#gojou

[thiniceofeternalyouth]

MISLEADIN' ME SERIES: CHAPTER EIGHT

COLD WASTELAND

⊳ Gojo Satoru x f!reader

series masterlist

Genre: angst, fluff, sci-fi, cosmology.

Words count: ~13k

(hey im still alive and i will release three more chapters next week)

⊲ previous

[December 6, 2019; 12:32 am; Hopetown].

All the possible scenery that Gojo could have seen on the way home was invisible to him - you and your grateful expression were in front of his eyes. There were no sounds of the surroundings and no one's voices for him – only words spoken aloud and those that never left his lips were rushing in his head.

One random tap on his shoulder was what made Gojo come to his senses. He was already standing in the middle of the living room, and the place was overly hectic, but it wasn't the kind of bustle that was inherent in the holidays. All the whispers and quiet conversations in the room spread across his back like someone's bony hands, leaving behind only an aching sensation and a chill. A single girlish sob made those hands pierce the flesh, running the cold deep beneath the skin. "What's going on here?" asked Gojo, confused, shifting his gaze from Frank to the crying Danielle.  

Frank fussily poured water into a glass. "Son, I'm sorry I pushed ya. Didn't even notice ya," he hurried over to the lump-like Danielle sitting on the couch and handed her the glass; the girl took it with trembling hands and took a couple of convulsive sips as Frank wrapped her tighter in the blanket. Pulling away from Danielle, Frank turned to Gojo. "Ya just don't worry too much. I don't know how it happened, but Megumi ended up in the void. I've already sent Kyle and Issu, now Rachel will be back too, I'll feed her quickly and send her back to search. Everything will be fine."

"I-" Danielle started, but was interrupted by her own sobs. "I-I don't know how it happened- We- We were just lying there, talking, a-and then all of a sudden- Oh my God," with each word she managed to say, the lump from the new tears coming up clenched her throat more and more, and when the limit was reached, she started crying again. "I don't know, I just saw a flash and he disappeared. I-I don't know," pressing the glass to her forehead she shook her head with such force that water spurted over the edge.

The bad news sounded absurd, but with each passing second, the tight feeling in his chest only grew. The single question knocked everything else out of Gojo's head and began to flit back and forth until it was on the tip of his tongue. "Is this some kinda joke?" 

"I'm afraid not, son," Frank clapped him on the shoulder, and at the same moment, a faint purple flash showed somewhere in the distance. "There's Rachel. Give us fifteen minutes," the man had already thrown on his jacket. "It'll be okay," he added quietly before heading out the door.

Gojo stayed in the room with Danielle, and he knew that if he couldn't let his emotions out in private, he had no right to do so in front of the child.

He walked over to the couch where Dany was sitting and clumsily plopped down. Gojo put his foot on the leg and glanced stealthily at the girl - she still sat shrunken and twitching. "You know," he said, smiling nonchalantly. "He is very much like his father. Not just in looks," the smile was replaced for a moment by a grimace of disgust. "Megumi's just as stubborn, and just as much of a pain in the ass. Also tenacious, to top it off," Gojo sighed and leaned his head back on the back of the couch, still keeping his eyes on Dany. "Trust me, if you knew his dad, you'd know what I'm talking about. So... He'll be fine," he added, but already addressing it himself more than Danielle.  

After a while, Danielle's sobs began to fade, but her sleepy restless sighs grew louder. She never changed her posture and fell into slumber in the same way she had cried, sitting up with her knees to her chest. 

Gojo tried his best to fall into the arms of Morpheus, but each time, at the boundary between sleep and vigor, he unconsciously raised his head and looked at his watch; time was indeed dragging for him in slow agonizing snatches. 

He was about to lay his head on the armrest in another desperate attempt to sleep, but he jumped up before anything could happen. Whether it was the violet light through the floorboards or the loud rumbling in the room above - before he could think which came first, he was running for the stairs.

Gojo opened the door to Megumi's room with such force that it nearly flew off its hinges. His student was lying on the floor, his limbs barely moving, his chest heaving, and though there was plenty of oxygen in the room, Megumi was pressing the ill-fitting mask to his face as hard as if his life depended on it. 

Gojo sat him down and leaned him against the wall in one motion, trying not to pay attention to the mask or ask hasty questions. He squeezed Megumi's cheeks with his hands and immediately grimaced – boy's skin was burning cold. "Oh, you cold as ice! Is the gut of your soul coming out?" Megumi shook his head weakly as if warding off an annoying fly. "Alright, let's go see Shoko. Better yet, to doc. It's kinda his thing."

"I'm fine," Megumi said weakly in a hoarse voice, and he even had the strength to shove Gojo's hands away from his face - a clumsy and careless movement. Something tinkled in Gojo's ear, and at that moment, something in his soul snapped. He tried not to notice, tried not to ask any questions, tried not to look around - all in vain. 

Megumi had seen all sorts of expressions on Gojo's face: happy, condescending, serious, mocking, disgusted, all of which made him want to punch that man as hard as possible. However, what was that expression now that he was examining the watch on his wrist, where was that frightened look coming from? "Megumi, where-" the voice was also barely recognizable; it was as if it was not his teacher, but his ghost that sat before him. "Where did you get that watch from?" 

[Timeless, void]

Your frostbitten skin was so tight that every slightest change in your facial expression created new bleeding cracks in your face. Even though they healed in minutes, new ones replaced them almost immediately.

Your running had long since changed to pacing, and you were dragging your feet without realizing what you were doing - everything was automatic. The feeling of sand in your shoes was so unpleasant that you thought: what if it had gotten under your skin? Everything inside creaked as if grains of sand were scraping against bones.

You climbed stubbornly up the next hill, but it was hardly a great climb; you were bent over, clinging to the surface with all your limbs. The sand kept seeping through your fingers, forcing you to dig your fingernails in even deeper until your hands sank to your elbows in the earth.

Once again, you pushed your palms into the ground with a little more force than necessary: your hands were in the sand, and your face was in the there too. You didn't immediately find the strength to raise your head, but you exhaled angrily.

How long have you been here? A week? Two? A month?

In the midst of all those thoughts, you didn't immediately notice that your numb limbs were tingling. You lifted your head and brought your hand closer to your face, trying to get a better look at it and make sure it wasn't another trick of this place. You twirled your palm, examining it. Other than the cracks, the hand looked perfectly normal. If it wasn't a trick, however…

Did that really mean it was getting warmer in this area?

You immediately snapped out of it - how long had it been warmer? Your arms began to work faster and harder, and you were no longer annoyed by your own mistakes and sliding down when you made them - you kept climbing anyway. You tried to keep your breath short: it was worth saving your strength, because if it got warmer, it could only mean one thing.

Somewhere nearby was a settlement.

The same horizon - but now its violet flames were even brighter - was still before your eyes, and you slid down the slope and breathed a sigh of relief that the path across the plain would be less thorny. Your hands were clutching at aching places - your sides, your right hip, and your left calf was cramping, and you stumbled through your own leg with every step.

Still you went forward, and the farther you went, the more immobilized bodies you saw: some of them were almost buried under the sand; some had hardly a dozen grains of sand on them. Here the rifts loomed up one after another, and each time you looked at them, your heart sank with longing - in space, you were barely a few dozen feet from home; in time, give or take infinity.

The closer you got to the settlement, the less the light cast glare, and everything began to appear just like a mirage: slow and smooth.

There was only one straight street, flanked by huts made of scrounged wood and scrap metal. The metal sheets were of different sizes and squeezed into various places in the dwellings - they looked like they were about to fall off. Some of the walls in the houses were replaced by welded mesh fences, and it was all askew as if it was tired of everything that was happening.

The houses didn't even have doors; like a mockery, they had ridiculous pieces of wood swinging on their hinges. There were no garbage cans, either; trash was piled in huge heaps in various corners. The finest thing was at the end of the street: as if showing their place among the humans, on a rise stood the buildings of demons, and they were not made of dying and outmoded materials. Everything looked solid and fancy, and in these buildings were mixed so many styles of architecture, which was not known even to the most enlightened person in this case. Even the parts that fell off the houses never really fell - they slowly and smoothly began to run in circles around the place, illuminating everything with a cold violet light as if without it not everyone here froze to the bone.

You dragged your feet along the street; from every side came the sound of sobbing noses and coughing, and it was of such force that you wondered whether the lungs of such a person were still there, or whether they had been spat out on the ground. People here either wandered from place to place or stayed in the huts, but some of them curled up in a ball or leaned their backs against the wall and sat motionless in the street.

You woke up from a push in your shoulder - a person was running past you, and they didn't seem to notice you as much as you didn't notice them. You couldn't see their face, it was hidden under a hood, but you guessed what you could see: a skinny face, huge black circles under their eyes (if they were there at all), sores on their skin. You glanced up to see where the person had retreated from, and at the same moment, you were skulking into the alley between the houses - the demon was chasing them; maybe the demon was running in their direction for a different reason, but you didn't want to stay in the front of the line.

You circled the huts and found yourself in the tentative backyard; luckily, a few of them had loopholes inside. There was no use thinking about which one to go into first - none of them would be any good, anyway - so you took a couple of steps and went into the nearest opening.

No matter how hard you squinted, it was dark in the shack, and there was only the rustle of activity to tell you that you were not alone. Before you could even take a step forward, a beam of light was shone in your face, causing you to squeeze your eyes shut and take a step back. "Who the fuck are you?" you only wanted to answer as you felt several cold pokes on your neck through the fabric of your uniform. Closing your watery eyes against the light, you looked down -  a stick with nails at your throat. As you tried to turn your head to try to see who was holding the melee weapon, it was immediately and violently pulled back to its previous position.  

You slowly raised your hands, the cold nails turning into teeth that dug harder into your skin. "Guys, I don't really want any trouble. We're kinda in the same boat."

"Oter, make sure she doesn't mess around," the man behind you, though he didn't take the stick from your throat, grabbed you by the hair and pulled your head back. The light from the lantern in the room flickered in different directions and was no longer aimed directly at your face - the man holding it was searching his pockets for something.

Footsteps sounded, and the man came closer and closer. He put his hand over your face, and you immediately felt the rough fingers and uncut nails - he tried to tear your mask off. It didn't work. "What is it?" it was no longer your voice; it was the voice of accumulated fatigue and hunger - mocking and arrogant. "Ya hands shaking or something?"

Your eyes were watering again - not from the light, but from the sharp pain in the bridge of your nose. Something warm and sticky dripped from your nose and down your lips. "Now you got the dangers of opening your mouth when you're not asked. Here," he barked and grabbed your forehead with the palm of his hand and pressed it into the man behind you. "Sniff," you felt something under your nose, but you couldn't see what it was. It didn't smell like anything. After a couple seconds, the man, seeing that you had no reaction, exploded with a roar. "I knew it, bitch! These things can't smell it! Youcan'tsmell it!"

"I just have a poor sense of smell," you sniffled, trying to suck back either the snot or the blood that was leaking out.

The man ran his hand up your cheeks, squeezing them. "And you're still being sassy? Didn't the previous time teach you anything?"

"Man," you whimpered in a voice strangled from behind puffed cheeks. "Have ya ever thought about the course of action? Ya broke my fucking nose. How am I supposed to feel anything?"

He babbled conspiratorially, his grip on your face weakening with each word. "Oter, we have to hand her over to them. Even if she's not one of them - look at the way she's dressed. She wasn't dragged here by force, and if they find her here, we are dead." 

"That's enough," you hissed, and slashed your dagger at the tendon of the hand that held the stick to your throat; the man behind you immediately dropping it and howling weakly. You saw the man in front of you raise his fist to strike; you grabbed him by the wrist of attacking hand, pulled him to you, and punched him twice in the bridge of his nose with the hand clutching the dagger. Eye for eye, and nose for nose.

The man grubbed his face and bent over - no time to waste, you and your seething anger grabbed him by the hair and dragged him over to the man who was desperately clutching his arm, trying to stop the blood. In the darkness, you could just make out the glint in the other man's panicked eyes, but if you weren't being treated kindly, there was no reason not to return the favor. Gathering your strength, you kicked him in the knee, and there was a crunch - it seemed that calcium was a rare part of the diet here. With a final breath, you slammed the head of the man floundering in your hand into the other man's head, and both of them fell to the floor, their hands pressed to sore spots. You had to hand it to them - they didn't even whimper, just sputtered quietly from time to time.

You felt like a pendulum in a clock, swinging from side to side. You saw some shelves and drawers in the darkness, and you went toward them; as you took a step, you tripped over the stick with the nails, and your body almost collapsed on the rotten boards. You kicked the wood irritably with your foot toward the men. "Pick up ya toothpick," you hissed and waddled back to the shelves.

You grabbed the handle of one of the lockers and pulled the door toward you; the handle was still in your hand, but the locker collapsed to the floor with a resounding thud. A heavy sigh involuntarily escaped your lips as you stared blankly at the mess you had made. "Ya have any water?" you glanced back over your shoulder.

The response was so immediate that for a second it felt like knives, not words, were coming at your back. "Fuck you," spat out the man - the one who'd probably been the instigator of the altercation.

"Well, ya need to take me on a date first," you drawled, inspecting whole shelves as carefully as you could, barely touching them. "I'm afraid that's not possible right now, though. Ya have to be patient."

There was a screech of a metal layer behind you as if it was being bent aside - you tried to turn around, but your head only spun more violently. "What's going on here?" the man's voice was so stern and set that you immediately wanted to straighten up.

"Legally, a criminal offense," you mumbled to yourself as you continued to open drawers. "In practice, a fucking circus."

There was a growing creak of floorboards behind you. The man was moving toward you, and the closer he got, the more you could see the violet color that lit up the room. You hated to admit that you were a cornered, wounded animal, but the words fell from your lips against your will. "If ya touch me, ya'll lose both hands."

"I'm not gonna hurt you," the voice sounded close, almost above your ear, and though it remained just as set, it was no longer harsh. On the contrary, the owner of the voice was trying to sound as soft as possible. "Calm down. You're not gonna find anything here anyway," hearing the soothing tone, you immediately gave up and leaned your back against the wall; you thought you had enough strength to stand like that for some more time, but you, against your will, started sliding down it. "Here, water. Drink some," the man pulled the bottle toward you.

"Didn't ya say there was nothing here?" you asked quietly but indignantly.

The man chuckled. "There really isn't anything here. I brought this water just now. The daily... Or weekly... Anyway, the regular dry rations the demons give us," he sat down beside you and set something on the floor that looked like a glass oil lamp, only inside it, instead of a flame, was a levitating little pebble that gave off a purple glow; it was like the ones that circled around the demon buildings.

The man opened the bottle for you; you nodded gratefully, took the bottle from his hands, and took a couple of sips.

"What are you fiddling with her for?" hissed one of the battered men from the far corner. "You know that she can't smell black orchid?"  

"No," replied the man in a cold tone, sitting next to you. "The only thing I can see is that you're jumping on a woman who can barely get her feet off the ground. Have you forgotten what it feels like?" the man in the corner immediately hushed. "Don't be cross," he turned to you, his voice changing as fast as if he had a switch somewhere. "In a place like this, people quickly become angry paranoid."

Despite the water you'd drunk, your parched lips were still struggling to open. "It's okay," you said, waving it off.

The man looked at you intently, not at you to be precise, but at your tattered but still durable uniform. "Uh...," he began, and an awkwardness hung in the air. "Where are you from?"

In a place like this, the question felt odd, and there was no way to answer it accurately. What did he want you to say? The place where you were born? The city you lived in now? The time you came from?

"From the height of my years, I can say that it was in the North that the first hunter appeared-"

"North," you said and were taken aback: the answer came off on its own, without your consent.

"Oh," the man said so cheerfully that you could almost hear the corners of his lips raised. "I didn't know hunters could come in here now," you were interested and it never faded, but you didn't have the energy to ask. The man noticed your surprised look. "My wife was a hunter. The powder that asshole shoved under your nose was just grinded black orchid. She's the one who gave it to me."   

"Powder?" you asked. "The extract's a little more potent, isn't it?"

"I'm sorry," the man apologized jokingly, shrugging his shoulders. "It's a lot easier to carry around powder than liquid," he hushed, and you could see him running his intertwined fingers over his hands. "Listen, you... maybe you know my wife? Her name is Olivia."

"Uh, it'll be a strange to ya, but... Do ya remember what year ya got here?"

The man scratched his frayed gray beard. "In 1935, I think."

An unpleasant feeling in your chest made you press your lips together. "I'm sorry, but I, uh... I don't think I know your wife."

"It's nothing," the man smiled, but his clouded gaze told you otherwise. Only now did you notice how deep the wrinkles in the corners of his eyes were. "I really didn't have much hope. Everyone you ask around here comes from a different time. If they even understand what you're asking them. The language barrier is the least of our problems, but sometimes it gets in the way. So... It's a good thing you didn't have that problem," he awkwardly shook his palms off his pants and held out his hand to you. "My name is Jonah."

Though weakly, you still shook his hand in return. "Y/N," you said shortly and then fell silent, but Jonah was in no hurry to say anything. You rarely felt shame, but right now it was choking you with such force that you immediately wanted to find a mirror and check your neck for brightly colored bruises. "Jonah, I'd love to justify your joy at the news that I'm a hunter, but I'm afraid I can't get ya out of here. Something's come up and... uh, I dunno," you wiped your face with your hands, trying to push away the rushing blood. "Hopefully ya have an extra dumpster here where I can stay."

"I'm sorry, we have some real slaughters going on here for trash," the man chuckled, rising to his feet. "But I can spare you a spot on the floor. You make yourself as comfortable as you can, and I'll find you some clothes," he headed for the entrance, and you could hear him in a quiet but warning tone instructing other men to behave, and something about saving the lantern. "One more thing. Y/N," he addressed you again. "Take the mask off. You're a little... stand out."

There was nothing to object to, so you nodded in response. With a firm hand, you pulled your phone out of your pocket and set it on the shelf, then moved closer to the lamp Jonah had left behind - at that point all your confidence was gone, eroded, drained away. You stared at yourself in the dark screen, and the more you looked at yourself, the more it began to itch under your skin. Able to challenge anyone, but unable to challenge yourself - that's what you were. A weakling, a coward, unable to look at your own face.

Slowly, you ran your fingers up to your ears and wanted to trace down the lines to your chin, but you couldn't. Your fingernails dug into the skin, and you didn't loosen your grip even when your fingers got wet and sticky. "I told you she was crazy," you heard a grunt from the corner of the room, but no one attacked.

It was just a mask, but why did it feel like you were ripping your skin off? You began to scratch your face where your nails had dug into it. There was only one thing you wanted to do right now - to keep the tears from running down your face with the blood. You exhaled sharply and ran your fingers along the line from your ears to your chin.

Something was staring at you from the phone screen, and it had a bloody face. However, here was the odd thing: the reflection had the most ordinary eyes, the most ordinary features, and it didn't look angry or cruel. If you ignored the oddity of the blood running down its face, it was a human.

[February 19, 2020; 05:56 am, hunters' hq]

Mission after mission, assignment after assignment, whether it was a powerful curse or a completely weak one, Gojo agreed to everything; but on his free days, the ones he now considered cursed, he was here in the workroom, even though he knew with his mind that he would be better off staying away from this place.

Every day there was less and less of you left in the workroom. All the things you'd left behind or scattered about had long since been either cleaned up or thrown away; your scent was long gone, and no matter how much Gojo pressed your pillow against his face, he felt nothing - it had been washed a dozen times since you'd disappeared. 

Gojo was desperately clinging to the specter of your vanishing presence, otherwise why did he jump up every time a notification sounded on his phone? Why did he check every time to see if his messages had reached you? Why did he still feel the unceremonious poke of your finger on his forehead when he ignored the alarm clock and why the hell was he so angry at the sleep that never came? After all, it was the only one who gave him the chance to hold you one more time.  

He hated himself just for thinking it, but he was so angry with you. You'd disappeared just when he'd given up on being alone.

It was as if Gojo could see himself through his clouded mind: he got out of bed, and with barely a shuffle of his feet, he went into the bathroom, and now he could see his reflection in the mirror, holding a brush in his hands. He'd long ago given up trying to get rid of the bags under his eyes - at the very least, he needed a good full night's sleep. All he could do was come up with more jokes on unnecessary questions about his well-being.

Each time he hoped that if he left the workroom, he would breathe easier, but each time the hope was false. Well, if sleep didn't come, maybe this time he'd get one bite of food down his throat.

Once in the kitchen, Gojo immediately noticed Rachel wobbling in her chair. He peered over her shoulder - she was staring at the screen of her phone, which had a picture of a man open. Why was she clutching the phone with such force that her knuckles even turned white? "Who is it?" he asked and Rachel twitched, but immediately locked the screen. "Another poor guy you plan to break the heart of?"  

"Back off, leech," Rachel barked and threw the phone on the table. Gojo shrugged and walked over to the fridge and opened it; it was full of food, but he didn't even want his favorite one. Leaning, he glared blankly at the contents - or looked through it. "If ya're not gonna eat, close the fucking fridge," Rachel mumbled drunkenly.

It was enough for him to finally snap; Gojo turned around sharply, snatched the unfinished bottle of wine off the table with a jerk and tilted it over the sink, glaring at Rachel, swinging the bottle mockingly.

"Don't ya dare," Rachel hissed, trying to rise from her chair, but barely making a couple movements, she abruptly put her hand over her mouth.

Gojo, trying to suppress his disgust, raised his eyebrows defiantly and tilted the bottle even more. It may have been an immature act, but what if all the despair, all the longing and bitterness poured out at that gurgling sound? 

Rachel leaned back in her chair and stared at him. "Why ya so mad?" she asked, confused in her words; his silhouette blurred in her eyes no matter how hard she focused.  

"Me? Mad? Wow," grinned Gojo, tossing the bottle into the trashcan. "Not one bit."

"Yeah? Well, then I was wrong. Your face just looks like ya've been drinking shit-"

"You know what I'm curious about?" snapped Gojo and his outburst, though expected, did not lessen its harshness. "Is this how it runs in your family? One of you goes missing and the rest of you live like nothing happened?" 

"That's it," Rachel lazily clucked her tongue. She pushed back closest chair and indicated for him to sit down with a drunken nod, but he only crossed his arms over his chest. "God, stop milling around and just sit down already. Otherwise I'm gonna throw up."

Gojo hated being lectured, and then they added the smell of alcohol and fume. The only reason he was willing to sit next to Rachel was that she was your sister. Maybe she had one word in her pantry that would calm him down. 

"I'm a little surprised," Rachel said and was about to reach for the glass, but when her hand grasped the air, she glared angrily at Gojo who already had it in his hand. "Ya of all people should know how everything ends for us. Sooner or later, it would have happened. And still, ya're freaking out," Rach was silent for a second, but then she chuckled. "Or ya just upset that ya never got to get into her panties?"  

In a different situation, Gojo would have been embarrassed by such a question, or would have winched or foolishly guffawed, but Rachel's timing was wrong: if before this question his anger had simply broken his bones, now it broke his years of trained restraint. "Would you rather be torn apart or be deprived of wine?" Gojo stood up, and sniffing the wine that was in glass, immediately grimaced and poured it all down the sink. "You've got three more bottles in the fridge-"  

"God," mumbled Rachel and a feeling of disgust made her wrinkle her nose. "It's that serious?"

Gojo did not say a word. It was all too fragile and so intimate for him that he dared not even discuss it with himself, let alone trust a drunken and talkative interlocutor.

"Oh, forget it," waved Rachel's hand. "Even if ya were serious, it would never work," she said, and he almost gave in to the provocation: he had to bite his tongue, and the word 'why' tasted very bitter.

Rachel was silent, her hand tracing wood patterns on the table, her eyes dimming with every movement of her finger. For some reason a heavy weight fell on his soul: this was why he'd never liked serious conversation, and in another situation he would have left without bowing. So why did he feel that his soul could take a hundred more such weights if such a conversation concerned you? "Ya know, adoptee...," Rachel began suddenly and quietly. "She's always done that. She'll say at parting 'I'll be back soon' or 'see ya' like she's gone to get some fucking bread, and then she is just... She disappears. And then," Rachel's voice began to break, and it happened as easily as if spring's thin ice was breaking underfoot. "Then this little piece of shit comes home, and it's like nothing happened. She didn't disappear anywhere, and she's acting normal. And whether she's really dumb and doesn't get it, or whether she just expects us to act like nothing happened either, I-I dunno," her voice was on the verge of breaking, and while Rachel was emotional, she also had enough experience and courage in her to keep the tears from rolling down her face. "That's what makes ya different from us. Ya just haven't lived with her enough yet to get used to this kinda thing."

If Rachel had been a child, perhaps Gojo could take her in his arms and shake her, or start mimicking her, parodying the pathetic whimpering that was the most he could do. He had no idea how to soothe a grown person. Rachel sniffed her nose, walked over to the refrigerator, and there was another bottle in her hand. "Haven't you had enough already?" asked Gojo irritably, trying to get her to put the wine back with a glare.  

There was no trace of that momentary sadness left on Rachel's face - just a slight drunken blush. "Ya know, I thought we just accepted the idea that she disappears from time to time," she dipped her lips to the bottle, but immediately grumbled - she'd forgotten to open it. Rachel started fumbling through the drawers in search of a corkscrew. "But no. We've probably accepted the fact that one day she won't come back," the clatter of cutlery was followed by a 'crack' and Rachel finally took a couple of sips. When she turned around, she nearly choked on her wine - whereas his skin had always been white and almost glowing, now it was as pale as a dead man's. "Geez, I'm just kidding," she put her arm around him drunkenly - he didn't even move. "Don't ya worry about it. We all don't really sweat it because ever since she went missing, we kept going into the void. And ya know what? Nothing's ever changed there, never flipped. We're right back where we left off. Ya see what I'm getting at?"

The answer followed immediately. "She still in the void?" he asked, and how amazing it was how hope could change a man's voice.

"And she's still alive," Rachel nodded contentedly, nearly hitting her head on the nearby fridge. "I'm telling ya, ya could care less about her. She is more tenacious than any cockroach," she said and pulled the bottle to her mouth again.

Nothing was impossible for Gojo, but no matter how much strength you had, and even if you could swap the poles of the Earth, he couldn't stop worrying about you. Perhaps only when he could touch you again would he be able to get rid of the lead in his heart, and the very thought that it would be easier for him to give it to you made him shy and flush.

"Stop drinking," Rachel still didn't understand why he mumbled the words so embarrassedly, but there was no time to speculate - he tried to take the bottle from her, but only woke Rachel up to the drunken berserker in her. "Why can't you go a day without a bottle?"

"Fuck off," Rachel snarled and pulled the bottle toward her. "Ya spill my wine again, and I swear to God, I'll put ya on the very bottle you poured it out of."

You were sitting on the porch of the very hut where you'd been sheltered; it was hardly a porch, really - just a dilapidated step that was more often tripped over than climbed. People wandered languidly from side to side - maybe they were just stretching their bones, or maybe sitting in one place was more painful for them.

The wardens glimmered among the men, but they disappeared as quickly as they came into view. What kind of order were they keeping here? What was not allowed and what was allowed? After all, a few moments ago one man had nearly beaten another to death, and no one had come to separate them.

"Regeneration."

You didn't look at the bloody body lying there. No matter the outcome, it was all you could do for him now, though you were barely regenerating yourself. "You awake?" came Jonah's voice from behind you. "I don't mean to lecture you, but you really should get some rest."

You let his words pass your ears, and he, instead of leaving, sat down next to you. "Do ya have a cigarette?" you asked.

Jonah grinned good-naturedly. "Actually, this is one of our local currencies, but I can give you one as a new one."

He handed you a crumpled cigarette; it looked like it would break at the base if you touched it. "Thanks," you mumbled and gently wrapped your fingers around the filter. "And the lighter?"

"And here's where the trouble starts," Jonah said, pulling a lighter from his pocket. "Oxygen is in short supply here, so you'll have to be patient," he looked at you warningly, and you clamped the cigarette between your lips and leaned over to cover the lighter with your palms.

There was no time to count, so it was hard to say how long Jonah had been pulling the wheel-cross. Maybe fifteen minutes, maybe an hour, but there it was - the edge of the cigarette finally colored orange, and you took a long-awaited puff. "You're welcome," Jonah said courteously. "How's your nose? Sorry, we don't even have anything to fix it with."

"It's okay," you said, exhaling smoke. "It'll heal quickly enough."

Jonah nodded in your direction. "What happened to your cheeks?" he continued curiously.

"A bad trip to the beautician."

There was obvious bewilderment in his eyes. "Who is that?" he asked, squinting his eyes.

A chuckle escaped you, and you choked on the smoke trapped in your lungs and coughed. "Just a 21st-century acquaintance," you wheezed.

Bewilderment turned to complete incomprehension, and Jonah decided to tactfully change the subject. "What's that thing?" he nodded at your hand.

You scrolled through the phone in your hand, trying to ignore the keychain jiggling on it. How could you answer that question to avoid an hour-long lecture about future technology? You thought about it for a moment. What was important - the phone still had the date on it. "It's...," you drawled uncertainly. "This thing is the only thing that connects me to the place I came from," you said, shrugging confusedly.

"So it's very important to you, then?" asked Jonah, rubbing his hands together anxiously.

"Aren't ya up to something already?" 

"No, you'd just save that thing. Better to hide it altogether," Jonah suggested, and once again he looked so simple - minded and guileless that you had no choice but to nod in agreement. "Uh... Sorry, I couldn't find better clothes for you. If only I'd known," you looked around in confusion at the wide, stained T-shirt that had probably been white before, and the pants that were clearly not your size; you had to tear the sleeve off your uniform and make a makeshift belt so they wouldn't fall off every second. There were still no shoes - you still had on your heavy boots, but they weren't visible under the wide pants. "If I'd known, I would have tried to find you some more closed clothing."

You furrowed your eyebrows. You didn't see any reason to apologize - the clothes, though a few sizes larger than yours, were proof of the kindness of the man sitting next to you. "What are ya talking about?"

"Well, you... You're so, uh," he stammered and scratched the back of his head in embarrassment. His chapped lips tightened and loosened as if searching for words.

"Well, what am I like?" you interrogated in a playful tone. "Pretty? Charming? Smart?" you listed merrily, watching the man's head sink further and further into his shoulders. "Oh, no, don't tell me, I know!" you waved your palms and almost dropped your cigarette. "Peerless!"

"You're all scarred," he said on an exhalation, and the itch in the back of his neck began again. He had seen your hands, and they were like an old unwanted canvas that had been used to rage against more than once - all torn and scarred; if no one cared about a forgotten painting, you had an inept but dedicated restorer - your own body - that had covered them with whitish paint. Jonah glanced furtively at your throat, and it hurt him to swallow.

"Oh," you exclaimed quietly, examining your hands. The look was as if you were seeing them for the first time in a long time - surprised and excited. "Thanks for reminding me of that," you smiled and nodded to Jonah.

He didn't hear a hint of reproach or resentment in your words; you sounded as if you had thanked him sincerely. Jonah immediately stifled the incipient pity he felt for you and buried his desire for further questions about what had happened. "So... What are our next plans?"

You took another puff and looked up at the demon buildings. "Even the animals in the slaughterhouses are better cared for, but still, it's important to the demons to keep ya fresh- uh, alive. So... I can probably find provisions or at least something useful in there somewhere. Do ya have a backpack or something?"

"You're not gonna go there, are you?" stammered Jonah fearfully, trying to get you to look at him. "No one's come back from there. You don't have to go." 

"Not that we have an alternative," you snuffed out the cigarette butt on the porch, and,\ digging a hole in the sand with the toe of your boot, chucked it in there. 

***

The light at the top of the settlement was brighter the closer you got to it, and you had to squint every now and then to keep the annoying glare off your eyes. You could see the first building in sight - you had to lift your head to see the top of it, and even then. you could hardly see anything. The walls were dark, and as you approached, it resonated more and more; once you were near one of the walls, you noticed that it wasn't solid material at all - it was millions of tiny particles reaching for each other but never coming together. You leaned your hand on it - nothing. It didn't sink, it wasn't pushed away; it was like touching ordinary concrete.

There was a faint crack, and a dozen grains of sand broke off from the spot your hand had just touched; they immediately flew upward, and you couldn't see what had happened to them, but there was a chance that they had landed on one of the glowing stones that were circling the buildings.

You walked carefully around the building; there were even some semblances of windows, though they looked more like an architectural mockery. They were arranged in an unstructured and incongruous way - there were even corner ones and all different shapes, though the most appropriate word for such windows was 'shapeless'.

You lurked under one of those windows, listening for every possible rustle and knock. When you heard nothing, you peered inside. Empty. So empty that there weren't even any demons, just four bare walls.

You clung to the ledge and climbed into the room, keeping silent with every step. As you crossed the room, you pressed your ear to the door - no sound. Opening the door, you found yourself in a long corridor and involuntarily wrinkled with indignation - the building was obviously bigger inside than outside. Where to go now?

Figuring out a route in an unfamiliar place is a lost cause. You should have started by exploring the area, so once you'd picked a side, you just moved forward.

The floor felt solid under your feet, but you couldn't shake the annoying feeling that it was about to split apart. No matter how long you walked, you couldn't see any doors, but you couldn't see the end of the corridor either.

The feeling of a trick never left; it seemed that not only your palms were sweating, but your insides were sweating too, but what was strange was that you felt no observation, heard no footsteps behind you, no one's presence nearby. It was as if the danger was coming from your very surroundings and for good reason - the particles beneath your feet began to quiver restlessly. You tried to lift your foot and take a step, and though they didn't touch you, they refused to lag behind. You accelerated, and the more steps you took, the more sand grains enveloped you. You hopelessly tried to shake them off, but they only stuck more. When you started to run, you didn't try to look down - who knows, they might have crawled up your stomach.

A sharp pain went tangentially across your back, something almost crushed your heel; after that or at the same time, there was a deafening rumble behind you that made the grains of sand fall down, and they did it as sharply as if each of them weighed a ton.

When you turned around, you nearly slammed your nose into the wall, and at the same moment, to the left, a passage opened with a similar rumble, revealing another corridor. Instead of cursing the place, you exhaled a sigh of relief - so that was the feeling.

Still, what did the grains of sand want you to do? After all, they weren't doing bad or good, but they seemed to be warning you about shifting and opening passages, and anything that helped you navigate was useful except for the aching back that had nearly been broken by one of those walls. It was as if the closer you got to the shift, the more the particles enveloped you.

After a few thousand steps, you were beginning to despair - was it really as empty as it seemed at first glance? Even if there were doors, there was nothing but disappointment behind them - just bare walls and suddenly the smell of corpses. It was so strong that it was as if the bodies were still here. When you opened the first door, you involuntarily held your nose against the sudden and pungent odor, but you hardly paid attention to it at the tenth door. What was important was that none of these rooms had windows so you had to move forward, if not for provisions, then at least to get out of here.

Coming here without rest was your main mistake. However, how was it possible to rest with a rumbling stomach that had long ago digested itself, and with a throat so dry that it wanted to drain the river?  

You went into one of the rooms and threw off a ridiculous backpack that was made of patches, and it wasn't zipped up - it was pinned together with pins. You fluffed it up like a pillow, laid your head on it, and closed your eyes. Your hand, as if separated from your body, with a will of its own reached into your pocket and pulled out your phone and something jingled against it. You opened your eyes slowly, and the keychain was dangling on the phone, swaying quietly from side to side.

What happened to you? You did not let this thought come to you for so long, but when you lay down alone, your soul turned into a flame - not the one that warms you gently, but the one that seeks to burn you to the ground. Moreover, why did that flame jump from the soul to the internal organs, making vomiting come up to your throat?

You told him you'd be back in three days, and even then you weren't sure he'd wait. So what now? You exhaled. Your eyes widened, and your hand flew to your mouth - why was your exhalation so convulsive?

Hastily putting the phone away and shaking your head, you closed your eyes as if ordering sleep to come, but it never obeyed anyone. On the contrary, it was rather a dream that submitted people, and its loyal subordinates in the form of a soft cool pillow and a warm blanket forced them to abandon all their affairs.

On the other side of your closed eyes, he was a scorched brand - neither to erase, nor to stop thinking. For such a flighty man, it was surprisingly calm around him, but as it was, it wasn't even worth allowing the possibility of hoping he was still out there. Even if he didn't plan on sticking to the treaty anymore, he didn't seem like the kind of man who could wait.

Your mind was foggy; thoughts came one after another, but you couldn't catch any of them. Your body shook restlessly; the only sound was the rustle of a tattered backpack under your head.

GET UP!     

You jumped up as quickly as if someone had grabbed you by the shirt front in an importuning grip and pulled you hard. You gasped for air, looking around the room with a haggard stare. No one. "Oh, come on...," you began, trying to regain your breath. "Fuck ya, asshole," you mumbled into your hands, which you used to try to wipe the tiredness from your face. It was the unknown that pissed you off the most - was it Rei who had gotten into your mind in some elaborate way, or had you just lost your mind?

As you tried to come to your senses, it took you a moment to hear a low murmur somewhere far behind the door. You stood up and listened: it sounded like voices. You pulled on the doorknob and looked around; a violet glow appeared at the end of the corridor, just as if someone on Earth had turned on a light in a room. You moved quietly in that direction, the voices growing closer.

Once you were near the door, you leaned your back against the wall. You could hear the sounds of smirks, swear words, some rustling and grunting, and you could even hear someone smacking their lips as they took another puff. "Bite me," someone said, and even without seeing his face, you could tell from his voice the expressiveness of his grin. "Straight flush," something slapped - most likely, someone throwing cards on the table.

"You think I'm gonna believe you, you fucking cheat?" howled the other, and something rumbled. "Show me what's under the table!"

"How about you learn how to lose?" the first demon grinned. "I've got nothing, look," even from here, you could hear the second one breathing heavily behind the incomprehensible fuss. "Convinced? Now to the betting. Remember what you promised me?"

"Take that whore," the other demon snapped, and you heard footsteps approaching. Your blood started to boil, and this bubbling seemed to give you strength - as soon as his face appeared in the doorway, you grabbed his cheeks and squeezed them so hard that he didn't make a sound. Before he could even squeak, he took two dagger blows between the collarbones and crumbled into eternal oblivion.

All the while, a desperate whining had been growing in the room, both painful and pleading. Before you even looked into the room, you knew what kind of show you were in for.

Swallowing thick saliva, you appeared in the doorway. The demon was standing half-turned toward you, and in front of him, on her knees, was sitting... A girl? A woman? Behind the dirt, blood, and torture it was hard to tell her age. What she was being forced to do, even the most foolish could tell - even now, her forward head movements and squelching sounds mixed with muffled screams spoke for themselves. The pain in your body intensified, making you grin.

You always tried to keep your own rage in check, but at times like this, the roles were reversed. "Hey," you called out quietly and surreptitiously to the demon. He immediately turned his head, but instead of meeting his black eyes, you first examined his clothes and glanced at the naked girl, and only then met his frantic gaze. "Your jacket is, uh... well, ya know. It's cool."

***

It was small and peculiar, but still a jackpot. You were already digging through one of the wooden crates, and there were a number of different canned goods - corn, sardines, tuna, there were even a few jars of peaches. Perhaps the search would have gone a lot faster if it hadn't been for the annoying white noise in the background. The girl's crying, though it had changed to a quiet whimpers, was still horrible to your eardrums. You'd already set her down in a chair, pulled a jacket over her, and set the water bottle you'd found in front of her - it was all you could do for her now.

You looked in a couple more crates - besides water and canned goods, there was even sugar, tea, and to your great surprise and happiness, chocolate bars.

You removed the pins from your backpack and began to put provisions in there, pressing bottles and canned goods as tightly as possible; there was even room for a pack of sugar, a pack of salt, and a pack of tea and collected playing cards.

You zipped up your backpack, pricking your fingers a couple times in the process, and looked at the girl. She was hiding her battered face in her hands, and she was doing it like if she couldn't see anything, nothing could see her either. Her body was shuddering, and every twitch looked agonizing as if it wasn't happening of her own free will.

The girl never touched the water bottle. "Get up. Let's go," you didn't intend for the words you said to sound like an order - it came out spontaneously. The girl only flinched even more, but did nothing, only burrowed harder into her arms.

You stood up against her. "Why don't ya drink water? Don't ya wanna live?" you asked, and you hardly sounded soft and soothing; it was as if there was a threat in your words. She refused to look at you and you squatted down, pulled her hands away and grabbed her chin. "Either ya drink it or I'll start pouring it down your throat. Got it?"  

Her sticky eyelashes made it impossible to catch her frightened look, but her body language spoke for itself. She grasped the bottle with difficulty as if the water in it were not cool, but boiling. She seemed about to drop it. You grabbed the bottle with her, unscrewed the cap, and brought it to her lips. You saw that she took the first sip, though with effort.

"Regeneration."

You didn't know if she was feeling better, but her sips didn't look as painful as before. She was now drinking water greedily, but for you it felt like the liquid she had just absorbed was coming out of her body through her tears.

The girl finished her drink and her fingers immediately unclenched, causing the bottle to fall to the floor. "That's good. Now let's go," you mumbled and wrapped your arms around her slumped body.

You had to hand it to the girl - maybe she was only doing it for looks, but she was still dragging her feet. You checked every room you could find for a window; you didn't care what part or how high up you were just as long as you got out of here.

When such a room was found, the girl stopped moving. You had to check her pulse, but as it turned out, she was even still conscious - when you put two fingers to her neck, she nodded weakly.

You sat her down on the floor and looked at her bare feet then looked at your own, and without further ado began to take off your boots. What appeared before you was a picture of once white elastic bandages that were now a dirty red color. "Completely unsanitary. I can't offer ya anything better, though," and with these words you began to pull your heavy boots on her. Suddenly, the girl became hysterical.

"Don't touch me!" she shrieked, and tried to shove you off with her foot, either accidentally or deliberately, but the impact was weak either way. "Don't fucking touch me!" her voice got louder, and the number of times her fists hit the floor increased.

You tried to ignore it and catch one of her wriggling legs. When you succeeded, the girl made a sound as if she had been grabbed not by your hand, but by a snake that had followed her for a long time, and that it was not your nails but the snake's fangs that were sinking into her skin. She pitched forward with all her might and hit you in the face with a clumsy movement. "Get your hands off me!" the plea was no longer pitiful and desperate; the girl hissed as if trying to mimic an enemy. 

There was a slap in the room, and everything went quiet. The girl looked at you as she had just come to her senses and leaned a hand on her cheek, began rubbing the sore spot. "Relax. I'm just tryin' to shoe ya." 

Not without adventures, but you still laced up your boots on her. The girl, even if she looked in your direction, did so with distrust, and there was as much of it as fatigue allowed to show.

"That's it, let's go," you said, tying the laces on the last knot. You picked her up again and walked over to the window. "Better get ready."

"Relocate."

When you were already in front of the familiar hut, you gripped the girl's waist tighter. She was no longer twitching, no longer wobbling, but only slumping. You stepped inside as quietly and carefully as you could, the violet light from the lamp Jonah had brought with him was hitting your eyes. How long does a lamp like that last?

You met with dumbfounded looks, but even those quickly changed to pitying ones, but none of them dared to ask a question.

"Holy shit," a whisper came to you from the corner of the room, followed by a whistle. "She's back."

Without paying attention, you laid the girl against one of the far walls - away from the people present. You were about to say a few words to her, but as soon as her body touched the floor, she shrank into a ball. Pressing your lips together, you decided to leave her alone. You walked over to one of the shelves, pulling your backpack off your shoulders. "How long have I been gone?" you asked Jonah who had been looking at you curiously and anxiously for a minute now, having given up trying to pick the rotten boards off the floor. There was a pile of smoldering but unburned wood in front of him.

"I have no clue," Jonah drawled, scratching his chin. "We slept about twice. How are you doing? You okay?"

"As much as I can be in a place like this," you said, smiling. You were already sorting through the contents of your backpack - canned goods appeared on the shelf like a magical click, a few bottles of water, and as you pulled out the salt, there was a meaningful cough behind you. "What?" you asked in surprise, looking behind you, but none of them made eye contact with you. "I thought it would be less bland to eat all this with salt."

"That's not the point," Jonah muttered, looking down. "It's just that as one of their punishments. Demons make us eat a pack of salt."

"Oh," a sympathetic interjection came out of you, and you quickly put the salt away in one of the drawers. "Got it. I won't be carrying that stuff around anymore, then."

"Are you planning to go there again?" came a startled gasp from behind you, and you turned around. The man who'd punched you in the nose was already standing in front of you, but he wasn't looking at you - he was trying to see what you'd brought. "Damn it, there's even peaches in here!" stunned at this insolence, you didn't react at all to how deftly and quickly he grabbed the canned fruit. He immediately took out a rusty nail and started picking at the jar. The man did look funny - he looked more like an overgrown and ungroomed bush with a hat on than a human being. "Uh...," he mumbled. It was obvious how focused he was - the man even stuck out his tongue, for the jar yielded with difficulty and creaking. "Sorry about your nose."

You chuckled. "Is that the price of trust? A can of peaches."

"It's not just peaches!" exclaimed the man angrily, and even a little resentfully. He finally got rid of the stubborn lid, and in spite of the sharp edges, stuck his fingers inside, and the peach slice was immediately in his mouth. The way he chewed it might have seemed disgusting, the slurping sounds seeming to reach as far as the next huts. However, for some reason it only whetted your appetite more. "Ah yes, where are my manners," the man said, and after wiping his fingers from the candied syrup on his clothes, he held out his hand to you, and you shook it. "My name is Bjorn. And that bulky guy in the corner over there is Oter," he nodded his head toward the man. "He's not a talker, but he's very emotional, so you'd better stay away from him when he tries to say something. He might slap you in the face."

"Whatever ya say," you said, trying to wipe your sticky fingers. "I've got something else here," you stuck your hand into the backpack, and when you pulled it out, the man almost choked. "Cards."

Oter mumbled excitedly and happily, getting up from his seat. When he came closer, you handed him the deck of cards without question. He looked into your eyes in disbelief, looking so naïve and childlike that it was at odds with his size. You nodded and brought the deck forward, and he, gently clasping it in his fingers, finally took it. "Who are you, warrior?" murmured Bjorn reverently, but he clearly wasn't expecting you to answer, too mesmerized by the deck of ordinary cards.

Jonah rose to his feet, abandoning all attempts to light the fire. "So, guys," he began cheerfully, putting his arm around both of their shoulders. "Poker?"

Your head instantly turned to the girl, but she was lying so still that you wondered if she was even alive. "If ya wanna play poker, go outside," you said quietly.

"Why?" asked Bjorn.

"I'll tell ya later. That's it, go on," you said, and the men looked at each other. Jonah nodded toward the girl, and then they all left the hut without question.

You weren't going to push her or pester her with questions - she wasn't going to answer any of them. Not now, anyway. You walked over to her quietly and sat down at her feet, leaning against the wall, and glimpsed at her. The girl seemed to sense your gaze, otherwise, why would she squirm even more? "Can ya at least tell me your name?"

You didn't expect an answer, but this silence felt too heavy. She'd rather be sobbing or even crying herself to sleep than burying herself quietly in the filth she'd been forced to go through. "Like it or not, I'm gonna get ya out of here," you said quietly but firmly and licked your parched lips. There was a scolding outside, but it was neither threatening nor dangerous. It was more like the kind of cursing that cronies usually exchanged. You lifted your head and looked through the holes in the metal roof: no stars or clouds in the sky, just an all-consuming void that had no end or edge. "And then... Then I'll kill everyone who did this to ya. Ya could do it yourself, but it would be a good idea to survive first. So... just live, 'kay?"

The girl didn't answer, and you didn't know what else to say. You rose from your seat and headed for the exit, but immediately turned around when you heard a barely audible wheeze. "Nora," she whimpered weakly. "My name is Nora."

"Well...," you sounded confused, as you didn't expect her to find the courage for even one word this day. "Nice to meet ya, Nora," after which you still went outside.

The men were sitting here, right on the sand; the cards were already laid out, the canned goods opened, and each had a bottle of water. You could forgive them for such wastefulness, but only for today.

Jonah raised his head and looked at you, and you saw the glint in his clouded eyes for the first time. "I take it we need to look for more clothes?"

"Sorta."

"Not now!" Bjorn hissed at you, not taking his eyes off his cards. "We'll play the rest of the game, and then you can do whatever you want. Come on, play with us."

"I dunno how to play poker," you said, shrugging absent-mindedly.

"Well, that's not a problem, is it?" said Bjorn. "We'll teach you, sit down," he tugged at your shirt, and it was no longer an invitation, but a demand.

While you were sitting as comfortably as possible on the cold sand, time seemed to slow down around you. You tried desperately to make sense of all the things they were explaining to you, but you kept getting confused by the Full houses, Royal flashes, Straights, and at some point, all those words came together for you. Oter was always mooing something unintelligible - you could hear the threat, the jeer, the joy, the sadness. Jonah would put his arm around your shoulder and shake you a little when you started to realize something obvious, and Bjorn would shout curses in a foreign language. Maybe they weren't swear words, but it was hardly the tone to praise a man. The atmosphere was as if you had not bottled water but apple cider, and instead of sardines, you had caviar sandwiches or even ordinary chips, even if they were in your least favorite flavor.

In the midst of this bustle you made a promise, albeit to yourself: to take these people out to where the star warms the horizon through the shroud of ozone.

[March 1, 2020; 7:01 pm; Tokyo Prefecture, Tokyo, Cafe Q]

"There you are," Mei-Mei purred, taking a seat at the table. "I haven't heard from you in a while," her voice was quiet, flirtatious and soothing at the same time, but the café was so deserted that Gojo could easily hear everything she was saying.

"Work," he replied briefly, without bestowing any greeting on her - he didn't even glance in her direction.

"I'm not gonna take up a lot of your time," Mei-Mei rolled her eyes. "I just want my share," Gojo finally looked at her over his glasses, and his eyes read the usual nonchalance, but there was something else lurking behind it as well. She shrugged. "The girl's dead," she barely said the words before she realized what lurked behind his supposed levity. A threat.

Gojo's finger was rubbing the edge of the napkin that lay on the table. "First of all," he began calmly. "She's not dead. Second, forget everything I told you about the treaty, and third, Mei-Mei, listen. This is the most important thing," he raised his index finger upward, as if he didn't realize that all her attention was already on him. "You don't look good in red lipstick. So wipe it off," he pushed the napkin toward her with the palm of his hand, remembering to smile sweetly.

Mei-Mei, smiling back, irritably crumpled the napkin. "If you want me to selectively lose my memory, it's not free."

"I didn't think you'd say it any other way," Gojo crossed his arms over his chest and lowered his head, trying to burrow into the collar of his uniform, completely oblivious to the fact that he was now wearing a shirt. "Just tell me how much you want."

"As much as they offered you," Mei-Mei replied instantly, and began coquettishly twirling a curl on her finger. "I'm not much interested in resurrection, though. Let me put it this way. I'll be satisfied with ten times the amount you paid me for a letter of recommendation to your students."

He didn't think over his answer for a second. "Okay," taking advantage of either the opportunity or her good mood, he added: "It'll be even better if you forget the way to their house."

"Fifteen times as much, then."

"Getting greedier every year," grinned Gojo at the thought that even the devil could be negotiated with. "Fine."

"God," she exhaled, and reached for his cheek; he immediately pulled away, leaning back in his chair. "I couldn't even imagine in my mind that you could ever look this pathetic."

"Mei-Mei," his voice remained as soft as a feather, but even that could make a human choke. "You're only still alive because I respect you as a colleague."

"Come on, don't be rude. I know how rude you can be, though. I don't even mind," she giggled, and without waiting for him to make at least one of his usual backhanded vulgar jokes, she sighed and mirrored his pose. "Anyway, I've been offered a job abroad anyway. I'm expecting the money within the week."

"What if I transfer them in eight days?" asked Gojo, and there was a distinct sneer in his voice.

"I don't know," Mei-Mei drawled, tapping a finger on her chin. "Does her big brother know why you stayed by her side in the first place?" she whispered conspiratorially, moving closer to him.

"You win," he threw his hands up in the air like a captured man. "Well, I hope we have a deal."

"The sweetest deal of my life," Mei-Mei chirped, rising from her chair. "But it might be even sweeter if you celebrated it with me," she hinted, expecting him to get up now, but he didn't move. She got the impression that he had missed her words altogether. This caused Mei-Mei to laugh uncontrollably. "Though, you know, I liked you better when you didn't have a heart. Okay, I hope to see you again," she said, and fluttered out of the café like a bird.

"I hope not," he exhaled quietly under his breath.

You'll be back, Gojo knew that for sure; all he needed to hold on to that thought was a few reassuring words from your sister. He didn't need to reach into the depths of his own soul to realize that you could handle this on your own, but if he had the slightest chance of keeping you safe, and especially if the price was money, he would gladly part with it. 

You were entering the hut in your own way, and if there had been a door, you'd probably have kicked it open. You could barely fit everything in your hands, but the only thing that was trying to slip out were the windbreakers you'd gotten. "Here I am!"

"Hey," Jonah responded, trying to make tea in the cold water. "Where did you get this?" he asked dazedly, looking at the clothes in your hands.

"We can sell that for a couple of packs of cigarettes!" exclaimed Bjorn hoarsely, quitting pounding the nails into the board. "Maybe even three."

"Actually, I didn't bring these for sale," you said, wrinkling your nose. "Ya'll be coughing your lungs out soon, so ya'd better put it on yourself," you turned to Bjorn and tossed him one of the windbreakers; you doubted you wouldn't see it tomorrow. "I found this place in the last building. I had to pinch myself to make sure I wasn't dreaming. Honestly, I still can't believe it!" someone behind you pinched your shoulder hard, and you shuddered, grasping at the sore spot.

"Oter!" the men exclaimed in a chorus of indignation, and behind you there was a resentful grunting. You glanced over your shoulder at Oter; he sat down in the corner next to Bjorn like a guilty child.

"Let me help you," Jonah said, coming over to you and taking some of your things. He set them down on the floor, and Bjorn jumped up and started going through them at once - in addition to the jackets, there was thread and a needle, matches, a couple of plates with spoons and forks, a bar of soap and a tube of ointment.

"What about food?" grumbled Bjorn sadly, continuing to rummage through things.

"You always only think with your stomach?" asked Jonah indignantly, and began sorting through the shelves and drawers you had found, trying to establish some order.

"A natural need," Bjorn muttered under his breath and immediately went back to hammering nails into the wood.

You walked over to Jonah and shove him uncertainly with your shoulder. He looked at you questioningly, and you nodded your head at the girl lying in the corner. "How's Nora?" you asked in a whisper.

Jonah spoke in a low voice too. "Still not talking. She ate well today, though."

"Not bad," you clapped your hands approvingly, pleased with at least some progress.

You silently continued to put everything in its place, occasionally wondering where to put this or that thing. "You know," Jonah began quietly. "We had nothing to do here before you at all. Just sat in corners. Can't say that's a bad thing," the man chuckled nervously. "Because the ones who did get taken away by demons, we never saw again. And with you here...," he twirled a spool of thread in his hands and tossed it into the air, catching it deftly. "We can do at least some human things."

"It's just threads, Jonah," you tried to guffaw and immediately changed the subject. "I'm going in there again now. There's so much more there. I only caught a glimpse, but there was even climbing gear lying around."

"What do you think," Jonah began and was quiet for a moment. "What are these things?"

You faltered - you didn't feel like answering a question like that directly. "I think ya know."

"Yeah..." sighed Jonah, and the bar of soap he was trying to place on one of the shelves suddenly felt in his hand like a lump of all the souls that had died here - it became incredibly hard to hold.

"Anyway, they don't need these things anymore. But we do," you said firmly, taking the soap from his hanging hand and placing it on the shelf.

Jonah wasn't surprised at the cynicism - others didn't survive in places like this, he'd seen it more than once. "Why don't you take a break? One guy in the hut next door has a guitar. I could say we'll sit by the fire, but that's unlikely," he grinned sadly. "So, more like a handful of smoke-smelling wood."

"No, ya go ahead. Try to talk to Nora, It might be good for her," you said, but there wasn't much hope. Still, the attempt would be deliberately unsuccessful if nothing was done. "I'm gotta go, though. I'll see ya around."

"Relocate."

"Fucking dark wizard," Bjorn muttered as your silhouette disappeared from their sight, for which he received a hard poke in the shoulder and an angry mooing from Oter.

next ⊳

[artkiving]

Dad Gojo Shenanigans part 1

+ bonus

He is so done.

(reblogs and shares appreciated 🩵) very much inspired by this art by @cobaltfluff

DAD Gojo Shenanigans continues..(Part 2)

[kenm4vhs]

catoru gojo proof

[tender-rosiey]

swear on love — gojo satoru x f!reader

a/n: I am alive!! better late than never but here’s my gojo coming back drabble (ceo gojo has been thrown into a corner)

something your son has learned is that if his dad, satoru, swears on his love for you then he will never break that promise.

like the first time he had asked his dad to take him to the amusement park he saw on the tv, satoru beamed, ruffling his son’s hair and telling him that he will.

when your son told him to promise him, satoru instead said, “I swear on my love for your pretty mama that I will take you there.”

it makes you flustered and makes your heart flutter—maybe even cringe a little, but who complains about having a man down bad for them plus he somehow makes it cute.

in addition to that, satoru never fails to look at you whenever he makes that promise and god knows that his gaze makes you feel weak in the knees.

he also goes to you right after, almost by instinct, to hug you and call you his ‘pretty wife’ and the ‘mother of his child’ — ‘and future ones’ he adds, but you’re quick to smack him when he does.

nonetheless, your son was quick to learn that it was the only type of promise his dad wouldn’t break.

it was october 31 when your husband has last made a promise to his son.

while the three of you were chilling in the living room, satoru was suddenly called for. he had to go to shibuya. your son was bummed, of course, but reluctantly let go of him.

“I won’t take any time buddy, don’t worry,” he said, patting your son’s head.

your son squirmed a bit before speaking up, softly, “you will come back safely, right?”

satoru simply noded with a smile.

your son, pouting –something he definitely inherited from his dad—looked up to him and stuck his pinky finger out, “you promise?”

your husband only chuckled, “I swear on my love for mama, champ.”

your son’s grin was unrivalled as he gave his dad thumbs up, “okay! I trust you!”

before departing, satoru took you in his arms and gave you one last kiss, giving you a promise of your own of coming back soon.

it has been 19 days since then.

everything has gone to chaos; everything was going wrong in all the possible ways. people you care about were dying left and right and the only thing you could do was protect your son with everything you got.

you’re often reminded of the time when your son had asked you, a week after his dad had been stuck in the prison realm, “mama, did dad break his promise?”

you could only smile sadly at him and whisper, “no, honey, he is just—going to fulfil it a bit late this time.”

now, you were with yuji, toge, shoko, and angel, along with some others, to finally get satoru of the prison realm.

yuji was a bit nervous and asked, “what if it…doesn’t work? or something happens—“

“don’t say that!”

all heads turn to your son who is barely holding his tears back, “dad said that he will be back! he promised me! he never breaks his promises!”

he looks at you, eyes pleading for assurance, “you know that, right, mama?”

tears of your own threaten to spill as you nod weakly at your son who runs and hugs you tightly, mumbling, “daddy will be back safely; I know it.”

you smile and pat his head, “I trust both of you.”

when they finally go through with the opening of the prison realm, it disappears right away.

your son’s grip on your shirt tightens as his eyes search frantically for his father everywhere around him, “where is he…?”

meanwhile, kenjaku smiles menacingly while looking at gojo, the newly freed man, “your wife and son must be pleased that you’re back, huh?”'

gojo smirks, “as am I, but I think it’s none of your business.”

both stare into each other before gojo quips, turning his back to the man, “well, I will meet you on december then!”

“oh? why is that?”

gojo stretches and walks to pick a few flowers. kenjaku is left confused as he watches the white-haired sorcerer make a bouquet.

“to put it simply, my wife and son are more important than you,” he smiles, “and I wouldn’t want to have two anniversary deaths on the same day.”

kenjaku cackles, “so you think you will win?”

satoru grins, “I will win.”

and without a word, he teleports to you.

“hey sweets!—“

you punch him in the guts and he yelps, “that’s not how you greet your husband—“

you then pull him into a very tight embrace, cutting him off once again, “I thought I lost you, asshole.”

you fist his shirt in your hand and bury your face in his chest before full on sobs escape you.

gojo’s eyes soften and he starts rubbing your back soothingly, “didn’t believe I would come back? you wound me doll.”

satoru nudges you lightly, “what do you think of the bouquet?”

you look at it and fondly roll your eyes.

he’s back.

your son runs to him screaming, “dad, you’re back! you’re back! I knew you would! i told them, but no one believed me!”

your husband picks your son up with his free arm and rests his forehead on his, “thanks for trusting me; sorry for keeping you wait.”

he’s here.

you shake your head, lightly, before nuzzling into his chest, “it’s okay…you’re here.”

“mama is right!”

satoru kisses both your foreheads before whispering, “I am here.”

taglist: @magenta-cat-drawingss @pompompurin1028 @scul-pted @dazaisdeathwish @requiem626k @nameless-shrimp @shinys-bsd-world-1 @sonder-paradise @ravenina14 @jessbeinme15s-notebook @todorokichills @ginneko @missrown @shrynkk @simplyxsinned @beautiful-is-boring @starlostlaiba @izukus-gf @irethepotato @thekaylahub @luciferspenguin- @aeanya @sweetcloudsimp @moon-catto @the-midnightskies @pianopuppygirl @fiona782 @kisakitwister @imjustasimpxd @psychopotatomeme @dreamcastgirl99 @watyousayin @doobiebochana @laylasbunbunny @hojicha-expresso

copyright © tender-rosiey

do not copy or plagiarize or I will domain expansion yo ass

[fxshigurosbae]

hello! can i pls request for breeding session w olderbf!gojo and youngergf!reader? like gojo is in his 30s and reader is around 19+..

also like the reader is so innocent and gojo's jist a pervy old man who wants to ruin reader's pussy and make her his good little toy

thankyou!!ᕙ( • ‿ • )ᕗ

my requests aren’t open but i’ll make an exception because this is a good request, thank you by the way! hope you enjoy it ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

the perverted boyfriend

୨୧⋆｡˚gojo satoru {32} x f!reader {19}

✶ mature content | mdni ! breeding, age gap, pet names, corruption kink, dacryphilia, cum play, barebacking, creampie, strong language.

taglist | masterlist

it’s taboo, but it’s your reality now.

you have a boyfriend who’s like a decade older. there was no true explanation for how you both even got together, specially because gojo satoru’s personality is quite eccentric, and he always looked like the type not to settle, so you becoming his young girlfriend was probably a weird, but also good thing.

you’ve only had a few intimate moments ever since you started dating a year ago — met at 18, dating a little before 19, now a few months from 20. gojo’s always made love to you, gone slow, used a condom, one round only, cuddles and after care, sweet kisses and no dirty talking (very contradictory), so that behavior was truly something unexpected, but you didn’t know his true colors. . . that’s because he knows how innocent you are. he knew that just by when you didn’t know what an orgasm felt like, and for having a pussy so tight, and soaking wet from only a few kisses and hugging your waist.

gojo’s not like this, he is just prepping you, because he’s a pervert.

he wants to ruin every single inch of chastity there’s still left in you, he always did. for him, he thinks you’re a little virgin. the explanation? because you haven’t sucked his cock yet, nor let him fuck you raw — after that, he’ll take you as his little personal toy, and no longer his pure princess.

little did you know how bad this man will ruin you.

gojo’s always the one who starts with the mood, he’s always the one looking for something, and he always gets it because he knows deep down that you’re a little whore at heart. by the way he holds you in his arms, kisses your cheeks, kisses the corner of your lips and moves on to making out so endearingly and careful is why he always, always, gets what he wants, he’s just being patient.

right now, he’s pursuing you again, but this time he’s got other plans.

why? gojo satoru’s been away for work for half a month now, and it’s made him wonder if you even tried touching yourself.

you innocently greet him at the door of your apartment, jumping onto him as he latches his bag onto the floor and hugs you back, his scent still there so strongly and he thinks the same about yours on your smooth skin. gojo knows you’ve worked extra hard on your appearance tonight, cute flowery thin silk dress, and you never wear this cologne he’s bought you, because you thought it was too sensual . . . and he takes notice of that. once he puts you on the floor, he admires your pretty face beaming at him with chuckles, looking up at him adorably as your height and size differences give you that gap.

“i missed you.” you giggle endlessly, holding onto his hands and swinging side to side, cheeks flushed. that brings him a smug smirk on his face that turns into a full gorgeous grin on his handsome face.

“i know you did, baby, i missed you too.” he replies softly, and his eyes take a peek at the round cleavage of that sundress you’re wearing, and his cock is already hard through his pants. why’d it have to be spring? “i’m gonna take a shower, wait for me?” he asks, tilting his head to the side slightly, luring you into his trap perfectly, with that honeyed voice and a caress on your head, restraining himself from jumping into you. your eyes gleam and nod as he leaves you with a small chuckle and goes on to the bathroom. your hands hold your cheeks to find them warm from blushing when he’s not looking.

you lie down in the bed, on your belly, ass up, sundress cleavage showing your tits, and on your phone until gojo walks out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, drying his hair with another smaller fabric. he walks towards you like this, something he’s never done before, and he stands in front of your face, making you look up and gulp down hard once you notice him like this.

“a-are you done? uh, wanna eat something?” you ask gently, blushing and seating upright on your knees. he throws the towel from his hair on the chair and reaches for your hand.

“hm, i do actually.” he replies pulling you by the wrist closer carefully, and he’s looking down on you with a soft almost predatory expression.

“i can make something, or order if you’d—

“baby,” he interrupts you, and you hum back slowly and shyly, doe eyes at him. “can i be rougher with you today?” and once he asks that, it takes you a few seconds to think. he notices the exact instant you understand what he meant, because your pupils dilate, your breath hitches and your cheeks flush darker, again.

“u-uh, d-do you, uh, do you mean like . . .” you stutter, becoming a mess just by his words.

“yeah, princess, like that.” gojo chuckles at your response, leaning down and kissing the right corner of your lips. “i’ve been dying to fuck you, you know.” once he says that with a whisper, your pussy clenches unconsciously, and you hum, closing your eyes and grabbing onto his wrist as his thumb’s pressing down against the skin on your inner thigh. “is that a yes?” you breathe out heavily, receiving his kisses on your face and jawline. “i’m not gonna hurt you, you know that.” he adds, his fingertips brushing their way inside your thin fabric dress covering your upper thighs, and this feeling burns.

“okay.” you moan out lowly and vulnerably — because you didn’t know exactly what he was thinking of, what that really meant, and you were curious — and his cock’s harder than ever once he looks at you with eyes still closed just taking in his pecks onto your skin, biting down your lower lip trembling. gojo’s making out with you, and he’s being aggressive.

he’s missed your glossy lips — imagining how your virgin mouth would feel around his cock — he’s missed your small soft innocent hands — imagining how they’d wrap around his dick — he’s missed your soft pussy — imagining how it’d feel to fuck it raw until you pass out.

you were already soaking wet, but with the simple touch of his index finger over your nipple you’re almost cumming. gojo notices your frail breathing against him as he pushes his tongue inside your mouth, other hand messing with your clit, pinching and rubbing under the hood as your thighs squish together.

it all happened so fast and intensely that you’re laid down in princess pillow position with legs spread by his hand as gojo pumps his cock with the other, gathering slick and making a mess in your folds as he rubs the tip against you. you think it’s dirty, and it’s all unknown, but you’re liking it, you just don’t know how much.

“‘toru,” you moan his name lowly, gripping onto the sheets and pillow under your head anxiously. he looks at you with his cheeks red and panting, he’s on the edge, he’s dying to fuck you, he’s dizzy and needy, and that look he gives you could again make you cum. “the condom.” once you say that, one side of his lips curve into a devious smirk, and he’s been waiting for you to ask for that.

“can’t i do it raw tonight, baby?” oh. your body responds to him, and you’re blushing harder and harder and you don’t know what you’re feeling. “you said i could be rough, remember? it’s gonna feel really good, i promise, so good.” he promotes, caressing your thigh as he rubs the pre-cum covered tip against your clit now. “can i make you feel good, my princess?” you let out a breath and look away. “f-fine,” you gather the courage to look back at his eyes. “i-if it’s gonna make you feel good too.” aw, that’s so innocent.

you shouldn’t have said that.

because now, he’s bullying your cunt over and over again, he’s got your knuckles turning white from gripping onto the sheets, a stiff neck from throwing it back against the pillow and sore legs from the weight he’s putting over you as gojo pushes you into a mate press. he’s going so deep, deeper than ever, he’s going so rough, rougher than ever, he’s being so loud, louder than ever, he’s being so dirty, dirtier than ever. the wrap and clenching around his cock is incessant and he’s dying over there, blabbering all sorts of dirty stuff to your chaste ears, and you’re becoming a mush under him, brainwashed. your hand uselessly trying to push his piston hips away as tears begin to stream your face, it’s too much and it’s too good for you.

“o-oh, fuck, fuck, baby,” gojo groans looking at your state. “you like it, don’t you, princess?” he’s been going on and on talking and asking the filthiest things for the past minutes — and you’ve came twice in such a short amount of time, he knows you did, you don’t — and you’re going insane from the tip of his dick kissing your cervix and the sloppy pace he’s set. you’re unable to answer but whine and moan dirtier than you’ve ever done, and you’re still restraining yourself, unable to even look at him from embarrassment. he leans down to keep fucking into you deeper while folding you in half at the same time. gojo frees one of his hands and pulls your chin to stare at him, and the way your eyebrows knit and the tears stream down your pretty cheeks turn him on tremendously. “talk to me, baby.” he whispers, groaning as he slows down and focus on pounding hardly.

“f-feels weird, ‘t-toru.” you moan out shakingly, trying to open your eyes but they threaten to keep closing due to the immense pleasure, and gojo tilts his hips up slightly and one more thrust hits a spot that you yell out, your toes curl and eyes roll to the back of your head.

“you’re being so dirty, baby.” he smirks, knowing he’s found your g-spot again, but in a better angle. gojo’s been trying to only please you with your clit the last times you’ve had sex, because he knew you weren’t going to be able to endure him using this one spot against you. “just let it go, ‘kay? it’ll feel so good, i promise.” and you look at him, breathing heavily as he continues to bully that spongy spot, your mouth turning into an open circle as you fail to breathe. gojo picks up the pace suddenly as he grabs both your legs again, he’s close, he’s so fucking close.

“i’m gonna cum in you, okay?” his words don’t even process into your head, as you want to kiss him, pulling gojo by the shoulders and neck, yet he doesn’t give in to you yet. “look at me and answer.” he’s demanding, and you’re aroused by that, your dizzy eyes look up at him. “i’m gonna fuck my cum in you,“ he’s talking so dirty it feels wrong, but your panting is only feeding him. “wanna be pregnant with my cum, baby?” your eyebrows furrow and you moan at the thought, it was an unconscious reaction, yet gojo now knew that you were done for as you squirted against his cock, failing to mute your moans as you bit your lip, and it was an intense orgasm. “i do.” you whine in the middle, and gojo has to throw his head back and chuckle at you, he’s got hearts in his eyes.

that alone makes him groan and cum inside you with another pound, and at this point, with how much you’re clenching him, you’re milking gojo dry quite literally. gojo thrusts without pulling out, he wants it all the way inside your cervix. “shouldn’t have said that, baby.” he whispers as his eyes latch down onto where you both connect.

you shouldn’t, you really really shouldn’t.

“ngh… fuc—fuck, you like my cum, don’t you, pretty girl?”, “knew you wanted me to cum in you, princess.”, “you’re such a dirty cumslut.”, “i’m gonna cum again, this time you’ll get pregnant, for sure, i swear.” you shouldn’t have said that because now gojo’s in the third round, and your pussy’s burning, destroyed and stretched out, filled with cum and it’s like your belly’s expanding at how much he’s came inside you, going in for another and more.

gojo knew he was a pervert, and he knew he was going to make a mess out of you, make you his little pretty innocent toy.

“holy fuck, princess, it’s all into your womb now, i’m sure!”

[cattoru]

[strifezz]

Wakey Wakey

[fyodcrs]

The balance of the world changed when Gojou Satoru was born.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✰ Happy birthday, Gojou! ✰ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

[merlinssassybeard]

'Ex' Husband Gojo - Better without me

Part 2 || series masterlist

Tags- gojo x fem reader, angst, fluff

Synopsis- A look at Gojo's feelings for his now estranged wife. While his wife goes through a breakdown

7th December, 2016

It was Satoru's 27th birthday.

Satoru knew but it really wasn't his priority honestly. Besides, he's not really in a mental state to even think of it.

He recalls how you, his wife, would plan various different things each year for his birthday. You, his joy and the light of his dim life.

All gone now...

Gojo had finished his mission overseas as soon as he could and returned back to Tokyo to submit reports of the mission and then again had to leave for his next mission in Seoul, South Korea.

He was aware of the incident with you just a day ago. Shoko had told him that it was just dehydration which caused a little fever and that everything's okay.

Gojo wasn't convinced. He didn't knew why, even when he wanted to believe Shoko, his six eyes indicated otherwise. They tell him there's more and Shoko probably knows but staying quiet.

Satoru had a few hours in his hand before leaving for the Airport check in by 4 am.

He decided he'd go to the Estate, which now belonged to you (not legally). He wanted to drop by the souvenirs from that particular day since he didn't really got any chance to.

Satoru Gojo is very prideful and quite egoistic and that is no secret. One day, his pride and ego will be the death of him.

7th December 2016 || 1 am

Satoru arrived at the Estate.

The air felt heavy but he went in anyways. Flashes of that day playing endlessly in his head. How everything unfolded and how you ran after him to stop him but his infinity barred you. Satoru feels guilty.

He usually doesn't have any guilt or regret regarding anything but with you... its different. He shouldn't have just walked away maybe. Maybe talking to you and trying to understand you where you're coming from would've helped.

He enters the house and is welcomed by the sleepy head staff.

"Welcome back Lord Satoru. Shall i prepare your room? I'll warm the food-", the head staff, Mr Kawaguchi, asked.

"No need", "is y/n asleep? How's she doing?", Satoru asked as if didn't even hear what Mr Kawaguchi said.

"Yes, Lord Satoru, Lady y/n is better now.", he said and started guiding Gojo to the room where you resided, "Lady y/n had trouble sleeping so the doctor had prescribed some sleeping pills"

Both of them reached outside your room. Satoru ordered the Mr Kawaguchi to leave him.

Satoru closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying his best to suppress his intrusive thoughts of hugging you and tell you that he's sorry (something he would never utter), have a conversation with you to figure things out on what is the root cause of such an abrupt bringing up of something as hideous as a Divorce.

He opened the sliding doors and entered the room for the first time after the last time he'd been here.

You were sleeping on your back with your arms all around and legs in another direction, trying to cover all of the space of the bed as much as you could.

This was your marital bed. A bed custom made to fit the giant 6'4 of a husband of yours.

But now it was just you...

He looked around the room. Recalling the old times, the 4 years of marriage he had.

What a blissful dream it was... just you and him against the world. Deep in love, exploring new things together. The warmth of your palm on his, your blushing cheeks whenever he kissed your lips before leaving for his missions. The nights that he had spent in your warmth on this very bed, in this very room. Old times when you slept in the protection of his big strong arms or when he picked you up from the bed and threw you into the water filled bathtub...

Blissful times indeed...

A smile had crept on Satoru's lips because the memories.

He placed the bag of souvenirs by the bedside table and leaned down to look at your face.

Dark circles, slight hollow cheeks, bony hands, piles and piles of medications.

'Oh what have you done y/n', he thinks looking at you.

If he had to be honest, he's never been this vulnerable in his life like he is now. So many emotions flooding him that he couldn't help but remove his dark glasses and lean down to your face.

He placed his hands gently caressing your soft hair and dropped a kiss on your forehead.

You were lost in your dreams and Satoru was in his. His dreams where he had you and took better care of you and did everything right.

But that's just a dream. A dream with no scope of fulfillment...

He knew this is the last and final time he'll see you this up close.

"Y/n.." he whispered, "I hope you find-", he struggled to say any further but still got himself to say it, "I hope you find someone better who will give you a better life... that i failed too."

Satoru couldn't bear to look at you any further from this moment. He gave his blessings to you for a better life and left that instant.

He knew he won't stop you from leaving if... no, when thats what you want. A person who loves, will never hold their lover captive against their will.

And that's what Satoru believes in...

It was 8am in the morning.

You were sitting in your bed, wrapped in the thick blankets while sipping your soup that your attendant brought while Shoko sat in the gray arm chair beside your bed reading newspaper.

Shoko has been visiting you every morning and evening to check up on you whether you're taking your pills timely and also to give you company considering the fact that you barely have any friends.

Your only friend, if you have to name with whom you would share everything would be Shoko and Mariko Zenin (whom you befriended during Clan meetings.).

You saw today's date.

'7th December', it read.

"Shoko... its his birthday today...", you mumbled with your head bowed

Shoko looked at you and she could see it, all the emotions that reflected on your face.

She wanted to confront you that why don't you tell him that it was all but a mistake afterall didn't he try to persuade you? So this should be easy?

She knew though this isn't the right time because you're still recovering but she couldn't hold herself...

"Y/n", Shoko began and you looked up at her.

"Y/n why don't you tell him about it? He has all the right to know you know! Didn't you say he persuaded you to not to leave? And you don't want to leave either!" She made a point. "So just call... this weird thing between you two off already. And be together"

You kept blankly staring at her.

Is it all really that easy? As if!

"Shoko, i can't." You told her.

"But why? Wouldn't it be easier?"

"Shoko you don't understand! I can't... i can't just tell Satoru that he was going to be father! You don't get it!", you tried to explain her.

"But why? Y/n why? Try me!", Shoko got up from the arm chair and sat on the bed and held your hand.

You didn't want to tell her. You really don't want to but she's the only person whom you trust.

"Shoko you don't get it, you don't get it!", you insisted

"Try me y/n!"

"You won't get it Shoko!", you kept refusing

"Y/n!", Shoko kept insisting.

"Satoru didn't want to be father and that was our mutual agreement before we got married! I've always taken precautions to stand by my word ever since our marriage... but Satoru's family has been pressing me to get pregnant... So i didn't take any pills one day and a month later found out i was carrying... our baby.."

Shoko was left speechless.

But you continued with tears rolling down...

"I thought... when Satoru will return I will tell him everything but before i could... i-i lost our child". You struggled

"Maybe it was the God's way of punishing me for trying to force an innocent man like Satoru something he isn't prepared for.", you laughed through the tears. "Maybe its better this way Shoko. We should Divorce. I can't carry children to make his family happy anyway..."

Shoko wanted to say but the words just wouldn't come to her tongue. Maybe its because its not her place to interfere.

"Y/n...", Shoko didn't know what to say any further so she leaned closer and hugged you.

You hugged her back. You felt like a large rock got off of your chest now that you told her everything...

But things were about to take a different direction because one of the lady staff was secretly eavesdropping your conversation.

And she heard... all of it...

Tags

@sindela @dazai-gojo-kinnie @whats-humanity-lol @thewickedofrizz @phantasmia @ghostllyyz @yihona-san06 @Enaaneaen@sweet-almonds @Angel_🫶🏻@autumn-slaves @wondermilka @hh0pe @kugisakinobarades @witchbybirth @nineooooo @ssc7514 @Hana-patata @blue_spices @haikyuubiggestsimp @urstepmom69 @hueneve @chayunwoo@waosobii @nadzhaf @yoriichiswife @tiltraumadouspart @kirschtein123 @whoisobsessed @Asala @ashthemadwriter @remnirris @svm666 @voidsatoru @staygoldsquatchling02 @dunnowhy-m @nnasv @violetmatcha

If i forgot to tag anyone, i apologise.

A/N- The next chapter will be quite spicy ^v^

[juniperarts]

Him

[sloaners]

bright-eyed

[thiniceofeternalyouth]

MISLEADIN' ME SERIES: CHAPTER NINE

ROAD HOME

⊳ Gojo Satoru x f!reader

series masterlist

Genre: angst, fluff, sci-fi, cosmology.

Words count: ~14k

⊲ previous

Standing in the alley between the huts, you had already nailed the last sheet to the wall, creating a small but hidden space. Inside, there were already a few water bottles, a bar of soap, and a makeshift stool. "There, all done," you chirped, admiring the result. You peeked out from behind the curtain. "Come in," you nodded, inviting Nora inside. Without raising her head, she strode past you in small, uncertain steps.

Feeling awkward, you averted your eyes and wanted to leave the makeshift shower, but you were stopped by a subtle touch of a hand. "Don't go," Nora mumbled softly.

"Uh?" you rambled, and your eyes rounded at the surprise of her request. The girl's head was still down, and her tangled hair covered her face.

"I...," Nora began, but immediately stopped. Her breathing became so ragged and loud as if she was beginning to choke. "I don't wanna be alone," her voice shook. "Don't go."

You gently grabbed Nora's chin and lifted her head, forcing her to look at you. "It's okay. Breathe," there wasn't panic or fear in her eyes, there was desperation in them. There was still no way Nora was going to calm down. "Come on. Inhale," you sucked in air with persistence and noise and waited for her to repeat after you. "Exhale," on your command, she exhaled so hard it flung strands of hair from your face. "Sit down," you moved the stool closer to her.

Nora sat down, and the stool creaked dangerously, but it didn't give up. The girl leaned her hands on her knees, and you could see her vertebrae protruding.

"Hands up," you tried to keep your voice as soft as possible, making the words sound more like a request than an order. She obediently raised her limbs, and you grabbed the edges of her shirt and pulled it off. You'd tried not to look at her injuries before, but there was little to look at now - some of the wounds had healed, others were almost invisible.

Nora took off her wide pants in a hurry for some reason - you didn't even squeak before they were on the ground. You gathered up her clothes and hung them on a rusty flimsy nail.

The girl froze. It seemed as if she had forgotten how to do ordinary household things because of everything that had happened. Sighing and trying not to look at her gaunt body, you moistened your hands with cool water and picked up the soap. As soon as you touched the girl, she jerked, making the stool rattle with renewed vigor. "Just... Cold," Nora mumbled guiltily to herself, dispelling any speculation you might have had in your head.

You did not answer, only silently continued to soap her skinny back, and Nora did not lag behind - you could see how she weakly washed the front of her body, now and then adding water.

You'd thrown her tangles over her shoulder so many times, and they'd come back as annoying as flies on a sweltering day. "Listen," you started as if in between. "Ya mind if I cut your hair a little?"

"Is it that bad?" she mumbled quietly.

It wasn't that bad. After a few rinses, a russet or brown color was even beginning to emerge behind the dirt, and judging by the length of her hair, she'd taken good care of it in her former life. However, there wasn't even a hairbrush in the place. "Nah," you shrugged mundanely, lathering and massaging the nape of her neck. "It's just more comfortable this way, don't ya think?"

Nora hasn't even given you an answer yet, and you've already tried on how much to cut. Shoulder blades? Shoulder length? Or maybe cut it all off? You doubted that you could do it like the heroines in the movies and video games - a couple of cuts and you'd have a professional model's haircut. "Lemme cut it somewhere at the level of your neck, 'kay?" you asked, not even noticing that she still hadn't agreed.

As soon as she nodded her head weakly, the dagger was in your hand. You squatted down, divided the hair into strands, and began to cut it off carefully, trying it on. The more you cut, the more Nora trembled, and she was no longer embarrassed to cry. All the tangles fell to the ground. Eventually, the dark sand will sweep them away, too.

The haircut was uneven, with hairs sticking out here and there, but you didn't dare touch them for fear of hurting Nora, for you couldn't stop her body from shuddering. You rested your head on her shoulder. "Don't cry like that," you said softly, parting her strands as gently as you could with your fingers. Nora pressed her face into her palms, making her sobs muffled and her tears invisible, only the pain seemed to remain unchanged. "It'll grow back."

To give her time to cry, you began to wash her hair. Gently, so as not to tangle it further, you massaged her scalp, rubbing in the foam from the laundry soap, and with each passing moment her body relaxed. She even yielded a little. Nora's wet body touching your clothes, her arms fell limp, her eyelids fluttering closed. Neither dark nor empty. Calm.

"..., hey," you gently shook her by the shoulders, and she immediately straightened her back. You picked up some relatively clean clothes and held them out to Nora. "We're done here. Come on, get dressed. Let's do some shenanigans."

She looked at you questioningly rather than suspiciously - but your head was already hidden behind the sheet and your fingers were tapping against the hut wall. Nora, wiping the water from her body and pulling on a stretch hoodie and wide pants, snuck under the sheet and stared in the same direction as you, trying to see what was wrong. "Pick one," your tone was preternaturally excitable, which made Nora frown. "That one over there," you nodded at the demon that stood on the roof of the far hut. "Or that one over there?" you pointed to another that stood nearby, seemingly cooing something to a young boy with blotchy cheeks sitting on the ground. There was something spread out on tattered sheets in front of him, and you could make out a few water bottles, a pair of old boots, and a flask.

Something seemed to boil above your ear. You turned around, and for good reason - Nora's gaze was on the second, and her face was contorted with anger. You smirked, but slightly covered it with your hand. Still, rage was much better and more productive than despair. "That one," the girl hissed, watching as the demon nearly buried its nose in the cheek of the boy who was trying unsuccessfully to distance himself from it. The demon was clearly whispering something, and anxiety and despair were becoming clearer and clearer on the boy's face.

"Okay," you agreed. "How about this. I'll distract him, and ya come up from behind and hit him right here," you poked between your collarbones.         

"What?" blurted out Nora in a panicked whisper, staring at you with big eyes. "You out of your mind? How could I... How could you...," she gasped and shook her head. "I don't even have a weapon!"

You impatiently began to tap the toe of your shoes against the ground, keeping your eyes on the one Nora pointed at. "If that's all ya care about, then hurry up," the girl gasped quietly as a dagger appeared in your outstretched hand. "Take it."

Nora tentatively reached for the dagger, and the haze that enveloped it enveloped her fingers. She found no reason to recoil, for the smoke was surprisingly soft and warm, though it had no physical form. The dagger seemed to lure her as people lure anyone with sweet promises - the most earthy or impossible, it didn't matter. For as soon as Nora grasped the hilt, each of them felt realizable to her. "Oh yes," you clapped your hands together playfully. "If ya don't kill him, he'll kill me. That's it, I gotta go!"

You waddled toward the boy, clutching your side desperately. "What I have to do?" you heard a worried whisper in behind, but you just waved your hand. You strained your throat and started coughing - until your throat was clammy. No one even noticed.

When you reached the boy, you bent over with difficulty and clung harder to your side. "Water!" you begged in a hoarse voice. "Please ... I can't pay ya anything, but... just a sip, please!"

The black eyes made it unclear where the demon was looking, but you didn't need to - as soon as you'd uttered your pleas, you felt a strong grip on your hair. "I guess no one taught manners to backstreet scum," he whispered the words so close you could feel the slimy teeth on your cheek. "It's not nice to interrupt," his grip only tightened, and for a moment, you felt like a naughty dog being pulled by the leash again. "You have to apologize," the demon's whisper drifted into the steel that bound his voice. "On your knees."

The last words weren't even out loud - they were a precise, invisible trickle that flowed into your mind, making your knees go weak. You, in turn, began to resist, not his order, but your own stubbornness. It didn't work. You remained standing, though you wiped the willfulness from your face.

As you tried to catch a glimpse of Nora moving quietly albeit clumsily behind his back, you received a resounding slap. "Look at me," the demon commanded, and tugged at your hair for persuasion. "Rebellious, aren't you?" he asked wryly, but the dark eyes reflected wariness. "I was just trying to have a good time with this young man," he nodded toward the kid who was huddled harder with his back against the hut wall. "You ruined the whole atmosphere, though. Kinda... romantic. That's what you call it, isn't it?" for a moment his eyes became normal - neither dark nor horrible, but the eyes of someone whose body had been taken away. "You have to compensate."

Everyone around him seemed to freeze, afraid to take a single step to the side. Nora stood at the demon's back literally a couple of feet away, clutching a trembling dagger with both hands right in front of her; whether it was from the girl's excitement or the lingering anticipation of the blade itself. When would she strike?

It was so quiet that you could hear the ringing of silence - the demon probably felt it, too. As soon as he wanted to raise his head, you immediately clutched at his clothes. "I just wanted water! Have mercy! Please!" your sobs grew louder and louder.

"Let the girl go!" came an uncertain but loud exclamation behind you, drawing attention.

"She didn't do anything wrong!" shouted an unfamiliar woman from a nearby hut. 

The hooting grew like a snowball of resentment and discontent. Those who didn't dare to shout glared angrily at the demon, and he could feel it, for you couldn't think of any other reason for the claws digging into your scalp. If Nora still didn't dare now, you'd have to take that opportunity away from her. "Thought we'd do this in private. Okay, that'll be a lesson to everyone," he hissed. "Get undressed."

The way you grabbed the edges of your shirt without thinking reminded you of why people left with demons without a lot of noise and desperate screams. Of course, they were restrained by fear or the grip of frozen horror, but that didn't happen silently; the reason lurked elsewhere - as soon as the demon said a single commanding word, any unprepared person became a puppet in the power of absolute obedience. Even the fact that not all of them possessed such an ability was no consolation.  

Something in your throat made you cough, but it didn't take long for your throat to sore. You looked up to see the black tip of a dagger sticking out of the scattered ashes, and then, when the shroud of the dead man had dissipated, Nora's terrified face. "Geez," you sighed in relief, throwing back your head. "Finally! I thought that prick was gonna rip my hair out!"

"I'm sorry," Nora said with trembling lips. "I'm sorry, I'm...," tears sprang from her swollen eyes again, and you could even feel how hot they felt on her cheeks.

You stood up and put your arm around her shoulder. "It's okay," you assured her, pulling her closer to you, and Nora's nose burrowed into your collarbone.

"I can't believe it," she still sounded confused, every nervous twitch in her voice audible. "I can't believe it!" she threw her head up and stared at you with big eyes, and the corners of your lips crept upward because it wasn't from fright at all, but from excitement. "Holy shit! I really killed him!" Nora's smile, like the morning sun, dispelled the fog of endless tears.

The people around you didn't make a sound, but they weren't in a hurry to leave, either - you could see them watching you from the huts. "I'm not sure whether or not I'm glad ya're talking about it in that way," you clicked your tongue softly, and pulled the girl closer to you. Nora, on the other hand, dazedly sucked in air and looked at you guiltily as the dagger disappeared from her hands. "Don't worry," you waved it away. "Let's go get something to eat before someone else comes running."

Nora's palm instantly flew up to her mouth, and she stared at you in utter shock. "What if... what if one of them saw all of this? Or someone tells them?"

You chuckled relaxedly, feeling her shoulders tense. "We'll figure it out," you assured her, not mentioning that in a case like that, beholders and snitches would have to be made dead.

Beep-beep.

The wind didn't rush in through the open window or make the curtains rustle, but it was cold in the room nonetheless. An unknown movie playing quietly on the laptop threw lights on the walls - smooth and faded, then so sharp and bright that you had to squint your eyes. The chair you were sitting in added to the discomfort - it was the same as yesterday, but you felt like you were sitting on a lumpy rock.

Beep-beep.

The quiet noises from the side were so annoying that every time they made you fake hope that they were coming from the person in the bunk, but no. It was Rachel, sitting on the other side of the bed. She shook her leg restlessly and kept hitting the metal stem, and you thought you could hear her chewing on her nails.

Beep-beep.

"Stupid movie," Rachel mumbled, still holding her finger to her lips. Her gaze was fixed on the laptop, but the images reflected clearly in her eyes, making them look glassy.

"Uh-huh," you muttered absently to yourself, trying unsuccessfully to rub your aching legs.

"He's stupid, too," Rachel nodded at Kyle, and this time it wasn't a mumble; the words were clearer, angrier. "And weak," you glanced at Kyle who was still unconscious, but his peacefully heaving chest and the heart monitor's steady heartbeat made it look like he was sound asleep. "I went right back to work after giving birth, and this asshole can't even get through isolation for the fifth time."

Beep-beep.

"In the seventh," you corrected.

"Who the fuck cares?" hissed Rachel angrily, and you begged, albeit reluctantly and disbelievingly, that her hissing wouldn't turn into screaming. "If he really cared about us, he'd forget about this whole thing! Why do we have to sit by this fucking bed every time," she kicked the metal bedpost with force. "And wonder if he'll make it this time?"

"No one's forcing ya to sit here," you shrugged, and though you kept your eyes on the laptop screen, you still caught a glimpse of Rachel standing up, her silhouette looming dangerously over the bed.

"Don't ya think ya should watch your mouth sometimes?" her voice grew threateningly closer.

You rolled your eyes involuntarily. "Ya know, Kyle may be weaker, but ya the one who's gonna take a fucking dirt nap first," you grumbled, reluctantly parting your lips, but it was in vain - you'd already fallen for the provocation. 

"What did ya just say?" she snapped back.

Beep-beep.

You jumped to your feet and mirrored her pose, resting your hands on the bed - you were breathing in each other's faces right over your brother's body. 

"I said," you started to say loud and clear. "Kyle may be weaker, but because of your shitty temper, ya'll die first," each word you said was louder than the last.

"Ya little bitch!" roared Rachel and grabbed your throat with her sharp nails, but there was no time to do anything - you were pushed against each other.

"Ouch," you whimpered quietly, rubbing your forehead and settling back into your seat.

"Both of ya!" a disgruntled husky voice yelled back at you. "What if I hadn't woken up?" Kyle tiredly plopped back onto the pillow. "Would ya have fought right on top of me?" 

"It's good to see ya awake," Rachel didn't hug him, didn't even look at him - just muttered wryly. "Maybe ya can set that brat straight," she pointed her finger in your direction, and even though Rachel was already in the doorway, you felt like she was poking you in the eye.

Rachel slammed the door shut with such force that you immediately looked at the hinges to make sure they were still in place.

Kyle exhaled and then sat up, giving you a warm look. "So, what's going on again?" he asked softly, giving you a gentle tap on the forehead. You pursed your lips and absent-mindedly threw up your hands - if you only knew. "Okay," he grinned, trying to get comfortable. "She'll be cool down by tomorrow."

"I...uh, I don't think so," you gulped, watching the sheets move due to Kyle's fidgeting.

"What ya talking about?" he raised his eyebrows skeptically. "Ya know her, she'll be back with snacks in maybe a couple hours, and she'll probably start nagging us about Rob putting the cotton swabs on the wrong shelf again."

Your limbs were unpleasantly numb - you couldn't move a finger. And before your voice went numb, you decided to ask the question that had put you in this state. "Kyle," you began cautiously. "What's the last thing ya remember? Ya know... Before I put ya into isolation."

He opened his mouth, but immediately shook his head thoughtfully, and closed it back. "Honestly... Hmm," Kyle tried to survey his surroundings and even himself in it - he examined his hands, his feet, everything his eyes could see without a mirror. "I think I taught ya this morning what cycle to wash your white sneakers on," that didn't tell you anything - you asked him that every time you started a load of laundry. "Also... I think Rob and I were supposed to take the kids to an amusement park tonight? Disney Sea or whatever..."

You were afraid your voice would go numb, but your heart did it instead, skipping a beat or two. You and your isolation ate up about a year of your brother's memories this time. It remains to be seen just how huge a piece of pie you ate this time.  "Kyle...," you exhaled convulsively, smearing the remnants of courage in your voice. "I think we went a little overboard this time. It's been a while."

"Well, the last time didn't pass without problems too, right?" he tried to cheer you up, but he didn't seem to have the right words. You reached out and took his hand, the one with the shimmering silver bracelet on it, and began to rub it slowly and methodically. "Y/N," he grinned nervously, watching you play with the bracelet you'd grown tired of. "What is it?"  

 "Rob...," you accidentally bit your tongue in frustration. "Rob's dead."

God knows you didn't want to look up, but your eyes did it themselves. It was the same picture as before - Kyle's pale, gaunt face. It was like he'd lost a quarter of his weight in a second.

Who had it harder? The person who felt like everyone had already been through it or the person who was put through it a second time?

"What about...," his glittering eyes darted from side to side. "What about Rachel? What about her and Rob's baby? Did something happen to them?" he was already starting to fidget to get out of bed, but you stopped him, pressing him back against the bunk with your hand.  

"Mike- uh, the baby's fine," you held your hand on Kyle's chest, trying to make sure he stayed in that position. "She's had the baby for two months now. It's a healthy baby boy. So...," you purposely stammered, trying to contain the rest of the memories within you, leaving them unspoken. "Yeah, it's fine."

The answer was immediate. "Got it," Kyle said soberly, but turning to you again, his voice was went softer. "I'll take a little break, recover, and we'll try again."

"Hmm?" you raised your head dumbfounded. "Again?" seeing that Kyle nodded, you started to shake your head. "Look, enough already. That was your seventh try, and ya only getting worse each time. It's probably time to... well, dunno. Get over it. Your body's conductivity isn't increasing, and ya still can't go into the void. Let's just leave it, 'kay?"

"Seventh, then... Wow," he chuckled, but he didn't see the shadow of a smile on your face. "Look, if Rob's gone, does that mean there are fewer voidrunners, too?" he quipped, and you clutched at his bracelet so tightly that it nearly broke. "No arguments. I'm not Rachel, and I'm not gonna yell or prove anything. Ya should know your place. After all... In our position, it's your job to lead anyone through isolation who's expressed a desire."

He was right, but what about your desires? Was it really so selfish to want to protect at least the people you love from danger?

You quit fiddling with the bracelet and carefully climbed onto the bunk and snuggled under the blanket. "Hey," Kyle chuckled softly, peeking under the blanket and meeting you face full of childish annoyance. "Come on out of there," and with that, he stretched out his hand on the pillow.

You shook your head stubbornly, which made him smile even more. "I'm sorry. I was really rude when I said that. If ya come on out of there, I won't do it again," Kyle said, and before he knew it, your head was on his forearm.

"Sometimes I do wanna be selfish," you muttered quietly through pouty lips. You could feel his calloused fingers stroking your arm as if trying to push the bitterness away.

"I know," Kyle kissed the top of your head. "Ya just wanna protect us, but... Y/N, we're all adults, and we make our own choices. You've warned us a hundred times about the consequences, so if something happens to us, it won't be your fault - we signed up for it ourselves."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" you raised your head and glared at your brother - your wrinkled nose made him chuckle, but apparently he was trying to restrain himself - all that came out was a squeezed sound through his nose. "Let's talk about something else," you muttered.

"Okay. What's more news?" he asked serenely, stroking your hair - the touch was so light, it was like Kyle was barely touching it.

"Well...," you drawled thoughtfully. "I used to think that I just didn't understand something or that it was just the dioreacts hiding so well, but I guess not. They don't have consciousness. Or maybe I'm just missing something after all. Dunno," hearing a dubious hum, you added. "I can't sense their consciousness in isolation."

"Otherwise it would be too easy for us...," Kyle snorted annoyed. "Will there be any good news?" he asked, spitting and puffing on your hair, which he'd, electrified himself.  

You peered slyly out from behind the hut's wall, watching Bjorn. The poor thing, unsuspecting of your return from the sortie, was sitting on the floor, counting his cigarettes, humming to himself in his overgrown beard. You quietly stepped inside, and involuntarily began to giggle. "Bjorn," you addressed to the man, smiling ridiculously, but only got an annoyed wave back. "Bjo-o-orn," you drawled mischievously, and the sound of clanking made him raise his head sharply.

You appeared before his eyes, holding a pair of shears - his fear. You deliberately made a couple or three more cutting motions, and Bjorn jumped up like a stung man. "Don't you dare!" he hissed, and saliva seemed to fly through the hole where the tooth should have been. The man as if in a fight between two predators began to circle around you, never turning his back on you - all to get closer to the exit. Keeping your eyes on him, you clanked your scissors threateningly again, cutting the air "I'll rip your arms off, witch," he growled, backing away.

You were in no hurry to catch up with him, but only wished he were in the opening. As soon as he was there, his back was against something huge. "Oter, seize him!" you shouted, and Oter, on command grabbed the man under the armpits, lifting him into the air, and only then did you begin to approach the writhing Bjorn - if it had not been for his weight you might have said that he looked one and all like a frightened ferret. 

"Conspiracy!" Bjorn yelled, but there was no escape from Oter's grip - his arms were so strong that Bjorn felt as if he were being squeezed by a golem. "They wanna kill me!" his voice had already reached its highest possible pitch when you were close to him and ran your hand through his beard.

"Stop squeaking," you tried to concentrate so you wouldn't cut off anything else including Bjorn's skin, but he was preventing it by shaking his head and body relentlessly in all directions. You glanced meaningfully at Oter who was as bald as a baby after the similar manipulations you'd done, and just as satisfied. Oter squeezed Bjorn harder, so hard that all the air went out of him.

"What's going on here?" came a panicked and panting voice from behind Oter's back, and he immediately let go or you could say dropped Bjorn to the floor. You immediately put the shears behind your back and skulked to the drawers, pretending to look for something.

"Those two...," Bjorn mumbled, trying to cough and crawling back into a corner. "Those two wanted to kill me!"

"That's not true!" you frowned immediately. "We just wanted to give ya a haircut!"

"Liar!" roared Bjorn, still clinging to his precious beard.

"Jonah!" you whined, stomping your foot. "Tell him!"

Jonah was still standing in the doorway, leaning his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. "You guys completely crazy? I thought someone was getting killed in here..."

"Right in front of you is the victim of a crime," Bjorn didn't relent.

"Shut up," Jonah muttered irritably, taking his backpack off his shoulders. "You really need a haircut. It's taking too much soap."

"It's natural thermoregulation!" he objected indignantly, spreading his arms apart.

You pouted and picked at the floor with your toe as deliberately as if you were convinced something precious was lurking there. "Lice's breeding ground," you muttered to yourself. "Where have ya been?" you asked Jonah, coming closer to the shelves.

"At the huckster's," Jonah replied, pulling bottles from his backpack. "With all your hygiene, there's no water to spare."

"Well...," you drawled meaningfully. "Just because we live in the middle of a dump doesn't mean we have to smell like one."

"Your moral compass is costing me too much," the man muttered, though he was glad he smelled like laundry soap instead of decaying flesh for the first time in a long time.

"Sorry," you said guiltily. "I'll make it up to ya. I was going back anyway."

"You know, I was sure you weren't a robot just because I saw your blood," Jonah grinned nervously. "Now I'm not sure of anything anymore. Why don't you get some rest, just for a little while?"

"I'll rest after this sortie," you sighed, and noticing how skeptical Jonah was staring at you, you added, putting your hand over your heart. "Promise."

"Relocate."

"Yeah, sure, why should we say goodbye..." sighed Jonah unhappily as he continued to arrange what he had bought into the crates.

***

When you first came into this room, you couldn't even take a step. All those piled towers of stuff covered with sheets stood so close together that you couldn't even squeeze between them - any movement you made would cause them to sway threateningly. Therefore, sortie after sortie, you cleared these debris, starting at the entrance.

The room looked different now, and though much of it was still unexplored and shrouded, it was now organized and everything you could get your hands on was boxed up for its intended purpose. You had boxes of bath supplies, expired medicines, clothes; you even had a little box where you put jewelry - as you searched you found everything from cheap costume jewelry to expensive one. 'Ya don't need it anymore, and I still have a dozen hungry mouths to feed,' you thought each time you put another ring in the makeshift jewelry box. There was even a box where you naively hoped to put the chargers, and every time you put a new one in there or just looked in it, you literally saw the evolution. They were all motley, some of them, judging by the connectors, were from the twentieth century. Only one of them fit your phone, and all it did was make you want to tear it up because you didn't even have a chance to check if it was working. There was no electricity.

Kicking the box of wires away, you threw the sheet off another pile of stuff and sat down to start sorting it all out. The monotonous work was soothing and even enjoyable as if you were getting into a routine, and it felt like you were closer to home.

You arranged the things you took out around you, mentally categorizing them. On the right - leisure, toys and surviving books, on the left - everything that could be thrown into the furnace (like old notebooks and other waste paper, and everything that was somehow made of wood), behind - jars, plates, bowls, knives, forks and spoons. Long story short, everything that would help you not to turn into pigs.

Remembering Nora, you kept thinking you'd find a hairbrush, and if you were lucky, maybe this time you'd find a nice shampoo to replace the tired bar of soap. You excitedly pulled out item after item, and if you thought it didn't fit anywhere, you tossed it to the far corner. It was like that until your palms hit something big, hard, and cold.

You tried to pull the object out, but either it was too heavy or you had lost all your strength. You furrowed your brows, buried your hands deeper and strained, trying to pull something out, but it only came out jerky as if you were trying to pull a stubborn carrot out of a bed.

The more strength you exerted, the more the object wobbled and moved away from the place it was stuck to, and with one more clumsy tug, you fell on your back. On top of that, the heavy object you were so desperately clinging to crushed your chest.

Your eyes met a metal box with housings, various levers and bolts. "Why the fuck do I need a carburetor for?" your voice broke with frustration, and you sounded so resentful as if the universe itself had wronged you. Putting the carburetor aside, you stared into the hole you'd made. It was almost impossible to see anything, but the thief's eye caught a fleeting glint.

Humming to yourself, you knelt down and tried to fumble for whatever it was that glinted so strongly in the depths of things. When it was in your hand, you pulled it out. It was copper wire. "Holy shit," you exhaled quietly and immediately put your palm to your mouth, a high-pitched squeak coming out of you. You felt like a mischievous five-year-old who'd rummaged through Santa's sack while he was harnessing the reindeer.

There was a whistling in your ears with such force it was like drinking five cups of coffee with already high blood pressure.

"It's just that as one of their punishments. Demons make us eat a pack of salt."

You already had electrolyte. The very packet of salt that no one had ever touched was still on the shelf in the hut. All you had to do was find iron. At least aluminum.

You jumped to your feet and started sharply tossing the sheets off, and your movements were sharp but unsure - you didn't know where to start. Before you knew it, the room was in the same condition as it had been at the beginning, with piles of scattered garbage piled tightly together, leaving no space.

Nevertheless, there was nothing here. Not a single piece of tinfoil.

Positive thought is always selfish - it fills all of a person's thoughts, leaving no room for anything else. Negative thought is so welcoming that it invites its 'friends' for a stroll through the mind, causing the person to jump frantically from one bad thought to another. They intertwine with each other until they form a tight knot of despair.

"You mean he made a deal with ya a year ago?"

You knew the first thing you'd do if you got out of here. You'd check out each and every one of those snakes that were crawling above. Whether or not they die in the process was not your problem.

Trying to suppress the trembling in your knees, you sat down right in the middle of the mess. Your foot, living a separate life, was tapping a fidgety nervous rhythm against the floor.

A sickening lump started to rise in your throat. Just a few moments ago, it was as if you'd been given a delicious Belgian chocolate to sniff, and as soon as you reached out to break off a piece, it was snatched away with an ugly laugh.

Your foot came to an abrupt stop. The last thought that ended the chaos in your head was about the chocolate bars.

***

It was getting harder and harder to relocate precisely - your body was letting you know about the overload, and sometimes it was even physically impossible to take a breath. Every day it became more and more painful. Therefore, you accidentally moved far away from the huts and ran to yours as fast as possible, with an overflowing backpack shaking behind your shoulders.

Once you were in the doorway, you couldn't quite make out those present through the joyful veil - it was enough that they were just there. "Bjorn!" you exclaimed running over to the shelf and starting to open your backpack - a huge amount of chocolates, a charger cable, copper wire, and a wristwatch flew out. "Where are all the bottles?"

"What do you mean? I sold them," the man said in a tone as if he were stating the most obvious thing in the world.

"Ya did what?" you asked disbelievingly, and the look on your face was as he hadn't sold a bunch of plastic, but your relative.

"Well, excuse me!" Bjorn apologized sarcastically, bowing. "I wanna smoke, and you can't even conjure up a cigarette!"

"Fine," you hissed, tearing the wrapper off the chocolate bar with a jerk; though annoyance had just boiled up inside you, you immediately softened and almost jumped on the spot - there was foil inside. "Now we're all gonna go rummage through the garbage."

"Why should I?" muttered Bjorn.

"What are you up to?" asked Jonah quietly, leaning against the shelf that held the chocolates.

"Ya wanna get out of this place?" you turned to him in a conspiratorial whisper, but the people behind you heard and immediately perked up their ears.

"Is this some kinda bad joke?" grinned Jonah nervously and crossed his arms over his chest.

"You're such a bullshitter!" bellowed Bjorn angrily, and seemed to toss something aside.

There was a satisfied mooing from the side, and you turned to see that Oter and Nora were sitting in the corner; the giant was teaching her how to handle a needle and thread. "I wanna," Nora whispered quietly, and Oter nodded vigorously. You glared at Nora, and grabbing your jackets from the forgotten nails in the wall, nodded your head toward the exit.

[April 29, 2020; 9:09 pm; Hopetown]

It is a truism that the spring air changes everything around people. Even the taste of tea on the tip of Frank's tongue felt different with the green grass, the buds in bloom, the flapping of migrating birds' wings. In spite of his imposing figure, he felt a lightness inside that only dimmed or disappeared when he thought of you, but he was careful to keep those thoughts out of his mind with the cares and chores of the household.

Frank had just finished examining the cattle, and had not forgotten to feed the smaller cattle as well - his legs were buzzing from such a seemingly small walk; the man scolded himself for this, for only a few years ago he might have undergone such exertions that people had doubts about his mortality.

As he sipped from his large mug, Frank looked out the window watching the children all the time. He'd never been able to catch the moment when he'd changed from the absentee father to the overprotective one, and no one could tell him which was the better of the two evils.

Noticing dusk approaching, Frank sighed, set his mug aside, and opened the window. "Mike! Tris! Get home now!" his voice was so booming that the mountain tops didn't shake thanks only to a miracle. It was only when two tiny silhouettes ran toward the hill that he calmed down and was about to close the sash, except that there was someone else on the horizon, and that someone else was also heading toward Frank's house.

Frank hastily replaced the sweat-soaked T-shirt with a clean one, for no matter what his guests' intentions were, they were to be greeted in a proper manner. He heard Tris and Mike rush in like a tornado, laughing as they swept through the girl's room.

Literally a minute later, there was a knock on the door.   

Though Frank had seen the figures through the window and could mentally make out who it really was, still a surprised interjection escaped him. "Oh," said Frank dully, flapping his eyes. "What a surprise," the man shifted his gaze from Gojo to Danielle.

"Hey," greeted Gojo, waving his hand carelessly. The girl stood beside him, huddled and not lifting her gaze from the floor. "Dany said she can't stand to stay in that house, so...," he scratched the shaved back of his head thoughtfully. "I brought her to you. What are you standing there for?" he shoved Danielle lightly in the back, intent on bringing her out of her stone statue state. "Come on in." 

Frank looked worriedly at the girl who was going up to the second floor. "Dany, what's the matter...," Frank muttered quietly, hesitating whether to follow her or not.

"I wanna be alone," she mumbled over her shoulder, after which she disappeared from sight.

"Uh," Gojo began, hiding his face in his high collar. "I hope you don't mind if Megumi shows up here too? He's on a mission right now, and when he gets back and won't see Danielle... He'll start making those nasty faces again."  

"No problem," Frank shrugged cordially. "Why don't ya come in?"

"Nah, it's fine," Gojo fussily waved his hands in protest. "Gotta go."

Frank looked him over meaningfully, dressed in his black uniform, and what was still new was the blindfold over his eyes. "Work, huh?" 

"Kinda," Gojo chirped into the fabric of his robes. He was already turning on his heels, waving at Frank one last time. "I'll bring souvenirs!" 

"Ya really think I'm just gonna buy that?" shouted Frank after him. "That ya just took off work to bring Danielle here? Kyle, Rachel, or even Doc could have done it," Frank watched with a kind of amusement as Gojo froze in place. "Since ya're here, come in. Have some tea at least after your journey." 

Gojo walked into the house to an elderly snicker - it gave him goosebumps. Of course, he suspected there would be only two possibilities: he would either be stopped or not, and both felt equally fatal to him. "Sit down," Frank nudged Gojo toward the couch with a heavy hand, and handed him a mug.

Gojo took a small sip and grimaced, setting the cup down on the coffee table.  There was no sugar in the tea. "Look at ya, picky," Frank chimed in, taking a seat beside Gojo. "Sugar's over there," he pointed to a beige sugar bowl on the kitchen counter. "Help yourself."   

"So welcoming," Gojo sarcastically remarked, clapping his hands and standing up from the couch. 

Frank watched as the man walked over to the kitchen counter and began to rummage around. "Well, tell me about it."

There was a reason Gojo had volunteered to accompany Danielle - Rachel wasn't home, and no one was bothering him with questions. But Kyle's hard and intrusive stare was hard to bear, and Gojo had the good sense to keep quiet or it would have ended in a little scuffle - in his mind, a fight that would have left the house a stone unturned. "I don't know how to say this."  

"As it is," Frank said, and Gojo really didn't want to go back there - to the couch where your protective father sat. He continued to pour sugar into the mug in silence with only the occasional tapping sound. 

Gojo didn't know if he was being mature or immature. Would it be honest to tell Frank or was he just going to turn the whole thing on Frank's head, absolving himself of all responsibility? 

His words were always ahead of his thoughts, and Gojo didn't consider that a disadvantage or an advantage - maybe it was always just for the best, so why now did he feel like his tongue had caught in his throat? 

So as not to arouse more suspicion and doubt, Gojo returned to the coffee table and seated beside Frank, but dared not look at him even through the piece of cloth over his eyes. He stared at his hands, but could see neither the mug they held, nor the coffee table, nor the rug beneath it. "Uh, here's the thing," Gojo chuckled nervously. "I kinda hovered around your daughter for a reason. At first," on the last word, he accentuated his index finger upward. "I... Well, how can I put this..." 

Frank gently took the mug from his hands and set it on the table. "Son, look at me," Frank asked in a soft baritone.

As soon as Gojo raised his head through his inner protests, he immediately felt a sharp pain between his eyes followed by an aching sensation in the bridge of his nose. His hand instantly flew to the sore spot, and he watched Frank involuntarily, fearing another punch.

Frank calmly walked over to the fridge, rummaged around in the freezer, and nonchalantly as if nothing had just happened walked over to Gojo and held a bag of frozen vegetables to his nose. "Put your head back."

"Well," Gojo muttered into his nose, cradling the bag with one hand and wiping the blood off his upper lip with the other. "I'd say it was deserved, but I didn't even finish the sentence." 

"Ya didn't have to," Frank muttered angrily, helping to wipe away the blood with absorbent cotton. "Now ya'd better say something in your own defense so I don't make ya fertilizer in my garden," Gojo wasn't afraid, but he activated infinity just in case, and Frank's arm was immediately thrown aside. In fact, the size of the pain he had just experienced was nothing compared to the size of the weight that had just fallen from his soul. "If ya think a trick like that is gonna stop me-" 

"They promised to bring someone back to me," Gojo said absently, tossing the bag of vegetables back on the table, and then stuffed the absorbent cotton deeper into his nostrils. Noticing Frank's look, he added: "Your higher-ups." 

"That's how it is," sighed Frank dejectedly. "Well, that's all right. I almost fell for a trick like that once myself."

"So it was a ruse after all," there was no sadness or despair in Gojo's voice - only complete understanding with humility read between the lines. 

"Dunno. I never agreed to it in the end," Frank said, stroking the watch on his hand gently, which didn't go unnoticed. "Maybe it was a bluff. I haven't met anyone with resurrection powers yet."

"You don't know all the abilities of your world?" blurted out Gojo his question suspiciously, yet indignantly.

"What about ya?" Frank began, squinting his eyes more and more and moving toward him. "Like ya know all these damn techniques yourself?" 

"Cursed," Gojo corrected Frank. As a reminder to keep his mouth shut, the pain in the bridge of his nose recoiled with a new throbbing.

"I said what I said, don't ya correct me," muttered Frank, and immediately pulled away.

"Well, actually you're right," Gojo said meekly and with a barely perceptible shrug. "I don't. What, then... Uh. Why did you refuse?" 

"Because the dead must stay dead," Frank retorted sharply, but when he heard such a boorish tone come from his lips, he softened at once. "Who knows what that might do?"

The image of Kenjaku still smiling at him immediately popped into Gojo's mind. Wasn't it a resurrection? Perhaps Frank was right, and the realization had come to Gojo a long time ago, but it formulated and took a clear image only now, when it came out of someone else's mouth. 

Frank quietly but unexpectedly broke the silence. "How's your nose? Lemme see."

"It's fine," Gojo waved it away and pulled out the bloody absorbent cotton and pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose, making sure it wasn't wobbling. "It's all healed now." 

"Not bad," hummed Frank approvingly

Gojo's face had a smug expression on it like a click. The only thing that remained unchanged was that he was still watching Frank's fingers run over the wristwatch strap. "So, uh... your wife, huh?"

"Son, ya either have a spare nose or a sense of tact," Frank noisily blew the air out of his nostrils, but the years of accumulated and unreleased grief immediately made itself known. His shoulders slumped and slouched, the mug in his hands shook, and who knows whether it was safer in his fingers with white knuckles or on the floor. "Yeah, wife."

Gojo had already put his foot on his leg in his customary manner, leaning back against the back of the sofa. He felt too strange. Like home. "And the watch? Her present?" 

"It was Shaya who asked me to marry her."

It was amusing to watch such a big man blush and see it all over his face - down to his ears, but that wasn't what made Gojo laugh out loud. "Look at you, you big, shy man. I wonder what kinda woman she was," he said wiping away a tear with his finger. 

"Hmm," Frank drawled slyly. "Actually, I was thinking of showing ya Y/N's childhood pictures, but since ya're acting like that," he watched out of the corner of his eye as Gojo stretched out of his previous position in a second. "And she's in there without a mask, eh..."

"I'll behave!" blurted out Gojo almost in the man's face.

"Oh, no-no, that's not the point," began Frank pathetically, rising up and rubbing his lower back. "I haven't got the carrot weeded yet, and with my back it takes a long time, ya know... Well, some other time-"

Gojo squirmed in place with even more vigor. "I'll do anything!"

"All right," Frank sighed, maintaining a distressed look with all his might. "Come on then, get the box from the top shelf," the man barely had time to point to the closet before Gojo was immediately beside it. "The black one." 

It wasn't hard to find - the box stood out against the background of old hats, mittens and scarves. But on his way back, Gojo overexcited and bumped the chair leg, and the entire contents of the box fell right into Frank's feet. 

Trying to calm him with a look, Frank began to pick up things from the floor; there weren't many of them, just a small scrapbook, three braided bracelets, and…

"Where's the watch?" murmured Frank anxiously, looking around at the few items put back in the box. "Where's the..."

Gojo, who until then had been standing nearby with a guilty look, noticed a velvet box rolled under the table. "You mean this?" he asked, picking it up from the floor. 

"Thank goodness!" blurted out Frank in relief taking the box, and after opening it and making sure the watch was in place, he put it away with everything else. "Sit down," he clapped the seat beside him, and as soon as Gojo sat down, Frank immediately froze, staring at him. "Get your rag off."

"What?" asked Gojo, confused by the swap of Frank's behavior.

"I said take your rag off your eyes," Frank hissed, and that voice, similar in sharpness to the end of an obsidian arrow, made Gojo's spine tingle.

He took off his blindfold, and as soon as Frank saw the blue eyes, he immediately assumed his usual good-natured look. "What," chuckled Gojo nervously. "You really thought I was one of those?" 

"Well, why?" shrugged Frank. "Ya come sniffing around here..."

"I just wanted to see a picture!"

"I know," Frank said, opening the album. "What should I show ya..."

"Can't we look at everything?" whined Gojo boyishly, trying to peer into the album Frank had opened. 

Frank immediately blocked the view with the lid of the box. "The deal was for one picture!" he reminded, and Gojo immediately flopped down resentfully and sank into the back of the couch, crossing his arms over his chest. "Well, ya can't actually see her here," Frank muttered, looking at the fishing picture - all he could see was the back of your head and the rod. "Here either," Frank looked at your back and the soldering iron in your hand - he'd taught you how to solder that day, having previously broken every silver chain in the house. "And here she's too far away," he said, turning the page and facing you who was hanging by one arm from some rock, looking at the camera and waving with your free hand. "And this one's not for ya to see yet," he quickly turned the page as there you were - swimming in the bathtub surrounded by ducklings. "And this one's okay... She's barely into puberty here, so she's a little different, though..." 

"Stop teasing me!" exclaimed Gojo, trying to pull the lid off the box, but Frank clutched it tightly.

"Well, ya ready?" Frank asked suddenly, taking his eyes off the album, and Gojo's breath caught in his throat - he wasn't ready. He realized it only now - would he really see your face? He wanted to ask Frank to pinch him, but his tongue refused to move. Gojo nodded silently and briefly, and Frank raised his eyebrows in surprise, but held out the photo.   

Gojo tried his best to defocus his vision and not look at the photo. He squeezed his eyes shut as hard as he could, holding it in his hands in front of him. It was so stupid of him to let you get any closer, even though you weren't even here. But he didn't blame himself for wanting to cross all your possible personal boundaries - you were already a part of his life, regardless of your presence.

Maybe he should have delayed this moment and waited for you to remove the mask yourself.

Maybe you were right when you said he was quite altruistic exactly as long as it didn't involve his selfish desires.

Maybe he wasn't ready. But he'd already started.

Gojo opened his eyes. All the precious things he had touched - whether it was the black rope, the inverted heaven spear, or the candy were immediately destroyed, but what he was holding in his hands now was priceless to him. 

It was you. You were wearing a yellow raincoat against an overcast, dark gray sky. Your wet strands falling from under the hood over your shoulders, and you were looking away, laughing. Your lips spread in a wide smile that bared your teeth, nose wrinkled, eyes half-open. Your features were soft - not childish, but you couldn't be called an adult. He could see someone's tanned hand reaching out to you in the shot, which was probably Rachel's. What did she do to make you laugh so hard? What did she say?

It seemed to Gojo - no, he was sure - that he had never held anything so carefully in his life. Where would he put this picture now? In a frame? In a purse? In his chest pocket, perhaps? "Random shot," Frank's satisfied voice pulled him out of his thoughts. "We were supposed to go to the river, and the forecast said it was only gonna be a drizzle, but I got called into work. When I got back, it was pouring... My kids were coming back from the river, and I had time to take a couple of pictures. Rachel came down with pneumonia..."  

"Do you think she'll come back?" asked Gojo quietly, stroking your cheek with the pad of his thumb. 

"I dunno how to answer that question, son," Frank echoed his muffled tone. "But I do know that she's been missing for a lot longer than that."

"What was the maximum?"

Frank started counting something on his fingers. "Hmm... A little over three years."

"What?" spat out Gojo indignantly, but immediately relented feeling that he had crumpled the picture a little. "I'm not getting any younger here, actually," he muttered to himself, looking directly at the image as if addressing you.

"Why should ya care?" resented Frank with his arms at his sides. "Ya're in your fourth decade, and ya look like a kid in his twenties!"

"You could use a drop of cream, too," he said, smiling cheekily. "When is your birthday, by the way?"

"Brat," groaned Frank menacingly, shifting his gaze from him to the photo.

Frank's gaze, as if reading his intentions, caused Gojo to clutch the picture to his chest and begin to slowly pull away. "You know what else I've noticed?" he was well aware of the danger of this, but the excitement could not be taken away. "You care so much about your wife's things, about her wedding present and her watch, but where is your wedding ring? Did you take it off? Or maybe you found someone?" Frank tried to grab him by the shirtfront, but his hands stopped a couple inches away. "He-he." 

The joy was gone at once. The man was suddenly so depressed that it was clear that it was hardly because he had failed to set Gojo straight again. "What a fool ya are," Frank mumbled, resting his elbows on his knees. The disheveled gray hair that had come loose from his ponytail covered his face. "The watch is that ring."

"What?" asked Gojo confusedly and almost helplessly, shifting his gaze to Frank's wristwatch. 

"That's how it is with hunters," Frank began, carefully adjusting the velvet box that rested in the black box. "I have no idea why. Probably because time is the most precious thing we have after all. And since they opened the entrance to the void, it has sacred significance for me personally, even though I've never been there. Dunno about the rest," Frank didn't sniffle, but Gojo noticed the man wiping something off his face with his sleeve. "It wasn't even a new watch that was valued, but one that the owner had worn for a long time before. Here, they say, 'I'll always wait for ya at home'."  

"It's just a watch. If it bothers you that much, you can just return it later."  

Gojo took the same pose as the man, while turning your picture. He was embarrassed to even look into your painted eyes. "Okay, I went a little overboard. I'm sorry," the apology may have come out through force, but it sounded sincere. "Would you mind... You know. Slap me on the back?" 

"Son, ya all right?" asked Frank worriedly, looking at Gojo's slumped figure.

"What if I told you I just need support?"

"Why didn't ya say it sooner!" exclaimed Frank, and slapped him on the back with such force that Gojo nearly hit his forehead on his knee. 

"Much better," he said, straightening up. There was a crunch in his vertebrae. "And, uh... Can I keep the picture?"

"Well," Frank drawled meaningfully. "I've still got some unfertilized roses standing out there..."

Gojo grinned while carefully tucking your picture into an inside pocket. "Got it."

There really was a lot of trash here. The only downside was that it was all piled up, guarded by those who had the nerve to keep the others away. "You brought water, what do you want with those bottles?" grumbled Bjorn, stepping behind you.

"We need the empty ones," you pointed out, eyeing a bigger pile of trash. "We only have four, and we'd need... Dunno, fifteen, I guess?"

Nora trotted along beside you, and you had to speed up because Oter was already kicking up your heels in his usual gait. When you stopped at one of the huts and looked through the fence netting, you noticed only two people who were looking through the local 'treasures'. They were so engrossed that they didn't even notice the five persons walking up to them. "Excuse me," you politely called attention to yourself, and the person who was sitting with their back to you flinched and turned around. It was a woman. She looked like everyone else - dirty and putrid. Her eyes widened with fright as she faced you, who smiled welcomingly, Nora, who drew your dagger in her direction with shaky hands, Bjorn, who stroked his stick of nails affectionately, Jonah, who tried his best to give himself a menacing look and glared at the woman, and, as the icing on the cake, Oter, who hovered over your backs. "Really need your dumpster. Just bottles, we won't take the extra," you stated cheerfully, noticing how she was backing away. The other man was nowhere to be seen.

"Get out of here," growled Bjorn, and spat thick saliva on the sand. "Or else I'll shove this stick in-"

"I think she gets it," you said through gritted teeth, shoving Bjorn's shoulder and continuing to smile. "No, honestly," you turned to the woman again, throwing up your hands. "Give us fifteen minutes," she nodded or shuddered in response, but began to move further and further away from you without turning her back. When the woman rounded the corner of the hut, she sat down and began to watch you, apparently not really thinking much about stealth. "Well, come on. Let's get to work," with that said, you started digging through the trash.

"Nah, you deal with it yourself," Bjorn muttered lazily, taking a seat and leaning against the hut wall. "I didn't sign up for this at all."

Nora glanced at him in disgust. "You sure you're a man?"

"Why?" he grinned, licking his lips greasily. "Want to check it out?"

"Hold your horses," you warned him, tossing either a rotted banana skin or a piece of flesh in his direction. "She's got a dagger in her hand now, and I might go blind for a couple minutes," you glimpsed Nora, but the muscles in her face seemed to be relaxed. "And ya can do whatever ya want," you added quietly, and she chuckled weakly.

Bjorn snorted irritably. "Women have never understood humor," you let that phrase pass your ears, but you were still worried about Nora, but she just kept digging through the junk.

"Here's the first one," Nora chirped contentedly, holding out the bottle to you, and you never seemed happier - it wasn't just a piece of slick plastic to you, it was a step forward.

***

You all sat in a circle as if to perform a ritual. You placed chocolates, salt and six bottles of water, a pile of empty bottles, a coil of copper wire, and the charger cable suitable for your phone on the floor. You sat across from all this wealth with your legs tucked under you and your clasped hands to your lips. Something kept you from starting. You tried to retain every slightest sense of that awe, and as you shifted your gaze from object to object, all you could think about was that you had never held such precious things in your hands before - no artifacts or jewelry could compare to them. "So... what's next?" Jonah's voice seemed unusually loud in this silence.  

"We should unpack all the chocolates," you muttered, nodding your head involuntarily. "Get the foil out and distribute chocolates. The quicker - the better. And make sure it gets eaten as fast as possible, because if the demons notice, we'll be in a lot of trouble."

"Okay," Jonah said and started unwrapping the chocolates, placing the foil next to you. He glanced at you every now and then, wondering and worrying why you were just sitting there.

"What are we even doing?" turned Nora conspiratorially to you

"There's such a thing as the electrochemical activity series of metals," you muttered, scratching your chin.

"Your black magic again," Bjorn snickered huskily, taking a bite of half a chocolate bar at a time.

You lazily and grudgingly clucked your tongue, and your eyes rolled back. "I won't go into details. I'll just say that if you put two pieces of different metals in an electrolyte, you can always get electricity."

"Come on, Bjorn," laughed Jonah, seeing the man begin to boil over. "It's just physics," Jonah pressed his lips together guiltily seeing Bjorn jump up. He grabbed a couple more bars of unwrapped chocolate and flew out of the hut, muttering something to himself. "Uh... What's electricity gonna do for us? We seem to have light anyway."

You pulled your phone out of your pocket. "With electricity, I'll be able to charge this thing, and this thing will in turn show me my date and time," your insides clenched painfully as you wondered for a moment how much time might have passed. "And I'll be able to get out. And get ya out of here, too." 

Oter gave a satisfied mumble, and it was clear from the way he waved his arms that he was getting attention. You looked at the way he poked at himself first, and then at the pile of stuff. "Grab the shears and start cutting the empty bottles exactly in the middle, 'kay? The edges aren't that important, they can be crooked too, so don't worry too much about it."

Oter nodded happily, and started doing what you had instructed him to do - he seemed so focused that he wanted to stick his tongue out, and only now did you notice that there was only half a tongue.

You and Nora began to cut the copper wire - exactly into such pieces that you could crumple a 'ball' out of a piece, and that one end of the piece of wire was sure to stick out.

Everyone did their things in silence and as carefully as possible as if a word or a sudden movement might break the magic that had entered the hut. There were fifteen bottles, so you had to measure by eye so that there were fifteen pieces of wire with the end sticking out. There was enough tinfoil already accumulated, that should have been enough too.

"Jonah, ya know...," you drawled, looking at the stack of chocolates. "I'll take one with me, though. As a souvenir," planning anything before it was even a possibility was presumptuous and usually a failure, but you couldn't deny yourself that.

He nodded briefly and noticed the look on your face - it wasn't focused or anticipatory at all, it was like you missed someone.

"Okay, good," you summarized, seeing everyone finishing up their business. "So now, we take the container," you slid half the bottle toward you. "And we cover the inside walls with foil. All the way around. Only beforehand, one end of the foil should be twisted into a bundle, and covered a container inside so that this bundle sticks out of the bottle," you carefully twisted one end of the foil into a bundle, covered the inside of the container with foil, trying not to tear the thin metal material, and put it on the floor in front of everyone. "Here, see? It's the same as the aluminum can, except this thing should be sticking out," you rubbed the flagellum with your finger.

"I don't know what's going on, but I like it," Nora squeaked excitedly, grabbing another container and foil.  

The corners of your lips crept upward when you heard such Nora. "Now... Jonah, do we have any old rags left? Any old rags that we can spare. Even my uniform will do."

"Yeah, sure," Jonah said and taking a nail opened one of the floorboards, whereupon he took out your form.

You tore it into pieces, after which you wrapped pre-prepared bundles of copper wire in separate scraps of cloth and placed them in a container so that the tip of the copper wire would stick out of the bottle on the pair with a flagellum of foil.

"You seriously tore your uniform for this?" asked dumbfounded Jonah, putting emphasis on the last word. 

"An insulator. It needs to keep the metals from touching each other or there won't be any current," you shrugged, correcting your creation. "Need electrolyte," you announced, picking up a packet of salt. You poured three big spoons of salt into each bottle of water and shaking everything well began pouring the solution into an aluminum foil-lined container. "Too bad there's no voltmeter...," you sighed, admiring your made battery. "In a thing like this, uh, I dunno… about half a volt? Anyway, the more we make batteries like this, the stronger the current will be."

"So what are we waiting for then?" blurted out Nora, hastily grabbing the next container and foil.

The room was filled with rustling and puffing. Jonah, as it happened, was doing everything very slowly, but you didn't blame him seeing how hard he was working and carefully covering the bottle with foil. Nora, on the contrary, was in such a hurry that she had torn several thin layers of aluminum, but you didn't make any remarks to her either, for you understood her zeal - you were burning with it too. Oter, as if afraid of breaking everything, only watched your actions mesmerized.

When it was done and you had fifteen identical batteries in front of you, Jonah slammed himself on his knees with particular enthusiasm. "So, what's next?"

"Let's connect," you suggested, and slid the three batteries toward you. "See, copper connects to aluminum," you explained, weaving the tip of the copper wire of the first container with the aluminum harness of the second. "And aluminum connects to copper," you wrapped the aluminum harness of the third container around the copper wire of the second. "No copper-to-copper or aluminum-to-aluminum, it won't work. We should end up with an open-circuit with the aluminum harness at the first container and the tip of the copper wire at the last."

It wasn't a difficult task, so why were your hands shaking so much?

When the open-circuit was finally complete, you cut the charger cable without thinking, plugged it into the phone and set it down in front of you. Oter and Jonah crawled over your back and peered out from behind your shoulder; Nora, however, watching such a picture, chuckled. "It's just a phone."  

You carefully removed the outer and inner sheaths from the cable, and four wires showed -white, green, red, and black. "Okay... If this is done to standard, then red is plus, black is minus."

"And the white and green?" asked Nora, laying her head on your shoulder and watching.

"They're kinda for data transmission," you pondered, trying to remove the insulators from the two wires. "So they're not really needed right now."

When the conductive strands of the red wire were bare, you intertwined them with the copper wire sticking out of the last container. The black wire was not so easy - unlike the thin copper wire, the aluminum harness of the first container was too thick and not so bendable, so you had to hold it by hand.

The conductive strands of both wires were finally connected to the battery. Your hand was shaking, and the black wire's core kept popping off the aluminum, so you put your other hand around your wrist, telling it not to move. "What do we do next?" whispered Jonah, peering out from behind your shoulder.

"Pray," you replied in a cracked voice.

Everyone looked at the phone with a heartbeat, but with each passing second, the rapid heartbeat normalized, bringing with it a taste of disappointment. You could hear Nora sighing heavily, you could hear Oter crawling back to his corner, and you could see Jonah drumming his fingers disappointedly on the floorboards.

If you were a believing person - you'd recite a hundred prayers in a second, if you were a non-believing person - you'd pray for the first time, but your phone screen lit up.

And then it went out.

"Oh my God," your chest constricted with exultation, but you couldn't say the words, only incoherent babble. You bent down and rested your forehead on the floor. "It's working! This shit is working!" A passing person might think you were praying to a deity, but it was just a phone in front of you.

Maybe your compass did break when you got stuck here, but it always stayed on autopilot.

Nora shook you by the shoulders forcing you off the floor, and when you lifted your body with a loud gasp, she hugged you as hard as she could. You giggled involuntarily as she nuzzled her nose into your cheek. "Okay, guys," you barely audibly said from behind Nora's tight embrace. "There won't be anything else interesting anyway, so go get some rest."

"And you?" anxiously threw up her head Nora.

"And I'll stay to hold the wires," you said taking the core in your hands and bringing it back up to the aluminum.

The charging was very slow, and the screen of the phone went out from time to time - it seemed that the current in the battery was dropping at times. The hand that held the wire was getting stiff so was the rest of your body, so you tried not to move too much. You sat there with your legs tucked under you. This was accompanied by a wonderful musical accompaniment in the form of Oter who had been snoring for a long time.

Every time the phone screen lit up again, you caught a glimpse of Nora looking in your direction, and if the first time her eyes were wide open, the tenth time they were already clumped together and her eyelashes were twitching.

Jonah was awake. He couldn't sleep - he didn't understand what you were doing, but he knew in his gut the importance of what was happening. You said this thing would help you get out of here, but why is that look on your face now as it always was in those moments when you thought no one was looking at you? "Hey," Jonah quietly called out to you, taking a seat next to you. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Yeah, sure," you replied idly, keeping your eyes on your phone.

Jonah blanched, swallowing the confusion and shame. "What helped you not to give up?" the question sounded timid, almost inaudible. In fact, what helped you? You put it down to your temper or to the nature of the job, which didn't tolerate the weak-willed, or maybe because of the people you'd met here, or... "There's someone waiting for you out there?"

Why is it that the most common truths only come to people through other people's mouths? "I...," your voice broke as you realized for the first time what had been pushing you forward all this time. "I have no clue," you whispered quietly, pressing your chapped lips together. "But ya know what?" just as you'd been prepared for the inevitable failure of someone close to you to return one day, you'd also expected yourself to be lost one day and hoped that the others would take it the way you would - as a given and without much drama. "This is the first time I've really hoped so."

The first time he'd heard you speak like that, and trying to find words of encouragement or comfort, Jonah peered at you through the darkness of the hut. "Hey," he began warily. "What's wrong with your eyes-"

The door swung open with such force that it knocked all previous emotions experienced here recently out of the hut. "Hey, you fucking scientists," Bjorn said drunkenly, and seeing the bottle of cheap whiskey in his hand, you were already going over in your mind what he'd sold in exchange for alcohol this time. "They've brought in some newcomers, let's go see."

You glanced at your phone's screen - eighty-eight percent charge. "Newcomers?" you asked dumbly, frowning and tucking the gadget into your pocket.

There was no answer, but Bjorn walked back outside and flopped awkwardly on the porch. You and Jonah looked at each other. He shrugged embarrassedly and stood up, heading for the exit. You followed him.

When you were outside, you stepped outside the fence and rested your forearm on one of the flimsy fence posts, barely missing Bjorn's foot. Everyone had come out of the huts. A rumbling, tense whispering stung the back of your neck.

A column of people did appear at the beginning of the street. They were walking slowly and could be seen being pushed forward at times. The demon ahead of them was clearing the road of people lying motionless on it - with each careless sweep of his hand, their bodies flew into the fence with a loud clang, and some of them were left with only their internal organs which crumpled into the sand.

As the column neared you, your body tensed. Twenty-three people in all. What a strange thing -no different from the ones already here, except that they were clean, frightened but ruddy, all young - about the same age, with no visible defects, and their physiques were just right: neither fat nor dystrophic, and if you looked closely, you could even see that they had a toned bodies. "Holy shit," you blurted out with eyes widened with insight. These were the people for the merge.

Diomorphea is here.

You looked up sharply at the demon buildings, and then looked down at your bony hands, your lips curved in resentment. "Fuck!" you roared kicking a fence support, and it flew out of the sand. There was such bitterness in that action that if that beam had been human, it wouldn't have taken offense, but instead would have started to comfort you. "Why now?" 

That story about the elephant being afraid of the mouse was nonsense. You needed to get home and show the place to the others as soon as possible, and then you were ready to give the doc all the rights to manipulate your body just to get you back in shape. Let him pump you up with whatever he wanted, let him use his powers to rebuild every structure until your bones started to crack. You hadn't even gotten out of here yet, and you wanted to get back in here sooner. "Are you okay?" asked Jonah seeing you rubbing your forehead with your fingers as if your head were splitting.

You grabbed his arm and pulled him back into the hut. "I gotta go. So listen carefully," Jonah was so taken aback by what was happening that he couldn't get a word in edgewise. "Every three days, one of our people will come here and live with ya. Each time we will bring medicine, food, water, we will heal people whenever possible. Ya will recognize the others. They will be in the same uniform as me. We'll live in your hut. The most important thing is that we will start taking out two or three people with us, and your task is to decide whom we take out. I suggest ya start with those who are very sick. Lure them into your hut any way ya can, but don't say anything to anyone," you said the last four words as firmly as possible. "I don't want people to start whispering. Do ya understand?"

"W-why it supposed to be me?" Jonah began to stammer.

You looked at him as if he were a fool. "Who am I supposed to trust with this? Oter, who doesn't speak? Nora, who's still reeling from the trauma? Or maybe a drunk prick who pisses himself?" you shook him by the shoulders. "Pull yourself together," until recently Jonah never dared think he could get out of here, and now he's being told he has to decide who gets to go back to the old, familiar, and beloved world first. He looked at you, but saw nothing through the wet veil that covered his eyes. "It's okay. It's fine," seeing the grown man break down, you tried to reassure him. "I'm worried too," you took his fallen hand and leaned it against the artery in your neck. "Do ya trust me?"

He nodded weakly and turned away, wiping his wet cheeks with his sleeves. "S-sorry. I just..."

"It's okay," you gently splayed your hands. Deciding to give him some privacy, you decided to finally work up the courage to turn on your phone.

You pressed the power button quickly, but when the logo appeared, you wanted to throw the gadget into the sand and bury it as deep as possible. What if you'd been here too long? As long as you didn't know the date and time - everything seemed possible and fixable. You could just keep looking and keep letting yourself hope and wish. What kind of fool would agree to break it all with his own hands?

The logo disappeared. The lock screen lights up.

   08:31 PM

Friday, May 29, 2020

You pressed your lips together tightly, stopping a convulsive inhalation. People were probably hang out at a bar now, or shopping for food and goodies for the weekend; maybe someone was at an amusement park, or just watching their favorite show, sipping wine or soda pop.

What were the people you cared about doing? You bit the knuckle of your index finger, trying to suppress the squeak that came out. You could go out and see it for yourself. "Friday," you tossed over your shoulder, grinning.

It was as if Jonah had been pulled out of a long coma that resembled a dream mingled of joys and sorrows. "What?" he asked in confusion.

"It's Friday," you were already giggling stupidly, looking at the date.

Jonah stepped closer and stared at the screen with you - even an uneducated person could see what it said. "Nice stuff," he smiled, still sniffling.  

You took out the wristwatch you'd stolen from that room, and staring intently at the phone's screen, began to adjust it twisting the crown. When the times finally matched, you turned and handed it to Jonah. "Take care of it," you said, gazing into his flushed nose and swollen face, but he did look happy now. "I gotta go," you said quietly, not looking away.

Jonah smirked sadly, taking the watch and slipping it on his arm. "Aren't you going to say goodbye to the others?"

"They're asleep," you said, hoping he'd believe your good intentions. In reality, you just didn't know how to say goodbye.

"Wait a second, you forgot something."

He came back, holding the backpack in his hands. When you looked inside, you saw a chocolate bar lying there alone. "Thank ya," you whispered quietly, trying to calm the blush creeping up your cheeks with your mind. 

The air was knocked out of you as he pulled you against him in a bear grip. The hug was strong, but the surprise was stronger. You didn't feel like pushing him away, and disgust didn't burn your stomach, making nausea come up your throat. "Take care of yourself," he murmured into the top of your head, and loosening his grip a little rested his forehead against yours. "Run, girl."

Not daring to look the man in the eye, you nodded erratically and took a step back running your fingers along the line from your chin to your cheekbones. Jonah had already forgotten that you once wore that black thing on your face. "See ya," seeing him nod, you turned and rushed towards the nearest rift.

Even though you couldn't feel your legs, you kept running. As you got farther away from the settlement, the cold air, even without the wind, whipped harder and harder against your face. You could not get enough air in your lungs, but you would rather die than stop one-step away from the exit.

Sand between the toes of the naked feet, in the eyes and hair, in the mouth and even in your stomach. You ran through the void with nothing but guts and one chocolate bar on your shoulders in the backpack. You didn't even want to turn around and see if you were being chased. 

The rift was getting closer and closer, your hand reached forward on its own, and as your fingers disappeared in a purple glow and your lungs filled with oxygen, you fell.

[May 29, 2020; 8:57 pm; Hopetown]     

You were lying on the ground. It was the same place from which you had last entered the void, but now, barely conscious, you could feel that it was much warmer than it had been then. The forest didn't seem so scary anymore, the trees swayed serenely from side to side, lulling your already exhausted gut to sleep. Your hand tried to cling to the greening grass, but to no avail - as soon as you crossed the line, there was no strength left to pluck even a single blade of grass.

'Fine,' you thought resentfully, watching through half-closed eyelids as your fingers refused to move. The grass was soft like a bed, so you didn't mind lying there for a while longer.

You mumbled unhappily as your body suddenly began to levitate, an ability you'd never studied, so you had nothing to do with it. When your body flipped, you realized that you weren't just floating in the air - you were being held by someone's hands. A shade of gray hair glistened in the tired light of the nearly gone sun. "Hey, Frank," you greeted the man with a weak smile.

You felt like you were riding in a carriage over huge bumps. It was nauseating. "Hush," Frank held you tighter against his chest without slowing his stride. "Hush," he repeated, and only then did you hear his voice shake frantically.

"Frank," you mumbled rubbing the collar of his T-shirt. "Don't tell anyone I'm here yet. I really want a hot bath," the sound of your voice muffled against Frank's neck sounded weary and exhausted - the man couldn't stand that tune. "I want shampoo, I want conditioner, I want body wash, I want body scrub, I want moisturizer, I-

"I got it," it was no less than a God joke - Frank didn't cry even at his own wife's funeral, but when you started listing what hygiene supplies you wanted, tears themselves streamed down his face. "I'll get everything. Just be quiet already." You obediently fell silent, and a marvel swirled in your mind - indeed, nothing could destroy your desire for life.

next ⊳

[kenm4vhs]

there’s just something extremely hot about satoru playing with his blindfold with his hair down

[tender-rosiey]

panic — gojo satoru x gn!reader

a bright and sunny day it is, one of a kind and so is gojo’s state which is hilarious to geto.

gojo, all-time limitless sorcerer, one of the strongest to exist, and the most confident person on earth, is currently panicking and it has been going on for quite the while.

“suguru, I am serious! I think I have a problem or something!”

geto chuckles while eating his soba, “do tell me more.”

“so when y/n passes by I feel like my stomach is just twirling around itself or like there is stuff moving inside! I feel my breath hitch and I can’t help staring—”

geto, humored, nods for his best friend to continue, “—and I feel my heart beating so fast, it’s worrying. I talked about it to shoko, but she just gave me the stank eye and left!”

geto smiles. that does sound like something she would do, unlike him, she has no patience for satoru’s oblivious ass, “is there anything else?”

satoru frowns at his best friend, deeply troubled, “you’re not taking this seriously, are you?”

“I mean semi-seriously, honestly. It’s dumb that you can’t tell what you’re feeling,” geto notes and satoru huffs, annoyed.

geto flutters his eyelashes and talks in a higher voice, “is little mister gojo that foreign to love?”

satoru’s cheeks are a soft pink as he protests, “I know love very much, thanks! In fact, I have received it a lot!”

“satoru.”

“what now?”

“if I told you that I get butterflies in my stomach whenever I am around someone and that they make my heart beat so fast and that I can’t help but get lost in their beauty, what would you say?”

“you’re in love, obviously.”

geto merely smirks.

it takes a few moments before satoru’s eyes widen slightly in realization, but he doesn’t get to react further to the revelation as he hears your voice, “satoru, hey!”

he sees you waving from afar and waves back at you with a (not so) relaxed smile. he hurriedly turns to suguru and whisper-yells, “does my breath stink?”

geto smiles and nods eagerly.

satoru’s face turns pale as he looks around for anything to solve his terrible dilemma.

he finds none.

you tap his shoulder.

oh no.

“how are you today?” you ask.

satoru covers his mouth with both hands and replies with a muffled, “more than perfect!”

you giggle at his silly antics, already used to them, “why are you covering your mouth then?”

geto pops up from behind him, “the thing is—“ he smirks at satoru, “he got hit with a curse and now his mouth looks absolutely disgusting. you wouldn’t want to see it.”

satoru glares at geto and before he curses him out, you speak up.

“I don’t think it would be that bad. plus I don’t think satoru ever looks bad,” you smile at satoru and he feels like the sun has blessed him with pure rays of sunshine.

you feel someone wrap their arm around your shoulder; it’s shoko, “let me tell you more about the curse satoru was hit with.”

the devil is here, satoru laments; he is done for.

she whispers in your ears all the symptoms of little mister gojo then pulls back with a smirk, “all of that because our cute little kouhai named y/n.”

you take a moment to organize your thoughts and you, seemingly heartbroken, look at satoru—who’s fighting with suguru—, “you think I am a curse?”

he throws the laughing suguru away and looks at you, “what?! no! you are the most beautiful i have ever seen! are you dumb?!”

geto whistles encouragingly and shoko claps.

satoru pouts then he looks at you, taking a deep breath. “well, the cat’s out of the bag!” he beams and walks just a little closer.

he is back to being confident, no longer flustered and unable to form proper words, but there is no denying the way his cheeks are rosier than usual.

“I like you, y/n.”

you laugh and he splutters, shocked, “I just confessed to you and you’re laughing?!”

“I already knew that, though.”

all three of them turn to you, “HUH?!”

shoko speaks up, “and you let me suffer THROUGH HIS CLUELESS RANTS?!”

“why didn’t you say anything?” geto asks, ignoring the shoko who’s pitying herself for all the times she had to listen to gojo indirectly ranting about how beautiful you look, every. SINGLE. DAY.

satoru is sat on the ground, surprisingly silent, and trying to figure out just what to do with himself.

you sit on the ground in front of him, “first of all, you were pretty obvious like ‘omg she is here; I gotta act cool’ type of obvious.”

satoru rolls his eyes at you, but you continue while pinching his cheek, “and you mumbled it in your sleep more than once.”

“wow, when your unconscious mind knows about your feelings more than your conscious one,” geto muses, “shoko, you should write about this experiment, you will earn a ton.”

“already ahead of you, “ shoko mumbles as she scribbles in her notebook.

a frown finds its place on satoru’s lips as he half-heartedly glares at you, gently swatting your hand away, “I don’t like you anymore.”

you press a soft kiss to his cheek and it catches him by surprise, “too bad I guess and I had so much affection to give too!”

satoru looks at you for a moment before clutching his chest dramatically, “AH! I’ve been defeated by your love!” he says as he comically falls on your lap.

he awaits a reaction and he does get plenty, just not what he wants.

geto smirks, “oh finally, he’s dead.”

“oh my god, let’s take a photo!”, shoko smiles.

“y/n, they’re bullying me!”

you frown, “aw man, you’re alive again.”

“babe?!” satoru screams betrayed.

taglist: @magenta-cat-drawingss @scul-pted @dazaisdeathwish @requiem626k @nameless-shrimp @shinys-bsd-world-1 @sonder-paradise @ravenina14 @jessbeinme15s-notebook @todorokichills @ginneko @missrown @shrynkk @simplyxsinned @beautiful-is-boring @starlostlaiba @izukus-gf @irethepotato @thekaylahub @dazaisbloodybandages @aeanya @sweetcloudsimp @moon-catto @the-midnightskies @pianopuppygirl @fiona782 @kisakitwister @imjustasimpxd @psychopotatomeme @dreamcastgirl99 @watyousayin @doobiebochana @laylasbunbunny @hojicha-expresso

copyright © tender-rosiey

do not copy or plagiarize or i will hit you with my heel

[bysaber]

Breaking up ft. Satoru Gojo

Day 13 of 31 Days of Ficmas!

summary — you break up with your partner a few weeks prior christmas.

word count — 1.2k

content — hurt/comfort, gojo is emotionally constipated but he’s trying ok, lowercase intended

notes — today was supposed to be obito’s fic but i wrote this one first because im kinda… going thru the same thing lol. enjoy <3

everything feels out of place as you lay in bed trying to place together pieces of an unfinished puzzle.

two weeks have passed since the last time you and gojo spoke to each other. two weeks since you broke up with him, leaving a part of your heart behind.

you know you have to move on, but it’s hard when you have years of friendship and a one-year-long relationship weighing on your back. you look back to all the efforts you put into it and, foremost, you can’t completely let him go.

you always knew about gojo’s personality, in fact, you fell in love with it. but it became unsustainable when you were the one doing everything while he sat back and watched.

you used to say to him, “you are a good person. you are the best person I’ve fallen for, like a window of light in the dark.” and never once you regretted those words. you made sure to repeat them to him during the breakup.

you truly believe satoru’s a good person, and he never intended to hurt you. what defined the fate of your relationship was his inconstancy, his fear of emotions.

gojo could shower you with kisses and “i love you”s for days, but they were always half-hearted and, whenever the conversation between the two of you took a deeper turn, he would instantly shut down.

become cold, even.

he also didn’t care much about life in general, talking about several topics and simply forgetting to ask simple questions like “how was your day?”

you knew he cared, but it didn’t feel like he did.

it killed you every time he’d disappear for an entire day, especially on days you weren’t okay, not even bothering to reply to your texts, and then replying with a mere “i was busy” – you knew it already, but a text would be nice.

and to match his emotionless self, you were the embodiment of intensity.

you tried to crack up his shell, always paying attention to what he said and remembering it. you dove head first into every interest he had, and supported him in every choice he made.

you cared, you asked and, mostly, you talked.

multiple times, you tried to express how you felt, how you wish he could open up more and maybe just regard you a little more – a few texts not to worry you wouldn’t hurt. gojo said he was like that, but that he would try to be better.

what mined your relationship was that lie.

because he never even tried.

and after another month of dealing with all of that, with not feeling wanted enough, cared enough, you decided to end everything.

you can’t lie a little part of you hoped he would fight for you, ask for you to stay. but as you watched distress filling his eyes, all he could muster was, “i’m really sorry i couldn’t be better.”

and you lost everything you thought you had.

you blink away your tears, trying to escape from your painful thoughts, and get up from the bed – it’s past seven now and you need to start getting ready for a christmas party at one of your friends’ house.

you need to move on.

after taking a quick shower, you put on the red dress you’ve decided to wear – a dress that gojo bought for you months before – before starting to do your makeup.

this is when your doorbell rings.

you frown, “who is it?” you yell as you make your way toward the door, but there’s no time for an answer before you open it.

you almost close it again when you see your ex-boyfriend standing there, but you don’t. you know you need to be mature about this situation, even if seeing him makes all the walls you’ve been building crumble down.

it hurts.

“gojo.”

you don’t look him in the eye, focusing on his christmas sweater instead. funnily, the one you gave him a year ago.

“can i come in? it’s freezing outside.”

if you looked into his eyes, though, you would see the big blue bag under them. you would see how faded his blue irises are, and how fucking anxious satoru is.

you don’t ask further questions, letting him into the house he knows all too well before you close the door. he follows you like a lost puppy, and keeps standing when you sit on the couch.

“you look gorgeous,” he compliments meekly.

“thank you. what do you want?” it takes all of you to not start crying right then and there, but you know you have to be firm.

“i want you back.”

satoru doesn’t beat around the bush, and the silence that follows is so loud it can be heard. you feel your heart beating in an insane rhythm, and your head spins.

“gojo, you can’t–”

“you were right. you are right. about everything,” he interrupts you. “i was a boy, and for that i’m sorry. i acted like you had to keep up with my shit, like you would always be there, and i’m sorry for that too,” gojo speaks so fast you can barely keep up with him, like he’s going to die if he doesn’t say those words. “i thought i couldn’t change, i thought i didn’t have to. because it is easier to live the way i live, but… it is much harder to live without you.”

“gojo–”

again, he doesn’t let you speak, “don’t call me that. please, don’t call me that,” gojo drops on his knees in front of you and grabs your hand. “call me satoru, toru, baby, love for all i care. just not gojo. i’ve been miserable without you, i never thought a person could get so miserable,” his voice cracks, pulling your hand towards his face in a desperate attempt to be comforted. “i promise you i will do better, i will pay attention, text you all the time, tell you all about my past and what made me who i am, scream through my pain for what’s worth. just take me back, please.”

you are so deeply in shock that it takes you a while to register the tears falling down his face, his eyes closed as he expects the worst.

all it takes is for your thumb to caress his cheek softly, and satoru sobs. you grab his face with both of your hands, cleaning his teardrops as your own fall, and you gently kiss his forehead.

it kills you to see him like that, but at the same time it gives you a reason to live to know that he’s willing to try. for you.

you kiss his nose, his cheeks, and then his lips.

satoru whimpers, pulling you into an embrace so strong you’re afraid he’ll never let go.

“toru,” you say when you part your lips and bury your face in his neck, feeling his scent. “everything’s okay now. i’m here, i’ll take care of you.”

“missed you so much, i’m so sorry,” he whispers.

“i missed you, too,” you confess, finally looking into his eyes and frowning when you notice he hasn't slept. “what’s past is past, we’ll be okay. but i guess we should just sleep a bit, hm? it was one hell of a ride.”

“sleep together, right?”

he sounds so clingy, you chuckle lightly.

“yes, toru. together.”

[demigod-with-a-quirk]

Gojo Satoru, the strongest jjk so-