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prettyboykatsuki · 1 year

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HOW TO BE A DOG. | S. GOJO

⊹ general tags ; fem + afab!reader, reader presents femininely and has some specific character traits (i.e. personality traits, nothing physical), reader is shorter / smaller than gojo but nothing specified, reader is a teacher, gojo carries reader at some point (but he is canonly able to do very insane things physically so)

⊹ content warnings ; dead dove. do not eat, yandere gojo satoru, manipulation, stalking, obsessive behavior, delusional behavior, workplace harassment (not from gojo), victim blaming, canon typical violence, graphic depictions of murder, minor character death, excessive religious imagery, coercion, gaslighting, abuse of power, something akin to stockholm syndrome, graphic depiction of noncon / sexual content, forced intimacy, fingering, hickies / bruises, begging, edging, loss of virginity, size kink, 18+.

all sexual content present in part two.

⊹ wc ; 17.3k / 36.1k

link to extended authors note | ao3 | how to be a dog, by andrew kane.

LINK TO PART TWO

⊹ a/n ; well. its here. i wont ramble too much but i hope you enjoy and if you dont...well don't tell me. thank you to ame for your endless patience. likes and reblogs mean the world. the title is inspired by the poem linked.

⊹ synopsis ; with six eyes to see it becomes clear, you are being watched.

“Of course you must learn to love, to love always and love entirely and to be wounded by nothing so much as the violence of your own love.” - andrew kane, how to be a dog.

⊹ PART ONE : A CHILD BORN IN WINTER MUST NOT LONG FOR SPRING.

There’s a dog living outside of Gojo’s apartment. It’s a collarless, lonely thing. Clever, too.

Though, Gojo doesn’t know much about its life before it started hanging around the area, he gets glances on occasion. It’s not emaciated and it doesn’t look hungry, but it’s roughened up with matted fur and a healed tear in one ear.

More importantly, it doesn’t bother anybody in the neighborhood. Despite its outward appearance and hostility when approached, its aggression won’t go farther than a warning bark or growl. Most of the adults living in the building know better than to try, but some of the kids living upstairs desperately attempt to befriend it. Of course they fail, and Gojo thinks that that poor thing is growing apathetic to the touches of sticky hands.

The whole building is pretty fond of it, surprisingly. Gojo lives in a upend complex in a metropolitan part of Tokyo and the people here can be snobbish. So it comes as a shock that this dog wasn’t shooed away months ago.

Everyones sort of agreed to take care of it. There’s a food and water bowl outside of the security office - and just last week a sign was implemented of Do’s and Don’ts for what food scraps can be left. There’s a donation box to get some proper shots and paperwork - since it looks like the building's doorman has agreed to take it in if everyone chips in for the expenses.

(Gojo suspects this has something to do with those very kids, devastated by the thought of it being gone.)

Warm welcomes from the residents aside, Gojo hasn’t seen it act friendly before. He wonders about that. It seems hesitant to trust anyone and he’s sure there's a good reason. It’s just that it's clever. To be a stray in this area of Tokyo and be so calm is an impressive feat, so he thinks it probably has some grasp of his own situation. If it acted cuter, it could get a warm house and family too. Though the whole aloof and distant thing does the job just fine, Gojo can’t help but wonder what such a clever creature is doing, turning away from living lavishly.

Much like everyone else, Gojo’s contributions have come in the form of food scraps and some donation money to work towards the 5,000 yen goal. On the occasion their paths cross, Gojo sits near it. Sometimes, they share a moment of silence and Gojo talks just to see if it’ll ignore him. It seems like it’s listening. It always makes a grunt of dismissal when Gojo turns to leave and he’s started to count that as a little victory.

Gojo isn’t intrigued by anything as much as that dog. At least not lately. It’s damn near impossible to seriously pique his interest and yet that clever fellow is one of the few things he stops to ponder at.

Today, Gojo is intrigued by the dog that lives on the street of his apartment and the strange woman who’s petting it like some sort of domesticated baby.

He’s very, very intrigued by that.

The rain comes down in heavy sheets. It’s a Wednesday, and he has no classes to teach so he’s home and preparing to run errands. He’s going about his day as usual, basically. When Gojo isn’t swamped with a mission or the reformation of Jujutsu Society - he likes to play the part of the average man.

The plan for today was to take his unused car out of the lot so he could get some dry-cleaning done, go buy a new pair of sunglasses because his old ones are scratched, and go do some shopping. He needs to buy groceries again ( an uncommon occurrence) so that one's on the list too.

He’s dressed down. A black windbreaker is hanging over his shoulders, tight gray shirt and some comfortable jeans. He’s got on his errand shoes, a nice pair of sneakers and his keys are hanging from a loop in his belt. His hair is styled down and he’s got on his glasses instead of his typical mask.

He has a gameplan, a fully fleshed out expectation of how today will go, and it’s derailed by a woman he’s never seen before. He’s drawn to you so naturally it’s baffling.

You’re crouched just in front of the security office. Dressed in a loose skirt and long sleeves, looking down by the local neighborhood stray. For the first few seconds, he just lingers on in utter awe. You’re carrying a comically cute umbrella, clear with flowers and a pink edge. He kind of thinks you look like a peony.

He approaches slowly, quietly.

When he finally gets close enough to really see, he can hardly believe his eyes. That old, menacing mutt is happily getting his chin scratched by you.

“Oh, uhm. Hello?”

The sound of your voice startles him out of his trance. Snapping back to reality, he glances down to where you are and realizes he’s towering over you. In an effort to be polite, he steps back and gives you his most disarming smile.

“Hi. Sorry for the intrusion, I was just,” He glances at the dog who almost looks offended at the interruption “I noticed you were… petting this dog. Guess I was a little surprised.”

“Surprised?”

And your surprise surprises him even more. He blinks slowly.

“Yeah. He’s not aggressive or anything but uh,” Gojo chuckles, concluding you must be a little new “Well, he’s not exactly friendly. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone succeed in well…petting him.”

You’re taken aback by this information. Yeah, definitely new.

“Really?” You glance at Gojo before looking back down at it “I just gave him some treats and waited a bit. He’s such a sweetie. Sure you mean this dog?”

Gojo gets a good laugh out of that. Partially at your cluelessness and partially at your disbelief. He nods, smiling a little.

“I’m very sure, actually. He must really like you,” He says, hands in his pockets. He bends down to join you, but he’s still a little bigger than you at that height “I guess I can see why. You’re pretty friendly.”

You peek over at him. You seem a little shy at the compliment. Gojo feels his interest pique a second time today alone. New record.

“Oh, uh. Thank you. I teach kindergarteners so I sort of have to be.”

He hums. Reaching his hand towards the dog, who sniffs and cuddles his palm (something it’s never done before) in order to win your favor more. It really is a clever little thing, just like he’d always suspected.

“I’m a teacher too. A highschool teacher, though. No need for me to be friendly, I guess.”

You laugh at his joke, smile reaching your eyes as you hug your knees to look at him.

“You seem plenty friendly to me.”

He pretends to think about it.

“Maybe you have a gift for making people come out of their shell,” He says with sincerity, relishing in the fact he’s finally getting to pet the dog in any capacity “I think this little guy could probably attest to that.”

“And you have a knack for flattery.” You quip.

The natural chemistry is noticeable enough for it to catch Gojo off-guard. He grins.

“Hey. I’m not all bad. And what's flattery if I’m being honest right?”

“Sounds like something a flirt would say,” You tease, airy. He laughs a little.

“You seem like you’re having fun giving me a hard-time.” He pouts. You giggle.

“A little,”

“Jeez. How rude of you…” He waits, prompting your name. You smile.

You give him your name. You say it soft and easy. He makes sure to return to the favor.

“And yours?��

“Gojo Satoru.”

You live up to your first impression in the time that Gojo gets to know you as his neighbor.

Friendly. The word he’s looking for is friendly.

There’s other words though. Sometimes meek, typically cheery, oftentimes quiet. You’re quite unassuming, and possibly too gentle when compared to everyone else in the general area. You fit in fine, no worries there. And Gojo knows that for certain because he can’t stop himself from watching over you like a hawk.

He doesn’t really understand it himself. Gojo gets along with everyone. He’s always been a people person who likes to talk and likes to get to know strangers. There’s nothing that special about your connection in that way. You live next to him, directly across the hall. You often knock on his door to give him something that you’ve made too much of or ask to borrow some sugar

And it’s not done with any romantic intent. Gojo is good at reading people. He’s never seen someone so blatantly romantically uninterested in him. You’re not even conscious of him as a man, cemented to him by the one time you came to the door dressed in paper-thin PJ’s. He hasn’t recovered from the shock. One of the many times in his life where he was grateful no one could see where he was looking.

He’s had a few months since your first meeting to get an idea of your personality and what things about you he should keep in mind. You noticed that he’s often not in his house, so you’re relatively aware of your surroundings. You’re often up late because your lights are always on well into the evening.

(He finds out later you’re usually making lesson plans or little gift bags or planning birthdays. You really love your job, something he can commend while simultaneously feeling quite jealous about.)

You favor the lovely spring colors like pink and purple because you have so much of it always on you. You dress brightly in general. And you smile, often, and stumble over yourself trying to be nice to the other tenants. The kids in the building adore you. The sheer amount of propositions you’ve received to be someone's full-time nanny could probably keep you employed for another two decades.

And you always put your best into everything, no matter what.

This is probably the aspect Gojo is most fascinated by. It’s not exactly a novel trait. He’s encountered something like it before. One of his most prized students is Maki Zenin. Her whole thing is kicking ass through sheer spite.

But unlike his students or anyone else he knows - you don’t seem to be motivated by spite or anger or frustration. Even when you are angry or upset - you always force yourself into being more understanding. Into being nice, kind, and still giving it your best if you’ve been shorted somehow. He’s tempted to call you a try-hard. It draws on the line of people pleasing sometimes but it doesn’t matter either way. This is a quality in you Gojo likes all the same.

He's always been drawn to people who are earnest. His company favors such things. He cherishes Yuuji for such a reason, and can say something similar for Nanami. It’s a refreshing perspective. He’s not a bitter person, but he’s not an earnest one either. So Gojo likes that you’re so properly, gently sincere.

For the last few months he’s made a real effort to talk to you. So he’s not just the guy next door, but at least an acquaintance and at best a distant friend. On the mornings you both have classes to teach, he walks you to your car and if he wakes up before you - he’ll bring you a cup of coffee or a pastry he knows you enjoy.

You’ll often do Gojo little favors and he’ll return them - joking to each other about being a good neighbor. An inside joke with each other that Gojo is growing increasingly fond of, all together with leftover cups of coffee and glances that linger too long. Some mornings, he takes out your trash when you’re feeling too tired and you’ll do him the favor of getting the stuff out of his clothes that he doesn’t want to dry-clean.

It’s these little exchanges that make up the bulk of your interactions.

He’s even been to your apartment (another reason he’s sure you’re not attracted to him). He went last week to help you cut out little autumn leaves to put on your classroom walls, and you rewarded him with some lemonade.

He’s still thinking about it days later, how you sit on your legs and the way your cardigan hangs off your shoulder. When you’re focused, you leave your mouth open a bit and poke your tongue through your lips. He’s endeared by it.

By you in general.

It’s all boring and mundane, but that’s what makes it. It’s a luxury he rarely affords. Craves, really, which is why he’s starting to go straight home more often than not.

It’s nice that you’re always there. That you’re usually home and when you’re not - Gojo doesn’t have to guess too hard about where you are. It’s so constant. He basks in the feeling of constancy like an expensive silk.

It’s little luxuries like that, he thinks, that make you so special to Gojo without much effort on your behalf. Being up at the top means he is always fascinated by the place closest to the ground.

What’s heaven to a man born there?

In your fourth official month of residence, the neighborhood dog finally gets adopted.

He’s not there for the big reveal. He hears it from you while he’s on a mission, through a text message and a photo. He acquired your number early on, but you’ve only started doing these text exchanges recently. Reason being Gojo’s had an unusual amount of cases that need his attention and you’ve been very aware of his absence.

(The first time you texted Gojo after 3 days on the other side of the country, he was scarily happy. After all, most times when he leaves - people are expecting his return. There’s an assurance that he will return alive, that he has to. It’s not often people worry.

It was another thing he learns about himself through you. Being fussed about is refreshing.)

Currently, he’s all the way down in Nagasaki. He’s been investigating what the local government has described as an “infestation in the water,” leading to poison and all sorts of hallucination. It’s been causing all of the local hospitals to fill up and the news is advising people to distill their water if possible when at home. Make sure to buy bottled, and double check on your children.

In other words, there’s an unidentified curse wreaking havoc in small towns and rural areas at an unusually fast rate and Gojo has been sent to figure out its origin. What’s really weird is the location. He’s in Nagasaki prefecture, specifically in Hasami - a town in the Higashisonogo district. He really didn’t have much time to do research on the area, save for a few quick google searches and probing questions to his student, the well traveled Yuta Okkutsu who is a hair more familiar with the region than he is.

But there wasn’t much for him to find. Hasami is known for the porcelain it produces. The population is a little under 15,000 and the weather is nicer in spring than it is in summer where it gets too humid. It’s considered a small town, though that number is relative in consideration, and currently the local officials are sending off reports about the water supply.

Even when doing deep research using official means, there was nothing that unusual about the place. No major criminal incidents or occult presence or some other thing that would make this occur naturally. Gojo is no stranger to small town violence or bullying and they can often produce the most volatile curses.

But he’s currently on his 3rd day here, where he’s taken up talking with the locals and he can’t find any specific attitude that would foster a special grade.

It had led him to a conclusion, but one he was deliberately avoiding. That someone planted the curse here in Nagasaki, or maybe somewhere else. Which really complicates the whole affair, because then this is an investigation and not just a situation of fate. It also means that this curse was likely harvested somewhere and that Gojo can’t be sure it’ll be easy to get rid of.

Most importantly, all that fanfare means he’ll be home late.

Given how much he’s longing to see you, it’s the thing he’s been dreading most.

It’s weird. He’s never dying to see anyone, with the exception of an old friend long gone. But Gojo has been desperate to see you for the few weeks he’s been away from home.

(He can’t tell if it’s normal to long this much for a person he truthfully doesn’t know that well.)

But, while he’s away from home, the thoughts of you play on loop in his head. Like white noise, static yet constant - there, all the same. As he walks the rainy streets of Hasami, hands in his pockets - he can’t help but wonder when the next time he gets to see you will be

It’s like some sort of miracle (aren’t you always one?) when Gojo hears his phone ring, buzzing against his abdomen.

He’s drawn back into reality when he feels it. In front of a store that sells handmade plates and glasses, he lets it go for a while. Feels it buzz against his pocket while he settles his thoughts. He examines his surroundings, notices the cars, and the mother with her daughter across the street and the gray sky - all before he picks it up. Your name flashes him on screen, and something itches deep in his chest.

The clouds open up. And it’s still raining, but there’s a ray of sunlight cutting through them. For a minute Gojo feels worldly, grinning with damp skin before he slides his thumb across the phone.

You’ve never called him before.

“Hello?” He greets, wondering if it was an accident. Then you come through the other side of the line.

“Hi ~,” You say, clearly doing something in the midst of talking “How’ve you been?”

“I’ve been alright. Very shocked you called me, yanno?”

You laugh quietly.

“Sorry about that. I just wanted to check in. And I wanted to say thank you.”

“I mean… I’ll accept but I feel like I should know what for.” He jokes. Your tone goes sincere, marshmallow soft and twice as sweet.

“You paid the rest of the fees for the dog out of pocket, didn’t you?”

He smiles to himself.

“Ah. Busted. That was supposed to be a secret between me and Mr. Security-Man,”

“He didn’t tell me. I just…guessed. Seems like something you’d do.”

His first instinct is to disagree.

“It’s not like I did it out of the goodness of my heart, okay? It was looking a little sad sleeping during the cold seasons. It was very pitiful. So bad, so sad.”

“Why’d you do it?” You ask, probing but not too deeply “Like… really. It was really nice of you, but it was a couple thousand and that can’t be cheap.”

He relents, head leaning back on the wall behind him.

“The kids, remember?” He murmurs, eyes staring up at the gray clouds “You said they’d be sad if the dog didn’t get adopted soon.”

“The way you’re talking about it makes it seem like you’re doing this for me.”

“And if I was? Would that bother you, hm?”

You wait a minute, hesitating with your words.

“Well…no. I guess not, I just—thank you. I guess I’m just a little… embarrassed about it or whatever.”

“Shy, huh? Cute.”

“Jeez,” You huff. Gojo can practically hear your grinning from the other side; it makes his heart flutter. He wants to go home, to wherever you are “And you always say you’re no flirt.”

“I’m not a flirt. I’m just telling it how it is.”

“Yeah? Well, thanks anyway then. It made them really happy. You should’ve been there to see it. Maybe you can tell them when you get back?”

“Don’t wanna.” He states outright.

“You didn’t even think about it!” You exclaim.

“Mm, because I don’t have to. I definitely don’t want them to know.”

“Why not, though? You’d be their hero, y’know?

Maybe it’s something in the air. The damp weather out closer to the ocean, or the distance between you. There’s a tiny echo in your words, mechanical through the speakers. The word hero leaves a melancholy in his mouth, floating in the back of his throat like liquor refusing to go down. He chuckles.

“Ooo, are you into that kinda thing? Like, super charming knights in shining armor? Or superheroes, maybe?”

You giggle on the other side of the line. If you notice him avoiding answering you, you have the courtesy not to say anything.

“Isn’t everyone? I don’t know. I think if a really good-looking guy saved my life, it’d probably make my heart race a little, yeah. I’d catch feelings over that for sure.”

He takes a deep breath. Everything smells like rain.

“Is that so?” He says, chest blooming with warmth “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Gojo returns from his mission empty-handed.

He was out there for a long time, at least longer than usual when he’s traveling for a mission. He’s not used to hitting so many dead ends. The problem kept growing, but every trail he’d uncovered went cold in about a day. Just before he gave up hope, he was called in by Yagi. Since the issue has spread into other parts of the city, it’s no longer his solo jurisdiction.

More hands on meant more time for Gojo to be teaching. It also meant that he would finally see you after so long. You waited for him outside the day he returned to Tokyo - wearing a cream colored sweater and the prettiest smile Gojo had ever laid eyes on.

Gojo returns from his mission empty-handed but it’s not entirely pointless. Upon returning - he had a somewhat shallow epiphany about the way you make him feel. About the way he’s affected by you, which is arguably more valuable than some lead.

Being away from you for so long is something that makes him so irritable. He’s had some time between then and now to come into terms with it.

Falling back into his routine, it was obvious. Suddenly there was a gap he’d never noticed before that blew wide enough for him to fall through. He actively avoids not seeing you if he can, and ever since your permissive conversation a few weeks ago - it’s harder to notice the way his desires fester.

There’s not much he wants out of his life. So when anything noteworthy pops up, Gojo is always eager to get a hold of it before it’s too late.

He usually soothes that by reminding himself of your position as a civilian, a kindergarten teacher at that. The responsible thing to do is make sure you’re safe. To play the hero from the sidelines and ensure you don’t encounter anything from his line of work. That’s his whole life's work. To create a life like that, and it helps to stay on that path when he believes you’re sheltered from that reality.

That’s why, when you tell Gojo you can see curses, he feels the entire floor collapse from underneath his feet.

He receives such devastating news over a cup of coffee at that.

It’s closing in to Fall slowly and Gojo has decided to take you out to eat as an apology for his disappearance. He intended to give you another half-truth about his job so you wouldn’t lose any sleep over him.

When it happens, it’s less that you tell him, and more that you keep glancing. Just over his shoulder, with this terrified expression that Gojo couldn’t not notice, even if he tried.

You’ve got your hands around a warm drink, in a white, ceramic mug but your gaze keeps diverting to the place behind him. When he looks over to that same place, a curse is there. Small. More insignificant than a bug, but there.

It’s risky to mention it. Because if Gojo is wrong, it’s not something he can brush off. He’d have to come up with something to excuse himself, and he isn’t sure how to lie out of that (even with his natural disposition of being a trickster.) But when you keep looking, his instinct kicks in. There’s no way you aren’t seeing it.

He doesn’t ask you directly. That’d be too incriminating, so he lowers his tone. Watches you briefly as you tremble in fear.

(A small, small part of him is only asking because he doesn’t like how distracted you are from him. Killing the curse seems like it’d relieve that annoyance too.)

“Can you see it…?”

The question makes you jump out of your skin. You reel back, eyes widened before the realization really sets in.

“....It?”

Gojo looks around the cafe for a minute, to make sure no one is listening before he turns around and points to the cursed spirit behind him.

“It,” He says, thumb pointed at the deformed curse moaning in one of the booths.

When it dawns on you that Gojo sees what you see, you cup a hand over your mouth in shock. He can’t describe the way getting that confirmation feels. It raises so many questions about who you are. More than he had before, at least.

No longer are you the innocent, clueless civilian and that changes every interaction he’s had with you since the start. Though it’s not uncommon for people who can see curses to fall through the cracks, he can feel his own curiosity dig into his skin like seeds taking root. He doesn’t think he should be excited, but he is.

He’s excited watching your fearful tremble. He’s never seen you like that.

“Yes,” You say, voice a little shaky this time “I can see… it.”

He takes the spoon out of his latte and cleans it with his mouth. Studying your expression momentarily, he takes a deep breath before standing to his feet. The terror is so subtle, the kind he can only catch because he’s so familiar.. He knows those emotions better than he knows most.

Curses aren’t phobias. Not illusions or ghosts, but tangible madness. Impactful to those who can see it, but nothing to those who can’t. Fear like that, which can’t be shared with anyone, has a specific look when it shows up in someone. Gojo hasn’t felt that fear since he was very, very little. He watches curses with the same bland expression he might watch a horror movie, but he can understand your reaction at least. He knows it like the back of his hand. All the people he’s saved, who could see them too, always wore the same one.

Still, he’s caught off guard. He feels bad that you’re scared. But the proximity between you and him which was once oceans wide has decreased significantly in no time at all. That feels good. Even better than he would’ve imagined.

“Are you scared?” He questions intently, maintaining a sense of neutrality.

You swallow a lump in your throat, eyes glued to the table in front of you.

“Yes,”

Your voice is a hoarse whisper. The corners of his lips twitch upward.

When he’s sure no one is looking, he stands up and walks over to the table behind him. Pretending to look for something so he doesn’t look out of place. It doesn’t take more than a second to destroy it. It’s tiny, something he’d never think of fighting since it’s so harmless. The curse equivalent to a fly.

He gives it a violent death and sees you look on with horror in your expression. He finds himself pleased with that, wiping his hands on his pants before returning. Maybe you recognize his strength when he sits back down. Still, instead of pulling away again, you fold your hands in your lap.

“T-Thank you,”

He grins at you.

“Of course,” He says “Can I ask you something?”

You nod your head and sip your tea.

“Do you know who I am?”

You look confused.

“...Are you a celebrity?”

He laughs hard at that. Hearing that makes him not want to tell you.

“I’m Gojo Satoru,” He reintroduces. You nod slowly “I’m a sorcerer.”

Another lie of omission. The strongest, he should say. He takes a sip of his latte, frowning at the bitterness. Through his mask, he watches as you fiddle with your hands. He stacks the empty creamer cups together before opening two more sugar packets and stirring them.

“A sorcerer…” You look perplexed. Confusion settles into the lines of your face. Sheltered, Gojo concludes. Only parents, who shelter you wouldn’t tell you what a sorcerer was despite your ability to see them “What does that… mean exactly?”

“It means I kill curses for a living” He replies simply.

“I thought you were a high school teacher.”

He smiles.

“Smart cookie. I am, but the school I teach at specializes in cursed technique and sorcery.”

“Oh.”

You look befuddled.

Gojo thinks he might be an opportunist.

“Do you really not know anything about them? It’s rare for people to be able to see them and not know anything about them.”

You shake your head, eyes peering into your drink. He watches how the image reflects in your eyes.

“Uhm. Not really. My parents told me to do my best to stay away from it. We lived in the countryside but I had to move out into the city for work so I kept… running into them. I can’t like… kill them. And I don't always see them.”

“You can’t use cursed techniques?”

“I guess that’s what that is. I don’t think I can, no.”

Vulnerable.

“Hmm. What circumstances,” He says, purposeful in weaving concern in his words.

“Is it that bad…?”

Not really. His job and the job of his peers is to make sure civilians make as little contact with curses as possible. There are more people like you, and because curses feed off of negative emotions - many dangers can be shafted by just not reacting. Even so, it’s customary for people to have some semblance of protection. A weapon if nothing else, for anyone who can see them.

“Do you carry anything with you?”

“Like a weapon? I have mace for when I take the train late at night.”

“Not that kind of weapon,” He says gracefully. He can tell you’re out of your element, and some small and twisted part of him would like to keep you in the fateful dark.

“What other kind would there be?”

“There’s a lot you don’t know,” He half answers. Your frown deepens. He puts his palm over the top of his coffee cup but doesn’t feel any warmth “Aw, don’t be like that. I’m just teasing. You’re always so calm and collected, I was surprised to see how scared you got, you know?”

“Everybody gets scared sometimes.”

“Mm,”

His non-committal response leaves you nervous again. Fidgeting with the edge of your cup or the loose threads in the sleeves of your clothes. What a bundle of nerves you are. Gojo puts all the comfort he can in his voice, dredging up some sense of sincerity.

“Well, since it scares you and I’m such a nice guy, I’ll protect you if you get into any trouble.” He says, snapping his fingers and pointing at you.

That makes you relax. Makes your shoulders droop, a smile gracing your pretty face. Gojo can feel the floor underneath him sinking as you tease him. His eyes trace the curve of your neck. He’s glad you can’t see him or where they look.

“Oh, what? Are you gonna come running every time I need help?”

He smiles.

“I’ll be your personal Superman.” He promises, making a silly expression trying to make you laugh. It feels good when he succeeds, the weight of his words softened by it. If you feel how heavy the comment is, it doesn’t show up on your face.

You snort, taking a sip of your drink and there’s something so kind in your expression that Gojo aches over.

“That right?” You hum, smiling over the edge of your ceramic mug “You’re my hero.”

Since then, Gojo’s kept quite busy.

The last time he saw you at all was at the diner a few weeks prior and little has been different since then. You send more nervous messages than before, but aside from that things are the same.

He’s done a good job, he thinks. Partly of ensuring you, partly of instilling healthy fear. Your eyes always widen like you’re caught off guard by his comments - sometimes washed away with a laugh but other times genuine. Gojo likes to keep you on your toes. A bit of harmless fun and endlessly amusing.

Gojo would be there to protect you just like he promised before, so even scaring you isn’t something he thinks of as bad. It’s not untrue that you should be a little more vigilant, but just telling you to do so is no easy feat.

He would like to be spending time with you today just the same as he has before, but he’s home alone instead. There’s been a brief reprieve between cases so he’s on his own to unwind. There’s nothing he wants to do, so he decides on a movie.

Gojo is the only one of his friends who still has cable TV. According to Shoko it’s a luxury purchase but for him it’s one less choice he has to make when coming home to relax.

It’s an American film on now, some psycho-killer classic that he’s already seen a handful of times with Japanese subtitles.

None of the lights are turned on, so the TV illuminates the room in flashes of color. He grabs a soda from his steel-gray fridge and cracks it open, listening to the soft fizz that comes to a slow halt. Pulling it to his mouth, he travels slowly back to his couch. The leather squeaks under the weight of his body. The weight of his back creates a divet that he can be comfortable in. He rests his head, glancing back again at the screen.

A scream rips through the house, agitating his every nerve. He picks up his remote and turns it down just a tad before watching the movie with a sort of disinterest. Horror movies aren’t his favorite, admittedly. He pretends he scares easily, but the opposite is true. Gojo has seen too much for it to be entertaining, no less scary.

He likes movies based on their creative merit. He’ll watch one on its creative merit.

But to be scared? For frights? Not really. Very little gets his heart pumping hard like that. Sometimes the storytelling is good. Other times there’s something cathartic about the formulaic death. The final girl, the call from inside the house. The dependable and clean ending of tropes. Even if it’s messy or sinister, it’s fantastical. Fictitious and detached.

Gojo enjoys that. For anyone else, it’s probably a twisted way to think about it but to Gojo it only feels natural. He doesn’t examine that detachment very deeply. He’s just aware of it, lingering in the back of his head.

He takes a long sip of his drink. The sickly sweet taste slowly coats his mouth. Fizzy and smooth, it goes down easily. He sits up in his seat, making himself comfortable as he tries to pay attention to the movie. The main girl is hiding in the bathroom, and the killers' steps are echoing through the house. The broken, somber string instruments in the background, fill the white noise with apprehension and terror.

Gojo doesn’t feel a chill down his spine. His eyes are still fixed on the screen though, with slight anticipation of what's next even though he already knows. It’s nearing the end and he’s seen this movie before. She’s not going to make it, and Gojo knows that.

He watches intently in spite of that. The door bursts open and there’s a knife in her chest - and screams. It’s horrific and ugly, blood-spattered and graphic.

He doesn’t flinch until the whole way through.

It’s brief, but the thought passes his mind. Lately, the only thing that Gojo seems to react to is you.

But he doesn’t think about it too deeply. There’s no need to.

The TV goes to commercial and Gojo realizes he’s finished his soda. He stands back up, onto his feet to toss the can and grab another. This time, he grabs some snacks too. Piles them onto a plate, dried meats, and something mildly sweet for after before he returns to his living room. Sitting back down on his couch, he scrolls through his phone for anything interesting but comes up short of any results.

He sits up a little straighter as the next movie plays.

Spending time around curses is a necessary part of the learning experience.

Things you can’t learn in all the lessons and tutoring in the entire world. Even though Jujutsu Tech exists, and even given Gojo’s lineage - when he started working officially, he didn’t know everything. You can’t. No matter to what extent you study, there’s some things that you can only gauge through experience. Going through something over and over, like muscle memory.

Gojo spent a lot of his life wanting it to make sense. Wanting curses and the way they showed up to make sense. This is a lesson in truth, divine truth you can only take up in experience. Curses are human emotions, which means that they are finicky and everywhere. And the dangers of them will always look like the aftermath of destruction.

Sometimes, there’s nothing you can do to prepare for why things happen. It’s why Gojo is always grasping for light where he can find it.

Gojo Satoru stands in an empty parking lot all the way in Osaka. He examines the sight in front of him and can’t find anything he’s learned to prepare for what's next.

Fog has rolled in thick clouds over every inch, limiting his vision. The air tastes of smoke, and the earth underneath him is damp. The wet concrete squeaks under the weight of his shoes as he takes in the surroundings. The parking lot of an animal hospital, in particular - where all the staff were reported to have fallen unconscious. After being rolled out by the proper authorities and after all the animals were moved into a different location - Gojo was left to examine the remnants of the incident.

The reports are similar all across the country. Not the location. but the symptoms. People falling sick and ill. The initial reports of a water-borne illness didn’t progress far past the first city. It’s evolved since then. People get sick, pass out and hallucinate and animals lose all control.

The aftermath isn’t very messy so luckily it doesn’t attract too much attention. There’s no bodies, or blood - nothing heinous thereafter. The effects appear later in the people affected, taken over by an unnamed madness that appears to turn their internal experience to ruins. Gojo would’ve preferred the first situation. Violence like that becomes easy to digest with enough exposure.

These kinds of symptoms are always hard to stomach. Civilians get answers that placate them. The truth is that there's something bigger out there at play and they were just so unlucky to bear witness to the terror. With altered memories and the badge of trauma, what they don’t know can’t hurt them.

Gojo knows though, and sometimes he envies their ignorance.

He makes his way into the building. A set of glass doors greets him when he turns the sidewalk, with a blinking sign. Osaka Animal Hospital is written at the top in neon, accompanied by the words 24hr service. Gojo only glances at it briefly before sighing, hands on the bar to push himself through the heavy glass doors. He has to lean some of his weight to get through, and there’s just another set beyond those where he has to do the same.

Then, he’s inside.

The presence of the curse and of cursed energy ignites familiar caution within him. It’s here, in some capacity - or it was recently. The perpetrator is here too. Why that is, Gojo can’t quite understand. It seems a little backwards to linger here after everyones been evacuated and there’s no doubt someone would come to investigate.

All Gojo can think is that maybe they weren’t expecting him. But by now, they must know he’s there too. Gojo’s presence is intentionally oppressive - by nature it must be. Now it’s a waiting game, a quiet one at that.

Hospitals are always echoey and this one is no different. The squeak of his boots bounces off the walls as he takes steps towards the receptionist desk just to see if he’ll find anything.

He leans over it, to stare at the left over records - untouched by the authorities. Everything looks like it was left in a hurry. Strew pens and a corded phone just barely back in place - with computers on a blue idle screen. All the daily documents are still out sitting on the desk with no organization to indicate they’ve been filtered through. No paper clips or post-its telling the next person working about what to do.

Instead of walking behind the counter, he climbs over it with relative ease. Once he’s behind it, he takes better note of his surroundings. He doesn’t find anything completely relevant. There’s painting of animals, and some certifications for bills of health as well - but nothing that warrants his attention. He redirects through the papers in front of him, coming across a stack unexamined. Those answer sheets they give you to fill out so they can assess the situation before meeting you.

They’re split into two piles it looks like, though that could just be some coincidence. Still, he flips through them. Directing his attention to the little comment box with the prompt what are you being seen for?

It’s nothing serious. Normal things an animal owner would be upset or worried about like bowel movements and eating something that shouldn’t have been consumed. A minor injury or a worrisome behavior - but nothing that sticks out. For pages and pages, Gojo flips through the little packets trying to find anything.

It’s not what he sees, but what he doesn’t. A blank packet of papers, with no name for the owner or the pet. Only a description in the prompt box, neat handwriting in a single line.

“Showing signs of anxiety.”

Gojo smiles to himself. Interesting.

He jumps back over onto the other side once he’s seen it. It’s strange. Why would they go to the lengths of premeditating it like that? Whether it’s the curse itself or some third party, it’s an unreasonable thing to do.

“Not like people like this are usually reasonable, but,”

He saves the rest of the thought, sighing. The room has two hallways to go down. Both directions have some lingering cursed energy, but the hallway leading to the overnight area is much stronger. It’s separated by a big metal door, so Gojo braces himself to go through it.

He walks towards it slowly and through the doors even slower. It’s a long, empty hall. The ceilings are low, white fluorescent lights over his head like a falsified halo. They flicker on and off, with the ones at the very end of the hall having fizzled out completely. Gojo can hear, feel, and see everything. He can hear his own breathing and the artificial crackling of electricity. Feel the lingering presence of sickness, the sediments of a curse preparing itself to emerge like a butterfly from a cocoon.

He peeks into the different rooms of the hallway. One half of the hall is kennels, once again empty and left in the same messy state as the front desk. The other half of the rooms look like surgery rooms, with a storage closet tucked into one corner. The hall comes to an abrupt stop at the end, a painted gray wall with nothing to offer at the end.

But when Gojo is half-way through, he hears it. A heart-beat. A human one, slow and steady like it’s not worried at all. Not moving or running, just there. Thump, thump, thump.

Gojo perks his head up as he walks, leaning over to get a look at every room. Empty, empty, empty.

Then, in the very last one is a shadowy figure. The sound of the heartbeat is louder and the feeling of cursed energy is so strong it’s nauseating. Gojo pauses when he peers in, waits for there to be any response to his presence. There’s no way whoevers lurking doesn’t know he’s there, but there’s nothing that makes him react. He frowns.

His hand reaches for the handle of the door with a sigh, the mechanism inside clicking to let Gojo know it’s open. He takes a deep breath before opening it, stepping inside and shutting it behind him.

Even with the room as dark as it, the person inside is clear to his vision. A young girl. Probably no older than 17 with…

He furrows his brow. With a dog, from what it looks like. No ordinary dog, obviously. A curse in the form of a dog, with teeth too sharp for its mouth and fur that looks like a smear of charcoal and nothing like hair at all. It’s on a long leash, the chain wrapped around the young woman's palms.

The dog seems to tense up at the sight of Gojo. The eyes are empty and white - almost transparent. It’s a snarling thing, muzzle over the mouth and clearly on edge. Gojo looks at its owner, the perpetrator in this instance. Who looks calm, black mask tucked over face and long dark hair with bangs cut sharp.

Gojo doesn’t know what to say here. He wasn’t expecting to make contact this easily with a curse and its master. It’s been months now, the authorities chasing after this special grade from city to city. She’s obviously strong, and so is that curse that’s strained against its collar like it’s ready to rip him in half if he moves. Not stronger than him, because no such thing ever happens - but strong enough for him to be cautious.

He doesn’t step forward. He stops by the door and tilts his head. He’s sure she can’t see his eyes, but they make eye contact all the same. None of it makes any sense, but making sense of it isn’t Gojo’s job.

Instead of introducing himself, he opens the conversation with a question.

“Why’re you still here?”

“I knew I was going to get caught soon.”

An answer he couldn’t predict even if he tried. Gojo huffs.

“There was some time between the authorities coming and this investigation. You could have left before then, no?”

“Doesn’t matter. Something would’ve stopped me.”

“What a weird kid. What led you to that?”

There’s a minute where the dog (?) starts barking, but the noise is nothing like a bark. It’s cosmic and strained, and sounds more like a distorted radio than an animal noise. It’s in the shape of an animal but it isn’t one, like it couldn’t complete itself to be one. Gojo winces at the sound, intensified in the closed walls of the room. It’s piercing, and a little annoying.

When she soothes it, it calms down quickly. It’s obedient.

“Uh. A vision. Closer to a premonition. Fate.”

“Fate said you were going to get caught today. Right.”

“Aren’t you a shaman? Shouldn’t be that hard to believe.”

“Point taken. How did you know I was a shaman and not some murderer?”

She gives Gojo a pointed look.

“Look at you. Plus, I can feel that you’re a shaman.”

“Another premonition?” He asks, this time sincerely. She shakes her head.

“No. Your aura.”

Gojo stares ahead.

“...Right, yeah. It doesn’t look like you’re planning on attacking me.”

“I don’t think I’d win. I’ve never met anyone stronger than me.”

“I’m the strongest there is, so I guess not. How did you wanna go about this, then? Famous last words?”

“You go first. I’d rather talk to you than the other officials.”

“Hm. Don’t know if I have any questions, kiddo. My job is catching you, not interrogation. I guess I am a little interested in why.”

This makes her deflate a little. It’s hardly noticeable, but Gojo sees it anyway. The dog seems to react, snarling at her discomfort. He’s starting to understand the connection between them.

She thinks for a minute longer before sighing.

“Well. I guess I should start about why, right? It’s an old story. I came from a small village. I used to walk miles to school everyday and I’d get bullied a lot since my granny was a shaman. It was just us growing up. A nice old house with not a lot of modern anything,”

Gojo crosses his arms, leaning back on the wall and nodding his head. He figures she’ll tell him top to bottom, so he doesn’t give any input.

“My granny died a few years ago. I didn’t have any family so I moved on my own. Even back then, the only other thing I cared about were animals. I started working at a shelter and then I met Senbei.”

The more she talks, the worse he feels. Gojo already knows how this story will end, but he doesn’t interrupt her as she pauses between her sentences. Being 17 and bearing the burdens of loss is something he regards as a nightmare.

“Senbei was my best friend. Most loyal dog ever. And you know, I started my job with high hopes and kept him by my side. I wasn’t always angry. Working in that shelter and watching animals come in trembling every time I fed ‘em made me angry. How cruel and sick people could be.”

Her explanations are jumbled and clumsy. She sounds angry but it’s not that simple, curling in on herself the more she talks. Noticeably, she doesn’t try to justify it. She says it easily, with acceptance that it happened. He thinks that acceptance is harder to bear than delusion. Gojo can’t help but commend her silently.

“I’m sorry you went through that.” Gojo replies.

He’s being sincere.

“Should you be sympathizing with me?”

“Doesn’t matter. I just do.”

Her expression softens. She looks sad, and it’s not like Gojo doesn’t understand. She keeps going though, hands shaking in her lap. Gojo thinks she might’ve been waiting to tell someone.

“I don’t know when I stopped seeing the good in people….I always thought about—about my granny and how no one—no one came to see her. She was always taking care of everyone and no-one—“

“I know, kid,” Gojo says with a sigh “I get it.”

“Then you know,” She pauses, taking a deep breath. There’s frustrated tears pouring down her cheek this time. What a strange, sad thing she is: “That you can’t go back. Even if you forget. It just—it changes you.”

Yeah. Gojo knows something about that, too.

“I was already pretty desperate when Senbei was alive. Just trying to hold on. When he was killed, I lost it. I just fucking— I lost it. I’m sure you understand. You get it right?”

Gojo looks at her confused. She shakes her head, looking down in her lap at the curse in her hands.

“I can tell you're like me. That's why your aura is so tainted and… fucked up and malicious. It should be crystalline blue kinda like spring water—but it’s muddy. Rigid.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The fact you’re hanging on by a thread. You can feel it too, right?“

Gojo remains quiet at her observation. He doesn’t know how to react.

“When you want something so bad, it just— does something to you. Either because it won’t happen or because it needs to take your life to exist. Happened to granny, to me. It’ll happen to you, too.”

“I doubt that,” Gojo says, your face flashing in his mind. He shakes his thoughts away.

“You’re thinking about it too literally. You want something, so you chase it and lose yourself in the process. You’re dead. No longer you, all tangled and in ruins. It’s not too late, but if you keep going—that thread is gonna snap.”

“A premonition?” He says, partially sarcastic. She shakes her head.

“No, a prediction. You don’t have to consider it if you don’t want to. I just thought I’d tell you since you gave me some last minutes with this Senbei.”

Gojo shakes his head.

“I don’t have any reason to be forceful if you comply. Take your time. I don’t have anything better to do.”

Gojo glances at her as she pets it, having resigned herself to silently gazing upon it. He can’t stop himself from thinking about everything she’s said, so he averts his gaze to the ceiling and pretends otherwise.

The silent stretches, a pregnant pause before she speaks one more time. She has a look on her face Gojo can’t read.

“You know, it’s funny. Everyone thinks dogs are loyal to their masters, but that’s because we made them that way. We can’t stand being alone or unloved so we made something that can do both without ever seeing any less of us.”

“You’ve had a lot of time to think about it.” Gojo says, unsure of how to reply. She isn’t expecting anything, but remaining silent fills him with a sense of dread.

“Guess so. You should take some time to think about it too,”

She says to him, petting the curse that whines like it’s been hit in her small hands. Gojo takes a deep breath.

“…Yeah. I’ll do that.”

The case ends anti-climatically.

Gojo finds it funny. The officials came and the young girl was promptly arrested. He never even got a chance to ask her name. He learned through some probing that she only made two asks before being taken.

The first, to keep her curse dog with her, and to send her thanks to the sorcerer who had apprehended her in the first place.

On the news, much later in the week - a news report surfaces. “Danger in the Deep,” giving reasonable and logical explanations for the events that occurred in cities across Japan not even a few weeks ago. New studies show, experts say, here’s a word from your local—a barrage of fancy language to pad the publishing, add depth and realism. The public is none the wiser.

Gojo has to admire the commitment to keeping the peace. The case ends, and the girl gets arrested and put on trial. He doesn’t know if he’ll be seeing her again any time soon, though he’s sure he has the power to intervene.

He’s hesitating to do so. Why stick his neck out for her in a situation like this one? Over other situations, more dire ones at that. She’d make a good ally.

Their last conversation hasn’t left the back of Gojo’s mind. He’s conscious of it, albeit it hasn’t slowed him down. He’s not looking for another assessment of who or what ghosts are haunting him. He’d prefer to put it all behind him now

So life, in some capacity, has returned to its baseline. It’s normal. He has cases but they don’t take him more than three days. He’s able to do his usual chores without anything impeding them. He’s been teaching, no longer forced to make his students fend for themselves.

He’s been seeing you again regularly, too.

He’s getting ready now to do just that. Scheduled to get another coffee together (something of a tradition now) and pick up some conversations. You’ve been busy, though Gojo doesn’t know the details of what.

He wants to know. He’s even tried asking but as soon as he gets close to the subject, you slink into yourself like you’re trying to disappear. Besides, he doesn’t want to intimidate you into telling him.

(Though, it would be so easy to do. You’ve got a record for being a scaredy cat, and as much as it endears him - he is entirely too hung up on the potential for exploitation to admire it kindly. It’d be easy to turn the notches up, pressure you. With how easy going you are, you’d let him do it. Gojo bets you’d cave. He thinks the face you’d make would be entertaining too.

Above all, the offer is tempting.)

In spite of your refusal to discuss the specifics, Gojo does want to cheer you up in whatever capacity he can. So, he’s taking you out for a while and hoping a comfortable environment and the presence of other people will soothe your nerves a little.

He’s getting dressed for it now, rifling through his closet for decent casual attire.

He’s got his hair styled down, a pair of new sunglasses on the table and his clothes folded on his bed before he tries them on. Most of his closet is uniforms, plain black and boring. For now, he’s settled on a black crew neck and blue jeans - ripped at the knees.

He looks over his appearance in the mirror, posing in it. Arms flexed and stretched over his head before putting them out in front of his body.

He takes his time to take part in the ritual. He slips his boxers up over his legs, waist band tight around his torso and clinging to the curves of his thighs. He pulls his jeans up, low at his hips with a belt buckled through the front. Then comes his sweater over his abdomen.

He wants to look nice. Though, he could be deluding himself - lately you seem a little more aware of his appearance. It makes him happy that his good looks haven’t failed him in the instance they matter most.

As he puts on his accessories (in this case a watch and a ring) his phone buzzes atop his dresser. He stops to pick it up, a message from you on the screen. He peers over so his face can be read, then smiles.

(sent 11:15am) Ready ~

He laughs to himself.

(sent 11:16am) Almost ready. Need to look my best for such a tremendous occasion.

(sent 11:16am) For coffee?

(sent 11;17) For coffee with my favorite kindergarten teacher ofc ♡

You send back a simple reply telling him to hurry and come out. Gojo chooses to interpret your embarrassment as a sign. It puts some pep in his step, and he hurries to finish dressing up.

He steps out of his house, locking his door from the outside before shuffling down a single flight of stairs and out into the front entrance of his complex. He notices you waiting at the front gate from where he’s standing.

The neighborhood dog (officially named Pokupan) is asleep by the security office. You’re the same as always. Today's outfit is a dress with long sleeves and colored tights. It suits you. A splash of warmth in an otherwise dreary world, Gojo stands in place as he watches you for an unidentified amount of time. Minutes feel like seconds as you pace back and forth. Your phone must be in your purse because he can’t find it anywhere on you.

He’s delighted when you finally turn your head to look at him. You cup your hand and give him a kind wave which he laughs at and returns enthusiastically. His stride is long, walking towards the gate.

You have to tilt your neck up to look at him (making his chest squeeze unhelpfully) but you smile when you do so.

“Hey,”

“Hello there Miss. Waiting for a special someone?” He jokes. You flush.

“They’re an important friend,”

He tries not to let his smile falter. Friend.

“Then, is it a bother if I ask to take you out?”

This time you falter. Gojo notices it out of the corner of his eye, the briefest brush of nerves that makes it seem like you’re warming up to him after all. It’s gone as quickly as it came but it’s there and Gojo etches it into the back of his eyelids for memory. He smiles at you as you look away, flush

“Not at all,”

He grins, again, even brighter. Then he sticks his arm out for you to loop in. You hesitate again. This time Gojo can’t be sure why.

“I’m just being a gentleman, you know?” He pouts. His frown takes effect as you loop your arms together. He keeps it friendly. Too much pushing and you’ll skitter away right before his eyes. Still, even this much progress feels good. It feels whole and light and good.

It’s a pleasant sort of day.

Not that it’s warm, or even sunny. It’s cold, on the edge of Autumn that dances into Winter. Freezing but bright out, the kind of sky where everything is clear. During the day the sky has no clouds and no stars when it comes to night time.

Nonetheless it’s nice. The cold is the kind that makes you want to cozy into someone for warmth, so Gojo doesn’t mind walking in. The walk itself isn’t very long either. The cafe is near your complex, just about 15 minutes worth of walking. There’s no snow or ice to trip on, and because it’s freezing - you shiver every time you stray too far from the heat of his body so the walking is done exceptionally close together

There are kids and parents walking together on the street alongside you, dogs and their owners, street vendors with hot tea. It’s that kind of day where the cold doesn’t keep anyone indoors, in fact everyone seems to relish in the fact they can run and run and run without overheating. It feels like everything is in sync with each other, comfortable and harmonious in spite of everything else.

After 15 minutes, you’ve arrived at the store front. Not long enough for Gojo, but that’s okay. There’s next time he has to look forward too.

(He tells himself this every time. It’s never enough for him. He can never get enough of listening to you talk. He could probably mimic your cadence without having to try. It’s a sound he doesn’t get sick of―a miracle, another one, because Gojo hates so many sounds―yet there’s one he always looks out for.

There has to be a next time. If he forgets to tell himself as much, he gets so restless he can hardly stand.

The cafe is nice. It’s one of those places that you see on Instagram often with plenty of sweets for Gojo’s taste and plenty of fancy teas for yours. The outside has beige-colored brick and a brown sign decorated with cutesy drawings. You spend a good amount of time crouched beside it, taking a picture or two to later post on your story.

“You have to tag me, okay? It’s your payment for wasting our precious time together,” He jokes.

You stand to your feet and brush off your pants, the material of your coat rustling as you do.

“Yes, yes ― I promise. I’ll have to ask who drew them when we get in there.”

Gojo smiles at your enthusiasm before opening the door for you. Another one of those glass ones with a logo printed on the top half and the metal tinted brown. A little bell chimes above your head as you head in first, and Gojo heads in after you. He has to duck not to his his head on the top of it.

It’s not too crowded at this hour. A handful of people sit among the many tables and booths. Your head is turned to the menu and Gojo trails behind you like a shadow. One to compliment all your light.

It smells delightful inside. Like warm cookies and vanilla and tea. Gojo feels his sweet tooth kick in the minute you two stand in line. The barista is a doe-eyed blonde college student. There’s another employee with long dark hair and thin, narrow eyes. It reminds Gojo a lot of that girl he met a few weeks ago but he tries to put that thought out of his mind.

He sticks his hands in his pockets and eyes the menu. The special item is a yuzu cream cake, the picture of it hanging on the wall like employee of the month. There’s a glass display of all the other items and the menu matches the rest of the decor.

“This was a good choice,” Gojo says, entranced by all the desserts around him. You laugh, turning your head slightly to look at him.

“Are you complimenting yourself right now?”

“Am I wrong?”

“Your sweet tooth is so bad,” You say through giggles “Your poor dentist,”

He gasps in offense.

“I will have you know I keep my pearly whites pristine. Not a single cavity for the record.” He says back, placing emphasis on the last words. You snort a laugh.

“I’ve never had one either,” You repeat back, perhaps mindlessly before saying “There’s a lot we don’t know about each other yet.”

Yet. Yet. Gojo’s subconscious will hold onto that word for too long. It makes his heart beat too loud. He’s relieved that you’re nothing like him. If you were in this very moment, you would hear the thunder raging inside of his ribs.

Instead of saying anything, he scoffs playfully.

“I bet you were such a goody two-shoes that you never ate sweets before bed-time.”

Your eyes widen in surprise followed by embarrassment, where you tuck your chin into your sweater.

“Ugh,” You say, so weakly Gojo can’t stop himself from laughing “What’s wrong with being a goody two shoes, huh?”

Gojo feels almost feline in his self-satistication. “I didn’t say anything was wrong with it, just that you were one.”

Your frown deepens.

“I don’t care for your tone, mister.”

“Are you gonna scold me like one of your students?”

“If it gets you to be nice,” You say firmly, in that Teacher voice that Gojo has caught glimpses of over the last few months. He does a fake salute.

“Yes, ma’am!,” He proclaims, soft enough so only you hear it. You break out into another set of his giggles, melting his cold heart. It’s not the smile so much as it is yours. The line moves up just a little bit. Gojo steps in front of you before you have a chance, his figure shadowing you.

“What do you want?”

“I think I’m gonna get one of those fruit teas and some cake.” You say absentmindedly. He smiles at you playfully.

“Heard,”

Gojo turns to order for you both, laughing through your obvious protests about his paying for you. He’s able to block you from getting in the way as the cashier looks on the both of you bemusedly. When the order is placed, Gojo taps his phone against the reader before moving aside where you stomp your feet and follow him.

“I told you I would get it this time,” You whine. He hums.

“Mm, there’s always next time?”

“You say that every time!”

“So you never know? Maybe it’s next time for sure.”

You seem to realize that this is a fruitless conversation and that he’s not going to relent. With a flush on your face, you cross your arms and pout.

“I’ll get you back one of these times, I swear….Anyway, thank you.” You add the last part quietly. He hums.

“It’s only fair, you know. After all, who else would come here to eat sweets with me?”

You look taken aback but Gojo doesn’t retract his statement. He’s sure there’s someone he could ask. But there’s no one who would agree to it as easily as you have. The environment wouldn’t be so welcoming, either. Someone who would do something like this with Gojo is long lost. It almost feels foreign to him now.

In order to ease the tension, you look up at him warmly.

“Then, I’m glad you asked me.”

There it is again. That warm, sort of fluttery feeling he gets in his chest being around you. He wonders if he’s allowed to be so happy.

The food arrives at the counter, the young woman calling out for Gojo. You and Gojo split the task of carrying the plates, picking a nice booth in the corner with the top covered, You slide in across from him, situating your bag.

You and Gojo go back and forth, setting up everything so it looks nice under the lights. Gojo takes on taking the photos this time, clicking from a few different angles and stopping to show you after each photo.

“I’ll send you the picture later, okay?”

“Don’t forget.”

“I won’t, I won’t. Let’s eat, okay?”

You nod enthusiastically.

You and Gojo eat and chat comfortably for a while.

He’s not sure how much time passes. He wasn’t checking because why would he? He’d like to be with you a bit longer, so he refrains from thinking about it and hopes you do the same. Just a bit more, he tells himself. Until you really, really have to go.

There’s nothing major to catch up on. You tell Gojo about your job, mostly and how you saw some friends from out of town the week before. Winter is coming and you want to do something nice for the holidays. You’re getting along well with your fellow teachers which is good. He was worried about that, but he can’t keep eyes on you at school.

(Not for not having tried. He’s thought about it, but his presence would be too noticeable and he doesn’t trust anyone else to the task)

So it’s relieving. Your only complaint has been that some of the students have the sort of parents you can’t handle. Pushy and involved in a way you can’t ignore but can’t tolerate either. Gojo jokes to take care of them, gesturing to his arm like he’s ready to knock someone's lights out.

That makes you laugh, and following it you have this melancholy look that sends alarms blaring in Gojo’s head. You don’t broach the subject at all afterwards. You talk about everything else you can. The sale on radishes at the market, thinking about getting a car just to have it, maybe visiting your parents sometime soon.

Gojo listens. He doesn’t have much to add. His work is strictly classified to people who aren’t in the field and it’s nothing fun to begin with. He does tell you what he can - usually about some antics his students have gotten into during training. He can at least talk about that.

He tells you about the movies he’s watched, how he went drinking with his co-workers last week, and how he thinks Pokupan is starting to act friendlier to him.

It’s fun because it’s you. Gojo likes feeling like he’s involved with you intimately. He likes hearing you talk. The sound of your voice is such a pleasant contrast to his own. You talk with a kind of joy Gojo could never hope to carry, all gestures and smiles and interjections - trying to make sure your point comes across. How you don’t think the kid sitting in the front is a bad kid, just needs guidance. How the material of your sweater isn’t really cashmere but more of a blend.

Time passes comfortably that way. The drinks and food have been reduced to crumbs and cold drops of tea, glasses emptied and phones abandoned.

But neither of you have made any move to leave, and Gojo is still listening to you talk with a pleased smile on his face. It was a pleasant sort of day, remember?

“So it was fine in the end, but the classroom was such a mess seriously―”

So, it throws Gojo off when you stop speaking so abruptly. How easily the atmosphere melts, and what an unpleasant film it leaves behind.

It feels like an axe hammering on a stop, a sharp and near violent thud that cuts off the end of your sentence. The air becomes tense in the blink of an eye. Gojo can feel it, the sensation of cursed energy. It’s stagnated, little like pebbles at the bottom of a creek. But it’s there, and Gojo can feel it creep over your shoulders like a sixth sense. Like someone skipped a stone over that same water. He senses it in the air like dust in the light.

He sits up straight, focusing his attention on you.

“Hey,” He calls out, softening his voice as much as he can. Trying hard to identify what's wrong exactly “You okay?”

Your hands shake as you lay them flat on the table. You’re almost completely spaced out by now. It all happens in the blink of an eye.

Gojo stares at you, calling to you a second time.

“Hey. Hey, look at me?”

When you finally hear him, you jump in your skin. Your shoulders relax when you realize it’s only Gojo. Normally that would make him happy, but not like this. Your hands are shaking. A nervous fidget in all of your movements that he’s never seen before, like you’ve been shocked with electric wire. He hates it. The taste of your fear (this fear) is different and unfamiliar.

He doesn’t like it.

You turn your head to look at him then avert your eyes again. He can’t follow your gaze as it shifts. It’s too erratic.

“No, uhm. It’s just, uhm.”

“Woah! Hey, Miss. I wasn’t expecting to see you here,”

Everything feels like it slows down as Gojo watches your eyes snap up. Your expression drops again, even lower, and if he listens close enough he can hear the sound of your heart. Your discomfort is tangible. It leaves a metallic taste in Gojo’s mouth as you suddenly curl in yourself, shoulders hunched and peeling skin off your nails.

You don’t even look to Gojo for help. Instead, your words go soft. You become helpless in front of his eyes.

“Oh. Yes, hello.” You bow your head trying to say as little as possible. Gojo stares as you shake like a leaf in the wind. Something ugly curls up inside of him, a knife twisting in his chest.

“Aw, c’mon? What’s with the unfriendly act? Is it ‘cause you’re here with your boyfriend?”

You look up at him panicked. Not because of the comment, but because of his tone. Gojo hears it too. How sinister it is. Like he’s blaming you for it somehow, like you’ve wronged him. The feeling inside of him is so ugly, it’s so wretched. His knuckles turn nearly white from how hard he’s closing his fist. You put your hands up and go to explain yourself anxiously.

It makes Gojo sick. He smiles, turning his head just a little so he can see. He opens his eyes and stares, focusing his vision on remembering every detail of the bastard's face.

“I’m not her boyfriend. We’re neighbors,” He explains, tone as cold as ice but smiling.

Gojo puts pressure in the atmosphere. His natural and suffocating aura returns to him easily. He smiles and remains unnervingly still, waits in quiet for the man to respond. He scratches the back of his head, still indignant.

“Uh. Okay. I guess that’s good. Wouldn’t be appropriate for a teacher to be out on a date like this huh?”

Again. This guy, whoever he is, turns his head like he’s trying to talk down to you. Diverts his perversion and sadism towards you that leaves Gojo wondering what his head would look like against concrete. A bitter, heinous feeling waits inside of him, nesting into his ribs as the sound of every voice in the room comes to be muffled. All Gojo can hear is his heart. How long it's been since he’s heard it.

It’s loud. A cacophony, or a hymn. Divine rage in the sound of his soul leaves has him unsure of how to proceed.

Gojo glances at you. Your eyes are rounded, full of desperation. Pleading.

Gojo hates whoever this is. Gojo wants to save you. He thinks you deserve to be saved.

He stands up. He has enough height on the guy to be intimidating, the guy just barely coming up to his shoulder. Gojo stares down wildly, pulling his glasses to the bridge of his nose to peek briefly over the edge. The bastard stops talking immediately, words coming to a stutter, It’s satisfying.

“Who are you?” He asks.

“Wh-why is that any of your concern? Can’t you see I’m talking to―”

“I didn’t ask about who you were talking to. I asked who you were,”

He hears you from behind him “He’s a parent from my school,”

“Ah, okay. Interesting. Since you’re a parent, we wouldn’t want to make this a confrontation right?” Gojo says, bemused “It’d be a real issue for everyone if it turned out that way,”

Gojo puts a hand on his shoulder, tightening his grip hard enough to hear him gasp. He’s weak, but that’s to be expected.

“So, I suggest you turn around and head home, hm? Since we wouldn’t want it to be a big fuss.”

Gojo can see it now. With a little pressure, he could turn the blade of his shoulder in sawdust and watch him fall to his knees. He’d let out a cry, a sharp pathetic wail like a hit dog. Gojo would make him say sorry to you before he lets up his hand from his skin. He’d do it infront of everyone in the store so they could hold a little fear in their hearts.

He won’t do it. Just for now. If it complicates your work then you wouldn’t be able to support yourself. What would he do if you ended up somewhere far away? Out of his sight, something like this could happen again and Gojo wouldn’t be able to take care of you.

So he doesn’t crush it. He pushes his palms into his shoulder blades and whispers quietly, just so the two of them hear. He pulls away and watches as his face goes pale, a simple stutter leaving his lips. Something about how he’ll see you later and that somethings come up before he turns around and leaves.

Gojo watches as he does. The door chimes again, and the man disappears. The patrons who might’ve glanced turn away again like it was just a simple altercation, which is good. Then finally, Gojo looks at you where you are. Your hands are trembling so hard, a shake of relief in your shoulders as you cover your face. You look like you’re getting ready to cry, so Gojo takes it into his own hands. He cleans up all the food, wipes the table, and even grabs your jacket and bag as you take a minute to collect yourself.

He taps your shoulder lightly afterwards, waiting for you to look up. Once you do he smiles, reaches a hand out to you so you don’t have to think twice.

“About time to get out of here, huh?”

You nod, so slowly. You look so relieved, even as you sniffle. Your hand is so small compared to his. He squeezes it protectively as you slide it into his own, and helps you walk out of the store together.

The air is cold, the same as before, the temperature having warmed just a bit. The bell above the door rings as the two of you finally leave, standing in the street. Unlike before though, there’s something bitter in the air. The sun has hidden itself completely in the clouds and the streets feel emptier, lifeless.

Gojo turns to you with a somber expression, trying to smile. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Do you want to go somewhere to talk about it, maybe?”

You chew your lower lip then sigh “...Yeah. Probably should, huh?”

You and Gojo decide on a place not too far from where you are. It’s a small park, a good place to end off an otherwise good day.

You have to take the bus to get there, but there’s not many people. Gojo eventually gives you back your things, lets you slide your jacket on and fix your face - but ultimately takes your hand and holds it on the ride there. He brings it to his lap and you don’t pull away even though you seem to fidget the whole time.

The bus finally stops in front of the park. It takes hardly any time, but Gojo finds he’s unable to let go of your hand so he doesn’t. Instead, he holds tight and lets you trail behind. You let him lead you quietly out back in the street. You give your thanks to the driver as the doors close.

He can’t let go of your hand, though he knows now would’ve been a good time to do it. His grip only grows tighter.

“Let's go find somewhere to sit,” He offers. You squeeze his hand this time and don’t look away.

“Okay,”

He tries to keep pace with you this time, instead of walking ahead. Your strides are shorter than his so he’s careful that you don’t fall behind. Your eyes still have that watery look to them but you’re no longer trembling from fear. Just the cold, if anything.

And your heartbeat no longer sounds so hazardous. Gojo is still restless, still fidgety. His thumb is rubbing circles into your skin but it’s not really for you.

You find a bench, eventually - in the middle of the long walk-way just a distance away from a playground. Gojo juts his chin out towards it, before turning over to look at you.

“Let’s go sit,”

You nod as you walk together towards it. You sit first, and Gojo finally lets go of you. He sits besides you. There’s a minute where the whole world is deathly quiet. There should be something calm about it, but it isn’t. You’re no longer terrified, and a distance away. There’s no danger lurking in the dark and there’s no cars passing or children crying.

Everything is calm and silent, but Gojo couldn’t feel more unease if he tried. He thinks he hides it well. But there’s that itch again, in a place behind his ribs he can’t reach into and he finds it hard to breathe.

“So,” He starts, breaking the tension “I’m guessing it’s not a friend,”

The stupid joke makes a smile appear on your lips. It’s small, but Gojo takes some comfort in it anyway. You wipe away your lower lash gently, a wet laugh leaving your mouth.

“No, not a friend. He’s uhm… a parent from my school.”

“The one who’s been bothering you for all these weeks?” Gojo supplies. You turn your head, eyes widened in surprise. Gojo lets out a breathy laugh.

“You….knew?”

“Not about him specifically, but I could tell something was bothering you,” He admits, and then adds “I always pay attention to my favorite person, you know?”

The addition has you looking away, but Gojo doesn’t mind. You sigh, rubbing your face with your palms before leaning back against the bench with your head hanging off the edge.

“He’s the parent of one of my students. Akio, he’s a good kid. A really well-behaved one but… too well-behaved. Never raises his hand, never complains or says he won’t do something.”

“I’m guessing that sent off an alarm bell, huh?”

You nod softly.

“Yeah. I figure it was something at home, but I’d met his mom prior and she was a real angel. Then, his dad came to visit. The man we met at the store, and I knew right away.”

Gojo feels his jaw clench listening to you talk.

“But still, you know, my job as a teacher is to be as respectful as I can. I always politely declined him when he would make comments and remained professional. Eventually, his mom stopped coming altogether and—I tried, I really—but he…” You trail off, a lump in your throat. He watches as tears form in your eyes, his anger getting more and more tangible. He tries not to express it, putting a hand on your knee “He just… kept pushing. A-and once, he looked like he was gonna get violent. I made a report, you know, to the school. But you know how they are,”

“They never even bothered investigating huh,” Gojo sneers. You laugh a tired sort of laugh.

“Of course not. After that, I just tried to endure it. And I know he hasn’t done anything technically, but it doesn’t really feel like a matter of if but when,” You explain haphazardly. Gojo squeezes where his hand rests.

“I believe you. It’s okay,” He says as soothingly as he possibly can “It’s okay. I’m here,”

There’s a sense of relief that washes over your whole body and before he knows it, you’re breaking down. He feels a lot of emotions all at the same time, watching your little frame as you lose it so easily in front of him. A part of him is so furious he wants to make it everyone's problem. Another part of him is so deeply sad knowing you’ve suffered all on your own.

And the most notable part of him is the sense of protectiveness, burrowing inside of him. A sense of possession. It sinks into him like teeth, seeps into his blood like the venom of an animal so that he bleeds and breathes it. Gojo can’t shake that deep sense of urgency, a nameless and faceless desire that consumes him. He shudders.. He holds it in, all of it. Cups his hands so desperately so that it doesn’t spill over and touch you, the ink of ruining the soft white of your clothes.

In a world that you have made beautiful, desire is ugly. Hideous and infectious, it tears Gojo limb from limb. It makes Gojo feel on edge. Gojo should not desire for any more than what he was. People always die when he does.

But maybe they don’t have to. Maybe, he can protect you. He can keep you safe. He wants to keep you safe. He wants to keep you all to himself.

It’s in an effort to soothe those feelings that his arms find themselves around your form. It’s the first time you’ve hugged in such an intimate way. Where expects you to turn away - you don’t.

Instead you cling, your arms around his jacket and your face in his chest. You cry and weep and sob and you look so small like that. You look like you’ll collapse and Gojo holds you. Says it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay as you let it all out. It must feel good to finally let it all out, after everything and he doesn’t intend to stop you.

“I promise I’ll always protect you from now on,” And he says it, and means it. If you feel the weight of his statement, you don’t let it show “It’s okay. You can cry if you need too,”

You cry and cry and cry.

And Gojo thinks the call of heaven is nothing in comparison to the sound.

In the end, Gojo can’t forgive him.

It’s not without effort. He tries to do it at your request, because after all the tears he wants to help. He says he can maybe pull some strings. But that gentle heart you have declines. You don’t want it to become a big deal. You feel a little better knowing he knows. In the end, you don’t want it to affect that brats reputation.

“You know how kids can be,” You say, voice full of concern for everyone but yourself “I don’t want to make school life anymore difficult than his life at home must be,”

So, Gojo tries to listen to you. But days pass, and days turn into weeks. In the end, a month goes by and Gojo is full of terrible and divine anger.

In the end, Gojo won’t forgive him. Gojo can’t let it go. He feels so righteous in it, he starts avoiding his own eyes in the mirror. There’s something inside of them he has no desire to look at. Eyes that tell all, Gojo turns away from their gaze. Gojo is angry for you, and it’s not in his character to do nothing about it.

He decides on less of a whim that it looks. He wonders about alternatives, if there’s anything that can stop this feeling from imploding inside of him but nothing comes.

When he decides that nothing can be done, Gojo goes out of his way to start watching him.

Like any mission, he needs enough background information to map out a plan. He wants to make sure that it has virtually no pushback for you. There’s always a possibility you’ll get caught in the crossfire and that’d be the worst possible outcome. Gojo can protect you from a lot of things, but he’s not as confident about the law.

(Not that he can’t. Just not in the good, right way he’s sure you want him to protect you in. Gojo’s love is divine, not right. There’s nothing in this world Gojo can’t shield you from, because he’s the strongest.)

He also can’t make anything obvious or leave any room for interpretation. If there’s anything that feels off when the reports go live - you’ll stick your nose where it doesn’t belong. He thinks in the instance you find out (about all of it, the premeditation especially) you’d probably tuck your tail and run.

(Gojo would find you. But the chase means there’s some time you’re apart. The thought is almost nauseating.)

He likes that you’re curious about everything. In most instances anyways. But he thinks it’s better to leave you in the dark sometimes. Having you worry about it would ruin the point of this. And sometimes, it’s better not knowing every detail. Honeytraps are more ethical than nets.

He’s doing it for you in the end, like he does most things. And the kid will benefit, maybe even get some sympathy from his classmates for a while about the tragedy that befell his father. Gojo thinks it’s a good plan because no one loses. It’s a lot like killing a curse.

It only takes two weeks to learn virtually everything there is to know. A guy like that doesn’t have much he can hide.

The name of his target, he learns, is Nobu Watanabe. Father to Akio Watanbe and ex-husband to Akiko Watanbe. He’s a recently released felon (let off on good behavior) with a battery and assault with a deadly weapon charge. He’s a college drop-out, and has been working a lot of odd-jobs since he was 16.

His personality is bad, worse is his drinking and smoking habits. He’s often found drunk in the street, and has a track record for single nights spent in a cell. His ex-wife is usually the one bailing him out. Gojo can’t help but feel sorry for her. Somehow, he doubts that he’s good to her. He’s a deadbeat father through and through. He only offers to pick up his kid to harass you. At least from what he can tell.

He isn’t as awful to his kid as everyone else. Gojo doubts that was always the case. Akio isn’t a bad kid, but it’s hard not to notice the way the light in his eyes disappears when his father comes around to pick him up. A head always looking towards the floor, hands tucked in his pockets.

It’s difficult for Gojo to feel any guilt about what he’s doing. After everything, he can’t find it in himself to feel any regret.

His target is currently working at a dock, not too far from the city. He seems to work there most days, working at a bar on the weekends. It’s a big company that handles foreign goods that he does physical labor for. Lifting and moving boxings, checking inventory - it’s not a complicated affair.

If there’s not a major shipment, he still seems to clock in so he’s definitely paid some kind of hourly wage. He smokes often on the job, but works diligently when there is something to do. An easy but physical job, he’s strong. Gojo can understand what intimidates you about him.

Gojo, though, isn’t intimidated by him at all.

He waits a week before he takes action. To shake off anyone or anything that might be trailing him, and to make sure that everything is the same as he observed. That his schedule wasn’t going to change. A week passes, and when Gojo has confirmation - he decides to do what he does best.

Gojo Satoru decides to play God on a Sunday.

Sunday is a day shipments come in and a day he often works alone. The pay is better on Sunday and Nobu is the only one on his shift who takes it. He’s not expected to finish the strenuous work because he’s alone for such a long stretch of time - just to make a dent in it. The people at the next shift are the ones who finish the job.

He starts his day as early as 6am. It’s near winter, so the world is painted in a miraculously melancholy blue. Gojo follows him that morning. He knows the route well enough to trail behind him and not attract any attention. They pass together, turning corners and taking bus rides until Nobu’s finally in at his job.

There, they part briefly. His target goes into the big white building and he goes on top. Gojo has to teleport to the roof because everything is gated with security cameras covering every inch of the property. Following him puts Gojo at risk. So he waits on top of the building, hands in his pocket and pacing until Nobu comes out the otherside to the docks. His jumpsuit put on haphazardly, only half-pulled up to his waist, with a clipboard and pen as a bunch of boxes waiting for him to check them.

After Gojo confirms that he’s alone, he lies in wait. He sits and waits - watching as the clouds pass. Watching the open sea, how it remains unchanging no matter what boats pass through to shore. He looks at his phone every now and again to check the time.

It shouldn’t be too difficult to actually do it.

You know, if Gojo turns his infinity on, there’s nothing in the world that can touch him. He can touch it, but it can’t touch him. There will always be a barrier between his hands and the world. Between him and the known universe, a bridge that started burning the minute Gojo was born into it. If Gojo turns on his infinity, there’s no way to leave traces of him behind.

Did you know? If Gojo turns on his infinity, his fingerprints don’t show up. There’s no DNA to find. Not a trace of him in the world that he hasn’t left purposefully. Even if Gojo chokes him with his hands bare hands - he wouldn’t be touching him. But Gojo can feel it. Feel his pulse, feel his breathing come down slowly.

If there’s such a thing as heaven or hell, Gojo wants to ask God about being homicidal. If it was a flaw of human design or their Lord reflected inside of them.

He lies in wait on top of the roof until 7.

When 7 hits, the world around him is still so dark. No one kills in broad daylight. The heavens are murky, sky full of black clouds like puffs of smoke. It’s freezing cold, a spine-tingling chill making its way up Gojo’s skin and hardening his hands. . Gojo waits for the doors of the garage to creak open. When the sound echoes into the air, a metal screech in the void, Gojo stands to his feet.

He jumps to the ground, landing with a dull thud. He comes out unscathed, a cat on his feet. He dusts off the front of his pants. Nobu hasn’t taken notice of him. Gojo takes a look around them. There’s no cameras in the warehouse. Gojo waits alone in the dark.

Five minutes. It’s five minutes when all of the lights go out.

“What the fuck?” Nobu mumbles, dropping his clipboard on top of a bunch of boxes, running a hand through his hair. Gojo waits in silence, watches as he turns around.

When he finally does, he jumps back in shock. Gojo feels a cold chill run through his body.

“What the fuck? Who the hell are you?” Nobu asks. Gojo grins.

“Ah, you don’t remember? We met a few weeks ago! We had a nice little exchange and everything.” He says, voice going higher by an octave. The man in front of him stares, off put by Gojos’ presence. He stumbles in his thinking, his body tensing up.

“Who the…what the fuck is going on?”

“Hey, don’t be so scared,” Gojo says, then uses his teleport to phase himself closer. Nobu’s eyes widen, shocked. Scared out of his wits, with the story of heartbeat like he’s being hunted. “Tough guy like you has nothing to be scared of, does he?”

“W-w-what…how did you…”

Gojo shakes his head.

“Don’t worry about it, man.” He says, voice calm and smooth and even. He’s surprised by how his emotions feel in his body. Like he’s so angry that he’s not. There’s something inside of him, the white waters that wade, that Gojo can feel. It’s strange “We’ve got about 5 minutes till the lights come back on.”

For a while, they stand at a draw. No one moves. Not him, or Nobu, or the open oceans. It’s quiet for a dock. Even quieter for a dock in Tokyo, and Gojo’s not even using his abilities. He probably won’t need too, other than infinity - there’s not any good reason for him to exert himself any more than he must.

Weeks of planning, weeks of watching, weeks of waiting. Nothing feels like it matters at the moment. He wants it to be over soon-ish.

It’s not that Gojo is particularly sadistic.

It’s just that, everything feels like it’s teetering over this very moment. He thinks it to himself quietly like someone trying to remember where they last left their keys.

Briefly, Gojo thinks “I can’t go back,” after this. In the back of his head he just knows.

He envies this aggravating strangers' ignorance, too.

“What do you want from me?” He says, stuttering - a gasping breath of fear in his lungs that snaps Gojo out of his thoughts. Gojo shrugs.

“Nothing, really. I’m not short on money, you know? I make a good living,” He says, spouting off about nothing as he closes the gap between them. Stepping closer infinitely until Gojo backs him into the garage, into the tall tower of boxers where there’s no cameras and no witnesses “Hm…is there anything you can do to fix this?”

No, Gojo answers mostly to himself, But wouldn’t that be nice?

“P-please, I have—”

“A son right? And an ex-wife, and a dead mom in Saitama. You didn’t think I came here without doing any research, did you? We’re the same in that way you know, I might be a frivolous - but hell if I’m not diligent,”

He looks like he’s going to throw up. Gojo remains indifferent.

“Who are you?” He asks, this time really wondering. With that hoarse voice of curiosity, of defeat.

Gojo hums.

“Good question. Who do you think I am?” Gojo poses and lifts his hands up. He puts them around his neck, pushing hard until his back is against the stack of boxes. It’s dark but Gojo can see everything. He keeps his open, tightening the grip of his hands slowly.

Nobu tries to spit something out but the words get sputtered, muffled by lack of oxygen.

“Do you think I’m a devil? An angel? God? I wonder,” Gojo says, staring. With his mask on, but his eyes opened wide. “Guess I’m kind of like a boogeyman,”

Gojo can feel it. His body underneath his palms, gasping and struggling for air. He can feel his hands try to pry his hands off. He can feel his body slowly start to lose its air, how he deflates like a balloon. Gojo is unmoving, unfazed, unworried. He’s near motionless except the hard grip of his hand on his neck and the pulse that slows gently under his palms.

It takes 5 minutes, maybe less, with all the strength in both his hands. Gojo isn’t counting. He holds on for maybe 2 minutes after that, just to make sure it’s not a fluke. He waits till the heart stops sounding in his ears and until the body is completely limp except for where Gojo is holding him away. He goes out sad. Useless, even.

When Gojo stops, Nobu’s body drops to the floor with a dull thud. He stares at it for a while, then sighs. It’d be nice if he could just leave it there, but he does his due diligence. Picks it up from the ground with relative ease, over his shoulders.

He walks it out towards the dock - the very edge, before tossing it in water and watching it sink. When it disappears from his sight, Gojo is left with his reflection in the deep blue. He meets his eyes for the first time in weeks, and knows he’s seeing exactly what he thought he would.

His anger has settled, just barely. Just enough to be able to see the change in his own vision. With his Six Eyes, Gojo can see that there’s no turning back.

With his mask on, he looks at himself, warped in the vision of the sea. The vision of him—crystalline and white and blue—murky and moving.

Gojo jumps to the roof and turns the light on again. The power comes back.

A dog barks distantly, over and over and over. Gojo watches the sun rise alone.

The following weeks pass without a hitch. Gojo feels like nothing has changed.

(But that’s not true. Everything is different. The same but different)

At the two week mark, winter has set in and Gojo is spending time with you in your apartment together. Currently, you’re cooking dinner (after carefully instructing Gojo to stay put in the living room.) Gojo is sitting watching T.V. He’s helping you grade papers at the coffee table, humming to himself.

It’s about 7 when the news starts to play. A local news channel and a familiar face on the T.V. Gojo is surprised when the breaking news report airs.

“Two weeks ago, a missing persons report was filed for ex-convict Nobu Watanbe. Sources say he was last seen working at a Dock in Tokyo - which experienced a power outage. It’s reported that Nobu seemed to have gone missing at the time, and hasn’t made contact with anyone since then. Could this be the work of a…”

The rest of the report Gojo tunes out. He turns his head slightly to see if you’ve noticed. Your eyes are glued to it., standing and staring silently. You place your spatula on a towel on the counter.

“We got word about a week prior to this,” You say, breaking the silence after some time without Gojo prompting. He looks at you “Akio started coming with his mom again and she gave me the story. It wasn’t unusual for him to up and disappear, but he hadn’t done so since Akio was born,”

“That so?” Gojo says, nonplussed. You nod.

“I feel guilty but,” You trail off, rubbing your arm anxiously “I can’t help but be… relieved. Just a little. I don’t want the guy to be dead or anything, but it,”

Gojo stops you in the middle of your sentence.

“You don’t have anything you need to feel guilty about,” He corrects, voice stern. You give him a sad look but he remains firm in his stance “He was harassing you for weeks. It’s only natural that you feel relieved, you know?”

You’re not entirely content with the response, but you seem to know well enough this isn’t something Gojo will compromise on. You sigh, looking down at the floor.

“Yeah. That’s true I guess, but still. I wonder what happened to him, or if he just decided to run away,”

Gojo pretends to think about it.

“Maybe. Otherwise…guess it was God’s divine punishment,” He says, continuing to grade papers. He doesn’t even look up as he says it. You let out a puff of air through your nose in amusement .

“Yeah,” You say, “Maybe. I should thank him some time,”

Gojo hums.

“I don’t think that’s a bad idea,”

#gojo x reader #jjk x reader #manipulation cw #writing tag #dark content cw #yandere cw #noncon cw #murder cw #yandere!gojo #stalking cw #i tried to add the most major tags #lmk if you need more #ok. gn #part two will be out whenever ame has read lol

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blitzxiiru · 1 year

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I just found you and I love your posts, if the like/reblog spree was any indication. I was looking through your blog at work and it gave me so much energy.

I wanted to know what you would think of a tmnt/Undertale crossover. I don't know if you even like undertale, but I've been thinking about nonstop since I thought of it. Wether the boys have the game, or they're actually in the universe, I think it would be super cool.

hello!! welcome to my silly blog :) i’m glad my posts helped give you a little energy boost for work, i know how tiring working can be, take care of yourself!

oh man this brings me back to the ABSOLUTE GODDAMN HURRICANE amount of undertale aus back in the day. christ, there was so much and i genuinely couldn’t keep up. practically anything you could think of — like candy, space, swapped roles — there at LEAST one post about it that was mixed and matched with undertale. i left the fandom years ago though, it was getting super toxic atp and i stuck to looking at it from afar

to answer your question — if the boys were to have undertale, it was released in 2015, so they would’ve had the game when they were like 18?? donnie would be scrounging around in the sewers and stumbled upon some thrown away copy of it

raph would defo be the one to instantly start off killing everyone towards the genocide route. laughs maniacally while doing so, and everyone is concerned for his mental well-being

• “bRO WHY’D YOU KILL THE LITTLE FROG DUDE”

• “IT WAS LOOKING AT ME WRONG. IT WAS BEGGING ME TO JUST FUCKING KILL IT”

• “raph, we’re having a therapy session tomorrow.”

mikey would be the complete opposite of raph. he’d be the most pacifist and try to befriend everyone despite the monsters trying to kill him. he was devastated when he couldn’t save asriel. his favourite is undyne

• “KILL HER, MIKEY. KILL THE FISH AND CHEW ON HER BONES AND FLESH”

• “WTF IS WRONG WITH YOU NO???? I WANNA BE HER FRIEND!!”

• “mikey she is literally trying to murder you”

• “I DONT CARE WE CAN BE FRIENDS SHE REMINDS ME OF LEATHERHEAD”

donnie would be the one to try to actually try to get all the endings. doesn’t matter if he has to go genocide or pacifist or neutral, he’s going to get all the damn endings. he secretly enjoys doing the genocide route bc it was a challenge, nothing more! (totally)

• “donnie you’re hogging the game”

• “leave me alone leo i’m currently trying to get the true pacifist ending”

• “i don’t care donnie take a break you’ve been playing for 10 fucking hours”

leo would try his best to be pacifist, but in the end he got the neutral ending because he killed some monsters along the way. he swears it wasn’t his fault — the game activated his fight or flight

• “LEO NOOOOO WHY DID YOU KILL UNDYNE”

• “WHAT WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO, NOT FIGHT BACK???? SHE WAS ATTACKING ME”

• “i thought you were being pacifist”

• “I WAS. I WAS TRYING OKAY.”

#I FORGOT TO ADD TAGS #tmnt #tmnt 2012 #teenage mutant ninja turtles #2012 leo #2012 raph #2012 donnie #2012 mikey #undertale ???#blitz talks gibberish #asks

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fandomgamersimp · 13 days

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I just want to ramble a little, because one of the latest reblogs evoked something in me, and I just want to make sure I'm not the insane one; also I've finally got around listening to Pamela's tapes from the FT13 game, and I'm kdjfksfjjefj-

! I may be adding something here and there throughought, because I seriously have a lot to say about all of this 😭

Because no matter what anyone tells me, I can't for the life of me be on anyone else's side, but Jason's. The franchise has some likable protagonists, obviously, and I rooted for them. My heart? Always on the Jason's side.

Like, I want you to picture what I'm seeing here, with added info from those tapes I mentioned.

TW sexual violence, abuse, ableism

Pamela- a woman living through 40s and 50s- already a tough situation if you know the historical context. At one point, a tragedy happened; an unknown man raped her- she doesn't want to talk about him, she doesn't want to remember him, she doesn't want to see this monster ever again. "It doesn't matter" she said to the police in the tapes. "What happened, happened." But she felt like he was still out there. Looking for her- and for the child he gave her with unspeakable violence. So she found Elias. Because he looked like someone who would be able to protect them. She married a different monster, it turned out. He also abused her - sexually, mentally and physically.

I feel like throughout it all, she managed to find strenght in her kid - someone who, due to his disability and ableism of the world, seemed far more vulnerable than her (and maybe because thanks to his disability, she just saw an innocent child rather than her rapist's face). And someone who loved her unconditionally- so she loved him back, despite how he came to be. I think she tried to be a strong person, and to shield her son from how cruel the world could really be- she knew it first-hand after all. The world already disappointed her, so maybe her child can have a shot, and she clearly tried her best- he was her perfect, little kid, no matter what kind of disgusting and atrocious things people were saying about someone who never did anything to them. She knows bad people. Her son wasn't one just because he looked different.

But Elias abused him too. She obviously snapped at that point. She murdered him for what he did - because unlike with the other despicable man, this time she was in control of what to do with him. Her son told her to do it too, he knew it too - or it was the first sign of how mentally disturbed she was because of her trauma.

She heard about Camp Crystal Lake later. It made itself to be something like a paradise, for kids especially. Of course she took it. Not only for work, but I think they made it out to be this beautiful and promising place for children - and her son deserved happiness too. But it wasn't. Other kids were cruel, and councelors were rude. Just because someone is born different. She tried her best to make him socialise, to protect him too. She was shielding him from others a little too much, sure- but considering her past experiences and the fact that she didn't get professional help, I don't blame her. In her eyes most likely, the world proved to her how fucking disgusting it can get to people who never even did anything to it.

Then, she heard it. Her child begging for help - probably just like all those times he screamed for help while his dad was hurting him. They told her that they can't find him later. She told them he couldn't swim. That they had to pay a little more attention. Her child- Jason- was probably her biggest, if not only, reason to still be alive, because he deserved to have support and genuine love, to experience what she didn't get to. He needed her, but suddenly he was gone. The police was called, she demanded justice.

She demanded something that she didn't get- so at least give it to a damn child. And they didn't.

On one of the tapes, the police even assumed that "he's probably dead already". You know why they automatically assumed that? Because he has a disability. They didn't even consider the smallest chance of him being alive, just decided he's no longer alive without even doing the search. She tried to find Jason on her own, of course. But obviously she couldn't, she's only one person. Not only the police didn't do anything useful- the councelors that were too busy with themselves were hired again. Without consequences. Without an apology. Without justice. Horrible people doing horrible shit and then living like nothing happened while others suffer. And she snapped again- trying to do anything in her power to have the camp permanently closed after her murders, so no other mother can suffer like her- like your heart was ripped straight out of your chest.

Jason had to live years in the woods alone. He probably wondered why all of this had to happen to him. In the comic of him and Leatherface, he still remembers his dad's abuse too. All of that because of how he looked- hating it himself up to the point of covering his face (I think the fact that the bag on his head is tied perfectly shows that he really doesn't want to give anyone/anything a chance to take it off and see it). Only his mom loved him, no one else in his life showing him this much care and genuine appreciation for existing.

And then, he sees them. Everyone just happily visiting Camp Crystal Lake. Partying. Living. Nobody even once wants to genuinely acknowledge what happened. Nobody visits his mother's grave, the councelors do whatever they want. Nobody pays respect in any way. They act like it never happened. Like their lives thrown away means nothing. Like- I think- no one wants to look into themselves and ask whether or not they contribute to what kind of society we've created- one where victims don't get justice, where an ableist "joke" is accepted and laughed at, where you'd rather ignore what's around you rather then contribute to change- because maybe if someone, even one person, thought that way, his mother wouldn't be raped and killed while mentally unstable, and maybe he could have a chance at living just like able-bodied people are, and maybe the other kids would have been a little nicer to him. Maybe if they stopped to think about others for one second, it all wouldn't happen. We could change the world- but are we just choosing not to?

And then you see the same people kill your mother. Was her snapping after everything made her a horrible person? The same that raised her child, despite from who he came? She didn't even get to find him and live like a family. He was probably so excited for that split second, seeing his mom alive. She didn't even get to see he's safe when he found his way back onto the Camp. What did they do to the world for everything to end up like this?

Because I think after all that, they decided they're going to give them a reason.

I personally enjoy DiSanti's interpretation in his fanmade movies- where the blood of Pamela entered Jason, with all the hate she gathered for the world. Because in my eyes, that's the perfect depiction where they both, in a way, decided that they're going to show people how it really feels when your entire life is ruined, where your innocence and hope are stripped away, and there is no justice served, and no one believes you, and no one does anything. These people are going to know how it feels to have the entire world against you while hatered and pain eat away your humanity.

While, maybe at one point finally, realising that it all could've been avoided if you thought about someone other than yourself.

It's "if you want to hate me, hate me for an actual reason". And the Voorhees decided they're going to give them a damn good one.

And a friendly reminder HE'S NOT EVEN GOING TO KILL YOU IF YOU STAY OUT OF CRYSTAL LAKE AND JUST LEAVE HIM ALONE.

You would stay alive if you just fucking listened for once.

Also: honorable mention of Rennie who was made an "empath" in the comics

Because apparently empathy and morality are mutually exclusive, and feeling empathy towards someone, even someone doing horrible shit, is a super-power and not just something we all should strive to have. (Me wants to say it's because the world has had us convinced that commiting a crime is a perfect reasoning for getting rid of empathy for those who commit the crime and for circumstances of them ending up in certain positions, so we don't realise just how broken we are as a society and we all have certain responsibility for how we treat the disabled, the poor, the abused, the mentally unwell etc. and most shit happens for a reason; but not everyone is ready for this conversation. Or maybe everyone's angry that they see Jason-with all his background provided- and unlike many people, he doesn't really go after children and animals still, so they realise he still has more rigid of a moral spine than them).

And also they kinda keep doing this shit- I understand screaming while a huge guy is chasing you with a clear intent to kill you; but excuse me, why are you screaming upon seeing someone's deformity caused by a disability? 🤨 (he even raised his mask in pt. 3, because like, HE KNOWS what kind of reaction he's gonna get - because so far no one proved him otherwise).

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the-fab-fox · 1 year

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This was a response to a daily prompt which was "thieves" and gave me the idea for this. I don't know if I'll continue it, but begging from the readers if you enjoyed this would go a long way to convincing me to write more lol. In any case, please enjoy and if you wouldn't mind, pretty please reblog. I'd also absolutely love to hear what you think! Thank you kindly!

-----

Friend Like Me

Yuriashe. Aladdin AU Drabble.

-----

Ashe had never had the chance to go outside the thick walls of the palace. Sure, he had been outside them before, but never on his own terms. He'd been with his father, the king. He'd been with his father's most trusted officials and more guards than he'd cared to count. Just because he was a prince.

He'd never really wanted this life but chance and, as some would say, charity brought him and his siblings to Gaspard and he'd met King Lonoto. Before he could even fully understand it, he was adopted by the man whose own son had been murdered. Because of this, Ashe would one day become king.

He was lucky, to be sure. He should be counting his blessings, not longing to be out and running free.

But if he was so lucky, why did he fell like a caged songbird without a song to sing.

As it would happen, a chance came for him to get out. He knew it wouldn't be forever. He would be brought back eventually, but through the kindness of his favorite guards, Dedue and Dimitri, he had been given the opportunity to walk the common town he'd once lived among.

Disguised, of course.

He was checking out all the stands and shops at the market when movement caught his eye. A kid had been caught stealing and was about to get his hand cut off. Ashe, feeling a sense of duty and outrage, moved to do something—completely forgetting that he was not Prince Ashe here. Instead, he was just another commoner.

"Chyeah, I wouldn't do that, friend," a light timbre of a voice reached his ear. He gave start, his jade green eyes widening. His gaze fell on a young man who appeared to be about his age. Lavender hair framed his face, pulled to the side in a pretty ponytail that ended in the slightest of waves.

Ashe, feeling a little curious and adventurous in the stranger's presence, raised his brows before placing a hand on his hip.

"Are you a master in such matters, Master…"

"It's Yuri. Just Yuri. I'm not a master of anything." He pursed his lips before shrugging with a chuckle. "Save for survival, perhaps." He winked and Ashe's eyes widened. He did his best to ignore the heat slowly ebbing it's way into his cheeks and creeping up his neck.

"And what line of work does a master of survival do?"

The young man—still a boy in many ways, just like Ashe—smirked and shrugged in a sort of "wouldn't you like to know" manner.

Yes. Yes, Ashe very much wanted to know.

"Why don't I show you…"

With that, he took Ashe's hand and led him in the direction of shops far away from this one.

Reaching a young lady with red hair, Yuri leaned in toward Ashe while Ashe suddenly forgot how to breathe.

"... While you do that, I'll do my thing. Be sure to watch me, eh Kitten?"

Ashe blinked then blushed deeply at the nickname before blinking again.

"I'm sorry, what?"

Yuri, a knowing sort of smile that annoyed Ashe more than a little, nodded at the lady. "Just talk to her."

Ashe sighed. He knew he was walking into trouble but he had to admit that his curiosity was getting the better of him. Making sure to keep the lavender haired boy in his peripheral vision, Ashe moved to strike up a conversation with the woman.

Her name was Anna and she'd been in town selling her wares for a little over a year. By the time he'd left, he had used his natural talent at haggling to get a few items at a discounted price. He didn't need to haggle, of course, but it had been a talent of his since before his adoption and he supposed old habits were hard to break.

Yuri caught his attention and Ashe frowned but excused himself from the lady who moved on to help other customers. When he reached the lavender haired boy, Yuri tilted his head skeptically.

"I'm impressed and frankly a little confused. You see, I make it a point to know everyone worthy of note in town and with your skill, you would have been one of them."

Ashe tensed. Yuri, seeming not to notice, or perhaps, ignored it as he continued.

"So where did you come from, I wonder?"

He moved in closer and held Ashe's gaze as he brought up an apple that seemed to come out of nowhere, passing it to Ashe while bringing a second to his own lips.

"You're a thief," Ashe commented a little reproachfully, but mostly impressed.

Yuri opened up his arms in a welcoming sort of gesture. "Guilty as charged." He then moved in closer and grinned in a way that had Ashe's insides fluttering. "And, unless I'm mistaken, and I'm very rarely mistaken, you are Prince Ashe of Gaspard."

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falcqns · 2 years

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𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐲

✰ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

✰ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: with you i serve, with you i fall down. watch you breathe in, watch you breathing out.

✰ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: hint of autistic!Bucky, inaccurate medical writing by me (pls dont resusitate someone by hitting and punching their chest ok), internalized homophobia but only briefly, violence, blood, hospitals, nightmares. mentions of murder, and weapons.

✰ 𝐚/𝐧: just me channelling my inner @musette22 honestly. inspired by this convo with @natashasera. will probably include a part two at some point.

to who ever reads this: don't bother asking for a part two, you won't get it. i am the owner of this fic, and this blog, and I, and only I, will decided what fic gets a part two and when. respect me and my wishes or get off my blog. thanks!

don't forget to read and reblog, and i do not give permission for my works to be posted anywhere other than tumblr. thank you.

The Asset collapsed beside The Target's body, watching it's shallow breathing. It knows it should flee, but The Target is important. not just important to it's handlers, but to The Asset as well. The Target knew The Asset, and carried an expression on its face that The Asset had never seen before.

The Target coughed, blood spurting from its mouth. The Target wheezed, and before The Asset could think about his actions, he was pulling on Steve's arm, and rolling him onto his side, maneuvering him into the recovery position.

Bucky blinked, confused. where was he? what had happened? he looked around him, and saw large skyscrapers reaching into the heavens. his breathing was now as shallow as Steve's was only moments ago, which made him look back at Steve, not being able to hear Steve's rattling chest anymore. the same rattling chest that kept him up at night, the two of them crammed into a small twin sized bed because thats all they could afford.

he pushed Steve on his back, and flesh hand shook, trying to remember what Sarah, Steve's mom and the best second parent Bucky could have asked for, taught him to do if her son ever stopped breathing. he choked out a sob, leaning down and listening for breathing. he choked out a laugh, hearing the steady rise and fall of his lungs, smooth and healthy. his eyes roamed over Steve's body, and he slowly began to piece together that had happened since the last time they were in their cozy Brooklyn apartment.

the war, the draft, the serum. the train, the metal bar breaking and plunging him into the snowy depths below. seeing Steve's break out into terror and desperation, and the ground came rushing towards him faster than a leaf falling from a tree.

he looked down, feeling warmth surround one of his knees. thick, scarlet blood was pouring from an injury on Steve's side, and there was too much blood. too much for him, even.

"fuck, Stevie," Bucky whimpered, and rolled him over. Bucky's body almost crumpled seeing the gunshot wound in Steve's side. "no, no, no," he gasped, pressing his hands to the wound, trying to stop the bleeding. Steve was pale, too pale. paler than when he got tuberculosis, and Bucky lost Steve twice in one night, bringing him back each time with a combination of CPR, praying, and slapping his white skin.

"Stevie, don't do this," he begged, just like he had then. "jus' stay with me. stay with me, i'll get you help. c'mon," he said, pushing all his body weight on the wound.

suddenly, he heard footsteps approaching from behind him. his head whipped around, and his eyes landed on a man in a SHIELD uniform. hope filled his tired body, and he broke out into a smile.

"sir," he gasped for air, feeling 10 years old again, and helping Steve after some playground bullies beat him up. "i need help. i think he's bleeding out," he said.

his eyes were so focused on the other man, that he didn't notice the bleeding stop. he also didn't notice blue eyes gazing up at him, filled with love.

"h-he needs help," Bucky gasped, not understanding why the man wasn't moving. "he's gonna die, and i can't lose him, please!" he begged, and watched as the man groaned.

"man, Pierce is gonna kill me," the man groaned, and walked towards Bucky. Bucky went to smile, but all the muscles in his face relaxed and contorted into terror as the man grabbed his tac suit on the shoulder, and began to drag him away.

Bucky shook his head, a scream ripping from his throat.

"NO!" he shouted, trying to get away. "you have to help him! he's gonna die!"

the man groaned, and reached for his gun. "can't believe i got roped into doing this shit," he growled, but before he could as much as pull his gun out of his holster, he was interrupted by a deep, smooth voice.

"don't even think about it, Rumlow." Steve said, struggling to keep his voice steady, pointing his own gun at the rogue agent.

"it's not-" Rumlow began, releasing Bucky, and letting him crash onto his dislocated arm, pain shooting up his torso.

"it's not personal?" Steve growled, moaning in pain and inching closer to Rumlow, the gun pressing closer to him. "it sure feels like it. especially if you're going after the one person i'd burn the world for if it meant i could save him."

"Cap, i'm just following orders." Rumlow tried to reason, but before he could finish his defence, a gun shot rang out, and Rumlow fell to the ground, dead before he even made contact with the wet grass.

Bucky broke out into sobs, grabbing onto Steve's tac suit with his flesh hand.

"Stevie-" he gasped, and Steve fell to his knees. his hands grabbed onto Bucky, and he pulled him close.

"'m here," Steve said, voice growing weak. "'s all right, you're safe."

"don't leave." Bucky begged, soaking Steve's dirty suit with his tears.

Steve went to answer, but was interrupted by Sam running into the clearing where they were. upon seeing Bucky, he pulled his gun out, but was stopped by Steve.

"don't," Steve said. "he's fine. it's him, not the other one." Sam nodded, and called over his comm his location to Nat, Fury, and Maria.

"are you hurt," Sam asked, approaching them. Steve nodded.

"he is too," Steve said, motioning to Bucky. "his arm is dislocated."

Sam got on his knees and nodded. "okay. Bucky, can you roll over so i can put your arm back in the socket?" he asked, and Bucky looked warily up at Steve, but when Steve nodded, he complied, his hand still gripping Steve's suit.

"3...2...1..." Sam counted down, before pushing on his arm, and popping it back in place. Bucky let out a shout, hot tears rolling down his face at the pain. Steve shushed him and wiped his tears as a helicopter approached. as they were brought inside the helicopter and the door slid shut behind him, Bucky didn't let go of Steve, and continue to cry into his chest, afraid that Steve would slip away if he let go of him.

"no!" Bucky said, readjusting his grip on Steve's suit. "don'! don't take him!" Bucky cried, breathing heavy.

"Bucky," Sam said, his hand wrapping around Bucky's and trying to get him to release Steve. they'd made it to the hospital, and the nurses had tried to wheel Steve away for surgery, but Bucky refused to part with him. "he's gonna be okay. they're just gonna take him into surger-"

"NO!" Bucky screeched, flinging himself ontop of Steve. "you can't!" he exclaimed, and Sam and Nat shared a confused look. "the last t-time he went into surgery he got sepsis and almost d-died!" Bucky sobbed, and Nat sighed, before slowly walking up to him, and gently prying his hand off of Steve, allowing the nurses to wheel him away.

"it's okay, James," she whispered, seeing the terror and heartbreak on Bucky's face as Steve was wheeled away. Bucky tried to pull away, but his body remained where it was, exhausted. "he's strong. super strong, remember?" she said, moving his dirty hair from his face. "remember how he got the serum, and he wasn't sick anymore?" she prompted, and Sam, realizing what she was doing, sat down on Bucky's other side, and rubbed his shoulder.

"he just needs to get the bullet removed, and get some stitches," Sam said. "once that's done, you can go see him again, okay?" Sam said, and him and Natasha smiled at each other when he began to relax into their arms. "he's going to be okay." Sam said, and looked at Nat as she ran her fingers through his hair.

"why don't we go back to my place and get you cleaned up?" she offered. "Steve's going to be in surgery for a while, and he'll be happy to see you clean," she said. Bucky pondered it for a moment, before agreeing, and letting Sam help him stand up, and the three of them slowly made their way out of the hospital, and into Nat's car.

"can you tell me the last thing you remember," Nat asked as she washed Bucky's hair in the kitchen sink. "before the draft?" Bucky nodded, and thought back.

"i remember saving Steve from a fight behind some diner. i guess he had heard someone cat calling one of our old school friends, and decided to give him a piece of his mind. but, like always, he ended up black and blue because he never got the fact that he was 80 pounds and the size of a tree branch through his thick skull.” Bucky said, sighing as Nat’s nails scratched at his scalp.

“is he really going to be okay?” Bucky asked, his eyes focusing on some of the light blue paint on the eggshell white ceiling of Nat’s apartment.

Nat nodded. “he’s going to be fine. he’ll pull through, he always has, hasn’t he?”

Bucky nodded. “yeah he has.” Bucky swallowed the lump in his throat before he spoke again. “has he told you about the time when he died twice in one night?”

Nat shook her head, concerned. “no he hasn’t.”

Bucky chuckled quietly, his flesh forefinger tracing the plates of his metal hand. “he had tuberculosis. he’d had it a few times, but this time was by far the worst. he hadn’t been feeling well all day, and he was getting worse and worse as the day went on. Sarah helped as much as she could, but eventually she had to go to work, so it was just me and Stevie in the apartment.”

Nat helped Bucky sit up and wrapped a towel around his head, drying the freshly cleaned hair. Bucky continued talking while Natasha ran a wide toothed comb through his hair, trying to detangle it.

“it was around 3 when i noticed his breathing change. i monitored it for a little bit, but ended up falling asleep. about 20 minutes later, i woke up, and something didn’t feel right. i looked over at S-Stevie, and his lips were turning blue. i remember starting cpr immediately and screaming for him to wake up. i don’t know how long i did cpr for but eventually he came back, and was weak but okay. i was going to call his ma but he told me no, and to let her work, being the jerk that he was. i stayed in the bed with him, and around 4 it happened again. i’d broken a few of his ribs while doing cpr and i didn’t want them to puncture his lung, so i just started shaking him and slapping him. i pounded his chest, above his heart a few times as hard as i could, and eventually he came back. he was stronger, and his breathing was better and a little smoother, and i knew he’d be okay.

"i just..." Bucky said, looking down at his hand and sniffling. "i just remember holding him and not wanting to let go. i wanted to tell him then," he said, swallowing the lump in his throat. "th-that i-uhm..."

"that you loved him?" Natasha said, maneuvering his shoulder length hair into a braid.

"y-yeah," Bucky stuttered, tear burning his eyes. "i know we'll never be able to be open about it, or get married, but i just want him to know."

"well," Natasha said, tying the braid off with an elastic. "you may not be able to get married yet, but you're allowed to be open about it," Natasha said.

Bucky jerked his head to look behind him. "w-what?"

"gay marriage isn't legalized yet, but it's legal to be in a relationship with who ever you want, as long as you're both consenting adults." Natasha said as she climbed off of the stool behind him. "so, when he wakes up, you can tell him how you feel." she said, giving Bucky a warm smile.

before Bucky could respond, Sam walked through the front door of the apartment.

"he's awake," Sam said, a smile on his face as he looked at the other two. "he's still a little groggy, but he's going to be okay, and the doctor said we can go visit him."

a smile broke out on Bucky's face, and it grew bigger when Nat patted him on the shoulder to get him to stand up.

"we can take my car," Nat said, swiping her keys off of the counter top where she'd dropped them earlier. Sam made a rebuttal as Bucky walked over to the shoe rack and grabbed his combat boots. did he want to put them back on? no, but it wasn't like he had other options.

he slid the boots on, and followed Natasha and Sam out the door. the ride to the hospital was quiet. Sam and Nat discussed what they needed to do about Bucky, and Bucky kept quiet, trying to present as though he didn't care what happened to him, but on the inside, his stomach was churning violently.

what would happen to him? he asked himself. would the judicial system understand what he went through, and understand that he wasn't a bad person, that he was forced to do bad things? or would they see him as a violent criminal who could snap at any moment and send him back to a cell for the rest of his life?

bad thoughts like that continued to swirl in his brain as Natasha's car slowed to a stop in the hospital parking lot. his stomach started to do flipflops as he followed the couple through the hallways, attempting to find Steve's hospital room. would Steve hate him? he didn't seem to hate him on the riverbank, which must mean he didn't. Bucky really hoped that he didn't. he really hoped that the Steve he was about to see would be the same Steve that went through Project Rebirth, and then infiltrated a HYDRA base by himself just to save Bucky. he hoped to God, that nothing has changed his Steve.

they came to a stop in front of the door, and Sam and Nat looked at him expectantly.

"well?" Nat asked, with a smirk.

"well, what?" Bucky asked, confused, looking between the two people.

"are you going to go in and see your man?" she asked, and Bucky had to resist the urge to roll his eyes.

"he's not my man." Bucky stated, and Sam snorted from where he was standing beside Nat.

"man, you spent the entire time Nat was washing your hair talking about Steve. you proclaimed you were in love with him, and basically admitted you want to marry him. how does that not make Steve 'your man?'" Sam said, and Bucky looked at him indignantly.

"me confessing my feelings doesn't mean he shares those same feelings," Bucky said, his eyes turning towards the closed hospital door. "as much as I wish he did."

"well, you're never going to know unless you ask him." Nat said. Bucky laughed.

"and ruin a friendship with my longest, and now only, friend? no. it's better to keep my feelings to myself. it'll hurt less eventually." Bucky resigned, and Sam chuckled next to him.

"conceal don't feel, don't let it show, right?" Sam said, and both him and Nat cracked up. Bucky looked between the two of them, feeling as if he'd missed something.

"...huh?" he said, and Nat had to bite her lip to stop from laughing.

"nothing. go see Steve." she said, pushing his shoulder. Bucky nodded slowly, confused, but turned to open the door. he stepped through, his eyes locked on the floor.

"go get 'em, Elsa!" he heard Sam shout through the doorway, and furrowed his brows again, confused on what Sam was talking about, but his face relaxed when he saw Steve, sitting up in bed, reading The Hobbit.

"S-Steve," Bucky said quietly. Steve looked over at him, and Bucky felt nauseous as his eyes lit up and his face broke out into a smile.

"hey, Buck. how are you feeling?" he said, placing the book down. Bucky gulped. he didn't know what to say. what could he say to Steve? the last time he was fully himself and spoke to Steve, it was 1945, and they talked about their trip to Coney Island, and how Steve threw up after Bucky made him go on the Cyclone.

the memory, while there, was extremely fuzzy, the only thing he could make out being the small, skinny, and pale face of his Stevie.

Stevie, the only man he'd ever loved. he loved him when he was small, and he loved him after he got the serum. as much as he loved the thought of him sitting in their apartment in New York waiting for him to come home like a dame would, it made him even happier (internally, on the outside he was still mad) to have Steve with him, fighting beside him. he loved him when he didn't know who he was. he loved him when he didn't know what was love was, because that had been successfully trained out of him. he loved him when he was sitting alone in his cell, confused about the pull he was feeling in his lower stomach. he loved Steven Grant Rogers, and the thought terrified him.

the thought that Steve wouldn't return his feelings. the thought that Steve would be like all those super 'macho' guys that they went to school with, who believed anyone who didn't fit their narrative of a normal person, would go to hell, which made no sense. how was Steve any different from him? yet, he still got made fun of because instead of playing with his blocks, or building a tower, he chose to line them up, or make a circle with them. Bucky felt himself start to spiral, and the only thoughts in his head were "Steve""i love you""don't hate me".

they repeated over and over again. taunting him, begging him to confess, to make a fool out of himself, even though he has distinct memories of the two of them finding a young, gay, couple being tormented by an older man, and despite all the energy Bucky was exerting while beating the literal shit out of this oversized bully, the most prominent image in his head is Steve throwing the first punch, and then Steve asking the couple if they were okay.

instead of rationalizing with himself, his focus shifted suddenly to the buzzing in his ears. the pain in his chest. the black spots in his vision. the last thing he saw before he squeezed his eyes shut was Steve standing up and grasping his shoulders.

"Buck-" he heard. "Buck wha-"

"you sho-" Bucky wheezed, trying to pull in air to stop this horrid pain in his chest. "you should be laying down."

Bucky didn't hear Steve's response, the buzzing turning to ringing, and drowning out any and all noises other than the high pitched ring.

he reopened his eyes when he felt something warm and soft pressed against his forehead. his breath hitched when he saw bright pink, plump lips inches away from his own. his eyes zeroed in on the movement that they were making, before realizing Steve was speaking to him.

the ringing dimmed slightly, and other sounds were finally allowed inside his mind, and he quickly realized that the sensation was Steve's forehead pressed against his own, and why Steve was doing it.

Bucky was having an attack, and Steve was trying to calm him down, just like he always did. a lump formed in his throat and tears welled in his eyes as he felt Steve wrap his arms around him as the pain in his chest retreated slightly, and it became easier to breathe. his breath hitched as he came out from the attack, and tried not to collapse into Steve's arm like he used to. Steve, thinking like a Captain (always one step ahead), strengthened his hold on Bucky, and walked them back towards the bed.

Steve sat down, and brushed a stray hair away from Bucky's face, Bucky focused his eyes on Steve and sniffled seeing the soft and loving look Steve was giving him.

"it's okay," Steve whispered. "it's okay, baby." he said, and Bucky felt himself crumple. Steve wasted no time in scooping him up into his lap, and letting him nuzzle his head into his neck and cry out his pain.

he cried. he cried and cried, feeling 70 years of anguish pour out from his body as he was finally allowed to have emotions and express them. his hands fisted in Steve's hospital gown, curling up as he felt the pleasant warmth radiating from the thin material.

a few minutes later, his tears finally stopped, and he was then fighting to keep his eyes open. it wasn't that he didn't want to look at Steve, it was that he was just so comfortable. he was warm, he felt content for the first time in years, and he felt as if he could fall asleep right there.

"Buck?" Steve asked again, startling the half asleep soldier on his lap. "can you look at me?" he asked, but Bucky shook his head with a childish whine. he tensed once he realized the noise he made, but was pleasantly surprised when nothing happened.

Steve moved past the whine as if it didn't happen. his left hand started to cradle the back of Bucky's head, and his right began rubbing up and down.

"okay," Steve said. "it's okay, you don't have to look at me, but I don't want you to feel ashamed for crying or any-" he said before Bucky cut him off.

"'m jus' comfy." Bucky said sleepily, and Steve chuckled. he felt his right hand leave his back, reaching to grab something before relaxing back.

"okay, bud." Steve said. Bucky sniffled, before he felt a straw poking at his mouth. Bucky cracked his eyes open and accepted the straw, sucking down the ice cold water. he sighed in relief after, and went to stand up as Steve set the water cup down, but was stopped as Steve wrapped both arms around him, and the two of them laid back against the hospital bed.

Bucky whimpered, and snuggled closer. Steve chuckled, and Bucky listened to it reverberate through his chest. "missed you," Bucky said, keeping his words short, feeling the emotions build again.

"i missed you too, Buck. every day." he said, his thumb swiping over Bucky's swollen upper cheek.

"i'm sorry," Bucky said, the guilt returning. "i'm sorry i hurt you, i didn't want to, i-"

"shhh, it's okay. i know you didn't mean to." he assured. "nothing that happened was your fault."

Bucky just nodded, unsure what to say to that. while he knew those words were true, it didn't feel like it. they felt fake, like an attempt at cheering him up. he knew they were the truth, so why couldn't he bring himself to believe them?

Bucky didn't know what to say after that, so he said nothing. he kept quiet, even when Nat and Sam came in. when Maria came in, and told them that Bucky could go with Steve, that her and someone named Fury would take care of getting him a pardon. with a name like Fury, Bucky certainly wasn't going to refuse the offer, not that he would anyways. going home with his Stevie, even though he didn't know where 'home' was, was certainly better than being alone in a cold dark cell.

he cuddled in closer to Steve, and listened to him discuss his living situation with Sam and Nat.

"my apartment's not safe," Steve said.

"it's just a window," Sam said, "we could get it fixed."

"no, it's not that, Sam." Nat said. "Bucky was there, the night Fury faked his death. if Bucky was there, then Rumlow and one of his other handlers was definitely there as well. it's not safe to send them back there, especially when we just brought down HYDRA and Shield."

"he had handlers?" Sam asked, and Bucky involuntarily shivered, thinking of Rumlow and Rollins.

"yeah," Nat said. "don't forget, i knew him when i was still in the Red Room. the handlers changed over time, but he always had 2 handlers with him. if you look at it from their perspective, it makes sense. even as the soldier, he didn't want to be there. they couldn't send him out on missions alone."

"yeah, makes sense." Sam said, with a sigh.

"where are we going to go then?" Steve asked, his hand still rubbing Bucky's back.

"i'll call Stark, see if that offer for a place in that fancy new compound still stands," Nat said, and he heard her stand up, and exit the room, likely to call Stark.

Stark...

that name sounded familiar to Bucky. he just didn't know why it felt so familiar. the thought remained on his mind until he drifted to sleep in Steve's arms, comforted by the sound of his steady, healthy heartbeat.

longing

december. night time. long winding road.

rusted

the roar of a machine underneath the asset. 'look down,' the voice says. it complies. leather seats. the roar. motorcycle.

seventeen

white car. wooden pole. security camera.

daybreak

the asset pulls up beside the car. punches through the window. the car veers off the road, and into the pole.

furnace

target one crawling on the gravel, blood dripping.

nine

'Sergeant Barnes?' the target says. a name. it's name? no time to ponder. target two is crying for target one.

two punches for target one. squeeze of a throat for target two.

benign

hand. gun. security camera. point, shoot.

homecoming

the camera is destroyed.

one

metal case with familiar blue liquid.

freight car

mission complete.

well done, soldat.

Bucky jolts awake. Stark. Howard Stark. he sits up. his head falls into his hands.

he killed Howard Stark.

'but,' he thinks. 'if Howard is dead, who is the Stark that they were talking about?'

his question answers itself when he opens his eyes, and sees and unfamiliar room. he looks beside him, and see's Steve sitting up to comfort him.

"w-" Bucky begins, but Steve finishes.

"we're at Tony's compound." he said.

Tony.

Howard's son.

"are we-" Bucky asked, and Steve nodded.

"we're safe, bud." Steve assured, pulling Bucky close to his chest. "we're safe."

Bucky forgets about the dream by the next time he wakes.

he wakes up before Steve this time, and he just stares. he's pretty. so, so pretty. he suddenly wishes that he had paper and a pencil, so he could draw Steve. he was no art prodigy like Steve, but being in art school when he was younger certainly left him with some drawing ability.

he lifted his flesh hand, and traced it tentatively over his jaw. over his chin, around his lips. a chuckle startled him, disturbing his quiet admiration.

"i can feel that, you know." Steve said, opening his eyes, a smile cracking on his lips.

Bucky gulped. he could back out now, ignore it, pretend he's sleeping.

but he doesn't want to.

he can love whoever he wants now. he can love Steve openly, and without fear of being caught. and that was exactly what he was going to do.

"you're just so pretty, Stevie." he whispered. "wish i had a pencil and paper so i could draw you."

Steve smiled up at him. "i could grab you one. i'm sure i have a spare one somewhere."

"nah," Bucky said, shaking his head. "wouldn't do your beauty justice."

a light red tinge appeared on Steve's cheeks, and his tongue darted out to wet his lips. Bucky's thumb had a mind of its own, and rubbed over Steve's plump, pink, bottom lip. his eyes flicked up to meet Steve's, and unlike when kissing a girl, he felt no nerves. no uncertainty.

he felt safe, loved, comfortable. he felt at home. tears rimmed his eyes as he looked at the man he loved. the man who was once smaller than him. the man who he wanted to marry. to have kids with, to spend the rest of his days with.

the man who had only ever made him feel safe. the man who risked everything to save him, more than once. the man he'd been dying to kiss since he knew what kissing, and love was. since he'd realized he'd only ever felt it for Steve.

"'m gonna kiss you now," he whispered, his head dipping slightly. "is that okay?" he asked, not wanting Steve to feel uncomfortable, despite the hardness pressing against his hip which proved that Steve was far from uncomfortable.

"yeah," Steve rasped. he swallowed, his heart rate speeding up. "yeah, that's okay."

their lips touched for the first time, and Bucky felt as if he'd been born again.

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sansxfuckyou · 9 months

Text

When does the line blur and are we crossing it?

Summary: Every gods price for a blessing is high, it can go from eternal loyalty to mortality itself- but for a god like Philza, that of death itself, the swarm and the plague, it's a lot lower than Schlatt expected considering what he asked of the god.

And somehow Phil finds himself getting sick of it long before Schlatt does.

Warnings: heavy gore, Dream dies brutally, family drama, suggestive themes, Tubbo is kidnapped twice, gruesome murder, Ao3 port has full tags

Authors Note: your honor, concerned dudes co-parenting a traumatized goat boy, I'll go hide in my hole again. @sobredunia hey, hey remember this thing? it's been finished for me and the two other people that enjoy the notions. also, big, massive, gore warning, my inner phan was squealing with delight as I wrote it, but, on the Tumblr port I have marked them off with these --- at the start and end, so it can be avoided. anyways! if ya'll enjoyed maybe consider dropping a reblog or checking out the Ao3 port to leave a comment or kudos.

"Philza," He began a little bit breathlessly as he stared at the shadowed form in front of him.

A swarm of crows crowded out the body, allowing a mirage of height and size, he took a step forward. And then he took another, this time his movement looked more fluid, more practiced. The amount of birds flocking to his form died down with each step until he was standing in front of the man. He flared out jet black black wings and the swarm flew off in a melody of squawking and screeching.

"Schlatt," Philza responds, his voice is calm, too calm.

Schlatt can't bring himself to respond, only cower a bit more. Truth be told he had no clue what he was thinking when he found himself summoning Philza. Scouring every item and book for incantations that could summon the disgraceful god who chose a life on this planet. The same god that took the challenge of raising three children, one of which ascended, one of which died and returned, one of which is just a kid. The same god that could eliminate anyone or anything that stands in his way if he so desires, but he chooses pacifism, he chooses walking away.

"It's just Phil, drop the 'za' it's unprofessional," The god said seamlessly, each word perfectly distinct but with his voice linking them like kintsugi in the cracked language that they speak.

Schlatt nods, he still can't open his mouth and will anything out.

Phil quirks a brow, "Have I rendered you speechless? I should've left behind the flock, I've been trying to come across as 'just some guy' as of the last century," The slightest tinge of humor is on his voice.

"I," Schlatt barely manages, "I need help."

"You're supposed to be dead, is that not help enough? Even those above me pity your mortality and let you have one more tale, beg for their help not mine," Phil explained as he closed his wings to his back again, taking one step closer to the ram in front of him. He placed a hand under Schlatts chin and tilted until their eyes met, bright blue on chestnut brown, "They control so much more than I can Schlatt, if they desire that your fate is terrible then I can't change that."

Schlatt shakes his head, "It's about my son."

"What happened to Tubbo?" Phils answer comes like ice, sharp as razors and with the smallest undertone of a snarl, "Who hurt him?"

"Dream, he took Tubbo the second I wasn't looking," Schlatt explained almost frantically, "I don't know where he took my son, or if I'll get him back- please, just give me a location that's all I ask."

For a second Phil can feel the count of feathers on his wings double as they creep to his back. The talons he keeps sheathed under gloves grow larger, sharper, and small scales shoot across his hand as pinfeathers sprout. It's reeled back in, he can't save anyone if he's losing control of himself, if he lets the swarm take over. He takes a deep breath, "I'll find him and bring him back for you."

Schlatt nearly drops right then and there, he isn't sure what else to do except for stay silent. He has a million words of thanks he'd like to save but he isn't sure if he can articulate them very well. Instead all he does is ask another question, "What do I owe you?"

"Nothing," Phil answers with sharply, he shakes the unneeded feathers from his wings, "You're lucky I don't want your kid getting hurt otherwise the price would take multiple lifetimes."

"I can't just not give you anything," Schlatt said, he stumbles over his words momentarily, "Is there anything I could do to repay you?"

Phil shrugged, "We'll work out the price when your kid is under a trustable roof."

Schlatt nodded, "Thank you."

"Don't thank me until that green cunt is on his knees begging for mercy," Phil answered with, somewhere underneath sharp words was caring, what that caring was buried under consisted of acid and claws.

-/-/-/-

"What do you want?!" Tubbo snapped at his captor, he writhed in his meager constraints- wrists tied shut and an ankle to either leg chair.

Dream hummed, "Information."

"What sort of information could I give you?" Tubbo asked, voice a little bit quieter.

"The usual," Dream stated nonchalantly as he stepped closer to Tubbo, knife dangling between his fingers.

Tubbo eyed the blade cautiously. He swallowed thickly, "Like what?"

In a second the knife was zipping past his horn. His breathing hastened for only a second as the motion sped past him. He glared at Dream who only laughed, "Priceless." He hummed as he spoke, stepping a little bit closer.

"Fucker," Tubbo murmured under his breath, in that same instant fingers lodged between his jaws and sharp claws dug into the base of his tongue.

"Watch your mouth," Dream growled out, leaning dangerously close to Tubbos ear. The ram gave a hasty nod and when Dream pulled back he spat, a disgusting taste leftover in his mouth.

Tubbo took a breath, "What do you want to know about?"

"Tell me about the nuke," Dream stated calmly, Tubbo seized.

He kept his mouth zipped shut, stared at Dream, and listened. He listened for footsteps, for the hum of machinery. Any sign it wasn't just the two of them, a sign that there was a way out of this mess. He barely caught the faintest sound, akin to a mouse in a vent.

"Well?" Dream asked impatiently.

"Where do you want to begin?" Tubbo answered with calmly, trying to keep his words even. He heard it again, the mice, a little bit louder this time around.

"What you used," Dream said, "How much you used, basic stuff."

Tubbo nodded, "Cool, gimme a minute to try and remember it all though."

"Don't worry," Dream said, "I can wait all day."

---

Then it happened.

A burst of pitch black shot from the pipes, knocking off ventilation grates as it dropped down. A hundred crimson dots mixed with undulating black feathers caused a rather horrifying look. It spilled into the center of the room, deftly avoiding Tubbo, but splashing into the wall. Dream stumbled back as he reached for a weapon, but whatever he tried to throw at it was absorbed into the swarm. It just kept coming closer, bouncing back and forth, a wall of sheer terror in living form- screaming and squawking at improbable decibels.

It corned Dream, he tried to slice through it but it easily mended it's form of a hundred eyes and a thousand feathers in milliseconds. He tried to throw potions at it but when the glass shattered and it absorbed the effect absolutely nothing happened. Even as it came to form something close to humanoid it wasn't close enough for Dreams adrenaline to slow. He reached desperately for anything else to prolong his survival in the wake of whatever horrors had finally come for him.

But with nothing else left to make use of, he threw himself into it. He writhed and screamed but whatever sounds he made were lost in the cacophony of corvidian sounds. Drowning in an ocean of black he could barely register the cluster of talons imitating claws encroaching along his torso at either side. He could only cry out and try to break free on the other side of it all to get out and lock this thing in with Tubbo. He found splinters of wood and easily shattered chunks of diamond floating around him, the swarm having rended those so easily. He could only beg for mercy from the inside of the beast as his fate dawned on him.

And then there was a sickening crunch, and then a loud crack, followed by the gruesome sounds of carnage. All of it was swallowed into a void of screeching and squawking from the swarm and somewhere in the midst of this chaos Phil was thankful for that. Somehow as the swarm subsided Phil could gather his surroundings, and how heavy the blood on his clothing was. He looked down to find a mutilated corpse and glass shards in front of him, clear bites made up the gashes. He turned around to face Tubbo who only displayed a mix of mortification and gratefulness.

---

"Hi," Phil got out quietly, his voice scratched a bit, "Schlatt sent me to come find you, didn't mean to kill him like that though."

Tubbo nodded slowly, "Cool," He barely spoke loud enough for Phil to hear.

Phil slowly took a step closer to Tubbo, keeping his pace practiced until he was sure he wouldn't be lashed out at. He crouched down and undid the ankle restraints first, when he finished those he stood up, letting Tubbo relax his legs. He untied his wrists next, the thick twine coming undone in a matter of moments, Tubbos arms fell to his side.

"Thanks," He got out quietly as he stood up, his balance failed him. He took two shaking steps before he collapsed back, Phil caught him.

"Alright, let's get you home," Phil said gently as he picked up Tubbo.

-/-/-/-

"I got your kid back," Phil said as he let down Tubbo gently.

"Thank you," Schlatt barely managed as Tubbo slung an arm around his shoulders for balance. His attention was swiftly placed on the ram, "How badly did he hurt you?"

Tubbo tried to shrug, "I think my neck is bruised from where he hit me," He brought a hand to press to the base of his neck, it stung a bit.

"We're putting ice on that," Schlatt said, brushing a hand over the bruise, it was already turning purple, "Can you walk on your own?"

Tubbo nodded, "Yeah," He pulled himself off of Schlatt, "I'm gonna go inside.

"I'll be over in a minute," Schlatt said, as Tubbo turned to leave, waving off the comment.

A brief silence washed between Schlatt and Phil.

"So," Schlatt began, "The price, do I owe you my soul?"

"Naw," Phil answered with bluntly, shocking Schlatt just a bit.

"But you're like, the god of death," Schlatt said, forcing his voice from turning to an exclamation- Phil shrugged.

"Don't really care for souls these days, my request is simple," Phil spoke calmly, "If you have room to spare, I'd like to live with you and Tubbo."

"What?" Was all Schlatt could muster in response, his voice thick with shock and confusion.

Phil gave a nervous hum, "I miss living with people, the house is really, really quiet now that it's just me again," There was a hint of a sigh on his voice as he spoke, "I know it's a lot to ask of you, but, I really don't like waking up to silence and going through the day in silence, and falling asleep in silence."

Schlatt scans Phils form for a hint of a lie, "Really?"

Phil nodded, "I could help like, co-parent Tubbo and whatnot, I just don't want to live alone anymore."

"Find by me," Schlatt said, "That's a lot less high stakes than I expected, but yeah I can work with that."

Phil gives a small smile, "Thanks, I'll have to make some arrangements with the swarm first though."

Schlatt shrugged, "If the swarm wants to stick around too then so be it, I think you'd lose a lot of your intimidation points without it."

"I wouldn't bet on it," Phil answered with, that spine chilling ice on his tone again. He slit his pupils just for show, forked tongue snaking between lips and feather count doubling as his wings bolstered in size again. He took off a glove and gestured vaguely to the talons and scales creeping up his arm, "I just like to be 'some guy,' biting Dream in half isn't exactly helpful though."

Schlatt nearly chokes on his spit, "You bit him in half? With a mouth that small? And fangs like that?" Somehow an element of teasing makes it onto his voice.

Phil rolled his eyes, "The swarm, it's rather helpful in making sure I can still be a force to be trifled with," He slipped on his glove again.

"Makes sense," Schlatt hummed in agreement, "I'll go tell Tubbo."

"I'll be back once my arrangements with the swarm are done," Phil said, giving a wave as he turned to leave.

Phil gave a groan of annoyance as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and sat up. Being a light sleeper wasn't ideal, Schlatt was lucky, he was a heavy sleeper. He could sleep through the end of the world whether he wanted to or not and Phil envied that. Not Phil, he finds himself waking up at the sound of a mouse squeaking more often then not; and suddenly living in a house with a sixteen year old again is not doing him any good.

Phil stretched out his wings and glanced around his room, a large amount of bird cages, cat towers, and clothing hooks fill it. A black blob sits upon each one, a member of the swarm, he did a vague count, none of them where gone. He pushes open the door and the lamp light filtering in wakes a couple crows, they don't dare squawk with the glares Phil sends their way. He slowly makes his way to the kitchen to find Tubbo rifling through a fridge, in search of something.

"Tubbo," Phil began, glancing to the clock, "It is six in the AM, go to fucking sleep."

"Making breakfast for Schlatt," Tubbo answered with, pulling out a few eggs, "He like scrambled right?"

"He prefers over easy- I'm getting off topic," Phil said, correcting himself from going off about how Schlatt liked his eggs. He'd been living with them for a few months and to put simply he easily conjoined with the family, "Schlatt doesn't wake up until nine most days."

Tubbo shrugged, "It's Saturday, you know how he is about Saturday hunting, bright and early," The ram quirks a brow. He cracks a couple eggs, "He gets pissy if he doesn't go- especially, if you don't come with us."

Phil paused, "Oh, yeah, I guess it is Saturday, alright, fine," He gave a groan of annoyance, "Make some for me too."

"Obviously," Tubbo said, he paused, a smirk coming to his face, "Dad."

Red instantly rises to Phils face at the accusation, "I'm not your dad, I'm just co-parenting with Schlatt for convenience."

Tubbo gave a hum, "Sure," Phil gives a sigh of relief, then Tubbo speaks again, "Care to explain the dinner dates you've been going on with Schlatt then?"

"I- those, it was a new restaurant," Phil said, clinging desperately to excuses. He didn't plan on waking up only to be accused of getting it on with his faux sons father, but here he is, "I wanted to try out the food, so did Schlatt, a conjoined bill is easier to pay."

Tubbo rolled his eyes, "If you say so."

"I will ground you," Phil threatened, a bit of ice on his tone, Tubbo was used to it at this rate. The slight increase in feather count was not nearly as intimidating as it was before he joined the family to an extent.

"On hunting day? Like hell," Tubbo quipped back with, Phil faltered.

"Well played," Phil spat back bitterly as he took a seat, glancing to the window, barely able to see the beginning of the orange ombre in the sky, "Do you think Schlatts gonna wake up anytime soon?"

Tubbo shrugged, "I'd say by the time these eggs are done he'll be down here with a bow and arrow, ready to make the first breathing thing he sees submit," He keeps an eye on Phil for a reaction to his words, and somehow there's barely any reaction. He turns back to face Phil, "I doubt hunting in boxers is gonna end well, go get dressed."

"Watch your mouth," Phil snarled as he turned to leave, he reentered the room in a black cloak and whatever pair of pants he found first. They were probably Schlatts, too loose but not quite long enough, they fit

"Still no shirt?" Tubbo said, flipping an egg, focusing his attention on the pan instead of Phil, "Whore."

"That's what your daddy says too," Phil muttered under his breath almost venomously, making sure his voice was quiet enough that Tubbo wouldn't hear.

The sound of cloven hooves tapping against hardwood alerted the two of Schlatts arrival, mostly Phil. It was a quiet sound, he didn't wear more than a turtleneck of a chestnut hue and a pair of jeans. Considering he presumably just rolled out of bed it shocked Phil, how do you just wake up and wear denim? He couldn't, it was a welcome change to live with someone who could get their shit together first thing in the morning even before breakfast. Schlatt was still half asleep though, he rested his head on Phils shoulder, arms wrapped around his midsection- Phil could only shoot desperately silencing glares at Tubbo whose smirk grew wider.

"Mornin' Phil, Tubbo," Schlatt greeted, the sleepiness on his voice was palpable.

Phil shuffled his wings a bit so Schlatt wasn't pressed so awkwardly against them, "Did you fall asleep in jeans."

"Maybe," Schlatt answered with, he pressed a curved horn into the side of Phils head. He glanced over to Tubbo, "What's for breakfast?"

"Eggs," Tubbo answered with, sliding a couple onto a plate, "Are we going hunting today?"

Schlatt shrugged, still refusing to move an inch from where he latched onto Phil. He nuzzled a little deeper into the thick fabric of black and jade hues, Phil tensed just a bit. Schlatt gave a hum, "You good Phil?"

Phil nodded a little bit too fast, "Yeah, just slept funny on my wings," He ruffled his feathers a bit to punctuate his sentence, Schlatt pulled away momentarily, allowing the immortal to fix his wings. Then he slumped against Phil again, red shot to his face, he tried to discretely bring a hand to his throat to signal a I'll kill you to Tubbo who was simply grinning. He gave a small inhale, "Did you get enough sleep last night."

"You tell me," Schlatt answered with quietly, barely speaking it loud enough for Phil to hear. He pulled back from Phil and dropped down onto a chair, Phil had to fix up his wings a bit more before taking a seat.

"So," Tubbo begins, sliding a plate to Schlatt and then Phil, he takes a seat promptly after across from the two, "Hunting?"

"I think we're gonna postpone," Schlatt said, "I'm kind of sore today."

"What?! But we postponed last weekend and the weekend before," Tubbo exclaimed, a bit of distress on his voice, Schlatt and Phil shared a glance.

"Next weekend?" Schlatt offered nervously, Tubbo gave a groan of annoyance, resting his head on the table heavily.

"I guess," He spoke into the spruce wood. He lifts his head and takes a dejected bite of egg, "I just, that was our thing until Phil came along."

"Hey now, Phil makes a great addition to this family," Schlatt said, nearly snarled.

"And? You're slacking off, I'm not gonna be seventeen forever, this is your last chance to get in those precious days Schlatt," Tubbo explained, bitterness is held heavy on his voice, "You have a choice- me, your son, or Phil, your fuck buddy whose good at parenting."

Schlatt is rendered speechless.

Phil takes a heavy breath, "Tubbo," He begins calmly, tone devoid of any emotional turbulence, "Go to your room now, I'll be joining you to talk promptly."

Tubbo wants to object but he chooses against it and takes his leave, he brings his plate of eggs with him.

Schlatt gives a heavy sigh, "Fuck, Phil I'm so sorry-"

"It's fine," Phil answered with, he rested a hand on Schlatts back, "Wilbur said shit like that all the time, I got it covered, trust me."

"I guess, probably should've done a better job keeping track of the days," Schlatt said, a somewhat apathetic laugh on his voice.

"Finish your breakfast and try to think of something to make it up to Tubbo, that's what you have to do here," Phil said as he stood up, he stretched his wings as he stretched his arms, jet black feathers fluttered down to the floor.

He stepped with a shaky confidence as he inched closer to Tubbos bedroom door, he heard the door slam shut from down the hall. He didn't bother knocking, Tubbo already knew he was gonna barge in and go on some parental rant. He propped open the door slowly to find Tubbo sitting on his bed holding his head in his hands, puffy green jacket zipped entirely up. Phil sat down beside him and spread out a wing, resting it on Tubbos back.

"So," Phil began, "Did you mean what you said?"

Tubbo shook his head.

"You're still fucking pissed right?" Phil asked, turning to face Tubbo a bit more.

Tubbo nodded, "Definitely."

Phil sighed, "I know it doesn't make a difference but I could go hunting with you."

"It wouldn't be the same, that was what me and Schlatt had, even before Quackity left," Tubbo said, he drew his knees to his chest, "That was our thing, and now you're here and I don't have that as often- it's fucking weird."

"Yeah," Was all Phil said, looking for filler. When he couldn't find any he shut his mouth.

"You're cool though man, thanks for like, not letting Schlatt die or whatever, it wasn't pretty before you set your price for saving me," Tubbo said quietly, a dry, forced laugh came with the sentiment, "I respect you for that if nothing else."

"I know," Phil said, he placed a hand on Tubbos shoulder, "And you're pretty cool too, gave me a reason to actually use the swarm again- thanks for not convincing Schlatt to kick me out."

Tubbo shrugged as he stood up, "And why would I do that?"

"I dunno," Phil said, he gave a hum, feigning deep thought, "Cause you hate the guts of your dads fuck buddy- your words not mine."

"Can't hate you that much," Tubbo said, he awkwardly yanked Phil into a hug which the god took like a cat to water, "You're pretty much my dad at this point."

Phil slowly reciprocated the tight squeeze, none of his kids had grip strength this intense. Felt like Tubbo was actively squeezing the air from his lungs, "You weren't just trying to piss me off earlier?"

"Don't see why I should waste my time on that considering that Schlatt won't get rid of you unless you leave first," Tubbo said, he let go of Phil.

"Now, all of my kids hated this part the most, but you gotta go tell Schlatt you take it back," Phil said, Tubbo gave a visceral groan of annoyance as he was led back down the hall.

"Do I have to?" Tubbo asked, Phil nodded.

"Yep, I doubt that either of us like it when Schlatt is impossibly bummed out," Phil said, "And this sorta shit really messes with him; if it feels like he's slacking off that's because I'm also picking up some of the work load."

Tubbo nodded, "That makes sense."

"Cool, now go make amends," Phil said, using the arch of a wing to shove Tubbo into the kitchen.

Schlatt took another dejected bite of an egg, Tubbo sat across from him, Phil stayed in the doorway blocking it entirely. Tubbo picked at the frayed edges of his jacket hemming, he needed to fix them sooner than later.

"Sorry for what I said, I didn't mean it," Tubbo said, he pitched his voice awry, unsure if he was doing it right. He glanced to Phil and got a nod to keep going, "I miss when it was our thing."

"Still slacking off though," Schlatt said calmly, he gave a heavy sigh as he spoke.

Tubbo paused, "Not really, Phils just doing his job, being your pseudo-husband 'n shit," Phil shot a warning glare at Tubbo.

"We aren't even dating Tubbo," Schlatt said, a little bit quieter than before, "We're just friends."

"If you say so," Tubbo stated, rolling his eyes a bit, "Last time I checked friends don't do... Whatever that previous display was," Tubbo gestured vaguely with his hand as he spoke.

"Friends totally do that," Schlatt answered with, a practiced calm to his words, like he'd gone over it with Tubbo before.

"I have plenty of friends and none of them act that intimate dad," Tubbo shot back, the faintest hint of agitation rested on his voice.

Schlatt quirked a brow, "I never specified how intimate or close we are, close friends do that because close friends know they can get away with it- really close friends do not care, I could throw Phil off a bridge and he'd still live with us afterwards, it goes both ways."

Tubbo had to bite his tongue to prevent himself from going off on a tangent about how stupid that argument was.

"Schlatts right, he could throw me off a bridge but he cares too much to do so," Phil said from the doorway, walking over to lean above Schlatt, hands on the backrest of the chair.

Schlatt leaned back into him, "If you eat my leftovers too many times that may change Phil."

Phil looked down at Schlatt, "What? Really? I thought leftovers were free game."

"Not anymore," Schlatt said, bringing hands to rest at Phils neck, Tubbo had to refrain from gagging at the sheer domesticity of the interchange.

"You two can be domestic husbands somewhere that I'm not eating?" Tubbo said, snide clear on his voice, both Schlatt and Phil glared at him. Although Phils was much more menacing, slit pupils and sclera turning a vibrant yellow.

"Watch your mouth," Phil snarled, claws clipped many times already sharpening in an instant once more and digging into the wood of the chair, Schlatt pressed his thumbs into pressure points gently, turning off the monstrous reflex in Phil like one would with a cat.

"And you need to watch your reflexes, he's your kid too Phil," Schlatt said, holding down on Phils throat until his claws retracted and eyes reverted, breathing a bit of a heave as he forced the feather count down again, "You good?"

Phil nodded, "Sorry."

"It's fine," Tubbo stated, "But if we aren't going hunting then I gotta see if Tommy wants to hang out."

"Alright, don't tell him that you're brothers yet," Phil said, Tubbo quirked a brow.

"Brothers? But to be brothers you two would be husbands," Tubbo said cockily, Schlatt rolled his eyes.

"We co-parent right? And Tommy is Phils kid, so if Phil parents you and at some point in time fully parented Tommy, then ya'll would be brothers," Schlatt explained, once more Tubbo had to refrain from arguing back.

Instead he takes a deep breath, "Alright, I guess that makes sense," He crosses his arms over his chest as he speaks, "I might stay for a couple nights if he's hanging with Wilbur."

Phil shrugged, "Fine by me, more alone time."

"I don't know if it's alone time while I'm here Philza," Schlatt said, lilting his voice in such a way it made Phils wings twitch, a rosy hue rising to his face, "Or are you suggesting I leave?"

"I wouldn't dare Jschlatt," Phil answered with, bringing a hand to rest on one of Schlatts horn, Tubbo didn't even want to ask.

"Now I'm really heading out," Tubbo said, pivoting on a heel to leave as he spoke.

"Stay safe!" Phil called out as Tubbo left the room.

"I will!" Tubbo shouted back.

There was a comfortable silence between Phil and Schlatt as the front door opened and closed.

"Do you think he's gonna be safe Phil?"

"Definitely not."

Philza gave a somewhat heavy sigh as he sat down beside Schlatt, a cup of tea in hand, Tubbo was still hanging out with Tommy. Schlatt leaned into his side, nudging the curve of his horn against Phils cheek affectionately.

"Schlatt," Phil begins with calmly.

Schlatt gives a hum of acknowledgement, "Yes dear?"

Red flares across Phils face at the pet name, "We aren't even married."

"We could be," Schlatt counters with a lazy smirk as Phil wraps a wing around him.

"We could, but we aren't," Phil said, "Probably shouldn't anyways."

"Why's that?" Schlatt asked gently, running a hand along the downward arch of Phils wing.

"I'm immortal," Phil got out quietly, "And you're, not."

"What's your point?" Schlatt asked, watching Phils expression dip like a cat watching a gold fish.

"I'll outlive you," Phil said quietly, "I'll forget you, even if I am wearing a ring."

Schlatt paused, "I know that, but, that won't happen for a long time, and you'll take care of me even when I'm old and frail, won't you Phil?"

Phil nodded, "Yeah, of course I will, but that's gonna start pretty soon."

"Ouch, I'm still young, I have lots of time," Schlatt said, feigning hurt at the statement, "But I guess it doesn't feel like a lot to you."

Phil nodded again, "Not really, just feels instantaneous- like, if I blink you'll be gone, Tubbo will be gone, Tommy, and Wilbur, they'll all be gone too, and it'll just be me and Techno," He sounded a little bit choked up as he spoke, "And I can't just let everyone be immortal even if I wanted too, I doubt the admin would be pleased."

"They admin can suck a dick, you're the god of death," Schlatt stated bluntly, Phil nearly choked on the tea he was tentatively sipping, "You get to choose who avoids it if you're the one who causes it."

"I'm the one who overlooks the afterlife, where all the dead people go, I sit at the gates when my mortal body is asleep and let in all the new people," Phil explained, "It's really a fancy and misleading title. Death herself, she can't be stopped, and she makes a brutal ex-wife, we're friends- but she still doesn't like it when I try and cheat the system for the people I love, she even got the admin to side with her."

"You married death?" Schlatt asked in shock, Phil nodded.

"We divorced a couple millennia back, it was mutual," Phil said, waving off the comment, "Even back then she did most of the leg work, said I was too soft to kill baby rabbits- I am, but it still hurt to hear - and then she decided she needed my help again sometime after Wilbur was born."

Schlatt was still focused on the original talking point, "You married death, and death is a chick?"

"Kristin Rosales, she's a sight to see, you'll meet her when you die if I'm not at the gates," Phil said, "She doesn't let me into her dimension properly very often so I won't get to visit a whole lot, probably a once every hundred to a thousand years sort of thing."

Schlatt nodded, "Right, you'll live on, and I'll die, and Kristin won't let you visit."

Phil nodded, "Yeah, so, we probably shouldn't get married- because I'll outlive you in the mortal realm, and forget your name, and your face, and your voice, and your scent," His eyes were starting to water, "It'd be easier to let go without a ring."

"How am I supposed to remember you when I'm in the afterlife if I don't have a ring?" Schlatt asked hesitantly, watching the shock on Phils face with an almost predatory intent to it.

"You aren't, you're supposed to remember really influential people throughout your life," Phil explained, "You'll remember Tubbo, Quackity, and a couple others, not me-"

Schlatt pressed a finger to Phils lips, silencing the gatekeeper of death with ease. Phil gave the ram a questioning look, "Yes, you, I don't want to forget you, ever- and now that I know I won't have to forget you, I'm gonna ask you one question."

Phil lifted his wing as Schlatt shifted around a bit, "Schlatt, a hundred people have asked me to marry them before, the answers gonna be no."

"Not my question," Schlatt said, "Not yet at least."

"Then ask the damn question," Phil urged, deeply intrigued at the notions of a new question- he's sure he's heard it before, but not from Schlatt.

Schlatt holds out two necklaces to Phil, each on silver chains. One with a tigers eye pendant, and the other a jade pendant, "Don't let me forget you," He thrust the jewelry a little closer to Phil who reluctantly took hold of the tigers eye, holding it carefully, "I was saving the necklaces for later, but now works too- I think they'd work like a wedding ring."

Phil clips on the necklace, the pendent rests easily atop his sternum when he slides it under his shirt. He gives a soft smile, "I'll try my hardest to make a deal with Kristin."

"Thank you," Schlatt managed to get out, clipping on his own jade necklace, attempting at least, "Help?"

"Of course," Phil answered with gently as Schlatt turned his back to Phil, holding up the necklace. Lithe fingers easily clipped the chain into place, when he was done Schlatt leaned onto him.

"I love you Phil, I forget if I've already said that," Schlatt said, a somewhat nervous laugh on his voice as he spoke.

Phil brushed aside a couple chocolate brown strands, "You've said it before, love you too Schlatt."

"Glad to hear the feelings mutual," Schlatt said with a contented hum under his voice, reaching out to ruffle Phils feathers gently.

Loud knocks, really loud, and extremely erratic knocks, shattering their brief moment. Schlatt moved first, Phil followed, stretching his wings once or twice as he followed Schlatt through open doorways. The knocking didn't cease even for a second, only after Schlatt pulled open the door and caught a glimpse of panicked face behind it did it stop.

"What do you want?" Schlatt snarled out as their visitor heaved breaths.

"Tubbo," Quackity managed breathlessly, "Our kid got kidnapped, by Dream," He took a heavy breath, "Help."

Phil pushed ahead of Schlatt, "Where's my kid?"

"Tommy is being held back by Wilbur to prevent him from doing something stupid," Quackity explained.

Phil had to pause, "Tubbo, my kid, where is Tubbo?"

Shock played out on Quackitys face, "Your kid?"

"Our kid," Schlatt corrected, "We're co-parenting, where the fuck is he?"

"Sapnap hunted him down with George, I came here to get you," Quackity explained, "And you two are co-parenting?"

"Not explaining it now, let's go get Tubbo back," Phil said, pushing past Quackity and flaring his wing directly in his face just for show.

"But, when did that happen?" Quackity asked, trying to keep up with both Schlatt and Phil.

"Doesn't matter," Phil answered with promptly, Schlatt placed a hand on his shoulder.

"You don't have to save him this time," Schlatt offered gently, Phil was already brandishing his weapon, he did pause.

"We just had a talk about how you're gonna die before me Schlatt, and how shitty that's gonna be," Phil said, nearly spitting the words, slight venom on his voice, "And now you're gonna go try and beat up the admin to save our kid? I'm not letting that happen, you stay at home and wait patiently for me to return with Tubbo."

Stinging aches hit Schlatt all over, "But-"

"Do it!" Phil snapped before he could stop himself, voice a rumbling crescendo and wings puffing out with an ungodly amount of feathers creeping up his arms. He yanked Schlatts weapon out of his hands, "I don't want you dying on me so soon, everyone else has okay? I want you to live your life, I don't want you to die young," His grip on the weapon shook a bit, "I don't want to lose you, and I wouldn't've cared not even a year ago!"

Quackity opened his mouth to speak but chose against it.

"But here I am, please, just go home, and stay safe," The urgency on Phils tone is infectious, the pleading of his voice makes Schlatt feel tangled up inside.

He takes hold of his weapon once more and Phil shows no resistance, he knows he can't stop Schlatt, "You won't let me get hurt, I'm sure of it," He placed a hand on Phils shoulder, he could feel the visceral shaking, "Right?"

Phil nodded, "Obviously, let's go save our kid and kill that green cunt for good."

"Glad to see we're on the same page," Schlatt said, he gave a brief nod in Quackitys direction, he perked up at the motion, "Lead the way, we have carnage to ensue."

-/-/-/-

They came to a halt at the entrance of an obsidian lined cave, narrowing down into a hall. Bright blue flames lit the way, and property destruction was scattered about the mouth of the cave, a little bit inside as well. Wilbur was holding back Tommy, just barely able to do so, grasping onto his legs tightly as he struggled to stand up and run in.

"They're in there," Quackity said.

"Sapnap and George?" Phil asked.

"They didn't make it out," Quackity said, "That's why I came to get you two."

Phil nodded, "Schlatt, make sure we have what we need, I'm gonna go calm down Tommy."

"On it," Schlatt answered with obediently, it shocked Quackity a bit with how docile he was to Phils command.

"Wilbur!" Tommy practically screamed into his older brothers ear, "Let go of me!"

"You're gonna get killed!" Wilbur screamed back, digging his nails into the back of Tommys legs.

"I don't care!" Tommy answered with, just as loud and aggravated, kicking at Wilbur a bit.

Phil stood over the two of them, "Boys, are we really doing this again?"

Both Wilbur and Tommy snapped from their argument in an instant, frozen in place as they stared at their dad.

"Tell Wilbur to let me go!" Tommy shouted before Wilbur could open his mouth.

"Hey!" Wilbur snapped back, digging his nails further into his little brothers legs, unafraid of the possibility of blood, "Tell Tommy he'll get killed if I do!"

Phil took a deep breath, "Neither of you are going all the way, you'll follow me and Schlatt until we find Sapnap and George."

Wilbur and Tommy gave a nod, the older releasing his brother.

"And then you are to leave immediately and help them get healed up, understood?" Phil asked, he caught hesitation, "Understood?" He spoke it much more sternly.

"Understood," Wilbur and Tommy answered with, helping each other up.

"Good, follow me," Phil said before leading his two sons to the mouth of the cave where Quackity and Schlatt waited.

"I'll stay out here, just in case," Quackity offered.

"Fine by me," Schlatt answered with as Quackity stepped back out, "We're taking Wilbur and Tommy with us?"

Phil nodded, "They leave as soon as we find Sapnap and George."

"Then let's go save our kid already," Schlatt answered with, almost a snarl as he started in, Phil cut in front of him.

The soft blue light did little to light their way in, despite the size of the corridor their foot steps echoed. Whatever torches they brought in didn't help, the material that lined the walls, roof, and even the floor absorbed the light before it could shine very far. An amazing technique really, Phil would applaud it if he wasn't trying to save his kid from someone who should be dead. He's making a mental note to kill whoever brought back Dream, and then meet them at the gates personally to make sure they don't make it into the afterlife.

He's sure that Kristin would understand, they didn't have a kid, but she surely understand the notions of vengeance. The notions of someone getting what was rightfully coming to them, even if what was coming to them is a scar on their soul that'll follow them through each of their reincarnations. He doesn't know it but Schlatt is making a mental note of a similar subject because not many have tried to get between them and Tubbo.

Dream just happens to be the outlier in that statistic, having tried to steal Tubbo more than once.

"Phil," Schlatt got out quietly.

"Yeah?" Phil asked, taking the one turn available.

"I'm killing him," Schlatt said, Phil gave a soft chuckle.

"Not if I do first," There's almost a challenge to his tone, but they both know that Phil will be the one to truly finish him.

Everyone stops at the scent of blood, the sound of panicked murmuring, and the faintly blurred sight of George and Sapnap. Then their paces pick up as they rush over to find George on the ground, sword lodged firmly in his shoulder, he's passed out long ago. Sapnap is trying so very, very carefully to wake him up, he keeps his touches and shakes light- unsure of how close to death George even is.

Wilbur crouches down beside them, getting a closer look at the panic on Sapnaps face, "Breath."

"He's fucking dying!" Sapnap snapped, "How am I supposed to breath?!"

Tommy crouched down on the other side, "Expand your lungs...?"

"Not helpful," Sapnap got out, hands returning to rest on Georges, "He's dying."

"He isn't gone yet," Phil said bluntly, Sapnap swiveled his head to glare, "If you move fast you can go heal him before it's too late."

Sapnap paused, "I might hurt him."

"Hurt him, or lose him," Phil got out, "It sucks, but at least you have a choice.

Sapnap slowly slung an arm around the small of Georges back, the other under his knee and hauled him up. His balance was off with the test of carrying George the entire way back, "You wouldn't get it."

"You can't even begin to believe how much I do," Phil got out quietly, "Tommy and Wilbur will help you get him out, how much further in do we have to go?"

"Not much, one more turn and a barricaded door is between you and Tubbo," Sapnap explained, turning to leave.

Tommy followed right away, Wilbur hesitated.

"Don't die dad," Wilbur managed to get out.

"You know I can't," Phil answered with.

"I know," Wilbur said before turning to leave.

Phil hesitantly took the next step, and the next. His confidence slowly returned as Schlatt trailed behind him, never daring to step in front the entire time. It was just one life, one measly life, Phil had seen so many get lost in all the time he's roamed the mortal realm. But this time it's more personal, and he'll make sure nobody associated with Dream gets a chance at the afterlife if Tubbo is already dead.

Maybe that's overkill, there's plenty of innocent people who've found themselves in contact with him, but he needs to get his point across. Even if that means destroying everything, he's a god, he's allowed to do stupid things from time to time. Kristin wouldn't pleased with all of the new administrations into the afterlife, and she really wouldn't be pleased with having to beg Puffy to bring them all back. For a brief instant Phils mind sticks to Puffy, he wonders how she's been, being the one in charge of reincarnation. She doesn't do it very often, favoring weaving new souls into existence instead of repurposing the old.

Schlatt snaps Phil out of his thoughts, placing a hand on his shoulder. When Phil turns to face him his pupils are already slit, he's blunted nails have turned to talons, his wings are twitching. He's a mess, losing himself to the beck and call of the swarm, "We're at the door," He gestures to the heavily barricaded door, behind it he hears screaming and crashing.

---

That's the final straw.

Schlatt leaps back in an instant when those overgrown wings shift to a thousand crows, stray feathers twirling into birds that engulf Phils form. The door comes tumbling down in an instant, there isn't even a door left, all that remains is dust, and whatever remains of Phil stays still at the door. It partially has Schlatt paralyzed as he leans in through the door way to find Tubbo back into a corner, frantically skittering about as Dream keeps trying to end him. Diamond axe smeared with fresh blood from failed attacks lace it, he goes for it again, rending Tubbos jacket further.

And then the beast launches itself, liquid form crashing into Dream and tugging him under. He surfaces for air easily as it keeps trying to pull him down again, leaving small bites all over his form and tearing his jacket. He hacks through it but it reforms twice as fast as he tries to crawl away. His scream is ear splitting as a set of sheer black fangs bear down on his thigh and yank, flesh tears off and bone only has teeth marks. Behind that porcelain mask tears are spilling down his face, he screams again when that same set of fangs grab onto the bone. One tug to the left and his leg is snapped off entirely, the bones crunch as the swarm gnaws on it briefly leaving Dream to struggling to even move.

Tubbo is hobbling over to Schlatt, stumbling and scared. Schlatt easily holds him up and pulls him past the doorway so they don't have to watch. Tubbo is breathing heavy, head resting on Schlatts shoulder, "I'm sorry."

"For what?" Schlatt asked as gently as he could.

"Getting kidnapped, I should've known better," Tubbo managed to get out.

Their conversation is mostly lost to Dreams begging for mercy, cries of agony and any other pitch in between. His mask cracks when the swarm drops him down from where it had him suspended mid air, ravenous maw latching onto his arm. Was he really dropped if he wasn't actually released? Fangs biting until the bones shatter and sinew snaps underneath that delicate human skin. His breathing is ragged, he's shocked he's even managing to keep breathing with all the blood spilling from him.

The swarm lifts him once more, a set of razor sharp talons resting comfortably underneath his rib cage. A small swatch of crows come to shatter his mask, he looks destroyed, ready to die. And then a voice residing in his skull speaks up, a low rumble he can barely understand but hear so clearly- he knows it belongs to the swarm.

"What do you have to say for yourself?"

Dream can't answer, everything hurts too much.

"It's unlike you to die silently, last chance."

Dream musters up as much as he can before spitting the words, "I'm not fucking sorry."

"Wrong answer."

Claws tear into his torso, snapping his spine like it was a twig, they still grasp both halves in place as he screams. And then the swarm squeezes, watching with glee as organs and intestines spilt from either half of Dreams torso. Then he stopped breathing, that was when the fun stopped, that was when it decided it was starved. Starved for blood, starved for death, it cracked it's maw of a multitude of shapes and sizes open and dropped in the still warm corpse. It thrummed pleasantly as it eviscerated the corpse internally, the slightest hint of Phils consciousness felt disgusted- the absolute lack of morals the swarm held reveled in it.

---

"Tubbo, it's fine," Schlatt said, "Shit happens."

"I should've known better," Tubbo repeated, "I just, I should've known better."

"You had no way to know, it's fine, you're fine," Schlatt said, rubbing circles on Tubbos back. He hesitantly glanced inside the room to find Phil laying on the ground in a pile of blood and viscera, it was unsettling to say the least. He let go of Tubbo a little bit, "I'm gonna check in on Phil."

"Okay," Tubbo got out quietly as he leaned against the wall.

Schlatt slowly entered the room before sitting down beside Phil, he brought his hands to preen the unkempt feathers. It garnered a groan from Phil, the avian spreading his wings a bit in response to the touches. He curled into Schlatts leg a bit, he ached all over, probably from the swarm eviscerating a full human.

"You feeling alright?" Schlatt asked quietly.

"Full," Phil answered with.

"Full?" Schlatt echoed back.

Phil nodded, "Full, where do you think the corpse went?" He would've gestured to the splatters of blood and porcelain pieces if he wasn't so lethargic.

"Got it, no dinner for you tonight," Schlatt said, Phil nodded.

He pushed himself up onto his elbows, blood splattered across every inch of him. He gave a sleepy glance to Schlatt, "Carry me."

"I don't think I can carry you and Tubbo at the same time," Schlatt got out nervously.

"Just for a little bit," Phil managed, pleading clear on his voice, "Please."

"I'll try," Schlatt said as he stood up, he heaved up Phil next. The avian gave a discontented groan of annoyance as he curled into Schlatt further.

He started to purr a little bit, "Love you Schlatt."

"Love you too Phil," Schlatt echoed back as he made his way out the door to Tubbo.

Tubbo gave a small smirk at the sight, "How cute, Phil getting carried by Schlatt."

"You should be too traumatized to make quips right now," Schlatt said, Phil nuzzled into his neck and red rose to the rams face, he gave a silencing glare to Tubbo.

"You're just like him," Tubbo said as he followed Schlatt through the cave, "He gets just like you do when you get all touchy feely with him in public."

"Shut up," Schlatt got out quietly, clearly embarrassed, Tubbo gave a single laugh.

"Then stop being so stupid around each other," Tubbo said, "Bust out the wedding ring already."

"Not gonna happen," Phil got out sleepily, "Me and Schlatt don't need to, we talked about it."

Tubbo raised a brow, "So you've even talked about marriage? Please for the love of fuck, let me and Tommy be legally brothers."

"Not happening," Phil said, letting a wing fall loose, "Too much effort."

"We have necklaces instead of rings, they work better," Schlatt said.

Tubbo rolled his eyes, "I'm telling the entire fucking server about your affair if you don't do it yourself."

"Word'll spread faster through a rumor," Phil said, "It'd be easier if you did it for us."

"Then maybe I will," Tubbo said, almost aggressively, in a faux sense of course.

Schlatt smirked a bit, "Then do it, I dare you too."

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ryathenaughtykitsune · 1 year

Text

I posted 432 times in 2022

192 posts created (44%)

240 posts reblogged (56%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@shroudthecursedone

@deathsprofit

@avariciouss

@whiskeysrpcenter

@sir-crocodile-slut

I tagged 353 of my posts in 2022

Only 18% of my posts had no tags

#on target (ic) - 180 posts

#mun ramblings - 123 posts

#replies - 109 posts

#out of range (ooc) - 102 posts

#spotify - 60 posts

#asked and answered - 54 posts

#mun and muse - 48 posts

#muse music - 36 posts

#writing music - 35 posts

#whiskeysrpcenter - 21 posts

Longest Tag: 79 characters

#and there goes a wheezing fit and hot cocoa in my lungs because of that thought

My Top Posts in 2022:

Just looking out at the water, thinking, brooding...wondering how to be a good and decent mother to such an innocent soul of a child. She would take on all sin to spare her kid just one more day of innocence. Cursing Teach silently for murdering those she held close. Its probably best the rest of the ship is asleep; she can't scream her rage, frustration, and all other dark feelings out at the water.

Her hunger to be there to see that bastard fall, to deal the murderous blow to that fat bastard. To deal retribution and exact closure. The faint scars on her wrists where the manacles the slavers placed on her all those years ago a reminder of the last price she dealt. She had exacted justice on them as well. Glad to become a pirate, under Shanks, to be looked upon as his daughter.

Would he still call her daughter if she implemented her plan? She had thought this darkness was gone but grief had widened the hole where it was no longer hidden by the boulder she had placed to keep it sealed.

No, after she had accomplished her goal, she would retire. Quietly. Hopefully to where the Marines couldn't track her down. Maybe she would take Whitebeard's offer of a home on one of his old islands. The last offer before....that happened. Tears spilled unbidden.

Just....One Step. One. Step. At. A. Time.... Then Peace?

7 notes - Posted January 19, 2022

"Rya, I need help.." Inana only undid her jacket a bit to reveal the baby she held very carefully. "I have no idea how to care for a child.." // @highxrder

@highxrder

Rya looked at the goddess then peeked the baby in her jacket. He looked so small and full of future. Her heart pinged just a little. The baby reminded her of when Thaddeus was that small.

"Mind his head." She said softly. "May I?" She said motioning to hold the child. Maybe it was her motherly instincts but, that little face, she couldn't help but have such a soft look on her face.

7 notes - Posted March 22, 2022

Watching Fruits basket and on the episode where Hatsuharu is arguing with the class president about his natural hair color which ended in the class president being dragged into the bathroom, a loud male scream, then the president coming out pale.

Kyo and yuki: he didn't

Hatsuharu with a smug grin

Kyo and yuki: *sweating* he did

I lost it to the point my roommate asked why I was giggling like a school girl.

10 notes - Posted March 23, 2022

"I will fill a fucker up with so much lead~"

10 notes - Posted May 23, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Honestly. Thinking of shelving rya. Hanging up my hat. It's hard enough writing on tumblr as is. But with rumors and shit still ruminating about me or my muse. Getting blocked because shes not what they envision writing with, etc. Practically begging anyone to rp. I want to cry.

Rya is/was in herself a part of me. I've had her since Yu Yu Hakusho. Maybe since inuyasha. Writing her as she is now, I think I've come full circle.

Most people want a polite, sweet innocent character especially if it is an OC. OC characters are the hardest to write. Even more female. Harder still one damaged and still ready to kick ass, that has mental health issues.

Yes, she is a violent bitch. Yes, she is lustful. And God's yes, she's got a bit of a dark, twisted brood mode that I really don't like writing her in because it's too close to Doflamingo level madness for my liking.

But she is a morally gray character, trying to survive. Maybe it's time I go on hiatus again because trying to get people to write with is feeling too much like a job. This is supposed to be fun.

10 notes - Posted January 25, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

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raibebe · 2 years

Text

Day 30: Hate Sex

Genre: smut Words: 632 Prompt: roommate Haechan x female reader

Warnings: masturbation (f)

A/N: Aaaand this concludes kinktober for me since day 31 on my list is either combo or free day and BOY I am craving that free day by now! Thank you to everyone who has read all this madness the past 30 (28) days and has left encouraging and nice comments either in reblogs or who sent a message! Thank you so much, I hope you had fun in this month of filth! I'll post the masterlist tomorrow! (hopefully)

previous< | Kinktober |

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you moaned, pumping your fingers inside you faster, you were so close, you could almost taste your orgasm. “Come on, please,” you begged no one in particular, arching your hips high off of the bed until you had the perfect angle that made your thighs shake as you fucked yourself hard. Moaning unashamedly loud since you were alone in your shared apartment, you slipped your fingers from your core to quickly rub at your clit, the slide smooth from how wet your fingers were.

“Hey, I’m ba- oh.” Donghyuck - your annoying roommate - crashed into your room, no care in the world for the noises he must have been able to hear from outside. Screaming bloody murder, you scrambled to cover your half-naked form. “Do you have any understanding of privacy?” You hissed, pulling your sheets tightly around your body. “Nothing I haven’t seen before, no need to act like a virgin in distress,” he rolled his eyes, crossing his arms in front of his chest as he leaned against the doorframe. “I was busy though, can you leave?” “You looked like you needed some help though,” Donghyuck grinned, “And since I am incredibly noble, I’d selflessly offer my help.” “Your help,” you deadpanned. “My help,” he repeated.

“Leave, Donghyuck,” you gritted out. “You’re missing out, princess,” he sighed dramatically, before he shamelessly palmed himself over his sweats, stroking along the length of his cock. Gulping, you watched the imprint of his cock become more and more visible. “Last chance, princess,” he sighed. “God, I hate you, Donghyuck,” you groaned but threw your blanket away, exposing your still wet core to your roommate’s prying eyes.

Grinning, he closed the door before stepping out of his sweats, to expose his cock in all its glory: Curving up against his stomach and the bulbous tip a dark blushed color. “Get ready to have your world rocked,” he promised as he knelt between your spread thighs. “Don't count your chickens before they hatch,” you rolled your eyes but bit your lip nonetheless when he ripped open a condom he had produced from god knows where to roll it over his cock. “You sure you can take me?” He teased, dragging the head of his cock through your wet folds. “I have toys bigger than your stupid cock, don’t exagger- oh fuck,” you cursed when he suddenly trust inside you, stretching you around his girth. “I’m sorry, what was that?” He grinned but he also wasn’t as unaffected as he wanted to seem, his voice just slightly more breathy than before.

“I said I could just get one of my toys to get the job done,” you hissed. “But can your toys do this?” At that, he snapped his hips harshly, pulling moans from both of your lips. “Or this?” Now he filthily ground his dick deep inside you, making you feel him deep in your guts. “Stop boasting and fuck me,” you whined, throwing your head back against the pillows as you wrapped your legs around him to press him closer to you.

“So bossy,” he grinned while he started to snap his hips in short but strong motions, “How do you feel about kissing?” “Don’t get your lips on me,” you moaned. “Oh, I’ll get you to beg for it,” he groaned, busying his mouth with sucking marks into your skin instead of kissing you. “Fuck, Dongyhuck,” you mewled, digging your nails into his back to hear him hiss. “Does that feel good?” He laughed hoarsely. “Less talking, more fucking,” you demanded.

“Oh, you’re gonna regret saying that,” Donghyuck growled darkly, swiftly unwrapping your legs from around his waist to all but fold you in half to drive his cock even deeper inside you, having you mewl and moan in pleasure.

#haechan #lee donghyuck #nct #neosmutcollective #neowritingsnet #haechan smut #nct dream #nct 127 #nct smut #nct dream smut #haechan imagines #haechan scenarios #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct 127 smut #kinktober 2021

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thekillingjoke-haha · 3 years

Text

Thank God It’s Friday

Summary: Three days on repeat to save their sister before it's too late, but they need to realize sooner or later you can't save everybody.

Warning: Suicide(mentioned and done),accidentally murder, tw, blood, gore,spelling mistakes

Tagged: @spnquotebingo @nooneno @ampal98 @fandom-fanfiction-reblog

Part 2 of What's Worse Then Tuesday? Plz read pt.1

𝕻𝖗𝖊𝖛𝖎𝖔𝖚𝖘𝖑𝖞

Her skin was pale scars littered her body, but the cause for the lack of completion were the vertical cuts from her wrist to the nook of her elbow one arm was over the edge of the tub while the other turned the cold water a red dark enough the only thing seen was a outline of her body. His scream was earth shattering as if he has never seen her die before, but he doesn't get another chance like before he can't beg the trickster to be merciful and allow her to live to go back exactly to the Wednesday before save them both. Sam would give anything to go back to Tuesday, because this was so much worse.

𝕹𝖔𝖜

Dean rushed into the room not long after the sight made him sick to his stomach, but he pushed through and walked fully into the bathroom as he wrapped her in a towel and carried her to the bed laying her down. For the first time in a long time he kneeled on the side of the bed and prayed to anything that would listen to his plea. "Give us a do over. Sammy had his chance to save me now let us...together save her." He had his eyes screwed shut his breath uneven. "Please Trickster? God? Fucking Satan! We need more time!" The flap of wings went unnoticed as a familiar voice spoke in the silent room.

"I'm truly flattered you said me before God and the Devil. Warms my heart." The Winchester’s heads snapped up at the man laying on the bed opposite of Dean a sucker in his mouth and a arm propping up his head. "You son of a bitch! You tricked me!" Sam shouted as he went to hit the trickster when he got flung back. "I did not trick you into anything." The shorter man denied as he opened up a new lollipop replacing the stick in his mouth. "You did everything willingly. I told you your sister wouldn't be there she wasn't included in your back to the future snafu." Sam froze as he thought back trying to recall what he said while his older brother looked at him with shock. "You did what?!" The dirty blonde shot up from his kneeling position. "You traded Y/n's life for me!? You left her to die here like this?!Alone!!!" Dean was fuming while pushing Sam's chest. "No? No! Of course not you were dead not Y/n she was on a hunt away from everything. He told me she was running herself into the grave not that by going back to today time would keep moving forward for her." That's when the tallest Winchester turned to the man laying next to his sisters corpse. "You sent everyone, but her back. Why? I thought she was your favorite!" The supernatural creature sighed while playing with her damp hair. "She is my favorite not even a bump in the road like death can change that, it sure wouldn't bump you morons up a place, but you needed to learn a lesson to a pop quiz that about to come up out of nowhere at any moment to bite you." Gabriel looked at them.

Dean reached over to him and smacked his hand away from her h/c hair. "Don't fucking touch her." He snapped as the trickster raised his hands in surrender. "Can you help us get her back?" Dean was trying to avoid looking at the still body infront of him. "Nope not a chance. Samsquatch got not one, but two chances to save you after I warned him. He asked to get to Wednesday well here we are!! Missing one just like last time." The man stood up popping his joints as he picked up Y/n's personal hunting journal flipping through pages. "That was Sam. You never made a deal with me." His honey gold eyes looked up. "Yes I did. You're alive aren't you?" He gave a chuckle about to skim the tea stained pages again. "The deals involved me, but this is my second day ever seeing you in town and we've never made any deal." The eldest Winchester licked his lips nervously. "Fine! But let's make the rules clearer this time." Gabriel sat the journal down and paced the room grabbing the discarded suicide note. "She wrote this on Friday two days before she died and it took you three days to discover her body." He crumbled the note tossing it over his shoulder before clapping his hands rubbing them together. "So let's even those numbers hm...instead of reliving one day you'll be sent to Friday until you save her before Monday. Two days..two and a half if you're lucky, so you have more time before your heat of the moment. "

Dean hummed. "That doesn't sound so bad." He thought it would be easy two people trying to keep her alive for three days. "There's a hiccup she wasn't here Friday. So you need to rub the two brain cells you both share and find her and keep her not suicidal." Gabe picked at his nails. "And small hint for you guys. She was tracking something while here and it wasn't just me so don't go to her directly because technically neither of you should be there." He smirked as paused in the center of the floor. "So your putting us in another loop until what we give up?!" Sam spoke for the first time in awhile. "No just until you realize everyone can't be saved..." The long hair male stood up looking down at the trickster. "Why? Why can't I have them both why them?" He chocked up a bit his breath wavering. "Because everyone doesn't want to be saved." With that he snapped his fingers.

Friday 7:30 am

"My legs are dangling off the edge!"

Sam shot up as he looked around the room was the Sam as if they never left. "The bottom of the bottle is my only friend!" He heard the radio and someone else. Dean sat at the table drumming his hand. "I think I'll slit my wrist again and I'm gone gone gone gone." Sam looked at him in horror as he shut the radio alarm clock off causing his brother to look at him in relief. "Dude that song hasn't turned off for almost two hours that was like the millionth time it's played I think." Dean got up from the table holding up a newspaper with red marks all over it. "There was three cases in the area with this hotel being in the center of them. Did she ever tell you anything about what she was doing?" The oldest Winchester asked as he handed his brother the paper. Sam thought back to all the voicemails he could have easily opened his phone to listen, but he deleted them all. "She talked about wanting to still hunt, how the trickster was a dead end, and...and that all I can think of." He was a horrible brother she called him just like she did when he was at Stanford just to never receive a reply. History was repeated itself he pushed her way until she gave up getting closer. "The trickster said he wasn't the only creature she was looking for. He didn't say hunt, but looking for that means she might have been trying to find a witch or reaper." Dean rambled as he pointed to each of the cases. The tallest sighed as he ran a hand through his long hair. "She'll kill...k-kill herself on Sunday and we only have today to hunt what brought her here before she shows up and we don't know how she'll react to seeing us." He had a good point Dean was supposedly dead and Sam didn't even acknowledge her as if she was a stranger.

The hunt began they started with the witch two hours from the hotel. Driving down they realized it wasn't just a witch it was a coven how the hell did Y/n track down a coven was beyond them. The women quickly went to attack them, but they were no match to iron blades and bullets. The second oldest of the witches sat before them handcuffed in Iron shackles "Tell us everything you know about Y/n!" Dean demanded as the women chuckled blowing her red hair out of her face. "Shouldn't you know it all you are wearing her brothers skin?" She panted blood on her face as she looked at them just before her head snapped to the side with the fist that flew at her cheekbone. "Tell us why she'd come here clearly you know something." Sam shoved a paper that had Latin writing into her line of sight. "A resurrection spell that requires a lot of unholy ingredients." He stated which made her chuckle. "Oh! That Y/n yeah she called awhile back and told us she needs a spell...we owed her a favor so making some headlines was worth getting it done." The young women shifted her head at the spell books spilt on the floor along with viles and broken jars. "All that work for not. The moment she finds out there's no spell she'll fuck off to who knows where." Dean saw a phone abounded on the ground ringing as he pushed a iron rod to her throat. "You aren't telling her anything. She'll see the ashes of this place thinking it backfired, but till then everything grand." He picked up the phone and placed it on speaker.

"Hey Rosita! Sorry if you're busy mama wasn't answering. I'm heading to town from Big B's place after some rough and tumble,if you know what I mean. I'm stopping by yours after settling; do ya got that special something cooking in a witches brew while cackling evilly?" The boys almost crumbled at her voice as she spoke almost like talking to a old friend. "You know it beautiful. It'll be ready by tomorrow just as planned." They looked at her raising a brow at the witch what was...is their sister involved in? Half a year doesn't make bonds like this. "Thank you so god damn much, Hot stuff! Tell sisters and mom I said hi and ask her about that Huckleberry pie recipe she promised." Tears slipped past the witches face as she silently cried looking at her deceased family strung about. "You got it, bye." "Bye." The call ended as the women hung her head and cried not caring about the iron forcefully digging into her throat. The brothers stepped back from the weeping woman gazing at the massacre. Y/n wouldn't go to a monster for help if she didn't trust them they killed good witches that only did bad to fulfill a favor. "She'll kill you both masked as her brothers or not she knows a monster when she sees em." The redheaded witches cackled Dean pulled himself together and grabbed the spell books and went to leave. "We got to clean the place cops would be hear after all the noise of the fight." The brown eyed brunette nodded as his brother patted his shoulder leaving to baby. Sam slowly walked to the doorway his hands shaking as he ignited the match. "I'm sorry...it will all be fixed by Friday again." Dropping the lit match it created flamed track to the walls over each body consuming the room in the orange blaze. She'll be here tomorrow just got to make it to tomorrow.

The boys sat in the motel waiting watching looking for the moment she pulled in to the dingy motel settling just down the hall. A f/c 69' charger pulled up next to the Impala right at seven a figure silhouetted by the rising sun went to the trunk grabbing two bags before heading towards the front desk humming a song completely disregarding the other muscle car next to it. "Doesn't she recognize baby? She basically grew up in that back seat!" Dean was confused it made no sense. "Dean remember what the trickster said we technically weren't here today so maybe she can't see what wasn't here." Sam suggested as she came towards their hall to go to her room. "So what are we suppose to do just sneak around her to keep her safe like fucking guardian angels!?!" Dean was frustrated, but the sound of the doors lock made them both turn before running around like headless chickens before the door opened.

Saturday 5:30 am

Y/n slipped into the room gently closing the door. It was almost comical how they hid Sam looking around before hiding behind the floor length window curtains while Dean crawled under his bed. She looked around the room before walking towards Dean's bed she flopped onto it much like her older brother did, face first, before turning on her back raising up to sit she held her hands on her head as she tried and control her breathing. "I'm so sorry, De. I should be trying harder to save you. I hate to admit it, but I gave up after awhile nothing that went bump in the night scared me anymore I am brutal just like him and I-I don't like it and I know you wouldn't either." Dean listened intently at her voice he wanted to be right beside her. "I got exactly like this once after Sam left put everything into hunting to feel better, but you were there that time, to keep me and Dad from murdering each other, take me on late night drives to cool off, answer your phone each time I called... now you're gone and so is Sammy." Her breath hicked as she gave a watery chuckle. "It's funny how history lived through or written down can always be repeated I thought after everything it be different. He'd be different, but now I'm here alone without anyone god it's so much worse." The oldest Winchester wanted to hug her and never let go this was her last words to him a apology for nothing she could have prevented. "I'm using some of my old favors. From hunters I helped to monsters I saved this is my last half assed effort to be useful to give Sammy what he needs most and that's you, haha you Jackass, always has been always will be. The Winchester brothers against the world while their not even blood sister followed like a lost puppy." She leaned down further her hand going to the underside of the bed almost hitting Dean in the face grazing his nose with her nails. Her fingers wrapped around something gently pulling it free. It was Dean's colt it had the engravings and everything. "The myth is true they don't clean motel rooms. You owe me twenty buck." Pocketing the gun she stood up and walked back to the door she just came from. "Goodbye, Batsy..." she mumbled something so quietly he wasn't able to hear before she left to her actual room.

The brothers got out of their hiding spots they need to save her they can't fail her again. "Dean I'm warning you know that might not be the last time you hear that speech. We'll try to do this quickly, but we're not sure if this will be a one and done type deal." Sam said closing the bathroom door as Dean sat in next to the spot she was in touching it noticing that wrinkles were across the bed meaning she laid down. "She couldn't see our bags." He looked at the foot of each bed opened. The room looked occupied, but she didn't acknowledge it at all. "We don't have time to worry about it we need to see where she's going today. Clearly from the black magic she wasn't as over with your death as I thought." The tall brunette looked at the Latin books. "So we just wait around to see her decide to pick up a razor? Why don't I just knock on her door say the witchy mumbo-jumbo worked and I'm back." He went to leave the room when a body stopped him. "Clearly since my deal with the trickster went through it didn't work on her end. She might think you're a shifter or something." Sam had a point it took him threatening and begging after almost a year without Dean to get him back. Something must have gone sideways for Y/n and the witch.

Sunday Evening

It was the evening the next day and they were following the h/c haired Winchester around she sat in the same diner that Sam lived a vivid nightmare in. Dean caught a slight twitch in her face, but ignored it thinking nothing of it a man walked to her they talked for awhile and he left shortly after. Y/n tucked a notepad in her leather jacket and left the street became impossible to get through with the Summer crowd of people trying to tour the Mystery Spot. "Damnit we lost her." They couldn't stay like this they didn't even see were she went. Time was ticking it was almost Monday. Walking down the cleared sidewalk eyes watch them as the blindly try to track the mop of h/c hair.

Dean basically dragged Sam to the motel they waited in her room. It wasn't until later she was on her way back, but Sam has already locked and broke the bathroom door they just had to wait to restrain her. The door knob twisted and the fluorescent light of the hall shined in the dark room. She looked awful after they last saw her her skin looked sickly as she groaned like a zombie stepping past the doorframe. In Y/n's note she said she felt it all coming back the pain of a million deaths put her body threw hell. Dean stood up to grab her when his boot made contact with the table leg it made a dull thud, but the peace quickly turned to dark and twisted hide and seek. The oldest brother dived down as a bullets rang out Sam tried to get closer which was a bad idea with her hunter instincts dialed to a thousand she grabbed his arm flinging him over her shoulder into the dinning table breaking it. Dean got up on shaky legs before meeting the heated metal of a gun he just got pistol whipped and knocked out.

Brown eyes opened as he met the bright light of the room. "Why in the ever loving fuck are two leviathans doing in these parts? You missed the memo this is the more magical spells and tricks kinda creature unit, butt-ass fugly is three states over." A snort sounded from Sam's right to see his brother awake and bleeding. "Something up I've seen you two all day, but why do you keep changing skins can't you keep them for at least a week?" She picked up John's journal and flipped through pages. "We aren't leviathans we just need to keep you alive till 12 okay?" The signature Winchester look over came her face as she raised a brow. "What kinda fairytale bullshit is that? Will I turn into a real girly girl at the stock of twelve?" She chuckled pacing infront of them. Sam didn't understand last time a loop happened she believed him now she's so skeptical and trigger happy it reminded him of Dad the man that lived by shot first ask questions later and so thoughtful pasted it on to Dean. "I'm gonna tell you this. I'm gonna kill you then sell your skin because that shit is gold when in the right hands." A knife was brought to Sam's face as she pushed into the side if his face. "NO!" Dean shouted after hearing Sam hissing in pain as he planted his feet on the bed he pushed his chair back making Sam's go forward, but with the force it pushed Y/n backwards and landed her on the ground. The brunettes eyes widen as the scene unfolded.

Y/n fell towards the broken table as she fell on the protruding wood like a pit stakes. Pieces of the splintered wood cut up her arms with chicken scratch the lines beading pearls of red, but that wouldn't kill her the jagged table legs did though. One leg went just above her hip bone and the one parallel to it went through her neck she barley chocked on her blood before her breath faded into gargles. The damaged skin seemed to fade into something worse scars and open wounds of all types appeared like a cloak was removed from the surface. Dean struggled to get out the ties to get to her, but Sam just looked on looking just past her head to see the microwave clock say 11:59 in those neon green numbers. He closed his eyes as Dean yelled and cried this was the first, but not the last.

"My legs are dangling off the edge"

Dean's POV

My eyes snapped open as a gasp of air filled my lungs. Shooting up Sam was still asleep just like when I woke up last time. I kick the covers of going to the bathroom my hands shaking as I cupped the water flinging it in my face. "This was what Sam felt. She believed him she's always believed the craziest most logical things." The thought of Tuesday that they caught the trickster Y/n didn't question Sam bringing a duffle bag to the diner. "Even if I'm technically dead she'll believe in logic with evidence." He held in his hand the necklace she got after her first hunt a bullet pressed flat it was he favorite thing and he took it off her corpse. Only I knew about the full story about it how she killed her first demon.

I walked to the door just like before and tried to open the door. Looking out I saw the room exactly as it was reflected behind me stepping through and that stupid fucking song was still playing I turned around and just saw the same thing. "Please wake up, Sammy." I sat at the table and waited the radio clock repeated itself the words were getting stuck in my head how come only on Friday I can't sleep in, but on the weekend I could maybe it was due to the loop reset and my body woke up before Sam making it permanently that way. Well as long as I'm here. I start to think Sam was making a deal with the trickster on Sunday and she died, but she stayed lifeless in that tub for two full days before Wednesday came. A ring came from my pocket spoking me and a very manly yelp slipped past my lips. The batman theme sounded causing a grin to pull on my lips I answer it, but froze up unable to speak. "Hello? Shit this number must have been reactivated...um well sorry for the bother." With that the call ended before I could utter a single syllable. Pulling the phone away from my ear I look at the call log missed calls everyday from months and none of them had a voicemail attached...she called me knowing I could never answer, but unlike Sam she did it everyday like we always did when we were apart. I licked my lips...as I remembered what I always told her.

"Never mention monsters over the phone unless you know it's only going to be heard by me. So no voicemails about slicing a blood suckered head or digging up a corpse. I'll always call you back to hear ever detail, Robin." Her smile was bright in her hand she held a phone she was leaving going her own way a year after Sammy left. Three numbers were already saved on the device, but if he could have seen it now every letter of that contact list would be occupied with someone who owed her a life debt and didn't want her dead.

Slipping the phone in my pocket as I laid my head on the table starting to drum my fingers to the beat on the wood. At some point the words flowed out of my mouth. "My legs are dangling off the edge. The bottom of the bottle is my only friend. I think I slit my wrist again and I'm gone gone gone gone." My voice seemed to muffle the sound of the bed sheets ruffling. "What the hell man." Shooting up at the noise Sammy looked at me from his bed I can finally leave and start looking. "Finally awake I see. Now get dressed and let's get out of this room before I go mental." I threw the clothes he wore last time at him and grabbed Baby's keys. Going to the door I closed my eyes taking in a deep breath as I twisted the handle. Opening the door I peaked at to see the out side of the motel and the door number across form us. I'd never felt so happy to see the plain depressing walls of a cheap motel.

The while coven was tied up I stood infront of the girl that we questioned before. Everything was in tack this time and not a single drop of blood was shed. "We need to know everything on Y/n Winchester. She's coming to town tomorrow from Big B's place now if you can just tell us everything from what She's coming back to town for and how many she stops she has that would be best." The red headed girl giggled throwing her head back and in seconds the other witches followed. "Why should I tell a monster like you anything about my darling daughter?" My gaze hardened at the older women who I assumed was the mother of all or at least some of the girls in the coven. "She is a Winchester, a hunter that kills monsters like you." I scoffed at them as they giggled again. Sam stood off to the side looking at the books. "A child of this coven is a child of mine and a sister of theirs. We help and protect our own from hell beast like you." I hate to admit that I almost snapped if it wasn't for the phone call. "Right on time answer it!" I hold it up to the mothers face along with a iron rod. "Hello Mama Freya! I wanted you to know I'm heading to town from Big B’s before stopping by. Just wanted the stats on that...special stew?" Sam came closer listening intently. "It's all cooked up almost ready to serve just as discussed my child." I pushed the blade closer the flush on her neck turning red and it looked like it was boiling. "Thank you so much, Mama! Tell sisters I said hi and when I get there I want that Huckleberry pie recipe as promised." The women smiled. "You and your pie obsession, bye hun." A laugh sounded from the other end of the line. "What can I say it runs in my family, bye ma." I creaked a smile or as Sammy so kindly described. "Wipe that doofy grin of your face." I grumbled as I closed the flip phone. "Bitch."

Sam kept his eyes in the book. "A resurrection spell. Is it guaranteed to work or is it not all that creaked up to be?" His gaze panned up at the restrained group of witches. "It's very unprecedented for a human they might come back more monster then man too much unknown about it." Rolling my eyes I snap my fingers. "How about telling us something you do know witchy poo. Y/n clearly has a list of pitstops between wherever she is and in this town. So mind giving us names and addresses." I cock my gun holding it to her head knowing I loaded a iron bullet. "Oh and I'm not asking." It took longer then expected but we got a list. First up was a guy named Leonardo Grayson he wasn't that far out of town, next was the witches themselves so he must be Big B. After them it was someone called Gabriel, then a duo that they didn't know the names just that a man and a women that's as much as they knew.

Sitting in the hotel room I ran a hand in my hair. "She must be at this Grayson's house before she came here so if we head out early tomorrow we'll pass her on the highway and see what he offered her." Sam looked at the map on the table. "Dean you understand we can't go near her this time right. We—we killed her yesterday she was protecting herself like any sane person and we killed her." He rubbed his fingers on his cheek ghosting over where the cut would be. "Sammy we don't know what would have happened if she killed us first. N/n saw us a leviathans and if we died we don't know if we'd get a do over." I placed a hand on his shoulder no matter how pissed I am at him N/n was my main priority and getting out of this alive was all he needed even if she wanted nothing to do with Sam or hell maybe, both of us afterwards. "Don't worry Sammy she's a Winchester through and through she's stubborn as a damn mull." I hit his shoulder before walking over to my bag. We got work to do.

Saturday Morning

The sun barley peaked over the horizon the drive was more then a few hours it was silent on the car, but that was quickly dissolved when the radio crackled. It sounded so muffled and music was in the background of the static. "Never—back—trade—him—Bride—Queen of—" I looked at Sam confused that voice was female I was about to ask what the hell was that when second masculine voice spoke. "Ruler—unstoppable—return—live—die–" The sentences were to broken up to really understand it was Y/n and someone else. "—forget—who—them?" The voice became more clear it was like a old radio. "No—return—without—" That's when a car came zooming by like it owned the road that f/c. "What the hell is going on." I asked Sam looked deep in thought. "Maybe she was talking to someone in the car that's why we heard it on baby's radio and it got clearer the closer the car got to hers." That made some kind of sense, but what were the talking about.

Its late in the evening by the time we get to the address of this B guy a small cabin not super close to town as originally thought it looked abounded but the smoke coming from the chimney said otherwise. We sneak in with guns raised. I went upstairs and Sam stayed down stairs. There's a empty bedroom with both sides of the bed messed up male clothes were thrown around, but there was nothing really except for a slip of paper. Grabbing it I flip it over. "Had a great time last night and this morning. Thanks again for the shades, see ya later handsome." There was a kiss in red lipstick mark and maybe my temper was raising like hell flames. My sweet badass baby sister was in some man's bed last night it was clear no one was here so I rushed down stairs stuffing it in my pocket. Sam stood in the loving from looking at a weird flower. "Sam stop sniffing flowers nothings here." Opening his mother to speak both of us froze as the door swung open. A man possibly Sam's age with tattoos littering his exposed arms that held over his shoulders a dead animal bigger then anything I've seen. "Is that a fucking moose!?" I gasped in shock finally recognizing the animal he snarled throwing the hunt onto the floor like a sake of potatoes. I'm scared shitless and Sam looked paler then a sheet. "What monster has the nerve to come into my home!" His snarls turned into gutted growls as his teeth sharpened and his gray eyes turned gold. We broke into a alpha werewolf's home and we don't have that much silver to take him. "So I think I understand now Big B...Big Bad Wolf." I laughed nervously as he then launched at us both Sammy and I dive in opposite directions as and scrambled to run. Sam booked it out the front door while I went up stairs which was stupid, but Sam has speed on his side he'll out run me easy. It was Dark in the house now after he hit a master switch that turned if the lights of as he ribbed it out the wall.

I'm dead I'm so fucking dead. I would have guessed he went after Sam if he didn't shake the cabin with his angered steps. He can probably smell me, but we've searched this whole house maybe it was too spread out oh god please spread out. "Thought you were so high and mighty coming into my home to what? Kill me?!" I heard doors slam open I was on the window ledge the jump was to steep so I just had to wait. Then I heard a roar so powerful I almost slipped. "WHERE IS IT!?!" I frowned till it clicked I grabbed the note and never put it back. Shit shit shit fuck. The power steps faded and I stupidly let out a sigh of relief. Glass flew into my face and before the sound of the window shuddering could register a clawed hairy hand grabbed my throat pulling me back into the room. He dragged me down the stairs like a ragdoll before lifting me up and growling in my face as he gazed turned towards the open door. "I HAVE YOU'RE LITTLE FRIEND AND IF YOU WANT HIM TO STILL HAVE A BEATING HEART I SUGGEST YOU COME QUICKLY!!!!" He was dead serious as he slowly began to squeeze down on my throat I was close to backing out when a pair of foot steps made me look over their she was again a gun in her hand pointed at me well...again. "Leo put the blood bag down." The werewolf dropped me and I gulped up the air.

"He came for my head the bastard! Why is he still allowed to be alive, Luna?" Y/n walked forward caressing behind his ear and that seemed to calm him down enough to shift him back to his human form. "He wasn't after you. He came for me. Isn't that right, Twilight?" She stepped closer to me using the barrel of her gun to lift my head. "First of all I don't glitter in the light and second of all I'm trying to save you." I said and she almost howled in laughter. "Yeah and attacking my coven and my pup is really saving me. Good job want a gold star, jackass?" My mind froze it so different hearing her say those words these were her people and we've kind of attacked them. "It's not like that Robin we ju—" Her fist cut me off damn that hurt like a bitch. "Don't call me that. It's not yours to use." Hurt filled her e/c eyes before being replaced with anger. "I'm trying to explain. You went back to that damn Mystery spot and remember what happened last time? You and me— um your brother Dean died over and over till you woke up and only he died." I spoke fast and a flicker flashed in her eyes.

Come on N/n you gotta get those gears turning. "So what are trying to say the Trickster got you stuck in a loop and you're hunting me down to save your ass?" Damnit no no so close, but no. "The trickster thecandy eating bastard put us here and each time we wake up we have a new face, we're a new monster." Her brow frowned as her face seemed to be running over the sentence again before it hardened. "Grab him." She demanded and the guy picked me up as she cooked her gun looking around tense. "What the hell I thought we were getting somewhere!" I shouted. Y/n looked at me again with a flame that a well weathered hunter harbored. "You said us and we. Where's the others?" The banister of the stairs got a hole blown into it and splinters of wood flew as the two of them ran upstairs with me thrown over his shoulder like a bag. "DAMNIT DON'T SHOOT!!!" I yelled but it was no use. Y/n split up from us staying in the room while I was in the supply closet with the beast. He pulled knifes from between bathroom and cleaning supplies. He looked down at me. "Stay here." With a huff he ran out and most likely downstairs. I immediately left and went to find Y/n. A fight seemed to breakout on the first floor and guns fired and things being broken. Upstairs was a bust she wasn't there anymore, but the open window kicked my ass in gear. I ran downstairs and saw Sam about to shoot a round of silver at the werewolf when s/c arms wrapped around his neck strangling him.

It was a Rodeo and Sammy fought wildly like a bull to get her off he swung himself around trying to remove her from his back. "Sammy stop!!" I shouted as the shine of silver gleamed in the fires light. In a quick motion the knife was dug into Sam's shoulder. He yelled, but used the arm no longer around him to flip her over her back making content with the cobblestone of the fireplace and he drew his shotgun to fire at what I can only assume he thought was another wolf. Going to fire I grab his arm jerking the barrel up as it went off. It hit the mirror above causing it to rain shards of glass that hurriedly fell to the ground most cut and sliced at Y/n who was just below it. Her arms bleed in familiar places as she shielded her face. It all moved so slow like in all those cheesy action movies Sam cocked the gun again and aimed, her face was still hidden from the attack of glass, the metal shrapnel flew at her chest small pieces packed quite the punch. The hit blew her back into the roaring flames the flannel easily caught a flame her yells were haunting. "Y/N!!!" I yelled and ran to her pulling her free ripping my jacket off I pat her down, but it was too little too late the fire burnt her skin blisters forming on places not charred black her chest caved in from the close range of shotgun blast. S-she's dead a-and we didn’t even make it to Sunday.

Friday Sam POV

“My legs are dangling of the edge”

I sat up Dean sat on the ground his back leaning against the bed as his eyes teared up as he muttered the words of the song before looking at me. "Two days you've been asleep two days." I was shocked at his words. "The sun has been stuck like that for forty-eight hours, Sammy all because of you!!" The guilt in my chest seemed to just settled I shot at N/n and even after Dean called for me to stop I still fired and killed her. "I'm sorry, Dean. I-I didn't mean to." My throat felt like it was swelling as I spoke I've never directly caused any of Y/n's death in the loop like I accidentally did to Dean, but this wasn't a slip of the hand and a axe flying this was multiple rounds of silver. I got up and Dean shook his head and just sat on the bed having already been dressed. "Remember the guy from the Diner that N/n was talking to. We watched everyone who came into town so he was already here so we find him we can question him. He was the last one to talk to her." I said as I pull up my pants and all he could do was nod before walking to the door. This was taking it's toll on Dean watching her die just like we I saw him die, but something uneasy came over me at my thoughts I felt like this only for Dean and not for Y/n. I don't understand she would die seconds after him though seeing him die stuck with me. She should have been on my hip the moment Dean's final breath she could have followed, but I didn't care.

How the fuck can I think like that?! Of course I care about Y/n she's my sister. This isn't me she's my partner in crime, my reading buddy, and I abounded her again. How could I've been so stupid to leave her like we didn't share the same struggle. I forced her to lose all the family she had left because of revenge and she saw no point in staying with nothing to live for. "Sammy? Sam?! Dude I got a hit!" I snapped out of my daze. Looking at Dean, when did we get in baby? "What?" He rolled his eyes as he pointed to the bag in his hand. "While you were in la la land Goldilocks I got food and guess who decided to take a stroll–" He pointed out the windshield at a man with his back to us walking down the street. "Are man of the hour." Looks like we've got work to do.

Kidnapping is against the law, but dammit we need answers. Removing the bag for his head wide blue eyes flickered between us scared he screamed behind the gag as he struggled. We did the monster test and nothing came up so we had to wait for him to wake up. Removing the cloth gag he gasped as before spitting out questions. "What the hell is happening?! W-who are you? Let me go!" Standing in front of him my eyes boring into his what is he. Looking over at Dean he pulls out his gun putting it to his head. Tears rolled down his face as he closed his eyes bowing his head. "Please don't kill me I have a family!!!" He shouted as he tried to move away from the barrel. "Just tell us how you know, Y/n." I said as he opened is eyes that were tinted a slight red. "I-I don't know who tha–" The sound of the gun cocking cut him off. "Bullshit start talking before it gets ugly." Dean demanded and the man shuddered as he seemed to start crying his shoulders quaking with each wet hiccup. I gave Dean a bitch face this guy definitely wasn't the same person. As I went to stand up and take the gun away from him small bubbling laughter replaced the crying.

His shoulders showed his restraint, but a booming laugh that caused both me and Dean to take a step back. I kept my eyes on him avoid Dean's I told you so glance. "She'll never come back to you guys. After all she's to busy in bed with me." A shit eating grin pulled at his lips. Maybe I should have grabbed the gun from Dean. The revolver was pushed in his face and all the guy did was grin leaning into it. "Pull it, Dum-Dum." When he didn't pull the trigger he pushed the gun out of his face. Wait his hands were restrained. With a snap of his fingers the Trickster was standing before us. "You guys can't get enough of me. Sorry not enough for you losechesters well except for the little one of course." I grabbed the gun from Dean this time before he can shoot the supernatural creature. "Why were you with her on Sunday? What lies did you tell her, huh!?" This trickster was starting to piss me off. Was he interfering with the loop to play with us. "We only had a little chat. Exchanged numbers to connect later." That didn't make sense she killed herself why would she give out her number if she planned not to use it...unless she didn't commit suicide, but that didn't make sense. "Come on Samsquatch use that brain you claim you have. Your getting closer to the answer." The shorter male said. "It wasn't suicide it was something else." I said and the monster sighed throwing his head back. "I put the answer on a tee and you still manage to miss." Snapping his fingers he placed the red licorice in his mouth. "Then what is it then?! What am I missing? Tell me." Those golden eyes rolled as he walked up to me his eyes screaming mischief. "Fine I'll tell you."

Dean stepped in. "What's the catch?" The man hummed chewing slowly. "If I tell you. You get one more go around and the outcome stays. Does that sound fair? Three full days and you know exactly were she is all three of them." I tried to contemplate it we are starting better off knowing on Friday she was with the wolf, then came into town Saturday possible doing research before heading to the witch coven, and finally Sunday sitting at the diner returning home late at night to her room. Somethings weren't accounted for, but better start. "Deal!" The shock of the apple green eyes and the smug smirk on the tricksters face made me want to retract that statement. "Perfect! She did kill herself in that tub, but not from depression from Dumbs death like her letter made you believe or the abandonment from Dummer, that's you, so there's your answer." He tried to leave when I stopped him. "That's not the whole thing! Tell me the whole truth!!!" I yelled and all he did was grin. "You asked to know if it was suicide or something different and I told you plus some. Our deal never included all the answers." Holding up his hand he snapped his fingers. What have I done, again?

My eyes flutter open as I silence my alarm. The arm around my waist squeezed me and I turned around coming face to face with steel blue eyes gazing into me. "That alarm us depressing as hell." His gruff voice said as I chuckled laying my head on his bare chest. "Yeah, but I couldn't keep waking up to rock anymore." I smiled sadly Enter Sandman was my original alarm sound, but I couldn't stand hearing it anymore and I was so close to throwing away my cassette tape collection because every memory tied me to Dean and they only mocked me as someone that watched her brother died in their arms and was left behind. "Enough with the sad thoughts, Luna." The rumble of his voice pulled me out of it. "No sad thoughts here I'll be fixing it all soon, pup." I kissed up his neck causing his chest to vibrate with a purr that was so rough it sounded more like a growl. The world spun as I was pinned down looking up at him I raise a brow hooking my leg behind his knee flipping us. "Oh pup my turn to in charge." What a fun way to start other morning.

Finial Loop~ Y/n POV

“My legs are dangling of the edge”

After taking a shower Leo went in after talking about needing to hunt soon. "When I get back promise me a fantastic dinner, Leo!" I shouted and he gave a yell of agreement. I pull on some clothes fixing my hair and face. Taking a slip of paper from my journal I write a small note before kissing it. Grabbing my bag I walk down stairs looking at the vase plant. My eyes unfocused as I saw a unclear blurred image of a man examining the plant before turning around and fading away my vision focuses again and I shake my head. What the hell was that? I step closer taking the large bundle of the same flowers next to it. Wolfsbane wasn't as common as people assume and it doesn't ward off werewolves it gives them a boost actually making newly turned one's have more control over themselves and pure-bloods a extra kick. Within my hand was far more then any werewolf could consume at once. I leave and get into my car...I wish I got baby, but Sam just left one day so I had to find my own and Dean would be proud of the beaut I found opening the trunk I throw the bag in keeping the bundle of flowers in my hand. Starting the car I take one of the violet/blue flowers and I start chewing it bitter and gross, but to finish this by Sunday I had to work.

“The bottom of the bottle is my only friend.”

As I drove I turned on music drumming on the steering wheel. "I don't think you trust. In...my...self-righteous suicide. I...cry...when angels deserve to DIE!!" I was bobbing my head to the drums. "All of them deserve it, darling." I snapped my head to the side in shock before calming down reaching to lower the music. "Crowley a pleasure, but what have I told you about the whole appearing and not making yourself seen before talking. Next time I'll make a devils trap." He raised his hands in surrender as he chuckled a glass of scotch in hand. "Do you have what I was required?" I rolled my eyes as I lifted up the wolfsbane and stuck out my tongue to show the purple hue. "Yeah and the veil. A-are you sure this is going to work? I know its a little to late to stop now, but its just..." I sigh the words not coming out a hand rested on my shoulder and I gave a hum in content. "Everything will be different I won't be able to turn around. Things will never go back to the way it was after I do this whole trading places for him huh?" The Scottish demon shook his head and I gave a dry laugh. "I'll become the fucking Bride of Frankenstein with all this supernatural shit juicing up my soul the Queen of monsters if you will." I glanced over at him as he nodded in agreement a small grin pulling at his lips. "Ruler of them all my dear truly a unstoppable force that morons soul will be returned no contract attached and he may live again. All you must do is die and once in hell you'll become whole." He said taking a sip. A car came down the lone road and as it started to pace my mind slipped into my inner thoughts of how I got here. All of this started months ago I was trying to find a way to sell my soul for Dean, but all demons refused and it wasn't until the King of crossroads and I struck up a deal was any progress made. Our deal was unlike any other. No hellhounds were doomed to rip my soul from my body and I learned the true reason that I was unable to make a deal. My soul had something special I was destine to be the Winchesters saving grace, but to do that my soul could no longer be human.

Letting the memory fade the black car no longer in sight which was odd I just get back to the conversation. "Will I you know...forget about them? Forget who I am to them?" Crowley frowned slightly at my question before speaking up. "No my sweet clover you'll remember and you can return just you must live without them on your own, but your use to that. Aren't you?" I sucked my teeth and nodded my head this was for my brother Dean and Sam to reunite them and get out of the way. "Do you have what I need?" I asked and a silver flask was pulled from his jacket shacking it slightly. "The blood of a hell born beast." His words made me look over all I needed was two more things and it'll be done. I grab the flask about to open it a drink when his hand stopped me. "You already look sick from the other ingredients and you aren't even halfway done with consuming them all. Wait till you get to your witchy friends to help." I nodded as I look down the long road turning the music back up.

"Why have you forsaken me? In your arms forsaken me in your eyes forsaken me oh!"

Time skip Saturday Morning~

I pulled into the the motel parking as I tried to even out my breath. Stepping out I close the drivers door and get my bag from the back. I saw a flicker of a car next to me, but my eyes must be playing tricks on me. I walk to the respiration desk and get a room key funny enough it was the room I was originally supposed to be in, but it was unavailable last time so I slept on the lumpy sofa. I walked down the hall, but freeze infront of the door checking to see if anyone was looking I pick the lock the sound of a slight shuffle didn't stop me though. The door swung open the light of the sun illuminated the room enough it looked just like it did the day we were going to leave minus the once messy beds. Setting my bag down I walk over to the bed Dean slept in and flopped on it my body doing a small bounce.

The covers almost felt warm underneath, but I chalked it up to the direct sunlight it was getting. I flip over and sit up cupping my face in my hands letting out a deep breath tears starting to well up. "I'm so sorry, De. I should be trying harder to save you. I hate to admit it, but I gave up after awhile nothing that went bump in the night scared me anymore I am brutal just like him and I-I don't like it and I know you wouldn't either." My voice hitched as the salt water built up. "I got exactly like this once after Sam left put everything into hunting to feel better, but you were there that time, to keep me and Dad from murdering each other, to take me on late night drives to cool off, answer your phone each time I called... now you're gone and so is Sammy." I give a watery chuckle at the thought of Sam my supposed brother. "It's funny how history lived through or written down can always be repeated I thought after everything it be different. He'd be different, but now I'm here alone without anyone god it's so much worse." The sun seemed to warm my body in some type of embrace a feeling that I've missed and have been craving it felt so close and personal I could almost return the hug, but no one was there not anymore. My anger that I held towards Sam for so long turned onto me after a few months I wasn't enough to him after Dean left maybe I was never enough. "I'm using some of my old favors. From hunters I helped to monsters I saved this is my last half assed effort to be useful to give Sammy what he needs most and that's you, haha you Jackass, always has been always will be. The Winchester brothers against the world while their not even blood sister followed like a lost puppy." I leaned down slipping my hand on the underside of the bed my fingers gently wrapped around and pulling it Dean's colt free. "The myth is true they don't clean motel rooms. You owe me twenty buck." Pocketing the gun I stand up and walk back to the door. "Goodbye, Batsy. See ya soon." I close the door with my bag in hand I got to my own room. After the long drive I want to take a small nap before heading over to the coven house I already called her Friday.

Knocking on the door of the house a tall women with long red hair opened the door before I can greet Mama she pulled me into a tight a hug and I went limp in her hold resting my head on her shoulder breathing in the smell of saga and rosemary. “My child you've finally arrived.” She released me from the hug pulling me into the cozy home. It looked normal in the front area, but after stepping into the living place it screamed witch. My “blood of the coven” sisters quickly came over and we all started chatting like a bunch of high school friends I wished Dean could see me now in a share circle talking about boys while a mother figure was in the kitchen making lunch for us. He’d be happy for me I’m being normal grabbing a slice of that apple pie life like he’s always wanted for us, but God if he only he knew I would throw all of this away the happiness,normality,my lifd to be with him again on the road or states apart just knowing he’s there if not for me,for anyone is all I’ll ever need. We all ate and laughed before testing the spell the liquid looked like tar and the consistency wasn’t far off. ”It will take a month to work just like you wanted. When you feel the time is right drink it all don't leave a single drop or I'll kill you myself.” Mama Freya threatened and I quickly nodded taking the bottle. “Hey mama I was wondering I have all these ingredients I need to take, but they are..” I shiver thinking of the taste of the metallic blood going down my throat or the skin rudder and tough stuck in my teeth. “Hard to keep down can you put them in a easier form to swallow?” She smiled as she took the bag of ingredients taking each items one at a time and it was like looking at a rainbow of pills I dig through my bag finding old pain killer bottles,orange prescription bottles,and a empty baggies that I haven't cleared from my bag to hold them all. Over twenty full bottles and five baggies of the small rounded and capsual shaped objects.

"Its getting late Mama I best be on my way back to the motel. I still have two more ingredients." She nodded sadly and hugged for what felt luke the millionth time since being here. Haha millionth is over exaggerating and it sounds like something Dean would say. "I'm going to miss you girly. The place won't be the same without you." Her face was that of a mother mourning the lose of a child that simply is leaving the nest not about to do the unthinkable and leave this earth. "I'll be back before y'all even notice I'm gone. Scouts honor." I raised my hand and gave a grin. "You better be I'll have more pie baking waiting for you." My eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas. I nodded quickly as I went to say by to my sisters. "Good night everyone." I heard various shiuts as I closed the door walking over to my charger I look into the glass of the drivers door and see the house behind me in flames. Snapping back around it was completely fine...what the hell is going on?! I got in the car and drove back to the motel maybe hallucinations are a side effect. I just need to sleep it off like a hangover.

Sunday Moning

I woke up early for breakfast and my meet up with Gabe. Rolling out of bed I get ready I gaze at the full bottles and baggies and I dump half of each in my hand setting them aside as before grabbing a glass...water or whiskey? It was morning and I wanted to semi walk straight so I went with water. Taking it all down with atheist to glasses of water I get up and leave walking to the dinner seeing no point in driving. It was weird walking down the same sidewalk that I once shared with Sam and Dean each step was painful and it was like the feeling all those months ago is coming back in waves. I'm sure if I stayed in the same room it would be ten time worse. Ignoring the pain I stepped in the dinner looking at the menu,but someone sat in front of me just as the waitress came up. "She'll have a short stake with your meat lover omelet and a black coffee. I'll take your Nutella pancakes as a large stake extra nutella and a hot chocolate." The women quickly wrote that down not even having to say a word and left looking up from the plastic covered menu my e/c orbs met molten gold ones. "You know I just get all tingly when you take charge like that." I give a flirtatious smile as her winked at me. Chuckling I set the menu down giving him my full attention. "So trickery archangel what is it like?" He looked shock for a second before recovering. "I knew I liked you for a reason,smarties. My angelic looks?" Gabe tried to smolder,but I just sighed letting out a breathy laugh. "Since the trial started I've noticed your energy and power is stronger yet more pure then any other trickster." I said and he gave a nod.

"So that's why you called me back to this hell hole to confront me. Boo I was hoping for a little more bedroom eyes and less business tone." Gabriel said as his stake of chocolate on chocolate pancakes were sat infront of him as he then drowned it in make syrup. Mine were sat down as well,but I started on the omelet first. "Not really to confront you but to ask for something. When we met last time I told you about the trial and what I needed after trying to kill a trickster buddy of yours. Now that I know you have not just angel blood,but trickster mojo mixed in I was wonder If I can have some." He paused setting the syrup down and gazing up at me. "Alright no biggie have had worse things wanting my blood." Snapoing hus finder he held a vial of blood that glowed slightly and handed it over. I was a little shocked that was alot easier then expected,but I won't look a gifted horse in the mouth. Suddenly I felt like I was freezing up someone was watching us giving Gabe a look he got the idea and we stopped speaking about supernatural and continued to eat. As we both finished I pulled out a notepad and pen. "Tell me were to find you I'll see when we can meet." Gabe nodded and wiped his mouth. "10236 Charing Cross Road, Los Angeles,CA~" I wrote it out and as I read over it my eyes turned back up I gave my best bitch face at his smug grin. "The playboy mansion?" He gave a smirk as we both stood up. "What can I say the ladies love me." I was tempted to hit him with the notepad,but went against it as I put it back in my inner jacket pocket. "Later Gabe. Don't get in too much trouble I'm not saving you." I placed the money on the table. "I wouldn't dream of it,Angel."

I left with that the eyes I felt on me earlier followed me out of the dinner. Diving into the crowed weaving between people I keep going before dipping into a alley getting to the opposite side to a different street. I had one more meet up for the day

Time skip

The warehouse was worn down,but it was the only place far enough for this. Opening my phone I dial Crowley's number. The moment it rung once he appeared infront of me along with his mother. "Hello Rowena." She smiled at me stepping closer hugging me. Whats with the hugs today? "Oh you wee little las! So precious!" Her hands cupped my cheeks as she looked me over. "When Fergus told me you were a Winchester I expected a brut of a lady,but not near this lovely." I peaked over her shoulder to look at Crowley with a elevated brow all he did was sigh and shack his head. Rowena finial stepped back as I brushed myself off. "Now on with business. How much is left?" He asked as I shivered at the amount of items I had to swallow. "Half of everything. Once I'm back at my room I'll take the other half then the spell." I said and Crowley nodded as his hand caressed his facial hair. "Shouldn't be long now,Clover. Dean will be back in three days time no strings attached." This was a relief if Dean saw me he would kill me before I got the chance to do it myself. "Don't worry,love hell isn't all bad." The redheaded witch said causing me to give a look.

"Yes day filled of torture and nightly strolls through the flames are quite pleasant." Crowley stiffled a chuckle as Rowena smiled. "She's feisty too,Fergus if you don't settle down with her no girl will be nearly enough." A choked gasp came from the demon as he coughed on his whiskey that he summoned. "Mother please not this. Not now." He was able to clear his throat enough to talk. "If not now then when Fergus?! You aren't getting any younger and I've lived enough life to at least see one grandchild!" She shouted. I gave a apologetic smile at the demon king's expense. Life with a mother sure had it's ups and downs. The arguing didn't stop so I took my leave Dean would find it funny if I ever told him 'So I witnessed a demon and a witch get in a argument about future grandkids' he'd eat it up. Anything I'd tell him he'd pay attention a hundred percent even if it bored the crap out of him. It's what good brothers do they stayed through all the shit good,bad,exiting,or boring. The don't leave.

Time skip Nighttime

I drove back to the motel feeling sicker then ever before it was the horrible withdrawal it was around time to take the rest of it and end it all. Arriving back I turn on the light it felt like someone was here,but it was so faint. I open all the pill bottles along with the glowing angle blood and look at the empty glass from this morning deciding on the whiskey instead to was it all down. Handful after handle I gulp them all down the bottles were empty and the alcohol was a third full. Looking at the vial of black I take a deep breath...it was time. Opening it I tilted my head back and let it slide down my throat it felt like I was trying to swallow a live slug. It was slow and almost agonizing,but it eventually went down. Taking in a deep breath I stand up with a slight wobble I grab my bags putting everything,but my journal and the empty bottles away. Stepping on the bed I slip the duffel bags in the air vent and fall back on the bed flopping. Dozen of empty pill bottles,whiskey,a knife,and a suicide note in a journal of what can only be chalked up as drug induced illusions it was perfect scene of a regular suicide.

Taking the small pocket knife that had no significance to be like the weapons in my bag I get up to go the the bathroom I closed the door,but didn't lock it wanted my body to be easy to find. Running the water I peel out of my close feeling the world spin on its axial. Once the tub was full of burning hot water I slide in the heat soothing the ache of my body and the steam clearing my head of the negative thoughts. I started with small cuts scattered randomly on my arms one for each day Dean was gone,one for each call Sam missed,one for each word I said in every voicemail,one for every monster I've killed on my own, and one for every day I lived without both of them. My arms looked horrible they were almost unrecognizable I couldn't even see my s/c skin with all the red til I dipped my arms in the water the water turning a dark redish pink. With a deep breath I dig the tip of the blade into the nook of my left elbow and pulled it down. I felt the tip of it graze my bone knowing I didn't just slice the vein,but that I cut it completely in half and then some. With each quick heartbeat the blood gushed out in new waves. I felt light headed,but made sure to give the same treatment to my other arm.

Letting my head rest against the Porcelain of the motel bathrooms tub I let my arms stain the water darking it with each pulse of blood. It would be beautiful and so satisfying if it was the dwindling of my life into the still water. I heard the faint sound of the front door being bashed open and then along with the slam of the bathroom looking up slightly I see boots,jeans,and flannels. Was that my heaven? Seeing them once before I fall to hell. Warm arms pick me up out of the tub their touch was so light yet so strong. I blacked in and out,buy the hum of the most beautiful engine made me smile as I looked around dazed. "I've missed you too,baby." My head must have been in someone's lab because a voice from above was speaking. "Stay....N/n....almost....awake!" The warm hands caressed my face and I leaned into it that voice was the one I've wanted to hear for months and not just through a voice message after every missed call. "See ya soon,De. I‐" My breath was light as everything started to fade. "-love...you." The faint grip that I had on life slipped away as I fell. Falling would have scared me if it didn't feel so good like I was just sleeping without the worry of a monster coming to kill me it was peaceful.

Dean PoV

Damnit we were losing her. "DRIVE FASTER!!!" I yelled at same the hospital wasn't far,but she already lost so much blood by the time we barged in. We didn't want to kill her like the first time breaking in and I knew the same if not something worse would happen if we tried to go in with her already inside. If we just went in sooner we would have enough time,more time, to save her and guaranteed shed make it. Now as seconds past it was looking bad really bad. Finally getting there was like a race to the finish I ran in with her wet wrapped in a towel and dripping blood they took her from me and rushed off with her. All the what if's popped in my head I couldn't sell my soul again for her nor could Sammy I won't let him,but she was dying...my little sister was dying in there and I had no power to help her.

Time skip

We sat in the waiting room and the Sum peaked through the windows shining bright. It should be fucking raining the best thing in this world was fighting for her life. A docter in blue scrubs came in specs of blood were evident and the grime look on his face said it all,but I didn't want to believe it. Y/n is a Winchester she'll pull through this. "Mr.Smith I'm afraid to inform you that your sister didn't make it. She lost far to much blood for us to perform a stomach pump and the inability to seal the sliced vain due to the severity of it proved to be a key factor. I apologize for your lost you may see her now." Both me and Sam stood up and followed him to a room it was smaller then a normal patient room,but it also didn't have any equipment like a normal one. No heart monitor to give me hope,but what would be the point it would beat not for her,not anymore. Her arms were wrapped,but it was blotted with blood still,her body was in a pale blue gown,and her skin was paler then a sheet. Somehow seeing her like this was more traumatizing knowing that last time I couldn't save her helped with the guilt and pain of it all. Just seeing N/n now knowing that it was within my arms she said her last words to me,knowing her last thoughts were about me It broke me more then anything. Sam was quite and silent tears rolled down his face I couldn't tell if it was from sadness or guilt both emotions were conflicted in his eyes. I walked closer to her kissing her forehead it was could tibthe touch as I pulled away. "We tried so hard to save her and she still died each time differently. And yet to every bad there's a worse. This is so much worse." Tears slipped from my eyes as I looked at her longer as I spoke to Sam. We left that cursed town taking her with us. Once we got to Bobby's we buried her not willing to give her a hunters funeral she needed something to get back into when we find a way to save her. I have to save her like she tried to save me.

I watched them bury me in a deep grave no smoke or flames either. Blinking away the black from my eyes I looked at Crowley on the throne in hell just a month earth time years hell time and I'll be back Dean. I'll comfort you like you comforted me in my last moments alive. Walking out of the throne room to my own little room in hell I hummed as song letting the words eacho in the halls of screams. "Thank God its Friday, 'cause Fridays will always be better then Sundays, 'cause Sundays are my suicide days."

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A/n: Part two is down. And you guys thought I'd make the emotional Rollercoaster end lol now you get more trauma!

Quote: "And yet to every bad there's a worse." —Criminal Minds

Hoped you enjoyed this. And please note something I didn't want hinted at in the warning this is fake suicide for a ritual and plz don't take it to heart when I'm using it repeatedly like in this part.

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