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rinhaler · 3 months

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In The World My Demons Cultivate

“Why do you miss me?” he breathes again, your voice hitches at the thought of explaining yourself so intimately. So desperately. You won’t be able to stop him from judging you or mocking you for being so weak, and still, you do as he asks.

✧˖*°࿐: 18+ only, no minors. ✧. ┊ ghost!toji fushiguro x f!reader

Genre: angst Notes: cried so much writing this oof Warnings: 18+, fem!reader, no smut, dead character (obviously), mental heatlh struggles, suicide ideation, grief/loss, drug abuse, pet names. Words: 3k

Does it ever stop?

“No, not really,” he answers.

You look up, seeing a familiar face, a familiar scar. One that you haven’t seen for a long, long time. It makes you laugh. You’re giggling like a little girl as you look at him. And he’s looking at you, too. A missing memory that you’ve blotted out every single day for as long as you can remember.

How old were you?

How old are you?

It doesn’t matter, you suppose. In the grand scheme of things nothing really matters to you or anyone else. You don’t matter and no one else does, either. You’re just another set of lungs tarring them with filth at the end of the day.

You quit, you did.

You really tried to quit.

But it’s the only thing that makes you stop thinking about your miserable fucking life for a few hours until you pass out and have to live it all over again. Everyday is the same. How do people live like this every single day until they die?

How do people pretend they aren’t suffering when they are?

They are.

You are.

“Can you read my mind, Toji?” you laugh.

He nods. And he notes how your eyes instantly flutter closed when he places a hand on your bare shoulder. It’s been too long since you’ve been touched.

Held.

Loved.

He knows you better than you know yourself. He’s always been like that. You’ve never been able to keep a secret because he’ll get it out of you one way or another. You’ll crack under the pressure of a stare so intense it could turn mere rock to diamonds, the power of glorious green eyes over your fragile mind.

That or you’ll tell him of your own volition.

Does he really possess the power to read your mind? Is that why you love him, so unequivocally? Through all of your faults, he’s here. Through all of his, you love him, still.

You smile.

“I wish I was dead.” you grin, but his face is stoic.

“You said that out loud.” he hisses. You mewl, and it’s gentle, as he runs his fingers through messy, unwashed hair. You’re like a cat, eyes closed and purring for him as you rest your head on his thigh. “Don’t joke about dyin’, sweetheart.”

You didn’t think he’d come, no matter how hard you wished for it. You hadn’t thought he’d show up just for you. And yet, here he is, with his back pressed against your headboard and a deep rumble in his lungs with every heavy intake of exhausted breath.

Like it’s hard.

Hard to breathe or hard to be with you, you don’t know. You don’t want to know, either. He’s here, that’s all that matters now. Things feel good again, normal.

“When did you get here?” you wonder, your voice is barely above a whisper as you speak. Eyes still closed so delicately; he can see the way your eyes are trying to explore your bedroom despite them being shut. He likes that about you, that your mind can never switch off.

But he hates it, too.

He’s not alone in that.

“I’ve been here the whole time, baby.”

Did you forget? Have you misremembered because you’re so fucking stoned? It’s possible, but unlikely. And still, you don’t question it. The warmth of his hand on the crown of your head, the pudgy but sturdy flesh of his thighs beneath your cheek are enough.

You don’t need answers, not now.

The blue light from your laptop flickers and blinds you as the same trailer that Netflix has been repeating for hours now continues to loop and loop. It should be driving you mad, but it isn’t. It’s inaudible to you, especially now.

A heartbeat fills your ears and ricochets between the four walls of your bedroom. The vociferous beating might deafen you if you don’t clear your mind of it, if you don’t speak you might succumb to the burden of it.

“I’ve missed you.” you whimper.

His hand freezes, tongue drying in his mouth before turning into sand he’ll surely choke on. He swallows, and it’s loud. A cartoonish gulp as he hears the sorrow in your words, a meek cry for help that you wouldn’t dare admit to. You couldn’t do that to him, not really, not right now.

“I know.” he sighs.

“I’m so…” you start, your voice fading away as you contemplate keeping your words to yourself. He isn’t the type to care, is he? He hasn’t missed you, anyway. Or at least he didn’t say it, which, to you, surmounts to the same conclusion.

You aren’t missed, not by him.

Neither of you speak, but his fingers resume soothing your scalp. He won’t say he’s missed you. He won’t tell you anything you want to hear; he isn’t like that.

Could it be that he can’t, rather than won’t? It’s trite, burrowing your head between each word and letter he’s spoken and hasn’t spoken. Searching for some double meaning in the words he chooses instead of just some meaning.

Any meaning.

What does it mean to find purpose or reason at a time like this?

It won’t help and it won’t change things. You’ve long accepted that things don’t change for the better. They change, things certainly change. But not for the better. Or maybe they do, for other people.

Not you.

Never you.

“You’re so loud.” he mutters, prompting you to roll over to face him. He looks down at you, it isn’t patronising. It’s generic, which might be worse. There’s no feeling with him, in him, from him. At least if he was patronising you he’d feel something for you.

He’s felt nothing for so long.

You wonder if he ever felt something for you.

“I didn’t say anything.” you tell him.

He does nothing except poke his index finger into your exposed temple, and for some reason, it urges you to smile for him. It’s been so long since you smiled because you wanted to, not because you were forced out of sheer obligation.

That’s why you don’t mind, or rather, prefer being home with nothing but Netflix trailers playing on continuous loop for hours and hours on end while you get so high you scare yourself stupid until you pass out.

It’s a disgusting habit that you can’t rid yourself of.

It’s your only comfort. Your only solace from how downright devastating and pathetic your wretched life truly is.

Nobody expects anything of you when you’re home alone.

“You think too loud,” he starts, the force of his pointed finger becomes deeper but soon leaves completely. Your skin feels colder, right after. Like losing an extra layer of clothing despite being in a warm enough room, you miss the feeling regardless. “You gotta stop.”

You shake your head, closing your eyes again.

“I can’t help it, there’s too much to think about.” you breathe.

The thought of him disappearing into the night never to be seen again, it horrifies you, and it’s at the forefront of your mind. He’s been gone for so long now, you’re sure. He lied, though you aren’t surprised in the least. He’s always been a liar that still possess the ability to have you hanging on his every word.

If you talk, you’re scared he’ll leave. Though he can hear your thoughts, or so he claims.

Again, he’s a liar. If that were true he would have left by now. If he knew how pathetic and desperate your reeling mind sounded he’d have run off and done exactly what you’re worried about him doing.

“You’re so hurt up here, baby,” he tells you, words hushed and secretive as he strokes his thumb across your forehead like you’re precious. Like you’re brittle enough to turn to dust if he applies too much strain. “Aren’t you?”

A sob leaves your throat, and you want the world to swallow you up right then. Tears begin to pour from watery eyes and soak into the material of his trousers before you even think about answering. You do, though. Because you want to, not because he’s making you. You nod, an uncomfortable beat of sniffling silence goes by before you utter a word.

“I wasn’t j-joking.” you start, “I don’t want to be here.” your voice cracks as you speak, the notion of your words and the burden on them weigh down on you enough to make you dizzy and sickly.

He shushes you, not because he wants you to stop talking, but he wants you to stop working yourself up into a nauseated stupor.

“Why?”

“Because I miss you, Toji.” you sit upright, your temperature feels like it drops below freezing when you part from him fully. He pulls you backwards, into his arms before you’re both lying side by side. His chin rests atop your head while you play with your hair, too choked up to say another word.

He doesn’t say it back, again.

But maybe him holding you like this is his way of saying it.

“I don’t know what you mean.” he tells you. His voice is quiet as he speaks into your hair, but you hear him clear enough. You want to argue, but you can’t. The room spins and it feels like you’re floating. Everything mirrors over what feels like hours. Furniture isn’t where you remember it being and you don’t feel like you’re in the right body anymore.

Is he here with you?

You feel a squeeze.

You don’t know what’s happening, anymore.

Those hours that passed were barely a minute. His face is nuzzled into the juncture between your neck and shoulder, and his breath is mystifying against your skin. Every huff is like ice and you feel the way your skin clusters and rises in uneven bumps as it tries to preserve any remaining warmth lingering through your body.

“You can tell me, without telling me.” he explains, though you don’t really follow. His arms tighten around you again before releasing you slightly, slowly, enough for you to wriggle around in his hold if you choose to. You don’t. You’re completely still, digesting his words. “I’ll hear you, no matter what.”

“I don’t know what to say, Toji… I, I really don’t.”

Not because he told you to, no. You’d do it anyway. You do it every single day when given the opportunity to dwell. All he can do is hold you as buckle under the lofty ideals and pressurizing weight of your spoiled existence.

I miss how I felt with you. I miss how life felt worth living each day because there was so much to do with you. Nothing felt impossible, everything is impossible, now. Even small things that are simple for others, aren’t for me. Things felt new and exciting, I’m too tired of everything now. Food seemed more appetizing with you, everything tastes worse now.

Things are meant to get better, easier. People say that but I feel the same as I always have. It fluctuates, there are ebbs and flows but ultimately I’m always going to be sad. My skin feels worse and my body doesn’t belong to me anymore. I don’t want to be in it, I don’t want to be attached to the skin and bones that are meant to be mine. They aren’t. They were never meant to be mine. I’m wasting the oxygen in my lungs, I’m rotting.

Everyday is the same.

I only rot and wither.

I’m lonely and unsatisfied. Nothing makes me happy because I don’t have you. No lover will compare. No meal will stave away the starving pangs I feel in my stomach. No drink will be cold enough to quench my thirst in the beastly summers and none will be hot enough to warm my bones in the bitter winter.

I’m wholly unsatisfied.

People do great things. Not me. I don’t doubt people would miss me if I died, but I don’t really care. It’s selfish, but I’m tired. I’m exhausted. I miss you, I miss you more than I’d ever be missed. I mourn your life, a life that isn’t mine, more than I will ever mourn my own. Every breath I take feels like a theft. I’m stealing the air and lung capacity of someone greater than myself, someone worthy.

I’m worthless.

I speak sentences no one cares about, not like you do. No one will ever care about me like you do, and you don’t even miss me. I wouldn’t, either, I suppose. Any words I say, poetry I write, canvas I paint, is worthless. I am a burden in people’s eyes, my creations aren’t worth viewing, my point of view isn’t worth seeing, I’m worthless.

I am worthless, Toji.

Do you think I am? Maybe if things were different, maybe if I didn’t miss you so much, I wouldn’t feel like this. I wouldn’t feel burdened by a life lost and squandered that I will never be able to know the way I so desperately crave. It’s my fault, I know. I love you and I want you back but I’ve lost you forever.

What I have now, my miserable little life, is what I will have forever. A true burden, a hinderance, a stain. I can’t do it anymore, I can’t. How am I expected to live a life I’m so depressed by for the sake of others. So I don’t make my family or friends sad. It’s selfish, I’m selfish, I’m finding it hard to care as each day passes.

I’d rather be with you, now.

Things don’t get better, I won’t get better.

I know my thoughts are loud, my thoughts are exhausting and it’s hard to hear or think clearly like this. But if I’m with you, it’ll stop.

I don’t want to miss you anymore.

I don’t want to be lonely anymore.

No one loves me the way I need to be loved; but I don’t know how to ask for it.

You sit bolt upright, breathless before running to the bathroom. You’re panting and your mouth feels warm and icky from the taste of swallowed tears. Though your face still shines under the bathroom light from them. You don’t have a glass, you bend over and drink water directly from the tap as you try and regain your composure.

He’s staring at you from his spot on the bed as you gasp and devour each droplet you can. It coats your tongue and bulges through your throat as you take heartier gulps than you had any business taking.

But soon enough, you’re back in his arms as you try and calm yourself down. You’re always tired, but now, after that, you’re exhausted. You wonder if he really did hear you or if he lied to you. It doesn’t matter you suppose. There’s nothing you can do to make him miss you too. There’s nothing you can do to force him back to you.

He’s gone.

For good.

“Why are you still here?” he asks you. Your eyes open, only a little, wondering if you heard him right. “If you were serious, if you weren’t joking, why?”

“… I’m scared,” you admit. “I wasn’t joking… but I am scared. And I know… I know people love me, I know people care about me. It doesn’t feel like enough, it never has and I don’t think it ever will. But… it’s something.”

“Why are you scared?” he continues.

“I— I don’t think things will get better.” you confess. “But what if… they do?”

You don’t see the way he smiles when he hears you speak. When he hears that resilience in your words. You’re hurting, you’re struggling. And still you’re here. You’re trying, your fighting. You’re hoping.

Things might not get better. But what if they do?

One day you might remember why your favourite foods are your favourite foods again. The TV shows and films you love might feel warm and familiar again. There could be someone, anyone, waiting to find you so you can share these things with them, too.

Things could change.

People might listen to your thoughts and care about them. The words you write might matter to someone. The paintings you create might be worlds people fantasize living in as they hang on their walls.

Someone might love you the way you need to be loved, without you knowing how to ask for that brand of love.

Toji misses you, he mourns you, too. But you understand, now. He doesn’t want to hold you back anymore. He doesn’t want you to keep suffering because of him. Because you miss him.

So, you’ll always miss him, there won’t be a day you won’t think about him.

But if there’s a chance, however small, that things might change, he wants you to take it.

“Goodnight, baby.” he hums. “… Princess? I’m proud. I'm proud of you.”

It warms your body to hear him say it. It’s a little embarrassing, but you can’t bring yourself to care. It’s words, maybe it’s lip service, but you made someone proud. And you sleep peacefully with that knowledge.

Daybreaks through the window, bright and invasive enough to break you from your sleep. You fell asleep above the covers, you aren’t being held anymore. There’s no noise in your apartment, there’s no signs of life besides your own beating heart.

Maybe it was like that the whole time.

#toji x reader #toji x you #jjk x you #jjk x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk x fem!reader #female reader #dead character #tw mental illness #tw suicide ideation #tw grief #tw loss #tw death #tw drug use

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aki-draws-things · 8 months

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Well, does someone want angst?

I swear, it's only an au because I wanted to hurt ronnie...

And because I've fell in love with Chris I can't stop writing him!

@oh-surprise-its-me

"I've been called back to top gun."

That's the first and only thing Jake told his dad. Chris knows better than ask for more knows Jake can't tell him anything else. Besides, if he's been called back, it must be big. His boy is old enough. His boy is strong enough. Chris still is his father, he worries.

"I know you can't tell me more," he told him instead. He pulled Jake closer before he walked toward the plane that would take him to Miramar. He hugged him tight. "Promise you'll be as safe as you can, chickie, okay?"

Jake can only nod tearfully. Chris almost never called him that, it's usually Jake. Jakey. Baby. Never chickie, unless--

"I promise papa. I love you."

"So do I."

Chris slipped not so discreetly something in his pocket. When Jake was sitting on the plane, javy at his side, he pinned the medal to his jacket.

"Any idea why we've been called there?"

Jake shook his head.

"As much as you do, Jav. Uncle is so busy that he even missed dad's birthday."

"You're kidding, I hope. He never--"

"I'm not expecting a text for mine either. Look, Jav, honestly... ever since Papa's--"

"So he just cuts you two off? Seriously?"

Jake doesn't tell him that last time he saw his uncle Ice, at least six months before, he could read him so well, and what he saw was raw pain. Something not even maverick could fix, something Jake only ever saw on his dad.

"The commander is busy..."

Jake said instead, and Javy scoffed. He looked at him, at the medal pinned to his jacket. He gently knocked twice on the medal.

"Admiral kerner, Sir, just in case you can hear me, there's an ass to kick, if you wouldn't mind."

Jake choked a laughter. He knew javy was trying to make him laugh. He also knew he would ask his father that, too. Except if his father was there, javy wouldn't need to ask him.

Seeing Maverick was weird, too. It wasn't like he stopped visiting, he still did it, and he still worked on cars with dad. But he was captain Mitchell there. And he was lieutenant Seresin.

Fuck. He wanted to change his name, he.thpught of that ever since papa and dad got married.

"I wanna take both. Can I?"

He never did, in the end. His name was still Jacob Seresin, and nothing else.

Captain Mitchell gave him a little smile, and Jake smiled back. And that was it. Jake stopped just a moment longer, staring at the pictures in the hall. Just one, long enough to feel himself tear up, and Javy wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

"He's proud of you. I know he is. And--"

He hesitated, waited for a group to pass behind them, shielding Jake from their prying eyes.

"He'll watch over you, like always."

Jake knew his best friend meant well, it didn't help him, though, not as he wanted to.

"Don't want him to watch over me, Jav." He sniffled quietly. "I wanted him there with me and dad."

Javy simply held him tight, so tight that Jake wished to disappear into his arms.

God, he missed him so, so much.

Jake almost got mav. God, he got so close to lock on him that it's almost scary. Mav knows he can't pick Jake. He can't play favoritism. Hell, if it was for him, he would pick none of those kids. He would fly out himself, on his own.

Jake almost got him, he's the one who got the closest, no wonder, he has one confirmed kill, too. The kid is good, and he's always been good.

Jake almost got a lock on Maverick, and all he could think as he initiated evasive maneuvers and got a lock on him was how crazy familiar that was.

Jake almost got Mav, the first time round, and it was so fucking painful. Two and half years had passed and Mav thought it was alright, he thought he was alright. He knew Chris would never be, nor would Jake. And God forbid Tom. But he thought he-- God, how wrong he was.

Mav swallowed as he passed the boys doing push up after losing. He didn't look down at them, his back straight, his eyes set ahead.

"He flies like him."

He doesn't say hi when Tom's face appears in the phone screen. Mav's crying, he can't stop, he can't fucking stop. Ice frowned, he tilted his head to the side.

"Bradley?"

They haven't talked to Bradley in years, he saw the photos, he looks exactly like Goose. Down to the last bit. It's like seeing Goose over and over again, there was no other way Mav could react, after all.

Mav shook his head, a louder sob escaping his lips, he wiped his face.

"Jake."

The sound is almost strained. Choked.

A plead.

"Tom, he flies just like Ron. I can't-- I can't even look him in the eyes without seeing him."

Jake had always looked like Ron. Not physically perhaps, but in the way he talked, and moved, amd, yeah... apparently flying, too.

"Mav--"

"Never thought I'd say it, you know? But I miss him. He should've--"

He shook his head.

"Forget I said it, baby."

He muttered when he saw Tom's eyes get glassy.

"I know, Pete. I miss him too."

For once, he spared him of the blame and guilt he felt every time.

Tom still felt guilty, he will always feel guilty. He sent Ron there, he sent him in the mission that ultimately-- he sent him to his death. It was a suicide mission, one with no ways to come out victorious. Or, well, they were victorious, there was no way to win AND come back too. Ron knew, Ron accepted.

Ron kissed his husband, and their son. He kissed Mav on the top of his head. He kissed Tom a moment longer.

Ron knew the risks. Ron knew there was no other way. He could've refused. He didn't.

Tom had to hand out the folded flag without a single tear on his face. Tom had to say a speech he wrote down, a paper where the ink was smudged by thousand tears and the page was crumpled. Tom-- the commander of the pacific fleet had to take off his wings and punch them.

Chris dared to forgive him.

"I miss his every fucking--" he broke.

Tom almost called Mav off when he decided to fly as team leader. He flew to Miramar, burst into the room like a fury, screaming at Maverick before even setting his eyes on him.

"It's suicide. You know it is."

"That's why I can't have the kids do that, don't you think?"

The commander almost called off the mission. Oh, if only he could.

"Tom--"

"I can't lose you. I can't-- I've lost enough already, don't make me lose you too."

"I do the impossible, Mr Iceman. You're not gonna lose me."

Tom prayed. For the second time in his life. He begged them to bring his husband home.

Mav was down.

Tom felt the world spin and shrink around him. Not his husband.

Rooster was down.

Tom felt like he was going to die. Not him too, oh God, not him.

They were back. They were airborne again. A miracle, Cyclone muttered.

Tom knew that miracle really well, and it had golden wings, large enough to shield them.

He promised. He promised, amd they were his pilots. Heavens, he could swear he almost saw a golden shine.

Jake flew like him. Tom realized the.moment he took off and killed the enemy aircraft, emerging from the smoke. It was I'm the mathematical precision he took the shot. It was in the way he inclined his jet to return on the carrier.

But it wasn't everything.

Jake looked like him.

He took his helmet off and hopped down of the jet with a little jump, he rushed to Mav and Bradley. He didn't stophe picked Bradley up, the man gave a strangled squeak as Jake's arms wrapped around him, he held onto him when he spun him around twice, setting him back on the ground, kissing him like that was the last day on Earth. Or perhaps the first.

Tom could see Ron run up to Chris. He was his son down to the last bit.

Mav wrapped himself on him as Tom took out his phone, he closed his eyes, his nose against Tom's neck, he vagiely heard the soft sound of a call in waiting.

"Tommy?"

Mav looked up.

Jake looked back, his face finally detaching itself from Bradley's.

"Hey, Chris, darling... I'm taking our boys home."

Mav saw Chris break in a tearful smile.

"I never doubted you Tommy. Not one time."

#ron slider kerner #tom iceman kazansky #chris seresin #pete maverick mitchell #jake hangman seresin #bradley rooster bradshaw #javy coyote machado #ron slider kerner x chris seresin #pete mitchell x tom kazansky #jake hangman seresin x bradley rooster Bradshaw #dead character #ron is Jake's dead #it's an au. ronnie baby is alive and well...#i needed him dead for the angst #aki writes

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