the serial killer’s mask. Your eyes widen. You think you’re dreaming. It’s impossible, isn’t it? You almost choke on your saliva. You’ve never been so disturbed in your life, so much so that your whole being is shaking like a leaf.

Corey.

Your ex, the father of your daughter.

The man you loved and still love.

"Corey?" you whisper, stunned, as if you were in a bad dream.

He looks at you with his dark eyes, reflecting a pain you can’t understand, beyond anything you could imagine. For the first time, you perceive something different… As if he’s not quite the nice guy you used to date.

"I’m sorry," he murmurs at last, his voice little more than a whisper.

You stand there, petrified, unable to move as the pieces of the puzzle begin to fall into place in your jumbled mind. Why is he there? Why is he covered in blood? Could it be that he’s usurped the notorious serial killer’s name for revenge…? Revenge on whom? So many questions loop in your mind.

"Corey, what happened?"

Your words are barely audible, a desperate plea in the oppressive darkness. He looks away, his shoulders sagging under the weight of his invisible burden.

"I need to talk to you…"

In the suffocating atmosphere, the echo of your breaths intermingles, in a song of fear and confusion. Corey stands before you, still in a menacingly silhouette, his piercing gaze on you… the gaze of a killer.

"We’re together now and no one can separate us," he declares in a deep voice, each syllable falling like a stab into your already wounded heart.

You stare at him, incredulous, unable to understand how events could have taken such a turn. Allyson, his girlfriend, a mere puppet in a game with rules you didn’t catch. Confusion fills you, mixed with a hint of dread, as you desperately try to make sense of it all.

“Corey, what are you talking about?" you gasp, your voice trembling.

He sneers, a cold sound devoid of any humanity.

"Allyson has been nothing but a pawn," he repeats, a touch of disdain tinting his words.

Your eyebrows furrow, your thoughts intertwining in a swirl of confusion and distrust.

"What do you mean?" you ask, anxiety tightening your throat like a vise.

Suddenly, Corey comes closer, his gaze anchored in yours. His hand firmly grasps your chin, forcing you to keep your gaze in his. A flush of panic rises in you, aware that a completely different man is standing in front of you right now… If only you could bring back the old Corey. Now he’s looking at you, as if he’s trying to read your soul, as if he likes to see the fear on your face.

"I hated the idea of you separating me from our daughter," he whispers. "You never gave me a chance."

You hold your breath, your thoughts swirling in a chaotic tumult as his words echo in your mind.

"You didn’t want to assume your paternity and you told me to get an abortion…" you retort, in a tone full of bitterness.

He glances down at the cradle where your daughter rests peacefully, her little arms waving in the air as she chirps, a sign that she’s just woken up to the sounds of your discussion. With a surprising delicacy, Corey takes her in his arms, and presses her against his chest, without hurting her, all of this with a gleam of tenderness in his eyes. One of his hands strokes your daughter’s curls, so similar to his own, then he presses a kiss to her forehead.

Something tells you that a new chapter is opening, charged with mystery and danger, but also with a glimmer of hope... Not forgetting the element of uncertainty.

However, the basement seems to shrink around you, its walls becoming oppressive, threatening to crush you. Corey is still standing in front of you, but he’s putting the baby back in the cradle. On the other hand, your struggle against the bonds holding you captive, icy anguish gripping your heart with its claws.

"Untie me, please," you beg in a trembling voice.

Corey shakes his head, a shadow of distrust hovering in his dark eyes.

"You’ll run," he declares in a calm but resolute voice, each word weighing like a silent condemnation.

You frown, your frustration mixed with a hint of anger.

"Why would I run away? I don’t understand you," you protest, a note of incredulity piercing your fragile voice. A beautiful lie you hope to serve him on a gold platter, but you both know very well why. You suspect he killed people that Halloween night. Something dangerous has awakened in him.

He scrutinizes you with his inscrutable gaze. Then, in a voice devoid of any empathy, he lets slip the brutal truth behind his mask of apparent calm.

"I killed my mother", he reveals coldly, his words reverberating in the heavy cellar air like echoes of doom. "She got what she deserved. And Ronald… Ronald was killed by some kids I wanted to eliminate. They threw me off a bridge a few days ago. Fortunately, I got them all, one by one… Their deaths were equivalent to their degree of involvement in my torment."

He smirks, then snicker. A shiver of fear rips through your spine and you wince as best you can. How can he announce such a thing so lightly? A wave of horror washes over you, a deadly embrace that compresses your chest and suffocates every part of your being. Your breath catches in your throat and your eyes mist with tears. This isn’t your Corey, this isn’t the man you loved. It’s a monster, a predator lurking in the shadows, ready to strike without mercy.

You feel trapped, imprisoned in a hell you can barely understand. Fear seeps into every fiber of your being, a throbbing pain that twists your insides. What are you going to do now that you know the truth? How can you escape this unspeakable horror that threatens you from all sides?

He slowly comes nearer, his face so close to yours so you can feel his warm breath skimming your skin. Your heart pounds in your chest. A wave of panic rises inside you and that same suffocating sensation threatens to engulf you.

"You’re gonna love me again like you used to," he whispers, in a voice as soft as it is tinged with madness.

Terrorized, you nod weakly, your eyes fixed on his, a flicker of despair in your gaze. He smiles, a smile devoid of warmth, a smile that chills you to the bone.

Then, in a dark, sinister voice, he breathes the words that echo like a warning in the tension-filled air: "You belong to me".

A shiver of horror runs down your spine as you realize the magnitude of the threat b You’re a prisoner in your own basement, at the mercy of a man you no longer recognize, a man who seems to have lost most of his humanity… He’s the darkness.

You’re trapped.

---

[Author’s notes] Should I write another part? Do you have ideas for another part? Again, sorry if it’s not developed enough. I would totally do it if I was writing one of my novels.

My Ko-fi: betrayedwriter My AO3: BetrayedWriter My Instagram: carolinemertz_

Want to read my novel if you know some french? Find them in my bio 😉

[tinytinyblogs]

Where do you think you're going, darling?

Running away doesn't seem like a good idea, because in the end, they will always come after you.

⚠️ Yandere theme, unhealthy obsession, Kidnapped and a lot more⚠️

ChanMin, BinHyun, HanLix, SeungIn

Stray Kids Masterlist

Your insights and reactions make these posts come alive. Love reblogs, comments, and all the good vibes welcome ✨

Changbin

Changbin's gym sessions had become a predictable routine, something you observed meticulously, committing every detail to memory. From the time he left to the exact duration of his workouts, you tracked his movements with unwavering focus. It was during these precious moments of freedom, when he was away and the oppressive weight of his presence lifted, that you dared to entertain thoughts of escape. After weeks of careful planning, you seized what you deemed to be the perfect opportunity. As Changbin headed off to the gym, you sprung into action, your heart pounding with a mixture of fear and anticipation. This was your chance, your one shot at freedom. With every ounce of determination, you raced against the clock, pushing yourself to run faster than you ever had before. Each step carried you farther away from the suffocating grasp of Changbin's control, closer to the possibility of a life without fear and confinement. The adrenaline coursing through your veins fueled your escape, propelling you forward with a sense of urgency that bordered on desperation. You didn't dare look back, afraid that any hesitation would cost you the precious seconds you needed to evade capture.

As fate would have it, a series of unfortunate events or perhaps the overwhelming surge of his emotions propelled him to abandon his customary gym routine and hasten back home with a sense of urgency that bordered on frenzy. His heart pounding with a mix of agitation and determination, he burst through the door only to witness your fleeting departure. Instantly consumed by a whirlwind of rage, his voice erupted in a primal roar that echoed through the walls, reverberating with the intensity of a thunderclap. Fuelled by a cocktail of frustration and desperation, he dashed recklessly in pursuit, his steps pounding the pavement like a drumbeat of fury, as he resolved to catch you at any cost, heedless of the chaos unfolding around him. As your feet pound against the pavement in a frantic rhythm of escape, a cold shiver dances down your spine as you sense his looming presence drawing nearer, a relentless specter of dread gaining ground with every stride. It's as if the very air thickens with his malevolent aura, amplifying your terror to feverish heights. Life's unfair hand seems to deal its cruelest blow as he effortlessly outpaces you, his form a blur of raw power and unstoppable determination, a force of nature closing in on its prey.

Your heart races like a drumbeat of desperation, each step an agonizing reminder of your dwindling hope. And then, with a suddenness that steals the very breath from your lungs, his hand clamps around your waist like an iron vice, wrenching you back with a strength that defies comprehension. You struggle against his grasp, but it's like fighting against a force of nature, futile and doomed to fail. In an instant, you find yourself hoisted over his shoulder, your world reduced to a dizzying blur of motion and fear. His laughter, a chilling symphony of dominance, echoes in your ears as you're carried back to the place he calls home—a place that now feels more like a fortress of nightmares. With a brutal thud, he casts you down onto the cold, unforgiving floor, the weight of his presence pressing down upon you like an insurmountable burden. The door slams shut behind you, sealing your fate in a chamber of dread and despair, a prisoner to his twisted desires. "I thought you loved me," he spat out, his voice a volatile cocktail of fury and wounded pride.

"Why the hell are you running away like an idiot?" his voice thundered, the sheer force of it enough to make you flinch, as if the sound itself could fill the entire room, suffocating any semblance of escape. Yet, behind the facade of his words, lay the labyrinth of his delusions, where reality twisted to fit his desires, where your every action was an affirmation of his imagined devotion. In his mind, your attempt to flee was not born of desperation or a longing for freedom, but a mere whim, a frivolous game to entertain your bored spirit. That fateful night became a twisted symphony of pain and dominance. He left behind a trail of bruises, each one a dark reminder of his power, etched onto your skin with the cruelty of his touch. With a cruel manipulation of his abilities, he twisted the very fabric of your thoughts, implanting the notion of escape as a forbidden fantasy, a whisper that would forever be drowned out by the cacophony of his control. "You better love me as much as I love you now," he declared, his voice a venomous hiss, fingers clenching around your trembling hand, nails digging into the tender flesh of your bruised skin.

"But fear not, my dear, for we are bound together for eternity." His grip tightened, the pressure of his hold a silent threat, as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear. "And if you dare to forget your place," he whispered, each word dripping with malice, "I will show you the true depths of my affection. I will teach you how to love me, my dear, in ways you never thought possible." In that moment, the night became a twisted carnival of horrors, a realm where love and cruelty intertwined, and you found yourself ensnared in the web of his obsession, with no hope of escape.

Hyunjin

Amidst the fury of the storm, Hyunjin lay ensconced in the cocoon of slumber, blissfully unaware of the tempest raging outside, a cacophony of nature's wrath that served as a cloak for your desperate flight. Soaked to the bone, each step taken under the deluge felt like a battle against the elements, your body shivering with a mix of cold and fear, yet propelled forward by an unyielding resolve to break free from his suffocating hold. With the first light of dawn, Hyunjin stirred from his sleep, only to find the emptiness that now pervaded the space where your presence once dwelled. His heart, once buoyed by the illusion of your affection, now plummeted into the abyss of despair, aching with the rawness of loss. Fuelled by a toxic concoction of desperation and obsession, he embarked on a quest to reclaim what he perceived as rightfully his. With a charm as beguiling as it was deceptive, he navigated the labyrinthine streets, weaving his web of manipulation with the finesse of a seasoned predator.

Each inquiry, each whispered plea, served as a thread in the tapestry of his pursuit, drawing him ever closer to his elusive prey. And then, as if guided by some twisted fate, he stood before you once more, a sinister grin twisting his features as he watched your trembling form, the flicker of horror in your eyes igniting a primal thrill within him. In that moment, as you found yourself ensnared within the clutches of his grasp, the truth dawned upon you with chilling clarity: escape from him was not merely a physical feat, but a battle against the very fabric of reality itself, a futile endeavor doomed to end in surrender to his insatiable appetite for control. Despite your valiant efforts to wrench free from his vice-like grip, his hold remained unyielding as he dragged you back to the oppressive confines of his domain. Each struggle only seemed to fuel his determination, rendering your attempts at escape futile in the face of his relentless pursuit. With a forceful shove, he propelled you back into the room, the resounding echo of the door slamming shut behind you sealing your fate once more within its suffocating embrace.

In the eerie half-light, his figure loomed, a distorted silhouette of vulnerability and despair, tears carving rivulets down his anguished face as he confronted you with raw emotion. "Why did you leave me like that?" His voice cracked with the weight of his heartache, the pain of abandonment etched into every syllable. His eyes, once filled with adoration, now pleaded for answers amidst the chaos of his shattered reality. A chilling declaration escaped his trembling lips, each word a dagger plunged into the fragile silence between you. "I'll kill myself in front of you if you dare to leave again, If that happens, it's entirely your responsibility." he vowed, tears cascading unchecked down his cheeks, the sheer desperation in his gaze piercing your very soul. In that harrowing moment, as you stood ensnared by his torment, the lines between captor and captive blurred, intertwining in a twisted dance of obsession and despair. It became painfully clear that escape from him was not merely a physical feat but a battle against the abyss of his fractured psyche, a labyrinth of madness from which there seemed to be no escape.

Since that pivotal day, he clung to you with an almost suffocating intensity, his presence an inescapable force that enveloped you like a heavy fog. His need for control knew no bounds, manifesting in a relentless vigilance that bordered on obsession. With a manic fervor, he installed security cameras in every corner, their watchful eyes serving as a constant reminder of your dwindling autonomy. Every move you made was scrutinized, every word measured, as if you were a pawn in some twisted game of his own creation. His hands, once gentle and loving, now held you in a vice-like grip, as if afraid you might slip through his fingers like sand. But it was behind closed doors that his true nature unfurled like a poisonous flower, revealing the depths of his manipulation and deceit. When your back was turned, his smile twisted into a sneer, his eyes glinting with malice as he reveled in the power he held over you. "Damn, These locks aren't enough" he muttered darkly, his frustration boiling over as he slammed the door shut with a resounding thud.

"They'll understand their place soon enough," he vowed, his voice laced with a chilling certainty that sent shivers down your spine. In that moment, as you stood trapped in the suffocating grip of his control, the realization dawned upon you with terrifying clarity: escape from him was not merely a physical act but a battle against the very essence of his being, a battle that threatened to consume you whole if you dared to defy him.

[annerly-san]

Till Death do we Part, my Ass! - Chapter 10 - "till death do we part, my ass!"

Summary:

Caleb pulls big brother ghost shenanigans to fend off any men within a 5 km radius of his little pipsqueak

A love and deepspace fanfic for Caleb

Chapter Navigation: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

Alternative AO3 link:

Caleb trailed sluggishly after the both of them, a heavy sense of foreboding weighing upon his mind. He found himself stumbling with each step he took. The instability of his form was persisting and exacerbating with each passing moment. His vision was continually being hit with a searing brilliance that reduced the world to nothing but an overwhelming void of sheer white light. His form flickered increasingly more unsteady with each passing moment, head feeling as though it was being split in two and mind was phasing in and out of the present.

The brilliance consumed him—white-hot and all-encompassing—before giving way to the sterile hum of machinery and the metallic sting of a disembodied voice.

“Neural control test number 18 deemed unsuccessful-”

Caleb was certain that he was just following behind her and Sylus in one moment, but it was as if his mind tore out of that very world itself and was forcibly thrown into another- coming in and out of consciousness and perceptions of differing realities.

Bursts of electricity fried each and every nerve of his body with intense shocks. Phantom pain from an arm that was no longer there amplifying the agony he felt tenfold as his body viscerally shook with tremors. Floating as if gravity did not exist, yet anchored firmly in place, the vague sensations of perspiration and the head-splitting aches of voices and sounds echoing all around him only made him delirious and confused.

“Subject unresponsive to linkage attempt. Adjusting electromyography patterns and bandpass frequency parameters to 27.5 MHz-”

His vision was blurry, a vague sense of awareness and familiarity of what was transpiring around him lingered right beneath the surface of his subconsciousness before a burst of shock tore through him with agonizing pain.

And in a blink of an eye: he abruptly found himself back.

Despite being a specter, Caleb was gasping for his breath desperately- a supposedly nonexistent heart racing wildly in his chest. The dimly lit room before him was coming into slow focus. Across from him, seated nonchalantly on the black leather sofa and nursing a glass of red wine was none other than the owner of the building that Caleb was back in.

“So you’re back,” Sylus mused. “And here I thought you had finally woken up.”

Caleb gritted his teeth, drawing a sharp breath. His eyes narrowed and his breath steadied as the slow reimmersion of his mind took hold. “Don’t talk about things you have no knowledge about,” he stated coldly, his own voice sounding almost foreign to him.

Taking in his surroundings, Caleb found that he was sitting on the couch across from Sylus. His violet eyes locking with Sylus’s own crimson ones as the two faced off. The man was seated with his arms crossed and a casual smirk on his face. The man’s laid back demeanor had an underlying taunt of mockery to it. Caleb gritted his teeth and glared at Sylus while he swirled the wine in his glass around.

“Fine. Keep dreaming,” the man stated in a low voice that alluded to more than what he was letting on at the moment. “But your time is near.” Sylus gestured towards the door behind Caleb. “She’s waiting for you.”

The man’s voice was distorted: the words doublespeak. It was as though the sentence was overlaid with how Caleb imagined the man before him to sound and his own voice narrating over it.

In an instant the man was gone, and Caleb was left in the room alone. His violet eyes honed in on the doorway that Sylus had pointed at: where she was waiting for him.

His body was stiff as he forced himself to stand and move towards it, a million thoughts and emotions hurling through his mind. After everything that’s happened, how can he face her again?

What would she think when he comes back to her?

A bloom of pain burst out from the depths of his skull, excruciating like his brain was being fried from the inside out.

“Ngh- No-” he shook his head, the harrowing aches in his mind getting forcibly pushed down as he blinked rapidly to remind himself of where he was.

He is in the N109 zone.

Caleb after that explosion, he was following his pipsqueak around as a ghost.

She can sense him…

She knows he’s there.

He gripped at his head, gnawing at the inside of his cheek to remind himself of everything.

When she finds out that he was following her around as a ghost this entire time, is she going to be upset?

Caleb let out a soft sigh, a somber grin on his face as he shook his head. He let out a rueful smile, staring at the door. He hovered his hand before it, eyes widening as he didn’t phase through it, but instead blocked by the very physical and tangible object in front of him.

Was this an effect caused by the instability of his form?

He didn’t have the time to ponder this. She was waiting for him.

Drawing a sharp breath, Caleb placed a firm hand on the handle and pushed it open.

He wasn’t ready to see her, and a part of him knew that there wouldn’t ever be a time that he would be. 

Her back was turned to him, mid-stride as she seemed to have been pacing back and forth in the room she was staying in.

Caleb walked up to her, footsteps sounding out and echoing like he had a real and tangible form, rather than being the specter that he was for the past few months.

Reaching out his hand towards her, like he always did. He placed it gently on her hair and watched in mild shock as it no longer phased through her, but rested atop her soft locks.

She turned around in surprise. Her eyes were wide, expression in disbelief, as she stared right up at him- short and deserving of her nickname just as he remembered.

Even her voice, pitched in astonishment, squeaked out from her lips just like how he remembered.

“Caleb?”

It was like the first time he flew all over again. His world was hurtling upside down, gravity exerting itself heavily upon his chest as he accelerated through space.

He couldn’t breathe. His heart was unable to beat from the sheer amount of g-force pressing down on him.

Her eyes, no longer unfocused, locked on his—just like they used to.

She can see him.

Caleb forced a smile, his fear and insecurities crackling beneath the surface. Leaning down, he gently patted her head.

“What? You don’t recognize me?” he teased. But there was something off as he spoke, his voice echoed and distorted strangely as if he was speaking into a deep well that was reverberating and overlaying his words on top of itself.

He drew a sharp, shaky breath before blinking and focusing back on her.

“...It’s me-” I’m back. “I’m here-” But before he could make his defense on why he was following her around as a ghost this entire time, he felt her entire weight thrown against him.

“CALEB!”

She had thrown herself into his arms, head buried in his chest. Caleb heard her voice crack with tears as she sobbed into him, her arms wrapped around his waist and fully able to touch and feel him as though he wasn’t a specter any longer.

It was like the dam broke.  The emotions that he had buried in trying to be calm and collected around her came out in an overwhelming flood as he broke down in tears at the touch of her fingers.

Caleb lost all composure.  He wrapped his arms around her-- now fully able to touch and feel her right back instead of being an invisible presence at her side.  He buried his face into her hair as he ran his arms up and down her back-- unsure if the gesture was to comfort her or himself more-- as he held her tight against him, the regret and remorse of having let her go and having to say farewell so abruptly boiling up past his restraint and reason and tipping over to yield to his innermost thoughts and desires.

“I-I’m sorry-!” Caleb choked out, vision blurring with his tears as he nuzzled his forehead against hers. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry-! I had to do it. Pip, I’m sorry-”

What did he have to do again?

Caleb’s head was hurting, unsure if it was the rush of emotions from seeing her and being able to hold her again or something else beyond the veil. Like a surge of light flashing in his eyes, his mind was getting sluggish and foggy.

His hands were grasping at her, trying to hold her tight and feel her again. It was like a hazy recollection of what he remembered her to be: the fleeting warmth of a perfect memory before he was unable to feel her again.

He could feel the vibrations of her sobs against his chest before she pulled away, hands prying his away from hers before Caleb felt the sting of her hand slapping across his face.

He blinked, mind flickering between the visage of this moment with her and another one somewhere else beyond what was supposed to be transpiring now.

Did she slap him?

Caleb let out a remorseful laugh. “...I deserve that-” he mumbled, bringing his hand up to press against his face as he pulled back to look at her. Seeing her tear-streaked face made his chest contort painfully in his chest. “You have every right to be mad at me, pip. I’m sorry. I only wanted to-”

He groaned, feeling the growing persistence of the dull ache in the back of his mind rising up to the surface again. The light shining in his eyes was blinding his vision again, and Caleb grimaced, trying to focus and pull himself to this moment with her- reminding himself of what was supposed to be happening right now.

He’s a ghost. Caleb followed her around after what had happened back then.

And she can see him now.

Yes.

That’s right.

And she’s mad at him because he kept following her around as a ghost.

Yes.

That’s what she’s mad about.

The lighting stabilized, and the ache of his head dissipated.

“You were there with me this whole time… weren’t you?”  Caleb heard her voice mumble against his chest, his heart warming at the softness of the tone she spoke with him.  She tilted her head up and Caleb felt his heart skip a beat as he locked eyes with her glimmering ones.

He brought a hand up to rub her head instinctively and watched as she leaned into it, not chastising him for messing up her hair or treating her as a kid like she typically would have in the past.

“Did you not want me to follow you around as a ghost?” he smiled softly. His eyes noticed the silver glint of the necklace she had gifted to him around her neck. His necklace. The thing that bound him to her. Caleb’s hand reached out to pull it towards him, feeling its draw like gravity. The silver tag clinked against the apple pendant as he held it in between his index finger and thumb- examining it and marveling at how she had kept it with him this entire time. “Or should I take this as a sign that you did want me around?”

Caleb laughed lightly as she sent a barrage of punches at his chest. He weathered the abuse, letting her have her way as he always let her do.

After sending a barrage of curses, insults, and hits his way, she finally tired out and slumped at his side- head leaning into his shoulder.

“...Since when?” she mumbled into his shirt.

Caleb smiled, sighing and placing a hand on her head and kissing the top of it. “Since the beginning.” He could feel her tense up at the admission. But despite the supposed guilt, he didn’t feel the burden as though he was confessing to a crime that he did not commit. He tried to lighten the mood, electing to tease her“...You can’t replace me as the king of claw machines, pipsqueak,” he teased. “But I’ll forgive you since Caleb Jr. remains the favorite plushie.”

“W-what are you talking about, Caleb-?!” he heard her huff.

“Don’t think I haven’t been watching you drag three different men to the Twinkle Toy arcades to fuel your plushie addiction. I know what you’ve been doin’.”

He laughed as she blushed a dark red, turning around to look at him like how she always did when she was caught red-handed- a deer in headlights. Caleb couldn’t help but laugh and bring a finger to help her close her jaw that was practically dropping to the floor.

“And honestly, you should consider moving buildings since that one co-worker of yours can’t cook. I think he’ll burn the entire complex down one day, pip. Don’t want you joining me here in the afterlife as a burnt up ghost too, you know.”

Maybe he shouldn’t have made that joke. While Caleb had gotten used to the events of the accident and was fine with cracking jokes about the explosion and fire, it clearly was something that she wasn’t ready to take yet. He noticed her expression fall, darkening with the memories of pain that he watched on her face in the aftermath of what had happened.

“S-So I saw Zayne the other day,” Caleb blurted, eager to change the subject. “Remember how I had to officiate your wedding with him back when we were kids?” His voice carried a forced nonchalance, though the memory still made him grimace.

“You got so upset back then,” she mumbled, crossing her arms. “To be fair, I didn’t even know what marriage meant. I thought it was just being best friends forever or something.” Her eyes narrowed into a glare. “And anyway, I only married Zayne once. I married you every other week, remember?”

Caleb hummed, a wide grin spreading across his face. “Yeah, you really had a thing for playing house.” The memory of those times brought a bittersweet smile to his lips. “I was always the husband or dad, going off to work as a pilot or astronaut. And we had our whole little family—three kids, two dogs… I think you even named one after Zayne.” He leaned closer, voice lowering conspiratorially. “Least favorite kid, by the way.”

Caleb couldn’t suppress the grin creeping up on his face as he ruffled her hair again. “Speaking of ol’ Zayney… You were getting all chummy with him alone in the Arctic,” he teased. “Elsa trying to impress you with snowman making skills again? It still looks like a misshapen lump of snow if you ask me-”

“WERE YOU SPYING ON ME IN THE ARCTIC TOO!? CALEB-!!” she pouted, whacking him hard on the arm. She let out a gasp, turning to him with a finger raised in accusation. “YOU-! I FORGOT THAT YOU WERE THE ONE THAT TOLD ME THAT THOSE WERE SNOWBALLS!! WHEN THEY WERE ACTUALLY SEALS!! CALEB!!”

“Alright, alright!” Caleb cackled, grabbing her hands and trying to stop her from pinching his face. “I didn’t want you to freeze to death up there, I was just checking to see if you were warm and whatnot!” He grabbed her fingers, trying to stop her from beating him and pinching him again. “You can’t blame me for wanting to check up on you throughout the day. What else was I supposed to do as a ghost if not follow you around everywhere? No big deal-”

She froze as her body tensed and she looked at him in shock. Caleb bit his lip, cursing at himself internally for being a loudmouth.

“Following me… everywhere? ...Were you… following me in my apartment too?” she mumbled, voice clearly stating to build up with anger.

Caleb tensed, caught off guard by the question. But leave it to his pipsqueak to easily read his tell. They did grow up together, after all. The answer was practically there.

“YOU SAW ME?!”

“IT WAS ONE TIME AND NOT ON PURPOSE-!” Caleb stammered, rising to his feet in alarm as she stood up abruptly, ready to beat his ghost form out of existence. “IT WAS AN ACCIDENT AND IT’S NOT LIKE I HAVEN’T SEEN YOU LIKE THAT BEFORE-”

“CALEB!!! I’M GOING TO KILL YOU!!”

“I’M ALREADY DEAD, THOUGH??”

Now that she was able to see him and physically interact with him, the two of them ran around, bantering and bickering like old times.

Eventually, he took the hit and beatings before slumping down to rest: thoroughly chastised for his ghost shenanigans. She was resting on his chest, breaths heavy from having chased his spectral form all around Sylus’s manor, and Caleb felt like the time that was stolen away too soon and the times that he missed with her back then were finally returned and fulfilled. Her light laughs filled the space between them, feeling like sunlight breaking through the clouds, and he was holding on to each sound while it was fading away like a memory and fantasy long gone.

Their breaths intermingled with one another’s as they rested there just like the past. It felt like the edge of a dream that Caleb didn’t want to wake up from.

“Caleb-” she whispered.

Caleb’s breath was caught in his throat and he felt his heart skip a beat at her voice. He turned his head to face her, violet eyes gazing affectionately to meet hers.

“Yes?”

“Don’t leave me.” He watched her hold out her pinky towards him, his necklace wrapped around the palm of her hand. “I want to be with you… Till death do us part.”

The words were a promise she had made to him long ago. To think that she still remembered.

He felt a bloom of warmth in his chest, a light laugh resonating from his throat as he intertwined his pinky with hers. “Till death do we part, my ass, pipsqueak. You’re stuck with me forever.”

Caleb placed a chaste kiss on her forehead, fingers running through her hair as he stared longingly into her eyes. “You are the gravity keeping me here. And I will never leave your side. In this life, or the next. No matter what happens, I’ll be here for you.”

He watched her intently as she took the necklace from her hand, gesturing for him to lean down and closer for her to put it back on him.

And just like that day underneath the apple blossoms before he went to Skyhaven for the first time, she slipped the necklace around his neck: back in its rightful place and to its rightful owner.

A bloom of warmth, like a gentle summer’s breeze, radiated from the center of his chest where the pendant and dog tag rested against. Bright, and just like home, it beckoned for him like the first light of morning rays harkening the end of a long rest and the time to finally wake up.

It was time.

Caleb smiled at her, the sight of his world-- his universe-- in front of him and right in his arms.

He felt a sense of relief and elation run through him; it was a contentment and peace that he had not known for a long, long time.

He was finally fulfilled.

“Caleb you’re-!”

He stared at his hand placed upon her cheek, seeing how translucent it became and how he was slowly starting to phase through her again.

“CALEB!” She had sat up straight now, eyes wide as she grasped at him to no avail.

He was fading.

Her voice was pleading and desperate, wrought with tears as she started to cry uncontrollably-- reaching to grab at him as he was slowly fading to light before her.

Caleb stared at her lovingly; his heart, mind, and soul laid bare to her as he professed his undying love and devotion. “You are, and always will be, the apple of my eye,” he whispered. “I love you—now and always, in this world and the next.

He called her name one last time, smiling ruefully as he lamented that their farewell made her cry so much once more.

“...One day… on a sunny day with warm breezes and perfect light-” Caleb whispered, voice a faint breath that was almost inaudible, even to himself. “...We’ll meet again-”

Her cries for his name seemed to be growing more distant as his vision faded in and out-- his eyes focused on her to engrain her visage in his memories as he faded away.

The world shone brightly in his eyes, obscuring his vision in a flash of pure white. 

And then there was nothing left.

[horeformilfs]

Flowers

Donna Beneviento x Fem! Reader

TW: Flashbacks, Hallucinations, PTSD, Abuse, Fainting, Anxiety

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The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting long shadows as Y/N stumbled upon House Beneviento, its eerie facade hidden within the dense foliage. A strange allure drew her closer, curiosity mingling with an unspoken dread that tightened her chest.

As Y/N entered the overgrown garden, the air seemed to hum with an otherworldly energy. Unbeknownst to her, Donna Beneviento, cloaked in shadows, observed from the recesses of her abode. Angie, the doll with haunting eyes, whispered to Donna that someone was approaching.

Donna, curious yet hesitant, emerged from the shadows to investigate. Her keen senses detected the subtle distress in Y/N's aura, and as she approached, she couldn't help but notice the way Y/N's eyes widened with fear.

Y/N, caught off guard, saw Donna for the first time. The woman, veiled in mourning attire, radiated an ethereal beauty that contrasted with the eerie atmosphere of the house. The realization that Donna controlled the very plants that had ensnared her brought a wave of anxiety crashing over Y/N.

"Don't hurt me, please," Y/N pleaded, her voice trembling. "I can't go through it again."

As Y/N attempted to flee, the hallucinogenic effects of the flowers intensified. In the depths of her mind, memories of a painful past resurfaced. Y/N saw the specters of her abusive parents, their faces contorted with rage as they disciplined her with cruel abandon. Cuts and welts adorned her younger self's back, vivid reminders of a childhood marked by torment.

Overwhelmed by the haunting images, Y/N's frantic escape led to her collapse, unconscious on the ground.

Outside, Donna knelt beside her fallen visitor, her gaze softening as she brushed a strand of hair from Y/N's face. Without a word, she lifted Y/N into her arms, carrying her into the house and into an unused bedroom.

Y/N awoke in a disoriented haze, greeted by the sight of a woman in mourning attire and a doll in a wedding dress. Panic surged within her, amplified by the veiled figure's presence. Donna, sensing Y/N's distress, attempted to calm her, but the fear persisted.

Angie, observant as ever, pointed out that the veil might be the cause of Y/N's anxiety. Donna hesitated but, with a moment of vulnerability, removed the mourning veil, revealing her face. Y/N, in her disoriented state, saw the woman's beauty, a stark contrast to the sinister reputation of House Beneviento.

"Don't be afraid. I won't hurt you," Donna reassured, her voice gentle. "I never meant for this to happen. It was never my intention to bring you pain."

The room, cloaked in an otherworldly stillness, bore witness to a fragile connection between two souls touched by the haunting echoes of their pasts. In the midst of shadows and whispered regrets, Donna Beneviento and Y/N navigated the delicate dance of understanding and solace within the walls of House Beneviento. 

Donna lingered by Y/N's bedside, a solemn presence in the dimly lit room. The air was heavy with unspoken words, and the echoes of Y/N's painful memories lingered like a haunting melody. Donna, with a sense of cautious empathy, tried to broach the subject.

"Y/N, can you tell me about what you saw?" Donna's voice, soft as a whisper, held a genuine concern. She extended a hand, a gesture of compassion, but Y/N recoiled, her eyes flashing with a mixture of fear and defiance.

"I don't want to talk about it," Y/N snapped, a sharpness in her tone. The walls she had built around her past were reinforced with each rejection of the painful memories.

Donna, undeterred, persisted gently. "Sometimes, sharing the pain can help. It's okay not to carry it alone."

But Y/N, locked within the fortress of her own trauma, remained resistant. The wounds of the past were still too raw, the scars too fresh, to be unveiled and examined.

Donna, sensing Y/N's reluctance, shifted her approach. Instead of pressing further, she sat in a silence that conveyed understanding. The room, wrapped in shadows, became a sanctuary for the unspoken, a haven for a wounded soul.

"I won't force you to share if you're not ready," Donna reassured, her voice a soothing balm. "But know that your pain is valid, and you don't have to bear it alone. You're safe here."

Y/N, though still guarded, felt a flicker of acknowledgment. The vulnerability Donna displayed, the empathy in her eyes, sparked a tentative connection. Donna continued to sit with Y/N, a silent guardian in the night, offering a refuge from the storm that raged within.

In the quietude of House Beneviento, the shared pain of two wounded souls hung in the air. Donna, with an understanding born from her own shadows, extended a hand to Y/N, inviting her to release the burdens of the past in the sanctuary of their shared silence.