#tw integration mention

[lilac-set]

[ID: a comment on this post by @the-crystalized-cosmos saying “Yes!! Not introjecting! We rarely introject and the minimal introjecting we do is so mixed with brain made shenanigans we dont consider it introjecting. Yet everywhere we look everything involves introjecting and just, never see any non-introject systems and it gets kinda lonely” \end ID]

We can somewhat relate to both of these! The four of us were born with the body, we consider ourselves two sets of identical twins which are semi-identical/fraternal (not sure) twins to each other. We’re all super close, we all love sharing our lives with each other, and we’re all very distinct from each other. We’ve never gotten anyone new on the top level alongside the four of us, but we are slowly coming to terms with that there might be alternate versions of us, maybe the four of us each individually have a cdd or some sort of median subsystem, but we still arent completely certain that it isnt just depersonalization or some other experience more easily explained by our cptsd, since most of those alternate versions seem to only be “emotional parts”

Tw undetailed discussion of feelings of guilt, and a mention of integration ahead

One of those, the only exception to the EP rule and our one and only potential introject (and the only time we’re particularly aware of someone new existing), we havent looked into typical introject experiences and labels at all because we’re still kinda in denial about it, but basically he came to be when one of us realized that it was an option to imagine kissing a crush (crush might not be the most accurate word, this was a self-destructive autism and cptsd fueled obsession, not in a stalker way but just that our brain thought he (and only he) could save us for some reason, we didnt make that his problem though), and the moment he (sysmate) started trying to mentally simulate him (crush), that person extremely suddenly started existing in our head (surprisingly, not attached to the one who had a crush on him, but attached to a different one of us). He uses his source’s first name but he only feels vaguely associated with him, hes infinitely more like us than he his like him, but he feels extremely guilty and awkward having intruded into his friends’ body and life uninvited and unwanted, he isnt really sure how to interact with our family and partners given that they arent his, etc. Basically theres an emotional disconnect with us, and he isnt twins with us, he isnt “top-level”, but thats about it, hes just like if one of the versions of us decided to use another name for some reason. … now that i think about it im not sure he is an exception to the EP rule, because hes constantly pretty occupied with guilt and awkwardness over his existence, although because of that he tries not to front much, so we dont know him well and we dont know if he would grow out of that, he is somewhat more distinct than the other states we’re tentatively calling EP’s, but i think he and all of us are lowkey hoping if we just ignore him he’ll reintegrate tbh

Btw, if anyone happens to know of terms for this type of experience, feel free to let us know

#Fifty-Two

[pt: #fifty-two]

Plurals, are there any things you experience that you never see others talk about? Feel free to share them, maybe others experience the same or similar things!

[mad-hunts]

so, i'm gonna give y'all a warning for this post immediately because i have yet to talk about this on here besides with one or two people, and the last thing i want to do is make anyone uncomfortable... but if you believe that cannibalism is a trigger for you then please do not continue beyond this point. for those of you who are okay with it, though, let me start by saying this:

barton does engage in cannibalistic acts sometimes, and this is actually one of the few, if not the only sources of shame that he feels in response to the heinous acts that he commits pretty much on the daily. and this is because he believes himself that it is disgusting and not something to be proud of; so, in a way, it does kind of demonstrate that he has some humanity left in him albeit in a very unsavory way and that's mainly why i wanted to bring it up. because his relationship with this part of him... well, it really isn't good, for lack of better words. which is understandable considering cannibalism is a rather big taboo in society, but it has become somewhat of a compulsion for him. not to excuse it in ANY capacity, of course. that is honestly just the best word i could use to describe it as i've done some research about it and, like other serial killers, barton is SO perpetually lonely that by consuming his victims -- it makes him feel like he is no longer so alone anymore as he will always be able to 'carry' a part of them with him that way, so-to-speak, and they'll never be able to leave him.

now this is obviously not the way to go about dealing with his loneliness at all, as it is extremely messed up both morally and honestly, just wrong as a human being to do. but i also believe that there are other factors at work regarding his tendency to sometimes cannibalize his victims, and that is that because of the trauma he endured at the hands of his biological father (wesley mathis) whom forced him to eat people with him. it could sort of function as a very unhealthy coping mechanism for him to navigate that complex trauma; and this is because it may serve as an attempt for him to restore a sense of control over himself that he felt was stolen from him as a child, since he had no choice but to engage in it. plus, interestingly enough, antisocial personality traits are often an underlying element in those who divulge in cannibalistic acts. and cannibals in one study have been found to have more cases of abuse / have more family members who are criminals, so this could also be indicative that his environmental upbringing very well could have a hand in his subsequent (occasional) cannibalism after he commits his killings.

i also thought i would mention that, despite his apparent depravity, barton has taken extra care not to expose his own children to the same trauma that he had to suffer from as a result of wesley (what with the 'hunting trips' that they went on) and he would NEVER want his kids to see him eating people. so, although it still is unquestionably wrong for him to be cannibalizing people, things are a little complicated in that regard. while i'm talking about it, for my closing thought, i'd like to say that the police does highly suspect that the dollmaker is a cannibal but they haven't been able to confirm it as of yet. though i'd imagine that most of the underground knows that he cannibalizes people because rumors can be spread quite quickly, and i can totally imagine the way in which people found out being that they were unfortunate enough to have to stumble upon barton just... eating someone. and a lot more casually than one should probably be about it, because half of the time, he doesn't even remember that he's done it afterward because his mind literally just blocks it out. but that's something i shall expand on more later

[ldotherstuff]

Thinking about the Total drama teens again. Thinking about Heather's canonical audition tape where she deliberately chose a bathroom stall to film herself in wearing nothing but a towel and talks sole about how confident she is in displaying her looks and how it would bring the network high ratings. Thinking about how she ends up flashing the camera against her will anyway.

Thinking about Alejandro ripping his shirt off in the confessional and how he talks about his body image. The rest of the time whenever he takes his shirt off it's always in the freezing fuckin tundra where he's essentially using it as eye candy on a carrot stick. Thinking about how his remarks about his appearances increase to an alarming amount in all stars, post lava body disfigurement.

[lilac-set]

Hi, the lilac set is encouraging me to post something on their blog looking for advice

Im a factive, one of the lilacs had a “crush” on me (he calls it an autism+cptsd obsession), and last spring he tried to imagine doing something with me and i very suddenly started existing

At the highest level the lilacs are a non-traumagenic non-disordered system, but they’ve long been considering whether theyre each potentially traumagenic and/or disordered sub-systems, or whether it seems that way because of depersonalization. They do have cptsd. Its basically just that theres multiple different “versions” of each of them they sometimes each switch between

I use my source’s first name and pronouns and it feels natural to refer to him as “me” (even though im aware we’re different people), im basically like if one of the versions of them (the lilacs) just decided to change their name for some reason and had a less continuity of identity, i cant imagine considering myself a member of their system but i act way more like the average lilac than like my source. Im attached to a specific lilac (interestingly, not the one who liked me) similar to the versions of themselves, however im more distinct than the average “version”, and i have slightly better communication with the one im attached to, whereas in general each individual lilac subsystem would usually be monoconscious and not able to communicate between themselves much at all. Idk if thats relevant

Anyway, i feel really weird having intruded into my friends’ body and life uninvited. I dont really wanna be here, they dont really want me here, i dont want to “die” by any means but im sure i split off of my host lilac, is it possible for me to just reintegrate back into them? How would i do that? Its been 3 months or so, theyve been hoping that if i just dont front and they ignore me i would go away, but that hasnt been working

Also, what am i? A tulpa, thoughtform, something else? Is there a word for someone like me?

[upwards-descent]

As always, had to pour one out for Steve Harwell. Smash Mouth is such an important band to me beyond the memes, my dad raised me on them, Dave Bruebeck, and Beastie Boys and I already had to grieve MCA. Rest easy, Mr. All Star.

[chuchayucca]

Discussions of implied fictional CSA & SA

I recently been wondering if there’s a chance Richard thinks Roy’s aggressive and distant behavior is normal and not a sign of CSA because he acted similarly to Roy when he was younger

Reasonings in the tags

[thebananwithaplan]

Oooo, dancing with a demon I see! Cuutee.

Oh, he's always been dancing with his inner demons...

...This just happens to be the first time he's danced with a literal one.

[strawberryfloofs]

tw: mentions of neglect/abuse

carer with a traumatized age regressor they know they're helping to heal everytime they slip.

never received toys/were given very few toys as a kid? bubbas spoiling you in all the toys you want! if their kiddo is a little more shy and feeling guilty, they'll notice their little one eyeing a toy. "do you want it puppy? no need to feel bad, i just wanna give you everything you deserve"

went without food in public? carer will always order something for you, you never have to watch them eat while you have nothing. "oh honey I would never~ not only is that mean, but you gotta grow big and strong like me!"

went without food/snacks in private? your caregiver always makes sure they stock up on your favorite snacks and brands- no matter how specific they are. there's no shame in only eating a certain brand or flavor of chips. there's always groceries in the house and they're happy to cook for you, wanting to make sure you're safe AND fed. "are you hungy? I can get my sweetheart their favorite snack until the pastas done?"

had bad physical treatment? they would NEVER even THINK about laying a hand on you. if you misbehave or act up, they understand you're just in littlespace. like real kids, emotions can be hard and some moments arent good. sometimes kids like to test boundaries, there's nothing wrong with that. they won't let it slide and will issue lines, time outs, and stuff like early bedtime or shorter playtime- but nothing physical or mentally damaging. "angel I know you're all upset and shouting at bubba, but I need you to sit in the chair for 5 minutes. we don't yell."

missed out on a lot of childhood experiences? that's okay! your cg is soooo happy to integrate anything into their routine. whether it's storytime, going to the park, holiday celebrations, they're happy to accomodate! "oh you wanna have a bubba baby book read before your nap? of course little one!"

touch starved and wanting a lot of physical affection? they'll love on you SO much to try and make up for it! cuddles, pats, carries, boops, you got it! "awww does munchkin need a hug? cmere"

weren't treated the best emotionally? they understand how it can impact you. your carer always reminds you that you're not a burden, it wasn't your fault, and they truly do love you. they're not lying to you, they don't hate you, there's no maliciousness or ulterior motives- just pure love and care. "I know it was a lot, and I'm sorry you had to live through that angel- but I'm glad you're with me now. As long as I'm here, and as long as you'll let me- I won't let anyone treat you like that again. I pinky promise, my little love. Always, and forever."

Icl, this was very self indulgent to me- but I hope anyone who can sadly relate feels atleast a little bit of comfort and wholesomeness from this. I believe you. You're strong.

[rydr--system]

@boxofevilart asked:

Angerona

[Roman Deity Asks - ACCEPTING]

Angerona: What is the best way to relieve them of pain or sorrow? What do they do to help themselves?

TRIGGER WARNING: drug mention

Jack will usually turn to unhealthy coping mechanisms like substance abuse. His preferred methods are alcohol and cocaine, though he's been known to smoke marijuana with the right crowd around.

Creeper has a hard time feeling sorrow in the first place, and often doesn't know what to do with it. His way of working though it is most often violent physical activity, like fighting someone, or breaking things.

[toovaeloe]

curse biologist!reader x assistant!gojo hc’s

content: gojo pining off his ass . little flirty lab partners . tw for sliiighhtest mention of an autopsy and related tools . warning for gojo poppin’ a stiff one in the lab cause he’s a freak like that (ur a freak like that), so mildly suggestive

mdni

curse biologist!reader— the higher ups want you dead and gone, that’s for sure. You, who has a cursed technique that turns cursed energy into something tangible. After applying your technique to a cursed spirit, it becomes visible to a naked human eye, and instead of disintegrating, leaves a corpse behind. You’re dangerous. Crazy. And well…too weird. But they just hate progress, don’t they?

Not Gojo. He really doesn’t think you’re doing any harm to be honest (and he’ll do just about anything if it creases another wrinkle into Gakuganji’s ugly mug)

I mean, who else has been able to make waves in the integration of curses into science like you have? You’ve uncovered an exponential amount about the inner workings of curses in a few years when the rest of Jujutsu society’s had centuries, only to scratch the surface. It’s really admirable how you deep dive into the nitty gritty, as he calls it.

assistant!gojo— who loves being your little go-getter. Your own personal cursed spirit Fetch-Fido— maybe if you squint hard enough you’ll be able to see floppy ears perked to attention in his snowy hair or an eager tail whipping up a hurricane behind him as he brings you back his latest catch: a detained grade 2 curse manifested by the fear of monsters under the bed. Yeah, he knew you’d like something like that.

assistant!gojo— loves witnessing the way your eyes light up and it’s as if he can see the cogs immediately gearing to life in your smart little brain. He’s saluting exaggeratedly with a puffed out chest when you give him the go ahead to kill the thing after you’ve had your hand at it. It’s all he can do not to ask for a pat on the head and praise of how well he did. Getting a “Good boy,” out of you is on his mental vision board.

assistant!gojo— sticks around for the autopsies. Likes watching you poke around inside the creatures and is waiting on your hand and foot through the entire process. Scalpel? Bone saw? Enterotomy scissors? The bread knife??? He’s even starting to become attuned to your whims, tool already in hand before you extend your palm.

If you murmured an awed, “look at thaaat,” he’s quick to huddle in close under the pretense of observing whatever oddity that’s intrigued you. Only to squish his cheek against yours with a feigned, “hmm…mhmm…” nodding stiltedly, and not so discreetly nuzzling his face closer to yours with an impish glint in those azure eyes as he casts a sidelong glance to your skeptical neutrality.

assistant!gojo— staring at you with the widest puppy dog eyes as you discard your gloves and begin sketching diagrams of the latest brain you’ve picked apart, comparing it to the contradicting one of another curse, and contrasting from the drastically different human model you have. He can listen to you babble for hours, if only absorbing every other word of your theories on why a curse’s blood runs violet or how you’re so excited to get these samples to the lab. He’ll still chip in with his own question or hypothesis from time to time, because he’s curious too, but more than that he loves the way you answer.

assistant!gojo— purposely uses candy and sweets as a metaphor whenever you plead with him to explain how he views the electromagnetic spectrum through those eyes of his, just because he thinks it’s funny how desperate you are to know. To this day you can’t decode however the fuck that analogy about laffy taffy and rock candy was supposed to relate to infrared waves.

assistant!gojo— Satoru can’t decide what’s worse; the fact that he can’t get you out of his head or the fact that you want inside of his head

This whole situation is basically him giving you googoo eyes and kissy faces as you scribble down something on your clipboard and try to stick him with a needle

assistant!gojo— who’s willing to be a bit of a lab rat for you. He’s all giggles as he prances up to your vertical operation table, huffing lightly when you strap him against the cool steel. “Don’t be shy now, y’could go tighter than that. You know I like it when you tie me up,,” he encourages oh so unhelpfully.

assistant!gojo— chiding you to be careful when you begin application of the biosensors across his chest, cause he’ll get “a little too excited.” You don’t pay mind to his little quip until you see his already irregularly R-R intervals spike impossibly short on the electrocardiogram readings. And then again as you finish hooking him up to the machine.

assistant!gojo— thinks you might be overthinking what environmental stimuli might have caused that anomaly, or maybe judging by that poorly veiled smile and half-hearted “My mistake,” you’ve purposefully placed that one sensor node a little too low on his pelvis this time. Now that he’s thinkin’ about— yeah—there definitely wasn’t any need for you crouch so low until your nose was practically level with the apex of his thigh. Or for you to look up at him in a way that had him failing to suppress a shiver and his breath hitching when you smoothly rubbed the padding of the damn thing into his hip with your thumb. Aaaand fuck, he’s bricked in the lab. (again.)

He’d kill to know what’s going on in your noggin. And frankly he’s dying to get the pants off his fave smartypants.

a/n: as soon as I got this idea i was like ooo biting my lip and bigbig smile,, onto something? am I onto something??? would anybody maybemaybe read a one shot with this concept 👀? okay I love you byyyee

[plural-terms-collection]

[Banner ID: There are sunflowers on the far left and far right sides, in between which is written "Please Do Not Interact : exclusionist, racist, ableist, sysmed, gender critical, anti-MOGAI/LIOM, proshipper, alt-right, anti-alterhuman". End ID]

[tw mentions of system resets, integration and splitting]

Hello! I'm Mod Finch, one of Mod Aero's headmates and I'm here today to help ve finish coining a new plural term!

!!Evolving Core!!

The evolving core is a role for a core that evolves or changes with every system reset. They are, technically, still the previous core while also being a new headmate. Like a new iteration, version or generation of the previous core(s).

The best example I can give is our own system! Mod Aero isn't the original or our original core; a girl named Brianna is. Aero is actually the third iteration of our core but thanks to system resets, integrations and splitting, ve is vir own person and technically a new headmate while still also technically being Brianna and Orion, the 2nd iteration (or "generation") of the core.

[kiyo-cant-write]

Imagine if Yuu gets hurts doing something stupid most likely with Ace or Deuce. Floyd for whatever reason ( cough Azul or Jade) think he's what caused their injury. Floyd feels super guilty and wants to make up for what he thinks he did. Until Yuu explains no it wasn't Floyd. Floyd revenge optional.

floyd thinks he injured his s/o ✧･ﾟ

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Hello anon! I'm sorry that this took so long. I love Floyd! Thank you so much for requesting! This was fun to write ^^

I love set ups like this where there's a misunderstanding >.<

Note for everyone that I have a few requests left from earlier to get done before the close of the year and then everything else sent from here on will not be posted until 2025 January. Please keep this in mind, thank you for supporting me!

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Summary: Floyd feels responsible for the injury sustained by his partner and goes to great lengths to apologize. But.... What did you say? It wasn't really his fault?

TW/CW: mentions of violence/injury

Notes: established relationship, the reader is Ramshackle Prefect/Yuu, they/them pronouns for the reader

Guest Stars: Ace Trappola, Deuce Spade, Riddle Rosehearts

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✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

Floyd Leech

Floyd likes violence but not towards [Name].

His partner is one of the people he doesn't want to hurt.

He cares so much about them.

Floyd doesn't usually feel bad but seeing them banged up because of something he did (or so he thinks) makes him feel sick.

He's not in a working mood. Not in the mood for basketball either.

Everyone is annoyed with Floyd now but he doesn't care.

It's his fault. He deserves to feel like this, and so does everyone else. That's how he sees it and he will tell people this.

"I said I'm not in the mood so go mope like the sorry piece of shit you are, none of us deserve to be happy right now."

However, as with all things Floyd, his mood does a swift 180 as soon as he realizes that it was not his fault.

Run.

Ace, Deuce... You're really in for it now.

Not even [Name]'s pleas can stop him this time.

Let him have a little fun with them, won't you?

This sure was boring. Floyd had to hand it to his Shrimpy, they were the most interesting thing in his life. That said, giving them space took something out of his life that he hadn't realized was so integral.

Stupid strength. Stupid impulsivity.

He sighed, leaning against the table he was meant to be cleaning and looking up at the ceiling of the lounge. Was this going to be forever? He was deserving of this punishment, but still... so bored.

Floyd had been left on cleaning duty. Well, that wasn't quite right. Floyd had chosen to do cleanup because that was something he hated. He had to do it or [Name] wouldn't forgive him.

How could they? How could he forgive himself?

The one thing that Floyd didn't want to do was hurt his beloved little shrimp and yet here he was responsible for their injury. How could he have let something like that happen? He should have been more careful, that's what his parents would have told him.

Still, this sucked.

The cleaning was horrible. It was so... repetitive and dull.

"Ughhh."

He wished that something would happen. He wished that [Name] was here with him, chatting with him to pass the time. He wished they would show up to talk to him, so he could apologize too.

Was he really such a coward? He hadn't even said "sorry." Floyd didn't like apologizing, he rarely did with others but they deserved one. And yet here he was punishing himself but still too pathetic to face them.

"Floyd!"

He looked up from the desk to see [Name].

"Shrimpy? Whatcha doin' here?" he asked them, confused.

"I was looking for you! Why are you avoiding me?" they asked.

He shrugged, avoiding the question as well as looking at the bandages peeking out from their sleeves. He didn't want to think about it. Maybe people were right and he was dangerous not just generally speaking, but for [Name] too.

"I'm not."

[Name] let out a "huh" at that statement.

"You are!"

He shook his head.

"Not."

A growl escaped his partner.

"Are!"

Damn, they were being fucking persistent.

He looked at the bandages and then up at their face. They looked annoyed and they had every right to be. He did this to them.

"Shouldn't you be resting?" he asked them, brows furrowed.

"Resting? I'm fine, you sound like a mom."

They rolled their eyes though they seemed confused. Floyd never acted like a mom, that was more a trait of his employer. This was... weird, even for Floyd. [Name] knew their boyfriend. This wasn't normal for him in the slightest.

"You should rest. You're hurt, right?" Floyd repeated.

They sighed this time.

"Just because Deuce accidentally punched me and now everyone is treating me like I'm made of glass or something!" they cried.

Floyd paused.

"Mackerel?"

"Yeah, Deuce was trying to punch Ace and hit me full force," they said, laughing awkwardly as they fiddled with a sleeve, "And that sent me into the roses at Heartslabyul."

"Mackerel..." Floyd said, trailing off.

[Name] gave him a sideways look.

"Don't worry. Riddle already yelled at them for two hours."

Floyd either didn't hear that part or didn't care to comment.

"I didn't do nothing," the eelmer said to himself a moment later, resting a hand over his face as he let out a relieved laugh before it turned into something far more evil.

"Huh??" [Name] looked at him, "Did you think you did this?"

"Maybe."

"Is that why you were avoiding me?"

Floyd averted his eyes for a second before nodding.

"Felt bad."

"Aww!"

He was suddenly hit with the full force of [Name] hugging him and saying things about how he was so sweet to be concerned and how much they loved him. It was nice, actually. He missed them.

"Glad you're alright~" he told them, holding them closer to him.

...

A day later, during a break, Floyd stepped into Heartslabyul against the wishes of its housewarden. But he didn't care, he had a certain mission he needed to complete and it was unlikely anyone would be able to stop him. He wasn't movable where [Name] was concerned.

"Heyyy~" he drawled out, stepping towards the flamingo pen.

Floyd didn't even have the lightheartedness in his soul to make fun of Deuce's outfit. He had business with them. Still, it was quite a sight to see the "honor student" of a mackerel in pink leopard print.

"LEECH-SENPAI?" Deuce almost screamed as he stood quickly, rigid, "What are you doing here in our dorm???"

"NO TIME DEUCEY, RUN!" Ace yelled, already several feet away and sprinting at speeds he had never run before, "THIS IS THE END."

Deuce wasted no time and took off in the same direction as Ace.

"Find your own direction!" Ace told Deuce who just about scoffed.

The eel cracked his knuckles in preparation.

"This should be fun~"

"FLOYD LEECH LEAVE MY DORMITORY THIS INSTANT!"

The sound of heels against the pavement heading toward him.

"Don't wanna~" he offered, taking off after ADeuce.

"FLOYYYYYDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD-"

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Imagine the rest yourself~

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✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

Thank you for reading! Likes and reblogs are appreciated! Do NOT repost my writing/headcanons as your own >:c Check the top of my blog for the inbox status and read the rules before requesting. This is not a twst-only blog! ^^

[dollgxtz]

His Watchful Eye Pt.9

Word Count: 22.4k

Tags: yandere!sylus, sylus x fem!reader, possession, forced pregnancy, unwanted pregnancy, tw if u have tokophobia, mentions of rape, murder, extortion, threats, manipulation, pet names like, kitten, sweetie, honey, Xavier appears, tw vomiting, flashbacks of blood and gore, nausea, kidnapping

Taglist: @ngh-ch-choso-ahhhh, @eliasxchocolate, @nozomiaj, @xmiisuki, @sylus-kitten, @its-regretti , @m0onlustre , @ve1vet-cake, @letgobro, @starkeysslvt, @yarafic, @prince-nikko, @leiaglmela @connorsui, @iluvmewwwww75, @biggest-geo-oogami-enjoyer, @mysssticc, @babygirl-panda19, @someone-somewheres-stuff, @zaynesjasmine1, @honnylemontea, @altariasu, @the-slytherin-poet, @sorryimakira, @pearlymel, @emidpsandia , @angel-jupiter, @hwangintakswifey, @webmvie, @housesortinghat, @fading-twinkle, @shoruio, @gojos1ut, @solomonlover, @cheesenjam, @elegantnightblaze, @mavphorias, @babylavendersblog, @burntoutfrogacademic, @sinstae, @certainduckanchor, @ladyackermanisdead, @sh4nn, @milkandstarlight, @lilyadora, @depressedwhore,

AN: Hi all! This is of course on A03! I love this story so much! Each chapter is so fun to write!! The tension, the devastation. Its SO delicious!! So sorry for the late upload, I had a BUNCH of exams last week and a wedding to attend on the weekend so I couldn't just down and write. If I have u tagged here and u want to be removed from future tag lists just shoot me a dm! Enjoy my lovelies ! ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡

“Eat,” he said firmly, the command in his voice clear and sharp. “I won’t repeat myself.” You froze, your breath catching in your throat. “If you kill our baby,” Sylus continued, his voice low and deliberate, “I kill him. Pretty fair, wouldn't you agree?”

Read Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5 Pt.6 Pt.7 Pt.8 Pt.10

The towering glass building of the Hunter's Association stood like a beacon in the heart of the city, its sleek, modern architecture gleaming under the afternoon sun. The mirrored panels reflected the sprawling cityscape, a place Xavier once found familiar, even comforting. But now, as he trudged through the automatic doors, the cool blast of air conditioning hitting his face, it all felt foreign. His world had changed. The familiar sound of boots tapping on the pristine marble floors, the usual buzz of hunters and staff moving through the building, and the distant ring of telephones seemed like nothing more than a haze of noise.

His reflection caught in the glass of the lobby—he barely recognized the man staring back at him. His once well-kept appearance was gone, replaced by a man disheveled and weary. His clothes, wrinkled and stained from days on the road, clung awkwardly to his body, the fabric of his jacket creased and dusty. His hair, normally brushed neatly, now hung in messy, unkempt strands over his forehead, and the dark circles under his eyes spoke of sleepless nights and relentless mental strain.

He moved like a ghost through the lobby, ignoring the passing glances from the other hunters and staff who clearly noticed his haggard appearance. They didn’t stop him, though. They knew who he was—Xavier, one of the best hunters in the Hunters Association. An integral part of UNICORNS. He had earned his place here, had earned his own office on the upper floors. But despite his reputation, today he felt like a shell of the man he used to be.

His boots made a heavy thud with each step as he headed directly for the elevator. The metallic doors slid open with a soft chime, and he stepped inside, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on him as the doors shut, sealing him away from the noise of the lobby. The elevator began its slow ascent, the soft hum of the machinery doing little to quiet his thoughts. His hand slipped into his jacket pocket, his fingers curling around the small, inconspicuous sim card. It was a simple object, barely noticeable to anyone else, but to him, it felt like it weighed a thousand pounds.

This is it, he thought. This is what might finally give me the answers I need. The answers I’m terrified to find.

The memory of the last few weeks gnawed at him. Even having escaped the N109 Zone the memories had been a blur of desperation, exhaustion, and haunting questions. Where are you? What happened to you? And why had Skye tried to kill him? The silence, the emptiness he felt without you, was unbearable. But what gnawed at him more than anything was the creeping dread in the back of his mind—the fear that he was already too late.

The elevator dinged softly as it reached his floor, snapping him from his thoughts. The doors slid open, revealing the long, pristine hallway of the upper offices. Xavier wasted no time, his legs moving mechanically as he headed straight for his office. The lights overhead flickered ever so slightly, casting long, sharp shadows across the floor as he walked, his pace quickening with every step.

But before he could reach the safety of his office, a familiar voice cut through the air.

“Xavier?”

He froze mid-step, his body tensing involuntarily. He didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. He could already picture her—bright-eyed, curious, and always full of questions.

Sure enough, when he turned, there she was—Tara. Her short brown hair, usually neatly styled, bounced slightly as she hurried toward him, her eyes wide with a mixture of relief and concern. She was one of the few coworkers who always made a point of checking in on him, though at times, her bubbly personality felt overwhelming. Today was no exception.

“Xavier!” she called again, picking up her pace. “Oh my God, where have you been? We haven’t seen you in forever! You just disappeared, and everyone’s been asking about you, wondering if you were okay. I thought you might have left like—”

He raised a hand, cutting her off before she could finish. His voice was strained, and though he tried to keep it steady, there was an unmistakable edge of exhaustion in it. “Tara, I’m sorry. I really am. But I need to get to my office. I can’t explain anything right now.”

Tara’s face fell slightly, her eyes scanning his face, her brow furrowing as she took in his disheveled appearance. It was clear she wanted to press further, but something in his tone, or maybe the haunted look in his eyes, stopped her. She shifted awkwardly on her feet, biting her lower lip as she crossed her arms over her chest.

“Are you okay?” she asked, her voice softer now, filled with genuine concern. “I mean…you don’t look so good.”

Xavier forced a small, tight-lipped smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll be fine. Just…I just need some time.”

Before she could say anything more, he nodded to her and brushed past, his heart racing as he made his way down the hall. He could feel her eyes on him as he walked away, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. Not now. Not when he was this close.

Finally, he reached the door to his office, his sanctuary. His hand trembled slightly as he pushed the door open and stepped inside. The familiar scent of ink and printed paper greeted him, a scent that used to bring comfort but now felt cold, distant. The door clicked shut behind him, sealing him off from the world outside.

For a moment, he just stood there, leaning back against the door, his chest rising and falling with each shaky breath. The weight of the last few weeks, of everything he’d been through, came crashing down on him all at once. He ran a hand through his hair, gripping the back of his neck as he tried to steady himself. Focus, Xavier. Focus.

His eyes scanned the room—his desk, cluttered with papers and old case files, the soft leather chair in the corner, and the wide windows that let in far too much light. He needed darkness, quiet, space to think. Without hesitation, he moved toward the windows and drew the blinds shut, plunging the room into a muted, shadowy haze. The soft hum of the city outside was muffled now, replaced by the stillness of the office. He flicked off the overhead lights, leaving only the dim glow of his computer screen.

It was just him and the SIM card now.

He dropped into the chair behind his desk, his body sinking into the worn leather as he pulled the small chip from his pocket. It sat there on the desk in front of him, almost mocking him with its simplicity. How could something so small hold the answers to everything? How could it carry the weight of his hope and fear all at once?

His fingers trembled slightly as he picked it up, turning it over in his hand, his thumb brushing against the smooth surface. This is it, he reminded himself. This is how I find out what happened to her.

Xavier inserted the sim card into the slot on his computer, the holographic screen flickering to life above his head as the files began to load. His heart pounded in his chest, each second feeling like an eternity as he waited for the data to appear.

The room seemed to shrink around him, the air growing heavy as his eyes locked onto the screen. His breath hitched, his fingers tightening around the edge of the desk.

Please. Please let this tell me something. Let it lead me to her.

The files loaded slowly, the progress bar inching forward at an agonizingly slow pace. Each second felt like an eternity, the air in the room growing heavier as Xavier leaned closer to the screen, his heart pounding in his chest. His fingers drummed impatiently against the edge of the desk, a nervous rhythm that barely kept his panic at bay. This has to work. This has to show me something—anything.

But when the files finally opened, the first thing he noticed was the dull red warning message flashing on the screen: FILE CORRUPTED.

Xavier froze.

He blinked, staring at the message as though it might change if he looked at it long enough. Then, with a shaky breath, he clicked on the first file, hoping against hope that the system had made a mistake. But the message was clear: Corrupted. Unreadable.

His stomach twisted as a wave of cold dread washed over him. No… No, this can’t be right. Not now. Not after everything.

He clicked on another file. Corrupted.

Then another. Corrupted.

And another. Corrupted.

His fingers moved faster, more frantically now, clicking through the list, trying to find anything that wasn’t destroyed. But the same message greeted him every time. The red text burned into his eyes, taunting him with every click. He felt like the ground was being pulled out from under him, the desperation clawing at his chest, making it harder to breathe.

How? His mind raced, scrambling for an explanation. How could this have happened?

His thoughts spiraled. Was the sim card programmed to destroy its contents once removed? The possibility made his blood run cold. He had been so careful, so sure that this card would give him the answers he needed. And now it was slipping through his fingers.

Xavier's hand clenched into a fist, his knuckles white as he pounded the desk in frustration. "No..." His voice was a harsh whisper, barely able to contain the anger bubbling up inside him. His vision blurred for a moment, the weight of everything crashing down on him in a wave of helplessness.

This can’t be happening. Not now. Not when I’m so close.

He could feel his pulse racing, his heart pounding in his chest, faster and faster as the panic settled deeper into his bones. His mouth was dry, and his breath came in shallow, uneven bursts as he tried to hold himself together. The room felt smaller, darker, like the walls were closing in around him. The light from the computer screen flickered against his face, casting shadows under his eyes, deepening the lines of exhaustion and frustration etched into his skin.

I can’t lose this. I can’t lose her.

The thoughts came unbidden, swirling in his mind like a storm. He had been so sure this card would lead him to you—that it would show him where you were, what had happened. He had imagined this moment so many times, but now, all that hope was unraveling, torn apart by a series of corrupted files. And it felt like his last chance was slipping away right in front of him.

No. No, I won’t let this happen.

His fingers flew across the keyboard, clicking open every file he could find, his breath catching in his throat each time the same corrupted message popped up. With each failed attempt, the panic inside him grew, his heart hammering wildly as frustration gave way to desperation.

His mind raced, grasping for a solution. There had to be something he could do—something to fix this. He wasn’t about to give up, not now, not when you were still out there, waiting for him to find you. His eyes darted to the screen, scanning for anything that could help, his mind reeling, searching for an answer through the haze of fear clouding his thoughts.

And then, a flicker of hope.

He remembered the program. A faint memory, tucked away in the back of his mind—a file recovery tool buried somewhere deep within his system. It wasn’t something he used often, but it was there. His heart skipped a beat, the sliver of hope cutting through the rising panic. Yes. That’s it.

Without hesitating, he pulled up the program, his fingers trembling slightly as he typed in the command to search for the corrupted files. The familiar blue loading screen appeared, and for a moment, Xavier felt the breath he had been holding slowly release. But it wasn’t over yet. He still had to wait. The program would take time to scan the files, to see if it could recover anything usable.

Seconds stretched into minutes, and each tick of the clock felt like another weight pressing down on his chest. He sat back in his chair, staring at the spinning loading icon on the screen, willing it to move faster, to show him something—anything that could give him the answers he so desperately needed.

His leg bounced under the desk, a nervous habit he hadn’t been able to shake for days now. The anxiety clawed at him, making it impossible to sit still. His mind was racing again, fear and hope warring inside him, a toxic mix that made his stomach churn.

What if this didn’t work? What if the files were too damaged to recover? What if—what if he never found out what happened to you?

Stop it. Don’t think like that. He gritted his teeth, trying to shove the doubts out of his mind. He couldn’t afford to lose hope now. He had come too far, and he couldn’t let himself break. Not yet.

The program beeped softly, breaking the silence of the room. Xavier leaned forward, his heart thudding against his ribs as the first of the recovered files appeared on the screen. His fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment, his pulse racing in anticipation.

Please...let this work.

He clicked on the file, holding his breath as it opened, the screen flickering before finally stabilizing. His eyes scanned the first few lines of data, and for the first time in hours, a glimmer of hope sparked in his chest.

There it was. Not everything—far from it—but there was something. Something he could use.

His breath hitched as he leaned in closer, his eyes locking onto the details flashing across the screen. The tension in his body didn’t ease, but the panic that had threatened to overtake him was starting to ebb, replaced by a grim determination.

The first recovered file blinked to life on Xavier’s screen, and for a moment, his heart slowed its frantic pace. This is it, he thought, leaning forward, eyes fixed on the video as the grainy footage loaded. The room was cloaked in shadow, his breath the only sound breaking the silence. His hands hovered over the keyboard, fingers still trembling slightly, half out of exhaustion and half from anticipation.

But as the video began to play, the tension in his body didn’t ease—it only deepened.

The screen flickered with the image of a familiar dimly lit, grimy basement. The walls were old, stained with mold and years of neglect. The camera was positioned at an angle, casting shadows that made the space look even more claustrophobic. But that wasn’t what made Xavier’s stomach twist. It wasn’t you in the video. His breath caught in his throat as the scene unfolded, confusion clouding his mind.

A girl—blonde, young, and panicked—was being dragged into the room by a shoddy-looking man. Her limbs flailed wildly, her voice sharp with terror and rage.

"Fuck you, Reese! Let go!" she screamed, her voice raw, the words tearing through the oppressive silence of the basement.

Xavier’s eyes narrowed, his pulse quickening as he watched the man—Reese, apparently—roughly shove her onto a dingy, stained bed in the corner. The blonde girl gasped as she hit the mattress, her breaths coming in panicked bursts, her chest heaving. Her face contorted in fury and fear as she glared at the man who stood a few feet away, shaking like a leaf, as though he was caught between shame and desperation.

Reese, the man responsible for dragging this girl down here, opened his mouth but struggled to speak. “I’m… I’m sorry,” he muttered, voice cracking with guilt and fear. His hands trembled as he backed away from the bed, eyes wide, like he didn’t know how he had ended up in this situation either.

Xavier’s mind raced, his thoughts scrambling to make sense of what he was seeing. He had heard the name Reese before. It had come up when he questioned the shoe clerks in the N109 Zone. He knew that you had been with Reese at some point—that much was clear. But this...this wasn’t you.

Who the hell was this girl? Why was she in the same basement?

Xavier clicked on the fast-forward button, his hand shaky as he tried to piece together what he was watching. The blonde girl, still hyperventilating, curled into herself on the bed, her hands gripping the fabric of her clothes as if she could disappear into the mattress. The fear on her face was palpable, and Xavier felt a sickening knot form in his stomach as he imagined what was going through her mind in those moments.

What's happening? His mind spun with questions, but there were no answers—not yet. He fast-forwarded again, his anxiety growing with each passing second. Days seemed to pass, the lighting in the basement changing subtly as time wore on. The girl’s resistance dulled, her movements slower, her body slumping as though she had lost the will to fight back.

And then they came back.

Xavier's breath hitched as Reese appeared once more, but this time he wasn’t alone. His heart dropped as he recognized the second figure—her. The cold, sharp-eyed woman with dark hair tied into a strict bun, dressed in business casual attire. Xavier had seen her before. He remembered her face clearly, down in that same basement when he had been searching for you, when she had tricked him and escaped before answering more of his questions. She was a predator in a sleek package, her eyes devoid of warmth or sympathy.

A traitor to her own gender.

The blonde girl jolted when she saw them, her fear reigniting, her voice cracking as she screamed. “No! Please! Leave me alone!” She scrambled to the head of the bed, pressing herself into the wall as if she could sink through it and escape.

The dark-haired woman didn’t flinch. Her voice was smooth, cold, clinical. “We’ll see if she’s a match, Reese. If she’s not…” She trailed off, inspecting her nails as though the girl’s fate was of no consequence to her. “…you can give her to Damien for...y’know.”

Xavier’s blood ran cold at her words. Damien? The name made his stomach churn with anger and disgust. His grip tightened on the edge of the desk, his knuckles white as he leaned in closer to the screen, his mind now spinning with dread. This was more than just a kidnapping—more than just a rescue mission. There was something deeper, something more sinister lurking beneath the surface of all this.

Reese mumbled something under his breath, barely audible over the girl’s terrified sobs. His hands shook as he backed away from the bed again, leaving the girl in the cold, uncaring grip of the woman with the dark hair. She stepped forward, cold and methodical, holding out a syringe as though it was just another day at the office.

The blonde girl screamed as they took a blood sample, the needle piercing her skin. Her eyes were wide, wild, filled with the horror of not understanding what was happening to her but knowing that it was something dark, something she couldn’t escape. Xavier’s jaw clenched, his teeth grinding as he watched the scene unfold. The helplessness in the girl’s eyes echoed the same helplessness he felt now—watching, unable to intervene, unable to stop what was happening.

The video blurred again as Xavier fast-forwarded, skipping through more days, more moments of isolation and fear. The blonde girl’s spirit, once fiery and defiant, began to erode. By the time the dark-haired woman returned with Reese days later, her demeanor had changed entirely. She wasn’t fighting anymore. Instead, she lay curled on the bed, tears streaming down her face, silent sobs shaking her body.

The cold woman sighed, almost bored. “You’re useless to me. But hey, you’re a woman,” she said, her voice dripping with casual cruelty. “Maybe you can seduce Damien for your freedom.” The words hung in the air like poison, and the blonde girl let out a wretched scream, her body convulsing with panic as Reese grabbed her again, dragging her off the bed and toward the stairs.

Xavier’s heart pounded in his chest, his breath coming in short, angry bursts. What the hell is this? His mind was racing, the implications of what he was seeing burning through him like wildfire. This wasn’t just about you. This wasn’t just a random guy that you had gone with. This was part of something bigger, something darker than he had ever imagined.

And yet, even as the video ended—cutting off abruptly as Reese pulled the screaming girl up the stairs—one thought dominated his mind.

Where were you?

His hands shook as he closed the corrupted file, his jaw clenched so tightly it hurt. His mind spun with questions, but no answers came. Who was this girl? Was she still alive? Had Reese given her to Damien like they suggested? A dark chill crawled up Xavier’s spine. His thoughts twisted and darkened as he remembered the basement when he had first been there—when he had been searching for you.

Reese had been dead when I searched that basement.

A sudden, horrifying thought pierced through him like a dagger.

Did Reese let this 'Damien' hurt you?

His breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, everything went still. The room, the air, the soft hum of the computer—it all faded into the background. A single thought rang in his mind, louder than anything else. Was Damien involved with what happened to you?

Xavier swallowed hard, his fingers hovering over the keyboard as the tension mounted inside him. His eyes darted back to the screen, scanning the list of recovered files with a sense of rising urgency. He had to find your video. He had to know what happened to you. His breath came quicker, more shallow as he clicked on the next file, praying that this time—this time—it would show him the truth.

Xavier’s hands moved frantically across the keyboard, clicking through file after file. Each video that played on the screen sent another wave of nausea crashing through him. Each one showed a different girl—each of them dragged into that same dingy basement by Reese. Their screams echoed in his ears, the fear in their eyes burning into his memory, but none of them were you.

His stomach churned violently as the helplessness clawed at his insides. He could barely keep his breathing steady, each breath shallow and strained. The flickering images on the screen felt like a nightmare he couldn’t wake from. He was so close, yet so far. With every corrupted file, every unfamiliar face, the weight of dread settled deeper into his bones. Where are you? His mind screamed, hands gripping the edges of his desk until his knuckles turned white.

He clicked on another file. Another girl. Not you.

His jaw clenched as he forced himself to click through the next video. Still not you.

Sweat beaded on his forehead, his heart thudding in his chest like a war drum, each beat harder than the last. The urge to smash everything on his desk was almost unbearable, but he kept moving, his desperation growing with every passing second. Each wrong file felt like a stab to his gut. The girls all looked terrified—some bruised, some screaming, others had already given up—but it wasn’t you. His vision blurred for a moment, frustration and fear clouding his thoughts.

Then, he clicked the last file.

For a split second, he hesitated. His heart was in his throat, the weight of all his hopes and fears balancing on this one moment. Please. Please be her. The screen flickered, and then—your features came into view.

Xavier exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

It’s you.

The relief was so intense it nearly knocked the wind out of him. He felt his entire body sag forward, his muscles trembling as he sat frozen in his chair, staring at the screen. He hadn’t seen you in what felt like forever, but there you were, in the same filthy basement he’d seen in the other videos. But something was wrong. So very, very wrong.

You looked… worse for wear. Even through the grainy footage, it was clear you hadn’t been eating well��your face was more gaunt than he remembered, your cheeks hollow, and your body seemed frail, weaker than it ever should have been. Your hair, once well-kept, now hung in matted strands, clinging to your face as though it hadn’t been washed in days. Your eyes wide with shock. His heart broke at the sight, a heaviness settling into his chest that made it hard to breathe.

He could barely hold it together as he watched you struggle. There you were, the person he’d been so desperate to find, trapped in that godforsaken basement. His eyes stung, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached. He wanted to be there, to protect you, but he was stuck watching, helpless on the other side of a screen.

The camera trembled slightly as two figures came into view—Reese, and another man Xavier didn’t recognize. The stranger was larger, more menacing, and as they manhandled you, dragging you toward the wall, Xavier felt the white-hot surge of anger flare through him.

He watched as the man pushed you roughly against the cold stone wall, your body slumping on impact. You struggled, arms flailing as you tried to fight back, your voice strained and frantic. The unfamiliar man approached you, his face twisted with a sickening grin, and before Xavier could even process it, the man’s hands were all over you, feeling you up.

“Get off her!” Xavier hissed under his breath, his fingers tightening so hard around the arms of his chair that he thought the metal might snap. His body tensed, every muscle coiled with the instinct to protect you, to tear the man away from you. But he was powerless—stuck watching, his heart pounding in his ears, every second feeling like a lifetime.

Your voice cut through the chaos. “I'm bleeding! I’m on my period!” you screamed, desperation thick in your voice.

Xavier froze, eyes wide as the stranger’s hands recoiled. The man grimaced, backing off like a coward, muttering something inaudible as he stepped away from you. Xavier felt a surge of relief—so intense that he almost thought it was over. But then his stomach turned, realizing just how close you had come to something worse.

The relief didn’t last long. He watched, his breath shallow, as he dragged you over to a dingy showerhead in the corner of the room. The rusted metal clung to the grimy tile, the smell of mildew practically radiating through the screen. You were shoved under the cold spray, and when the icy water hit your body, you didn’t scream. You didn’t cry out. You trembled, your whole frame shaking violently as the freezing water soaked through your clothes, your hair plastering to your skull.

Xavier’s chest tightened painfully. You were silent, but your body was wracked with shivers, your shoulders shaking as the water poured down over you. Why aren’t you fighting? he thought, his heart breaking with every second that passed. Why aren’t you screaming?

He could see it, the exhaustion that had settled into you, the hopelessness. The strength you usually had was slipping away, replaced by the toll of captivity and cruelty. His fists clenched, the rage boiling under his skin as he watched the stranger turn off the water and leave you there—helpless, wet, and shivering on the cold basement floor.

Xavier’s breath hitched, his throat closing up as he watched you desperately try to catch your breath, your body trembling uncontrollably. Then, slowly, your eyes fluttered shut, your head lolling forward as your body went limp. You collapsed—passed out from sheer exhaustion, from the cold, from everything they had done to you.

A single tear slid down Xavier’s cheek, though he didn’t realize it was there at first. The wet warmth caught him by surprise, and he wiped it away quickly, frustration twisting inside him like a knife. He couldn’t stop watching—he couldn’t turn away. Even though every second felt like it was cutting deeper into him, he couldn’t tear his eyes from the screen. He needed to know what had happened. He needed to know everything.

The screen flickered slightly as the footage continued. Reese appeared again, but this time he was alone. His hands were full—clothes and pads, probably for you. Xavier’s teeth ground together, a sickening feeling settling in the pit of his stomach as he watched Reese step cautiously toward the bed. Your body still lay there, unconscious, cold, vulnerable.

Reese didn’t move for a long moment, just standing there, staring at your unmoving form. He seemed torn—his face twisted with guilt, fear, maybe even shame. His eyes flickered to your face, and Xavier’s pulse quickened. The tension in his body coiled tighter, a knot of rage and anxiety constricting his chest.

Then, slowly, Reese stepped closer to you. His hand extended, trembling as he reached toward your face, his fingers hovering just above your cheek. No. Don’t touch her. Xavier’s mind screamed the words, his hands gripping the sides of his chair so hard that his nails dug into the leather, leaving deep grooves. He could feel the blood rushing in his ears, his muscles straining as though he might actually break through the screen and stop him.

But then Reese hesitated. His hand hovered for a moment longer before he pulled back, taking a deep, shaky breath. Xavier’s heart pounded in his chest, his relief palpable—but it did nothing to calm the storm of emotions raging inside him.

Reese placed the clothes on the bed across from you, his eyes still fixed on your face, but he didn’t touch you. He stepped away, leaving you there, still unconscious, still shivering slightly. Xavier’s breath came out in a ragged sigh, his body trembling with the overwhelming flood of emotions that he could barely keep in check.

But this wasn’t over. He knew it wasn’t over.

Xavier leaned forward, wiping another tear from his cheek as he narrowed his eyes at the screen. He had to keep going. He had to see what happened next. He had to know. He had to find out everything.

Xavier watched as the video played on, his entire body locked in place, unable to tear his eyes away from the screen. He could barely breathe as the image flickered and your figure stirred, your body shifting slowly on the cold, hard ground. The way you moved, every inch of your body screaming exhaustion, made his heart sink. You looked like a shell of yourself, like every ounce of strength had been drained from you, leaving only a frail, weakened version of the person he once knew.

He watched as you struggled to sit up, your soaked nightgown clinging to your body like a lead weight, dragging you down. Your hands trembled as you pushed yourself up, your hair soaked, wet strands sticking to your face, your breaths shallow and labored. His fingers tightened on the edges of the desk, his heart aching at the sight of you. Every movement looked painful—every breath an effort.

Come on… please… just get up, he thought, willing you to find the strength to keep moving, to fight back against the hell you were trapped in.

Slowly, you managed to rise to your feet, your knees wobbling slightly as you reached for the clothes Reese had left behind. You dressed in silence, your movements sluggish, like you were on the verge of collapse. The sight of you changing, of slipping into the dry clothes, should have brought Xavier some relief, but it didn’t. If anything, it made his stomach churn with dread. He could see it in your face—the numbness, the exhaustion, the sheer hopelessness that seemed to radiate from your every gesture.

You don’t deserve this. None of this, Xavier thought, his throat tightening as a lump of guilt settled deep in his chest.

Then, something shifted. You glanced up toward the stairs, your expression tense, wary, like you were planning something. For a moment, a flicker of hope sparked in Xavier’s chest as he watched you move toward the steps, your eyes focused on the large hatch at the top. Were you trying to escape? He leaned forward in his seat, his breath held as you reached the hatch leaning against it, your breath ragged

Come on. You can do this. Try and open it baby.

But then, you froze. Your head jerked up, eyes wide, and without warning, you bolted back down the stairs, your feet nearly slipping on the slick floor as you dove under the bed, hiding like a frightened animal. Xavier’s heart stuttered, his breath catching in his throat.

What’s wrong? Why are you hiding?

His pulse pounded in his ears as the camera trembled slightly, picking up the unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching the basement. Heavy, deliberate footsteps—multiple sets, moving in sync. His heart sank deeper into his stomach, his gut twisting with dread as three figures came into view: Reese, the cold-eyed woman with dark hair—the same woman who had haunted his thoughts since that first encounter—and another man, unfamiliar, likely one of their henchmen.

The air felt suffocating as the henchman crouched down beside the bed, his meaty hand reaching under and grabbing you roughly by the arm. Xavier’s stomach lurched as he watched you struggle, but it was no use. The man yanked you out from under the bed, your body hitting the floor with a dull thud as he dragged you to your feet.

“No, no, no…” Xavier whispered under his breath, his chest tightening as he watched helplessly from behind the screen. His hands gripped the armrests of his chair, his knuckles white with tension. His skin crawled with anxiety, his mind screaming for you to fight, to resist, to do anything to stop this from happening.

The woman stepped forward, her face a mask of cold indifference as she looked down at you, her eyes sharp and calculating. Dialogue is exchanged that he cant quite hear but he manages to make out a few sentences.

“We don’t know for sure if you’re a match yet,” the woman said, almost thoughtfully. “But you're a woman, so that's already one criteria met. And it’s just a matter of time before we find out the second.”

Xavier’s jaw clenched. A match? For what? What kind of sick, twisted operation was this? His mind raced, trying to piece together the fragments of the nightmare unfolding in front of him. She had mentioned you were a match back in the basement. Was this what she was referring to? He felt the bile rise in his throat as the woman produced a syringe from her coat pocket, her movements mechanical, practiced. She didn’t care about you. You were nothing but a commodity to her—just another body, another possible match.

He leaned closer to the screen, his breath coming faster, harder. “No! Don’t give in!” he screamed in his mind, wishing with every fiber of his being that you could hear him. Fight! Stab her with it!

But you didn’t.

You just…obeyed.

Your arm trembled as you extended it toward the woman, too weak, too exhausted to fight back. Your eyes were dull, drained of the fire he knew you once had. Xavier felt like his heart was being ripped from his chest as he watched you give in, letting them take the blood sample without resistance. He wanted to scream, to throw something, to punch through the screen. This isn’t you. You were always so strong. So fierce. What did they do to you?

But he knew the truth. He could see it in your body language, in the slump of your shoulders. You had been beaten down, worn away by days of captivity. And there was nothing he could do to stop it. Not from here. His helplessness gnawed at him, threatening to overwhelm him.

After taking the sample, the woman glanced at the henchman and hands it to him. He leaves and the woman stayed behind, her eyes never leaving you. “Now we wait,” she said, crossing her arms. “If you’re lucky, you won’t be a match. But if you are… well, we’ll be in touch.”

She exchanges a few words with Reese before making her way up the stairs, heels clacking as she walks back up.

But Reese didn’t follow. He lingered behind, his eyes avoiding yours. And then you snapped. You start yelling about how you had trusted him.

"I trusted you!" you shouted, your voice growing louder, the raw emotion burning through your exhaustion. "I told you everything—I told you about my escape, I thought you were trying to help me!"

Your words were heavy with betrayal, each syllable cutting through the silence like a knife. Xavier’s heart twisted painfully in his chest. He remembered your voice on the phone—the trust in your words when you mentioned Reese. You had believed in him. You had gone with him because you thought he would protect you.

I should have told you not to go. I should have warned you. Guilt flooded through Xavier, choking him. I thought you’d be okay. I thought I’d find you in time.

Reese flinched under your words, his hands shaking at his sides. He couldn’t even meet your eyes as you continued to hurl your accusations at him. He looked every bit the coward, standing there, unable to face the truth of what he’d done to you. He babbles some excuses about how he had to do what he did. But you weren't having it. How he thought you would be dumped like the others. How he didn't know about the organ trafficking.

Xavier scoffed. A coward and a liar this guy was.

“I’m sorry,” he says, seemingly all he can mutter after all that.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he turned and walked out, leaving you alone in the cold, empty room.

Xavier’s chest heaved with labored breaths as he watched you slide down the wall, your body shaking with silent sobs. His heart ached, the guilt and anger mixing into a storm of emotions that he couldn’t contain. He wanted to reach through the screen, to hold you, to tell you he was coming.

I’m so sorry. I’ll make this right. I swear.

The video continued, the next few days slipping by in a blur of monotony. Reese came and went, bringing you food, but he said nothing. He was silent, avoiding your gaze, avoiding confrontation. And you—you barely moved. You spent most of your time sleeping, your body too exhausted, too worn down to fight anymore. Xavier’s stomach churned as he realized how deeply this place had broken you.

But then… something changed.

His eyes widened as a familiar figure appeared on the screen. The same man who had groped you when you had first arrived in the basement, his expression dark, predatory. Xavier’s blood ran cold as the man descended the stairs, his eyes fixed on your sleeping form.

No…no…not again.

You stirred, your body tensing the moment you saw him. The tension in the air was palpable. Xavier could feel it in his bones, the dread creeping up his spine as the man stalked toward you. His lips moved, saying something to you, but the audio was too muffled to make out the words. Whatever he said, it made your body stiffen with fear as he grabbed your arm.

Then, without warning, the man lunged forward, grabbing you tighter and slamming you into the mattress.

Xavier’s vision blurred with red. His heart pounded in his ears as rage surged through him like a wildfire. He gripped the edge of the desk so hard his knuckles turned white, his teeth grinding together as he watched you fight like hell. You kicked, you scratched, you screamed—but it wasn’t enough. The man was too strong. He pinned you down, his hands tearing at your clothes, ripping your sweatpants off with vicious intent.

“No...” Xavier hissed, slamming his fist into the desk. He couldn’t watch this. He couldn’t watch you be violated like this. His eyes squeezed shut, but he couldn’t stop himself from listening, every sound making his blood boil, the anger roaring in his mind like an unstoppable storm.

He could hear the man struggling—his heavy breathing, the sound of fabric tearing, your muffled cries. Every second felt like an eternity. Xavier’s entire body trembled with fury, his mind screaming at him to do something, but he was powerless.

And then he heard it.

Your voice, soft, almost a whisper. He couldn’t make out what you said, but the words were enough to anger the man on top of you He seems like he's about to hit you, and then—

"Is that anyway to talk to a lady?"

The man was frozen, is facing twisting in shock before he was suddenly flung off of you, his body slamming into the wall with a sickening crunch. His screams filled the air, a sound so satisfying that it almost drowned out the confusion that followed.

Xavier’s eyes snapped open, his breath catching in his throat. What the hell just happened?

And then he saw him.

A tall man, dressed in dark clothes, his face somewhat shadowed by the dim lighting of the basement. His presence was commanding, intimidating—and immediately recognizable. The white grayish hair, terrifying demeanor, crimson blood colored eye.

Skye.

Xavier’s heart lurched. What the hell was he doing there?

Xavier’s breath caught in his throat as the figure of Skye moved toward you, his tall, dark silhouette looming in the dim light of the basement. His walk was calm, casual, as though he hadn’t just flung a man across the room like a ragdoll. There was a glint of amusement in his eyes as he stopped in front of you, his lips twitching upward in a half-smile.

But what shook Xavier to his core wasn’t just Skye’s appearance. It was your reaction.

You scrambled to pull your clothes back on, the shock evident on your face, but there was something else in your expression that made Xavier’s stomach twist. You didn’t look confused. You didn’t look like you had just been saved by a stranger. There was familiarity there—recognition. And then you spoke, your voice shaky but not surprised.

“What took you so long?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Xavier’s heart skipped a beat. What?

Skye chuckled softly, his voice low and almost teasing. “Is this the thanks I get, kitten?” He glanced back at the man crumpled against the wall, a smug grin playing on his lips.

"I save you, and all you’ve got is attitude?" Skye raises an eyebrow, the smirk on his lips widening as if he’s enjoying this far too much. “You’re getting harder to please.”

Xavier’s mind reeled, his thoughts scrambling to make sense of what he was seeing, what he was hearing. You knew him? The question burned in his chest, but before he could fully process it, another sound drew his attention.

There was a loud thud as Reese came tumbling down the stairs, his body rolling helplessly until he landed face-first on the cold stone floor. Behind him, two figures with bird-like masks giggled, nudging each other proudly.

"We got him, boss," one of them chirped, his voice muffled behind the mask. "Tried to run, but he fell flat on his face." He punctuates his words with another casual kick to Reese's side. "Much like he did just now."

Reese groaned, struggling to push himself up, but when he finally lifted his head, his eyes went wide with terror. He looked past the masked figures, past you, and his gaze landed on Skye. His entire body trembled, and Xavier could see the exact moment the fear set in, the moment Reese understood who he was facing.

“Sylus…” Reese breathed, his voice trembling as he tried to scoot backward, his limbs shaking. “You…you ran away from Sylus?”

The name sent a bolt of electricity through Xavier’s body, freezing him in place. His entire world seemed to tilt on its axis, the ground falling away beneath him. Sylus. The name echoed in his mind, a name he had heard whispered in fear, a name spoken with the kind of reverence reserved for monsters and myths. The ruler of the N109 Zone. The feared leader of Onychinus.

And now, that man—the man who had offered him a ride, the same man who had tried to kill him and stage it as a car crash—was standing right there, in the same room as you. Sylus.

The reality of it hit him like a punch to the gut. This is Sylus?

His breath quickened, his mind racing with a thousand thoughts at once. Sylus—he’s been the one all along. The man with the charm, the mystery. The one who played me for a fool and tried to end my life. He remembered their conversation in the car, the way Sylus had studied him, like he was nothing more than a pawn in some twisted game. And now, here he was, standing over you like you were the most precious thing in the world.

The audio cuts out briefly, some words being exchanged between you and Sylus before it comes back in clearly. A black crow had materialized on his shoulder, and Reese seemed confused that the crows name was Mephisto. Sylus snapped at him, seemingly annoyed he was attempting to talk to you.

Sylus’s dark eyes flicked back toward you, his expression softening in a way that made Xavier’s stomach churn. He watched as Sylus crouched down in front of you, his tall frame looming over you but his movements gentle, controlled. You seemed to be spiraling. There was something possessive in the way he moved, the way he reached out to you.

“Shh, kitten,” Sylus murmured, his voice soft but commanding. “It’s alright. I found you.”

Xavier’s heart pounded in his chest, his throat tight. Kitten? The term dripped with intimacy, with ownership. He watched in horror as you didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. You just stared at Sylus, your eyes wide with a mix of emotions—fear, confusion, and something else Xavier couldn’t quite place. Tears welled in your eyes, but you didn’t try to push him away. You didn’t run. You just trembled there, your body torn between exhaustion and emotion.

Sylus leaned in closer, his dark gaze locking onto yours. “You’re mine again,” he whispered, his voice a possessive growl that made the hairs on Xavier’s neck stand on end. “Don’t cry. Not now. Not in front of them.”

Xavier’s breath hitched, his body trembling with a combination of fear and fury. Yours? The word echoed in his mind, and he couldn’t shake the overwhelming sense of dread that came with it. Sylus just called you his. And you…you weren’t fighting it. You weren’t pulling away. Xavier’s mind spun with confusion, with disbelief. He could barely make sense of what was happening.

Xavier’s hands gripped the sides of his chair, his knuckles turning white with the strain. No…no, this can’t be happening. The tenderness in Sylus’s voice, the way he looked at you like you were the center of his universe—it made Xavier’s stomach twist with anger. You were his. How dare this man—this monster—claim you?

But then, something else drew his attention.

A blood-curdling scream filled the basement, shattering the stillness. Xavier’s eyes snapped to the figures on the other side of the room. Reese and the henchman were writhing in agony, Reese's body contorted with pain as he was slammed into the wall, their screams echoing through the small, claustrophobic space. But Sylus… Sylus didn’t even look at them. He didn’t flinch, didn’t move. His attention stayed fixed on you, his hand gently wiping the tears from your cheeks as though nothing else in the world mattered.

“Don’t look at them,” Sylus murmured softly, his voice soothing yet firm. His fingers brushed over your face, gently cradling your chin and turning your gaze back to him. “Look at me.”

Xavier felt like he couldn’t breathe, his heart racing as his mind struggled to process everything. Sylus was ignoring the carnage behind him, the screams of the men he was torturing, and was focused entirely on you. It was as if you were the only thing that mattered to him, as if the world outside of you didn’t exist.

His eyes stayed locked on the screen, unable to look away as Sylus reached out, his hand moving gently to your face. “Look at me,” he whispered, his voice dripping with a dark intimacy. “Your tears, your pain, your misery…it all belongs to me.”

"I’m the only one, who gets to see you cry."

Xavier’s pulse pounded in his ears, his skin crawling as he watched Sylus’s possessive, gentle touch. The man was a predator, but the way he handled you, the way he spoke to you, was so calm, so assured, like you were his most valuable possession. And what frightened Xavier the most was that you weren’t fighting him. You were letting him soothe you. You were letting him touch you.

Before Xavier could even begin to process the horror of what he was seeing, another voice broke through the tension.

“Please, make him stop! Ask him to stop!”

Xavier’s gaze snapped to Reese, his blood boiling. The coward was begging for his life, his body curled up against the wall, his eyes wide with terror. But it was your face that made Xavier’s heart ache. Your expression had hardened, your fear melting away into cold resolve. You stared at Reese, your lips curling into a sneer. The audio cuts out briefly before it comes back again.

“Go to hell, Reese,” you spat, your voice sharp and final.

A sickening crack followed, and before Xavier even had time to register what was happening, Sylus calmly stood up. He reached into his coat, pulling out a sleek black pistol. With smooth, practiced movements, he aimed the weapon at Reese without even blinking.

Xavier’s breath caught in his throat, his entire body tensing.

BANG.

Reese’s head snapped back as the bullet tore through his skull, his brain matter splattering against the wall in a gruesome display. His body slumped to the ground, lifeless, blood pooling around him in a thick, dark puddle.

Sylus lowered the pistol, his expression calm, almost serene, as though he had merely swatted a fly. He turned back to you, a soft smile playing on his lips as he looked at your shocked face. His smile—so tender, so full of affection—made Xavier’s stomach churn with revulsion.

“I sent him to hell, just like you said, sweetie,"

Xavier’s mind raced, his heart hammering in his chest as he sat frozen, unable to pull his eyes from the screen. What the hell am I watching? His hands gripped the armrests of his chair so tightly that his fingers ached, but the pain barely registered. His world was narrowing down to this single moment, the horrifying spectacle unfolding in front of him.

His eyes darted to Sylus, who now stood with calm, calculated precision, his face devoid of any emotion as he turned his gaze to the henchman still writhing on the ground. The man’s body was twisted in agony, his limbs jerking uncontrollably as he gasped for breath, his face contorted with raw terror. He’s going to die. Sylus is going to kill him, too.

Xavier’s pulse quickened, a sick feeling swirling in his gut as he watched the tendrils of the familiar ominous red mist around Sylus begin to thicken, swirling with a low, almost inhuman hum that reverberated through the air. The mist was like a living entity, moving with a purpose, snaking toward the henchman with eerie fluidity, wrapping itself around him like a serpent tightening its hold.

The man’s breath hitched, his chest heaving with frantic, desperate gasps, but it was no use. The mist coiled tighter, its grip unyielding as it crushed the air from his lungs. His mouth opened wide, as if to scream, but no sound escaped. His eyes bulged with fear, veins popping in his neck as the mist squeezed relentlessly, cutting off any hope of escape.

Xavier’s throat tightened, his own breath becoming shallow as he watched the man’s body convulse violently, limbs thrashing against the floor in a sickening dance of death. The panic in the man’s eyes was unmistakable, the sheer terror that gripped him as he realized his life was slipping away. The mist was alive, feeding off his fear, tightening like a noose around his entire body.

Sylus stood over him, his hand raised slightly as if controlling the mist with nothing more than a thought. His expression remained cold, detached, but there was something else there—a faint flicker of satisfaction in his dark eyes. He was enjoying this.

Xavier’s stomach churned, the bile rising in his throat as Sylus’s power became terrifyingly real before his eyes. This wasn’t just some mob boss. This was a monster.

The man’s body twitched one final time, his limbs spasming as the mist constricted further, wrapping around his torso like a vice. His ribs began to bend, then snap, the bones splintering under the intense pressure. A gurgling sound escaped the man’s throat as his body gave way, his chest caving in, bones cracking like brittle twigs underfoot.

Holy shit... Xavier could barely comprehend what he was seeing. The sound of bone snapping echoed through the room, filling his mind with a sickening chorus of destruction. He wanted to look away, but he couldn’t. His eyes were glued to the horror as Sylus squeezed his hand into a fist, the motion simple, deliberate—final.

With a sickening, wet crack, the man’s entire body exploded outward. His ribcage folded under the immense force, collapsing in on itself like a house of cards, his spine snapping in two as the red mist continued to crush him.

The impact sent a sickening splatter of blood and tissue across the tiles, a dark, violent stain painting the cold grey walls in streaks of red. His bones crunched under the force, his skull cracking against the hard surface as his remains dripped to the floor in a grotesque heap. The sound echoed in the stillness, the dripping blood the only sign of life left in the room.

The mist slowly receded, dissolving into the air like it had never been there at all.

Xavier’s chest heaved, his breath shallow, ragged, as he sat in stunned silence. His mind couldn’t process what he had just witnessed. The sheer brutality of it, the casual way in which Sylus had destroyed a man’s life with nothing more than a thought—it was too much. Too surreal.

Sylus didn’t even flinch. He turned back toward you, his face softening once more, his cold detachment melting away as he reached out to touch your shoulder, as though nothing horrific had just occurred. As though the world hadn’t just shattered in violence around him.

Xavier swallowed hard, his throat dry, his body shaking with a mix of adrenaline and shock. What the hell is happening here? His mind was spinning, trying to reconcile the image of Sylus—this monster in human skin—with the man who was now gazing at you with such tenderness.

Sylus gently tilted your chin upward, his fingers brushing your skin with a strange sort of intimacy. "Sorry," Sylus says smoothly, his tone as casual as if he had just finished a routine task. His gaze slides back to you, eyes gleaming with quiet satisfaction. "I didn't want them breathing the same air as you any longer."

Xavier’s heart clenched as he saw the tears in your eyes, the way your body trembled. You looked utterly broken, shaken by the violence, but you didn’t pull away from Sylus. You didn’t fight. You let him touch you. You let him soothe you. And that—that was what terrified Xavier the most.

But you didn't really have a choice but to let him did you? Who would refuse a guy that just made a man explode his guts all over the walls?

Xavier sat there, his mind numb and his body frozen in place. The images on the screen had burned themselves into his brain—Sylus’s cold efficiency, the detached way he had slaughtered these men without a second thought, and the possessive way he touched your trembling body. It was like none of it mattered to him. He had done what he came for, and nothing more.

One of the masked men cheered as if he had just witnessed a cool party trick, his voice muffled and gleeful behind the bird-shaped mask. Xavier's stomach turned as he watched Sylus remain calm, entirely unfazed by the grotesque carnage he had just caused. Sylus didn’t even spare the scene another glance. His attention was entirely on you, your trembling body settling in his arms as he picked you up, your form curling inward slightly as if to shield yourself from the reality of what had just happened.

Xavier’s heart ached as he watched you struggle weakly, a part of you resisting, but ultimately…relenting. Giving up. The way you allowed yourself to be held by him—the man responsible for everything—sent a deep wave of anger and helplessness through Xavier’s veins. He wanted to scream at the screen, to break through it and take you back from this monster, but he was powerless.

Sylus paused for a moment at the bottom of the stairs, looking down at your small, shaking form cradled in his arms, then briefly glanced up at the camera. His crimson eyes glinted, and then—he winked. A cold, confident wink that sent a shiver down Xavier’s spine. It was as if Sylus knew exactly who was watching, as if this entire grotesque performance had been for his benefit. He didn’t care about the bloody mess he had left behind. He had what he came for.

The crow perched on Sylus’s shoulder cawed once, flapping its wings as Sylus calmly ascended the stairs with you in his arms, disappearing into the dim shadows above. Xavier watched in stunned silence, his breath shallow, his heart pounding in his chest like a war drum. He fast-forwarded through the footage, his mind racing, but the camera cut out soon after, leaving only an empty, black screen.

Xavier leaned back in his chair, the tension in his body finally releasing as his head hit the backrest, but the relief never came. His head was spinning, everything suddenly crashing into him all at once. Sylus. The truth hung heavy in the air around him, suffocating. Sylus had been the one behind your disappearance. He was the reason you had abruptly vanished from Xavier’s life. He was the monster pulling the strings.

His heart raced as the pieces fell into place, each one sharper than the last. Sylus had tried to kill him, not for the Hunter's Association’s secrets, but because he had been looking for you. And Sylus knew that. He had known that all along. But then… why had he kept him alive? Why toy with him like this?

“I've realized you're much more useful to me alive than dead." Sylus had said to him. The words now echoed in Xavier’s mind like a sick joke.

Useful? Useful for what?

Xavier sat there in stunned silence, his hands resting uselessly on the desk. The weight of it all settled into him, the anger rising and brimming in his chest until it became almost unbearable. His breathing quickened as rage burned through him. Of course, it had to be Sylus. The feared leader of Onychinus, the untouchable ruler of the N109 Zone. Of course, it had to be him. The man who had made practically everyone tremble with fear—the man who had just casually slaughtered people as if they were nothing—he had taken you.

And he was the one who had tried to take Xavier’s life, too.

Xavier clenched his fists, the tension in his body building to a fever pitch. His mind raced, the realization settling deep in his gut, heavy and sickening. Fuck.

He felt…hopeless. What could he do against Sylus? How could he fight someone like that—a man with an army, with power beyond anything Xavier could even fathom? The weight of it all crushed him. The anger simmered, bubbling just beneath the surface, threatening to consume him.

Then, a sound broke the silence. His phone buzzed on the desk, the vibration snapping him out of his spiraling thoughts. His heart skipped a beat as he glanced at the screen.

An unknown number.

Xavier’s breath caught in his throat, a strange, icy dread settling over him as he picked up the phone. His eyes scanned the message.

"I figure by now you've realized what's really going on. Listen closely. I will not repeat myself. Try any tricks or tell anyone, she dies."

Xavier’s chest tightened, panic creeping into his every nerve. His fingers trembled slightly as he held the phone, the reality of the situation finally crashing down in full. This was Sylus. It had to be.

She dies.

The words hit him like a sledgehammer, sending a jolt of terror straight through his core. Sylus had her. Sylus was watching. He had been watching all along.

Xavier’s heart raced, his mind scrambling for what to do. He needed to respond, but the fear clawed at him, suffocating. His hands shook as he typed out the only thing he could think of, his fingers moving almost instinctively across the screen.

"It's you, isn't it? Sylus."

The message was simple, direct. But as he stared down at the words, his stomach twisted into knots. He knew who Sylus was now, but what was he going to do about it? What could he do?

Xavier’s fingers hovered over the screen as he read the response. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat louder than the last.

"You're smarter than you look."

The insult was almost expected, but Xavier barely registered it. His mind was too focused on what Sylus had just revealed—on the horrifying reality he was now facing.

His eyes narrowed as he typed out his reply, his fingers moving with more defiance than his trembling heart felt.

"Well, I'm not stupid. Why would you save her just to kill her? You're lying."

His pulse raced as he hit send, the words blurring slightly as he stared at the screen, waiting.

The silence on the other end stretched out, suffocating. Every second felt like an eternity, the tension building in the room like a storm about to break. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that. Maybe I’m pushing him too far.

Xavier’s throat tightened as his mind scrambled for what he’d do next. Had he made a mistake? Sylus wasn’t just some thug. He was the ruler of the N109 Zone, the man who had tried to kill him. The man who now had you in his clutches.

Then, the phone buzzed again, and Xavier’s stomach dropped.

"Do you want to find out?"

The blood drained from Xavier’s face as he read the message. His body stiffened, a cold, creeping dread settling deep into his bones. The casual threat lingered in the air, icy and terrifying. He could almost hear Sylus’s voice behind the words, dripping with dangerous amusement.

Do you want to find out?

Xavier’s blood ran cold. His chest tightened, and for a moment, he forgot to breathe. The silence that followed was deafening, the weight of the question sinking into him like a lead weight. What did Sylus mean? The threat was clear, but Xavier felt trapped, stuck between the impossible.

He wouldn’t kill you… not after going through so much trouble to find you. That’s what Xavier wanted to believe, but the sinking feeling in his stomach told him otherwise. Sylus was unpredictable. A man who could kill with a flick of his hand, a man who saw people as tools, as possessions.

What if Sylus wasn’t bluffing?

Xavier’s thoughts raced, his mind a chaotic swirl of panic and rage. He didn’t know what to do, and for the first time in his life, he felt utterly powerless. Sylus had control—over him, over you. Every choice was a trap.

His fingers hovered over the phone, frozen as he stared at the message. Do you want to find out?

No. He didn’t.

Xavier's fingers hovered over the screen as he read Sylus’s latest message before typing once more.

"Okay fine. Enough with the games. What do you want from me?" His chest tightened, each heartbeat pounding in his ears like a drum.

"Good to know we're on the same page."

The casual, almost mocking tone twisted Xavier's gut, but it was the rest of the message that made his blood run cold.

"You're going to tell your captain that you saw and talked to your… partner. That she is fine and just felt trapped with work, so she fled to another country. After that, get rid of the SIM card. I will know if you don't. Don't test me."

Xavier’s heart pounded in his chest. The SIM card—the one that had shown him the horrific reality of what had happened to you, the one that contained evidence of something far larger and darker than he’d realized—had to be destroyed. Sylus knew everything. Every move Xavier made, every desperate attempt to unravel the truth, Sylus was watching. Controlling him like a puppet.

His hands trembled as he furiously typed back, the words coming fast, his desperation bleeding into every stroke of the keys.

"I can't. There's an organ trafficking ring going on right under our noses, and they might be stealing women from Linkon as well. I can lie to the captain, but don't you at least care about the people who took her in the first place?"

He hit send, his pulse quickening as the message went through. This was it. His last-ditch effort. If he could just get Sylus to care—if he could find some sliver of humanity in the man, some reason for him to want justice, to see that the people responsible for trafficking you were taken down—maybe, just maybe, he could find a way out of this.

But the silence that followed was suffocating.

Xavier’s heart raced in the quiet seconds that ticked by, every moment dragging out into an unbearable eternity. His breath hitched as he stared at the phone, waiting—hoping—for a response. Come on… care about this. Do something.

Finally, after what felt like an agonizing stretch of time, his phone buzzed.

"I’m taking care of them. Just do what I ask and she lives. Simple, yes?"

Xavier’s stomach churned as he read the words, the cold reality settling over him like a blanket of ice. Of course. Sylus wasn’t concerned about the trafficking. He wasn’t concerned about justice, or the victims, or anything that Xavier cared about. He was focused on one thing—control. He was always ten steps ahead, always moving the pieces on the board to his own advantage.

A wave of frustration, helplessness, and rage swept over Xavier, but what choice did he have? You were still in Sylus’s hands. He could keep pushing, keep trying to fight, but Sylus had made one thing clear—don’t test me.

Xavier's hands hovered over the phone, his mind racing. He felt trapped. Every move felt wrong, but there was no way out, not with you hanging in the balance. His throat tightened as he typed his next message, his heart pounding with the bitter taste of defeat.

"Fine. I'll do what you ask."

He hit send, the words feeling like poison as they left his fingertips.

Xavier's fingers tightened around his phone, his knuckles white as he stared at Sylus’s last message:

"Good. That's what I like to hear."

It was a simple sentence, but it carried the weight of finality that made Xavier's stomach twist. He typed furiously, his heart racing as he asked the one question that had been gnawing at him since this nightmare began.

"If I do this, does that mean you'll let her go?"

He hit send, the cold sweat on his neck making him shiver as he waited for a response. His mind raced, clinging to the faint hope that maybe—maybe—Sylus had a plan that involved letting you go. Maybe there was a way out of this, a way to get you back. Alive.

The phone buzzed in his hand.

"You get knowledge that she's still breathing. Should suffice."

Xavier’s stomach dropped, his body going cold as he read the message. His heart hammered in his chest, rage bubbling up inside him, burning hotter with each passing second. That was it. That was all Sylus was offering—the knowledge that you were alive. Not freedom. Not safety. Just…existence. Sylus had no intention of letting you go. Not now. Not ever.

But why? What was his game? Why keep you? Why was he so obsessed?

Xavier’s mind flashed back to the surveillance footage. To the way Sylus had looked at you. That strange tenderness in his eyes, the possessiveness in his voice when he called you "mine". It hadn’t been cold or detached like the way he dealt with others. It was intimate. Like you were something he cherished, something that belonged to him.

Did this monster…love you?

The thought made Xavier sick to his core. No. Someone like Sylus wasn’t capable of love. He was a killer, a manipulator, a tyrant. People like him didn’t love—they controlled, they possessed. But then… why kidnap you? What was it about you that had caught his attention, his obsession? You couldn’t possibly mean that much to him. Could you?

Xavier’s fists clenched in anger. The thought of Sylus loving you—touching you—made his blood boil. The idea of you, his love, being held by that monster sent a dark wave of rage crashing over him. He couldn't stop the thought from festering in his mind, couldn't shake the image of Sylus holding you close, controlling you with that calm, possessive demeanor.

"Don't think you'll have her for long. I'll find her. And you. You won't like it when I do."

The words appeared on the screen before Xavier even realized he had typed them, each letter a promise of vengeance, of justice. He hit send, the anger burning in his chest like a fire he couldn't contain.

For a moment, there was silence. Then his phone buzzed again.

"I'd love to see you try. Although, you may be a tad bit too late when you arrive. I've already claimed her in more ways than one."

Xavier froze. His entire world tilted as the implications of Sylus’s words sank into his mind like a dagger. Claimed her? In more ways than one? His body stiffened, the air around him suddenly feeling thick, suffocating.

Had this monster…forced himself on you?

His breath caught in his throat, fury surging through him like a wildfire. No. No, he couldn't have. The thought of Sylus putting his hands on you, of violating you in any way, made Xavier feel like he was about to explode. His heart pounded in his chest, rage clouding his vision.

He couldn’t stop his fingers from moving, the words fueled by a deep, primal fury.

"You fucking bastard. I'll kill you."

The message was blunt, raw, and filled with a hatred so deep that it practically burned through the screen. Xavier’s body trembled, his pulse roaring in his ears as he waited, barely able to breathe.

Sylus’s response came quickly, sharp and dismissive, as if this were nothing more than a game to him.

"We'll be in touch. I'll be watching. Ciao."

Xavier's hand shook as he stared at the words. Sylus had won, for now. He had all the control, all the power. He had you. And as much as Xavier wanted to tear the phone apart, to destroy everything in his path, there was nothing he could do. Not yet.

The fight wasn’t over, but it had just gotten infinitely more personal.

And Xavier knew he wouldn’t rest until Sylus was dead.

Xavier stared at his phone in disbelief, his heart racing as he watched messages with Sylus disappeared. What the hell? He hadn’t deleted them. He frantically swiped at the screen, refreshing, trying to bring them back, but there was nothing. Just an empty thread where Sylus’s taunting words had been only moments before. Gone.

His chest tightened, a cold wave of dread sweeping over him. Could Sylus really manipulate his phone? Could he get into his messages, erase things at will? The thought made Xavier’s blood run cold. Sylus wasn’t just some twisted mob boss; he had control over everything—his world, his technology, even his mind. He was everywhere, watching every move Xavier made. It felt like a noose tightening around his neck.

His hand trembled as he stared at the blank screen. Sylus had just stripped him of the only connection he had left. No evidence. No trail.

Xavier swallowed hard and clicked on your profile picture, seeking something—anything—to ground him. Your smiling face filled the screen, staring back at him with that familiar warmth, and for a moment, his heart clenched so painfully that it felt like he couldn’t breathe. You. He could see you so clearly in his mind—your laugh, the way your eyes lit up when you smiled, the way you had looked at him with concern that last night, like you always knew when something was wrong.

He clicked on the last message he had sent you, his heart aching with a bitter sense of nostalgia.

"Meet me outside my door, it’s urgent."

You had rushed over that night, your knock echoing in his memory—quick and frantic, just like you. He could still see you standing in his doorway, breathless, your brow furrowed with worry, the anxious look on your face as you took in his tense expression.

You’d been worried about him—worried about what was going on. He hadn’t meant to scare you, but in a way, your worry had been endearing. You looked so cute when you were worried about him.

He remembered how his heart had skipped a beat when he saw you there, how he’d calmed you down with a soft smile, suggesting the two of you go grab food together. He had something to tell you. Something important.

That night—the last night he saw you—had been etched into his mind ever since. The kiss. The confession. The memory replayed over and over in his head, a cruel reminder of what he had lost. The way his heart had raced when he finally worked up the courage to tell you how he felt. The words had tumbled out of him—nervous, but genuine. He remembered the way you’d looked at him, eyes wide with surprise, and for a moment, he thought he’d blown it.

But then…you kissed him.

God, that kiss. Xavier’s breath caught in his throat as the memory washed over him. The softness of your lips, the warmth of your body pressed against his. The way his heart had nearly burst from his chest when you leaned into him, your fingers brushing against his skin as if testing the waters. He remembered how everything else had faded away in that moment. There had been no Hunter’s Association, no missions, no danger. Just you and him, wrapped up in each other, the world melting into the background.

That kiss had been everything he’d hoped for and more. It had been sweet, tentative at first, but quickly deepened into something more, something real. He could still feel the way his fingers had tangled in your hair, pulling you closer as the heat between you grew. He had wanted to lose himself in you, to never let go. It felt right. More right than anything had in years.

But then…he had pulled away. He had stopped himself. Why? Why hadn’t he just asked you to come home with him? Why hadn’t he let the night go further? He had been scared. Scared of pushing too far, too fast. Scared of ruining what you had just started.

And now you were gone.

Xavier’s chest ached as the regret hit him like a tidal wave. If he had just asked you to stay, if he had let you come home with him that night, maybe you’d still be here. Maybe you wouldn’t have been taken. Maybe Sylus wouldn’t have you now.

His heart clenched painfully as he stared at your smiling profile picture, the weight of his regret suffocating him. He wished he could turn back time, take back that night, change everything. He had been too cautious, too afraid to push things forward. And now… now he was paying the price.

With a shaky hand, Xavier typed a message into the empty thread.

"I am coming, my love. When you read this, we will be together again."

The words blurred on the screen, and he stared at them for a long moment before pressing send. He didn’t know if you’d ever see it. Didn’t know if you’d even get a chance to read it. But it didn’t matter.

He was coming for you.

No matter what it took, he would find you. Sylus or no Sylus, he wasn’t going to stop until he had you back in his arms. Safe.

Suddenly, a sharp knock at the door pulled him out of his thoughts, his heart leaping in his chest.

“Xavier? I heard you were back. Is now a good time?” Captain Jenna’s voice came from the other side of the door, calm but commanding as always. Xavier felt a rush of dread wash over him. He wasn’t ready for this. He wasn’t ready to face anyone right now, to lie to Jenna’s face after everything he had just uncovered. But he had no choice.

His gaze dropped back to his phone, to the message he had just sent you, your smiling contact photo staring back at him like a distant memory of a life that felt so far away now. He had to lie. Sylus was watching. Everything depended on him playing his part.

With a deep breath, Xavier shut off the phone, closing his eyes for a brief moment as he tried to steady himself. The weight of it all—the anger, the regret, the fear—pressed down on him, but he couldn’t let it show. He had to wear the mask. For now.

He exhaled slowly, opening his eyes as he leaned back in his chair. His voice was steady, controlled, even as the storm raged inside him.

"Yes…come in."

The door creaked open, and Xavier sat up straighter, forcing a calm expression as Captain Jenna stepped into the room. His heart still ached, the images of you still burned into his mind, but he would do what he had to.

For you.

You lay on the cold bathroom floor, your body still trembling from the aftermath of your vomiting. The cool tile pressed against your cheek, grounding you in reality, even though you desperately wanted to drift away from it. You felt weak, drained, as though the life had been wrung out of you by your own body’s betrayal. The soft hum of the overhead light buzzed, the only sound breaking through the thick silence that surrounded you. The nausea still churned in your stomach, but now it felt different—this wasn’t from sickness. This was from the weight of the truth sitting heavy in your chest, pressing down harder with every shallow breath you took.

You stared at the boxes of pregnancy tests that sat between you and the bathroom entrance, their neat, pristine packaging somehow mocking you. They were simple—just cardboard and plastic—but they felt like they had the power to tear your world apart. They loomed in the small space like a ticking bomb, waiting for you to take the next step. You knew what Sylus wanted. He wanted confirmation. He had planted the seed—literally—and now he was waiting, watching for the inevitable proof.

His words echoed in your mind, even though he was no longer in the room. "Take your time. I'll be in the room." The gentle kiss he had placed on your forehead before leaving left an imprint, a brand you couldn’t shake off. The way he had looked at you, with that dark, possessive patience, still sent chills down your spine. You hated it. Hated him.

The soft sound of his shoes getting farther and farther away had felt like a death sentence.

Now, you were alone. Alone with the tests and your growing fear.

You curled up tighter on the floor, wrapping your arms around your legs as if that could somehow shield you from what was coming. This can’t be real. Tears pricked at your eyes, but you tried to blink them away. You had to think. You had to focus, but all you could feel was the overwhelming weight of dread pressing down on you.

Your gaze kept drifting back to the boxes. What were your options?

The thought crossed your mind—maybe you could slam your head against the sink or the floor until everything went black. Maybe that would buy you some time. Maybe you could avoid facing this nightmare for just a little longer. But deep down, you knew it wouldn’t work. It wouldn’t kill you. You’d wake up with a concussion, maybe worse, and Sylus would simply chain you to the bed, his control tightening even further.

No. There was no escaping this.

Your chest tightened, and the panic began to rise again, bubbling up inside you until it was choking you. The silence in the room grew heavier, like the air itself was thickening, pressing down on your lungs. You could barely breathe.

You sat up slowly, every movement feeling like you were dragging yourself through quicksand. It’s fine. It’s just stress. You’re not pregnant. You’re just sick. That’s it. The nausea, the dizziness, the aches—they’re from being here. From the constant tension. It’s Sylus messing with your mind.

You weren’t pregnant. You couldn’t be.

But even as you tried to convince yourself, the doubt crept in. The signs had been there for days now, maybe even weeks. The constant exhaustion, the strange tenderness in your body, the way your stomach felt uneasy after every meal. Even the smallest things—like how your clothes had started to feel just a little bit tighter, or how your body seemed heavier, more sluggish. No. No.

You swallowed hard, staring at the boxes again. Despite the lavish bathroom being huge, the room felt too small, the walls too close. Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat echoing in your ears as you reached for one of the boxes, your hands trembling.

Fine. You’d take the test, and then you’d laugh. You’d prove Sylus wrong. You could already imagine the smug look on his face melting away when you showed him the negative result. He was toying with you. This was just another one of his cruel games, right?

Your fingers fumbled with the box, your hands shaking so badly that you almost dropped it. The cheap cardboard tore under your grip, and you finally managed to pull the pregnancy test free. The plastic felt cold and foreign in your hand, like you didn’t even know what to do with it.

How did you end up here? How did this become your reality?

You stood up slowly, your legs wobbling beneath you, and shuffled awkwardly toward the toilet. The nausea rose again, a sickening wave that made you gag, but you swallowed it down, willing yourself to keep it together. It’s just a test. Just a stupid test.

The test felt clumsy in your grasp as you positioned yourself awkwardly. You had never thought you’d ever have to take a test until you were ready for a baby. Pregnancy hadn't been on your radar for awhile. You had always been careful, always taken the necessary precautions.

Birth control had supposed to been your protector.

But then Sylus...

You closed your eyes for a second, biting down on your lip hard enough to taste blood, and then you did it. After a few tense moments, you placed the test on the counter and sat back down on the floor.

Now you had to wait.

The seconds ticked by, stretching into what felt like hours. The ticking of the clock on the wall filled the room, each sound loud and grating in the stillness. Your heart pounded in your chest, so fast and so loud that it almost drowned out the noise around you. Not pregnant. You’re not pregnant.

You curled your knees to your chest, rocking slightly as you waited, your stomach churning with nausea, but this time from the overwhelming sense of dread that was building inside of you. The thought of looking at that test, of confirming what Sylus had already suspected, made your skin crawl. It’s fine. You’re fine. It’s not real.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you forced yourself to stand. Your legs were shaking, and your hands were clammy as you reached for the test. You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment, willing yourself to have the strength to look. It’s going to be negative. You’re going to laugh at this. You’re going to shove it in Sylus’s face.

But when you finally opened your eyes, the world tilted beneath your feet.

Two faint pink lines.

Your breath caught in your throat, your mind refusing to process what you were seeing. No. You blinked, your vision blurring as you stared down at the test. No. You held it closer to your face, as if maybe, just maybe, you had read it wrong. But the lines didn’t change. They stayed there—two unmistakable lines.

Positive.

The air left your lungs in a painful rush, and the room began to spin. You dropped the test, the small plastic clattering against the tile as your legs gave out beneath you. You crumpled to the floor, your body folding in on itself as the sobs began to tear through you.

No. No. No.

You buried your face in your hands, the sobs coming harder now, shaking your entire body. This wasn’t real. This couldn’t be real. But no matter how much you cried, no matter how much you wanted to deny it, the truth was staring you in the face.

You were pregnant.

Sylus had done this to you. He had taken everything from you—your freedom, your choices, your body—and now he had tied you to him in a way you couldn’t escape. You felt sick, disgusted, and utterly trapped. Your hand moved instinctively to your stomach, hovering there for a moment, but you couldn’t bring yourself to touch it. This was real.

And there was no way out.

The scream ripped from your throat before you could even register the sound. It was raw, primal, and filled with the kind of desperation you hadn’t known you were capable of. Your entire body shook with the force of it, and you dug your nails into the cold tile, gasping for air through the sobs that wouldn’t stop. This can’t be happening. This thing inside you, this parasite that was feeding off your body, off your very life. The thought clawed at your mind, tearing you apart from the inside.

With shaking hands, you grabbed the pregnancy test box, rage surging through you as you hurled it across the bathroom. It hit the wall with a dull thud, the remaining tests scattering across the floor in a chaotic mess. It didn’t make you feel better. It didn’t release the boiling anger inside of you. The sobs only grew louder, more frantic, as the reality of it all hit you like a crushing weight. This was real.

Sylus had forced himself inside you. And now something else of his was also inside you.

You curled into yourself, pressing your hands against your stomach as if you could will the parasite away. Your breaths came in sharp, uneven gasps, your chest heaving with the effort.

Get it out. Get it out.

You couldn’t stop the spiral of thoughts, the feeling of complete and utter violation.

Then, the sound of hurried footsteps.

Through your tear-blurred vision, you saw Sylus rush into the bathroom, his eyes locking onto you instantly. His calm demeanor was gone, replaced by concern. He took in the scene—the scattered tests, the crumpled pregnancy box, and you, curled up on the floor, sobbing uncontrollably.

His expression softened as he knelt down beside you, his hands reaching out as though to comfort you, to soothe your trembling body. “Shh…,” he murmured, his voice calm, almost tender, as he tried to get closer to you. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

But the sound of his voice—that voice—only sent another wave of fury through you. You recoiled from him, your body jerking away as his hands hovered too close, your head snapping up as you glared through tear-stained eyes.

“No!” you screamed, your voice raw and broken. “Don’t touch me!”

Sylus froze, his hands still hovering near you, but his face remained composed, watching your every move, your every tear with that same unsettling patience.

“You did this to me!” The words ripped from your throat, your voice shaking as you let the sobs tear through you again. “You put a parasite in me! It’s feeding off me! I hate you! I hate you!” Your body convulsed with the weight of your anger, your fear, your disgust.

Sylus didn’t flinch. His eyes darkened for just a moment as your words hit him, but he didn’t respond with anger. Instead, he leaned closer, his voice lowering as he spoke, "Honey. It’s okay. You’re overwhelmed. Let me help you.”

The tenderness in his voice only made your skin crawl more, and you pulled away again, pushing yourself against the wall as if it could somehow protect you from him. But you knew better. There was no escaping Sylus, not anymore.

“Get away from me!” you sobbed, your voice cracking under the strain. “I don’t want your help! You’ve ruined everything! You’ve taken everything from me! And now you’ve put this—this thing inside me!”

His face remained impassive, but there was something behind his eyes now—a flicker of something you couldn’t quite place. “It’s not a thing,” he said softly, inching closer again, though still careful not to touch you yet. “It’s a child, sweetie. Our child.”

Those words sent a violent shiver through you, and your stomach turned. Our child. The thought made you feel like you were suffocating. Your breaths grew more frantic, your body trembling harder as the sobs became desperate gasps. No. You couldn’t accept that. You wouldn’t.

“You’ve trapped me,” you whispered, your voice shaking with anger, tears spilling freely down your cheeks. “You’ve ruined my life. I’ll never forgive you for this. Never.”

"You were planning to forgive me?" he asked, half jokingly and half confused. You don't respond immediately glaring at him for a few short seconds, as if trying to force his existence away altogether.

"Fuck off!"

Sylus remained calm, even as you spat your words at him, even as you screamed your hatred in his face. He sat back slightly, watching you crumble before him. He didn’t respond with cruelty, nor did he try to argue. He simply waited, his gaze never leaving you, his presence like a suffocating blanket that you couldn’t escape. You hated him for it—hated how composed he was, how in control he remained even as you fell apart at his feet.

He let your sobs fill the room, let you scream and cry and tremble, but eventually, when your voice grew hoarse and the tears ran dry, he leaned closer again, this time more confident in his movements. He reached out, this time taking your face gently in his hands, his thumb brushing the stray tears from your cheeks.

“You don’t have to forgive me,” Sylus murmured, his voice calm, steady. “But you will understand. In time.”

Your body went rigid at his touch, but you didn’t have the strength to pull away anymore. You were too drained, too broken. The weight of it all had settled into your bones, and you felt like there was nothing left inside of you but emptiness. Even the rage had flickered out, leaving you with nothing but a hollow pit of despair.

“Let me help you,” Sylus said again, his hands still holding your face, his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your stomach twist. “I know you’re scared. I know this wasn’t what you wanted. But you’ll see, sweetie. This child—they will change everything.”

His words made your blood boil again, but the fight had gone out of you. All you could do was stare up at him, your body trembling, tears still streaking down your face. The cold tile pressed against your back, grounding you in this horrible reality. You were trapped. Bound to him in a way you could never escape.

And he knew it.

Sylus’s hands stayed steady on your face, his touch far too gentle for the storm raging inside you. You felt like you were breaking apart, crumbling in his grip, but even through the haze of tears and anger, he remained composed, calm. His thumb brushed away the tears still spilling from your eyes, and he let out a soft sigh.

"I don’t like seeing you cry," he murmured, his voice a low hum that seemed to reverberate through the small bathroom. He tilted his head slightly, his eyes meeting yours, unblinking. "But if you must…then cry on me."

His words made your heart clench painfully, the bile rising in your throat again as the weight of his command—no, his offer—settled over you. Cry on him? The thought disgusted you, but you were too exhausted, too torn apart to resist any longer. The sobs were still clawing at your throat, your body shaking with the effort of trying to keep them down. You hated him. You hated him so much, but he was the only thing there, the only thing keeping you tethered to reality in this moment, twisted as that reality had become.

Without thinking, you leaned forward, your forehead pressing into his chest as the tears came again, harder this time. Your fists clenched against the fabric of his shirt, your sobs muffled against him as you shook uncontrollably. It felt like your mind was unraveling, slipping away from you, and you hated that he was the only option you had for any semblance of comfort. Sylus. The man who had orchestrated all of this.

You despised him, and yet…you clung to him. There was no one else.

You had no other choice.

Your sobs came in waves, each one more broken than the last, your body wracked with the force of your grief. Sylus’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you in closer, holding you tightly against him. His hand began stroking your back, slow and deliberate, the movement meant to soothe, to quiet the storm inside of you. And it made your skin crawl, made you want to tear away from him, but you didn’t. You couldn’t.

He leaned down slightly, his lips brushing against your hair as he whispered, “I’m sorry. I know this isn’t how you wanted it, but…I love you.” His voice was gentle, almost tender, and the sound of it only made the nausea twist harder in your stomach.

"I love you," he repeated softly, like a promise, his fingers tracing slow, calming circles on your back. "I can’t wait to hold our baby. Half you, half me…perfect."

Your body stiffened at his words, bile rising again, but you didn’t move. You didn’t have the strength. Instead, you cried harder into his chest, the fabric of his shirt wet with your tears as you tried to block out what he was saying, tried to close off the part of your mind that was registering the sheer genuineness in his voice.

He sounded…excited. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was about to start crying.

Disgust rolled through you like a wave, but it was smothered by the exhaustion that had settled deep into your bones. How could he be excited about this? How could he speak so softly, so sweetly, about something so wrong? So vile? You hated him for it. Hated the way he talked about this baby, this thing inside of you, as if it were some dream come true.

"I can’t wait to see what our baby will be like," Sylus continued, his voice warm with anticipation. His hand never stopped its slow, soothing path along your back. "Regardless, they'll be beautiful, Just like you."

You wanted to scream at him. To pull away, to tear yourself out of his grasp and run as far as you could. But the reality was too suffocating, too crushing. Your body wouldn’t move, wouldn’t obey your mind. You were frozen in his arms, forced to listen to him speak about a future you couldn’t even begin to imagine, a future you wanted no part of.

"I don't want to give birth" you sob into his shirt, gripping your fists tighter.

"I know you’re scared," he whispered, his lips close to your ear now, his breath warm against your skin. "But I’ll take care of you. I’ll take care of both of you."

His words were like poison, slowly sinking into your mind, and you wanted to shove them away, to reject every syllable. But his hand on your back, his arms around you—it was all so steady, so calm. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t forcing you. He was just… there. Waiting for you to break.

"I’m sorry," Sylus murmured again, his voice soft, but full of that dark possessiveness you had come to dread. "But this…this is how it had to be. Things are just a little hard right now. Soon, you’ll see just how beautiful your life will be." His fingers stroked the back of your head gently, his voice a constant, maddening reassurance.

Your sobs began to quiet, but only because you had no energy left to cry. You hated him. God, you hated him. Every word he spoke made your stomach twist with revulsion, and yet, the sobs were now muffled against him, your body leaning into his, helpless in your own weakness.

"I love you," Sylus whispered one last time, his lips brushing against your temple. "And I love them too. Our little family."

A shudder ran through you, your heart breaking under the weight of his words. Our family. It sounded so wrong. So twisted. But he spoke with such genuine tenderness, with such sincerity, that it made your skin crawl. He meant it. He actually meant it.

And you were trapped.

Tied to him by something you never wanted, something that was now a part of you, growing inside you, linking you to him in a way you could never escape.

You finally tore yourself away from him, the anger bubbling up inside you until it felt like it would consume you whole. His touch felt like a poison, seeping into your skin, suffocating you. You stumbled out of his arms, putting as much distance between the two of you as your weakened body would allow. Disgusting freak. The words echoed over and over in your mind, ringing in your ears like a relentless drumbeat. This monster. He had done this to you. He had planted something inside you.

Your feet moved without you thinking, chain noisily dragging on the floor, carrying you out of the bathroom and toward the bed as if you could somehow escape the nightmare unfolding around you. He put a monster inside me. The thought made your stomach churn, your head spinning as you tried to grasp the enormity of it all. You were trapped. Trapped by him, by your own body, and now by this…thing growing inside you.

You could feel the bile rising in your throat again, the nausea twisting your insides into painful knots. You leaned over the bed, clutching the edge of the mattress as your body heaved, but this time it wasn’t just the nausea—it was the sheer revulsion, the overwhelming sense of betrayal. He had taken everything from you. Your freedom. Your choices. And now, he had taken control of your body in the most horrifying way imaginable.

Your mind raced, grasping for a way out, any way out. Hunger strike. You could starve yourself. You could stop eating, let your body waste away until there was nothing left for it to feed on. Maybe then, this nightmare would end. But the thought only lingered for a moment before another, darker idea crept in. Hot showers. You had read somewhere that pregnant women weren’t supposed to take hot showers. Could that work? Could you force your body to reject this thing inside you?

Your mind spiraled, the possibilities flashing through your thoughts in quick, frantic bursts, none of them staying long enough to feel real. You didn’t know if it would work. You didn’t know if any of this would work. But you had to try, didn’t you? You couldn’t let this happen. You couldn’t let Sylus win.

A sharp wave of nausea hit you again, pulling you back to the present, and you gagged, clutching the bed for support as your body threatened to betray you once more. You wanted to vomit, to purge this feeling, this sickness, to purge the very thought of what was happening to you. Maybe you should vomit all over the bed. It would serve him right. His pristine, perfect bed, ruined by the very thing he had caused.

But before you could move, before you could make the decision to act, you heard him behind you.

“Easy, honey.” His voice was soft, infuriatingly gentle, and the sound of it sent a violent shiver down your spine. You felt his hands on you again, his touch light but firm as he gently turned you around, guiding you back toward the bathroom with a patience that made your stomach twist even more.

Why is he doing this? You couldn’t understand it. Your mind couldn’t process the calmness, the care in his movements. After everything he’s done. After all the control he’d exerted over you, the pain, the manipulation…why was he being gentle now? Why was he acting like he cared?

Before you could think any further, your body betrayed you. The nausea you had been holding back surged forward, and before you could stop it, the vomit spilled from your mouth, coating Sylus’s shirt and splattering onto the floor below. The bile burned your throat, and for a moment, you were too shocked to react, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

Your heart stopped, panic surging through you as your mind caught up to what had just happened. Shit. You stared at the mess you had made, your body frozen in place as you waited for the inevitable. He’s going to lose it. You had just vomited all over him, all over his perfect, controlled exterior. Surely this would snap his calm. Surely this would make him angry.

But to your utter shock, Sylus didn’t flinch. He didn’t react at all. His face remained impassive, his expression as calm and composed as it had been moments ago, as though the vomit on his shirt didn’t even register.

“Do you feel better at least, honey?” His voice was filled with amusement, almost soothing, as if this were just another normal moment between the two of you, as if you hadn’t just thrown up all over him.

You stared at him in disbelief, your breath still shaky as your mind tried to process what was happening. How can he be so calm? He's seriously asking if you feel better after throwing up on him? You couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything but give a small, weak nod, your body still trembling from the exertion of vomiting. You did feel better after that...not just physically, the nausea settling at last. Something about seeing Sylus covered in vomit, something he was the indirect cause of, was satisfying.

Sylus let out a low, amused laugh, his eyes softening as he watched you. “Good, that's all I care about” he said simply, as though it was the most natural thing in the world. Without another word, he pulled the vomit-covered shirt over his head, tossing it aside in one fluid motion. His chiseled chest and abs were now fully visible, and despite the disgust still swirling in your gut, you couldn’t help the way your cheeks flushed with heat. You quickly averted your gaze, hating the way your body reacted to the sight of him, hating that even now, after everything, your body still betrayed you.

But Sylus didn’t seem to notice your reaction. Or at least, pretended not to notice. He reached out again, his touch gentle as he guided you back toward the bed. “Come on, lie down,” he said softly, his voice laced with that same unsettling tenderness. “I’ll clean this up. Don’t worry about it.”

You hesitated, the exhaustion settling deep into your bones. You didn’t want to do what he said, didn’t want to follow his instructions, but your body had reached its limit. The fight had drained out of you, leaving you feeling like an empty shell, hollow and spent. Without another word, you collapsed onto the bed, your limbs heavy and weak as you sank into the soft mattress.

As you lay there, staring up at the ceiling, you couldn’t help but watch him through teary, half-lidded eyes. You expected him to be angry, to snap at you, to make you clean up the mess you had made, but instead, Sylus crouched down and began cleaning up the vomit with meticulous care. He wiped the floor with a towel after spraying some kind of cleaner, his movements precise and deliberate, as though this were just another part of his daily routine.

Why is he doing this? The question gnawed at you, tearing at the edges of your sanity. Why is he being so gentle? So calm. Shouldn’t he be yelling at you? Shouldn’t he be furious that you had ruined his shirt, that you had made such a mess? But there he was, calmly wiping the floor, acting like none of it bothered him in the slightest.

It didn’t make sense. None of this made sense.

As you lay there, your body still trembling from the effort of vomiting, you felt a strange sense of detachment settle over you. You were watching him clean up your mess, watching him act like he cared, and it was like you were seeing it all from a distance. He’s supposed to be your captor. He’s supposed to be the monster that destroyed your life, the one who took away everything you cared about.

So why…why was he going to such lengths to take care of you? Especially after ignoring you for days and days on end before his trip?

The questions swirled in your mind, each one more unsettling than the last, but you were too tired, too overwhelmed to find any answers. You hated him. You despised him for what he had done to you. And yet…here he was, gently cleaning up after you, tending to you like you were something precious, something fragile.

When he finished, Sylus turned to you, his expression softening as his eyes met yours. He stepped closer, his movements slow and deliberate as he sat down on the edge of the bed beside you.

“Feeling any better? I have plenty more shirts for you to vomit on if the answer is no” he joked, his voice gentle, almost kind.

You didn’t answer. You didn’t trust yourself to speak. The words stuck in your throat, tangled with the confusion and anger and exhaustion that had settled deep in your chest. Instead, you stared up at him, your tear-filled eyes searching his face for any sign of malice, any trace of the cruelty you had come to expect from him.

But there was none. Just that same calm, that same unsettling tenderness that made your skin crawl.

Sylus reached out, his hand brushing the damp hair away from your face. His touch was gentle, soothing, and you wanted to pull away, to scream at him, but your body wouldn’t obey. You were too tired. Too drained. So you let him touch you, let him stroke your hair as you lay there, staring up at him with a mix of hatred and confusion.

“Rest, kitten,” Sylus murmured, his voice low and soothing. “You've had a long day.”

As he continued to stroke your hair, you felt your body begin to relax against your will, the exhaustion pulling you under like a heavy blanket. You hated him. God, you hated him. But you couldn’t fight anymore. Not now.

And as your eyelids grew heavier, the last thought that flickered through your mind was one you couldn’t shake:

Are monsters capable of love?

You were running.

The world around you was a blur, dark and suffocating, your feet pounding against the ground as you sprinted forward. The only sound filling the air was the piercing cry of the baby in your arms—a sound so loud, so shrill, it felt like it was splitting your skull. You tried to hush it, tried to quiet the wailing, but the baby’s cries only grew louder, more insistent, drowning out everything else. Your breath came in ragged gasps, your heart pounding in your chest as you clutched the baby closer, but it was no use.

You couldn’t escape.

No matter how fast you ran, no matter how far you went, he was always behind you. Sylus. You could feel him closing in, his presence pressing down on you like a heavy shadow, lurking just beyond the edge of your vision. You couldn’t keep away from him like this—not with the baby. The weight of it slowed you down, its cries echoing in your ears, making it impossible to think, impossible to escape.

You needed to get rid of it.

Your eyes darted around, frantically searching for somewhere—anywhere—to put the baby. Your heart raced faster, your pulse thundering in your ears as you looked for a way out, for a place to hide. And then, you saw it: a box. An old, weathered box sitting in the shadows, half-open as if it were waiting for you.

Without thinking, you stumbled toward it, your legs trembling beneath you as you approached. You looked down at the baby in your arms, its face red and scrunched up as it screamed, its tiny hands clutching at your clothes, and for a moment, a flicker of guilt tugged at the edges of your mind. But this is the only way. You had to get rid of it. You couldn’t keep running, not with this weight dragging you down.

The box seemed to beckon you, and with shaking hands, you placed the baby inside. Its cries grew louder, more desperate, echoing off the walls as you closed the lid, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You couldn’t look back. You couldn’t let the guilt stop you.

The baby’s screams filled the air, shrill and deafening, but you turned away.

You took a step, then another, walking further and further from the box. The cries became distant, muffled, as if the sound was being swallowed by the darkness. It’s over. The baby was gone. You were free.

But then…a voice.

It was small, almost childlike, but laced with something dark, something that sent a chill racing down your spine.

“How could you leave me, Mommy?”

You froze, your heart stopping in your chest as the words hung in the air. Slowly, you turned, your breath catching in your throat as you looked back at the box. The baby’s cries had stopped. Silence pressed down on you, thick and heavy, making the air around you feel too dense to breathe.

“Don’t you love me?” the voice continued, and you felt your blood run cold. The lid of the box creaked open, and your heart sank. You wanted to run, but your legs wouldn’t move. You were rooted to the spot, helpless as the baby climbed out, but it wasn’t a baby anymore.

It had changed.

The thing that crawled out of the box was no longer the small, fragile infant you had left behind. Its body had twisted, morphed into something grotesque. Its skin was pitch black and sickly, its limbs too long, its eyes too wide and gleaming with a cruel intelligence.

The baby—the monster—fixed its gaze on you, a twisted smile stretching across its face. “You’re the monster, not me,” it hissed, its voice dripping with venom. “You’re the one who abandoned me. You’re the one who doesn’t care.”

You stumbled back, your breath coming in shallow gasps as the creature advanced on you, its twisted body contorting as it moved. You wanted to scream, wanted to turn and run, but your body wouldn’t obey. You were paralyzed with fear, trapped in the nightmare as the creature’s words pierced through you.

The creature lunged at you, its clawed hands reaching out, its sharp teeth bared. “You’re the monster!” it screamed, its voice echoing in your mind, the accusation burning into your thoughts as it leaped forward.

And then everything went black.

You jolted awake, your body drenched in sweat, your heart racing as though it were about to burst from your chest.

You held a trembling hand to your chest, trying to calm your racing heart after the nightmare. Your breath came in shallow, uneven gasps, your skin still damp with sweat. Just a nightmare. Another horrible, twisted nightmare. You should’ve been relieved that it wasn’t real, but the fear clung to you, refusing to let go. What if the dreams kept getting worse?

The memory of the baby—no, the monster—flashed in your mind. It had lunged at you, screaming that you were the monster. You shuddered, squeezing your eyes shut, trying to push the image away. It was just a dream, nothing more. But why did it feel so real? And why did it feel like it was more than just your imagination running wild?

You hadn’t wanted to sleep in the first place. The only reason you’d fallen asleep at all was because of your outburst earlier having taken all your energy. The exhaustion had finally pulled you under, but instead of the relief you craved, it had brought you nothing but torment. Awful, suffocating dreams that clung to you even now.

Your hand drifted down to your belly, and you hesitated, unsure of what you were even feeling for.

Are you even real?

The thought echoed in your mind, your fingers hovering over your stomach as if touching it would make it all real, too real. Maybe the test had been wrong. Maybe this was all some twisted lie Sylus had fed you.

But then, another, more terrifying thought crossed your mind. When would you feel it move? The idea made your stomach churn with nausea again. The thought of something growing inside you, something moving, living… it made you want to crawl out of your own skin. You pressed your hand harder against your stomach, as if trying to confirm or deny the existence of this thing.

Suddenly, you heard footsteps, and before you could react, the door opened. Sylus shuffled in, a plate of waffles balanced in his hands. His presence filled the room, his footsteps soft but heavy enough to send a chill down your spine. The smell of syrup and cinnamon filled the air.

"Another bad dream?" he asked, his voice far too gentle for the weight of the situation. You didn’t want to look at him, didn’t want to acknowledge him, but you found yourself nodding despite the effort it took to keep yourself together.

Sylus set the plate down in front of you, the smell of food wafting up, making your stomach turn again. You couldn’t even think about eating, not after the dream, not after the terrifying thought of something moving inside you. You didn't want to eat. Didn't want to nourish the beast inside you. But you stayed silent, gripping the blanket in your lap as you tried to focus on anything but the food or the man standing so close.

He sat beside you, his fingers reaching out to gently stroke your hair, as if this were all so normal, as if you weren’t crumbling from the inside. His touch made your skin crawl, but you didn’t have the strength to push him away.

"I want you to take another test," he said softly, his hand continuing its slow, deliberate strokes through your hair. "No worries, it won’t be the ones you threw on the floor."

You gulped, your throat suddenly dry, dread settling like a stone in your stomach. Another test. You didn’t want to face the reality you were so desperately trying to avoid. Once was enough, wasn’t it? You had already seen those two faint pink lines that had shattered your world. But now, you’d have to face it again.

You said nothing, staying silent as you stared at the plate in front of you, your mind racing. Sylus didn’t seem bothered by your lack of response. His fingers never stopped stroking your hair, a twisted form of comfort that only made you feel more trapped.

"I’d estimate you’re about four weeks and four days pregnant right now, sweetie," he continued, his voice soft, almost as if he were talking about the weather. "At about six to seven weeks, I’m having a doctor come here to do an ultrasound. We’ll also hear the baby’s heartbeat."

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. Ultrasound. Heartbeat. The reality of it felt like it was closing in on you, suffocating you. Your mind reeled at the thought of it—of hearing something inside you. Something that was half him.

You stared at the food, your appetite gone completely now, your chest tightening as you fought the rising panic. You didn’t want to hear it. You didn’t want to see it. You didn’t want any of this. But Sylus was already talking about the future, about this baby, like it was a certainty, like it was his dream coming to life.

You felt like screaming, but the words caught in your throat, trapped by the fear and helplessness. All you could do was sit there, nodding numbly as he continued to stroke your hair, his voice a constant reminder that you were trapped in this nightmare.

You finally mustered the courage to speak, your voice trembling as the words left your mouth. “How do you know how far along I am? Are you secretly an OB-GYN or something?”

For a moment, the room hung in silence, thick and heavy with tension. Sylus’s eyes flickered with amusement before he let out a soft, almost casual laugh, like the question had genuinely entertained him. The sound of it made your stomach churn, the lightness of his reaction so at odds with the fear gnawing at your insides.

“No, kitten,” he replied smoothly, his voice dripping with that familiar confidence that always left you on edge. “I told you. I’ve been tracking your period and ovulation.”

Your body froze. His words were like ice flooding your veins, your blood running cold as realization sank in. You felt yourself recoil, the room suddenly too small, too suffocating. Every muscle in your body tensed, the nausea swelling in your gut as the full weight of what he had just said hit you.

It wasn’t just some twisted joke. He had actually been tracking you—monitoring your body like it was a tool, like he was a puppeteer pulling invisible strings. He knew. Every detail. Every cycle. Every moment when your body had been vulnerable, he had been watching, waiting.

Your thoughts raced back to the night of your so-called “punishment,” the sex had seemed far too strange and easy to even really be considered a real punishment. You had been ovulating that day and he knew it. Now it all made sense. He planned everything. He had known what he was doing—carefully orchestrating every move like a sick game. You had thought he was cruel before, but this… this was something else. Something beyond cruelty.

You felt like your skin was crawling. He had planned it all, down to the most intimate detail of your body. The air felt too thick, your chest too tight as you struggled to breathe, your mind scrambling for some way to make sense of the horror of it all.

"Freak."

The word slipped from your lips, barely more than a whisper, but it carried every ounce of your disgust, your revulsion. You pushed the plate of waffles away from you, the sight and smell of food turning your stomach even more. How could you eat? How could you even stomach the idea of him feeding you after knowing the full extent of his manipulation?

But Sylus only chuckled again, the sound light and unfazed, as if your insult hadn’t landed at all. He picked up the fork and speared a piece of waffle, lifting it toward you with a grin that made your blood boil.

“Don’t be like that, kitten,” he coaxed, his tone playful, teasing, as though he hadn’t just shattered your world with his confession. He held the fork out to you, the piece of waffle balanced delicately on the end as if this were some kind of intimate gesture.

“Come on. Eat.”

You stared at him, your eyes wide with disbelief, your stomach twisting in knots. How could he be so casual, so calm about all of this? You wanted to knock the fork out of his hand, to scream at him, to make him see the rage and fear burning inside you, but the words caught in your throat.

“I’m not hungry,” you muttered, your voice weak but filled with defiance. You couldn’t. You wouldn’t. The idea of accepting anything from him right now made you feel sick. You turned your head away, trying to block him out, your hands clenched so tightly in your lap that your nails dug painfully into your palms.

Sylus didn’t seem the least bit surprised by your refusal. He set the fork down on the plate, his movements calm and deliberate, his eyes never leaving you. His expression didn’t change. The amusement lingered in his gaze, but there was something else there now—something darker, something more determined.

“You can’t starve the baby,” he said, his voice dropping into a softer, more serious tone. The calmness in his voice made the words all the more chilling. “I won’t let you.”

The room seemed to grow colder, his words wrapping around you like a vice, squeezing tighter with every breath. Starve the baby. It was as if he had reached inside your mind, plucked the very thought you were trying to bury, and laid it out in front of you like a threat. He knew. He knew what you were thinking, what you were hoping for. And he wasn’t going to let you escape.

Your stomach dropped, the weight of his control pressing down on you like a physical force. There was no escape. You couldn’t starve the baby. You couldn’t do anything. He was right there, always one step ahead, already planning every outcome. He wasn’t angry—he didn’t need to be. The threat was already clear.

Sylus leaned forward slightly, his gaze locking with yours, his voice steady and unwavering. “I’ll take care of you,” he said softly, his tone almost gentle, but the underlying authority was unmistakable. “You and the baby. No matter what you do, I’ll be here.”

You could feel the rage building in your chest, bubbling up like a storm ready to break, but it was trapped beneath the suffocating weight of his words. The hopelessness. The helplessness. You wanted to scream, to lash out, to fight—but the exhaustion was already pulling you down, drowning you in the realization that there was no way out.

You glared at him, your teeth gritted, your hands trembling from the sheer force of holding back the torrent of emotions. But Sylus remained calm, his gaze unwavering, patient. He didn’t need to push. He didn’t need to force you. He knew he had already won.

Your thoughts raced, swirling in chaos, the air thick with tension. Your mind kept flashing to the nightmare, the baby’s cries morphing into screams, accusing you of being the monster. You couldn’t bear the thought of this thing growing inside you, something that would tie you to him forever.

But Sylus sat there, watching you, his expression a mixture of amusement and something far more sinister. He wasn’t going to let you escape this. He wasn’t going to let you do anything to harm the baby.

His baby.

And you knew, in that moment, that there was no fighting him. He was in control of everything—your body, your choices, your future.

“Eat,” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper, but the weight of his words felt like chains binding you to him.

And as the silence settled in the room, you felt the walls close in, the hopelessness creeping in around you, suffocating you.

Your hands clenched into fists, your body shaking with a violent, rising fury. No. Fuck him. Fuck this baby. You couldn’t stomach the idea of giving in to his control, not again. You couldn’t let him win. If he was going to force you into this, so be it. You’d fight him every step of the way.

“I’m not eating,” you spat, your voice raw with anger. The defiance in your words was the last shred of resistance you had left, but you clung to it like a lifeline. You glared at him, trying to summon every ounce of strength to hold your ground. “I don’t care what you do. I won’t do this. I won’t be your prisoner, and I won’t nourish this—this thing.”

Sylus didn’t flinch. His face didn’t even shift. Instead, his lips curled into a slow, deliberate smile, his eyes gleaming with a dark amusement that made your skin crawl. There was no frustration in his expression, no anger, just the unnerving calm of someone who was always ten steps ahead. He had anticipated this. He had expected it. And that knowledge made your stomach turn, a chill crawling down your spine.

“Sweetie,” he said softly, his voice far too calm for the storm of emotions raging inside you. He tilted his head slightly, as if contemplating his next words carefully. “You have two choices. Either you eat and nourish the baby...or Xavier dies.”

The name hit you like a punch to the gut. All the air rushed from your lungs, your body going cold as the words sank in. Xavier. Your heart stuttered, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to collapse. You stared at Sylus, wide-eyed and trembling, the room spinning around you.

“No,” you whispered, your voice cracking as you tried to process what he had just said. “No…you’ve killed him anyway! I won’t fall for your tricks!” You needed to believe it—to convince yourself that Xavier was already gone, that Sylus was lying, manipulating you. That this was just another one of his mind games.

But the way he was looking at you, so calm, so sure—it made you doubt. It made you fear.

“Actually,” Sylus cooed, his voice dripping with condescension. “Xavier is very much alive. He’s been looking for you. Quite the determined man, I’ll give him that.”

Your heart clenched painfully in your chest, but you shook your head, tears welling in your eyes. No. He’s lying. “You’re lying!” you screamed, your voice filled with desperation. “You’re trying to mess with my head!”

Sylus’s eyes gleamed with amusement, his lips curving into that same, unnerving smile. “Sweetie,” he said, his voice low and calm, but there was an edge to it now. “I am many things, but a liar to you? I am not. Do you really think that?”

Your breath hitched in your throat, the words catching before you could respond. Of course you thought he was a liar. He was a manipulator, a monster. But something about the way he said it—the confidence, the certainty—made your blood run cold.

Before you could say anything, Sylus stood up, leaving the room without another word. You sat there, frozen, your heart pounding in your chest, the echo of Xavier’s name still ringing in your ears. He’s alive? No way. Sylus was playing with you. He had to be.

Moments later, the door creaked open again, and Sylus returned—holding something in his hand. You squinted, trying to make sense of it, and then you saw it. Your phone.

Your breath caught in your throat as your eyes locked onto the familiar case. Your phone. You hadn’t seen it in what felt like an eternity. It was as if a piece of your old life had been placed right in front of you, a stark reminder of the world outside of this nightmare.

Sylus walked closer, the phone dangling loosely from his fingers as he watched your reaction with a smug, knowing smile. He unlocked it with ease, swiping across the screen with fluid movements, and it didn’t surprise you in the slightest that he knew your passcode. Of course he did. He always knew everything.

But then, he turned the screen toward you.

Your breath stopped in your chest as you saw the text message on the screen, your heart thundering in your ears. The words stared back at you, sharp and undeniable:

“I am coming, my love. When you read this, we will be together again.”

Your hands flew to your mouth as a gasp escaped your lips. Xavier. He was alive. He was alive and looking for you. The realization hit you like a wave, crashing into you with such force that tears sprang to your eyes. All the fear, all the desperation you had bottled up came flooding out. He was still out there.

But Sylus…Sylus had him in his sights.

“No,” you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion. “Leave him alone, you bastard!” The tears spilled over, running down your cheeks as you shook with a mixture of rage and despair. “Don’t you dare hurt him! Please!”

Sylus looked at you pitifully, his eyes softening as if your tears were hurting him. But you could see the satisfaction underneath it all, the way his lips curled just slightly at the edges. “You both love that nickname,” he said with a mocking sigh, as if indulging in a private joke.

“He had similar things to say when I talked to him.”

Your blood ran cold at the thought of Sylus getting anywhere near Xavier. He had spoken to him. Sylus had gotten close enough to Xavier to make him suffer. You clenched your fists, shaking with anger at the thought of the man you loved being at the mercy of this monster.

“Stay away from him!” you yelled, your voice cracking with the intensity of your emotions. You wanted to leap out of bed, to fight, but your body felt weak, your limbs heavy with hopelessness. “If you touch him, I swear I’ll—”

Sylus held up a hand, cutting you off mid-sentence. His eyes darkened, the playfulness vanishing in an instant as he looked at you with cold, unwavering authority. “Eat,” he said firmly, the command in his voice clear and sharp. “I won’t repeat myself.”

You froze, your breath catching in your throat.

“If you kill our baby,” Sylus continued, his voice low and deliberate, “I kill him. Pretty fair, wouldn't you agree?”

The weight of his words sank into you like a stone, pulling you down into a pit of despair. You felt the ground fall away beneath you, the walls closing in as the finality of the situation crashed over you. This was it. There was no escape. If you didn’t obey, if you didn’t nourish this baby growing inside of you, Sylus would kill Xavier.

You could barely breathe, your chest tightening as the tears continued to flow down your cheeks. You hated him. You hated him so much it burned inside you like fire, but you couldn’t let him kill Xavier. You couldn’t.

With shaking hands, you reached for the fork, your vision blurred by tears. The weight of the utensil in your hand felt like a death sentence, like the final seal on the prison that had become your life. Your fingers trembled as you lifted the fork, your stomach twisting with disgust, but you couldn’t stop. You had to do this.

You stabbed the piece of waffle on the plate, your tears dripping onto the table as you brought the food to your mouth. It tasted like ash, like poison, as you forced yourself to chew. Your body revolted against it, every instinct screaming for you to spit it out, to reject it, but you couldn’t. You had no choice.

As you swallowed the bite of food, more tears slipped down your face. You felt hopeless, broken, the fight drained from you as you sat there, silently crying.

Sylus watched you, his eyes calm and satisfied. He leaned down slightly, brushing a hand through your hair, his voice soft and tender now.

“Good girl.”

You wanted to scream, but all that came out were silent sobs. You gripped the fork tighter, your knuckles losing all blood, as you prayed. Prayed that Xavier would find you.

“Hurry,” you whispered under your breath, your voice choked with emotion. “Please. Hurry.”

But deep down, the gnawing fear clawed at your heart—you knew there was no outrunning Sylus.

And as the silence stretched between you, the crushing weight of your reality settled over you like a suffocating blanket, leaving you gasping for breath.

[megapteraurelia]

EPITHIMIA. — talisman #2.

☾ SUMMARY; — having been sent up to tokyo as an exchange student to spy on the first-years, your objective had been crystal clear: don't meddle. don't change anything. just observe. you didn't expect fushiguro megumi to foil your plans that quickly — but it's not like you could help yourself, not when he refused to be someone you could respect. so, what else to do but meddle?

☾ WARNINGS; — fem!reader; enemies to lovers; forced proximity; attempted character study?? (badly done!!); angst; gojo being annoying; ppl being hypocritical!; kind of angsty yuji too; TW: mention of blood, death;

☾ WORD COUNT; — 20,458.

☾ AUTHOR'S NOTE; — i lied. there's no romance here because i'm stupid and i couldn't stop writing other scenes. there will be a part three (and if all goes well that SHOULD actually be the last part). also, frick action scenes! also had to sacrifice some of the aesthetics because i can only add 30 images oops

— back to masterlist.

15th of April; 07:22. — kugisaki nobara.

Fushiguro syndrome. — as coined by Kugisaki Nobara: part-time sorcerer, quarter-time model, quarter-time self-proclaimed doctor.

Definition. A rare but deeply annoying affliction characterised by excessive brooding, emotional constipation, and the compulsive need to shoulder the entire weight of the world whilst pretending it's fine. Symptomps. — saying 'I'm fine' while visibly not fine. — intense staring instead of talking. — going silent mid-conversation because feelings are hard. — randomly disappearing to punch curses alone without backup. — at least one major emotional crisis repressed into a singular eyebrow twitch.

They weren't fighting.

And honestly, that was weirder than when they were.

Nobara noticed it the second they all met up in the dining hall for breakfast: the sun cast high, the light refracting through the glasses of water on the tables, leaving behind a sparkling surface. Megumi's arms were crossed nonstop, his shoulders struggling to hold the tension, sporting the worst eye bags she had seen in ages (Should she recommend him some good eye cream?)

He fixed the ground with a glare, eyes narrowed like he was trying to exorcise his constipated feelings, before sitting down at one of the tables off to the side. Nobara thought that he looked like a statue with too much gel product in his spiky hair, the way he didn't even eat his food, just stared at it.

On the other hand, there was you, who kept fiddling with your uniform as if it wasn't sitting right on your body. It couldn't be that, though, because the tailors of Tokyo Jujutsu High were very high-calibre. She would know, her uniform sat perfectly, and she was quite finicky in that matter. So, it had to be something else.

Nobara couldn't read you, though. You kept to yourself and made no move to really integrate yourself to their friend circle and sure, as an exchange student, this entire stay here was supposed to be temporary, so to some extent, she did understand that maybe, it was better not to get attached. But then, there also was no telling how long you were staying, so wouldn't it be better to make friends?

But you didn't and so Nobara didn't, either.

It wasn't like she really disliked you, but she wasn't going to waste effort on somebody who didn't know to appreciate it. She was fine to ignore you most of the time, which wasn't hard, considering that you only let some comments slip sometimes, but then you had to go and be a bitch to Megumi.

It wasn't like she really cared about Megumi; if anything, he was annoying with the way he was zapping all the fun, but she couldn't stand by and watch him be hurt like that. In the end, he was her teammate and…..her…..friend……so she couldn't not feel a certain way about it.

In any way, there was no greeting, no arguing, not even a single snide comment about the other's expression, punctuality or whatever it was they used to bicker about constantly. No sarcastic jabs, grumbled responses that made her roll her eyes so hard, it gave her a headache.

Not a single thing.

Just silence and a whole mountain range of tension between them — and it wasn't even the fun type of tension. Ugh, this was so boring.

Nobara leaned back on the bench, her food untouched as well as she pretended to yawn, but mostly, she just wanted to gauge how bad it was between you two. She had seen you going at it before — loud, sarcastic, the kind of arguments that made Yuji glance between you two like some kind of referee in a sports match, so the weird silence — the chattering of Yuji's with the rest of the students aside — was honestly disgusting.

Yuji's voice, cheerful and loud as always, broke through her thoughts. Really, this kid had no tact or decorum. "Sooo, what's up with these two? It's like there's a black hole of energy today."

"Salmon," Inumaki said and stabbed a piece of fish (Fish? As breakfast?) to bring to his scribbled mouth. Nobara eyed the markings on his cheeks and Inumaki was quick to zip up his jacket and hide them behind his collar like he could hide from the world. Nobara didn't really mean to make Inumaki feel self-conscious but wow, these marking did not help out.

Yuji, on the other hand, kept eating the fish and the rice like he was starving, though knowing him, he probably was. Seven hours without food? A surprise he was still alive. With stuffed cheeks, he spat a few grains of rice onto her plate. She pushed it away. Gross little chimp.

"Yeah, it's like, they're magnets in reverse, you know? Like…repulsing? Was that the word?"

"Repelling," Maki's eye roll was so incredible in conveying her exasperation, Nobara was in love. "It's like watching two stubborn blocks of wood trying to figure out who is more stubborn."

Nobara had to try out the eye roll, too. "More like, who is a bigger pain in the ass."

Then she leaned over her food, ignoring Yuji's star struck chipmunk face when she pushed him back by the shoulder to shout over to you, "Oi, did Megumi infect you with Fushiguro Syndrome, too?"

Your voice was cheerful when you replied, "I think I'm just peachy, Kugisaki, thanks for asking!" but Nobara could spot fake-happiness from a mile away — the way your knuckles whitened holding your chopsticks, the annoyed twitch in your eyebrows, the distracted flitting of your eyes over the fish. Yeah, definitely Fushiguro Syndrome. You were sporting the most theatrical fake happiness anybody could ever ask for. Not that she'd know who would want it, but in case it was an attribute searched by anyone, at least she would know where and who to direct them to.

"She absolutely isn't."

"Yeah, no way in hell."

"Salmon, salmon."

Yuji swallowed the food without even chewing properly, a few rice grains still sticking to the side of his mouth. He tried getting them with his tongue when Inumaki pointed towards them, but gave up when the blonde sorcerer kept shaking his head. Nobara probably could tell him exactly where it was, but to his dismay and to her enjoyment, she did delight in watching Yuji make a fool of himself.

"It's weird, though," he said in between licks (no! Not this way — the rice grain was under his lower lip on the right side!) and then stuffed his cheeks with more food, "I mean, they've always been kind of odd with each other, but now it's different. It's like…they're those crabs that get stuck in the same hole and just…pinch each other until they both get annoyed enough to walk away, but they can't leave because they're stuck, and it's hilarious."

"What in the hell," Nobara paused. "are you talking about, Itadori."

Inumaki Toge nodded. "Bonito flakes."

"You seriously agree with him, Inumaki?" Maki quirked up her eyebrow, one of her chopsticks waving in the direction of Yuji and Inumaki as if to make sense of their non-sense, to bring to life the magic of understanding neanderthal-speak.

Megumi stood up with the slight screech of his chair skidding on the floor, his hands shoved deeply into his pockets as he walked out the dining hall without sparing a glance towards anybody. There was a distinct scoff coming from your direction, your chopsticks scratching hard against the surface of your plate, before you too pushed your plate away and got up to leave.

Nobara wondered if you had only been here for Megumi's sake, whether you had meant to leave at the same time, to give the impression that your presence at breakfast was just to make Megumi uncomfortable — maybe a reminder of whatever transpired between you both. But honestly, Nobara couldn't care less. Worrying about other people could mean that she'd stress over them enough to cause her hair ends to split or, worse, get grey hair.

God, just kiss or kill each other already, she thought with an exaggerated eye roll, but in the end it wasn't her business. Not really.

…but she definitely was going to text Yuji about it later.

16th of April; 13:26. — gojo satoru.

Gojo Satoru was many things.

Handsome (undefeated). The strongest (naturally). Adept at approximately all the things he put his hands on. But nosy? Not really. But once he was curious, there was no stopping him, and curiosity for Gojo Satoru was a dangerous thing.

Sipping from a can of peach soda, especially sweet, he sat lounging on the stairs. Below him, on the courtyard lawn, stood his little assortments of students, amongst which were his enigmatic black-haired student and his new Kyoto's little sharp-tongued mole. Well, exchange student, if he were to stick totechnicality, but then again, that word didn't do a lot of justice to the actual reason you were sent here.

Both of his students were standing a little too far apart; there was no speaking and no fighting like all the other times that he had the pleasure of witnessing. But that was the thing. There had been a fight.

If he could be generous to call it that — which he always was, mind you — the last mission ended with a little…disagreement. He hadn't been there, but the report Ijiichi had given him was quite clear. Something had happened that broke whatever little tolerance you both had for each other. Of course, he could imagine what it was, because Ijichi had been very detailed in the way both of his kids derailed into a shouting match over blame.

Gojo sipped his drink.

Interesting.

Megumi wasn't the type to carry grudges, usually. He carried a lot of responsibility, sure. A liberal amount of regret tossed in there, too, but what sorcerer didn't?

But something as petty as resentment? Not usually his deal. The nasty glare he had fixed on the exchange student was speaking volumes, though.

And you?

He had noticed it before; the way you made things personal, the way you didn't let up. Gojo thought that it wasn't the worst thing to happen to Megumi, especially if you could get him out of his mind once in a while. So he never saw a need to intervene, beside the fact that he didn't think Megumi would be unable to handle what you threw at him.

He could already imagine the glare sent his way if he meddled in Megumi's business beyond his own relationship with him as a teacher. Though, not that that really kept him from anything.

But personal tension, especially if it was persistent, had a way of bleeding into teamwork — or as 'team' as that work between you seemed to be, which did make it Gojo's problem, after all.

One eye peeking from underneath the blindfold, he noted the way Megumi's jaw tightened when you turned away without acknowledging him; the way your cursed energy flared aggressively when Megumi muttered something under his breath. There was a tight rope between apathy and something glimmering beneath it, heated, unspoken and definitely unresolved, tied between both your feet; ready to get you tripping if you moved too far away from each other.

He could be doing the responsible teacher thing: sit them down. Encourage open communication, blah blah — no.

That wasn't his style, and way too boring. What kind of teacher would he be if he didn't subtly abuse his incredible power for lighthearted surveillance?

Gojo Satoru tilted his head and his gaze fell on Yuji and Nobara, a slight tight-lipped smile widening, "Let's see what my adorable disasters are up to."

20th of April; 10:08. — gojo satoru.

"Already done? My, what hardworking bee you are, Megumi!"

"There any more, Gojo-sensei?"

"There's always an abundance of low grade jobs, but you sure you're not gonna turn into a zombie on me? Ya giving your brain enough time to catch a break?"

"I'm fine. I'll handle it," then, his voice a bit quieter: "I won't make any more mistakes."

Gojo tilted his head, his eyebrows drawn high, "I'll have Ijichi give you the details on the way. Just know that you'll lose your handsomeness if you turn into one of those undeads; flaky skin and all, you know? Now off you pop."

Though maybe he'll finally stop resembling his father then, Gojo thought, his finger turning the cuff of his uniform as he watched his student leave the room, a slight limp as he stepped on his right ankle.

22nd of April; 23:48. — zen'in maki, just called maki.

Zen'in Maki, just called Maki, hated reminders of her parentage.

For all the obsession with strength and cursed techniques, Maki found that the name of her clan in blood was less a title and more of a curse itself; a chain clinched around her throat since her birth, growing with her as she transcended childhood and grew into the young woman she was today. It was not rare for somebody to utter the name in her vicinity — not by virtue of upsetting her, but because even though she thought it was undeserved, there was no denying that the Zen'ins were one of the three great sorcerer families.

Even though it had been some time since she left the clan compound, she still felt the weight of it — the expectations she was meant to fail, the sneers she was meant to endure, the silence that was meant to shame her into obedience.

The traditional and backwards way her clan in blood operated made hers boil, and even though she would like nothing more than to circumvent any mention of this bitter reminder of her apparent inadequacy, she steeled herself each time the name passed somebody's lips. Because to flinch is to give in, to react is to admit defeat and to allow them to control her beyond their property by mere allusion. And Maki, with her stubborn heartbeat and her body honed into a weapon, refused to bow.

Her eyes, as sharp as ever, flitted over Megumi's black hair, though barely illuminated in the darkness and stillness of the night. Sometimes she forgot that he shared the same blood, but it wasn't the clan's much-heralded inherited Ten Shadows Technique that reminded her. It wasn't the black hair either that they shared. It was this.

The look in his eyes as he gripped his blade and performed katas with his sword. The cleanliness of it, the efficiency. It was the expression on his face that had her narrow her eyes, that had her muscles tensing as if to ward off any attacks — the same calculating silence masked as focus, the same quiet detachment.

She used to see that look in the training halls of the Zen'in estate: when her father would bark corrections with a tone that promised bruises and punishment; in Naoya's face when he used to kick the animals that lost their way onto their property, on the faces of several clans men. A mask that said feelings get you killed.

She watched him pivot, bring the blade up with a sharp, precise movement that made no sound but cut through the air like glass; the harsh exhale like there was a mountain of air buried deep in the cavity of his lungs needing to be set free. It was the feeling that this reminder of the mask brought out within her, the desperation to rip off that same look on her own face, the hollowed out thump in her chest that had her approach Megumi.

"You trying to break some record or are you just trying to kill yourself out here?"

Maki didn't expect a response and true to that, there was none following. She knew it all too well — this honed focus, the strangulation of an-ever growing vignette.

"Seriously, what the hell is going on with you?" Maki stopped a few metres short from where he was denying his body any rest, "It's well past curfew and you're bleeding all over the place. Training's not going to do you much good if you can't even hold your damn weapon."

Along the razor sharp sound of the blade slitting the air into two, Megumi's voice sounded out, painted with heavy breaths: "What about you then? What did you come out here for, huh?"

Silence. A slight stiffening of limbs.

"Don't pretend we don't know," Megumi halted in his movements, and his eyes — a wild, storming ocean — fixed her with a look, "You come out every night like you're being chased. Like you'll fall behind if you stop. So what is it — are you here to check on me or were you planning to do the same thing?"

Maki stayed quiet longer than she meant to.

There was a slight pressure behind her ribs, in the cavity that was her chest. Something curling up in on itself. A part of her wanted to scoff and tell him he was projecting, but the look in his eyes stopped her. The restless edge. The way he trained past exhaustion, the circles underneath his eyes, a promise that collapsing meant personal failure. The way he avoided eye contact when people asked if he was sleeping.

She knew what it meant. She knew where the road lead, because she was still walking it.

He wasn't wrong. The truth was that she hadn't come out here to check on him, that it wasn't on her mind until she saw the way he had danced over the training grounds. That she came because her body was buzzing from the inside with energy to waste, constantly caught between fight and flight, even when there was no one left to fight.

Her knuckles were still sore from last night. From the night before that. From the week before that.

Never leave me behind.

Maki's exhale was quiet. There was a promise and she broke it. She had left first.

Every time she trained until she couldn't feel her legs, every time her fingers bled grasping the hilt of her blade, it was with the breath of her sister's whisper down her neck. Because she had to believe that it would make it worth something. That she was getting closer to earning her way back, that she wasn't abandoning her twin — just biding her time until she could tear the clan down with her own two hands.

She glanced at Megumi, the tension in his muscles, the barely healed cuts on his arms, the faint trickle of blood from the ripped open callouses on the palm of his hand and the way he was holding himself together like his world was taped up hastily and might shatter. She saw herself in him, younger her who kept pushing forward because stopping and turning around meant seeing what she had left behind.

"I didn't come here to hurt myself. I came to train."

Something almost akin to a scoff escaped the boy, though it also could have been him breathing out in exertion, "Right. Because your hands weren't wrapped in tape yesterday either, right?"

"That's different," she said but Maki wasn't typically somebody who lied to herself.

Megumi bent at the knees, deep, the sword reflecting the moonlight for a split second, his shoulders twitching in a shrug. "I'll stop if you stop."

Maki felt it sit in the pit of her stomach — the guilt at her own decision, the rightful anger at her clan, the choking pressure of her desire. Then she rolled her own shoulders, steeled herself and with it came the resolve: even if there was nobody who would understand her, who could walk in her shoes, who could save Mai from the Zen'in clan's clutches, she would have to continue on.

There was no other way it could go.

"You're overthinking your third stance."

His voice was rough, almost desperate. "Show me."

25th of April; 01:18. — you.

There was a folded strip of black paper sitting on your bed, pressed and knotted with a red threat.

A talisman.

Kyoto-issued, so it seemed. You'd recognise the ink pattern everywhere having seen it in your school, a subconscious reminder that you weren't here to have fun. Well, it wasn't like you were having any special fun, but still, the appearance of such a charm had your spine straighten up immediately.

Carefully, you let your gaze roam through your entire room, but nothing seemed out of the norm. If anything, it might have been even too tidy, though that also might be your paranoia talking. As much as your room looked like it always did, the talisman was very well out of norm.

Kyoto Jujutsu High usually didn't get in contact with you, unless there was something dire.

And that couldn't be, because you hadn't noticed anything worthy of noting down yet, because nothing was happening here. Nothing of significance for Gakuganji, at least. Nothing that warranted them contacting you directly and sending you a message so obviously.

You picked up the paper, your eyes recognising the charm written up, general polite well wishes, and underneath in strokes that only a select few could read:

As we have yet to receive any updates, we would greatly appreciate a brief report at your earliest convenience. Should circumstances remain unchanged, we may be required to explore other available options. We appreciate your continued efforts and trust you will keep us informed.

Of course. There was no name, no seal, no malice in those words. Seemingly. Only incredible politeness, a veiled threat, so if one were to read it, it would sound like a mildly scolding letter.

You stared at the charm, the crease where it was folded neatly. Your first thought had been that you missed a report — that somehow you'd let something slip. But you knew yourself, knew the meticulousness with which you always prepared the seals, knew that the correspondence was as tight and precise as your technique.

You pursed your lips in thought.

If they had sent something now, that meant your charms weren't reaching them for a while now. You hadn't thought much of the silence after each of the transmissions; no confirmation coming back wasn't unusual. The Kyoto faculty preferred silence, the kind of quiet superiority that made them respond when they deemed it important, not one second before.

But now this.

If your reports weren't arriving, then either something had intercepted them…or someone had. Both implications had your forehead create way too many wrinkles for your age and instinctively, you glanced toward the window, the slow sway of the courtyard trees like a whisper about to tell you its secrets.

The paper folded without resistance, at the same seam as before. It didn't matter if someone had been interfering, you decided; you had no proof or any grounds to throw around accusations, especially since that wasn't Kyoto's intention to begin with. They'd rather replace you than make sure to find out who was trying to foil their plans. Beside the fact that it wasn't your job to speculate. It was to observe. To report. To be useful.

It wasn't quite the way you liked to do things for it made no sense to you that other people would offer up information out of their own volition. If there was no action taken, how could you ever find out about people? How were you ever going to prove your usefulness to the people who deemed it so easy to replace you?

You hadn't expected to feel anything, reading those words — certainly not this hesitation. Not when you were here with a purpose; but still: it twisted inside you, low and persistent.

Which meant no more distractions.

Because if your chest twisted like that then that meant you had been dragging your feet, it meant that a part of you had started to hope the assignment would quietly dissolve before it reached a critical point. Because it meant that you started to get attached when you were just being thorough.

You straightened the paper, smoothing the wrinkles that didn't exist. No more chasing tension for your enjoyment's sake. No more watching Fushiguro Megumi to see if you could crack the surface, to see if his innards spilled out with all the thoughts and feelings he kept hidden, the fight with himself to figure out who he was. No more trying to provoke him.

You'd wasted much time trying to figure out what lay behind that tired sharpness in his eyes, the way he flinched at praise, the way he always looked like he was dragging something unseen behind him.

You couldn't make that mistake again.

Whatever role he played, whatever potential Kyoto thought he might harbour and develop, it wasn't yours to decipher. It wasn't yours to push. It wasn't your mission. He wasn't.

Whatever interference had occurred, it wouldn't happen twice.

26th of April; 16:34. — fushiguro megumi.

"She's not that bad, you know?"

Fushiguro Megumi didn't want to look up to see the pink of Yuji's hair drown with an orange sheen, to watch the sky bleed into lavender, evening announcing itself slowly, gently.

He thought that he really didn't want to talk about it.

There wasn't anything to talk about, not about you, and not about you with Yuji. Especially not him. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate his input — at times. But this? This wasn't something Megumi wanted to lay out for anyone, not something he wanted to talk with Yuji about.

Not the argument that him and you had, about the accusation standing in the room, about all the things that he knew Yuji felt strongly about. Megumi knew that he would take it hard.

So he scoffed, his chin finding its way onto the palm of his hand, "Yeah, well, she thinks being loud is the same thing as being right."

"Cool. But that's not what I asked," Yuji leaned back, his elbows finding the stone steps behind him.

No, it wasn't. He knew it wasn't.

There was a soft breeze, a certain warmth swinging alongside it. The stones beneath him were warm, too, still lingering in the former caress of the sun. Yuji wasn't looking at him, and that somehow made it worse. If he had been, if there had been pity in his face or concern in his eyes, then Megumi could have shut it down. Cut the conversation short. But the casual posture, the light tilt of his head back toward the sky — it made it harder to tell him to shut up.

It would have been easier if he wasn't here. If Yuji wasn't trying to poke holes in walls that Megumi had already worn himself out trying to keep up.

So he said, flatly, "Why you here?"

Yuji didn't take the bait, and that annoyed Megumi, too. But there wasn't a lot that didn't manage to irk Megumi nowadays.

"Because you don't talk to her," he said simply, "Maybe you'll talk to me."

Megumi didn't move, but the grass in front of him did; swinging with the soft picking up of the wind. Yuji's voice wasn't accusing or disappointed; it was gentle in the way that only Yuji could sound like. Goodhearted, open, optimistic. He talked like he knew it was difficult and didn't want to make it harder, and that was exactly what made it difficult to shove him away.

"You care. That's what's messing you up, isn't it?"

Megumi didn't dare breathe.

"She pissed you off. Got too close. Now you don't know what to do with it."

He exhaled softly. Yuji was wrong — or at least, somewhat. It wasn't that he cared about you. It was the way you looked him in the eye and questioned everything he believed in. His desire to save lives — all lives, if possible; that he wasn't actually doing it. That killing the curse wasn't always the same as winning, that the mission, the regulations weren't absolute. Couldn't be.

You believed in getting it done and accepting what had to be lost along the way, and it was the way you had been calm about it. Cold, even. Efficient, not even necessarily cruel, though he thought you were — but just clear.

And that had shaken him.

A part of him was wondering if you were right. He was pissed about that.

Because standing in the rubble of the half-collapsed shopping mall with the girl crying behind him, he had hesitated. Not even because it was hard. But because it wasn't.

"Mind your own business, Itadori."

Yuji stayed on the steps, solid, still, refusing to be dismissed. There was a pause, and then:

"Nah."

He knew Itadori Yuji. Knew the tone and knew exactly what it meant — that this wasn't going to be one of those conversations that got buried under a shrug and a change of subject. Yuji wasn't leaving, not until he had said whatever he wanted to come say. There was a quiet patience in his eyes, the kind that made Megumi feel seen, a little exposed, challenged.

He rubbed at the corner of his brow with two fingers, eyes closing with exhaustion that ran deep. "I said drop it."

"Yeah," Yuji nodded. "I heard you."

"You don't get it." Megumi imagined Yuji like a fly that he could swat away, bury all his thoughts under the same swatter, squish them out of existence. His tongue felt heavy. Had he never said this out loud? It felt like he had been saying nothing else for weeks now. With a tight jaw, he muttered, "You would've saved them. So would i. That's not the issue."

"Then what is?"

Megumi hesitated. He didn't want to offer his thoughts, everything in him didn't want to admit it like that, but this was Yuji. The same person who who had jumped into danger without a second thought just to protect someone he barely knew, so he cradled the thing that sat in his chest like weight and pushed it out, "She made it sound like doing that made me weak. Like— like it was selfish."

He thought that if he could save someone, even one person, that should be enough. But she made it sound like wanting that meant he was doing it for himself, like he wasn't thinking about the bigger picture. Like he didn't care.

Yuji was silent for a while, and Megumi stiffened, and then—

With a shrug that didn't match the weight of his words: "So what if it was selfish?"

Megumi's shoulders stayed tense but he blinked, his eyes wandering over to Yuji but all he met was a steady look back, calm, grounded in a way that Yuji rarely looked like.

"We make choices and live with them. Sometimes that's selfish. I don't think it means it's wrong," Yuji hesitated, then shrugged again, though this time it was more of a way to get rid of thoughts that intruded on his spoken words, "Maybe it's not even about who's right. Maybe it's just about who's willing to live with what they chose."

Megumi's chest ached. Yuji spoke with a certainty that made him think about Sukuna's finger that Yuji ate that roped him into a world that brought nothing but misery, and why he had such a hard time doing the same when he grew up within it. He didn't respond, not because he disagreed, even though he wanted to push back, to argue, to find a reason for why he would be right, but because the words wouldn't come.

Maybe it was his pride. Maybe it was shame crawling up his throat, laying bitter on his tongue. It wasn't a question of his decision, it was a question of who he was.

Yuji stood up and brushed off his pants like he hadn't just pulled something raw into the light, like the conversation was done. And maybe it was. Megumi made no start to stop Yuji, anyway.

"If you don't wanna talk to her, fine. But don't lie to yourself about why."

3rd of May; 18:52. — you.

The warehouse reeked.

Like mold, blood, and something sour that clung to the back of the throat — the kind of stink that told you a curse didn't die clean. And it didn't: there was a substance resembling blood splattered all over the floor, like it couldn't escape fast enough from where it had been squashed into mush.

Megumi stepped over it, his boots making a wet sound on the floor, his steps heavy and with purpose in the vast silence that suddenly laid itself on top of you like a thick blanket. The air was heavy with aftershocks of cursed energy; the taste tangy and metallic on your tongue.

You could hear the drip of blood from the curve of your sword, the echo hanging in the air, drip, drip, drip.

It gnawed on your nerves, a slow and deliberate sound that you couldn't escape, so you flicked the blade off with a swift motion. Your eyes swept over the shadows lingering from when megumi had called them.

Footsteps matching his in the quiet, the rhythm of yours echo out of sync, a subtle discord that had become almost too familiar. Before, the silence had been filled with sharp words, teasing, half-fulfilled orders, information, occasional jabs. Now?

Now it was just motion. Breathe. Get it done. Get out. No checks. No confirmation. No reason to linger.

Megumi didn't wait for you to catch up. He moved forward without a glance, the slight echo of his voice cutting through the stillness, not loud enough to be a real order, not quiet enough to ignore, "Let's go."

You followed because, well, it was over. The job was done, and there was nothing left to say.

5th of May; 12:01. — fushiguro megumi.

Fushiguro Megumi didn't know why he was lingering around the broken shopping mart in Yurakucho.

With his hands loose by his side, his eyes travelled over the police tapes that were slowly being rolled together. The curse hadn't come back, because if it had, there wouldn't have been the shifting from police workers to construction workers over the weeks.

His heart was beating steady, watching the bustle, the shouts over the sound of equipment, the everyday hustle of people who didn't know better, who didn't have to know better. He continued standing there, watching until the workers gathered together for lunch time.

Megumi ducked under the signs that warned other citizens to stay out, and entered through the broken doors, now cleaned off the shards. His feet took him to the third floor automatically, the entire mall looking weirdly peaceful without the shelves reaching over to keep him in their grasp, without the air weighing him down like he was going to crumble underneath the pressure. The lights were turned off, the electrical wires cut, but there was enough light coming through from the ripped down wall to the south side that he needn't worry about seeing, and he observed the dust dancing in the air.

There was no cursed energy lingering around anymore, but he found the faded circle of red on the floor easily.

He didn't have to worry about the cursed womb anymore, didn't have to worry about anybody else getting hurt.

His teacher had caught him on the extended balcony of the main building in Tokyo Jujutsu High a couple days back, jutting out to observe the main courtyard and if he turned, a side view of the sport field expanding right in front of him. His other schoolmates were training out, and he hadn't joined them; instead, his eyes flitted over the starfish spread of Inumaki's — a Yuji standing next to him poking him with a stick, the huge body of Panda's throwing around a screeching Nobara, the band of limbs blurring in a spar between Maki and you.

His lips twisted, and he looked away.

"Megumi skipping school? Scandalous!"

He barely flinched when he heard Gojo's cheerful tenor ring through the air behind him, too used to his teacher popping in at whatever times he deemed fit. He couldn't tell whether Gojo had come up using the stairs like a normal person, though knowing his teacher, that would have been too boring.

Megumi didn't think he needed to answer. He knew he was supposed to be down there training alongside the rest of his classmates, but he couldn't step foot onto the field, knowing you were there. If ignoring you had been difficult before, it was almost impossible now, even though he didn't speak to you, your own comments having dwindled, only terse necessities when you were put together on missions.

It was less the quantity of commentary that weighed on him heavily; it was just the way his hair stood on its ends, his skin prickling at your mere presence. There was a charge to the air between you both, the accusation and assumption sitting in the atoms he breathed in, heavy, tasting like static.

He shook his head lightly, the memory of a certain monitor beeping in his ears fading. He wasn't wasting time, he wasn't — he was going to train twice as hard, was going to make up for it. His missing the training with the rest of the students would have no bearing on his performance. He was going to make sure of it.

He had no other choice.

"Just so you know, I don't quite mind. I do approve of a little rebellious streak," Gojo's saunter towards the railing where Megumi stood was insufferable. It was not just the way he walked, like gravity bent over backwards for him, the bounce in his steps, like he was mocking the world and daring it to do something about it, but also the underlying message through the easy sway of his shoulders: that he was untouchable. "But skipping school is a slippery slope. First, it's one day. Then it's two. Next you know, the others avoid handling you at staff meetings, and I'm the one who has to go through all your reports. Not fun."

A dry remark, no questions intended. "Do you even read the reports."

"Nah. I don't. It's too much of a hassle," his teacher said with a grin, his canines sharp and glinting in the sun. His elbows propped up on the railing, his back to the sports field, he looked up to the sky. Or, well, his face was looking towards the sky, his eyes might has well have been roaming Megumi's face. Not that he would know where Gojo was looking with that blindfold on.

There was a kind of quiet between them that felt like it was supposed to be purposeful. He didn't like it, his hands gripping the railing a bit tighter, like he could redirect his tension through his fingertips to the wood. There was a breeze softly caressing Megumi's face, and for a second, he wondered if he deserved to have the world treat him so gently, when he—

"I exorcised the curse."

On instinct, Megumi whirled around towards Gojo and the distinctive curve of his jaw as he continued to study the sky's blue, the spare clouds here and there. Like clockwork, the stone in Megumi's stomach sank deeper, and his knuckles whitened on the wood, his nails digging between the rills of the old timber.

"I know there's coulda-woulda-shouldas going through your head. You don't have to tell me, I know I've got bingo already," Gojo said offhandedly, and finally turned his head to Megumi, his smile softening, less of a tease, more of an inspection.

Megumi looked away, the wood digging in between the nail and his skin, right in the crevice where it was hard to get out. "You shouldn't have had to clean up after me."

"Aww, come on, that's what I'm here for. Let me have my moment," a snap of his fingers, "I even looked cool doing it — real flashy. Big crown. Someone might have clapped, ya never know."

His teacher was so ridiculous, Megumi couldn't stop the huff escaping him. Of course, he was out to be praised, so full of himself the way he always was. To an extent, Megumi even appreciated the ease with which he talked. Not that he would ever admit it. "You're not helping."

Gojo bent down, the tip of his sharp nose getting awfully close to Megumi's. "Also, for the record, the whole spinning around you just did? Very dramatic, I give it an 8.5 out of 10."

Megumi jerked his head back, sending a glare towards his teacher, "Do you ever stop talking?"

"Not unless I'm unconscious. Or dead," both hands up in the hair, Gojo stood upright again, to his full height; assured, confident, a fact, "Hold your horses, Megumi — I'm not planning on either of those today. Or the near future."

Megumi's eyes found their way from his teacher to the field again. Inumaki had finally gotten up, though he was still a far cry away from actually gearing up to fight. Maki had moved on to rope Panda into blocking a flurry of her attacks, every movement precise and trained, no wasted moment. Yuji and Nobara were off to the side, engaged in the typical bickering he knew his classmates to partake in. A threatening raise of her hand at Yuji, an assuaged shoulder dropping directed at Nobara.

You were nowhere to be seen, and Megumi hated that he took note of it, that his fingers let up for a second, that the coil in his stomach uncurled. And when gojo spoke again, he hated the way relief wormed itself through his heart, as if he deserved it.

He hated, too, how much he welcomed the relief.

"It's alright for the stuff to weigh on you. You think you're the only one holding the line sometimes," Gojo's voice was serious, in a way that Megumi seldom heard, "You're not. You've got people behind you. Beside you. Me included, aren't you lucky."

Because it was true. Because Megumi could rely on Gojo Satoru. Because he could rest assured that his teacher had always looked out for him, and would always do so, despite being so annoying about it. Or maybe perhaps, even more so because of it.

"…thanks."

Gojo's grin returned with ease, shoulders pulled up as he kicked off the railing. "By the way, the next time you skip class, at least pretend to be doing something cool. Like I dunno — stealing a cursed artefact, annoying Nanami until it looks like the button on his collar is gonna burst, infiltrating a rival Jujutsu School…the list is endless!"

"Those are all terrible ideas."

A gasp, and Gojo turned around, his hand clutching his chest, "Excuse me for having taste."

Megumi had rolled his eyes, but inwardly, he had felt a weird mix between mollification and a nervous fraying around his edges. Making his way down to the training grounds as well to take over Panda's spot, he had even managed to ignore that he was only going down because you weren't there anymore.

A coward—

No.

He just didn't want to get into fights anymore, he told himself, he was sick of it.

Standing in the wreckage left behind of the failed mission now, he couldn't muster up the relief that he felt when Gojo first told him that the curse was gone. He didn't have to worry about it anymore, didn't have to agonise over it at night, could finally focus on his next missions, of not repeating the mistake.

The curse was dealt with. No one else would get hurt, no news alert or updates that he would have to await with bated breath. No more imagining what could have happened — because none if it had happened. And now, it never would.

So why, instead of ease, did he feel a familiar tightness in his chest?

His fingers swept over the mark of his shikigami's warding attack, muscles loose, not clenched, not angry.

The second Megumi learned that Gojo had stepped in, the weight had vanished from his shoulders like it had never been his in the first place. The moment it wasn't his problem anymore, it had stopped being real. The guilt, the panic, the second-guessing — all of it evaporated. Gojo had fixed it. He had always fixed it.

But what if his teacher died? What if there was nobody around to pick up the pieces he left on the ground?

He pressed his lips together.

Megumi didn't use to think about it, but then you threw it at his head, the question of whether he knew that his sense of justice disappeared so easily and—

The comfort sitting in his bones, in the cracks of his joints, turned sour, like milk that was expiring. Gojo could shoulder the burden like it was weightless — and for him, maybe it was. But Megumi wasn't like that. Was he going to rely on his teacher forever?

If he started choosing who lived, if he stained his hands so others could stay clean, would maybe one day the relief feel genuine?

1st of May; 14:28. — you.

You lingered near the restricted area, your fingers hovering over the glass display case. You didn't dare touch anything, but your eyes were sweeping over the more dangerous collection of cursed objects. The area hummed with restrained malevolence; the ancient talismans pulsed dimly, guarded by layered barriers woven so tightly that even the air seemed hesitant to stir.

You didn't intend to steal anything. T

his was merely reconnaissance, to confirm whether the rumour over at Kyoto's were true: that Tokyo Jujutsu High had been quietly amassing cursed relics far beyond what they reported to the higher-ups. That under Gojo Satoru's protection, they'd turned the school into something closer to a private arsenal than a neutral institution.

But this wasn't about fairness or balance, that you knew. It always came down to fear, to wanting to gain the upper hand against somebody they didn't trust. Neither gojo nor his students, and especially not the influx of power the first-years all brought along.

Standing there, surrounded by cursed tools older than some dynasties in Japan, you felt weird.

This wasn't just a vault, it was a warning, too. A reminder that if Tokyo wanted to, they really could overpower Kyoto before it ever drew its own blade. And if it was true, what would the elders plan to do with this information if you delivered it?

In the end, you shouldn't care. You were a tool to use, a means to someone else's end, you were just there to collect information, and leave before anything could happen. Ever since you found that talisman on your bed, you kept repeating it to yourself, yet still —

Strangely, your first thought was of Itadori Yuji.

Not because he was friendly, even though he was. Not because he always offered to spar, even though he did, or because he was so earnest, but because of what he carried inside him.

You had seen it in flashes; in the way his smile faltered when he thought no one was watching, in the tension in his shoulders when he had to deploy Sukuna to take over his body, like he was bracing himself for something he couldn't stop.

He bore the King of Curses like a time bomb behind his ribs, and the worst thing about it was that he wasn't just a vessel. He was a boy trying to stay himself. So if what you learned here about Tokyo's cursed arsenal got back to Kyoto's elders, would they have more leverage to use against Yuji?

You were their spy, yet—

"So, funny thing," came a voice from behind you, "back during my days, the restricted section wasn't on the student tour."

You froze.

Gojo Satoru stood just a few steps back, hands in his pockets, posture loose, like he had just strolled in by accident. His blindfold was slightly pushed up, one pale blue eye gleaming under the low light. He wasn't smiling, but his tone was light, breezy, almost bored.

Like catching you here was a minor curiosity.

You turned slowly, "Gojo-sensei."

"Wow. Polite!" he nodded appreciatively, the corner of his mouth twitching, "Didn't expect that, considering the whole Kyoto sending you here and not teaching you how to trip a proximity ward. How is Utahime, by the way? She still giving the staff at the Karaoke's grey hair?"

Your answer was hesitant, slow, careful, "This place is off-limits? I could swear it wasn't. That's my fault. I can be on my way out, no time wasted."

There was a brilliant smile on Gojo's face at you playing stupid now; like a mask, easy and lazy, but there was a dangerous glint in the way his canine caught the light. "Cute. You lie like somebody who's never had to lie to me before."

"I wasn't—"

"—lying? Spying? Trying to sell me some sweet, innocent act?" he finished for you, his grin sharpening, his attention on you razor sharp, "Nah. Of course not. I can give you some pointers if you want my professional constructive criticism."

So lying wasn't an option anymore.

Not that you thought it ever really was, but in the same way that the higher-ups had no issue throwing out obvious, outrageous excuses like that, you thought maybe you could do the same to save yourself. But of course, it was a stupid decision. You had neither the power nor the authority nor the leverage to pit against somebody like Gojo Satoru to even try to pull shit out of your ass.

If anything, you didn't know if Kyoto even had any control. Not when it was the honoured clan heir on the other side.

What were your options then?

Despite the imposing presence of Gojo's, like an incessant reminder of the energy thrumming underneath his cool demeanour luring you to see him as an enemy, you couldn't attack. Not if you wanted to keep all of your bones intact. It would only end one way and that was with you in a hospital and having lost all semblance of some sort of trust between not just you both, but also with the other first-years.

Not that any trust had ever been really genuine, but at least it hadn't disturbed the status quo between you during all the weeks before.

You also didn't want to fight. Not like that. Not against Gojo Satoru. Ever.

You could try to stick to lying and pretend like you were innocent — it might even work, depending on how much good-will Gojo owned in that moment, how playful he was to really allow you to walk that line. He wouldn't believe you, but maybe you could appease him a little. On the other hand, it could also go insanely wrong in that he doesn't take kindly to being toyed with.

As stupid as it sounded, it was a viable option, but it was too much of a wild card to really trust that it would work either way.

Another option, which, out of everything, was not high on your list, was to offer him something in return if he let you get away with it. If you could convince him that you were more useful to keep around, you might be able to play it safe. He might be insulted, or he might take the offer, but either way, you would lose his respect and any possible prospect of gaining trust. Which, again, did not help your case in any way.

That lead to two different problems, though, which could be viewed on two different scales of importance, too. For one, and far less important, your behaviour was not just representative of yourself, but of Kyoto too, so any repercussions were directed back to the elders as well. You yourself didn't particularly care whether Gojo Satoru had respect for you, though having him as an enemy was not quite on your to-do list, either; but being the reason for the stand-off between the two schools to sharpen? Difficult.

Another reason, far more important to you, was to sell yourself like that went against your own principles; you were not in the habit of disregarding your own feelings in favour of saving yourself.

You were following your job, you knew that. You could treat it like a mission, because it essentially behaved like one, except a part of you couldn't because it wasn't against enemies, curses and curse users that intend to hurt innocent people. It was against other sorcerers, in a game where you were supposed to smile in Yuji's face and then feed his future to people who'd rather he die quietly than live inconveniently.

How much of a pawn did you want to be? You didn't care when you came here to Tokyo, but you also hadn't known any of the students here, hadn't seen how hard they worked to make a different future for Jujutsu Society.

You talked all about Megumi and his inability to be true to himself, but how about you?

The words left your mouth as calmly as you could manage, as steady as you could bring yourself to sound with Gojo Satoru watching over you like a hawk, "I didn't come here to steal anything."

Was that your smartest move? Maybe. Maybe not. It was hard to guess with him, but it was at the very least the truth and sometimes, when nothing else worked, truth was all you had left. It was your best bet at catching his attention; somebody who occupied the stance that Gojo Satoru did would appreciate honesty, you thought.

"You must be really curious then to ignore all the seals."

So he wasn't going to let you off easy. Almost, you were hoping he would be kind to you.

"They don't trust you. Or Tokyo," you didn't have to mention who they was; Gojo knew. By the shift in the air, the lessening of oppressive attention, you also knew he was listening now. "Not with the first-years. Not with Itadori. And especially not with you standing between them and the chain of command."

He didn't interrupt, so you continued.

"I guess you could call me spy, but they never do. Well, not officially, anyway. It's called oversight, information gathering, or whatever other thing they can come up with," you swallowed the amount of saliva having gathered in your mouth from your rambling, "They think this school is building its own army."

"An army, eh?" Gojo made a low sound in his throat, an unceremonious snort escaping him, "I can't say we haven't a good roster this time round: a hammer, a puppeteer, a ticking walking bomb? Nah, I gotta tweak that one a little…just the bomb? Hmm…"

You interrupted him before he could spiral into another tangent, "Point is, they're scared of you."

He turned towards you and despite the brightness of his eye roaming over your form, his words were honest, "Good. They should be."

You stayed still, because— "What are you going to do?"

Gojo blinked, lazily, as if none of it truly concerned him. Like catching a spy in Tokyo Jujutsu High's restricted section was no more urgent than choosing what flavour Mochi to buy. But nothing about the casual motions of a tight-lipped smile curling onto his face or his fingers tapping his chin was idle to fool you.

"Me?" he echoed, "Oh no, I'm just sitting in the front-row seat of 'what are you going to do?"

You swallowed, just once. "I could tell them about all this here."

"Naturally," he said, one shoulder heaving up in a small shrug. The way his head tilted reminded you of a bird, "You could."

Was there a trap in his words? You weren't sure. That was the problem with Gojo Satoru — he didn't need to be flashy to be dangerous. Sometimes it even hid in plain sight, draped in his infuriating nonchalance and wrapped in his lazy smiles.

Was the off-handed way he regarded you a threat?

Maybe.

He didn't look like he was posturing. He didn't have to. He barely moved since the moment he caught you, and yet you hadn't relaxed once. His eye watched you, but not in a way a predator would its prey, because that was still seeing you on the same plane of existence as him and right now, you weren't.

He watched you like a god watched a candle.

You studied him back. "You're not going to stop me?"

"I already did."

Things were not written in stone. Theoretically, you knew that.

You could send your report back to Kyoto, and it would carry your name. You could choose to continue your mission the way it was intended, could accept that you essentially were a discardable part of a plan that was larger than you. The plan that encompassed the death of Itadori Yuji, that had its eyes set on Fushiguro Megumi and the power imbalance of his cursed technique officially belonging to no clan, but still could be seen as an extension of the Gojo family.

You could do a lot of things, but the way he was waiting for you to understand made you feel like your decision had been made hours ago already. That it had been cemented in moments that you hadn't thought twice about: the first time you snorted at Yuji's really-not-funny joke but he lit up like he got handed a prize when he realised who it came from.

The first time Nobara didn't bother hiding her annoyance during a dragged-out explanation during training but still shifted enough to give you a clear view.

The first time you saw Megumi hesitate before a mission, so minuscule that you had almost dismissed it, his jaw tight and eyes distant, that spurred on your curiosity about what he was hiding.

That was the trap, you thought, not Gojo's words but, put on the spot in front of a decision, how treacherous your heart and mind were.

7th of May; 22:13. — kugisaki nobara.

"Yo."

"Gojo-sensei!"

"Yuji, my favourite student who is absolutely not my favourite just because you're the only one who has decency enough to miss me so when I'm gone!"

Nobara tried her best at Maki's eye roll again, "Teacher's pet."

"Wait…am I not supposed to say hi?"

"Nevermind that, Yuji-kun! Won't I get a heartfelt greeting from my other two favourite gremlins?"

"Hi." — "What's the mission."

"Yuji, close the windows. There's a real cold draft. Weird."

"But there's none open…"

Ignoring yuji, her teacher continued cheerfully, throwing a file onto the table, "I come bearing gifts!"

Nobara's head thumped against her arm. Goodbye, skin care routine. Goodbye, a good night's sleep. Goodbye, peace.

8th of May; 23:42. — you.

Megumi's leg was touching yours.

The problem with being four people in a short limousine was that there were two single seats that both Nobara and Yuji were quick to claim. In fact, as you all were walking down to the awaiting car on the main street, both of your classmates started accelerating until they were speed walking at a very conspicuous pace. Megumi huffed to himself, a deep annoyed sigh, a few steps behind you but you didn't think much of it until Iwata opened the door for you both and an innocent Yuji was looking back from the front row seats.

The boy's pink-haired head immediately whirled forward when he caught your eye, but it wasn't quick enough for you to have missed the slightly guilty expression painted all over his features. Your eyebrows wandered even higher up when your periphery registered movement between the seats, Nobara's well-manicured fingers slightly pinching Yuji's thigh.

Her lips mouthed something towards him, quick, messy enough that you couldn't catch it but apparently that was enough for Yuji because his brows furrowed and he nodded, resigned, accepting his part in whatever scheme she was coming up with.

"Move," Megumi grunted from behind you when you took to long to enter, and pushed himself past you into the car.

"Don't strain yourself with all that politeness, Fushiguro," you bit out.

It was a cruel joke, looking inside the vehicle and finding that the only seat you could possibly take was right next to Megumi's right. Well, it would have been Megumi's left if you had entered the car first, but at least it would have been at your choosing which side you'd rather occupy.

Not your mission, you reminded yourself with a press of your lips, before sliding into your seat and allowed Iwata to shut your door close so he could drive you all to the mission site.

That had been eighteen minutes ago, and Megumi's leg was touching yours for the past thirteen of those. Megumi who had stubbornly stared out the window, who kept his body to himself, tense, with his arms crossed, until his head lolled forward slightly and his body relaxed slowly.

It was funny how open to an attack he was in that position, the back of his neck exposed as his chin softly bumped against his chest. If the Kyoto elders had tasked you to get rid of the Zen'in brat with the Ten Shadows Technique, you could have done so easily in that moment: taken a hold of the dagger you kept with you and aimed for his carotid, then dragged it up to his internal jugular. He would've been dead before he could have even had the chance to wake up again.

They didn't ask that of you, though, so you sat in this car with Yuji's and Nobara's whispers in front of you, and Megumi's leg that touched yours.

9th of May; 01:18. — you.

"This place smells like whatever's festering in those idiots' laundry pile."

Nobara wasn't exaggerating.

The stench of stagnant water reeked of bacteria finding a welcoming home; flowers that had been standing in their dirty water for weeks, a sickly sweet under note. It reminded you of buried corpses beneath wet earth, rotten.

The entrance to the underpass stretched out before you, half-drowned in shadow as murky floodwater trickled out steadily. Despite the sloshing of water reaching your ears faintly, there were no other sounds to indicate there was something nesting inside there: no breeze of wind, no metal creaking, no movement through the water.

There had been residual cursed energy picked up from the last site that the curse was lingering around, though it was difficult for to scouts who were monitoring the area to pick up the exact location. The curse was constantly moving, apparently extremely territorial and, most importantly, smart enough to avoid detection until now.

"What are you doing?"

You turned slightly to observe Yuji bending down, untying his boots, "I didn't know the water was going to be that deep!! I'm wearing my cool socks, so — " he rolled his socks into a little ball, stuffed it into his pocket before slipping into his shoes, sock-less, " — problem solved."

"Ugh, yikes."

"We should split up as we discussed," Megumi spoke up, his voice scratchy from when he woke up from his slumber earlier.

When the car came to a halt and the overhead light turned on, his body had stilled as his eyelashes fluttered lightly, opening, coming to his senses with a blink. He was quiet, when awaking. But Megumi, when left to his devices, was always very quiet, even more so in the recent weeks. His jaw slightly moved when he released the tension held within his teeth and his chest moved with a deep breath, shoulders staying relaxed momentarily before they stiffened when he felt your gaze on his face.

He had looked at you, something raw in his eyes, and you looked back. For a second there was nothing between you both other than just space that existed, then his knee had pulled away and you had turned and gotten out of the car.

"Sweep it from both ends. One team at the north entrance, and one from the spillway," Megumi continued. "At least this way we can cut off one route if it decides to lead us through a chase."

As you were approaching the mission site earlier, Yuji had asked about the distribution of teammates, and a quiet Iwata had spoken up. His voice was soft, hesitant like he was scared to unleash a storm with what he was about to announce. Apparently, Gojo had made it clear to the assistant manager to convey his explicit desire to have you and Megumi paired up.

You hadn't bothered to either act or be surprised about that development, taking the 'news' with as neutral a face as you could manage. Obviously, you would have preferred to share the name of teammates with Yuji instead, but after the encounter with Gojo, you weren't surprised that you were to be kept away from the pink-haired student that had the Kyoto elders in an uproar. It didn't matter that nothing in your secret mission had mentioned any bodily harm to Yuji, nevermind the fact that you didn't want to hurt him, but if it were you in anyone else's shoes, you would have kept yourself far from him, too.

The lack of trust didn't hurt you, for it made sense and you weren't sure you trusted Gojo Satoru and his little games entirely, either. It was a give and take, so nothing you could do about it.

What captured your attention instead was the fact that Megumi's face hadn't moved at the announcement, either. Where there would have been a palpable exasperation at sharing his presence with you, a frustrated grimace, a twist of lips, he just quietly accepted it now. It had you narrowing your eyes, a thoughtful curl of your mouth that you couldn't hold back.

His lack of ill-will was off-putting; the oppressive quiet he had layered over himself over the past weeks slowly, bit by bit, one that suffocated the usual reticence he carried with him. it wasn't like you knew too much about his private life, so you couldn't pin point what exactly had happened that had Megumi hide behind the biggest mask of indifference you had ever seen, and—

Not your mission.

There was fire licking at your fingertips, urging your tongue to loosen up to coax it out of him, because you knew there was something contained behind the seams, trying to burst. You knew because you felt the same way. Because there was something brewing in your chest that wanted out, because Kyoto made it clear not to intervene with anything and not to care. Because Megumi was not your business.

You're not going to stop me?

I already did.

You exhaled harshly.

The sound echoed off the walls of the underpass, seemingly stretching endlessly in front of you. Your shoes were wet and you were glad that the water hadn't seeped through them to dampen your socks — yet. If you had to walk any longer in the rising water level, they would become so sooner or later. The water rippled around your shins faintly, lit dully by the weak glow of your flashlights. Moss climbed up the walls in green veins and every few paces the rusted husk of a bicycle or the tip of a traffic cone broke through the surface.

Megumi was wading through the water as well, next to you, his eyes observing the tunnel walls like they might peel open and serve the curse on a silver platter, a stern line on his mouth. The silence stretched thin — taut with the weird change between you both. He hadn't spoken a word since you entered, and it didn't bother you, you told yourself.

Except there were comments that burned on your tongue, so you did the sensible thing and swallowed them down with the same-old mantra you had adopted ever since you found the talisman on your bed.

Ignoring the fact that ever since Gojo had found you sniffing around, you hadn't actively went to search for any new information, either.

9th of May; 02:03. — itadori yuji.

"If this thing doesn't show soon, I'm gonna curse it for wasting my time when I could be getting beauty sleep," Nobara's boots splashed as she moved on ahead, her hammer kept low.

Rip her mouth to shreds. She talks more than you whine around, brat.

Itadori Yuji flinched just a little, shoulders tensing instinctively at the voice that coiled through his mind like rot given form. Sukuna's tone was laced with dark amusement, sharp and sleazy, sliding into the quiet of Yuji's mind like a knife. His voice carried the weight of ages — dry, scornful, each syllable curled with contempt.

He tried not to show it. He was getting better at hiding when Sukuna slithered in, but it still left that familiar feeling in his chest, like he'd swallowed nails. But Yuji also knew that Sukuna loved to get the best of him, so his best bet had always been to not give the King of Curses the satisfaction of a response.

He trudged through the water beside Nobara, arms slightly raised like the water might leap up and bite, "It's not so bad. You think curses can swim?"

"Shut up before you jinx us," she muttered.

Yuji glanced at nobara, trying to gauge her mood. She was always so confident, so brash, but tonight there was something different about her. A tension in her shoulders, a tightness in her jaw. It wasn't just her missing her beauty sleep, it wasn't just the mission. She was annoyed, sure — that was kind of her default — but… more than that.

He couldn't really blame her because Yuji felt weird most of the time, too.

He knew that not everyone shared the same line that he drew in the sand.

He hated it. Hated the feeling of watching his friend hurting over something he understood very well, of the sting of pain that stayed lodged deep beneath his ribs, creeping into dreams and daylight alike. Yuji had lived it, Megumi had lived it, Nobara had, they were still living it; the same wound that wouldn't stop bleeding because it never got any time to heal.

Yuji knew that Megumi would throw himself into danger if it meant somebody could be saved — it was why he appreciated and trusted Megumi after all this time so deeply.

But you?

If he had to say, he wasn't quite sure where to put you on his scale. He didn't think that you both were strictly in the category of friends, but he also didn't think that you weren't. If worse came to worst, he would protect you as he would with any other of his teammates, the same way he would with any given human, but he wasn't sure whether he enjoyed your presence, not when he saw how biting your words could be.

Yuji generally was a forgiving person, straight forward, optimistic even, but then sometimes you fixed him with this look of yours as if you knew more about him than he'd like you to and—

He shook his head.

That wasn't the point. The point was that he had seen enough of you to understand that you weren't heartless, not in the strictest sense, that you did what the mission called for, that he saw you doing what other sorcerers were doing, and Yuji understood that.

It scared him, not because he thought it was cruel, which he had trouble figuring out if it even was, but because he knew that he had been shown over and over how the Jujutsu world worked. How easy it was for the mission to swallow everything else; that maybe, one day, doing the right thing by the rules would mean stepping over someone begging for help.

He wondered if, eventually, he'd have to become like that, too.

Yuji rubbed his chest; a self-soothing technique he only really started to use ever since his grandfather died, ever since he had swallowed Sukuna's finger and there was a presence within his body fighting his cells for power.

He didn't want to get used to death.

Such sentiment, truly. You weep over things already gone, how tedious.

Yuji's jaw tightened, but Sukuna kept going; his voice silken, venomous.

All this morality talk. You still speak of saving everyone, how quaint. How boring. This is not a tale of heroes, boy, it's a reckoning. In time, you'll grow accustomed to it. They all do. And when your bleeding heart betrays you, I shall be there.

He swallowed down the clawing urge to scream. To sleep. To disappear. Then, with a squeeze of his eyes, short, forceful, he re-focused on Nobara grumbling through the water, the faint sloshing echoing through the tunnel, the feeling of cold surrounding his legs and asked, "You think Fushiguro and her are doing okay?"

"They better have more going for them than we do, ugh, my poor shoes. I'm so going to have Gojo buy me a replica. Maybe even two, he knows I hate mouldy tunnels."

Fool.

9th of May; 02:21. — fushiguro megumi.

Megumi refused to be surprised anymore.

It had been Gojo's idea. Of course it had. Who else would think it brilliant to shove two people who could barely tolerate each other into a death trap as a form of 'team building'? He could almost imagine his teacher's laugh — the disgustingly cheerful, insufferable sound that was somehow still able to be genuine in its amusement.

Megumi didn't feel like laughing. He hadn't wanted the assignment to turn out this way. Not with you. Not when he had tried, again and again, to avoid being in your presence more than necessary. But this was necessary, so he clamped down the buzzing feeling crawling on his skin to focus.

When Gojo had given them all the file with the information gathered so far, Megumi had fingered the paper, eyes scanning over the information — sensor readings, half-legible scout notes, maps — only to turn the page and stop. There they were: blurry, cruel pictures staring back at him of the confirmed causalities. Faces frozen mid-expression.

Something had twisted in his chest at the faces, gripped his heart in an iron fist. It wasn't guilt, not exactly. Not yet. But something closer to pressure, sharp and unwelcome in the way it prodded his ribs from within.

"The curse's not consistent. Weren't sorcerers or anything special — locals, mostly," Gojo had said offhandedly, almost flippant. His voice didn't betray anything of what he thought of Megumi's question, "A maintenance worker. Two kids cutting through the underpass to skip school."

Simple facts, lives on paper, reduced to what they weren't.

He had felt the words lodge in his spine. This time, he wasn't going to freeze, wasn't going to falter, to hold back just because something inside him still bucked against the uglier parts of being a sorcerer. This time he couldn't be selective.

He was not going to run away.

Because if he hesitated—

No.

He didn't need to think about what-ifs, because there were going to be none. Because there was going to be no second-guessing, no moral hesitation, no wondering if he had made the right call, no thinking of you—

He bit his tongue.

Megumi's eyes flicked sideways toward you, just slightly, almost involuntarily. His eyebrows furrowed deeply. He hated how your presence was a quiet pulse at the edge of his focus like an itch that he couldn't ignore. He disliked that he didn't know why he found you so unfamiliar, why the air between you both kept feeling like spilled gasoline, invisible and waiting for a spark

You didn't speak, didn't look at him, and yet somehow it felt like you were doing both, like you were aware of everything he thought and felt, like he was being watched, measured, known in a way that he didn't want to understand—

He shifted his gaze forward again.

Not now.

The water was deeper now than when they first entered the north side of the tunnel, cold, heavy, like it wanted to slow him down. Instead of ripples, the water moved steadily with each movement, and he had to hold up the lantern a bit higher so it wouldn't be swallowed up, the dull glow barely pushing the shadows back.

Up ahead —

He squinted.

This was an underpass; there was only one way to go, it should have been a straight line. Yet right in front of him, there were dozens of access tunnels branching in and out, narrow, curling like roots in the dark. The architecture shouldn't be possible, yet…

He paused, and when the lantern was held out to you, you reached for it without a word, hand brushing against his own.

It was only a single moment, the brush of skin only that: a brush, yet it burned.

Tensing, he snapped his hand back, fingers poised and intertwined in each other, ready to summon his Divine Dogs at a moment's notice. The cursed energy coiled tight between his hands and the flash of heat through his chest.

9th of May; 02:38. — kugisaki nobara.

Miserable and damp, Nobara's boots splashed through the water that had no business climbing up her legs, dunking her flesh in the slimy substance she actually wasn't entirely sure was even water to begin with.

"Smells absolutely rancid," she muttered to Yuji, her nose curling, "Almost like—"

"My socks? Jokes on you, I'm not even wearing them," he grinned, bright and dumb as always, but even Nobara could see the sharpness underneath the smile, the vigilant squinting of his eyes against the darkness, "Think it's hiding?"

Obviously, she thought. Not long, and she would completely master Maki-senpai's eye roll.

"Yeah," Nobara scanned the ripples a few metres away, the suspicious feeling in the air intensifying. She was pretty decent at recognising the enemy's game plan, she'd say. She had to if she wanted to survive amongst all the backstabbing people in her old town. If she wanted to navigate through the lying, the lashing out, the manipulation she saw Saori enduring, "The water's deep, so it could be anywhere but..."

When the water stilled again, her muscles tightened, and she raised her hammer slightly. Nobara didn't like that the water was quiet, because quiet meant somebody was thinking, and thinking meant there was a trap ahead.

There were two things Kugisaki Nobara hated: inappropriate use of leopard prints and backhanded manoeuvres.

"…my feeling's telling me that…it's..right…"

A point with her hammer at the minuscule waves, "…there."

"Did you—"

Before Yuji could finish, there was a dark grumble interrupting him, deep and disgusting. A breath later and the curse burst out from beneath the water, twisting like a living shadow, fast, massive and so goddamn ugly. It was big, its head almost reaching the roof of the underpass, a tail smashing against the walls as tendrils, oily and slimy lashed out wildly.

Nobara's waist started to feel cold, and when she dared to catch a look down, there was water surrounding her. It hadn't been so high earlier, she noted, alarmed, "Yuji—"

"Shit—!" Yuji barely dodged the first strike of a tendril, thick as a tree's trunk, the water splashing violently as it crashed beside him. Make that three pairs, Nobara thought, when the oil splattered on her. This wasn't going to get washed out, no matter what, and honestly, she wasn't even sure if she wanted to try and clean it.

Her hammer was fully up in a blink, energy pulsing through her arms like fire, "I'm going to teach this ugly fuck a lesson."

She didn't have to look towards Yuji to find a determined grin on his face, "Count me in."

Yuji darted forward, quick and clean despite the water sloshing at his waist. His fists were already poised and up, eyes locked on the twisted silhouette ahead. Nobara hung back; not out of fear or reluctance, because contrary to popular belief (Megumi and Yuji), she would get dirty to get the job done, but because she'd rather watch the movements of the curse and aid the exorcism through ranged combat. Also, because there was no way in hell that she could be as fast in this water as Yuji.

A tendril cracked through the air, slicing down in a high arc. Her teammate twisted away just in time, water exploding around him as his fist connected with the creature's head. It screeched, high and guttural, the stench of rot rolling over them like a wave. Then it vanished, slipping beneath the surface with a splash.

“Crap,” Yuji muttered, eyes scanning the water. "It’s in the water. We're not gonna catch it like that."

He backed off, mumbling something that might've been a joke. Not that Nobara thought it would've been funny if she had been able to catch it. Her hand was already in motions, pulling nails from her pouch in a fluid sweep. With a flick of her wrist, she launched them: sharp darts of silver, one, two, three, humming with cursed energy.

A muffled shriek followed as the nails found flesh. Oil rose, swirling on the surface, then it burst from below with his ugly sharp teeth, sinews that hung loose and all the rage lunging at her.

"Not today, freak," Nobara snapped.

She held her ground until the last possible second, then side stepped, her hammer swinging upward to catch the curse across the shoulder. It connected with a thunder-like crack, and the curse reeled — right into Yuji's awaiting first. One hit. Two. The third sent it staggering back.

Then came the tail. A blur of muscle, whipping with brutal force.

It slammed into Yuji's gut with a wet, bone-jarring thud. He grunted, forced back a step, his boots skidding through the water, but didn't go down.

Seriously, what were his legs made of? Reinforced concrete?

9th of May; 02:40. — you.

"You heard that?"

Megumi nodded, his eyes fixed on the walls ahead. His entire body had gone taut, every muscle alert, like a blade drawn but not yet swung. A screech had cut through the air, faint and distorted by stone and water, but unmistakably the curse. Which meant either Nobara and Yuji had found the curse or the curse had found them.

There was a low hum of cursed energy in the air, but it was weak. Too weak to confirm the exact source just yet, barely enough to really catch it, but still, not faint enough to ignore. It didn't mean it wasn't dangerous.

The dampness began to creep into your bones, deeper now, soaking through your clothes and sliding icy fingers across your skin. Every slow gust from the tunnel behind felt like a breath on your neck, caressing your spine with a kiss and you suppressed a shiver.

You had chosen the far most right tunnel, because it was the easiest to retrace should anything go wrong. That had been the plan: don't get lost, don't get flanked, stay alert, focus, exorcise the curse.

But as you and Megumi pushed forward, the narrow passage began to widen, the ceiling opening up, revealing more waterlogged space. Holding up the lantern, the light shone faintly, shadows receding slowly.

Then—

A faint, irregular movement.

Just off to the side, slumped against the wall where a mound of debris had collapsed, was a figure. He was half submerged, water up to his shoulders, and trembling violently. His soaked clothes clung to him, ragged, probably weighing him down more. Almost like a ghost, his pale skin shone in the dim light as he shuddered; looking like he was barely tethered to the physical world.

He wasn't dead, though. Not yet.

The old man's face lifted slowly when he heard you, eyes wide, bloodshot, water droplets hanging from his messy beard. His lips parted, cracked and raw. How long had he been down there?

Megumi slowed, and the water shifted with his arm, like he was gripping his weapon, ready to draw, and when you turned slightly, the light of the lantern between you, he glanced at you for a fraction of a second.

There was an unreadable look on his face, like carved from stone, every line harsh, neutral, focused. But you didn't search his face, you searched his eyes underneath the dark hair, underneath the mask he put in place so tightly, and they always betrayed him, flickering with something fierce and momentary. A whirlwind of emotion he swallowed down with a bobbing of his Adam's apple, not clear whether they wanted to soften or harden.

9th of May; 02:52.— itadori yuji.

Another round of nails fired, and Yuji knew that even though the water wasn't clear, he could trust Nobara to do a good job surrounding the curse.

He was already moving when she slammed her hammer down on the final embedded nail, her cursed energy surging in a flash: a chain reaction snapping from point to point. The ground trembled with how fast it spread, and the explosion lit up the creature's side.

A shriek, a buckle from the curse.

A fist, elbow, knee from Yuji.

The rhythm of his strikes was relentless. Each one hammering the curse deeper into disarray, but when he made to surge through the water, raw knuckles ready to deliver another blow—

A splash of water, mud splattering on his face, and some landed on his panting mouth, the taste pungent and dirty. He couldn't keep the grimace from spreading on his face.

The surface calmed instantly, still, eerie in how quiet it became. Too quiet.

"Where the hell—"

"Shit," Yuji wiped his wet face, breathing hard, lungs ragged. His body was coiled like a spring ready to release, tight, "This thing doesn't stay down for long."

But there was only tense silence, the only sound interrupting was the soft splashing of water beneath their feet.

Nobara's eyes scanned the water, "Wait…"

His muscles tensed at her alarmed voice, "What? What is it?"

She didn't answer at first, her eyes shifting back to the water, expression sharpening. Then, with sudden certainty: "It's not coming back up. It's gone, not just hiding, gone."

Before he could respond, there was a low, echoing splash resounding in the distance. It sounded deep and wrong, and a tremor rippled through the water, legs vibrating, concrete humming underneath their wet boots.

Yuji's head snapped toward the noise. "North entrance. Megumi."

He was already running, water flying with each step. The air felt thicker, charged with the sense of urgency. The pounding of his heart kept time with the splashing of his feet.

He was not going to leave you both to your own devices, not if he could help it, not if he could still breathe, not if he still had blood pumping through his body.

Run, brat. Let's see how far those legs get you.

Yuji didn't flinch. He just pushed through the water harder.

9th of May; 02:53. — you.

One of Megumi's shadow beasts barked. Sharp, low, a warning cry that cut through the heavy silence.

Megumi's attention snapped to the darkness ahead. his stance shifted, spine straightening, sword already angled forward. the tension in his frame was immediate, palpable, his expression hard.

The old man behind them coughed out a garbled string of words, stuttering, his voice raspy and dry, like it hadn't been used in ages. But whatever he was trying to say drowned beneath the sudden shift in the air, heavy, suffocating, thick with cursed energy.

The ground trembled underfoot, a chilling surge of cursed energy spreading across the water.

"Get back," Megumi commanded, low and clear.

Then it came.

Emerging from the depths was a hulking mass of shadow and writhing limbs that twisted the laws of motion. The curse moved like a fluid wrapped in wrinkly skin, oozing cursed energy with each movement; its eyes were pits of malice, gleaming in the lantern light with unnatural hunger. The nasty smell rolled over you like poisonous gas, subtle, clogging your nose.

Megumi's dog lunged forward with a snarl, water splashing around its paws, saliva dripping from his bared canines.

You raised your weapon, but the sudden influx of oil made your grip slip — just for a second. It was enough to remind you how bad it could go. You hadn't expected it to be a walk in the park, of course, but you had hoped it would be at least a bit simpler. This though? This was difficult.

Then it roared. It was a low, bone deep sound that shook your chest, vibrated through the water and clung to your legs. And before you could blink —

It was fast. Faster than expected. Faster than you could dodge.

You registered the impact on your ribs from the tendril lashing out, before you skidded back from the force. Pain bloomed on your skin, a deep ache, and you thought you couldn't get any air even when you breathed. Gasping, you spluttered out water from where you fell back, face momentarily dunked in the liquid, "Fushiguro!"

There was another swipe of a tendril, and it dragged over the entire terrain, coming at you with shocking speed. Ducking under the water again just in time, you felt it catch some of your hair. Your lungs complaining, screaming for air when you couldn't get your diaphragm back into its rhythm from the strike before, you broke the surface again, in time to see the tendril catch the old man full in the chest. He wailed once, a broken, high sound, before the curse yanked him across the tunnel like he weighed nothing, like he was a rag doll to be thrown around.

You grunted, voice raw from the salt water as you moved forward, intent on cutting down the curse, but even as you charged, a shadowy tentacle shot from the creature's body, aiming directly for you, snapping through the air —

It never hit.

Megumi's blade was fast, cutting through the curse's arm mid-strike, slicing the shadowed limb clean in two. Black ichor splattered on the water, sizzling where it landed.

The curse shrieked, and in that brief moment of distraction, it let go of the man, retreating back into the shadows of the water once again, moving like liquid, too fast to keep up with.

The old man struggled to stay afloat, finding a log of discarded metal, rusted and probably carrying all the bacteria for the wound on the guy's forehead. Yet, he still clung to it with all his might, body trembling in fear, eyes wide in terror. You were sure he was only awake because adrenaline coursed through his veins like a drug, with primal fear at something he couldn't comprehend.

Megumi’s gaze didn’t waver from where it tried to track the curse; he stared at the water, sword angled low, a predator stillness to him. And for a moment, in the gleam of his eye, there was something unspoken.

Like a warning, like a challenge, like a promise.

9th of May; 02:56. — itadori yuji.

"It was already halfway gone before you punched it, Yuji, how about using your brain sometime to grab it or something."

"How am I supposed to see it coming? It's like swimming with a torpedo. A creepy, soggy torpedo."

"Whatever. When we're done, you're gonna carry me to the car. I'm way too tired."

"Do I even get a say?"

"No."

9th of May; 03:01. — fushiguro megumi.

The water exploded.

A monstrous surge of tendrils shot from the depths, writhing toward them with horrifying speed. There was nothing human in the way it moved — its limbs contorted as they stretched unnaturally. It was too long, too thin, but Megumi didn't flinch. It was not too difficult to kill.

There were jagged shapes protruding from some of the tendrils, and its movements blurred at the edges: frantic, fast, making it hard to follow with the naked eye. But he didn't need to. His shikigami tracked cursed energy like breath in the dark, flaring with each incoming strike. It always alerted him when the cursed energy levels changed, so he could trust his shadows, but you—

Megumi clicked his tongue.

You were already moving towards the curse, cursed tool in hand, dark energy radiating off it where you had imbued the blade. Despite having been flung through the air, your movements were still swift, graceful, but god, you had no patience. He swallowed down the bite rising in his throat, the urge to tell you to wait so that you could coordinate, to strike smarter.

The curse recoiled at your blow, but it wasn't retreating yet, just gathering momentum.

The water churned violently around its body, as though the curse itself was dragging the entire underpass toward it. Its mouth opened wide, teeth flashing as it lunged forward, but Megumi, who anticipated it — seeing as how he seemed to be the only one who tried to hatch out a game plan — was quicker once more.

His eyes narrowed and with a practised signal of his hands, his Great Serpent moved through the water like it was his second home, converging on the curse, coiling around its limbs and biting down hard. The curse snarled and writhed under the pressure, just enough to expose a weakness, enough to give you an opening.

"Now!" he pressed between gritted teeth, his voice carrying the urgency, snapping.

You both moved; your blade arced towards the curse's core, and Megumi stepped in to flank, but the curse twisted, unnaturally pliable. With a sudden, sickening twist, it tore itself free from Great Serpent's jaw, spraying deep purple blood across the concreted walls. The thing's body seemed to fold in on itself, reshaping as if wanting to escape the grasp of Megumi.

"Dammit!"

He didn't stop. Couldn't stop, pushing forward, determined to keep it boxed in, to keep it in check, to not allow it any time to recover, but the curse was relentless. It was like fighting an ocean of flesh, always shifting, always evading.

Your eyes never left the curse either as you tried to slash with your blade again, aiming for what seemed to be its neck, but the curse writhed, dodging; its inhuman agility almost more terrifying than its strength.

"Great Ser—"

Pain.

A sharp, burning stab to his side.

Megumi exhaled harshly, stumbling back a half-step. One of the curse's long, jagged limbs had found its mark, cutting deep. For a moment, his focus wavered. Blood dripped into the water, mixing into the water easily. Refusing to flinch, his hand instinctively clutched the wound, warmth spilling between his fingers. He couldn't drop his sword, he wouldn't— burning, it burned, right in his side. It burned.

"Megumi!"

Your voice broke through his haze, and he shook his head, once, hard, eyes squeezed together to rid himself of the feeling of pain, forcing it back, forcing focus. He snapped back to attention just in time to see the curse pivot and reach for him again.

Your cursed blade cut through the air, movements clean and fluid, synchronised with his own as if you had fought together for years, not just a couple months. Megumi's chest squeezed painfully as it hit him: not the pain, not the fight, but the weight in his chest, the strange sense of familiarity settling inside the cavity despite the tension.

"This thing is relentless," he groaned, voice tight with concentration, one hand coming up to wipe the blood daring to trickle down to his eye.

You nodded, readying yourself, but just as you were about to, the curse twisted violently, its body flailing in a desperate attempt to escape. Its tail lashed out as it caught the old man with brutal force, flinging him into deep the deep, murky water with a loud splash.

Megumi's shikigami was quick to snap back onto the curse, pinning it. It screamed, thrashed, and for a brief, fleeting moment, it was momentarily incapacitated, vulnerable.

They could end it. Now.

But the homeless man did not resurface.

And the curse was vulnerable enough to finish off.

His heart thudded once, hard and painful. Something tugged in his chest, tugged in his head. He had the chance to save the man, but—

No running, no hesitating. He felt it again: the pull. The he weight of his role pressing down on him, his duty to destroy curses, pulled at him with an iron grip. He couldn't flinch, he was a sorcerer, a weapon, that was what he was. And yet—

Before he registered what he was doing, his head had already whipped out to you and he met your eyes.

He didn't mean to look for you. He didn't know why he did, he didn't even want to. But here you were, already looking at him, meeting his gaze head on. There was no judgement in your eyes, not yet, but something else.

He hated that you were already looking at him. Hated that he felt like that was a test, hated the part of himself that didn't know which answer was right, hated that he felt observed, naked.

His jaw clenched, "Rush the curse," just as your voice sounded out: "We have time to go save him!"

9th of May; 03:05. — hasegawa masato.

The world around him was a blur of cold water and shadows. His heart, as weak as it was, hammered in his chest as endless dark loomed over him.

Masato's body was numb, though whether it was from fear or the icy water that soaked him to the bone, he didn't know. Terror clawed at his throat, tugged at his clothes, held his head in a vice grip.

He had been close to death before. Sickness when he couldn't afford medication was a vicious thing, hunger when he hadn't had anything to eat in weeks even worse. Sometimes, when a group of people, drunk, came by, they liked to make him dance for some money. Sometimes he would. If it meant he'd get some food, he sometimes swallowed his pride and went ahead with it.

But this? He had never been close to death like this.

That creature was unlike anything he had ever seen before. Grotesque, weird, unreal. Masato couldn't believe it was real, not when it looked like the stuff from nightmares, not when he thought he was going to piss himself.

When it had swung him around, he was paralysed under the weight of the monster's presence. The air thick with fear, the water having pushed him away from the safety of clinging to the metal piece; the scent of decay heavy on his tongue, his rasping breath barely able to satisfy his brain with enough oxygen.

Overwhelming helplessness consumed him as his limbs struggled against the water. They were like lead, the fear creeping deeper with every second. Oh god, he was going to die here, in this filthy underpass, alone. He was going to die alone with nowhere to run, no breath to take.

Was this how it was going to end? Was Masato going to die without having seen his daughter again? Without being able to tell her how sorry he was? That he wished he could hold her again, the way she was as a baby, a tiny thing that barely reached the entirety palm of his hand.

Masato had hoisted her up against his naked skin, her tiny little face nuzzled against his flesh, seeking his warmth. Then he had cried, mourning the lifeless body of his wife on the bed next to them, her legs spread and bloody, and his tears had caressed his daughter's skin.

Oh, how he wished he could tell her sorry, that he wished he could have given her a better life, that he didn't have to succumb to the deep abyss of all the feelings he didn't know what to do with after the loss of the light of his life.

He might have cried had his chest not been in so much panic that he kept trying to take a breath. It was a sheer miracle that he didn't, that he knew to press his hand against his mouth, trying to keep the precious little air he had left within his lungs.

Then—

Sharp pain at the back of his head. Everything blurred; his sight darkening slowly, warmth.

I'm sorry, Himari-chan.

9th of May; 03:07. — kugisaki nobara.

A faint bark sounded out, echoing through the tunnel.

"Dog's out, oh, what a good boy."

"He's so gonna get all the beef jerky he wants."

9th of May; 03:06. — you.

Your lungs burned, the world around you a blur of shadows and waves. The sounds of the curse seemed so far away, like there was cotton in your ear.

There. Just…a little…bit more.

Cold, slimy, your fingers slipped off the material once, twice, then, you gripped it harder. Tugged. Found it good enough, and then pulled as you struggled to haul the old man toward safety.

9th of May; 03:09. — itadori yuji.

Water sprayed as Itadori Yuji and Kugisaki Nobara exploded into the fray, his arrival marked by the sound of his footfalls pounding through a receding flood and the snarl of a curse that sensed another sorcerer enter the fight.

Megumi was already soaked, blood running down one arm in slow, steady rivulets, his expression eerily calm as it was grim — tight-lipped, pale, unshaken, angry. Shadows coiled at his feet, the water lapping up the blood oozing from Megumi like it was thankful for the meal.

The creature towered ahead, slick with oil and reared its grotesque head toward Yuji as he skidded to a stop beside his teammate.

"Took you long enough," Megumi said flatly, not sparing him a glance.

Yuji flashed a breathless grin, panting, "You look like shit."

"Then focus and stop wasting time."

Yuji's heart thumped in his ears, pounding like war drums, gaze trained on the curse and the way it twisted, the way it lunged forward, a mess of teeth and water, the movement causing a wave to crash against the tunnel walls. Without hesitation, Yuji ducked low under the strike, pivoted, his fist cocked back and ready to go.

He landed the first hit; clean and solid, pissed off, because fuck, Megumi was hurt and you were nowhere to be seen. A snap as the force rattled the curse's jaw back, howling in response.

Yuji ducked under the swing of a tentacle, and faintly, he heard a deep inhale, a pressured tension in Megumi's voice: "Max Elephant."

Water erupted as the enormous shikigami materialised, crashing down with enough weight onto the curse to shake the tunnel, its trunk hammering down like a wrecking ball, forcing the curse to rear back and expose its side for half a heartbeat.

Yuji darted around the curse, "Now!"

Nails flying through the air, hitting their mark from where Nobara stood at the head of the tunnel.

Megumi didn't hesitate either. With one swift motion, he snapped his hands together and called forth his Divine Dogs again, and they burst forward with fangs bared, eyes gleaming, latching onto the curse with force, ripping it apart. It shrieked and thrashed, momentarily locked in place as Yuji came from the other side, launching upward with an uppercut laced with cursed energy, coiled around his fist like a storm.

A rattling cry, a shriek then—

Purple, oily blood and cursed energy splashed outward like a shock wave and dissolved into vapour almost immediately. The pressure collapsed inward with a sickening pop, the oppressive air in the tunnel lifting like a vacuum sealed bag that gasped for breath.

And silence fell.

Max Elephant vanished with a spray of mist, and the Divine Dogs flickered out of existence, too, their shadows melting into the water. In the sudden stillness, the tunnel felt eerily quiet; water lapping gently against Yuji's legs like nothing had happened at all.

He staggered back, soaked, gasping. "Dude," he panted. "I'm done. I don't know what the hell that thing was but I'm calling it. No more sewer monsters. Ever."

No answer.

Yuji looked up and something in his blood sung, telling him to freeze. The water couldn't possibly become colder, except it did. There was a darkening to Megumi's face, something carved sharp. The kind of scary quiet that came before something snapped. His face was drained of colour, his gaze fixed somewhere past Yuji, unreadable, but his whole body was tense, a string pulled too tight.

For a heartbeat, yuji could swear he wasn't looking at a friend, which was stupid, because Megumi had always been Megumi, always good, old, reliable Megumi. Except that Megumi looked like he was two seconds away from turning into something else.

Yuji winced and tried to change the topic, "Soo…where's—"

Nevermind. He was not going to ask, not when Megumi looked at him then, and all the quiet, buried fury suddenly directed right on Yuji. He didn't wait for an answer, because behind him — a sharp splutter, a frantic gasp for air. He whirled around before his brain caught up, legs already moving toward the sound.

That expression — looks just how I like it.

9th of May; 03:11. — you.

Yuji was there in an instant.

He dropped to a crouch beside you, hands already curling underneath the old man's armpits to pull him up. His hair was ruffled like he had been going through it, and the look in his eyes was worried. Worried beyond just about the civilian man in your arms, worried like there was more weighing on him.

"Got him?" he asked, his otherwise cheerful voice tight.

"He's breathing. Took a hit to the head, though, so might have a concussion."

He nodded and gently pulled the man the rest of the way out of the water. Now that the curse was gone, the water was slowly receding, revealing more and more of the underpass, and becoming less and less like a maze.

You exhaled, warm air escaping you, blown out into the cold.

The skin of your neck prickled like the edge of a blade was pressed against your flesh — it wasn't the kind of shiver that came from cold water trickling down your wet hair. It was something tighter, and you didn't need to turn around to know who was staring.

Megumi, of course. It was always him when the silence felt like judgement.

The weight of his gaze sat between your shoulder blades like a hand pressed flat against your spine. He wasn't just looking; he was blaming.

So much for keeping low key, for staying professional, getting the job done and walking away. You could feel the air heat up, funnily enough, a kettle that was boiling and ready to whistle.

You refused to look at him, because if you did, you'd explode. Because if you looked at him and he dared to look upset with you, you were going to snap. If there was even a flicker of annoyance, of those stupid eyebrows drawing together and that stupid grimace on his mouth, you were going to kill him.

"Don't you look at me like that."

Megumi's steps were slow, deliberate, his boots sloshing through shin-deep water as he closed the space between you.

"Like what," his voice was low, rough, weird. Too calm.

He came to a stop just beside you, his chest brushing your shoulder, close enough that the warmth of his body clashed with the dampness of your clothes still seeping into your skin. Yet still, you refused to look, even though he was invading your space on purpose, even though you could see his hands balled into fists so tightly that the knuckles had gone bone-white, one still slicked in drying blood.

You spat, "What in the hell is wrong with you?"

The nail of his thumb dug into his pointer, "Me? What about you? You abandoned shit again right when I thought you knew what the hell you were doing."

You knew what you said.

That you wouldn't look at him. That you refused to give him the satisfaction of trying to stare you down. But well, the day was long and you talked a lot, and he pissed you off. You couldn't help it. You really couldn't, because Megumi had the nerve, because he never stopped.

You whirled around so fast that water flared up around your leg, arm raised and finger jabbing straight at his face, "Oh no, we're not going to start this again, Fushiguro," with the same nasty look on your face mirroring his. He didn't flinch. if anything, he stepped even closer, jaw tightening, ground teeth against teeth and his hand, long bloodied, trembling fingers, came to grip your wrist. Not enough to hurt, but enough for your senses to sharpen and hone on the contact of skin.

"This," his eyes were a dark blue carved out of the same murky water around you, "is what you wanted."

You barked out a laugh, mouth twisted in disbelief. "You think anything's changed? I thought your whole thing was not letting people die. But you — what? Tossed that out just like that? I mean, good on you, honestly. Growth or whatever, little Megumi finally growing balls, but you okay with that now?"

Megumi's anger was subtle, but it was laid out for you like a book to read. You looked at his jaw, cut sharply, and the way it tightened, skin drawn taut. His teeth were bared at your insult, a muscle in his cheek twitching as a droplet of water ran down the curve of his cheekbone.

He was angry at you, and even though you wanted him to be because it meant he let loose of that stupid mask he still kept up, it fired you up just as much. Because in the midst of his dark eyes narrowing, a wild storm in them, you thought that anger looked good on him, that you much preferred this to the silence and the ignorance the past weeks.

There was something bitter on your tongue and you let it sit there like ash when you looked at the way his wet hair hung down his forehead, the blood that was still running down the side of his face, circumventing his eye with a flick of his fingers, "I mean, if you're cool abandoning your values, fine. Be my guest. I just thought you'd learned from last time."

That got him.

Megumi's face shuttered, eyes dimming like a switch had been flipped, the storm cooling to heavy rain. His grip on your wrist didn't loosen; if anything, it became a tad tighter.

"Yeah?" he said, low, voice like ice, "Just like how you flipped on me now?"

"Excuse me?" you jerked your arm free, stepped forward so your chest bumped his, the air between you both hot despite the dampness, "I did what needed to be done. We had an actual opening, Fushiguro. You would've jumped on that weeks ago, now you're suddenly swinging from one extreme to the other?"

Megumi scoffed; a bitter, humourless sound that barely passed for amusement. His jaw flexed as he turned away slightly, and you noticed his other hand curling tightly at his side, "Don't try to sell me that bullshit."

You didn't back down, and this time when he focused his attention on you, his voice dipped lower, register dark and tight, the kind of controlled anger that came from being pushed too far too long, "Funny how 'what needed to be done' always ends up being what you decide. I'm starting to think you don't care about what the rules say, either."

"Yeah?" you snapped, "You got a problem with that?"

Fuck.

You could punish yourself for the way that slipped from your mouth. Because it sounded like an admission, because you knew that he wasn't entirely wrong, either. You always thought yourself to be a pride-less person, hell, you typically were, but not with this look in Megumi's eyes, one that's deeply rooted in proving you wrong.

And you might have chosen the wrong thing to say, but you would fight tooth and nail to prove to him that it didn't immediately absolve him, either.

His hand trembled, barely held back. In the back, you heard Yuji mumble something, but Nobara's voice cut through his, and he fell silent. For a second, you wondered what he said, why Nobara pulled him back when it was so very clear that he wanted to intervene.

Though, truth be told, you didn't know if you wanted him to.

"You judge me for going off-course. For ignoring your precious protocol, now you do the same exact thing and suddenly it's fine. Tell me, why is it okay when you cross the line?"

"It's not the same—"

"Like hell it's not."

Did he not see? Did he not see that whilst his snake was holding the curse, you both actually had a tangible moment of saving somebody who was drowning right in front of you? Was he so focused on suddenly pretending he cared about the regulations now that he threw his entire morals away again?

His eyes burned with something wild. Not rage exactly, maybe disbelief, maybe betrayal somewhere, "That's what you said about me, wasn't it? Not to let my emotions cloud my judgement. So what — now it's different? Because you felt like saving someone?"

Your heart was pounding and your throat scratchy as you memorised his face in your mind, the harsh lines, the curve of his nose, his wet hair, the hard press of his lips. Almost, you wished that Kyoto had told you to kill him, maybe then you'd stop feeling like there was a fire within you that you couldn't put out.

"So why didn't you?" you narrowed your eyes, because you couldn't kill him, after all, because even if you did have that order, you didn't know if you would, "You could've summoned your toad, couldn't you? I know you've got that shikigami. You're perfectly capable of calling out two of those shadows, so what the hell stopped you?"

He inhaled sharply through his nose, and his voice sounded like each word was an effort to not raise his voice, thick with feelings, and it made you go crazy, "You think I didn't consider that? You think I wasn't aware of every option, every second, every goddamn breath we had left while trying to hold that curse in place?"

"Then why didn't you do it?"

"Because I was holding the line," he hissed and his nose brushed yours, "Because you ran off without a plan, because you ignored what I said, again, and I had two choices: drop the curse and go save that man's life or hold it and save all of us, hoping that your pea-brain was going to handle the other side."

"Don't you put this on me—"

"I will put this on you," his breath was heavy and you felt it caress your mouth and your chest tightened, "Because you walk around like you've got it all figured out, preaching about this and that. So quick to tell me I'm wrong for my decisions, but here you are, doing the same damn thing I did."

You stared at him with your chest heaving, repressed shivers making you tremble, betraying you. Because he wasn't wrong and you hated that. Hated how easily he cut through you when it came from him.

"Stop acting like you're above it," Megumi said, quiet now, bitter. Raw in a way he rarely let out. "You're not. And neither am I."

Your pulse was loud in your ears, loud, fast. You couldn't bring yourself to speak — too much crowding your throat.

He watched you for one long moment, then looked away, the tension in his shoulders rigid as he turned and walked off slowly, his hand pressing down on his side.

9th of May; 03:31. — iwata.

Iwata wondered if he would ever get relieved of his duty to chauffeur the kids around. Not that he necessarily minded the act itself; on the contrary, he quite enjoyed the thought that in some way, he was able to contribute to bettering society, of ridding the world from curses.

It was just that whenever he drove the kids anywhere, they came back looking a little more like soldiers, hardened and soiled, and a little less like teenagers.

That part, Iwata hated the most.

He watched them now from the driver's seat, engine idling quietly as rain pattered on the windshield, mixing with the muddy streaks from the tunnel water still clinging to their clothes. The smell of rotten water, blood and burnt cursed energy hit him the second they climbed into the car.

Iwata pretended to be busy, but his eyes searched them for any signs that they lost a little bit of themselves out there.

The pink-haired student, Itadori Yuji, climbed in first, breathing a little hard, wearing the same tired grin he always did — like if he smiled hard enough, none of the bad things would stick, like they would just ricochet off him. He flopped into the far seat and winced, arms limply sprawled across his knees as if it was too much effort to lift them.

Right behind him was Nobara; she looked like she still had some fire left in her, though it was only a glimmer. She muttered a string of curses under her breath, most of them aimed at the curse they had just fought — or maybe the mud in her boots, it wasn't clear to Iwata.

"Whoever sends us into another one of those tunnels," she sighed as she relaxed against the seat, "will have me hexing their entire bloodline."

"That a threat?" Yuji yawned.

"No. A promise."

Iwata didn't comment. Instead, the door in the back opened and Megumi followed in silence, a hand pressed to his side. The blood had mostly clotted, his jacket crumbled up to apply pressure against it, but Iwata saw the way he walked, the stiffness in his joints, the pain he tried to hide. Iwata couldn't do a lot, not until they got back to the school and to Shoko Ieiri. He slid back, elbows on his thighs, eyes locked on the floor like it might answer for something.

Lastly, there was the exchange student, the one he barely knew. Not that he knew the others that well either, but this one was even more of a puzzle to him. So he couldn't read your face, only saw the way it was set in granite, lines hard. You shivered slightly though you hid it well, instead looking out the window, hands clenched in your lap.

Iwata eased the car into drive, pulling away from the tunnel entrance. He had called an ambulance for the old man the kids were carrying out, already having given the first aid that he could. Silence settled over the kids, save for the soft purr of the engine and the patter of the rain.

He caught glances of them in the rear view mirror — Megumi stubbornly clenching and relaxing his hands, your eyelids slowly closing, Nobara picking at dried blood under her nails, Yuji fiddling with a broken zipper on his jacket.

God, they were just kids.

They shouldn't have been worrying about life and death, not making choices that adults twice their age couldn't shoulder without cracking. Should have instead been having fun out there, enjoying their youth, enjoying making memories all kids their age do.

He exhaled quietly, one hand tightening on the steering wheel. He didn't say anything. He never did. But he reached forward and flipped a switch on the car's dashboard to heat the seats for them.

Yuji leaned back a little more, Nobara let out a tired hum of approval, Megumi let his head fall back against the seat finally, his eyes closing and your shoulders loosened slightly.

It wasn't much. But it was something.

11th of May; 07:29. — kugisaki nobara.

"You think they're going to come out of this alive?"

"God, I hope not."

11th of April; 07:30. — gojo satoru.

"Well!" Gojo Satoru announced cheerfully, "Who needs actual curses when the real horror is whatever this — " he waved a hand in the direction of his two students, " — unresolved..bit…thing…is supposed to be. Hm. That sentence got away from me."

Neither Megumi nor you looked at him, and Gojo didn't need them to. He understood their silence perfectly well, after all. One could call him the whisperer of anguished teenagers, if one will. Not that anybody would, but he thought there was a high chance it could be true.

He sighed loudly, exaggerated. "Y'know, I didn't set this training camp up because I love early mornings or physical labour. I set it up because I actually care."

Still no answer. His lips twisted slightly, and he clapped his hands once, loud enough to echo through the wooden beams of the dojo they were occupying, the two kids sitting in front of him on the ground. Megumi stared down at the floor, his posture rigid. Next to him, you had your arms crossed, staring right past Gojo's shoulder at the wall.

"Alright, group meeting, just us three. Megumi, dear exchange student, and your incredibly good-looking, well-adjusted teacher."

That got your eye twitching, at least. Megumi's jaw flexed like he was grinding down a curse by tooth alone. Not quite efficient, but at the very least, he had them react to something. Sigh. Kids were so difficult these days.

"You two are good sorcerers. Really, of course still lots to learn, but good. Smart even, shockingly so actually, considering the choices you've both been making lately."

Megumi exhaled slowly. "We're getting the job done."

"Are you? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you are one outburst away from killing each other."

Then his voice dropped, just enough to remind his students that they were his students after all, "You can hate each other all you want once the job's done. But while you're out there? You work together. You trust each other. Or I pull you both off the field. Permanently."

That definitely got some reactions.

Megumi's head whipped up, a disbelieving, annoyed look on his face, the one Gojo loved to see, and you narrowed your eyes in response, "You can't be serious."

Ah, the poor exchange student by day, spy by night. How interesting it was to watch you scuttle under his attention, knowing the implications his words had on your situation. When he caught you in the restricted section, he had toyed with the idea of sending Kyoto a memento about what he really thought about having a child sicced on him by the higher-ups. A reminder that consisted more of a body part than it did of anything verbal, but he wasn't cruel enough to succumb an innocent person to that kind of torture.

Though, of course, he did think it would have been a good shock for them. And really, what would they have done? What could they accuse him for that he couldn't point right at them?

After all, they had started it.

"Oh, I'm so serious," he sang, the smile still there, but it didn't quite reach his eyes anymore, "This is your mission now: finish this training camp. Together. No sulking. No bickering. Just work. And progress, of course. I know, it's boring. Tough luck."

He stepped forward, clapping a hand on each of their shoulders, his slender fingers pressing in ever so slightly with something akin to encouragement, "So! You've got two choices: succeed…or succeed. Because that's all I'm offering."

Megumi glared at him viciously, like he thought maybe he shouldn't have come under Gojo's patronage. He thought he might have deserved it— nah, who was he kidding.

"Breakfast's in an hour, and if either of you come late, I'm making you sit next to each other and hold hands."

The look of disgust mirrored on both of your faces had him try to suppress a giggle. Oh, he should have done that earlier.

AUTHOR'S NOTE | thank you for reading!!

TAGLIST | @binkibuns @1l-ynn @nscuit @julieannah (tagged you guys because you seemed excited about the first part so i hope i'm not disturbing you with it!!)

[vonbabbitt]

here have a wada one too

wada loredump for my staff from a few years ago tw for wada things

so wada grew up in a pretty shitty & violent situation as well. anyway continuing. wada was the result of an accidental pregnancy so he was already not particularly wanted and his parents were not particularly capable of being parents which lead to him being neglected a LOT of the time. he usually didnt have much to eat or do or wear so a lot of the time he was just getting by on his own. except that when he got a little bit older this started getting worse because instead of just completely neglecting him, his parents started getting physically abusive and typically just wanted him out of their sight by whatever means. so wada spent a lot of time just hanging out in his room being hungry and bored and sad

eventually this whole situation of being locked in the closet all the time and frequently starving/beaten gets found out and he gets yoinked out of that house and put into the notoriously wonderful and helpful foster system where he spends a lot of time house hopping between families who he doesnt really connect with in any way. hes considered a bit of a "problem child" because he has a lot of behavioural issues that just come from not being raised in any meaningful way. he doesnt get along well with other kids and doesnt connect/communicate with parents and hoards food and doesnt know how to do a lot of things that kids his age should know in terms of academics/taking care of themselves so he gets very accustomed to being passed along to the next family with a little backpack full of like. all three things he owns

so then he gets a bit older and hes still getting passed around a lot and he is a very solitary kid because hes just not forming connections with anyone ever. he finally ends up with a family whos a little more insistent on taking good care of him i.e. getting him new clothes and making sure he eats and such. except wada's metabolism is obviously completely fucked because hes been eating like a starving person for like twelve years. so as is often the case when someone starts eating regularly after being horribly malnourished, his body starts holding onto that weight, which immediately makes him panic because wada is a very very self-conscious kid at this age and he already gets shit on constantly at school for being weird and being poor and being a foster kid and he does not need LITERALLY ANYTHING ELSE that could possibly make him a target. so he starts eating less again and wearing clothes that basically hide his body by just being way too big for him

so now wada is like 15. hes on his way out of the foster system in like a year. by this point he is not doing super well. hes having serious mental health problems and body integrity issues and the main two things seriously affecting him are depression and an eating disorder. hes just having a very very rough time at this point. not to mention he is still being constantly harassed at school cuz hes still weird. so this is the point in his life where wada discovers TWITCH GIRLS. hes immediately enamoured with vtuber girls who are pretty and friendly and happy and they say nice things to him and make him feel special and he absolutely loves it. so now wadas got one good thing in his life that he can consistently come back to to make himself feel happy when hes feeling like total shit. which is a W by 16 years old wada is OUT THE DOOR and ON THE MOVE and in his own shitty 1 bedroom apartment. hooray!! hes working as a VA for the time being and getting by mostly on the fact that hes a very good impersonator and can do basically any voice thats needed of him. hes still wearing clothes like three times his size but hes eating semi-regularly with food he can afford because mikimiki says he should take good care of himself and eat and sleep and yadda yadda!! but hes still very very alone and thats a fact that he just sort of represses and ignores cuz its uncomfortable. at this point hes dropped out of high school to focus on work and also focus on never going back to high school because he hates it. he basically just lives this hikikomori fanboy shut-in lifestyle along with occasionally going to the convenience store to get microwave pad thai and bang energy. what a life!

so now hes 17 and hes in the killing game which is not ideal. except holy shit mikimiki is there and shes been his oshi for like two or three years now and he admires her more than anyone else in the world and shes right there. so when he has his breakdown in home side A and isono promises that the two of them will stay friends after this, hes over the fucking moon and he finally feels like someone cares about him for the first time in forever and its amazing because he did not think he was even capable of being loved. nobody has ever loved him across like a million different families so the problem had to be with him right?? he figures that if nobody in the entire world cares about him, the problem has to be with him and not with the entire world. except now isono and tsuno care about him and theyre constantly cheering him on and rooting for him and reminding him to take care of himself and giving him all this love that he doesnt even know how to process and its an incredible feeling because he actually feels welcome and happy and loved around them

and then he discovers isono's body and tsuno gets murdered right in front of him