#Death's Voicemail | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

felixcosm · 16 days

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i can't break it to you

AO3 Link

Heya, this is Matt! I'm not at home right now or I'm too busy to take your call. Sorry. Buuut leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as I can!

*beep*

*click*

...

Heya, this is Matt! I'm not at home right now or I'm too busy to take your call. Sorry. Buuut leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as I can!

*beep*

"...."

*click*

Heya, this is Matt! I'm not at home right now or I'm too busy to take your call. Sorry. Buuut leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as I can!

*beep*

*click*

Heya, this is Matt! I'm not at home right now or I'm too busy to take your call. Sorry. Buuut leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as I can!

*beep*

"....I-...Matt, I-"

*click*

Heya, this is Matt! I'm not at home right now or I'm too busy to take your call. Sorry. Buuut leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as I can!

*beep*

"Matt, I miss you. I can't- fuck."

*click*

Heya, this is Matt! I'm not at home right now or I'm too busy to take your call. Sorry. Buuut leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as I can!

*beep*

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, okay? I shouldn't keep calling you I shouldn't- fuck. .... ...I- I saw your parents at the grocery store today. ....... They looked awful. I didn't say hi. I think I would've started crying if I tried. I'm sorry, Matt. I should've...done better."

*click*

Heya, this is Matt! I'm not at home right now or I'm too busy to take your call. Sorry. Buuut leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as I can!

*beep*

"I have your things with me. I couldn't let go of them, I didn't want them to be thrown out. I got your Pearl Jam shirt too - it still smells like you. ...er, that sounds creepy, forget I said that. I'm not standing around sniffing your clothes and crying, okay? I'm not. And I haven't been doing that for the last three days. ....shut up. ....anyway, whenever you're back in town, I got your shirt. Come...come get it, okay?"

*click*

Heya, this is Matt! I'm not at home right now or I'm too busy to take your call. Sorry. Buuut leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as I can!

*beep*

"Fuck, why couldn't you have been more careful? How hard is it to look both ways before crossing the fucking street, Matt?"

*click*

Heya, this is Matt! I'm not at home right now or I'm too busy to take your call. Sorry. Buuut leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as I can!

*beep*

"......"

"........"

"............"

*click*

Heya, this is Matt! I'm not at home right now or I'm too busy to take your call. Sorry. Buuut leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as I can!

*beep*

"....I can't do this shit. Fuck. Sorry. I'm sorry I yelled, I'm sorry I wasn't a better friend, I'm sorry I canceled so many plans, I'm sorry I can't stop crying I'm sorry I keep calling your fucking number just to hear your voice I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry Matt. F-fuck fuck. I'm sorry. I wish I could do it better this time. I hate myself for it every single day, every day I can't move on, I can't function, I can't act normally because I can't stop thinking about my dead best friend. I just want some closure, Matt. I just want to be able to put you behind me- no. No that's not...right. I don't want to let you go.

I think if I hold onto you long enough, you'll eventually find your way back to me. I just need to keep on talking to you. Please come home, Matt. We're all- we miss you. We miss you so much. I miss you. I need you back. Please..."

....

*click*

Heya, this is Matt! I'm not at home right now or I'm too busy to take your call. Sorry. Buuut leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as I can!

*beep*

".....I...fuck. I have to tell you something. I wanted to tell you this for a long time but...but it never happened. You know me, I'm a coward. I guess it's easier to say it when you can't say anything back to me, huh? ..... Yeah, I thought so. Uhh....how do I... .... fuck this is stupid. Sorry, I'm psyching myself out. I'm just going to go ahead, okay? ..... Fuck. Just say it, Mike, how hard can it be? Fucking hell.

Matt... .....oh, shit, hold on. Someone's at the door. I'll talk to you later."

*click*

We're sorry, you have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service. if you feel you have reached this recording in error, please check the number and try your call again.

"..........I love you....Matt."

*click*

#woe.begone #mattkey #matt lastname #mike walters #do not propagate #voicemail fic #hurt no comfort #canon character death #wbg fics #i should start tagging this

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rivalsilveryuri · 3 months

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Do you say chewsday

I do. Sorry for being british.....

#VOICEMAIL #though sometimes its likr. i say tyoosday and words loose all meaning and my soul sinks halfway theough the floor in a grim reminder that #short people are closer to hell and i feel the heat of death so close to home #i think i used the wrog lose . i always forget which is which sicr i say them the exact same #the way i say words are likr. a fucked up combo of scottish .. somr kind of american i accidentally picked up. posh english when im tryign #to enunciate........ basically its all gone wrong i think . but i still say chewsday so has anything changed in the end #ph yeah and the scottish itself is a combo of glaswegian and dundonian so rwally its #a great combo to confuse anyone from anywhere

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quietwingsinthesky · 10 months

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anyway episodes that sam's psychic powers should have come back during. imagine him arguing with this 'i'm a real psychic' guy and then yanking his gun out his hand with his own powers. fully on accident but it happens.

now see there's some drama for him and dean! that would work! sam tried to hide his hallucinations but couldnt. but theoretically he could hide this. and he should! because his brother literally just went and killed a woman for being a little too on the monster side for his liking. for being so evil that she couldn't possibly change. and so if sam's powers came back now? sam's powers? that he has because he has demon blood? he would be so fucking sick with stress trying to hide that from dean.

because. you know. if dean's already jumping for a reason to 'deal with' sam because he's hallucinating, a thing he can't even control. then what else is sam supposed to assume will happen once dean knows about this?

#to clarify: i don't actually think dean would hurt sam. i think that the amy conflict is poorly written esp surrounding dean's responses #HOWEVER. taking it all at face value. sam would think that dean would kill him.#i mean. the voicemail still rattling in his head years later? the memory of being soulless and dean attacking him when he asked for help?#of course sam would think that. of course he would.#and all he did was use his powers to defend himself. to save someone's life. but they're evil. so he's evil. no matter the good he does.#the world has to be black and white for him to get along with his brother after all.#also bonus for me but i think the activation of his powers should come from him looking at the gun pointed at him #and then looking slightly behind that guy. at hallucifer. who is going 'sam. you know how to take care of this. come on.#this is child's play. squeeze the soul out of him. at least knock the gun away.' goading him. you know?#but its a familiar voice. and sam's looking death down the barrel. and lucifer is ordering him to use his powers.#so he does. so he does. and that makes it worse that lucifer tells him to. and that afterwards. lucifer probably praises him for it.#spn #sam winchester #dean winchester #psychic!sam

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lifesver · 29 days

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@meatriarch said: [ FIVE CALLS ] send for five times the receiver nearly calls the sender and the one time they do. | ( could be post-house calling mama ginny maybe c: )

one. the last time leland remembers them all being together was at jesse's funeral. even though most of them were still numbed out from maria’s service — only a couple days ago — everyone had come out to support mrs. jones today. it was only right. he'd only been to one funeral, before. in the span of a week, they had buried a close friend.

today, it's a boy that couldn't be much older than he was.

at least the rain was polite enough to hold off.

it's difficult to be still. his tie felt too tight. he hated this vaguely cigarette-smelling coat he'd borrowed from his dad's closet. only half-listening to the pastor speak, leland couldn’t help but stare into the flower-framed photo of a smiling boy with bright blonde hair, and wonder if it was strange, and sad, getting all dressed up like this, for an empty casket. while a bitter little voice in the back of his mind whispers; if any of these strangers around him had really cared, someone would have helped mrs. jones bring her son home. someone would have helped them find maria.

after it was said and done, leland had pulled away from the dispersing mourners. out on the too-green cemetery lawn, mrs. jones had met him, and stood next to him quietly, for a while. she took his hands in hers, giving them a comforting squeeze. and then she handed him a little slip of paper. folded his fingers over it with a look only a mother is capable of. it made him feel a little less cold, as the sky opened up, and began spitting rain down.

she would only be a call away, she said, if he, or any of them needed someone to talk to. don’t hesitate, baby. he felt shellshocked by the gesture. on probably the worst day of her life, she was still thinking of them — some college kids she hardly knew. today, she didn't even have the body of her son to bury, and she was checking in on him. because she was a good mother. he wanted to say that jesse was lucky, at least, to have had someone who cared so much for him. who fought so hard to find him. but he couldn't get any of those words out, in the end. he dragged in a shaky breath, and tried to smile back at her.

❝ … thank you, mrs. jones, ❞ he managed, voice raw, and small. she wordlessly pulls him into an embrace, and he hugs her back twice as tight.

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two. he's had some bad nights, since then. the types of dreams that'll tear you from sleep screaming — waking up the whole damn house, dad complained. running hot and cold, and swearing to god he never left that fucking basement cell. that freezer. feeling a hand crushing down on his throat. hearing screaming, always the screaming of his name, down a pitch-black tunnel.

every night was the same. he's getting better at managing, though.

just now, he has mrs. jones’ little slip of paper, laid out on the kitchen counter under his hands. truthfully, he had almost forgotten it, tucked safely in his wallet most days. didn't ever intend to bother her, after everything. but sometimes he thought about it.

if you ever need someone to talk to, he can still hear her saying.

maybe he does, but that was a tough pill to swallow, wasn't it? he's staring at himself in the kitchen window, and taking in the dark under his eyes. the healed, jagged scores across his face, that will never go away. not ever. it's still hard to reconcile with that unfamiliar reflection, and suddenly — it felt a bit harder to breathe.

the yellowy overhead light tries to warm the space, but to leland, the quiet of a sleeping house no longer felt comforting. instead, he only became more aware of the creak of floorboards, and the the tap of a tree branch on the windows.

right now, he felt claustrophobic. tap, tap, tap, drag. taunting laughter, sound of knife striking, striking — the wall of the slaughter house. drip, drip. blood slipping down his temple, landing on the freezing concrete —

eyes squeeze shut, dizzied. hand drags through hair. one, two, three, four, five — nails dig into palms hard, and he paces the length of the kitchen. six, seven, eight, nine — remember the breathing part. he stops in front of the phone, clutching the receiver, only to freeze. ten. he remembers to breathe.

he reminds himself of a couple things; not to call mrs. jones, because she'd been through enough. not to call ana, because she needed time alone. not to call connie, because she doesn't want to know him, anymore.

no one needs your shit.

leland takes his hand off the receiver, and he swallows down the sick feeling. he walks himself back into the empty living room, and falls asleep in front of the tv instead.

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three. leland mckinney wasn't the type of boy that was supposed to get in fights. he wasn’t raised like that — is what his mother had said, as she fussed over his bloody nose.

what he'd learned, though, was that even after a year, he was still the type that heard his heartbeat like gunshots in his ears, whenever someone sounded a little too close to that low, taunting drawl from his nightmares. that his anger was a hairpin trigger, every time someone tried to start in with a hey — ain't you that kid from the paper?

he should have minded his business, in that bar. should have known better. now he has to listen to his parents arguing over his head. until he felt like he just wasn't there, anymore.

head still pounding badly, leland abruptly gets up, catching them both off guard. pulling away from his mother's touch, and worried tone. he sidesteps cecil mckinney in the kitchen doorway. can barely hear him start up again, talking to him — at him. raising his voice, when that doesn't work, he gets stopped by a strong hand around his forearm, as cecil turns him back around.

— well. didn't matter, what happened, really. his dad ripped a stripe off him, like he always did. because it was easy;

what the hell's the matter with you, lately? doing nothing with yourself, sulking around the house all day. now you’re getting into fights?

and a lot of bullshit, about god, second chances. you could have died, but you didn’t. that most people would be a little more grateful to be alive, after something like that.

— wasting your damn life, leland.

he's heard this speech before. usually lets it roll off his shoulders. only this time, it strikes the last frayed nerve.

leland says something he shouldn't have, right back. that he didn’t ask for this. that sometimes, he sure as hell wished he was dead, too. didn't really know if he meant it. just knew it'd shut everyone up.

it does. the backhand lands sharp across his cheek, and stuns out any other thought process. and then it’s just white noise pitch in his ears after that. numbly, his hand comes up, to hover over the bright sting of where he’d been struck. leland’s eyes flutter with a tell-tale burn. which makes it worse.

( you gotta toughen up, lee. quit crying at every little thing. that's why those boys picked on you, you know that? )

you don't ever, let them know you're hurting.

leland's head pulses. he drops his gaze, and he shuts his mouth. his old man doesn’t stop him from leaving, this time. out the door. getting in his car and just driving, mindlessly out in the dark. well out of georgetown.

for maybe an hour, before he finally stops, at a dimly lit gas station on the edge of town.

what did he think he was going to do, now? he couldn’t go home. but maybe he should call dan, or ana. they'd probably pick up.

he leaves his car by the pump, slipping into the phonebooth outside the gas station building. brain on autopilot, he shuffles in his pocket to retrieve his wallet, rooting for change and feeding it to the payphone.

absently, leland thumbs at the transparent pocket of his wallet, until a little over-folded paper slips free. when he opens it, mrs. jones' looping, clean cursive greets him again.

leland wonders what she would be doing, at this time of night. if she was much like his mother, probably watching johnny carson, or getting ready for bed. if he would be bothering her too terribly, and if her offer to talk still stood. if she remembered him at all.

he lets it ring twice. and wonders what he should say. maybe sorry? leland closes his eyes, forehead pressing to the glass. he lets it ring a third time, before he loses his nerve, all at once. leland drops the receiver down hard, like it had burnt him. shoulders shake with something choked out and quiet.

fuck. fuck this. you're fine. you're okay.

he sinks down to the floor of the booth, and he buries the sob in his hands.

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four. on holidays, he thought about mrs. jones. and hoped she had other family to spend them with. he couldn't imagine facing days like that alone — like thanksgiving, or christmas, when a spot at the table was always going to be empty.

in the spin-cycle of his thoughts, he imagined a bedroom similar to his own, left untouched, with the door left firmly shut. a museum of someone's life in photos, and baseball cards, and high school yearbooks. leland wondered, if it was just easier to leave some things in their boxes.

he never did unpack the moving boxes, from his dorm. they stared at him in their little corner, by his closet. most days he forgot about them. the idea of going through that shit set off something visceral in him. an unfair bitterness, or shame that would climb up out of him, every time he tried to face his old letterman. or one of sonny's books he'd forgotten to return. or a teddy bear, from connie, from his birthday. or maria's photo album. the one she would have given him personally, if she were still here.

— but it's been a few years, now, since he'd thought about the little handwritten note in his wallet. a few christmases. but it's easy to remember virginia's phone number — for how many times he's folded, and unfolded that little slip of paper.

leland can hear the hum of his mother's relentless shirley temple christmas album, from the other room. he shoulders the phone to his ear, and leans against the wall. casting a smile to willa, as she crosses the hall showing off the new jacket she got as a gift, before disappearing. he hears sadie and april’s enthusiasm in ooh’s and ah’s from the dining room.

against his ear, the line rings, rings, rings. and it's almost a relief, when only her voicemail answers.

there's a few seconds of silence, and then leland remembers to speak.

❝ hi, mrs. jones. it's... leland — um, mckinney. i don't know if you remember... ❞ a long beat. what did he think he was going to say, exactly? hey, i know you haven't heard from me properly in years, but i've been having a lot of nightmares, again. i guess i feel scared, in my house, outside, in the dark. and i've been missing everyone i've ever lost. so i was wondering, you know, if you ever find a way to get through it? like, how do you move past it? how do i stop feeling like there's a hole in the middle of me that everyone can see? how do you keep going? how —

— leland sucks in a sharp breath, gives a soft, vaguely unsteady laugh. his voice feels incredibly small. ❝ sorry i — don't know why i called this late. you're probably with your family. i'm. doing okay. i just wanted to say, merry christmas. and, i... hope you're well. that’s all. ❞

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five. the others — his old friends that had showed up already, were fast asleep. jules and dan were flying in in the morning, they said. sonny would try to take a couple days from his job. said it would be nice to see everyone, at least.

leland hadn’t realized how quiet his house was, before he had people in it, again. or how small his life had become, over the years.

connie's on the couch, covered in a few quilts, with the dog resting by her. ana was in the armchair with another blanket.

the movie they'd been watching is rolling credits to a jaunty cowboy tune, and he's the last one up, now — sitting in the dull light of his kitchen, surrounded by the reason for all of this, and balancing his phone against his ear. news articles and old missing posters are scattered on a circular table.

it looked fucking crazy. he sounded fucking crazy. keeping tabs on a town he should have left behind a long damn time ago.

maybe some part of him didn’t think any of them would agree to this, to begin with. to something so stupid. maybe he sort of hoped they wouldn't. maybe he thought someone would tell him no, convince him to stop reliving the awful shit that happened to them, all those years ago.

but they had all picked up, every single one of them, when he called. twenty. twenty fucking years, and they all still think of, dream of, that fucking farmhouse, too. but jesus — twenty years. twenty years to have a real conversation with some of them, again. he ought to be ashamed.

anyway — this was the phonecall he was dreading most, somehow. he hadn’t wanted to let mrs. jones know what they were doing. what he was planning to do, until dan chewed him out for the very idea of leaving her in the dark.

❝ hi, mrs. jones? ❞ his fingers clutch in the curling wire. self-soothing. until a soft voice greets him on the other end. there's a pause, and then a gentle warmth as she says his name. age more apparent in both their voices, now.

she speaks to him like no time had passed at all, though. tells him she thinks just virginia is alright, now.

it was kind of funny, how some part of him still felt like a kid, talking to her.

they talk about how things have been, for a little while. it's nice — even if it's the kind of small talk you have to struggle with, when you don't really know someone, anymore. it didn't feel much different, than sitting across from his mother at the kitchen table, as a kid. talking about his day, or how practice had been.

until eventually, a comfortable silence falls between them.

and she asks him kindly, then, why he had really called.

for leland, there’s the ever-familiar tug toward lying. but what the hell was the point of that, now? he’d been lying for years. hadn't done him any favours.

❝ … i think — i think, i'm going to do something i shouldn't. ❞ leland begins, evenly. he stares at the newspaper clippings. the faded picture of maria flores. the old headlines, over the years — unexplained incidents around the town of newt, texas.

he couldn't ever get away from it. and now he's insisted on dragging his old friends down with him into this mess, too.

his eyes land across the sleeping bodies in his living room. there’s something, then — that feels like the closest thing to clarity he’s had in years. ❝ i guess... i was looking for advice. how do you know if — if something is right — if you’re doing something, for the right reasons? ❞

#anyway sorry remember when i said i'd keep these short. lol lmao. idk we just get Into It here #( ☆ ) ⸻ THE FILM WHICH YOU ARE ABOUT TO SEE... / ic.#meatriarch #cw abuse mention mr mckinney once again kind of sucks #same night he drives to visit ana? yeah maybe so #cw death #cw funerals #cw post trauma things i donno he's a mess #i'm going to ask u to suspend ur disbelief about voicemail for a minute ik it wasn't super popularized until like the 80s

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rxvera · 1 year

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let's play has everyone all simultaneously died in horrific ways? do they all hate me and have blocked me? are they busy? or is my wifi shitty right now?

#vera talks #death mention #someone answer the phone please #stop going directly to voicemail please please #or a text pleeeeeaaase #yes I'm probably overreacting #but everything feels so radio silent right now it's stressing me out so bad #especially since today was already...yeah

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astrangerlately · 2 years

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#drunk voicemail #lyrics #pink #pom pom squad #vent aesthetic #you always know how to make me sad #death of a cheerleader #Aesthetic #i #you #tag later

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keqism · 1 year

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so i caught some mysterious virus last week and took some time off to get better ૮₍•᷄ ࡇ •᷅₎ა unfortunately im back

#still don’t feel 100% and i keep sleeping but i don’t feel like death anymore!!#it’s not the rona either #࿓ : voicemail

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rivalsilveryuri · 3 months

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SILVER…SILLY…SILLYVER??????discuss

he's too silly we need to put him down 😞😞😞

#VOICEMAIL #people make silver too serious tbh. like yes of course he's serious but he has some silliness 2 him . its just 90% of the time he's in a #life or death situation so he doesnt have the time 4 silliness . but he IS silly #the panels of him being goofy around crys n gold r everything 2 me .#like him staring at crys like an owl whil3 she's trying 2 have a phone call . and his goofy ass when gold .. does it qualify as a hug....#that one panel where his face is silly

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captainshakespear · 2 years

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#death cw #called my grandma to wish her a happy birthday and got the voicemail recorded by my grandpa who just passed away #I think I pulled myself together enough to leave a normal sounding message and I hope my grandma is ok #but man :(#I kept the last message he left in my voicemail til it expired and listened to it a few times #death is so weird.#the captain's log

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sophiaphile · 6 months

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youtube

SET LIST "Drunk Voicemail" "Head Cheerleader" "Cherry Blossom" "Crying" "Be Good"

#pom pom squad #tiny desk #npr #one of my favorite tiny desks #death of a cheerleader #angsty #drunk voicemail #head cheerleader #cherry blossom #crying #be good #Youtube

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femmehepbvrn · 8 months

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I have so many thoughts and feelings about hearing Mary Tyler Moore as a guest caller on frasier that I was to lose my mind but I won't I'll just go to sleep in an hour or so

#its about so much! its about hearing a voice that you recognize but that person isnt there anymore! and yes i know tv is a thing #but the voice just got me! it reminds me of when people save voicemails bc someone dies and thats all they have just snippets #and it felt so fucking human like a snippet of this person a voicemail #and!! and i feel truly like upset? the more i watch the mtm show the more im like i didnt appreciate that at some point we shared a planet!#and now theyre dead and im actually a little upset that i can never be like hey! y'all dont know me from adam and i dont know you #but your stuff made an impact when i needed it to and now i carry those bright spots with me #like a jewelry glint in a photograph #and valerie harper did not have an easy death and that makes me so fucking sad too #yes! she still speaks #im bringing back that tag bc this is a genuine emotion

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lithiumrox · 9 months

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after going to the death cab/postal service show, i keep thinking about how it doesn't feel like it's been 20 whole years since transatlanticism and give up came out, but then i realized that both albums feature a lyric mentioning "your machine" referencing leaving a message on an answering machine, which is a hilariously dated reference here in 2023

#they feel timeless until they don't #we barely use voicemail let alone an actual answering machine #postal service #death cab for cutie #transatlanticism #give up

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orbleglorb · 3 months

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tips for calling your government officials:

call after hours if you're afraid of having to talk to someone on the phone. it'll go to voicemail.

there are usually call scripts available for various issues, but you can always write your own script beforehand as well. just write down what you want to say, read it a few times, and then call and read it.

you don't have to give a big argument. just "this is wrong and i don't want you to support this" is fine. chances are, the gov't official isn't even gonna hear it, a staffer will. they're just gonna know you disagreed.

they ask that you leave your name and phone number in voicemails, but if you call a lot, they may blacklist you. as far as i know, it's perfectly okay to just not tell them any of that.

it's okay if you mess up. in my opinion, it's better if people who aren't articulate or stumble over their words a ton call in. that shows that regular, everyday people (who likely hate phone calls) are disagreeing with them.

if you're a jew and calling for them to stop the genocide in gaza, leverage that. i sure as hell am

if you're a christian and calling for them to stop the genocide in gaza, leverage that. especially in conservative states. pull out some bible verses. this might be hard if you didn't grow up in the south (specifically around passive aggressive people), but subtly(ish) imply that your gov't official is going to hell. for example, "almost 30,000 people dead... I can't imagine G-d turning a blind eye to anyone who is responsible for that many deaths, even if just in a small way."

if calling for KOSA, the key thing you want to point out is that the line between "protection" and "censorship" is thin. idk what you would say for a liberal/center-left gov't official (never had one of those before in my life), but for a conservative candidate, you're gonna want to say that 1) it can prevent free speech, 2) the liberals (maybe throw out joe biden's name) will definitely use this to skew discussions about the second amendment, abortion, the border, and other hot topics. i hate, hate using the the term "woke" outside of its original meaning within AAVE, but depending on your official that may be the move. and then 3) if someone more liberal than biden gets into office, we're screwed, 4) you don't want to be tracked and think that infringes on your rights to privacy, and/or 5) you don't trust "i won't let that happen"/"we can prevent that" because your official hasn't even solved [insert issue they campaigned on/often discussed but didn't absolve] or [insert smaller things, like getting enough fundings to fix roads].

call as much as you can. it helps more than you think. don't let the bystander effect kick in.

feel free to add your own

#palestine #sudan #free congo #stop kosa #kids online safety act

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churipu · 3 months

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STRAIGHT TO VOICEMAIL 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧

ִ ࣪𖤐 featuring. gojo satoru

ִ ࣪𖤐 warnings. cursing, mentions of death, gojo being sad and angry, 2006 gojo geto shoko.

note. for some reason i feel angsty today and i just saw this prompt on pin, just had to write it lol.

gojo has never loathed himself more than when he missed your call — your very last call.

"i could've fuckin' saved them, suguru." gojo blankly stared at the ceiling, his head thrown back onto the couch's rest; he was conflicted, he didn't know what to do. it was as if his motoric abilities had just stopped all of a sudden.

"satoru . . ."

"i could've fuckin' saved y/n." the white haired male mumbled out, his face scrunching in frustration.

gojo has dealt with death. a lot. the concept of death isn't a stranger to him anymore, not in this world — and to think that he'd actually be alive to experience deaths of his loved ones, thinking he could have done so much more made him hate himself.

god, gojo hated crying in front of other people. the aura in the room was palpable. nobody spoke —nobody dared to speak— and the only sound resounding was the vague ticking belonging to the clock hanging on the wall.

"i could've fuckin' saved them," the male repeated for the third time, his voice breaking that he had to inhale sharply to stop himself from breaking down right there.

gojo pushed himself up, placing his palms above his eyes, pressing down on them harshly; he lets out a loud sigh, "where the fuck did it all go wrong?"

"y/n was killed in action . . ." god, gojo wanted to rip his hair out when yaga called him in privately to say that. the male had lost count of how many times the statement repeated in his mind.

frankly, it's haunting.

out of all the news he could have received today, he never expected to hear your death lulling into his eardrums. so soon. so many things swirling in his mind all at once that even he, deemed the strongest, felt the sensation of losing. he felt weak.

"hi, 'toru — you're probably busy since my call went straight to voice mail, but 'm just saying . . . i love you, and i miss you. so much." there was a slight pause and your breathing shallowed into the mic, every single detail in your last moments were graved in that file, "'m not sure if . . . i'll be back as soon as i promised, but, i just want you to know that whatever happens. happens."

there was a slight static before your soft voice recoiled back into the mic, "i've never broken any promises to you, but this might be the very first time — and just know that i've never wanted to do this, i fucking hate myself for this," your voice broke slightly, "'m bleeding. a lot. but 'm trying to stop it just like how ieiri taught me. and i think 'm doing shit at it . . . i don't know what happened, and how it happened; but 'm not doing okay."

"i don't want to die, 'toru." you whispered into the mic, hoarse and weak — feeling the life drain out, "i really don't want to die . . . i have so many things i want to do with you, and suguru, and ieiri . . ." you murmur out, inhaling sharply but it all ended up with you coughing out in pain.

"remember that time i said i wanted to open a pet hotel . . ? i don't know if you think i was joking, but i was really serious about opening one," you began to mumble out, all in random directions — none of your words make any sense anymore, and you could barely keep yourself awake.

"i don't want to die, please," you pleaded, desperate for life. no matter what you did at this point — the light inside of you was almost out, and you can't do anything about it, "fuck. i hate this. so much, 'toru."

"i want to see you again. i miss you. i miss you so so much," you softly murmur out, " . . . i love you. i love you so much, satoru."

and everything ended right after. including you.

gojo has never loathed himself more than when he missed your call. your. very. last. call.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo #satoru #gojo angst #jujutsu kaisen angst #jjk angst #gojo satoru angst #gojo x reader #satoru x reader #angst

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