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delulustateofmind · 2 days ago

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"It's All Your Fault, Isn't It?"

Yan! SatoSugu x Reader Sum: You've had the chances, why didn't you take them. In the end you'll always just lose the purest of love. Last part of: Can my friend join?, This is Love, Right? ** Can be read as standalone fics** TW: Yandere Behaviors (Obsession, Manipulation, etc), Death of Child Character, Blood, Toxic Relationship Dynamics, Depression, Dubcon, Lactation, Pregnancy themes, SatoSugu, Angst No Comfort. MDNI WC: 7.7k

A/n: I got supperrr stuck in the loop of editing, so I am just gonna post it, I feel like rereading it after the tenth time. I almost just pressed delete lol. :) enjoy!

It’s all your fault, isn’t it?

You did this to yourself. You should have walked away when the chance was there, when the door was still open, even just a crack. You should have screamed, fought, run—anything to reclaim a sliver of your freedom.

But you didn’t.

You stayed.

Was it the security? The comfort of knowing you’d never struggle to pay bills or scramble to find work? Was it the way Satoru promised, over and over, that you’d never go unloved, never feel the ache of loneliness again?

Or was it something darker? Something you couldn’t quite admit to yourself?

You told yourself it was love. You told yourself you were lucky. How many women could say they had someone who’d give them the world? Someone who, with a flick of his wrist, could bend the rules of life itself to ensure you had everything you could ever need?

So, you stayed.

Even before Suguru became part of the equation, you stayed. You even stayed when Satoru would come home in the dead of night, his footsteps a faint echo through the silent halls before his hands found you. You’d stir from your sleep as he pulled your panties down with barely a word, his breath hot against your neck.

There was no tenderness in those moments, no love—just need. A raw, consuming need he claimed you had to fulfill. And you let him, didn’t you? You let him push inside you with barely any preparation, your body yielding to him because he knew it so well.

Satoru knew the places that made you crumble, the spots where your body quivered, the way your breath hitched when his fingers grazed just right. He knew you better than you knew yourself, didn’t he? His movements were deliberate, practiced, the wet noises filling the room a cruel testament to how thoroughly he’d mastered you.

You’d given him permission. He reminded you of that often, didn’t he? That you’d said yes. That he worked so hard, carried so much, and that this was his right. That he had needs only you could meet.

And you understood. You always understood.

After all, he was the strongest, wasn’t he?

So, you let him use you.

Like a doll.

You’d lay there, staring at the ceiling, as he buried himself to the hilt one last time, his loud groans of release cutting through the stillness. A pathetic little whimper followed, muffled by the darkness, as he spilled himself inside you. And then, as if the act meant nothing, he pressed a sweet kiss to your temple, murmured something soft and indistinct, and rolled over to his side of the bed.

You stayed there, silent and unmoving, the lingering heat of his body beside you doing nothing to warm the cold ache between your thighs.

That’s when the thought would creep in. A sick, unwelcome whisper:

You didn’t even climax.

You hated yourself for thinking it. For letting it matter.

But still, you stayed.

Was it fear that held you there? Or was it hope—a desperate, foolish hope that one-day things would change? That one day, every day would feel like those rare, sweet moments when he pressed teasing kisses against your lips before dragging you out to get sweets. That he’d touch you with love, with the tenderness he so effortlessly showed to others—when he wasn’t breaking them apart piece by piece with that same teasing grin.

And now, looking back, you can’t decide what’s worse: that you didn’t leave when you had the chance…

Or that part of you still doesn’t want to.

You stayed, even when the small arguments started. The little spats about wanting him to open up more, to share pieces of his life with you, the pieces he always kept hidden. Perhaps it was selfish—maybe even naïve—but you wanted to know why he loved you.

Really, truly loved you.

But you never asked.

You saved that question, tucking it away deep into your heart, right alongside the cracks that had already started forming. You told yourself it wasn’t the right time. That maybe he wasn’t ready. That you shouldn’t push. Instead, you focused on the good times, clinging to them like lifelines.

Because they were good, weren’t they?

What other guy would give you the world like Satoru did? What other guy would bring you flowers every week—a different color each time, sometimes traditional, sometimes exotic, but always beautiful? What other guy would shower you with affection so openly, so shamelessly, pressing kisses to your skin, nuzzling into the crook of your neck as though you were the only thing keeping him grounded?

Satoru had told you he loved you. And maybe he did—in a way that wasn’t entirely built on desire, the need to keep you within his grasp, or the insatiable craving to hold you close for the rest of your days.

That’s what you told yourself, anyway.

That’s why you stayed.

Even when Suguru came into the picture—when those dark, calculating eyes lingered on you just a moment too long when his quiet, honeyed words wove themselves into your life like threads binding you to a tapestry you couldn’t escape—you stayed.

You had the choice, didn’t you? You could have said no. You could have walked away.

But you didn’t.

You stayed, and now there was no one else to blame.

So, truly, it is all your fault.

However, your heart’s at fault too, isn’t it? For leaning into Suguru's touches, craving his warmth, even when you knew deep down that he was a cruel and awful man. A man who veiled his darkness in sweetness, wrapping it in gentle words and tender caresses that made you doubt your own truths. He was a master of contradiction—soft hands and sharp edges, honeyed lies hiding an iron grip.

You could have left.

You could have said no to the whole relationship, shut the door before it ever opened.

But you didn’t.

You stayed.

You told yourself that maybe this was the best you could hope for, the best kind of love someone like you deserved. Because it was love, wasn’t it? They loved you. Even if it was conditional. Even if you had to give and give, piece after piece of yourself, just to receive a sliver in return.

Love comes in many forms, after all. And this was love.

Or so you continued to convince yourself.

This is what you deserve. That you should have listened to your gut, back when every touch felt too heavy, too lingering, too much. Back when their words seemed to wrap around you like chains instead of promises. You should have left before the walls around you closed in. Before you realized that leaving wasn’t just difficult—it was dangerous.

You had your chances, didn’t you? If only you’d taken them.

You knew Satoru would tear the world apart to find you if you ran. He’d find you, no matter where you went, no matter how far. But… would he really?

If you’d left early enough, maybe it wouldn’t have been like this. Maybe it would have been nothing more than a bad breakup, a lesson in heartbreak you’d recover from in time. Maybe, if you’d left after Suguru’s return, Satoru would have leaned on him instead of spiraling further into obsession.

But you didn’t leave.

You stayed.

Such a stupid, stupid girl.

And yet…

It was never just about them, was it?

Because you craved love too, just as much as they did. You wanted it desperately—so much that you ignored the warnings in your heart, the creeping dread in your chest. You wanted to be loved, to feel wanted, to belong to someone in a way that was absolute, undeniable, and unshakable.

And that’s exactly what they gave you.

But love like that—it came with a cost.

And you paid for it in silence, in submission, in the pieces of yourself you’d never get back.

So now, here you are, locked away in the beautiful Gojo estate. A place so grand it should feel like a palace, yet it suffocates you like a gilded cage. Every corner gleams with wealth and power, every surface reflects the life you’re supposed to be grateful for.

The maids don’t meet your eyes.

To them, you aren’t Satoru’s wife. You aren’t a partner. You’re something lesser.

A pet.

Because you aren’t the one ensuring the estate runs smoothly while Satoru is away on his endless missions. That responsibility doesn’t fall to you—it belongs to Suguru, doesn’t it? He’s the one in charge. He holds the reins, commanding the household with a quiet authority that leaves no room for question.

And you?

You remain.

The pet. The wife. The child-bearer.

Barefoot and pregnant, with a swollen belly to show for it, you shuffle through the estate like a ghost. Your body aches, weighed down not just by the child growing inside you, but by the chains of a life you can’t escape.

Suguru sees to it that the estate runs like a well-oiled machine, all while maintaining his title as the second strongest. His responsibilities never seem to tire him, never seem to dull his devotion. If anything, they only make him more overbearing.

He adores pampering you.

He drapes you in the softest blankets, ensuring you’re always warm. He dresses you in the finest clothes, silks and satins that cling to your growing belly, showcasing the proof of your usefulness. He loves the way your independence has been stripped away, loves the way you’ve been forced to rely on him for everything.

When did you become so dependent?

When did you start accepting his affection like a loyal dog, start leaning into the way his rough, calloused hands would trace the curve of your stomach? When did you start craving the way he’d gaze up at you with that lovesick smile, his voice low and honeyed as he murmured sweet words about the future?

“I hope the baby looks like Satoru,” he’d say, his eyes dark and soft as they met yours. Then, after a pause, “I hope it’s a girl.”

The words always made your chest tighten, made your stomach twist.

You know he must miss the twins.

It’s not just the weight of their absence—it’s the way he’s filled that void with this child, this unborn life. You can see it in the way he touches you, the way he watches you. He’s more excited about this pregnancy than you are.

And that’s the cruelest part, isn’t it?

Because to him, this isn’t just a child. It’s a legacy. A purpose.

To you?

It’s another chain.

And yet, you hate how loving he is. How he’s always there to hold your hair back when you’re bent over, heaving in the dead of night. How his large, warm hands find every knot in your aching limbs, massaging away the tension with a tenderness that makes your heartache.

It’s cruel, how gentle he can be. How he disarms you with care just when you think you might muster the strength to fight back.

There’s a constant mantra in your mind, a desperate hope that the baby won’t resemble either of them.

Because the thought of seeing their features reflected back at you stirs a fear too heavy to bear.

The thought of seeing their features reflected in those tiny, innocent eyes is terrifying. It brings the fear that every decision will feel like a mistake, that allowing any of this to happen will become an unbearable regret.

You tell yourself you hope, but it’s hard to ignore the possibility, isn’t it?

What if the child inherits Satoru’s piercing blue eyes—so crystalline they seem otherworldly, glowing even in the faintest light? The same eyes that burn and freeze you all at once, stripping you bare and exposing every secret, every hidden part of you.

Even his grin—boyish, sharp, too wide—lingers in your mind. A grin that could charm and cut in the same breath, leaving you unsure whether to lean closer or step away. What if that grin appeared on a smaller, softer face, just as devastating?

Or worse—what if the baby inherits Suguru’s gaze?

Those dark, soulful eyes that pull you in like the tide, gentle at first glance, inviting even, but hiding endless, churning storms beneath their surface. Eyes that promise escape is not an option. Unlike Satoru’s, Suguru’s smiles are quieter, softer—but no less dangerous. His smiles feel deliberate, like they’re slipping past every defense you didn’t even know you had.

Would the baby inherit Satoru’s arrogance? Suguru’s patience?

Or worse—would the child inherit both of their possessiveness?

The thought makes your skin crawl.

But the fear doesn’t end there.

Because it’s not just about the baby, is it?

It’s about you.

About how they’ve already carved themselves so deeply into your soul that you can’t even imagine a world without them. You hate that truth. Hate the way it festers inside you, a bitter root growing into every part of you.

You hate Satoru’s smirk when he strides into the estate after a mission, brushing off the exhaustion and blood as if it’s nothing. How he towers over you, his white hair catching the light in a way that seems almost ethereal, his fingers tilting your chin up with a mock tenderness that makes your breath catch.

You hate how he always knows exactly what to say to make you crumble, his voice dipping into that teasing lilt that makes your heart flutter in spite of yourself.

And Suguru—oh, you hate how he lingers. How his touch lingers. His hands are always warm, always deliberate, tracing paths across your skin as if he’s claiming you, piece by piece. Every stroke of his fingers feels like a silent reminder that you are his, that you belong to him. His voice, low and soothing, is a cruel contradiction—a balm against your nerves, even when his words are laced with quiet threats you pretend not to hear.

You hate them.

You hate the way they consume you, the way they’ve woven themselves into the fabric of your life so tightly that even your thoughts feel tangled in their presence.

And yet, as you sit in the vast, lonely expanse of the Gojo estate, the weight of your belly grounding you, you know the truth.

You’re not just afraid of the baby looking like them.

You’re afraid of what that child will mean.

Because if they look like Satoru, with his arrogance, his fire, his brilliance, how will you deny the pride swelling in your chest? How will you stop yourself from feeling that flicker of awe, even when you know you shouldn’t?

And if they look like Suguru, with his quiet strength, his steadfast devotion, how will you deny the love? How will you stop yourself from melting beneath those familiar eyes, from imagining them crinkling with joy or softening with affection?

You can’t.

And that's horrifying.

You won’t be able to ignore how Satoru has changed, how he’s become softer, more attentive in ways that make it harder to hold onto your resentment. How he lingers closer to you than he ever did before, as if the mere distance between you might undo something fragile inside him.

How he’s started resting his head in your lap as you sit together in the serene gardens, his white hair catching the sunlight like spun silk, almost ethereal. His long lashes cast soft shadows over his cheeks as his half-lidded gaze flickers up to meet yours, brimming with a tenderness you don’t know how to process.

He murmurs lazy words of affection, his voice low and warm, the kind of sweetness that drips like honey and sticks to your skin. His fingers trace absentminded circles on your thighs, soft patterns that feel far too intimate, far too easy.

And you hate how much you crave it.

You hate the way his presence soothes something raw inside you, even when you tell yourself it shouldn’t.

You hate how he’s begun helping you with the small, intimate things you wish you could keep to yourself. Like the unbearable ache in your swollen breasts, the pressure building so much it leaves you trembling, whimpering in pain. How he doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t even ask.

The way Satoru's lips wrap around you with loud, deliberate suckles, the sound echoing in the quiet as he eases the pressure with almost clinical precision. He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t falter. His hands grip your hips to steady you, his thumbs pressing reassuring circles into your skin.

You hate the sound.

You hate the warmth of his breath against your skin, the way it prickles, a constant reminder of just how close he always is—too close.

When he’s finished, he pulls back with a satisfied hum, his lips brushing against your collarbone with a lingering kiss. His voice low, almost tender, as he murmurs, “I love this version of you.”

The words settle into you like stones. His lips, still soft from the milk, press against yours, and the faint sweetness lingers, almost cloying. Satoru murmurs more words—gentle, saccharine things that would feel kind if not for the way his hands start to roam as they wrap around your waist.

“How nurturing you’ve become,” he whispers, his tone carrying a dangerous sort of reverence.

That’s what he loves. That’s what he says.

And the way he looks at you when he says it—those bright blue eyes glinting with something dark, something that sinks its claws into you—makes your skin crawl. Because you know exactly what he means.

He doesn’t love the nurturing in and of itself. He loves how it ties you to him. How it binds you to this role, this life, this carefully constructed world where you are his and only his.

The version of you he loves is one that has no room for defiance, no space for resistance—only the space to give, to sacrifice, to bend under the weight of his love.

And that’s what makes it so much worse.

Because even as you hate it, even as your stomach churns and your skin prickles, there’s a part of you that leans into his touch. A part of you that longs for the softness, for the fleeting moments when it feels like love instead of control.

And you hate yourself for that, too

Because you know how it goes. You’ve seen it now. Lived it.

How one pregnancy ends and another begins.

The cycle repeated itself after your firstborn, didn’t it? Barely a year after you gave birth, they had you pregnant again. You didn’t even have time to recover, to heal, before they decided it was time for another.

But they love you, don’t they?

Satoru’s affection is impossible to miss—the way he grins at you, almost childlike, as he cups your face with hands that can destroy worlds but hold you as though you’re the most delicate thing he’s ever touched. How he showers you with gifts, flowers in every shade imaginable, rare treasures that sparkle as brightly as his endless energy.

How many times has he told you, in his low, teasing voice, “You’re my world, you know that? I could do anything, have anything—but none of it would matter without you.”

It sounds like love, doesn’t it?

And Suguru—Suguru loves you too, in his quiet, steady way. You see it in the way he watches you, his dark eyes softening when you enter the room, the weight of his gaze feels suffocating. He’s the one who stays calm when you cry, wrapping his arms around you and murmuring, “Shh, it’s okay. I’m here. You don’t have to carry this alone.”

And you believe him, don’t you?

They love you. That’s why they insist on keeping you close. Why Satoru kisses your forehead every morning, why Suguru runs his fingers through your hair as he whispers sweet nothings you’re too exhausted to resist. That’s why they ensure you’re taken care of, why they never let you lift a finger, why they promise they’ll always protect you.

“You don’t have to do anything,” Satoru once said, kissing your swollen belly as he grinned up at you. “Just stay here with us. That’s all we need.”

“It’s not just for us,” Suguru added, his voice softer, more measured. “It’s for you too. We want you to feel safe. Loved.”

And in moments like that, when the weight of their words settles in your chest like a lullaby, you almost believe them.

You tell yourself that no one else would love you this much. No one else would care for you so completely, so unconditionally—because this is love, isn’t it?

The maids barely acknowledged your struggles. Their gazes were cold, dismissive, even as your body ached and your mind screamed for reprieve. They would gently pry your child from your arms with hushed whispers.

“You need more rest,” they’d say, their voices soft but unyielding. “We’ll take care of them. Don’t worry.”

And what could you do? You’d watch helplessly as they carried your baby away, leaving you empty-handed, empty-hearted. As if you were nothing more than a vessel, an incubator meant to bear and birth heirs for the Gojo family.

Your firstborn was a boy.

A son.

An heir.

He looked just like Satoru.

Those piercing blue eyes stared back at you from his tiny, cherubic face, wide and curious, already holding a glint of brilliance and confidence you couldn’t deny. His hair was the same stark white, impossibly soft beneath your trembling fingers as you brushed it back, memorizing every perfect strand. Even the little smirk he gave in his sleep mirrored Satoru’s—a playful, almost mocking curl at the corners of his mouth that made your heart ache with emotions you couldn’t unravel.

You loved him.

You hated that you loved him.

And when Suguru would cradle him in his arms, his dark eyes soft and filled with a devotion that seemed to crack the carefully constructed walls around your heart, you couldn’t deny the warmth blooming in your chest. He’d whisper promises to the child—vows of protection and guidance.

When Satoru would swoop in, effortlessly spinning the boy around with an energy that filled the room with light, the sound of your son’s uncontrollable laughter echoing like music, that warmth would return. It would swell in your chest, suffocating and undeniable, a cruel reminder of the chains you wore willingly and unwillingly all at once.

This is what they wanted, wasn’t it?

This is what they’d planned all along.

And now, with another child growing inside you, you realize something that terrifies you more than anything else.

You’re not sure if you stayed because you had no choice.

Or because you wanted to.

Again, it’s all your fault.

For trying to run, again.

For thinking, just for a moment, that you could escape them.

You were far too pregnant. Belly too far swollen, body heavy and slow, every step a reminder of how deeply tethered you were to this vast estate. But the thought wouldn’t leave your mind. The desperate hope of freedom burned too brightly, too wildly, even as your body betrayed you.

Even as you were dragged back to that sickening place, back to the people that you convinced yourself—desperately, foolishly—that this was love.

You’d screamed at Suguru, the words spilling out like a torrent you couldn’t stop. You told him the child was yours too, that you had the right to hold them, to sleep in the same room, to be more than a vessel. Your voice cracked, raw with frustration and desperation, as you hurled your defiance at him.

You remember the way his gaze darkened.

He didn’t yell. He didn’t snap. That wasn’t Suguru’s way.

Instead, he stepped closer, his movements slow, calculated, as though he were approaching a frightened animal. He tilted his head, his expression calm, disarming, the warmth in his dark eyes a stark contrast to the undercurrent of control they held.

“You’re upset,” he murmured, his voice soft, soothing. His hand reached out to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing away the tears streaking your face. “And that’s okay. You’ve been through so much, haven’t you?”

The quiet warmth in Suguru's voice made it hard to breathe, made the frustration clawing at your throat turn to something else—something like shame.

“You need to calm down,” he continued, a warm calloused hand slipping down to cradle the side of your neck, his thumb pressing lightly against your pulse. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself. I don’t want you to hurt us.”

His words lingered, heavy with meaning, as he pulled you closer, his forehead pressing against yours.

“I know it’s hard,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. “But I love you. We love you. Everything we do—everything I do—is for you.”

You wanted to push him away, to scream that it wasn’t love, that this wasn’t love. But as his arms wrapped around you, strong and unyielding, pulling you into his embrace as though Suguru could shield you from the very world they had trapped you in.

“You’re everything to me,” he murmured, soft lips brushing your temple. “Don’t you see that? You don’t need to run. You don’t need to be afraid. I’ll take care of you. I’ll always take care of you.”

A voice that was so tender, so achingly sincere, that it almost broke you. Suguru's words were enough to extinguish the fire of defiance burning in your chest, to leave you standing there, trembling and helpless in his arms.

The maids saw it, didn’t they? They whispered about you, their quiet voices slipping through the halls like ghosts. They called you ungrateful. Sick. They said you didn’t understand how fortunate you were.

“You should be enjoying this,” they murmured, their words laced with thinly veiled judgment. “No responsibilities, no struggles. A carefree life. Everything is taken care of for you. What more could you want?”

What more could you want?

No choices.

That’s what they meant, wasn’t it? No choices. No freedom. No you.

Was something wrong with you? Maybe.

Maybe there was something wrong with wanting more. For wanting to feel like a person again, instead of a vessel, a doll, a beautifully dressed incubator meant to carry their legacy.

It really is all your fault, isn’t it?

Because when labor came, it dragged you into hell.

Thirty-three grueling hours. Each contraction ripped through your body like a punishment, an unrelenting reminder of every fleeting thought of rebellion, of every moment you dared to imagine a life beyond them.

The emergency c-section was chaos—a flurry of hands, sterile lights, and voices rising above the incessant ringing in your ears. You were losing too much blood. Fever scorched your skin, your body trembling as the edges of the world blurred, your thoughts slipping between consciousness and darkness.

You couldn’t make sense of what was happening. You weren’t even sure whose tears streaked your skin as they fell—were they yours? Satoru’s? Suguru’s?

You didn’t know.

You didn’t know what happened after that.

All you remember are the words.

Suguru’s voice, low and steady, cutting through the haze. He leaned close, his hand resting on your clammy cheek with an almost painful tenderness. His dark eyes bore into yours, soft yet heavy with something that made your stomach twist.

“You shouldn’t have run,” he whispered. His tone was calm, soothing even, but the edge beneath it was sharp enough to draw blood. “Look at what you’ve done to yourself. You should’ve listened.”

And for a long time, you didn’t have the strength to argue.

The days that followed blurred together. Feeling like a ghost in your body, too weak to move, too tired to speak. Satoru and Suguru hovered, their gazes flickering between concern and something you couldn't quite place. The maids continued to whisper on with their rumors, their eyes darting to you with pity or disdain, as though you’d done this to yourself.

In their eyes, you were lucky.

Lucky to have survived. Lucky to have them.

And lucky, in their eyes, to not have another pregnancy until your first two boys turned five.

Five years of peace. Or something that resembled it.

Five years of watching your sons grow, of hearing their first words, of feeling their small, warm arms wrap around you as they giggled into into your neck. Five years where it was almost believable that this was normal, where you could almost convince yourself this was love.

Because it did feel like love, didn’t it?

Until the day you overheard Suguru speaking to them.

His voice was hushed, but not hushed enough.

“Mommy is sick,” he said, tone calm and soothing like he was explaining a simple fact of life. “Sometimes she says things she doesn’t mean. Sometimes she gets confused. But that’s okay. We love her, don’t we?”

A pang sent through your chest, breath catching as you froze in the hallway. Those cruel words lies carved like knives, each one slicing deeper than the last.

He was planting seeds, wasn’t he?

Teaching them to see you the way he wanted them to see you. Fragile. Dependent. Broken.

However with fists clenched, nails pressing into palms with a sting sharp enough to ground the swirling emotions within. The urge to scream hovered at the edge, to cry and storm into the room, demanding explanations with the desperation of a cornered animal. Words burned on the tip of the tongue—protests that it wasn’t true, that sickness and confusion weren’t the chains binding this existence.

But what would they believe?

Suguru’s steady, patient voice, rich and even, always laced with quiet authority? The father whose dark eyes always seemed to understand everything, who carried himself with calm, unshakable control, even when his smiles didn’t quite reach his eyes?

Or you?

The mother who had tried to run, who had collapsed and bled and screamed, who had been scolded for her defiance. The one they saw as weak, frail, and ungrateful.

You wanted to run again. The thought burned in the back of your mind, relentless and wild.

But you didn’t.

You stayed.

Because, in the end, what choice did you really have?

But by the time your third child—a sweet boy who looked like a perfect blend of you and Suguru—turned three, the illusion of peace began to crack.

Suguru was already leaning close, his voice soft and coaxing as he murmured into your ear, “I think it’s time we try for a girl.”

Satoru, of course, was on board almost immediately.

After all, your third child was different. A nonsorcerer, just like you, showing none of the abilities your first two boys possessed. Those two had cried in the dead of night, their small voices trembling with fear as they described the horrors only they could see—things you couldn’t even begin to comprehend.

But that wasn’t why your husbands looked at Kiyoshi with quiet disapproval.

It wasn’t his lack of cursed energy that made them see him as an anomaly.

It was his heart.

From the moment Kiyoshi was placed in your arms, red-faced and wailing, he clung to you with a desperation that never faded. He didn’t want the maids to hold him, didn’t toddle after Suguru’s composed steps or reached for Satoru’s strong arms. He wanted you. Always you.

He was a mama’s boy through and through, and that was love.

A love so pure it felt like a lifeline in the suffocating world you’d been forced into.

While you loved your first two boys deeply—how could you not?—there was always a distance there, a reflection of the walls your husbands had built around you. The first two cuddled into your lap, their small hands clutching yours as they whispered things that broke you.

“Mommy, we want you to get better.” “We don’t like it when you yell at Daddy to let you leave.”

They were too young to understand, too innocent to see the chains tightening around you.

But Kiyoshi understood, in his own way. Even as a toddler, he refused to leave your side, refused to let the maids or his fathers pull him from your arms. He was always on your hip, his little hand clutching your clothes, his head resting against your chest.

“Kiyoshi,” Satoru had said once, his tone laced with false amusement, “means ‘pure sadness.’ Don’t you think that’s fitting?”

He smiled as if it were a joke, but you could hear the bitterness beneath it.

And maybe it was fitting.

Because Kiyoshi only stopped wailing when he was in your arms, as if he already knew the world outside of you was too cruel, too cold.

By the time he turned three, Kiyoshi would toddle after you in the gardens, small, sturdy legs working hard to keep up. His face—a blend of Suguru’s gentleness and your warmth—would brighten with the purest smile. When his eyes crinkled at the corners, just like yours, you couldn’t help but feel your heart swell.

“Look, Mommy!” he’d say, holding up a flower he’d plucked from the garden, his tiny fingers dirt-stained and clumsy. “For you!”

You’d crouch down, brushing his dark hair back as you took the flower, your voice soft and tender in a way you hadn’t heard in years.

“Thank you, my sweet boy.”

And for a moment, it felt like it was just the two of you.

Like you could breathe again.

But you knew better.

As the sound of approaching footsteps always shattered moments like these. Heavy and far too familiar. You didn’t need to turn around to know it was Suguru.

His softspoken voice broke the fragile silence, calm and even, as always. “Kiyoshi,” he said, warm and affectionate, though laced with something you couldn’t quite name. “You’ve been keeping your mother all to yourself again, haven’t you?”

Kiyoshi stiffened at your side, the little hand tightening its grip on your kimono as he glanced nervously toward Suguru.

Suguru stepped closer and crouched down to Kiyoshi’s level, dark eyes softening as they met his son’s. “Come here, son,” he murmured, holding out a hand. His tone was gentle, coaxing, but there was an unspoken expectation beneath it. “Let Daddy hold you for a little while. I’ve missed you.”

But Kiyoshi didn’t move. His small fingers curled tighter into the fabric of your kimono, his face pressing into your side as though trying to make himself small, invisible.

Suguru’s gaze flicked to you, lips curling into a faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “So shy,” he said softly, his voice carrying a note of amused affection. “But you don’t have to be, Kiyoshi. Daddy just wants to hold you. You know that, don’t you?”

You felt your heart clench, torn between the instinct to shield him and the weight of Suguru’s presence. The tenderness in his tone, in the way his hand remained outstretched, made it all the harder to breathe.

“Kiyoshi,” Suguru said again, his voice dipping into a firmer edge, calm but unyielding. “Come.”

Reluctantly, your little boy let go of you, his steps slow and hesitant as he moved toward his father. Suguru’s smile widened, soft and reassuring, as he scooped Kiyoshi up effortlessly, cradling him with a gentleness that felt too deliberate, too controlled.

“There’s my good boy,” he murmured, brushing Kiyoshi’s hair back with careful fingers. His touch lingered, as though committing the texture to memory. “You love your mommy very much, don’t you?”

Kiyoshi nodded silently, his small face burying itself in Suguru’s shoulder.

Suguru’s gaze lifted to meet yours, a gentle smile, his tone almost playful. “You’ve spoiled him,” he said, a note of amusement threading through his words. “He’s too attached.”

You opened your mouth to respond, to say something, but the words caught in your throat.

What could you say?

That you were the only warmth in a world that terrified him? That his attachment wasn’t a flaw, but a desperate grasp at something safe?

Satoru appeared not long after, his presence impossible to ignore as he strolled into the garden, hands in his pockets and a grin that seemed too bright for the moment. His eyes, however, betrayed something softer—something that lingered only when they landed on you.

“Kiyoshi giving you trouble again?” Satoru's voice came out light, tinged with curiosity.

“No trouble,” Suguru replied smoothly, a hand still resting on Kiyoshi’s small back. “Just a little too fond of his mother.”

Satoru chuckled, shaking his head as he moved closer. His cerulean gaze flicked briefly to Kiyoshi before returning to you, that playful grin softening as he moved to brush a kiss against your temple. “Well, can you blame him?” he murmured, his voice low, meant only for you. “You’re hard not to love.”

The warmth of his affection made your heart twist, and your stomach flutter. For a moment, it was easy to forget the way his words often carried double meanings, easy to believe he was simply being sweet.

He straightened, turning his attention back to Suguru with a teasing smile. “But we’ll fix that soon enough, won’t we?”

They didn’t mean to hurt him, you told yourself. They wouldn’t.

But you knew better.

Because Kiyoshi was different. He didn’t fit into their world the way your first two boys did. And in their eyes, difference was something to be controlled.

For now, they let him cling to you. They let him toddle after you in the garden, offering flowers and dirt-streaked smiles that made your heart ache with both love and dread. For now, they allowed him to stay close, to hold onto the warmth you gave him, to believe he was safe in your arms.

But you knew it was only a matter of time.

Because your sons didn’t belong to you. Not really. They never had.

And no matter how much you wanted to shield Kiyoshi, no matter how fiercely you loved him, you knew one simple, devastating truth:

They’d let you have this for now.

But they would take him, too.

Because, after all, it’s all your fault.

For fleeing in the middle of the night.

The day was supposed to be perfect—a rare moment where Satoru and Suguru had taken the older two boys to the school, their voices filled with excitement as they promised to teach them more about the world they were destined to inherit. Your sweet boys kissed you goodbye with a tenderness that felt almost cruel, leaving you behind with Kiyoshi in the quiet, sprawling estate.

You had been on your best behavior. Smiling more, laughing when Satoru teased you, letting Suguru hold you a little longer than usual. You’d made them believe you were finally settling, finally accepting your role in their carefully constructed world.

And it worked.

So when the sun set and the house fell silent, you made your move.

You bundled Kiyoshi up in the softest blanket you could find, the small body warm and sleepy against your chest. He stirred only slightly as you slipped out of the estate, his tiny hands clutching onto your clothes.

He didn’t cry.

He didn’t make a sound.

It was as if he understood. As if even at three years old, he knew that silence was the only thing keeping you safe.

He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, his soft breaths warm against your skin, and you couldn’t help the tears that welled up in your eyes.

The highway stretched out before you, an endless black ribbon under the faint glow of the moon. The lights of the city sparkled in the distance, a beacon of hope, a promise of sanctuary.

You walked for miles, the cold night air biting at your skin, legs aching with every step. But you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. Not with the faint echoes of paranoia whispering at the back of your mind.

Were they already looking for you? Did Satoru sense you slipping away even from miles away? Did Suguru wake in the middle of the night with the suffocating weight of intuition, already calling for their forces to track you down?

You didn’t know.

And you didn’t care.

The city limits were closer now, the glow of neon lights growing brighter, sharper. The faint hum of life and sound buzzed in the distance.

Kiyoshi stirred in your arms, his little head lifting just enough to peek out at the world around him. His dark eyes, so much like Suguru’s but filled with an innocence his father could no longer claim, glanced up at you with quiet curiosity.

“Mommy,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the soft hum of the wind.

You pressed a kiss to his forehead, your tears wetting his soft hair. “We’re almost there, my sweet boy,” you murmured, your voice trembling under the weight of hope and fear. “Just a little farther.”

Sanctuary was so close you could taste it.

But it’s all your fault, isn’t it?

Born a nonsorcerer.

Blind to the horrors that lurk unseen. Powerless to fight them off. Too weak to keep that sweet little boy safe.

You always imagined curses as massive, grotesque creatures—monsters so obvious that the very air would change in their presence. That the world would stop, that everything would smell of death and decay as they loomed closer.

But when a curse appears, nothing changes.

There’s no warning. No shift in the wind.

The only thing you feel is the sudden weight of your child going limp in your arms.

And then the blood.

It coats the ground—dark and endless, pooling around your knees and seeping into the cracks of the earth. Sticky and warm, it clings to trembling hands, staining your kimono, your skin, your very soul.

You can’t move. Can’t breathe.

Your little boy—your Kiyoshi—lies limp in your arms, his small body growing colder with every agonizing second. Tiny fingers, once so eager to cling to you, now dangle lifelessly. His dark lashes rest softly against pale cheeks, unmoving.

He looks like he’s sleeping.

You tell yourself that, over and over, as if saying it enough times will somehow make it true. Shaking hands brush back his dark hair, trembling as you whisper his name. Softly at first, then louder, your voice splintering with every syllable.

“Kiyoshi… wake up, baby. Please.”

But nothing changes.

The world around you feels wrong—too quiet, too still. The city lights in the distance mock you, their glow a cruel reminder of the sanctuary you’d been so close to reaching. You’d promised him, hadn’t you? Promised that everything would be okay. That you’d make it there. That you’d keep him safe.

You lied.

“Kiyoshi,” you choke out again, pressing a desperate kiss to his cooling forehead. Hot tears streak down your face, wetting his soft hair as you clutch him tighter, as though you could anchor him to you—keep him here, with you.

A wail tears through the night, raw and broken, shattering the oppressive silence. The sound is unrecognizable, guttural and full of despair. It takes a moment before you realize it’s coming from you.

The blood stains everything—your hands, your clothes, the ground—but it’s the loss of his warmth that destroys you.

How did this happen?

Your mind races, replaying the moments in broken fragments. You’d been walking, your legs aching, his small body cradled against your chest. He’d been so quiet, so trusting, his head nuzzled into the crook of your neck.

You were almost there.

Then the air shifted—just slightly—a subtle wrongness you hadn’t noticed until it was too late.

You didn’t see it.

You didn’t even know it was there until his body jerked in your arms, a sharp, unnatural movement that stole his breath—and yours.

And then he went limp.

It doesn’t make sense. None of it makes sense.

You rock him back and forth, tears falling freely, your voice hoarse as you beg him to wake up. Leaning to press your cheek against his, murmuring his name over and over, as if the sound alone could bring him back.

Because you failed him.

Because this is your fault.

Suguru’s arms wrap around you, their weight unbearable. His warmth presses against the chill of the night, suffocating in a way that makes the air harder to pull into your lungs. He cradles you like something precious, something fragile—like he cares, even as his words twist the knife deeper into your chest.

“We’ll take care of this, just like always,” he says, his voice soft, almost gentle. His lips brush against your hair, lingering, and the tenderness in the gesture makes your skin crawl. “You just need to stop fighting us. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

Satoru stood frozen, head bowed, white hair catching the faint glow of the city lights. Kiyoshi’s lifeless body was pressed tightly against him, his hands trembling ever so slightly as he held him close. For a moment, you thought you saw something crack in his expression—something raw, something human.

But it was gone just as quickly as it appeared.

When he finally turned his gaze to you, his blue eyes were as hollow as you’d ever seen them. “You shouldn’t have done this,” he said quietly, his voice devoid of its usual teasing lilt. “Why couldn’t you just stay?”

The question stabbed deeper than you thought possible, the shame and guilt coursing through you like poison.

Why couldn’t you just stay?

The image of Kiyoshi’s bright smile flashed, his tiny hands offering you flowers from the garden, his laugh ringing out like music in the suffocating silence of the estate. He’d been your light, your tether to something good.

And now he was gone.

Because of you.

You sagged further into Suguru’s hold, the fight draining out of you entirely. The tears wouldn’t stop, falling silently now, soaking into the front of Suguru’s shirt as he held you tighter.

“There, there,” he murmured, his hand stroking your hair in slow, deliberate motions. “That’s better. You don’t have to fight anymore. We’ll make it right.”

But there was no right in this.

The car waited nearby, its door open like an unspoken command. Suguru’s grip on you didn’t waver as he began guiding you toward it, his movements gentle but unrelenting. Satoru followed behind, cradling Kiyoshi’s small form like he was made of glass.

Your legs moved on instinct, numb and heavy, the metallic scent of blood lingering in the air.

The city lights grew fainter as the car doors shut behind you, locking you away from the world you’d been so close to reaching.

You told yourself you’d tried. That you’d done everything you could.

But deep down, you knew.

You’d never escape them.

And as Suguru’s fingers intertwined with yours, as Satoru’s empty gaze lingered on the horizon, you realized something that hollowed you out completely.

It wasn’t just that you had nothing left.

It was that you no longer cared to try.

It really was all your fault.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere satosugu #yandere satosugu x reader #yandere satoru gojo #yandere gojo satoru #yandere gojo #yandere geto #yandere geto suguru #yandere suguru geto #yandere satoru x reader #yandere jjk #yandere #yandere suguru x reader

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zerocoded · 1 day ago

Text

summary: when caleb appears at your front door on a random thursday night after faking his death for weeks, you can't help but want to punch him straight in the knees. lucky for you, you do just that.

authors note: this beautiful drawing that i'm using in the banner is from this lovely artist, credits to them! go check their x account ♡ ANYWAYS, the caleb post i've been daydreaming about the last two days is finally here. CALEB GIRLIES I GOT YOU. let's hold each other's hands until the 22nd comes. i hope i succeed in portraying a real mc bc i'm tired of seeing us being just happy when seeing caleb for the first time when BRO DECEIVED US and played with our emotions like that. without further bs, live laugh love caleb.

warnings: SLIGHT yandere!caleb • gaslighting and manipulation • sfw content • bad writing lol, be warned! • depressive thoughts • reader is on her grieving period • work exhaustion • mental illness mentioned • minor injury • manhandling and pining • height & size difference • caleb literally invades our home • fighting bc reader is a badass and tolerates no bitches • mc bites caleb's hands lol • others LI mentioned • one kissy scene hehe • caleb screams at mc once (boo) • ANGST Y'ALL!

word count: 6.1k

your apartment was silent, except for the faint hum of the city outside. tossing your jacket onto the back of the couch, you leaned against the wall, exhaling shakily. the weight of the day pressed down on you like a vice, your fingers brushing the edge of the message from linkon city hall still lying unopened on the counter.

confirmation of deceased: caleb. adoptive grandmother, dr. josephine. cause of death: explosion – classified incident.

you hadn’t needed to open it. the words were already carved into your memory, and the weight of them had crushed you all day. it didn’t matter that the explosion was months ago—seeing their names on an official report felt like losing them all over again.

you pushed away from the counter, willing your mind to focus on anything else. the hunter uniform hugged your frame perfectly, as it always had, and your reflection in the glass windows of your living room showed how tired you looked.

did anyone notice how wrecked you felt? you wondered if tara had gossiped to the other hunters about your predicament, and if she had left you alone because she somehow understood the weight of what had happened to you.

the message was awful. being asked to confirm the deaths of your loved ones had thrown you into a depressive spiral you hadn’t felt in days after returning from the N109 zone. your troublesome heart sometimes made you feel like you shouldn’t have even been born. when you trauma-dumped this on rafayel a few days ago, he had almost hit you with his paint brush, the words coming out of your mouth too much for him to process. the painter was pissed that you could think of yourself like that.

but that was how you felt—unworthy of being alive, because the person who raised you had been brutally killed.

why not me? you wondered.

linkon city was adorned with shiny skyscrapers, and your privileged view of the city made you feel even smaller, your grievance nothing more than a joke to the world outside of your apartment. knowing you’d have to show up to work again tomorrow added to the weight pressing down on your shoulders from choosing to be a deepspace hunter.

these last few weeks, you had questioned why you chose this job in the first place. since coming back from onychinus and befriending sylus of all people, you’d been thinking about your life decisions more frequently. sylus made you question every little thing you had once thought was a virtue, which now seemed like selfishness in disguise.

the man was good at disturbing your thoughts and making you feel things that put you on the spot.

you became a deepspace hunter because you were selfish. you wanted to make a difference, like the people you grew up with had made.

you wanted to be smart like zayne and attentive like josephine. you wanted to be helpful like caleb and as notorious as your other anhaunsen classmates. you wanted to do anything to escape the feeling you’d had since birth—uselessness.

as you sank deep into the living room cushions and exhaled heavily into the lonely air of your apartment, your phone buzzed with a text from zayne.

fate was joking with you today.

are you okay?, it read.

his worry made your heart flutter a little before sadness took over your entire form again.

you didn’t have the heart to respond. lying required more strength than you had in that moment, so you tossed your phone onto the center table and ignored him.

i’m sorry, zayne, i wish i was stronger for you.

your stomach rumbled, and your ribs ached. earlier in the evening, you had let a wanderer get too close before killing it, distracted as you were. the mistake had left you with a swollen rib and a deep sense of shame. you’d promised to take care of it when you got home, but right now, all you could do was discard a few of your sharp weapons onto the floor before dozing off on the couch.

you’d probably hate yourself in the morning for sleeping with these tight boots on.

for you, the hardest part wasn’t the silence left behind. it wasn’t the way the world seemed to keep spinning while yours had shattered. the hardest part was feeling like you needed to smile, to nod politely when people said, “stay strong,” as if strength could stitch together the pieces of your broken heart.

the hardest part was the way people looked at you, expecting you to move forward, to let the memories be enough. but how could you, when the smell of smoke still haunted your nightmares, when you could still hear caleb’s laughter drowned by the deafening roar of the explosion? how could you heal when your soul was still bleeding, the wounds too fresh, the pain still pouring out with every breath you tried to take?

how could you move forward when you still couldn’t clench your fists as strong as you were accustomed to because you were thrown into the air and broke both of them at the incident?

you wondered if it would ever be enough, and if someday you’d find out who was responsible for all of this pain.

the kitchen candles were the only light in the room when you heard the doorbell ring. sharp and sudden, it cut through the haze and fought off your sleepiness in a second, your hunter’s bells ringing warningly.

your heart jumped, and your hand instinctively went to your side where your pistol usually rested, only to find it absent. you’d left it in your locker at the deepspace headquarters, thinking you wouldn’t need it tonight.

the bell rang again, more insistent this time.

“probably xavier,” you muttered, trying to shake off the lingering unease. your neighbor and cute colleague had been away on a special mission as a hunter. his absence had started to feel noticeable in the quiet moments.

you liked spending time with xavier because he seemed to understand you on another level. he never seemed to expect anything from you, which made grieving next to him a little less daunting. you missed his midnight visits and occasional talks about claw machines and stupid wanderers, and you wished he would respond to your texts asking when he was coming back.

you felt like you needed to hear his voice right now.

without thinking much, you unlocked the door, combat boots still on and dark circles framing your usually bright eyes.

“took you long enough—”

the words died on your lips.

it wasn’t xavier.

standing in your doorway, dressed in a pristine daa military uniform, was a man—ridiculously intimidating and strange. he looked at you with judgment and arrogance, making you step back a little and guard more of yourself.

thank god you still had your uniform on and wasn’t wearing some flimsy nightgown. the man seemed to be eating you alive in his head.

before you had the chance to question the stranger’s presence at your door on this random thursday night, he tossed you aside and pressed you against the corridor wall of your kitchen, your breath instantly hitched and your ribs ached from the impact.

your hunter’s awareness triggered instantly, instincts flaring and mind still trying to process what the hell was going on. your hands struggled against his grip, desperately searching for an evol to resonate with. if your mind had already been spiraling out of control before, now you felt like you could fight a thousand wanderers at once and focus on surviving with mere instinct.

you couldn’t scream. his right hand clamped over your mouth, his left gripping both your wrists in front of your chest and preventing you from punching him like you planned to. somehow, this was a professional individual who knew your fighting mannerisms and wrestling tendencies by heart.

with great effort, you managed to bite his hand that was closest to your mouth and heard his pained grunt right after. you swore you heard him cussing before his head raised and his eyes finally met yours.

your heart stopped. the world narrowed to the faint outline of his silhouette as you finally were able to look at his face. his hair was concealed beneath a presumptuous cap, the daa symbol shining bright at its center. black, red, and gold adorned the unknown uniform of the man who handled your body as if it were weightless, plastic.

you thrashed and twisted in his grip until he was forced to pin both your hands above your head, hissing when you managed to land a kick on his right knee. the door clicked shut beside you as he silenced your attempted scream with his hand again.

amethystine eyes stared back at you, thick brows furrowed as your gazes locked. chills ran down your spine. your hunter uniform pressed uncomfortably against the wall, your combat boots barely touching the floor. yet, despite your effort, he towered over you.

you wanted to cry.

the hidden freckles were the first clue your mind was playing tricks on you, the shape of his mouth the second, and his skin tone the third. countless times since the explosion, you’d dreamed of caleb’s touch—more nights than you could count. but as the weight of the day bore down on you, your fighting spirit waned, the initial rush of adrenaline fading as you stared into his eyes.

everything felt cruelly unfair.

his gaze was uncharacteristically hard as he watched you, his bruising grip on your mouth and wrists warming for a moment before you snapped out of your daze.

a smirk made way to his lips and his stupidly manly perfume set itself on your senses. another attempt at kicking him made him press himself further into you, ribs screaming from the pressure. if he noticed your pained expression, he didn’t mention it at all.

“caleb,” you whispered, the name barely audible. your voice cracked, your body frozen in place, your mind unable to reconcile the impossible reality before you.

he didn’t seem to hear you, but his hand left your mouth, his gaze sweeping over your body and his face so close to yours you could count his naturally defined lashes.

the tension between you two shifted as he eyed you closer, curious eyes landing on your pretty figure. he could swear for a moment you wouldn’t recognize him and that thought perturbed his mind for the next few seconds he allowed himself to bask in your beauty.

caleb was familiar with the sight of you in a hunter’s uniform, but never had he seen you looking this wrecked.

so pretty, but so unfairly exhausted, he thought.

in the weeks leading up to the explosion, he’d promised himself he’d never let you get hurt by ever ever again. now, seeing you like this, he wondered if things looked different from your perspective.

would you hate him?

would you hate him for the decisions he made? for the people he deceived and the families he destroyed? for the secrets he exposed so he could be at advantage and fight for you from a more privileged position?

would you hate him for wanting you all to himself and sharing the same fate as him as a human experiment? for wanting to take you to the ever base and expose you to everyone right before killing them? for being the demise of your life but still wanting to keep you as close as possible?

would you still love him after he told you all of the wrongings he did to make things right for you and him?, he wondered.

the look in your eyes told you no, and because of that, his grip on your pinned hands loosened, the silence between you two remaining charged with tension. he saw the exact moment reality crashed down on you. your gaze faltered, and for a moment, you looked like you were going to cry.

he would hate to see you cry because of him, even though deep down he knew how lovely you looked while pouring your eyes out. he have seen it a thousand times before. caleb wanted to make you cry in other circumstances, not right now.

his lips pressed into a forced smile, and your breath hitched as his eyes shone faintly in the dim light of the kitchen candles. though the light wasn’t very effective, the touch of his gloved hand was enough to confirm the truth: this wasn’t a fucking stranger.

caleb felt when you stopped fighting and caved into his touch, scared to death. he let go of your mouth and stared right at your lips.

“no,” you muttered, shaking your head as if to clear a hallucination. your hands remained bound, your feet still searching for the floor. “this can’t be true.”

he tilted his head slightly, his eyes locking onto yours. “it’s me.” his voice was calm, too familiar, too real. too cruel.

your body trembled with his tone, his breath fanning on your cheeks while your eyes scanned his. it felt wrong to say anything at the moment, fear still there in your eyes.

your body snapped into action, reality slamming into you like a tidal wave. you raised your knee, aiming to knock him off balance, desperate to banish the ghost standing in your kitchen.

but the colonel moved faster.

his hand shot out, catching your leg with unnerving precision. before you could react, he hoisted you over his shoulder effortlessly.

you stumbled, panic surging through your veins. your instincts screamed at you to fight, to move, to do something.

“let me go” you demanded, your voice trembling with equal parts fear and fury, punching his back in a futile attempt to stop him. “who are you? who sent you?”

“i came to see you,” he said simply, his voice steady and unnervingly calm. his eyes darted around the apartment, scanning every corner like a predator assessing its prey. “you didn’t think i’d stay away forever, did you?”

why did he sound so smug and heartless? it pissed you off.

realization set heavy on your shoulders—did he... did he fake his own death?

“you’re a fucking asshole.” you didn’t care that this man was more than six feet tall or that he wore a military uniform of all things, you kicked and screamed as much as you could after he threw you onto the couch—the very place you’d landed earlier that evening.

the moment he released you, you inched toward the center table where your spare weapon was stashed.

caleb’s smile faltered, replaced by something darker. his voice dropped, softer but laced with unsettling intensity. “i hope you cooperate from now on, pipsqueak.”

the words sent a chill down your spine.

“who the fuck do you think you are?” you spat, pistol in hand, ready to aim.

his gaze flicked to your movement, and before you could react, he was there. his hand closed around your wrist, pinning it to the couch with a force that made you gasp.

“you’re not going to hurt me, pipsqueak,” he murmured, his tone almost teasing, though the intensity in his purple eyes told a different story. “i’d never hurt you. you know that.”

you struggled against his grip, your heart pounding as fear twisted into anger. “let me go, caleb.”

“not until you listen,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. he leaned closer, his breath brushing against your ear. “will you stop fighting and thrashing around? i need to see if you are ready”

“ready for what?” you spat, your voice trembling with rage.

“for us,” he said simply, his tone calm, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

your breath hitched as his words sank in, the weight of them pressing down on you like a storm. “what the hell is ‘us’? you died. i watched you fucking die, asshole.”

he leaned closer, his forehead almost brushing yours, his voice a low whisper. “and i came back—for you.”

the weight of his presence, his words, was suffocating. for a moment, you froze, your mind racing for a way out.

it sounded so intimate, so romantically unsettling having him above you and saying things that made your heart clench. you hoped the hurt in your eyes was visible to the man. you hoped he still had sympathy and felt guilt somewhere underneath that uniform.

caleb stepped back, releasing your wrist but still blocking your path, his expression softening slightly as he examined you. “i need you to be quiet until i can tell you everything.”

“who do you think you are? you filthy liar”.

caleb’s gaze flickered as your words hung between you, unspoken accusations slicing through the air like shards of glass. he shifted his weight, his broad frame now more a shadow than a presence in the dim room. for a moment, it seemed like he might say something—anything—but instead, he exhaled, a quiet sound that carried the weight of a thousand unspoken apologies.

"you look as pretty as always, princess", his whisper reached your ears and you felt a wave of anger wash over you.

"i don't know what you did to caleb, but right now is not the time for games". you spat the words with disgust.

"you think you know anything?" he asked, voice low but steady. his eyes, catching the faint glow of the candlelight, held yours. he looked scary above you.

"you think that you are right?," you bit back, the ache in your ribs forgotten under the pressure of the moment. "faking a death isn’t something i take lightly in my books”.

his jaw tightened, the faintest tremor in his hand betraying him as he sighed. the silence stretched again, taut and heavy, before he finally spoke. “trust me to take care of you as i always did, pipsqueak, i just need more cooperation from you this time. i needed to do that so I could've gotten rid of josephine”.

the vulnerability in his voice caught you off guard, stealing whatever biting retort was forming on your tongue. you searched his face, the faint scars etched into his skin, the weariness in his eyes. "what the fuck did you just say?" you said softly, your voice trembling with the effort to keep it steady.

caleb’s expression shifted as he saw the tense tone of your voice, a flicker of something unreadable passing over his face. regret? anger? it was gone too fast to tell. "i said what i said," he replied, his tone measured, almost calm—too calm. "josephine was a threat. she had to go, and i handled it and you should put this in your mind and move on."

"you handled it?" the words came out as a growl. the disbelief, the rage, the grief—it all boiled over. "you’re talking about the woman who raised me, caleb. who raised you. and you expect me to just—what—trust that you had your reasons? that it’s fine because you handled it?"

you got up from the sofa and watched him tower over you once again, not being afraid to fight him out of your house this time. you took a step further and watched the surprise on his face mix with a hint of mischief.

"you must have lost your mind, who the fuck sent you here? answer me." you asked, your voice sharper now, frustration spilling over.

he stepped closer, the shadow he cast stretching long across the dim room. his voice dropped, soft but firm, the kind of tone that brooked no argument. "the sooner you accept the truth, the easier all of this will turn out for you. josephine was a loose thread that could put you at harm and, trust me, i won’t let anything or anyone put you at risk."

"shut up," you snapped, your hands shaking as they clenched into fists. "don’t you dare put this on her. don’t you dare tell me you did this for me." you pushed past him, pacing to the other side of the room as if distance could lessen the fury building inside you. "you’re out of your fucking mind if you think i’m going anywhere with you. you—i mourned you, caleb".

caleb turned, his movements slow and deliberate, his gaze locking onto yours. "you don’t have a choice," he said simply. "if you want a chance of surviving, you’ll accompany me to the farspace fleet so you can prove to me that you are not a threat, this isn’t a quest, Y/N.”

"stop acting like you’re my savior," you shouted, spinning to face him. "you lied to me, faked your death, and now you show up here, in my home, telling me what to do? you’ve lost the right to give me orders, caleb. i don’t have to prove you shit"

his eyes narrowed, and for a moment, something like frustration flashed across his face. "you’re impossible," he muttered, more to himself than to you. “don’t make me take you by force, princess, this is already hard enough for me”.

his presence felt heavier now, more intimidating and more overwhelming. “hear me out on this one, pipsqueak, you do as i say and we can have a nice chat. there’s more than one pair of eyes observing you in this room, can’t you see? you do what you’re told and you don’t cause any trouble, this is my final warning”.

caleb’s gaze didn’t waver, feelings too strong for him to back down.

“you think i trust you wholeheartedly as well? don’t you think i know about what you’re capable to do, what weapon they made you become?”, he questioned, raising more questions about your past to the surface.

you hesitated, your chest heaving as you glared at him, every instinct screaming at you to fight, to run, to do anything but listen.

“you think i don’t know what you’re capable of? you’ve got every right to hate me, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re in danger and i’m the only one who can keep you alive.”

he stepped closer, his boots echoing softly against the tiled kitchen floor, the flicker of candlelight casting shadows that seemed to stretch and twist with your unease. the space between you vanished with every deliberate step he took, and before you realized it, the cool edge of the counter pressed against your back.

“i came here to get you so i can protect you,” he said, his voice softer now, almost tender, though his eyes burned with something far less kind. “won’t you trust me, pipsqueak?”

you swallowed hard, your ribs aching as the tension tightened around you like a vice. the pain flared again on your right side, but you forced it down, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing your weakness. caleb’s arms came up, caging you between them, his palms braced on the counter on either side of you. his breath was warm against your skin, the faint scent of mossy perfume and something metallic clinging to him.

his amethystine eyes locked onto yours, drawing you in and daring you to look away. “josephine wasn’t innocent,” he murmured, the words deliberate, each one cutting deeper than the last. “she was the only way left they could get to you easily. so i had to get rid of her.”

the shock and fury bubbling in your chest clawed their way to the surface, but before you could lash out, he moved. slowly, deliberately, he raised his hands, his movements calm but weighted with unspoken meaning. his right hand hovered between your bodies as he tugged off his glove, revealing cold, gleaming metal where flesh once was.

your breath hitched, your eyes widening despite yourself. the intricate machinery of his prosthetic glinted dully in the dim light, a jarring contrast to the warmth of his other hand still braced beside you.

“i didn’t get out of there without paying a price,” he continued, his tone dipping lower, the faintest hint of bitterness creeping into his words. “if that makes you feel better.”

the sight of the metal, the weight of his confession, sent your mind reeling. you wanted to stay angry, to hold onto the fury that kept you standing, but the cracks in his armor—the familiar of his voice, the faint tremor in his hand—made it harder to breathe.

“turns out i gave them everything they wanted to have even more control over my body,” he said, his eyes narrowing slightly, studying your reaction like a predator watching prey. “you’re not the only ever victim in this room, princess, don't you see?”

his words hit like a punch to the gut, the nickname twisting something deep inside you. your eyes burned, the sting of unshed tears making your vision blur. compassion clawed its way forward, fighting against the iron grip of your fury.

he leaned closer, his voice softening, wrapping around you like a velvet noose. “don’t you see now? i’m your only way out. only i can make you safe, princess.” his head tilted slightly, his gaze piercing through the layers of anger and fear you’d built around yourself. “why don’t you see it?”

the way he said it—like it was inevitable, like you were foolish for resisting—sent a fresh wave of defiance coursing through you. your fingers twitched at your sides, curling into fists. the tears threatening to spill were not ones of submission but of frustration, of fury that he could twist your pain and vulnerability into leverage.

your hands trembled as you shoved against his chest, trying to create even an inch of space between you. “you’re the danger here, caleb.”

his expression hardened, though the faintest flicker of something else—hurt? regret?—crossed his features. he caught your wrists before you could push him further, his grip firm but not painful, his proximity suffocating.

“i won’t let you go this time,” he said, his voice quieter now, the sharp edge replaced with something closer to desperation. his eyes seemed to ignore every red signal your body emitted. “what are you afraid of, pipsqueak? c'mon, it’s me, caleb”.

the charged silence that followed was unbearable, the tension between you a living, breathing thing. the weight of his words, the intensity in his gaze—it all felt too much, too close, and yet not close enough.

“answer me.”, he demanded, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous rasp that sent a shiver down your spine. “you need me, Y/N.”

you wanted to scream, to shove him back, to wipe that look of control and simmering frustration off his face, but the words stuck in your throat. it wasn’t fear keeping you quiet—it was the truth you didn’t want to admit. the truth you couldn’t admit.

“you don’t get to do this,” you managed, your voice cracking under the weight of your emotions. “you don’t get to leave me, fake your death, and then come back like nothing happened. like i’m supposed to just—just fall in line and listen to you.”

his lips parted as if to respond, but no words came out. instead, he exhaled sharply, his jaw clenching as his grip on your wrists loosened ever so slightly. “i didn’t come back for you to listen,” he said, his tone soft but laced with an edge of frustration. “i came back to make sure you survive. with me.”

“you are crazy” you spat, shaking your head as you finally yanked your hands free from his grasp. “i don't know why you changed so much. you call this survival? being hunted, manipulated, dragged into whatever mess you’ve made? that’s not survival, caleb. that’s hell.”

“didn’t you want answers?!” he snaps, his voice cutting through the charged silence like a whip. his tone is sharp, frustration crackling in the air between you. for a moment, you flinched at his tone. “answers about your past, about granny, about the aether core that lives inside of you?”. he motions for your chest and you lean away from him.

caleb throws his daa hat on the floor and runs his gloved hand over his hair, desperation clinging into his actions. a move you were so used to seeing him doing as a teenager now seemed to paint his figure as someone totally different.

“guess what,” he continues, stepping closer, his boots scraping against the floor as the small space between you shrinks to nothing. “i’m the only one who can give you that.”

your back hits the counter again, the cold surface biting through your shirt as his presence looms over you. his hands grip the edge of the counter on either side of you, boxing you in, and his voice drops lower, quieter, but no less intense. “i know you’ve been looking for the truth. don’t pretend you haven’t. every decision you’ve made, every risk you’ve taken, it’s all been for answers.”

the weight of his words pressed down on you, heavy and suffocating, as if the walls of the apartment were closing in. his voice, low and deliberate, carried the kind of certainty that felt like a blade against your resolve. you hated that he knew so much, hated the way his presence seemed to draw out every buried question, every lingering doubt you’d tried so hard to silence.

the truth of it stung more than you wanted to admit. because it was true—wasn’t it? every decision, every desperate move you’d made since josephine’s death had been about finding the missing pieces. about understanding why your life felt like a jigsaw puzzle with crucial parts deliberately torn away.

you grew up with people like zayne and caleb so you’d become the best version of yourself. still, you felt unworthy of everything you have ever achieved.

you were... at a loss of words.

your ribs screamed in pain against the counter, the cold seeping through your shirt and grounding you in the moment. you wanted to push him away, to snap back with something that would shatter the arrogance in his voice. but instead, you found yourself staring at him—really staring—seeing the desperation etched into every line of his face. it wasn’t just his words that rattled you; it was the way his shoulders seemed to carry the weight of something far greater than just your shared past.

you noticed the tremor in his hand, the way it lingered too long on the counter’s edge, as if he were holding himself back from reaching for you. the way his eyes, though sharp and unrelenting, flickered with something almost... pleading.

caleb seemed to be holding himself back—as he always did. this time, though, you were not sure if you wanted him to break and consume you or to let you go and forget the two of you. this was the first time in your life where you felt close enough to the truth, close enough to calm the storm of questions in your mind. still, your grip on your ego seemed to be as tight as ever.

everything felt unfair because you were oh so tired. since onychinus, sylus and the aether core, your mind has been settled into finding answers of questions that were never asked in the first place. you were running in circles and you dreamed every night about how you missed caleb. how you knew he would guide you into the right path if he was alive at the moment.

now that he was here, something felt uncharacteristically right for the first time in weeks.

you need me, he said.

it was a bold statement, a manipulative one, but the worst part was the whisper of doubt it planted in your mind. what if he’s right? what if caleb, with all his possessive behavior, really did have the answers you’d been chasing? could you afford to ignore him—risk losing whatever truth he claimed to hold—just because you didn’t trust him right now? just because his posture changed and his eyes seemed a little darker?

had you the privilege of saying no to him?

you have always been so weak for him, haven't you?

your gaze dropped to his gloved hand, still gripping the counter, then to the hat he’d thrown carelessly onto the floor. there was something raw about the gesture, something that pulled at a part of you you’d long thought buried. it was the same caleb you remembered, the one who’d run his hands through his hair in frustration when things didn’t go his way, but now there was a hardness to him, an edge that made him almost unrecognizable.

he leaned in slightly, his proximity sending a shiver down your spine. caleb’s hands cradled your face with an unsettling gentleness, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks as if to memorize every inch of your skin. his breath, warm and steady, fanned over your face, and the proximity made your pulse race despite every instinct screaming at you to pull away.

“do as i say, princess,” he murmured, his voice a mix of honeyed persuasion and steel. “you know deep down that i’m right.”

you hated how easily he saw through you, how his words made your chest tighten with the weight of unspoken truths. but there was a flicker of something else now—a sliver of curiosity, of reluctant consideration.

you stayed in silence.

“you’re trembling,” he murmured, his voice dipping lower, softer, as if the words were meant for no one but you. “what are you afraid of, princess? me?”.

his breath fanned over your cheek, the tension between you felt alive, electric, as if the air itself buzzed with anticipation. caleb’s hands cradled your face with a deliberate slowness, his fingers grazing your jawline like he was afraid you’d shatter under his touch. his thumbs traced lazy circles just below your cheekbones, sending faint shivers rippling down your spine.

caleb was very meticulous about the way he touched you. his words—carved in desperation just for you. he brushed away the tears you were shedding, breath in synch with yours as if he wanted for you to share your burden with him.

his thumb brushed against your skin, warm and steady, the faintest hint of mint and wood lingering in the space between you. the closeness made your pulse quicken, the steady rhythm in your chest now erratic and impossible to ignore. his forehead almost touched yours, his lips dangerously close but not quite there, as if he were savoring the moment, drawing it out until the anticipation was unbearable.

you gripped his forearms, confused at the needy feeling clawing its way out of your chest, the longing for closeness and safety that your brain always seemed to tie with the body in front of you. the tenderness he reserved only for you made your heart flutter despite the cruel truths and harsh words that had passed between you.

“what are you afraid of, princess?” he murmured again, his voice impossibly soft, like a velvet thread weaving its way into your thoughts. “it’s just me.”

the way he said it—low and intimate, like he was speaking to the deepest parts of you—made your knees weak.

his metal hand slid down from your face, the cool pads of his fingers brushing over the curve of your neck and coming to rest lightly on your shoulder. the weight was grounding, steadying, but it also sent sparks racing across your skin. the meaning behind his touch was at odds with the coldness of his prosthetic; it felt like both a tether and a promise.

you wondered if he was using your evol against you, manipulating your emotions, or if it was just your stupid, traitorous heart making you feel like you were floating.

your breaths came shallow and uneven as the tension between you thickened, palpable and inescapable. his gaze flickered to your lips, the intensity in his eyes making your stomach twist with anticipation. you hated how much you noticed the way he leaned closer, the way his presence filled every inch of the space around you, until there was nothing left but him.

“you don’t have to be scared of me,” he said softly, his lips brushing the words into the air between you. “i’d never hurt you.”

the warmth of his breath sent a shiver down your spine, and before you could think of a reason to stop him, he closed the distance.

his lips pressed against yours, slow and deliberate, giving you every chance to pull away. but you didn’t. the kiss was soft at first, hesitant, like he was waiting for you to decide, waiting to see if you would break the moment or lean into it. and for a heartbeat, you froze, the shock of it rooting you in place.

but the tenderness of his kiss, the way his hand tightened slightly on your shoulder as if to steady himself, drew you in. your fingers curled into his forearms, no longer in protest but in something closer to surrender, the heat of his closeness chasing away the cold air of the room. you felt something stir deep inside you when you felt the dips of his muscles underneath his uniform.

when did he became so big?

the kiss deepened, his lips moving against yours with a mix of urgency and restraint, as though he were holding back a tidal wave of emotion. you felt the shift in him—the desperation, the longing he’d tried to bury under layers of control. it poured out now, raw and unguarded, and it pulled something equally raw from within you.

when he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm and uneven. his hands stayed where they were, steadying you as much as himself, and for a moment, the silence between you felt heavier than any words could.

“just me,” he whispered again, his voice breaking slightly, as if he needed you to believe it as much as he did.

you're here┃caleb uses you as hostage at the farspace fleet next!┃caleb teaches you his love language ( on going series )

author's note: want to cry more while reading? listen to remember me by d4vd and tell me that this song doesn't describe mc and caleb perfectly. SORRY FOR THE POOR ENDING, i'll make a part two of this post soon, follow me to get updated when i post or just check my masterpost from time to time :) send me a request • my masterpost

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seat-safety-switch · 2 days ago

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Do you kids like Jeep Cherokees? On average, you must, because virtually every car today is a worse, softer version of that classic AMC ride. And to be entirely honest with you, this constant low-temperature immersion in crappy unibody SUVs is making me yearn for the original article.

Now, I'm not one of those folks who is going to chase you down the block, waving Kenosha propaganda in your face about how Chrysler is actually the anti-Christ. I'll leave that to the Eagle folks. I am, however, going to be incredibly tiresome about whether anyone you know has a mostly-intact XJ sitting in the garage. A lot of my friends have owned Cherokees, and they've been great shitboxes for all kinds of hillbilly adventures over the years. Unfortunately, they are now almost all gone.

You see, in my part of the world (and pretty much all others, if I'm honest,) rust has devoured the innocent Cherokee. The tinworm crept inside all their guts and found the many, many places that the original automakers just didn't bother painting, or welding, or sealing. I've seen them split straight in half, which is neither conducive to long-distance driving, nor to storing old car parts in (the raccoons will steal them.)

What used to be cheap, fun, beater off-road transport has now become expensive, depressing, and involving several years of meticulously cutting and shaping metal to do major structural repairs. Once you've invested that much effort, there's no way you want to go bang it down some trails, or use it to flee across a cornfield every time the cops light up your illegal fireworks party. Then you have a very nice Jeep Cherokee that you refuse to abuse, which is not at all what owning these things is about.

There is some hope, though. If you look at the Wikipedia page for the Cherokee (hey, use a new tab, not this one) you'll notice that some Chinese automakers made a whole bunch of these things under license. They don't have rust in China, probably, and I'm sure their assembly line workers were slightly less drunk than the Chryco squad who banged these things together over here. All I need to do is get a big cargo ship, and then I can load it up with Shuanghuan SHJZH213s until the cows come home. You've got some frequent flyer miles, right?

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thanosscross · 2 days ago

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Fake Girlfriend, Fake Boyfriend, Silly! - Choi Seung Hyun/T.O.P x reader part 3

Summary: After the last show, you were all put on break for a few weeks before your shows picked back up again, you and Seung Hyun suffering from the feelings and consequences of the previous conversation, the boys of BigBang feel the need to step in before you end up the k-pop world.

Warnings: sad asf, I am so sorry but we needed some angst added in, but don't worry next part will be the FLUFFIEST of fluff, I promise <33, Reader and Seung Hyun both suffering from depression

It was a full week of hurting, feeling lost, and confused, Seung Hyun's words repeating in your head every hour of every day, you were fake dating, how could you of been so stupid thinking it could be anything real. As you walked into your home you didn't spare the boys a second glance, just happy to be back home for a few weeks before tour picked back up, Seung Hyun watched as your door slammed before no lights came on, feeling a sense of guilt wash over him, why the hell did he have to say that?

You'd be able to spend three days to yourself before your door was being pounded on loudly, not expecting much you made your way from your bedroom to the front door, slowly opening it to see Dae-sung offering you a soft smile "I'm really not in the mood" You muttered trying to shut the door back, but instead he stopped it with his foot "Sorry, dear..I was sent here" He stated before making his way cautiously inside, you just made your way back to your room, if he wanted to talk he'd have to follow you.

Dae-sung could feel a lump forming in his throat, he hated seeing his two friends like this, you and Seung Hyun both changed, reducing yourselves to hiding in your bedrooms the entire time. Crawling back under the blankets you pulled the hood to Seung Hyun's hoodie up staring off into your usual spot on the wall "Oh honey" He whispered sympathetically quickly moving to lay beside you, pulling you into a tight hug, once you felt the warmth of an actual hug, not a choreographed one you broke down, your chest feeling like it was slowly getting tighter as your cried against your friend's side, unable to say anything.

Ji-Yong and Tae-Yang weren't getting any further with Seung Hyun, sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands he couldn't stop the tears from falling anymore, he felt terrible, out of nervousness he said the most obvious thing, not realizing how badly it'd hurt you, that's not what he wanted, he didn't want to see you hurting, let alone because of something he did. "Seung Hyun! Just talk to her!" Tae-Yang encouraged, he just shook his head in reply "No! W-What if she wants something between us?" He asked, starting to fidget with the rings that sat on his fingers "Isn't that what all of us want?" Ji-Yong asked like it was obvious "Not anymore...what if I hurt her like this again?" Seung Hyun replied sadly shaking his head before letting himself fall to the side to lay in his bed.

"I-I just...friends don't treat each other like that right? T-They don't look at the way we look at each other" You ranted sadly to your friend who nodded along "Y/n, Seung Hyun loves you, he just...has his own fears and anxieties that sometimes prevent him from doing the things he really wants" Dae-Sung explained, you were both sitting up now, but your head was rested against his shoulder "I just...I don't know..if I can keep doing this" You whispered, coming to a decision you'd call the agency tomorrow morning to speak about getting out of the fake relationship with Seung Hyun "Doing what? Y-You're not leaving right?" He asked quickly, feeling a wave of dread and pure sadness wash over him as you met his gaze, he could tell just by your face, you were debating on it. "I think I just want to go back to sleep" You whispered, offering a small smile before falling back onto your pillows "Okay, dear..I'll let you take a nap, and then we're going somewhere" Your friend agreed before disappearing out of your bedroom, quickly calling Ji-Yong trying to fight back his own tears. You couldn't quit, the boys needed you, ever since you had started working with them everything was better, they couldn't lose you.

"How is she?" Ji-Yong asked quickly, Dae-Sung could hear the door shutting in the background of the call as his friend left Seung Hyun's room "She wants to quit..." Dae-sung whimpered "And she seems pretty serious" He continued, hearing his friend sigh "We have to fix this man, or else it's going to blow up bad" Ji-Yong sighed, leaning against the wall "I know..any luck with lover boy?" he asked after a moment, hearing the door again before Ji-Yong's voice "He's willing to get dressed...He's not wanting to talk with her though" Ji-Yong explained, they continued talking about their plan for another twenty minutes before putting it into action. As Dae-Sung approached you slowly, your eyes caught his, offering him an exhausted look, something that worried him, the last time he saw that look you had to go on a three month hutias for mental health, the agency basically hiring you a babysitter to watch you at all times, it was a dark time for you especially with the company not doing anything to make it better. Dae-sung frowned, pulling you up out of bed in one fluid motion "I'm tired.." You started, but he was quick to cut you off with a grunt "I don't care, Y/n, you are going to get your ass out of bed and come with me, or I will force you" He offered sweetly, like he didn't just threaten to kidnap you, you tried to argue, but true to his word, Dae-Sung threw you over his shoulder bringing you towards the car "I told you, I warned you, you still tried it" Dae-Sung ranted as he opened the door, setting you down as he helped you into the seat "We are all worried about you and Seung Hyun, you guys are literally like a love story, we can't lose that, you two can't lose that, listen I know it sounds cheesy, but you two have been through too much to lose each other, especially over Seung Hyun not thinking well on the spot with you, so you're going to take your ass to Seung Hyun's house, and we're all going to have a sit down" He explained as you shot him a glare "Dae-Sung! I am a grown adult! If I don't want to speak with Seung Hyun before I'm forced to basically date him with no feelings, I don't have to!" You argued, growing frustrated with your friends' antics.

You fight didn't last longs as Dae-Sung lead you inside of the home you had found comfort in so many times, now it just flooded your body with anxiety, giving you the feeling to run away and never come back, but Dae-Sung just kept his hands planted on your shoulders as he entered the home, seeing the others already sitting on Seung Hyun's main living room couch waiting patiently for your arrival. As your eyes landed on Seung Hyun you bottom lip started to tremble, he looked so tired and beaten down, and it broke your heart seeing him curled up in the corner of the sofa with his hood up, Ji-yong kneeled in front of him saying something quietly. "Go talk to him" Dae-sung demanded, as you tried to stiffen your body and protested Seung Hyun looked over shyly, almost like if he was caught looking, he'd be in trouble. You wanted to speak, to comfort him and start apologizing, but nothing came out, you were frozen looking at him with the same tired and beaten down look, Seung Hyun had to fight back his own tears seeing how much energy and light was drained from your eyes as you looked at him, that wasn't his Y/n..and it was his fault.

As the boys watched you, Dae-Sung and Tae-Yang huffed, moving you to sit next to him "If you two don't start talking, I will" Ji-Yong threatened, giving you both a look, Ji-yong wasn't in the dark about things, he knew exactly how you felt about each other, he was Seung Hyun's best friend after all. "A-Are you really leaving?" Seung Hyun's voice was quiet, soft, and broken, like he had been crying for hours and his throat was too sore to make any sounds, you just shrugged as you leaned against him, keeping your hands trapped between your knees. Noticing you both shutting down after you response, Ji-yong grabbed a chair, pulling it closer before looking at you both "Fine then, You two both know this fake relationship thing has turned into alot more than a fake one, you two just need to admit it! Seung Hyun. Your first night as her fake boyfriend did you not come to me worried it wouldn't work because of how amazing y/n was?" He asked looking to his friend "Y/n! You're not innocent, your first on stage kiss with Seung Hyun did you not sit in my room all night talking about how many butterflies you felt?" Dae-Sung asked crossing his arms, you just away from their gazes, that was told in confidence, not meant to be shared, especially not with Seung Hyun. "Both of you! Are you two that blind to how well you work together? How you almost never need to communicate because you already know what the other would say or feel?" Tae-Yang added in, they were all standing in front of you both like you were being lectured by parents for breaking rules.

"I can't..hurt her again, Ji-Yong" Seung Hyun spoke, his tone coming off a lot harsher than he intended, but he couldn't help it, he was angry, someone had upset his girl, and it was the someone was him. "Tell her. Not me" Ji-Yong demanded, his tone matched Seung Hyun's, growing frustrated with his two friends for putting their friend group at risk just because you were too scared to talk to each other. "I can't...Y/n what if I hurt you worse?" Seung Hyun asked, his eyes not leaving his sleeves as he fiddled with a loose thread "you didn't hurt me...I hurt myself, reading into things that weren't anything more than acting" You explained, trying to keep your tone light, just wanting to see your usual Seung Hyun, he just kept his head down, refusing to look at you "It wasn't.." He whispered, knowing if he didn't say it, Ji-Yong would, you tried to keep yourself calm, feeling tears start to build again as you realized maybe you should've taken a moment after the show to speak with Seung Hyun, but you were hurt, it took a long time to build up the confidence to ask what you were, and him shutting you down like he did was like a knife to the back.

"I was never acting with you.." His voice was slightly louder this time, his head lifting to make eye contact with you "Seung Hyun" You warned, not wanting to end up hurting worse, he just shook his head, motioning for you to stop. "At first I was...but everything just became so natural, like we weren't pretending, just..existing together, but whenever you asked what we were, I panicked. I didn't want to risk ruin what we already had, we work really good as fake girlfriend and fake boyfriend..so I was scared of ruining that" Seung Hyun explained, his hand coming up to scratch the back of his neck nervously "A-Are you telling the truth..or are you just saying that to keep me from quitting?" You asked softly, seeing his offended expression you took his hand in yours slowly "I wouldn't want to ever hurt you like that again" He answered, Ji-Yong stood up, motioning for him and the others to go to another room, giving you and Seung Hyun some privacy as you spoke.

The boys ended up leaving Seung Hyun's house successful, happy to finally see you both out of the slump you had gotten yourselves into. You were sprawled out on his living room, him standing over you with a curious expression "what're you doing, Aein?" He asked softly, kneeling down to cup your cheek gently "Taking a mental decompression minute" You replied, staring at the light fixture above you "What?" he asked, moving to lay down next to you "What does that even mean?" He added on chuckling a bit as he turned his head to face you "I don't know, I do it sometimes whenever I've spent a lot of time inside here" You mumbled tapping your forehead before breaking your stare with the ceiling to look at him, looking compelled for a moment Seung Hyun smiled "Well, show me how you do it, I think I need a few of those minutes" He whipsered taking your hand in his as he joked softly, relived to see a soft smile finally starting to make its way onto your lips.

Lovely? Lovelies? You like?

So I wasn't sure how to end this part, but I plan on having one or two more parts after this before this series comes to end as well, don't worry though my lovelies, as more stories get finished, new stories and series will come out in their place <33 But just like baby, if it'd be something you're open to, I'd be fine with still writing one shots and head cannons for the storyline of this <33 Excited to hear from you!!

Taglist!!

@onyxmango

@ag02212023

@acehasmyheart

@mitchko11

@learninglinesintherainn

@seunghyunwifey

@alexandralibbre

@jajabro

@heartsforseo

@lilou-0401

(If I forgot any tags please let me know! I'm in the process of trying to get a physical list of all of my taglist members so I don't ever forget any of you lovelies <333)

#t.o.p x reader #choi su bong x reader #squid game #thanos x reader #squidgame #thanos squid game #top x reader #squid game thanos #choi seunghyun #t.o.p #t.o.p bigbang #t.o.p icons #top #bigbang #choi seung hyun x reader

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leonastarry · 2 days ago

Note

the 4th wall breaking trope with Jinwoo and the reader, except they're both canon characters and now have unlimited access to seeing what their fandom is like, the bad side and good side. i feel like Jinwoo would be kind of depressed because he went though all of this just for entertainment, while the reader is relieved because they feel like all of the consequences of their actions and responsibilities have been lifted off of their shoulders. also, this is such a random detail to add, but the readers gender is left ambiguous, all of the characters use different pronouns for them and their literal official wiki has their gender listed as "something that only Beru knows" (spoilers, he doesn't know shit) they found out about ot while randomly looking through their own wiki page because they were bored.

[ Req 7 ] Unexpected truth. ✧. ┊ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭s.jinwoo x reader.

It started innocently enough—a slow day, no gates to raid, no monsters to fight. You were lounging on Jinwoo’s couch, scrolling aimlessly through your phone, while Jinwoo sat nearby, flipping through a hunter’s report with his usual laser focus.

Then, out of nowhere, you asked, "Jinwoo, have you ever Googled yourself?"

His pen paused mid-scribble. He looked at you like you’d just suggested he train Beru to do stand-up comedy. "Why would I do that?"

You grinned, holding up your phone. "Oh, I don’t know. To see what people think about you? It’s fun."

"Fun?" he repeated flatly, his disbelief evident.

"Yeah. You’d be surprised how much creativity people have when it comes to us."

His brow furrowed. "Creativity?"

With a sly smile, you spun the phone around, showing him the first thing you’d found: a manhwa called 'Solo Leveling.' "And there're some fanfictions too"

The color drained from his face as he read the description. "This can’t be real."

"Oh, it’s real," you said, biting back laughter as his expression shifted from confusion to sheer mortification. "And there’s a lot more where that came from."

Jinwoo leaned back, his gray eyes darkening with something almost resembling dread. "Then what I have done was nothing? Why are people writing about me like this? Do they not have better things to do?"

"For entertainment," you said with a shrug, clearly enjoying his discomfort. "Our entire lives are, apparently. Didn’t you know? We’re the stars of someone’s power fantasy."

He stared at you, his silence deafening. Then, slowly, he ran a hand through his hair. "You’re saying everything I’ve been through—every fight, every sacrifice—was for someone’s... entertainment?"

"Well, when you put it like that, it sounds depressing," you said, tossing a gummy candy into your mouth. "But think of it this way: none of it really matters. No consequences, no pressure. Isn’t that freeing?"

Jinwoo didn’t look convinced. In fact, he looked a little pale. "Freeing? It feels like it’s all pointless."

"Oh, come on," you teased, nudging him with your foot. "You’re the Shadow Monarch, for crying out loud. Stop sulking. Here, let me cheer you up."

You shoved your phone into his hands, open to a page on your own fan wiki. Jinwoo hesitated before reading the top line out loud. "Your gender is listed as... something only Beru knows?"

"Yep." You smirked. "My proudest achievement. Wanna know the best part?"

He looked at you warily. "Do I?"

"I asked him once," you said, barely suppressing a laugh. "The poor guy started buzzing like a broken lawnmower and said, 'I dare not presume, my liege’s companion.' So yeah, Beru doesn’t know jack, but apparently, the internet thinks he does."

Jinwoo groaned, passing the phone back to you. "This is ridiculous."

"Oh, it gets better," you said, scrolling down. "People can’t even agree on what pronouns to use for me. Some call me 'he,' others 'she,' and a good chunk go with 'they.' It's chaos."

"Why do they care so much?" Jinwoo muttered, clearly still grappling with the concept.

"They’re invested," you replied simply. "I mean, look at you. You’re basically the internet’s ideal boyfriend. Overpowered, brooding, loyal. It’s a miracle your fanbase hasn’t declared war over who you should end up with."

He gave you a deadpan look. "You’re enjoying this too much."

"Oh, absolutely."

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Is there anything on here that’s not completely insane?”

"Not really," you admitted cheerfully. "But it’s not all bad. Here, look." You navigated to another page and handed him the phone.

This time, his expression softened as he read through the comments. They were filled with admiration, people praising him for his strength, his determination, his love for his family.

"They get it," you said quietly, watching his reaction. "All the pain you went through—it wasn’t meaningless to them. You inspired people."

Jinwoo didn’t reply right away, his eyes lingering on the screen. Finally, he let out a breath, some of the tension easing from his shoulders. “I guess it’s not all bad.”

"See?" you said, leaning back with a satisfied grin. "Told you. Now, do you want to see the fan art?"

He shot you a glare that could’ve frozen a gate. "Absolutely not."

You laughed, tossing a gummy candy at him. "Suit yourself. But for the record, I’m the one with the best fan wiki. You’re just lucky I let you co-star in my story."

"Your story?" he repeated, his tone dripping with mock disbelief.

"Yep." You popped another gummy into your mouth, grinning. "Face it, Jinwoo. I’m the main character here."

He shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips despite himself. "You’re insufferable."

"And you love it," you shot back.

Maybe this whole 'fictional character' thing wasn’t so bad after all.

That's an interesting idea =)

Hope you like it ❤

#dream.✧˖*°࿐#leona.star #solo leveling #sung jin woo #sung jinwoo #sungjinwoo #solo leveling x reader #sung jinwoo x reader #sung jinwoo x y/n #sung jinwoo x you

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yes-no-maybe-soo · 15 hours ago

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Post by u/redrosejam on Reddit laying out just how wide the gap for affinity points is between Sylus (and soon most likely Caleb) and the OG3

Very depressing and frankly infuriating numbers, but therefore all the more important to bring attention to.

Another thing I want to bring attention to is this comment by u/junvely which I think everyone but especially non-Sylus mains should take a good hard look at.

Just like they say, this will eventually come to affect us all, not just the Sylus (and now soon also the Caleb) mains. That's why it's important to be vocal about this and do what we can now.

If you want more links and info about all of this, please check out my pinned post.

#justice for sylus #i am so happy that more and more people on the global side are finally speaking up about this #we've been silent and complacent for far too long. it's time to unite with the CN girlies #for the sake of everyone and the game in itself. no one wants this to turn into a P2P dating sim #but it will eventually happen if we just sit here and allow this to go on #love and deepspace #lads #sylus #sylus lads #love and deepspace sylus #caleb lads #caleb love and deepspace #zayne lads #zayne love and deepspace #rafayel lads #rafayel love and deepspace #xavier lads #xavier love and deepspace

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woosh-floosh-art · 2 days ago

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Bits and Pieces: 2024

Went through all my 2024 files and here's all the stuff I didn't post!

Dragon Quest slimes... The idea was to do a slime gacha of some sort but... there's so many slimes man I can't draw them all.

Teeny Sanguini variations. The idea was to make a keychain of each teeny sanguini variation but.. that would cost a lot of money and I don't even know how well does keychains would sell. Maybe people just want basic teeny sanguini and I'm wasting my money buying other keychains.. Oh well. The basic teeny sanguini keychain I ordered has sold well, we'll have to see if I decide to order one of the variations.

Various Ouioui's. I think the goal was to eventually draw them all? I just needed something simple but with some room for experimentation to draw everyday. Early 2024 was a rough time for me.

Fan Ouioui design. This one is good. I would imagine the body of the thing would be a scrunchie so you can put it in your hair or on your wrist.

CMY(K) and spring dango themed galumpin dops.

PEARL DRONE!! The goal was to make stickers, that didn't happen lol. Still cute though...

Various little doodles I thought were cute. Badniks, two headed minecraft calf sticker concept (I didn't think it was very clear in it's design..), kirby :D, alien cow, and a true fact about aphids.

SA2 animal sticker gacha. Like I said, in early 2024 I was really looking for something simple and repetitive to draw with just enough variation to keep things interesting. Like the slimes and the ouiouis this one fizzled out. There was just TOO much variation. I ended up doing all of those gyroids which was perfect for the time and also sold really well as stickers! I also did all those damn kirby stickers which did NOT sell as well.

Okay enough about the grief and depression, let's talk about SONIC OCS!! I really loved the periodical cicada emergence this year so I wanted to make a sonic oc based on them. Her wings are crumpled (like many cicadas I saw this year, unfortunately her and the other cicadas will never fly) but she was some wisp powered roller blades to let her zoom around! I used to do a lot of character design as a teen but now I struggle with it. But I don't think this is that bad of a design? It's fun, she's fun.

Every year for artfight people make new characters based on the theme, and this year I wanted to try as well! He's supposed to be an anthropomorphic ray, a prince that must set out on an adventure! The eyebrow design is cuter but I think the widows peak design better conveys that he is supposed to be a ray. Bottom right is my favorite but I would switch the cutlass for the rapier. It's just a bit more of a princely sword.

Blue eyed cicada sticker concept. During the cicada emergence this year someone found a blue eyed cicada!! This is the mock up if I made stickers of that. I didn't because I was soooo sick of handcutting those damn cicadas, they were not easy to cut. Also they did not sell very well. We need more cicada fans in this world...

Lastly... two pages to a comic I never finished. It was supposed to be the prologue to my oc story but... it's a little scary making comics about original characters! There's a lot more to think about and manage over doing fan comics. I would still like to return to my little world and characters but I just haven't been in the mood for it. Ironically there was only one page left in the prologue but it's been so long I don't think I'm going to finish it!

Also, to try and combat the anxiety that comes with making an original story I didn't plan the layouts at all?? I guess to make the process faster and not worry as much?? The thumbnails in my sketchbook are just loose unconnected panels next to the script. That is not how I typically plan comics... and for good reason! Looks at the paneling in page two! It's bad! It's really bad!! When I come back to my characters I going to have to swallow my fear and put some more time and care into the layouts.

Okay that's all for 2024! I have a couple more things to post from December and then that's a wrap on 2024! Thanks for reading! ^_^

#art #illustration #artists on tumblr #fanart #bug #bugs

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icarusredwings · 2 days ago

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Morph Motel

Loosely based off that one comic of Logan and Morph in that motel and they tell Logan they don't need sleep.

A Morpherinepool hurt comfort one shot

Thats long as FUCK

Tw: Mentions of personality disorder, murder, brainwashing, paranoia, depression, anxiety, and harmful behavior such as stabbing and chainsmoking.

Save me- Queen

It's a hard life- Queen

Somebody to love- Queen

I want to break free- Queen

Friends will be friends- Queen

The party downstairs was still going. It was multiple kids' birthday (seeing as they came from the same lab) so they said screw it and instead of a crappy gift and a slice of cake they ussually would get, the school decided that a party was in order, deciding to host parties for the youngers each month. To give those who didn't have family to celebrate with. A "Happy birthday to all of the March kids!" Kind of party, with stupid hats and confetti, games and cake made by Gambits cooking class.

Most times, Morph could be found turning into the kid's favorite heros and playing with them, Captian America, Thor, and one kid even asked them for Dr. Strange. You know.

The "cool" Heros.

But today, they were tucked tightly into the corner of their room, legs pulled up and face placed in their arms.

With a knock on the door, It opens to Logan's steps, peaking in, a birthday hat strapped on and everything, a piece of cake in his hand. "There you are. We were looking for you.. erm.. they were.. the kids I mean."

Closing the door, Logan dosn't hesitate to take the hat off, coming to sit next to them.

"Room for one more? Promise to only squish ya a little bit." He says, smiling at them in hopes they would make a joke back. But they didn't.

"....."

"Kev?.... you alright?"

Again. Silence. A long narrow stare at the floor infront of them.

"...brought you a piece a cake." Logan mumbles, setting it down infront of them, smirking a bit as he puts the hat on them instead, one that said "birthday boy."

"Age anymore, and you'll be as old as me." He says, gently nudging them in the arm with their elbow. It was a pretty shitty joke, but he was grasping at straws here, trying to get a reaction from them at all.

Without a moments notice, Morph aggressively rips the hat off, throwing it against the wall, turning away to hide more, now glaring.

"....Guessing you don't like birthdays?"

"Don't you have a husband to attend to!?" They snap, a deepy irritated tone ending in a grunt.

"Hey- Hey, Woah. Wait. Don't go shifting on me now. " his hand comes to their shoulder, rubbing it a bit. "Tell me what's wrong. Who pissed you off?"

They turn, looking at Logan's hand as if he had just put a rotten dead fish on them. Nose scrunched, eyes dark, and overall disgusted.

Their glare turns to Logan's concerned ocean blue eyes, their own softening into the white moons, frowning, upset by their own behavior.

Their face curls into that of a silent sob, hands coming to hide themselves, shoulders shaking as they cried.

"Shhh... shh. Which of these little rugrats made you cry, huh? You think Slim would fire me for slamming cake in a kid's face?" He asks, scooting closer, pulling their head into his shoulder.

A soft snort comes from the teary blob of soft cheeks, the tiniest of toothy grins.

"There you are." It's just three words, but the way he held their cheek, the way his brows came together into a look full vulnerability. The way that made three simple words and a rub of your back feel like 'I love you.'

The creases on his face are deep. They say you work more muscles by frowning then you do smiling but if that was the case why was Logan's so thick? Why did his smile look like it could cure cancer? And maybe it can.

Swallowing, They try to pull away, but Logan has already sniffed, hunted, and caught his prey, an arm locked around their shoulder. The warmth in their chest makes them even more upset, begining to cry again. This time out loud.

"Ima huge liability to those kids, Logan." They say, throat tight and high pitched. This is the voice of someone whos already given up. Whos already lost the battle.

But if Mr. Howlett knew anything, it's that it don't matter about winning the battle if you win the war.

"Ooh, Please." He laughs, rolling his eyes. "So am I. And trust me, I'm a bigger liability then pretty much anyone here... okay maybe Wade- but thats for different reasons. My point is, Why are you in here thinkin' bout that by yerself, eh?"

Sniffling, Morph keeps crying, nails gripping into the legs of their spandex. "B-but they ask for you."

"What?"

"They ask for you. Everyone asks for you. N-no one asks for me.."

It's now that Logan realizes what's going on, silently cursing out whatever child just broke months of work. Just you wait. He's gonna find that little brat and give them a big talking, too later.

"Oh.. Kev. I ask for you." He whispers, wiping tears from their cheeks.

What comes out next is barely audible, nonsense and a loud sob but somehow Logan still knows just what to say.

"Shh.. shhh I'm sure no one thinks that. Cause if they did, I would have fought them already. Besides, who cares what people think? You're my best friend-"

Somewhere in the mansion, Kurt feels a pang to his chest but is unsure why. Perhaps heart burn. Perhaps not.

"- and that's a lot seeing as I don't exactly like a lot of people. Out of all those people out there, You're probably my favorite." He says, smiling at them with the kindest, most genuine eyes.

"P-probably?" They ask, making Logan's eyes widden, starting to realize what he had just said.

"O-oh.. well- yaknow.. my husband.. I like him too. It's pretty- well Okay, You're my favorite non husband person." No one ever said Wolverine was good at words. He's better .. well.. Wolverine-ing.

Rolling their eyes, Morph grumbles, feeling that small flame of hatred grow more in their ribcage. "Oh wow... how romantic..."

"Okay, you want romantic, fine. But if you cringe to death, I don't wanna hear it. You're the morphine that dulls the pain enough to make life worth living here, and every day I don't see you, i feel the stabbing pain in my fingers more and more. There. Is that what you wanted?" Logan's ears are red, he's pouting now, a canine sticking out of his little frown, arms crossed.

They stare at him. Wordless. Expressionless.

A different flame is lit in their chest, a large firework type of explosion.

The silence is too thick, even for Logan's liking. "I-i told you! I don't do this sappy shit. I-"

"You mean it?"

"What!?"

"Your hands hurt more when you don't see me?" It's a serious question, no joking undertone.

Logan's mouth is dry. He feels like he just did something that wouldn't end the way he wanted. "W-well... not exactly." He didn't want Morph to worry about his pain. It was constant but managed.

Pausing, Morph thinks for a second. "Wait.." their face twists again, furrowing. "You wrote the same thing to Jean..."

"W-what? No! I-"

Standing up, they go to their closet, practically throwing the door open. Grabbing a suitcase, they click it open, tossing very minimal things inside before slamming it closed.

It all happens so fast that Logan has no clue what to do. Clumsily getting up, He's only more confused the more he thinks about it.

"No, I didn't. I-i didn't write that!"

"Yes, you did! Cause after that, you said how her hair is like the fire that soothes your sores!"

"You're wrong!" The voice is almost pleading to be litsened to.

Picking up the bag, they turn, long red hair forming, going past her shoulders, small kitten heels, a red blazer and a sage green pencil skirt appearing.

"You didn't write that to me, Logan?" It's a soft voice. A questioning and almost disappointed one. It was Jean's.

"N-no.. I-... I didn't write that." He's almost guilty, playing with his knuckles the way he did when nervous. And you know what they say about nervous dogs.

"Yeah. I know you didn't. Cause I DID! I helped you write it, you moron! And now you stand here and lie to my face?" They change back to themselves. "MY face??"

Throwing the bag over their shoulder, walking past him only to snatch the wallet off the bedside table, pocketing it.

Logan frowns, trying to go through his memories. Did he? No- but maybe? He shakes his head. No. He was with Wade before he even met this universe's X Men.

"No! That wasn't me. Just like all the stuff you did, wasn't you." He says, stepping in front of Morph, blocking the door. "Kevin. Stay... please."

He goes to grab his hand, but Morph only pulls their hand away. "You're not listening! That's not what I said. I said I'm a liability to these kids. And I refuse to stay here if there's even a chance I'll hurt them."

"I get that. I do... really. But you're just as much as an X men as any of us."

"That's why I'm doing what any other X men would do. I'm leaving, Logan. And you can't stop me."

Shaking his head, Logan frowns, looking at him with such sympathetic eyes. "You aint a liability, Kev.. you're our friend."

The once pupiless narrow of eyes quickly turns into bright yellow slit eyes, growing a couple inches and a shit ton more hair. "Still think I aint a liability? Runt!?"

Logan's eyes widden, taking a step back, the hair on his arms rising and his claws itch to pop.

"Don't.. Kevin, don't do that.."

"Why? Afraid I might hurtcha? Exactly. Now move, Howlett. I'm leaving whether you want me to or not." He growls, pushing past him, turning back to themself once the door was shut.

Passing past children playing and laughing, they wave goodbye to a few who now were confused, coming to tell Logan that Mr. Sydney was leaving.

"I know. Hey- shh It's okay. I'll get'em. Just stay here, 'kay?" He tells them, patting their heads and shoulders as he quickly tries to catch up with his friend.

"Kev!"

Opening the door, Morph frowns, looking at Logan with tears brinking on the edges. "Logan, Please.. I have to do this myself."

"Bullshit." He says, Grabbing his leather jacket off the coat rack. "You got a helmet?" He asks, shaking a smaller, longer coat with a hopeful little smirk, biting his tounge only to smile.

Scott's bike keys.

Kevin gives a soft grin. "Logan.. you can't."

"Ohh but I can. Now come on. We're we going?"

Shaking their head, Morph scoffs, rolling their eyes as tears dripped down their face, both from fear of hurting one of these little angels, and the other relieved that Logan wasn't going to let them go that easily. Though it did frustrate them a bit that Logan wasn't trained enough to know what the word "No" meant all these years he's been alive.

"I'm going to Margaret's." They say, sighing as they shut the door, Logan taking their bag, wrapping an arm around their waist.

"The bar??" His face scrunches up in that wrinkly confused look that blood hounds sometimes got.

"What? No.. The motel." It's almost questioning. Why would they go to a bar called Margaret's?

"Oh- right."

_________

Walking into the dingy motel, Logan's nose twitched, ears pricking up and his lips curling up into disgust of what he heard. ".. we can't go somewhere else?" He asks, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Hate this place.."

Ever since the first time Morph took him here, he's hated it. He felt they deserved more. A better room to get better in, but Kev said something about how Margaret didn't give them shit for smoking and sometimes- rarely- destorying property as long as they paid for it later.

"Behave. They don't allow pets." Kevin mutters, coming up to the desk in which a woman who smelled like old menthols and hair spray.

"Hey Kev." Without even looking at them, she takes a key off the wall, putting them on the counter, only to do a double take.

"Hey, Marg."

"Mmh. Brought your little boyfriend again? You know last time you were here I had to-" She starts.

"I know what I did. You want your money or not?" It's snappy, rude and it's said as if Kevin didn't want reminded of the room damage.

Before Morph can even get the money out, Logan already threw some up on the counter, a folded wad that should cover whatever damage they cause and the nights stay.

Frowning, Kevin looks at him with a sigh. "You know I could have gotten it myself."

"I know. Now come on, before I change my mind about this place." He says, taking their hand.

Snickering, they smirk. "No one's makin ya stay."

The glance that Logan gave to them and then to the door, only to grunt, leading them up to their assigned room. "Yeah. That's what I thought."

"Shut up, Kev." Wolverines usually didn't change colors, but this one did.

_________

It's been about an hour since they've been here. Logan laid out on the bed with the remote as some boring documentary played on the TV, watching as Kevin paces around the room, chainsmoking and peeking out of the blinds every couple minutes.

Honestly, it was enough to drive a man mad.

"You want a hit of mine?" He asks, holding out the half smoked cigar. "You're burning through those like its your last day alive, bub."

Shaking their head, They come back to the window, their fingers peer through the blinds, flicking their cigarette into an old dirty tray before letting out a deep sigh, planting themselves on the edge of the bed.

"I can't keep doing this, Logan. They're gonna find me. They'll make me hurt people. My friends.. the kids.. You."

Laying back with his arms over his head, he puffs some smoke with an inquisitive look.

"Who's they?"

"You know who!" They snap, grunting before putting the cigarette out on their boot, shifting to lay with Logan.

Moving the cigar away from them, he moves an arm to put around them, smirking. "Aye.. there he is...or.. there they are??"

A snort comes from them as they burry their face into his chest, grunting. "Pft-.. dosn't matter.. at least you try. Scott dosn't even care."

"Slim don't care abouta lot. What's your point? I do. And that's gotta count for somethin' right?"

The phone rings on the TV and Morph jumps up, ripping the plug out of the wall, eyes wide and begining to breathe unevenly as they look around for where it was coming from.

"Kev. It's just the TV. You're alright. Promise."

Gripping the gun in their pocket, Kevin breathes- or at least tries. Their eyes flick from each exit of the room, reminding Logan far to much of himself. How much of a scared animal he used to be. Pacing around that square cage just waiting for someone to give him a reason to use his teeth.

And now, here was morph, pacing, gripping their fists, and panting with a heightened heart rate.

Sighing, He sat up, standing as he came to Morph, hands coming around them in a hug only for Kevin to grab his hand, the one that was currently holding his pistol.

"Logan... don't. It's mine. I have a right to have it." Its almost like a growl coming out.

"Yeah. You do." Logan rips the metal away from them, taking the bullets out and swiftly threw them out the window.

"Logan!! I needed those!" They say, going to the window as the man peers down into the dumpster where the bullets belonged.

"Not until you're right in the head, you don't. I ain't losing you again. And definitely not over some spooky moron." He grumbles.

The look Kevin gave him when handed back the empty gun was dark and cunning. Planning.

"Whatever you're plannin', do it... Coward." This last word is spat as he blew smoke into their face.

In an instant, Morph smacks the cigar from his grip, throwing it to the dumpster too.

"Alright... I deserved that. But you still ain't gettin' bullets, Kev."

Groaning loudly, they throw the useless gun against the wall, beginning to pace again only to sit down, putting their arms over their head.

"This is all your fault, Logan! Now they're gonna come get me and Im gonna murder all the kids at the school and-and everyone is gonn hate me and- why the fuck are you smiling!? This is serious!!"

Logan had been staring at him with a soft smirk of adoration. There was just something about someone spiraling and saying they were going to do bad things that made him smile.

"You're adorable if you think im lettin' you outta this room, or anyone in for that matter." He says, crouching down to be closer to them. "Now, here's what's gonna happen. You're gonna chill out. Im gonna call Wade. Wade and only wade is going to come and we both re gonna watch over you. No one's getting in or outta here. Got it?"

Kevin sniffles, starting to cry again.

"I-im gonna hurt people, Logan! Why do you think thats funny? I-im gonna kill everybody and im not gonna be an x men anymore! Im gonna hurt everyone I love! Including youuuu" They sob, covering their eyes and pulled their legs closer to their chest.

"D'aaaww.. sure you will, bub." Logan says, patting them on the back, letting them hide.

Taking out his phone, he flips it open, going to one of his only contacts.

At the mansion, Wade was currently trying to pass out plates of food to the kids, making sure everyone had a fork and a drink, keeping the little ones from sticking their fingers in it and the older ones from starting a food fight when his phone rang.

When you call my name, it's like a little prayer, I'm down on my kne-

"Yellow!"

"Hey, Wade."

"Hiya Peanut! Where'd you go? You said you were giving Morph cake not- Ooh you naughty dog! During the birthday party?? Ooh I should have thought of that-"

Logan chuckles on the other side of the line, still rubbing Kevin's back with a toothy grin. God, He loved him so much. He was so nasty.

"Yeah, no, sweetheart."

"No? Then where'd you go?? Left me with all these bra- I mean Darling angels! And Collossus is NOT helping! He keeps popping all the balloons!"

Logan can hear in the background the russian man say 'Is not my fault fingers are so big!'

Only for Wade to immediatly bust out laughing. "Thats what she said!"

'Who she?'

"Your mom! Haaa!! Alright no but seriously were are you? Im bored out of my mind." Wade mutters.

"Wade, I got a job for you."

"Kinnnddaa busy with your pups, Wolvie. They're all savage- GABBY!! GET HER OUT OF YOUR MOUTH!"

"Is she eating Harley agian?- nevermind that. Uhm...Suit up. It's urgent."

"Oooo, we killin' someone?" There's TOO much excitment in the question.

"Maybe. I'll text you the address. You're doing an overnighter, so bring your shit." Lolo leans over, kissing Kevin on the head despite them trying to push out of Logan's grip. "Let go!"

"No can do, pal. You asked me to do this."

"Woah woah woah, do what? Logan, did you kidnap someone?"

He shrugs. "You could say that. Now get over here. The job pays good."

"Oh yeah?? What is it?"

Rolling his eyes Logan groans, having not had actually thought about it. "A large olive and pinapple pizza- AND... ill fist you claws out.."

The scream that came over the phone was enough for Logan to flip it closed.

"Ew! Let go of me you fuckin freak! I'll bite you!" Non Kevin tells him, clawing at the strong muscle headlocked around his throat, kicking and growling.

Logan smirks, "Only if I can bite back~"

"Gross!!"

"Oh, please. You love when I bite you." He whispers, leaning in to nip at their ear, making Morph shout, sinking their teeth into Logan's arm.

"YeOuch! You little shit!"

Squirming out of his grip, Morph takes after Wade, learning a thing or two, pulling a knife. "I said leave me alone!"

"So that's how you wanna play? Alright, let's play, baby."

Snkt.

_______

When Wade arrives, he's fully suited, has his gear and all the snacks he would need for a steak out, including a literal steak and rice take out meal.

Alright, now he just had to get past the desk lady. That shouldn't be too hard. He is the master of disguse, after all.

"Hello, madame. Im with the -"

"Room 240."

"Ooookay? Thanks, lady."

Huh... weird.. usually, it was harder than this.. felt wrong, really.

Ew- the one voice said. This place is disgusting.

"Fuck yeah it is. I bet there's cum smeared on the walls"

Passing a room, A woman screaming 'YESYESYES!' confirmed his thoughts, making him giggle. Oh yeah. He remembered this place now. This was Morph's Motel. Logan and him came here to do as much nasty shit as possible, sometimes with Morph. Logan hated it but this was the only one they weren't banned from and didnt mind the blood bath.

Hmm.. wonder why Logan would- Ooo! Suprise threesome!! Always the best.

Finding the door, he knocks at it. "Ooh Wollvviiee~ stop banging that twink for a second and let me-"

The door swung open, A sweaty and shirtless husband standing infront of him, though his fingers were bloody and there was a knife in his shoulder.

"- In.... you uh... havin' fun without me? Want me to.. erm.." His hand lingers up by his shoulder.

"Huh?" Logan turns then rips the knife out, a teeth gritted grunt following. "Fuck-"

"Fuck is right. What are you doing? Breaking them in half -" Stepping into the room, Morph was rocking in the corner, silently crying, whispering to themselves. Pillow stuffing was covering the room, blood on the floor, a gun lodged into the wall, and a ton of cigarette buts in the ash tray.

"Oohhh... it's THAT kinda night."

"Mhm."

"Stay away from me! I-i already stabbed Logan! Ill hurt you too!" The poor guy sobs, balled up by the wall, crying their little eyes out.

"Awwww. Thats cute. They think they can land a hit on me."

Logan smirks, showing him the knife. "I thought the same thing."

"Yeah but im faster then you, Peanut. Aint your fault, you just got old man bones." He teases, bringing his stuff over to put on the bed, organizing his weapons and sorting out the food.

"Aye, red."

"Whats up big daddy?"

Logan scoffs, picking up his take out.

"One- Don't call me that. Not right now. Two. Nothin' for them. No knives, no guns, nada. Got it?"

"Woof, that bad, huh? Well, it's alright. We'll take care of you." This last part was directed towards the blob on the floor. "Now, you want beef or chicken?" Wade asks, coming over as he crouches down, showing them the food.

"No!! D-don't touch me!" They slap the container out of his hand, sending rice sauce vegtables and chicken on the floor.

"....Fucking RUDE. That one's yours now." He mumbles, standing as he comes back to Logan, whos already scarfing down his steak meal.

"Jeez.. They're a mess."

"Mhm."

"Do I get like that??"

"Mmhm."

"Damn.. Really got a thing for crazies don't ya?" Wade teases, getting only a grunt in response.

"Yeah, me too. Regular people are boring. No offense to Kurt."

"I doubt he'd take any."

________

Hours pass. It's now 2 in the morning.

Logan has already cleaned up what he could in the room, now laid out, lazily flipping channels on the TV, hoping to find something decent to watch but only found a channel playing old recordings of a band called Queen. One that he vaguely remembered seeing once live. Good people. They had soul. Then again, he was on so many drugs at that point that he couldn't remember any of their names for the life of him. He remembers one of them winking at him, though and crying during one of their songs.

Specifcally the one that went "Mamaaaa! Oooh-" or something like that. Either way. It filled the silence and occupied their minds enough to keep Kevin sane.

Wade was sat on the windowsill, taking his job just as serious as any other job, binoculars out and gun ready. Ealier he shot gunned a cigar with Logan and he ate already so he was more then happy to keep watch, swinging his feet slightly to the beat of the music.

Kevin had already tried to take one of his guns ealier and another time, Morph shoved him out the window into the dumpster, but now they seemed to be much calmer, now more so just pacing around muttering to themself and coming to check in between the two every now and again.

"See anyone?" They ask Wade, who's looking at someone through the binoculars, clicking his guns saftey on and off as a stim.

"Just homeless people fighting and third shifters." He mutters, Turning to see how Kev's eyes had changed, smiling. "Hey Kev."

"H-hey.... Logan?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you smell anyone?"

"Just another prostitute and her client. Are we sure this place isn't just a brothel?"

"Hey, you leave sex workers alone. They work really hard to make their living." Wade speaks up, bumming Kev a hit of his cigarette, taking it back and switched his hands, giving them the binoculars to see for themselves.

"I never said they didn't, Wade... I'm just saying that this seems to be a hot spot for them. That's all. No need to get all defensive. Settle down, cowboy, we know- your the customer that decided to pay in diamonds." Logan scoffs, chuckling.

Kev tilts his head, watching as Wade turns to face Logan. "Fuck yeah I did. But hey, I took her on a date first. That's what matters. And that's why I wear two rings. One on my gay hand and one on my straight hand."

Morph bursts out laughing at this, seeing Wade let his 'gay hand' go limp at the wrist, pulling a 💅 pose, showing them the other hand with the fingers pointed upwards.

"Im sorry, What?? Straight hand?" They ask, acting much less paranoid than before.

"Duh. I got a husband that I love ssooooo much-" He bats his eyelashes at Logan, who smirks, blowing him a ring of smoke back.

"And I'm engaged to Nessy since APPRENTLY marrying two people is illegal. What's up with that? How can they put a limit on love?"

"I think it has something to do with taxes." Kevin says, moving away from Wade's watching perch.

"It's cause of religion infultrting the law, actually."

"Damn it, Kurt! I knew that little goody two shoes was keeping me from having 6 marriages! Tch. Rude." Wade says sarcastically, turning himself to look out the window, face becoming dead serious. Successful missions were important to him, even if it was just staring down a homeless guy digging in the trash below them.

From Wade's sudden silence, Kevins heart rate spiked. Logan could hear it. "W-what is it?"

"Nothin', bub. Just someone tryna find some food. That or make friends with some massive coons. Either way.. He won't let anyone hurtcha." Wolverine says, gesturing to how still and ready Wade was to jump out this window to kick ass, putting a hand on his holster.

"Aye, red. Down boy. Let the man eat a moldy sandwitch if he wants to." He tells Wade, who's a little too fixated to look away, but his hand comes off the pistol, still staring like an animal on the hunt.

Seeing how nervous and anxious Kev was, Logan gave a small whistle, patting the side of the bed. "...Come lay down."

Morph shakes their head, a deep frown on their face that made Logan miss their big smile.

"Come on. You need sleep."

"No I don't. I stayed up for three days straight once." They say, playing with their fingers, lingering by the other window.

"Yeah? And how'd you feel after that?" He asks, raising his brow in that 'Im wiser and older then you, you know im right' subtle way.

"Well.. Like shit. B-but that's not the point. I can't sleep, they'll get me. A-and then I'll hurt people. I... I don't want to hurt anyone, Logan."

"Been there.." Wade mutters, not turning his vision from the perk currently trying to wrestle a pizza from a big rat.

Logan lets out a deep sigh, reaching his arm out.

"You can't hurt me. Now come'ere." The older man says, switching hands to hold the stub of his shitty cigar. "I won't let anything happen to you. Swear."

Reaching a handover to pull Morph's waist close, Logan holds him tight, jolting when Wade shot something.

Hesitantly, Kevin gives a final check outside the blinds, their feet very slowly making their way to the edge of the bed, sitting. "...I'm scared, Logan.." they whisper, tears pricking in the corners of their eyes.

"I know.. but it'll be okay."

"Wade!! Did you just-!?" Logan scolds, sitting up to hold Kevin close, who had already started to panic, clinging to him.

"Relax! Relax. It was just a texas sized rat! What, like im gonna shoot a guy for wanting a 3 day old pizza?? Im fucked up but im not THAT fucked up. Sheesh!"

"They're coming to get me!" They screamed.

"Oooh hush, if anyone tries to 'get you', they'll end up like that rat. Big fucker though, god what chemicals are they putting in the sewers? This is how we got that big ass turtle ninjas problem in Chinatown!"

The face Morph made was pure confusion.

Logan, who was honestly not sure if Wade said this as a shock factor to ground kevin or just was saying weird shit again, blinked, just as confused.

Why couldn't he have a normal husband sometimes? Was that too much to ask?

Logan pulls them down into his chest, hand going over his back. "Scary little shit, Ain't he?" He asks, putting the butt of the cigar out in the tray next to him. "Though I guess that means you're the safest guy in town..."

"Poor rat..." His friend mumbles, letting his calloused hands run the top of their shoulders all the way down to their hip. Oddly enough, it was so soothing that they suddenly felt a wave of tiredness wash over them. The kind of tired that you only got from having a big cry and now needed to rejuvenate your body with sleep.

Moving to let a breath out, they weren't aware they were holding, Kevin lets themself lay on Logan, litsening to his heartbeat as their breathing slowed.

"Who do you want me to be?" They ask. It's quiet and just above a whisper, but the silence and glares that followed were extremely loud.

"...what?"

"And he calls me gods favorite idiot... jesus." Wade says, shaking his head softly and turning back to watch the man happily eat his pizza, and put the rat over a fire for extra protien.

Logan's glare made Morph feel like they were about to get mauled or beat the death. Probably both. "You." He growls.

"A-are you sure? I can be Kurt if you want... hes softer.." They say, slightly trying to pull away from him but Logan only tugged them closer.

"I don't want you to be Kurt. Or anyone. I want you to be you. Why don't you get that? What part of 'I want morph' do you not understand?"

Swallowing, Kevin -In their human form- looks up to Logan with a sheepishly guilt. "L-.. like this?"

Logan growls deep in his throat, shaking his head slowly.

Blushing, Morphs skin turns all white, and their hair and eyecolor disappear. ".. like this?"

His eyes soften, leaning up to kiss their head.

"Perfect.. Now, go to sleep. You have a class tomorrow, don't you? ...With the X men. Always. With the X men." Logan soothes, keeping them tight against his chest as he himself closed his eyes.

"Wade-"

"Don't you worry your pretty little head, Peanut. Not even a cockroach is getting in this place without my permission." His pistol cocks, proving a point.

Under the Tv and the honking outside, Moprh, eyes closed and half asleep, warm and comfy in his arms mutters. "Thank you.." ever so slightly.

"Don't mention it, bub. Go to sleep.. it's late."

The silence before was so loud, but this silence was nice. It was... Perfect. Just like Moprh, Logan thinks.

"...Logan?"

"Love you too kev..." The statment, spoken like a fact, is followed by a deep snore.

The toothy grin they had buried into his chest was all that mattered right now, their breaths synchronizing under warm (dirty) blankets. The way the rain outside began to pitter patter against the windows and floor of this concrete jungle.

Snuggling up under his chin, Kevin finally felt safe here. Logan ready to take care of them until the end of the world, Wade ready to shoot anything that moves, and the soft rumble of the freeway behind them creating a farmilair chaos.

"D'aawww... Goodnight my pretties... don't let the bed bugs bite.. no- seriously. Don't."

"So I guess that's it then, huh? Morph beats yet another manic episode, Wolvie gets to help prove that they aren't a burden, and I get to be fisted later with claws out as payment for keeping watch. What a wonderful way to end-"

"Wade..? Who are you talking to?" Asks a worried tone. "Is someone here?"

"Oh, uhh...no one. Just go back to sleep, it's fine. Everything's okay... you should probably go before they start freaking out again. Seeya later. Be yourself and all that moral lesson bullshit. Bye, babygirl!"

#morpherine #morph #kevin sydney #morph x logan #wolverine x morph #x men morph #finding home au #deadpool and wolverine #poolverine #logan howlett #wade wilson #deadpool #wolverine #deadpool 3 #jean gray #victor creed #sabretooth #worst wolverine

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sapphiresaphics · 2 days ago

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I cannot help but feel like you guys are romanticizing the series WAY more than is intended. George Lucas had no grand vision of trying to uplift the youth during political strife or anything like that. Stop conflating result with intentions.

Lucas was severely depressed and angry at the film industry at the time. He funded Star Wars on his own dime because he didn’t trust the studio system. He showed his cut of the film to his friends who all thought it was terrible. Many of the actors involved did not want to be part of it and thought it was going to be a flop. This notion that this was some grand vision from a grand person is romanticized myth making AFTER the fact. While he was making Star Wars Lucas has NO IDEA he was about to strike gold. He used Joseph Campbell’s mono-myth as a template for his story because he wasn’t really good at writing. He just wanted to make a space opera, during a time when nobody gave a shit shout space operas, it’s just happenstance that the stars aligned and it turned into a massive massive hit.

So I’m sorry if I’m coming at this from a more clinical and analytical perspective than that of a fanboy. I’m not viewing Star Wars from the perspective of a fan in 2024 who’s seen the whole franchise. I’m looking at it from the perspective of it being a film made in 1977 with no other films in the franchise around it yet.

I cannot see “hope” as being the unifying message of the film. And Luke’s a perfect example of why not. He doesn’t excuse hope and optimism. He does heroic things, but he more or less does things out of obligation and because it’s just a good thing to do. He’s not talking about hope. When he loses his family is it hope that drives him to want to train to be a Jedi? Is it hope that makes him choose C-3PO-O? Is it hope that gets him in a bar fight? Is it hope that causes him to lash out at Ben being taken down by Vader? Same for Han Solo. Han doesn’t give a shit about hope. He’s in it for the money. Every line of dialogue is him espousing that the force is for suckers and losers. What about Leia? She has no hope to be rescued. Did her hope stop Vader from destroying her home planet? Did hope get her out of the prison cell?

You can’t just say the theme is hope when it’s not EXPLORED through the characters at all.

Now FAITH… that IS explored. Vader has faith in the dark side. Obi Wan has faith in the light side. Luke is learning about faith in the force. Han doesn’t have faith in the force. Faith in the force is what helps them win against the empire.

This is why I bring up the idea that the theme of the 1977 film is actually faith vs science. Because not only is this reiterated multiple times in the film, but it’s not the scientific instruments in Luke’s ship that save the day. It’s Luke’s faith in the force.

If the theme is hope… why is the climactic event that saves the day not hope but instead faith in Ben’s teachings against all common wisdom?

This is what I’m talking about. You guys are being REALLY SHALLOW with your interpretations of theme and it shows.

People scream “show don’t tell!” all the damn time, but the second a show actually DOES just show you stuff and make you use your brain to piece things together you scream “bad writing! Bad writing!”

Fuck you. You don’t want a story to “show don’t tell,” you’re literally angry they won’t just spoon feed you the answers on a silver platter.

#star wars

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sherewrytes · 2 days ago

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𝔹𝕣𝕠𝕜𝕖𝕟 ℙ𝕚𝕖𝕔𝕖𝕤, ℝ𝕪𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕟 𝕊𝕦𝕜𝕦𝕟𝕒 7

↳ Sukuna x f! black reader

Summary: After the death of his grandfather, Sukuna Ryomen is left to shoulder the weight of his family, caring for his younger brothers, Yuuji and Choso. As he withdraws into grief, his relationship with Y/N, his girlfriend of a year, begins to crumble. When Y/N discovers the truth about his grandfather’s passing during a heated argument, it leads to a painful breakup. Now, both are navigating life apart, but Sukuna’s heart aches for Y/N. Determined to win her back, he must confront his pain and find a way to break through the walls he’s built. Can he rekindle their love, or is it too late?

contents: heavy angst, modern au, 18+, smut, dark romance, drug use, talks of depression and similar topics. (a lil )

fic warnings. ooc, profanity, mental health issues, toxic relationships, cheating, explicit smut, serious drug use, mentions of depression + more to be updated as story progresses.

Please read with proper discretion. this is a work of fiction. all characters are written to portray roles that are necessary to the plot and are in no way a reflection of their canon counterparts.

Taglist: @for-hearthand-home@clp-84@thelightknight21@favvkiki @helightknight21 @dylsw @ria-s-writes @sleepymothafterhours

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Here is another chapter cause I'm still writing out the other fics right now :)

Chapter 7: Breaking Point

Y/N’s POV

It’s been, what, two weeks since I last saw Sukuna? Since he left my apartment I finally put my foot down. It feels surreal. Like he was here one moment, his presence filling every part of my life, and then, just like that, he’s gone. I can actually focus in class again, and my thoughts are less cluttered without his constant ups and downs. For the first time in a long time, I’m getting assignments done on time, and keeping up with my workload. But underneath it all, there’s this ache, a hollow space where he used to be.

I try to ignore it, but it’s always there, tugging at me, making it hard to concentrate completely. It’s the little things—his laugh echoing in my mind, the feel of his arms around me, his stupid smirk whenever he got under my skin. I find myself wondering if he’s okay. Did he come out of the hospital yet? Did he manage to finally piece himself together?

A part of me wants to reach out, just to check in. Maybe see if he’s doing better, if he’s still leaning on his friends, getting through each day somehow. But that’s not my place anymore, is it? I gave him so many chances to let me in, to let me help, and every single time, he shut me out. He made it clear he wanted to handle things his way. And I… I need to start respecting that boundary, as much as it hurts.

I take a deep breath, glancing out the window of the studio. The city is buzzing outside, people going on with their lives, completely unaware of the turmoil inside me. I sip my coffee, watching the people walk by, their laughter faintly audible through the glass.

Suddenly, my phone buzzes, pulling me from my thoughts. It’s a message from Utahime.

Utahime: You doing okay? Need anything?

I smile, appreciating her concern. She’s been there since everything happened, her presence a constant comfort, even when I didn’t realize I needed it.

Me: Yeah, I’m fine. Just… thinking too much, as usual.

Utahime: Well, stop that! We’re going out tonight. A distraction is exactly what you need.

I hesitate, looking down at my phone, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. I know she’s right. A distraction might help me let go of these lingering thoughts, these small pieces of Sukuna that I can’t seem to shake.

Me: Fine. Where and when?

Utahime: I’ll pick you up at 8. Be ready!

A part of me feels relieved at the thought of getting out, of being around people who remind me of who I am outside of Sukuna, outside of this relationship that became such a heavy part of my life.

as the car moves through the city streets, I press my head against the cool window, letting the world blur past me. The bass-heavy beat of W.D.Y.W.F.M. pulses through my headphones, each lyric tugging at parts of me I’ve been trying to bury.

Maybe you’re right, maybe this is all that I can be, the words echo, hitting a little too close to home. I close my eyes, feeling the weight of those lyrics settle in my chest. The memories start seeping in—the countless times I let myself believe that if I loved Sukuna enough, if I was patient enough, he’d eventually find it within himself to let me in. That if I just waited, things would finally feel right. But now I wonder… maybe it wasn’t just him. Maybe I should have known better than to believe that love could fix someone so broken.

But what if it’s you, and it wasn’t me?

The question pierces through my thoughts, stirring a bitterness I didn’t know I still had. He wanted to drown in his own pain, to shut me out every time I tried to pull him up for air. I couldn’t have been the answer, and yet here I am, with pieces of him still lingering, haunting me at every turn.

The Uber driver takes a corner, the familiar streets near my apartment coming into view. I force my gaze away from the window, back to my phone screen, trying to focus on anything but him. It shouldn’t hurt this much, but it does—knowing that for all the love I poured into him, it wasn’t enough to keep him from self-destructing.

The song fades as I arrive at my building. I thank the driver, taking a deep breath as I step out, feeling the city air wrap around me. The streetlights cast a dim glow on the sidewalk, and I let myself pause for a moment before going inside. I need to let him go, I tell myself firmly, as I push open the door and head up the stairs to my apartment. I have to learn to let go of the weight of him, of the what ifs and the could’ve been that keep me tangled in his memory.

I climb the stairs, my heart pounding faster with each step as I spot the car parked out front. The familiar shape, that old, dark-colored sedan that Sukuna drove everywhere... no, no, no, I think, my pulse racing. I’m not ready to see him. My body tenses with dread, the past few weeks crashing down on me in waves.

But as I get closer, I realize it isn’t him. The figure slouched in the driver's seat isn’t Sukuna—it’s Yuuji, his face drawn and pale under the streetlight glow. Relief floods me, only to be replaced by confusion and worry. I stride up to him, feeling the weight of all the things I know about Sukuna’s recent spiral pressing on me, unsettling and heavy.

"Yuuji," I say, my voice sharp, "why are you here?"

He startles, looking up at me with bloodshot eyes. I catch the shadow of sleepless nights, maybe even nights spent worrying about Sukuna. He tries to brush off the tension, but I can see right through him. He's younger, not yet old enough to be driving around on his own at this hour. That alone makes my stomach twist.

"I just… I didn’t know who else to talk to," he mutters, glancing away. The hurt and worry in his voice rip into me.

My gut clenches as I realize just how much of Sukuna’s pain has been spilling onto his family. The weight he’s putting on Yuuji, on Choso… it’s more than I ever understood. The anger, frustration, and heartbreak I felt these past weeks—they’re nothing compared to what Yuuji was going through. He’s barely an adult, forced to watch his older brother destroy himself.

“Yuuji,” I say softly, keeping my tone steady, “what’s going on? Why didn’t you call me?”

Yuuji looks up, and in that one look, I see just how much he’s been holding in. “I thought… I thought I could handle it, but… he’s just getting worse. I can’t even talk to him without him blowing up at me. He left some days ago, maybe more, and just stormed out. No one knows where he is. Toji, Choso, and even Geto…they all tried reaching him, but he wouldn’t answer. And then I remembered… you always knew how to reach him when he was like this.”

The ache in his voice cuts through me, and a fierce protectiveness rises up. I left Sukuna to deal with his pain, but it’s clear that his absence has left more than just a hole in my life—it’s tearing his family apart too.

“Yuuji,” I start, forcing calm into my voice. “I know things are tough, and Sukuna… he’s dealing with a lot. But you don’t have to do this alone. Have you told anyone else? Choso? Gojo?”

He shakes his head, looking at the ground. “No. Choso is dealing with enough as it is… and I don’t want them to worry more.”

He’s trying to be strong, trying to hold everyone else together when he’s the one falling apart. I know that feeling all too well. Sukuna and I broke things off because I couldn’t keep sacrificing my sanity for someone unreachable. But I never thought about how much worse it would get for those who couldn’t walk away, like Yuuji and Choso.

I reach out, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Yuuji, you don’t have to do this alone. You shouldn’t be doing this alone. Sukuna needs someone to get through to him, and it might not be me anymore—but we can try together.”

He stares at me for a moment, eyes wide and vulnerable. “Do you think… Do you think he’ll ever listen? Or is he too far gone?”

My heart aches at his words. “I don’t know. But we have to try.”

He nods, the glimmer of hope in his expression heartbreaking and determined.

I closed my eyes, gripping the phone tight. I knew Kenjaku could be difficult, even evasive when he wanted to be. Sukuna had a talent for finding people who were just as stubborn and reckless as he was. But I couldn’t back down, not now, not with Yuuji looking at me like he was counting on me.

“Kenjaku, I need to know. Yuuji’s here with me. He and Choso haven’t heard from Sukuna in days. They’re worried sick, and he’s…he’s not okay. I think you know that.”

There was a pause on the other end, the silence stretching uncomfortably long. I could almost picture Kenjaku’s calculating look, weighing his options. Finally, he sighed. “He showed up here a few nights back. I didn’t ask questions. He’s been sleeping it off on my couch, but I’ll be honest—he looks like hell, Y/N.”

The anger that had been simmering inside me now sparked, but it wasn’t toward Kenjaku. It was all for Sukuna—his self-destructive spiral, the pain he was dragging everyone into, and the part of him that still didn’t realize how much he meant to those around him.

“I’ll be over soon,” I said, voice steady despite the turmoil within me. “But please, don’t tell him I’m coming. I don’t want him bolting before I get there.”

Kenjaku’s chuckle was dry, but he agreed. “Sure thing. I’ll keep him occupied, though good luck getting through to him. He's really badly…. He’s fucked up, Y/N.”

I hung up, feeling a mix of relief and dread. When I looked at Yuuji, his eyes were wide, filled with a flicker of hope. He didn’t need to ask what I’d found out; the look on my face told him everything.

“I’m going to see him,” I said softly, reaching for my bag. “I’ll try to talk to him, to get through to him, somehow.”

Yuuji looked at me with a mixture of gratitude and worry. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

With a final squeeze of his shoulder, I turned and headed out the door, my heart pounding as I braced myself for the conversation I wasn’t sure I was ready to have.

Yuuji nodded, taking the key from my hand with a somber expression. "I will. Be careful, okay?" he said, his voice thick with unspoken worry.

I offered him a brief smile, though I could feel the weight of everything pressing down on me. "I will. Just... keep an eye on things here, yeah? If anything happens, call Toji."

Yuuji gave me a small, reassuring nod before he turned to head toward the stairs, his footsteps echoing in the hall as he climbed.

I stood there for a moment longer, staring at the door. The tension was building inside me—this wasn't going to be easy. I had no idea what I was walking into, but I knew I had to face it. For Yuuji. For Choso. And for myself.

With a deep breath, I pulled my jacket tighter around me and left the apartment, locking the door behind me. The walk to Kenjaku's place felt longer than usual, each step heavy with uncertainty. The city seemed quieter tonight, the streetlights casting long shadows across the pavement as I made my way toward the familiar building.

When I finally arrived, I didn't bother knocking. Kenjaku had given me the code to the door ages ago. I typed it in quickly, the door clicking open with an almost too-loud sound. The hallway was dimly lit, and I could hear the faint murmur of voices from behind one of the doors.

I hesitated for a moment, my hand on the doorframe. This was it. I didn’t know what I was about to walk into, but there was no turning back now.

Taking a deep breath, I pushed the door open.

I stood there, taking in the scene before me—Sukuna, looking completely worn down, his eyes barely open, his hair disheveled and his face a mess of exhaustion and defeat. The cigarette hung loosely from his hand, the smoke curling up into the air as Uraume stood nearby, her posture stiff, frustration radiating off of her.

"Uraume, calm down," I said, my voice steady but firm as I crossed the room, stepping closer to the couch where Sukuna was sprawled out.

He groaned in response, his hand sliding off his face just enough for his eyes to meet mine, dull and clouded. He didn’t look surprised to see me, but his expression was unreadable.

"Great, now I'm fucking seeing and hearing shit," he muttered again, his voice thick with fatigue and annoyance.

I didn’t react to his comment, not letting it phase me. Instead, I walked over and sat on the edge of the couch, just enough to be close but not invading his space. I glanced over at Uraume, who seemed to be holding her ground, but she took a step back, recognizing that I was the one who needed to handle this.

"Sukuna, stop hiding," I said, my tone softer now, almost pleading. "What the hell are you doing?"

He didn’t answer immediately, instead, taking another drag from the cigarette, his eyes drifting away from mine, focused on the wall as though he didn’t want to face me, or anyone.

"You think running away is gonna fix anything?" I continued, my voice low but insistent. "You think wallowing in this is gonna bring Jin back? Or fix what’s broken?"

His jaw clenched, and for a moment, I thought he was going to snap at me again, but instead, he just let out a deep sigh, and the silence in the room hung thick.

"I’m not hiding," he muttered, barely above a whisper. "I’m just... tired."

"Then let us help you," I replied, my heart aching for him, but frustration mixing with it. "You don’t have to carry all this alone."

Sukuna shifted on the couch, his hand coming up to cover his eyes again, but this time, there was something in the way he did it—a sort of resignation, like he knew I was right, but couldn't bring himself to admit it. Uraume stood there, arms crossed, clearly waiting for him to make a move, but it was clear he wasn’t ready.

I stayed quiet for a moment, allowing him his space, but I couldn’t just leave it at that. He needed to hear it, and I needed him to understand.

"You're not alone in this, Sukuna," I said quietly, my voice breaking through the tension. "You’ve got people who care about you. People who are worried. And you don’t get to shut them out."

He didn’t respond immediately, but I could see his body language soften just a little. I wasn’t sure if he was hearing me, or if he was just too far gone to care, but I couldn’t give up on him—not when he was this close to losing everything, including himself.

"Sukuna..." I started again, but Uraume cut me off.

"You can only do so much, Y/N," she said, her tone serious, but a little softer now. "He’s gotta want it. He’s gotta find it in himself to get back up. And we can’t make that choice for him."

I nodded, swallowing back the knot in my throat. I knew she was right. But it didn’t make it any easier.

"You think he’ll listen?" I asked, barely above a whisper, not expecting a clear answer.

Uraume gave a small shrug. "Maybe. But only if he realizes he’s not beyond saving. But that’s up to him."

I glanced at Sukuna once more, feeling the weight of everything press down on me. His eyes were still closed, and he looked so damn defeated. Part of me wanted to scream, to shake him out of his spiral. But I knew that wasn’t what he needed.

What he needed was time and a reminder that he wasn’t the only one who had lost something.

Sukuna's smirk was laced with bitterness, and it was as if the weight of his guilt and self-loathing had manifested in those cruel words. His eyes never left me as he took another drag of his cigarette, the smoke swirling around us like a barrier, creating distance between us that I could almost feel.

I didn't flinch. I refused to let him see the impact his words had, but inside, I was crumbling.

His voice was sharp, cutting through the air, his pain seeping out in every syllable. "You think you can save me, Y/N? Don’t fool yourself. You know I’m worthless."

I wanted to shout at him, tell him he was wrong, but instead, my voice came out softer than I expected. "Sukuna, you're not worthless."

He let out a dry laugh, one that held no humor. "Yeah? Then why the hell did you leave? After we fucked, you tossed me out like I was nothing. Isn’t that what you think of me too?"

Each word felt like a blade to my chest. The anger, the resentment in his voice—it was suffocating. I could see the way his eyes flickered with something raw, something vulnerable that he kept buried under layers of pride and self-doubt. But he was pushing it all on me now.

I took a shaky breath, trying to keep my composure, but the truth was, hearing him say those things cut deeper than I ever anticipated.

I stepped closer to him, ignoring the thick cloud of smoke that hung in the air. "I didn’t leave because I thought you were worthless," I said, my voice trembling but determined. "I left because you pushed me away. You closed yourself off, pushed me out of your life like I was nothing. And I couldn’t keep pretending I didn’t see it."

His expression hardened at that, the smirk fading away as he leaned back on the couch, his eyes narrowing at me. "You think I wanted to push you away?" His voice was quieter now, but there was still that edge of anger behind it. "You think I wanted to feel this empty... this fucking broken?"

I shook my head, my heart aching for him even as I held my ground. "No, I don't think that. But that’s what you did. You kept pushing everyone away, even when they were just trying to help. I couldn’t be the one to fix you, Sukuna. I’m not your savior."

He looked away then, the cigarette trembling slightly in his hand. "Then what the hell am I supposed to do, Y/N?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper now, the anger gone, replaced by quiet desperation. "How do I fix this? How do I fix myself?"

I didn’t have an answer. How could I? He had to want it, had to find the strength to fight through his demons on his own. But that didn’t mean I was ready to give up on him.

"You can start by not pushing everyone away," I said, my voice softer now, almost pleading. "You’re not alone, Sukuna. Not yet."

For a long moment, there was silence between us. The tension hung in the air, thick and heavy, as I waited for him to respond. But instead, he just took another drag of his cigarette, looking lost in his thoughts.

"I never asked for any of this," he muttered finally, his words barely audible. "I never asked to be the one holding everything together. I never asked for... this pain."

I didn’t know what to say to that. I didn’t have an answer for him. All I could do was watch him, hoping, wishing he would find the strength to face what he had been running from.

But deep down, I knew it wasn’t up to me. It never was.

His words hit like a punch to the gut. The rawness in his voice, the way he almost choked on the words—it was as if he was tearing himself apart right in front of me. I watched him, frozen, my heart pounding as he looked away, refusing to meet my eyes.

"Just go, Y/N. Please," he said, his voice rough, barely holding it together. "You made the right choice. Don’t let guilt eat at you. Your love... it wasn’t enough."

I felt the sting of tears welling up, but I forced myself to hold them back. This wasn’t the time to break down. He was pulling up walls as quickly as I tried to break them down, and part of me wondered if he would ever let anyone truly see the pieces of himself he kept hidden. I wanted to tell him he was wrong, that it wasn’t about my love being "enough"—that he was worthy of love even in his darkest moments. But I knew, standing there, that he wouldn’t hear it. Not now.

"Sukuna," I began, my voice catching despite my best efforts to stay steady. "It's not about being enough or not enough. You’re worth more than this... more than what you think of yourself right now."

He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "Don’t... don’t do that. Don’t pretend I’m some lost soul you can save. You’ve done enough. It’s... it’s better this way."

"Better this way?" I asked, my voice sharper than I intended, feeling the frustration bubbling up. "Better for who? Because I don't think it's better for you. Look at yourself, Sukuna. You’re drowning, and you’re just... letting it happen."

He clenched his jaw, his hand shaking slightly as he flicked the cigarette into an ashtray. "Maybe that’s what I deserve," he said quietly, almost to himself.

The silence between us felt thick, suffocating. I took a step closer, reaching out, but he backed away, pressing himself further into the couch as if my touch would somehow make things worse.

"If that’s really what you believe..." I whispered, my chest tight. "If you really think you deserve this pain... then I can’t force you to change your mind. But I wish you could see yourself the way I see you."

For a moment, something flickered in his eyes, something soft and vulnerable, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared. He lowered his gaze, the same smirk that once felt charming was now nothing more than a mask.

"Just... go," he whispered again, his voice so small it was almost lost in the room. "Forget about me. Move on. It’s better that way."

I stared at him, wanting to reach him, to pull him out of this dark place. But maybe he was right. Maybe I couldn’t save him. Taking a shaky breath, I nodded, my heart shattering with each step as I turned toward the door.

Before I left, I looked back one last time. He wouldn’t meet my gaze, his eyes fixed on some distant point on the floor, lost in his own torment.

“Goodbye, Sukuna,” I whispered, the words barely escaping my lips. And with that, I stepped out, leaving behind the man I’d loved—and the pieces of myself that still wanted to believe he could be saved.

Sukuna's pov

I watched the door click shut behind her, the silence settling thick in the room. My chest felt hollow, but the ache gnawed deeper, clawing its way up my throat. I turned to my side, curling up on the couch, pressing my hand over my eyes as if I could shut out everything I’d just done. I’d pushed her away—again—and for what? To prove some sick point that I was beyond saving? That I didn’t deserve her?

I could still smell her faint perfume lingering in the air, feel the warmth she’d brought with her now slipping through my fingers. It wasn’t like I didn’t want her here. God, I wanted her more than anything. But how could I let her stay, knowing what a mess I’d become? How could I put her through the hell I was living every day?

My mind drifted back to Jin and Gramps, memories that never stayed buried long. Jin would’ve slapped me across the head if he saw me like this, wasting away, hurting everyone who tried to care. But I could never forgive myself for that night, for not being there when he needed me. And now, I was dragging Y/N down with me.

The silence felt louder now, each second stretching painfully, mocking me. She’d tried, even after everything I put her through. She tried to reach me, to pull me out of this pit I’d dug for myself. But I’d thrown her love back in her face. Again.

“Fuck,” I muttered under my breath, pressing my fists to my temples. I wanted to cry, to scream, to feel something other than this endless, numbing void. But even that felt like too much. All I could do was lie here, drowning in my own misery, pushing everyone who mattered further and further away

Kenjaku grabbed my wrist, yanking my hands away from my ears. "Look at me, Sukuna," he snapped, his tone harsher than I'd ever heard. "This is your last chance. No one else is going to fight for you if you don’t fight for yourself."

I kept my eyes shut, trying to hold on to the darkness, anything to keep from facing the weight of his words. What good was that going to do? The damage was done, and I’d burned every bridge around me.

I tried pulling my arm free, but his grip tightened. "You think you’re the only one hurting?" Kenjaku’s voice dropped, each word laced with a fury that broke through my wall of apathy. "Your brothers are terrified. Toji, Uraume—they’re all watching you tear yourself apart. And Y/N? She might be gone, but you know damn well it’s killing her too."

My hands trembled as I finally opened my eyes, meeting his stare. I could see the disappointment, the anger. But there was something else, something that looked too much like hope.

"Why does it matter?" I murmured, my voice cracking. "I’ve already lost everything. What’s the point?"

Kenjaku’s expression softened for the briefest moment before he pulled me up to sit. "You haven't lost everything, not yet. But if you keep pushing everyone away, there will be nothing left. Not your friends, not Y/N, not even your own damn self."

The words hit like a punch to the gut, and I felt a flicker of something I hadn't felt in months—fear.

I held his stare, my jaw clenched, trying to keep the defiance in my eyes. But Kenjaku didn’t look away, his grip on my arm tightening. "What did you take?" he asked again, his tone sharper, cutting right through me.

I tried to shrug him off, mumbling, "Just something to take the edge off. Why does it matter?"

"Because," he hissed, shaking me slightly, "you can barely stand right now, Sukuna. You're falling apart, and you keep reaching for whatever dulls the pain instead of facing it. So I'll ask you one last time—what did you take?"

I swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his demand. I didn’t want to admit it, didn’t want him to know how far I'd fallen. But the way he was looking at me, with a mixture of anger and something close to pity, broke through the wall I’d put up.

"Xanax... some Oxy," I muttered, barely audible, each word feeling like a confession. "And... a couple drinks." I looked away, shame burning in my chest.

Kenjaku's face twisted with a grimace, and he let go of my arm, taking a step back as if the truth was too heavy for him. "This is what you're doing to yourself?" His voice was low, thick with disappointment. "This isn’t numbing the pain, Sukuna. It's destroying you."

I sank back onto the couch, the weight of his words pressing down like a boulder on my chest. "Maybe that’s the point," I whispered, barely holding back the rawness in my voice. "Maybe that’s all I deserve."

Kenjaku knelt in front of me, looking me dead in the eyes. "Then prove yourself wrong," he said firmly. "If you can’t do it for you, then do it for them—your brothers, your friends, everyone who’s still here trying to reach you. But you have to decide to get up and fight."

My answer was simple, and final. "No."

Kenjaku stared at me, frustration flaring in his eyes. I could tell he was holding back from saying more, like he knew words were useless right now.

“You want to keep drowning?” he asked, his voice sharper, leaning closer as if to pierce right through me. “You think this is easier, huh? Wasting away until there's nothing left?”

“Maybe it is," I said, my voice hollow. "Maybe it’s the only way I can even get through this. The only thing that keeps my mind off... everything.”

“You’re just running,” Kenjaku shot back, anger finally surfacing. "You think the pain will leave you alone? It won’t. It’s gonna keep eating you alive until there’s nothing left, Sukuna. Nothing for you, and nothing for the people who actually give a damn about you."

I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms until the sting cut through the haze clouding my mind. “Then let it. I’m not worth anything to anyone.”

Kenjaku exhaled, the fight leaving his shoulders. He stared at me, his eyes dark and steady. “You keep saying that, but it’s not true. You know it’s not true.”

Silence settled between us, heavy and unbreakable, until he finally straightened, his expression hardening. “Fine. You want to stay here, stay here. But don’t expect any of us to stick around and watch you throw your life away.”

#jjk x black reader #sukuna x black reader #sukuna angst #sukuna x female reader #sukuna smut #sukuna #jjk x reader #jjk x you #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna #black tumblr #black reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #sherewrytes

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nemesis-writer · 2 days ago

Text

Five Minutes (Chapter 4)

Masterlist Utter Silence TW: mentions of blood, mental illness

No one knew who was next. They all guarded the streets to check any odd behaviours. Tim was in charge of security systems, and everyone changed the streets they looked after every hour.

But what they didn't know is that all business was being held beneath the ground they walked so gladly upon.

At the base...

"We need to hurry up. Now" I commanded as I watched my men place the traps and riddles all over Gotham.

Me and Michael were sitting together on the couch of our library just enjoying the silence with each other until one of us broke the ice.

(Italics are Reader's)

"This will work darling. Don't worry"

"I know, I'm just scared of losing you"

"You could never lose me. Even when I go to hell, I'm gonna drag your pretty ass down there with me."

"Why?"

"Because I love you, and I'd do anything for you."

"Even if it means I have to kill my family?"

"I would make a monument of all their heads for you."

"Ti amo di piu mi amore"

"Ti amo bambola"

At the Wayne mansion...

The silence engulfed the very walls where fighting, or excitement was being heard. Even the smallest pin drop could be heard around the gothic walls.

No one knows when nor how the riddles shall come.

And no one knows who's next.

There are many crimes that are to be attended to, but the more criminals they kill, the higher the chances are of exploitation.

Blood flows, and breathing could only be heard. No one could talk, breathe, or blink without the fear of possible death.

Jason has died once before, and he assumed that death wouldn't scare him anymore, but with all the tricks and casualities that are bound to happen, he fears of watching other innocents suffer.

"Who do you think is next?" Duke asked.

"Probably Tim or something", Jason muttered

"It's your fault she's like this", Damian said.

"Our fault? Let me just remind you, who beat her and made her life a living hell." Jason retorted

"Settle dow-" Bruce said until he was cut off.

"I will not calm down because our sister, and might I add, your daughter has left us because of what we did" Jason yelled.

"Did you even noticed how much she tried to go to you, any of you? I died for a year, and I was sent to multiple missions, so I'm not the one at fault here." Jason added.

Jason fears what you'd become, he loves you and could never want to let go of the one person that was supposed to be the best of them. The balance. The truth in their pit of lies, and the light of their impenetrable darkness.

But yet, you've became worse than them.

No.

You've became better than they ever were. You are born brilliant, hot, bad, and really mad. You relish in others sufferings whilst Jason, tries to prevent them. You're the cause of everything they have tried to stop.

And that's what Jason truly feared in you. You had followed the five stages of grief:

denial

anger

bargaining

depression

acceptance

Well what's the harm of adding one more? Revenge...

A/N: Cruella warning lol, I'm a bit busy so I didn't really updated, but I hope you like this.

Taglist

@lunayaps, @not-aya, @iluvcatzz, @vanessa-boo, @ivyrose9194,@thesehandsarerated-e, @eyeless-kun, @errorunfound1, @gwyneveire, @alishii, @cxcillia

#yandere batfam x reader #yandere batfam #yandere bruce wayne #yandere damian wayne #yandere richard grayson #yandere jason todd #yandere barbara gordon #yandere tim wayne #gifs #assassin reader #psycho reader

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arcadia-of-pluto · 2 days ago

Text

"Ghost of You" .1. || Caleb

Paring; LADS Caleb x reader

Word count; 4,561

Themes; angst (depression, anxiety, slight PTSD, nightmares, suicide ideation "it should've been me")

Warnings; cursing! That's all I got tbh

Notes; Hey guys! The more "mature stuff" is in part 2, but I'm warning yall...it's not even really mature 😭 this is just honestly an angst-y, lighthearted one-shot to celebrate the return of Caleb and how i can't wait for the update with him in the game. When he shows up, he's heavily out of character and it's honestly because it wouldn't feel right to have him being a dick to the reader whenever she's like this 😞

Also, this is lightly edited, but I probably won't be italicizing anything—

☆ Part 2 ☆

Sleep has evaded you for almost a year now. Every time you close your eyes, you’re brought back to that same place, that same time. Moments before the accident. You lose all sense of control, you’re helpless to your dreams as your body forces you to sleep from exhaustion…

You’re brought back to that time. That fateful moment eleven months ago. The day your life changed for the worst.

Your childhood home in the Bloomshore District looks exactly as you remembered. The metal gutters just barely hanging off, the chipped paint near the front window, the pristine black door that you and Caleb had to repaint constantly…

Your feet led you to the front door, following behind a familiar person - someone who you longed to see once more. Not wanting this to be your last memory of him.

“We’ve been outside for too long, Gran’s going to be worried.”

You feel a sharp pain in your chest at the sound of his voice. But you let out a small laugh and wave your hand, stilling your steps just a few inches away from the front door. “You’re doing it again. Just go inside by yourself. I’m not your sidekick.”

“Fine, but hide the blood on your sleeve before heading inside, okay?” Caleb says as he makes it to the front door, but he pauses to turn back and look at you as he opens the door, “Since you’re a grown-up now, I won’t cover up for you this time.” Then, he steps inside and the door shuts behind him. Once you hear the click of the door closing, you lift your arm up to examine the blood on your sleeve and let out a small sigh.

…No…

Not again…

Your vision is filled with a bright yellow and orange light, your skin feels faintly hot as you’re suddenly overwhelmed with a loud noise and your body flying a few feet back. The sound was so loud like an…explosion? You felt something warm dripping down your neck as you heard a faint ringing.

Through your blurry vision, you could make out flames licking up the debris in front of you and the thick haze of grey smoke. You could just barely hear fire crackling, the scent of something burning, the fumes causing your eyes to water. Your soot covered hands in front of you, finger tips visibly trembling.

Were you on the pavement?

How far did the blast take you?

You felt something warm and viscous dripping from your forehead, wincing as the vision in your right eye turned red from it. You shakily brought your hand up to your face.

Blood?

You let out a grunt as you try to push yourself up with your weakening arms as you were running on pure adrenaline. You force your pounding head to look around, your neck aching. Eyes widening in shock at the rubble and fire in front of you. The scorching flames radiated an intense warmth on your skin, so close and yet so far away. Noises of shock and pain slip from your lips at the sight of your childhood home going up in a smoldering blaze and falling apart with every passing second.

You’re unable to feel at the moment, trapped in this moment. In this nightmare. Unable to leave it as a sense of panic builds up in your throat until…You notice something gleaming just within the light of the fire.

Caleb’s…necklace?

Your breath comes out in painful gasps as you drag your body with your arms, sweat dripping down your body as you finally make it to the tiny flame. Without a moment's hesitation, you shove your hand into the fire. A hiss lips from your lips as you yank your hand back with the necklace in tow. A stinging, burning heat spreads throughout your right hand, but you refuse to let go of the metal dog-tag. Instead, squeezing your hand around it as your eyes filled up with tears.

He was wearing this…He was wearing this. How did it —

Your vision grows darker, blurry from your tears and you fight to stay awake, until your head hits the concrete below you...

You wake up in a flurry of bed covers as you fall off the edge of the bed and hit your head against the floor.

You click your tongue with a tsk as you rub your head. The small scar on your forehead throbs in pain at the reminder of what happened. “Fuck…What’s the time?” You grumble, sitting up on your knees to reach for your phone. The light from it momentarily blinding you.

“10 am, huh?” A small scoff slips from your lips. At least you woke up earlier than usual. Maybe you’d be able to get some work done today.

You notice a few messages from your friends, but choose to ignore them. Not really feeling like responding to them right now. You pull yourself off the floor and walk toward your closet with an uneven gait in your step, your leg sustaining a long term injury from the accident — but nothing that hindered your work as a hunter.

You get dressed in your uniform, your gaze lingering on the shiny, discoloured marking on your right palm that was in the shape of a dog-tag for a moment before you put your fingerless gloves on. Your hand reaches up to nervously wrap around the cool, metal necklace around your neck. The silver metal tinted with black from being in the fire.

A sigh slips from your lips as you quickly shake your head.

Stop.

You grab your laces and tightly tie your boots, grabbing an oversized hoodie as you walk out the door of your apartment.

You can faintly hear someone behind you, but you don’t care enough to turn around until you feel a touch on your shoulder and that’s when you finally look at the person. “Oh, Xavier.” You murmur, feeling partially concerned that you couldn’t make out his voice, but he was speaking near your right ear so it makes sense now.

“I asked are you working today?” He questions, concern fills his sky blue eyes and you have to look away from him. “I was thinking about it. I’m not sure now though. I don’t really feel like it.” You murmur, half under your breath, because it really is frustrating to want to do something, but then your mind decides it doesn’t want to.

“Then, how about we go out somewhere?” He asks, his voice taking on a soft tone as if afraid speaking any louder would break you.

“Do you…think we could get everyone else too?” You seem a bit more interested as you ask this, fully turning your body to look at Xavier as your thumb picks at your nails.

Since the incident, you’ve become a lot more drawn in and had a severe dislike for going outside, especially alone, so it might do you some good to be around everyone else, but you were worried that most of your friends would be too busy or you’d come off as a bother to them.

“I think that — I mean, I think Rafayel wouldn’t mind. He’s never too busy for you.” Xavier takes out his phone to look, his fingers tapping against the screen for a moment. “Zayne says work is pretty slow right now, so he can as well. Oh, Tara too. She’s free.” He glances back at you with a small smile, “But you’ll have to ask Sylus since I don’t have his number.”

“Obviously you wouldn’t have my number. But maybe for times like this, I should hand it over.” You hear a deep voice coming from behind you and turn to the left to see who it is.

“Sylus?” You question, brows furrowing as you wondered why he was just wandering through your apartment building.

“I own this building, sweetie. It would be a little odd if I wasn’t checking up on it every now and again.” He chuckles, tapping his finger underneath his right eye. “Rough night? Your eyebags look like they’ve doubled in size since the last time I saw you.”

You bring a hand up to your face, avoiding his gaze. “It’s the same as always, nothing to worry about.” You clear your throat and turn toward Xavier, “We meeting at Meow’s Cafe?”

“Zayne says he found a good cafe nearby. It’s relatively new, but he’s tried it a few times.” The ash blonde smiles down at you before gently touching your elbow. “Come on, it shouldn’t take that long to walk there.” Sylus raises a brow at this interaction and brushes Xavier’s hand away from you. “How about you walk in-between us, sweetie? If my hand touched light boy’s over there, I fear I might have to cut it off.”

“His hand or yours?” You ask, turning your head to look at Sylus, but all he does is chuckle with a small shrug.

The air outside was relatively warm, but there was still a bite of chill in the breeze. Your cheeks feel warm as the wind whipped against them. You shove your hands in your jacket pockets as your eyes jump from person to person walking past, walking across the road. The people in their cars, the people standing near the large store windows. You catch the faintest glimpse of a tall man with brown hair before your eyes are covered with a hand.

“You’re okay, Y/n. Everyone around is just on their way to work or to hang out with friends like you are.” You can hear Xavier say softly as he falls behind in walking to speak more on your left side.

“I know that.” You grab his hand, yanking it away from your eyes as you search for the familiar figure you just saw. Your brows furrow and a small sigh slips from your lips as you realize you lost them.

Again.

“We’re here.” Sylus holds an arm out in front of you to keep you from mindlessly walking and you look up at the name.

‘Sugar Spoon’.

Hmm…Doesn’t really seem like somewhere Zayne would go, but all right.

As you step inside, you’re greeted with the scent of freshly baked goods and coffee beans. You gaze skirts around the room in an almost paranoia manner until your eyes finally land on your three friends sitting in the corner. A sigh of relief slips from your lips, and you’re honestly not even sure why. You’re just glad they all decided to show up. You feel a slight touch to your back as Sylus guides you to the table with Xavier following in tow.

“Y/n, how are you feeling today? You look worse than before.” Zayne is the first to say anything and you groan, running a hand through your hair, “Geez, thanks, Zayne. You sure know how to make a woman feel beautiful.”

“That’s not what I — ”

“You look better than usual today, angel!” Tara cuts Zayne off as she gently grabs your hand and guides you to sit next to her, your back to the walls so you can keep an eye on your surroundings. “Don’t steal my thunder,” you can faintly hear Rafayel grumble under his breath before he slides a napkin toward you. A sketch of a fish jumping out of its bowl greets you once you look down at it.

“Should I pass this down as a priceless family heirloom?” You pick up the flimsy paper as you gently fold it up, so it can go in your pocket.

“You can sell it for millions at an auction in the future.” Rafayel states, almost proudly as he puffs his chest out, “I can guarantee it.”

A smile tugs at your lips and you can finally allow yourself to relax in your seat. Maybe today would be one of those good days you heard so much about. Almost every single day since then was awful, it was such a drag to do anything, but today feels a bit more positive.

An hour passes and you’re still doing pretty good, all things considered.

Zayne ordered you something sweet, having remembered that they can cheer you up, and thankfully it works. Tara makes sure you get your caffeine for the day. Rafayel keeps passing you drawings that he keeps making comically worse and worse. Sylus keeps you engaged by teasing you every so often, and Xavier keeps you looking forward to the future by making promises — specifically with a pinky swear, because you can never bring yourself to break promises.

But then, the group starts slowly breaking up.

Zayne has to leave, because a few emergency surgeries came up, but he makes a promise to take you out to eat later on today. Then, Sylus has to leave because he has an arms meeting in the N109 Zone — of course, he gives a different excuse to the others, but tells you the truth. He offers to let you drive his motorcycle the next time he stops by. Rafayel leaves next and he’s the most dramatic about it.

Complaining that his precious time with you is being cut short and makes you promise to come to his studio tomorrow so he can give you more drawings, to which you agree with a laugh since he’s bordering on crocodile tears. It’s down to you, Tara, and Xavier, but soon Xavier leaves as well as Metaflux fluctuation causes all three of your watches to chime.

Xavier places a hand on your shoulder and shakes his head. “I can take care of it myself. Relax, even if it’s just for today.” He ruffles your hair with a smile as he leaves.

“Tara — “

“I’m not leaving any time soon, even if Jenna calls. I refuse to leave!” She crosses her arms over her chest as her lengthy bob sways.

“Thank you,” You say softly, before your head jerks toward movement outside the large cafe window. Your bitten nails dig into the leather of your gloves as your eyes widen.

The facial structure, the brown hair, those purple-pink hued eyes…

You quickly stand up, the wooden chair scratching against the ground before Tara grabs your arm. “Y/n, hey, breathe!”

“Caleb…?” You murmur under your breath, trying to tug your arm away from your friend - wanting nothing more than to be able to run outside after the person you just saw.

He was right there. You saw him.

You turn toward Tara and stumble over your words, “You…You saw him too, right?” Your eyes were full of uncertainty and fear, worried that this was just another one of your delusions. You’ve seen him so many times while out with all of your friends, but every single time…They didn’t see him.

“I…” Tara sighs, letting go of your arm to pat your hand, “Sit back down and tell me what you saw.”

Tara was always the first person to hear you out in these situations.

“Walking past the window…I…” You sit back down, running a hand through your hair as Tara takes your hand in her own, gently rubbing her thumb across your knuckles. “I did see someone walk past the window. I can’t say for sure I saw him, but…The amount of times you say you’ve seen him, I think there’s a chance.” She nods her head and you can see in her eyes that she believes what she’s saying, “Genuinely. There’s a chance, right? You signed the certificate, but you only saw one body bag.”

Your brows twitch at the mention of the bag, but you thickly swallow and nod your head, “You’re right…” You take a deep breath and Tara taps between your brows with a finger, “Why don’t you tell me more about him, hmm? Like, for example, the necklace you’re wearing.” She’s picked up on how talking about Caleb is one of the easiest ways to calm you down.

“You’ve heard it before, though. Are you…fine with hearing it again?” You tentatively ask, knowing you’re excited to talk about it.

“Of course. You know my memory isn’t too great, so you can always repeat your stories and I won’t mind!” Tara squeezes your hand and that finally allows you to lose yourself in your past once more.

…You recall how upset and worried you were at the time. You looked down at the rolling suitcases at your feet and squeezed your hand around the handles of one of them, almost as if you could stop Caleb from leaving if you wouldn’t let go of his bags.

“Why the long face, pipsqueak? I’m just going to Aerospace Academy, shouldn’t you be happy?” At the sound of his voice, you looked up at your childhood friend with a pout on your lips, “But it’s aaalll the way in Skyhaven. What if I suddenly…I dunno…Crave your braised chicken wings?”

Grandma laughed next to you, coughing into her fist as she sat on the bench, waiting for Caleb’s bus with you both. “Don’t be too sad. He’ll be back for the holidays and when he is, I’ll make him cook for you every day.” She smiled up at you, gently prying your hand off of Caleb’s suitcase and tapped her hand against the box in your pocket.

A soft blush crept up your cheeks, anxiety building in your chest as you lightly swatted her hand away and brought a finger up to your lips.

“That means I should get a reward for being your free personal chef, right? What is it, hmm? Didja get me a send off gift?” He took his hands out of his pocket and tilted his head to the side, a small chuckle slipped from his lips as you scoffed and shook your head, “Who says I got you one, huh? Me being here should be enough for your send-off gift.”

“Did you think I hadn’t noticed you being all sneaky these past few days. I know what you’ve been doin’.” Caleb lifted his hand up in the air, using his evol to swipe the navy blue box from your jacket pocket. “Caleb, that’s cheating!” You grabbed hold of the box, but he shifted his hand up and it opened. “You can’t just use your evol to take it!” You whined as the jewelry hovered underneath his palm and you tried to quickly reach forward to take it back, but he lifted his hand up higher.

“I knew it would be in a style you really like. Won’t you put it on for me?” He held the necklace out toward you in his palm and you scoffed, “No way. Don’t you have hands?”

“Nooo, I don’t. Hurry, the train is about to leave.” He suddenly leaned closer to you and bent his knees so you could reach his neck. You breath hitched in your chest at the close proximity and you grumbled under your breath, “Hmph…Fine, but if I see it’s not with you next time, you’ll be sorry.” You took the dog-tag necklace from him and turned your head to the side as you clipped it around his neck.

“Perfect. Thank you, pipsqueak.” Caleb chuckled, ruffling your hair to mess it up and laughing at you groaned, trying to hit him in retaliation. “See you soon, Y/n.” He grabbed his bags, dragging them behind him as he waved, before boarding the bus…

“Y/n,” Tara questions as she waves a hand in front of your face and you blink a few times, clearing the fog from your brain as you focus on her. “Yeah, sorry…” You wince, rubbing the bridge of your nose. “I know I’ve told you this before, but…Do you think you might’ve liked Caleb? Like more than a — “

The bell on the cafe door chimes as Xavier re-enters the cafe an hour after he left. “Did I miss anything?” He asks as he stands next to the table and you quickly shake your head, “Nah, I was just getting ready to leave.”

“Y/n — “

“Tara, I love you, but…There’s no use thinking like that.” You shoot her a forced smile, feeling your heart pang as you shove down your feelings, because if he’s gone, it doesn’t really matter how you feel. There’s no use thinking about it, because it’ll only hurt more to realize it after he’s already gone. “I’ll see you tomorrow, maybe? If I don’t show up, try to convince Jenna not to fire me.” You lean down to give Tara a hug before you and Xavier head back to the apartments.

The sky already turning a beautiful shade of pinky orange as you entered the building and went up the elevator.

In front of your door, Xavier pauses, hesitating for a moment before he speaks, “Want to have a sleepover?” You raise a brow before a smile ghosts across your lips. It was rather endearing to see just how much he worries about you, and you nod your head, “Of course, do you even have to ask?”

You unlock the door with your thumb and step inside with him. Your orange tabby runs up, rubbing his body against your leg as he lets out a raspy meow.

“Leo…” You let out a sigh as you crouch down to pick him up, hand petting across his soft fur. Leonardo da Meowci must’ve noticed you were starting to feel a bit down…

“He’s already gotten so big,” Xavier comments, scratching the tom cat under his chin. “Isn’t he the one Rafayel took you to get?” “Yeah, he’s the kitty we saw back on Hat Island. I can’t believe someone just abandoned him there,” You murmur, resting your cheek against his fur, “Poor baby must’ve been so scared…”

You set Leo back onto the floor and head into the kitchen. Your stomach growls and you really wanted some braised chicken wings, but…You’d never be able to make them the way you wanted them.

“You want me to try and make something?” Xavier follows behind you like a stray dog, looking excited as he can finally show off what he’s been learning.

“Go ahead, but please, don’t burn down my kitchen.” You pat his shoulder and walk toward the living room. “I’m gonna watch some tv. If I fall asleep, wake me up.” You sit down on your couch, resting your sock-clad feet on the coffee table in front of you as you pick up the tv remote to click the tv on. Your eyes felt a bit heavy after a few minutes, but you fought against sleeping. You really couldn’t deal with another nightmare…

…“We’ve been outside for too long, Gran’s going to be worried.”

You hear his voice for the nth time.

You had to try and change something. Anything. You couldn’t let this dream play out like the previous times.

“Hey, Caleb…” You wrap your arms around your waist, stilling your steps just a few inches away from the door. “Can you use your evol to grab Grandma from outside?” Your heart was pounding in your chest, anxiety scratching at your throat.

“Huh, pipsqueak, what’re you talking about?” Caleb turns toward you with a raised brow as he opens the front door. He goes to enter and you quickly grab his arm. “Please, try? I’ll even resonate with you.”

Even though you know nothing with change no matter how hard you try, you want to, at least, have a happy dream tonight. No more nightmares.

“I…Alright, I guess I can try. Don’t get mad if it doesn’t work though.” He reaches a hand inside and you can hear Grandma let out a noise of surprise, before her laughter as Caleb brings her to the door. “Oh, my dear, what’re you doing outside? Come on, I reheated dinner.”

You pause for a moment, taking in the wrinkles on her face, how her eyes turn into crescent moons when she smiles…You haven’t seen her in your dreams in so long.

Should you just…go inside? Allow yourself to die in this dream, so you can at least be with them one last time…

No.

Avoiding their death completely is what you want to do.

You take a deep breath and grab onto Caleb’s hand, focusing on one thing. Forcing a resonance.

“Woah, pipsqueak, what’re you doing?” He turns toward you, worry evident in his pinky purple eyes as he tries to tug his hand away, when finally it clicks. A faint blue glow appears from your hands and you use this opportunity to force the two of them further outside. Using Caleb’s evol as if it were your own — that’s essentially what resonance really is. You power up their evols, but you can also use their evol as well.

“Y/n?”

At the sound of your name, you meet Caleb’s fearful gaze and you lift your hand up. The two of them are pushed further away, far enough to where the blast won’t hurt them…and you take a step back into your childhood home. A content smile spreads across your lips as you keep your eyes on Caleb and Grandma as you close the door.

You take a deep breath at the sound of it clicking closed and you lift your arm up to examine the blood on your sleeve. You close your eyes. A flickering, dancing pattern of bright orange and yellow can be seen behind your closed eyes. The following explosion takes you off your feet and you can feel the pain spread throughout your body along with the searing heat of the flames licking at your skin.

You can vaguely hear Caleb yelling your name and the tearful shout of your name coming from Grandma.

Through ringing ears, you can hear the home falling apart, wooden planks falling to the floor, rubble tumbling about, the fire crackling against your skin. You felt something warm dripping down your forehead, something wet dripping all across your body. Your left arm was trapped under debris.

Was this how Caleb and Grandma felt at the time? If so, you’d gladly take the pain for them.

Even though this was just a dream.

You often wondered if it would’ve been better if it were just you who died, and not them. You haven’t done anything worthwhile since the accident. You’ve occasionally worked yourself to the bone, you made a risky move getting into the N109 Zone because you wanted to fail. You wanted to die, but somehow everything went perfectly. It was like something out there didn’t want you to die, but — it genuinely felt like whatever it was wanted you to suffer.

With blurry, blood tinged vision, you can see rubble and debris being cleared away with a faint blue light, until the sunlight shines into your eyes. You squint, a pained grunt slipping through your lips as you tasted something metallic on your tongue. Then, you notice a blurred figure.

You can’t hear what they’re saying over the ringing in your ears, but you can finally make out that it’s Caleb and you can’t help, but smile up at him. He’s got a terrified look in his eyes as he flings debris around with his evol until he can finally lift you up in his arms.

Ah…So if Caleb was the one outside, he would’ve saved you and Grandma…Well, isn’t that just a low blow? You really were useless until the end…

#love and deepspace #lads #love and deepspace x reader #lads x reader #lnds #l&ds #lads caleb #love and deepspace caleb x reader #love and deepspace caleb #lnds caleb x reader #lnds caleb #lads caleb x reader

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atleastpleasetelephone · 2 days ago

Text

Gentle On My Mind - Chapter 10

Initially set in 1967 when Elvis is filming Clambake. Feeling miserable and trapped after the Colonel banishes Larry and the spiritual texts, Elvis invites Gloria to keep him company through the last five days of filming. Gloria is an aspiring movie editor and more importantly she's a lot of fun. Will she be what Elvis needs to get him out of the depressive funk he's in?

Catch up with the other parts here.

Many thanks to @sissylittlefeather being my beta reader on this one.

A/N: My regular warning that there are still some dark themes here, please do check the triggers.

Pairing: Elvis x OC - Gloria, a budding film editor.

Word count: 3.2K

TWs: Reference to sexual assault (not Elvis-related), trauma, crying, smut, size kink.

Gloria spends a dizzying couple of days in Elvis’ suite and downstairs watching him perform. That Sunday night he tells her that he hates the fact he hasn’t been able to send her birthday gifts, but he has been buying them anyway and he presents her with an armful of dresses and shoes and jewellery. When she tells him she can’t possibly take that home and have Roger see any of it he promises to keep it in Graceland for her, stroking her cheek and telling her that it’ll be waiting for when she’s ready to live with him. She doesn’t know how to tell him she doesn’t think that will ever happen, so she stays quiet.

He asks if she wants to come to the midnight show, after one show in the afternoon and the usual dinner one. She shakes her head wearily.

“I’m so tired, baby. I really want to see you again, I just need to rest for a bit. I can’t get on your schedule…”

He nods a little sadly but he lets her go to bed. If she sleeps now she might stay awake after the show for the afterparty. He follows her into the bedroom and watches as she gets changed awkwardly, trying not to show him her body.

She flops onto the bed and looks up at him, stretching like a cat. “Have a good show baby.”

“Thanks Glory, I will, I hope.” He sits down on the side of the bed and she curls herself around him, making him smile.

“You know how usually you have people in here, afterwards…” she starts, slightly unsure.

He nods silently.

“You think… maybe tonight it could be just us?”

He feels himself about to say that he likes to have plenty of people around him for company and to help him wind down after the shows… and then he realises this might be the first time she’s ever asked him for anything.

“Sure, princess. Anything for you.”

***

Gloria manages about an hour’s sleep and then starts drinking espresso martinis that she orders from room service in an attempt to keep herself awake and simultaneously get herself a little drunk. She checks her finger and toenails for chips and then curls her hair, applying makeup carefully afterwards. Spraying a little perfume, she steps out of her nightclothes. She’s set the jacuzzi going and it’s warm and bubbly. Checking the time, she takes a deep breath and then gets in. He should be back from the concert in the next few minutes, if the other nights are anything to go by. She’s hoping and praying he hasn’t suddenly decided to bring one of the guys back with him.

***

Elvis and Jerry are on their way back to the suite together when Elvis remembers what Gloria said and thinks maybe her request included the guys too. His bitches, she always used to call them. He chuckles to himself.

“Hey, Jer, I think ya should probably make yourself scarce for a few hours.”

Jerry shrugs. “Sure. You got plans?”

Elvis smirks. “Glory does.”

Jerry finds himself blushing a little, thinking of Gloria getting herself all dolled up for Elvis after his show. He tries to pull himself together.

“Have a good time!” He slaps the other man on the back and then turns and walks back down the corridor as quickly as he can.

Elvis looks after him, feeling mildly confused. Shaking his head a little to clear it, he carries on towards the suite. They still hadn’t had sex this weekend, the combination of her shyness about her body and their inability to be awake at the same time didn’t help. But maybe tonight…

He pushes the door open and calls her name.

“In here, big boy,” she calls back.

Frowning a little, he wanders through the suite, listening to the sound of her voice as she keeps calling out to him. Finally working out that she’s in the huge bathroom, and then looking in to see her stretched out in the bubbly jacuzzi, a glass of wine in hand.

He blinks. “Oh my…” His eyes drink her in, her hair piled up on the top of her head in a mountain of curls, red lipstick and smokey eyes, and obviously nothing on. Thank God he’d told Jerry to get lost.

Gloria grins. “C’mon. Get in.”

Elvis doesn’t need telling twice, shedding his clothes quickly and getting in at the other side of the bath.

“Well I wasn’t expecting this,” he breathes, accepting the glass of wine she’s offering him.

“I wanted it to be a surprise. I’m sorry we’ve not… it’s not like me.”

None of it had been like the girl he first met, he reflects. But that was five years ago now, and he’s certainly changed too. He smiles.

“Well it’s a wonderful surprise,” he tells her, his hand reaching to stroke her thigh. “Don’t get much use out of this thing usually.”

“No?” She teases. “I’d have thought you’d have it full of glamorous women all the time.”

He stares at her for a moment, and then remembers that she did used to be like this. Unbothered by whoever else he might have in his bed when she wasn’t there.

“Only one at a time, usually. I’m not as young as I used to be…” he jokes.

She grins. “Okay, so you know what you're doing then. What's your usual next move?”

“If I've already got to the naked in a hot tub stage?” He asks. “Well, I guess I'd probably take this glass from you and kiss you properly.”

He moves across the tub, taking the wine glass from her hand and setting it on the side. His hand cups her cheek as he starts to kiss her, his body half-floating and half-pressed against hers. Her hands move to the back of his neck, fingers pushing into his hair as the kiss deepens and she thinks about how much she’s missed this. Being touched by someone who wants her. She slides a hand between them and wraps it around his dick, stroking it slowly up and down as they continue to kiss. She can feel herself getting excited but at the same time her stomach is doing flips thinking about what might come next. The last time her and Roger had sex it was quick and unpleasant. She’d just closed her eyes and gritted her teeth and waited for it to be over. The last time she’d actually had a good time with someone else had been Elvis, after the show in Frisco last year. Somehow she’d managed to be carefree then, once she’d got the fainting and the crying over and done with. But now in the hot tub she can feel herself getting tense as his hand slips between her legs and starts to play with her, and her mind is going at a million miles an hour thinking of what she’ll do next and what he might do next and what could go wrong. She’s never over-thought in her life. What the fuck is happening?

“C-can we stop?” She finds herself asking, pulling away from him and the kiss.

Elvis is a little shocked, and Elvis is also more than a little turned on. So he says something he shouldn’t.

“Oh baby, come on. It’s been such a long time.”

Gloria feels herself freeze as the words echo around her head. The same words Roger used, that night when he… well. She feels Elvis’ hands on her, the hands of another man she’s frustrating, another man who wants something she’s not willing to give. And suddenly she’s gone from fright to flight and she’s scrambling out of the hot tub, knocking over the wine glass and hearing it smash on the side as she runs from the room, desperately trying to get to the bedroom where her clothes are. She can hear footsteps behind her and his voice calling out her name and it just makes her run faster, desperate to escape. She barrels into the door and almost knocks herself out when she finds it closed. Standing there, swaying, she feels arms around her waist and hears a gentle voice in her ear.

“Glory… Glory, it’s me… shh… it’s okay.”

Her body relaxes when she hears his voice, his tone, his pet name for her. She flops against him and he wraps her in a towel and then picks her up in his arms, carrying her into the bedroom and onto the bed. He pulls on a robe himself and then sits down next to her, concern etched onto his face.

“Baby I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to…” he scratches his head. He’s not sure what he didn’t mean to do, exactly. “Are ya okay?”

She stares back at him. She is not okay. “No… I… I don’t know.” She takes a deep, shuddering breath. “Sorry. This was meant to be a fun time in the hot tub and I freaked out.”

He reaches over and strokes her cheek gently. “Can I get ya anything? Anything that would make ya feel better?”

She sighs. “I knocked over the wine glass.” Looking forlornly across the room.

“I’ll get ya some more. Hold on.”

She watches him walk away and feels her stomach knot. She wants him so much but he’d reminded her of Roger in that one moment and it had really, really scared her. He comes back with the wine and doesn’t ask any more questions, just sits with his arm around her, kissing her temple and telling her how pretty she is. Eventually they talk a little about his show and what he plans to do tomorrow, and then she gathers her courage and puts her glass down on the bedside table.

“Can we go back to what we were doing?” She asks, her hand on his arm. “But… take it slow?”

He nods. “Of course.” His hand gently pushes her towel open and his thumb caresses one of her nipples. “Is this okay?”

She nods and presses her lips against his, her hand reaching to undo his robe. She starts to gently stroke him again, and he moans into her mouth, pulling back to look at her.

“I’ve missed the way you do this.”

She can feel herself welling up when he says that, and she has to take a couple of deep breaths to stop herself from crying.

“Can I touch you too?” He asks, softly, his hand slowly moving over her belly.

“Yes please.”

She lets out a shaky breath as he runs his finger up her pussy and then around her clit.

“Does it feel good?”

“Yes.”

He’s being so gentle and careful with her she finds herself starting to relax, just feeling the sensations in her body rather than wondering what will come next. His fingers slip around and inside her with ease as she gets wetter, and he starts to want more. He slides his leg between hers and takes hold of his dick, gently displacing her hand. Running the tip against her pussy, he hears her gasp, and then rearranges slightly so that he can rub against her without his hand being involved.

“Is this okay?”

His eyes search hers for any sign of fear but she just stares back at him with full-blown lust.

“Yeah… fuck… it’s better than okay…”

She moans as he kisses her neck, one hand holding her leg to give him access to rub his dick against her pussy again and again.

“Can I…?” He asks, a few minutes later when he’s not sure how much more of this delicious torture he can take.

She nods.

He presses his forehead against hers, stopping his movements for a moment. “Tell me if you want me to stop and I’ll stop.”

She nods again, then manages a whispered “I’ll tell you.”

He shifts again and starts to push inside her, pulling her leg up and over his hip as he very slowly fucks her with the tip. She whimpers. She’d forgotten just how big he was, and even this is stretching her uncomfortably. Her mind keeps slipping back to that night with Roger, when she told him no and he forced himself on her anyway.

“Elvis I… I can’t…”

He pulls back and takes a deep breath. Fuck.

“You can’t?” He tries to keep his voice calm and level, but it’s difficult. It’s difficult not being allowed to have what he wants so badly.

“I want to,” she whispers. “I just… since the baby…”

Elvis tries his level best to think, rather than just act, for a change. Lately with everything that had been going on in his life, he’d struggled to do anything other than react. Which tended to involve a lot of yelling, throwing things, getting angry quickly and then apologising. But he can’t do any of that to his Glory, no matter how frustrated he might be in this moment. She seems delicate right now, for reasons he can’t understand, so he tries to treat her like an expensive china vase.

“How about I make ya feel good, hm? And then if you want, we could try again? Ya might be a little more… relaxed.”

It’s something he’s done before with her and with other girls. They did sometimes get put off by the sheer size of him and clam up, although he’s not sure why that would happen to Glory now.

Gloria kisses him gently on the lips and then nods. “Okay. Let’s try that.”

He gently rolls her onto her back and then settles himself between her legs. He doesn’t want to rush this, to make her think he’s just trying to get to his own pleasure. Anyway, this is his own pleasure. He loves going down on girls, sometimes a lot more than he enjoys sex. There’s always an element of danger when it comes to sex with a random girl, and although he’s adept at pulling out at the right moment, he never feels like he can really let go and enjoy himself. He can enjoy himself here though, he thinks, as he buries his face in Gloria’s pussy and listens to her moans. He can get right into the moment, whatever that moment might be. Tease and denial, romance, tongue-fucking. He’s even been known to lick an ass or two, recently, if the fancy takes him. And right now it’s a great excuse to watch her letting go too, losing her inhibitions and grabbing his head as her pussy pulses around his tongue. He kisses and licks and sucks until his name is echoing around the room, her hips are bucking up into his face and he starts to worry about clumps of his hair being pulled out.

“Fuck. Elvis. Oh God.”

He grabs the towel that’s still on the bed and wipes his face with it before pressing kisses to her neck again, pulling her leg over the top of his and holding her body close. His dick is throbbing with need, but he just keeps kissing and holding her as she comes down from her orgasm.

“Let me do it,” she says quietly, after a while.

“Huh?” He feels like she’s saying yes but he wants her so badly at this point he’s starting to wonder if he’s making things up.

“Here.”

She moves her leg so it’s thrown high over his hip, then reaches between her legs for his dick, slowly easing it into her pussy. It’s definitely not as difficult as earlier, but she’s still tight and he’s still big. She rearranges again, one hand guiding his dick as the other grips his ass, encouraging a slow rhythm, each thrust pushing him inside just a little further. She groans when she feels him finally fill her completely, her hands going to his back and the back of his head.

He waits, with all the patience he can possibly muster, for her to tell him that it’s okay to move. She’s so tight around him he’s not sure how long he can last, even in this slightly weird position. He doesn’t know why, but he knows this is the only way she’d want to do it, lying facing one another, wrapped up in each other’s limbs.

She looks at him and nods, only a tiny little movement, but he knows what it means, and starts to slowly thrust in and out of her, watching her and feeling her.

“Oh Glory,” he murmurs, one hand on the back of her head, the other on her ass. His hot breath on her ear. “My girl.”

She whimpers softly at the words. She hasn’t heard him call her that for a long time.

“You feel so good, big boy.”

He moans. “Fuck. So do you.”

He rolls his hips into her again and again, slow, gentle movements, deliberate lovemaking. It feels so good, but even though he thought she was so tight he might just come immediately, he needs more.

“Baby, this feels so good but I really need to come…”

She nods and lets him pull her on top of him as he rolls onto his back, his hands moving to her ass to help her move faster on his dick, curses and moans falling from his lips as he gets closer. He puts his feet up on the bed so he has something to push against as he starts to fuck her from underneath, harder and faster until he finally feels himself start to come undone, grunting and moaning and holding her hips whilst he empties himself inside her.

“Shit. Fuck.”

She falls forwards, her head on his chest, panting as he wraps his arms around her. He’s lying there, completely blissed out, when he suddenly thinks of something.

“Fuck. Should I have pulled out?”

She shifts to look at him, shaking her head. “No. I’m on the pill.”

He frowns a little. “Thought he didn’t want to sleep with you? What d’you need to be on the pill for?”

Gloria sighs. “He doesn’t want to sleep with me. I don’t want to talk about Roger right now, Elvis. I want to lie here with you.”

Again, Elvis holds back. He thinks there’s something wrong here, she’s lying about something, but he can’t work out what it is. But this is their last night together, and judging by the other two nights, she’ll be asleep soon. He has to make the most of the time they have.

They talk a little more, him trying to persuade her to divorce Roger and move to Graceland with him, and her explaining again that it’s not all that simple.

“I have to find a job, my kids won’t just feed themselves.”

“What about your daddy? Surely he’d help you out?”

“My dad thinks he’s handed me off to Roger now. He’s not going to help me. This is all my problem.”

“Well if he won’t then I will.”

“No, Elvis. I can’t take your money. I’ll be fine, it just might take a while.”

“And then you’ll come and live with me?”

She rubs his chest, leaning her head against and not meeting his eyes whilst she lies to him.

“Yeah. Sure. Then we’ll come and live with you.”

***

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