#'i should really really think through what i'm doing right now and realize its a bad idea and that i shouldnt do it'

[syn4k]

[vaspider]

While I'm writing things that I've been intending to write for a while... one of the things that I think that a lot of people who haven't been involved in like... banking or corporate shenaniganry miss about why our economy is its current flavor of total fuckery is the concept of "fiduciary duty to shareholders."

"Why does every corporation pursue endless growth?" Fiduciary duty to shareholders.

"Why do corporations treat workers the way they do?" Fiduciary duty to shareholders.

"Why do corporations make such bass-ackwards decisions about what's 'good for' the company?" Fiduciary duty to shareholders.

The legal purpose of a corporation with shareholders -- its only true purpose -- is the generation of revenue/returns for shareholders. Period. That's it. Anything else it does is secondary to that. Sustainability of business, treatment of workers, sustainability and quality of product, those things are functionally and legally second to generating revenue for shareholders. Again, period, end of story. There is no other function of a corporation, and all of its extensive legal privileges exist to allow it to do that.

"But Spider," you might say, "that sounds like corporations only exist in current business in order to extract as much money and value as possible from the people actually doing the work and transfer it up to the people who aren't actually doing the work!"

Yes. You are correct. Thank you for coming with me to that realization. You are incredibly smart and also attractive.

You might also say, "but Spider, is this a legal obligation? Could those running a company be held legally responsible for failing their obligations if they prioritize sustainability or quality of product or care of workers above returns for shareholders?"

Yes! They absolutely can! Isn't that terrifying? Also you look great today, you're terribly clever for thinking about these things. The board and officers of a corporation can be held legally responsible to varying degrees for failing to maximize shareholder value.

And that, my friends, is why corporations do things that don't seem to make any fucking sense, and why 'continuous growth' is valued above literally anything else: because it fucking has to be.

If you're thinking that this doesn't sound like a sustainable economic model, you're not alone. People who are much smarter than both of us, and probably nearly as attractive, have written a proposal for how to change corporate law in order to create a more sensible and sustainable economy. This is one of several proposals, and while I don't agree with all of this stuff, I think that reading it will really help people as a springboard to understanding exactly why our economy is as fucked up as it is, and why just saying 'well then don't pursue eternal growth' isn't going to work -- because right now it legally can't. We'd need to change -- and we can change -- the laws around corporate governance.

This concept of 'shareholder primacy' and the fiduciary duty to shareholders is one I had to learn when I was getting my securities licenses, and every time I see people confusedly asking why corporations try to grow grow grow in a way that only makes sense if you're a tumor, I sigh and think, 'yeah, fiduciary duty to shareholders.'

(And this is why Emet and I have refused to seek investors for NK -- we might become beholden to make decisions which maximize investor return, and that would get in the way of being able to fully support our people and our values and say the things we started this company to say.)

Anyway, you should read up on these concepts if you're not familiar. It's pretty eye-opening.

[dcxdpdabbles]

DCxDP Fic Idea: New Management

It starts off small, in controlled, barely noticeable areas of Gotham.

Over days, the litter and trash vanish, the sidewalks are washed and cleaned, and even building yards long since abandoned are trimmed. No one notices at first because Gotham is so used to ignoring how dirty everything is until Poison Ivy makes a public announcement thanking the person who cleaned up Gotham's parks.

You know, while she was tearing up that one street with her vine monster.

After the Bats had her locked away pending a trial, they stopped to look around and realized, yes, someone had been cleaning house. No one really knows who, but things have started to change. Streetlights are replaced, graffiti is painted over, and cracked windows are fixed. It's a nice thought, but all this had the gangs up in arms, especially when their tagging disappeared.

To control the goodie-two-shoes, a few gangs burn down a few local parks- mostly the ones near or around Crime Alley- and they also loot the smaller businesses. It's a warning that the mystery housekeeper should be reminded of their station, but- well, it's all for nothing because, like magic, the following night, the damage is repaired and somehow better than before.

What's crazy is the water change. Everyone notices that right away.

Gotham's water system was just as corrupted and descriptive as its class system. If you were one of the elites- your water was clean and crisp- if you were one of the poor- your water was practically tar with how contaminated it was. Anyone in between got a fifty-fifty chance of drinkable water, depending on what side of the city they lived on.

It became an identifier, really. Depending on how often you were seen at stores buying bottled water, people could tell how well off your family was.

That's why, on a random Wednesday, Gotham lost their collective mind that the entire water system was fixed. Regardless of class, every household had clear, scent-free water from the tabs.

The few who wandered outside trying to figure out what in the world was happening were left stunned at the sight of Gotham's surrounding bodies of water.

They were clean.

All the rivers, the harbors, the silly little fountains found around Old Gotham- everything. It was safe to swim in them now. That was just wrong.

"What's happening?" Jason growls, crouching at one of Wayne Manor's main windows. His eyes are barely visible over the edge, allowing him to peek out into the yard, but he must not be fully visible, lest he become a target.

"I don't know," Tim hisses, taking a similar position on the second floor. He grips the communicator with a white-knuckle grip, trying his best to ground himself. "I just don't know. There are no witnesses, no evidence, no clues whatsoever on who's doing this to the city!"

"I don't like this!"

"No one does, Jason," Bruce intervenes; the accompanying sound of keys typing is familiar background noise. He's still in the cave, attempting to run through all reports of horrified Gothamites on social media, trying to find a pattern. "Babs? Do you have any new updates?"

"No!" She hisses, her typing sounding far more aggressive. "I can't find anything on those responsible. Nothing on the internet, nothing on public camera feeds, and nothing on rumors through dark web chats. It's like I'm trying to track a ghost!"

"This isn't natural, B," Steph cuts in. She's hiding in her bedroom closet, voice low in case her mom hears. After they realize some new lunatic is running loose in Gotham, her mom calls her back home to barricade them. If they had a bomb shelter, they would have been in it long ago.

"It's worse than we think," Duke huffs. He's somewhere near the top floor, having chosen a higher vantage point, hoping his meta powers would spot someone coming towards the manor. "I think I see glimpses of blue in the sky. If this continues at this rate, we'll have a clear blue sky in about two hours."

Multiple gasps of horror are heard throughout the communication lines. Bruce starts to type faster, barking orders for everyone to remain where they are and not go gather information. They had no idea what they were dealing with.

Damian stands with a confused Cass, Dick, and Alfred. The only bats not originated from Gotham, so while they can claim to have years in the city, none of them truly know. "I do not understand. Is this not beneficial to Gotham?"

"It may be too much at once, Master Damian." The Bulter tells him carefully. He only speaks that slowly when Alfred thinks of every word before saying it. "Whoever is behind this must not be from Gotham. If they were, they know that people would lose their collective minds upon the improvements."

"But who could be responsible?" Cass asks, watching Jason duck and army crawl to a new window once some sunlight manages to break through the clouds where he was originally hiding.

"I wish I knew Miss Cass."

Meanwhile, Danny Fenton leans back in his computer chair in a dimension of hope and a skip away. He laces his fingers together, bending them until satisfying cracks are heard. It was a productive hour of work, but he thinks now that his virtual city had cleaner water, his NPCs should start healing and developing better.

He was suspicious of Madam Gotham—a new ghost that appeared within his territory of the Ghost Zone—but after a quick conversation, he decided to befriend her. Danny is glad he did, seeing as she was in danger of fading away. Her core had suffered severe damage due to denying her obsession for so long.

Danny could do nothing for her. Madam Gotham needed professional help that only certain Yetis could offer. Although the Yetis usually turned away anyone not of their kind, with Danny backing her up, they had been willing to take in Madam Gotham.

She had been stubborn, though, refusing to get help because she was too busy playing her silly little game. The computer she played it on was unique to her realm and could not withstand the cold temeture of the Far Frozen. Danny was literally watching her melt—a horrific reminder of Dani and her siblings' disabling—before he could take it anymore.

Only after agreeing to watch her video game did she decide to be moved to the Far Frozen to receive medical treatment. Now, Danny never really liked those farming simulator games, but this was different in the sense that the city was already there.

His job was to further develop the city into a utopia. It was interesting to learn what modern issues the city had and how he could make decisions based on point costs on what to fix.

He gained points from making his citizens happier, supporting the Bats—the city's defenders—or choosing to develop options that significantly raised the value of his city.

It was rather addicting, really. He could see how Madam Gotham got so sucked in, even though it didn't really have much action for him to make. Mostly, he would let his citizens react to his new choices and use his points to delete trash and gunk.

There were some side quests he liked to work on, too, like helping certain citizens with drug addiction, depression, anxiety, or anger issues. Danny has no idea why Madam Gotham allowed so many to develop so badly, so every day, he would give them all one good luck point to brighten their days.

He had three full tabs of characters, a brief explanation of their lives, and whatever issues Danny could make them go through. He would tackle the number of homeless youth next by fixing up the city's affordable housing and infrastructure.

It was a bit narcissistic of Madam Gotham to name her game town "Gotham City," but it's better than any name Danny could have come up with.

[hughiecampbelle]

The Boys Preference: Lashing Out And Regretting It

Requested: heyya! love how you write the boys characters you got them so well just like how they are on the show. if its okay and if its a good idea, may i request an imagine with the boys and homelander and their reaction after they and reader got into an argument, getting to the point where they told reader some hurtful things and told reader to leave because they dont need reader or reader is nothing to them/is useless. they just say this because they’re angry but reader takes their word to heart and did just as they said. now they cant find reader or finding it hard to locate reader. could be platonic or familial. thank you! - anon

A/N: Screaming I love this!!! I live for the angst!!! I'm so sorry I've been so slow with requests my loves! I hope you can understand! Feedback is always appreciated! 💜💜💜

Requests are open! 🔮

Butcher embarrassed you in front of everyone. Yelling and screaming, calling you useless, all because Samer got away. You were a little too occupied with Kimiko and Frenchie to realize, opting to save your friend than chase after him. Both Kimiko and Frenchie were eager to come to your aid, but he shut them down. He got in your face and he humiliated you, said the team was better off without you. You left without a word, ignoring your friends who begged you to stay. You left your phone behind, knowing they'd call and text, apologizing for him. You were good at your job, the best even. You and Butcher have worked together a long time. This was your first mistake in a long time and he couldn't let it go. You were done. You packed a bag and disappeared. When they realized they couldn't reach you, they split up, looking at your apartment and usual hang outs. No one had seen you. Suddenly Butcher can feel his heart in his stomach. Regret spread through his chest. Everyone was pissed at him, but no one was angrier at him. He never should have done what he did. Now you were gone. Who knows when you'd show up again?

Hughie regrets it immediately. He said what he said because he was angry, and stupid, and awful. You left the night of the Tek Knight party. You were a Supe, a powerful one, but for whatever reasons, your abilities weren't what they used to be. You argued with him, saying he shouldn't go in alone. It came out before he realized, before he could take it back. Right now, he was more powerful than you were. What right did you have telling him what to do when you couldn't do your single job? The look on your face, the horror and hurt, it made him sick to his stomach. He tried to apologize, to explain, but you were done. You threw your hands up, wishing Hughie and the rest a safe mission, but you were done. M.M. assured him it was better to go through with it than run after you, so he did, but the whole time he's thinking about you. He doesn't find you at the office or apartment. You disappeared. They tried to track you, find you, but they hit wall after wall. You'd show up again, they all told him, you just needed time. He'd never felt so guilty in his life.

Annie didn't think you were trying hard enough. It didn't seem like you cared anymore. Not about the team, or taking down Homelander. You seemed like you were just going through the motions. She meant to just talk with you, but things escalated pretty quickly. As soon as she said the words, she knew she was in the wrong. You were becoming a liability to everyone involved. If you were done, burned out, then just say that. Leave. But if you wanted to be a part of this team, if you really cared, you'd stop being so useless. Truth was, you were tired. You were tired of everything. There was no name calling or fighting back. You didn't have it in you. You got up and you walked out, pushing past Butcher and the rest who were just walking in. Annie goes to follow you, but you just pick up your pace. She calls and texts, but you never answer. Everyone says to give you your space, but she can't let it go. She shows up at your place which is completely empty. It fills her with so much shame. She apologizes profusely, asking you to come back, but she never gets a response.

M.M. is reactive and angry and he knows what he's done is wrong immediately after. He's been in charge of this team and so far all you've been is negative. You've lost your faith in the team. He understands, he gets it, but for the sake of everyone involved, he needs you to look on the bright side. If there isn't one, he needs you to make one. He ends up blowing up at you while you're waiting for Hughie as Webweaver. You tell him, Annie, and Kimiko that you have a bad feeling about this, a terrible feeling, but it was too late to do anything. Hughie was already inside. He knows now is not the time nor place, but he loses it. If you can't have faith in the mission, in your teammates, then you shouldn't be here at all. Your attitude problems only hurt morality and it was worse than useless, it was dangerous. Annie and Kimiko try to de-escalate the situation, but you've made up your mind: you're done. You leave without a second thought, wishing them a safe mission. Because they're all occupied, no one can really do anything about it. After his panic attack, Marvin sees just how right you were, but when he calls it goes right to voicemail. When it seems like you disappeared, he does everything he can to track you down. You don't want to be found, though.

Frenchie fights with you after Samer gets away. It was the three of you that were in charge of him and you let him get away. You didn't have any fight left in you. It was your fault. He must've been working on the cuffs for weeks. You trusted him and you let Kimiko get hurt. You know that's the reason he's so upset: because he had to cut off her leg to save her. She could have died. You know what she means to him. And yet, he goes a little overboard. Everyone thinks so, yelling at him to stop when he's gone too far. You were useless. You let Samer get away, you let Kimiko get hurt, you failed at every single job you were given. He can see the look of hurt on your face and finally stops, the room left in a heavy silence. You grab your coat and you leave. There was no use in fighting with him, he was right. Annie and Hughie called after you, pleading with you to stay, but you waved them off, storming out. When they don't hear from you, they all start to worry. You sent a single text to Frenchie before turning off your phone. Tell Kimiko I'm sorry. Feeling guilty, he goes to your place. You're not there though, and neither are your immediate belongings: wallet, keys, phone, some clothes. He has to do something to fix this, to make things okay.

Kimiko is really hurt you turned yourself in alongside Frenchie. The guilt was eating you alive, all the things you've ever done. It was horrible. It was unforgivable. When you come back alongside Butcher, who insists you and Frenchie can replicate the virus, you can't stand to look at her. She wants to talk with you, to ask you why, and eventually, when you get a little alone time, she does. Of course she would understand, your upbringings were cruel, brutal, and it lead you down this road, but you couldn't move on. You couldn't forgive yourself. Kimiko was pissed. Did you really think it was that easy? Did you really think you were the only one eaten alive by guilt and shame and self-hatred? She was signing at you furiously, as close to yelling as she could get. You were so smart, so intelligent, and yet you were wasting your talents wanting to rot away in prison! If you were going to throw your talents away and hurt the team and hurt her and become a useless nobody, then what was stopping you? Certainly not her, not any of your friends. You don't have it in you to fight back. You don't have anything left in you, not anymore. She tries to get your attention when you leave, but you don't look back. When none of them hear from you, Kimiko begs The Boys to do everything they can to find you. Please, she has to make things right.

Bonus! Homelander cuts people out of life left and right. Still, you never thought he would turn on you. And yet, when you don't know who the snitch is, when you're not closer to pinpointing the culprit, he loses it. His eyes even heat up, though he catches himself, calming himself down. Firecracker interrupts his yelling, foolishly, but in the end it saves you from hearing anymore about how pathetic, useless, stupid you are. That you don't deserve to be a part of The Seven, you don't deserve to be a Supe at all. He goes off with her, believing it was Webweaver all along. You don't know how much time you have, but you know, in order to avoid his wrath, you have to leave right away. Get some space between you so that he can cool off, if he ever does. You took it as a pretty clear way of saying that you were out, you lost his trust. You weren't a friend anymore, you weren't anything anymore. Firecracker had saved the day. Again. When he comes back, covered in blood and no closer to finding the narc than he was before, he goes looking for you. He searches the entire city, but you've disappeared completely. Vanished.

[latenightdaydreams]

Please do part 2 of Mechanic Konig. I'm begging you!!! Your writing is AMAZING! I have to reread your writing every day because I can't get over it 😩

Thank you!!! I'll be writing a lot more this week, so there will be more! I finally made a part 2!!! I hope you enjoy!!🥰

Mechanic!König x Reader Part 2 (fem)

MDNI🔞

Part 1 here! 🚗

Master List!

>cw: fem/afab, pregnancy, p in v, oral

1.4k word count

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You sit in your car holding your newest ultrasound pictures. You made a last-minute appointment to see the doctor assuming you might have the flu, but being a few days late on your cycle the doctor asked for you to take a pregnancy test. Once it came back positive you were sent to the women’s health center for an ultrasound. You’ve been celibate for almost a whole year, other than your random hook up with that mechanic… You let out a long sigh before driving off.

You pull up in front of his shop, putting the ultrasound photos in your purse before stepping out of the car. Walking up to the open garage door, it’s almost like déjà vu. There König is wearing a white shirt and jeans, covered in oil. He looks up and meets your gaze for a split second before he looks down, realizing who he just saw, his head snaps back up.

“Y/n?” König speaks softly as if surprised to actually see you again. The last few weeks you’re all he has been able to think about. He’s been waiting for you to call or show back up and now here you are. His eyes drift down your body, taking in how amazing you look, and back to your eyes.

“Hi, König.” You walk closer into the garage. “Are you busy right now?”

“No,” he gently shakes his head. He closes the hood of the car he was working on and grabs a rag to clean his hands off. “Do you want to go to my car?”

Yes, you think to yourself, but you came here to talk. “No, I think we should talk.”

König tilts his head when you say no. He drops the dirty rag on the bench behind him and he looks at your cleavage again before back to your eyes.

“Is your car running okay?”

“Yes, its fine.”

“So, what is it?” He leans back as his blue eyes keep glossing over your body. All he can think about is how good you felt and looked naked in the back of his car.

“Um, so, I went to the doctors today.” The word doctor piquing his interest. “And she did a few tests on me…” You stall nervously not knowing how to tell him. What if he reacts poorly?

“Are you pregnant?” König asks, hurrying your story along.

“I am,” you nod softly, “I have ultrasound photos.”

“You do?” He perks up. “How far along are you?”

“11 weeks,” you go into your bag and pull out the ultrasound photos.

König quickly steps forward and grabs them from you.  His eyes glued to the image of a tiny fetus shown on the ultrasounds.  He studies every photo, a flood of emotions rushing through him at this moment. He can’t believe he actually got you pregnant.

“I came to be responsible and tell you. I don’t know what I’m going to do-” he cuts you off.

“I said that I would support the both of you and I meant it.” His eyes meet yours. “I have a big house, I make great money, and you’ll never have to work again Schatzi. You can just focus on raising our baby.”

You don’t say anything as you stand there taking in what he has said. Supporting a whole family is a huge responsibility. You don’t even know him, could you really build a life with him?  

“You laid down with me, you let me get you pregnant. Please, let me take care of you. Both of you.” He reaches a hand out and gently caresses your upper arm. His eyes showing genuine intent as they fall to your stomach even though you aren’t even close to showing yet.

“We don’t even know each other…”

“We will learn,” He looks back down at the ultrasound photos in his hand. “Please.”

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König runs his large hands over your swollen stomach, softly holding it as his eyes watch your growing breast bouncing. Your nipples have darkened and areolas enlarged. You’ve even been gaining weight, making your thighs and ass bigger. Your changing body is a beautiful sight to behold and it’s changing all because of him. Small moans of pleasure leaving his lips as he watching you eagerly bounce on his cock. Since you entered your second trimester, your hormones have been all over the place making you extremely horny. König is loving every second of it.

“König,” you whimper his name out as you feel yourself getting ready to reach your third orgasm.

“Ja, Liebing, there you go, let it out.”

He moves one of his hands down and begins to rub your sensitive clit with his thumb. He moves in slow focused circles making your legs begin to tremble. You slow down and lean forward slightly, letting out loud moans as your velvety walls flutter around his cock. König takes deep breaths and tries to focus his mind to not cum yet, he knows you aren’t done. Once he feels your body relax, he moves his hand away from your clit.

He gently lifts your body and leans back, grabbing a pillow and putting it under your head before laying you down gently. His eyes roam down your body as he bends down to lick your nipples, softly sucking on them as he feels your fingers comb through his short hair. He lines his cock up with your entrance and pushes himself back into you, mouth still latched to your breast.

“Oh yes, please.” You push his head away so he can sit up. “Fuck me harder.”

König nods his head as his hands wrap around your thick thighs, he pulls your legs apart and back making sure to be careful with your baby bump. König can’t believe how beautiful you look; how tight your cunt feels. He can’t believe how he got so lucky with you.

Your eyes trace the shape of his muscular body, seeing how his muscles flex under the light sheen of sweat covering his body. Your hands gripping the bedsheets as he fills your small cunt completely. You feel euphoric burst of pleasure every time he thrust forward; you clench down on him. König lets out a loud moan in response.

“Meine Liebe, I’m going to cum.” König’s voice cracks as he doesn’t slow his motion. His toes curling and eyes fluttering.

“No, please don’t stop, I’m not done yet.” You pant, feeling your next orgasm just beginning to build.

“Es tut mir Leid,” König chokes out as his hands drop your legs and move up to your full breast and squeezes them. His motion slows as his cock throbs inside of you.

Once he finishes, he pulls out and drops to his stomach, placing his head between your legs. He begins to lick your clit, his tongue flicking back and forth causing you to squirm and moan softly. One hand rest on you stomach as the other pushes two fingers into your cunt full of his cum. Curling his fingers up, he begins to finger you, quickly moving his arm. He tastes the mixture of your creamy cunt and his salty seamen.

“Right there, please don’t stop.” You moan in a whiney tone; König loves to hear it.

He doesn’t stop as his lips wrap around your swollen clit and sucks. His fingers rubbing against your g-spot rapidly as your back arches. Listening to you moan out his name as your squeeze his head between your plump thighs he lets out a satisfied groan into your cunt. Finally, you orgasm, he licks long laps up and down your pussy before pulling his fingers out.

He looks up and smiled at you as you lay there catching your breath. He has an air of arrogance about him, being able to make you cum so many times.

“I’m going to go clean up Liebling, I’ll be back with a towel to clean you too.” König leans in and kisses your belly before standing from the bed and going to the bathroom,

Once he was all clean, he grabbed a towel and began to walk back to you in the bedroom. Once there he sees you fast asleep, cuddling the blanket. König can’t help but to smile. He leaves the towel at the edge of the bed and tries to cover you the best he can without waking you up.

König decides to get dressed and goes to the nursery to continue painting, what he was doing before you ask to be fucked. He opens up the can of paint and pours some in the tray. Getting the roller covered in paint, he begins to cover the last white wall in the room with a pale pink color.

[ckret2]

Chapter 54 of everybody being really eager to kill their prisoner human Bill Cipher for good: the gang's trying a new way to create fuel for the one weapon guaranteed to destroy Bill.

It goes so great.

As Ford drove to Northwest Manor, Dipper skimmed through the introduction to Flatworld, where Edward Bishop Bishop was pretending that his book had been dictated to him by a sentient square; but he couldn't focus on it. He sighed, shut the book, and stared out the passenger window at the passing trees.

"Something on your mind?" Ford asked.

"I'm thinking about the Axolotl's poem again. The one about Bill."

"Ah. Still trying to remember the rest?"

"Kinda. Mabel and I are working on it together," Dipper said. "But it's not that. I've just been wondering... what if the poem is... you know, part of a prophecy about Bill or something? Mabel remembered another line of the poem—'A different form, a different time.' What if the Axolotl was telling us why Bill's back as a human? Maybe we need him here—to, to use his powers to fight off a bigger threat or something. Do you think that's possible?" He held back another question: what happens if we kill him before then?

Ford frowned thoughtfully. "I've been thinking about the Axolotl as well," he said. "About the worlds I visited that called it a god of criminals, tyrants, and luck. That sounds to me like the exact kind of being that would be Bill's ally. And it's odd how resistant Bill was to telling us anything about the Axolotl, when it simply passed over town for a few seconds and then moved on. Why the secrecy? How does Bill think it benefits him for us not to know about it?" Ford shook his head. "I think you're on to something, Dipper—I think whatever the Axolotl told you is important. The question is: important for whom?"

Dipper's stomach turned. The Axolotl had radiated such kindness; it was hard for Dipper to believe it could be up to anything evil with Bill. But then—Dipper clutched at Flatworld with the damning biography on the back—but then, how many people had Bill himself fooled with the benevolent teacher act?

Dipper understood now why "Don't Trust Bill" had so quickly turned into "Trust No One." Even when you knew that there was only one real enemy—even when you knew that most people out there were still reasonably honest and friendly—you could never tell just how far Bill's shadow stretched. "I guess that's true. We can't really know."

"We can't know yet. But it is worth trying to figure out," Ford said. "I wish I could tell you where to start looking for answers. For now... we'll just have to consider anything possible."

Ford was right. But all the same, every time Dipper paranoidly asked himself What if Grunkle Ford is right, what if the Axolotl really is on Bill's side, a second, even more paranoid, even more worried voice asked, But what if he isn't?

####

When they arrived, Fiddleford was already in his lab, hard at work on the miniature particle accelerator they'd come to see him about.

"The paradox what was powering it started yowling" Fiddleford said. "So obviously it ain't a paradox no more."

Ford grimaced. "That does lay to rest whether the cat is alive or dead."

"Sure does," Fiddleford said, sighing. "So I let the cat outside and I'm rebuilding the whole contraption to run on a more robust paradox. I hope you've got better news for me, Stanford."

"We hope so too. I think Dipper might have the solution to our fuel generation problem."

They briefly explained Dipper's unfortunate puppet incident last summer—Fiddleford had to take a break in the middle to grab a cup of coffee, "To steady my nerves,"—its ongoing effects on his sleep, and the new developments of the last few days, culminating in Dipper learning how to project his soul out of his body—

—which, Ford now realized, he probably should have expected Fiddleford to take poorly.

"Sweet sasparilla!" Fiddleford kicked over his chair while jumping onto the nearest table. "You're dead?!"

"What?" Dipper said. "No, I—"

"You're like a ghost possessing a zombie!"

Dipper thought that over. "Whoa..."

But, even though Fiddleford thought the whole affair went against the rightful order of the world, he agreed that it was a sound idea and worth trying. "It's lucky that my tater tot and I hunted out all the ghosts in this place during our spring cleaning," he said, opening a cabinet. He retrieved what looked like a pair of vacuums redesigned to be worn like backpacks with an assortment of random electronics dangling from wires. He held up a set of goggles and headphones hanging off one of the vacuums. "I invented these doohickeys that'll let you see and hear ghosts! They'll let us keep in contact with Dipper while he's out of his body." He set the vacuums on a table near the miniature particle accelerator and said, "First, though—Stanford, I need you to help me rebuild this machine."

"Of course." Ford turned away from the vacuum he'd been inspecting to look at the miniature particle accelerator.

Dipper said, "Wait, there are other ghosts in this mansion?"

"Yep!"

"I hunted one at the Northwests' big party last year," Dipper said. "How many more ghosts are in here?"

"We've caught, oh... thirty or forty so far."

"Seriously? That's amazing." Dipper was already thinking about the amazing Ghost Harassers episode this place could have been. Maybe even a miniseries.

"Aw, it weren't that hard. If you leave the TV on, they like to flock around it to watch. All you've gotta do is hide in the corner until a whole big bunch of 'em are gathered 'round—and then ya get them!"

"Oh," Dipper said. "Huh. I just tricked one into getting trapped in a silver mirror."

"Well, that's right impressive too. I never woulda thunk of that," Fiddleford said. "Me and Tate have been sucking them into cooling pouches in these here vacuums and then sticking the pouches in a chest freezer down in the dungeon! Maybe I oughta line the freezer with silver."

"This place has a dungeon?" Dipper asked.

Before Fiddleford could respond, Ford asked, "Which parts are we replacing?" He was inspecting the miniature particle accelerator.

"All of them!"

Ford gave Fiddleford a surprised look. "All of them?"

"Yep! Every last one!"

"Is the design changing that much?"

"Nope! It's staying exactly the same!"

"Then... why can't we just use the same machine we already have?"

"We will be using the same machine!" Fiddleford smiled mischievously. "Or will we?"

"Ah! I see! The particle accelerator of Theseus," Ford said. "Very clever."

"And kinder on the local stray cats, I reckon."

Dipper offered his assistance, but the work involved too much welding and buzzsawing for him to try untrained, so he was directed to sit a safe distance away with the first aid kit. At least it gave him a chance to read some more. He had to shove aside a couple flashlights and the glue grenade to reach where the slim book had slid to the bottom of his backpack during their walk from the car.

He skimmed over some of the worldbuilding looking for the story before he realized the story was the wordbuilding and looped back. It was a lot bleaker than he expected, even after Mabel's warning. Rigid class system, oppressive government, all kinds of horrifying shape prejudices... Frustrating dream visits to the ignorant line people in the first dimension who didn't believe in the second dimension, and to the self-absorbed King Zero in the point-sized zeroth dimension who thought a whole universe was contained inside him... A just as frustrating visit from a sphere who simply couldn't explain the third dimension in a way the square protagonist could understand, which was even more annoying since the square had just seen how the first dimension couldn't comprehend the second for the same reasons, so why couldn't he accept the possibility of a third dimension he couldn't imagine? Dipper got that it was supposed to be a metaphor to help three-dimensional readers understand that not being able to visualize a fourth dimension didn't mean it was impossible; but still. Come on, man. Don't be stupid.

On the other hand, at least now Dipper had a framework to understand the concept of higher dimensions and probably a leg up on next year's geometry. Would high school geometry cover four-dimensional space?

After a couple of hours of work and a break for lunch, the miniature particle accelerator was rebuilt and ready for another attempt to generate fuel. Fiddleford pulled on one of his ghost vacuums like a backpack, put on the set of connected headphones and goggles, and settled his glasses on over the goggles. "Y'all ready?"

"Ready," Ford said. He was seated at the accelerator's monitors, holding the jug that would contain any NowUSeeitNowUDontium they generated, and wearing the other vacuum—with the goggles over his glasses, and he was a bit worried about how Fiddleford had positioned his.

"Ready," Dipper said, a tad less certainly. What if he couldn't do it today? What if he'd never actually been able to do it last night and the whole thing really had been a dream?

But Fiddleford flipped the accelerator's power on, stepped back, and said, "All right! Do your thing!"

"Okay." Dipper stared straight at the machine, and—eugh—thought about degloving his body from his soul, peeling out of his skin fingers first.

This was only the second time he'd left his body deliberately. He'd observed in the past that the mindscape was strangely gray and still compared to the real world—but he'd never realized just how stark and swift the change was, like all the color and warmth had been abruptly sucked from reality. He shivered.

Ford inhaled sharply. Fiddleford stumbled back against the nearest table and yelped, "Flipping flapjacks!"

"You can both still see me?" Dipper said. "Can you hear me, too?"

"Loud and clear," Ford said.

"Like the voices of the dead." Fiddleford shuddered. "Welp, let's get this over with. I don't like all this ghost business. It ain't natural."

Ford gave him an amused look. "Since when have you ever been concerned about what's 'natural'? Didn't the engineering club vote you 'most likely to build a robot that flies in the face of God'?"

"You hush! There's nothing unnatural about iron, electromagnetism, and flamethrowers."

Dipper studied his body's face, its eyes pointed blankly toward the particle accelerator. "Well, I'm looking at the experiment, but I'm definitely not thinking about it. I think that's half of the paradox?"

"That's right," Fiddleford said. "Now, you just—float yerself on over to the other side of the accelerator, and think about it without looking at it."

"Right." Dipper positioned himself directly across the accelerator from his body, shut his eyes, and tried to think experimental thoughts. He didn't know much about Dontium besides what Ford had written about it in Journal 3—that it was inert when you were looking at it and radioactive when you weren't—so, if the miniature particle accelerator generated any, would he get blasted with radiation? Or was his body staring at the accelerator enough to keep it inert? But no—it was supposed to fill up the jug Ford was holding, right? Ford was observing it. Dipper tried to imagine what must be happening inside the accelerator; how did it work, would particles spontaneously generate in the tubes? Maybe they circled around until they fell into the hose to the jug...

He heard Ford gasp. "Fiddleford, look at this— Don't listen to me Dipper, just keep—keep thinking whatever you were thinking!"

"Is it working?"

"It was! Don't let us distract you."

Dipper tried to ignore the sound of Fiddleford running over to Ford, and started humming to drown out their hushed conversation. That was good, right? It meant the experiment was working. Keep thinking about that—experiment. Experiment. Expeeeriment. ... He wondered if trying to do the experiment by putting himself and Tyrone on either side of the accelerator would have worked, or if it had to be Dipper's soul and his body—

"Hot diggety!" Fiddleford shouted. "We've reached critical mass!"

"What does that mean, is it bad?" Dipper opened one eye a crack, trying to squint enough that he couldn't see the particle accelerator. "Is it gonna explode?"

Ford explained, "It means we've generated enough Dontium that it can sustain its own existence. Now, even if you get distracted, what we've already generated will remain. It can only go up from here."

"Wow," Dipper said. "That only took, what, a couple of minutes?"

"Less than that! During our last attempt, we tried for hours without reaching critical mass," Ford said. "Your idea was right on the money. Excellent work, Dipper."

Dipper grinned. After all that anxiety, it was almost a letdown how easy it was, but the coolness factor made up for it. He could just imagine the conversations the first week of high school: What did I do over summer break? Oh, nothing much. Just synthesized a new element. To fuel a weapon custom-designed to kill an immortal chaos god. And did I mention I was a ghost at the time? It didn't quite top last summer's adventures, but...

Then something went wrong.

There was a noise halfway between the electric buzz of a tesla coil and the rip of Velcro being torn apart. A stench like burning hair filled the air. A line of shifting colorful light began worming its way out of the center of the particle accelerator and up into the air.

"Oh no. Ohhh no!" Fiddleford grabbed his head. "The micro-rips! The threadbare fabric of reality! Our experiment put too much of a strain on it! We tore straight through!" One foot bounced agitatedly, "Ohhh, I knew I shoulda run some calculations before substituting in Dipper for you and Stanley."

Dipper gasped as the line of light began to agonizingly stretch open wider. Reality began seeping over its edges and dripping through into the kaleidoscopic miasma beyond. It developed a second horizontal rip across its middle as reality stretched beyond endurance in multiple directions. "What—is that?" He was afraid he knew.

"A dimensional rift," Fiddleford said.

"The Nightmare Realm," said Ford.

The last frayed thread holding reality together snapped apart, and the rift tore open wide, fully exposing the Earth to the roaring roiling chaos beyond. 

They screamed.

"Hello?" A giant set of dentures with stubby arms and legs leaned through the rift. "Oh hey! Aren't you the guys that killed Bill?"

They screamed again.

"Is screaming how humans say hi?" the monster asked. "I'm Teeth. Aaah!" He turned toward Ford. "Hey! Fingers! Lookin' less electrocuted than the last time I saw you—"

Ford socked Teeth in the incisor, knocking him back through the rift. "Back, you! You and your 'friends' are not welcome in this dimension!"

"Ow. What the heck, man."

Fiddleford shouted, "Don't stop observing the Dontium!" He bounded across the room on all four to scoop up the milk jug and stare at it. 

Ford nearly toppled through the rift, and had to grab onto the miniature particle accelerator as the heaviest nearby object to anchor himself. The rift sucked on reality like a vacuum, and the longer it was open the more powerful it grew.

Over the roar of the rift, Dipper yelled "What do we do?!"

"We have to seal it! Before it sucks all of Gravity Falls into the Nightmare Realm!"

"How?!"

Last summer, the instant Bill had no longer been around to maintain the dimensional rift, it had also sucked reality into it, starting with everything that properly belonged in the Nightmare Realm; but then it had also quickly sealed itself back shut. On the other hand, this rift was just opening wider and wider. Maybe it wasn't like the rift Bill had used to enter Gravity Falls, then? Maybe it was structured more like the wormholes that had been left behind after Weirdmageddon—

"I've got it!" Ford picked up Dipper's body—trying not to shudder at how lifeless it felt—and unzipped his backpack. "Is the alien adhesive grenade still in here?"

"It should be! Let me see." Dipper floated over to peer into his backpack.

The rift was already strong enough to drag at Ford's clothing. The lightest objects in the room lifted into the air and were sucked through. Papers. Pencils. Coffee mugs. Dipper's soul.

He screamed. "GRUNKLE FORD!"

"Dipper!" Ford grabbed for Dipper's ankle, but his hand passed right through. Ford's blood ran cold as Dipper tumbled head over heels into the Nightmare Realm.

"Look at that," Teeth said, watching Dipper soar by. "Dinner delivery."

There was no difference between the mindscape and reality in the Nightmare Realm, if Ford followed Dipper  through he'd be able to get a grip on Dipper there. But how would he carry Dipper back to Earth without him melting through Ford's grasp the moment they were through the rift? Didn't matter, grab Dipper first, then figure it out—

Fiddleford shoved the jug of Dontium in Ford's hands as he ran past. "Watch over this!"

"What—!"

Fiddleford jumped into the Nightmare Realm, the end of a long extension cord tied around his waist. He stretched out the hose of his ghost vacuum and flipped a switch, and with a yelp Dipper's soul was sucked inside. Ford gasped in relief.

Trying to keep as much of his attention on the potentially-radioactive jug as possible, Ford reeled Fiddleford back in, shoved the jug in his hands, and dug into Dipper's backpack again until he found the alien adhesive grenade. He pulled the pin and chucked it through the rift. "Duck!"

He shielded Dipper's body and Fiddleford shielded the Dontium jug as the grenade exploded. Even so, the force of it blew aside everything within ten feet of the rift and sent both of them sprawling. When Ford glanced back over his shoulder, the adhesive had gummed up the opening of the rift like a popped glowing magenta bubblegum bubble; and as he watched, it sucked the opening shut. In a few seconds the air was still and quiet, and the only sign the rift had ever existed was an immense, jagged vertical line in the air around which the light refracted wrong.

Fiddleford gingerly got back to his knees, then pulled off his glasses and pushed up his goggles. One of the lenses had been crushed, and the glasses' frame was bent beyond repair.

Ford heaved a long, heavy sigh. "A bit too familiar, wasn't it?"

Fiddleford blinked at him. "Wasn't what?"

"The—reeling you in from the Nightmare Realm?" Ford said. At Fiddleford's blank look, Ford said, "The portal test?"

"Oh." Fiddleford scratched his head. "I... still don't remember it too clearly."

"Ah. Yes. Of course." Ford's stomach churned with guilt as he looked away from Fiddleford. Over thirty years late was too late to apologize, wasn't it? (Over the past year he'd wondered, again and again; and again and again he'd decided that it was.) "Thank you for saving—" He gasped, "Dipper!"

"Oh, right!" Fiddleford took off his vacuum, dropped it on the floor, and unzipped its bag. The ghosts of a Northwest in a buckskin coat and a confused-looking hippie escaped into the air. "Hey," Fiddleford barked. "You get back here!" He raised the vacuum's hose and flipped its switch. He caught the hippie, but as soon as she was sucked in she flew out the unzipped bag and off to freedom again. Fiddleford lowered the hose and shook a fist at the retreating spirits. "I'll get you ectoplasmic varmints, just you wait!"

Ford knelt on the floor and held the bag open wider. Dipper floated out, arms crossed tight and shivering. "So... so cold... and dark... and really, really dusty."

"Let's get you back where you belong."

Ford held up Dipper's body as he lay back down in it. He could see the moment color flooded back into Dipper's cheeks and his eyes focused again. Dipper groaned.

Ford said, "You're never doing that again."

"I am never doing that again," Dipper said.

"We can't do that again," Fiddleford said. "The fabric of reality in this town is too unstable to handle another paradoxical physics experiment that powerful! We'd rip open another rift to the Nightmare Realm!"

"And we just tossed away all of our remaining alien adhesive," Ford sighed. It left Gravity Falls vulnerable if any more rips formed. Sometime soon he'd have to go back to the alien crash site and see if there was any more adhesive he could scrounge up; but even if he did, they couldn't risk wasting more of it like this.

"But did we get what we needed?" Dipper asked.

Fiddleford held up the milk jug of Dontium and shook it. It had a strange shifting color, wavering between cyan and orange depending on the lighting. "Looks like we got about three-fourths of a gallon," Fiddleford said.

"It's only enough to fully power one shot," Ford said. "But... one shot is all it'll take to destroy Bill." His stomach flipped nervously as he said it. He'd been anxious every other time he'd prepared to kill Bill, but that had always been because he'd been preparing to battle for the fate of the universe with a godlike monster who could easily kill him or worse. For the first time, he was preparing to execute a defenseless prisoner, and he didn't know whether it would make the universe any safer.

For half the summer he'd hoped Bill was harmless. Now he wished he had proof that Bill wasn't, so that he could lay his conscience to rest.

Dipper looked as uncomfortable as Ford felt; but when he caught Ford's gaze, he hardened his expression and nodded. Ford nodded back.

"WOOHOO!" Fiddleford leaped his full height straight up, making Ford and Dipper start. "We done it! YAHOO!" He waved his hat around ecstatically, doing a little jig in place. "YIPPEE! HIP HIP HURRrr—hey, how come you fellers ain't celebrating?"

Ford didn't know how to explain without making Fiddleford worry he was at risk of falling under Bill's spell again. "We'll celebrate when he's dead."

####

"Who was at the door?" 8 Ball shouted. When he didn't get a response, he paused his game. "Teeth?"

Teeth waddled into the game room. His face was completely plastered shut with some kind of glowing purple glue.

Pyronica cracked up and Paci-Fire chuckled darkly. 8 Ball sighed, "What'd you get into, you idiot?"

Teeth waved his hands emphatically.

"All right, okay." 8 Ball stood and stretched. "Does anyone have the number of that lamp guy Bill used to hook up with?"

Half an hour later, having lured over Lava Lamp Guy with the false promise of ping pong pool and illicit liquids, they cornered him in a bathroom, with Zanthar sitting in the tub restraining him while Paci-Fire struggled to hold his face still.

"Please!" Lava Lamp Guy screamed. "Let me go! I'll do anything you want! My neurologist said I can't take much more of this!"

"Cease your complaints," Paci-Fire said, as 8 Ball took off Lava Lamp Guy's bowler. "You shall not dissuade us. We do this because we have no choice in the matter."

"Why not?!"

"Because none of us feel like making the trip to a dimension with a drugstore."

8 Ball stuck a soup ladle into the open top of Lava Lamp Guy's head and fished around until he got a scoop of the red goo floating around in the thinner orange liquid. Lava Lamp Guy howled in agony. Zanthar heaved a weary sigh.

8 Ball carried the ladle over to where Teeth was sitting on the toilet lid kicking his feet. "Here you go, bud."

Teeth clapped his hands, grabbed an oversized toothbrush, and held it out for 8 Ball to pour the goop on. He scrubbed his teeth until the goop dissolved the adhesive. "Whew!" He stretched his jaw a few times, then jumped to his feet. "Thanks! I was worried I was gonna miss karaoke night." He looked in the sink mirror to scrub off the remaining scraps of adhesive.

8 Ball put Lava Lamp Guy's hat back on. Lava Lamp Guy groaned, "I think I forgot my third husband."

"You've only been married twice," Hectorgon lied.

"Oh." Confused, Lava Lamp Guy said, "Alright."

Teeth muttered, "Blech, divorce memories." He grabbed a bottle of mouthwash to clear out the taste.

"So what happened?" Kryptos asked. He was hovering in the doorway beside Pyronica.

"I'unno. I think the Dimension 46ers were messing around with their portal or something? They opened up a portal here."

"What? Uh-uh," Pyronica said. "It had to be some other dimension. We just invaded them, why would they open the portal again?"

"No no, that sounds like humans to me," Kryptos said. "If one of them pushes a button and immediately dies, the guy standing next to him will go, 'I wonder if it does that every time.' I've seen them do it."

"It was definitely them, I saw that local contractor Bill recruited for the portal who went nuts. Fingers or whoever."

8 Ball groaned. "You mean the guy that invaded the Quadrangle and tried to kill everybody?"

"Yeah. That guy. He told me I wasn't welcome on Earth and chucked a glue bomb in my face. I was like, well alright, buddy, I'm not the one who opened up a portal in your house, you could have just stayed home instead of ruining my day," Teeth said. "I didn't really say that to him. I thought it."

"So now the humans are invading us." Pyronica threw her hands in the air. "Great! This is just terrific! Bill teaches them how to make their own portals, they follow us home, and now we're about to have a pest problem that knows how to use tools! How long is it until this whole place is crawling with humans?! I'm going househunting, how many rooms should I look for? 8 Ball?"

"I'm in."

"Teeth?"

Teeth sighed, but said, "Yeah. The neighborhood's going downhill. Especially if we're gonna have a pest problem."

"Big Z?"

Zanthar gave a thumbs up.

Pyronica looked at Paci-Fire. He averted his gaze. Pyronica said, "Paci?"

Sullenly, he said, "We should ask Keyhole's opinion as well."

She laughed in disbelief. Nobody cared about Keyhole's opinion, he went with whatever everyone else went with. Appealing to Keyhole was just a delaying tactic. "Fine, sure. We'll get Keyhole's opinion."

"I'm not going," Hectorgon said, crossing his arms.

Relieved, Kryptos said, "Yeah. Me neither."

"You don't have to," Pyronica snapped. "You two and Morph can wait for Bill to come back from the dead as long as you want. But the rest of us are leaving."

Kryptos tilted toward the hall, gesturing for Hectorgon to follow him away from the others. "How long do you think we can hold this place without the outerplanars?" The Quadrangle was all that remained of Bill's turf. Without Bill's energy boosting them, none of the shapes were particularly powerful. They'd always depended upon the other Henchmaniacs to guard Bill's stronghold, the heavy-hitters like Zanthar and Pyronica. Even Bill preferred to let them fight his battles when he could; Bill's energy was much vaster, but less renewable.

Hectorgon grimaced uncertainly. "We've gotta think of something fast."

####

Dipper stared at the jug in his lap, ensuring it didn't turn radioactive before they got home. Bill practically seemed to have a radar for Ford—and on top of that, could see through walls—but as far as he cared Dipper may as well have not even existed; so they'd decided that Ford would go in the main door to ensure Bill's attention was turned away while Dipper went through the gift shop and took the elevator down to Ford's study. Ford had told Dipper where to find a lead locker that would keep the Dontium contained until Ford could use it to refuel the Quantum Destabilizer; all he had to do was put it in and stare through the crack until he'd slammed the door shut.

And once they'd decided on that, the drive home had fallen deathly silent.

As the Mystery Shack appeared through the trees, Dipper asked, "We're doing the right thing, right?" His voice was quiet. "I hate him, but—we owe him our lives. And there's that prophecy..."

"Lives can't be owed," Ford said. "Yesterday he may have saved us, but tomorrow he would still destroy our world in a heartbeat. We can be grateful to be alive—but we can't let that stop us."

"So, we're doing the right thing?"

Ford was silent for much longer than Dipper would have liked. "I hope so."

####

(We're moving toward some important stuff!! Hope y'all enjoyed and I'm looking forward to hearing your thoughts on this week's chapter!)

[stellamancer]

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? There’s really something 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.

[lovelyhan]

— caught in the middle ⟢

mingyu knows. he’s perfectly aware that his best friend’s girlfriend is the last person he should end up wanting. but who is he to refuse when wonwoo invites him to join something he never thought he could ever be part of?

★ FEATURING; wonwoo x reader x mingyu

★ WORD COUNT; 15.8k words

★ TAGS; established relationship, streamer au, one-sided pining (or is it!!!), fluff, mild angst, smut (MINORS DNI)

★ WARNINGS; mentions of twitter porn, sex tapes, mentions of infidelity (there's none of that here though), lots of guilt-ridden thoughts on gyu's end

★ NOTES; i'm literally several days late but happiest birthday to the man i enjoy writing for wayyyy too much, wonwoo <3 it's been four months since i last revisited the streamer series, and i'm glad to finally make good on that teaser i left in the second part :]

★ BEFORE YOU READ; i highly recommend reading the first two stories in the series first bc as much as i wanted to let readers consume this as a standalone, context is still really important for the story i want to tell!

this is part of the game over series!

★ SMUT TAGS; oral (m&f receiving), vaginal fingering, daddy kink, pet names (puppy for gyu), threesome, spitroasting, unprotected sex, creampie, cum eating, aftercare

★ PERMANENT TAGLIST; @cheolhub - @pretty-trustme - @just-here-to-read-01 - @ldkmelkro - @dejavernon - @venusrae - @jyiiscool - @jiniesclub - @junhui-recs - @bldelaine - @featmia - @fruitzcup - @hoeforhao - @candidupped - @billboard-singer - @caratochan - @novalpha - @dahliatopia - @0717luv - @shiveringgaze - @toruro - @mixling-blog - @minnie-mouser22 - @homerunhansol - @mirtaspace - @ti--red - @zzucculent - @woozarts - @rubyreduji - @mozellerra - @lllucere - @cheolzip - @jjjzzz - @lissiesykes - @jeonride - @meowmeowminnie - @colored-confetti - @partiallyinfluencial - @speaknowlwt

★ MINGYU & WONWOO TAGLIST; @yoonzinoooo - @emmmui - @swinterr - @wolfhardbby - @scandal-in-bohemia

★ FIC/SERIES TAGLIST; @ressonancee - @smooore - @wave2love - @jjongjjongiesworld - @mimi14berrybear - @hanniebanggi - @havetaeminforbreakfast - @slut4donghyuck - @delulu4-life - @aurumness - @mingyucookies - @noonareads - @hafuunkjw - @strxbrymilkkuu

part one - part two - part three - part four

This is, by far, the worst day of Mingyu’s life. 

Okay, maybe he’s exaggerating, but he likes to think that he’s a man of routine. If he doesn’t get to do his morning rituals right before his streams, it feels like the world has been tilted a few degrees off its proper axis. 

And that’s exactly what’s happening now, when Mingyu realizes that his favorite Twitter porn account is nowhere to be found. 

How the hell is he supposed to get his daily dose of relief now?

“Mingyu, you’re dragging your ass a lot today,” Seungcheol’s voice sounds pissed through his headphones and Mingyu can’t exactly fault him for it. Not when he ended up making their team lose their third Valorant match in a row. “The hell’s up with you? I thought you already practiced using Gekko with Vernon the other day.”

“We did and he was actually pretty good,” the younger man comments. “Dunno what suddenly got into him today though.”

“Cheol-hyung, you shouldn’t berate Mingyu when you royally sucked at using Neon during the time she was first released,” Wonwoo quips.

Seungcheol immediately makes a disgruntled noise at that. “I did not royally suck! She just doesn’t fit my playstyle. And I get that you guys are glued to the hip at this point, but you of all people should know when to call out your teammates especially if they’re being a bunch of noobs, Wonwoo.”

“Now, now, didn’t we already talk about this? No fighting when we’re only doing a bunch of scrimmages between friends.” 

A less abrasive voice flits into the call and Mingyu finds himself relaxing into his seat as he stares at the glowing red DEFEAT screen on his monitor. Ever since you and Wonwoo finally dropped the act of hating each other and started dating, you’ve constantly mediated any petty arguments that sparked within their group. Mingyu is all sorts of grateful, but also just a tad bit embarrassed whenever he’s part of the argument in question.

“Yeah, what she said,” Wonwoo agrees with a huff. 

“Whatever, man. Koyahngi has watered down your temper so much, it makes me look like the most easily tilted player on the team,” Seungcheol grumbles before adding, “Ugh. Couples.”

Vernon laughs softly. “Crazy how you’re the one who always insisted for Wonwoo-hyung to be kinder, but now that he is, you suddenly want him to go back to his trash-talking ways.”

“Now why’s everyone dogpiling me now!” the older man whines.

About half an hour and another lost match later, everyone decides to call it a day. Seungcheol and Vernon are going to hold a joint stream together and Mingyu needs to get ready for another modeling gig he managed to land a couple of days ago. He’s not sure what you and Wonwoo have in store for the day, but his best friend and roommate mentioned that you were going to drop by their apartment sometime today. 

But when Mingyu finally deigned to grab a towel and head to the bathroom, he instead makes a detour to the couch with a desolate sigh. He unlocks his phone and opens the Twitter app like it was second nature, tapping on the button that pulls up his most recent searches.  

goodcat_badcat

He absentmindedly types the username to an account that’s been his constant companion whenever he needed to let off some steam. Though he hasn’t checked her profile in a while, Mingyu was under the impression that goodcat_badcat would still be there to give him a hand especially when his schedule has been driving him insane these days. 

But when the app redirects him to the main profile, the same words that greeted him when he woke up with his painfully hard morning wood stare back at him. Something went wrong. Try again.

She deactivated. His favorite Twitter porn girl is fucking gone and now he’s got nothing but despair and the bluest balls in the entire city. 

“Hey.”

Mingyu jolts at the sound of Wonwoo’s voice, immediately locking his phone before tossing it on the other side of the couch as if it burned him. He’s quick to whirl around to greet him with a too-wide smile.

“Hyung, what’s up?” Mingyu asks, thanking the heavens that his voice didn’t crack.

His best friend looks at him weirdly. “Uh, do you have any plans today? We’re going out to go bowling today and she told me to ask if you wanted to come along.”

Bowling. Wonwoo sucks at bowling, but you managed to rope him into going with you anyways. 

“I’d love to, but I’ve got a shoot in…” Mingyu’s voice falters before reaching for the phone he just tossed away—heart dropping to his stomach when he looks at the time. “Shit. Forty minutes.”

He doesn’t wait for Wonwoo’s response before bounding towards the bathroom with a towel in hand.

The part-time model hasn’t gotten ready faster in his entire life. Though his manager told him that the brand he’s shooting for this time isn’t strict with time, Mingyu doesn’t want to make it a habit to show up late for his commitments. 

Streamers already have a bad enough image to those who aren’t part of the industry, and he wants to make it a point that not every single one of them is a slob who doesn’t shower and makes tardiness a way of life.

As he pulls on a snapback over his still-damp hair—opting to let the stylists on the set handle it for him instead—he faintly hears your voice outside of his bedroom door. 

“Aww, he isn’t coming?”

“Yeah. Let’s just invite him next time,” Wonwoo’s muffled response manages to reach his ears as well.

With one last glance in the mirror, Mingyu hoists his bag across his shoulder before opening the door to his room. He spots you seated on the armrest of their couch, kicking your legs somewhat adorably before you meet his gaze with surprise.

For someone who’s supposed to be bowling today, you don’t really look the part. Of course, your signature Koyahngi cat ear headband is sitting on top of your head, as in-theme as always. You also paired up your short, pleated skirt with lace-trimmed thigh highs, and chunky white boots. Not to mention the sheer, low cut top that gives him an ample view of your cleavage… 

“Gyu, do you have a photoshoot today or something?” Your question promptly snaps him out of his somewhat rude staring. “Here I thought we could team up and destroy Wonwoo together in the bowling alley.”

“As if I’d allow that,” his best friend scoffs. “Mingyu’s teaming up with me, princess. Then you’ll be crying like a loser while we get ourselves a victory treat from the snackbar.”

“We are not going to do that, and yeah, I have a photoshoot…that I’m already late for actually,” Mingyu replies with a bubble of laughter. “That’s okay. You and Wonwoo-hyung have fun. Pro-tip, he actually sucks at bowling, so you’ll score much better than he will.” 

You giggle before getting back on your feet, making your way over to Mingyu faster than he can prepare himself for. He hasn’t quite noticed it as vividly as he does now, but you’re so much smaller than him—even with the added inches of your boots. 

It doesn’t help that the way you’re cutely looking up at Mingyu with those pretty doe eyes as you examine his outfit is making sweat bead across his temples. Great.

“Doesn’t seem like you’re heading to a shoot though,” you laugh. “You’re going on a date, aren’t you? Who’s the lucky guy or gal? Why’d you dress up like Tadashi Hamada just to impress them?”

Wonwoo snorts. “You mean the guy who died in Big Hero 6?”

“Well, yeah, but he was also my childhood crush, so shut up, Wonwoo.”

Your childhood crush. Mingyu looks like your childhood crush. 

As Mingyu watches you bicker with his roommate—your boyfriend and his best friend—he realizes something that could change the trajectory of this friendship altogether.

He might have a crush on someone he isn’t supposed to want.

Like any other sane person out there, Mingyu does his best to brush it off.

It shouldn’t be a big deal. He’s been fleetingly attracted to people who are taken before and it wouldn’t last for more than a few days before he gets over it. 

Mingyu simply chalks this up to hormones. After all, it was one thing to see your promiscuous outfits on streams, but it’s another to constantly be around you in those…rather unique get-ups. As degenerate as it sounds, he is just a man. Though he definitely won’t make a move on his best friend’s girl just because you like to show up to their apartment in short skirts and tight crop tops, he can’t help the physical reaction your presence evokes from him.

Which is his exact dilemma right now.

“Nonu, you got a silencer on you?” you mutter with your feet propped up on the coffee table—eyes glued to your phone while the three of you played a new mobile-based battle royale game in the living room. “I found a shotgun. Can you drop it for—Fuck!”

Wonwoo hums beside you, glancing at your screen for only a moment before focusing on his own character. “What’s wrong?”

“Someone fucking killed me with a Type 25!” 

Your boyfriend simpers. “That’s what you get for talking to me and not focusing on the game, princess.”

“I just remembered how much I hate you.” 

With sulkiness in your strides, you get up from the couch before plopping yourself on the armrest of the lazyboy Mingyu’s currently occupying. He startles at your sudden switch in seats—eyes darting between you and his phone before he tells himself to focus or he’ll get wiped off the map in a blink of an eye too.

“Gyu, can you do me a favor and just let Wonwoo die if he needs help?” you coo, wrapping your arms around his bare bicep. “Teach the fucker the importance of teamwork?”

Wonwoo laughs crudely from his spot on the couch. “What happened to ‘no fighting during scrims between friends’ huh?”

“That rule doesn’t apply when I’m the one being antagonized.”

Mingyu is a little busy evading a sniper that’s trying to take him out, but he does hear Wonwoo mutter, fucking brat, under his breath. He doesn’t pay it any mind—quite used to this back-and-forth dynamic between the both of you, even before you made it official. 

The rest of the round goes on for another ten or-so minutes. As if the gods answered your call, Wonwoo gets done in by a grenade, leaving Mingyu the only surviving member of your three-man team. 

“Uhhh, sniper—two o’clock,” you point out, leaning closer to his screen all while pressing your tits against his arm. Mingyu lets himself think it’s not intentional. “That’s the asshole who killed me! You’ll avenge me, won’t you Gyugyu?”

God. He hasn’t even gotten used to you calling him Gyu and now you’ve suddenly got another adorable nickname up your sleeve? 

But back to the sniper. He’s a little too far away for Mingyu to make quick work of and the only weapons he’s got equipped are close range. From what he can see on the kill counter, only three players remain and Mingyu just has to pray that the sniper and whoever else is left aren’t teammates and—

The flash animation of a sniper rifle going off illuminates part of his screen. The kill counter ticks up to 48 out of 50 players dead. 

Mingyu doesn’t waste any more time.

You’re practically shouting into his ear as he rushes to ambush the sniper on the second floor, clutching his arm tightly as you dish out helpful words of advice. (There’s a bomb in that stairwell. Chase him on the other side!) 

The game ends in a sound victory for your team when Mingyu manages to kill off the sniper with close range combat. Despite the added flourish to your reigning rank and win rates, you still tease him about how he fumbled with his weapon stash during those last few seconds—bringing out a molotov instead of a pistol like he initially intended. The six foot gamer argues that it was just the nerves and the fact that you were pressing your perky breasts into the curve of his muscles, but you don’t really have to know that last bit.

Mingyu gets so into it that he fails to notice the way his best friend’s eyes linger on him and his girlfriend for a beat longer than usual, nor is he privy to the way Wonwoo’s lips twist into a sordid smirk.

After borrowing some of Wonwoo’s clothes, you end up staying over for dinner—even going out of your way to help Mingyu in the kitchen as he whips up some kimbap for everyone in the house. Wonwoo at least has the decency to set the table while you two are busy doing the brunt of the work in preparing food and once everything is in place, you and Mingyu share a quick high five. 

“We actually make a good team, huh?” you snicker.

Mingyu feels his neck prickle with heat. “Guess you can say that.”

Once your stomachs are full and the dishes are washed and put away, Wonwoo puts on a thriller on the TV. You’re still pouting because of his shitty behavior during the game, but you ultimately choose to snuggle up next to your boyfriend despite.

It’s in rare moments like this where Mingyu truly gets to observe you and Wonwoo past the dynamic you both like to parade around other people. Your fiery personalities have been tempered into something calmer. Something he’d dare to call safe. 

No snide comments, no senseless bickering—only tangled limbs under a weighted blanket, snuggling yourself deeper into your boyfriend’s chest, and looking up at him with sleepy but loving eyes. 

So here’s Mingyu’s predicament: you’re ridiculously attractive but also ridiculously in love with his best friend. 

“Mingyu.”

He blinks up in surprise when he notices Wonwoo standing in front of Mingyu’s lazyboy, carrying you in his arms as you doze softly into his chest. The sight makes his heart twist with a kind of fondness that he was never meant to feel for you.

“Hm?” Mingyu tries to sound as casual as he can manage—forcing his eyes on the TV and away from your vulnerable form. “Guess she’s sleeping over, huh?”

His best friend hums. “I was supposed to drive her home before meeting Soonyoung and the others to grab drinks. But she hates it when I wake her up after she falls asleep like this.”

Mingyu nods. “Okay.”

“And she also hates waking up in the middle of the night all alone,” Wonwoo adds. “Which is where you come in.”

There’s a long pause in their conversation that makes Mingyu hyper aware of the steady rise and fall of your chest as you sleep in Wonwoo’s arms. You really are out cold—too deep into slumber to have any awareness of what the two men are even discussing.

“What?” Mingyu whispers, unable to pay attention to the main character walking into her doom on the television screen. “What do you mean that’s where I come into the picture? Don’t tell me you’re still going out for drinks when your sulky girlfriend’s asleep in our house.”

“It’s only for an hour or two,” Wonwoo explains before padding over to Mingyu’s—yes, Mingyu’s bedroom—before gently laying you down on the bed and pulling his blanket across your dozing form. “We’re actually meeting with our manager so I can’t talk myself out of the schedule even if I really fucking want to.”

The disbelief is still evident on Mingyu’s face. “So you’re putting me in charge of babysitting her until you come back?”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Gyu. You’re just gonna sleep next to her, not clean up after her shit.”

Somehow, the fact that Wonwoo’s practically giving Mingyu permission to do that sounds more daunting than the latter. He’s much too busy gawking at the older man to give him a proper response right away.

Is this really the same guy who personally tells the perverts in your stream’s chat to fuck off when they’re being out of line? The guy who always has an arm wrapped possessively around your waist whenever you’re all out with your friends?

“Do I have a choice?” Mingyu sighs.

“If you want to deal with her all pissed off after waking up alone, then be my guest.”

“This wouldn’t be even an issue if you just did a rain check!” 

“You know I’d do anything to keep her happy if I could, right?”

The pleading tone of Wonwoo’s voice takes Mingyu aback for half a moment before he gets his bearings straight. It shouldn’t be a surprise to him, how your boyfriend treats you like a goddamn princess. No matter how much you rile each other up where everyone can see, at the end of the day, Wonwoo is still the type of lover who puts great value in the smallest things. 

The guy takes your fucking napping habits into consideration when making decisions between his personal life and his career. Even going out of his way to inconvenience his own best friend just so you wouldn’t wake up all alone. 

If that isn’t love, Mingyu doesn’t know what is.

“Fine,” Mingyu relents. “Just make sure you’ll be back in two hours or else I’ll call your manager and tell him the apartment caught fire.”

Wonwoo flicks him painfully on the forehead as he walks back to the living room, making Mingyu roll back onto the cushions with a groan. “Don’t crack jokes like that when my girlfriend’s over at our place.”

“Wow.” Mingyu scowls. “So it’s okay for the apartment to go up in flames if I’m alone?”

His best friend doesn’t even hesitate. “Pretty much, yeah.”

Thirty minutes later, Wonwoo has already left for his evening plans and Mingyu is left to clean the leftover snacks off the coffee table as the end credits roll on the TV. The door to his bedroom has been left ajar so he can at least keep an eye on you in his peripheral while he tidies up. 

He’s supposed to do a chill, late night stream, but seeing as his room has another occupant this evening, he might have to go on Twitter to let his subscribers know about the change in schedules. But that would leave Mingyu with nothing else to do aside from going to bed early. 

Meaning, he’d have to lie next to you. On his bed.

Mingyu immediately shoots the idea down, plopping himself back on the sofa all while trying not to glance in the general direction of his room.

This is fine. This is okay. There’s nothing remotely wrong about his best friend’s girlfriend sleeping on his bed even if Wonwoo could’ve just dumped you in his own room instead. He could just play a few games on his PS5 until you woke up on your own or until Wonwoo comes back from his night out. Whichever happens first.

So that’s exactly what Mingyu does. 

About an hour of playing through where he left off in his last Elden Ring save file, he’s so engrossed in the cutscene that he doesn’t notice you rising from the comfort of his bed—rubbing your eyes as you look around the room you’re in with mild confusion. 

Just when the next boss fight begins, Mingyu is promptly spooked when the cushions dip beneath the weight of another person, letting out an undignified yelp as his eyes dart to the unknown figure wrapping their arms around his bicep—

Then he realizes it’s you.

“Eepy…” you mumble, eyes still drooping as you nuzzle his arm.

Mingyu scowls for a moment. Did you just say eepy? 

Fuck, that’s so cute, he muses to himself before forcing his gaze back on the TV before Godrick the Grafted could cleave Mingyu’s character in half with a giant axe. 

The daunting in-game OST coupled with the jarring sound-effects of weapons clashing together probably isn’t the best thing to wake up to, but with how you quietly bury yourself in the warmth of his body, Mingyu figures that you probably don’t mind. 

He isn’t sure if you’ve decided to continue your nap or watch whatever he’s doing on the screen, given that he’s dedicated much of his attention span in trying not to get killed. But despite having been in the same position as other girls he’s dated before—them clinging to his arm as he plays through some gory open-world RPG—it’s the first time Mingyu has ever felt nervous. 

Maybe it’s because you’re a streamer yourself that he doesn’t have it in him to flex his superior gamer prowess like he usually does. But with that thought in mind, shouldn’t he be more inclined to show off? To brag about how he can dodge and parry the enemy’s coordinated attacks effortlessly when Wonwoo can’t even switch his healing items without fumbling with the controls? 

Then he remembers that tiny, minuscule crush he has. And the fact that the person he has that tiny, minuscule crush on is snuggling against him like a cat. 

Mingyu barely gets to the second phase of the boss fight without his head imploding from vertigo.

“That looks really…gross,” you murmur just when the next cutscene starts and Godrick the Grafted sticks his amputated arm into the corpse of a nearby dragon. So you are watching him play. “Is he trying to assimilate with it or something?” 

Mingyu offers up a soft hum. “He grafts his own body parts from other beings to get stronger, so…yeah.”

“Hm. So he’s using a dragon’s head to replace his missing arm?”

“You’re pretty clever for someone who just woke up.”

You huff. “For your information, I don’t just play cutesy games all the time. Who do you think finished Wonwoo’s save file for Dark Souls 3? 

Mingyu simpers as he jumps out of the way of Godrick’s flamethrower. “You? Playing Dark Souls, of all things? You don’t have to lie to impress me, you know.”

“Fuck you.”

Before he can let out a teasing laugh, you promptly yank the controller out of Mingyu’s hands—making your boyfriend’s best friend scowl as you take over the boss fight he can very much overcome on his own.

You don’t say a single word as you finish off what’s left of Godrick’s HP bar with more finesse than he’d expect for someone he thought only fucked around on Stardew Valley and Genshin Impact. Your eyes are completely glued on the TV, not even second-guessing the buttons you’re mashing. Mingyu can only watch in quiet awe when the boss belts out his death voicelines, fading into ashes as the ending cutscene comes to a close.

Then, you glance over at Mingyu with a smug look and if he thought he couldn’t be any more infatuated by you, he’s dead wrong.

“Maybe I should start playing games like this on my streams so people like you would start taking me seriously,” you flare before tossing the controller back onto his lap. “But then again I shouldn’t really give a shit about what others think about me.”

There’s a sharpness in your words that makes Mingyu think that it wasn’t just a baseless retort to his earlier jab. That makes him frown.

“What do you mean?” he wonders.

He half-expects you to trade that frown on your face with a sleazy grin in a gotcha moment he’s been unknowingly anticipating. That you’d wave away the seriousness of it all with your cheeky laughter before you’re back to watching him play again. 

But it doesn’t come.

You sink further into the couch with a sigh, crossing your arms together as you prop your legs on the coffee table. The fact that you’re wearing nothing but Wonwoo’s shirt makes Mingyu instinctively lead his eyes away from the way the hem rides up your thighs. 

“Nothing. Just go back to playing your stupid game.”

Unfortunately for you, Mingyu is having none of it. “Hey, I get that I said something that pissed you off and I’m sorry. But…do you want to talk about it?”

“Talk about what?” 

“Well…whatever’s bothering you.” 

You shake your head. “It’s nothing. I swear. I’m just feeling a little cranky.”

Oh. Right. Wonwoo mentioned how you hated waking up alone after naps. Well, technically, you weren’t alone. His bedroom door was still wide open when he started playing in the living room, but then again he doesn’t know you well enough to be able to tell what counts as waking up alone and what doesn’t.

“Should I call Wonwoo-hyung?” 

“And have him tease me to the ends of the earth when I’m already in a bad mood?” you scoff. “Pass.”

Mingyu considers his options for a moment. You’ve always been quite bubbly and energetic when you’re over at their apartment. This is probably the first time he’s seen you act so grumpy and it’s been a while since he’s dealt with moody girlfriends so he isn’t sure what to make of the situation. 

But then a lone thought wanders inside his head.

“Do you…want to go back to bed?”

He wonders if it’s a stupid question. You’re very much awake now that he accidentally tripped on the proverbial land mine that is your emotional disposition. Mingyu is already expecting you to decline, but the hard lines on your faces suddenly soften. 

Then, with a quiet and considerably less disgruntled voice:

“I’d like that. Yeah.”

Maybe he should’ve worded his offer better. 

By ‘go back to bed’, Mingyu actually meant that he’d help you into Wonwoo’s room—into Wonwoo’s bed—because one: he’s your boyfriend; and two: given that you’re both planning to go to sleep for real, you wouldn’t have to wake up alone anymore since Wonwoo would already be home before morning. 

So why the fuck is he staring at the wall right next to his bed with your arm draped around his body as you dozed off behind him? Never mind that you were spooning a six-foot man with considerable body mass. You’re Wonwoo’s girlfriend. You’re not supposed to be sleeping in the same bed as your boyfriend’s best friend.

But despite his warring thoughts, Mingyu doesn’t move an inch. He doesn’t take any action to convince you to just sleep in Wonwoo’s room instead because that’s what’s right and proper, all things considered.

No, he just lets your hands dip beneath his shirt in your slumber, tracing the lines of his toned stomach every now and again. Mingyu tells himself it must be a habit you picked up from all the times you’ve slept right next to Wonwoo and that your body is just seeking that same kind of comfort in his absence.

You don’t have to know about how he feels himself grow hard when your pert nipples brush against his back every time you shift behind him.

And you definitely don’t have to know that he eventually peeled himself away from your heated embrace to jack himself off in the bathroom before retiring to the couch for the rest of the night.

It’s a secret that he simply has to take to his grave.

“Mingoo-yah, you’re spacing out again.”

Mingyu only feels half as bad as he should be for not listening to Jeonghan when the older man was in the middle of telling him about a brand collaboration offer he’s contemplating on accepting. Being the only two out of their friend group of thirteen to actively take up modeling gigs on the side, he’s close enough with Jeonghan to know he isn’t the kind of person who easily takes offense in things like that.

But one thing Mingyu does know about Jeonghan is that the older’s intuition is much too sharp for anyone’s liking.

“You’ve been inviting me out a lot lately,” Jeonghan remarks as he points the mouth of his beer bottle at Mingyu. “Are you trying to avoid something back at home? Is Wonwoo being an asshole to you?”

The lilt in his words clues Mingyu in on the fact that Jeonghan knows damn well that’s far from the reason that he’s been out of the apartment more frequently these days. He wonders if there’s any use to lying to someone who can see through any sort of farce before letting out a withering sigh.

“Hyung,” he starts, taking a sip out of his own beer as he chooses his words carefully. “Have you…ever wanted something you can’t have?”

Jeonghan raises an eyebrow. “Kim Mingyu? Not getting something he wants? My, all those ambassador offers and that long line of men and women alike doing everything they can for a chance to even speak with you would beg to differ.”

Yeah, but those people aren’t my best friend’s girlfriend, Mingyu wants to say but doesn’t, for obvious reasons. 

“You’re avoiding the question,” he whines instead.

Jeonghan lets out a soft chuckle before popping one of the bar’s complimentary corn chips into his mouth. “Well, to simply answer that: no. I’ve never wanted anything I can’t have because I always get what I want. All I need is to set my mind on having it and I’ll figure out the rest along the way.” 

“But what if… What if I ended up hurting someone if I pursued it?” Mingyu asks, trying his best to make the topic as ambiguous as possible. “That’s the last thing I want to do so the only way I can really deal with it is to just stop wanting it, you know?”

For a moment, Jeonghan doesn’t respond—lazy eyes trained on the younger man as he assesses what he’s been told. His gaze makes Mingyu a little nervous. Has he already ratted himself out? Has Jeonghan already put the pieces together in his head?

“From the way you’re going about all this, getting over it seems like a far cry into the future. And I’m well aware that you’re not a patient man, Mingyu,” he chortles with a shake of his head. “You’re understanding—considerate, even. But if I know you as well as I think I do, then there’s only so much endurance you can exercise when it comes to something you want that badly.

“If you want my advice, then I’ll go ahead and tell you to just negotiate with the person you’re supposedly going to hurt when you finally go after whatever this thing of yours is. If he declines, then you can walk away knowing you tried. If he agrees on some sort of…compromise, then wouldn’t that make you less miserable?”

God. Fuck. Talking to Jeonghan about this was probably the worst decision he’s made in his life. Mingyu wonders if he’d still be saying the same things if he knew exactly what—more precisely, who—they were even talking about. 

You’re at their apartment right now, probably snuggled up on the couch again—watching movies while engaging your boyfriend in occasional banter like you usually do. It’s a routine that the two of you have lulled yourselves into ever since you started dating and Mingyu would be a fucking dick for wanting to ruin that all because he can’t deal with the fact that he’s helplessly attracted to you. 

He can’t even sleep in his own goddamn bed without his brain going back to the night you lied so peacefully right next to him. Whenever his thoughts start to swim into dangerous territory, Mingyu tries so hard to suppress them by just going to sleep—only to end up fucking his painfully hard cock into his fist before coming all over the sheets with the taste of your name still sizzling on his tongue.

Later that night, a woman in a pretty black dress goes up to him and Jeonghan with a flirtatious strut that Mingyu would’ve latched onto if he was the same man he was a few months prior. She offers to buy them a few cocktails as a treat before leading Mingyu to the dark hallway that led to the dingy bathrooms with an expectant look in her sharply winged eyes. 

It doesn’t really take much to get him hard—he’s just a man after all. So when the woman whose name he knows she told him but promptly forgot gets on her knees on the dirty tiled floor, Mingyu thinks it’s perfectly normal for him to let her take his heavy length down her throat for some much needed relief.

What’s not normal is the way he pictures you in her place instead. That it was you deepthroating him like you were born without a gag reflex. You choking so adorably around his length as tears start to make your makeup run in gray streaks across your cheeks. You swallowing every last drop he spills into your awaiting mouth as he catches his breath against the bathroom door.

The woman was probably expecting some reciprocation on Mingyu’s end and while he’s normally a gentleman about these kinds of things, he promptly zips himself back up before leaving her alone in that dirty bathroom without another word.

To his surprise, Jeonghan is still there at their table, tapping away on his phone with a look of mild interest lining his gaze. Mingyu asks him what’s up.

“Wonwoo’s celebrating his birthday this year with everyone,” he chimes. “You would know when Soonyoung’s blowing up gen chat, but you were kind of busy getting your dick wet.”

Now that genuinely takes him by surprise. 

While his best friend isn’t some brooding edgelord that thinks celebrating birthdays is overrated, Wonwoo has always preferred commemorating it in intimate spaces. He usually just orders some fancier take out than their usual Chinese fast food and Mingyu buys him a silly cat-themed cake for him to blow out the candles on. 

But as Mingyu brings himself up to speed about what went down in their server over the last thirty minutes, he can now confirm that Jeonghan wasn’t bluffing at all.

Wonwoo: Dinner at Jungsik Dang at 7 PM on the 17th. The actual thing starts at 8 but you assholes have a thing for being late all the time.

Soonyoung: nice. i’ll leave my house at 10 

Chan: Loser. I’ll leave at midnight

Seungkwan: Maybe you shouldn’t have announced the real time the program starts, hyung.

“You’ll be there, won’t you?”

Jeonghan’s question makes Mingyu look up from the Discord conversation on his phone and into the older man’s eyes. There’s a look he can quite pin down on his face and Mingyu isn’t quite sure what to make of it.

“Of course,” he says, throat tightening for reasons even he can’t name. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Mingyu doesn’t really count the time left before Wonwoo’s birthday—much too preoccupied with his own schedules to notice the days passing by. But as busy as he is, at least he doesn’t have to keep inviting Jeonghan out for an excuse to go outside the apartment whenever you’re paying a visit. 

If Wonwoo has noticed Mingyu’s evasive behavior, he never really shows it. The older man still greets Mingyu everyday with a curt nod, retreating to his own bedroom before doing his morning streams. Wonwoo seems none the wiser to his best friend’s predicament and Mingyu prefers it that way.

But while it’s much easier to avoid Wonwoo’s scrutiny, you’re an entirely different case.

Mingyu comes home late one evening after a niche fashion event that one of his contacts personally invited him to attend. He doesn’t really get why he even reached out to him, given the fact that Mingyu’s modeling scene is a far cry from whatever haute couture bullshit they’ve got going on there. 

The only reason he deigned to show up is because of the stories about the organizer’s after parties that his said contact mentioned in passing. Well, that and the invitation was extended to him on a night you were staying over at their place. 

Mingyu is more than a little drunk when he stumbles inside the apartment—kicking his boots off with a huff as his inebriated eyes parse through the dim lights. He sighs, an airy smile gracing his lips as he recalls this evening’s events. 

Sure, he enjoys those quiet drinking sessions he shared with Jeonghan just fine, but Mingyu isn’t past admitting that he misses partying like he did when he was still in college. In fact, he actually had the chance to go home with one of the pretty models that took the runway. 

She’d been making moony eyes at him all evening and Mingyu would’ve let her whisk him off to whatever five-star accommodation she’s staying in if only he hadn’t promised to guest on Soonyoung’s charity stream the next morning. 

So here he is, leaning against the kitchen counter as he drunkenly smiles at the last text his would-be conquest—her name’s Suji—sent five minutes ago. She told him to don’t forget to wash up before you sleep and have fun at your stream tomorrow <3

Suji is adorable. Fun to be with even if Mingyu only spent a total of two hours mingling with her in the high-end afterparty venue. Never did he imagine that a literal supermodel would even be remotely interested in what he does for a living, but the world is full of surprises like that.

In fact, it’s so full of surprises that Mingyu ends up dropping the glass of water in his hand when he sees you emerge from Wonwoo’s bedroom. 

“Jeez, Gyu,” you mumble as you stare at the mess he made—hundreds of shards glimmering against the wet floor. “I know you’re clumsy but you never really break things by accident.”

Mingyu swallows thickly, wanting to say that you were the one who surprised him out of nowhere, but his eyes completely zero in on the conspicuous bruises that litter your throat and collarbones like a disconnected necklace. 

All it takes is one brief glance at his best friend’s bedroom—to which you left the door completely open—for Mingyu to confirm the suspicions wriggling in the back of his head. 

Wonwoo is lying on his stomach, bare back sporting scratch marks that Mingyu has teased him about before while his lower half is completely hidden beneath your favorite weighted blanket. He’s completely still as he sleeps, chest rising and falling with steady breathing.

When Mingyu dares to look at you again, he suddenly forgets about what happened at the afterparty; about Suji and her thoughtful texts. 

Because how can he think of anything else when you’re right in front of him, freshly fucked by his best friend?

“What are you—?! Mingyu!” 

He doesn’t listen when you scold him for picking up the bigger glass shards off the floor with his bare hands. He needs to focus on everything but your pebbled nipples peeking through the fabric of Wonwoo’s shirt. The hem fluttering across your bare thighs. The way your face is still flushed with sleep and what Mingyu presumes is that post-orgasmic haze. 

Because if he doesn’t, he might just end up doing something he’ll regret for a lifetime and more.

But it’s just as you said earlier—Mingyu is clumsy; even more so when he’s had way too many Jägerbombs than his tolerance can actually handle. So he isn’t really surprised when one of the sharp edges splits the skin of his hand open, blood quickly seeping through the wound as he unceremoniously drops the shards he collected on the kitchen island with a hiss.

“You’re such a big idiot,” you groan before marching off to the bathroom.

When you come back with the first-aid kit that Mingyu himself had stocked when he and Wonwoo moved in, the first thing that comes to mind is how you’re pretty much a regular fixture in their home now. You know where the first-aid kit is. You know where Mingyu keeps the brooms and mops and dustpans. You know that he doesn’t like leaving messes in the house even if it’s a mess that Mingyu himself was responsible for making. 

You’ve inserted yourself seamlessly into his and Wonwoo’s daily lives and Mingyu isn’t certain how long he can keep pretending that isn’t the case. 

“Just leave the shards be,” you grumble before dragging him off to the sink. “Let’s clean it up after I clean you up.”

Mingyu remains silent as you apply ample pressure on the wound, listening to you mutter about how the bleeding has to stop first before it can be disinfected. He doesn’t really process much of what you have to say—too caught up in how his pulse roars in his ears from the way your fingers press firmly against his own. 

He’s vaguely aware of his phone buzzing every now and again where he left it on the counter, but Mingyu doesn’t even feel the least bit apologetic for leaving Suji hanging more than he already has. 

Right now, you’re the only one that matters.

“Alright, I think it clotted pretty nicely,” you observe with a small, relieved smile as you lift the piece of cotton you used to stem the bleeding. “Go wash your hands, big boy. Sit with me on the couch after so I can wrap a bandage around it.”

If he was even the slightest bit sober, Mingyu would’ve huffed and insisted that he can do that by himself. It’s not like he sliced off his entire arm like he did with Godrick the Grafted when you watched him play Elden Ring a few weeks back. 

But Mingyu isn’t sober and all his stupid, drunk brain is telling him is to do as you say because he knows it’ll make you less worried. 

Your touch is weighted with tenderness as you patch up the gash on Mingyu’s finger. There are no sordid remarks about his carelessness to be said—only the implicit concern that permeates off your being and rings in his ears. But even if Mingyu’s head is still swimming with liquor, he’s empathic enough to be able to tell that him dropping a glass of water isn’t the only thing you’re upset about tonight.

“Gyu, did I do something wrong?” you murmur, smoothing your thumb across the bandage once it’s in place. “You’ve been avoiding us a lot lately.”

He finds your choice of words a little…interesting. 

Of course, Mingyu wouldn’t put it past you to notice that he’s been noticeably absent in the apartment these days. But for you to assume that it’s because of something you alone have done and not include Wonwoo in the narrative? You know him so well, it makes his chest burn with an emotion he can’t name.

Or maybe he’s just really fucking drunk.

“Why would I be avoiding you?” Mingyu chuckles, resting the back of his head against the cushions as he stares at the ceiling in a pathetic attempt at playing it cool. “I’ve just been a little busy is all. Don’t tell me Wonwoo-hyung misses me or something.”

“Maybe. But what if I miss you, too?”

The silence that follows is a little too loud in Mingyu’s ears.

You can’t do that. You can’t ask him questions that he doesn’t know the answer to.

Mingyu isn’t sure which robs him of coherent thought more: you in killer outfits and flawless makeup or you in one of Wonwoo’s old white shirts, barefaced and vulnerable as you scrutinize him with a pleading look in the middle of their living room.

He wishes he could just go back to the time when he just knew you as an up-there Twitch streamer that he suspected his best friend was fucking around with. Things were much simpler when Mingyu was merely a spectator in Wonwoo's complicated love life. But now, he’s slowly getting to know you past all the sexy cat girl cosplay and the fanservice. Past the back-and-forth banter with your boyfriend that Mingyu was once content with observing from the sidelines.

Did Wonwoo suffer through the same kind of epiphany before you started dating? It’s no secret that your boyfriend had a stick up his ass when it came to acknowledging how he felt about you, but Mingyu doesn’t fault him for it. He knows damn well that there’s just something about you that attracts people like magnets with polar ends.

People like Wonwoo and Mingyu who are helpless to your unknowing charm. 

But the difference between him and his best friend is that Mingyu has no right to feel the way he does. He’s lucky enough to get to see sides of you that you’d never show to your subscribers and he told himself that he’ll never pursue anything past that—no matter how badly he wants to.

Yet the fact remains that Mingyu is just a man too drunk to deal with all of this right now, and you’re playing your cards a little too well, whether you know it or not.

“You’re saying that you miss me when hyung is already giving you splendid company?” Mingyu laughs airily, letting his eyes flutter shut because if he holds your gaze any longer, he might just combust right there. “You wouldn’t be hanging out here so much if he wasn’t, right?”

You’re quiet for a moment, eyes boring into Mingyu as if you’re looking for something he’s desperately trying to hide. He loathes and loves how perceptive you are, but if he isn’t careful, he might end up jeopardizing your friendship for good.

Then quietly, you ask:

“Have you not considered that maybe I hang out here a lot because of you?”

Before the words can even settle inside his head, you flatten your palms against his thigh, leaning in so close, Mingyu is certain you hear the way his breath hitches. Your eyes crinkle in the dim lights as you offer up a smile with just a little more intent than he’d expect you to show.

When Mingyu’s gaze flickers to the collection of love bites you’ve amassed on your neck, his traitorous brain wonders how it would feel like to sink his teeth into your skin. To litter your throat with his marks, to have you writhing against his touch. 

“I could always just invite Wonwoo to my place, no?” you murmur, each word making the back of Mingyu’s neck prickle with heat. “But I insist on coming over here instead ‘cause I actually like hanging out with my boyfriend’s best friend.”

Then, as if his entire world was plunged into slow motion, you press your lips closer to Mingyu’s ear—one hand braced against his firm chest as he feels you grin against his lobe. 

“After all, we make such a good team. Right, Gyugyu?”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuck—

“We do make a good team. See? You patched me all up!” Mingyu laughs heartily before begrudgingly peeling himself away from your touch. “I’m a little sleepy though. Do you want to help me clean up or not?”

He knows he’s overcompensating, but if he doesn’t get away from you now…

Mingyu doesn’t even want to know what he’ll do.

When he deigns to look at you again, the heated look in your eyes hasn’t dissipated. You even make a fucking show of swiping your tongue across your bottom lip, staring up at your boyfriend’s best friend like you want to just…eat him up. 

But that can’t be right. He’s seen how enamored you are with Wonwoo.

You couldn’t possibly be…

“I’m a little sleepy too,” you admit, stifling a yawn that’s obviously fake. “I think I’ve already helped you enough for tonight, big guy. You go clean up that little mess you made ‘cause I’m going back to bed.”

Back to Wonwoo’s side—Mingyu reminds himself firmly.

He doesn’t really have to be told twice, nodding in agreement as he shuffles over to the kitchen and grabs the cleaning paraphernalia you were kind enough to bring out earlier. The dull ache in Mingyu’s temples makes it easy for him to do everything in silence. But of course that’s the last thing you’ll willingly give to him.

“By the way,” you start, twisting your torso halfway around to face him. The action makes Wonwoo’s shirt ride even further up your thighs and Mingyu fears he’ll have to clean up another growing mess in his jeans if he wants to get some sleep tonight.

“Suji’s been texting you non-stop. It would be rude to just keep her hanging, no?”

Figurative alarm bells start going off inside his head as his mouth hangs loose. You flash him a grin that’s much too smug for him to miss, greeting him good night, Mingyu before shutting the door to Wonwoo’s room behind you.

When he’s just about done throwing the glass shards in the trash and mopping up the water he splashed all over the floor, he retreats into the comfort of his own bedroom. He doesn’t reply to any of Suji’s text messages even after he gets changed into more comfortable clothes. 

Not when he’s now fully aware that you know.

You know that he’s got the hots for you. You know that he’d drop any other semi-attractive person he’s using to distract himself the moment you throw him scraps of your attention. He feels like a helpless fucking puppy with how easy it is for you to unknowingly lead him by the nose.

Here we have another one of Mingyu’s many dilemmas in life. The object of his frustrated affections, the person he wants the most might just want him back. 

The issue? Her boyfriend—his best friend—has no fucking clue. 

Vernon isn’t someone that Mingyu frequently hangs out with. Out of all the three other GAM3 BO1s, the youngest is probably the one that he spends time with the least. But that doesn’t mean that Mingyu enjoys his company less than the company of his other friends. In hindsight, Vernon could easily be his favorite of the younger streamers in their entire friend group.

So when Vernon asks him for some tips on making his own gym routine, Mingyu sees no problem in showing up to give his friend some advice. 

Surprisingly enough, when Mingyu arrives in his and Wonwoo’s usual place, he spots Seungkwan in the waiting lounge with Vernon as well. 

“What came over you guys when you suddenly decided that you wanted to work out?” Mingyu laughs as he leads the odd pair to the locker rooms. “When we last asked about it on the server, most of you were being such prissy little shits about it.”

“Hey, we so work out!” Seungkwan complains with a huff. “We just don’t go to the gym. Get your facts straight, Kim Mingyu.”

As things are, Vernon wants to build his core strength while Seungkwan wants to focus on cardio. He tries his best to instruct them as effectively as he can all while getting his usual routine over with. Mingyu was supposed to try adding more weights to his deadlifts but with his attention divided between his two friends, he figures that he shouldn’t risk accidentally dropping a 150-kilograms’ worth of weights on his feet. 

They’re all absorbed in their own work for about thirty minutes until Seungkwan eventually hops off the treadmill and collapses dramatically on the matted floor.

“I need a water break,” he wheezes and Mingyu laughs as he offers him a bottle.

During their quick break, Vernon whips out his phone and puts on a Twitch stream for the three of them to watch. Curiously, Mingyu peers at the screen, only to feel his stomach plummet to the pit of his stomach when he realizes whose stream it is.

Seungkwan scoffs. “There he goes again, watching Koyahngi like a closeted fan.”

“Hey, she’s playing Xenoblade Chronicles 3 today and told me to watch ‘cause I’m like, the biggest Xenoblade junkie on the server,” Vernon explains coolly while wiping off the sweat on his face. 

Mingyu frowns. “Xenoblade? On a PC?”

“Yeah. She’s using an emulator.”

“That’s illegal, isn’t it? Won’t she get in trouble for live streaming it or something?”

“Oh, sweet summer child,” Seungkwan sighs as he splays his legs across the mat for a quick stretch. “You of all people should know that pretty girls like our dearest Koyahngi can get away with absolutely everything. It’s part of her charm!”

Vernon elbows Seungkwan in the stomach, to which the latter reacts with another dramatized gesture as if he’d been shot instead. Mingyu lets them banter between themselves for a few moments—choosing to focus on the stream instead.

You’re still in the middle of preparing the game you’re supposed to play on an illegal platform, dressed to the nines in full Mythra cosplay. Of course, a pair of cat ears that match the entire fit sits comfortably on your head—as is your signature look in all outfits. 

“Oh wait, is Vernon here?” you muse out loud as you squint at the chat. “If you guys watch his stuff, you’ll know how crazy he is about Xenoblade, so I invited him as a special guest! Say hi to everyone for me, yeah?”

Vernon is so quick to snatch his phone to type in hi o/~~ in the chat, it even startles Mingyu. 

“There he is!” You giggle. “We should collaborate on another game sometime, yeah? Sucks that Xenoblade doesn’t allow you to coop.”

Out loud, Vernon snorts. “Yeah, I won’t be doing that.”

“Why not?” Mingyu asks, genuinely curious. “She seems cool with it.”

“Are you crazy? Wonwoo-hyung will kill me,” he chuckles with a shake of his head. “I know I’m the one who introduced her to the friend group, but we all know how Wonwoo-hyung is with her. If she was my girlfriend, I’d gatekeep her from the rest of the world, too. Maybe.”

The words ring in Mingyu’s ears like a stern reminder he should’ve heeded a long time ago. 

It’s no secret that Wonwoo is a little…possessive over you. He might even be acting as your pseudo-mod right this second—watching the chat like a hawk before doing public lashings for any weirdos brave enough to send anything inappropriate. 

He wonders how Wonwoo would react if he knew about that chance encounter he shared with you a few nights prior…

“True,” Seungkwan agrees before rising back to his feet with a hop. “The only person he’ll probably be cool with handing Koyahngi over to is Mingyu-hyung.”

His friend says those words while he’s in the middle of taking a huge gulp of water. It nearly goes down his windpipe when he makes a surprised noise, but thankfully Mingyu manages to not sputter out his drink all over Vernon’s face.

“What?” he asks raspily when he collects himself. “Why me?”

“Uh, maybe because he’s alright with letting you touch and hug her anytime, but we get warning glares whenever we get close to her?” 

Warning what? He’s got to be lying. Wonwoo is crazy possessive, but he does not glare at his friends just because they’re being affectionate to you.

Right?

Begrudgingly, Vernon nods at his side. “Mhmm. I think it has something to do with you guys living together for years now. You’ve shared practically everything up to this point, right?”

Mingyu scowls at them both. “You’re not suggesting what I think you’re suggesting, right?”

“What are you—oh,” Seungkwan trails off with his face reddening upon realizing. “I didn’t mean he’d be down to share his girlfriend with you like that! But hey, if Wonwoo-hyung is into it, then you’re probably the only person he’ll consider accepting.”

“Agreed,” Vernon chimes. “Anyway, are we going back to work? I can watch her stream while I’m doing crunches just fine.” 

As the three of them disperse back to their own corners in the gym, Mingyu finds himself mulling over that earlier conversation with Vernon and Seungkwan. They’re both aware of Wonwoo’s territorial nature, but openly admitted that when it comes to Mingyu, things might be a little different. 

Which doesn’t help his case at all. Because how the fuck is he supposed to move past his feelings now? Not only did you implicitly reciprocate his interest the other night to some degree, but now he’s got his other friends unknowingly rooting for him too. 

Mingyu breathes in deeply as he tries lifting 75 kilogram weights on each side of the bar all while thinking back to Jeonghan’s advice to just negotiate.

Do his friends’ words have any truth to them? Will Wonwoo actually agree if…if—

“Fuck,” Mingyu grumbles when he feels the force of the barbell’s weight flaring up his arms and muscles. But at the same time he realizes that it’s impossible to ask Wonwoo about what he wants because…

He can’t just tell him, hey hyung, how would you feel if I fucked your girlfriend? Wonwoo would probably chase him out of the apartment with a knife if he did. Worse, he’d end more than fifteen years’ worth of friendship and Mingyu loses not only that hair-strand thin chance of getting with you but also his best friend. 

That’s not a risk he thinks he’s foolish enough to take. 

As some sort of punishment, Mingyu forces himself to bear the barbell’s weight for about ten seconds before letting it drop back to the floor—the fibers of his muscles screaming in agony with what he just put them through. 

He probably, definitely deserves more than that though. 

“Mingyu! You’re late!”

Soonyoung’s jarring voice is the first thing that greets Mingyu when he finally arrives at the restaurant. The tall man is immediately surrounded by his friends—getting roughhoused for being tardy on his best friend’s special day. He lets out an easygoing laugh to brush off their teasing, eyes observing the private room Wonwoo rented for the occasion. 

“What took you so long, man?!” Seokmin complains, throttling Mingyu by the lapels of his iron-pressed suit jacket. “You’re the one who always brings out the cake for Wonwoo, remember? Seungcheol-hyung nearly set the entire cake on fire earlier.”

“Fondant icing can’t catch fire, you ditz,” the eldest of their group scoffs. “Anyway, we might as well do the toast since Mingyu’s finally here.”

As his pack of rowdy friends ushers themselves back into their seats, Mingyu lets his gaze rove around again. On the end of the long, fancy dining table he spots the birthday boy waving over at him with a small smile. Right next to Wonwoo is, of course, you—flashing him a grin with those ruby red lips as your eyes crinkle with a smile that haunts him with his eyes closed.

If Mingyu came clean and said that you were the reason he almost didn’t show up to his own best friend’s birthday dinner, would everyone else in this room hate him for it?

Probably.

Once everyone is settled into their seats, Mingyu gets served a full-course meal by the waiters bussing around the private enclosure. Everyone else was already halfway through dessert and they’re now being poured generous amounts of whatever champagne Seungkwan boasted about buying for Wonwoo as a birthday present. 

“C’mon, birthday toast!” Seungkwan announces obnoxiously loud as he eggs everyone on to raise their glasses. “So who’s going to do the honors and kiss Wonwoo-hyung’s ass for tonight?”

“Shouldn’t the latecomer do the honors?” Minghao suggests with a sleazy look. “Besides, he’s Wonwoo-hyung’s best friend anyways.”

“Asshole,” Mingyu mutters under his breath before swallowing a mouthful of his food and grabbing his champagne glass. “Uh, there’s nothing much to say. Wonwoo-hyung already knows everything I want to tell him.”

“Boo!” Chan yells from the other end. “You’re so lame, hyung. How would you feel if your best friend used that as your birthday greeting, huh?”

Joshua makes a noise in agreement. “Mingyu-yah, I’m sure there’s at least some things you want to tell him, right?”

With all eyes on him now, Mingyu feels himself flush several shades red. Goddammit. 

He forcibly meets Wonwoo’s expectant stare from the other side of the table, appeased by the warm look in his best friend’s eyes. That’s right…

Asking Wonwoo if he can have just one chance with his girlfriend is ridiculous and impossible. But saying nice things about his best friend? That’s always been Mingyu’s forte. Even if Wonwoo threatens to break his PS5 every three business days whenever the younger man pisses him off on purpose.

“This hyung of mine has grown a lot over the last decade and more. Not that being introverted is a bad thing or anything, but it’s nice seeing him become more outgoing and interactive with people outside our circle,” Mingyu starts with a small yet genuine smile. “Our dream of playing games for a living is all too real now. But for Wonwoo-hyung, he’s a brilliant professional who’s going to be scouted on the Worlds team roster pretty soon, I’m sure.”

“Now you’re just lying to my face to gas me up,” Wonwoo chuckles. 

He gestures for him to quiet down. “Ah! You guys wanted me to talk so let me finish talking!”

“Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea,” Jihoon comments. “This guy says five hundred words per minute depending on how much alcohol he’s got in his system.”

“We’ll all end up going home super late at this rate,” Jun chuckles with a shake of his head.

Mingyu pouts for a moment but his friends eventually cut him some slack—keeping their teasing jabs to themselves first to let him finish his impromptu speech. 

“As I was saying,” the part time model huffs, “You’re an amazing player and an equally amazing friend. You always put up with everyone’s antics even if we all know you’d prefer peace and quiet. You’re the one who makes life just a little more bearable for me. And even if you don’t really show it much, we know how much you actually love each one of us. 

“So… Happy Birthday, Wonwoo-hyung. Please live happily and healthily for the next hundred years because I’m afraid that they’ll only release Dark Souls 4 by then.”

Once he’s concluded what he has to say, everyone at the table cheers—not for Wonwoo, but for how concise Mingyu’s birthday speech is. Those little shits. 

Either way, they all raise a toast for today’s celebrant—Soonyoung singing an off-key rendition of Happy Birthday on the top of his lungs as they all clinked champagne glasses together. Mingyu’s grinning from ear-to-ear as he watches his friends mess around with each other as per usual, thinking how he’ll never want any other constants in his life as long as they’re by his side.

But in the middle of all the commotion, his gaze tunnels into his best friend. 

Wonwoo is in the middle of talking to you with a loving smile on his lips. Mingyu is a little too far away to make sense of what you’re talking about, but you do lean closer to press a firm kiss on your boyfriend’s lips.

He can’t really name the emotion that prickles in his chest at the sight of it. The closest thing would probably be jealousy but it doesn’t sound quite fitting. Mingyu doesn’t really wish for his best friend to be out of the picture so he could be on the receiving end of your sweet kisses.

It’s more like…he just wants you to give some to him too.

But after weeks and weeks of fighting against his fatal attraction to you, he’s grown quite exhausted from all the senseless overthinking. Mingyu is now waving the white flag of surrender—ready to bury these feelings in the past where they belong. 

After all, he’d never trade all the years he’s spent with Wonwoo for a woman he’ll get over in no time. He’s better than that.

Until he’s not.

Mingyu doesn’t really know how it happened, when it started, and why he even let things get this far. 

Wonwoo was generous enough to book everyone their own rooms in the hotel just across the famous restaurant he decided to treat them in. It was mostly for Soonyoung because they all know how that man can hardly handle his liquor. But still, it’s nice to be spoiled by the most stoic out of their friend group every now and again.

Before retreating to his own room, Mingyu decided to catch some fresh air on the open balcony on the tenth floor. The breeze blew past his face nice and easy, making him feel more relaxed than he has in the last few months. 

But then you swooped down on him like an angel of death.

It’s been a while since he talked to you one-on-one like this. The last time was probably the night he split his hand open and you had to patch him up. 

Mingyu is apprehensive during the entire course of the conversation, which is weird because he’s always felt comfortable in your company. It’s his stupid fucking feelings making things weird for him. 

If only he could just wake up one day and things were back to the way they were.

He hoped it would just be one of those regular conversations where you’d eventually excuse yourself to look for Wonwoo. Mingyu can handle that. He can pretend to be fine in the face of others even if he’s rotting from the inside out because of how badly he wants to tear that lovely dress off of you. That’s something he’s always been good at.

However, when he’s in the middle of telling you a story about how Soonyoung betted a large amount of in-game Valorant currency on the possibility of you and Wonwoo dating back then, you bring a single finger to Mingyu’s lips.

“Aren’t you tired of this, Gyu?” you sigh, pouting at him so tantalizingly with your perfect red lips as you bring your hand down. 

His brows furrow together, not quite catching what you’re trying to say. “T-Tired of what?”

The corners of your mouth pull up into a pretty smile that’s wearing down his defenses faster than he’d like it to. “Of this game of push and pull, silly. I’ve been trying to get you to sleep with me for ages, but you’re such a good puppy, aren’t you? Never taking anything you want unless someone gives it to you.”

Mingyu can hardly believe his ears.

“You’ve been trying to…what?” His mouth drops into a disbelieving look. “I— You— You can’t be serious. What do you mean you want to sleep with me? You have a boyfriend.”

You make a sound of affirmation before leaning closer to him by the rails, tugging on the lapels of his jacket to pull him flush against you. Mingyu has to physically bite down a groan at the feel of your perky tits pushed into his chest. 

“I do, but that’s not important right now,” you giggle as you let your fingers trail up the curve of his neck. “Don’t you want to fuck me, Gyu? I see the way you look at me, you know. You have a bad case of wandering eye especially when I prance around your apartment wearing nothing but Wonwoo’s shirts. I didn’t expect you to hold out for this long honestly.”

The fact that you have a boyfriend isn’t important right now? And you’ve been deliberately seducing him all this goddamn time?

What the ever-loving fuck?

Mingyu still remembers how you looked into Wonwoo’s eyes earlier after the birthday toast. The love and adoration laced in your gaze…was that completely fake? Were you just using his best friend so you could get to him? 

That’s not right. He at least knows the abridged version of yours and Wonwoo’s love story. Despite how unpredictable you can be, Mingyu refuses to believe that you’ll willingly put yourself through all that if you didn’t love Wonwoo in the first place. If he’s the one you’ve wanted all along.

But the fight in him has been fading day by day. Mingyu thought he was closer to accepting the fact that he’ll never really have you the way he wants to. But in truth, he’s on the complete opposite side of the spectrum. 

It’s just the way things were before—Kim Mingyu will come running once you drop him scraps of your affection.

“Do you want to kiss me, Gyu?” you murmur, lips ghosting across his own. 

No. He wants to say no. He needs to say no.

“Yes,” Mingyu breathes instead, a thousand sparks igniting in his chest as he stares at the plump curve of your lips. “God, fuck yes.”

You make a show of dragging your bottom lip between your teeth, looking up at him with so much desire in your eyes, he nearly melts from the intensity of it. 

“Okay, big boy,” you giggle before taking his hand in a firm grip. “Not here though.”

The short trip back to your hotel room is swift. Mingyu doesn’t think about anything else but the feel of your soft skin cradling his large hand in yours. He doesn’t even wonder where the fuck Wonwoo is during this entire thing. All that matters is the fact that this is real and this is happening. 

If things go the way he assumes they will in his head, he’ll finally get to have you for himself.

That’s the exact thought that makes the blood in Mingyu’s veins come alive with heady arousal—tapping his feet on the carpeted floor of the hallway as you scan your keycard on the lock of your hotel room. You giggle at his impatience tugging him into the room by his necktie before the door clicks shut behind him.

Mingyu doesn’t waste any time. He quickly crowds you against the wall of the narrow hallway entrance, hands on your hips as he crushes his lips with yours like your kiss was air itself. You moan into his mouth before hooking your thigh around his hips to let him grind his hardening length against your middle. 

“You have no fucking idea how badly I want you,” he hisses between kisses, migrating to your neck to continue his onslaught against your skin. “Always walking around the house barely dressed. You were daring enough to rub the fact that Wonwoo-hyung just fucked you in my face last time too. Did you want me to fuck you the same way that night?”

“Mmm… Gyu,” you moan as he sucks on the skin just above the thrum of your pulse. “Y-Yeah… Wanted you to stuff me with your cock when Nonu’s cum was still dripping out of me. Does that make me a dirty girl?”

“It does, princess.”

Mingyu knows himself to be a person that’s easily spooked. It’s for that reason that Soonyoung likes popping out of nowhere just to do that. The reason Seungcheol likes intimidating him with a single look whenever Mingyu pushes his buttons. But it takes a lot to genuinely scare him. 

Hearing Wonwoo’s voice on the other side of this room, apparently, is enough to make the color drain from his entire face.

Wonwoo is seated on a reading chair propped by the windows with the curtains drawn, scrolling through his phone with a bored look like the sight of his girlfriend being pushed against a wall by his best friend is something that doesn’t faze him in the slightest. 

“H-Hyung,” Mingyu stutters, swallowing thickly. “This isn’t what it looks like.”

His roommate chuckles. “Mingyu, you just admitted out loud that you want to fuck my girlfriend. This is exactly what it looks like.”

“Mmm, big puppy’s being so silly,” you giggle as you inch your thighs apart, poking the tip of Mingyu’s nose with your finger. “He’s been fighting himself all this time and now when he can finally have me, he chickens out again. What do we do with him, daddy?”

…Daddy?

Wonwoo hums almost theatrically as he crosses his legs on the chair, smirking at the two of you like…like—

“Did you two plan this?” Mingyu asks incredulously, trying his best not to get distracted by your cleavage peeking from the low cut of your dress. “Hyung, why do you seem so…”

“Comfortable with the thought of you railing my girl well into the next day?” Wonwoo supplies and Mingyu winces at his crass wording. Well, he is right but— “Because I am, Mingyu. But since you’re a little slow on the uptake sometimes, she’ll spell it out for you in a way that leaves no room for misunderstandings.”

As if on cue, you give Mingyu’s necktie another firm tug, forcing the tall man to look at you with a bewildered look. You bat your lashes at him with a disarming smile before pulling him closer so that your faces are leveled.

“I told Wonwoo that I really want to know what it feels to have you inside me, Gyugyu,” you whisper. “If I mentioned any other guy, he probably would’ve killed them ‘cause he’s possessive like that. He’s only alright with it ‘cause it’s you.” 

“And she’s been seducing you for a while now. It really is a mystery how you managed to hold out that long when she had me wrapped around her finger in no time,” Wonwoo adds with a chuckle. “You’re better than me, it seems.”

Mingyu’s gaze keeps alternating between you and his best friend—unable to completely wrap his head around the idea that not only are you actually into him, but Wonwoo gave your sick fantasies his blessing beforehand. 

“You…” He breathes in deeply before turning to Wonwoo again. “You want me to fuck your girlfriend? On your birthday?”

The older man shrugs. “This could’ve happened much sooner if you weren’t so dense, Mingyu. But if that bothers you so much, then just think of it as another treat from me.”

“Gyu,” you whine, practically rubbing yourself against his thick thigh. “Stop thinking and just fuck me already, yeah? Doesn’t my big puppy want to feel me wrapped around his cock? I promise it’ll feel so much better than your hand.”

Oh. Oh. 

Mingyu isn’t sure what to focus on first—you calling him your big puppy or the fact that they know he’s been jacking off religiously to the thought of sinking his length into your wet heat. But it’s just as you said.

Mingyu should really just stop fucking thinking.

All the time he spends at the gym is put to good use when he effortlessly picks you up by your thighs and migrates to the mattress. You let out an adorable little squeal when he gently lays you on top of the sheets and Mingyu has to keep himself from moaning at the sight of you splayed out so prettily for him. 

“Are you just going to watch?” he asks Wonwoo without looking back at him, unable to tear his gaze away from you as you tug your dress down to reveal your tits. “I’d feel a little terrible if that’s the case.”

Wonwoo barks out a laugh. “Just a little?”

“Yeah,” Mingyu whispers before shrugging off his jacket and unbuttoning his dress shirt.

“Just a little.”

That’s how he ends up with his face buried between your soft thighs, tongue working on your glistening slit as your fingers tangle themselves in his mussed hair. The noises spilling senselessly from your lips are like music to his ears—egging him on to pick you apart with his tongue and fingers all while your boyfriend watches diligently from his seat. 

Eating pussy while Wonwoo acts as a willing audience is honestly the last thing on Mingyu’s lifetime bucket list, but he knows very well that life’s full of surprises. 

“Your tongue feels so good, puppy,” you whimper, thighs pressing against the sides of Mingyu’s head as he slurps at your dripping cunt. “More please. Gyu, I wanna come on your face so bad—oh!” 

He smirks against your sensitive flesh when you jolt at the sensation of him sliding his thick fingers inside your hole—two right away because you’re already so wet and ready for him.

“She can take three, Gyu,” he hears Wonwoo chime in from behind. “Four if you’re feeling a little generous.”

The idea of taking more of his digits seems to excite you more than Mingyu expected. He feels you tighten around the fingers already inside you and he groans before suckling on your clit with unparalleled fervor.

He does just as Wonwoo says—sliding in a third finger as he stretches your gummy walls open. You have all the time in the world and he isn’t in too much of a rush to make you take as many digits as he can give you. As things stand, you’re already on the verge of being fucked out of your mind from the way his mouth works on your needy pussy alone. 

“Mingyu!” you gasp when he crooks his fingers just so, making your back arch off the mattress so sexily, he has to resist the urge to rise and give you a long, sloppy kiss. “Fuck, fuck, right there! Feels so good, puppy. Give me more.”

He fucking loves it when you call him puppy and he doesn’t really know what that says about him. It’s not like Mingyu can bring himself to care though—not when you’re grinding your sopping cunt against his mouth like he’s your own personal toy. 

“Shit, princess. You’re not this demanding when I eat you out,” Wonwoo groans. 

“T-That’s cause—ahn, Mingyu…” A surge of pride momentarily fills his chest when he renders you unable to manage a coherent response. “You’re my daddy and he’s my puppy. I can boss my puppy around, right, Gyugyu?”

While Mingyu is just now getting to know what sort of dynamic you and Wonwoo have in the bedroom, he doesn’t really have any qualms about what you’ve decided on for him. He merely nods a bit too eagerly, unceasing on his onslaught of tongue and fingers. Your body is wracked with another full shiver when the ridge of his nose bumps against your clit, sparing him another beautiful moan that goes straight to his cock.

“‘m so close, puppy,” you cry out, riding his face as you squeeze your breasts in the hand not tangled in his hair. “Mouth’s so fucking good to me. Love how you eat me out s’much, Gyu.”

He doesn’t notice how he’s nearly rutting his hips into the bed in a desperate attempt at giving himself some much-needed friction. Your eyes flutter closed as your body stutters to a stop, shuddering as your orgasm finally washes over you. 

Mingyu growls as he slips his fingers out of your quivering hole, burying his tongue inside your cunt as you ride out your high. You buck your hips against his mouth and he’s much too eager to place his hands on your ass as you come back down to earth. 

To his surprise, you bounce back from that mind-shattering orgasm much quicker than he thought. Right when you stop trembling in his grasp, you’re quick to pull Mingyu up to have a taste of yourself on his lips—tongue swirling with his own as the tangy flavor spreads across the appendage. 

“Want your cock next, Gyu,” you breathe against his mouth, eyes hooded with desire. “You’ll give it to me, won’t you?” 

He’d be the biggest idiot in the world if he refused.

You quickly reposition yourself on the mattress, crawling towards the edge of the bed while glancing over at your boyfriend—still watching the show the both of you are putting up for him. Mingyu was so lost in the sensation of you grinding your pussy on his face, he nearly forgot Wonwoo was even in the room.

“Daddy, want yours too,” you whimper all while pushing your ass back for Mingyu’s enjoyment, the multitasker you are. “Can I suck you off?”

“Feeling greedy all of a sudden?” Wonwoo chuckles. “Do you really think you can take two cocks at the same time, princess? Are you that much of a cockhungry slut?” 

You nod, too high on arousal to give a shit. “Uh-huh.”

Fuck. Why was that so hot?

Despite how he initially reacted, Wonwoo gets up from his seat and pads over closer to you. Meanwhile, Mingyu takes his aching length out of his tight trousers—breathing a sigh in relief as he pumps his cock a few times. 

He feels like he should feel unnerved about taking his dick out in front of Wonwoo, but then again this isn’t something he hasn’t seen before. The college dorm bathrooms were an interesting place, but then again this is the first time he’s actually let his best friend get a look at his cock when it’s fully hard. 

The sound of him jerking himself makes you glance behind you and he swears hearts nearly dance in the pupils of your eyes when your gaze zeros in on his dick.

“You’re so fucking huge,” you groan as Mingyu rubs his length along your ass. “Daddy, you’ve got a best friend with such a pretty fucking cock and you didn’t even bother telling me? You’re mean…”

The laugh that rumbles in Wonwoo’s chest betrays the fact that he’s a little ticked off with what you just said. “Baby, I’m already doing a lot for you by letting Gyu fuck you open. Keep abusing your pretty privilege even more, and I’ll fuck your mouth until you can’t say ridiculous things.” 

Of course, Wonwoo’s threat garners the exact opposite of his intended reaction. Mingyu feels your slick gush out of your entrance at the prospect of being used by your boyfriend in such a demeaning way and he sighs with disbelief.

“Hyung,” he calls out as you work on Wonwoo’s belt and zipper. “Do I need to wear a condom or…?”

His best friend hums momentarily. “That’s up to her. What do you say, baby? Do you want to feel Mingyu’s monster cock raw or not?”

You pause from undoing Wonwoo’s pants to turn around once more, taking Mingyu’s heavy length in your hand as you practically salivate over it. Then, with careful movements, you guide his cockhead to your gaping entrance and Mingyu nearly comes right then and there.

“Wanna get pumped full of your cum, puppy,” you mewl. “Need your big cock to stretch me out so bad. You want that too, right?”

Of fucking course he wants it.

You let out a choked up noise when Mingyu eases himself inside you—trying his damn hardest to not just shove his entire length into you in one go. Wonwoo smirks at your reaction before taking out his own cock. 

Mingyu isn’t one to compare dicks with his friends, but he’s got to say that Wonwoo is definitely well-endowed. It’s no wonder that you were fucking around with him for as long as you were before finally dating the guy.

But Mingyu pushes all thoughts about that in the back of his mind, relishing in the feeling of your tight, warm cunt enveloping him in delicious heat. He groans when he manages to bury himself to the hilt—cock pulsating with each second that passes. 

“Take daddy’s cock down your throat while you let your cute little puppy fuck you stupid,” Wonwoo instructs as you open your mouth to do as you’re told. Then, when your boyfriend is sure you’ve adjusted well to Mingyu’s size, he meets his best friend’s gaze and gives him a minute nod. “Go ahead, Gyu.”

“Fuck my girlfriend just like you dreamed of doing.”

Never in Mingyu’s wildest dreams would he imagine getting to hear those words straight out of Wonwoo’s mouth, but he isn’t about to waste any more time processing the information. He simply pulls his hips back—letting you feel every inch of his engorged cock—before slamming back into you with enough force to drive Wonwoo’s dick further into your mouth.

Your moan is promptly silenced with your boyfriend’s length and Mingyu hisses as he palms at the swell of your ass. 

He’d hate to bust his load when it hasn’t even been five minutes since he’d slid himself inside you. But your pussy flutters around him so fucking good that he has to breathe in deeply to keep himself from coming too early.

“Gyu, look at me.” 

Mingyu’s momentarily puzzled by Wonwoo’s request, but he complies with a look of inquiry in his eyes. He then notices that his roommate is holding your hair up with one hand as you bob your head up and down and his phone in the other.

“We kind of have this…thing where we film ourselves during sex,” he explains. “Is it okay if I do that now? The footage will strictly stay between the three of us.”

Fuck. You film sex tapes with Wonwoo? Mingyu didn’t know it was even possible, but he just got harder inside you. 

“I-I don’t mind,” he manages to wrench out. “God, please airdrop it to me after, hyung.”

“You want a POV shot of her sucking you off, huh? Got it.” Wonwoo simpers as he unlocks his phone, tilting it high enough to get a good view of you with his cock in your mouth as Mingyu pounds you from behind. 

“What a pretty thing, getting fucked by two cocks at the same time,” he chuckles as he records the entire ordeal. “How can you ever go back to just having one, huh princess? You’re so insatiable after all.”

You’re unable to dish out a response of your own for obvious reasons, but as Wonwoo attempts to get you to deepthroat him, Mingyu presses a hand on the small of your back. Just a little so you wouldn’t lose your center of gravity, but it’s enough to make your spine arch into an angle that lets him hit it a tad bit deeper.

The reaction it incites from you is immediate and he can see Wonwoo’s smirk widen when you practically choke on his cock at the added sensation—tears gathering on your lash line because Mingyu just found your fucking g-spot. 

“Gyu’s cock is splitting you wider than you can handle, isn’t it?” your boyfriend taunts as he pushes you further against his navel. “You’ll let us finish inside you like the cumslut you are, won’t you? It’s the least you can do for tormenting Mingyu all this time.”

He says the words as if he didn’t have a hand in making Mingyu lose his mind for the better part of these last few months. But he can’t really pay much attention to his best friend’s hypocritical admissions. Not when your walls are clamping around his cock so tight, he can barely hold out even if he wanted to.

If anyone else is in his place, they wouldn’t stand a chance either. With the squelch of your cunt with each deep stroke of his cock ringing in his ears, Mingyu wants to burn it into his memory along with the sight of your cream gathering at the base of his cock every time he presses his hips flush against your ass. 

Not to mention the sight of you taking your boyfriend’s cock like a fucking champ. You haven’t once pulled away for a breather since Wonwoo slid himself inside the heat of your mouth and Mingyu can only wonder if his best friend would allow him to feel that next time.

If there’s even a next time.

“Pussy’s so fuckin’ greedy,” Mingyu groans through gritted teeth as he feels the release sizzling beneath his skin. “Can I come inside you? Let me stuff you full?” 

Still unable to verbalize your responses, you let out another muffled noise in agreement, tears and drool sliding sloppily down your face as Wonwoo chases after his own high. 

His best friend lets out another evil chuckle. “Take all of Gyu’s cum, princess. Can’t let a single drop go to waste now, can we?” 

That’s practically the last straw for Mingyu—hips stuttering to a halt as his white hot emission shoots into your swollen cunt. You moan around Wonwoo’s cock as your boyfriend batters your throat with the head of his cock, absolutely addicted to the feeling of Mingyu’s thick cock pulsing inside you as he dumps his load. 

Just when you thought he’d collapse onto the bed right away, though, Mingyu quickly scrambles onto his back—positioning himself underneath you as he hoists your hips to nestle against his face. Finally, you let Wonwoo’s dick slip out of your mouth with a surprised, “Puppy, what are you—”

The words quickly die on your tongue when you feel Mingyu slurping the mixed essence from your pussy, eating his own cum alongside yours as he lathers your quivering slit with the mess he’s made between your thighs. 

Wonwoo lets out an amused chuckle when you struggle to take him back into your mouth again, much too distracted by the overeager Mingyu cleaning you up in the most unorthodox way possible. 

“Pretty baby’s so fucking spoiled today,” he sighs, feeling his own orgasm just a few strokes away. “You’re close aren’t you? Go ahead, baby. Come on Gyu’s mouth again and I’ll give you my load as a little present.”

Mingyu groans against your sloppy cunt as he sucks on your clit, bringing you to that high he already coaxed out of you earlier. You’re full on crying now and Wonwoo’s got everything on film. 

He just knows this’ll be a night he’ll spend countless more nights jacking off to and he feels absolutely no shame admitting it to himself.

“Fuckin’ take it all, baby,” Wonwoo rasps as he finally comes—pouring his viscous cum down your throat all while your muscles spasm from Mingyu’s unrelenting ministrations. “That’s a good girl…”

He finds it a little endearing how you both came at the same time, but then again, Mingyu figures that if you’ve been having as much sex as he thinks you had with Wonwoo, equally timed orgasms are a regular thing.

When all’s said and done, Wonwoo takes it upon himself to properly clean you up in the bathroom. He tells Mingyu that he doesn’t have to come if he doesn’t want to, but the part time model still feels partly responsible for the devastated state they both left you in.

So there you are soaking in the bathtub that comes with the hotel room’s en-suite as your boyfriend and his best friend take turns in the shower.

“I can’t believe you two played me like that for so long,” Mingyu sulks, checking his reflection in the mirror as he towels his hair. “If you wanted to have a threeway, you could’ve told me without making me go through this entire moral dilemma of wanting to fuck my best friend’s girl.”

Wonwoo chuckles from inside the shower. “Now, where’s the fun in that, Gyu?”

“Mhmm.” You giggle as you scrub your sore legs with a sponge. “It was pretty amusing seeing you so torn up, puppy. But we’ve had our fun. I promise not to tease you too much next time.”

Silence falls between the three of you and nothing but the sound of water from the showerhead hitting the floor rings in Mingyu’s ears.

“There’s gonna be a next time?” he dares to ask before glancing worriedly over at Wonwoo.

His best friend emerges from the shower with steam billowing out of the door and into the vent. Wonwoo’s wearing a casual, laid-back look on his face like this isn’t news to him.

“Yeah, remember when you mentioned me being recruited on the Worlds roster?” Wonwoo asks and Mingyu nods hesitantly. “Yeah. I actually got an email offering me a spot as a T1 trainee.”

Mingyu’s jaw nearly drops to the floor. “You’re kidding. You’ll be on the same team as Faker?”

“Hey, I’m not sure yet ‘cause I have to go to this bootcamp thing and everything,” his best friend chuckles before padding over to where you’re still lounging comfortably in the tub. “But since bootcamps take months to finish, my princess over here might feel a little lonely without me.” 

You pout when Wonwoo plants a loving kiss on your nose. “I’ll die if I don’t get fucked stupid at least every three business days.”

“I know, baby. That’s why Mingyu over here is going to keep you company while I’m gone,” Wonwoo says out loud. “Right, Mingyu?”

With two pairs of eyes on him, the part time model gulps nervously. 

It’s one thing to join them in bed to fuck you at the same time. But for Wonwoo to willingly leave his girlfriend in Mingyu’s care while he’s away for pro gamer bootcamp? 

Part of him feels like he’s skipped several steps required to get to where he is now. That the offer is way too good to be true and that the universe will pull up with a fucking gotcha moment at him one day when he least expects it.

But Wonwoo seems so sure that he’ll accept and the look in your eyes glimmers with so much hope, Mingyu couldn’t bear to deny the implicit request even if he wants to.

So, with a deep, bated breath:

“Sure thing,” he says with a toothy smile. “What are friends for, right?”

part one - part two - part three - part four

⟢ end notes: hehe you made it to the end! thank god! this was meant to be concluded in part 3, but the plot line where mingyu finds out the identity of his favorite twitter porn girl is gonna take up tens of thousands of words again and i decided that it deserved its own chapter lol i still have much in store for this throuple so i do hope you tune into their sexcapades in the future <3 your reblogs and tags and other comments inspire me to write sooo much so it'll mean the world to me if you left your thoughts for me to read hehe~ p.s. i'll add links to the masterlist and other parts for easier access later bc tumblr is stupid when it comes to showing posts with links in the tags

this is part of the game over series!

[rapunzelbro]

The Act of Stealing a Loved One |1| (Stanley Pines x Reader)

This is a beginning of a prompt I wrote. Please don't expect chapters quickly. Enjoy!

Story guide

Being the wife of a man who went missing was hard. Many told you it was time to move on, many told you he was dead, and hell maybe you should just move on. But if they knew what happened that night, what actually happened to the man you loved, they would know why you couldn't exactly give up hope. You told him to shut it down, to stop what he was doing, hell Stan even did, but none of that would matter.

When he got trapped in the portal, it was the day you shut yourself out from everyone, you moved back to the small town home you two had bought before moving to Gravity Falls, you couldn’t take living in the house he went missing in. Stan kept living in his brothers’ home, turning it into some ‘Mystery Shack’ tourist attraction after a few weeks, which you wanted no part of. And after that, it was just radio silence. You didn’t hear anything from Stanley, nothing about your husband, it was just silence.

10 years went by. You still had hope that he was going to walk in that door and embrace you, telling you about the crazy things he saw while he was away, promising to never leave your side. It was now August 1992. He was smart, he knew about this sort of thing, so he was going to be back in your small home in New Jersey any minute now. That was going to happen… Right?

Another 10 years went by. You were grasping at straws trying to keep the memories you had with him in your mind. It was February 2002. The ring on your finger was a reminder of the love you two had, your hope was beginning to slip away. You stared down at your phone. Some weird new portable phone you finally decided on getting after debating. You should call Stan…

You never ended up calling him.

10 years later you had a car packed, a for sale sign was up in your town home you once lived in. It was now June 2012. Your wedding ring was no longer on your finger, you put it back in its box years ago. He wasn’t coming back, it's been 29 years. You were headed back to Gravity Falls, Oregon. To say you were nervous would be an understatement, you didn't know what to think. How would Stan react?

Shit. Stan. You had to call him.

After starting your car, you scroll through your contacts before landing on your brother-in-law, Stan Pines. The contact photo was an old photo of him from your wedding, he was being chased around by some smaller kids who were there tormenting him, thinking it was hilarious, you obviously had the photographer take a photo of it. Looking back on it gave you hope that he was willing to forgive your absence. You dialed his number before you started driving, praying he hasn’t changed it after all these years.

It was on its final ring before someone finally answered “.. kids don't do anything stupid! Ugh…Hello?” he sounded the same as you remember, almost identical to your Stanford. “Hello? If this is some telemarketer im not interested” he said again, you realized you did say anything “Hi! Uh Hi sorry. Stan.. Is that really you?” you heard him spit his water out before coughing, then clearing his throat “Y/n.. it’s you. Um, geez sorry not good at this, why are you calling me? It's been 29 years..” He sounded off put by you calling him. “I’m heading back to Gravity Falls Stan, I was hoping I could see you? Unless you don't want to then-” “Quit rambling.. You're sure you want to see me after all these years? I did uh, take over your old home” Stan muttered into the phone “That wasn’t my home Stan, and yes I'm sure. I'm driving so it'll be a couple days until I arrive. I have a place already so don't worry” You sigh slightly

“Grunkle Stan who are you talking to! Is it a girl?” you can hear a younger girl on the other side of the line, you must be on speaker. “Who’s that?” you ponder “It's no one” Stan quickly replies, hearing the girl gasp “Y/n Pines?! Grunkle Stan! You’re married?! DIPPER YOU’RE NEVER GOING TO BELIEVE THIS” She had to have seen the caller ID. Guess he just added you as a contact “Mabel you get back here! Shit, Y/n I gotta go, I’ll get it sorted out. I can’t wait to see you” Stan grumbles before hanging up. You slightly smile at the interaction.

You marrying Stanley? Hard pass.

Taglist: @cherryblom @leo4242564

[alyrasturnz]

can u write something about chris arguing with you and saying really hurtful things and later then feeling bad after 😭😭

I'M SO SORRY

❐ summary » chris utters deeply wounding words during a heated argument, words that linger in the air like a dark cloud, casting a shadow over their relationship. as the echoes of his harsh declarations resonate, both chris and y/n are left grappling with the profound emotional damage inflicted. the rawness of the moment envelops them, each struggling to process the pain and regret that now defines the space between them.

❐ pairings » toxic!chris x fem!reader

❐ warnings » argument (resolved)

❐ a/n && w/c » a chris fic coming from me is rare  •  1.83k

the room was thick with tension as you and chris grappled with the day's mounting frustrations. after yet another failed take, chris's patience finally snapped. he slammed a stack of papers onto the table, the sound reverberating through the room, his frustration unmistakable.

"what is wrong with you today?" chris's voice was edged with palpable irritation. "you keep messing up everything. can't you do anything right?"

your eyes widened, a flash of hurt crossing your face. you had been striving to keep everything on track, but the mounting stress was wearing you thin. "i'm doing my best. it's not like i'm trying to make mistakes."

chris's voice grew sharper, frustration seeping into every word. "your best? really? because it doesn't look like you're putting in any effort at all. maybe if you actually cared about this project, we wouldn't be in this mess."

you set down the cleaning supplies, trying to steady your trembling hands. "i care about this project. i'm just trying to keep up with everything that's going on. if you'd just communicate better, maybe things wouldn't be so chaotic."

chris’s laugh was bitter, a harsh edge cutting through his tone. “oh, so now it’s my fault? you’re the one who can’t keep up. do you even realize how much extra work you’re creating for everyone else? it’s like you’re deliberately trying to screw things up.”

tears started to well up in your eyes as you took a step back, your hands clutching the edges of the table. "i'm not trying to cause problems. i'm just trying to help, and i'm getting really tired of being treated like i'm a burden."

chris’s face darkened, his anger simmering over like a storm on the horizon. “a burden? that’s all you are right now. you think you’re contributing, but all you’re doing is slowing us down. maybe if you took a moment to think about how your actions affect others, you’d realize just how much of a mess you’re making.”

your tears began to fall freely, but you fought to keep your voice steady. “you don’t have to be so cruel. i’m already stressed out, and you’re just making it worse. i thought we were supposed to be a team.”

chris’s eyes narrowed, his anger unchecked, like a wildfire consuming everything in its path. he took a step forward, his fists clenching at his sides, the muscles in his jaw tightening as he struggled to contain his fury. “a team? this isn’t a team. it’s a joke. you’re just dragging everyone down with your incompetence. if you can’t handle it, maybe you should just step aside and let someone who actually knows what they’re doing take over.”

your shoulders slumped, the weight of his words pressing down on you like an unbearable burden. your voice broke, trembling with the raw emotion you could no longer contain. “i’m trying my best. i didn’t ask for things to go wrong, and i didn’t expect to be treated like this. maybe if you were more supportive, things wouldn’t be so bad.”

chris’s face twisted into a scowl, his patience completely exhausted, like a thread worn thin. “supportive? i don’t have time to babysit you. you’re a grown adult; you should be able to handle basic tasks without screwing everything up. maybe you should just leave if you can’t handle a little criticism.”

your heart ached with the sting of his harshness, each word like a dagger piercing your resolve. “i don’t deserve this. i’ve been working hard, and all i get is contempt and harsh words. if you can’t see how hard i’m trying, then maybe you’re the one with the problem.”

chris’s anger flared one last time, his voice cold and final, like a winter's chill settling over the room. “you know what? i’m done. i can’t deal with this right now. figure it out on your own. i’m leaving.”

without another word, chris stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him with a force that shook the walls. the silence that followed was heavy and suffocating, like a thick fog settling over everything. you stood alone in the room, your heart aching with the sting of his words and the weight of the unresolved conflict, feeling as though the very air had turned to lead.

as you quietly sobbed, the harshness of the argument hung in the air like a storm cloud that refused to dissipate. you felt utterly isolated, grappling with the emotional fallout of a confrontation that had left you feeling both hurt and abandoned, as if the very essence of your being had been stripped away, leaving you raw and exposed.

»--•--«

the clock struck three in the morning, and the house was silent except for the soft hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of settling wood. you lay curled up on the couch, the cushions barely cushioning the weight of your emotional exhaustion. 

the argument with chris had left you feeling hollow, and you had found yourself unable to sleep, opting instead to seek solace in the familiarity of the living room, where even the shadows seemed to understand your sorrow.

the door to the room creaked open slowly, and chris, his eyes bloodshot and swollen from lack of sleep and tears, stepped inside. he looked disheveled and hollow, as if the weight of the night’s argument had physically drained him. the moonlight filtered through the window, casting an ethereal glow that illuminated his troubled face.

he hesitated for a moment at the threshold, then took a shuffling step forward, as if the weight of his emotions were too heavy for his feet to bear. his breath came in uneven gasps, and the tear streaks on his cheeks glistened like fragile rivers of sorrow in the dim light.

the sight of him, broken and vulnerable, was almost more painful than the argument itself. you could see the raw evidence of his tears, each glimmer a testament to his remorse, which hung thick in the air, palpable even from across the room.

"y/n," he whispered, his voice cracking like fragile glass. he swallowed hard, a visible effort to compose himself, yet the depth of his regret seeped through every word. "can we talk?" his plea hung in the air, heavy with unspoken apologies and the weight of his vulnerability.

you didn't move, unsure of what to say or how to respond. your heart still ached from the harsh words he had thrown at you earlier, each one leaving a lingering sting. chris took a few more hesitant steps towards you, the weight of his guilt evident in every movement, as if each step was a silent apology. his eyes, filled with remorse, sought yours, hoping for a chance at redemption.

"I—I know it’s late," chris continued, his voice trembling like a fragile leaf in the wind. "i just... i couldn't stop thinking about what i said. i'm so sorry. i never should have spoken to you like that." his words, laden with regret, hung in the air, a poignant echo of his inner turmoil and the depth of his remorse.

you slowly turned your head, meeting his gaze. his eyes were filled with genuine remorse, tears spilling over his lower lashes like a sorrowful stream. he wiped at his face, but more tears quickly took their place, relentless in their descent. the sight of his vulnerability was both heartbreaking and confusing, a raw display of emotion that left you grappling with your own feelings.

"i was out of line," chris said, his voice breaking further, each word a jagged shard of his regret. "everything i said was hurtful and untrue. i didn't mean any of it, i swear. i just... i let my frustration get the best of me, and i took it out on you. that's not fair. it's not right." his confession hung in the air, a poignant testament to his inner turmoil and the weight of his guilt.

he stopped a few feet from the couch, his posture slumped and defeated, a silent testament to his remorse. "i've been thinking about how much i hurt you, and it's eating me up inside. i don't expect you to forgive me right away, but i want you to know how deeply sorry i am. i never want to make you feel like that again." his words, laden with sorrow, wove a tapestry of regret and a desperate yearning for redemption.

your silence was heavy, the air thick with the weight of his apology. chris's shoulders shook slightly as he tried to steady his breathing, his eyes locked onto yours with an earnest, almost pleading look. his vulnerability was palpable, a raw and unfiltered display of the turmoil within, leaving you to navigate the complex web of emotions that his words had woven.

"i know i've done a lot of damage," chris continued, his voice barely above a whisper, each word trembling with the weight of his remorse. "and i don't know how to make it right, but i want to try. i need to. please, y/n, just... tell me what i can do to make this up to you." his plea hung in the air, a fragile thread of hope amidst the ruins of his actions.

you studied him for a long moment, the pain still fresh but mingling with the realization of his genuine regret. his raw, tearful expression spoke volumes, and you could see how deeply he was affected by the argument.

slowly, you sat up, your heart softening despite the hurt. the silence between you was thick with unspoken words, a delicate dance of emotions that left you both teetering on the edge of reconciliation.

chris took a tentative step closer, his eyes never leaving yours. he reached out a hand, his gesture both hesitant and hopeful, as if afraid that any movement could shatter the fragile moment.

his fingers trembled slightly, a silent testament to the depth of his vulnerability and the earnestness of his desire to bridge the chasm that had formed between you.

"i'm so sorry," he repeated, his voice choked with emotion, each syllable a raw plea for forgiveness. "please, just give me a chance to fix this. i love you, and i never want to hurt you again." his words hung in the air, laden with the weight of his remorse and the desperate hope for redemption, a poignant symphony of regret and longing.

you took a deep breath, the pain and anger of the argument still lingering but softened by the sight of chris’s heartfelt apology. as you finally reached out to him, the first step towards healing began. 

the two of you sat together on the couch in the quiet of the early morning, the silence now filled with the weight of shared remorse and the fragile hope for forgiveness. the dawn's light began to filter through the windows, casting a gentle glow on the room, as if nature itself was bearing witness to the tentative mending of your hearts.

taglist —  @imwetforyourmom @meatballzerz69 @pinkishpearls @bandanamatt @thedangerousalleyway @muchloveforhacker @frozenpeanutbutterr @jetaimevous @everleiqh @conspiracy-ash @ifwdominicfike @blahbel668 @slutforsturnioloss @realuvrrr @sturnobsessedwh0re @cerismo @zainabthescientist @sarosfilms 

[raysrays]

I’ve Got you

Kyojuro Rengoku X GN! Reader

CW: injury,blood, angst-ish to fluff

Scenario: Just because you are a Tsuguko doesn’t mean you get out of going on missions yourself. But what If you don’t return on time? What if you are injured?

Completing missions was never difficult for you, a perk of being a Tsuguko. Personal training by a Hashira has honed your skills. Your technique appears flawless, ensuring success on most tasks. As long as you didn’t run into any upper moons you’d be perfectly fine. Right?

That was your assumption until you reached your destination: a clearing tucked in the heart of a forest. Surrounded by miles of wilderness in every direction. You’d already spent too long traveling a different route due to the weather so you were technically a few days behind.

Upon your arrival, you immediately spotted the clearing, but to your surprise, a demon stood at its center—your target, it has to be.

You drew your sword slowly, cautious not to draw immediate attention to yourself as you approached. Upon getting a clearer view, you studied the demon's appearance intently.

It stood tall, with long white hair and a bluish tint to its skin.

But it must have noticed you staring, as it whipped its head around in seconds.

Its bright red eyes looked terrifying, and its long, claw like nails only added to its unsettling appearance.

You assumed your stance and charged at the demon, employing the breathing technique Kyojuro had tirelessly trained you to master.

However, as you closed the distance, an odd sensation crept over your body, causing everything to seem to move in slow motion.

Looking up, you noticed the demon sporting a creepy grin on its face. With a deliberate motion, it slowly raised its hand, dragging its disgusting claws down your left side.

The sudden surge of pain was intense.

Suddenly, time seemed to unfreeze as you plummeted to the ground in an instant. Looking around, you realized the demon had vanished without a trace.

Not a single hit landed, and it had slipped away.

Despite the searing pain, you attempted to stand, but the agony was overwhelming. Glancing down at your blood-soaked uniform and the wound beneath it, the fight wasn't over.

You couldn't stop now, not with the demon's still alive. That's what you tried to convince yourself.

You attempted to push yourself off the ground, but the pain held you back, causing your vision to blur and your eyelids to grow heavy.

"Am I bleeding out?" The thought flashed through your mind as your head connected with the ground.

It felt like mere seconds had passed when you were abruptly pulled out of unconsciousness by the sounds of yelling and talking.

"Y/N? Y/N?" The voice sounded oddly familiar.

"If you bleed out like this, you'll die in literally the most un-flashy way possible," the voice continued.

Ah, Tengen.

Through the small slit of your eyes, you saw him crouched down in front of you.

"There you are. Glad you're finally awake. I was worried you'd be dead for sure," he chuckled.

As you fully opened your eyes, I noticed that your side had been somewhat bandaged up, though it wasn't exactly top-tier first aid.

He frowned. "Look, I'm aware I'm not Shinobu, but it'll do until we get back."

You nod slowly and manage to push yourself back to your feet.

"How... how long was I out for?" You ask him nervously.

"Well, considering Rengoku paced around HQ to the point where the master sent him off on some pointless mission, I'd say quite a while," he rolled his eyes.

"I'm serious. How long has it been?" You ask again.

He stops and thinks for a second. "You've probably only been out for a day and a half, but technically, you should have been back two days ago."

Your heart begins to race. You've been out far too long, undoubtedly causing Kyo worry. What if he's angry? Did the master really have to send him off on a mission to calm down?

Your mind races a mile a minute before you finally acknowledge Tengen again.

"Let's head back now. When will Kyojuro return?" Your voice sounds desperate. You want to see him. You need to see him.

He crosses his arms in front of his chest. "Rengoku is probably almost back by now. Like I said, it was just a lame mission to get him to mellow out for a second."

Suddenly, his hard, sarcastic gaze softens with a hint of concern. "Hey, come on, I'll help you back. I know you're probably in a lot of pain right now."

As he extended his hand to you, you finally accepted it. You liked Tengen; he was a good friend to Kyojuro, and really, that's all you cared about. He could be a complete asshole or a genuinely kind person, but you just got lucky today.

It took a while, but he was fast. Together, you both made it back to headquarters in half the time it would have taken alone.

When you finally arrived, he guided you straight to the Butterfly Mansion to get your injury taken care of.

Shinobu took you in and started to properly disinfect and re-bandage your wound.

You stare at her silently as she patches you up. Shinobu always wears that lifeless smile, yet she still looks remarkably beautiful. You know her story and admire her persistence and her invaluable contributions to the demon slayer corps.

"Y/N, you need to rest. I'll have Tengen inform the master about the demon that got away," her voice maintains its usual tone, neither angry nor particularly happy.

"I wasn't able to kill it. I'm sorry," you confess, feeling the weight of failure on your shoulders. That demon may not have been an upper moon, but it was undeniably strong. You almost feel embarrassed. Did you underestimate the demon, or were you too overconfident in your abilities?

Your thoughts are interrupted when Shinobu tilts your chin to look at her. "I assume you aren't used to failure, are you?" Her expression changes; instead of her usual painted smile, this time it seems genuinely sympathetic.

You feel embarrassment wash over you; she read you like a book.

"Y/N, not every mission will end in victory. It's enough that you didn't bleed out on the ground. I think that alone will make Rengoku very happy," Shinobu reassures you.

Shinobu could be extremely harsh, maybe even downright mean sometimes, but right now, she's comforting you. It feels good.

"Thank you, I really needed to hear that—"

You are interrupted by the sound of a crow flying around the mansion.

"Master Rengoku has returned from his mission!" it caws loudly.

Suddenly, the stress floods back over you. You've never been injured like this before. How will he react?

Shinobu notices your reaction and steps back from you.

"I'll be going now. Try to rest up while your injuries heal. I'll check back on you in a few hours."

You watch her leave, wondering if she's going to tell Kyojuro you're here. Does she already know how he'll react to the situation? Is it really even that big of a deal?

Maybe you're just overthinking this. As a Tsuguko, it's understandable that you'd sustain injuries every now and then. As a partner though…it's different.

What was only minutes felt like hours, but eventually, you heard the sounds of the doors to the mansion open.

You recognized those footsteps; you had heard them every day of your life.

Once the doors finally opened, you saw Kyojuro. His eyes scanned you up and down, taking you in before he officially entered the room.

He looked so relieved but also worried as he walked over next to you, sitting in a chair beside the bed.

Before you could say anything, he took both your hands in his and rested his head on top of them.

"Thank goodness you're safe. I was so worried," his voice was quiet and gentle.

You didn't know what reaction to expect, but it wasn't this one.

A couple of moments of silence passed, and he finally lifted his head to look at you again. This time, his face seemed more serious.

"What happened out there? What demon did this to you?" His serious tone wasn't one you ever got used to.

"I'm not sure," you admit.

"If I'm being completely honest with you, I didn't get the chance to learn much about it at all. All I know is that it has the ability to slow down its surroundings, allowing it to attack at a normal rate, and that's how I got here." It felt embarrassing to admit your failure, but his face showed understanding.

Kyojuro knew how hard you had worked and trained, and every solo mission you went on had been a complete success up until this point. So honestly, he seemed just as shocked as you were.

Once he noticed your bandaged wound his serious face changed into a worried and sympathetic one.

"I'm so sorry, sunflower. I should've looked into the mission more before agreeing to let you go. I would never want you to be put in such a position," he said, pushing a piece of your hair behind your ear and staring into your eyes.

The embarrassment you tried to shut out just came rushing back in that moment.

"Please don't pity me. I failed my mission. It's all my fault. I understand if you are disappointed, but once I heal, I will make sure to find that demon and take it down."

He looked surprised for a moment, then a small smile appeared on his face.

"Little flame, there is no doubt in my mind that you are a skilled swordsman. I'm grateful not only to have you as my Tsuguko but also as my partner," he said, reaching up and planting a small kiss on your forehead.

"Don't be so hard on yourself, my love. You did your best! As long as you return home to me at the end of the day, I will never be disappointed in you."

Your heart melted at his words. Kyo would never be angry with you. He loved you. All he ever wanted was for you to be safe and happy.

His bright, happy smile made everything in the world seem good again. You wanted to just wrap your arms around him and hold on tight.

Then he stood up, wrapping his arms around your shoulders gently.

You finally felt the weight of the situation being lifted off your shoulders. The demon, the fear of bleeding out on the ground, the idea of disappointing Kyojuro, all of it gone.

Tears escaped the corners of your eyes. You hadn't let yourself cry this entire time, but his arms felt safe. As long as Kyojuro was there to support you, you finally felt vulnerable.

Kyojuro's arms felt so protective around you as you cried into him. He knew the stress you had been put through was probably overwhelming.

And even though he'd never show it, his anger made him vow to find this demon and ensure it would never hurt you again.

[holllandtrash]

in you, i trust | mick schumacher social media au

pairing: mick schumacher x reader

after the it couple of formula 1 go months without any interactions, the fans start to speculate what's going on. there's no way mick and you are over...right?

wagupdatesf1

liked by jemmaf1, formula1wags and 23,403 others

tagged: dbook & yourusername

wagupdatesf1 (ex?)Girlfriend of Mercedes Reserve Driver, Mick Schumacher seen with a man during her Cabo trip - pictures taken 14 hours apart

view all 315 comments

orangelando "with a man" YOU MEAN DEVIN BOOKER

44hamilton how does she go from f1 driver and certified lover boy mick to a phoenix suns basketball player HOW DO THEY EVEN KNOW EACH OTHER

mickisbabyboy so does this mean her and mick are over...? 🥺

michschumacher added to their story

yourusername

liked by riabish, lissiemackintosh and 54,203 others

yourusername i'm doing better than i ever was

view all 59 comments

schumyys only here to see if mick commented

boxboxpls remember when mick used to comment 500 heart eye emojis i miss those days

sebbymick am i reading into the caption too much or is this her fr announcing she's single

f1

liked by mickschumacher, mercedesamgf1 and 580,024 others

f1 Mick Schumacher is going to drive father Michael's @mercedesamgf1 W02 from the 2011 season at the Goodwood Festival of Speed! ✨

Now this, is special 🥹

view all 892 comments

mercedesamgf1 can't wait to see it!!

formulafanclub sooo exciting!!! complimentary tissues better be given with each ticket purchase

wtf1jemma so if yn doesn't show up to the goodwood festival of speed then we know something's up

mercedesamgf1

liked by yourusername, lewishamilton and 312,384 others

tagged: lewishamilton & georgerussell

mercedesamgf1 Blimey! It’s British GP Race Week at Silverstone. ❤️🤍💙

view all 975 comments

freepracticespls Y/N LIKED THE PHOTO THIS IS GOOD RIGHT

lewishamilton ❤️

lightsoutmick if y/n isn't there this weekend i will actually throw myself onto the track at lights out she HAS to be there

yourusername

liked by landonorris, mickschumacher and 36,024 others

yourusername good vibes good friends good city

view all 236 comments

whoislewis it has officially been 5 months since we got any mick content from y/n

formulanever no i think it's been 6

samgoesracing BESTIE ARE YOU STILL WITH MICK OR NOT

mickschumacher added to their story

yourusername

liked by mickschumacher, dbook and 76,203 others

yourusername As many of you know, I spent majority of 2021 and 2022 traveling the world with Mick for formula 1. Because of that, my life was put on hold. While I cherish those days, I lost sight of who I was. 

Six months ago, Mick and I amicably decided to take a break. While the decision wasn’t easy, it was what was best for both of us as we both were in transitional points in our lives. During this time, I have traveled the world, for myself, and started to journal what I learned from locals, friends and strangers. Early on into this journey, I realized that my experiences were something that should be shared as I know we all go through times times when we feel lost and unsure of who we are. 

‘In Me, I Trust’ is available now and is a collection of my stories, thoughts and advice. I hope you take what you need from it ♡ 

view all 728 comments

dbook 10/10 stars

yourusername dev you're only saying that because there's a whole page dedicated to you dbook only a page??? i thought i had a whole chapter

slowdowninthepits SHE WAS WRITING A BOOK THIS WHOLE TIME!! sneaky sneaky

kissformick wait so does this mean her and mick are officially over 🥺🥺🥺 we really are children of divorce

mickschumacher

liked by yourusername, danielricciardo and 414,500 others

mickschumacher worth the wait

view all 1,303 comments

paddockbabes THE BOOK WAS WORTH THE WAIT OR SHE WAS

hamilgrussell IS THAT AN OLD PICTURE OR A NEW ONE I CAN'T TELL

0304mclarenss stop did y/n really send him a personalized copy im sobbing

ricciardoscafe "much like this book has found its way to you, i know my love will too" THAT MEANS THEY'RE GETTING BACK TOGETHER RIGHT?? RIGHT???/ SAY YES RIGHT NOW

yourusername

liked by mercedesamgf1, dbook and 73,22 others

tagged: mickschumacher

yourusername in you, i trust

view all 833 comments

mickschumacher did you re-name your book?

yourusername no that's the sequel, limited copies though, probably just for your eyes only

mcnorris all is right in the world!! mom and dad are reunited!!!

lovelylewis only y/n would write a book on being single and how to grow while being alone and then go right back to mick

formulanever i don't blame her

haven't done a smau in a while, hope ya'll liked it ♡

[cottoncandyswisherz]

anonymous

bsf!triplets x depressed!reader

warnings: describes imposter syndrome, and poor mental health. this is so sad and i'm sorry. if you are not comfortable or stable enough to read this, then please dont because it might make it worse.

-

im laying in my bed when i hear the knock on my front door. i don't wanna get up. i just wanna lay here until my skin has fused with the mattress, so i ignore the knocking until it turns to pounding and makes the ache in my head even worse. 

i try to get up but i get dizzy so i plant my feet on the cold tile and sit at the edge of my bed for a moment. when i think i'm good i trudge to the door, and when i open it i see nick, matt and chris on my doorstop. chris has his phone to his ear but his arm falls when he see's me. 

chris's pov

holy shit. 

"i was just calling you to let you know that it was us at the door. " i told her. she only nods he head and walks back into her house, leaving the door open to let us know we can come in. 

my brothers and i all look at each other before we step inside. we know what each other are thinking.

she's not okay.

usually when we come back to boston, she's at our house when we get there. but we've been here three days and we hadn't seen her. when we called her, her phone goes straight to voicemail, our texts don't deliver and when we came yesterday she didn't answer the door. 

she's all of our friend but she's always been closer to me than matt or nick. she says because it's because i reciprocate her chaotic energy.

when we enter the living room, everything is in order. her kitchen is clean, and her bedroom door is closed. 

she still hasn't said anything. she won't even look at us. she just sits on the couch and picks at her nails. 

i look at nick in a way that says, what the fuck do we do? his look back says i have no fucking clue and we both nudge matt, who's eyes haven't left her since she opened the door. he looks at us and i can't tell what he's thinking. 

"we've been calling you since we got home." he says, walking over to the couch and sitting on the side opposite to her. "no answer. our messages didn't go through either."

she just blinks and says "my phone must be dead." he voice is scratchy and it sounds so weak that i just wanna hug her. 

"for three days?" nick asks, sitting on the floor in front of her in the living room. she just nodded. 

i make my way to her other couch and sit down. "and we came yesterday, but you didn't answer the door."

reader's pov

three days? 

the thing about depression is, it kinda collapses time. i don't even know what day it is right now. i feel like shit knowing they've been trying to reach me, but i can't find the energy to speak long enough to apologize.

"sorry." is what i come with. 

matts pov

chris, being the person he is states the obvious. "you don't look so good right now... like i don't recognize you right now."

my heart breaks when i see her head fall and a tear fall into her lap. "i don't recognize myself either, chris." when she speaks its a whisper. but the silence is so loud that we all hear it. 

then she wipes her face and lifts her head only to look at her reflection in the flatscreen that's powered off. 

"what's going on?" nick asks. 

she chuckles at that, but her eyes never leave her reflection. "i wish i could explain it. "

i decide that maybe i should say something, instead of just staring at her. "try."

she's silent for a moment. "you know how sometimes-" she swallows. "you know how sometimes you just look in the mirror and you don't know who you are anymore?" more tears slide down her face. "and you don't know how you got to the point you're at. and then that reality sets in that you've felt so.... so empty and anonymous for a while." her eyebrows furrow as she keep staring at herself. "but you didn't realize you were feeling it because you were so caught up in making sure everyone else was good because they have it worse than you and you really have no reason to feel that way. they became the priority." she sucks in a breath and wipes her face, even though new tear replace the old ones instantly. "but then you're looking in this mirror. and you see yourself. but it's not you. that it looks like you, but it's not you. it cant be. because this person in the mirror looks like everything is okay, but it's not okay. and so you try to make it okay... but you don't think it can ever really be okay anymore because you don't remember what okay feels like." 

and now she's silent. her face is blank and she won't stop looking at the tv. 

chris and nick keep looking at me like i know what to do right now. 

i don't.

but i do what i want someone to do if it was me in this situation. i get up and walk to her side of the couch and wrap my arms around her and that's when she breaks. 

her sobs vibrate through my chest and i hold her tighter. "i don't know who i am anymore, matt."

nicks pov

what. the. fuck. is going on?

i'm sitting here looking at my friend, who's face was stuck in a permanent smile yet i don't even remember what her smile looks like. 

i can't even begin to think about her smiling because her face is contorted in a way that shows how much pain she's in.

i can see how tired she is, because her dark circles are almost black. i can tell she hasn't showered because her hair is matted and i can see that she hasn't been eating because her face is so pale. 

she's been withering away in this house, while i've been making jokes for a camera. 

all i can do to show how sorry i feel is crawl from my spot on the floor and lay my head in her lap. "i wish it was different, babe." 

"so do i." she mutters.

readers pov

they must think i'm crazy. because matt never hugs people that aren't his brothers or parents, and nick has never called me babe. and i know chris thinks i'm fucked because he's just sitting on my couch staring at the floor while i'm drowning in both his brothers arms. 

we all stay like this for a while. nick and matt holding me while i just pathetically weep and chris in utter silence. 

until he's not silent. "why didn't you call me?" he almost sounds hurt. 

i know what i want to say.that i didn't call anyone. that i'm embarrassed. that i'm the person everyone goes to with their problems so how can i can go to them that i feel hollow when nothing is happening in my life for me to feel that way. 

but again, i don't have it in me to talk. so i just shrug. 

and he get's up from and walks over to me, pulling me away from nick and matt and making me stand up. 

his grip on my biceps is tight as he speaks. "you should have called me..." and he hugs me so tight that the little air i have left in my lungs is knocked out of me. 

and now we're just crying. me into his chest, him into my shoulder. at some point, nick and matt get up and join us and we all just hold each other until we've telepathically said everything that needs to be said. 

niyah speaks🤍 last sad one for now lollll

taglist: @mattslolita @muwapsturniolo @jnkvivi @sturnsslut @koilaniazul @thisisntmattsturniolo @nyktoxs-lover @l0akkzz @zainabthescientist @chaossturns

[purple-imagines]

Bloated?

Pairing - Paul Lahote x FemaleReader

Summary - Reader starts gaining weight and the pack starts noticing

Warnings - body shaming, kissing, swearing, pregnancy, vomiting, period talk, Jacob being an ass, kinda ooc

Word Count - 3693

Masterlist

Friday, June 6th

"Em?" Y/N asked looking into the mirror at her stomach. "Does my stomach look, I dont know, bloated to you?"

"Um, yeah, maybe a little bit. I dont think it's anything to worry about though." The older woman replied, after looking at the girls stomach.

"I just feel like I'm getting fat. Paul probably notices too." She put her head down.

"Honey, that boy loves you more than anything. You're his whole world. You have nothing to worry about. He imprinted on you and he loves you. Now stop putting yourself down and help me make this food for them animals."

The girl laughed and started getting the table set.

Tuesday, June 10th

"Hm. That's weird."

"What?" Leah asked, the girl staying at her house.

"Nothing, just my period was supposed to start 3 days ago. I'm sure it's fine, this happens sometimes."

"If you're sure, and hurry up Elijah is about to kill Klaus."

Thursday, June 19th

The girl let out a groan, flushing the toilet after being woken up with the sudden urge to vomit.

Saturday, June 21st

All the girls, Emily, Leah, Kim, and Y/N, were all out shopping and having a girls day.

While Leah and Kim were looking through sets of bikinis. Y/N pulled Emily to the side.

"Em, I think I might be pregnant."

"What? Why do you think that??"

"Um, my periods late, my stomach looks bloated, and I've been throwing up. Not to mention Paul made my favorite dinner the other night and I couldn't stand the smell."

"We need to get you a test then, Hon."

***

After Leah and Kim left, Emily let Y/N go into the bathroom to take the test.

Coming out the bathroom, Y/N starts stressing. "What if its positive? What will Paul think? How do I deal with this?"

"Hey. Hey. Just breath. Let's first figure out if you're pregnant or not." Emily calmly says.

"Yeah, you're right." Taking a deep breath she starts to calm, until the timer goes off and her eyes get wide. "Can you check?"

Emily walks into the bathroom and looks at the test, coming out with tears in her eyes. "Um, yeah, you're pregnant"

"Oh mi gosh. Em, what am I supposed to do? Paul and I haven't even talked about kids. What if he doesn't want any?"

"Don't jump to conclusions. Take a couple days to think, and tell Paul when you're ready."

"Thank you, Emily. You always know what to say." The girl wraps her arms around the woman.

Wednesday, June 25th

The imprints made burgers and the pack was having a cookout. Everyone was making their plates. Y/N started to make her plate putting 2 burgers, each with cheese, tomato, onion, and chili. Put a little bit of slaw on the side and some chips.

"Dang girl, you're hungry today." Embry joked, making the girl laugh.

"He's not kidding you are eating a lot more lately." Jacob grumbled.

The girl got quiet and let out a silent "oh".

"What was that? Jacob." Paul growled.

"I'm just saying look at her Paul, everyone here notices how big she's getting. Maybe she should cut back."

After hearing that the girl started to stand up. Paul grabbing her hand. "Its fine, Paul. I'm just gonna go home."

She quietly grabbed her bag and apologized for the inconvenience. "Sorry, I didn't realize I did that. You can have them." Then she walked out the house. Leah chasing after her.

"What the fuck Jacob?!" Paul yelled.

"Paul." Sam warned.

"No Sam. He called her fat, she's not fat."

"We don't need a fight to break out."

"If he didn't want a fight he wouldn't have said anything."

"Paul. Enough."

Paul was shaking horribly. Sam pushed him out the house.

"Really Jacob?!" Jared called, running after Sam and Paul.

"Why is everyone so mad? I just told her how it was. You all can see how much bigger she's getting." Jacob tried to justify himself.

"That doesn't mean that you point it out." Seth told him.

"I know you were all thinking it. Just because I have the guts to tell Paul how it is doesn't make me the bad guy."

"Maybe you should learn the whole story before you go around hurting people."

"Seth. What's that supposed to mean? Seth!"

Seth ran out the house, hoping to find Leah and Y/N.

"Embry? Even you said something."

"I was joking Jake. What you did was uncalled for." Embry scoffed.

"Come on."

"Just stop Jacob." Emily snapped, causing the three left there to widen there eyes.

"Emily. Seriously? You know she's bigger!" Jacob was getting angry.

"Yeah, Jacob. She's eating more and getting bigger, but it's none of your business!" Emily snapped again.

"What if eating so much is hurting her?"

"It's not though, Jacob."

"How do you know??"

"Jacob when she is ready you'll know. Until then shut up."

"Sorry, damn."

***

"Y/N!"

"Y/N"

"Damn, you're fast."

"What do you want Leah?" Y/N sighed as she stopped and turned around, her eyes red and puffy.

"Don't listen to Jacob. He's an asshole."

"I don't care about what Jake said."

"You do or you wouldn't be crying."

"He called me fat Leah. I've never been called that before." She started to tear up. "And it's not even that I'm fat."

"What is it then?"

"Leah...I'm pregnant."

"What!? That's great news."

"Yeah, except for the fact everyone thinks I'm a pig now."

"They do not. If anyone's a pig it's Jacob. Now come on, you need the feed that little one."

***

"Paul!"

"Calm down!"

"Shift back!"

Sam phased into his wolf.

"Paul!"

"He's such an asshole." Paul snarled.

"You need to shift back. Calm down."

"I'm going to rip his throat out."

"Paul!"

"Come on Paul. She needs you." Jared joined.

"I'm trying! I can't control it."

"Calm your thoughts. Breath."

Paul started to shift back, pulling up his shorts in the process. Jared and Sam following shortly after.

***

"Y/N/N! Are you ok? You know Jake doesn't mean to be an ass." Seth tried to reassure the girl.

The girl laughed and grabbed Seth's hands. "Yes. I'm good. Thank you for checking up on me."

It was quiet for a few moments as the trio started walking back to the house. "So..." Seth piped up. "Does she know?"

Leah gasped. "What?! Know?! You told Seth before you told me!"

"He wasn't supposed to find out! He walked in on me having a meltdown about Paul." Y/N defended herself.

"Shit." The girl squeaked. "Paul! He's going to be asking questions. What am I supposed to tell him! I'm not ready. I just found out myself. I need to process this more. Stupid Jacob and his stupid big mouth!"

"Hey! Hey. Just breathe. Paul will understand if you don't want to talk." Leah reassured.

"Are you sure? Because Paul-"

Seth cut the girl off. "She's sure Y/N/N. He wouldn't pressure you into telling him something you don't want to. Now let's go eat I'm sure Little Bit in there is starving."

Both girls let out laughs.

"Um, guys, actually I was just going to go home. I don't wanna face Jacob's apologizes right now."

"Y/F/N you need to eat." Leah demanded.

"Just bring me something when you're finished? Please."

Leah sighed, knowing she wasn't changing the girls decision. "Fine. But you better eat everything I bring you."

"Pinky promise." She held up both her pinkies to Seth and Leah, Seth grabbing her pinky with his, giggling. Leah rolled her eyes, but nevertheless did the same.

"And..." The girl trailed. "Tell Paul that I took his truck. And that I'm ok?"

"So needy." Leah joked, dragging the 'y'.

"But fine I can do that."

"Thank you! You two are the best!"

"We know." They both said at the same time, causing the trio to laugh.

***

Back at home, the girl, took off her shoes and changed into pajama shorts and one of Paul's shirts.

Turning on her and Leah's favorite show to watch, 'The Vampire Diaries'. It was nice to watch people play supernatural creatures. Got their minds off of the real ones that loomed outside.

***

"Finally!" Was the first thing Leah and Seth heard as they walked through the door into Emily's and Sam's.

"Where's Y/N?" Was the second.

Leah was the one to tell Paul the situation.

"So, you just let her leave?" Paul said.

"Yes. She is a grown woman Paul." Leah retorted.

"She didn't even eat."

"I told her I would bring her something."

"I think I should go over there."

"No, you shouldn't." Sam butted in.

"And why not?!"

"Because Paul you just shifted you don't need to do that around her."

"I wouldn't hurt her." Paul glared.

"That's not the point. I said no and my answer is final. You will not go over to Y/N's tonight." Using his alpha voice, making Paul growl and leave the table.

***

"Is it bad that I'm kind of glad Sam did that?" The girl let out to her best friend.

"Yes!" Leah exclaimed.

"I just- I don't know what I would say to him."

"Your fear of confrontation is peeking through."

"Leah! This is serious."

"And I'm being serious. Paul deserves to know."

"I know. I'm just..." The girl let out a sigh. "Scared."

"You should never be scared with him. He looks at you like you're his sun. The thing that is keeping him alive."

"What if he doesn't want a baby? What if this is the one thing he can't handle with me." She whispered.

"That boy would love to start a family with you. The timing may not be ideal, but I've seen the way he looks at you. I saw the way he looked at you before the imprint. You are his literal everything and not just because fate decided you were destined. You were meant to have forever with each other way before fate decided it."

Y/N had tears in her eyes by the time Leah had finished. "I really needed that Leah." She sniffled. "I guess, sometimes, my insecurities take over. I've just been so scared, with the vampires and Bella. There's no time for a baby. Not in his life. He already has so much on him. Why do I need to add more?"

"Quit putting yourself down. You know you come first, when it comes to anything with Paul. A baby is not a burden, or something that just adds pressure. A baby can bring joy and bring people together. Maybe that's what we all need right now."

"Yeah. Maybe you're right."

"No maybe about it. I am right."

"Oh so modest." The girls giggled.

Thursday, June 26th

Awoken to heavy knocks on the front door, both girls growned, having stayed up most of the night talking.

"Y/N. Get the door." Leah grumbled.

"Why me?" The girl whined.

"It's your house."

"You kept me up all night."

"You mean you kept me up all night."

"No."

"Just open the door."

"Fine." She whined, pushing herself out of bed, looking at the clock on her nightstand that read 8:07 am.

Stomping to the door, grumbling profanities the whole way. She pulled the door open only to be greeted with-

"Paul?"

"Hey! I couldn't sleep without making sure you were ok. Jacob was an asshole. He never should have said those untrue things. I love your body and you should too. I think you're beautiful, inside and out. I don't care that you can eat two burgers, I love a woman that can hold her food. Yo-"

"Paul." She cut him off. "As sweet as this is, can we do it later? I'm sorry. Leah kept me up until 5 this morning and all I wanna do is curl up and take a hundred year nap."

"Yeah. Yeah. Of course. Want a cuddle buddy?" A smirk slowly rising on his face.

"You know I could never turn you down." She grinned pulling him inside and onto the couch.

***

By the time the girl woke Paul was already gone, a note in his place, telling her he had patrol but would be back after.

Leah was gone too, so the girl assumed the pack needed her as well.

Grabbing some clothes, she went into the bathroom and turned on the shower.

***

After a much needed shower, Y/N looked out the window and noticed Paul's truck still in the driveway and his keys still on her nightstand.

Grabbing the keys, and getting in the truck, she started her drive to Emily's.

***

"Hey Em." She called, walking inside.

"Heyyyy." Said girl peeked her head out the kitchen. "I need to talk to you."

"Ok, nothing stressful about that sentence at all."

"Have you told Paul?"

"Diving right in, I see." She muttered.

"Huh?" Emily called from the kitchen.

"Oh! Uh- no I haven't."

"Do you know when you're going to? Because I think you should soon, it'll make all this doubt you have go away."

"I don't know. Soon though, promise!"

Tuesday, July 7th

Everyone was gathered around Emily and Sam's table, laughing and joking around. Well, everyone except Jacob he was upset with Bella, which made him brood.

Y/N sat beside Paul, occasionally stealing the tomatoes off his plate, he always put them to the side for her to grab because they were her favorites and he wasn't that fond of them.

Going unnoticed by the pack and the imprints, everytime she'd take one Jacob would roll his eyes and scoff.

Grabbing the last one of Paul's plate and about to put it in her mouth she was stopped by Jacob's rude voice.

"Are you serious?" He scoffed.

Everyone looked around confused as to what his sudden outburst was about.

"Everything ok, Jacob?" Emily asked.

Jacob let out a little laugh and clicked his tongue.

This time Y/N spoke up.

"Are you upset, Jacob?"

"Me? What? No." He paused. "I do think Paul should be though."

"Why would Paul be upset?" You furrowed your eyebrows.

"Because his girlfriend has already had more than enough, but she's still eating. And not just that but taking it off his plate. Do you really need that much food Y/N? All it does is make you fatter, which is definitely not something you need. If anything you need to exercise more." He spat at her.

His outburst caused Kim and Emily to let out gasps. Jared and Paul standing up.

Paul had his mouth open about to say something but before he could Y/N interrupted.

"Paul. It's fine. He can feel the way he feels. I'm just gonna go home."

"No you're not." Emily piped in. "Jacob if you could please leave."

"What?" Jacob exclaimed.

"I asked if you could leave, I expect you to use respect in my house and until I see you give some to Y/N I want you to leave."

"She's not even apart of the pack."

"She's an imprint. We are apart of this pack, now are you gonna apologize or did I need to get Paul to escort you out?"

Jacob scuffed, "I'm sorry I called you fat, it may be true but it was not nice of me to say."

Paul was fuming, "I accept your apology"

"No she doesn't." Paul vented.

"Paul, it's fine I don't wanna cause a fight."

"You're not causing the fight. He is."

"He apologized. That's enough. Let's finish eating, then I have to tell you something."

***

"You wanted to tell me something?" Paul said, as he drove them home.

"Can it wait? I'm really tired and just wanna go to sleep."

"Of course, Sweetheart." He kisses her temple.

Thursday, July 9th

"I'm telling him."

All three girls let out simultaneous screams.

"Finally!" Emily exclaimed.

"Took you long enough" Leah joked.

"I still can't believe you're pregnant." Kim gasped.

"Well maybe I should wait a little longer, maybe until August?" Y/N let out a cheeky grin.

"No!" All three girls yelled.

The guys were on patrol and the imprints had the house to themselves. There was a knock at the door.

The girl laughed as she got up to get the door.

"Are you expecting anyone?" Leah questioned Emily.

"No." Emily whispered out.

"Y/N don't answer that." Leah called.

"Guys I invited someone." Y/N answered back.

"Who? We're your only friends." Leah joked.

Y/N opened the door, only for Bella to be standing awkwardly on the other side.

"Hi! Come in. Come in."

"No." Leah deadpanned.

"I thought it would be nice. Jacob really likes her."

"Why do you care what Jacob thinks? He's an ass."

"He wasn't always one. And a friend of Jake's is a friend of ours."

"Well, I think it was nice of Y/N to invite Bella. Make yourself at home Bella, the guys shouldn't be back for a while so it's just us girls. Right now we're just talking but later we're baking!" Emily clapped.

"Ok." Bella squeaked out.

"I don't think we've met. I'm Kim." She introduced herself.

"Bella." She said and waved.

"Well sit down, come on." Emily waved her over. "You ok if we still talk about.."

"Of course! As long as you promise not to tell the guys." Y/N put on her best serious face and looked Bella dead in her eyes.

"I barely talk to them."

"You can't tell Jacob."

"I won't tell Jacob."

"Ok..well I'm pregnant, the baby is Paul's and I haven't told him yet."

"Omg. Congratulations."

"Thank you! I'm kinda in this adrenaline thing right now and I'm hoping it won't wear off by the time Paul gets here." The girls giggled.

"So. Boys!" Emily exclaimed. "Jared?"

"We're really good. He's the greatest. The other day he tried to make me breakfast in bed, he got up really early, my parents were out of town, word of advice Em, never and I mean ever let Jared in the kitchen. It was sweet though he brought me fried eggs and bacon, only all of it was black." Kim laughed at the memory. "And I have a burnt spot on the wall in my kitchen, he still won't tell me what happened."

"He's such a klutz."

"But he makes it so adorable!"

The girls laughed at how in love she was.

"I already told y'all all my boy struggles." Y/N threw her hands up. "What about Sam?" She wiggled her eyebrows, causing the girls to let out giggles.

"Sam is..." Emily let out a sigh, "Sam is perfect. The wedding is soon, as you all know. But enough about me I wanna know about your love life Leah. Oh, and Bella would you like anything to drink, we've got wine and water, sorry not much."

"I'm good. Thank you." Bella muttered, still awkward.

"Leahhhh. Love life. Go." Emily may be a little tipsy.

"Can't talk about something that's non-existent."

"Leah don't lie. We're all friends here." Y/N blurted out.

"Fine. I did meet this girl....but that's all I'm saying!"

Emily and Kim let out pouts while Y/N laughed, maybe letting them have wine was a bad idea.

"You." Emily pointed at Bella.

"Me?" Bella questioned.

"Yes. How's your vamp?"

"Oh, um- he's nice, I guess."

"No. I need more than nice."

"He's really good at dancing." Bella shrugged.

"I need more." Emily begged.

Maybe Bella should of said yes to that wine.

***

It had been a good four hours and 4 out of 5 of the girls were more than tipsy. The 5th one just laughing her ass off at her friends.

The guys were in for a surprise when they came in. There was flour everywhere. In places where flour shouldn't be.

The girls were sitting in a circle in the kitchen, giggling, waiting on their cookies and brownies and muffins to be done. They got a little over board.

Then the door opened and the girls went silent. Sam walked through the door to be met with flour and baking ingredients all over the table and counters, along with 3 empty bottles of wine. He could hear whispers in the kitchen.

"Maybe if we stay really quiet they won't realize we're here." Emily whispered. The other girls giggling. "Shhhhh."

Sam peered over into the kitchen, watching the five girls huddle down, not noticing he was there. Hearing the guys he quieted them letting them look.

Emily peered up seeing the guys watch them causing her to squeak and the other girls to look up.

Each guy had an amused look on his face, watching the girls.

"Welp, grab one." Sam called.

Sam scooped Emily up into his arms, causing her to let out of squeal.

Jared did the same to Kim, and Jacob to Bella. Seth grabbed his sister, and Paul grabbed Y/N.

"Paul, wait, I have to tell you something" Y/N said. "I'm not drunk. I can't even drink."

He took the girl and sat her down outside. She stood in front of him, and he gave her a look to continue.

Hearing loud noises coming from the house, they both looked over only to see all four girls watching them with wide grins on their faces.

"What is happening?" Paul asked, with a confused smile.

In the background you could hear the girls screaming with excitement.

"Here goes nothing. Paul..."

"Yes."

"I'm pregnant."

Paul's face was pure shock, all the girls in the background screaming and cheering.

"We're gonna have a baby?"

"Yeah. We're gonna have a baby. It's why I've been getting bigger, as Jacob so kindly reminds me."

"I'll kill him if you want me to."

"I know you would."

"I have a question."

"Shoot."

"Why is the leech lover here?"

"I invited her. She's actually really nice. I get why Jacob likes her."

"I can't believe we're going to have a baby."

"Me neither."

"I love you so much."

"I love you too."

[rr311]

↳ confession ll katsuki bakugo

from the widow you seen he was sitting all alone outside confused to why he wasn't inside enjoying himself, you furrowed your eyebrows placing down your cup , “hey, i’ll be right back!.” you yelled over the music as your friends nodded their heads going back to their convos, walking over towards the sliding door to go outside. you slid open the door, then closed it walking towards him, "hey bakubae." you teased with a smile seeing him look up to see who it is, scoffing, looking away. "tch, told you to stop calling me that." you chuckled, sitting beside him bumping your shoulder with his, "you like it though~." katsuki groaned turning his body away but he didn't say anything. it was quiet now.

you raised a brow looking at him, he looked..flustered? "hey..you okay kat?." your voice..that soft tone. he groaned once more nodding his head, "i'm fine you idiot." you didn't buy it. "then whyre you out here all alone? are you not enjoying the party?." he quickly turned to you hearing that small disappointment tone in your voice shaking his head, "no—! I do like it, it's just..ugh!." he growled due to frustration, now you were really confused. he was acting weird, really weird. usually he would be more shouty and loud but in this case he was quiet?. "if you don't i’ll understand. you don’t have to force yourself to like it katsuki." you slightly chuckled but again he shook his head, "you damn idiot I just said i like the damn party..it's just something else." he mumbled that last part, you raised a brow,

"what is it?." why was this so hard? he's usually so confident when it came to his words but now..he was stuck. why were these feelings so damn confusing?. you could tell he was struggling by how his face was turning slightly red, furrowing your eyebrows. "kat, you don't have to tell me if you're not com-!." — "I do! just..fuck why is this so damn hard!." he snarled clenching his fists together, the more he was thinking about it the more it made him mad, it was either now or later..for months he’s been wanting to confess to you but never had enough balls to do so. you made him nervous, believe it or not you did, your brown eyes, your skin, your personality everything about you made him nervous. ever since you came from america he’s always had an eye on you, they way you would fight, your strategies, they way you talk..he even went to his mom about it!.

..he hates to admit the old hag has a wise point. “if you don’t confess now someone else from your class might take that chance away from you katsuki, just follow your heart and do what’s right.” she was right, her words echoed through his head like an annoying car alarm going off. his hands clenched into fists, he should take this chance before its too late. ugh.

"fuck it." he snarled, "wha- hmph!." your eyes were widened feeling his lips against yours, you were so shocked that you didn’t get a chance to think properly. In an instant katsuki pulled back, seeing your reaction, he thought he made a stupid mistake going to apologize but when you realized what happened, you grabbed ahold of his shirt kissing him back, his eyes went wide but they closed groaning from the rough pull instantly kissing you back. your lips were so soft and gentle, he placed a hand ontop of your cheek tilting his head to deepen it. from inside, kirishima was wondering where you went and why kaminari and the rest were by the window, furrowing his eyebrows, “hey guys what’s goin-!” he yelped feeling mina grab him by his shirt pulling him towards their level. he was confused but when mina turned his head to look outside his eyes widened, “I knew they liked each other!.” she squealed as kaminari fake sniffled, “our little bakubro is growing up.” he wiped a fake tear as the rest agreed, “who knew bakugo would pull a girl.” sero added with a small chuckle, out of all people they didn’t think you would the one he likes. I mean they knew he had a crush on someone in the class but they didn’t think it was you!.

what seemed like forever, you hummed in between his mouth before pulling back, what you didn’t expect katsuki groaned chasing after your lips again secretly liking the way they feel chuckling, “kat..” you mumbled leaning back in to only give him a peck, with a grin on your face. “Is this your way of confessing?.” you questioned trailing your hand on the back of his neck feeling him pinch you on your waist with a small grin feeling a hard glare at him. “and what if it is.” he mumbled, shaking your head giving him one last peck on the cheek before getting up, “then if it is, yes. I’ll be your girlfriend.” — “bakubae~.” you giggled hearing him groan,

“thought I told you to stop callin me that!.”

“at least it has meaning now!.”

I didn’t know how to end this shit 🤚🏼

[bratphilia]

note ✧.*‎ hiii so this is completely self indulgent so pls enjoy!! gonna post a couple fics that have been on my mind bc i wanna write when i feel inspired to as much as possible, but reqs will be answered!! anyways no thoughts just mr. afton eating it from the back.

pairing ✧.*‎ steve raglan / william afton x reader

cw ✧.*‎ stuck and fucked trope, oral sex (f receiving), knifeplay, knife fucking (insp by this post!), the usual perverted afton, death threats, dub con, slight daddy kink

taglist ✧.*‎ @dilfity @iikyutee @kissingrhi @jen-parker @kathxstuff @papyrus-the-poet @lowballbread @cecelovesbooks @bluebearieally @cybunii @van-van @iamunabletothinkofablogname @1ncidentdropout @ice-echo26 @officially-a-simp13 @all4kura @el-sol-sale-de-nuevo @littlexstarlightx @samlow23

synopsis ✧.*‎ while trying to escape the damn haunted pizzeria after a murderous rabbit comes after you, you stupidly try to leave through the vent, only to get stuck.

helpless (w. afton x reader)

you're running through the maze of halls as fast as your legs can carry you. what you're running from, exactly? some fuckhead in a rabbit suit with a knife, menacingly advancing towards you, with a cold, evil laughter reminiscent of a typical villain. there's no doubt in your mind he's set on killing you, and you can't help but feel like this position was a setup for that anyways. it would make sense why the average security guard stays no longer than a work-week.

you're headed to your office, the only place with a quick, sure-fire exit that leads directly outside the building: the vents. then you'll make a run for it to your car. it was an ambitious plan, yes, but it had to work. it was the only option you had, after all, given that the rabbit came from the normal exit.

you swing the door to the security office wide open and slam it shut behind you, cringing at the loud clang it makes when it hits the door hinges. the last thing you want is to alert that rabbit of your whereabouts. you instantly crouch down in front of the vent and unscrew it frantically with your fingers. when it breaks loose you crawl inside. the front half of your body works its way inside just fine. the bottom half of you? fuck.

it gets stuck half way around your hips, leaving no room to wriggle in or out. you were stuck. really fucking stuck. this couldn't be happening. panic washes over you in waves and you feel your sweat break out even worse. you slide your hands forward, desperate to move forward, but it doesn't help. tears form in your eyes. i'm going to die, you think, in the most humiliating position possible.

right on cue, there's a banging on the door. there's no doubt in your mind it's that fucking rabbit. in no time, the door busts open, slamming against the nearby desk in a loud bang. "there you are — oh. what's this?"

you let out a whimper in fear as you hear him shuffle towards you and bend down close by your body. you hear a shifting for a long period of time, and then his voice sounds much clearer. you realize that it was just a costume, different from the sentient animatronics you've been desperately trying to keep out of your office the past four nights. "i was planning to gut you... but i have a much better idea."

suddenly, a large hand rests on your ass, groping. you gulp, realizing his the implications of his touch. "what should i do with you, hm?" the man contemplates out loud. he pulls his hand away only to smack your ass, making you cry out and wiggle your hips automatically.

"what a whore. enjoying being at my disposal, knowing i could fucking kill you at any moment now," he spits at you. fuck, the heat at your core is becoming more and more noticeable the more he talks in that gruff voice of his threateningly. you scared, really fucking scared, and that somehow made this situation hotter.

his hand leaves your ass, then there's the sound of something metallic being picked up off the floor. "i wouldn't move if i were you," the man muses, "'less you want your sweet little body sliced open." before you can process what he said, he brings something to the seam of your pants and it slices through. your eyes widen and you shriek when you realize it's a blade.

you flatten your hands against the cool metal of the vent, already warming up with your sweat and prolonged stay there. it's even harder not to move when you're scared as fuck and can't grip onto anything. he stops once he's satisfied with the way he cut through your pants, and fuck, how will you get out of here with split pants? if you even make it out of here.

with unbelievable strength, he sticks both his hands inside the slit he made, runs the tips of his fingers teasingly along the center of your panties, before ripping the fabric of your pants even wider. when the sound of the fabric coming apart hits your ears, tears burn at your eyes from the shame of thinking about leaving like this. "beautiful," he comments, "what a fucking sight you make."

you blush at his words. he reaches forward to thumb at you through your panties. he prods his thumb at your hole, dipping in the fabric of your panties inside. you can't help but moan quietly. much to your dismay, he notices with a low chuckle. "like i said, absolute whore." you whimper at that. absolute whore. a tear slips down your face.

you forget all about that when he leans forward and presses a kiss to your panties. he lewdly inhales your scent, rubbing his nose against your panties before pressing another kiss there. fuck. you're whimpering uncontrollably. he's such a pervert; you should be embarrassed, but in your undeniable sex-craving haze, all you want him to do is pull your panties to the side and ravage you.

like you manifested it or something, he does just that. except he stretches your panties and the blade returns, slicing through the useless fabric. he lets out a low whistle at your supposedly shiny slick. "just as i thought. needy little slut, so desperate for daddy's touch."

"mhm," you murmur, resting your head down on your hands. you're so fucking horny at this point, that you want to be at the mercy of your captor.

"mhm," he parrots back to you. his face moves forward to slowly lick a stripe up your cunt.

"oh fuck," you mumble, shaking. he repeats the action, laughing slightly at your reaction while doing so. his hands come forward to part your lips, diving in fully. he shakes his face against your cunt and you feel the tickling sensation of a beard there, making you jolt.

the obscene noises he makes add to your wetness. he slurps around, suctioning his lips all over. he leaves no place untouched. he quickly smacks kisses against your clit before tongue-fucking your sobbing hole. he flicks his insanely long and tongue inside of you. you're crying and babbling incoherent words as he tortures you.

you're so close already. the way he alternates between sucking your bud into his mothing and then fucking into your hole is too much. thinking about the fact that you're completely at his mercy, nothing to grip on to, clawing desperately at the metal of the vent, practically tips you over the edge alone. just as you feel the pulse of your cunt quicken—

it's all over too soon. he removes his tongue and you cry out into the vent frustratingly, ignoring the way your voice bounces off the walls. he rests his head against your ass and listens to you sob and then coos, "aww, poor baby. i almost feel bad."

"please," you cry softly, tears running down your face.

"gonna have to be more specific, sweet thing, 'm not a mind reader, y'know." but you can't. you can't bring yourself to say you want him to fucking smother his face in your cunt. it's too embarrassing to utter, even after you shamelessly backed into his face.

he clicks his tongue. "no? well, that's a shame. if you can't say it, guess i'll just do whatever i want with you."

before you can question what the hell that means, something is shoved inside of you. not his cock, much to your dismay, but something blunt, something that stretches you out. you realize, the only thing it could possibly be, that fucking knife.

he slides it in and out, laughing at your reactions. fuck, he's so fucking cruel. your fear only adds to your arousal, and you're soaking the stick of his knife. you hate to admit it, but this probably the second best thing to his cock.

before you know it, you're drenching his knife with your orgasm. you cry out desperately into the vent. the way it echoes into the cavern is music to his ears. you slam your hands against the vent and shake uncontrollably. he slowly pulls the knife away, intentionally torturing you as you hiccup in sobs. you're fucked out already, in a state of absolute post-sex haze.

he presses a surprisingly soft kiss against one globe of your ass and rubs on it. as you calm down, he's cooing at you again, whispering about how you're such a good girl for him, did so well.