#okkotsu yuta death

[hxnbi]

「 A FALLEN MIRACLE 」

ღ okkotsu yuta x gn. reader — wc. 2.5k

synopsis: never did he think that he would have to say goodbye so soon. not like this...

After losing Rika, Yuta felt his life crash down on him like a pile of bricks. And since then, he approached everything and anyone with a sense of caution. After all that he had been through his entire life, who could blame him?

Even so, Yuta still genuinely cared about people, and he especially found himself being increasingly attracted to you.

When Yuta was taken to Jujutsu Tech, you, also a first-year student, were initially asked by Gojo to mentor him and just generally help him get through life. You wondered why it was you, but when you looked back at it, and also at the rest of your classmates… it’s no wonder. There weren't exactly a plethora of options to begin with.

It was the option between a talking, horny panda, a boy who could hardly even communication, if you could even call it talking through the phrases of onigiri ingredients “communication,” and a girl with borderline anger issues. 

You never had a choice on the subject—not while Gojo was at the helm—but that was beside the point. Your friendship with Yuta started off rough. He was a timid young boy constantly struggling to find his voice, quite literally. There was nothing he would say no to, and even less if that order came from you.

But over time, that awkwardness slowly morphed into something of a true friendship. A sort of bond forged in the trust you built for him, with a connection that grew stronger with each passing day. Up until then, at nearly any point of the day, wherever and whatever you were doing, you would have another figure following you wherever you went. It was to the point where everybody knew of Yuta’s undeniable infatuation with you. It was indeed a surprise to even the likes of Gojo. Well, it wasn’t like Yuta was particularly known for hiding his feelings. 

Yuta admired you so much. You had nerves of complete steel. You were confident, resilient, and strong. And above all that, you were selfless. You would, without a second thought, put yourself at risk rather than allow any of your fellow sorcerers and friends to get hurt.

But that would be your biggest weakness.

What all of the first-years expected to be a simple mission to exorcize a single rouge cursed spirit that was terrorizing the townspeople, turned into a complete and utter nightmare. One that no one would’ve ever expected. 

And especially not to someone so young…

It all started off lighthearted. The first-years, you, Maki, Toge, Panda, and Yuta, walked along the path where the cursed spirit was said to be, or at the very least around the area.

“Maybe we should split up,” Maki ordered when, by that point, they had been walking around for 30 minutes, and yet there was no sight of any spirits.

“I agree,” you nodded.

Maki placed her hand over her hips, looking over the others as she unofficially took the handle of the leader. “So, as for who gets paired with who, how about—”

“Yuta and [Y/n] should be together!” Panda piped in with a ginormous grin, shoving Maki to the side with his body.

“Why, you…” Maki scowled. If looks could kill, Panda would be flying off the face of the earth.

Ignoring the fire that was burning from Maki, the panda then slung his arm around Yuta’s shoulders, musing, “Yuta and [Y/n] would make a good team, especially when paired with their techniques. Besides, they’ve gone on missions together plenty of times. It’s a no-brainer! Right, Yuta~?” 

It was painfully obvious what Panda was trying to get at. And unfortunately for Yuta, Panda hit the exact nail on the head.

The poor boy gaped, scampering with his words, only managing to find a couple that he could even say out loud. “I-I mean… I’m okay with it.”

Ignoring the blatant ear-piercing noise happening around you, you nodded your head. “Me too.”

And there it was, the two of you together, walking side by side. You had your hands clasped together behind your back, humming to a tune that Yuta was all too familiar with, having practically been attached to your hip since getting to know you.

Yuta clutched his katana tightly against his chest. It was embarrassing enough that Panda had brought up the topic, but now there was even more pressure to prove himself to you.

“…Argh!?” Yuta’s foot almost slipped as you suddenly paused right in front of him. “[Y/n]?!” he sputtered, taking a frantic step back to put some distance between you two. 

“Yuta~,” you mused. “I thought we were closer than that. Don’t tell me that I was the only one feeling this way?”

Yuta’s cheeks went red. “I, uh…”

“Haha, I’m just kidding around. I hoped that would lighten the mood. But I guess I was mistaken. Sorry about scaring you. Are you alright?” Your foot inched ever closer to his flushed face, pressing him into an undeniable blush.

His mouth was agape. “I-I-I!?”

“C’mon, let's go,” you hummed, already beginning to walk off, leaving Yuta speechless.

“Ah… r-right!”

And it didn’t take long, as just as you two were walking along a new set of pathways, and Yuta hesitated but quickly scurried beside you. 

Before long, your footsteps were opposed to the ground, suspiciously cranking your eyes to the alleyway next to your two and narrowing your eyes at the dark alleyway. Though it appeared barren without a soul in sight, what you were sensing was anything but. 

Yuta, now with his hand over the sheath of his katana, took a cautious step closer to wherever the obscurity was in that alleyway, feeling the chills.

“Hey, guess today is our lucky day, huh?” you grinned, readying your weapons. 

He meekly nodded. “Yeah.” Yuta tightened the grip on the handle of his katana. Looking upward, something was floating in the air—a second-grade cursed spirit—and just as lucky, it was precisely the one they had been looking for. Though the darkness of the alleyway hindered his sight, its size and presence were easily distinguishable.

“Let's bring this one down together.”

But just as those words left your mouth, another strong presence came from right behind you.

You clicked your tongue. “Another one? That wasn’t what they mentioned to us earlier.”

Yuta looked side to side, and then back at you, but you weren’t panicked at all. In fact, far from it. “Yuta, you handle that one over there. I’ve got this one.”

“R-Right!”

He trusted you. 

Side by side, you both covered each other's backs. And it didn’t take long for blood to be shed. Nasty welts and bruises spread across the cursed spirit's body, and with a swift swipe, you finished it off with your cursed technique with ease. Horrifying screams of agony blasted through the sound barriers of both the student's eardrums from the curse as it flopped onto the bloodied ground, dead in its state.

“Phew.”

You turned your head, seeing that the cursed spirit was also just as still, lying lifeless beside Yuta as he speechlessly sent you a grimace.

“Good work,” you nodded. You wiped away the blood that was on your cheek. “Hah… well, guess that's it.”

Yuta meekly nodded his head, wiping down the blood from his katana.

“Yuta, how's it going over ther—” your head turned.

A shadow had appeared from below to loom over right over him.

 “Y-Yuta!”

It wasn’t dead.

“Yuta! Get out of the way!”

“H-Huh?” Just as everything was cooling down, he thought, Yuta heard a voice coming from his right, and then another. 

With one glance thrown the other way, he was shoved to the ground, giving him full access to the horror he would see next.

In just a second, blood poured from your throat and splattered to the ground. A cursed spirit had gotten after him, and yet it was you who was now collapsed onto the ground, holding onto dear life.

Yuta’s eyes went bloodshot red, and with his katana, immediately went for it, stabbing it. He looked on in terror as he saw your entire body slashed and crimson fluid dripping from all ends. Your trembling mouth was trying to say something. 

“Huh? W-What is it…?” he shook, stumbling over his words. Yuta knelt and tried to place his ear close by. 

But instead, you puked blood, and Yuta was forced to watch as the light in your eyes slowly dipped and your heartbeat fell.

“I-I can’t stop the bleeding…!”

Yuta was on the verge of tears as he embraced you in his arms, fearing for your life. You could feel the warmth of your blood leaving you and dipping onto the cold, concrete ground. The sticky consistency of the crimson liquid became thicker. Your body grew colder by the second. 

“Yuta…”

“…!”

“Are you... all right?” you managed to cough up.

His face paled. “Why… Of all the times to worry about me!?” His grip tightened, making you gasp.

“...”

You could feel his embrace around you tighten with desperation. His body shook from fear, possibly despair. It was all just a dream, right…? 

“...Why would you try and save me like that…?!” “I told you! I’m fine getting hurt! But…! But why did you—?!”

Unable to utter a word, you replied to his question with the voice in your heart, and, just barely, with a smile. And perhaps, your final one. ‘My feelings for you will always be the same. Even if we were to turn back the clock. Even if you told me not to save you. I still would have done it…’

“...”

“What…? I can’t hear.”

“I’m glad… you’re safe.”

His lungs filled with air, his voice trembling with anguish, heartache far worse than just emotion, pure sorrow, knowing that the time you left remaining would be taken away at any point. “How can you be glad!? You promised! Y-You promised that—” he broke the flow of his words, knowing that it wasn’t the right time.

You slowly let out a breath of relief. You didn’t feel any pain now.

“No… please… Please don't leave me,” he choked.

You had never loved him as much as you did in this very moment as he held onto you, pressing deeply onto your wound, hoping that it would do something, anything. Because if it hurt, it meant that you were still reactive. But even he knew. There was no chance. 

You wanted to dry the tears that spilled down his cheeks, but you couldn't move your hand. It was like your body was no longer your own. The body that you once operated was no longer in your control. 

Instead of words, your mouth involuntarily vomited more blood. Your trembling hand cupped Yuta’s soft, youthful cheeks—the same youth you wanted to keep alive, all so that you could see him smile.

You were just a mere friend to him. Someone who was acquainted to care for him in a world that was so unforgiving. So why—why was he looking at you with such sad eyes? Eyes filled with terror that you’d leave at any moment.

And perhaps you would.

There were so many things you wanted to tell him, but you couldn't move your lips, nor could you find the strength to.

“Save your energy, please!!” he pleaded with you, begging for you to just wait. Just a bit longer...

“I’ll—” 

Abruptly, he felt a tug on his sleeve.

‘I want to live, and… I want you to live, too…’

You whispered your last wish inside your heart, knowingly, that he would never be able to hear it. But maybe, just maybe, understood it.

Tears trickled down from one face to the other, dribbling onto the increasingly pale and bloody face of the only person who ever took care of him. 

Yuta cried. Just like he would always do. Whenever he cried, he would ball his eyes out, but the one who always calmed the storm was you. His eyes caught sight of tears falling down your face. It was the first time he had ever seen you cry. It was so foreign. It was beautiful, and it was dying.

You were his miracle. But that miracle of his was dying, and there was nothing he could do.

With everything that your throat could muster, you whispered one last time, “Everything is going to be okay…”

And then those pupils were closed forever.

And just as slowly, light reflections from Yuta’s irises disappeared. Yuta stood back up, still. He eyed the cursed spirit. That thing.

The pain that thing did to you, he would avenge that, tenfold. 

“...Rika,” he muttered. “Kill it.”

Rage engulfed him. Alive or not, he wanted to make it suffer, along with everything else in his vicinity. Why should they deserve mercy when you didn't receive any?

That one mistake from him cost him everything. It was all his fault. 

Again. Again. Again.

“.....”

“Okkotsu!”

“.....”

‘Die, die. Die die die die die—’

“Oi! Okkotsu Yuta! Snap out of it!” 

Only when he felt the grip of Maki grabbing onto his collar and lifting him in the air with an expression of fury did he finally snap out of it.

And he regretted it.

“...What—” he scampered, finally turning his head to face what happened. What he did. “What is this?”

Maki clicked her tongue. “What do you think?”

He knew what he did… Whether he wanted to or not, he did exactly the thing you despised… using his power for harm—not good.

Shit…

Regret flooded him. You would hate him. You wouldn’t want this. This wasn’t what you stood for. But, at that moment, all he could think about was the pain he caused you.

He wasn’t a good person. Hell, he shouldn’t even be considered a person if he couldn’t even save the one person who brought such joy in his life—even if that was just a couple of months. Yuta, in his mind of delusion, had unintentionally called out her name and, with it, killed the cursed spirit in that instant.

But that didn’t bring you back. Nothing could ever bring you back.

Within moments, he ran up to your body, collapsing to his feet and gathering you in his arms. Your head rested on his chest, and he kept on shaking you back and forth. 

“[Y/n]... [Y/n], please.”

But that didn’t work. Everything felt cold. Nothing—not even his words would ever work.

His hand pressed on the gash with all his might—anything that his shaky, now bloody hands could do. Yuta peered back and forth, from the wound back to your pale face, hoping that, somehow, his efforts would arouse a reaction from you. If it hurt, it meant you were still conscious. It told him you were still alive.

But Maki, who had just seen the aftermath, clenched her fists as everything unfolded before her very eyes. She already knew, and perhaps, even Yuta himself already knew, but refused to admit it. It was too late to save you.

“You promised…”

That promise was desolate. 

“You promised that you would be by my side…”

The only fulfilled promise would be to follow the coffin with you in it.

©hxnbi. please do not modify, edit, copy or reproduce any of my works.

[arlerts-angel]

a/n: my brain has been buzzing nonstop about this post PLEASE check out the original by @gorehsk !!! thank you for allowing me to write this!

warnings: various characters x afab!reader | mentions of oral sex (f!receiving) | fingering/clit play | penetrative sex (piv) | creampie | reader does not use gendered pronouns + as always is racially/bodily ambiguous <3

i just can't stop thinking about men who moan with you.

when he goes down on you, he spreads your folds apart to lick and suck right on your swollen clit, moaning against your pussy. he's like your living, breathing vibrator. each hum against your clit sends you closer and closer over the edge.

he moans when he rubs your clit, "ooh"s and "ahh"s when you arch your back, and inhales sharply when he fucks his fingers right against your sweet spot. his poor cock, leaking with precum and hard as a rock. but he stays untouched; won't even think about fucking you until you've cum at least twice.

"oooh yeah baby, feels good huh? mmm yeah... ohh y'so pretty arching your back. you want it? take it baby, just like that. gonna cum? yeah? ohh look at you... yeah baby cum for me, cum for me... fuck-!"

he's been so patient.

when he finally sinks his cock into you he moans. each thrust deeper inside you, each time his tip kisses your sweet spot, each time you moan, his moans echo. you cum for a third time on his cock and he follows suit, moaning as he shoots his load into you. he keeps his cock nestled warmly in its sleeve, but when it's time to pull out he moans again. ☹️

KEISUKE BAJI, EREN JAEGER, CHIFUYU MATSUNO, CONNIE SPRINGER, ARMIN ARLERT, CHOSO KAMO, L LAWLIET, YUTA OKKOTSU, KEN KANEKI, KEN RYUGUJI + YOUR FAVE(S).

[theellipelli]

rika the terrible

[anqelically]

TILL DEATH DO US PART 𖤐 SAMURAI!YUTA OKKOTSU

ii. WISHING ON YOU

SUMMARY. Even when separated, both you and Yuta couldn’t help but long for each other. After all the time spent apart, you could no longer resist your temptations

WORD COUNT. 6.8k

SERIES SUMMARY. Set in Edo Japan, you, daughter of the L/N Clan’s head, are left powerless while your clan is on the brink of a war with the Zenin. In order to protect the clan’s future leader, your father assigned a samurai to remain by your side. Although his duty is only to protect you, Yuta Okkotsu couldn’t help the feelings that developed along the way

SERIES MASTERLIST | PREV | NEXT

After Yuta switched guarding duties with another samurai, you realized how much you had taken him for granted. Behind his stoic face was a soft, kind-hearted boy that you grew too comfortable around. You missed him, terribly so. And combined with your confusion, you felt a bit lost without him if anything.

You had less privacy than you wanted. Masuro Tashiro was the name of your new guard, and he took watching your every move seriously. Even as you attempted to sleep, he stood guard, watching like a hawk. Not even Yuta did that, and he kept you safe (excluding when you didn't cooperate). The thought of Tashiro keeping guard creeped you out.

You were deprived of entertainment. You no longer received any gifts or trinkets from Yuta to take up your time, and you definitely never left the estate. You would attempt to take up painting when you had absolutely nothing else to do, yet your artwork wasn't even good enough to be considered mediocre.

You no longer had a friend by your side. When you were in the same room as Yuta, he avoided your gaze. You'd stare, boring your eyes into his figure as if it would make him finally face you. You wanted to meet his eyes, even if it was only for a brief second. It never happened.

After all the time you spent frustrated with his determination to ignore you, you eventually became devoid of hope for him. He told you he was sorry, yet he didn't seem to be. Months of no communication made you think that maybe letting him go would be for the better. But even when you've tried, you couldn't help but think about him in your free time, which was practically all the time.

It was almost as if... No— it couldn't be that.

One day, 9 months after Yuta switched duties, you found yourself seated on the engawa near the estate's garden. Since it was early winter, there weren't any flowers in sight. A frozen pond and large piles of snow were all you could see.

You sat by the irori, warmth seeping through your clothes and to your body. In front of you was a half-painted canvas of the scene in front of you. Your paints and brushes, which were gifts months old that Yuta bought you, sat by your side. Despite how nice the materials were, your artistic abilities couldn't keep up.

A sigh escaped your mouth, and your eyes traveled to the door. Tashiro stood there, his hands at his sides as he talked to a few other samurai. He was not looking at you, nor were the people he was speaking to. You stood up without any noise, waiting to see if they'd notice. They didn't.

Your heart hammered against your chest as you backed further, eyes still set on them. Once you were hidden by the wall, you lightly speed-walked away. You repeatedly checked behind you to see if any of the guards had followed, but they failed to.

When you got further away, you had made a run for it. Your steps thudded against the wooden floor as you made your way towards the back of the estate in the direction of the nearest town. With the occasional samurai roaming around, you made sure to avoid them easily.

You took a moment to catch your breath as one of the men was walking nearby. Since your hand was over where your heart resided, you felt your family's pin beneath your fingers. Without even looking, you ripped it off and threw it near one of the bushes.

After the man passed, you walked in the opposite direction. The clothes you wore weren't the warmest, so you shivered slightly as the wind blew. You only got so close to the woods when a hand grabbed your arm. In fear, you turned around, expecting a threat, only to find that it was no threat at all.

"Tashiro-san is looking for you," Yuta's gentle voice reached your ears. You noticed his voice was deeper than when you last heard it. Although he was nearing 19 years old, it still seemed like he was still growing, even if in the smallest ways.

Months of not speaking, of Yuta ignoring you to the best of his capabilities, and those were his first words to you. You've wanted him to talk to you for months, yet you couldn't be any more disappointed. A part of you wanted to laugh, but you were too shocked to do that.

"He is looking for me, so why are you pulling me away? He can come to find me himself," you responded, releasing your arm from his grip.

Yuta seemed a bit surprised, but he returned to his normal expression quickly. He answered, "It could've been me or someone else. I'll just make the excuse that we were only catching up compared to another guard saying you were running away."

"No need," you dismissed him with a wave of your arm. "I'm leaving now."

"But you'll get in trouble-"

"I don't care, and neither should you."

The man frowned at you, "Why are you being difficult, Y/N? You know it's not safe out there. You're also not dressed appropriately."

'Why am I being difficult?'

You turned back to Yuta, hurt flashing your eyes. He worked so hard to ignore your existence, disregarding all your attempts at communication. Did he think you'd forget that so easily? Yes, you missed him, but you weren't so blind as to forgive him immediately.

Before you could criticize him, Yuta's red scarf was wrapped around your neck comfortably. He tied a soft knot before propping it up to cover the lower half of your face, effectively keeping your teeth from chattering any longer.

A feeling of warmth spread throughout your chest at the action. His scarf smelled faintly of wood, a scent you noticed he usually smelled like.

"Why are you so confusing?" your hands dropped to your side. Yuta, who was a step away, dropped his hand from your shoulder to his waist. "I... Stop making it impossible to stay mad at you."

His eyes widened, but he never got to reply because Tashiro had shown up, his hand gripping your arm tight. Your brows furrowed in pain, and you tried to yank it out of his grip but failed. Instead, the man moved his hand to your shoulder. Yuta eyed his hand unapprovingly.

"Good job catching the runaway, Okkotsu," Tashiro praised. And despite the words he spoke, the younger man didn't listen at all.

He told himself that he'd no longer reach for you, but watch in the distance. If there was a gap between the two of you, everything would be okay. With close proximity came misfortune, so he wanted you far from him.

Yet when he saw you running across the estate in a hurry with your nose stuffy and arms shivering slightly, he couldn't help but chase after you. In the direction you were going in and the fact that Tashiro was looking for you, Okkotsu knew you were running towards the lake. In weather like this, you were bound to get hurt.

"I attract misfortune to those I love, and I'm afraid that doesn't exclude you."

So as Tashiro had walked away with you in his grasp, your eyes on Yuta, he held himself back from running to you. You'd be fine without him, he told himself. Again and again, he said the same thing in his mind, but it didn't take him long enough to give up on what he promised and give in to his desire for you.

It was two months since your last encounter when you two stood in the same room again. This time, you were accompanying your father to another clan's estate for a gathering.

Although you did not want to go, he forced you to anyway. So as people mingled amongst each other, you found yourself alone, sitting on the engawa near the estate's garden. The weather was not completely warm yet, but you chose to stay outside anyway. You preferred this over the heat of random bodies near you. And since Tashiro was talking with the other guards, you were allowed to slip away on your own.

Yuta, who only kept his eye on you, followed you to the spot you sat on. You were bored, he noticed. Your fingers tapped against the wood with no interest, and the view in front of you was not entertaining either. And if he had anything to say about your expression, it'd be that you almost seemed sad.

Carefully, Yuta took a seat 3 feet away from you. You didn't bother looking in his direction as he adjusted himself. The two of you sat in silence until you spoke up.

"Did the other samurai bore you enough to come out here and sit with me?"

"Somewhat. They're all old enough to have two children if they weren't samurai. It's rare for someone my age to be fully fledged like I am."

"Right. It's been 3 years since you've begun to serve us L/Ns."

The silence between the two of you returned. With nothing else to say, your insides swirled in discomfort. Matters between the two of you were awkward, something you never thought would happen. You were no longer angry at the black-haired man, but bitterness still gnawed at you.

With a bit of attitude in your tone, you mentioned, "You told said you'd attract bad things if you were near me, and that work and personal matters shouldn't mix. Why the sudden change?"

Yuta's eyes widened, "Are... Are you mad at me right now?"

"That's doesn't matter. I asked you first, you know," you tilted your chin. "Do you no longer care for me like you did then? Is that why you're suddenly open to talk? Or are you quitting to serve someone else?"

"That's not it at all," he replied.

"Then what is it? You've left me high and dry without an answer for a year now! Just go to my father if you want to and stop leaving me to wait for you. Your incomplete answer makes me spend hours thinking. Agh, how frustrating!"

Losing your composure, your hands grabbed at your hair and pulled slightly. Immediately, Yuta sprung up from his seated position to hold your wrists so that you'd stop pulling at your hair. You only looked at him with a frown.

"Yuta, let me-"

"I've wanted to stay by your side this entire time," Yuta heaved. "For the past year, it's all I ever wished for. I know I hurt you by pushing you away, and I'm always going to be sorry for that, but it's for the better. What my mind wants and what my heart wants are different. I didn't want to hurt you with the confusion."

"I'm afraid you already have," you exhaled, closing your eyes for a brief moment.

"I know, and I'm sorry. That's why I want to tell you it now. Although I'm still working in the estate, I'm guarding your father, not you. My mind knows this is better to avoid danger I may cause you, but what I truly want is to stay by your side, just like how it was before."

As he spoke, Yuta's cheeks flushed a light shade of pink. You felt your own face warm up at his confession, letting him hold your hands as he pleased. The man's hands enclosed yours.

"Why do you think you attract misfortune?" you asked, since it seemed to be the root of the problem. "I know Rika died, but that wasn't your fault. Your whole village was under attack, so what could a child do?"

Although you were slightly lost about his guilt, you completely understood when he painted the full picture for you.

It was the middle of the night when Yuta first heard the sign of an incoming attack. The village was not densely populated and nearly 4 miles away from the main city, so they weren't given the attention they needed. The adults, as a whole, ran the village. They held their weekly meetings late at night, the time when all the children were fast asleep.

Yuta, however, was a light sleeper. His mother always kissed his forehead before they left for the meeting hall, and, without fail, the boy always woke up. This night was no different, except for the fact that he couldn't fall back asleep.

When Yuta first heard the screams while he lay in the dark, the first thing he did was light up the lantern by his bed. One scream, another, and the sound of a door slamming open.

His heart hammered against his chest as he was left scared and alone in his small house. That was, until someone slammed open the door to his bedroom. He jumped violently in fear, watching as Rika neared him with a frantic expression.

"Throw on your shoes, we have to run," she bent down to reach for Yuta's sandals underneath the bed. "Hurry!"

"W-what's going on, Rika?" he asked, slipping on the sandals and following behind the girl.

When they reached the front door, Rika looked in both directions before she took Yuta's hand in hers. They ran, the brown-haired girl leading the way further back into the village.

"Some men came and started attacking the houses up front! Nakajima-san went to get help, so we have to get as far as we can."

"But the meeting hall! It's at the front near where-"

"Most of them are dead," Rika bluntly stated. The images of his parents flashed through Yuta's mind. "My mother showed up bloody at the front door before I ran. I watched them set my home on fire as I came here."

"Are we-!" Yuta, who had been running as carefully as he could, tripped over his own feet. The lantern in his hand fell to the ground as he staggered to get up. Tears brimmed his eyes, "Are we going to die?"

"We will if we carry that lantern with us. Come on, we can go to the abandoned house near the flower garden."

The children picked up their pace as they ran further into the village. There was one home that remained unoccupied for years and for a good reason. It was run-down and unsafe to live in. Putting it to good use, the gardeners used it as a shed for their tools.

Upon arrival, Rika shut the door to the shed and held it in place using a chair. Out of breath, she grabbed one of the shovels and stood near Yuta. Even though he was the boy and he should've been protecting her, Rika was normally the one protecting Yuta.

"What if they come here?" the boy tugged on Rika's sleeping gown.

"Then I'll use this shovel and hit them on the head."

With fear brimming through their bodies, Yuta and Rika stayed in the kitchen area of the abandoned home. Every scream and noise made them jump. "It'll be over soon," they reassured each other. But being the children they were, their hopes were crushed.

The smell of burning wood eventually filled their nostrils, and the roof was burning before they knew it. The brown-haired girl ran to the front window, watching as a man laughed at her despair. Yuta took a step closer after Rika's arms fell to her side.

Once she turned around, his eyes widened at the single tear that ran down her cheek. Before he could utter a word, part of the roof collapsed right there. The little boy covered his head as he stumbled back onto his bottom.

"Yuta?" he heard her faint voice.

"Rika!?" Yuta coughed, trembling as he got up. "Rika are you okay!?"

The dust cleared and revealed Rika's figure trapped beneath a heavy pile of wooden beams. Just her luck, one of the fallen beams pierced her shoulder. The little girl hacked blood as she viewed the spreading fire.

"Y-you need to run," Rika cried at Yuta's frozen figure. He didn't move. "Yuta! Please run away!"

"I-I I can't- you-" his body trembled at Rika's spilling blood. "Rika..."

As Yuta stepped closer, Rika suddenly burst into screams. Her eyes widened and her body thrashed beneath the fallen beams as its flames burned her small figure. Her flesh melted as her eyes tearily met Yuta's.

In response to her pained cries, Yuta's feet took off without a thought. He turned around and climbed out of the window, running as fast as he could to a nearby cluster of trees. Once he was in deep enough, he climbed up one of the biggest trees and hid atop, sobbing until the sun rose.

"Rika died. My parents died. My first friend during samurai training died. It's like everyone close to me ends up dead, and it makes me fear for you. I don't want you to die, Y/N."

A gust of wind suddenly blew, yet you remained indifferent to it. Yuta uncovered his eyes and fixed his hair while you watched him.

"It's been about 3 years."

"What?"

"Since we met," you clarified. "3 years and I'm still standing, Yuta. Despite the dangers, despite everything, I'm still standing. I was close to dying at birth, I nearly drowned when I was a kid, I was close to splitting my head open after falling down stairs, and a samurai from the Zenin nearly killed me! It's somewhat concerning to say, I guess, but I'm a bit stubborn with death. I won't die, especially because of you. So please, I know it'll be difficult, but reconsider."

His lips parted, "I... You almost split your head open?"

"Is that seriously the first thing you say?" you took your hands, which were wrapped by his the whole time, and placed them on his shoulder. "Yuta, did you tell me those things because you wanted to stay beside me, or because you never wanted to ever again?" 

"Neither," he closed the distance between, placing his forehead against yours gently. "I'm not sure about being your assigned samurai again, but what I do know is that I'm tired of pretending I don't care. It's too hard to ignore you in the same room when all I want to do is stand by you. I'll start to visit you when I can, okay? That is, only if it's okay with you."

Your arms slid down from his shoulders to his biceps as your heart quickened its pace. Although your proximity made you increasingly nervous, part of you enjoyed it. Your eyes met his blue ones, longing, and Yuta resisted the urge to finally seal your lips with his.

"What I want..." you mumbled, squeezing his biceps tighter. You didn't dare to move your face closer to his, "Yeah, I'd like that; you visiting."

Yuta finally moved his body away from yours, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, "I'm not sure when the next time I'll be free is, but I do hope it's soon."

As Yuta talked about other things, your shoulders relaxed. You placed a hand on top of your chest, saying nothing as you felt your heart pumping relentlessly.

—

Yuta's first visit was 3 long weeks later. You were gazing out your bedroom window when he walked into your bedroom, which surprised you considering Tashiro normally stood outside. You perked up at his presence, swinging your feet to the ground and standing to greet him.

"Sorry, am I bothering you right now?"

You waved your hand, "Not at all. I was just looking outside, but since it's only starting to warm up outside, the only interesting thing I see is the icicles melting off the trees."

"I'm afraid that isn't interesting at all."

"Tell me about it."

With a tired exhale, you retired to your bed. You sat by your pillows before you patted the space in front of you, beckoning Yuta over. He sat down without any argument. Seeing his conflicted expression, you chose to ask him what was wrong.

"I overheard a conversation your father was having, and it seems like he actually arranged a marriage for you. The boy was taken in from the Zenin clan by the Gojo clan. His name is Megumi, and he's only a year younger than we are."

"So much for freedom of choice," your face twisted at the thought.

As you grew up, there were a lot of things you couldn't choose on your own. You couldn't choose what to wear, what you should eat, what instrument you wanted to learn, what friends you could make, etc. And now, sitting on your bed, you realized that you didn't even have the freedom to choose the man you'd spend the rest of your life with.

Life was unfair, but you thought that you'd at least be given the time to choose your future husband. Your father, once again, proved that he wouldn't give you a choice on such matters. As long as you lived under the same roof he did, nothing would change.

"It's like I'll never escape my father's grasp. Now, I'll be stuck with a husband I don't even love."

Yuta tried to console you, "I know it isn't ideal, but at least he isn't a bad person. Megumi-kun can be standoffish, but he really cares about the right people. I'm sure he would treat you with respect."

"Have you met him before?" you questioned.

"I have," he hummed. "I used to be trained under the Gojo clan before leaving and finding work elsewhere, which happened to be here."

"Wow, I never knew. Actually, I feel like there's a lot I don't know. You know so much about me it almost feels unfair," you brought your face closer to his. "Yuta, what's your favorite food?"

"Are we seriously doing this right now?"

"Getting to know about you will help ease my mind. So, what's your favorite food? I remember you really liking that yakitori you brought me once, and also those udon noodles with tempura we had at one of the food stalls. I don't think they're your favorites though, as good as they taste."

Yuta smiled, "You're right, they aren't. My favorite food is cabbage with salt and sesame oil."

"Wow, that really says a lot about you."

"What does that mean?"

"Nothing. Sunrises or sunsets?"

"Sunrises. They're nice to wake up to."

"Your favorite season?"

"Spring."

"Oh wow, I thought you'd say fall."

"It was my favorite season until a few years ago."

"What made it change?"

"You did."

Your gaze, which was previously set on your bedroom window, moved to the black-haired man's. "Me?" you questioned.

"It was because of you, yeah," Yuta avoided your eyes. "We first met in the spring. I remember it was sunny that day, but the breeze prevented it from being too hot. I knocked on your door and told you what was going on, and you immediately complained to your father."

"Don't remind me," you covered your face in embarrassment. "I know now that there's no point in doing such. He won't listen to what I want and will proceed with whatever he wants. I thought I'd get the choice to marry someone I fell in love with naturally, but he proved me wrong. Again."

"Why not present Megumi-kun with a proposal? When he's alone, tell him that the two of you don't even have to bother trying to love each other. Since it's for the clans coming together, the two of you just have to keep up with appearances. I'm sure he'll understand."

You gave Yuta's idea some thought. Playing the role of a happy wife wasn't anything close to ideal, but you felt as if you could do it as long as Megumi's personality was how Yuta said it was.

"I'll try that, but I'm still scared," you admitted.

"Scared of what?"

"Scared that I'd actually fall in love with him."

It was a thought neither of you wished to become true.

—

Satoru Gojo was different than you expected him to be. You were at the Gojo estate to meet Megumi for the first time when the tall man greeted you himself and offered to walk you. You bowed at him out of respect, but he only waved you off.

"No need to be so formal, kid," he patted your shoulder. "I'm not like your dad."

In more ways than one. Not only did Gojo's attitude seem different, but his looks were very different compared to you or your father's. Gojo's eyes were a bright shade of blue, nearly crystalline, and his hair was a shade of snowy white. You wondered where he got his rare features from.

"Shall we start walking?"

"If you'd like to," you nodded.

And within a few minutes of knowing him, you realized Gojo was, indeed, very different than your father. He was laidback, cracking jokes here and there and talking to you as if you were a friend. You laughed at his words a few times, feeling at ease in the great Satoru Gojo's presence.

"Your dad told me you can be a troublemaker. That true?"

"It depends," you shrugged. "Give me a reason and I might just run away before I marry Megumi."

"I'm not the type to interfere, so any reasons you want to run away won't be on me. Are you opposed to this marriage?"

You pursed your lips and without hesitation, you replied, "I am."

Gojo's lips curved into a satisfied grin, "Oh, you kids will get along just great."

The two of you stopped at the end of a long hallway somewhere in the estate. Gojo stepped aside, gesturing for you to slide the shoji door open. You gulped, fingers pressing against the wooden indent of a handle. Behind the doors awaited your future husband who you'd, unwillingly, spend your future years with.

You took a breath before you slid the door open slowly. Your gaze traveled from the floor to the two people sitting at the room's chabudai. One, like described, was a black-haired boy with an uninterested expression. However, the brown-haired female seated in front of him wore a welcoming smile.

She was the first one to stand up, and bowed out of respect, "You must be Y/N. You can just call me Tsumiki. I'm Megumi's sister. It's our pleasure to meet you."

You reciprocated the bow, "No, the pleasure is all mine. I'm Y/N. I guess we'll be in-laws soon enough." You exchanged eye contact with Megumi, "And we'll be... husband and wife."

"Well, I should excuse myself. It was lovely meeting you, Y/N. I'll see you around whenever you visit."

Tsumiki smiled at you one last time before she left the room with Gojo. You awkwardly cleared your throat before you walked towards the low table. You sat across Megumi, in Tsumiki's previous spot, and rested your hands in your lap.

"So, I've heard a little about you," you started.

Megumi raised a brow, "If Gojo said anything embarrassing, just know that he was probably lying. He likes to poke at me for fun."

"Really?" you chuckled. "Actually, I didn't hear much from Gojo, but from Yuta. He works under my family, and he used to be personally assigned to me. He told me a little about you. He says you're smart, understanding too."

"You said that he used to be assigned to you. Do you mind if I ask what happened?"

"He... he felt that his personal feelings and thoughts were a hindrance. He switched with one of my father's guards and has been protecting him ever since. I don't see him all that often now, unfortunately," you sighed. 

"There's no need to beat around the bush. Over a year ago, we began to exchange letters after he reached out of nowhere. He told of his feelings for you," Megumi poured some tea into both of your cups and with his same neutral expression, he took a sip.

You felt your cheeks grow warm at the thought. Although he didn't say the phrase directly, what Yuta told you was close enough. You were so excited at the thought of talking with him again that you nearly forgot. And even though you didn't reciprocate his feelings back then, you knew that had changed.

You bit the inside of your cheek, "Do his feelings not matter to you? We'll be getting married and all."

"Do you want them to matter to me?"

"Well... not really."

"Then they won't. We'll be married, but neither of us exactly wants to be. I'm doing this solely for Tsumiki's protection, and you're doing it because your father left you with no choice. Although we'll be together by the law, let's just be free to do whatever we want."

At his proposal, you slowly nodded your head. The freedom to do whatever you wanted, the freedom to feel for whoever you wanted— you liked the idea. And Yuta, who you told as soon as you saw him, agreed.

"You didn't even have to propose it. He did it for you," the noirette leaned against the wall he stood by.

Sitting by your bedroom window, you smiled, "Yeah, it was like he read my mind. Neither of us asked for this marriage, so we'll be together for appearances and appearances alone."

"See, I told you he would understand."

You chuckled, "You were right. He was straightforward but still respectful. He also seemed to care a lot about his sister, Tsumiki. He said that he was only doing this for her protection. Ah, I'm afraid there's a tiny chance I might actually fall for him after marriage. He's cool and protective of his family. Ah, this is bad."

Yuta immediately stood up straight and took a step towards you, "H-Huh? I thought this would be a good thing for you.  Um... maybe you'll actually fall for him. Don't you want to be married to someone you love?"

A sigh escaped your lips, and without a word, you got up from your seat and walked towards Yuta. The two of you stood a breath's distance away when you shifted your weight onto your left foot. Tilting your head slightly, your eyes made contact with his

"Well, the person that I love isn't Megumi."

Yuta parted his lips. His brows furrowed slightly as he asked, "You're in love...? Was it the chef I saw you talking to the other day? I know he's only a few years older than us, but you shouldn't go for someone older like that. It's better if you're the same age so that-"

You laughed, "No, it's not the chef. I barely know the guy."

"Then who is it? That is- if you don't mind me asking."

"If I tell you, you have to at least hear me out."

"Of course."

"Well," you fiddled with your fingers behind your back, "he is, in fact, my age."

"Okay..."

"He's sweet and caring, not to mention adorable. I find plenty of his actions endearing, and he does it so effortlessly. It seriously frustrates me sometimes," you huffed. You watched Yuta hold his katana's handle tight, "But despite how much I love him, I'm not so sure anything will happen."

"He'd be a fool to not take the opportunity."

"I agree," you shrugged, "but who am I to tell you what to do and not to do, Yuta?"

The samurai took a moment to process your words before his eyes widened in realization. As you spoke, he tried comparing the image you were painting with people he knew and came up empty-handed. That was because of all the people he thought you'd love, he didn't think of himself.

He realized his feelings long ago, but when did they become reciprocated? Yuta first thought about the day you tried running away from Tashiro but decided that was too soon. At that point, you were still upset at him and didn't seem to realize your feelings, if any.

His mind then traveled to the moment you had towards the end of winter. Yuta's head was pressed against yours almost urgently as he held himself back from pressing his lips to yours. And your hands, firmly placed on his biceps made his skin burn.

"I'm not sure about being your assigned samurai again, but what I do know is that I'm tired of pretending I don't care. It's too hard to ignore you in the same room when all I want to do is stand by you. I'll start to visit you when I can, okay? That is, only if it's okay with you."

"What I want..." you mumbled, squeezing his biceps tighter. You didn't dare to move your face closer to his, "Yeah, I'd like that; you visiting."

Now that he thought about it, he was surprised neither of you moved any closer.

Yuta hesitated to say your name, "Y/N..."

"I know you're scared," you cut him off, taking his hand and holding it between both of yours. "People die Yuta, and the death of those you cared about was never your fault. You think that people get hurt because they're close to you, but all the time I spent with you kept me safe. The L/Ns and Zenins will battle eventually, so while we have the time, I want to spend it with you. I love you, Yuta, and if there's anyone who can keep me safe and happy, I know it's you."

A loud knock sounded at your door before Tashiro entered the room. You immediately took a step back before he announced that your father was leaving the estate and Yuta had to report back. The man left back into the hallway but left the door ajar.

"Give it a week," you told Yuta, who was biting his lip. "Switch back with Tashiro or don't. It's your choice, so I won't stop you. Though, I hope you know that I miss having you by my side. I was the happiest with you."

You made sure no one was looking before you pressed your lips against Yuta's cheek, leaving a chaste kiss. At your bedroom door, he sent you a final glance before heading towards the entrance of the estate.

Once you were sure he was far enough, you ran onto your bed and shoved your warm face onto a pillow. You had just confessed your love to someone for the first time.

—

Everyone in the estate was in a frenzy a few days later. You stood by the estate's blooming garden as samurai rushed past you and maids gossiped in worry. Apparently, your father and the samurai with him were ambushed by a group of Zenins and were left outnumbered.

At the news, you couldn't help but worry for Yuta, who was one of the ambushed. You were sure that he was not weak. After all, if he was, your father wouldn't have chosen him amongst the many people who applied to work for the L/Ns. But even so, if there were too many people for him to face at once, he really might...

You shook your head in denial.

Yuta never told you his answer, and until he did, he couldn't die. You carried yourself back to your bedroom, shutting the door behind you. Tashiro was one of the many samurai who left to assist, so you had no one following you around.

You frantically dug through your drawers to find an item Yuta had given you. It was one of his last gifts before he stopped guarding you. After some time, you pulled out a thin bookmark that had a ribbon tied to it.

Your fingers ran across the bumpy surface, which would've been smooth if it weren't for the flower sealed inside. You stared at the preserved plum blossom, its color still as rich as it was when you first received it.

"Plum blossoms symbolize good fortune, so I wanted to get this for you, Y/N."

Closing your eyes, you pressed the bookmark between your hands. One thought circulated in your mind, and it was for Yuta to return safely. Again and again, you repeated your wish.

You didn't know how long you were praying for when a few muffled shouts reached your ears. Some of the voices got louder, passing by your door and eventually turning back into silence. You were about to shut your eyes again when your door flew open.

"Y/N?"

Yuta's voice, unusually rough, reached your ears. The bookmark that you held onto so tightly, without you even meaning to let go of it, fell onto the ground. His clothes were stained with blood and grime, even bearing a few tears. But what had worried you the most was the cut on the right side of his forehead.

"Oh my- Yuta are you okay?" you rushed towards him without a moment's thought. "I was so worried!"

Once your feet brought you within arm's length, Yuta immediately grabbed you by your arms. You let out a sound of surprise as he pulled your body close, tilting his head slightly before moving his face towards yours. And with your eyes wide and nose right against his, Yuta pressed his lips against yours with utmost desperation.

Your hands found his waist as you shut your eyes and kissed him back. A warmth spread throughout your body as you freed yourself of Yuta's grip and threw your arms over his shoulders. Gently, he pressed his calloused hand against your cheek and pulled away, heaving.

"Yuta-"

"I've been thinking about it these past few days, and Rika crossed my mind. I often think about her dying in front of me, her teary eyes, and the pained cries she screamed. While we were ambushed, it crossed my mind again, but instead of it being Rika, I saw you in her place."

Yuta's other hand also cupped your face as he scanned your body from head to toe. While fighting, the sound of your voice screaming in pain echoed in his head, so he couldn't help but check for any injuries anyway. Finding nothing, he sighed before he tilted his head towards the ground.

"I was too weak to save Rika or anyone else, but I have the strength to protect you. I love you, Y/N, and I'll be damned if I let anything happen to you."

"Took you long enough."

"I know, and I'm sorry."

This time, you took it upon yourself to brush your lips over his before pressing them together. The noirette held your body tight as the two of you began to kiss again, his right hand traveling to your lower back. A quiet groan escaped Yuta's lips when you tugged at his hair slightly.

"If you're not sure about this," you murmured between kisses, "tell me now."

"There's plenty of things I'm not sure about, but I can't dwell on them any longer. The only thing I'm sure about is that I want you, Y/N. I, Yuta Okkotsu, promise to make you happy for as long as you live."

And with your lips smiling against his, your eyes shone, "You always have such a way with words, you know? I'll happily spend the rest of my life with you."

He gave you one last peck, "I'm looking forward to it."

—

In a certain room far away, a group of men sat in a room lit up by a single candle. Some of their katanas lay flat on the floor in front of them, taking up space for a certain someone's legs. Without a care, he stretched his legs out and crossed his fingers behind his head, leaning against the wall.

"The L/N girl is getting married," one of the men spoke, his voice gruff.

The youngest amongst them all sneered, "And that matters how? Do you think some information about the girl even matters?"

The dual-haired man raised his hands when he found a silver blade placed to his neck. The man next to him, Ogi Zenin, pressed the blade into his skin lightly, "Quit it with your attitude, Naoya."

"Sorry, sorry. Now please, Oji-san, no need to draw blood."

"Do what he says," the clan head, Naobito Zenin, waved his hand. Ogi withdrew his sword before the elder brother continued, "Did the ambush work?"

"We were able to take down most of L/N's personal samurai before more showed up. He and two others were left when we retreated," the first voice, who belonged to Jinichi Zenin, spoke again. 

Naobito took a gulp of his sake, "Good. They're bound to move the wedding date up after that. We strike during the party after the ceremony. Naoya."

"Hm?"

"When the time comes, I want to you kill the L/Ns. Don't fail."

Now interested, Naoya's lips curved into a smirk, "Oh, I won't."

NOTE. 4 months later and we did it... this is the longest chapter i've ever written in my years of writing which is acc crazy to me. i usually max out at around 3k but this series has got me going past my limits 🙂‍↕️ next chapter will be the last! i just have to figure out all the in betweens before i write because i only have the beginning and ending in mind 😭 see you guys until then 🤍

TAGLIST. @seneon @crystalcclaer @mochuchi @soleelia @little-miss-chaoss @dievia3 @diogodxlot @sorasushik1 @st4rdusttx @elliesndg @michelleeveline @brad-is-rad-blog @willowgirlmaiden @shyfurina @xil3k

[kissunoo]

𝄃 𝟙꯭𝟫𝟫꯭𝟩 ۟ 𒂭 @L ﹙﹖﹚

𝖺𝗀𝖾𝖽 ... 𝐜𝐫𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐬 あなたの中で...

[pileofmush]

you don't know what i deserve .·:*¨ ¨*:·..·:*¨ ¨*:·..·:*¨ ¨*:·.

ft. okkotsu yuuta

it’s 1 a.m. on the fifteenth of February and there’s a corpse on your kitchen floor. still fresh: odorless and warm to the touch. you're on your own—just you and the dead body.

info : ̗̀➛ tags: gn!reader, neighbor au, strangers to lovers, yuuta & reader are a little strange, happy ending // cw: death, light angst, vulgar language, canon-typical violence...but pretty mild imo

thoughts : ̗̀➛ helllooo. back on my bullshit. let's call this a very belated birthday present to my beloved <3 // read this on ao3

wc : ̗̀➛ 5.1k

The human body contains a shit ton of blood. 

Which is not something you think about often, but now you are forced to confront this fact in real-time. People… have a lot of blood.

And it stains. No matter how many times you wash your hands. There are still flakes of blood wedged underneath your fingernails. Part of you thinks it'll never go away.

...And then there's Sailor Moon.

“I am the pretty guardian who fights for love and justice! I am Sailor Moon! And now, in the name of the moon, I’ll punish you!”  

Cue trumpets and flashy poses; the makings of a battle. Your comfort anime blares in the background of a morbid scene, the flickering TV casting a soft glow on a sight that will inevitably haunt your nightmares. 

Because it's 1 a.m. on the fifteenth of February and there’s a corpse on your kitchen floor. Still fresh: odorless and warm to the touch. You pace in your tiny living room, unsure of what to do, of how to proceed. The pretty Sailor Guardians won’t save you now. You’re on your own. Just you and the dead body.

How romantic.

The chill from outside has swept into your apartment thanks to that annoying fucking prick who left your window open. Honestly, people these days have no decency. The least he could’ve done was close your shutters after tumbling through your bedroom window like a deranged acrobat. Now you’re, like, moderately cold. 

“What a fucking mess,” you sigh.

Blood seeps into the earthy Persian rug that you got for half-price at a flea market a few months ago. It’s dark; puddling, like... like a knocked-over glass of chocolate milk, spilled all over the kitchen table. Or, maybe chocolate syrup would be more apt. It doesn’t matter, though. You can always get a new rug. You know, if you make it out of this situation of yours intact and not in a dingy prison cell for homicide.

Hmm. You might be sorta kinda screwed. 

The police, of course, are out of the question. No matter your side of the story, it wouldn’t hold up in trial. No, no, no. A foreigner murdering a Japanese citizen? Even if it was in self-defense, it wouldn’t matter. Forget prison—you’ll probably be hanged.

So, you could run… But you probably wouldn’t get far. Or, you could do what every naive murderer in the movie about karmic retribution does and try your darnedest to get away with it.

“Option two it is!” you quit pacing and announce to the room. Thankfully, the body doesn’t respond.

A weak knock at the door sounds off—a gunshot. Your heart stalls, your head snapping to the entrance of the apartment. Who the hell is at your door? The person at the door knocks a second time, a little bit more insistently, and you start to sweat. “Hello, is everything alright? I—I heard a scream.”

You step up to the peephole and squint. A mild-looking man shuffles his feet outside your door. It’s your next-door neighbor, bathed in the ugly yellow lighting of your apartment complex. He smiles like he knows that you can see him. 

This… isn’t ideal. You could choose to not answer him, but that probably wouldn’t work. What if he called the police? You take a breath. “Everything’s fine,” you call out.

The man’s smile freezes in place, somehow more eerie than a frown; his hands burrow deeper into his pockets. “Oh!” he says. “Are… Are you sure?”

You turn away from the peephole, a little unnerved. “Yeah, why?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to intrude, but I heard a lot more than a single scream.”

A slow, dreadful feeling starts to seep into your gut. “Pardon?” 

There’s a pause. You swallow.

“These walls are thin.” 

Fuck. He knows. Oh God, he knows. 

No—that’s impossible. You were the only one to scream. Yasuhiro… He didn’t get the chance to. So this is just a concerned neighbor checking in on you. Nothing more, nothing less. You can prove it, prove that you’re okay.

You open the door a smidge so that you can peek through, then step outside and shut the door behind you. Your neighbor, what’s his name again? Okkotsu, right? Okkotsu’s brows lift at the sight of you, then relax. He’s wearing a plain white tee and a pair of grey sweats that should probably be criminal in Japan. His eyes flicker up and down your frame. You suppress a shiver.

“Just a horror movie,” you broach, offering him a polite smile. “I’m an easy fright.”

Okkotsu pulls a hand out of his pocket to awkwardly rub the back of his neck. His gentle smile has dimmed. “I’m not sure I believe you,” he says in an apologetic tone.

You both notice the tremor that runs through your body. Nosy fucking neighbors and their lack of sense when it comes to minding their own business. You stare mulishly at the floor. His shoes are simple. Black; scuffed. His left foot taps once against the floor. Whatever. You don't have to answer to him. Gathering up your resolve, you start to speak. “Listen, Okkotsu-san,” you say but are cut off quickly.

“Is that blood?” 

That makes you freeze, eyes glued to the floor. A cold set of fingers dips under your chin and gently lifts it. Your gaze meets his: two pools of an endless, starless night. It flickers to a spot beside your ear knowingly and you reach for it. 

He’s right. Blood sticks to your fingers, not yet dry. Lurking in the crevice behind your ear. You missed a spot.

“Well spotted.” It’s fruitless to lie now. You know it, he knows it. Now it’s a matter of who’ll crack first. 

“Are you… Are you injured?”

Physically? No. Psychiatrically? Well, you just murdered a man, so.

“I’m unharmed.” 

Okkotsu blinks owlishly. “Is that so?” He murmurs curiously, tilting your head to the side to observe the blood staining your skin. 

You readjust your head and mimic him, blinking slowly. “Okkotsu—”

“Yuuta,” he interrupts. 

You blink again. For such a mild, polite-seeming boy, he really is quite rude. And confusing. And terrifying. And you kinda sort of want him to die. “Okkotsu-san” you repeat. “I think it’s best if you leave.”

Okkotsu Yuuta’s smile returns, and it’s dangerously innocuous. He breathes your name out like a question. Starless eyes wander to your front door, then go back to studying your own. “Can I come inside?” he asks, quietly. 

Everything stills, even your heart. You’re not quite certain you’re alive, when you ask, dubiously, “The apartment?” 

Okkotsu just smiles.

You let Okkotsu come inside.

Which is absolutely fucking insane, but you have a feeling that your neighbor’s worse off than you are, and that’s truly saying something. 

You hear him lock the door behind you before you start. Silently, you lead him past your living room, past Tsukino Usagi flying down the sidewalk on the way to school—the start of another episode, then—past your browning house plant hanging from the ceiling, into your quaint kitchen. 

It’s nothing special. A small green stove with two bunsen burners on top. A sink; limited counter space. A couple of peeling cabinets. Tied in together with a white backsplash, shifting colors with each flicker of the TV. To the side, a small table sits, with two mismatched chairs tucked into it. 

Oh, and there’s the dead body, too. Practically dribbling blood, painting your discounted rug muddy red and the surrounding blue tile purple. 

Okkotsu lets out a soft sigh. “What a mess.”

You consider him from the corner of your eye. “That’s what I said,” you frown.

He shrugs, still looking at poor, dead, Yasuhiro. “Well, it’s true, isn’t it?” 

Yeaaaah. It’s true.  

A giggle escapes you, the reality of the situation finally hitting you. “Fuck,” you whisper in between the giggles. “I’m fucked.” It’s true. Utterly and thoroughly—no condom used. 

“Not yet,” you barely hear him say over the fracturing of your composure. This is impossible. You killed a man tonight, then showed a stranger the corpse. You’re an idiot. You’re a freak. You can’t hide a dead body. You really might as well bend over and get it over with. Fuck.

Hands gripping your knees, you struggle to catch your breath. When did you lose it? Ah, who cares? Dead. You’re dead. The noose is looped around your hollowed throat, tightening by the second. Perhaps there’ll be two corpses on your kitchen floor by the time the sun is up. Perhaps you should’ve just let him kill—

“Breathe with me,” Okkotsu mutters, right in front of you, long hands gingerly clutching your shoulders. Which is strange. You had no idea he got so close. His thumbs swipe up and down, around and around, and you are flummoxed. But Okkotsu is patient, his chest compressing and expanding with each measured breath, and you are compelled to follow him. Slowly, you come down from your panicked high. You let out a shaky breath, eyes sliding back to the imposing guest in your apartment. The other imposing guest in your apartment.

The body in front of you lays eerily still, impervious to your mini breakdown. It’s not purple, or rotting, or excreting out the last remaining fluids left in its underwhelming husk. It’s just—laying there. Laying, not lying, because it is no longer a breathing thing that rests; now an object to be placed. Dehumanized, in every way. Then again, what is dehumanization if not just another word for murder? What is murder, if not just the taking away of a person’s autonomy? Dead bodies can’t rest. It will never lie again. 

The dead body lays.

And you wonder for how much longer you’ll keep your own autonomy.

When do the dead start to attract flies? Realistically, you know it can range from a day to a few days for a decomposing body to become…obscene, depending on the environmental conditions. It hasn’t even been a few hours. You doubt flies will start buzzing around any time soon. If you move to crouch down and touch it, it’ll probably still be warm.  

The swipe of a thumb over your shoulder brings your awareness back to your neighbor. 

“Why are you helping me?” You ask, wiping the tears that have beaded up in the corners of your eyes. Your breathing is steadier now, but you’re still trembling. That damn window is still open. 

The hands on your shoulders release, and you look up to gauge his thoughts. He’s frowning. His eyes cloud, then sharpen: lightning against a black sky. “You need to get rid of the body, don’t you?” It’s a rhetorical question, but you nod anyway. 

“Then we’ll figure it out. Don’t worry. I bet we’ll be done before dawn.”

He makes to walk away but you stay rooted to your spot, trying to figure out why this strange, strange neighbor of yours who makes friends with stray cats and tends to the apartment garden is willing to become an accomplice of murder for you. 

“Okkotsu, are… Are you in love with me or something?” 

Your neighbor stops, then snorts, and it sends a shiver down your spine. He turns back to face you. A soft pout lies on his lips as he skillfully evades your question with a request of his own. “Hey, if you’re gonna ask me something like that, why don’t you use my name next time?”  

You don’t ask again.

You have far bigger problems than interrogating Okkotsu Yuuta, so you push it aside and stalk toward the body. Okkotsu joins you, and the two of you peer at the deceased man before you. It’s… Still. The blood has stopped its puddling; a thin line stretches the column of its throat. His throat was slit neatly, gracefully, like an act of love. It wasn’t one, but, maybe you gave Yasuhiro what he wanted, in a terrible, twisted way. How magnanimous of you. 

Yasuhiro wasn’t an attractive man. Limp brown hair framing a slightly uglier-than-average face. At least he had the decency to close his eyes before his last, dying breath. They were blood-shot and wiry, the last time you saw them open. Bouncing haphazardly in its sockets like they couldn’t discern which corner of the room you stood in.  

Okkotsu perks up at the sound of your harrumph. “What?” he questions you, and you slide your eyes over to him. Okkotsu Yuuta is distinctly pale, a trait that you’ve always noticed and have always sort of admired on him. It suits the subdued, yet haunted look he’s got going on. Black lashes feather the whites of his eyes, as well as the endless void of his irises. Yeah, he’s almost doll-like, in that gentle, haunting way of his. 

“You’re creepier than the corpse,” you tell him instead and turn away, just barely hiding your smile. The laugh that rings out from him sounds like nails grating on a chalkboard. 

Just kidding. It actually sounds kind of sweet.

Okkotsu follows you to the bathroom, where you’ve grabbed pretty much all of your cleaning supplies. You stuff them in a bucket and he hauls it out of your arms, the two of you shuffling back to the kitchen. 

“So how should we go about this?” You muse, staring at the body. The movies you’ve seen are the only reference you have for the disposal of dead bodies, but those usually end with the killer getting caught, so you’re not so sure about mimicking their methods. 

“I’m not sure,” Okkotsu says, tilting his head in thought. “Severing his limbs without the proper tools would be difficult. I guess we could carry him and bury him somewhere unassuming—unless you have a car that we could use?” A quick glance at you confirms that you don’t. He rubs his chin, nodding to himself. “Right. A garden cart will do, then. We should check to see if he has any identifiers on him, first, though. Oh, and we can’t forget about the teeth. Do you have any pliers?” He turns to you casually, eyes widening at the sight of your awe. 

Thin black brows furrow in confusion. “What?” He asks.

You blink. “Have you…ever…?” Your voice dies in your throat.

Thankfully, he gets it. “Oh. No! No, I’ve never murdered a person,” he denies, dipping his head and tugging the neckline of his plain white tee. A curious look crosses his face. “But I could,” he tacks on cautiously.

You hug your arms and give a half-assed shrug. You can almost feel the weight of a kitchen knife in your dominant hand; the quick, fluid motion of ending a life. 

“Anyone could,” you acquiesce, dismissing the conversation. Okkotsu hums mournfully in return. 

According to his ID, Yasuhiro Souta is a twenty-seven-year-old male who lives in Chiba. What he was doing tumbling through your window in the middle of the night is anyone’s guess. Well, he did tell you, sort of shakily before he made to lunge at you, that you were supposedly his Valentine for the night. How sweet!

Snip. You met him for the first time a little over two months ago. He dropped his wallet on the train, so you picked it up and handed it to him in a silly attempt to be a decent person. It resulted in the man refusing to let go of your hand for a solid five minutes. Yes, yes, what an adorable meet-cute! Snip. When you managed to pry your clammy hands out of his vice-like grip, it was your stop, and, oh, how fortuitous, it was Yasuhiro’s as well! He followed you off the train into a random coffee shop, and it was only when you got the help of the employees that he backed off, the doorbell chiming as the glass door swung behind his back. Snip.

You thought that was the end of it, and proceeded about your day, running errands for a few hours until you retreated home. It shook you up for a little, yes, but it was nothing too crazy. You doubted you’d ever see him again. 

Snip.

You slice Yasuhiro’s ID with your scissors until it’s a pile of ashes. 

Okkotsu’s on his knees, holding a pair of pliers to the light. Wedged between the metal lies a crooked tooth. He hums to himself, plopping the tooth in a ziplock bag. He wears a pair of green garden gloves he grabbed from his apartment; you’re wearing a matching set. The rubber’s a little too big for you, but you’re making it work.

It's as Okkotsu calmly adjusts the head in his lap, preparing to yank another tooth that you stare at your strange partner, wondering how in the hell you got yourself into this situation. It’s been happening every so often: your acceptance of reality swinging in the opposite direction like the pendulum on a grandfather clock. 

You shouldn’t have killed him.

You don’t care for Yasuhiro Souta’s life. You don’t care for the man who intended to assault you. But there’s not a chance in hell that this won’t get traced back to you. 

You're fucked.

Why did it have to be like this? Why do bad things happen to good people?

That’s the way the cookie crumbles, darling.

And you crumble—crumbled—are crumbling when you turn to your neighbor. “Okkotsu-san,” you say, picking at your dirty nails.

“Yuuta,” the man insists. What a freak. He's a freak, and he's good, and you don't deserve it.

You take a deep breath, mulling over your doomed fate. It doesn’t have to be his, too. “You should get out of here. While you still can.”

There's an awkward pause. The strange man pulls out another tooth and plops it in the baggy. “There,” he says warmly, then draws to his full height. “Do you have a coffee maker?” You ball your fists around the plastic handle in your hands. Calm, calm, stay calm. “Did you hear what I just said?” You ask. 

“Oh, I did,” Okkotsu hums. “I chose to ignore it.”

Your hands begin to shake as you repeat his words. “Ch—Chose to—” 

Okkotsu says your name pityingly. “I thought we already had this conversation," he questions with pinched brows. “Why are we—”

“We?!” You interrupt, incensed. We. It's as if the curtains have been drawn open, allowing the rays of the illuminating, scorching sun to trickle through. It blinds you, and you have the urge to pull your eyes out and shove them down his throat. “You thought we? Who are you? You don’t know a damn thing about me!”

“I think I know a few things about you,” Okkotsu smiles sweetly, gesturing to the dead body in your apartment.

“Do you, now?” You laugh and toss your hands up to the ceiling. “Great! I have an idea!" You glare, the metal edge of your scissors catching the light. "If you know what I’m capable of, then you should get the hell out." 

A pause. You pant, more worked up than have been all night and it's fucking ridiculous and you hate it. You want to choke—you want him to choke. On your blood-soaked fingers, preferably. He'd probably lick them clean. 

Unaware of your depraved thoughts, Okkotsu’s lips pull into a frown. He sighs, running a ghostly hand through his hair.

“I’m not scared of you,” he tells you, quietly.

You hold your breath. “Maybe you should be.”

Your insufferable neighbor takes a step forward, that stupid frown still on his stupid doll face. “What’s your plan?” He prompts. “Do you intend to confess? To go to prison?” You shake your head slowly and he softens. “You don’t deserve that,” he says, like he really means it.

Why did you let this man into your house? Why is he offering you hope? It’s too much. The scissors slide out of all your fingers save for one; your limbs sag with a weariness that’s settled deep in your bones. 

“You don’t know what I deserve.”

Okkotsu stops and considers you. Your chest heaves, your heart pounds, and you want out. You want out, and he can get out, and you don’t know… You don’t know why…

“If you want me to judge you, I won’t,” says Okkotsu. 

You shake your head at his dismissal, your eyes squeezed shut. “I can’t judge you,” he continues, and there goes his cold, calloused hand again, gingerly tilting your chin upwards. The pair of scissors in your clutches drops fruitlessly to the floor. When you look up, there’s something like pleading in his endless, starless eyes. “Trust me,” he begs. 

You shouldn’t. You know it with every fiber of your being that you should not trust Okkotsu Yuuta. The man who blinks like an owl and stares at you like you’re a mouse he can’t wait to swallow whole. Who blushes pink whenever you hold the elevator door for him. Who has cold fingers that cradle you so gingerly—who touches you like he knows you—who doesn’t cringe at the sight of dead bodies but gives a damn about a bit of blood staining the outside of your ear. 

You shouldn’t. Trust him. But you—you feel as if he’s reached inside your chest and plucked out your pulsing, blackened heart. 

“Do you love me?” You ask Okkotsu Yuuta again, heart throbbing in his hand.

His eyes don’t stray from yours. “Ask me again with my name,” he says quietly. 

…You don’t know if you want to. 

Releasing a breath, you push past him, snatch the ziplock bag from the floor, and stride towards the stove. “I’ll make coffee,” you say, already fiddling with the grinder.

Okkotsu lets you depart with a sigh.

“So what do you like to do when you’re not helping random people bury bodies?” You ask Okkotsu a couple of hours later. You stumble over a root in the dark, and Okkotsu’s quick to grab you by the waist and steady you. You continue, a bag full of your keys, water, pepper spray, freshly-bleached gloves, a burner phone that Okkotsu already had, for some reason, and two sets of clean clothes swinging against your back. You fidget with the shovel in your hands mindlessly, trying to get it to spin. A garden cart with a tarp draped over it creaks along the grass floor. The two of you have walked for who knows how long, but, according to him, you’re getting close. 

The man beside you hums, surprisingly chipper for the nefarious activities afoot. “When I’m not busy, I like to garden and crochet. I also like making food for my friends from time to time,” he says in a simple, humble manner. The last part doesn’t surprise you. He’s brought you helpings of food on the most random occasions, showing up at your doorstep with self-proclaimed “leftovers” and shoving full plates into your arms with a velvety smile. That does beg the question, though…

“Have you considered us friends this whole time?” You squint at him in the dark, only the moonlight carving out the contours of his subtle, delicate features. You’re kind of surprised. You two made decent neighbors but only ever talked in short bursts outside your rooms. Your conversations rarely ever broke past polite mumblings about the weather.  

Okkotsu pouts. “You mean, we’re not friends yet?” He asks, before breaking into a twinkling laugh. 

“Shut up,” you bite, but you laugh too, lightly shoving at his arm. Okkotsu, bless him, pretends to stumble. It takes you a moment to suppress the heat burning the tips of your ears, but you do get it under control, eventually. “I meant… Before?”

His expression smoothens out before he gives a soft shake of his head. “No, not quite. But, I wanted us to be."  

It’s quiet for a moment, nothing but the rustling under your feet and the ever-present, cacophonous sounds of nature. You spot a nest of sleeping birds tucked in between the branches of a tree and smile.

“Well,” you try to keep your cool, eyes sweeping over the forest's shadows, “Better late than never.”

It strikes you halfway to the burial grounds that Yasuhiro didn’t bring his phone with him to your apartment in his depraved, intoxicated state. He crawled up a tree, through your cracked-open bedroom window—conveniently avoiding cameras. So, once you’re done with this, you very may well be free.

It’s a terrifying notion, freedom.

“What about you?” Okkotsu asks you, something like ten minutes later. “What do you like to do for fun? Besides watch Sailor Moon, I mean.”

You bite your lip to keep from grinning. “Well,” you wonder aloud. “This is pretty fun, wouldn’t you say?” 

Okkotsu lets out a little breath before he softly admits his agreement. 

It rained earlier today, you forgot. The ground crumbles like clay when you swing the shovel into the ground. You and Okkotsu take turns making a grave, taking water breaks in between. There is hope alive in you, you realize, as the two of you work in tandem.

Yasuhiro Souta is lowered into the ground with all the dignity a dead man could possess. He lays atop a tarp and your old Persian rug. A stream rushes somewhere nearby, bubbling like blood, and you pray that the body will make good fertilizer. When your hand shakes, Yuuta grabs it. 

You bury your clothes on the way back, a mile out. The sun peaks over the horizon.

When you return to your room with Yuuta in tow, your emotions overwhelm you: you are terrified and gleeful and sorry for all you’ve done. 

It is mournfully quiet as you mop the purple tiles blue, bleach burning your nostrils and freshly scrubbed gloves. Yuuta’s left to clean the garden cart in the gardens. He returns shortly, though, offers you a small smile, and helps you scrub every inch of your apartment. 

You scrub, and scrub. 

And scrub.

“You’re beautiful,” Yuuta says to you when you’re in the middle of wiping your brow. You’re sitting cross-legged on your rugless kitchen floor, where a dead body once lay. Sweat clings to your skin in uncomfortable places and you reek of bleach. “Shut the fuck up and scrub, Yuuta,” you command. 

Yuuta’s serene smile is unparalleled to anything you’ve ever seen before.

You could probably fall in love with him, you contemplate as you watch your neighbor make fluffy pancakes in the comforts of his own kitchen. If you haven’t fallen in love with him, already, that is. You doubt you’ll ever have a connection with someone as profound as the bond you share with the soft-spoken man who helped you bury a dead body. 

Love, you marvel, in the span of a few hours.

It’s disquieting. 

After multiple showers, and after Yuuta’s stuffed you with more pancakes than you can chew, the pair of you are lounging on his tatami mat, a much-needed change in scenery. You have like, three hours before you need to go to work, which, Yuuta agrees, is crucial to maintaining a veneer of normalcy. Which means this impromptu nightmare date will have to come to an end—as all good things do.

“I should probably get to bed,” you say after a lull in conversation.

Yuuta nods, reasonably. “That makes sense, yeah.” 

“Got work in the morning and all that,” you continue in a nonchalant tone.

“Make sure your window’s locked.”

Fine. “Walk me out, will you?” You request. Okkotsu Yuuta, ever the gentleman, agrees, even though the front door is only a handful of feet away. He pushes himself off his knees and stands at full height, though his starless eyes are, as always, trained on you. You would probably find Yuuta’s full attention a little unsettling if you had not just slit a man’s throat that night. 

You avoid his gaze all the same—stopping at his doorstep with your hands twisting at your sides. Yuuta stops beside you and waits patiently for you to string your words together. 

You clear your throat. “Hey, um—”

“Hi,” Yuuta interrupts, and you smile, filled with the courage to go on. 

“So, the thing is… Well, I probably wouldn’t have made it anywhere far without you. I acted quite amateur back there, you’d think this was my first dead body I was trying to hide, or something, ha. Um, so yeah, thank you—from the most sincere and vulnerable depths of my heart. I guess I’ll see you around? Okay, bye.”

A hand wraps around your wrist before you can run home with your tail tucked between your legs. Yuuta murmurs your name in a soft, dulcet tone, and you’re not certain you’re prepared to hear whatever he has to say. You turn to face him anyway, because, well, you owe him that much.

“Yes?” 

“Don’t you have something to ask me?” He chides.

The pit in your stomach swoops. “Not that I recall,” you lie with a straight face.

“Try again,” Yuuta smiles sweetly, like a haunted little doll.

“It’s been a long day, you know—” 

“Cold, I’m afraid.”

“My brain isn’t functioning at its peak—” 

“Hmm, getting colder!”

“I don’t think I can.”

A pause. You avert your gaze and allow yourself to get analyzed by Yuuta’s doleful, starless eyes. “Hey,” he calls your name, asks you to look at him. 

You look at him.  

“Good," he hums.

You roll your eyes, loop an arm around his long neck, and drag him to you. 

Okkotsu Yuuta tastes like the earth. From dust to dust, you are at the end and beginning when you capture his lips between yours. He responds quickly, hands digging firmly into your waist as he knocks you into his door frame, and you quickly learn what it means to be savored. You intended the kiss to be a quick, rash, thing, but he slows you down, melds into you languidly like you have all the time in the world. When he sucks on your bottom lip, you both moan, breaking apart for air. Yuuta slips his hands underneath your shirt, and for once, his cold hands burn, lighting the fire for something you’re not certain you’ll be able to finish. 

“Go ahead and ask me already, love,” Yuuta murmurs into your ear. And, well, fuck. You melt. “Yuuta,” you whisper as he nips at your neck. “You love me, yes?” 

At that, he bites down at the hollow of your neck. You gasp, then sigh when he instantly cools the wound with his tongue. “Obviously,” he replies, quite simply, thumb swiping delicately at your stomach. 

“Great,” you gasp, and Yuuta looks at you and beams. 

And, there goes your heart again, pulsing in his cold, calloused hands. Cradle it gently, Yuuta, won’t you?

fin. if u made it this far, ily

[megumismo]

սիրո հիմարություններ

[zer0n0tf0und]

[nectardaddy]

monsters - yuuta okkotsu

cw: language, blood, death, human remains, killer + non curse au, dark themes/humor, graphic descriptions(!!)

notes: heavily inspired by the book butcher and blackbird by brynne weaver, I genuinely loved writing this and might do another, butcher and blackbird has a chokehold on me

Yuuta Okkotsu was a sick man, a morbid man, one who's dark eyes didn't flicker or hesitate at the sight of the macabre. A man who was, quite genuinely, damned. A damned man with even sicker, more twisted, thoughts than your own that rattled his brain. But no one was the wiser of a man with a sweet smile, a sickly sweetness that oozed and melted hearts. He was so sinister, but so- peculiarly normal. A normality he practiced and honed; sure, the oddities slipped through every now and then, but he was quick to brush it off with a gentle laugh. A laugh that was charming, a tender sound, until it wasn't.

It was never a question on if you could love the monster of a man, it was when you would.

"You killed that man-" you began, voice soft against the chirps of crickets amongst you. "For me?" The air was thick and hot, humidity sticking to your skin as your limbs were slicked with sweat. An iron twinge in the air made you grimace, and you eyes met with the man, who now, had blood coated clothes.

"You're surprised?" He asked, eyes forward as he hunched over the body of a man - if you could call it as much anymore. He was a formidable, wicked, man, one who found himself splayed on the ground. Eyes sunken and blood pooling around his head, never to see such beautiful light of the earth again.

"I said I had it," you countered, a snap to your tone that made dark eyes flicker towards you. Not dodging his question as eloquently as you had hoped, you suddenly felt all too small under his eye.

"You didn't." A tone to match your own, as he rose with a small sigh. Looking over himself, seemingly annoyed he had to get himself so gruesome and bloodied. "Obviously."

"You didn't let-" But his eyes locking with your own made your breath hitch, swallowing hard as you desperately searched to fill your lungs. You hated that the man before you had such a loathsome effect on you; face flushing and breath stolen as if he were a middle school crush. "I could've done it myself," you doubled down.

A hammer in his hand, drenched in gore, was dropped amongst the grass as he took a step towards you. But the moments flashed before your mind quickly: you had the hammer first, swinging with a force to be reckoned with, then suddenly you didn't. You didn't realize, before it was too late, the doomed man had opposed you. "You would've been bludgeoned to death," he quipped. "Dear," he tacked on as his pale lips pulled to a sickly smile.

This wasn't his first slaying, nor would it be his last. Wielding a hammer as if it were a sword, becoming a knight in shining armor as he spilled blood for you. He was a mad man, a delirious one who considered bashing a sport - he didn't consider it entertaining, he found it thrilling. Passionate and wistful - it made you weak at the knees. But you were just as demented as he, if not more in the erratic department. It was miles from normal, but was normality anyway?

"Ugh-," you began, rolling your eyes as you watched the man before you slip back into his façade. "Don't 'dear' me, Yuuta," you retorted. "The only man I'm scared of out here, is you. Not that fucker," motioning towards the corpse as your eyes met his again. "You got in my way, I would've been fine."

"That's a compliment coming from you," he mused, tilting his head in what seemed like amusement. "Is that why you haven't killed me yet?" He asked rhetorically, dodging the conversation effortlessly as you failed to do so earlier. "No," he answered himself. "You're not scared of snapping my neck like a twig, you're scared of something else."

His tone made you want to vomit, so eerily sweet and candy coated, until it went sour, it felt wrong - it was wrong. It was wrong to act so apathetic in front of the dead, even more so when it teetered on flirting. "Don't start," you warned, but your mind urged him to keep going.

"Start what?" He asked innocently, juxtaposing himself as his clothes were splattered with blood. Inwardly kicking yourself at the thought of damn he looks good in red. The man knew what he was doing with his words, and he knew all too well as he took another step closer to you.

"You know what," your tone never faltering even though it desperately wanted to crack. "Maybe I should kill you," you suggested. But you couldn't do that, you could never do that; how could you possibly want to? He was so intriguing, so pretty, so daringly risqué it bordered obscurity - and fuck, he looked so good in red. There was no reason a man of his nature should look charming at all, no more so covered in blood. Delicate spatters coating his jacket and creeping towards his face, speckles of the liquid dancing on his cheeks like freckles.

"Probably right," he shrugged, a bit too mellow. Yuuta was odd, a strange man with strange tastes, as he wholeheartedly agreed with you that maybe you should kill him. "But then, how would you to fall in love with me?" Good lord, did that really come out of his mouth? "Dear."

If you hadn't already fallen so deep, maybe you wouldn't have come out with him tonight. But he didn't need to know that, he wasn't on a need to know basis with the the inner workings of your mind. However fractured, grotesque, and possibly similar it was to his own, he didn't need to know. He probably didn't want to know. "This again?" You asked, "god- you've completely lost it, Yuuta." You countered, contradicting your own thoughts. It was strange how you had the confidence and nerve to kill, but not to admit one's own feelings. It was easier to take a life than give your own.

"Kill me then." He proposed, crossing strong, filthy arms over his chest, a syrupy smile hanging from his lips. He was all too chipper about the interaction, dark eyes telling you he knew entirely more than he let on. A small, dainty, hum left his lips from your lack of action. Too confused, outwardly a bit disturbed by his choice words, to act, you only stared. "There it is," he mused, a whimsy in his low voice that made you shudder. "You can't, can you?"

A bit too giddy, and a screw loose in his mind, he took another step towards you. "I knew you had a heart in there somewhere," now only a few feet away from you, you couldn't stop your mind from racing. Somehow, in your own twisted mind, you found the man utterly breathtaking. Handsome, adorned in another's blood, with dark, tired eyes piercing you like a knife, and an, oh so, saccharine smile. "I just killed a man for you," he quipped, watching as his thought process shifted directions with ease. "With a hammer," he added, "all because I thought he'd hurt you."

"How romantic," you breathed, voice laced with a twinge of sarcasm. "A crime of passion."

"Isn't it?" He reveled, taking another step. It was a closeness you expected from the man, as he so often toed the line of boundaries. Because what boundaries could exist within one capable of taking another life? Little to none. Another stride, one more and he would be completely on top of you. "It felt-" you watched him pause, hovering over words in his mind as his eyes refused to leave yours. "Nice."

You couldn't decide whether to feel horrified, or unceremoniously flattered. But as his blood coated hand reached out for your cheek, all thoughts ceased. The warmth of his hand, and the liquid that covered it made you tremble underneath it. Oh, you were in deep. "I would do it again, y'know?"

If you hadn't convinced yourself otherwise now, there was no hope left. You were doomed to fall for the murderous man before you - if you hadn't already.

[mistershr1mp]

I don’t necessarily blame Shoko, Yuta, or any other sorcerer for the choices they’ve had to make regarding the use of Gojo’s body.

It is absolutely heartbreaking that Gojo, a man who consistently has questioned in his life what makes him himself, and is the titular person who wants to change the cycle of jujutsu sorcery and protect kids from being turned into weapons like him’s corpse is now being reanimated by the student he once saved and came to love. However, this is entirely quintessential of how being a sorcerer is a curse more than anything.

Being a sorcerer means that you have to slowly chip away at your own humanity when it really counts. They’re not just fighting any Joe Schmoe, but SUKUNA. And keep in mind that we’re at this body snatching point after they’ve witnessed tons of people die and have been feverishly saving as many people as possible so they can fight again. Literally every person in these chapters is a victim. These people have experienced immense trauma and have basically been raised by violence of course their perspectives are going to be warped.

What’s more heartbreaking to me is I don’t even think any of them thought in a million years Yuta would have to do this. I truly believe they just believed in Satoru because that is all they’ve ever known. And then he lost, and not too long after him losing they initiated the swap. Not even a second to grieve or process what’s happening.

[just-here-for-the-art-shit]

It fucks with my head day and night that one of the main themes of Jujutsu Kaisen is that if your strong, you are, in the most LITERAL sense, a tool, a hollow shell ready for the filling. Even unto death, there is no rest. Your body is everybody's but yours. Only a slim few can escape - but never completely.

My heart. Can't handle it.

[yvqip]

in honor of ch 261

The passing of the torch. The inability to grieve. A duty to kill protect. Is this what it means to be a sorcerer?

CW: angst, mentions of gore and death, just about what you’d expect, wip(?) bc i couldn’t bring myself to write anymore,

A collection of Yuta’s thoughts during the possession (+a bit of Suguru’s as he watches in the afterlife.)

The moment you died, something in the air changed. It was as if all that tension keeping everybody upright suddenly released into this all consuming dread. Lying there on the ground, split in two, was more than enough proof you really were closer to mortal than the god jujutsu society claimed you to be.

I’m sorry it took losing your humanity to make people realize you had any.

I’m sorry I have to do this to you.

If I could do it any other way, I would. I’m sure you understand that though, better than anyone else. You died on his anniversary too. I was only able to take a peak at who you were under the guise of ‘the strongest’, I don’t understand you nearly enough as he did but I’ve seen enough to know the burdens you carry. I know you missed him, I saw it in your face a year ago and I saw it again before your fight with Sukuna. I’m sorry you two didn’t get the peace you deserved even after death. I’m sorry you had to lose the only one who saw you as Satoru.

Standing there, facing that monstrosity, instilled a carnal fear into my bones, one that I couldn’t show in front of the audience you taught and guided. The audience I have to lead in your place as the new ‘strongest’.

Is this how you felt? A sacrificial lamb pushed to the forefront of battle for the reason of powers you had no role in choosing?

I do my best to hide the tremble in my hands as Shoko slices me open. I’m doing this for the others, to give them a better fighting chance, to honor the sacrifice you made for us- stealing away the fire from the heavens and granting us the opportunity to grow even more- offering yourself on a silver platter in exchange of our youth. You were chained to humanity, reduced to a weapon intended for us.

Were you able to see yourself as anything else after he died?

Although the fire is dwindling despite your efforts to maintain it, I understand you now, giving yourself as tinder to spark the next generation. I’ll become it in your stead. After all, I’m the strongest now too, and I’ll take care of the 1st and 2nd years just like you said.

Shoko finishes the last of the stitching.

I wonder how she feels witnessing her two best friends turned into husks, bodies desecrated by both sides of jujutsu society.

I’m back on the battlefield.

5 minutes to make this count.

I’ll make sure you and your best friend rest together soon. It’s the least I could do for you.

~

The scene before me is sickening. I can feel the bile build in the back of my throat despite my lack of a physical body.

How could they do this to you?

I had spent this time waiting patiently for you to arrive, only to be taken from me the moment you do. I never held any hatred for those in Jujutsu High, this was what they needed to do, and yet it disgusted me all the same.

Are you Satoru Gojo because you’re the strongest or are you the strongest because you’re Satoru Gojo?

I recall saying those very words that shook the foundation of your identity. I said it because I knew it would hurt you. I said it because I knew I was the only one who had ever held your heart in the palm of my hands. I said it knowing my existence was the only proof you were anything other than ‘the strongest’. I said it not believing it was true. Yet, as I witness your body be used as a puppet, I question if anybody else ever felt the same.

Did you die with me, Satoru?

Does any body else see you as just that? Did you exist to the world of jujutsu outside of your power? You’re still far ahead in terms of that, but you chose well with your students, especially that boy, Yuta Okkotsu. He’s like you, more so now than ever since he’s taken your place. They’ll eventually catch up to you.

We’ve failed to protect the youth again.

Seeing your corpse on the table as Shoko performed the operation brought me back to the day I lost part of you. You stood there, Riko’s body in your arms, your eyes devoid of the usual light within it just like now.

‘Suguru.. should we kill these guys?’

Thinking back on it, perhaps I should’ve said yes. We would’ve been on the run together- but we’d be together all the same. You would’ve never had to be Jujutsu society’s scapegoat, you would’ve never had to fight Sukuna.

It wouldn’t have had to end this way

Maybe I shouldn’t have left. My lofty goals were of near impossible height, one that only you could reach. But I had to try, damn it. If it took rebelling against the gods to do it, I’d have gladly held the weight of the world as punishment if it earned you freedom from being chained to the mountain of Jujutsu, forced to protect non-sorcerer scum. Those damned creatures don’t deserve our sacrifices- the effort we put in just to keep them safe while they unknowingly go through life not even knowing about the hell we went through for their sake.

But in the end, you were still my undoing. The reason my body is being used by that thing, the same reason it fought back against him. It was always you, wasn't it? I don't blame you, though. If it were the other way around, I wouldn't have been able to burn you either.

[httpxxg]

The hell with people saying some death threats and insults to Gege's decision????? Like i know we're all disappointed and upset or even frustrated that jjk only has 5 chapters left and it's okay to express frustration about it but still we should be mindful and respect Gege's decision because this is his work and creation 😃 it's already a bottom line that Gege receiving death threats so some y'all stop there and shut up. I don't want to see another mangaka receiving so much disrespect and death threats like Isayama experience because of the aot ending. I even read in his message that he'll end the story the way he WANTED it and we should just be supportive and respect his decisions and yes we can be sad and disappointed about it but still remember it's his work and decisions and there's nothing we can do about it except only support Gege and bear with him. And also we should even thank him more instead for creating a masterpiece that has brought both intense joy and intense sorrow to our life.

By loving his characters and enjoying the story throughout the end and even reconnecting to some characters and also his focus to inspire his audience that we could also draw a manga, We can be upset and disappointed in his decisions but you don't have all the right to say he's awful in writing and drawing, he already improved and proved himself that he is one great mangaka and he deserves more praise and respect and support rather than disrespecting him not only in his career but as a person too.

[yutosano]

gege im in ur walls

[rk-tmblr]

Nobody cried.

Nobody. But a curse curled around my bloodied corpse.

Yuta Okkotsu/Rika

[sisididis]

Dropping everything at the moment to come on here and harp on about the incredible relationship between Gojo and Yuta and the immense faith that Gojo placed in Yuta, his successor through and through, in light of the latest chapter leak.

Ever since their first meeting, Yuta and Gojo’s relationship felt different. Satoru has granted Yuta access to information, thoughts and memories that others have been actively locked out of for years that outstripped Yuta and Satoru’s relationship. Out of all of Gojo’s students, Yuta alone became his confidant, double agent and successor in every regard. Yuta alone saw Gojo for who he was and what he had to become to protect the Jujutsu world — “a monster.”

“What about Gojo sensei? Is he not important? Haven’t we been pushing all the burden of becoming a monster onto Gojo sensei alone? If Gojo sensei is gone, then who will be the ‘Monster’? If no one intends to become one, then I will!”

Now Yuta, the only person who saw him for his humanity instead of his strength, is stripping off his old self, both literally and figuratively, to become Satoru’s replacement — the new monster.

In Chapter 249, Sukuna looks at Yuta and exhales “Well, aren’t you happy now? You’ve finally been given a role.”

Indeed he has.

Yuta is Kenjaku’s legacy (“My will will be passed on!”, Chapter 243) and now he has become Gojo’s successor.

Yuta has taken on Satoru’s burden and became the strongest.