nosleep-onlyread

[nosleep-onlyread]

sorry no desire path update today but have this ch2 scene that died in my drafts two years ago

[nosleep-onlyread]

FUNAYŪREI | sae x reader x rin

Sae still remembers what you'd been like as a little kid, arriving at their doorstep with nothing but a stuffed toy and a satchel full of clothes. He remembers how terrified you were of being thrown away again, and how you'd clung to him as soon as he told you that he'd be sure to take care of you. He remembers how you kissed him the night before he left for Spain, and he remembers your heartbreak when he pushed you away. It's for your own good, he'd said. One day you'll understand that this is wrong. If anything ever happened between us, it'd just hurt you in the end. Watching Rin kiss you now, Sae wishes he had just gone ahead and wounded you all those years ago.

9k words of the original version of desire path from sae's point of view, covering their childhoods. explanation on the relationship between the two versions here.

WARNINGS/CONTENT: incest (blood-related, half-siblings), implied past csa (off-screen, not involving rin or sae), cisfem reader, teenage sexuality, hurt/comfort, childhood romance, psychological drama, non-explicit sex between adults. use of japanese familial honorifics. see endnotes for translation of the title.

note: this fic started off as a deconstruction of itoshicest fics, where I asked myself, "what would it take for sae and rin to actually develop feelings for their younger sister?" the answer made for a very uncomfortable story, so please mind the warnings!

MDNI + DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT.

WHEN YOU WERE TWELVE YEARS OLD, YOU NEARLY DROWNED IN SAGAMI BAY. It was early March on a Sunday morning, so there was no one else on the beach, no responsible adults. It was just you, Rin, and Sae. You and Rin got it in your minds to have a swim race despite the high tide—maybe because of it, knowing the two of you—and for some stupid reason, Sae hadn't stopped you. It haunts him to this day that he didn't.

He remembers it all with stark, photographic precision: the seafoam and turquoise currents of Yuigahama beach; your arms flailing above the water's surface, riptide devouring your little form; the frigid chill of the sea as Sae dove toward you. Sae still has nightmares about your body after it was dragged out of the water, drenched and corpse-still on white sand. He remembers pressing his hands to your chest over and over, trying to pump the seawater from your lungs. He remembers the screaming, the crying, Rin's pale face as the two of them tried to wake you up.

He dreamt last night of the icy, smooth press of your lips as he tried to breathe life into you. He dreamt of holding you as you cried and gasped for air in his arms.

"You're awake," you say, and Sae turns.

He glances down at you. Your body is nude against the white sheets; your lips are still swollen from the night before. They curl sweetly, right beneath your adoring gaze. You had grown up looking at him like that, full of the unconditional type of trust of which only children are capable. You had kissed him looking like that, all sweet and tender for him last night. You had let him finish inside you looking like that, clinging to him and crying so needily as he filled you. I love you, you'd told him. I love you, I love you.

I love you, Nii-chan. So please don't leave us again.

Sae feels cold, like he's back in Sagami Bay. His lungs are filled with saltwater as he wades through the violent sea, and he can't breathe.

"Nii-chan?" you ask, pretty lashes framing your worried eyes, and he's swept up in the tide again, unable to save you.

SAE WAS NINE YEARS OLD WHEN HE MET YOU FOR THE FIRST TIME. You were a fragile little thing on his doorstep, carrying a stuffed animal and a satchel full of cheap clothes. Your eyes were heavy on the floor, framed by delicate lashes and weighed by shadows that belonged on the face of an adult. Sae remembers thinking that you must have been older than you actually were because of it; he'd never seen a child with such a solemn, tired expression.

Rin watched you with a curious gaze, perplexed at what was happening; Sae watched you with a wary one, the way he'd study an object on the verge of breaking: like a pretty vase sitting on the edge of a table, a flowerbed in the path of a careless shoe, a delicate sandcastle before a group of children.

Or his mother's trembling voice during an argument with their father, heard through thin walls.

On the morning before your arrival, Sae's mother had looked similarly on the verge of tears, but by the time she let you through the door, she had collected herself. She knelt down and gave you a kind, reassuring smile as she introduced you to Sae and Rin. "These are your new brothers," she told you, and you and Rin had both seemed uncertain about the declaration. Rin squinted at you, made a suspicious face; you shrank back from him, startled.

Sae, on the other hand, took it all in stride. His father had given him a talk about this, after all. As always, his tone had been calm and almost brisk. His face was stony too, eyes a cool, perfect blue—like he was on the phone with some businessman, rather than talking to his son.

You have a sister, he'd said, just a little younger than Rin. She's coming to live with us. You're the oldest, so it's your job to take care of her. Tell Rin to be nice to her, too—she's been through a lot. She's very shy, and she scares easily. She'll probably be nervous around you both.

Sae had asked what you'd been through, and he hadn't gotten an answer. He'd also asked why you didn't live with them beforehand, and why he didn't know you existed until that day, and if you were the reason why their mother had been crying so much lately, but he didn't get answers for those questions, either—only a deep frown and curt warning, words taut with carefully restrained anger. Sae was a smart enough kid to know to stop asking questions then.

All those details stopped mattering to Sae as soon as he met you, anyway. His heart ached for you from the moment he first laid eyes on you—why, he doesn't know. He guesses that it's because you had been such a fragile little thing, too scared to look anyone in the eye, too nervous to make the slightest noise—unless it was at night, and you were all alone. He heard you then, your room separated from his by only a thin wall: crying in your sleeping moments, sniffling in your waking ones. It kept him awake, thinking about what could make a person cry like that. About how evil someone would need to be to hurt someone like you.

Sae decided that he didn't care what had happened to you. He was only glad that it wasn't happening anymore, and that it would never happen again.

IT WOULD TAKE NEARLY TWO MONTHS BEFORE RIN AND SAE LEARNED WHAT YOUR VOICE SOUNDED LIKE. Whatever the two of them did, you wouldn't talk. Sae guesses that he approached it all wrong with you from the start, and it was a slow, painstaking process of earning your trust after that. He hadn't been a particularly nice kid, always blunt and a little unapproachable to most people. Even with his little brother, he'd never been outwardly nice in the honeyed type of way that most people liked, but he didn't need to be. Rin always understood that he was kind, gentle in his own way.

But even though you were going to be his new youngest sibling, Sae quickly learned that his usual way of speaking wouldn't work with you. A flat voice would make you uneasy, and any neutrality in his expression got read as anger. You told him as much years later, a finger tracing the flat line of his mouth, a little smile blooming at the quirk of his brow.

That kind of face would have terrified you when you were a child. You laughed when you said as much: "I was such a paranoid kid, wasn't I? Way too sensitive. Bet it was annoying for you."

Sae didn't laugh at you, then. He didn't even smile.

"I didn't find it annoying," was all he said. His voice was curt. You hesitated, but quickly relaxed. Kissed him on the cheek and said he'd always been so kind, and then he had to cast away his gaze.

For ages, Sae kept using his natural expressions and voice, and was confused at how you never reacted well to his attempts at being kind. At dinnertime, Sae would ask you which dish was your favourite—he wanted to grab some for you before Rin could inhale it all, he said—and you wouldn't answer. In the evenings, Sae would wrestle the remote away from Rin and ask what you wanted to watch—otherwise it'd be Chibi Marukochan again—but you only looked away, fidgeting. He asked you, of course, if you wanted to play soccer with them, but you just gave him a helpless look and never seemed happy to come along.

Even Rin—sweet in the way that Sae wasn't, gentle and open like their mother—had trouble with you. You weren't scared around Rin, but you still didn't know how to react to his friendliness. On weekends, Rin would take you to Sae's soccer matches, narrate his older brother's every move, and you would hardly react. You only watched Sae from your seat, quiet and obedient next to Rin. His little brother found it deeply frustrating—weren't you being kind of rude?—and Sae remembers having to defuse a temper tantrum that would have definitely terrified you.

Some years later, Rin commented on what a weird kid you'd been when you first arrived, and you shrugged it off.

"I just didn't know the answers to any of those questions," you explained. Rin gave you a sceptical look.

"You didn't know what foods you liked to eat? Or what shows you wanted to watch?"

"Nope. I didn't get to watch TV before I lived here, so I didn't know any kid's shows. And my mom and dad never fed me anything decent, so I didn't have any favourite foods."

"Like, they were bad cooks?"

"Something like that."

"And you ignored me during all those soccer matches, because…?"

"I didn't know the rules. I had no idea what was going on, so I couldn't comment."

"You could have asked me to explain things."

"I was scared you'd get mad at me, if I did."

"What?" Rin frowned then, and Sae wondered if his brother would finally put together the pieces. "I wouldn't get mad at you over something like that."

"Are you sure?" You sat up, gave him a playful little smile. "You get mad and petty about stupid shit all the time when it comes to soccer, Rin-chan."

"I do not. And"—Rin scowled, drawing a giggle out of you—"don't call me that. I'm older than you."

"We're basically the same age!"

"Not by several months." Rin glanced at Sae. "You address him properly. Why not me?"

"Because I like you less."

"You little—"

A squeal. Rin's arms had locked around your waist, and now you were squirming in his grip, peals of laughter escaping you as his hands found your most ticklish spots. Rin's mouth twitched despite the glare he was trying to feign, his eyes bright. Endeared. Sae found himself shifting restlessly, watching Rin's face, listening to your unabashed joy.

"Rin," he interrupted. "Hold her there for a sec."

"What?" you yelped. You looked up at Sae, wide-eyed and pleading. You even batted your lashes at him—long, pretty; you had worn a lot of mascara that day, and Sae knew it was because you were planning to spend time with him—but he just gave you an unimpressed stare and flicked you on the forehead.

"Behave," he said. "Don't be rude."

"Fine." You pouted, turning around and making a face at Rin. "Can you please let me go, Rin-nii?"

"I guess."

When Rin released you, you gave him a peck on the cheek, and he returned it with a look of mild revulsion, wiping away the pink stain you'd left next to his mouth. You didn't pay him any mind though, just shifting over to Sae and pressing yourself to him. You did the doe-eyed thing again, squeezing his arm as you looked up at him.

"See? I'm well-behaved."

He gave you a flat look. "Hm. I wonder."

Sae remembers the shiny pout of your lips in that moment—calculated, glossy, strawberry-flavoured. You'd dragged him out shopping a week earlier and pointed at a new lip collection, locking your fingers with his and pulling him toward the display. You only let him go so that you could swatch pink-red lines onto your wrist, telling him to choose which shade he liked best on you. Then you noticed they were flavoured and you asked him which fruit he most preferred.

Cherry is his favourite, but he'd lied.

IT WASN'T THAT YOU LIKED RIN LESS. It was more that you liked Sae differently, at least when you were kids. At least before Spain. He supposes that it was because he was the first and only person you started trusting, after you arrived—something that was inevitable, he thinks.

He'd been the eldest, after all. It had been his job to take care of you.

Sae had been the first person to get you to talk, all those years ago. He'd spent weeks thinking of ways to do it, stretching his little kid brain to its very limits. He had high hopes for the soccer plan, because who didn't enjoy that game? He and Rin spent weeks trying to teach you how to play, and although you could go through the motions well enough, it didn't change your perpetual silence. Sae eventually told Rin to give up on the lessons; it snowballed into an argument that only ended when Sae pointed out that the faces that Rin made during games spooked you.

Then there were the ice pops. It was a natural extension of soccer, since he and Rin always grabbed some after practice. They had you join them, and for nearly three weeks in a row, you kept getting those elusive winning popsicle sticks. Rin and Sae both cheered each time you did—yes, even though Sae, himself, was losing—but you'd only returned their excitement with an uncertain look.

But once, when Rin commented on how jealous he was of all your free ice creams, you gave him both your popsicle stick and a shy little smile. Rin didn't even understand, at first, what you were trying to do—but then you pushed it into his hand, a wooden little stick with WINNER written at the end. All your good luck going to the palm of your brother's hand, along with the first smile they'd ever seen from you.

It sent Rin over the moon.

Sae never told him this, but Rin was a little unbearable about it. He kept on beaming about it and wouldn't stop showing Sae that dumb popsicle stick for days, and he ended up hanging onto it instead of trading it in for ice cream. Sae knows that he's kept it to this day: on the desk of his childhood bedroom, next to all his MUJI pens. Your very first gift to him—to either of them—and his little brother's good luck charm.

Rin seemed happy with you then, willing to let things go as long as you kept smiling. But it wasn't enough for Sae.

He needed you to talk.

IT FINALLY HAPPENED DURING PRINCESS MONONOKE.

Rin—the little weirdo—routinely asked to watch that film every once in a while because it was his favourite. Why he was so obsessed with the scariest Studio Ghibli movie to ever exist, Sae would never know. But he humoured Rin nevertheless, and he also humoured Rin's request for you to join one of their rewatches.

Obviously, you ended up shaking and terrified, trembling in your seat and watching the film through your fingers. Rin didn't notice, but Sae did.

"Do you want to stop the movie?" he asked.

Your eyes went even wider, as if Sae scared you more than the film did, but you shook your head anyway. He squinted at you.

"You're sure? I won't mind stopping."

You glanced at his brother, who was too deeply engrossed in an absolutely revolting scene of a demon to notice any of this, and Sae immediately understood your concern.

"Don't mind Rin. He's seen this a million times."

But you shook your head again, and Sae relented. He unfurled a quilt that typically lived on the couch and laid it out over the both of you, then offered you a cotton edge. At your curious look, he explained, "It's kinda nice to have a blanket to hang onto when a movie gets too scary." Pause. "Plus it's cozy."

And Sae wanted you to be cozy.

You nodded. You burrowed fully into the blanket, nestled your face into the turquoise patterned fabric and studied Sae carefully. He pretended to focus on the movie, but he heard it when you finally talked for the first time, voice tiny and on the verge of breaking—

"Thank you."

THAT SIMPLE ACT OF GIVING YOU A QUILT CHANGED EVERYTHING. Sae hadn't known that a person could be so obsessed with a blanket, wrapping yourself into it at every opportunity. He even caught you going to bed with it, but he never commented on it, not wanting to scare you off. You'd been crying less at night lately, and he was sure it had something to do with that blanket.

You'd also been doing better during the day. Although you were still never comfortable around their parents, you were now noticeably more relaxed around Sae. Gravitated toward him, even. You always tried to sit next to him or stand near him, and you always did kind little favours for him too, the sorts of things he'd done for you: pouring him tea, putting food on his plate at dinner, taking the remote when it was offered to you and flipping to Chibi Marukochan.

Sometimes he made funny faces at you—the awkward, toothy expressions he'd usually make at Rin—and instead of being unnerved, you'd now actually laugh.

You had a wide grin, with an adorable gap where you'd lost your baby tooth. Delicate crinkles at the corners of your crescent eyes. Pretty gleam to your irises as you shone in the midday sun. Those moments where he caught glimpses of those things from you—Sae remembers being mesmerised by them, back when he was a kid. He's still mesmerised by it now, stares whenever your mouth curls up, all honeyed and bright.

Often, he caught you beaming as you sat next to Rin, watching his soccer matches. During those fleeting glances Sae snuck at you during halftime, he'd see you waving at him wholeheartedly. Sae wasn't a particularly expressive kid himself, but his lips always twitched up at the sight of you so happy.

Still, you had your bad nights. Progress has never been linear with you, not now and not back then. Sae recalls one midnight where you had a crying fit that disintegrated into a violent string of coughs, each one so powerful that it made him wince.

He wondered how the whole house wasn't awake, listening to your pain. Rin always slept like a rock—Sae could see him snoring away in the other bed, so it made sense that he wasn't bothered—but surely their parents were hearing this? But then he decided not to linger on it for too long.

It didn't matter since he was going to help you anyway.

He ended up knocking on your door with a glass of water. Almost immediately, all the shifting in your room stopped, almost like you were trying to silence yourself. But Sae could hear the coughs being torn violently from your throat, even though they now sounded strained and muffled.

"Hey," he called out softly. "It's me. Are you awake?"

Silence. Sae knew to give it a moment before he tried again.

"Can I come in?"

If it had been anyone other than you, you told Sae years later, your fingers running lazily through his hair, lifting the bangs out of his face, I wouldn't have said anything. I'd have pretended to be sleeping. But I let you in because it was you. You squeezed his hand, then, and your eyes were close—so close, heavy on his own and weighed down by the vulpine flick of your eyeliner, by the mascara sooty and thick on neatly curled lashes, by your childhood shadows. Your strawberry gloss shone next to his lips, and your heated and tender words kissed them: Do you understand what I'm saying, Nii-chan? If it had been anyone else, I wouldn't have been—

"...okay."

When Sae crept into your room, found an empty bed. You were hiding underneath it, curled up in the tiny space between the floor and the mattress, hugging the quilt he'd handed to you weeks ago. He crouched down, showed you the glass of water. Sae wasn't sure if the offering would be enough to draw you out from under the bed, but another coughing fit—this one strong enough to make you teary-eyed—had you crawling out. You mumbled a little thank you as you took the glass from him and drank.

"You haven't cried like that in a while," Sae commented, and you gave him a stricken look. After a long moment of unadultered panic in your eyes, he heard you string more than two words for the first time:

"...s-sorry. I'm really sorry." You were looking down at the floor, and it was like all the progress Sae had made over the past several weeks had gone up in smoke—you looked petrified, small, a cornered animal with nowhere to run. "I didn't know you could hear me."

"Don't apologize. I don't mind it."

"...you're not mad?"

Sae thought it was a funny question. "No. Who'd get mad at something like that?"

You didn't reply, just looking away, and Sae felt a little frustrated, then. He'd been working so hard to make you feel comfortable and thought he'd finally made some progress—but now he was seeing you regress in real time. Back into the fragile little thing that his parents had decided to adopt out of the blue, looking like you couldn't trust anything around you. Like you couldn't trust him. Sae couldn't help but think—

"You don't like it here, do you."

Even at that age, you had a distinctly doe-eyed look when you were confused, and he remembers staring at it.

"No," you said. "I do."

"Then how come you don't wanna talk to any of us?"

Maybe his voice was a little too harsh. Or a little too blunt. You flinched, your body retreating into the turquoise shell of your quilt.

"Sorry."

"That's—" Sae paused, chewing his lip. Tried to make his voice as gentle as possible, because he knew his usual tone would scare you. "...you don't need to be sorry. I'm not mad. I just wanna know what's been making you so upset. Like—how come you always cry at night?"

You got that nervous, uncertain look in your eye again, and Sae got the distinct feeling that you were wondering if this whole conversation was some kind of trick. He added, "I just wanna know how to cheer you up. I don't like seeing you so sad all the time."

You blinked, gave him a surprised look, but it was fleeting, quickly making way for another gloomy expression. "You don't need to worry about me… I don't think I'm going to stay here for very long."

Sae's brow furrowed. His mom had made it sound like you were going to be his little sister just like how Rin was his brother—that is, permanently. "Why not?"

The face you made was so miserable that it startled Sae. He hadn't had a lot of experience with sadness as a kid—most of what he'd witnessed revolved around soccer, when the opposing team lost, and Sae never felt very sorry for them. Sometimes Rin would throw tantrums or cry over silly things, but those were easy to handle. Sae supposed that the worst sadness he'd ever seen was in his mother, who tried her best to hide it—

—but not even her saddest expressions could compare to how shattered you looked in that moment.

"...your dad doesn't actually want me here, Sae-san."

Sae's brow creased. You have a new sister, he recalled. You need to take care of her, OK?

"That can't be right," Sae replied. "Dad said he wanted you to be part of this family. He even said I should look after you."

Instead of responding, you looked long and hard at Sae, and for the first time, he experienced the strange feeling of being dissected by you. He felt translucent and naked under your eyes—keen for such an innocent age, seeing everything in the dark.

"We have the same father, but different moms. You know that, right?" you asked quietly.

He didn't.

"Your dad didn't like my mom very much, and that's why he didn't want me. He's only being forced to take me now 'cause my mom decided she didn't want me either." Your eyes started to shimmer, and you hid them in your blanket. "My stepdad and my brother also left 'cause they didn't want me. And I don't think your mom likes me very much, either. So"—you breathed in deep and whispered, and Sae felt like he was watching a vase tip over the edge, a sandcastle crumbling into dirt, his mother crying as she fumbled for her cigarettes when she thought no one was watching—"it's not gonna be very long 'til your parents throw me away too."

Sae went silent. If his heart ached for you when he first laid eyes on you, then it was being crushed right now. He didn't think very hard about it when he placed a hand over one of yours.

"They wouldn't do something like that," he said.

Your fingers twitched under his, like you wanted to pull away.

"They want to. I can tell."

You're just imagining things, Sae nearly replied, but then he remembered that he'd never once heard his parents come here at night to check on your crying, and then he went quiet.

"...it doesn't matter," he eventually decided. "I won't let them."

A little sniff. "No?"

"No. I'll make sure you stay with us."

You blinked the saltwater away from your lashes, then gave him a curious look. "Why?"

"Because I'm your brother, and it's my job to take care of you."

"Really?" you asked, voice watery.

His eyes softened, his usual impassivity crumbling for you.

"Really. I would never let anyone throw you away," he said, and the words felt so ugly in his mouth that he couldn't fathom how anyone had done that to you. How anyone could have done anything to you. You were so sweet, and so kind, and so vulnerable, and it left him feeling sick when he imagined you being hurt in any way. "I'll keep you safe. Promise."

Sae nearly jumped when he felt something move in his hand. He looked down, saw your little fingers prodding at his own, and he offered you his open palm. You took it readily, Sae found himself transfixed by the latticework of your entwined fingers.

"Thank you, Sae-san."

"It's nothing," he wrote off. His thumb rubbed the back of your hand, gentle in a way that his voice wasn't. "But I'm your brother now, remember? You should address me properly."

You smiled a little, studying your interlocked fingers, and Sae felt a peculiar warmth in his chest, an uptick in his pulse.

"Okay, Nii-chan."

Nii-chan. Sae's always loved hearing that title in your mouth. Not out of a demand for respect the way Rin obsesses over it, but because you've always seemed so happy to say it, the syllables sweetened by your adoring tongue. Okay, Nii-chan, you've always said. I'll listen to you, Nii-chan. I trust you, Nii-chan. I love you, Nii-chan. I love you, I love you, I love you.

So please don't leave us again.

Please don't throw me away.

THE SIGNS HAD ALL BEEN THERE FROM THE VERY BEGINNING, and Sae’s often regretted not being old enough to see them until it was too late. He had just been a kid at the time, stupid and shortsighted and ignorant about the world beyond the touchlines of a football pitch. Even within the perimeters of his own childhood home, he struggled with making the right choices. Later on, it started to feel like if he made even one wrong move, the whole thing would fall apart—crumble like dry sand, or shatter like glazed porcelain.

Take, for instance, your habit of sleeping under the bed: something that Sae ended up catching you doing multiple times, whenever he visited at night. It bothered him deeply, but he was too young to know what to make of it, and too young to know what to do about it. When he asked you about it, you just did that thing where you apologised and curled up into yourself, so Sae quickly abandoned the notion of talking through it with you.

So he turned to his mother instead, and she wrote it off as a fun little game you were probably playing with yourself. Then he mentioned it to his father, who shrugged and said your mother—your real mother, Sae later figured out he meant—had never mentioned anything about it, so it likely wasn’t a problem. Sae was left to ponder it on his own, and he was so perplexed that even Rin intuited that something was off.

“Nii-chan,” he said one day, on their way home from practice, “is something the matter?”

"Huh?" Sae blinked, torn from his thoughts. "What do you mean?"

"You look upset." Sae's brows shot up; Rin had never before been so observant. "Is something bothering you?"

“...nothing you need to worry about,” Sae reassured Rin, but that only made his younger brother frown.

“Tell me! I wanna know.”

“It’s boring stuff,” Sae waved off, but that only made Rin grab his arm and start shaking it like a ragdoll.

“Tell me.”

“No.”

“Tell me.”

“No.”

“Nii-chan! Tell meeee.”

Sae tried not to groan. More to appease Rin than anything else, he said, “I’m just worried about our little sister. She does this weird thing where she sleeps under her bed instead of on it… and I dunno why.”

Rin blinked at him, seeming unbothered. “I don't think that's that weird. Maybe she's playing with a friend, or something.”

Sae hummed. Rin had, in fact, gone through a phase where he watched all of Sae’s football matches with an imaginary friend that sounded more or less identical to No-Face from Spirited Away. (Why a five year-old would envision such a terrifying imaginary friend, Sae would never understand.) It wasn’t a crazy idea that you might have your own No-Face hiding beneath your bed, but thinking about all your crying at night, Sae had a hard time believing you were there because of any kind of imaginary games.

“I don’t think she does,” Sae decided. “She never seems like she's having any fun.”

“Huh. Then maybe she’s hiding from something?”

Sae squinted at his little brother. “What would she be hiding from?”

“Tons of things. Ghosts, monsters…”

Sae hummed, considering. Rin had also gone through a phase where he genuinely thought their house was being visited at night by a funayuurei from Sagami Bay. In those days, he couldn't sleep unless he was in the same bed as Sae, and even then he'd spent most of his time trembling under the sheets rather than peacefully dreaming. It had taken a great number of late nights, broken curfews, and one stolen camcorder (which Sae still needed to sneak back into their father’s study) to show Rin that no such spirit existed.

Sae wondered if his little brother had forgotten all his efforts.

“Ghosts aren't real, remember?” he reminded him.

“I know they’re not real,” Rin said, “but maybe she doesn’t?”

You didn’t, the both of them would later find out. You still believed in ghosts, monsters, curses and the like. But believing in spirits was different from fearing them, and though you’d never tell Sae this, it wasn’t a ghost that had been haunting you for all those years.

RIN HADN'T BEEN ENTIRELY WRONG. It was fear that had been driving you under the bed. When Sae asked you about it—“Are you under there because you’re hiding from something?”—you finally admitted to it, nodding wordlessly as you crawled out into the open space before Sae. You didn’t say what you were hiding from, but he assumed you were the same as Rin: you must have been afraid of a vengeful spirit, maybe a ghost rising from the waters of Sagami Bay. Sae wouldn’t have blamed you. The ocean often made eerie noises at night, and even having grown up next to it, sometimes Sae would feel unsettled.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” he said gently. “Nothing here is gonna hurt you. I promise.”

You fiddled with the edges of your quilt, playing with a loose thread. Sae made a mental note to cut it later, before it started unravelling.

“I just feel better sleeping underneath the bed,” you said.

He frowned. “If it actually made you feel better,” Sae pondered, “then why are you always crying?”

You went quiet, brow sloping up and eyes dropping down. Sae didn't pressure you to speak more. Instead, he tried again: "Do you think there's something else that could actually make you feel better?"

Hesitation. A shy look. You seemed almost embarrassed, and that's how Sae knew that you had an idea.

"You can tell me," Sae prompted. He reached out for your hand—slowly, in case you wanted to pull away, but you let him cradle the warmth of your palm with his own—and said, "You can trust me. I promise."

"...I also used to hide under the bed in my old home," you started, voice halting.

Sae waited patiently.

"...I was always too scared to sleep on top. But my brother noticed, and he started letting me sleep with him." Your eyes grew soft, your mouth curving into a gentle slope. "Nii-chan was the best. He made me feel really safe. But then he…"

Threw me away, Sae knew you were thinking, so he didn't let you finish. He just said, "Then you can sleep with me."

A surprised little blink. "Are you sure? I don't want to be a bother…"

"I won't mind. Rin and I used to share a bed together, 'cause he was afraid of ghosts, so I'm used to it…" His grip tightened. "And anyway, I'm your new Nii-chan. I don't mind doing things that your brother used to do for you."

You smiled then, fragile but sure. Sae got that warmth in that chest again, and he felt he was doing the right thing that night, letting you climb into bed with him. You waved at Rin, who was lying in his own bed, watching the two of you curiously as you settled under the sheets together. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Sae thought he should talk to Rin about what was going on, but right now he was focused on making sure you were comfortable. He didn't have time to make things clear for his little brother, not when he was occupied with you.

This arrangement wasn't a perfect fix—after the lights went out, he could feel you shaking like a scared little fawn—so he shifted toward you, hoping he could help.

"Hey," he whispered. "Are you still feeling scared?"

"...a little." You sounded ashamed. "I'm really sorry, Nii-chan."

"It's okay," he whispered. "Just remember I'll keep you safe. I won't let anything hurt you."

"...I know you won't," you said after a little bit, and then you added, "I trust you, Nii-chan. I promise. I just… gotta get used to sleeping like this, again."

Sleeping on top of your bed, Sae knows you mean. Sleeping without hiding.

"Is there anything else your stepbrother did to make you feel better?"

Another silence—shy again, hesitant. Sae thinks it had been a sign of trust when you said, "He used to hold me. And he held my hand. But"—you sounded frantic, now, like you were scared you'd made a mistake—"you don't have to if you don't wanna, Nii-chan. I don't wanna bother you, so—"

"I won't mind." He inched closer to you. "Not if it'll make you feel safer."

Holding Rin isn't something he'd ever done, so it didn't come naturally to him, doing it with you. But he let his arms cradle your warmth, let you nestle your face into the crook of his neck, let your breath sweep over his racing jugular. Let you cling to him, the way you clung to your quilt during all those nights beneath the bed. Let himself shield you from whatever ghosts you'd been seeing—let him be your thing to hold onto while scared.

It was the right thing to do at the time: Sae had been sure of it. The easy rhythm of your sleeping breath told him so, as did the honest trust in your eyes every night—the kind of trust that a little kid could only give their brother. The kind of trust not unlike the blind faith that Rin would later have in their dream. The kind of trust that Sae had in his mother, who was always kind and loving even if she sometimes seemed a little shattered.

The kind of trust that Sae wanted, even at that young age, to honour.

It was the right thing for him to do, to hold you like that and keep you safe.

It was the right thing for you to do, to trust him so dearly.

He doesn't know when all the right things started bleeding wrong.

YOU ACTUALLY LATER FOUND, IN YOUR TEENAGE YEARS, THE NOTION OF HAUNTINGS A LITTLE FUNNY. You told Rin that you'd been desensitised to it from all the horror movies he'd made you watch; you could only see so many variations of Noroi and The Exorcist before getting bored. Even The Shining was losing its charm. But the slasher films never got old for you: you had endless patience for home invasions, serial killers, psychological stuff. They were more real, you said. People were tangible. Ghosts were not.

Once, on a visit from Spain, Sae had joined the two of you for a movie. Despite your disinterest in it, you still clung onto Sae the way you always had as a child. Your hold on him felt different now that you were grown—sly and silky, bare legs thrown across his lap and body pressed into his side, head on his shoulder. Every shift of your thighs over his lap felt precise, intentional: designed to distract Sae from the screen. You whined at him to hold you and when he asked why, you gave him a watery look and said you were scared.

You weren't even looking at the TV.

"You said you found ghost movies stupid," he said, in the sort of voice that clearly implied you're bullshitting me. You drew closer to him anyway, your arms looping around his neck. The cool mint of your breath swept over his lips as you laughed, and he was keenly aware of the thin space separating your mouth from his.

"Did I say that?" Your lashes fluttered. "I think you're misremembering. I'm terrified."

"Are you, now."

"Of course. Would I lie about something like that?"

Absolutely, Sae stopped himself from saying.

"I don't think I'll be able to sleep alone later, Nii-chan. I might get nightmares." You tilted your head, gave him a pleading look. "You won't mind if I sleep with you tonight, right?"

"You already sleep with me every night," Sae pointed out flatly. You'd retained the habit from when you were a child, and he didn't know how to stop indulging you. "I should start kicking you out."

"If you're getting tired of me," you said, "I could always go sleep with Rin-chan instead."

Sae imagined it for a moment: you curling up in Rin's bed the way you'd been doing beneath Sae's sheets since childhood, wearing nothing but one of his t-shirts and a pair of panties—lacy, sheer, and colourful, Sae knew from the number of times you'd carelessly thrown your laundry into his basket. Bare legs tangled up with his, feathery breath on his cheek, strawberry fragrance in your hair. Seeking out his hand in your sleep, or settling into his arms, pressing your back against his chest and your waist against his hips. Baring your neck to him too, its slope pretty and delicate.

Once Sae pointed out that you shouldn't sleep in such compromising positions with other people; they might get the wrong idea. You'd tilted your head and asked what sort of ideas he was getting, and Sae had violently recoiled.

None, obviously. I'm your brother.

Okay, then, you'd said, settling into bed. You undid your bra beneath his t-shirt, took it off and threw it to the side; he tried his hardest not to look at it. Since you're my brother, there's nothing for me to worry about. Pretty eyes, innocent smile. You wouldn't do anything bad to me, right? I can trust you.

Maybe you'd offer that blind trust to Rin, too. And why wouldn't you? Rin was also your brother. He wouldn't ever think of doing anything to you, just like how Sae never would. You could safely sleep next to Rin, let him put his hands all over your silhouette, press all your curves into him—give him full access to your sleeping, vulnerable body, and…

Sae felt like he was going to throw up.

"No chance in hell you're sleeping with me," Rin shot down before Sae could, and Sae released a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.

"What?" you exclaimed at Rin, feigning hurt. "Why?"

"Because you're way too clingy in your sleep and you're a blanket hog," he groused. "Now be quiet or get a room. We're getting to the good part."

Sae's gaze snapped to Rin. "How do you know that?" he demanded.

Rin gave him a funny look. "Because I've watched this movie before…?"

"No—I mean, how do you know that she's clingy when she's asleep?"

"Oh. Because of that time you went to football camp when we were kids. She got scared by herself at night, so she slept with me, and it was"—Rin shot you a disgruntled look—"the worst sleep of my life. Thought you were gonna suffocate me."

"You loved it," you shot back. "You were just as cuddly as me."

"What?" Rin sounded defensive. "No I wasn't."

"Yes you were," you practically sang, mouth curling. "It surprised me a lot—that's why I still remember it. You were very touchy with me, Rin-chan."

"I was trying to get my blanket back from you, dumbass." Rin rolled his eyes, then turned back to the screen, where Sadako had made it halfway out of her TV before Rin had pressed pause to argue with you. "Anyway, like I said. Be quiet or get a room."

Rin returned to the movie, and even you did—placing your head on Sae's shoulder, a haunting playing out before your eyes. But Sae couldn't focus, could only look at the pale glow of the TV on you, shining white in your irises.

Get a room, he kept thinking. Get a room.

Get a room for what?

The question brought up that swell of nausea in Sae's belly again, that urge to lie about the strawberry-sweetness of you. That violent repulsion when you'd given him with your big, innocent eyes, asking, What ideas have you been getting, Nii-chan? That oppressive heat that crept through his body every time he saw your colourful lace in his dirty laundry, or damp between your thighs whenever you bent over to turn off the lights.

That feeling of wrongness that was somehow born from all his attempts to do the right thing.

When you settled into his arms later that night and pressed a chaste little kiss to his jaw, his pulse raced, flooding heat into his veins. He looked at you, and he saw bare skin and pretty lashes and long legs wrapped up in his own. He looked at you, and he saw a fragile little thing on his doorstep, too scared to say a word to anyone, too frightened to sleep on her own.

He looked at you, and something in his chest split like porcelain.

Sae wonders, now, when he'd become the very thing that's been haunting you your whole life.

YOU WERE JUST A CHILD WHEN YOU KISSED SAE FOR THE FIRST TIME. Seven years old and tender in the dark, seeking comfort in his arms. Sae had just shaken you awake from a nightmare, held you close and told you that you were alright: you were here, you were in bed with your big brother, and ghosts weren't real so you didn't have to be scared—but even if they were, Sae would protect you from them.

It worked, but poorly. You stopped crying and quieted down, but then started clinging onto him, shivering and desperate.

Sae wasn't sure about how to handle this. Rin had never gotten like this before, not even while he was having his worst dreams about his funayuurei. But then he remembered how often you said you liked it when your stepbrother held you, so Sae did that for you: put his arms around you and let you cry. It felt easy doing it, instinctive. Something an older brother would naturally do for his little sister.

When you leaned back, thoroughly cried out, Sae cupped your face with your hands and started wiping away your tears with his thumbs: another thing your stepbrother once did for you. Another thing that came naturally to him.

He asked, "Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?" Sae was ready to steal his father's camcorder back, spend more nights building pillow forts and hunting for ghosts. Or ready to grab your turquoise blanket and wrap it around your shaking body. Or ready to break into the kitchen and get you a midnight snack.

When you gave him a little nod, Sae expected any and all of those things.

He did not expect you to kiss him.

His mind went blank when he felt the shy press of your lips against his own. He wondered, for a moment, if he was dreaming, but you felt so real. So tangible.

  You waited patiently after you drew back, watching him carefully in a darkness thinned only by the fluorescence of plastic stars. His mother had put them on the ceiling for you and Rin, gotten a ladder so Sae could help too. He'd been the one to suggest that you and Rin be the ones to turn off the lights, each putting an index finger on the switch and flipping the room into darkness together. Wow! you'd both gasped, and your faces shone in the glow of those artificial stars.

It was the first time Sae's mother had seen you so full of joy. I didn't know that child could smile like that, she'd remarked quietly to Sae, watching you and Rin count the stars together. I was worried she'd never open up. But you've been so good to her, Sae. She's always happy around you.

Right now, your face was just as bright as it had been back then—and all Sae could think about was how he wanted to keep you glowing like that under his stars.

But something about that kiss unsettled him. It didn't feel wrong, exactly, but something that should be hidden—done in secret, made the subject of a lie.

And Sae didn't like lying.

As if sensing his hesitation, you gave him a guarded look, edging hurt. "You didn't like that?" you asked.

"No, I did," he said quickly. Instinctively. And then he remembered himself and added, "It's just… we shouldn't be kissing."

You tilted your head. "No?"

"No."

"Why not?"

Sae stopped. Why not, he wondered as well. If you asked Sae nowadays—twenty-four, a proper adult—he could give you a laundry list of reasons, each one more damning than the last. But Sae back then—nine years old, a stupid kid—was at a loss.

"I… Well, it'd just be wrong."

"Wrong, how?" you asked, and now your voice was thick with anxiety and Sae needed desperately to ease it.

"Well… it's just not something siblings do, y'know? I wouldn't kiss Rin."

As soon as the words left his mouth, Sae cringed. The thought of kissing Rin made him want to gag, and he knew he'd probably puke if he actually ever tried it. But you still kept staring, uncertain.

"Well," you said, "I guess I wouldn't kiss Rin either. But that's because I don't like Rin…" You gave him a little smile. "You're the one I want to kiss. Because I like you."

Sae's pulse fluttered. Pounded strangely in his ears, flooded his face with heat. He swallowed thickly as his mind played out your suggestion: closed eyes, your hand in his, the peck of your lips again—this time returned. A proper kiss, like the kind in movies. Oddly enough, the image didn't nauseate him at all, and Sae wondered if you were right: maybe his disgust at the thought of kissing Rin was only because he didn't like him.

Maybe Sae liked you.

But even though he wouldn't mind kissing you, something about the idea unsettled him. Family members just didn't kiss each other on the mouths—and even if he didn't know why, he knew it probably shouldn't happen.

In the absence of a concrete reason, Sae found himself unable to reply. It was especially hard to grasp at words when you were looking at him that way: so earnest, so shy, so pretty. Yes, you were pretty, Sae finally admitted—you were pretty behind chain link fences as you watched his matches, pretty in the sunset glow as the two of you walked home from practice, pretty even when you were a fragile little thing on his doorstep, with nothing but a stuffed toy and a satchel full of clothes.

You were pretty and sweet and kind, and Sae might have liked you, and he didn't know why he shouldn't.

In the end, all he could say was, "I think we'd get in trouble for it. And we're too young for that kind of thing, anyway."

You deflated, your brow crinkling as you looked away. "Oh. Sorry." Quietly, you added, "You're right. We would get in trouble."

"Yeah." Sae softened his voice a bit, already knew what to say: "But I'm not mad at you. You know that, right?"

You looked up at him, bottom lip trembling—and he hated that, couldn't stand to see it, thought it was like seeing a dandelion being crushed—but you gave him a little nod. He drew up the blankets over your shoulders and tucked you in, hoping it'd calm you.

"Let's just forget about this," he said, and you hummed in agreement.

Still, as Sae watched you press yourself to him and close your eyes, you murmured, "But I really do love you, Nii-chan. I just wanted to show you how much. 'cause you asked me what would make me feel better. Showing you would have."

Sae felt something in him twinge at the new word—love, you'd said, a funny thing to hear outside of a Ghibli movie—but you were fading now, voice soft like cotton candy. He thought you were actually sleep-talking and dreaming things up, maybe thinking of that film that Rin loved so much. That part where the cursed prince talked about loving that feral, orphaned girl, and the savage wolf god had laughed at him.

He wishes now that he could rewind time, shake you awake and say so many things to you. He'd have crushed you, left you joyless for a little bit, but it'd have been for your own good. You don't need to show someone that you love them by doing something like that, he could have said. Or—Siblings don't show each other love by kissing on the mouth. Or—You only want to do this because you don't know any better.

Or, most importantly—You shouldn't feel this kind of love for me.

But instead, all Sae did was tighten his hold on you and whisper, "It's okay."

END EXCERPT

note on the title: "funayuurei" are the vengeful ghosts of people who died in shipwrecks, drowning at sea. many funayuurei myths involve these malevolent spirits coming across other vessels at sea and trying to sink them, thus condemning the living to sharing their fate. rin's childhood fear of a funayuurei that emerges from sagami bay to visit their home does not have any basis in real-life folklore; it is just a child's nightmare that I invented for this fic.

SPOILER ALERT (tw suicide mention) but rin's fear of funayuurei and the motif of drowning/water/typhoons/etc. is extremely significant to the universe of desire path. that's why they feature heavily in both versions of the fic. the reader's biological mother actually drowned herself in sagami bay, which is something that the reader discovers in her teenage years. in both versions of the story, she never really recovers from it.

thanks for reading!

[nosleep-onlyread]

⭑ settle soft and as pure as snow. tom riddle x reader

summary. he’s tender the way snow is. devout as a prayer that it will clear come spring.

tags. gn reader, ooc tom to 99% of the world but man do i love the 1% to whom it isn't, short little blurb, fear of death / discussions of mortality, fluff, hurt/comfort if you squint but mostly comfort, just. lovers! being lovers! kind of a sequel to your kitchen table in that it's as much an analysis of tom's fears and desires as it is an x reader, i needed this so i wrote it idk what to tell you okay

note. in my long absence i hit 1k followers (!!!???) and while i've struggled to write anything substantial, i really enjoyed this and wanted to share something to somewhat express my gratitude :') have some healed tom (inspired by hozier) and as always, my requests are open in case something sparks inspiration. in the meantime, thanks for everything!!

word count. 791

He’s so suited to this. Beautifully, frustratingly so — born in its longest nights and shaded in its sundry tones; its stellular blues and soft, powdery whites — Tom Riddle is December made mortal. (An offensive turn of phrase, you’re sure, but he’s suited to mortality too.) You think he used to charm his cheeks not to flush but relented the effort at some point, some years ago with you, because the cold splashes them pink to his ears now, snow dotting his tousled hair. He has the integrity still to deny your caps and earmuffs with a signature scowl, but — one day.

It’s a walk through the night for no particular reason, with no particular direction. There’s moorland past the trail that winds around your shared abode, tall and dense and magical. It satiates something in him. The unknown. The need for it.

Sometimes he gets restless and doesn’t tell you, only stares furtively from the northernmost window, fingers conjuring spirals of ice on the sill absentmindedly. You take his hand and kiss the cool digits one by one. To remind him of intention.

It’s the decay, you presume. A little voice always tugs him that way, but it gets louder this time of year. With everything shedded, rotted, buried and slumbering, Tom endures watching the cycle he hates most echo into spring. Rebirth, yes, but not how he pictures it. What he knows in the steepest dusks is that one winter will come where he will not wake up again with the flowers, where you might vow to tend whatever garden someday blooms over his grave, a name etched into the stone that none but you will remember. Many winters after that, when you follow him into death and the house is mildewed and lichen clusters his favourite window, the grave will wear until even that is gone to time.

It terrifies him.

So you walk. Intention. Your hand is in his.

The magic of a simple charm warms you somewhat, but you enjoy the subtle sting of cold. You can feel it because you’re alive. It’s the same life that strung you to him in a way that can’t be severed, and now you make new trails in pathless woods and wonder at constellations, spiles coaxing syrup into buckets from the trees. You collect them for potions and breakfast. You invent new ones together, and tease him over a coughing fit in cauldron smoke that immortality is more than living forever.

He kisses you quiet, but he’ll listen later. There’s so much time.

You wonder if it suits you, too — winter — by the way he tends to you when it comes. Doting. You would never have imagined considering him having such a virtue when you met him, but he’s… tender, the way snow is. Devout as a prayer that it will clear come spring. Stinging, soft, ephemeral. You weather him. But how he keeps you warm when the night drags on, and talk of constellations turns to talk of grief, he shelters you.

When your back is bare and you’re laid away from him, he traces the skin like he’s never seen it before. It’s a wonder, you think, to learn the mechanisms of touch like a foreign language. Perhaps it would feel the same for the first thousand times. How many winters did he trace the cool tile of his bedroom wall just like this, with skinny fingers scraping at the mortar on another empty birthday? There are questions even now you think to ask but don’t. He offers the answers mostly as he’s reminded of them: that a clearing in the moors evokes a memory of a bad field trip, a mantelpiece of tchotchkes echo a stolen box in a burning wardrobe, that most things, at times, feel fleetingly disparate, ready to be returned to their right place. Tea will go without sugar again as he will go without you.

Nonsense. This is yours, you tell him, the word sewn between you.

His pink cheeks are all the colour you see in the dark. The tree sap is sweet and light. You write a letter to a potioneer in New Guinea to draft, and turn left instead of right the next night, a new forest discovered within the first. Your New Year’s Eve is a swell of light in birthday candles, laughing into his cheek at some bad joke until the sound is smothered by a kiss he breaks too soon by laughing too. It’s a sound you can’t invent or imagine, words failing you even when you find them for everything else he is. 

Spring comes one unsuspecting morning, twice and twenty times, greys strewn in the black of his hair. You smile with crow’s feet into winter again.

taglist. @lyis @indimoss @poddzi @esolean @d1anna @maripositanoctruna @mentally-in-northern-italy @ronniemaximoff1234 @moobell55 @jaerang @ramayantika @saltwaterbythesea @acube07 @togenabi @adazito @kitcat334 @blaurghhh @shutupfinn @jaymeeshayden @lilu842 @leaosee @garfunkelworld @definitely-not-captain-america @multiplefandomstan @mangoesareorange

[nosleep-onlyread]

Terrible thoughts about role reversal with caleb

[nosleep-onlyread]

CANINE TEETH

pairing: older!leon x gn!reader

summary: A mission leaves you wracked with survivor’s guilt. Leon helps the only way he knows how.

words: 3.3k

warnings: blood, explicit injury descriptions, death (unnamed characters), smoking, angst with a happy ending

notes: an anon requested hurt/comfort and i absolutely ran with it. RE lore is confusing so forgive me if things are wrong.

You’re bloodied from the waist up, and you dread Leon’s first sight of you.

The bioweapon just would not fucking die—at least, not without taking half your squad with it. Their bodies have been laid out on the pavement, away from all the rubble, and the bullet casings, and the fresh blood.

Some faces you don’t recognize, and the ones you should have been mutilated beyond human comprehension. You help identify most of them by way of tattoos and birthmarks and the slivers of their faces still left intact. An eye here, the twist of a mouth there, a crushed nose. 

Some time between sifting through the leftovers of the town, picking out the pieces of your friends, and breaking for a quick smoke, you’re corralled into the medical tent. The small space remains just as solemn as the streets, if not for the groans of pain and cries of grief. Civilians and personnel alike, packed in close on rickety cots. The smell of blood, so potent it clings to the back of your throat, is what gets you. Churns away at your insides. Always has.

During times like these, you fucking hate your job.

The medic—Marcus, a close friend, a man who once saved you from a severed femoral artery—waves you over to a recently abandoned bed, the material stained a deep red. Not fresh, but not old, either, and you’re sure any leftover soaks into the butt of your muddy pants.

“Any updates?” you ask, because coping is easier when you don’t. When you stay calm, and professional, and routine.

“Heard talk from the CO’s. Think they’re bracing for a second attack.” His dark eyes cut sharp over the rim of his glasses. “But you didn’t hear it from me. Got it?”

He applies pressure to a jagged laceration on your arm, mutters something about stitches and gauze and the depletion of QuikClot.

But there's no need for any of that. Not when your blood freezes still inside your veins. “A second attack will wipe us out.”

A layer of gauze is wrapped around your half-torn pinky, bent at an angle just beneath the first knuckle, and blood saturates the fabric. If not for the elephant-sized potency of adrenaline coursing through your system, you’re sure you’d be on the floor right now. 

It needs surgery—hell, you’ll probably lose the finger altogether. If you aren’t already dead by morning.

“They’re trying to call for backup. A favor for a favor or some shit.” Your blood slicks up his fresh gloves, bright and glistening.

“From who?”

He leans back into his rickety chair and throws out both arms, almost clipping the hip of another medic passing by. “How the fuck would I know, Mouse?”

“‘Cause you eavesdrop like you’re being paid for it.” You attempt to wipe the itching blood from your cheek, but only succeed in smearing a fresh coat over the left half of your face. “God—listen, we’re all fucking stressed. No need to be an asshole.”

“That’s not…” He sighs out a long, exhausted breath, and that exhaustion rolls off him twelve hours thick. Reads clear in his pallor, in the state of his clothes, in the slump of his posture. You feel bad for him, for everybody stuck neck deep in the mud of this bullshit situation. Yourself included. “That’s not what I meant to say. But we’ve all watched our friends get ripped apart, so forgive me if my fuse is non-fucking-existent.”

You both begin to stare at each other as a group of soldiers file into the tent, a battle of wills keeping you glued in place. Marcus is fucked up over this, and so are you. It’s a stupid thing to get angry over, but tensions are high, and you’re fit to burst at the goddamn seams.

“Mouse.”

Just like that, you feel small again. Weak. And you would rather rip the rest of your finger off than turn around and face that voice. “Leon.”

He’s always professional enough to keep up appearances—use your call sign, subdue his voice and body language—but you know him inside and out. Every quirk of his tone. He’s angry, yes, but not at you.

Marcus cuts you a knowing glance, then gives a nod to the fuming man just over your shoulder. “Patched ‘em up best I could.”

“Not good enough, apparently.”

You turn to look at him then, his muscled form dressed all in black, arms crossed over his tactical vest. He glares a hole through Marcus’s forehead, expression severe, intimidating even by your standards.

“He did what he could, Leon.”

He catches your eye a moment, looks again with widened eyes, and his arms twitch open as if wishing to reach for you. To touch you.

Later, you mouth, and you witness a part of him die. Right inside this medical tent, surrounded by the aftermath of a city-wide apocalypse.

He wants to hold you, and you aren’t sure who he seeks to comfort most. You or him. Leon now, or Leon the rookie.

Marcus notices—the man notices everything unfortunately. He shoos you away, orders Leon to watch over you, to keep that finger intact. 

It’s probably lost anyway.

“I thought you quit,” Leon says, as you pull a crushed pack of cigarettes from one of the many pockets of your fatigues.

You stand outside the medical tent, and the headache-inducing smell doesn’t stop.

“Covers up the blood,” you say, lighting the end with a match. Half the tobacco’s fallen out and there’s a tear near the filter, but it produces smoke and that’s all you care about right now. “Not like I can smell any worse.”

You stink of death. A sickly sweet, metallic, rotting perfume that will take days to wash off, long after you’re home safe. The nightmares will come back. You’ll hate the color red for a while.

The blood mats your hair. Dirt packs under blunt-bitten fingernails. You’ve barely slept in two days.

You look like utter shit, near-death warmed over, and still—

Still, Leon dares to love you. He’s here, fresh off the bird. That’s proof enough. 

“You want to talk about it?” he asks, once the cigarette’s been half-smoked and your throat burns from something even worse than nicotine.

If you cry now, you won’t stop. You might drown in the wreckage, take everyone with you.

A better way to go than this, you suppose. 

“Don’t think I can right now.”

You crush the cigarette then, nothing but filter and ash, beneath the toe of your boot. Silently muse for a moment about littering, then look around to the plumes of smoke and the kicked-up dust and the wind-swept trash. The city will be flattened before the day’s end anyway, and you still have a few hours left to go.

The sun settles low in the sky, and the shift from yellow to bathing orange remains in infancy.

Two, maybe three at most.

“The second attack.” You look over at him with empty eyes, worn down and grieving. “They’re waiting for nightfall, aren’t they?”

He sighs, steps back to lean against the concrete wall. “It’s a hypothesis.”

“And you’re the back-up.”

“One of many.”

Leon… well, he isn’t a hopeful man these days. Years of counter-bio-terrorism will do that to you. But now, neck-deep in chaos, he looks hopeful. Maybe for your sake. Maybe for his own. But he looks hopeful, and you almost believe it, too.

“If I die—“

His posture stiffens, and he shakes his head. “We’re not doing this.”

“Leon. Just hear me out. Please.” When he gives nothing but a sigh in response, you continue. “If I die out there, and I don’t get to see you after this is done, you need to know that I love you. And that you deserve better than this.”

“Better than what?” His voice croaks out weak, and you understand how he felt back in the medical tent.

Need to hold him, feel his heartbeat, assure yourself that he’s alive and well and that all this is real. 

You deserve selfishness for once in your fucking life.

“Better than the DSO, and the violence, and all the hurt you’ve carried around since Raccoon City.”

He smiles soft at you, like a candlelight dinner, a late-night kiss, a shared bubble bath. An affection so potent that you almost damn propriety and embrace him right here on the bustling street.

“I’m glad you didn’t mention yourself.”

The smiles that stretches your lips is relieving. A power only he can possess, amusing you at a time like this. “God no. I’m the best thing that ever happened to you.”

“That’s debatable.”

“Excuse me?”

“Had a really nice bottle of tequila one time…”

“Tequila doesn’t rub your back so you can fall asleep.”

“Hey, anything’s possible.”

You’re in the middle of a war zone, and he has you laughing. And you realize, just as you did all those years ago, that you love him. Would die for him. Would rather die with him—but not like this, not here, ever.

“What are our odds?”

As you join him against the wall, looking out at the rush of people—police, BSAA, civilians seeking refuge—he leans toward you, victim to the same magnetic pull that brought you together in the first place.

“Redfield’s on his way.”

It’s all he says, and you choke out a laugh. “Shit. In that case, this battle’s as good as won.”

“Have you seen him recently?”

“Not since Edonia.”

“You’re in for a surprise, then.”

The dread that nibbles on your skull makes you fidget, and the concrete wall is rough as sandpaper, spikes catching on your clothes. “I don't like surprises.”

“You’re in the wrong field, honey.”

“Was that an affectionate ‘honey’ or a sarcastic one?”

“I save the sarcasm for everybody else.”

You nudge at his arm, and he stares down at you. Eyes full of stars, constellations, galaxies. As if your presence crafts his universe. “How sweet of you.”

“Don’t tell anybody. I have a reputation to uphold.”

Evening turns to sunset turns to night. The streets lay still, a tense silence as you wait. And wait. And wait. All you can do is wait.

Your CO demoted you to a last-resort-only combatant. Bullshit, far as you're concerned. Your friends—good people, with families and lives and struggles of their own—left to rot, and you have no place to lay your anger.

Well. Their empty graves, maybe.

The second wave begins shortly after sundown, and with the city’s power grid all but destroyed, you see nothing but the flashing of bullets. The spray of incendiary. Creatures howl and soldiers fire off coded phrases on the comms.

Raven Team down. Six K.I.A. Requesting backup on East Second Street.

Another frequency.

Three B.O.W.s spotted. Ready to engage.

Another.

I got wounded civilians, two children. Need a medic ASAP.

You vomit right outside the safe house. An effect of broiling anxiety, that feeling of helplessness that made you leave the military and join the BSAA in the first place. You’ve always hated it, and it returns furious, feasting.

You’re sent back to the medical tent. Diagnosed with a concussion. Confined to a cot with a cloth over your eyes to fight an oncoming migraine, to block out the lamplight. Years of training, of war zone activity make it easy to drift off, despite the echo of gunshots and the explosions rocking the tent.

When you wake, daylight seeps through the cloth. The fighting has stopped. The room remains silent.

You right yourself, and the change of scenery leaves you disoriented. Not the medical tent, actually. Not the city at all. A hospital room, with blaring white walls and ringing phones and the beep of your heart monitor.

The blood pressure cuff expands around your arm, and everything hurts.

Movement from the corner of your eye, and you look over to find Leon with a clear, plastic cup in hand. Your head pounds. The light from the large windows blurs your vision.

He realizes before you do. Fetches a bedpan from the corner-room chair and places it in your lap. And you vomit out an empty stomach.

You hate throwing up. Hate the state of your body even more—nothing but ache and soreness and the simple act of moving feels like muscles ripped clean from bone.

“Am I dying?” you ask, once he’s laid you back in bed and cleansed your mouth with lukewarm water.

“Not this time.”

“Everything feels so bad.”

“You look even worse. And I don’t say that lightly.”

“I wanna go home.”

“You can handle staying a few more days.”

Beneath the darkness of your eyelids, you reach for him blindly. His comfort is what you need—a childlike desperation that leaves you in tears.

You blame it on the pain.

His hand cradles yours, moving wires to place a soft kiss on the back of your hand, just above the scrape of skinless knuckles.

“Doc said you’ll be just fine. Just gotta get that fever to go away.”

“Fever?”

“B.O.W. blood can do a number on you.”

“Am I infected?”

“You have an infection, but the tests came back clear.” When your eyes blink open to look at him, he grins. Swipes a thumb beneath your eyes. “No superpowers for you, I’m afraid.”

You lean into his touch, the odd chill of his skin, and sigh out a long breath. “When we get home, can we order pizza?”

“Pizza. That’s what you’re craving?” said unimpressed, almost monotone.

“No. The good pizza from that family business near the house. Ya know, the one where the kids are always counting the money in the cash register.”

“Papa’s Pies?”

“Yeah. That one.”

He exhales a warm laugh, and his eyelids lower as he gazes upon you. Crafting galaxies. “Pizza it is, then.”

Leon stays true to his word. As soon as you arrive home and your appetite returns, you sit down to a meal of grand proportions. Most of it looks like leftovers to you. Not that you’re complaining.

You’ve been reduced to nine fingers, and the surgeon says the nerve damage to your arm is permanent, and you require frequent rest for the next month, but you’re alive. Leon’s unharmed. The good guys won. 

You should be happy. Right?

“Something’s wrong,” he says. Knows you well. Well enough that privacy and emotions cease to coexist.

“Just thinking.”

“About?”

You push away from the table, and your chair skids against the floor. “Everything that’s happened.”

“Can’t say I blame you. Wanna talk about it?”

You appreciate the offer, and he means well, but the wounds have barely healed and squeezed lemon sounds horrifically painful right now.

“I think I’ll take a rain check.”

He nods because he understands. Has been there before, time and time and time again. Maybe that’s why you feel so comfortable baring your hurts, flaying yourself open to expose all the decay.

You share in the nightmares, and the toxic coping, and the panic attacks. You supported him when he quit drinking. He stopped you when you craved to cut teeth on broken skin.

Where else would you be without him?

Dead, probably.

You stand up from your chair and collect your plate. “I’m gonna go take a bath or something. I need to relax.”

“What, no invite?”

“Oh, you’re very welcome to join me. Just thought you had calls to return.”

“Calls can wait.” He stands as well. Begins cleaning up the table. “Go ahead and start the water. I’ll be there in a minute.” You walk toward the sink, fully prepared to sort out dishes, but he stops you with a, “Leave it.”

You spin around to face him, and he raises his eyebrows at you. Daring, a pre-threat stare. “I can still do things, you know.”

“And I’m giving you an out. Take it.”

You set the plate on the counter and raise your hands in jesting surrender. Back away toward the bathroom. “Yes, sir.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“Don’t push it, Leon,” you call, rounding the corner into the hallway.

He laughs, a heart-swelling sound muffled by the bathroom wall.

If this is what the rest of your life could be, domesticity and love and rest, then surviving would be worth it.

The water scalds your skin as you sink beneath flower-scented bubbles. He keeps lavender stocked for situations just like this, a routine borne from some off-handed comment that the smell aids you in relaxation.

He strolls in some time later, already bare from the waist up. Takes a moment to shirk pants and underwear, then joins you beneath the steaming water.

If you felt well enough, you’d be jumping his bones right about now.

He complains immediately. Hisses a breath through his teeth. “Are you trying to melt your skin off?”

“I was hoping it would undo the nerve damage,” you grumble, scooting back to allow him room. The porcelain cools your upper back, makes the hair on your nape stand on end.

“That—what?” He tugs your legs over his hip, pins you with a furrow-browed stare.

“I don’t even know. Let’s just blame it on the concussion.”

Everything still blurs at the edges. Memory, thought itself. As if you never woke from that sleep. Sometimes, you question if you even did. 

You’re just so tired.

He massages a palm over your shin, pauses each time the flesh puckers into a raised line. The deep ones still remain—knife wounds, gunshots, claw marks. When you were younger, some mid-twenties optimist with your whole life ahead of you, the idea of permanence terrified you. A symbol of death, in your eyes. Death of happiness, death of freedom, death of beauty.

Look at you now. Married, twenty years deep into a hellish career, scarred from head to toe.

It doesn’t seem so terrifying now. Just a matter of life. A law of juxtaposition.

He kisses the curve of your knee, just below the jagged edges of an old burn. Your scars don’t scare him, either.

“We should go somewhere warm. Lay low for a while,” you say, hand resting on the knee he bent to fit inside the bath.

“Think that’s a good idea?”

“Have any of my ideas been good?”

He pauses to think, eyes roaming over floor tile. “The pizza. I think that’s it, though.” He heaves out a laugh when you kick him soft in the side, and a wave of water sloshes onto his chest.

“Seriously, though. We should take a vacation. Maybe we can drag Redfield along.”

His smile fades. “You wanna bring Redfield.”

“If anybody deserves a break, it’s him.”

“He can take his own vacation.” He moves your legs aside, hovers over you on his knees, braces a hand atop the lip of the tub. “Besides, I was hoping for some alone time.”

His brows raise in a silent suggestion. One you’re much too keen to follow through with.

You pull him into a kiss, tender and slow and lazy. A hand curls over his shoulder blade. You missed this. Him. The warmth, and the butterflies, and the comfort of his skin.

His knee slips against the slick bottom of the tub, and you hold him upright with a grip to each of his shoulders. Water sloshes over the side, puddles up on the floor, and you both stare at each other. Snort back a shocked laugh.

Bath over, you suppose.

“Well,�� you say. “I think we have a few bags to pack.”

[nosleep-onlyread]

selfish | aki x f!reader 

It’d be bad. No IUD, no condom, no birth control, no nothing, not to mention that the two of you were supposed to take things slow. This isn’t what you had discussed when you talked to each other about your limits a week ago. But Aki can tell you’re currently out of your mind, helpless with arousal—already fucked stupid even though he’s barely fucked you at all, only giving you the tip. 

You’d let him do anything right now.

(Or: After a lot of persuasion, Aki finally learns to take what he wants.) 

8.5k words of pwp with feelings, cisfem reader, references to an established relationship backstory (this is set loosely in the Bluebird universe, but you do not need to read Bluebird to understand this fic — more details on this in the endnotes, if you’re curious). NSFT tags: vanilla sex, pussy job, ‘just the tip’, oral sex, unprotected sex, creampie. Warnings: While the sex is consensual, please be aware that the reader does beg Aki to ignore some pre-established limits (and he gets horny enough to agree). 18+ ONLY.

When you and Aki decided to take the leap from complicated friendship to even more complicated romance, it had been a hesitant, difficult decision. There were many things that made the idea of a relationship seem futile, with the biggest one being his imminent death sentence from the Curse Devil. Aki knows that you’ve been dreading his passing for a long time now, knows that it’d be cruel to ask for your heart if he can’t give you a life in return. And as much as he’s wanted you for a long time now—hasn’t ever been able to kick the thought, not through cigarettes or work or even other women—there are few things he’d hate more than leaving you alone in two years, left with nothing but wasted time and a pile of ash.

So when you said to him that it’d hurt less to stay friends, Aki agreed. And he was ready to let you go then, because the last thing he’d ever want to do was hurt you. But you’d also been so close to him when you said this, watching him with tender, conflicted eyes as you brushed the hair out of his face.

Aki’s not a selfish man, but it did something to him, seeing you like that: finally in his arms, but so hurt, so hopeless. And he knew it was unfair, knew he had nothing to offer you, but he still couldn’t stop himself from pressing his mouth against yours and kissing you the way he’d been wanting to for years.

And you let him.

Keep reading

[nosleep-onlyread]

anytime u mention zhongli my cerebellum lights tf up. speak into the mic, beloved 🎤

✮ tags ; hard incest, dubcon + noncon, penetration, fem + afab!reader, 18+ and dead dove please read at ur own discretion!!!

also this is not genshin canon it is canon adjacent. its p short also.

✮ wc ; 1.3k

✮ a/n ; honestly this is not even gross as much as its deeply uncomfortable akjdsjk. dadcest romance edition but reader is so perpetually suffering

this takes place in the same universe as this fic between old god!zhongli and daughter!reader. it wont make much sense w out having read that

It's the tenderness that nauseates you most.

Or maybe the fact it doesn't nauseate you in the way you wished it would. The numbness is upsetting in it's own right. You are so detached from your beloved Archon that him being your flesh and blood is at the bottom of your problem.

More troubling is the fact his desire to monopolize you has evolved into something much greater.

Your father never tells you he loves you. You hope he never does. You think of it some grand irony if he did decide on romantics after everything that happened between you. He is a poised man, and he's troublesome. He talks with lithe and great self-confidence, and even more he loves to correct people.

Assuredly, his pride means he will never tell you he loves you. He won't utter the word, won't clumsily confess it as if everything is sane and sensible.

But, he's tender towards you. The habit has worsened since the first time he laid his hands on you. Split you open on his fingers while you whimpered out in desperation, clawed nails and archaic forms cinching around your waist and entrapping you.

He touched you, because you are his. You are his flesh, his blood, and his so distinctly. He is the God that wills it so, and so it will be written long after you die.

(You wonder if that will make it into the stories in the long after. You are half-blooded, and Father is bound to outlive you. But someday, he too will die, the kingdom will only remain in memory and parchment stained with ink.

What will they say then? Zhongli the Archon, and the only daughter he left alive? They will assume he loved you, then. You don't want to know if he loves you now)

He took few of your firsts, plucked them and kept them safely in the blackened skin of his palms and fingers. His, forever unto eternity. Marked with scent and pressure for the rest of your life.

You are a clever enough girl to know that Archons are not moral beings. They're intelligent animals, debauched. Some small part of him had hoped that your firsts were all he wanted. Stake his claim and discard you. Toying with you is an incomprehensible mercy.

But Zhongli is an old Archon, with refined tastes. He does not partake in things lightly, though he may lay with so many. Certainly, if he will something as his he wills it completely. The concubines in the palace view this as lucky.

For you it is nightmarish. The truth of the matter is this: your father will never tell you that he loves you, though he does in the most twisted sense. And your father, does not plan on abandoning you a second time. He does not plan to discard you, or only call you to lay in his bed and take pleasure from you.

You are, against all odds, his beautiful little girl. His godling, unrefined and unruly and his. The amber of his gaze comes alight for you. For a man who has never loved in his life, you are the closest he has to the feeling.

Your loneliness doesn't subside, with him or without. Some days though, you are able to forget he is your father so completely - it doesn't make you sick to spend time with him.

Most days, all you can do is remember. Most days, like today, you're called into his office. The door latches, and no one is allowed in. Sometimes, you accompany him in silence as he works.

Other days, like this one - he touches you. With the same romantic innocence that keeps you awake in the night, turned with your own disgust. A hand on the waist or lower back, a kiss (always on the mouth) or a nudge. The grief of your very existence allows him in, despite the small voice in deep in your mind to be let out. To pick up the bottoms of your long robes and run and run and run until you have left everything behind.

Today, in particular, something you said had swayed him. He was more demanding, more possessive, more tender in some ways. What it was exactly remains a mystery.

But it was enough to topple him over some imaginary edge.

So you're here with your legs on the edge of his desk, naked with your arms around his neck - and entirely conscious about the drag and weight of his cock against your cunt. You make a noise, so soft and girlish you want to throw up, and tuck your face against his neck as you heave.

He's big. Too big. Of course that'd be the case, half-dragon and half-man, but all Archon. Your body trembles as the weight pushes against you.

"There's nothing to be fearful of," He says, delicate as he hovers of you. Long strands of hair brush against your shoulders as his face gets close with yours "I would never make you suffer half-heartedly."

"But you would make me suffer all the same."

He smiles at you like he's proud, and you can't be sure if you're hallucinating it. You're sweating from all the prep work, from his fingers that stretched you wide enough to ache. You can feel it, feel the tip of his...cock against your hole. It is terrifying but you're wet. Responsive. He's made you this way with his other less innocent half-touches. There is nowhere to go.

He meets you with baffling affection. Kisses you forcibly and wraps his hand around your nape with your body as close as possible. It's a barely there distraction from the feeling of his cock entering you, taking you. It is unceremonious, and he is too big, and you are nearly so lost you aren't sure where to return.

He grabs your hips, and he eases himself into the tight, wet heat of your cunt. Unexplored once, now marked as his. His voice is warm against the shell of your ear.

"How does it feel?" He says, and his voice is pitched with what you can only describe as amusement. You want to cry. He always seems to incite tears in you "The very thing that made you connects with you again. It belongs to you as much as you to me."

If he was capable pageantry, you're those words would've been some kind of confession. Your heart sinks, your stomach forming a pit so dreadful. You cling to him closer even though it's not what you want to do, not really - and you moan like an animal that's been lashed with a whip

Too much too fast, you whimper noisily. You don't know what to do. He's taken this from you, too - like you predicted he would so long ago. Yet it stings, and it stretches and it aches. Stirs some cross between resentment and loneliness and makes you feel like you can't breathe.

You aren't sure what to make of it. That he's made you this way. Through neglect then affection, carved you down to your bones to remember that you're like him. He's part of you, even until death.

It's like the reality finally settles, and when it does - the man who's your father and the god that oversees everything has slaughtered every remaining edge. There are no borders or restrictions between you now. Just black-nailed claws ripping the heavens apart at the seams.

Yes, it is the tenderness that frightens you most. His cock sinks deeper and deeper, and when he bottoms out - he cradles you in his arms and showers you in attention. He gives himself to you. It occurs to you this slow destruction is also a kind of love.

You are so clueless a girl. You've forgotten such a simple truth.

Archons hold the most terrible grudges, and your father the most petty kind.

"You're a terrible man," You say, weakened and dizzy and still holding on "I'll never love you as much as Papa."

He stiffens. He grips tight, and thrusts and you remember.

You were talking about your papa.

He fucks you again, harder this time and punctuates the words with a a chuckle. He likes being tested.

"I'll make you love me. Just as I've made everything else of yours mine."

[nosleep-onlyread]

ari i came sprinting over when i saw u mention dad zhongli pls spare some thoughts <3

the girl at the altar (the man she prays to) | zhongli (morax)

✭ tags ; extremely dark content ahead, father/daughter blood incest, dead dove: do not eat, noncon -> dubcon, mild injury / blood (zhonglis claws cut readers thigh), the word r*pe is used in the text, also he tucks some hair behind readers ear but no mention of actual hair-type, manipulation, grief / loneliness, regret and mourning, oral (f!recieving), reader is so poor little meow-meow, 18+

✭ wc ; 3.4k (an astonishing number)

✭ a/n ; idk if i got my point across in this one </3 but i tried so i hope someone likes it at least fdjsdk. also sorry if zhongli is ooc he is techincally in his godhood here

also this is like. genshin adjacent. it's not canon but it takes after canon.

✭ synopsis ; you are indifferent to your father. he thinks you have the most beautiful eyes, even when they gaze at him impassively.

You've never met your father.

Haven't. The word would be hadn't, now. You hadn't met your father until you turned 18. And since he's calling you to his chambers, now, you figure that never isn't the right word anymore.

You hadn't met your father until you turned 18. And that's what you would expect from an Archon. They're fickle like that

That's what you've always believed. Perhaps you lack piety.

You're not his only heir. Not his only girl. You're his 7th daughter, but you're the only girl left alive. You live in the Western Hall and do all your own chores. Your mother died when you were 9. And you had never met your father.

All your food was brought to you by an old soldier you lovingly called papa.

Papa was the man you latched onto when you were young. He was mortal and kind - so much older than you. He died before you turned 18, and the only time you have so much as called for your father was asking for money to give him a burial.

Your papa was a mortal man. He had a bald head and all sorts of wrinkles and scars from fighting. His wife died in childbirth. And you loved him terribly, enough to expose yourself as living to a god who seems to have forgotten about you your whole life. He was a public official, but he brought you food and blankets during winter. Brought you sandals when you outgrew your old ones.

Neglect is not the worst fate of a daughter. There is always death so violent metal lingers in your mouth for weeks. There is always assault, always rape. Always worse fates for a daughter than neglect. And even though Papa couldn't raise you, he loved you enough to look after you when he could.

So, after he passed - for the first time in your 18 years of life, you requested the audience of your father.

He was unreadable. Divine. You didn't feel anger nor sadness in your heart. There had been an absence of anguish. To you, at that time, he was just a man and he just happened to sleep with your mother.

Looking back, you wish you would've cried. Would've wept blearily into the sleeves of silks, just so he would look at you with disinterest instead of intrigue.

Men are the same in that way. Perhaps it is ingrained in the God of Contracts to conqueror.

Your father had an aspect of impossibility to him. Something about him felt hungry. Often bitter, but never so much so to be displeasing.

Cold, despite the warm color of amber in his eyes.

("You've requested me for the first time," He says, pouring something into a long pipe "After living like a mouse for nearly 18 years. I'm curious. What brings you here?"

An undeniable intensity fills the room, but you do not waver. You lift your head and open your mouth.

"I want enough money to bury someone,"

He raises his brows.

"Who?"

Your expression changes. You can't contain yourself in this matter. You weep this time, wiping your eyes delicately.

"...My papa,")

After that came the rennovations.

Suddenly, the West Hall was full of life. There were maids and cooks and clothes. And the garden was green, and the fish pond was clean enough to be clear.

At that point, he did not visit. He sent one of his men, a Yaksha named Xiao, to look after you. Small but strong, and fierce but kind.

The whole palace buzzed with the noise of your name for weeks. You had visitors and guests - and suddenly found yourself brushing off etiquette you learned over 10 years ago. When the initial attention died down - there were gifts. Jewels. Silks. Tailors.

Of your siblings, only one of your brothers visited. The one who had visited you all the time even before catching your fathers eye. He merely bid you warning.

Do not be fooled. Do not be swayed.

So you weren't. You tried not to be. Your father was however persistent. The lack of correspondence brought him to you - and in spending time with you, it became so hard to ignore his leering eyes.

He looked at you like many men had before. But there was more to it than just desire, something to great for your comprehension

He didn't know how to act fatherly. Having a daughter is nothing like having a son after all. He could not spar with you, nor could he anger you to challenge.

("What an impassive face you make upon seeing me." He muses, tucking hair behind your ear. You don't feel disgust. You aren't sure what that is, lingering inside you.

"What face should I make?"

"Desperation. Longing for my affection. Sadness, or resentment."

You look at him honestly, a disinterest in your gaze that makes amusement swim in his eyes. He isn't cold, nor is he kind. He isn't disciplinary nor is he unreasonable.

Maybe it has something to do with being an Archon. Why your mortal heart cannot figure out the intricacies of his feelings. Though stories of war and bloodshed ring so loudly in your ear, you don't believe he will hurt you. He isn't that sort of man.

He is not mad, nor belligerent. You glance at him.

"To me, you are an Archon and nothing more."

He reaches for you, fingers outstretched as he runs his knuckle against your temple, thumb brushing your ear and pulling on your lobe. Only stopping to admire the jewels that he's given you. He hums.

"It's that part of you," He says, reaching for your hand - bringing your wrists to his mouth and placing a kiss on the vain "I find so endearing, my child." )

Your father wants to feel like your father. He wants you to long for him like a daughter does. You think that part of him is rather transparent.

His names became more affectionate. My child to my darling girl. Instead of you, it is your name - carefully wrapped up in linen. Instead of passive disinterest, it is amusement. It is flower, or dear, or princess with a lilt of affection.

Your father wants you to regard him as an Archon. As a man. This part of him is rather transparent. Because you know many men and how they look at you. You know he looks at you in such a ravenous way. But those eyes, and the ones that seem to regard you with fatherly fondness, are not so different.

You don't think he is a belligerent. A war-hero? Certainly. Able to spill blood and be forceful? Of course. Yet what you fear is not his tyranny.

He is ruthless. Ruthless in every pursuit. Ruthless in longing for you. Of all the things that make your stomach churn with unease, there is nothing quite like the look in your fathers eyes. Something so predatory and possessive that it crawls into your skin.

(The first time a letter came, from a son of a government official, to ask your hand in marriage - you only heard of it days after.

Not from him, but from the Yaksha who watches over you. He burned the thing in the fireplace and did not so much as blink. No one will have you but him. The message was already so clear, then)

Your father has summoned you, now to his chamber. The man you hadn't met until you turned 18, in the dead of night.

You do not run away, even when some part of you deep down screams. Your father is your father. Your blood. An archon. A vessel. Your father desires his daughter. You think there is no such thing so true.

That means both too much and too little to you. It means too much and too little to him, too.

You are cut from the same cloth.

The doors slide open for you once you've arrived at his chambers. He's sat directly on the floor, a robe with gold thread over his shoulders. There's a bandage over his stomach, over the side and under his arm and a look you can't decipher on his face.

He sounds more lax than you usual. And it leaves you with a sense of foreboding. You bow your head and offer the usual formalities. He chuckle's and lowers his voice.

"Come, child."

You furrow your brow, but you listen as you walk to him.

"Sit."

So you do. Too unsure to be anything other than obedient. You sit on your knees and your father stares at you. He leans forward and takes a deep breath, nose bumping against your shoulder. Heat rolls off of him in waves and he's never felt so much like a man to you. Your heartbeat quickens.

"You smell of flowers. Qingxin."

"The servants put them in the bath tonight."

"It suits you.'

You frown as he pulls away so slightly.

"Why have you called for me?"

"I wished to spend time with my only daughter," He says, not so much as stuttering in his words "Is that so wrong?"

Your frown deepens.

"What do you see in me that makes you so insistent?" You say, unsure if you are strong enough to keep the tremble out of your voice. It occurs to you now, and only now - how all these months have felt.

After papa died, it has been so much lonelier than ever. An aching left inside of you that you never tended too. You wonder if your father knew of it. If that's the reason he showered you in so much attention. A ruthless man like that, who wishes to have you.

You're sure that's something he's capable of. It makes you feel sick

Alone in this room with him, you can feel it more than ever. You are his daughter, so you are his.

And perhaps - a lifetimes worth of burden has befallen you all at once. Perhaps reality has settled on you now as the line gets more blurred. Your indifference towards him cannot outweigh your grief.

But from him especially. In a lapse of judgement, you ask "Why me?"

And your Father responds with laugh. With a troublesome self-assurance.

"You're unlike girls your age. Resilient. Not delicate at all. You grew up to be a fine young woman without any interference from me. The first I'd ever seen you make so much as an expression, it was over your beloved Papa," He says, thinking it over. He places a hand on your neck - thumb against your throat like he's searching for your pulse "So I'm curious, yet angered. What man has taken your affection from me? What can I do to receive it again."

His anger is so residual it sticks to your limbs. If your papa hadn't died before, he would've been dead by now. Uncertainty feels like swallowing a sword.

"Why didn't you tell me someone asked for my hand?"

"A young, royal girl like you cannot just marry any suitor. He wasn't worthy of your time."

The words leave your mouth before you are able to swallow them "And you are?"

This time he smiles at you. And he closes in and you feel disgust and anxiety - but that's not it. Not all. Because there is some vague anticipation for affection. It's all so wrong. A life time of such misfortune. You do not think he's a man with good will, but your mind seems to wander often. About the affection he's shown you when you were so swallowed in darkness. It makes it frightening. Makes your desire indistinguishable from your resentment.

He cups your cheek in the palm of his hand. You can feel how strong he is and your breath hitches. Your eyes grow watery, and you find yourself crying.

"What a pleasant face you make when you cry, my dear," He says, so softly it aches as his thumb rubs underneath your eyes "You grew to be so beautiful."

"I am your daughter, am I not?"

"Of course you are," He replies easily, eyes lidded and low "That is precisely why you are mine."

You swallow a sob into the back of your throat as he moves towards you. Just a little closer, a little more. His hair is untied, and it flows down his back in rolling waves. You look so much like your mother. There's nothing of him in you, not really.

Except that you are his, somehow. Even you know that.

"Look at how you weep," He says, tenderly. A hint of condescension "Do you wish for my pragmatism or my adoration? Don't be fickle."

"Why have you called me here?"

"I missed you," He says simply, pressing a kiss to your cheek so gently it almost feels like you're nothing more than this "I thought to call on you. That's all. Should I comfort you?"

You know what's coming when he asks you this. Your whole body does, a flood of heat in your skin as the Archon of Liyue leans in to press his lips to yours. He kisses like a married man, you think. His lips taste faintly of alcohol. There is a steadiness to all of it, an assuredness to his actions prevents you from wavering. He is your father and he is kissing you like a married man. But you are no mistress. You are just his, and his alone.

And every feeling and emotion twisted up so terribly inside you is burst. You push him but the gestures is weak. A longing for his comfort, and a hatred for his absence. The difference between this two things is minimal and unclear.

Your hands eventually fall to your sides and when you no longer protest - he pulls away from you with a smile. You think he's enjoying himself, nose nudged against your temple as he presses a kiss to you.

"Come."

He pulls you into his lap and your silks slip off your body. He undoes the belt arond your middle and everything comes loose. The sheer of your undergarments leaves you exposed more than you've ever been, bare shoulders in soft light overhead. You turn away from him but you cannot go far. His arm is underneath you in a second. He parts your legs where you have them, feet flat on the floor underneath you.

You are so bare. You've never let anyone see you like this, not even the boys who you used to sneak around and kiss when you were younger. Only your Father, the Archon above his people, has ever laid his eyes upon your bare skin.

You rest in the crook of his elbow, tuck against his chest. You can feel the strength of his leg behind you as you lay into him - face close to his chin and neck. Like a baby being rocked.

He's careful as he pulls the material off further. Your nipples are hard from the exposed air, and visible. He uses a free hand to squeeze the fat of your breasts in his palms.

The gesture leaves you gasping in shame, to which he only laughs.

"Boys must be falling at your feet."

"Aah, hn - there's n-no boys like that."

He twists your nipple lightly between his fingers, a faint scratch from his claws that makes you hiss.

"A father should be there for his daughters firsts, then."

He ducks his head to take them into his mouth and the stimulation is too much. A shame washes over you, melancholy that makes your heart feel like it's at risk of ripping. It feels good. And he is delicate, so kind that you hate it. It doesn't feel as if he is forcing you.

At least it is lacking in violence. Lacking in the sort of bloodshed a man like him knows well. It is tender.

It is an act of love. In some sick, twisted, vile way. It feels like an act of love and you have been so deprived of such a thing. You cannot outrun your grief. Your need is not absent from you.

So when he licks at you so gently, you let yourself be comforted by the gesture. He puts a free hand on your stomach as he does so, reaching lower and lower until his fingers are at the seam of your panties.

"If a boy tries to take you to bed, he should do this much," He tells you, middle fingers pressing into the slick soaked silk against your cunt. He touches your clit carefully "Women are delicate. They break easily if you don't prepare them thorough."

He shifts then. Moves away from you and grabs a pillow - handing it to you. You blink at him blearily.

"Lay and make yourself comfortable. I will hurt you otherwise."

You listen and your father follows suit. It's too much, too suddenly. To see him between your legs like that - your calf resting over his broad shoulders. It makes you let out a miserable gasp. Shame so overwhelming it almost swallows you whole.

There is something so wrong. Something abominable - a bone-deep knowing of how warped love has become. No matter how many times you try to deny it to yourself - the man between your legs feels as if you belong to him. In knowing you are his blood he is able to touch you this way.

It is so divine, in a way. An archon and their heir. A father and his daughter. What are you if not the manifestation of his whims? Of course he's angry you've grown out of his sight - to be something else.

He spreads your legs and peers at you with a sense of satisfication.

"Are you untouched?"

You want to cry. You want to shove him away. You whisper, below your breath "Of course I am,"

"Good," He leans, kisses your clit so tenderly you almost forget. But you can't. Not quite "No man should ever enter here but me."

He takes his time to look. Pushes back the trimmed hairs on your mound with a fond glow. A possession in his gaze as he peers at you. The words tick in your head over and over. You belong to him. Like it couldn't be clearer. Again and again, you think this.

"How gorgeous you are," He says, leaning his head. He kisses the hood of your clit and you cry.

"It's dirty." You say, unable to say much more. And he laughs at you, like a father might. That sense of knowing, the distance of life between you. He sticks his tongue out and the act shoots a bolt of heat through your spine. It's long. Not like yours, not at all.

"Nothing about you is dirty to me," He says easily, letting his tongue and teeth feel around your thighs as you gaps "How could anything about you be dirty?"

You don't think you're meant to find comfort in that but you do. And you watch as he settles him, his nose nudge against the hood of your clit. You can feel the wetness pool underneath you and you are so ashamed. His hands grip your legs tight - claws leaving red indentations. The faintest pricks of blood drip down and stain everything red.

But your father pays it no mind. He's only really focused on you. There's intensity in his eyes, the soft wet heat of his mouth against your sex. His tongue slides against your aching clit, building a steady pace until you can feel something strange in your stomach. Like everything inside of you is coiling slowly. It's a strange, heady sort of feeling.

It makes you feel out of control. And you're not in control of your body or yourself. Only him. Only your father there to soothe his little girl. You open your mouth in a warning - softly pleading for something you don't understand.

"S-something. Hngh, something weird. Feels like I'm gonna pee."

Upon hearing your words, he doesn't still. He keeps pace and hums. It feels like you're rushing headfirst into something - at a speed so intense you can't get your hands on the railing. You grab at his hair because it's the first thing you can think of.

A breathy laugh leaves his lips as you garble something so unintelligible. You feel like nothing makes sense anymore. If someone asked you to distinguish night from day - it'd be pointless. All you can do is hold. Is listen to your fathers words obediently and diligently. Like how daughters so often do.

"That's it. Just like that." He whispers as you convulse, continuing to touch you until you practically have to pry him. A feeling of dread follows the sensation of pleasure so overwhelming.

When you look down, your father is busy licking his lips. He looks bemused by you. Hot tears roll down your cheeks as you lie there.

He reaches for your face once more, leaning forward to kiss you a little more forcefully than last time.

"I'll teach you slowly. Our own special father-daughter time. That will be nice, won't it? So don't fret. And don't run," He draws his thumb along the light lesions on your upper thigh and hips, blood covered digit touching his tongue "We certainly have much to catch up on."

You hadn't met your father until you turned 18.

You wish you never had.

[nosleep-onlyread]

there’s a bluebird in my heart  | chapter one 

hayakawa aki x f!reader

On November 18th, 1988, the Gun Devil kills 57,912 people in Japan and displaces thousands more.

In a gymnasium full of grieving, starving strangers, you meet a boy who is as alone as you.

He’s the only thing you have, and the only thing you’ll lose.

8k+ words of childhood friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, and codependent relationships. chapter warnings for female reader and childhood trauma. thank you to @kureyuki​ for her incredible beta-reading and support with creative ideation! 

please remember to read the prologue (available on the masterlist)! 

November 30, 1997

If you looked into Aki’s heart, you’d find this:

The dingy, cramped space of an abandoned bomb shelter, filled with decrepit artifacts of life: an old umbrella riddled with holes; two futons laid side-by-side; a thin blanket scarred with a child’s messy needlework. Ants crawling over a watermelon split across a dirt floor, its rind decaying. The little ghost of a girl frolicking on her deathbed, and her older brother tucking her corpse into a basket. A tin of Sakuma drops, filled with ash instead of sweetness. Bass, woodwind, harpsichord, the flames of cremation—all layered over the sound of your quiet sobs.

Grave of the Fireflies comes out in 1988. In June 1989, Aki finds it buried in a pile of VHS tapes in the basement of his foster home and recalls that the title is critically acclaimed. He pops it into the VHS machine and rewinds, replays. The two of you watch the film at night, your bodies curled up against each other on the floor of a dark living room, faces lit only by the glow of amber insects and firebombs. In the last moments of the film, the spirits of two siblings—orphans of the Pacific War—sit atop a hill and study a view of modern Kobe. Its skyscrapers pierce a calm, blue sky, prosperous and indifferent to an audience of ghosts.

As the screen goes black, Aki hears a loud sniff.

“Are you crying?” he asks, and you freeze up.

Keep reading

[nosleep-onlyread]

there’s a bluebird in my heart  | prologue

hayakawa aki x f!reader

On November 18th, 1988, the Gun Devil kills 57,912 people in Japan and displaces thousands more.

In a gymnasium full of grieving, starving strangers, you meet a boy who is as alone as you.

He’s the only thing you have, and the only thing you’ll lose.

10k+ words of childhood friends to lovers, slow burn, and codependent relationships. Chapter warnings for female reader, childhood trauma and one implied instance of predatory behaviour from an adult toward children. Please see the masterlist for full story warnings, as well as the companion fic. 

The Devil has blue eyes.

The Devil has blue eyes, and handsome features, and full lips that curl in an disarming, honeysweet way. Fear crawls up your spine when you look at it, every nerve ending pulsing with the same electric instinct: run. Some part of you—instinct, animal, buried in the hindbrain—knows that the smile is a deception, a facade of humanity that veers into the uncanny valley: like an android with false skin, or a wax model encased in glass. The Devil has blue eyes, and a forked tongue, and a beautiful, unsettling face, and you know you cannot trust it.

It bends down to look at you, dark pupils fixed on yours, and runs a pale finger along the ground, disturbing lines of white chalk—the same white lines that are sprawling out beneath your bare legs. The moon-white dusts your skin as you shift closer to the creature, your palms and thighs staining with it.

“Will it hurt?” you ask.

“It’ll be worth it,” it deflects. It looks into your eyes, and you feel transparent, all your insides laid bare. Made vulnerable. The Devil has blue eyes and a kind smile, and it knows every inch of your heart: every crevice of its chambers, every earth-shattering pulse. Atrium, ventricle, cortex, medulla—desperation, despair, fear, fear, fear—all in plain sight.

Keep reading

[nosleep-onlyread]

I'm clutching on the bars rn pls give us more bf blade content before I explode

I GOTCHU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i'm joining you in rattling the bars of my enclosure .... bf blade is making me feel Things ... .

warnings: fem reader, not sfw implications

While changing into a new shirt, a deep voice drawls your name. 

Your heart jumps in your chest. If it weren’t for the recognizable timbre, you may have shrieked. It’s a small blessing that you’ve been spared this indignation. Huffing, you turn on your heels, pulling down the bunched-up fabric to cover yourself. 

“I thought you promised to stop jumpscaring me,” you chastise. 

The jumpscare in question — Blade — fixates on your previously exposed midriff. You note how his eyebrows pinch together, though you’re unsure what to make of it. He doesn’t acknowledge your comment. Not even with what Silver Wolf’s decreed his ‘limited NPC dialogue’ (a grunt, hum, nose exhale, or the occasional chuckle, solely procured by your antics). 

“Lift your shirt,” Blade requests. 

“Eh?” You stare at him like he has three heads. “Sorry, I’m waiting until marriage for that.” 

He gives you an unimpressed look. 

“Fine, fine, whatever,” you grumble, acquiescing to the strange demand, “And they said romance is dead…” 

Blade kneels onto one knee. Before you can reiterate the marriage comment was a joke, his gloved fingers hover over the sides of your hips. The leather is cool against your rapidly warming skin. Once you overcome your initial confusion, you consider his countenance. He’s frowning, his eyes playing host to emotions you can’t quite place. His thumb rubs circles into the skin, softly enough to be mistaken for a ghost’s kiss. He appears to be in deep thought. 

You’re rendered speechless — a most commendable feat. 

“These bruises,” Blade murmurs, his voice hollow and haunted, “Did I…?” 

Realization crashes into you like a meteorite. 

You yank the fabric down. “Well, uh, yes, but—” 

(He goes pale as a sheet, further increasing the urgency behind your words). 

“—It’s okay! You didn’t— it wasn’t— I didn’t mind,” you reassure. Clearing your throat, you continue, fighting against the embarrassment scorching you alive. “If anything, I… was into it, so…” 

You watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows thickly. His arms fall limp to his side as he mulls over what you’ve said, clearly unwilling to accept it at face value. Uncertain of what else to do, you join him on the ground, sitting on your shins. You take his face in your hands, brushing aside his bangs that’d obscured his eyes. His hair’s silky smooth, thanks to your products and insistence on combing through the knots. 

“Hey, old man,” you hum. “All that frowning’s gonna make you look your prehistoric age. You don’t want some young, dashing whippersnapper to steal me away, do ya?” 

Blade scowls. Smiling softly, you boop him on the nose, to which he scrunches it up. 

Your voice takes on a more serious cadence. “You didn’t hurt me. You could never hurt me. I trust you, so… trust me on this, okay? Just this once?” 

It’s gradual. He relaxes his shoulders, then the taut muscles of his face, basking in your closeness. He leans into your touch, reminding you of a stray cat that’s steadily being domesticated. You let the silence linger for as long as he sees fit. Eventually, his gaze meets yours. 

“... It’s a dangerous game you play, girl.”

I’m dangerous, the insatiable hunger in his eyes screams. I long to devour you, mind and soul. 

To this, you grin. 

“It’s a good thing I’ve already won, then.” 

[nosleep-onlyread]

Lock I need you to share something about Gojo. Jjk is getting worse with no hope in the future. Plis just a tiny part is god. 🙏🙏🙏🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

Detour.

Gojo Satoru x F Reader x Geto Suguru.

Warnings: Mild not SFW implications, Gojo and Geto are Not normal about you, exhibiting possessive behavior. Word count: 1.2k.

-Index-

"—Excuse me, miss!" 

The exclamation barely registers amidst the crowded street's ambiance. Everyone has a destination they're eager to reach, and you're no different. Unlike those native to the area, however, you're more likely to get lost; hence your current conundrum. 

You examine the mess of squiggly lines, blocks, and patterns intended to function as a map. 

Kagurazaka, Kagurazaka... c'mon, I know this one... it starts with the kanji for god or something, right? 

While you scrutinize the map, the same voice from earlier calls out again, this time beside you. You glance around, not wanting to respond if he’s trying to flag down someone else. In doing so, it becomes increasingly obvious that you’re who he’s been trying to grab the attention of. 

From the looks of it, he’s a man in his late thirties, wearing a suit that could use a good ironing. You can’t recall meeting him before. Then again, you’re not privy to everything that happens back on campus. Meetings with influential figures frequently occur without your knowledge. You only ever find out about them later when Satoru loudly voices his critical view on everyone who attended. You are wearing your uniform, it’s recognizable to those in Jujutsu circles. 

You’d rather not stir up a scandal by unintentionally snubbing a Zenin or someone equally important. With this in mind, you politely inquire, “Can I help you?” 

“That uniform… you’re a high schooler, right?” 

You nod, figuring that this confirms your hypothesis. 

“What year?” 

This question makes less sense. Maybe he wants to know your proximity to Suguru, or, far likelier, Satoru. These types always have their own designs for the pride of the Gojo clan. 

“I’m a second-year.” 

“I see, I see,” he begins rummaging through his blazer’s inner pocket. He procures a business card and holds it out. “How about a job? From the looks of it, you’d make a good fit.” 

You blink. 

Are you… allowed to do freelance work? You’ve heard of specific sorcerers being requested for jobs, but that’s always been through the school. Besides, as a Grade Three, you don’t think you can go on unsupervised jobs. Not wanting to seem rude, you reach out to accept the card— 

—Only for it to be intercepted. 

“Sorry, she’s completely booked,” a voice that sounds the furthest thing from apologetic chimes in. 

Gojo Satoru stands to your right, adorned with his circular sunglasses and trademark grin. He rips the card in half without so much as a second thought. You stare at him, incredulous. Questions swarm around your head. When did he get here? How didn’t you notice him until now? Why does his cursed energy have such an unnerving quality to it? 

He bends down and hangs his arm around your shoulder. “You’re somethin’ else. Ignoring Suguru and I’s calls, chatting up strange men in Kabukichō… I swear, we can’t take our eyes off you for a second.” 

“Wh— I’m not chatting anyone up!” You whisper yell. His infinity nullifies enough for you to jab a finger at his chest. “Why can’t you give better directions?! ‘West of the Edo Castle’ doesn’t tell me anything, it just sounds like a TV drama!”

Satoru shrugs. “Should’ve just asked an auxiliary manager to drop you off.” 

“You might treat them like a personal taxi service, but I’d rather not. Taking the train’s fine.” 

The man finally overcomes the shock inflicted by Satoru’s audacity, taking a step forward. “What are you, her boyfriend or something?” 

“Bleh, no!” 

“Future husband.” 

Yours and Satoru’s responses come out simultaneously. 

“In that case—” 

“Excuse me,” A new presence interrupts the increasingly irritated man. Suguru wears a friendly smile which somehow comes across as more menacing than Satoru’s wolfish grin. He places a hand on the man’s shoulder. “You are aware that it’s a minor you’re trying to recruit, correct?” 

The man flushes at the accusation. “Listen, I dunno what you’re trying to accuse me of—” 

“I’d hate to see you get in trouble for a mistake like that,” Suguru cuts him off again, raising his voice ever so slightly. This attracts the attention of some bystanders. “Who knows what consequences that’d result in, especially for a married man like yourself…” 

Huh. You hadn’t even noticed the gold band on his ring finger. Suguru’s nothing if not perceptive. 

Nearby commuters whisper amongst themselves while eyeing the scene. The man’s gaze flits between a self-satisfied Satoru and an overly polite Suguru, eventually settling on an escape route. Wordlessly, he departs, although you swear you overhear him muttering ‘crazy kids’ and ‘doomed girl,’ along the way. 

“Yo, Suguru. Took you long enough.” 

“Unfortunately, not all of us can teleport.” 

“Your curse did a better job at tailin’ me than you.” 

Ignoring the jab, Suguru dusts his hands off while honing in on you. “You alright? You weren’t answering our calls.” 

“And you’re late,” Satoru whines. He helps himself to searching through your purse, taking your pink Razr hostage. “Huh. Battery’s dead.” 

Suguru appears content. “What’d I tell you?” 

“If she’s blocked me before, the same could happen to you.” 

“I wouldn’t block Suguru.” 

“She wouldn't block me.” 

This time, it’s you and Suguru who speak concurrently. Satoru pouts, putting his hands up like he’s under attack (which he probably believes himself to be). You snatch your phone back without issue, unlike when he last stole it. He unblocked himself and dangled it above your head until you promised you wouldn’t do that again.

“And here I was, about to treat you both to pastries,” Satoru sighs, melodramatic as ever. 

“While we were waiting for you, I noticed creampuffs and macaroons on the menu; which would you recommend?” Suguru inquires, not bothering to acknowledge Satoru’s complaints. 

“That depends on what you want from the experience,” you mimic his decision. “Creampuffs tend to be one flavor, whereas macaroons come in multiple, so the variety’s nice. When I get a variety pack, I always end up disliking one of the flavors and wishing I’d just gotten my favorites instead.” 

Satoru sighs as loud as he can. “Right, right, I’m just a walking wallet. Let’s get going before someone else solicits [First].” 

“Eh?” You turn your head to face Satoru. “‘Solicits?’ As in…?” 

“Se—” 

Suguru slaps a hand over Satoru’s mouth. “What he means to say is that this isn’t the best area for a high school girl to linger.”

“W-Wait, hold on! I thought he was like a… er, how would you say that… sorcerer employer?” 

They both stare at you. 

“You do know what Kabukichō’s famous for, right?” Suguru tentatively asks. 

“Hm? ‘Kabuki’ is a type of traditional theater, isn’t it?” 

“...” 

“...” 

“Let’s just show her what we mean,” Satoru bends down, picking up two halves of the business card he split in half earlier. “It’ll be a good lesson. I’d rather not have to come fetch her in this place again— oh.” 

Suguru inspects what has the power to shut Gojo Satoru up. You watch as his eyes move back and forth, his face shifting while he does so. His lips narrow into a thin line when he pulls back. Curious, you stand on your tiptoes, hoping to catch a glimpse yourself. Thankfully, there’s yomigana above some of the kanji you don’t recognize. This eliminates any possibility of you misreading the card’s contents. 

‘Oh’ indeed, you think. That poor guy…

It’s a business card for the company that oversees AKB48. 

[nosleep-onlyread]

He’s Just Not That Into You

pairing:  jordan li x reader

summary: a hopeless romantic, you keep looking for love in all the wrong places, with all the wrong guys. that is, until you meet jordan li, who takes pity on you and tries to help you learn when a guy just isn’t into you.

gif credit: artemidosgifs

“You good?”

"Huh?" Dazed and drifting, you look up from your incredibly important task of peeling off the label for the worst tasting artisanal beer ever created.

You quickly remember why you focused on the task in the first place. The lighting at this party sucks. It's mostly dim, to try and hide all the unsavory things happening in every corner of the house. The brightest bits of it are all flashing. Neon blue. Neon red. Neon green. As if anyone has ever looked good in neon green lighting. That plus the never-ending movement of people dancing is enough to make you sick.

"Are you good or are you starting to tweak?" Your eyes adjust enough to see who's talking and you sit up straighter. Jordan Li. Number #2.

She's wearing her ever present scowl that makes you study extra hard in Brink's class. You don't ever want to be in the position to have to ask for clarification on an assignment or further guidance. Brink's so busy being renowned that he's a pretty absent teacher, if you're not one of his favorites. Everything menial falls to Jordan.

"I'm good! Totally good. Just vibing, y'know."

Jordan stares down at you, looks back out onto the sea of partygoers, "What vibe do you think you're matching?"

“Excuse me?”

"You've been sitting here for almost twenty minutes. You've barely moved. Did you take something?"

"No! I.... I didn't take anything. I'm just enjoying the atmosphere."

Jordan rolls her eyes, takes the beer bottle from your hand, and then takes your hand itself. She pulls you to your feet, easy, despite the way you go limp at the last second to try and stay seated. Without a word she begins to pull you through the crowd. Bewildered, you follow.

She doesn't stop till you're outside on the porch. Surprisingly, no one else is lingering. But the air has a chill that's pretty biting for an early day in fall. You take a deep breath. You hadn't realized how loud the music really was. How overwhelming every smell. The itch that crawled across your skin with each jostle of a body coming too near.

"Yeah, you look like you were really enjoying the atmosphere." Jordan drawls, leaned up against the railing, observing you.

Your first instinct was to say 'fuck you' to that, obviously. But at the last second you remember she is your TA and is probably doing all the actual grading for every assignment you turn in.

You force a smile, "Thank you. Guess I was feeling pretty anxious."

"What are you even doing here?"

"Should... I mean, I was... invited? If that's what you're asking. Although I think crashing parties is pretty typical college stuff, even if I wasn't-" 

“Not what I meant.” Jordan interrupts, “I mean you don’t usually go to parties. I never see you at any of them.”

“Maybe we just run in different circles.”

“Not really. You’re in the top ten now. What did you jump to, number 6?”

“Seven, actually.”

“Really? Well, won’t be long. Number 6 is a dick. He’ll be easy to knock out with the type of stats you’re pulling this year.” 

Somehow, this compliment bewilders you more than anything. Jordan must see it on your face, because she rolls her eyes again. 

“I keep an eye on the competition. Even if you are just a sophomore.”

“Okay, Junior.” You narrow your eyes at her. She narrows hers back, which feels like overkill, because she was already glaring. 

“So, what are you doing here?” 

“Did they hire you to be the bouncer for this party?” 

“Jesus, ‘m just making conversation. You looked like you were gonna hurl in there. What? Did your friends drag you here then ditch you?” 

“My friends would never do that. That violates the party safety rule. Arrive together, leave together.”

“Oh of course.” She says, nodding in a way that feels sarcastic. 

“I actually came without my friends.” You say, standing up straighter. Proud of yourself for stepping out of your shell even if it ended on a sour note. 

“You did?” Jordan raises an eyebrow. You deflate a little at the shocked tone. Even your TA thinks you’re lame. 

“Well…. I was supposed to meet someone here. But they… I dunno, I must’ve missed them. Or whatever.”

“Who were you supposed to meet?” 

You hesitate for a second, but they impatiently gesture for you to go on. So, begrudgingly you admit to, “Uuuuh… Andre?” 

“Andre?” In the blink of an eye they shift, and take a step closer. As if he wants you to see the disbelief on his face as clearly as possible. “How do you know Andre?” 

“What happened to we run in the same circle?” You snap back. “Andre’s top ten.” 

“Andre’s a fucking nepo baby.” Jordan scoffs

“Aren’t you friends?” You frown.

“Andre barely shows up to class, he knows why he’s top ten, trust me.” Jordan says. “Andre invited you?”

“Yes, Andre invited me. We were at the club last week and you know…talked.”

“You were at the club? You’re changing it up like crazy this year, huh L/N?”

“Lot of good it’s doing me.” You sigh. You twist the sleeve of your top, wrinkling the fabric. You’d spent hours picking out the perfect outfit that looked like you weren’t trying too hard, but brought out all your best features.

Jordan’s face twists, you’d almost mistake it for sympathy, “Did you see Andre at all tonight?”  

“Did he come here with you?” 

“Would you like me to lie or tell you the truth?” 

You sigh, moving to sit down on the porch steps, emotionally and socially exhausted. “It’s okay, I already know the answer.”

A moment of silence before Jordan moves to sit beside you. He offers back up the beer he took from you earlier, “You look like you could use a drink.” 

“Eh, you have it. If you’re not a germaphobe. Thanks for rescuing me.”

Jordan shrugs, takes a sip and almost spits it right back out, “God it tastes like fucking piss.” 

“You weren’t very nice to me during the rescue, so you didn’t deserve a warning.” 

“Well fuck me, I guess.” He laughs, staring at you. He let’s out a sigh of his own, “So which line did he use?” 

“Huh?”

“What did Andre say to you?” 

“He didn’t use a line.” You protest. 

“Andre doesn’t know how to do anything but use a line. Wait! Lemme guess,” Jordan looks you up and down before glancing at a few rings on your hand. “Were you wearing those?” 

You stare back at him. 

“Well?”

“Yes, I was, why?” 

“Did he come up to you with one of them and ask if you dropped it?” 

“.....Maybe. I repeat, why?” You ask, stomach twisting.

“Cause he slipped it off your finger with his powers so he’d have an opening. It’s his go to for girls that look shy. Seen it a million times.” 

“Oh, well, that’s lovely, actually. Fuck me!” You groan, laying back against the steps and throwing your hands over your face. “You’re really good at comforting people, did you know that?” 

“I’ve been told to work on it.” 

“Clearly not enough.” 

“Just didn’t want you to fall for the bullshit any more than you already have.” 

You scrub your face harshly, trying to ignore the tightness in your throat. “Sorry. Do you like apples? I can put a nice shiny one on your desk Monday morning as a thank you for the solid.” 

“Are you about to cry?” Jordan asks, bewildered.

“No.” 

“Over Andre Anderson?”

“No!” You sit up, glaring at him. He glares back. “Not exactly. It’s just… I don’t put myself out there a lot. So it sucks. That I tried… and all I got was a guy who fed me a line he’s used a million different times on a million different girls, who then ditched me at a party he invited me to. I should’ve just fucking stayed home.” 

You sniffle and then remember who you’re actually talking to and how awkward it’s going to be to see their face Monday morning for class if you keep spilling your guts. You stand up abruptly, already planning on apologizing for whatever you said while you were “drunk” tonight. You’re opening your mouth to make your excuses, already taking steps away from the stairs when Jordan reaches out, grabbing you gently by the wrist. 

“Wait! I’m… sorry, I mean-”

“Why are you sorry?” You sniff, “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I could’ve… I could’ve been nicer. About telling you. About Andre.” Jordan pulls you to sitting back down beside him, slowly, so you can pull away if you really wanted to. 

“It’s okay. I should’ve known better.” You say quietly. 

“Hey, no. I made it sound like he’s super obvious about it but he’s honestly pretty smooth. His only hobbies are picking up girls and cocaine. He could make… fucking, I dunno, Ellen Ripley blush if he had the prep time! It’s really not your fault.” The comment surprises a wet laugh out of you and Jordan smiles, bumping your shoulders together. 

“Thanks, but he probably was obvious. I just… don’t see stuff like that coming very well.” You laugh bitterly.

“What do you mean?” 

“I apparently just can’t tell for shit when a guy is actually into me! Or just… entertaining himself.” You sigh. 

You and Jordan sit in silence for a second. You have no clue what’s going on in his head. You see him tapping his finger on the beer bottle, the sound of his rings the only noise for a moment. 

“I could help you.”

“Help me what?”

“I could teach you how to spot when a guy is just being an asshole or when he’s serious about you. So this doesn’t happen again.” Jordan shrugs, taking another swallow of the beer, flinching again at the taste. 

“Piss kink or short term memory loss?” 

“Offer retracted.” Jordan laughs.

“Why are you offering in the first place?” 

Jordan shrugs, looking out in the distance, “You’re… cool, y’know. Think of it as a welcome to the top ten gift. You’re only gonna get more and more attention now that you’re there. You’ll need to be able to sniff out bullshit or you’ll get eaten alive. No offense.”

“I’ve been in the top ten for the last six months.” You scowl. 

“Mazel tov.” 

“Dick.” You scoff, fighting back another laugh. You and Jordan make eye contact and both lose the battle, laughing together. 

You take a deep breath once the fit passes, “This isn’t a top ten humiliation ritual of initiation thing, right?”

“I’m way too busy to waste my time doing stupid shit like that.” Jordan says, familiar glare falling back onto his face.

“Sorry, rough night, had to ask.” You say sheepishly. “Offer still open?” You smile, extending your hand out for a handshake.

“Yeah, offers still open, L/N.” Jordan rolls his eyes, but he does shake your hand.

“So, number’s one pretty obvious but we have to establish the basics because you told me you were hopeless.” Jordan sips her chocolate milkshake. 

“Didn’t use the word hopeless, but sure.” You mutter, tossing a fry into your mouth and frowning at the lack of flavor. “Hit me.”

“If he calls off plans with you all the time he’s not interested. If he doesn’t give you as much heads up as humanly possible before he has to cancel a plan or bail then he might actually hate you.” 

“You’re exaggerating.” You scoff, shaking extra salt onto your fries.

Jordan reaches over, stealing one of your now delicious fries to dip it into her milkshake. “It’s a type of power play. Too many reasons to name why a guy might feel the need to pull something like that but we don’t wanna get too complicated. All you need to do is memorize the red flags and run when you see them.” 

“Okay…. follow up question, what would you consider to be ‘all the time’?”

“If you just started seeing each other and he cancels two dates in a row without desperately trying to make it up to you he doesn’t give a shit.” Jordan steals and dips another of your fries. 

“What about emergencies? Like… I dunno, a funeral? What if his Aunt died? So he cancels that one date. Then the next one he tries to plan his car breaks down or something, you know?” 

“He should call an uber and get to the fucking location of the date come hell or high water. That’s what a guy who likes you is gonna do. Don’t over complicate, L/N.”

“Oh and you don’t think you’re over-complicating the process of eating my fries?” You smack at her hand as it reaches for your plate for the umpteenth time during this lunch. “You could have ordered fries. Why didn’t you order fries?”

“Didn’t want any until I saw yours.” She tries again but you see the movement coming and block her hand, again. You did not notice the second, slightly sneakier hand that does successfully carry out the theft. 

“Did you just juke me over a fry? 

“Yeah, and I won.” 

You toss a fry at her and laugh when she manages to catch it with her mouth. Asshole.

You sit on the corner of Jordan’s desk, watching as he finishes up some last minute work that Brink asked him to do before heading out. You’d offered to meet back up later but he just shook his head and said it wouldn’t take long.

“What if he’s just a private person?” You ask, kicking your feet lightly. 

Jordan looks up from his laptop and frowns at you, “Why are you trying to invent exceptions to the rules? The rules are there to help you. Can you say that for me, L/N? Can you say the rules are there to help me?” 

“The rules are there to help me.” You repeat back, mocking their tone. 

“Thank you.” Jordan smirks at you, “Like I said, if he’s hiding your relationship from the world then he’s not serious about you. He should be introducing you to people. You should be on his social media. People should not be shocked you exist when meeting you. All that bullshit.” 

“And if they’re a private person?” You challenge.

Jordan pushes away his laptop, turning to face you. “Fuck me. The types of guys you’re gonna be around as a hero are all gonna be doing the same stuff as you. There’s gonna be a certain level of our life that’s always in the spotlight. Minimum of two posts a week if he’s constantly posting in general.” 

“I don’t post very much.” You counter.

“You should be posting more. Especially as a top ten. There’s no reason you shouldn’t be number 6 right now. You need to be more active on socials.” Jordan gives you a look before going back to typing. Two weeks ago that look would have put you on the verge of tears. Now you roll your eyes.

“I’ll think about it.” 

“It was an order as your TA, actually.” 

“Oh god, an order? I’m shaking in my boots.” You tease, playfully kicking his chair. 

“That just knocked your essay from a B- to a C, congratulations.” Jordan quips. 

“You were gonna mark my essay a B-, you dick? You know damn well I don’t turn in B- work. Who do you think-”

The rest of the afternoon is lost to playful outrage. The papers get graded late. Yours comes back an A+. No one besides you has gotten a grade of + anything since Jordan became TA. 

“Okay, so this is one with a grey area.” Jordan says.

“Oh no.”

“Shut up. If he never gets jealous that’s a red flag.” 

“But-” You sit up from where you’re laid out on the blanket you threw on the ground to better soak in the last warm rays of September sun. 

“I am not saying go out with some overly possessive fucking maniac.” Jordan cuts you off. 

“Be specific, Jordan. You can’t give me rules with built in exceptions. I’ll fail. Is that what you want? You want me to fail, Jordan? That’s messed up-”

“Shut up-” Jordan laughs, shaking her head. “Listen to me, if a guy never gets jealous he just doesn’t care at all. The most namaste, enlightened dude on the planet will get jealous in the right situation. I’m not saying tolerate anything crazy. It’s just good if he like… responds, when you say you’re going to study alone with another dude at 9pm, in the guy’s dorm... while his roommate is gone.”

“Is studying alone with another dude, in his dorm while his roommate is gone, okay as long as it ends before 9pm?”

Jordan rips out grass from the ground and tries to sprinkle it onto your face. You put up a force-field and laugh when she sticks her tongue out. 

“He’s gotta give you his full attention. When he’s with you, he’s with you. Everyone gets distracted. But if his head is always somewhere else, every time you see him, he just doesn’t like you.” Jordan swipes at your head, fast enough to be a challenge to dodge but not hard enough to hurt you had the hit connected. 

You go in for a kick yourself and he practically twirls out of the way. You try twice more, managing to evade his own hits just barely. 

Breathlessly, you gesture for a time out and Jordan sighs, “We gotta get you better at hand to hand.”

“That’s what my shields are for.” 

“The way you use your shields is really good. You’ve gotten a lot more creative this year. It’s why you’ve been jumping ranks so fast. You’re powerful.” 

The earnest tone he uses makes you lift up from the hunched over position of misery on your knees, “You think so?”

“Well…. yeah.” He clears his throat. “But you can’t get lazy. What if someone wears you out and you don’t have any energy left for them? No more shields. You need to be able to fight.”

“If I don’t have any energy left for my shields and my only option left is hand to hand combat, respectfully, it’s my time.” 

Jordan rolls his eyes, “Break’s over. Back in position, stay on your toes more so it’s easier to move, okay?” 

You’re about to get back into form when you hear calls of Jordan’s name from across the arena. You turn and see Luke and Cate coming over, wide grins on their faces. You give them a small wave and they both wave back, incredibly eager. 

You’ve always been friendly with one another but the strength of enthusiasm is… strange. Enough to make you blink in surprise.  

“Thought you said you were super booked up this week doing stuff for Brink? Absolutely no free time.” Cate asks, staring Jordan down. 

“This isn’t free time. I can’t slack on hand to hand combat training. It’s important.” Jordan stares Cate down even harder. 

“Why didn’t you ask me?” Luke asks casually. 

“Jordan saw my form in a video I just posted and apparently it was ‘despicable’ and ‘the most insane way he’d ever seen anyone do that before’. He rushed over to show me what the ‘right way to do it is’. Control freak.” You fake a cough as you say the last part.  

“You were gonna hurt your back!”

“Super healing.”

“Super herniated disc.” Jordan quips back and you scoff, shoving him. 

He shoves you back with an eye roll, fighting back a smile.

“How ungentlemanly of you.” You gasp. A shift, and she shoves you again making you laugh, “and unladylike!”

“You shoved me first!” 

“Children, please try and be civil we’re in public.” Luke cuts in and you almost jump at the sound of his voice. 

It’s easy to get lost in your own world when you’re with Jordan. You turn to be politely facing your classmates and not just Jordan, wearing a sheepish smile. 

“Stop teasing them. They’re cute.” Cate smiles.

“Anyways, you guys need something?” Jordan asks.

“We can’t just hang out? Are you trying to get rid of your best friends?” Luke asks.

“Yes.”

“Jordan!” You bump her with your elbow. 

“Okay, okay. We’ll leave you alone. Wanna grab lunch with us after though?” Cate asks, looping her arm through Luke’s.

“You feeling up to lunch, L/N?” Jordan looks over at you.

With three unexpected pairs of eyes on you, you fluster. “If you go easy on me for the rest of training, yes.”

“Not a chance.” Jordan snorts. “We’ll be there though. Now scram. L/N needs a lot of help.”

“No, I fucking do not!” You protest.

The two of you don’t notice Luke and Cate walking away trading looks.

“When you don’t know really know anything about him, it’s not a good sign.” Jordan tilts the bowl of popcorn towards you. 

“And what do you mean, specifically, by knowing anything about him?” You ask, taking some pieces and throwing them back.

“Has has ever shared his feelings? Talked about his personal life? If you don’t know anything besides the superficial stuff he doesn’t care about you.” Jordan states. “You also need to look out for him not knowing anything about you. Does he give you space to open up? Does he remember the shit you do tell him?”

“Got it, so just look out for the superficial surface level conversations if you never have any deeper moments.” You say.

“Exactly.” Jordan says before her eyes snap back to the screen suddenly. “Did they say they’re gonna try and make that house feel more ‘open concept’? What the fuck is their problem?” 

“Huh?” You look back to Jordan’s TV, which is playing Property Brothers. “You got a problem against open concept?” 

“I have a problem with every house being made to look the same, inside and out. It’s bad enough new houses don’t have unique floor plans. Now we’re taking houses that were unique and fucking them up till they’re boring! What ever happened to individuality? I bet they’ll paint the walls grey too. Fuck me.” She huffs, leaning back against the couch. 

“Are you really into this show or just really into design patterns?” You ask, charmed at her passion for something completely random. 

“A bit of both.” Jordan says. “I wanted to be an architect. Before I got my powers.” 

“Shut up! No, you did not.” 

“I did.” She laughs, “I used to draw up plans and torment my parents with them every hour of the day.”

You spend the rest of the afternoon talking about your hidden passions. 

You even get the honor of seeing a few of the sketches Jordan made years ago. They were crinkled at the edges, pencil markings dull with age in some places. You smiled down at the folder Jordan keeps the drawings in. When you look up, finally, to compliment them you notice a strange look on Jordan’s face. 

Thinking you’d made her self conscious with your long silence you wrapped an arm around her and told her she would have made a hell of an architect. And probably killed someone with the utter lack of load bearing beams in her structures. 

You expected her to shove you off playfully but she only leaned into you and smiled, flipping to the next page of the folder.

When you get back to your own dorm room, moon high in the sky, you have to stifle a laugh. The latest post on Jordan’s Instagram is a picture of you standing with your hands on your hips in the middle of their room, looking baffled. 

The caption: I handed her the remote and walked away for five minutes. We’ve been looking for almost an hour #jesus christ #banned from room 4ever. 

You step out into the hallway and call Jordan up, demanding they take down their character assassination attempt because you two only looked for 26 minutes, actually. 

They refuse. 

You’re so incensed by the exaggeration that you wind up back outside Jordan’s dorm room not ten minutes later. When she opens the door, and sees you standing there, she bursts into laughter. She drags you inside, and when you ask her when the ban got lifted she just throws you on the bed. You spend the rest of the night arguing semantics. 

You and Jordan were sitting in the ground floor of the school’s library where you were allowed to talk quietly. You were teaching them how to fold paper to make little stars while they were teaching you how to make the perfect paper airplane. 

“Are you filled with barely suppressed rage? Why is it so damn wrinkled?” You laugh at their mangled star.

Jordan grabs another piece of paper with a huff, pushing her bob back behind her ears. “You are shit at giving instructions. This is impossible. Do the steps slower again.” 

“I’m sorry, I’m actually not capable of slowing myself down times 3 like a Youtube video.” You tease.

“Fuck you.” Jordan kicks you under the table with her foot. “Again. Show me.”

“You start with this corner here, then you twist it over here, next you wanna-”

“Hey! Hey! What’s up people!” You and Jordan turn in perfect sync to hiss at the person to be quiet only to find that person to be Andre Anderson. 

You turn back towards the table, Jordan moves an arm to curl around the back of your chair. 

“Hey.” Jordan says flatly. You make some noise that you hope passes for a greeting.

“Sorry, too loud. So this is where the party is, huh? What’re you two doing?” Andre grabs a chair on the opposite side of the table and you frown, focusing intensely on the paper before you. 

“Don’t you have a class right now?” Jordan asks sharply.

“Blowing it off.” Andre grins back.

Jordan scoffs. You only notice your shoulders are practically up to your ears when Jordan puts her hand there and rubs. You relax, letting out a quiet breath you were holding. Jordan gives you a squeeze. 

“Awww, you making little stars? Cute. Wanna show me how, F/N?” Andre has the nerve to sound flirtatious. 

After ditching you without a word and radio silence to back it up. To really make sure there’s insult to match the injury. You clench your jaw. Keep moving your hands. Try to zone out. 

The hand on your shoulder gets bigger and so does the thigh that brushes against yours under the table. “Could you fuck off for a bit? We’re trying to relax after our exams this morning.”

“Ouch. Didn’t know you couldn’t relax with me around, man.” Andre bites back. “F/N, you want me to stay, don’t you?” 

You get up from the table abruptly. The sudden sting in your eyes doesn’t even allow you you to collect your things. Your chest feels tight. You have to just get out of here. You hope in a school of future superheroes no one will steal your stuff. You think you hear calls of your name from behind you. Some yelling. Your ears are ringing too much. You break into a sprint. 

You can’t even make it to your dorm. You have to settle for tucking yourself into the first patch of trees behind a building you can find. You try to fight back the tears. One breathe. Two. Three. Try to focus on the birds chirping somewhere above you. But the memories are all flooding in at once and you start to cry. Heaving, chest burning sobs.

“F/N. F/N. F/N, hey look at me.” You zone back into the world to Jordan pushing your hair away from your face and you sob.

“Fuck me, I’ll kill him. I’m sorry. I didn’t know you’d get so upset. You seemed like you didn’t care after that night… I-  I’ll fucking knock his teeth in.” Jordan hisses. You’d thought you’d seen them angry before. But their face has never looked like this.  

“What’s… are you having a panic attack?” Jordan asks, still petting your hair gently. You manage to nod. “Is touching you okay? Is it making it worse?” You push yourself into his hands and without another word he pulls you into his lap, tucking you against him. 

You notice absently he’s wearing his favorite jacket and try to shift, so that you’re not getting tears and snot onto the fabric. He pushes your head back against his shoulder, shushing you gently. You let yourself relax, letting out the rest of the tears. Letting the anxiety leave your body. You start your grounding techniques as your breathing evens. You can see the sharp cut of Jordan’s jaw. Hear his heartbeat. The birds chirping. Feel his hands as they rub soothing circles into your skin. Smell the cologne he wears. You tuck yourself closer, even though no more tears are coming. 

“Andre is a fucking loser.” Jordan says, quietly but vehemently, “You shouldn’t waste a second fucking thinking about him. He doesn’t care about anyone but himself. It’s not you. It’s just who he is.” 

“It’s not just Andre… It’s… it’s not even mostly Andre.” You say quietly. “I mean he’s a dick but… it just brings up memories.” 

“Memories?” Jordan echoes softly, and you know you don’t have to tell him anything but you want to. 

“When I was younger… I was even more of a wall flower than I am now. Shocker, I know.” You try to joke, Jordan only hums to let you know he’s listening, pulling you closer. “Even though I had powers I wasn’t popular or anything. I had trouble controlling them. Not enough to be dangerous… just enough to be… well, a loser, honestly. Because of my anxiety, and how loud my head gets my force-fields would just pop out whenever. I couldn’t stop it. If I was scared. If I got nervous. If I was feeling stupid, or ugly. All the time. People called me bubble girl.”

“I learned to just keep to myself but I was such an easy, fun target. Sneak up on the mouse and watch them jump and make a bubble! Fun!” You laugh bitterly. You think you feel Jordan kiss the top of your head, but you’re still out of it. “It made even getting out of bed to go to school hard. Administration wouldn’t take it serious as bullying because I was a supe: if I wanted it to stop I should defend myself.” 

“My parents felt the same way. Wouldn’t let me transfer. But I didn’t want to fight back. I didn’t want to turn myself into something I’m not just to be left alone! I didn’t want to hurt anyone. I thought eventually everyone would get bored, mature a little. But it just got worse and worse every fucking year. Senior year was… bad, though. I was getting better at controlling my powers so what kids would do to make me react was worse. But I just ignored it. I started just… pulling into myself. Whenever anyone would pour paint on my favorite outfit. Or cut my hair. Or hit me, I’d make the bubble in my head instead, and go there. Eventually, towards the end I thought people finally got bored, they stopped fucking with me as much. I thought I’d be able to graduate in peace.” 

“There was this one boy… he was popular. But he’d always been nice to me. He smiled at me in the hallways. Would help me up if people shoved me when he was around. He even gave me his sweater once, when someone cut up my shirt during gym. His friends were dicks but I thought he was different, I thought he was nice.”

“He suddenly started being even more nice to me. It felt… when he asked me to prom I just wanted to be normal for one second. I should have known. I probably did know. I just wanted to pretend, for five seconds, I wanted to pretend.” You trail off, lost in the memory.

“What happened?” Jordan asks, voice sounding hoarse. You try to pull back to see what’s wrong but he keeps you still. You realize he started rocking the both of you as you spoke. You didn’t realize how soothing it was. 

“It was a joke, obviously. We went to go shopping together, so we’d match, he told me. When we got to the shop he insisted we go to all his friends were waiting for us. Recording, of course. They all laughed at me. I still remember what one girl said, ‘you’re more crazy than we thought if you honestly ever believed someone like him would go out with a loser like you’.”

“F/N, those people were fucking assholes. They… god what the fuck is wrong with people. That’s not true.” Jordan makes you look at him, suddenly. You’re shocked that his eyes are red. “You’re not a fucking loser.”

“It’s okay, Jordan. I know they were just assholes. I always knew. It just hurts still. I’ve… I’ve avoided dating ever since, obviously. My first kiss wasn’t even romantic. It was just with a good friend that I knew wouldn’t make fun of me. So I could get it out of the way.”

“I’m sorry.” Jordan looks helpless, like he wants to do something but doesn’t know what. 

“You didn’t do anything, Jordan. No need to say sorry.”

“And then Andre went and fucking… fucking motherfucker I’ll kill him!” Jordan snaps, goes to stand up and then remembers he’s holding you halfway. He sits back down, grip a little tighter, but still gentle. 

“It’s okay. It wasn’t even a joke, what Andre did. He’s just… inconsiderate. And I happen to have a nasty experience that makes me blow everything out of proportion. I’ll have to get used to that kind of thing if I want to actually start dating.” 

Suddenly both of Jordan’s hands are on your face, holding you still so you have to look at him. “You’re not blowing anything out of proportion. And… and you don’t have to get used to shit, F/N. You’re fucking incredible. You don’t need to tolerate anything, from fucking anyone. You’re a fucking… you’re a fucking dream girl! You’re smart, and funny, and sweet, and strong, and beautiful. You’re the sweetest person I’ve ever met. You don’t have to settle for fucking anything. Okay?”

You stare up at him, shocked, he gives your head a gentle shake, “Okay?” You nod slowly.

He pulls you into another hug, the tightest one you’ve ever gotten. You don’t pull away until the sun dips so low you’re both draped in gold. 

“Fucking rank number fucking 5!” Jordan screams, arm wrapped around you tightly. A chorus of cheers from the rest of the group and people nearby. 

You cover your face, laughing helplessly. Jordan didn’t surprise you with this party, they knew that would only make you anxious, walking into a room full of people you weren’t expecting to see with (even if asked not to) cameras pointed at you. 

Jordan had texted you: I am throwing you a surprise party on Friday night to celebrate your new ranking. Please practice your surprised face. 

You had practiced. You’d done a very convincing gasp when you walked in. 

“I’m so fucking proud of you.” Jordan says, for the umpteenth time, looking at you. You feel your cheeks go hot.  

“Oh shut up. I’ll get a big head soon.” 

“You deserve it more than anyone. You’re fucking awesome.” Jordan had started heaping more praise onto you than you knew what to do with, most days. 

She claimed it was practically training. That you needed to get used to people complimenting you, with the level of fame you’re going to reach. That alone had made your stomach erupt into butterflies. Jordan believed in you. Really believed in you. 

“You’re the one who’s awesome… you’re a good mentor, Jordan.” You reach up to hold the hand that’s been wrapped around your shoulder all evening. 

“Are you saying that following my advice works?” Jordan pretends to gasp. You playfully dig your nails into her side and she jumps before grabbing the offending hand and holding onto it. She doesn’t let go. 

Her advice had worked. You posted on your social media more, at her insistence. You started to become a beast at hand to hand, thanks to Jordan’s brutal training regimen. You were socializing more, because as long as Jordan was there you felt safe. But you were even feeling confident enough to do things on your own that high school you would be shocked didn’t instantly send you to the grave. 

You’d done an interview, for God’s sake! All on your own. Although your eyes kept darting to Jordan right off camera, who smiled reassuringly the whole time.  

“I will not. Because then you’ll get a big head.” You tease, giving both her hands a squeeze. 

“Let’s get a drink.” Jordan says, tugging you towards the kitchen. 

It’s quieter in the kitchen. The drink table in the living room is still overflowing so no one’s had to start looking for leftovers yet. 

“How you feeling?” Jordan asks, helping you sit on the counter before going to the fridge. After a second he pulls out your favorite. He hid them in the far back, you can tell by how far he had to lean. 

“Good.” You smile as he pops your drink open before handing it to you. He leans against one of your knees. 

“Party isn’t too much, right?” He asks, for the third time tonight. 

Laughing you push a strand of unruly hair back from his face. He freezes at the touch, before a smile creeps onto his lips. 

“Party is perfect, Jordie. Thank you. For everything. For being so…” 

“Don’t thank me for treating you the way you should always be treated.” 

“You treat me like a princess! What if I get spoiled? You’ll have to deal with a monster.” You tease. “You won’t even be able to be mad at me, because you’ll be the reason.” 

“You’ll terrorize the world.” 

“Cause complete chaos.” 

“Devastation, even.” As Jordan speaks you realize you’d gotten closer. A lot closer. Your chest seizes up with anxiety as you wonder how long you’d been leaning in like this. You almost pull back, ready to apologize. But you’re frozen stiff now and realize the two of you are still getting closer. With a jolt you realize you both leaned in. 

Jordan has a hand on your thigh, you reach down, nervous, to hold his hand as reflex. It’s an every day comfort, lately. You give his hand a squeeze. He squeezes back. You don’t pull away as Jordan keeps leaning in. 

“Jordan! Come stop Luke from doing a keg stand, please!” Cate’s voice, typically pleasant sounds incredibly annoying at the moment. 

“Gimme a sec!” Jordan calls back, still looking you in the eye. You squeeze his hand tighter. He looks nervous. They’ve looked so nervous all night. Nervous you were having a good time. Nervous you were happy. Nervous… nervous to kiss you? Is he about to fucking kiss you?

“He has an interview tomorrow! Hustle please!” Cate calls back in a sing song tone. 

“Fuck me!” Jordan throws his head back, shifting, frustrated. “I’ll be right back, okay?” 

You nod, a little breathless from anxiety and excitement, and dread, and the full spectrum of human emotion. “Okay.” 

Jordan stomps out of the kitchen, probably going to rip Luke a new asshole from the sound of her boots on the floor. She sounds like her own stampede. You giggle, pressing your hands, still warm from holding Jordan’s into your face. You may be bad at signals but… 

You sit under the hideous fluorescent kitchen lighting feeling like something inside you is glowing. You kick your feet, nervous, waiting for Jordan to get back. Wondering what they’ll do. What they’ll say. If you’re delusional. You have to be delusional. You have to be. 

“Guard dog taking a walk?” In the doorway stands Andre, looking a little rougher than usual. His right eye is dark, like a black eye that’s started healing. There’s a small bandage over his nose. 

“What happened to you?” You gasp.

“Your guard dog.” Andre says, reaching into the fridge to pull out a bottle of spicy vodka. “Jordan’s number #2 for a reason. Congrats on making #5 by the way.” 

“Thanks.” You say. “When did Jordan do that?”

“A week ago. Would have probably gotten it earlier but apparently Cate talked them into waiting to see me until they were less pissed off. For which I’m eternally grateful.” He says, taking a sip straight from the bottle without chaser. 

You don’t really know what to say so you sit in silence. Legs still kicking, more from anxiety now, less from giddiness. 

“He gave me a busted lip too, but that healed pretty quickly. I also think he might have kicked a rib loose, been a little sore on the left side.” Andre says, he doesn’t seem to be angry but you don’t know why else he’d talk to you. 

“I didn’t ask Jordan to do that. If you’re wondering.” You say, slowly. 

“No! No! You’re way too sweet for that. This was just my shitty way of getting around to an apology. I’m sorry. I should’ve said sorry before Jordan kicked my ass but I promise Jordan kicking my ass isn’t why I’m saying sorry. The original plan was to ask you out again, make it up to you with dinner. Jordan just kicked my ass first.” 

“I hope to god you’re not working your way around to asking me on a pity date.” You narrow your eyes at him. 

“So Jordan could put me in a full body cast?” Andre laughs loudly, shocking you. “No offense, you’re really cute, but nothing’s worth that fucking beat down.” 

“Well, I guess I accept your-”

“You don’t have to forgive me. Jordan was pretty clear that I tore up some old wounds. I didn’t mean to, but I’m sorry. I can just be… a dick, sometimes. Often. All the time.” Andre jokes. 

“What did Jordan say exactly?” You ask nervously. 

“Nothing specific! I could barely pick out anything at all, really. The sound of her fist breaking my nose was pretty loud.” 

You laugh then try to cover it up by taking a sip. Andre grins and you relax, knowing it was his way of breaking the tension. 

“Can I ask you something?” Andre asks suddenly.

“You can ask, doesn’t mean I’ll answer.” You shrug.

“Fair enough.” Andre says, toying with the bottle. “Do you like Jordan?” 

“What?”

“Because Jordan sure likes you.” Andre states. 

“No, they don't.” It’s a reflex to deny the possibility of someone having feelings for you but the words feel wrong once you say them. Weren’t you just about to kiss? Wasn’t his hand just burning into your thigh like a brand? “Do they?” 

“Jordan would never do a fraction of the shit they’ve been doing for you if they didn’t care about you.” Andre takes another sip, then moves to saunter from the kitchen. He stops, a glance over the shoulder. “However you feel, tell Jordan. And soon. They’re looking a little desperate.” 

Then it’s just you and the sound of the party, and the cool marble you’re sitting on. And a lot to think about. 

“Your incessant leg jiggling is distracting me from how and why they intend to turn this beautiful victorian home into another soulless open concept millennial nightmare.” Jordan says, glancing from the TV to your leg which, yes, has been jiggling for awhile.

“I’ve got a question.”

“Obviously.” 

“How can you tell if a girl isn’t into you?” 

Jordan turns to face you, eyebrows furrowed, “what?”

You feel heat flood your cheeks, but keep your eyes firmly glued to the screen. “Are the rules the same? Or different?”

“You like girls?” Jordan blurts out.

“What?” The question is enough to make you look at her. And now you're trapped by societal standards of politeness to maintain the most anxiety inducing eye contact you've ever shared.

“You've never talked about… you've never said anything about liking girls.”

“You only offered up the help for the one gender. Didn't wanna get greedy.” You force a laugh.

“How long have you…. have you always liked girls?” Jordan asks and you hope to God you're not hallucinating that quick glance at your lips. 

“You follow me on Instagram!”

“What's that have to do with anything?”

“I literally have the pride flag in my bio?”

“I thought you were-”

“-Jordan Li, if you're about to tell me you thought I was an ally I'll beat you to death, and then jump off a cliff.” 

Jordan laughs, ducking her head, hair falling into her face slightly. You dig your fingers into your thigh to stop yourself from reaching out and tucking it behind her ear. 

“Is there a reason why you're asking… about how to tell when a girl isn't into you, all of a sudden?” Jordan looks up at you and the world narrows down to her brown eyes, and her nose, and her mouth. And the look in her eyes you hope you're not reading wrong.

You blink in confusion when amusement crosses over her face and for one awful second you think Jordan is laughing at you and you could throw up. But you realize you're suddenly looking at her from behind a force-field of light purple and feel queasy out of a different sense of embarrassment.

You can hear a smile in Jordan’s voice, but you refuse to unbury your face from your hands, “Never seen you not be able to control your powers before.” 

“Please kill me.”

“Can't. Your forcefield is still up, princess.” She teases, tapping at the bubble. 

With a groan of humiliation you drop your field and peek up at her through your fingers. 

“First the forcefield, now the hands. Still haven't answered my question though.” You almost snip at her that she should take a wild guess at your answer but there's something about Jordan’s expression. It's teetering between playful, guarded, and… something else. And you have to bank on whatever that something else is.

You take a deep breath in and move in closer, “You're not so awful a teacher that the lessons for a guy didn't stick, but considering you're a girl too who knows what incredibly important lesson you didn't know you had to teach me. The lesson… the girl lesson, that would have stopped me from misinterpreting what's been happening here. If I’m misinterpreting. All I know is… all I can really be sure of, is how I feel. And I, well-” You bite your lip, taking a shaky breath, and Jordan moves in closer, “I'm about halfway to being in love with you.”

The words are barely out of your mouth before her lips are on yours. Her hand curls at the base of your neck, pulling you in closer. A brush of her tongue against your bottom lip before you let her in with a breathless sigh. She moans against your lips, other hand moving to your waist to tug you into her lap. 

You lose your balance a little, fall into her in a way that is not at all seductive. You laugh, embarrassed and she chases the sound, using both hands to put you in her lap, holds you there firm and secure.

“You-” She kisses you, interrupting your sentence. “Haven’t-” Another kiss. “Told me-” She holds you tight this time, tilting her head to the side, sweeping her tongue against yours and gasping at your taste. You pull back with shaky hands, keeping her at a distance with a grip on her shoulders.

“Could we use our big girl words?” You ask, breathless and a little dizzy. 

“I’ve fucking only been in love with you for two years, thanks for fucking noticing.” She huffs, exasperated and smiling. 

“How on Earth was I supposed to interpret your seething stare of hate for being in love with me?” You’re already melting against her as she pulls you back in with the guiding grip on your hair. 

“Shoulda looked harder, baby.” She coos, and doesn’t let you up again anytime soon. 

A/N: my magnum opus of pining! if you enjoyed this fic consider reblogging, leaving a reply, or an anon! a writers fuel is engagement. xoxoxo

[nosleep-onlyread]

processes of the heart

yuta is in love with you. maddeningly so.

his love manifests in the form of his heartbeat, in the form of his blood circulation—yuta's love is everywhere, and what once was explained by scientists in an effort to further the understanding of the human body has only furthered yuta's understanding of his love.

his love for you.

okkotsu yuta ♡ gn!reader

warnings: a lot of biology terms & metaphors, yuta is super lovesick, pre-established relationship, incorrect bio facts (do not trust panda and yuta)

notes: i hope yuta moves away to a remote island in the middle of nowhere where it is safe and sound and he doesnt have to fight ever again

"oh, what a shame!" panda exclaims, looking at the clock. "it's my bedtime! i can't watch the movie with you guys, sorry!"

"salmon," toge says, following panda out of the living room with a nonchalant shrug.

"same. i have to go train," maki adds, standing up.

you and yuta stare at each other with confused expressions as, one by one, your classmates file out of the living room, suddenly abandoning their longtime tradition of having a movie night once a month.

"do you need to go too, yuta?" you ask apprehensively. yuta quickly shakes his head, his hands coming to flail around his figure as he fumbles over his words, trying to reassure you.

"no, don't worry,"—it's during times like these, with just the two of you, that yuta returns to his nervous first-year self—"i have plenty of time."

for you, his mind adds. he bites back his words, choosing to relish in the relief that sweeps over your face like a golden light, giving your features a glow that permeates in the crevices of his mind.

thump-thump. for some reason, yuta becomes all-too aware of the race of his heart.

"good," you say, smiling at him with that smile of yours. his heart stutters; his hands become clammy as he wipes them against the side of his shirt, feigning ignorance to the way his fingers tremble a little, the way his chest hurts a little.

yuta tries his best not to acknowledge the way your eyes crinkle when you smile, the way your gaze drifts towards the television screen, unaware of how he stares at you. oh, yuta wonders if you'll ever notice—if you'll ever notice the way he looks at you, the way he adores you. he wonders if you'll ever, for just a second, notice him the way he notices you.

just a second is enough.

because yuta is a witness—your witness—and the way you furrow your brows when you concentrate, and the way you mutter something under your breath when the main character does something stupid doesn't go unnoticed by him.

whenever something exciting happens, your eyes light up, as if your irises were made of fragments from the night sky, cut out and shaped just for you.

you shiver. yuta notices.

(when has he not?)

"are you cold?" he asks, despite already knowing the answer. yuta knows a lot about you. he knows you're going to dismiss his question, because you're always trying your best to not be anyone's burden.

but you can be my burden, yuta thinks, waiting for you to respond. he waits a lot; but yuta likes it that way. he would rather be the one waiting than making you wait, after all.

you blink owlishly, shocked that he noticed.

(when has he not?)

when you look at him, yuta feels something creep up his throat. when you look at him, yuta takes a deep breath, as if he's trying to breathe you in like oxygen, letting your presence meld into his blood and travel to all the parts of his body, fueling his existence.

the process begins with oxygen—your being—diffusing into his lungs. his heart then pumps blood to catch a wisp of you, and your being travels to the capillary beds of his tissues, giving every limb and fiber a piece of you, a fraction of your colossal vitality.

but unlike oxygen, which leaves as carbon dioxide with every exhale, yuta does not let you go. you pervade into his organs, into his body and you stay there. he doesn't know much about biology, but he knows that you never leave him; your essence is placed delicately into his cells, fusing with the fibers of his skin and the lining of his intestines.

what yuta does know, however, is that the process—of living, of loving—never ends, so long as yuta lives. because his heart is always beating, and his blood is always circulating, and yuta thinks that it only ever happens when you are there. what is all this for, if not you?

you look away. yuta feels his heart slow, and his blood comes to a standstill.

humans can go four to six minutes without oxygen. when you look away from him, yuta's heart stops beating, and the oxygen level in his system stagnates.

five seconds go by.

"i'm not cold," you respond, avoiding his gaze. yuta chases after it, desperate to live.

"are you sure?" still, he's weak to you. yuta doesn't want to force you to admit anything, nor does he want to pressure you into responding to him, even if he already knows the answer. if you refuse to admit you're cold, yuta will help you nonetheless.

he does not need oxygen for that.

ten seconds. he's still conscious.

"yeah." you give him a shaky smile, and he feels his heart shudder, strained under the weight of his body collapsing inwards, satisfied. oxygen returns to his tissues once more and yuta lives, he lives! on and on, persisting and desperate so long as you exist, so long as you spare him an ounce, a fraction of your existence.

"okay," he says, giving in. when you look away, yuta take a deep breath. he finds a blanket nearby, wrapping it gently over his shoulders before inching towards your side. your arm brushes against his and he feels goosebumps ripple throughout his skin.

"i'm cold," yuta tells you frankly, "sorry."

"oh," you breathe out, surprised. "same." your voice then drops to a whisper, as if you're embarrassed to admit the fact that you had been so vehemently opposing for the past couple minutes. yuta doesn't judge you for this; he offers you a tender smile before opening the blanket on one side.

"come here," he replies. there's a breathless tinge to his voice, as if he's high off life and bounding across meadows when you join him under the blanket. you wonder if he's actually cold, because when your arm brushes against his, it radiates warmth, drawing you in like icarus to the sun.

but yuta doesn't burn you. so you come closer and closer, 'till your arm is fully brushed up against him and you feel his figure stiffen up slightly, his eyes trained on the screen when they were once trained on you.

and yuta is unsure of what to do, because you were star-far before. all yuta could ever do, since the first year of jujutsu high, was admire you, as if you were the sky and he were bound to earth. and he would watch and watch, reaching a hand out, desperate to catch a breeze, a stray fragment of your incomparable vitality.

but here you are: next to him, his atmosphere colliding briefly—too briefly—with yours, and suddenly everything has been worth it, and suddenly everything is beautiful. he takes a deep breath and everything is right, as if all the chaos in the world (the entropy) had rearranged into one, tangible mass. because entropy becomes enthalpy and enthalpy is the total energy within a system, and the enthalpy in yuta's great, big planet takes the form of his palpable, vibrant love.

(yuta has no idea what he's talking about; he still doesn't understand how entropy and enthalpy work.)

in the corner of his peripheral vision, yuta notices you craning your head toward the television screen, paying no mind to the way he panics, the way he is left a flustered mess.

he supposes it's always been like this: with him following you.

"you know, sometimes when my body performs homeostasis—" yuta starts, trying his best to sound factual.

"stop trying to throw random biology words around," maki interrupts with a scowl, "you are not the thinker. do you even know what a lipid is?'

yuta scratches his head. "uh, i feel like i've seen it around somewhere..."

"oh yeah, 'cause lipids are strolling through the streets of tokyo," maki replies.

"aren't lipids a type of protein?" panda interjects.

yuta opens his mouth to agree, but he quickly looks away when maki pulls out a staff, doing a 360-triple-axel-jump-serve before whooping the shit out of panda for his stupidity.

"definitely not," yuta states to panda's corpse matter-of-factly, "how could you say lipids are a protein?"

"everything is a protein!" panda retorts.

that's true, yuta thinks. again, he quickly retracts his statement once maki whoops the shit out of panda for his stupidity.

"kelp," toge says, raising one hand up to wave. you walk through the doors of the living room and yuta wonders when the walls became so vibrant, when the entire school got a paint coat that dusted it with golden light.

"hey, toge!"

"[name]," maki says, her furrowed brows easing up at the sight of your face. "tell these idiots what a lipid is."

"a fat?" you respond, almost confused. "why are we talking about lipids?"

"because someone here is letting one biology lesson from shoko get to his head." maki glares at yuta. "suddenly, he thinks he's a biology prodigy."

you laugh at this, and yuta feels something hum in his chest. flowers begin to blossom all across his ribs, and their stems weave around the bone, decorating his torso with love. and then you turn to him and you grin, your eyes crinkling with mirth as he feels his stomach churn.

"don't you have a reversed technique anyway? you don't need to be a biology master, yuta."

and oh, the way you say his name—the way you look at him and the way you perceive him. yuta wants to sink into your gaze and rest there, bathing in the color of you irises for all of eternity.

homeostasis is an essential process for all organisms. it is the concept of maintaining chemical equilibrium, of balancing one's body against the environment its in. when it's cold, people shiver as a way for the body to generate heat and warm itself up. when people become warm again, the shivering stops. that is homeostasis.

when you look at him, yuta's heart races. it's desperate to circulate his blood, because the oxygen he breathes—in your presence—melts into the liquid, traveling all across his body. he supposes it's because he's desperate to capture your existence, to make a portion of it his own.

(biology is definitely not his forte.)

when you look away, yuta's heart stops. it has no function anymore. when you look away, yuta experiences momentary clinical death, the processes of his system coming to a halt since there's no reason to keep going on, to continue breathing and living if you are not there.

"you're right," he says, a slight chuckle escaping his lips. yuta feels the judging stares from his classmates, as if they're scorning him for giving into everything you say.

but he supposes it's always been like this: with him giving into you, with him loving you.

yuta's love goes beyond physical appearances, beyond the look in his eyes and the smile on his lips. his love travels from his irises to his ribs, manifesting as flowers that wind around them, reaching his heart and rooting there.

forever.

[nosleep-onlyread]

anti-hero (k.b.)

i wake up screaming from dreaming. one day i'll watch as you're leaving, and life will lose all its meaning (for the last time).

Summary: reader is awake and heads outside for fresh air. kaz questions whether reader still wants to be with him, and reader begins to heal.

Pairing(s): kaz x fem!reader (established relationship) Word Count: ~4.3k (!!!) Warnings: allusions to reader's recent trauma (kidnapping, torture, severe injuries), mentions of injuries (scars, cuts, bruises), mentions of sibling & parent loss/death, mentions of blood, mentions of kaz's haphephobia, mentions of violence (kaz bashing heads and dangling people of rooftops) Genre: fluffier angst? brief angst then fluff? Author's Note: i really gotta stop with these disappearing acts. anyway, i promised you guys the next part, so here is the next part at a whopping 4.3k. pls enjoy <3 masterlist

The next few days passed in a blur as you fought to recover from what you'd been through. Nothing aggravated you more than the stiffness of your muscles and the pain throbbing throughout your body; just a week ago, you'd been able to jump across rooftops and snatch a pouch of kruge from a man's pocket without any issue. Now, damn near everything ached, though the vertigo and throbbing in your head had eased thanks to Nina's work.

On one of the warmer days, where the snow had melted into the ground to form a muddy slush, you woke up feeling much better than when you'd been carried out of the warehouse. While the rest of the house slept, you slowly made your way out of the room you were staying in and down the stairs. You stuck to the edges, using the banister to support yourself as you avoided potential creaky spots. The house was in remarkably good condition, but you didn't want anyone questioning why you were up and about on your own. You needed to move, to feel the fresh air again.

To remind yourself that you were free, despite everything.

You slipped on your battered boots, your body aching as you hunched over to pull them onto your feet, then stepped onto the front porch, looking over the bleak, icy land sprawling before you. Crossing your arms to brace yourself against the cold, you stepped off the porch and stood in the snow. You let the muddy slush soak the material of your boots, chilling your skin even through your thick socks.

The air stung your lungs as you inhaled deeply, burned through your chest, and then you let it out slowly, the air fogging before you. To be standing outside felt like bliss; in the open air, you could forget the griminess of your captivity for a moment, the sensation of blood sliding down your fingers, the ringing of your ears as your friends had arrived in a flurry of action and chaos. 

You gulped down more air to chase away the prickling hairs on the back of your neck as you considered all that had happened. Not now. 

You realized then why it was easier to close off, to not think of the horrible things those mercenaries had done, that Rollins and his Dime Lions had done in Ketterdam over the years. Denial was easier than wading through the grief of what happened. Preferable, even.

Snow crunched behind you, but you didn't turn, your eyes still fixed on the empty, slush-covered fields before you. A gloved hand carefully wrapped a worn blanket around your shoulders and lingered for a moment before falling away. Kaz stepped beside you, his coat wrapped tightly around himself; there were dark shadows under his eyes, and his face was a touch paler from exhaustion. 

You frowned at him. "You haven't slept."

"Neither have you," he said quietly, sliding his free hand into his coat pocket and looking down at you. He was silent, his icy blue eyes roaming up and down your form as he surveyed you. The look made you shiver, and you turned your gaze away, a blush unrelated to the cold rising to your cheeks.

Out of your periphery, you saw Kaz slide his hand from his pocket, and you felt the brush of his fingers against your arm, loosely wrapping around your wrist. You glanced up at him, and you let him gently turn your arm so that your forearm was to the sky; he pushed your sleeve up carefully, tenderly, and his gaze lifted from the bandages around your arm to your face, waiting.

"Go ahead," you said softly. You didn't want to hide your pain and your scars from Kaz, even though instincts told you to shield it from him. You ached to hide your weakness like when you first arrived on Ketterdam's streets, to settle into denial and rage. But this was Kaz. You trusted him to catch you if you fell.

Kaz undid the bandages with practiced ease, and you wrinkled your nose as cold air hit your wounded tattoo. The flesh was nearly healed thanks to Nina's hard work, but most of the ink itself was destroyed, only a few dark remnants remaining at the edges of what had once been the crow perched on the cup. Shiny scar tissue lined your forearm, and Kaz ran a gloved finger over the skin. The gentlest of touches, but enough to make you hold your breath and look away.

"I'm sorry," Kaz said, breaking the silence with his raspy voice before you could speak. Though he deemed his investigation complete, he didn't release your arm. Instead, he carefully wrapped the bandages again and secured them in place, his leather touches nothing more than a whisper against broken skin. 

You shook your head. "It's not your fault," you said, looking up at him. You were startled to find his gaze already on you, and your breath caught as you saw the raw emotions flickering there. Concern, anguish, guilt. A raw mix of vulnerability he would never let anyone else see.

Kaz looked back down at your bandaged arm, still in his hold. Black leather gloves against pale white bandages, a stark contrast that he hated. He'd caused this. He was at fault, whether you would say it to him or not. The moment he'd crawled out of that harbor, determined to make the city pay for taking his brother, taking his name, taking his dreams, he'd set everyone around him on a path to harm.

"Kaz," you said, turning your arm in his grip so that you could grasp his. Your breath fogged in the cold air between the two of you, a warning of the winter storm brewing above that you elected not to heed. "Tell me what you're thinking. Please."

He let out a breath, and he wanted to turn away. Your gaze was intense, reaching deep into his soul and threatening to pull out every word he'd stashed away where nobody could ever find them. Most believed he didn't have a soul, and he liked it that way; it was his treasured hiding place of all the things he wanted to say but never would, because Dirtyhands wasn't tender. He wasn't kind or caring. He was ruthless, selfish, and brutal. He bashed skulls into stone floors and tortured men on rooftops.

Yet you seemed to break down his walls with only a look, stripping away the layers he'd created to become Kaz Brekker. You saw him, the boy who grew up on this farm, who fell asleep every night with the threadbare blanket currently wrapped around your shoulders, who believed in goodness in the world.

He struggled to reach into that hidden, tucked away part of himself, to find the words he longed to say to you. I love you. I'm sorry. I am not the man you should want. I love you. I thought I'd lost you. I am a liar. I love you.

I love you, and I thought I had lost the chance to say it.

"Do you still want this?" he managed to say, the words nothing more than a rasp, the sound of sandpaper against wood. Even as Kaz Brekker longed to take steps back, to fling up those walls and fall back into the comfort and safety of being ruthless and harsh, the ground beneath his feet had him rooted in place. The Rietveld farm, where the ghosts of his father and brother lurked in the house just feet away. They were watching, begging him to do better. To be better.

He could be.

"Yes," you said without hesitation, your grip on his arm steady and your gaze unwavering. "I made my decision a year ago. I stand by it." Your words were firm but not unkind, leaving no room for argument or misinterpretation.

A lot of horrible things had happened in the past week. Kidnapping, torture, interrogation, and scarring you hoped would one day heal. And despite the urge to collapse, to fall and give in, you wouldn't. Your friends wouldn't let you. Kaz wouldn't let you. And you wouldn't let Kaz wade into the guilt he was feeling. You'd haul him out by his coat collar if you had to. You wouldn't blame anyone for what had happened to you aside from those who deserved it; the guilt lay with the mercenaries and with Pekka, left behind in that warehouse.

Kaz was quiet for a few long moments. He let your words play over and over again in his mind, searching for any whisper of deceit, any hint of blame from you that would reinforce the guilt that pressed down hard enough on his lungs that he felt like they might be crushed beneath the weight. When he found none, he pushed a slow breath past his lips, trying to ease that pressure. "Alright," he said.

Because as much as he did blame himself, it was your choice. Your decision to stay with him, despite his belief that you would only get hurt again. And he wouldn't take that choice from you, even as everything he'd taught himself screamed at him to distance himself from you until you changed your mind.

He would be better.

Kaz swallowed, realizing he still held your arm in his grasp. He looked down at it again, his hand gently cradling your injured arm, and he slowly shifted his hold until your hand was held in both of his, his cane resting against his hip so it didn't fall into the slush. He could feel the coldness of your fingers through his gloves, and he trapped your fingers between his palms to try and warm them up. 

You stepped closer to him, realizing how cold you actually were, even with the tattered blanket around your shoulders. The heat radiated off him in waves, and soon you were nearly chest-to-chest with him. You tilted your head up to look at Kaz, your heart slamming in your chest as you dared to step into his personal space. He smelled like city smoke, like faint remnants of cologne. Home. Comfort.

"I thought I lost you," Kaz rasped, the words almost inaudible, even as you stood mere inches from him. He almost choked on the words, but he owed it to you to say that. To say so much more. "I thought Pekka had won."

"He didn't," you said quietly. 

"I killed him."

"I know."

His breathing turned ragged. "I should have done worse. I should have made him suffer more."

You shook your head, turning your hand in his palms so you could lace your fingers with his. "You did what needed to be done. Nothing more, nothing less. That's all that matters." You tilted your face up, taking in the emotions in his eyes.

"Before you left, you said..." Kaz's eyes slipped shut. Just say it, you fool. Say it. "You said you loved me."

The words didn't burn on his tongue like he thought they would and didn't taste like salty, bitter seawater. It didn't make his teeth chatter or his clothes feel stuck to his skin. It felt blissfully warm, burning in his chest like it might ignite him from the inside out.

You didn't answer, not wanting to interrupt him as he fought to speak. You had a feeling you knew what he wanted to say, why he looked like he was somewhere between keeling over and taking off across the property to disappear into the treeline. So, you gave his hand a gentle squeeze to encourage him, feeling your heart pound as he spoke again.

"I should have said it back," Kaz said. "I should have told you I..." The words stuck in his mouth like the sticky candy he'd shared with his brother on this very property, the sun beating down on their heads. "I should have..." He faltered again, his brows creasing as he grew increasingly frustrated with his inability to spit the damn words out.

Kaz sighed, the breath rushing out of his lungs and clouding in the air before he managed to force out, "I should have told you that I love you." As the words passed his lips, a feeling of peace came over him. The knot in his chest eased, and the heavy weight within his chest became easier to bear. Taking the chance, he continued, his voice quieter. "You could have died, and all I thought about on the ride here was how I didn't say it back. I just turned away like a fool and sent you into the lion's den."

He was grateful for that temporary moment of relief. At least if you stepped away and changed your mind about wanting this, wanting him, the last thing he would remember of the two of you would be this moment of respite with your hand in his and the knowledge that he'd finally told you what he felt. That would be some consolation before the bitter taste of pain rose.

You stepped closer, cutting off his train of thought by pressing his gloved hand against your racing heart, his palm resting just beneath your collarbone. The words he'd just spoken suddenly seemed far away, and his mind went completely blank as he felt the hammering of your heart against his palm. A stark reminder that you were still alive, and he didn't have to think of the 'what ifs' anymore. You had chosen him. You hadn't changed your mind, after everything.

"Don't torment yourself," you said quietly. Your gaze met his, a simultaneous fierceness and gentleness visible there that almost knocked the breath from Kaz's lungs. "Do you remember what I told you? Your pace?"

The words reminded you of an evening that felt long in the past. The two of you, sitting on Kaz's tiny bed in the Slat and working through his fear when you told him you love him and that he didn't have to say it back until he was ready. Your pace, Kaz.

"I remember," he said, his voice uncharacteristically shaky. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to regain control of his breathing as he dropped his hand from your heart and twined his gloved fingers with yours once more. Once he was sure he wouldn't hyperventilate or collapse into the icy mud like a fool, he opened his eyes again.

"I love you," you said softly, giving his hand the gentlest of squeezes. The words felt right, just like every time you'd said them, tasting like shots in the Crow Club and snow falling over the city, like a heady bliss you wanted to feel again and again, as though you might never get enough. Though the words felt right, you realized you started trembling after you said them. From the cold? From the vulnerability strung between the two of you? From the anticipation of his response?

Your fingers were cold between Kaz's, and before he realized what he was doing, he caught both of your hands in his this time, clasping them between his gloved palms to warm them up. Only a few inches separated your faces now, and your tangled hands were wedged between your chests. Selfishly, he wanted to close that distance completely, to remind himself of how your lips felt together. It had been six months, and though he thought about that moment in the alley outside the Crow Club every single day, he found that the feeling had begun to drift from his mind.

"We should go inside," he rasped, despite the thoughts warring in his head. You were freezing; that much was obvious. The old blanket he'd brought to you hadn't done much to keep you warm in this bitter weather, especially as a fresh flurry of snow prepared to blanket the ground.

"I'm fine," you responded, though the growing numbness of your nose and ears said otherwise. You were caught in his gaze, trapped by the heated look in his eyes. You'd seen him angry, distant, and vulnerable at times, but the look he wore now was one you hardly recognized. It was one you'd only seen once before, moments before he'd kissed you outside the Crow Club like he'd die if he didn't get the chance.

"That's what most say before dying of exposure," Kaz deadpanned, but even his response couldn't tamp down the burning in his chest. He didn't recognize it, the looseness in his muscles and the burning in his chest. For once, no terror rose in response to your closeness, ready to shove him away with cold, invisible hands.

You rolled your eyes at him. "I can assure you, the cold won't take me out that easily." Still, you shivered just a bit as a slight breeze kicked up to remind you both of the incoming storm, making your words much less reassuring than you wanted them to be. Traitorous nature. But Kaz (and the wind) was right, the two of you should head inside, even if you wanted to bask in the vulnerability and simmering feel of his gaze for a little bit longer.

Taking a step back, you moved as if you might disentangle your hands from his and head back toward the house. Once again acting before he could stop himself, Kaz caught you, his fingers gentle as they wrapped around your wrist. "Wait," he said, his voice almost inaudible. He took a shaky breath as terror sunk its fingers into his flesh again, making his words come out more unsteadily than he intended. "Can I?"

He could win against his fear again, could push himself past the newfound comfort of holding hands with you. He'd done it once, even though it had kicked an unfortunate series of events into motion. But maybe... maybe that wouldn't happen again. It was just the two of you and the cold. No witnesses, no traitors amongst you except the bone-deep terror that threatened to rear its head every time he dared to challenge it.

Confusion briefly flashed across your face, and then your mind went blank with recognition. The memory of the alleyway, a kiss tasting like bitter liquor and snow, flashed through your mind.

Oh. Oh.

You nodded, just as you had before, feeling your cheeks heat up despite the cold.

As he stepped closer, closing the last few inches of distance, you wanted to ask him whether he was sure. He'd opened up to you so much already; you didn't want him to feel obligated to do so further. But he'd initiated it, and you trusted him and his newfound confidence in his ability to heal. 

You were proud of him.

His lips met yours, tentatively at first. They were cold, chapped slightly from the weather, and he waited for the icy terror to yank him to the ground and drown him right there on land. While his legs felt unsteady, pushed and pulled at by his own fear in its twisted form of pale, dead hands in the harbor, he felt like he could keep standing as long as he focused on you.

It no longer felt like the midst of a Kerch winter. As snow fell down and started to kiss your cheeks, you could imagine it was a morning drizzle on a summer day, before the sweltering heat kicked in and was compounded by the smoky air of the city. You felt warm, maybe too warm, and you freed one of your hands to move up and grasp the back of his neck, standing up on your tiptoes to keep the distance between you closed.

Kaz startled at the touch, his hand moving to grab your arm out of instinct as his heartbeat picked up at the feel of your hand on his skin. The touch was foreign, soft, and hesitant, but not unwelcome as he steeled himself against letting his fear take over. He wanted to be able to kiss you, to accept your touch and affection without feeling like he might collapse. 

His determination fueled him to press even closer, his hand releasing your arm in favor of cupping your cheek. He brushed his thumb over your cheekbone, pretending he could feel the softness of your skin beneath his touch. You shivered, and a surge of warmth ran down his spine, making goosebumps rise beneath your hand on his neck.

Distantly, he felt his cane fall from where it had been propped against his hip, thumping against the frozen ground. But his focus was on you. You, your lips, your nose bumping against his as you settled into this still-new feeling, your hand on his neck, your other moving up as if to join the other before chancing it, sliding into the mussed strands of his hair that he hadn't bothered to slick back before joining you out here.

You fought the heat running throughout your body and forced yourself to pull back, gasping a bit and looking up at him. "I'm-" you began, already starting to retract your hands. What if you'd pushed him too far? You'd felt how he tensed beneath your touch for a moment, felt him go somewhere else for just a moment. What were you thinking, Y/N? His pace, remember?

"Don't," Kaz said roughly, knowing precisely what you were thinking. He kissed you again, chasing the euphoria of your lips against his. He surprised himself with how hungrily he kissed you. The feel of your lips was better than any liquor. Better than any drug, or high in the aftermath of a successful heist. He liked the feeling of kruge passing into his hands, but this feeling had quickly surpassed that.

You made a noise of surprise but didn't protest or pull away, sliding your hands back into his hair and through the dark, silky strands. There was a bubble of something in your chest, the urge to chase this and press further, but the burning in your lungs and throbbing of your wounds in response to the worsening cold forced you to pull back far sooner than you wanted to. 

You opened your mouth to speak, ready to ask if he was okay, or what he was thinking. A million emotions were flickering through his eyes, and you were having trouble pinpointing any of them. Just as you recognized one of them as longing, Kaz's face went neutral, the emotions disappearing before you could blink as the front door to the house creaked open. Your head turned, and you saw Nina, who had just woken up judging by the wayward hair framing her face.

"If you two are done frolicking, I figure I should tell you the storm is about to hit," Nina called from the porch, leaning against the doorway with a smugness on her face that made you blush and take several steps back from Kaz. 

Tightening the old blanket around your shoulders, you glanced at Kaz as he grabbed his cane off the ground. His cheekbones were flushed pink, and there was a purse to his lips that gave away his embarrassment at being caught. But as he straightened up, his cane firmly in his hand again, there was a sparkle in his eye as he met your gaze and offered you an elbow to help you back inside.

"Not a word, witch," Kaz said to Nina, eyeing the wicked grin on her face as he tapped his boots against the steps to free the snow and mud from them. He kept his arm extended for you to hold onto as you did the same, noting the winces of pain as the impact sent shocks of pain through the bruises and scrapes on your legs.

Nina gave Kaz an innocent smile. "Of course not." She reached up to pinch his cheek, and he batted her hand away with a sharp glare. "Can't ruin your terrifying reputation, can I?" 

"No bickering before breakfast," Jesper groaned from the couch, pushing the blanket away from his face and yawning. "I can't add any witty commentary on an empty stomach." He sat up and rubbed his eyes before grimacing and hunching his shoulders. "Now, will you please close the damn door? It's freezing out there."

You suppressed another smile, stepping into the house and setting your shoes to the side. As Nina and Jesper bickered, you pulled the blanket tighter around your shoulders, sharing a brief glance with Kaz as you settled next to the fireplace to warm up. A flicker of something soft passed through his eyes before disappearing as he carefully leaned down to add another log to stoke the flames. 

Inej padded down the stairs, putting the finishing touches on her braid as she investigated the commotion. If she noticed the faint blush on your cheeks or Kaz looking anywhere but you, she didn't say anything. Instead, she pushed Jesper's legs off the couch to make room to sit, ignoring his groggy protests.

Though you weren't sure anything other than time could heal what happened, being surrounded by your chosen family was a good start. A warmth unrelated to the fire settled over you, a comfort and security that eased the tension that hadn't lifted since your capture. You would heal. Wounds would scar and fade, memories would become less vivid, and the ink along your arm could be replaced one day. 

In the meantime, you'd bask in that warmth, even when your return to Ketterdam inevitably tried to chase it away. 

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[nosleep-onlyread]

❝ dying (for your love) ❞. . . ⇢ satoru gojo

˗ˏˋsummary: there’s never any time to think about your feelings for each other when you’re so focused on ensuring that you both live to see another day

˗ˏˋwc: 17.5k whew..

˗ˏˋcontains: gn!reader x gojo, zombie apocalypse au, slowburn, angst with a happy ending, descriptive violence, minor injuries, use of guns/other weapons, lots of physical touch, codependency, clingy gojo 🥺, heavy pining/yearning etc etc, sugu + shoko cameo, one (1) heated argument, cursing, suggestive language used near the end (MDNI)

˗ˏˋa/n: [inhales deeply] first of all, big big BIG THANK U to my beloved io @elusivemoon for beta reading this behemoth of a fic u r my rock fr i love u soo so bad. im also tagging @softgirlgonehaywire @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat and @anthoosies for hyping me up so much 🙈<3 + some more lovely beautiful friends tagged below bc this fic was in the works for a good minute now. i hope u all enjoy reading my longest word-vomit to date :3 and do let me know if there's anything i missed for the content warnings!!

extra: fic playlist by @elusivemoon + series mlist :3

you think you’re hearing the haunting moans of the undead echoing in the distance, or perhaps you’re simply imagining things — but it’s a constant reminder of the perilous world you now inhabit nonetheless. a world that succumbed to an epidemic, at the hands of a fatal illness that truthfully did nothing to really make you stay dead.

as the moonlight illuminates the path you and satoru are currently walking on, you have to rely heavily on your senses. the only sounds emitting from the two of you at the moment are that of crunching leaves underneath thick, dirt-covered boots and the occasional shuddering breath being exhaled. in the otherwise eerie silence, you both stand guard beside each other, eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of danger as you trek through the dense forest.

a twig snaps underneath your feet, and in an instant satoru’s eyes are on you — gaze flitting up and down and all around your figure, double and triple checking that you’re out of harm's way. his free hand, the one not holding his weapon of choice, reaches out gingerly; he gently grabs your elbow,tugs once, and a soft “stay close,” is uttered from his lips. two words he finds himself saying to you almost every day.

you couldn’t possibly stand any closer to him, but you nod your head and match your steps with his anyway.

you occasionally glanced at him from your peripheral, unable to tear your eyes away from the man beside you. you both were once part of a small group of survivors — a mere 6 of you in total — but you’ve long since separated from them, though not fully by choice.

it was an ambush that ultimately cut your time with the others short. a large horde of zombies had appeared, and you didn’t have time to assess what was happening before you heard the sound of shots ringing out. one member of the group had gotten attacked, and two more were firing at the horde as they steadily approached. in a last minute effort to save yourselves the group had decided to split-up to divide and conquer, but you were unable to find them again after that.

that same day you had a close call when you turned your back to search for a familiar face, not having realized there was one zombie remaining that you didn’t kill. satoru had never run so fast in his life when he found you and spotted the creature behind you, unsheathing his gun with record speed just as rotting limbs extended in your direction. the sound of the bullet firing didn’t startle you nearly as much as the sight you were met with when you finally turned around — of gnarled, decaying flesh and bones, a mere inches away from your own skin. up close and way too personal for your own liking.

satoru was running on pure adrenaline and fear after that. by the time he reached you, he only remembers hastily grabbing your hand and running in the opposite direction when a part of the horde began to approach the sound of the shot he fired. the two of you never looked back, and to this day neither of you know if the others survived or not.

what you do know is that satoru saved your life that day, and that you both need each other more than either of you realize. there’s never any time to think about the implications of that, though. not when every day is a fight for survival on such a nightmarish landscape.

but that doesn’t affect how he cares for you, nor you him. it’s displayed through subtle actions each day, where you both cling to each other even as you walk with your weapons drawn. how you both subconsciously seek each other out in the night as you sleep, hands tightly clasped together as if you were both afraid the other would float away in their sleep. how every moment is built on a profound trust in one another.

it’s a silent promise that you’ll stay at each other’s side, facing whatever horrors await the two of you.

another twig snaps, though this time it’s not by fault of either of you. you and satoru immediately stop in your tracks, and his hand automatically finds yours as he grips it tight enough to make his knuckles turn white. you’d have probably gotten a little flustered because of his instinct to hold you close if a fear of the unknown wasn’t currently crawling up your throat instead.

by now you’re no stranger to fear, but even the familiarity wouldn’t ever help you get used to the way it makes your stomach sink into your guts.

with bated breaths, you and satoru exchange a glance. it’s quiet, maybe too quiet. you hope satoru’s hearing is better than yours right now, because you can feel your heart thrumming loudly in your ear drums to the beat of the paralyzing emotion overtaking your whole being.

there’s a rustle in the bushes, and just as quickly as you heard it, one of satoru’s weapons is drawn. it’s a small rifle he carries with him, though he has no real intention of firing the noisy weapon right now at least — he knows better than to do so in the middle of a dense forest at night, with you beside him nonetheless. he would never risk your life like that.

satoru takes a small step forward, maneuvering his body to be half shielding yours as he did. even though you have your own weapon ready — a baseball bat fashioned with barbed wire wrapped all around the barrel — satoru was the one to move first, all with the intention of ensuring your own safety. you can take care of yourself, for sure, and he knows that you’re more than capable, but he does it anyway. you think it’s likely for his own peace of mind, but you never question it.

looking out for each other is simply an unspoken agreement the two of you have. you never needed to ask him to stand in front of you or hold you when you’re feeling anxious because he simply does it anyway. just as you do him.

another rustle comes from the bushes, and this one is more prominent, unmistakeable. satoru tightens his grip on the rifle, though you wonder what he’ll do if it actually turns out to be another zombie. he surely can’t fire it, lest he alerts anyone or anything of your location, but maybe he’ll use the butt of the rifle to knock down the zombie. it would definitely buy you enough time to land your own hit as well; just one fell swoop at the head and the undead will be dead once more.

as it turned out, the source of the noise in the bush was merely a false alarm. you were sure you could hear panting, and you tilted your head in confusion until the sound of a whine made you blink in surprise. it sounded like it was coming from an injured animal, perhaps it was a dog? you shared a glance with satoru, who was equally as confused, and then hesitantly you took a step forward.

“careful,” satoru whispered to you, as he slowly lowered the rifle in his hands, his shoulders relaxing but not enough to completely let his guard down. he watched you hold the bat at your side as you knelt down, moving the leaves of the bush out of the way until you saw the source of the noise. indeed, it was a dog — you weren’t sure of the exact breed in the dark but it was an average sized one; it couldn’t have been no more than 30-40 lbs in weight. the dog looked up at you with uncertain eyes, ears tucked back and teeth snarled when you brought your hand close to it.

upon further examination the dog appeared to be stuck in the bush, sharp thorns digging into one of its back legs and drawing small amounts of blood. the poor thing was injured and struggling to free itself.

“it’s stuck…” you murmured softly, voice directed at satoru as your gaze remained fixed on the animal before you. satoru was now standing beside you, leaning his weight on his knees as he hunched forward to examine the dog as well. he hummed softly, a frown making its way onto his face.

you shared another look with him, and he nodded without saying a word (you’ve both learned to silently communicate with each other, after all). turning your attention back to the dog, you began to pull apart the branches surrounding it, making sure not to startle the dog and stress it out any further. once you cleared enough of it you carefully started to pull apart the branches stuck to its leg, shushing it gently when it started to growl and whine at you. the very second you freed it from the branch it lunged forward, jumping past you and several feet away. it was limping on its back leg, but the dog seemed more relaxed in your presence now.

“there we go,” you smiled, standing back up on your feet. satoru mirrored your smile, feeling the weight in his chest loosen up at the rare sight. he liked seeing you happy, it made his heart race in a way that he tried not to think about too much.

he was just… content, seeing the light shine in your eyes in fleeting moments like this. a glimmer of hope in an otherwise barren world, a reminder that he still had you — and you him.

it was only several more minutes of walking — along with the dog you rescued who had begun following you — before you both found the very thing you’d been searching for so late in the night — a creek.

“if we follow the stream, we should find the shop pretty easily.” satoru reminded you, to which you nodded your head. you’d both received some intel from survivors you’d met in passing earlier in the day, information about a convenience store that hadn’t been completely ransacked yet due to it’s remote location. through the dense woods and then along the creek, follow the stream until the river bends west and then walk exactly east of that.

it was pretty straightforward, and the people you’d met seemed reliable enough with their information. thus, you both decided to trek the path earlier in the day — only, you’d underestimated how thick the woods were.

nevertheless, the information you’d both received turned out to be true. just east of the bend at the river you spotted a small road, leading into the parking lot of an isolated convenience store. it was a shocker that there was even something this far out in the woods, but it’s not like you were about to complain.

the gravel crunched underneath your boots as you walked slowly through the parking lot, and satoru fished around inside his backpack for his flashlight before clicking it on, pointing it in the direction of the store.

“let’s make it quick, i already don’t like that we’re doing this at night.” he murmured, gently nudging your side as he spoke. you nodded your head, turning to glance over at him for a quick second only to find that he’d already been looking at you. when your eyes met you gave each other reassuring smiles, and he brushed his hand against yours for a moment; though he was holding the flashlight in that hand, you felt his pinky curl around your thumb and squeeze gently before he let go, eyes landing back ahead of him.

satoru was the first to walk in the store, stepping carefully over the broken glass shards on the ground where the door had previously been. he shone his flashlight down the aisles, looking both ways inside the store before beckoning you over. “coast seems clear, c’mon.”

you glanced behind you for a moment, where the dog had opted to stay outside as opposed to walking all over the broken glass, and then you looked back ahead and began to follow satoru inside. you had your own flashlight, holding it in the same hand that held your bat, leaving your other hand free to grab onto the back of satoru’s jacket for purchase as you moved closer to him.

the store itself was dark and eerily quiet, save for the gusts of wind blowing in from the broken entryway. several aisles in the front had been cleaned out by travelers already, but closer towards the back your luck finally seemed to turn around. you’d spotted a small pharmacy, gently tugging on satoru’s jacket twice to get his attention as you pointed your flashlight in the other direction.

(that was just another way you two figured out how to communicate with each other without saying a word. if you happened to be standing behind him (or vice versa), holding him by his clothing, you merely just had to tug on the fabric.

tug once to stop walking, twice to get his attention, three times if there’s danger. it was simple and effective.)

“let’s stock up on meds,” you whispered, and he nodded, now following your lead as you headed in the direction of the pharmacy. you set the flashlight down on the counter, silently handing him over your bat before placing your palms down on the flat surface. hoisting yourself up, you hopped onto the counter and swung your legs around, landing softly on the ground on the other side. “stay there, i’ll be quick.”

satoru nodded. though, even in the dark, you didn’t miss the look of concern that flashed over his features for a short moment. “be careful.” he whispered back, for the nth time in the night, as he watched you disappear down the aisles in the back, heading towards the stockpiles of medicine. though he couldn’t see you, he could see the shine of the light from your flashlight on the walls, and it calmed him down enough to let you go on your own.

you inhaled a deep breath, making a mental list of all the supplies you currently had, what you were short on, and what you needed. though you and satoru had a means of transportation that you used every now and then, you still couldn’t afford to be carrying too much in your backpacks, lest it weighs on you and slows you down. a quick scan of the short aisles was found to be of use; you pocketed several emergency medications, some over the counter and some that you knew would have to have been prescribed under normal circumstances. they were the harder, more effective painkillers, which were all the more addictive.

you tossed several items in your bag, as well as some extra gauze and other medical kit items you happened upon, and once you were satisfied you zipped it all up and pulled it over your shoulders again. the haul was simple and quick, a little too easy, and you let your guard down too much because of it. you’d nearly missed the low growl just around the corner of one of the aisles, in the very direction you were headed.

you stopped in your tracks, hairs immediately raising on the back of your neck as all of your senses were alerted. you peeked around the corner and lo and behold, there it was — a zombie, limping about with its head hanging low. it seemed unaware of your presence, of the way you nearly stumbled backwards in fear, your heart racing in your chest as your back hit the shelf behind you with a small thud.

you froze in place at the sound, hearing a soft grunt emitted from the creature, and you could hear the way it dragged its feet as it slowly approached the aisle where you were hiding. your hands trembled as you tried to think of what to do, instinctually reaching behind you to grab your weapon from your backpack, except—

fuck. you left it with satoru.

wait— satoru.

you scrambled for purchase as you stood up straighter, trying to peer through the shelves to spot the white haired male, but you couldn’t see him very well from the corner you were at. you were also certain he couldn’t see you, nor the zombie for that matter, but what you could see was the faint glow of the light he was shining inside the pharmacy as he waited for your return.

in that very instant, a lightbulb might as well have shone above your head the way your face lit up with the idea you just got. biting your lip in anticipation, while also getting ready to make a run for it if needed, you pointed your flashlight up at the ceiling — a sight you were certain satoru would notice.

and then, you clicked it off. and on again. three separate times.

almost immediately you heard him, the sound of his boots squeaking on the floor as he hurriedly jumped over the counter, running through the aisles in search of you. the zombie, who was once mindlessly walking around, seemed to be more alert now, as another growl tore through its gnarled lips before it started to follow the sound from satoru. you took the chance to catch it by surprise, grabbing the largest item you could find within reach, and tossing it in the opposite direction, hoping to lead it away from him.

the commotion from the object you tossed helped satoru figure out where you were hidden, but it only worked to anger the creature further, as its eyes seemed to follow the source of the noise and trace it back to you. upon making eye contact you audibly gulped, and just as the creature lunged at you, you quickly dodged its bony fingers and ran past it, shoving it to the side in the process and just barely missing the way it almost tore into your arm.

you weren’t really paying much attention to where you were going, just running on pure adrenaline by that point. you blindly turned a corner and came face to face with another body, one you were too panicked to discern, making you yelp in shock when you felt a strong set of arms wrap around you.

“hey, hey,” satoru’s voice broke through the haze just before you could shove him away, and you could only blink in surprise as he pulled you tighter into him, shushing you gently as his eyes searched the surrounding area. “you’re okay, it’s just me. i got you, you’re safe now.”

as he spoke he pulled back from the hug, eyes scanning over you as best he could in the dark to assess whether or not you’d been hurt. but then his head snapped up at the sound of the zombie approaching, and just as quickly you snapped out of it too. you pulled your bat out of satoru’s backpack as he grabbed another weapon of his, a silencer that truthfully was in need of another reload soon, and you both got into position.

the zombie lunged at you again but you were better prepared this time, swinging the bat in your hands hard enough to knock it down on the floor. just as you did this you felt satoru’s hand on your shoulder, and he stepped around you to point the silencer at the head of the zombie before pulling the trigger, taking the final shot at the creature.

it slumped into the ground, finally dead, and though the adrenaline was still slow to leave your system you were admittedly much more relaxed now. especially because satoru’s hand was now sliding down your back, turning you around and pulling you back into his chest once more.

he held you firmly, about as firmly as he held you on that fated day a few months back, just after you’d both narrowly avoided the chase of a horde. his breathing was labored against your hair, though you were not doing any better — huffing softly against his chest as you hugged him back just as tightly, letting the bat fall to your feet to focus on returning his embrace.

neither of you said anything after that, but satoru couldn’t have been standing any closer to you as you both made your way through the rest of the shop, occasionally grabbing some extra food and other miscellaneous supplies before finally heading back out into the night. the same dog from before had been patiently waiting the whole time, bounding over to your side excitedly once you both emerged into the parking lot.

you both then made the trek back through the forest, weapons in tow and satoru’s hand firmly grasping yours once more.

the sound of you whistling was equally as soft as it was loud enough to capture satoru’s attention, and satoru’s head snapped up from where he was fastening the tarp over the back of the pickup truck you both hijacked a month or two ago. using the tarp to conceal some supplies and belongings you two had gathered over the last few days, he tightened the knot and closed the trunk before stepping around the pickup and over to your side.

“check this out,” you waved him over, eyes fixed on a point past the trees in the surrounding area. you lifted a hand to point in the direction you were staring and he followed your gaze, raising an eyebrow in intrigue when he spotted what you were talking about — a road sign.

more specifically, a road sign with coordinates spray painted over it. longitude and latitude coordinates.

“huh,” he hummed, nodding his head slowly. “what d’you think that’s for?”

you shrugged, turning around to face the passenger side of the car as you spoke. “could be anything, really,” you mumbled, reaching inside through the lowered window of the car and opening the glove compartment to pull out the road map you’d both been using, as well as a small pencil.

you walked over to the hood of the car, placing the map flat on the surface of it and smoothing it down as you read the coordinates on the road sign again. “it could be another supplies shop, an abandoned facility turned refuge, a small community…” you trailed off as you spoke again.

satoru nodded in agreement, helping you pinpoint roughly the exact location the coordinates had set, and it appeared to be about a couple hours worth of driving away from you two.

“you wanna check it out?” he offered, leaning on the hood of the car as his glaze flitted up to your face. the expression you adorned seemed contemplative; you chewed on your lower lip for a short moment before decidedly making up your mind. with a small nod you met his eyes, giving him a small smile of intrigue.

“sure, why the hell not?”

satoru grinned with you — he couldn’t help matching his smile with yours every time he saw it — raising his hand and squeezing your shoulder before wrapping an arm around you. “sounds like a plan, let’s hit the road.”

you both climbed into the pickup, and the dog (the very same one you rescued the other night) excitedly sat in-between the two of you on the cushion of the large seat. and then you were off, headed towards the nearest highway to begin the drive to the unknown location.

“okay, so,” you began, examining the map and the road signs around you as satoru began to press on the brake, slowing down just enough to look at the surroundings. “according to the map it should be a little offset from this road, north east from here.” you pointed forward and satoru nodded, carefully pulling the pickup off the road.

“i think we should find some place nearby to crash for the night, in case it turns out to be nothing.” satoru thought out loud, glancing at you for a moment before fixing his gaze back on the road. the dog at this point had laid down beside you, its head on your lap, and satoru couldn’t help smiling fondly at the sight.

“yeah that’s a good idea, i think down there’s an old residential area… you wanna try scoping it out?” you suggested, and satoru nodded in agreement.

you both drove for several more minutes before deciding to pull over in a secluded area, making sure to mark where you left the car hidden from the main road, and then you both grabbed your backpacks and started the short trek to the abandoned residential area you’d spotted. the dog followed closely behind you two, and as you both approached the street, satoru’s hand once again reached out to grab yours and squeeze it gently.

it seemed that anywhere you both went these days, satoru’s hand always sought out yours. whether it was for comfort or to remind himself that you were nearby, or perhaps to even soothe yourself, you weren’t sure. but you squeezed his hand back, anyway. you let him know you were still there with him.

he doesn’t let go of your hand until you both find a small house down the road, only doing so to fasten his grip around his rifle as the two of you prepared to enter the abandoned home.

it’s important to make sure the place is safe first before entering it. that includes ensuring the home is not only zombie-free but also human-free. you’ve both had your fair share of incidents and run-ins with some bad folk, and you didn’t want anyone to get the wrong impression if they saw two total strangers trying to sleep in the very same place they’d taken as refuge.

but as you both entered the house, the distinct lack of any signs of life was evident in the dusty appearance it had. the door creaked on its hinges as satoru pushed it open, and instantly the dog was squeezing past the two of you,sniffing out the area. whether or not he was also searching for any hints of someone or something’s presence, it was unclear to the two of you. yet you both trusted the dog would react to anything out of the ordinary, so you stepped inside with small sighs of relief.

“it doesn’t have a second floor, so we should both be good here for the night.” satoru said aloud, to which you nodded in response. the two of you spent the next hour or so prepping the home and ensuring all the doors were locked, curtains drawn and windows boarded before sealing yourselves in one of the bedrooms.

it was routine, at this point. find a place to stay, seal it off, stay close to each other. that’s what you both did every time; that’s why you never questioned why satoru was particularly clingier during the nights with you. how he tugs on the hem of your shirt, pulling you closer to him as he approaches the bed you’d both be sleeping in, not wanting you out of his sight even for a single moment.

“i wonder what we’ll find there,” he thought out loud, lifting the blanket on the mattress and shaking the dust off of it before setting it back down. he did the same with the pillows, and then his attention was back on you, grabbing your elbow and gently urging you to climb into the bed with him. it was subconscious, almost pure instinct the way he did it. and you followed without a second thought, just as you always did.

“i hope it’s not a waste of our time, that’s for sure,” you huffed softly, slipping your shoes off and glancing over at the dog laying in the corner of the room one last time before climbing in next to satoru. you pulled the blanket over your legs, and satoru’s arm was soon finding its way across your shoulders, pulling you further into his side. “though this area doesn’t seem so bad, maybe we could stay here for a bit too.”

satoru simply hummed in response, his other arm sliding across your midsection while your own arms wrapped around his torso. your head plopped onto his shoulder, and just like that you both lay, relaxing against the kind of comfortable bedding that you rarely ever come across these days.

satoru closed his eyes for a moment when your head nuzzled further against him, lips parting slightly with every soft breath you exhaled. he felt that familiar pull in his heart again, tugging towards you, naturally. his arms tightened around you with the feeling, swallowing thickly as to push away what he knew was coming next — the intrusive thoughts.

thoughts of not being able to keep you safe, of losing you to the madness that’s overtaken the world. or worse yet — of him dying. of you being left alone, with no one to hold you at night the same way he is at this very moment. he can’t stomach the thought of you being alone; he thinks he fears that more than the prospect of his own death in that equation.

satoru just… he just wants you to be safe and cared for. the world is so, so barren… and so lonely. he wouldn’t be so worried about this if you both still had your group with you, but now you both were all that was left of it. he was all you had left, and you were all he had left. he promised himself a long time ago that he was never going to leave your side, no matter what.

“satoru.”

“hmm?” he hummed, rubbing your shoulder soothingly in a way that showed you that you had his attention.

“stop thinking so much,” you yawned, pinching his waist softly, making the man chuckle. “get some sleep.”

“okay, okay. i’ll try.”

he closed his eyes again, his head lolling to the side and leaning on top of your own as you both drifted off to sleep in each other’s arms. dreaming of a kinder world, a world where he got to simply be with you and not have this lingering fear in the back of his head. one that always seems to remind him that every sweet moment could have such a bitter end.

he falls asleep with you in his arms, safe and sound for the night being. all with the promise of getting to see the sun again by the time you’ve awoken.

“i think this is it,” you muttered, lowering the map shielding your view to scan the area ahead of you once again. yet another stretch of woods that didn’t seem as promising as you’d both hoped it’d be.

satoru whistled lowly, a hand resting on his hip as he quirked a brow and looked around. “should we keep walking? see if there’s anything worthwhile?”

you hummed softly, contemplative but a little dejected in manner. a sigh escaped your lips as you pocketed the sordid map, head lolling to the side afterwards to spare an uncertain glance at satoru. even if he didn’t know you like the back of his hand, if he didn’t commit every single mannerism and expression of yours to memory, reciting it like you were his favorite poem — he still could’ve just as easily picked up on your reluctance to go any further. but he also saw an insatiable curiosity in your eyes, so all it really took was a gentle nudge in your side to convince you.

“c’mon, let’s at least make sure this wasn’t a complete waste of our time.”

you pursed your lips in consideration again before nodding slowly, giving him a playful smile as you gestured ahead of you. “ladies first,” you teased him, followed by a snort when he stuck his tongue out at you in response.

he lead the way for a few steps before slowing down his pace, all with the intent of walking side by side and grabbing your hand. he swung it back and forth for a bit, relishing in the small giggles that left your lips.

“someone’s awfully cheerful today.” you mused, beaming up at him when he gave you a bashful grin in response.

“i guess i just… have a good feeling about this, i dunno.” he shrugged, smiling down at you in a way that warmed up your whole being more effectively than the sunlight peeking through the tree branches above you.

you chewed on your lip as you nodded, eyes flitting down to the dog who was walking just a few feet ahead of you both, curiously sniffing the ground with every step it took. you tilted your head in amusement, about to comment on the action, but then a shot rings out and a bullet hits the ground just ahead of the dog.

a sharp cry leaves the startled animal as he stumbles away from the sudden sound, ears back and tail tucked between its legs while it quickly runs to hide behind you and satoru. the sound also startled you both, as you were instantly grabbing a hold of each other, eyes darting in all directions, frantically searching for the source of the shot.

“you there!” a voice calls out, booming with every syllable, and the moment satoru spots the source of the speaker he’s stepping in front of you, shielding you protectively from the gun pointed in your direction.

“you both travelers?” the man, now appearing more fully from behind a large bush, calls out to you both as he speaks. you and satoru hesitate for a moment in your response, unsure how to assess the stranger, but then you both slowly nod in confirmation.

“this is a protected area.” he states with a click of his tongue, slowly lowering the gun yet still keeping his guard up. his eyes flit between the expressions on yours and satoru’s faces, and then he raises an eyebrow. “how’d you get all the way out here?”

“we, um,” you began, fingers curling around satoru’s arm a little tighter as you cleared your throat. “we came across some coordinates, we weren’t sure what to make of them so we decided to check out the location ourselves.” you answered truthfully, exhaling shakily once you’d finished speaking. “we— we mean no harm to you, promise.”

satoru nodded in agreement, though there was no denying the way his fingers twitched over the strap of his own rifle, pure instincts telling him to pull out the weapon and point it back at the man ahead of you two.

when the stranger took a second too long to respond, satoru took a careful step backwards, hand now firmly gripping the strap of his rifle that was slung over his shoulder. satoru’s other hand slid around your back, pulling you closer to him protectively as he raised his chin. “we can get out of your hair, if you’ll let us go.” satoru proposed, tone firm as he addressed the man who was still pointing his gun at the both of you.

the man tutted, brows still furrowed as he examined you both for another moment longer. he seemed to take a deep breath, grip tightening around his rifle, gaze narrowing, and then— his shoulders dropped, he lowered the gun in his hands and he nodded his head in the direction behind him.

“you two, follow me. you can bring the dog.”

you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, and then shared a hopeful glance with satoru as you both carefully took a few steps forward. you're not sure how you didn’t notice it before but the man lead you both to a short trail that was close by, leading to a large fortified community at the end of it. giant wooden gates with watchtowers on every end and several more armed guards. satoru’s grip on his own weapon relaxed, but only for his other hand to tighten on your side, almost like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

he tugged on your sleeve twice, hesitating around a third tug until he felt your arm link with his, pulling him down closer to whisper in his ear.

“this place seems pretty legit.”

his eyes flitted over to your expression, and it was that of pure awe. you were taking in all the surroundings with careful attention to detail as the gates opened up and you were both welcomed inside the community. satoru probably should’ve been paying more attention himself but he found it hard to tear his gaze away from the awestruck look on your face.

the way it made his heart swell, how he had this urge to squish the plump of your cheeks when you grinned widely, how the smile stretched across your whole face. he can’t remember the last time he’d ever seen you look so hopeful.

he was so caught up in your presence, he was almost convinced he dreamt up the next thing he heard.

“…suguru?”

the name registered in his head after a bit of a delay. it all happened so slowly, his senses only working one after the other. his eyes first saw the way your expression froze, your lips spelling out a name that looked familiar. then touch was next; he felt the way you tugged once on his arm, how your fingers curled around his wrist and tightened hard around him, hard enough for it to feel like the joints in your knuckles were going to get stuck in that position. finally, came sound — the sound of the gravel kicking in front of you both as you stopped dead in your tracks, the name you uttered, the object that dropped to the floor a few feet ahead of you both.

satoru turned his head and saw him. his eyes trailed up from the basket of fresh fruits at his feet (honestly, he can’t remember the last time he’s had a fresh strawberry), the trembling hands that had been holding that basket, and then his gaze finally landed on the shocked face of the man in question.

suguru geto, someone neither of you had seen in literal months, someone you thought to be dead for the longest time. a member of the small group of survivors you both used to be part of, the very group that you’d both stuck with since the beginning of the end.

“holy shit.” satoru’s voice finally caught up to him, though it sounded far away. he couldn’t believe his eyes, and neither could you — the two of you were blinking like deer caught in the headlights.

suguru was the one to move first, having caught his bearings faster than either of you. “huh… i can’t say i’m surprised you two made it out alive and together.” he chuckled, his shocked expression morphing into a breathy laugh as he stepped forward.

you were the next one to snap back to reality, breaking out into a laugh of your own as you let go of satoru and ran forward, immediately jumping into suguru’s space and pulling him in for a hug. “oh my god, oh my god! you— you’re alive, suguru! suguru you, you’re—”

you were rambling, laughing with the surprise you felt as you squealed at the sight of an old friend, another familiar face at the end of the world. satoru was silent, evidently still processing the presence in front of him as he took slow steps forward. you let go of suguru to look back at satoru and beckon him forward, and suguru grinned when he sensed the confusion in satoru’s face.

“c’mere man, i don’t bite. it’s just me.”

satoru blinked again, but then he was smiling just as wide as he pulled suguru in for another bone-crushing hug of his own, gripping the other man tightly as he breathily laughed against his shoulder.

“fucking hell, suguru,” satoru laughed, still in shock, and he couldn’t help the way he started rocking side to side as they held each other. “have you just been chilling here this whole time?”

suguru laughed with him, patting his back before pulling away from the hug to look him in the eyes as he spoke. “technically, there were a few weeks of shoko and i just wandering around before we found this place, and we’ve been here ever since.” suguru beamed, his smile growing when he heard you gasp beside him.

“shoko’s here too?!” you gaped, eyes no wider than the smile on your face as you hurriedly spun around, looking around to search for her.

“yup,” he grinned, raising his hand and pointing in the direction of a small shop across the street. “last i saw she was just over there, checking out some vegetables.” suguru said, and before he could get another word out you were excusing yourself to run off in that very direction, searching for the woman in question.

satoru was smiling too at the news, and when he saw you run off to find her he stepped forward to follow you, as was his instinct; only, a firm hand on his chest stopped him from doing so.

“wha—” he stammered as he turned to look at suguru, unsure why the other man was stopping him from following your trail.

“we can meet up with them in a minute, there’s something i wanna ask you real quick,” suguru announced, slinging an arm around his friend as he pulled him back in the opposite direction. satoru was unsure how to respond to that, unsure what to make of this weird sensation in his chest, turning his head to glance over in the direction you’d run off in while suguru knelt down to retrieve the basket he’d dropped.

it was like an itch he couldn’t scratch. suguru almost didn’t pick up on the way it made satoru look desperate to keep you in his sights, if not for the way the taller man kept glancing back every now and then as he followed suguru to a small house down the street.

“so,” suguru huffed, dropping the basket down onto a table before turning to face satoru, crossing his arms over his chest with a raised brow. he opened his mouth to say something else when he noticed satoru was not paying attention, instead anxiously tapping his foot and looking out the windows of the home.

“they’re fine, y’know…” suguru mumbled, seemingly reading satoru’s mind, the concern he held for you plastered all over his face. “this place is completely safe. we rarely get anyone to join the community since it’s pretty remote, and everyone here is extremely nice. i trust all of them with my life.”

when suguru says this satoru only nodded slowly, gaze still fixed on the window as he tried to peer down the street. he finally caught sight of you exiting the shop you ran into a few minutes prior, arm linked with shoko’s while you both excitedly chatted together. there was a skip in your step, satoru noted.

suguru noticed the way satoru’s demeanor visibly relaxed, with the faintest smile appearing on his face.

“you two finally got together, then?”

this is what catches satoru’s attention, what has him facing suguru with his mouth gaping wide open. “wha— what are you—”

suguru cuts him off with a chuckle, shaking his head gently. “is that a no? honestly, the way you were holding onto each other earlier, i’d have suspected otherwise.” he teased.

satoru only frowned with suguru’s comments, a trace of uncertainty mixed with another emotion pooling in his gut and making his heart clench a little. “i— i’m not sure what you’re, uh… we didn’t— i, um…” he stammered, cheeks tinting a dusty pink shade with how flustered he’d become.

suguru’s teasing grin fell a little bit, seemingly understanding the flurry of emotions that caught satoru off guard. it’s hard, after all — hard to entertain something so trivial when you’ve only ever had the time to worry about your own survival for longer than you can even remember.

it’d only been a couple of years since the apocalypse began, but to anyone on the outside of this community, it was like a lifetime had passed.

“forget i said anything,” suguru smiled comfortingly, extending a hand to squeeze satoru’s shoulder. his own attempt at soothing the crease in satoru’s brow, helping bring the taller man back to the present moment and out of the rampant thoughts in his head. “why don’t we go meet up with the others and i’ll show you both around?”

satoru nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat as he let suguru lead him out of the small house and back onto the streets, over in the direction where you and shoko were chatting on a bench.

it was a heartfelt reunion with the four of you, and as suguru and shoko showed you both around and introduced you two to the rest of the community, nobody commented on the way satoru was gripping onto the hem of your jacket the whole time. even though suguru and shoko shared a knowing glance, they knew better than to say anything. not with the way satoru’s voice cracked, lips shaping themselves into a small pout whenever you would move away from him, even if it was just to examine something closer.

even as you both were officially inducted by the heads of the community, and brought to the townhouse you would be staying at, satoru still felt that strange ache in his chest when you unlocked the front door and you both walked in to find that there were two beds, rather than just one.

you could say he was a little attached, but he was just dreading sleeping in his own bed tonight.

“hey, ‘toru?”

you snapped him out of his thoughts, and he blinked a little dumbly as he fixed his gaze on you. he saw the furrow in your brows, and like clockwork he was stepping closer to you, reaching forward to lightly pinch your arm in an affectionate gesture.

“hmm? you okay?”

you nodded your head, wrapping your hand around his wrist and holding his arm gently before you pointed in the direction of the bedroom with your free hand. “which, um… which bed do you want?”

his eyes flitted to the beds behind you, and then back to the expectant look on your face. it was an odd expression, almost like you weren’t sure of the answer yourself.

it doesn’t matter. i’ll sleep wherever you want to sleep.

“uh, you can go ahead and pick first. i’m good either way.” is what he replied with instead, shrugging his shoulders and almost wincing at the tug he felt in his heart when you gave him a sheepish grin.

“alright… if you say so,” you giggled softly, chewing on your lower lip as you glanced over at the two beds before turning back to him. “i think i’ll just take the one in the corner, then, if that’s alright.”

satoru smiled at you, maneuvering the grip you had on his wrist to slide his hand into yours with ease. “it’s all fine with me.”

you gazed at each other like this for another moment longer, and then your attention was pulled away from satoru when you felt the dog pawing at your leg, whining softly beside your feet.

“oh, you must be hungry,” you pouted, giving an apologetic smile to the dog as you turned around. “here, i got you something at the food stall earlier with shoko.”

satoru watched as you turned around, letting go of his hand to walk over to the backpack you’d set down near the front door. you fished around inside of it before pulling out a paper wrapping, revealing the diced potatoes you’d gotten. you picked one out from the wrapping and knelt down, extending your hand forward to offer the piece of food to the dog.

it sniffed your hand for a moment, assessing the food before gently taking a bite. you smiled wider as the dogs ears perked up, tail wagging and walking closer to you to get more of the potatoes.

“here, this is all for you, buddy.” you giggled, setting the wrapping down on the floor to let the dog eat from it in peace. satoru watched this exchange with another fond smile; there was a sort of domestic feeling about this that his heart really liked. it was beating rapidly in his chest when your eyes met his again and it didn’t slow down even as you approached him again.

“let’s get ready for bed then, yeah?”

earlier in the afternoon you were both offered a fresh change of clothing, as well as some utilities to shower and freshen yourselves up. you were pleasantly surprised to find that the running water was actually warm; you can’t even remember the last time you got to have a relaxing shower. you think you even almost cried underneath the shower head, the water dripping around your teary eyes as the relief finally settled after flooding into your body.

you can’t recall ever having felt so calm in your life.

satoru was faring similarly; he was unable to stop the laughter bubbling up in his chest the second the water pellets landed on his head, smoothing down his white hair that had been covered in dirt for months. even as he wiped the steam off the mirror once he stepped out, he almost didn’t recognize himself — almost didn’t recognize the stark brightness of the fluffy strands on his head.

he rubbed his face with the towel before stepping out, and he was surprised to find that you’d already fallen asleep on your bed, curled up on top of the covers and holding an extra pillow close to your chest. he lingered beside his own bed for a moment, his gaze fixed on you for a second longer before he urged himself to climb into his own bed and go to sleep.

he couldn’t blame you for falling asleep so fast, really. it was a blissful feeling getting to wash away the soreness in your muscles, the dirt and grime that’d built up after months of traveling through a barren world. he even thinks the noise he just made was almost akin to a purr; a moan of pure content as he sunk into the mattress, head falling against the pillow as he willed his bones to melt against the cushions.

and yet, he still couldn’t bring himself to fall asleep.

couldn’t quite ignore the building ache in his chest again, an anxious bubble in his heart that wouldn’t pop no matter how hard he poked and prodded at it. he rolled onto his side, facing one end of the room where the dog was laying comfortably on a small bed you’d set up on the floor for it; a pile of throw blankets and a pillow for the little companion you’d both made in your travels.

he squeezed his eyes shut, unaware of how tightly he was gripping the pillow beneath his head. he rolled onto his back again, tossing and turning for what must have been 10 whole minutes before he finally faced you again. he noted the way you were holding the pillow to your chest, nuzzling your head against it.

he thinks if there was anything that could quell the rapid beating of his heart right now, it would be the feeling of your hair tickling his jawline, fluffy strands poking at the exposed skin of his neck as you slept on his own chest.

“satoru?”

satoru blinks, lifting his head up at the sound of your voice from across the table. you were both sitting in the breakfast hall near the community square, having joined suguru and shoko for the morning to catch up with the two of them. satoru hadn’t really been doing much of the talking, though.

“sorry, i spaced out a little.” he murmured, giving you a small smile. he could tell you didn’t fully believe his words from the way you narrowed your gaze questioningly, but he gently nudged your leg with his shoe. “you were saying?” he added playfully, highlighting the lighthearted remark with a small tilt of his head.

truthfully, satoru was exhausted. he barely got a lick of sleep the whole night. he didn’t want to convey that to you, though; how else was he supposed to explain that it was the most relaxed his muscles had felt in ages, and yet he still couldn’t quell the anxious feelings that bubbled up. what initially started as a low simmer in his chest now had the threat of boiling over and spilling out of his heart. he was losing his grip, and he couldn’t even begin to explain why.

“well, i… was just wondering,” you continued after another moment, eyes worriedly scanning satoru’s demeanor before flitting back to the other two on your table. “since it’s just you and shoko here, would you happen to know what happened to the rest of the group?”

you worded the question as carefully as you could manage, watching for their reaction to the presumably sensitive topic. just as you’d anticipated, suguru’s expression fell, his lips curving downwards into a frown as he averted his gaze.

“they, um…” shoko, who was sitting beside you, spoke up to answer your question instead. “most of ‘em didn’t make it. we— we tried to go back and save some of them, but…” she trailed off, chewing on her bottom lip as she too looked to the side.

“there wasn’t much we could do, in the end… we had to be selfish, to save ourselves.” suguru added after a moment, his gaze now focused on nothing in particular while he directed his voice in your direction.

satoru had been silently picking at the food on his plate for most of the conversation up until now. after hearing suguru’s response, satoru’s actions paused, and he slowly lifted his eyes up from the table to see the expression on your face. your lips were also downturned, gaze cast down on the table while you used your nails to pick at the corner of your plate.

satoru’s eyes then trailed downwards, past the small clench of your jaw and your stiff posture before finally landing on your other hand. it was extended a little forward on the table, past your plate and resting near the corner of satoru’s own. he instantly noticed a subtle twitch in your fingers, how they almost tapped absentmindedly on the table.

your wrist then began to turn, fingers slowly unfurling to reveal your palm, which was now facing the ceiling. and when satoru looked back up, he saw that your eyes were already on him. without breaking eye contact for a single second, he lifted his hand from the table and slid it over to yours, gently pressing two of his fingers into the center of your palm.

and he felt that ache in his chest again when your own fingers immediately wrapped around his.

“but what matters is that we’re here now,” shoko breaks the tense silence once more, sliding closer to your side on the seat and wrapping an arm across your shoulders. “all of us. we finally found each other again.”

it’s unanimous across the four of you, how you all stick by each other’s sides. with the dynamic of a found-family in the midst of so much chaos — you’ve all finally reached a point where you can settle down and discuss these things amongst each other. it’s a well-deserved breath of fresh air.

yet, satoru still feels it. the slight tremble in your hands, how your fingers slide into his own palm and grip his hand tightly. it’s then that he comes to terms with it, that near-paralyzing emotion in his chest.

satoru needed this, all of this. he needed the break, the ability to settle down and clear his mind for once — but most importantly, he needed you.

he needs you; he thinks he always will need you, for as long as he has the fortune of living in the very world you reside. your own existence permeates into the depths of his soul, making him feel like he was always meant to be with you — regardless of the circumstances that led you to him. the very same circumstances that forever changed the world around you both.

the breakfast hall starts to clear up, and the four of you gather your plates and set them aside for the community volunteers that work in the kitchens. by the time you’re all back out underneath the sun, the mood seems to brighten up once more. suguru is smiling again and shoko is laughing about something with you but satoru still feels stuck, like the weight of his emotions is finally caving in on his heart. what he actually needs right now is a moment to pull himself together.

it’s not until he makes a move to excuse himself — to walk back to the small house you both share — that he realizes you were still holding his hand in your own. when you turn to face satoru with a questioning glance, he offers you a small smile.

“i’m gonna go check in with the dog,” he tells you, a lie sprinkled with some truth to disguise it better. “i thought i’d give him my leftovers from breakfast.”

it doesn’t seem convincing enough, but his hand slips out of your grasp before you could say anything about it. he dismisses himself from the conversation and waves at suguru and shoko, promising to return a little later before he walks off in the opposite direction.

now it’s your turn to feel his absence, unable to tear your gaze away from the trail he leaves in the grass as he walks away. if you’d asked him for an honest answer, he’d have told you he didn’t want to sour the mood with the raw emotions threatening to spill out of his heart. but then, you’d have simply responded by saying that the lack of his own presence near you was doing just that anyway.

you’d only managed to stick around with the other two for just a few more minutes before it started to eat away at you.

sometime later, a soft knock on the bedroom door is what pulls satoru out of his train of thoughts, and he looks up from where he was petting the dog lying comfortably on his lap to see you poke your head through the small opening in the door frame.

“hey there,” you murmured, smiling softly before slowly pushing the door open and stepping inside the room. “you okay? the others were pretty worried about you.” 

satoru offers you a small smile, eyes lingering on your own for a moment before he looks back down at the dog on his lap. “‘m okay, just a little tired today i think…”

you hummed in response, following his gaze and seeing how the dog nuzzled into his touch, appearing to be so content when satoru scratched softly behind its ear. “i get it. it’s a, um… a bit of an adjustment being here after everything,” you offered, closing the door behind you and walking over to him. you took a seat on the corner of the mattress, your hands fiddling on your lap as you thought about what to say.

ironically, satoru actually thinks that he should instead be having a harder time sitting still. how do you go from constantly moving, day in and day out, never once stopping to absorb anything in your surroundings for months — to then settling in one place for an indefinite period of time. it has barely been 24 hours since they found this small community but satoru simply thinks he should be wanting to do more, he should be craving it.

but he’s yet to feel that itch to keep moving, too caught up in all the other confusing feelings in his chest that weigh on his soul like an anchor. too caught up in the heat of your palm when you hold his hand; how you look at him like you’re trying to read his mind, even though he should be the one to soothe your worries instead. to smooth the crease in your brow with a gentle press of his lips on your skin, if you’d let him.

as you sit on his bed now, carefully studying his reactions — he also hesitates. he should be more surprised that he finally has the room to even think about something like this. when you’re both outside these gates — outside the fortification that protects you both from danger — you can’t afford to hesitate.

he never once had to think twice about his instinct to hold you close and never let you go, but right now it plagues his mind like the very disease you’ve both been running from all these years.

satoru went silent again. the hand petting the dog on his lap stills, and your gaze flits up to see the faraway look on his face. how his eyelids have started to droop, the exhaustion finally catching up to him. every few seconds he widens his eyes and blinks, as if trying to keep them from closing, but then they start to fall again against his will.

“did you get any sleep last night?” you finally asked him, scooting further up the side of the bed until you were sitting right beside him. he watched your movements with a sort of calculated precision, trying to make something of the sudden skip in his heartbeat, but then he sighs and leans back against the headboard.

“i couldn’t really fall asleep,” he admits, his voice heavy with the exhaustion that’s slowly seeping into his bones. you hummed in response, now feeling the urge to reach out for him. you lift a hand from your lap, pausing midair when you start to overthink your action — but satoru notices. his eyes meet yours and there’s this look in them you can’t quite figure out, but it’s like he’s silently screaming at you to do something. to welcome back the physical closeness you’d both grown so accustomed to the past few months. to hold him and never let go.

after another short moment, you finally lift your hand and extend it further, reaching up to smooth down the strands of his hair that were sticking out a little awkwardly. almost immediately his eyes fluttered closed, leaning into your touch with a sort of deprivation that’s been gnawing at him ever since you both got here.

the dog then jumps off his lap, startling you as you watch it land on the floor and walk to the other side of the room. you subconsciously start to pull your hand away, eyes fixed on the dog as it settled into the pile of blankets you left for him overnight. but then you feel satoru’s fingers curl tightly around your wrist, holding your hand in place.

“stay,” he croaks when you meet his eyes again, cerulean irises swimming with an intensity that’s almost foreign to you. “please…”

wordlessly, you nod. satoru moves aside on the mattress and it takes you a second too long to realize he’s inviting you into his space again. you climb in without another second wasted, feeling a weight lift from your heart when his arms wrap around your frame securely and pull you into his chest.

he exhales, closing his eyes and wrapping himself so tightly around you that it’d have been suffocating if you weren’t hugging him back just as tightly. it’s not long before he ends up falling asleep like that, finally able to relax again now that he’s holding you close.

you find yourself falling asleep in his arms as well. neither of you say anything about it, and you surely don’t question it later on in the evening when he climbs into your own bed for the night — as he continuously does for every night that follows.

a week has now passed, and it’s officially the longest time you’ve both spent in any given place for the last 4 months. satoru still climbs into your bed every night, and though the ache in his chest has yet to leave, he thinks it’s much easier to manage now.

that is, until he wakes up one morning to an empty bed.

he thinks nothing of it at first; stretching his arms out blindly to feel around for you, thinking you probably rolled around in your sleep and slipped out of his grasp. no worries, he can just curl up into your side again to sleep in a little more. maybe even slink his arm around your waist and pull you back into him. but when he’s met with nothing but a persistent lack of your lingering warmth on the sheets, he peels his eyes open and lifts his head from the pillow to really take a good look. he finds that you’re not in the room at all.

again, he doesn’t bat an eye. a part of him wishes he could’ve woken up with you but he had a late night chatting with suguru, so he doesn’t necessarily blame you for getting up first to grab breakfast without waiting for him. he stretches his arms above his head with a sleepy squeak, sitting up and craning his neck to the side to catch a glimpse of the dog, who was sleeping soundly in his little corner of the room.

satoru gets up then, changing into some more casual clothing and slipping his shoes on. even as he steps out the door, he doesn’t notice the fact that your backpack is not where you left it the other day.

he reaches the breakfast hall after a short walk, expecting to find you sitting with the others, but he’s only met with the sight of suguru sitting by himself at the table.

okay, that’s… no big deal. maybe you already ate and you’re just down the street with shoko. besides, suguru must have slept in too. it makes sense when satoru thinks about it like that.

satoru grabs a plate of food and takes a seat across from the other man. he smiles politely as he lifts his fork, resisting the urge to ask about your whereabouts before he’s even said ‘good morning’ to his best friend.

“morning,” suguru smiles back, stretching his neck to the side to crack it. they make a bit of small talk, but suguru can tell from the anxious tapping of satoru’s foot that his mind is nowhere near present in their conversation.

“where’d the other two head off?” satoru casually drops the question during a break in the conversation, and suguru hums softly. there’s a knowing look in his eyes as he watches satoru eat another forkful of his breakfast, the way the white-haired man pretends the question hasn’t been on his mind since the moment he woke up.

“ah, they left early this morning,” suguru shrugs, though his nonchalance was poorly misguided. he’s thankful he caught on to the way satoru instantly stiffened, because it helped him choose his next words a little more carefully. “they mentioned something about getting the car you both left hidden not too far from here. shoko suggested leaving early to catch a ride with one of the armed guards that patrols the woods, so at least there’s that.”

suguru mistakenly thinks he did enough to diffuse satoru’s incoming reaction, but he’s proven wrong when the fork slips out of satoru’s hand and drops onto the plate with a loud clatter.

“thanks for dropping us off!”

you waved to the armed guard after shutting the car door behind you, heeding the man’s advice to keep your weapons in tow as you watched him drive off. you turned to shoko then, who was looking around the residential area with an impressed grin.

“there’s a ton of abandoned houses here, it’ll definitely come in handy if the community starts growing more.” she commented, already drafting up all the different ways the community could expand. “within reason, of course.”

you chuckled, nodding your head in the direction you started walking, an indication for her to follow you. “were there that many people when you and suguru arrived?” you asked, making casual conversation as you both began to walk down the empty street. she hummed in response, smiling as she thought back on the last 2-3 months that she’d been there with him.

“honestly, yes and no…” shoko laughed, stuffing her hands in her pocket and kicking a pebble on the ground. “believe it or not, a lot of people actually come and go. they’re pretty strict about the rules to maintain everyone’s safety, but it rarely ever needs to be enforced… everyone’s good about following them,” she explained, swiveling around the toothpick she was holding between her lips.

“that being said, though, some people tend to just up and leave without a word after a few weeks. the first few times it happens you’re kinda like— ‘woah, why is no one out looking for them?’. but after a while you get used to it. some people just… find it hard to get used to living a calmer life again after everything that’s happened,” she says, her expression thoughtful as she speaks. “in other words, i’m pretty sure they’ve become adrenaline junkies.” she adds with a snort. “no one ever stops them from leaving, it’s why there’s always a bed available for the next traveler that stops by — though even that doesn’t happen too often, either… we’re nestled pretty deep in the woods.”

you nodded along with her words, your gaze kept forward as you both continued walking. “that explains why they were so willing to let satoru and i stay there.”

this made shoko scoff playfully, and she nudged your side with her elbow as she did. “trust me, even if they weren’t so willing, they’d have to pull suguru and i away kicking and screaming if they denied you two.”

the two of you laughed together at the mental image that produced. as your laughter died down you spared a glance in her direction, eyeing the pick she was gnawing on. “you quit smoking?” you asked her, gesturing her hand towards the object in her mouth.

she nodded with a proud smile, grabbing the pick with two of her fingers and making a blowing motion, as if she were exhaling smoke. “cigarettes are getting a little harder to come by these days, no one over at the community smokes,” she explained, licking her lips before putting the pick back between her teeth. “this old lady who works the kitchen — she’s a real sweetheart, lemme tell you… she always noticed how antsy i used to get when i was trying to quit, how i would always reach for my mouth expecting to find something there to grab between my fingers. she walked over to me one day and just handed me a whole bunch of toothpicks, so the habit of me reaching for something is a lot easier to manage. kinda like how people used to chew gum to quit, back in the day.”

“huh,” you hummed softly, grinning at her as she spoke. “that was really kind of her to do.”

“yeah,” shoko grinned, looking down at the ground again. “turns out she used to be a heavy smoker too, so she recognized the ticks i’d get. she was really helpful.”

you smiled wider, nudging shoko gently with your elbow. “well, i’m proud of you for overcoming that. it can’t have been easy.”

she grinned bashfully, waving you off for a moment before linking her arm with yours. you both continued down the road, finally reaching the house you and satoru had stayed in about a week ago. you walked around the house, towards a small clearing in the back where you both had tucked the pickup truck away from plain sight.

“here she is,” you grinned, slapping a hand on the hood of the vehicle. “satoru and i found this pickup a little over a month ago — y’know, siphoning gas from abandoned cars outside city areas is actually a lot easier than i thought it’d be.” you snorted, setting your backpack down to fish out the keys you had.

shoko grinned as you spoke, about to respond with a lighthearted comment herself when a rustling in the trees caught her attention. her ears perked up, gaze narrowing as she tried to make out what the source of the noise was.

a low growl was then heard, and you both froze where you stood. just around the car, several feet away, there were two zombies, dragging themselves around the area. shoko reacted quickly, grabbing your arm and pulling you out of sight, the two of you kneeling in front of the car and hiding from the creatures that were yet to spot you.

“shit,” shoko muttered under her breath, her own adrenaline spiking as she tried to look over the side of the pickup. you were now moving a little frantically, trying to find the small set of keys in your bag, occasionally glancing up at shoko who was still keeping watch. “please tell me you’ve found them.”

“almost…” you trailed off, resisting the urge to exclaim out loud when your fingers brushed against the metal ridges of the car keys. you let out a sigh in relief, pulling them out and zipping up your bag, which you then slung over your shoulder. “got ‘em.”

shoko nodded, gulping as she glanced back over at the creatures that were now standing closer to the pickup. “we have to lead them away from the car. i’ll distract them while you get it started,” she suggested, but you were quick to shake your head in disagreement.

“like hell i’m letting you do that on your own,” you muttered, and shoko fought back the smirk that pulled at the corner of her lips.

“then we’ll take one each, whoever kills their zombie first starts the pickup.”

“you’re on,” you grinned, shaking shoko’s hand. “i’ll leave the key in the door, you go ahead first.”

you carefully got up on your feet, bending down low enough to remain hidden as you began to walk around the front of the car. as you were putting the key in the door, shoko stepped out in front of the two zombies, unsheathing the machete she was carrying on her belt as she did. both zombies began to run after her, but you were quick to jump out with your bat and grab the attention of one of them, pulling it in the opposite direction.

you managed to get a good distance away from the car, but the zombies were moving a lot faster than you were used to. you quickly spun around, swinging at the creature before it could lunge at you, instantly landing a hit and knocking it down. though it recovered quickly, too — just before you could swing at its head it attempted to grab at your legs, making you stumble backwards as you narrowly avoided getting scratched.

“you little shit,” you muttered, feeling your adrenaline peak with frustration. you swung again and it was knocked back into the ground, and this time you made sure to kick it down for good measure. your foot landed on its head and you swung your bat at the arms that reached out for you, managing to break apart the already dead limbs with the help of the barbed wire around the barrel of your weapon.

you then removed your foot and took a single step back, lifting the bat high above your head before bringing it down as hard as you could. with your own physical strength and the sheer momentum of the swing, you were able to crush the zombie’s skull in just one hit, killing it instantly.

the sound of the engine of the pickup truck coming to life pulled your attention back to the original task at hand, and you looked over your shoulder to see shoko had successfully killed the other zombie, beating you to the car first. she waved you over, and you spared one more glance at the zombie at your feet to make sure it was really dead before you turned around and ran towards the pickup, a relieved smile making its way onto your face.

“that wasn’t so bad,” shoko grinned at you as you stepped into the car, huffing in relief. as soon as the door closed behind you shoko put the car in drive, pulling out of the area and onto the street as she drove you both back to the guarded community. “you did pretty good back there.”

you chuckled breathlessly, waving off her compliment. you adjusted your position where you sat, moving one leg underneath the other to get more comfortable, but then a sharp pain sensation shot through your ankle, making you wince in pain.

“shit, you okay?” shoko asked you instantly, gaze flitting rapidly between you and the road ahead of her. “you didn’t get scratched, did you…?”

you shook your head no, though you lifted up your own pants up to your shin to double check. fortunately, there wasn’t a scratch, but your ankle looked a little swollen. “ah, fuck… must’ve been when that motherfucker tried to grab at my legs,” you mumbled, pressing your fingers against the joint and hissing softly. “i did stumble a little bit, i might’ve bent my ankle at an awkward angle without realizing.”

shoko nodded, a small frown appearing on her face. she could only catch short glimpses of you while she drove, which made her huff softly in frustration. “i’ll wrap it up for you as soon as we get back,” she promised.

the injury itself wasn’t too bad; you were still able to walk on your own with only a mild limp, but shoko was still insistent on wrapping it up to help with the swelling. you left the pickup with the other vehicles near the entrance of the community, and then you both walked back down the familiar, safeguarded streets. shoko excused herself to search for suguru, wanting to update him on the events of the morning, and you decided to head back to the house to drop off your things before meeting up with them. after you both parted ways, you reached the house in no time, but as you opened the front door you were surprised to find satoru immediately cornering you at the entrance.

“satoru, hey—” you began, about to greet him before he cut you off, grabbing your wrist and immediately dragging you towards the couch. he pushed the door closed with his other hand, a little harshly at that, making you jump slightly in surprise. “um, is everything okay?”

satoru didn’t say anything as he dragged you over to the couch, immediately pulling you down onto the seat and sitting beside you. he then lifted your arm, turning it around in his grasp, inspecting it closely before dropping it and moving on to the next limb.

“what are you—” you tried to say, but as you looked up at his face you immediately cut yourself off. his brows were furrowed, face set in a deep frown as he examined you for any potential scratches or injuries. you’d have teased him for the way he showed his concern for your safety if you didn’t catch the dull look in his eyes next, how the otherwise bright blues were now a pale gray color. his jaw was clenched tight, cheeks puffy and the skin around his eyes red, almost a little irritated. he looked like— wait, was he crying?

“satoru…” you tried again, voice much softer now as you recognized the look on his face for what it was. he was still quiet, now lifting one of your legs up onto his lap, still inspecting. “satoru, i’m okay. we just went to get the pickup truck, we’re both fine.”

he grumbled something underneath his breath, ignoring you again as he lifted your other leg. this happened to be the leg with your injury — and as he grabbed your ankle and hoisted it up onto his lap, he was quick to notice the wince you tried to hold back. he blinked up at you, feeling his heart stop in his chest.

very hesitantly, he looked back down at your ankle. he lifted up the fabric of your pants just a little bit, enough to expose the compression wrap shoko had fastened around it earlier. he knew it wasn’t a bandage wrap, which told him that you likely just twisted your ankle. but it didn’t make him feel any better — didn’t really do anything to stop the way his hand trembled as he gripped the fabric of your clothing.

“what happened?” he rasped, finally breaking his tense silence as he looked up at you. carefully, you pulled your leg off his lap, watching how his hands fell limply to his sides.

“i stumbled a bit and kinda twisted my ankle, it’s a little swollen but it doesn’t hurt too much.” you explained carefully, but satoru was hanging on to every word like a vice.

“you just tripped?”

“well, not really—”

“so, what, you fell?”

“no—”

“were you guys running from something?”

“satoru,” you snapped, your tone a little louder than you’d have liked it to be. “relax, there were some zombies that showed up. we killed them with no problem, i just lost my footing at one point. it’s not a big deal.”

you were getting irritated with the bombardment of questions, that much he could tell. but it felt like something inside of him was trying to claw out of his skin, and he just kept pushing, and pushing…

“…not a big deal?” he scoffed, scowling at your nonchalance. “since when is you almost dying not a big fucking deal?”

it was your turn to scoff now, rolling your eyes in annoyance as you stood up from the couch. “god, you’re so damn dramatic. you’re acting like i was being careless about it.”

“excuse me for thinking you were when you come back hurt!” he exclaimed, voice raising in pitch as he stood up and followed after you. “why the hell didn’t you tell me you were headed out there today?”

“you were still sleeping!” you argued back, raising your hands in surrender. “was i supposed to wake you up for something that didn’t even take up the whole morning?”

“um, yes?” he spoke sharply, staring at you in disbelief as he stopped behind you. “forget letting me sleep in, we’re supposed to do these things together!”

“shoko was with me the whole time,” you defended yourself, voice still raised as you crossed your arms over your chest and glared at him. “i know you always feel insanely protective of me but that doesn’t mean you have to swoop in like some knight in shining armor all the damn time, i can take care of myself!”

“don’t be ridiculous,” he barked back, his tone sharp and words cutting. “you sure did a hell of a job at that, coming back with a fucking twisted ankle.”

satoru heard it as soon as the words left his mouth, but his heart was so far up his throat that he couldn’t stop himself from saying it on time. he clenched his fists at his side in frustration, feeling something ugly twist low in his gut when you flinched at his harsh words.

“oh, go fuck yourself, satoru.”

he feels his breath catch in his throat, helpless to the way you spun on your heel and slammed the bedroom door closed behind you. he should give you your space, he knows he should. but he also knows he’s physically incapable of letting you go, of loosening whatever grip you currently have on his heart. how the muscle rattles against his ribcage to the beat of your name, driving his every action before his brain can think logically through them.

thus, he opens the bedroom door and his feet drag him in your direction.

“where are you going now?”

“what does it matter to you?” you retorted, throwing your hands up in defeat as you walked further into the room. “is the bedroom now too dangerous for me to be in by myself?”

“ugh, that’s not—” he groans in frustration, pinching the bridge of his nose as he stops in the middle of the room. “it matters to me, okay!”

“but why?” you questioned, now facing him once again and walking towards him to further drive your point home. “why does it matter to you so much, huh?!”

“because…” he starts, huffing out another frustrated sound when you stop in front of him to poke your finger into his chest. he wonders if you can feel how hard his heart is beating right now. “because—”

“because?” you repeated, growing more impatient by the second as satoru stumbled over his words. “you seemed pretty damn sure of yourself barely a minute ago, don’t start backtracking now.”

satoru stutters again, the frown deepening on his face the longer you look at him, waiting for an answer he can’t bring himself to give you yet. “because, it�� it just does, okay?!”

you scoffed at him, rolling your eyes and removing your hand, and that ache in his chest from before is steadily returning as he watches you turn your back to him once more. he takes a risk, reaching out to grab your wrist, but it only makes you shove at his chest.

“i said fuck off,” you groaned as you pushed him back, only to then grip on the fabric of his shirt as you held him in place, keeping him from actually leaving. he blinked at you in confusion, his breathing labored with the way his heart was about to give out on the spot.

he reaches for your wrist again, this time grabbing it securely, fingertips ghosting underneath the hand of yours that’s currently gripping his shirt. you look over at him when he does this, opening your mouth to say something else, but no words come out.

satoru realizes, then, that there’s simply never any time for anything. you both live in a world full of uncertainties, full of so much danger and full of all the longing glances you spare his way when you think he isn’t paying attention. and he can’t waste the unknown amount of time he has left with you any longer. he decides, then, that you deserve to know what it is exactly that he’s been trying to wrap his head around since you both stepped foot inside this community about a week ago.

but the way you’re looking at him right now, he finds it hard to get the words out; hard to convey what exactly it is that you do to him.

he takes a deep breath, eyelids fluttering in surprise when he finally notices the other hand you raised up to his face. you were not quite cupping his cheek but rather tracing your fingers lightly along his jawline, considering grabbing a hold of him. his fingers tighten around your wrist, your eyes meet his, and it all stops then.

time stops; it grants the two of you the chance to catch up to it.

satoru’s face rushes forward before another second could pass, aided by the way you pulled him into you with your tight grip on his shirt.

he kisses you, and he thinks the world must have stopped spinning on its axis, too. how you kiss him back like you’re tired of beating around the bush, like you’ve been craving this as badly as he has.

he could be more modest about it, but there’s no such thing as modesty when you make him feel like someone set off fireworks in his chest. they’re shooting up, up, and out of his mouth — all into yours along with your mingled breaths.

you both pull away for a moment, a rather short one. you blink like you can’t believe your eyes and his hands tremble as he grabs your face to pull you back in. this kiss is more hurried now — rushed and a little desperate. you even feel him whine something incoherent against your lips, the sound instantly swallowed by you before it could properly register in your ears. he kisses you hard and the sheer force of it has you stumbling backwards, bumping into the nightstand beside your bed, knocking down an object that was placed on it.

“oh, shit—” you broke the kiss again, turning your head to look down at the object that fell, but satoru grabs your chin to make you face him again. his lips are back on yours before you can even respond.

“s’toru,” you squeaked against his lips, almost wanting to laugh at how rushed he’s being, but he simply whines again. his hands are all over you now, he can’t figure out where to leave them to rest. his heart is actually beating out of his chest and your lips are so soft and he thinks this is what heaven must feel like. “satoru.”

your tone is firmer now, his name only slightly muffled against his lips. you bring a hand up to his chest and gently push him back, and this time he actually listens. pulling away from the kiss and gasping loudly, like a diver finally coming up for air. his lips are swollen and you’re sure that yours are, too. his cheeks are a dusty shade of pink and his pupils are blown, hair slightly tousled from his movements. you think he looks so beautiful like this.

“sorry,” he huffs after a moment, still panting softly. his hands have now settled on your waist, squeezing the flesh gently as he steps forward, ever closer to you. “‘m sorry, i—… fuck, you’re just…” he trails off, closing his eyes to lean his forehead against yours with a low hum.

“you drive me so insane, you know?”

this pulls a giggle out of you, a soft sound that he finds himself wanting to hear again and again. a small grin makes his way onto his face and he peeks his eyes open, instantly meeting yours. your hands are behind you, leaning on the nightstand he cornered you into, but you lift one of them up to brush some of the hair out of his face. his eyes flutter closed when you do this before he opens them again.

“i’m sorry,” he mumbles softly after a few moments, thumbs rubbing small circles into your sides. “about what i said earlier, i should’ve— i do trust you, but i just… i was really worried about you. i worry about you all the damn time, i don’t know what i’d do with myself if something ever happened to you.”

the sincerity in his words makes you frown slightly, feeling touched by what he’s said. “i know, ‘toru…” you sigh, your hand reaching up again to rub his arm soothingly. “and i really appreciate that, i do… but please just try to have a little more faith in the decisions i make without you, okay?”

he nods slowly, his eyes closing again as he inhales a shaky breath. “jus’ please let me know in advance next time. when suguru told me earlier where you guys where, i think i might’ve actually lost it,” he chuckles softly, the sound heavy on his tongue with the weight he feels in his heart. “i kept— fuck, i kept thinking about all the worst case scenarios. i kept thinking— what if you didn’t come back? what if last night was the last time i’d ever see you? so much…” he pauses, his grip on your waist tightening significantly. “there’s so much i want to say to you. stuff i thought i’d never get the chance to say because i was so scared you wouldn’t come home earlier…”

home, he says. it’s funny — he never uses that word to describe the place you both find yourselves in. they’re simply never permanent enough to bother getting used to; giving it a name would only make you grow attached to what’s essentially more of a pit stop.

satoru doesn’t use the term in a traditional aspect. he just happens to think home is anywhere that he can be with you.

you stayed quiet as he spoke, letting him vent his feelings out before saying anything in response to them. your hand slides up his arm to cup his cheek, rubbing your thumb under his eyelids; he’s not crying but there’s a waver in his voice. and he knows it shouldn’t — there’s nothing wrong with feeling as much as he feels, after all — but the sheer vulnerability makes him feel so weak, so weak and so small. he trails off again when your thumb caresses his cheekbone, eyes fluttering closed for the nth time underneath your touch as he leans into it further.

a heavy sigh leaves his lips, his forehead comes down to lean against yours again. you gently kiss the tip of his nose, and he almost melts into the floor in that very instant.

“it’s… hard,” you began, choosing your words carefully to convey what it is you’re both struggling with. “the world we live in, nothing is— i mean, there’s only so much we can do to look out for each other…” you bite your lower lip, unsure where your thoughts are taking you; what the train’s next destination looks like.

satoru opens his eyes again to meet your own. he sees the uncertainty swimming in them and decides to take a dive — head first into the water.

“i hope you know that there’s absolutely nothing i wouldn’t do for you.”

you blinked, only momentarily caught off-guard before your face fell into a soft grin. “satoru…” you trailed off, shaking your head with another giggle.

“i’m serious,” he huffs a small laugh, his expression finally relaxing into a grin that mirrored your own. a smile as sweet as honey; he could never get enough of you. “i’m so serious, like— i would do absolutely anything.”

“yeah?” you laughed softly, now moving to take a seat on the edge of the mattress. you slid out of satoru’s grasp but his hands were quick to find you again, taking a seat next to you and immediately grabbing your own hands. he held them together on his lap, giving them a gentle squeeze for good measure before you continued speaking. “but what if it was something, like, really stupid?”

he laughs at this, leaning forward to nose at your cheek affectionately. “doesn’t matter, i’m doin’ it anyway.”

you giggled again, feeling a warmth spread throughout your face at his affection. (there was another question you had for him, something a little darker… but that was a thought you didn’t want to entertain. at least, not right now… one of these days, you think to yourself. i’ll ask him when the time comes.)

“so…” satoru hums softly after your laughter dies down, letting go of one hand to snake his arm around to the back of your neck. his fingertips lightly dance along the edge of your hairline at the back of your scalp, the featherlight touch sending shivers down your spine.

you take a moment to think about what to say, gaze holding his as he gently rubs your neck. “we don’t know how much time we’ll have together, with… everything going on,” you began, pausing to inhale deeply before you continued. “but, i don’t wanna waste anymore of it.”

you squeeze his hand back to accentuate your words, a resolute confirmation of your mutual feelings. “if this is what you want, then… i feel the same. and— and i want this, too…”

you don’t think you’ve ever seen his eyes shine so brightly, the way they’re practically glowing with adoration right now. you both share a look and he makes a small sound; a sort of hum, nodding his head in understanding as he does. he brings your hand up to his lips, pressing a firm kiss to the back of your knuckles. he closes his eyes as he does, and when he opens them again he’s quick to pull you into his arms. by the hand on the back of your neck he brings you into his chest, holding you in a tight embrace, laughing softly into your hair.

“i do,” he huffs gently, slowly rocking your bodies side to side when he feels you hug him back. “i do want this, more than anything i’ve ever wanted in my life.”

he pulls back from the hug after a few moments, rubbing his thumb over your cheek and gazing at you with a sickeningly lovestruck look in his eyes. his eyes scan your face, every minute expression, carefully weaving them into the very fabric of his heart.

then his eyes land on your lips again, and you already know what he’s thinking when he slides both of his hands up to cup the sides of your neck, thumbs resting just below your ears.

he pulls you in for another kiss, and this one’s much softer, slower. his lips mold together with yours so perfectly, like you were both crafted by the gods with each other in mind. a love that’s fated, sealed together in the way he pulls you close to him. the way he lets out a content hum as you kiss him back, the corners of his lips curling upwards into a smile he can’t bring himself to hold back.

as the kiss starts to deepen your arms slowly slide up his chest, slinging around his neck to pull him impossibly closer to you. he has half a mind to pull you up onto his lap but he doesn’t want to startle you again, so instead pushes forward, slowly hovering over your body as you start to lean back against the mattress. his hands move back down to glide along your sides, gently moving you down onto your back, and before you even realize it you’re both laying side by side.

satoru’s now half leaning over you and half laying beside you, his legs slowly tangling with yours. your hands card through his hair, his tongue swipes over your bottom lip and when you reciprocate the action he moans softly, the sound reverberating in your mouth—

and then he’s pulling away, tucking his face into the crook of your neck to try and calm himself down. soft, labored breaths tickling your skin as he inhales your scent.

you both continue to lay like this for an indiscernible amount of time; the only sounds in the room are that of each other’s breathing slowly evening out. after a while he lifts his head up and the flush on his face makes you want to kiss him breathless again and again, but before you can pull him in for more, a soft knock on the front door is breaking through the haze he’s cornered you both into.

“hey, you guys there?” suguru’s voice is muffled from the other side of the door, and satoru has to suppress the groan that threatened to leave his mouth at the interruption, which makes you giggle softly. “shoko and i are headed to the park, if you both wanted to join us.”

you hum in contemplation, glancing back at satoru who’s sporting a small pout on his face. he slowly shakes his head as if to tell you to say no, but you just give him your best smile before calling back out to suguru.

“yeah, we’ll meet you guys there!”

satoru actually groans now, his face falling back down to hide in the crook of your neck as a form of protest, making you laugh at his petulance. his arms wrap around your waist as he hugs you tightly, mumbling incoherent complains into your skin.

“i can’t hear you, you big baby,” you giggled, stroking his hair for a moment before you gently pushed at his shoulder. “c’mon, we can grab something to eat from the dining hall on the way there. i’m sure you haven’t eaten anything since breakfast.”

he grunts again, lifting himself up so that he was holding his weight above you, supported by his hands planted on the mattress at either side of your body. “fine, but you owe me.”

you snorted at that, sitting yourself up so you were now eye to eye with him. “owe you what? i didn’t do anything wrong.”

he scoffed at that, shaking his head with a feigned serious expression on his face. “at least one more kiss before we have to go.” he grumbled, though the look in his eyes was entirely playful and doting.

you rolled your eyes at him with a fond smile, lifting your hands up and squishing his cheeks before pressing a short, chaste kiss against his lips. “there, are you happy?”

he shakes his head with another small pout, the sight comical with the way you were squishing his face between your hands. “nuh-uh, one more.”

“satoru,” you warned, but you were already leaning in for another kiss anyway. this one was just a little bit longer than a peck, and as you pulled away you felt him chase your lips with his own before he pulled back with a soft sigh. “you can get more kisses later.”

at that proposal he grinned cheekily, finally lifting himself up off the bed and extending a hand to help you up as well. “i’m definitely holding you to that, just so you’re aware.”

“i wouldn’t put it past you,” you giggled again, graciously accepting his extended hand and getting up on your feet. he smiled down at you as you did, squeezing your hand again for good measure before he led the two of you out the door. the dog excitedly followed you both out the door, providing a picturesque scene of pure content across the atmosphere that surrounded you.

with the promise of finally holding and having each other comes another certain fact — you weren’t going to waste another minute of your time without his heart in your hands. a delicate exchange between the two of you that would last for as long as you have the fortune of living in such a desolate world.

tagging 4 funsies: @cinnamoneve @forest-hashira @ctrltoru @bhaalism @ohimsummer @lovelyless-fiction @yunymphs @marimogf @kissxcore :3 love u guys mwah

[nosleep-onlyread]

beyond the unending night (reader + satoru gojo)

notes: it's finally here. the long awaited halloween fic. yes, i know it's march, but i did start working on it in september. haha. there's so much i could say, but i will leave it at that this fic is, in every sense, a fic that i would not normally write. and yet here we are.

contains: f!reader (no physical description or gendered language is used), no explicit romantic pairing (though you don't have to look hard to find the reader x gojo implications), major character death (played with), semi-graphic depictions of death, blood and violence, minor suicide ideation, canon retelling (lines of dialogue are pulled from the jjk english dub because i'm a dirty dub watcher). opening poem is from higurashi no naku koro ni (minagoroshi-hen). fic title is from giga's beyond the way.

please note that this is a time loop fic and, by nature contains repeating scenes (particularly from canon). please do not read this fic if you do not like that sort of thing.

wc: 21,883 read on ao3 (account required) || playlist

Please tell me what happened in this night. It's like the cat inside the box.

Please tell me what happened in this night. You don't know if the cat in the box is dead or alive. Please tell me what happened in this night. The cat in the box was dead.

The first time, it is instant— you don’t even know what’s happening.

The second, it is by flame, but you barely realize it, barely feel it— a second of mind numbing heat before nothing.

The third time, it is something slicing across your throat; you see the blood spilling everywhere, then the pain follows— a moment of pure agony before nothing.

The fourth time you realize what’s going on; what’s really going on.

You realize you’ve been dying.

You think your head is going to explode.

At first, you think it’s because the subway platform is crowded, insanely so— there are hundreds of people shoved into this space alongside you, packed like sardines in a can. You’ve never been one for crowds, but it’s the reality of things when you live in Tokyo. For the most part, you’ve learned to accept it, but even this crowd is a little much and you wish you hadn’t listened to your friends when they said you should go party in Shibuya for Halloween; you don’t even like partying.

There’s a sharp pain in your temple followed by a thought so loud that it feels like someone is screaming it at you through a megaphone positioned right next to your ear.

It’s the night of October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.

For the eighth time.

Before you can even question the thought, images flash in your mind’s eye, blurry at first before they come into focus. The platform gates open. Chaos ensues. People dropping onto the subway tracks— spontaneously bursting into flame— their heads, necks sliced off, stomachs cut open—

Bile rapidly builds up in your throat, and you clamp your jaw shut, trying to force it down. Not here. Not now. You try to focus on something else, anything else happening outside of your brain. There’s a pair next to you musing about the people standing on the subway tracks, wondering what the two (the four?) of them are talking about. You blink back tears as you look. You can only see two: a freakishly tall man with white hair dressed in all black, and another man, dressed in strange, yet more traditional looking garb. Are those costumes too? You don’t have a lot of time to think about it as another image forces its way into your brain.

Your corpse— lifeless on the ground.

Your corpse— burning to ash.

Your corpse— bleeding out.

You can’t hold it in any more. Every fiber in your being screams at you to get away from the subway tracks, but instead you rush toward them, shoving people left and right as your hands desperately reach the stability of the gate. You grip it like a lifeline as you retch over the side of it, the contents of your stomach spilling all over the subway tracks.

There’s a quiet murmur of disgust behind you but you can’t be bothered to respond. You need to get out of here. You need to leave. You need to do it before—

The gates open and the crowd starts to move like a tidal wave, pushing and shoving their way through the gate. You’re swept away, vomit long forgotten as you and a few dozen others tumble onto the railway.

Alarm bells go off in your brain, loud and deafening. A voice in the back of your head screams for you to get off the track! Get off the track now before—

The platform erupts into a cacophony of screams, drenched in horror, saturated in fear. You are surrounded by people, by corpses— beheaded, sliced open, bursting into flames.

Your terror roots you to the ground as the carnage ensues around you. It’s only when another person, another corpse, dressed in a magical girl costume collides with your body that you can finally move. But it’s too late, you realize, despaired and helpless, as your bodies fall to the ground.

It’s too late.

You die an eighth time.

You think your chest is going to explode.

At first, you think it’s because it’s so hard to breathe, frustratingly so— there are hundreds of people squeezed into this space alongside you, packed like cattle for slaughter. You've never been one for crowds, but it’s the reality of things when you’re in Shibuya. For the most part, you’ve come to accept it, but this crowd is way too much and you wish you had just stayed home and ordered a pizza; though honestly, the thought of pizza kind of makes you sick.

There’s a dull throbbing in your forehead, followed by a thought so loud that it feels like someone’s hollering at you from a loudspeaker that’s been installed in your brain.

It’s the night of October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.

You think it's the ninth time now.

Behind you, you hear a woman screaming, her voice crazed and terrified. You turn your head automatically to look at her and when you see her you realize you recognize her yellow and white magical girl costume. You can say with certainty that you’ve never seen her before and yet—

Before you can ruminate more on it, images— memories assault your mind’s eye with a clarity that is absolutely sickening. That woman colliding into you, your bodies slamming into the subway tracks before you both— Your stomach churns violently,

and you feel like you’re going to puke, but you force it down— can't afford to right now. Instead, you make your way over to the woman.

Her head is in her hands as she mutters over and over again about how everyone is going to die. People around her figure that being stuck in here with the crowd has probably gotten to her. You, however, know better.

“...hey,” you say softly.

Her muttering comes to an abrupt halt and slowly she raises her head to look at you. There’s a flash of recognition in her eyes and she grabs you violently by the shoulders. “You! You know, don’t you? That we’re going to die?”

If it weren’t for the fact that you have indeed experienced death here eight times already, then you would have thought she’s lost her mind. Slowly, you nod and she seems relieved by it, her grip on you loosening.

You can’t help but feel a little relieved too— glad to know that you’re not the only one experiencing this nightmare. There’s a voice in the back of your mind that’s confused though. Why is she only remembering now? But then again, it took you a few times before you realized yourself.

Around you people start to gasp, and you glance back toward the railway to see an abnormally tall man with white hair and dressed in all black jump down from the atrium onto the railway. He lands rather gracefully for someone who jumped at least one floor and starts to converse with the other three people (you think they're people— two of them are in some pretty wild costumes) on the track.

Wait. Isn’t it supposed to be just two people: the tall man and the one in the traditional clothes? Where did the other two come from?

“We have to get out of here,” the woman says. “Before they kill us.”

Her grip shifts from your shoulders to your arms and she starts to shove at everyone around you, trying to force her way through. She seems to know, just as well as you do, that any second now the gates will open and the crowd will start spilling onto the railway, littering the tracks with bodies and ash. Neither of you can let yourselves get swept up with the rest. If you do and you end up on those tracks, you’re as good as dead.

People move aside at a snail's pace, many of them too focused on trying to see what is going on on the subway tracks. This isn't good. You need to move faster or else—

The collective sound of the gates opening echoes in your head, a metallic hiss that makes your stomach fold into itself. Before either of you can stop yourselves, you both whip your heads back to look, to confirm, but it’s a mistake.

The briefest lapse in attention is enough to pull you both into the current of people, and try as you might to fight against it, the crowd splits you and the woman apart as it swallows you both whole. You’re both spat onto the tracks at the edge of the platform and your head collides with the metal rails of the track. It feels like your skull is about to crack in two, and it takes every fiber in your being to scramble to your feet. You're close enough to the platform that if you can just climb up it, then you'll be—

“Help! Help!”

It’s the woman’s voice. You turn to see that she ended up a couple meters away from you. She’s staring at you, eyes brimming with fear filled tears as she extends her hand in your direction. You take a step toward her, reaching out.

And then, her entire body is engulfed in flames, the skirt of her magical girl costume a ring of fiery death around her.

Her blood curdling scream is the only thing you can hear, her burning flesh, the only thing you can see. You don’t know what to do.

You can’t save her.

There's something touching your back. You can barely feel the pressure, but it's hot, scorching hot, mind numbingly hot, painfully hothothot.

You know this sensation. You have felt it before. The scent of burning cloth, burning hair, burning flesh clogs your nostrils. It's too late, you realize, helpless, despaired as the flames eat at your body— your soon to be corpse.

It's too late.

You die a ninth time.

It’s October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.

This is the tenth time.

Your head hurts, but you ignore it. There’s something more important that you need to attend to. You immediately make your way to the woman you met during your last round, the one you watched burn to death. Her costume is still pristine, unmarred by fire and death.

For now.

She’s not screaming this time and while there’s a little voice in the back of your mind that’s concerned by this, you try to ignore it.

“Um, excuse me?” you say when she doesn’t acknowledge you as you approach.

The woman turns to look at you. You’re taken aback by the distinct lack of recognition and it feels almost as if the woman you encountered previously and the one before you now are two separate people. In a way, they technically are.

“Do I… know you?” she finally asks when you don’t say anything.

Your mouth is dry. How do you even answer that? You don’t know her. You just watched her die twice. You know her. She begged you for help. You couldn’t save her.

If you explain all of this you know she’s just going to think you’ve lost your mind. Maybe you already have— you’ve died nine times after all.

You give her a weak smile. “I… just wanted to tell you that you think your costume looks great.”

She blinks, taken aback by your words. There’s no doubt that she wasn’t expecting you to say that. It’s the truth though, her costume is nice; she’s dressed up as a character from a magical girl anime that was popular a couple years ago.

“Thank you! I made it myself!” The woman breaks out into a genuine smile and your heart hurts. In a few moments she’ll die and the costume she worked so hard to make will be nothing but ash on the subway tracks.

“Sorry,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself.

“For?”

For watching her die. For not being able to save her.“...I just kind of came up to you all of a sudden…”

She laughs. “It’s okay.”

It’s not.

You consider telling her that she should try to move. That if she stays here she will die. You don’t want her to die. Again. You can still hear her screaming in your ears as she burned to death. You want to tell her.

You don’t.

“Stay safe, okay?” you say. It almost sounds like you’re begging.

She gives you another smile, kind and gentle and you think you’re far too undeserving of it for not telling her what fate will soon befall her. “You too.”

“I’ll try,” you say and move away from the woman just as the gates open and the crowd surges toward the railway. You do not fight it as you are swept up into the crowd and despite what you said, you do not try, this time, to stay safe.

You die for the tenth time.

It’s October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.

This is the fourteenth time.

There’s a slight ache in your head, but it’s subtle enough that you can ignore it. The pain you feel lessens with each round and you think it’s a sign that your body no longer feels the need to remind you of the precarious situation that you’re in.

Or maybe you are just becoming numb to everything: your death, the death of the people around you, the death of the woman in the magical girl costume—

You try not to think about it too much as you reach into your bag to check the time on your phone: 8:37PM. There’s not a lot of time: you need to move.

At the very end of your last attempt to escape this nightmare you realized something. You need to know exactly what is going on around you so you can plan accordingly: where to not stand, where to not go. Up until now, you’ve relied almost solely on the knowledge gained from your previous failures to try and survive, but obviously it’s not enough to keep you alive. You’re not sure why you didn’t realize this earlier. The panic, maybe? The fear?

Maybe you really are becoming numb to all this.

Unlike previous iterations, this time you elect to move closer to the gate, positioning yourself somewhere against it where you’re unlikely to be pushed off the platform in a couple minutes when they open. You take great care to place yourself where you can see the ones responsible for the slaughter very clearly. At the beginning, you could only see one, the one who looks the most human, but with each repetition, the other two have become more and more clear. You wonder why. You don’t have time to think about it.

Murmurs nearby alert you to the arrival of the fourth major player involved in the night’s events. You look up and see the white haired man dressed in all black descending upon the platform like an angel from the heavens. This is your first time really looking at him and you realize there’s something almost inhumanly attractive about him. You can’t quite put your finger on it, but it occurs to you that you shouldn’t even try; you don’t have the time to be drooling over some handsome stranger.

You’ve naturally never taken the time to try and listen to whatever the conversation the man and his opponents have before all hell breaks loose on the platform, but you try and lean closer to listen. It’s hard to hear over the dozens of conversations going on behind you, but you try anyway. There might be a clue to what’s actually going on— or better yet, a clue on how to get out of it.

It’s obvious that you’re missing context from what bits of the conversation you do manage to hear, but honestly it all sounds like stuff out of a shounen battle manga. There is one part of the exchange that you manage to hear with a startling sort of clarity. It feels almost as if your heart stops beating as your blood turns ice cold in your veins.

“If I run away, you’re just gonna kill everyone here, right?” the man in black asks.

There’s a pause, and if your heart was still beating it’d be long enough for just four heartbeats.

“If you run away?” The monster with cane repeats, the sadistic grin spreading wide across its features, displaying its charcoal black teeth. The gravelly sound of its voice sets fire to the blood in your veins, your stilled heart thumping wildly, in fear, in anticipation. Soon. It’s happening soon. You brace yourself. “We’re going to do that even if you don’t!”

You die a fourteenth time.

It’s October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.

This is the seventeenth time now.

Things are going surprisingly well, even as the people around you tumble onto the tracks. You manage to hold on, desperation keeping you from falling into the abyss. This is good, you tell yourself, despite the fact that it’s not the first time you’ve achieved this. Every little victory is worth celebrating, but you have to remain vigilant. This is yet another information gathering loop, and while you know that maybe this time you’ll be lucky and live, there’s still a chance, a big one, at that, that you will die again.

You have to make the most of each and every death.

It’s such a morbid thought, but the ends justify the means, or so you tell yourself. If you have to die a few times to make it out of this unending nightmare, then so be it.

The spot you’re in is a good vantage point; it’s easier to see everything happening below you. It’s so good that it’s actually sickening. You watch as the monster with the cane and one with what looks like branches for eyes slaughter the people on the track, mowing them down, setting them aflame. In another life, in another many lives, that was you down there, and for what feels like the first time in forever, you feel like you’re going to be sick. You feel like, at some point, you likened the scene before you to some kind of shounen battle manga, but you think that was wrong.

This is borderline horror.

Everything plays out before you like a scene out of an action horror flick. If you didn’t know better, you’d think you were just an extra on set, but you know the reality is that you’re just an extra to whatever phantasmal battle is taking place in front of you. The monsters and the strangely dressed man all try to attack the man in black, but he manages to block every hit effortlessly, as if he is protected by some sort of invisible barrier. When it seems the two monsters are about to hit him, he merely jumps out of the way and the two monsters seem to collide, the force of their combined strength sending a gust of air throughout the crowd. The man in black neatly lands on a nearby platform half wall and says something about curse users, whatever those are, to the monsters, before he starts to mock them, pulling down his strange blindfold in the process.

And this, you’ve found, is where you start to get in trouble.

You clearly remember thinking, at some point, previously, that there was something attractive about this man. You still don’t know what it is. You haven’t had the time to try and figure it out, but there is one thing that you do know: you can’t keep your eyes off of him.

He drops back down onto the tracks, antagonizing his opponents in an arrogant tone as he approaches. When he comes to a stop between the two monsters, the second round of their fight begins. They try to hit him, but he dodges still, gracefully, fluidly, like the three of them are embroiled in some sort of passionate, yet violent dance.

You cannot turn your eyes away as he cruelly rips off one of the arms of the one-eyed monster.

You cannot turn your eyes away as he brutally kicks the branch-eyed monster in the abdomen, sending them flying to the other side of the platform.

You cannot turn your eyes away as he effortlessly hurls the one-eyed, now one-armed monster in the same direction, sending them smashing into the wall.

Only when the man in black seems to fly to the other side is the spell over you seemingly broken. Still, your eyes give chase, and your body too, rushing from one side of the platform to the other. You can’t lose sight of this fight, you tell yourself, settling in a spot you recall being safe during your last round. Doing so could mean another death, another loop, another October 31.

You watch as the man in black acrobatically dodges what looks to be vines or roots that the monster with branches for eyes seems to have summoned from the depths of the Tokyo metro. He lands on the monster’s shoulders, balancing on them as he uses its branch-eyes for leverage. The look in the man’s eyes is so crazed that you can see it from where you’re standing. He says something to it and then—

With a feral and sadistic smile, he rips their eyes straight out of their skull.

Your heart is pounding wildly in your chest as you watch the fight unfold. It is horrifyingly, disgustingly violent, yet still you watch as people on the track are killed by the human-like person, blood raining down as their freshly beheaded skulls go flying into the air. He and the one-eyed monster launch their counter attacks against the man in black and the blowback is so intense the power goes out causing everyone to scream.

There’s a faint glow where the man in black is standing that starts to grow brighter and brighter. You can make out his form turning to face the wall, and it seems almost like he’s slammed the monster that had branches for eyes against it with some sort of telekinetic power. Despite the panic from the people around you, you manage to hear him, chuckling like a mad man as he draws closer and closer to the monster.

The one-eyed monster yells out a name, a name you think must belong to the man, but he doesn’t hear it. He doesn’t hear the one-eyed monster as he extends his hands out toward the eyeless monster, exerting some kind of force that you can’t really see. He doesn’t hear the one-eyed monster as the eyeless monster’s entire body is vaporized in a flash of blue light. He doesn’t hear the one-eyed monster, as the lights flicker back on revealing a smoking crater stained with purple blood where the eyeless monster once stood.

But you do.

Satoru Gojo.

You make sure to remember that.

It’s October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.

And this is the eighteenth time.

You watch as the man called Satoru Gojo stalks through the crowd of people on the subway tracks, chasing after the one-eyed fire monster. It throws people at him, in a clear attempt to slow him down.

It does not work.

Satoru Gojo climbs back onto the platform in a way that you can only describe as inhuman, and the people nearby shriek and move away from him, out of terror, out of fear. You, on the other hand, draw closer, refusing to lose sight of him.

He is relentless in his pursuit of the one-eyed monster. It continues to throw person after person at him, but he does not stop and the people float there, suspended in midair before they are gently lowered to the ground by some unseen force and scramble away.

No one dares get close to Satoru Gojo, everyone on the platform seems to know that doing so means certain death, yourself included. But you still feel the need to keep an eye on him. The monster and the strangely dressed man are focusing more on him than the crowd— anyone in between is just collateral damage.

But not you.

Especially since you’ve made it this far— you’ve never made it this far before.

A voice echoes throughout the platform; you realize it’s the automated announcement.

An eight car train is pulling in. Please wait behind the yellow line.

You can hear everyone’s relief coming from all sides. The train is coming! The train is coming! A ripple of hope makes its way throughout the crowd. With the train comes the chance to get off the platform and the senseless violence that’s been happening here. Some of the people around you are talking excitedly and others are running toward the gates, toeing the yellow line they’ve been instructed to wait behind. And you, you should be excited, you should be hopeful.

All you feel is dread.

It eats at your stomach, at your chest, at your mind. Clawing and gnawing at you in a way that leaves you paralyzed on the platform. There’s something wrong here. You can’t be sure because you’ve never made it this far, never survived long enough for the train to come, but something is just not right.

No.

You must be paranoid. The train coming is a good thing. It has to be a good thing. You are just paranoid. It’s normal. It’s natural. Dying seventeen times would do that to anyone— rob them of hope, condemn them to an existence full of fear.

It is not lost on you that the thought of dying more than once, much less, dying seventeen times is not normal or natural in the very slightest.

But you need hope, you crave it, wildly, desperately. The hope of freedom, of escape is the only thing getting you through this unending nightmare. Every time you die, every time you wake, it is with the hope that maybe, just maybe this iteration will be different, maybe this one will be the one where you make it out, make it back to your friends who must be waiting for you, make it back home where you can be safe and sound. You need the hope to keep going. Because without hope, what will you have left?

The train screeches as it pulls into the station and the people around you laugh in both disbelief and relief. They start to push and shove toward it, fighting to be able to board because there’s no way everyone here will be able to get on an eight car train and being left behind at this point is practically synonymous with death. Unable to decide if you believe in the train as a symbol of hope or a new layer of fear, you are pushed along with the crowd toward it.

The doors of the train cars slide open and the current passengers all rush off as they disembark. You as well as everyone else on the platform can see with a horrifying clarity that the train is filled to the brim with monsters. Monsters that reach out and grab anyone their hands can reach. The woman to your left. The person to your right.

You.

Hope is gone.

What do you have left?

You die for the eighteenth time.

It’s October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.

This is probably the twenty-sixth time now.

If there is anything this entire ordeal has taught you, it is that you are resilient. Whether it is some innate trait that you never had any reason to uncover before or just a byproduct of being trapped in an unending cycle of being dead and not dead, you don't know. What you do know, though, is that even if you no longer have hope, you at least have your resilience.

Whether you want it or not.

You check the time. It’s 8:35PM. Something flickers in your chest, like a faint light in a sea of darkness, but you ignore it. You don’t have time right now.

With a nimbleness born from your previous failures, you weave your way through the crowd. You’ve done this enough times to know where the gaps are— who will yield and who won’t. Your destination is the escalator that leads off the platform and up to a higher part of the station. You’d noticed previously that the escalator along with every other entrance onto the platform will eventually be blocked by vines or roots of some sort (the work of the branch-eyed monster probably). It’s not a perfect plan because you don’t know what happens on the other side, but whatever it is has to be better than whatever is happening on the side that you’ve been on.

You’d tried to get to the stairs during your last two rounds, but you’d just missed it. You hadn’t been fast enough and had gotten caged and slaughtered along with the rest. But this time, this time you have more time. It’s just one minute, but it’s enough. You know it is.

The flickering in your heart grows stronger. Hope. You try not to pay attention to it— you don’t want to be disappointed yet again. But you want to so badly. A voice in the back of your mind tells you to focus on the good, tells you that if there was truly no way out of this endless nightmare, then why would you get more and more time with each round to escape your fate?

With that thought in mind, you break out into a run, recklessly rushing through the crowd, shoving anyone who will not yield to the side. Out of the corner of your eye you can see the stark white of Satoru Gojo’s hair as he descends upon the platform.

You need to get up those stairs.

Now.

If you remember correctly, the roots and vines don’t close off the area the moment he touches down, but a little after they start talking, so you think there is probably some time, but you can’t leave it to chance.

The stairs are packed, and for some reason no one is moving. The escalator right next to it is just as full and the power doesn’t seem to be working. You don’t have time for this. You clamber onto the escalator’s rubber handrail, ignoring the weird feeling that passes through your body as you do so. You don’t have the time to worry about whatever that is. The people around you start exclaiming around you, but you don’t care, you don’t listen. You wobble as you try to balance yourself and when you think you’re steady you try to run.

But you trip.

And you die for the twenty-sixth time.

It’s October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.

This marks the thirtieth time.

And you have, finally, finally made it up the escalator, up the stairs with barely a second to spare. You pause, glancing back as the roots or vines or whatever the hell they are seal off the entrance to the platform. You notice that the area where the plants come down is actually fairly clear, despite the crowd. It seems weird, but you don’t dwell on it.

A strange feeling envelops your entire body and your legs turn into jelly. As you sink to the floor, you realize what you’re feeling is relief as all the tension, maybe thirty iterations of Halloween 2018 worth, seeps from your being. You don't remember the last time you felt anything other than fear and dread; it’s weird, but not unwelcome.

That voice in the back of your mind tells you that you can't relax just yet: October 31st isn’t over. Even though you have repeated this night again and again, burning the events that play out on the platform into your memory, you do not know a single thing that happens over here. It would be smart to scope everything out.

Legs still shaky, you rise to your feet and start walking. You think it’s probably for the best to try and head up to the surface and you make your way up to the next floor.

It’s packed with people here too, but relatively peaceful, especially when you compare it to the pandemonium taking place beneath your feet. Still, you can make out the undeniable hum of displeasure resonating throughout the crowd. People complaining about how uncomfortable their costumes are, people complaining about how much they want to go home, people complaining about how much their nights have been ruined because they couldn’t meet up with their friends and—

A thought hits you like an eight car train.

You were supposed to meet up with your friends.

That’s why you were on the platform in the first place— you were waiting for them to arrive, but then the trains stopped working, and people just started pouring into the station out of seemingly nowhere (you think you heard some people say they’d come from the crossing?). Soon after that is when everything went to shit.

You check your phone, though, for once it’s not to look at the time (8:56PM). Instead, you open LINE to check your friends’ group chat. There’s no signal here, for whatever reason, so if there are any new messages, you haven’t received them. The last one was from Kei, mentioning he was enroute, but as far as you know, you’re the only one who made it to Shibuya before the trains stopped.

Did one of them maybe make it here though? Surely, you would have run into them if—

The image of a woman in a magical girl costume fills your vision, burning to death before your very eyes as her screams echo in your ears. It is the first time in what feels like forever that you’ve thought about her and your stomach churns violently. You couldn’t help her, you can’t even help yourself, so how could you even expect to do the same for your friends if they were here? The mere thought of having to watch them die over and over is almost enough to send you over the edge. You don’t know if you could do it.

Would you even have a choice?

No. You can't think like that. You have choices. You've had choices. If you didn’t then, you would still be down below, among the fire and brimstone. Dying, if not dead already. However, instead, you are up here, where, for the moment, it is quiet and peaceful.

That thought, in of itself, is enough to give you a shred of solace, a glimmer of hope.

You take a deep breath and fiddle with your phone a little more, changing your lock screen to a picture you and your friends took at a photo booth not too long ago. The four of you are huddled together, faces squished as if you're all struggling to fit in the frame, despite there being plenty of room. You're mid-laugh because it's the first time you've been in a photo booth in years, Mio and Shin are grinning mischievously and finally, Kei is smiling, but only just slightly, the embarrassment clear on his face. It's probably only been a few months since you all took this picture, but the fact that it feels like it's been years makes your heart ache.

You press your forehead to the screen, like a prayer, like a promise.

You will make it out of this nightmare.

No matter what.

A shrill scream yanks you from your thoughts and you are instantly on your feet, alert as your eyes flit around frantically to identify the source. It doesn't take long for you to find it and when you do, you think you might have stumbled upon a new layer of horror to this nightmare.

It’s not the corpse, dangling by a noose, that terrifies you— by now you’ve seen dozens upon dozens of dead bodies that the sight of just one more doesn’t faze you in the slightest. The thing that’s the most mortifying, that’s the most disturbing is that right next to where the body is tied are two girls, two teenage girls still dressed in their school uniforms.

You can accept monsters and weirdly dressed men being responsible for the carnage tonight, but children too? Both girls look like they’re barely in high school and try as you might to rationalize things, to chalk it up to coincidence, you cannot ignore the ominous energy radiating from them.

The very notion that these two children could have killed someone here is a hard pill to swallow, but so is the fact that you’ve died.

And you’ve had to swallow that pill thirty times now, so what’s once more?

“Listen up!” one of the girls yells over the crowd, but she is mostly ignored; you don’t think everyone here has noticed her and the corpse dangling from the rafters. She scowls and turns to the other girl and says something quietly to her. The other girl nods and almost instantly she’s stringing up another person, another example. You want to look away so badly, and yet you cannot bring yourself to and you watch the poor soul choke to death.

“I said listen, you dumb monkeys!” the girl shouts, and this time she’s caught most of the crowd’s attention. “If you don’t want to end up like these two, you’ll listen to what we have to say!”

There is clear dissent among the crowd, people dismissive as they utter their disbelief. Some seem to think it’s a prank, but you know better. It takes two more examples before the crowd goes silent before the two high schoolers.

“About damn time!” The girl roars and then points toward the atrium, which is currently covered by roots and branches. “All of you move over there!”

You have a bad feeling about this.

Still, you comply; the girls have made it abundantly clear that failure to do so will result in death, though, at this point, you're almost certain this iteration is a bust and death is all but imminent. You try to keep positive— thinking you can at least gather information or, who knows, maybe there's a chance that this one is the one.

Yet when you step onto the mound of vines and branches that cover the atrium it feels as if you've crossed the threshold into hell. Your footing is stable… but for how long?

An eight car train is pulling in. Please wait behind the yellow line.

It's faint, but you can hear the announcement from below. The liquid in your stomach curdles at the sound as you recall the train and, in particular, what is on board. Soon enough, those monsters will be swarming the platform, massacring everyone in reach, guzzling down their blood, feasting on their flesh—

It dawns on you that the people on the platform are the monsters' first course.

And you, and those around you here in the shrubbery, are the second.

As you realize this, the branches and vines disintegrate beneath your very feet and suddenly you are mid air— falling, falling into the abyss below.

You die for the thirtieth time.

It’s October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.

You've done this nearly sixty times now.

After countless failures, you've decided that you're just not going to go upstairs any more. No matter where you try to go, you still end up herded onto the death trap above the platform where you ultimately fall to your death. You've tried positioning yourself in the same spot, tried bracing yourself for the drop— but nothing seems to work: upon landing, assuming you manage to land without hurting yourself or dying in midair (which has happened a couple times) you get grabbed and killed by one of the monsters from the train. It's probably not impossible, you just don't have the physical prowess or reflexes for it.

If anything, you can try again later, but you sincerely hope you don't have to.

It's 8:32PM, and you have plenty of time to get to your chosen spot for this loop— it's close to the stairs, in the very center of the platform. Here, there's little risk of getting pushed off onto the tracks when the gates open. You'll probably have to move when the train comes, or even before (assuming you survive) to avoid the monsters, but you'll get to that when it's time.

You can't really see the fight once it breaks out after Satoru Gojo arrives, but you still try to keep track of it as best as you can. You see when he hurls both monsters across the platform and you're not sure if it's muscle memory or what but you have to fight the urge to move to the side and watch. It's been a while, yes, but you've seen the fight countless times before— it doesn't change. Satoru Gojo will give chase. He will rip the branches from the branch eyed monster's skull. He will use some kind of power to eviscerate them.

You don't need to watch, but there's something in you that wants to.

It doesn't make sense, you've seen it all before; if you're unlucky you'll see it all again.

The lights go out and people start screaming; Satoru Gojo is ending the life of that one monster. Soon enough he'll be back on the platform, in pursuit of the other. You think at that point it would be good to move, reposition yourself as far from the incoming train as possible.

When he rises from the tracks like a demon straight from hell, you realize it's the first time this loop that you've actually gotten a good look at him. You remind yourself, again, that this isn't the first time you've seen this man, this scene. You can't help but watch, but stare at Satoru Gojo as he stalks through the crowd in pursuit of his prey. His expression is an eerie sort of calm that's at odds with the acts of violence you've seen him commit— his eyes an unnaturally bright blue.

He's a terrifying sort of beauty and you can't help but be captivated by him.

An eight car train is pulling in. Please wait behind the yellow line.

The sound of the announcement sends your heartbeat into a frenzy, snapping you out of your little trance. The train is coming and you need to get moving. As you dart to the edge of the platform, the thought occurs to you that even if you avoid the initial wave of monsters, it's likely you will inevitably be caught by them and killed. It wouldn't be impossible for Satoru Gojo to turn his attention to them instead of the two he's currently facing, but he's just one man— can he truly defeat all those monsters?

You can see the train pulling in and you brace yourself, praying that it'll work out somehow.

The doors hiss open and the screaming starts again as the monsters come bursting out of the train, biting and mauling anyone they can get their hands on. Those who were lucky enough to not be at the front start to scramble away and the monsters give chase. Your body is taut, ready to try and dodge any that come your way.

Out of the corner of your eye you notice something moving through the air. A person? With blue hair? You take the risk to look— they're attacking Satoru Gojo. He tries to punch them but they fly away from him to dodge— disappearing into the crowd.

You hear a loud cracking sound over the cacophony of the crowd and your stomach twists; you know what that sound is. The roots above the atrium disintegrate and bodies from above start to rain down onto the platform.

And then, you're not sure what happens— it's so quick that you only manage to see what looks like an explosion of blood surrounding Satoru Gojo. Corpses litter the ground around him and even from here you can tell he is shaken by the carnage.

The monsters have finally reached where you're standing, and you duck under one as it lunges at you. Although it's big and scary, you realize it's moving kind of slow. Right after it another one comes at you and you take a side step to avoid it; this monster is kind of slow too.

Maybe you can do this.

As soon as you think that a strange feeling courses through you. Every hair on your body feels like it's standing on edge and the voice in your head is telling you to look at Satoru Gojo. You don't understand why because you think he's the least of your worries right now, but you do it anyway.

He's in some sort of stance, one hand raised to his face, fingers bent in some kind of gesture. There's some sort of aura, oppressive and frightening emanating from his form.

Satoru Gojo is doing something.

You just can't tell what.

It’s October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.

And you are utterly confused.

Barring your first few loops when you weren't fully aware of what was happening, you have very distinct memories of how each of your previous iterations of this night have gone— of each and every one of your deaths. But for your last round, the last thing you remember was feeling the immense power radiating from Satoru Gojo's body, but that's it.

You do not remember dying.

In fact, you don't think you did.

And yet, here you are again, back at the start: it's 8:32PM and the monsters and strangely dressed man are standing on the subway tracks waiting for the arrival of Satoru Gojo.

You don't understand what's going on; you didn't die but you're still stuck in this damn loop. Up until now, your death has served as the trigger to restart the loop. It's not impossible that maybe you suffered a quick and painless death but you're almost certain that isn't the case.

Something else must have happened.

Something having to do with Satoru Gojo.

You have to find out what. If you don't, you won't know how to avoid it, and if you can't do that, then you really might spend an eternity stuck in this nightmare. And so you take great care to repeat the steps of your last round. You need to make sure to survive to the same point you made it to last time.

Miraculously, you do.

The moment you feel that sensation again, a prickling sort of feeling that envelops your entire body, your eyes are on Satoru Gojo— trying to figure out what the hell he's doing. His eyes are crazed with a desperate kind of focus. You see his mouth move— he's saying something. A spell? A prayer? A curse?

You don't know.

You do know.

Your brain feels like it's going to explode.

Again.

It’s October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.

Again.

You do not know how many times it's been the night of Halloween in Shibuya: you stopped counting around the hundredth loop. It feels like it's been a while since then. Or maybe it hasn't? You don't know any more.

What you do know is that this night ends up going one of two ways before you are forced to repeat it. Either you die, in some way, shape or form or something happens just after nine that forces you to reset. You still don't know what it is exactly; you only know that Satoru Gojo is responsible for it.

You do prefer it to dying— it's far less painful.

But if anything, you wish you could just die permanently and never have to repeat this night ever again.

Unfortunately, you know better.

The only good thing you’ve noticed about all of this is that you really do seem to keep waking up earlier and earlier. The last time you checked, it was at around 8:30. It might take hundreds of thousands of loops, but eventually you’ll certainly wake up early enough to avoid this damn entire mess.

But by the time that happens… will your sanity still be intact? Will you really be able to go back to a normal day to day life after living the equivalent of hundreds of years, repeating the same night over and over again? You don’t even know how you’ve managed to stay sane all this time and as much as you want to believe you could do it…

There has to be a breaking point.

For both your mind and this time loop.

If you’re lucky, you’ll reach the latter first.

There’s a dull ache in your head that feels foreign yet familiar. Your mind is foggy, all your thoughts hazy as you try to recall what the word for this feeling is.

Groggy.

It feels as if you’ve woken up from a nap and you blink the sleepiness away from your eyes. When was the last time you took a nap? It’s been a while… You think you maybe tried once or twice, but you were too nervous, too on edge. Awake or asleep, it didn’t matter because, either way, you were doomed to repeat this nightmare.

As you think this, you realize that something is different.

You’re used to how the start of each loop feels like waking up suddenly and abruptly and it becomes clear to you that you haven’t looped. This is completely uncharted territory.

You need to find out what’s going on.

The first thing you notice is that it’s quiet. Almost eerily so, especially when the last thing you remember was screaming and chaos. You glance around you and find that it looks like all the monsters from the train are dead, the ground littered in their bloodstains and corpses. There were so many of them, you don’t know how someone could have wiped them out so quickly… Could it possibly have been Satoru Gojo’s doing?

More concerning than the complete eradication of the monsters is the fact that nearly everyone else on the platform is standing stock still, their mouths ajar with blank expressions on their faces. It’s almost as if their souls have completely vacated their bodies…

Were you like that too before you woke up?

You hear voices, and your body immediately goes tense as you turn your head in their direction. A little ways ahead of you, you see a man dressed as a monk conversing with the blue haired person from earlier and before them is—

Your heart nearly stops: it’s Satoru Gojo, restrained and on his knees.

Honestly, you can’t make heads or tails of the conversation they’re having; it’s more shounen battle manga nonsense. Satoru Gojo doesn’t seem to be enjoying their conversation either, and he interrupts them, clearly annoyed.

“Are we gonna do this or what?” he asks. “The view sucks and I’m just kinda bored.”

“I wanted to enjoy this sight for a little bit longer, but you are right,” the monk says. “I wouldn’t want anything to happen— gate, close.”

When he says that, Satoru Gojo’s restraints move, the weirdly shaped cubes at the ends of them closing in around him, trapping him in a giant red cube. It starts to shrink until it’s small enough to fit in the monk’s hand.

You gulp and hope they don’t notice that you’re awake. The fact that they haven’t slaughtered the rest of the people standing around you is a good sign, but you don’t want to find out what happens if they know you’re cognizant.

It’s not hard to play the part of a living statue, especially when you compare it to everything else you’ve had to suffer through on this night. You watch as the monk’s allies, the ones who had attacked everyone on the platform, wake up, but before they can do or say anything, the box holding Satoru Gojo slips through the monk’s fingers and makes a dent in the concrete. The look on the monk’s face makes it clear that it’s a problem he wasn’t expecting.

You don’t know a damn thing about Satoru Gojo, but you feel like this kind of thing is the norm for him.

The blue haired person suddenly looks in your direction and you nearly stop breathing. Have they noticed you? It takes everything in you to keep perfectly still, in hopes that maybe they didn't, that maybe they’re looking at something else. They raise their arm and it extends, their hand acting like some kind of projectile. You almost shut your eyes and brace yourself for impact, but their hand flies upwards and hits something on the ceiling, destroying it.

Inwardly, you breathe a sigh of relief— you’re still safe.

For now.

You listen to their following conversation and while you still don’t fully understand everything, it’s clear they’re talking about what to do next since they’ve taken care of Satoru Gojo. Something having to do with someone named Yuji Itadori? The group seems split on what to do about him but it’s clear he’s their next target.

Eventually, everyone but the monk (you heard the blue haired person, who is apparently named Mahito, call him Geto?) runs off, probably to find this Yuji Itadori person. Once they’re gone, Geto speaks and, at first, you think he’s talking to you, but it becomes clear he’s addressing someone else. “Those cursed spirits are actually smarter than the two of you.”

“Give him back!” a voice hidden among the crowd hisses. Your blood runs cold at the sound. You recognize it; it’s one of the high school girls from the upper floor.

“We cooperated with you fully and kept dropping monkeys for you,” says another voice; it must be the other girl that was with her, the one who hung all those people.

“Now give us back Master Geto’s body like you promised!”

“Don’t toy with Master Geto any further than you have!”

You blink in confusion. Isn’t the monk named Geto? The way the girls are talking it sounds like they’re talking about someone else… Is it possible that the body is ‘Geto’ but the person they’re talking to is someone else possessing it? It sounds kind of crazy, but then again, so is every single thing you’ve experienced tonight.

Your suspicions concerning this ‘Geto’ are confirmed only seconds later as he says, “Now begone, or is it your desire to be killed by this body?”

One of the girls vows her revenge and you hear shuffling somewhere else in the crowd as they scurry away. Now you think it’s just you and whoever it is that’s puppeting Geto’s body. You see him plop down in front of the box (the prison realm, you think he’d called it) that’s holding Satoru Gojo.

“You can come out, you know,” he says after a while.

You freeze. The rest of the platform is completely silent. This time you think he might actually be talking to you.

“I know you’re there,” ‘Geto’ adds, his voice casual. “If you’re insistent on hiding, you should know that I’m not afraid of using whatever means necessary to smoke you out.”

Given everything his allies have done, there’s no doubt in your mind that he’s serious. You were hoping to hide out among the crowd until he decided to leave, but it looks like you won’t be able to now.

Looks like this loop is a bust after all.

Your heart starts to race as you weave your way through the crowd. In every single one of your loops, you were always treated like a bit character, never noticed or singled out by any of the major players of the night. Although this is your first time encountering this ‘Geto’ it’s clear to you that he’s involved with everything that’s happened here and honestly, you get the feeling he might actually be the mastermind behind the massacre.

That makes you even more nervous.

You come to a stop in the place where Satoru Gojo was once kneeling before he was put in that box. Now that you’re out in the open, ‘Geto’ looks you over with some sort of nonchalant curiosity.

“You’re…” he starts, sounding thoughtful, "not a sorcerer, are you?”

Sorcerer. You heard that term thrown around by him and his group a few times. It’s what they’ve been referring to their enemies as. It probably wouldn’t be smart to lie and say you are one; you get the feeling he’d see through your lie anyway. “I’m not.”

He hums. “How interesting.”

“...what do you mean?” you ask before you can help yourself.

“It’s just you have an abnormally large amount of cursed energy for a non-sorcerer,” he explains. “Though, I suppose that all just sounds like gibberish to you."

You nod and look down at the box lodged in the floor. It has eyes, big creepy looking eyes. "...are you going to do the same thing to me as you did to that man?"

He laughs, "...fortunately for you, the prison realm only holds one person at a time and I need him sealed away more than you."

"...does that mean you're going to leave him in there forever?"

"If I'm feeling nice, I might unseal him in a hundred years or so."

One hundred years? At this point, you've probably lived roughly that amount of time through your loops alone, but for Satoru Gojo… "Won't he die first?"

"Only if he decides to," 'Geto' says, looking completely and wholly unbothered. "Time doesn't doesn't flow in the box, so when I unseal him, he'll be the same as he was just now. Physically anyway. Who knows how deteriorated his mind will be after all that."

Time doesn't flow in the box.

The words echo in your mind over and over. Time doesn't flow in the box. In other words, that means time has stopped in the box, and if that's the case then—

"Anyway, rather than worry about him, shouldn't you be more worried about yourself?"

You look at 'Geto' and he's smiling at you, it's friendly, but ominous. There's no doubt what is going to happen next, though you had already resigned yourself to this iteration being a bust; it was only a matter of time.

Time doesn't flow in the box.

"I was thinking I might keep you around, even if you aren’t a sorcerer, your wealth of cursed energy would serve my plans well," he muses. "But… it would be too much trouble trying to teach you how to use it in time."

As he talks, you realize this is probably the first time your death is intentional— every other death you've suffered has just been a byproduct of the ongoing slaughter. You were just another casualty, a victim, never a target.

You're scared.

Even though you know that once he kills you, once you die, you'll just loop back to around 8:30 again. You'll be on the platform again. And you'll play out some sequence of events before you eventually die again. And again and again.

Time doesn't flow in the box.

"I'll be nice, though," 'Geto' says, raising a hand and another monster appears out of nowhere. You don’t even bother trying to figure out from where. It doesn’t matter, especially since this monster will surely be the one to end your life. "I'll make it painless."

"...I appreciate it," you say and close your eyes hoping that he's not lying about it.

Time doesn't flow in the box.

He didn't lie.

You die again.

It’s October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.

And you're trapped.

You don't know how and you don't know why, but you are stuck in a time loop— forced to suffer through the horrific events of the night before you die and begin it all again. It's been a long time since you stopped counting how many loops you've gone through, but if you had to guess, it's probably somewhere in the hundreds now.

You are so very tired.

But it doesn't stop. It won't stop no matter what you seem to do. You are stuck. You are trapped. You are doomed.

“Time doesn't flow in the box.”

Ever since that first loop where you heard whoever is possessing Geto's body say that, the words have been stuck in your head, playing on loop.

You finally realize why.

“Time doesn't flow in the box.”

It's 8:25PM when you wake up; that should be plenty of time.

You need to find Satoru Gojo.

After hundreds of loops you've come to a singular conclusion: you need to prevent him being sealed in the prison realm. You've witnessed it enough to know that you won't be able to do it alone; you'll need his cooperation.

You rush upstairs as fast as you can, ignoring the shiver that runs down your spine as you step onto the stairwell. According to your previous loops, Satoru Gojo arrives on the subway tracks at 8:40PM. With how crowded the upper floor is, you don’t know if you’ll have the time to intercept him and talk to him, but if you can at least figure out where to find him, then you can try and talk to him during a subsequent loop.

When you reach the fourth basement floor, however, you don’t know where you should even start. He’s pretty tall so you think you could spot him in the crowd, but… there are still so many people. It occurs to you that maybe it would be better to try and look from a higher vantage point so you head to the stairs that lead up to the third basement floor. You check your phone again. It’s 8:35PM; you need to hurry.

Luckily for you, you find him very easily on the third basement floor.

The only problem is that he’s in a hard to reach spot— squatting above a sign hanging over the crowd.

You check your phone again. It’s 8:38PM and he’s starting to move, presumably to meet with those waiting for him on the subway tracks. It’s good that you found him, but there’s no doubt about it.

You’re going to need more time.

The moment you wake up, you immediately bolt toward the stairs. It's taken many, many more loops, but you've finally brought the time you wake down to around 8:15. You're still not sure if it's enough time, but there's only one way to find out.

You barrel your way up to the next floor and zig zag through the crowd to get to the next flight of stairs. By the time you get to your destination, you're completely out of breath, your chest heaving as your lungs clamor for air. You’ve done this so many times, yet your body acts like it’s always the first. It sucks, but there’s nothing you can do about it. You slow to a brisk pace to catch your breath and check the time. It’s 8:27— a new record. Hopefully it’ll be enough.

The goal is to catch Satoru Gojo before he moves to his lookout point above the crowd. While not impossible, it would be difficult for you to follow him there. You eye the safety barricade that blocks off the area where he’ll be moving in just a few minutes warily.

Yes, getting over there would be extremely difficult.

You don’t want to think about it right now; you’ll deal with it when the time comes.

Especially since Satoru Gojo has now entered your field of vision.

Your heart starts to race at the sight of him and it feels like it’s beating a million times a second. There isn’t a lot of time. You need to talk to him, but your legs only wobble, your feet planted firmly to the ground. This is not good. You need to move. You need to move.

Finally, after what feels like both an instant and an eternity, your feet finally budge, propelling you in Satoru Gojo’s direction. The beating of your heart only grows louder as you make your way toward him, mingling with the single thought that’s echoing throughout your mind right now: will he even hear you out?

You need to make him.

“Excuse me!” The words nearly come out in a stutter as you realize that you are actually talking to Satoru Gojo. You have watched this man at a distance for so long that it almost felt like he wasn’t real, like he was just another fixture in this nightmare that you’ve been living for far too long. And yet, here he is, right in front of you, in the flesh.

And his attention is on you.

All sound stops: the crowd around you, the thoughts in your head, the beat of your heart. Even though you cannot see them through that blindfold of his, you know that Satoru Gojo’s eyes are on you and the thought of that, the knowledge of it is actually a little overwhelming. Your mouth is dry and suddenly you don’t know what to say, but you need to say something. You need to say something before he thinks maybe you bumped into him by accident and just walks away without a word.

“I need to talk to you!” The words just burst out from your mouth and something about it is just absolutely embarrassing. You’re not sure if it's desperation or the fact that you haven’t really talked to anyone other than the existence occupying Suguru Geto’s body in nearly forever.

Satoru Gojo’s lips slowly start to form a smile, “Oh, yeah?”

The sound of his voice makes your mind go blank. There’s something different about it right now; more playful, amused even. Maybe it’s because he’s talking to you, a harmless human being and not a monster trying to kill him. It’s almost kind of jarring, but you know, with certainty, what Satoru Gojo’s voice sounds like. And the fact that he’s actually talking to you right now has you kind of excited. You nod, doing your best to not show how thrilled you are that he’s not ignoring you.

He hums thoughtfully, “Sorry… but unfortunately I kind of have some business to attend to right now.”

“I—” You start to say that you know that he’s headed down to the platform below to fight with…Choso and Jogo, you think their names are— you don’t know the name of the monster with the branches for eyes. “It’s— it’s really important!”

Gojo tilts his head a little, clearly thinking. You should probably say something else, something to try and convince him to stay a little longer and hear you out, but your mind is both full and blank. Where do you start? From the beginning? Or do you start with what is most important? Maybe you should say what you think will get his attention. You’re not sure, and you realize you really should have thought about this earlier because you’re running out of time right now.

“...mind handing me your phone?”

You stare at Gojo, completely and wholly confused, but he just holds out his hand expectantly. When you don’t move, he wiggles his fingers a little, a silent gesture telling you to hurry it up. Without thinking, you reach into your bag and unlock your phone before handing it to him.

“Kind of sucks that cell service isn’t working right now,” he remarks as he types something into your phone before handing it back. “But! Here's my number.”

You look down at your phone and, sure enough, Satoru Gojo has added himself as one of your contacts. He’s even added a little star to the end of his name. That’s… a little unexpected. Why his number though?

“Are you… hitting on me?” you mutter in your confusion.

He laughs, “Well, you said you had something really important to talk to me about, right? So just give me a call when you get home or some time tomorrow and we can talk then!”

You’re not going to make it home, or even to tomorrow, and neither will Satoru Gojo. As you start to tell him this, he steps past you. Desperate, you try to grab him, but somehow, for some reason, you can’t. You remember he did this with Jogo and the other monster, made himself untouchable.

This is not good.

He gives you a little wave, cheery as he says, “I’ll talk to you later!”

You watch, helpless as he hops over the barricade beyond your reach.

Gripping your phone tightly, you take a deep breath. It's fine, it's not like you didn’t expect things to go well anyway.

You'll just have to try again.

Every time you’ve tried to solicit help from Satoru Gojo, it has gone the same way. He just won’t give you the time of day, and in some ways you can’t blame him; he’s clearly here to deal with the monsters down on the platform. You’re fairly certain that he probably thinks that whatever is going on with you is a much lesser issue in comparison.

Plus, it probably doesn’t help that in the times that you’ve approached him, you haven’t been able to articulate yourself particularly well. Once you start talking to him, you just get hit with something akin to stage fright and the connection between your mind and your mouth just stops working. It’s gotten better with each attempt, but…

It’s just so frustrating.

It is interesting that Gojo has given you his number every time, star symbol and all. You’re not sure what kind of person you were expecting him to be, but after witnessing him literally and viciously rip monsters apart, you’d figured he’d be a little more somber. However, in the fragmented conversations you’ve had with him he’s come off as far more friendly and playful than you would have thought. Is he the type of person to get more serious when the situation calls for it? You can’t help but wonder, but ultimately, it doesn’t really matter.

What really matters is that you’re able to convince him to help you.

You have to convince him.

“Excuse me!” you say, stepping in Satoru Gojo’s path. You don’t stutter this time, and your voice is more sure. This is good.

“Yes?”

His head turns in your direction and you gulp. Gojo’s gaze, despite that blindfold of his, still feels just as overwhelming as it did the very first time you approached him. You have no doubt that he’s sizing you up, but there’s just something about it that makes you feel like you’re being picked apart.

You take a deep breath and step closer to him, hoping your voice sounds firm enough as you say, “I need your help. I’m trapped.”

He chuckles a little, “I know, but yours truly is on his way to go beat up the bad guys keeping you all trapped here, so soon enough you’ll be all free to go on your merry little way.”

Right. You were so caught up in your own plight that you nearly forgot that technically you’re not the only one ‘trapped.’ Satoru Gojo obviously knows that everyone else is confined to this station, but you doubt he knows that you’re confined to this night alone.

“That’s not what I mean!” you sputter.

“Then what do you mean?” Gojo asks. Should you tell him that you mean that you’re trapped in a time loop? You’re honestly not sure— in the movies and manga you’ve read about time travel, revealing that sort of thing risks creating a time paradox which seems to be a bad thing. If you have to tell him, you will, but— “Oh, I get it.”

You stare, bewildered. Did you maybe just spew all of that aloud?

Gojo gives you a mischievous smile. “You’re hitting on me, aren’t you?”

“No!” The word comes flying out of your mouth. You can’t deny he’s attractive— you’ve thought it all this time, but that is not what’s happening here.

“No need to be embarrassed,” he continues, ignoring you. “I totally get it, so if you want, I’d be happy to give you my number!”

Again? You’ve received Satoru Gojo’s contact details in every loop you’ve talked to him, star symbol and all— you even have his number memorized. There’s something kind of odd about how he keeps giving you his number. Part of you wonders if he’s got some sort of ulterior motive, but you haven’t thought too deeply about it. There are way more important things going on.

“I don’t need your phone number,” you say. “I need to talk.”

Your response seems to give Gojo pause. Did you somehow manage to get through to him? No way. Your suspicions are all but confirmed when he gives you that familiar apologetic smile.

“Like, I said, I’m sort of in the middle of something, but…” Gojo reaches into his pockets and rummages around until one hand fishes out a folded up piece of paper. The other hand keeps digging around in his pocket and when Gojo seems to give up on whatever he’s looking for, he turns his attention back to you. “Got a pen?”

What?

Gojo tilts his head. “Well?”

“I do, but…” You trail off, unsure why he’s asking.

He holds out his hand waiting for you to just hand him the pen. You still don’t get it, but you reach into your bag’s front pocket and pull out the pen and hand it to him. Gojo looks almost like an excited child when he takes it from you, quickly scribbling something onto his paper before shoving it and your pen back into your hand.

You look at the paper; it looks like a receipt. For a disturbing amount of mochi that Gojo bought earlier today. The amount of money he spent is almost sickening; way too much to be paying for mochi. More importantly, you notice something juxtaposed over the receipt’s print.

It’s Satoru Gojo’s name and number.

He even drew a little star next to his name.

“If you change your mind later, just give me a call!” he tells you cheerily. “I promise I’ll make it worth your while!”

You gawk at him. He cannot be serious. You literally just told him that you didn’t need it and yet he still gave it to you. He must want you to contact him later, but you can’t even begin to understand why. It can’t have been something you said or did, right? Unless, he’s actually—

“Later!” Gojo’s voice cuts through your thoughts and you notice him walking off with a wave.

You can’t let him get away.

Again.

You crush the receipt in your hand and rush after him. Despite the crowd, Gojo seems to move through the people with ease and it almost seems like they are yielding to him naturally. It’s good for you. Makes him easier to chase.

“Wait!” you yell, but Gojo doesn’t even look back. Bastard. Your muscles strain as you try to run faster. You know you won’t be able to grab him if you get to him, but there has to still be something you can do to stop him. Circle around him? Cut him off before he—

Satoru Gojo reaches the barricade.

“Wait!” you yell again. “Satoru Gojo, wait!”

He does not even acknowledge you.

You’re almost there though. Almost. If you reach out your hand, then maybe, maybe you can grab him. Something in your head tells you that it’s useless; you’ve never been able to touch him. But, you don’t care, you don’t care because you have to try. You stretch out your hand, desperate and hoping, but just as you do, Gojo effortlessly jumps over the barricade, moving to survey the crowd.

Due to your momentum, you almost collide into the barricade, but you manage to stop yourself. You stare at Satoru Gojo through the glass. He watches the crowd for at most three minutes. Is this just another bust? Is there really nothing you can do? There must be a way you can get his attention. Is it possible to climb over the barricade? No, it’s too high. There’s nothing you can grasp onto or use as footing either.

This fucking sucks.

Another minute or two and Gojo will be on the move again, and there will be no way you can follow, no way you can get his attention. You press your hands against the glass, pushing against it. Naturally, it doesn’t budge. Why would it? If only you could get it out of the way. If only you could break it. This stupid barricade is the only thing between you and Satoru Gojo and there’s no way you can climb it, but if only you could break it.

If only you could fucking break it.

Suddenly, the glass feels warm. Satoru Gojo’s image starts to look a little distorted as the warmth beneath your fingers grows. Something is happening. The glass starts to vibrate and shake. Violently. The tremors grow stronger and stronger. You should stop. You should back away.

You don’t.

The barricade starts to crack and fracture and soon the sound of shattering glass resounds throughout the entire room. Everyone starts screaming. No one knows what’s going on— not even you. But you don’t care. It’s gone. The barricade is gone.

You take a step forward, toward Satoru Gojo. He’s on a beam that’s about a two meter drop from where you’re standing. That’s fine. That’s okay. You can make it. You have to. Without a second thought, you jump—

And you land on the beam. You look up and Satoru Gojo’s attention is back on you. He’s finally, finally turned toward you, face twisted into an expression you can’t decipher or even comprehend, but—

Something’s wrong; your world is turning on its axis, but—

Satoru Gojo is looking at you, and—

Up is very quickly becoming down, and—

Satoru Gojo is coming closer, but—

You’re slipping—

But he’s right there, and—

You’re falling, but—

He’s trying to catch you, but—

It’s too late. It’s too late.

The last thing you think you feel—

—is Satoru Gojo’s arms around you.

It’s October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.

And you are causing a commotion.

“Shit! Fuck!” you curse loudly. The people near you start to shift away but you barely notice; you don’t really care.

You were so close, so fucking close and yet… yet here you are again. It’s quarter past eight and you are back on the goddamn platform. You don’t know what happened; you remember falling and thinking you were going to die, but you are absolutely certain that, once again, this time, you didn’t die.

Is Satoru Gojo at fault again? Did he do something? Like he did all those other times you looped without dying? When you think about it more, you don’t think so. You don’t know what happened; all you know is that you tried to get to him, but you slipped.

And he caught you, you definitely remember that.

You still don’t understand why you looped, but there’s not much you can do about it now; it’s not like you can go back anymore. It just sucks, because you think he might have actually listened if you’d talked to him.

Or he would have come after you for… whatever happened with the barricade. It could have been taken as an attack on the crowd… But if he thought you were doing that, then why would he catch you?

You don’t know.

All you know is that you have to try again.

The only problem is that you don’t know how you managed to shatter the barricade. You think about it as you make your way up to where you’ll find Satoru Gojo. There is the possibility that it wasn’t you and something else happened to it instead, but that feels way too coincidental. It had to be you. That’s the only thing that makes sense. You just can’t figure out how you did it outside of wanting, wishing, praying for the barricade to break. It’s not like you have supernatural powers like Satoru Gojo and his enemies.

Despite your mind being completely and wholly occupied by trying to figure out how in the world you managed to break through that barricade, you still manage to make it to the second basement floor of Shibuya Hikarie by 8:25PM— a brand new record. Satoru Gojo doesn’t show up until around 8:34PM, so that gives you almost ten minutes to try and figure out what you need to do to try and replicate shattering the glass barricade again.

Except—

Except Satoru Gojo is already here.

The thought that maybe you’re mistaken flashes in your mind before it’s quickly dismissed; there’s no way you’d mistake anyone else for him. There is absolutely no denying it: that is Satoru Gojo. Bewildered, you double check the time on your phone. Maybe you misread it and you’re actually late but sure enough you read it right— Satoru Gojo is here early.

What the hell is going on?

Of the thousands of times you have experienced this night, this hell, this sort of thing has never happened before. Everything happens at a specific time, as if adhering to an unseen schedule. It’s likely that what happened in your last iteration did delay Satoru Gojo’s arrival onto the platform, but other than that there has never been a deviation to the time table.

And yet, here Satoru Gojo is, nine minutes early now.

You realize that that’s not the only thing that’s strange: he’s not moving. In previous rounds, when you encounter Gojo here, he’s walking to the lookout spot beyond the barricade. But, right now, he’s just standing there, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket. It almost looks like he's waiting for something.

Or someone.

This unexpected turn of events has you rooted to the spot. You’re not sure what you should do. No. This shouldn’t change anything. You need to talk to him. As concerning as a change like this is, the extra time it gives you should be a good thing. Despite knowing that, your feet are still firmly planted to the ground.

The crowd shifts and you see Satoru Gojo start to move. Toward the barricade? No. He’s not heading in his usual direction, rather he’s—

You stop breathing.

He’s headed toward you.

All sound stops: the crowd around you, the thoughts in your head, the beat of your heart. Even though you cannot see them through that blindfold of his, you know that Satoru Gojo’s eyes are on you and the thought of that, the knowledge of it is absolutely mind numbing.

He comes to a stop before you, lips curled up to form an amused sort of smile as he says, “Soooo, you needed to talk to me?”

You try to answer but no words come out of your mouth. Are you dreaming? You have to be, right? There's no way that this is actually happening. Could it be that, after thousands of loops, you’ve finally lost it? Your mind shattering along with the glass of the barricade at the end of the last one?

Gojo tilts his head, indicating that he's still waiting for an answer. When you open your mouth, at first, nothing comes out, the words stuck in your throat. You force them out, your voice cracking, “...how did you know?”

He smiles, looking almost mischievous as he reaches up and lightly taps the side of his head. “I remembered, of course!”

All you can do is stare at Satoru Gojo. He remembered? How is that possible? From his perspective, this is the first time you’ve met and while it shouldn’t be possible for him to remember there’s something in your mind that’s keeping you from completely dismissing the possibility.

Gojo laughs, “I take it from the look on your face that you’re not used to this sort of thing happening. Is this the first time?”

“No.” The fact that the word is out of your mouth before you can even really think about it surprises you and you really have to think. Your face scrunches together as you try to remember. Is this really not the first time? Then, the memories assault you, overlapping as they replay simultaneously in your head— a woman in a yellow and white magical girl costume— begging you for help as she burns to death— smiling as she tells you she made her costume herself. “...it happened just once a long time ago.”

“‘A long time ago,’ huh. Sounds like you've been at this for a while now.”

“...unfortunately.”

Gojo hums. “So when you said you didn’t need my phone number…”

“You’d already given it to me a few times,” you say, figuring that’s where this conversation is going.

“Really now?”

Does he not believe you? Or is he just being an ass? You’re not sure, but since you had taken the liberty of memorizing Satoru Gojo’s phone number you recite it back to him to prove your point.

Just when you think you may have stunned Gojo into silence he starts to laugh, obviously finding something funny about the fact that you know his cell phone number. “Seems like you've got quite the fascinating technique there.”

Technique? What is he talking about? Your confusion must be plain on your face because he adds, elaborating, “The time travel.”

You continue to stare at him. You don't think you'd consider what you've been going through time travel, because traveling implies moving from point A to point B, but you've been stuck walking in circles at point A for a long time. What really gets you is… “What do you mean by ‘technique?’”

“You mean you don’t— oh. I get it; no wonder you’re trapped.”

That does not answer your question in the slightest. “Can you please explain what you're talking about? What do you mean by ‘technique?’”

“Right, right… So basically, a technique is like a special sort of power,” he finally explains. “Like I said, your technique seems to be a kind of time travel. Whenever you activate it, your mind is sent back in time.”

What he's saying makes sense, but… “How come you were sent back too?”

He laughs again. “Isn't it obvious? Think back to before— do you remember that I caught you as you were falling?”

You nod slowly. The memory of his arms around you is almost embarrassingly vivid. “...is it because we were touching?”

“Ding, ding, ding! That's correct! Anyone you happen to be touching when you activate your technique gets affected by it too!”

Something about his tone annoys you, but you try to ignore it. He could have just told you rather than make you guess. “How do you know that for sure?”

“Well,” he continues. “You’ve done your little time loop a bunch of times, right? If your technique affected everyone, or even a few people in a select range you would have noticed for sure. And if it affected only just you then we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now, now would we?”

When you think about it, you do think that the woman in the magical girl costume might have bumped into you before the loop where she remembered.

“That’s honestly just conjecture, but I've got pretty good eyes, so I’m hardly ever wrong.”

Gojo gives you a grin and while you do think that his reasoning is sound enough his confidence is a little grating. More than that, though, you’re glad that this conversation is actually going really well.

“Either way,” he says thoughtfully. “It doesn’t look like you can control your technique. Usually a person’s technique manifests when they’re a kid, but you seem to be a special case… in fact, I bet your technique activated for the very first time tonight— probably under some pretty extreme circumstances, too.”

“...dying counts as an ‘extreme circumstance,’ right?”

“Oh, absolutely. Or legitimately thinking that you’re gonna die, but it seems like your body has been unconsciously activating your technique as a sort of defense mechanism. Which is why you’re trapped.”

“So, if I could control it I’d be able to make it out of this time loop.”

“Yeah, but in this case it probably wouldn’t end very well for you,” he points out with a chuckle. “It’s not like you actually want to die, right? I mean, if you did, then your technique wouldn’t even activate in the first place.”

You don’t; what you want is for this night to finally end. To be free from the endless cycle of dying over and over again and again. You don’t think death is quite the answer; even if you were to learn how to control this supposed technique of yours, there’s no guarantee that you would just unconsciously activate it when the grim reaper comes knocking on your door. No, the answer is…

“Anyway!” Gojo’s cheery voice cuts through your thoughts. “I highly doubt that you’re the type that makes a habit of jumping off ledges for the funsies, so the fact that you’ve been dying tells me that some pretty gruesome stuff is about to go down, so, tell me what happens tonight.”

The sudden drop of his voice sends a shiver running down your spine. If it weren’t for the fact that you’ve seen how serious Gojo can get, the sudden shift in demeanor would probably freak you out a bit, but it doesn’t. This is the Satoru Gojo you’re familiar with.

You do have one concern though. “That… won’t create a time paradox or anything, will it?”

“Nah,” Gojo shrugs. “You wouldn’t cause one with the way your technique works, besides, if you’ve only been going back at most an hour or two in time it’s hard to believe you’d be making a really big impact… unless you really believe in the butterfly effect.”

You’re still not quite sure.

“Trust me, it’ll be fine.”

His voice sounds strange. Gentle. Kind. It's the most soothing thing you've heard in a long time and it makes you want to believe him.

“...okay.”

Anxiety is still gripping at you, but you try to dispel it, taking a deep breath before beginning your explanation. For the sake of brevity, it’s probably best that you’re as concise as possible. There isn’t much need to really get into the nitty gritty of things unless he asks specifically.

Naturally, you begin with his arrival onto the platform and how soon after a fight breaks out and how the crowd is unfortunate enough to be involved. Gojo’s expression is passive for the most part, but he does crack the faintest hint of a smile when you mention how he manages to eviscerate one of the monsters.

It disappears once you tell him about the arrival of the train. Between the dozens upon dozens of people being dropped onto the platform by those two high school girls and the hoard of monsters disembarking from the train, everything devolves into pandemonium.

“Wait,” Gojo holds a hand up and you pause. This is his first interruption since you started recounting the night’s events for him. “Everyone is able to see the monsters?”

You stare at him. What a weird question. “...yeah?”

His mouth twists and it looks like he’s thinking about something. You can’t even begin to imagine what. Finally, he comments, “Makes sense.”

It does not, but you don’t ask him to elaborate. Surely if it was important he would have just done so.

“Anyway, in the middle of all that, you… you do something.” Your brows bunch together as you remember the stance Gojo took, the crazed and desperate look in his eyes, the feeling of your head about to explode. “I don’t know how to describe it. At first, it would just force me to… activate my technique, I guess. But now, it just knocks me out for a few minutes.”

Gojo frowns and he rubs at his chin, obviously thinking about what you’ve said. Eventually, he raises a hand and bends his fingers into a familiar gesture. It’s the one that preludes whatever he does on the platform. “Do I do this?”

“Yeah.”

He hums. “Interesting.”

You wait to see if he’ll explain. He doesn’t. Great. Even if he doesn’t think you need to know, it certainly would be nice to. It’s annoying otherwise, but you ignore the feeling and continue. “I can’t tell you what happens when I’m knocked out, but when I come to everyone is basically a zombie and all the monsters from the train are gone. I think you kill them.”

“I probably do,” he says casually. “But what about Volcano Head?”

“...you don't…get a chance to kill him,” you say slowly. Gojo tilts his head, waiting for you to elaborate, but you hesitate. You have to tell him, you know you do, but…

You have seen the interaction so many times and though you don't know the exact nature of the relationship between them, you can tell that seeing Suguru Geto (or rather seeing his body) shook Satoru Gojo to his very core.

There's no doubt in your mind that he will not take this news well.

“Come on now,” Gojo's tone is light-hearted, unaware. “Don't keep me in suspense here.”

It's as if you're withholding the punchline to a joke. In a way, you suppose you are, but you don't think he's going to find it funny.

You take a deep breath. You need to tell him. The worst thing that could happen is that he doesn't believe you, but if that's the case… you'll probably just end up repeating this all again until you find a loop where he does.

Having made it this far, you'd like to avoid all that.

“Before you can get Volcano Head you get restrained by something called the prison realm,” you say slowly, “by someone calling themselves… Suguru Geto.”

The second the name leaves your mouth, there is a clear and obvious shift in the air. Gone is Gojo’s laid-back and frivolous demeanor, replaced with something more somber and almost frightening. The tension grows more and more palpable to the point that you think it might almost choke you.

You almost wish that it would.

“You can’t be serious,” Gojo finally says, once your words have fully sunk in.

“I—” You start to speak, but come to an abrupt stop when you see him shove his hand into his pocket to yank out his phone of all things.

The both of you know full well that there’s no reception here, but you don’t think that he’s planning on making any calls. Gojo scrolls and scrolls on his phone before he stops and shoves the screen in your face. It shows a picture of three people— a teenage girl with a cigarette in her mouth, a younger, happier version of Gojo sporting a pair of round sunglasses and—

“When you say ‘Geto’ is this who you’re referring to?” Gojo demands, using his other hand to point at the third person in the frame— a handsome young man with long dark hair pulled up into a bun.

“Yes, but—”

“That’s impossible. It can’t be him,” Gojo interrupts, his voice firm, cold even. “He’s dead.”

There’s a note of finality in his words that is definitely meant to leave no room for argument. It doesn’t stop you, though. Instead, you glare at Gojo’s stupid blindfold and say, “...being dead doesn’t mean a damn thing! I’ve died hundreds of times and yet I’m still fucking here, but—”

“Your situation is different,” he interjects, the temperature of his tone hiking up, his words like heated hissing. “I killed him almost a year ago. There's no way—”

“You didn't get rid of the body properly!” You cut him off, raising your voice in hopes that he'll take even just a second to stop and listen. It seems to work and you add something you remember ‘Geto’ saying. “You should have had Shoko Ieiri get rid of it, but you didn’t and now some… some kind of gross brain thing is possessing the corpse!”

The air between you both is silent as the grave. Though you can't see it, you can feel the weight of his gaze pressing down on you. He’s definitely having second thoughts about everything you’ve said so far. There’s a chance he might even think you’re his enemy now. You stare him down though, refusing to look away. You’ve made it this far, you can’t— you won’t back down.

“...you’re not lying, are you.” Gojo’s words are more of a statement than a question. There’s no doubt in your mind that he knows the answer, and yet he’s still asking. You wonder if maybe he’s clinging onto some vain hope that maybe, just maybe this all a sick, cruel joke that’s gone way too far.

“I’m not.”

Gojo holds your gaze for a second longer before he lets out a curse. “Fuck!”

“...I’m sorry,” you say quietly, mostly because it feels like the most correct thing to say at this moment. You don’t know the whole story, but it seems like they were close. If so, then it must have hurt Gojo a lot to have killed him, and must hurt even more to know that someone is desecrating the body. You hate that you, a complete and utter stranger, happened to be the person to tell him, but…

It had to be done, for the sake of getting past this unending night, it had to be done.

Gojo runs a hand through his hair and lets out a ragged sigh. “Okay. What happens after that?”

You give him a rundown of what follows; he gets sealed, the monsters wake up and all but ‘Geto’ leave in search of their next target. When you mention the high school girls demanding the brain give Geto’s body back, Gojo snorts loudly.

“Fat chance of that,” he says derisively.

You nod in agreement. It was clear to you that the brain parasite has no intent on giving it up any time soon. “After they leave, he… talks to me.”

“Probably couldn't ignore all that cursed energy you have,” Gojo remarks offhandedly.

You stare at him, expression twisted in a way that shows that you have absolutely no clue what that means. It should be fine for you to ask this one question; it actually concerns you after all. “What does that even mean?”

“Exactly what it sounds like, though… probably doesn't make much sense to you, does it?”

You give him a pointed glare and all Gojo does is laugh.

“Just think of it like having a lot of MP.”

“...Like in a video game?”

“Exactly!” Then, Gojo tilts his head, clearly thinking. You don't bother asking; you don't feel like he'll explain.

“He does ask me if I'm a sorcerer, whatever that is. Is that why?”

“Probably. Ordinary people don't have even a fraction of the energy you're packing.”

‘Ordinary people’ he says as if you’re not an ordinary person who got caught up in all this supernatural sorcery bullshit. Or at least you were, but if the time loops are really a product of your own doing…

“Does he kill you when you answer?” Gojo asks to get the conversation back on track.

“Not right away. What happens next kind of varies,” you answer. “He usually lets me have a question or two before he kills me; I've asked him a couple different things.”

“Really taking advantage, aren’t you?” Gojo says and you're not sure what to make of his tone. Is he mocking you or is he easing back into that laid-back persona of his?

“If I’m doomed to repeat the same situation over and over, I might as well make the most of it,” you respond flatly.

“You know, your technique kind of reminds me of save scumming.”

He’s definitely gone back to acting almost completely unserious— all signs of his earlier agitation are nearly gone.

“So what did you learn?”

“Well, the prison realm only holds one occupant. Once they’re sealed, time stops for them and the only way out is if the bearer unseals them or if they choose to kill themselves.”

“I see… And what about our body jacker?”

“He didn’t go into detail but he said something about… striving toward the evolution of mankind?” You frown a little at the memory. He didn’t explain further because he said that you wouldn’t understand.

“Huh. Interesting. Wonder how he was gonna go about doing that.”

“I don't know, but I can't imagine you'd like it since he goes out of his way to seal you into that box,” you say. “Said you’d get in the way because you’re too strong.”

Gojo shrugs his shoulders and grins a little. Cocky. “Well, I am the strongest sorcerer around, you know.”

You would think him overconfident if you hadn't seen the magnitude of his strength first hand.

“Anyway, that's as far as I ever go. When he's decided he’s done talking to me, he kills me and I loop back.”

“So, in short, what you want help with is getting past that point, right?”

“More or less.”

“And all I have to do is avoid getting caught by the prison realm?”

You nod.

“What’s it look like?” he asks. “A big cage with a bunch of metal bars?”

Now that you think about it, you haven’t woken up early enough to see it before it traps him, but you can’t imagine it looks that much different. “No.. It’s a small box with eyes… It gets big enough to fit you in it, though.”

“Huh.” He stretches his arms out above his head as if he’s trying to emphasize how large he actually is and shoots you a grin. “Should be easy enough then. I bet our body snatcher used the shock of seeing Suguru to trap me but since I'll see it coming, avoiding it'll be a piece of cake.”

Gojo makes it sound so easy, and maybe it really is as simple as that, but you can't help but be worried still.

“Don't tell me you don't think I can do it,” he says, tilting his head.

“It's not that,” you admit. “I'm just concerned I might die before we can get to that point.”

Truthfully, since you know that will just result in another loop you're less concerned with dying itself and more worried about losing the progress you've made in convincing Gojo to help you. Even though it's been clearly proven you can loop him as well, there's no guarantee you'll be able to make the physical contact needed to do it upon death.

“You've made it pretty far on your own, though, right?”

“Yeah, but… I’ve messed up plenty of times.” More than you can even count. “There's also the possibility that taking the time to talk to you might have thrown things out of whack.”

Speaking of time, you check your phone. It's 8:39PM. You curse.

Gojo leans over to check your phone. “Let me guess, I'm supposed to be somewhere right now.”

“Yeah, this is when you’re descending down onto the platform.”

“You know where I am down to the exact minute?” He asks and you tilt your head back and forth a little. It’s not exact per se, but it’s close enough. Gojo chuckles a little. “Man, I didn’t realize that you were actually that into me.”

That earns Gojo a glare from you, but he just laughs it off. “I doubt being a few minutes late is going to make a big difference.”

You certainly hope so.

“Don't worry,” Gojo says and you notice he's using that tone from earlier. “You won't die.”

It’s hard to argue with him when he uses such a reassuring sounding voice and yet, you still open your mouth to try— to voice your doubts, but what he says next silences you before you even can.

“I'll protect you.”

You think your heart stops beating in your chest and your words dissolve in your throat.

He grins at you. “Did you fall in love with me just now?”

That catches you a little off guard. You're willing to admit he's hot, but surely he must be joking. “How could you even think of something like that at a time like this?”

Gojo laughs again. “Well, since someone is so worried about their time table being all messed up, I better head down there; can’t keep Volcano Head and friends waiting, right?”

You blink. Is that it? “Wait, shouldn’t we make a plan or something?”

“Isn’t the plan for me to not get caught in the prison realm?”

Yes, but… “But what about me? Is there anything I can do?”

Gojo stares at you, or at least you think he does. “...I don’t know, is there?”

You’ve seen the encounter between Satoru Gojo and those monsters so many times and you try to picture a version of it where you intervene and… all you can see is yourself getting in his way. You’re no fighter, no… sorcerer, or whatever he is, you’re just some ordinary person that was unfortunate enough to get all caught up in this mess. The most you can probably do is kick the prison realm out of the way when the time comes, but otherwise… “...no, I guess not.”

His expression turns sympathetic. “You’ve done plenty by telling me everything that happens. So just wait up here, and let me handle the monsters.”

You almost nod. Almost. But then you remember what transpires up here above the platform. You know it sounds safer up here where you’re less likely to get involved in the carnage, but… “Wait, no, if I stay up here then I’ll fall to my death when those girls—”

Gojo laughs, interrupting you. “Don’t worry about that. It’ll be fine.”

“How?”

“Just trust me.”

“I…” It’s hard to. After everything you’ve gone through it’s hard to trust in anything, to believe in anything. Even though you’ve made it this far this time, the worry that something will go wrong and that you’ll have to do it all again still lurks in the back of your mind.

Despite all that, you want to believe.

You want to believe that you can make it past this unending night, that one day you’ll wake up and it’ll no longer be October 31, 2018. And the first step towards that is trusting in Satoru Gojo.

“...okay,” you say quietly. “Okay.”

Gojo chuckles then asks, “Anything else before I head off?”

You start to ask if there’s anything you should say, in case things don’t work out, but you stop yourself. You’re choosing to trust him, to believe in him— you can figure out that stuff later if things end up going south after all. So, instead you give him a smile and it feels a little weird because you don’t remember the last time you did. “Good luck!”

For a split second, Gojo looks almost surprised, but then he laughs again, beaming widely at you. He starts to move past you and reaches out to give you what you think is meant to be a reassuring squeeze of the shoulder and then he’s off. You turn to watch him go, the crowd, once again, parting almost naturally for him.

When he reaches the barricade, he pauses, raising his hand as if he’s giving you one last wave. Then he jumps over it onto his little perch and then less than a minute later he’s gone, descending to the platform below.

Now, all you can do is wait.

You check your phone again and it’s 8:44PM. If you remember correctly, the high school girls start threatening everyone right before 9PM. With Gojo’s arrival being shifted back almost five minutes, does that mean that they’ll be shifted back too? It would make sense, but you’re not too sure.

Out of habit, you keep checking your phone and at nearly 9PM, you hear the shrill voice of one of the girls over the crowd, commanding everyone to do what she says, her partner stringing up bodies until everyone listens. Everything plays out just as you remember it, which is mildly comforting, though you know that the events that happen up here are more or less independent from what happens below.

Surely, just as Gojo said, a few minutes aren’t going to change anything, but—

No.

You agreed to trust him. To trust that everything would be fine.

When the girls start to demand that as many people as possible climb onto the roots and vines covering the atrium your heart starts to hammer in your chest. In just a few minutes, all the foliage will disintegrate beneath you, and you and everyone else here will fall into the abyss below.

You are afraid.

There isn’t a single loop where you’ve really survived this fall. If you don’t die in midair, you die right after landing. It’s a death trap, and that’s why you’ve stopped coming up here. There’s a part of you, the part that knows what’s about to happen, that wants to try and run back onto stable footing. But you can’t, because you know if you do then the girls will kill you for sure; you have to stay.

It’ll be fine, you tell yourself, it’ll be okay.

You just have to trust Gojo.

An eight car train is pulling in. Please wait behind the yellow line.

You hear the announcement faintly below you. It’s almost time. You brace yourself and try to stay calm. Gojo said he would protect you, that you wouldn’t die. You don’t know how he intends to keep that promise, but all you can do is believe in his words.

It’ll be fine. It’ll be okay.

The vines and roots start to crack and the ground beneath you starts to give out. You squeeze your eyes shut as that sickening weightless feeling overtakes you. It occurs to you that this is actually quite literally a trust fall— will Satoru Gojo really be able to catch you?

As you fall, you realize almost instantly that something is different.

You’ve experienced this fall dozens of times and so, even though it has been a while since you’ve gone this route, you are very familiar with what it feels like. Something is different. You’re falling faster. The trajectory is changing. It’s like some force, other than gravity, is pulling at you.

Is this Gojo’s doing?

Just as your body collides with the ground you hear the sounds of mutilating flesh meld with the screams surrounding you. Blood and severed limbs litter the ground, but you try to ignore it. You need to focus on your own survival right now. Quickly, you scramble to your feet scan the area around you; you’re on the platform right now and right in front of you is—

Right in front of you is Satoru Gojo.

His back is turned to you, his focus currently elsewhere. Looking at him you realize you recognize this scene, though it’s much closer and at a different angle. He’s about to do that thing, that thing that knocks you out.

Something in you tells you to move closer to him, after all, he used his mysterious powers to deliberately bring you closer to him, right? You rush toward him and as you do something he said earlier pops up in your mind.

Anyone you happen to be touching when you activate your technique gets affected by it too!

Whatever he’s about to do… Is that his ‘technique?’ And if it is, would it work the same way as yours? If so, there’s only one way to find out: you need to touch him. You dodge monsters and other people as you run toward Satoru Gojo and—

A monster still manages to grab you, its large hands wrapping around your wrist. You try and yank it free, but it's much stronger than you are.

“Shit!” you hiss as the monster starts to pull you toward it and away from Gojo. What do you do? Your other hand is still free, should you try to punch it in the face? Or—

Before you can do anything, something blasts the monster’s head clean off. Shocked, you stare as the monster’s body slumps onto the ground, its grip loosening on you instantly. You whip your head around to find that while Gojo still has his back to you, his arm is bent back in your direction, his palm open as if he fired some invisible blast from it.

Then you feel it again, something pulling at you, but this time it's more forceful. Your body is yanked toward Gojo and the second you feel his hand press against you, you see him make that gesture with his other hand.

“Domain Expansion,” he whispers in a strained voice. “Infinite Void!”

Something happens and your vision flashes for a fraction of a second. And then—

The room is enveloped in an eerie stillness; all the violence and bloodshed coming to an abrupt stop. Monsters and humans alike stand like the living dead, unconscious with their eyes wide open as if they are staring into an infinite abyss. You recognize this scene, you’re familiar with it because it’s similar to the one you wake up to after being hit by Gojo’s ‘domain expansion.’ The only difference is the presence of the monsters, who are all but gone when you regain consciousness.

The pressure from Gojo’s hand is gone and he says to you, his voice still low. “If you’re squeamish when it comes to blood and gore, it might be best for you to close your eyes.”

And then he’s gone.

You do not take his advice. You do not close your eyes. How many loops were you unable to witness what’s about to unfold? A few hundred? A few thousand? And if all goes to plan, then you will never get another chance again: there’s no way you could possibly look away.

And what you see unfold before you is that Satoru Gojo was right.

He is the one to kill all the monsters.

It’s not as if you really had any doubt, after all, it seemed like the most logical conclusion to come to and yet…

There’s a difference between knowing and seeing.

All the violence resumes and the platform is engulfed in the sounds of carnage and slaughter once more. The lack of terrified screams makes everything more disconcerting— without them, all you can hear is the squelching echo of mangled flesh and blood splattering all over the place. You can’t really see him, but you can tell where Satoru Gojo is in the crowd as he leaves dozens upon dozens of decapitated heads soaring in his wake. Once or twice, he leaps out of the crowd and even from where you stand you can see the crazed glow of his inhumanly blue eyes as he massacres monster after monster.

Even though you don’t think you have anything to be scared of, you are still terrified: Satoru Gojo is no longer a man, but violence incarnate. You want to move closer to where Gojo gets trapped, but you’re afraid to. What if you get in his way? What if he kills you by accident?

Dying again when you’ve made it this far is definitely not ideal, but isn’t being killed by Gojo the best case scenario? Because then the two of you would probably loop together again and—

No.

Gojo said you wouldn’t die.

He said he’d protect you.

It’s hard to believe when he’s in the middle of a massacre, slaughtering monsters left and right, but you remind yourself yet again that you have to believe in him.

You take a deep breath and start moving, taking care to keep an eye on where Gojo is. You don’t know how long this is supposed to take, but you do know where he ends up when he’s just about done. The closer he gets to that spot, the sooner the prison realm will be unleashed upon him.

There’s a small group of zombified people nearby and you settle yourself among them. It’s not super close, but you think it's close enough that you'd be able to run over and kick the box away from Gojo if you have to. You do a quick survey to see if you can spot the body snatcher, but he's nowhere to be found. Hopefully, he hasn't noticed you moving around, or, if he has, he's more concerned with Gojo than he is with you. Given that you always seem to be the last thing he acknowledges, you'd like to think that he doesn't consider you a threat.

Which you're not, not really anyway.

The sounds of slaughter start to die down and you look to see Gojo approaching the spot where he gets caught. He looks beat, his eyes unfocused and his breathing heavy. You do another quick scan around him and notice a small box a few meters away from him, wrapped in what looks like paper charms or seals or whatever they're called. That has to be the prison realm— though it looks different than what you saw before. Gojo seems to notice it right after you do, his gaze honing in on it, examining it with some measure of bewilderment. Then, some invisible force slices through all the paper seals covering the box and it expands, the corners of the box floating up in midair to reveal what looks like a large sheet of dark red flesh with a large bloodshot eye stapled to the middle.

Disgusting.

If Gojo didn’t realize before, he seems to now, because he takes a step back, away from the grotesque thing. Good, good—

“Hey! Satoru!” Your blood runs cold at the sound of the body snatcher’s voice. He emerges from the crowd, smiling widely as he gives Gojo a wave. “Long time no see!”

Satoru Gojo’s entire body goes rigid. Shit. You told him, you warned him about what was going to happen, who he was going to see, but was that not enough? It’s possible that no amount of warning would have been enough to mentally prepare Satoru Gojo for the sight of the man he said he killed a year ago. After all, you know that there’s a stark difference between knowing and seeing. Even then, if Gojo doesn’t gather his wits and move now then he’s going to get caught and you can’t let that happen.

Your body moves before you can even think about it.

You scramble out from your hiding spot in the crowd and throw yourself in between Satoru Gojo and the prison realm. There’s no way you can kick it away from him now, not when it’s in this form, but maybe, if you get between them you can at least keep it from capturing him.

The eye quivers erratically, as it flits from Gojo to you. Every hair on your body stands on end as it watches you, the pupil dilating and contracting uncontrollably. You can’t look away from it, your own gaze fixed to your image reflected in the black abyss of the pupil. Something in the back of your mind tells you to stop, to get away, it’s dangerous, but you keep your feet firmly planted to the ground.

A second, or maybe even a minute passes and the prison realm shifts, its fleshy form morphing to restrain you.

The body jacker looks at you, his frown tinged with disgust. “Don’t you think you’re being rather rude by butting into what could have been a touching reunion?”

You scowl. Is he still trying to play the role of Suguru Geto?

He sighs and looks past you at Gojo. “Satoru, I thought bringing lesser sorcerers to fight alongside you was more trouble than it was worth?”

You hear Gojo snort from behind you, “It is… but this person here isn’t a sorcerer… Just like you aren’t Suguru Geto.”

The faker almost pouts and presses his hand to his chest as if Gojo's words have wounded him. “Satoru, I’m hurt, how could you say such a thing to your best friend?”

“Cut the bullshit,” Gojo snarls. “You can’t fucking fool me. You might be in Suguru’s body but I know with all my heart and soul that you’re not him.”

The corpse snatcher stares at Gojo, expression blank before he sighs once more. Then, his gaze shifts back to you, his eyes narrowed as he looks at you with sheer disdain. It feels as if you’ve been drenched in ice cold water. There's no smile this time but you already know what's going to happen.

He’s going to kill you.

“I intended to deal with you later since you seemed harmless enough,” he says, raising a hand to summon a monster— the same one he always uses to end your life. “But you’re in the way. So, I think it’s for the best if I just get rid of you right now.”

Instinctively, you try to take a step back but the prison realm’s restraints keep you in place. Not that it would have mattered much, even in the loops where you’ve tried to escape the faker’s monster, it still kills you, too fast and too agile for an ordinary human like you to avoid. All you can do is squeeze your eyes shut and wait for the monster to kill you. At least, it’s always painless.

Something touches your back.

Your eyes shoot open.

Before you is the monster, wiggling and writhing only mere centimeters from your face. It gurgles and snarls at you, desperate to fulfill its master’s wishes and kill you but it doesn’t move any closer. You stare at it with wide eyes, unsure of what to do.

Someone behind you clicks their tongue— Gojo. You try to turn your head to look at him, but your movements are too limited, the most you can do is turn your head to the side. The sounds the monster is making start to change, sounding more frenzied, almost as if it’s in pain, and you flit your eyes in its direction just in time to see its entire body explode. The monster's guts and bright purple blood fly off in every direction, getting on the floor, the ceiling, the zombified bodies of the people unfortunate enough to be nearby, but not on you.

This is Satoru Gojo’s doing.

He steps in front of you, half turned towards you as he moves in between you and the body snatcher. His hands are shoved in his pockets as he loudly says, “Did you really forget about me?”

You’re not sure if he’s talking to you or the body snatcher.

Past him, the imposter scowls, raising his hand once more, probably to summon even more monsters, but Gojo’s quicker, and it almost looks like his eyes are glowing even brighter, the blue looking almost white as he whips his head in the faker’s direction. The sound of mangling flesh and breaking bones echoes throughout the room as Gojo, using that mysterious power of his, seems to break the faker’s arm.

The body snatcher hisses loudly and despite the fact that his face is twisted in very obvious pain, he tries to shoot Gojo a mocking smile. “Do you really think you can kill your best friend again?”

“I already told you,” Gojo turns to fully face the monster inhabiting Geto’s corpse. He tilts his head a little to the side and some force starts to squeeze at the faker’s neck. “You’re not Suguru.”

You hear a loud crack as Gojo telekinetically snaps his neck.

The head rolls onto the ground and you almost look away, but then you notice his eyes still moving, looking around. Is he still alive? Then you remember: the thing possessing Suguru Geto’s body was some kind of parasite. “Gojo! Wait! The brain!”

He reacts almost instantly, head turning and in an instant the skull is crushed and all that remains is red splotch on the ground.

You almost relax. Almost.

But the body is still standing.

Horrified, you watch as it quivers violently before falling to the ground. Then what looks like dozens of black spirits start to erupt from the corpse and the entire room is engulfed with a shrill howling.

What the hell is going on?

“Those must be all the cursed spirits he consumed,” Gojo explains uselessly, voice barely audible over the screaming. “Guess he was empty before.”

You don’t bother asking what he means. There are bigger problems right now. “What do we do?”

“No choice to exorcise them,” he answers plainly.

For him to exorcise them, he means. You both know that there’s not much that you can do. You still can’t move and honestly, you don’t even know if it’s possible to get out of the prison realm’s restraints. Not without dying. And if you die now…

Everything will have been for naught.

You’ll reset time and have to do this all over again— assuming you can even get to this point again.

There has to be something, you just have to think outside the box.

Or rather—

“Gojo!”

He glances back at you.

“You need to seal me in the prison realm!” you exclaim. He turns to face you fully, looking bewildered and you start to explain as fast as you can. “Those things are going to attack any minute right? I can’t move or try to hide and I can’t expect you to protect me the entire time and if I die then I’ll end up looping time again, but— but, if you seal me in the prison realm then that won’t happen.”

Gojo frowns, looking conflicted. “You don’t think I can do it?”

“Wouldn't it be easier if you didn’t have to?”

He tilts head and you think he’s conceding your point.

“Please,” you beg, staring at him desperately. “We don’t have much time. The other… cursed spirits will wake up soon too!”

You don’t have to explain that you mean Volcano Head and friends.

It takes only a second for Gojo to consider the very few options you have. “...how do you seal it? Do you know?”

“I think so,” you answer. “There’s no guarantee it’ll work but I think that if you say ‘prison realm, gate close’ it should seal me inside.”

If anything, it’s worth a shot.

Gojo nods. “Do you know how to break the seal?”

“I… don’t,” you confess. You never asked, and you don’t think the body snatcher would have told you even if you did. He only told you that it holds one and that…

That time doesn’t flow in the box.

“...you don’t have to break the seal.”

Gojo frowns, “Wait a sec—”

“Even if I make it past tonight… What if this all happens again? What if I inadvertently trap myself in another time loop?” you ask. “I… I don’t want to have to go through all of this again. It’s better for me in a place where time doesn’t pass.”

You don’t know for sure if it’ll be better, but right here, right now, it seems like the best option.

It feels like an eternity passes before Gojo says anything.

“...fine,” he agrees and you don’t quite know how to feel about it. The howling around you all grows louder. You wonder why the cursed spirits haven’t attacked yet. Maybe Gojo’s power is holding them at bay… for now anyway. You both know that he can’t ignore them forever.

“...before I do, though, mind if I ask you just one thing?”

You blink. “Not sure what I can do for you in this state…”

He laughs. “I just want to know your name.”

What an odd request. Though, now that you think about it, you don’t think that during this loop or any other loop really, you’ve ever told him your name. It only seems fair to tell him, since you’ve known his for longer than he’s known of your existence.

You tell him your name.

He nods, looking as if he’s committing to memory. Probably easier to remember than his phone number. “Any last words?”

You try to think of something. Nothing comes to mind and you just shake your head.

Gojo takes a deep breath, “Alrighty then… Prison realm, gate close.”

Just as it did the many times you’ve seen Satoru Gojo sealed away, the boxes and restraints around you vibrate a little before they start to close around you, growing large enough to fit your body as they approach.

You won’t see it, but once you’re inside the box will shrink and become small enough to fit in the palm of someone’s hand.

Will it be quiet inside?

In your final seconds, some words, some last words come to mind, and you say them, hoping that he hears them in time. “Thank you, Satoru Gojo.”

You burn the glittering glow of his brilliant bright blue eyes into your mind.

And then, everything is engulfed in an unending black.

It’s November 30, 2018— morning on the campus of Tokyo Prefectural Jujutsu High School.

Satoru Gojo strides through the school grounds, casually tossing a small silver box with eerie blue eyes known as the prison realm up and down in his grasp. Walking at his side is Shoko Ieiri, a pretty woman who’s been unfortunate enough to have been Satoru’s friend since high school.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Shoko asks, twirling a few strands of her long brown hair.

“What do you mean?” Satoru responds nonchalantly. “All my ideas are good ideas.”

Shoko hums in clear dissent, but doesn’t say anything more. Even she knows better than to try and waste her time trying to argue with Satoru. “I’m just worried about their mental state. Didn’t you say that time doesn’t flow in the box?”

“I’d be worried if it was some normal person,” Satoru says. “But after what they’ve gone through I think they’ll be fine.”

“...well, if you say so.”

The two arrive at their destination: the largest training area on the Jujutsu High grounds. Satoru places the prison realm at the center and takes a few steps back with Shoko standing behind him, in case anything happens.

He doesn’t think it will, but it’s always good to take at least a few precautions.

“Gojo, are you sure we should be doing this?” Shoko asks again. “Didn’t they want to remain in the box?”

“Of course I am,” Satoru says with his usual air of confidence before looking back at the prison realm nestled in the grass. He grins and then—

“Prison realm, gate open.”

if you made it this far. thank you. it's my sincerest hope that you enjoyed the ride.